#the past and future are dead skins

[icelogged]

something that will always get me about humans is our relationship to the past. many of the earliest surviving works lament the, “olden days” “the good ol’ days” “yesteryears past” “when” “when it was different”… it’s all so beautiful in its tragedy

[retrosabers]

𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐅𝐔𝐌𝐄’𝐒 𝐇𝐎𝐋𝐃𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐌𝐄 𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐒𝐎𝐌.

logan howlett x fem!reader

summary: the scent of you is driving logan crazy.

contains: mild 18+ content. MINORS DNI. mentions of masturbation (m&f), a steamy little make out, and implications of future smut

word count: 1.8k

a/n: not me trying to capitalize off the hugh jackman renaissance and revive my dead blog…anyways, this is my first time writing for logan! hope you all enjoy <3

i feel like we don’t talk enough about logan’s enhanced sense of smell.

the man can catch a whiff of someone the second they walk into the room, even the building sometimes if their scent is strong enough. it’s especially heightened when he realizes he’s attracted to you. at first he thought maybe it was because you were always wearing perfume, the aroma lingering around the mansion wherever you traveled. but then it became such an intense, all encompassing sensation that he knew it was something deeper.

his suspicions are confirmed one night as he walks past your room. if the faint whimpers he heard weren't enough confirmation of your activities, then the scent that fills his nostrils seals the deal.

you’re touching yourself. and he can smell your arousal.

it makes something stir in his stomach. the animal-like urges he always tries so hard to keep at bay threaten to make their way to the surface the longer he stands frozen in the hallway. logan attempts to shake the heat that spreads across his skin as he makes his way back to his own room, but it only ends with him cumming hard into his hand an hour later.

the next day, when he catches you on your way out of charles’ office, you offer him the same kind, beaming smile you always did. then that damned smell fills his nostrils again and his fists curl at his sides once you’re out of eyesight.

there’s only one explanation for it.

you’re ovulating.

which means there’s no escaping his desires unless you stay out of reach.

so for his sake and yours, he decides to just avoid you completely until the week is over. he can’t risk caving to those urges and doing something stupid and irrational.

of course you’re completely oblivious to it. you think that he’s just being weird, going through another rut of being a standoffish loner like he was when he first arrived at the mansion. because after about a week, he’s back to being a bit friendlier, to being the logan you had grown to call a close friend.

then the cycle seems to repeat itself and you notice it’s just you he’s avoiding.

you try and wrack your brain to think of anything you could’ve done to warrant this kind of isolation. you hoped if something upset logan he would just talk to you about it instead of playing this childish game of hot and cold.

after a couple months, you decide you’ve had enough.

cornering him was a difficult task. but you were observant enough to know certain parts of his routine, including exactly when he would be lingering in the common areas after all the kids had gone to sleep. after two failed attempts of trying to catch him in the kitchen, you finally managed to find him alone and unsuspecting.

“why have you been avoiding me?” you blurt, wanting to cut right to the chase. you’re expecting him to flinch a little bit, perhaps even be stunned.

but he knew you were coming. logan knew it was only a matter of time before you noticed his schtick.

still, he decides to look for an excuse, any excuse, to cover up the real reason.

“m’not avoiding you” he grumbles halfheartedly around the rim of a beer bottle. taking an extra long swig, he finally turns to look at you; leaning against the doorway with your arms folded and a look akin to annoyance plastered across your pretty face.

you cock your head to the side, clearly unimpressed with his answer.

“a few days ago, i watched you back out of a room the minute you realized i was in it,” you start to list off, counting with your fingers. “last month you avoided the wing where the gym was altogether while i was going through a new training regimen.”

logan winces at the memory. the scent of your pheromones was intoxicating. so much so that he couldn’t step foot anywhere near the gym without feeling like he needed to rub one out.

“and the month before that,” you huff out a sad laugh, voice suddenly soft and quiet. “you didn’t even say goodbye before you went off on that mission with scott and jean.”

guilt overtakes him quickly at the pain in your tone.

you’ve never looked smaller as you pick at a loose thread on your sweatpants. “did i do something wrong?”

“no,” logan reassures, jumping out of his seat at record speed, though still trying to maintain some distance. “you didn’t do anything wrong.”

“then what is it? you sigh exasperatedly, desperate to put an end to this nagging feeling that’s been eating away at you. “logan, you know if something’s bothering you, you can tell me.”

and he wants to. he so badly wants to, maybe even see if you’ll offer to help him out. but you’re you. the sweetest, kindest thing he’s ever known and he’ll be damned if he lets his curse of a mutation ruin whatever relationship the two of you have.

but then you’re inching closer and his skin starts buzzing again. his senses are consumed by you. by the way you look up at him with big, wide eyes, the softness of your skin as you reach to place a comforting hand on his forearm. it's all too much, and he finds himself pulling away from you with a grunt.

it hurts to see him retreat from you so aggressively. his jaw is clenched tight, his fists at his sides even tighter as the veins in his arms bulge bigger than you’ve ever seen before. he looks pained. like he’s fighting something internally.

“logan,” you approach him cautiously, unsure of what exactly to do. “what’s going on?”

his eyes squeeze shut at the sound of your voice. “just, please go back to your room.”

“i’m not leaving you like this.”

“m’not asking you,” he grits out, almost like a growl. “i’m telling you. go back to your room.”

now he was starting to piss you off. you narrow your eyes, leaning your hip against the counter.

“or what?”

suddenly he’s crowding your space, chest heaving up and down as he stares at you with pupils so wide his eyes are nearly black. logan’s voice is scarily level when he utters his final warning.

“or i’m gonna do something i regret.”

when you shift closer to him, his nose twitches with a sniff. the raise of your brow doesn’t go unnoticed, and he knows that you’re not leaving this room until you get to the bottom of what he’s been hiding.

that’s when something inside logan decides to throw caution to the wind, just for a minute.

“i can smell you.”

curiosity morphs into confusion at his admission. you shake your head.

“i don’t understand.”

then, the man’s gaze travels to the waistband of your pajama pants, the tension in his jaw growing more taught by the second. his hands flex at his sides, trying to keep him grounded and calm as he finally admits what’s been driving him mad.

“i can smell you.”

the emphasis on the last word takes a minute to register. logan watches as the gears turn behind your eyes, catches the exact moment of realization as your gaze softens and your lips part.

oh.

oh.

slowly things start to piece together. how logan’s behavior seemed to fall around the same time these past couple months. a few weeks before your cycle.

he wasn’t avoiding you because he was angry, or upset. he was avoiding you because you were fucking ovulating.

logan expects you to flee, to be completely weirded out and steer clear of him for the foreseeable future. what he’s not expecting, is the words that come out of your mouth.

“i can help you with that if you want.”

you say it with such nonchalance, such casualness that he wonders if you’re even really grasping what you’ve said.

the wolverine shakes his head. “trust me, you don’t want this.”

he doesn’t quite believe his own words as he watches you close the distance between your bodies. something you’ve been desperate to do for as long as you can remember.

the thin fabric of his tank top and the soft cotton of your t-shirt is the only thing standing between you both. your chests are mere centimeters from touching and logan can feel the heat radiating from your bodies as his confession hangs heavy in the air. then that fucking smell comes back tenfold and he groans.

“you don’t get to make that choice for me,” your voice is sickly sweet, dripping with desire as your fingers ghost over the waistband of his jeans. he feels like a horny teenager as he preens at the barely there contact.

logan breathes your name, a last stitch effort to get you to run, though he knows it’s futile. if there’s one thing he knows about you, it’s that you're stubborn. unmoving in your ways.

and that when you want something, you don’t stop until you get it.

your hand comes up to cradle the side of his face, a rather gentle touch he wasn’t anticipating. his eyes flutter shut as you swipe your thumb over the expanse of his cheekbone.

your words are barely above a whisper. “i trust you, logan. completely.”

that’s all he needs to hear before he throws any sense of self control out the window.

he surges forward and captures your lips in what is possibly the most heated kiss you’ve ever experienced. you nearly stumble over at the sheer force of it. logan’s large hands fly to your waist, yours to the back of his neck as his tongue prods for entrance into your mouth. it’s messy, almost primal as you let him ravish you like he’s been thinking about for weeks.

you moan and he swallows the sound greedily, desperate to hear it again, and again, and again. when his lips move to press against the column of your throat, you know this is going to escalate into exactly what you hoped it would.

“logan,” you breathe out as he focuses on your pulse point, his hands wandering further south to knead at the globes of your ass. “not here.”

“why not?” he mutters, all smirky and smug as he continues to press wet hot kisses against your neck.

“because i would prefer if you didn’t fuck me where our friends eat.”

he laughs, a deep vibration felt against your chest as you absentmindedly grind your core against his. it makes him bring his mouth back up to yours, stealing one final kiss before he pulls away.

looking at you like he wants to eat you alive. and by god you might just let him.

pressing a playful smack against your backside, he gently nudges you in the direction of the corridor.

“lead the way sugar.”

thanks for reading! <3

[strwberri-milk]

Maybe this is a bit angsty but could I request the LADS men’s (or just Sylus’s) reaction when reader randomly, casually says in a conversation, ‘Well you’re probably not gonna stick around with me in the future anyway’ (so in short, they think they’re temporary).

Zayne's attention snaps to you so quickly you would have thought you told him you're experiencing a cardiac event. He takes a second to process the words, brows furrowing as he asks you why you'd say something like that. His reaction is so visceral you can't help but laugh awkwardly, asking him what he means by that. The confusion tinged with something unreadable and sad hurts his heart, wondering if he hasn't made it clear enough that he's madly in love with you and only you.

He falls silent, pondering your words and his own actions. Has he not been affectionate enough with you? Has he not been obvious enough about how in love he is with you? You start to squirm, usually used to his thoughtful pauses but the tension rising in the air has you suffocating.

Eventually he tells you that you're going to be stuck with him for quite a while because he doesn't intend on giving you up that easily. He cups your face in his hands, telling you that you're the most precious thing to him in the world and he's going to love you until his dying breath, then past that. The confession is quite intense especially since he just looks very intense for the most part so it steals your breath away before Zayne pushes air right back into your lungs with a desperate kiss.

Xavier immediately tells you off, raising a brow as he asks why you think he wouldn't be there in the future. He's spent so many years yearning for your warmth - it seems blasphemous to him not to stay with you until the universe tears you apart and then some. You see the hurt in his eyes immediately, trying to backtrack as he asks you if you really thought he'd leave.

He takes your hands in his gently, taking a palm to cup his cheek as he nuzzles into your warmth, looking up at you with those baby blues that seem to tempt you to fall into them as he repeats the question. Your words are dry in your throat as you look away, his hand coming up to tilt your face back to look at him.

He swears his life to you again, peppering your hand in kisses as he speaks. If you had any doubts about his feelings for you before there's no way you can now, not with the way his voice settles around you. He solidifies his feelings for you, devoting his entire being to you in the quiet space between the two of you.

Rafayel is totally unamused, brushing your comment off as a joke. He fully thinks you're just trying to get under his skin, teasing him because that's the sort of relationship that the two of you have. When you don't respond with your usual enthusiasm he looks at you with a scrutinizing gaze. His lips press together as he starts to realise that you were serious, rolling his eyes as he pulls you against his chest.

He's shaking, thinly veiled anger running through his veins. He isn't really mad at you, but it would be wrong to say that he isn't at the same time. He doesn't understand why you'd think something like that, under the belief that he's made it very clear that he's in love with you and only you. I mean, have you seen him in a room with other people when they aren't you?

His words are soft in your ear, the quietest hint of a threat in them as he asks if you're serious. Nothing about this was temporary, about his feelings for you were fading. They never did and they never could, not even if he fell to his knees and begged for someone to take them from him. He's built on the anger of a dead civilsation and the inability to do anything but love you, telling you that even if you try to leave him he'll just wait until you're ready for him again.

Sylus doesn't even stop what he's doing, chuckling softly at the notion. He thinks you're joking, unable to fathom that you're fully serious in thinking that he won't be sticking around. You feel a little upset at how easily he brushes you off, deciding that you're done for the day as you fall silent. He notices that right away, looking up at you and beckoning for you to crawl into his lap. If you refuse to he'll simply come over and pull you into his lap without question, telling you to repeat yourself.

You repeat the statement, now more unsure of yourself since he's staring at you intently. You can see the slight quirk of his lips, his smirk making your heart beat a little faster as you tell him that whatever the two of you have isn't serious. He laughs at the notion, shaking his head as he cups your face in his hands. He takes in every detail of your face, sighing softly as he buries his face into your neck, peppering kisses as he shakes his head.

He doesn't know what to say, the words all caught in his throat as he holds you. You don't need him to say anything though, the desperate way he clings to your body and his lips muttering the beginnings of words just to abandon them convincing you more with every passing second that he's going to love you until the end of time.

[charlietheepicwriter7]

H̵̩͋o̸̹͒l̶̢̑ď̸͕ ̵͔͛T̴̲̄h̶͙͋e̶̤͘m̵͍̋ ̷͓̈D̵̯͛o̶̡̅w̵̖̃n̵͝ͅ

Get in the Water AU: Original Post Ruthlessness

Ghosts were physiologically different from humans.

It was something Tucker and Sam didn't understand. They saw Phantom as "Danny with superpowers," not as a fundamentally different being.

Sometimes, Danny didn't understand either.

But his parents did. Utter disregard for the scientific method aside, the Fentons were the ones who learned how inhuman ghosts were: "Just emotions and electricity imprinted on ectoplasm, Danno, nothing to be scared of!" Snapshots of people at the moments of their deaths. The past and the present, incapable of contemplating the future.

And with his duality, Danny struggled to understand either of his halves.

As a human, Danny could move past his nightmare of a childhood, compartmentalize and think to the future, when he was fully healed and his past couldn't hurt him anymore. So when Dora, first elected Queen of the Infinite Realms - long may she reign - asked him to collect all the resurrected humans for a health check and assessment... when he'd noticed Damian Al Ghul-Wanye on the list... He'd thought up a little prank to pull on his long-lost brother. A cruel one, perhaps, but nothing harmful.

As a ghost, Danny couldn't move on. He could never forget that Sam led him to his death, that his parents negligence allowed for the stage to be set, that the lab they loved so much held both his home and his grave. Just as Danny would always be that fourteen year old, caught in that moments, he was still the 7-year-old Danyal Al Ghul who trusted his brother not to hurt him... and ended up poisoned.

Phantom wanted his murderer to suffer.

And Danny, much to his shame, had allowed it.

For a few weeks, Danny managed to ignore it. He'd gone after Damian first, so there were tons of resurrected on his list. He started with the more extreme cases first, like Constantine, but soon enough the next on his list was Ra's Al Ghul.

He'd asked Queen Dora to send someone else, anyone else. That he wouldn't be able to control himself if he saw his grandfather again. Instead of relieving him, she'd given him a knowing look and told him to follow his core's desire.

She never mentions it, but Queen Dora had been a murder victim too.

There was no showmanship, no dramatic reveal. Just Danyal, his grandfather, and the Pit.

Despite all Ra's Al Ghul's power, he was no match for a spirit hellbent on drowning him.

That's what Danny did to his grandfather. He'd thrown up afterwards, once he was human before. But the ghost in him relished the act; he could still feel Grandfather's throat under his hands, pulse fluttering against his palm as Danyal held him down. He struggled and shook as the Lazarus waters filled his lungs, burning away healthy tissue. Fingernails morphed into claws that sliced through the tender skin, blood leaking into the water, and water leaking into the blood.

It took a long time for Grandfather to die. Deep within Danny, next to his core, he knew it was what was deserved. That the murdered finally had justice. He was content with never speaking of it again, a secret between him and the waters.

And now it was going to happen again as Phantom's impulsive mind overtook Fenton's tactical one.

He'd known Damian was looking into him. Knew another confrontation was inevitable, what with two more of his siblings needing their health checks. But as Danny was stalking their mother, searching for the best way to abduct her (she was still his mother after all, he didn't want her dead... yet), Damian and his family confronted her.

Relief washed over him as only a normal amount of rage bubbled up at the sight of Damian, instead of the overwhelming, all-consuming fury he'd felt. Danny laughed at their arguments, at Constantine thinking he could put a living ghost to rest, at his siblings-unmet and his father-unknown, until...

Damian confessed.

His murderer confessed, yet as he continued to speak, to explain, the fury rose in him again. Because it wasn't a betrayal. He'd always thought Damian betrayed him, but no.

Through his own ruthlessness, Damian gave him the only mercy he could manage. And there was only one thing Danyal wanted now.

""̸̲̈́T̶͘͜ä̵̢li̸a̶̬̓ ̴̬̐A̵̛̪l̸̲̚ G̸̛̫h̶̺̏u̸̢̚l!̴̳̈́ D̷̩̕o̸͛ͅ ̶̝̍y̴͙͘o̵̙͐u̵̬̓ ̴̤͂k̸̡̑n̵͓̈́o̷͈͝w̷͖͂ ̷͓͑w̴̧̄h̵͌��o̴̮̔ ̵̼́Ị̷̂ ̷̣̽a̵̳̓m̷̩̓?̷̝͒"̷̧͠"

It was her fault. She was the reason why he was dead, nothing more than a coward who couldn't go against her father for the sake of her children. She abused them, she struck his brother, it was her fault-

"Danyal," she answered. And Danyal grinned, fanged and sharp.

He approached, the waters of his birthplace lovingly brushing against his legs, consoling him the only way they knew how. They whispered revenge into his ears, madness into his heart, just as they had when he'd confronted Damian, when he murdered Grandfather. "You have much to answer for, daughter of the Demon Head," he said, voice echoing around the room.

Unrestrained greed filled her gaze. "You've returned to me, my son."

Danyal laughed, brutal and rough. "I've returned for you, Mother," he corrected. "Don't think this reunion will end well for you."

"You mean to hurt me, Danyal?" she crooned, all false hurt and fake love.

"I mean to kill you."

Genuine anger flashed across her face. "My son would never-"

"Y̵̺̆o̴̩͂u̸͉̕r̷̰͝ ̴͔͝s̵̡̉o̶̡̎ň̵̞ ̶̗̈i̴̘̍s ̸̦̐d̴̯̚ê̶͚á̶̩d̷̻̈́," he snarled, and Damian flinched. He was too close to Talia. "You wanted me dead... for being weak. For having mercy." He stared up at his mother's shocked form. "I killed Grandfather. Tell me, is that ruthless enough for you, Umi?" Talia flinched with just her eyes. He hadn't been allowed to call her Umi since he was three.

Their father stepped forward, the naked distress on his face contrasting with his battle armor. "Danyal," he plead. "You don't have to do this-"

"Stay out of this, Baba." The man's breathing hitched. "This doesn't involve you."

Constantine tried to talk him down next. "It does, kid. A Siren on your level can't stay around for long. It's time for you to rest."

Danyal threw back his head and laughed. "As if you could stop me, exorcist." No more delays. It's time for action. "I will drown you all before you can."

Danyal lunged. And despite his mother's decades as an assassin, she couldn't kill what was already dead.

He held her down by the throat, the attacks from Damian's family bouncing off him. "This is mercy," he cooed as she desperately clawed at his hands. "For me. For Damian. For everyone you will try to hurt in the future. Ruthlessness is the only mercy I can give you now." Her face turned red as she gaped for air and Danyal-

Was thrown back into the water.

Reorienting himself, he found John Constantine standing over his mother, protecting her from him. "̷̪͂E̷̺͐x̷̝̑ŏ̶̺ȑ̴͉c̷̟͘i̸͔̋s̶̮̀t̶̯͝."

And the Pit's water began to rise.

[downthe-f4ndom-rabbith0le]

Inevitable (Alex Summers x Reader)

Inevitable (Alex Summers x Reader) Reader Insert: she/her pronouns Word Count: 13,014 Warnings: violence, angst, fluff, death, injuries, mentions of unable to have children, sad ending, implied sexual actions Spoilers: I guess the plots of X-Men First Class, Days of Future Past, and Apocalypse but the films have been out for years so don't at me.

This is the story of Y/N L/N and Alex Summers - of Aura, the girl who could turn invisible and manipulate energy around her, and Havok, the boy who could generate and blast plasma from his body. A boy destined for destruction, and a girl who could prevent it.

Their story was always inevitable.

I'm going through an X-Men rewatch and I forgot how much of a chokehold some of these characters had me in, especially from the First Class era. As you can probably tell from my previous stories, I have an soft spot for the tragic ones, so here is my little story of Alex Summers who bloody deserved better.

1962 - C.I.A. Mutant Division

Y/N looked around at her surroundings as she followed Erik and Charles down corridor after corridor. She'd never met C.I.A agents before, let alone stepped inside one of their facilities. But Erik and Charles aren't C.I.A., she reminded herself as she took in the bland concrete walls and cold, harsh lighting above her. They were like her - mutants.

She hadn't believed them at first when they'd told her just a few hours ago inside the cafe she was closing up for the day. It had been a busy day and she hadn't had time for a drink of water let alone any reasonable break. She thought she was hallucinating when the two had entered the cafe, prattling on about how they knew who she was.

It was only when she demanded they prove it - that they were like her - and the taller one (Erik) had lifted every piece of dirty cutlery in the store and had them float into the foaming sink to be cleaned that she believed them.

That was almost seven hours ago, the drive from New York to Virginia giving the men more than enough time to bring her up to speed on what they were doing and why: they were gathering other mutants like her to stop another war from starting.

As she followed the two men through the facility, only now did she start to have doubts about their intentions. For all she knew, she was going to be experimented on and tortured, possibly killed.

'If we'd wanted you dead, we would've made sure of that back in New York,' Charles suddenly said without looking as he and Erick led the way.

'What? How did you-' Y/N started to ask, but cut herself off as she remembered what Charles' gift allowed him to do.

Y/N noticed her surroundings starting to change. Instead of a war bunker, the corridors started looking more home-like and the lights grew warmer. As they approached a big orange door, Y/N heard voices speaking and laughing in the room beyond. They sounded... happy.

Finally, Charles looked at her and spoke, but not with his mouth. I promise you, Y/N, he said into her mind, freaking her out a little bit, you don't have to be scared here. You don't have to hide who you are from the people beyond this door. Here, you can be free. Happy, even.

Y/N looked between Charles and the door for a moment, imagining whose faces belonged to which laugh, which voice. She imagined herself doing those same things, and that was what convinced her that she was in the right place.

'Are you ready to meet your new family?' Charles asked aloud this time, to which Y/N nodded and Erik opened the door.

Y/N was met with six people sitting around a coffee table chatting and laughing while having a few drinks. She took a moment to admire them all - a short girl with dark hair and visible tattoos all along her shoulders and arms; a red-head who seemed to be doing a lot of the talking in the group; a man with charcoal skin and broad shoulders in a tight grey vest-shirt; a boy with glasses who looked really shy next to a gorgeous blonde girl who could very well have been a super model; and a blond boy in a dark t-shirt and leather jacket who had the smoothest smile Y/N had ever seen.

They were the perfect picture - how could she possibly interrupt that? Y/N was about to leave when suddenly Charles called for everyone's attention and that smooth smile from the blond was now aimed at her. Her heart thudded in her chest, embarrassment at being caught flooding her cheeks and she just had the visceral response to hide, hide, hide.

'Everyone,' Charles started proudly as he motioned to Y/N, 'this is Y/N. She will be- Wait, where did she go?'

Y/N watched as everyone looked around the room even though she she hadn't moved. Both Charles and Erik looked at her, but they didn't seem to see her. That's when she looked down at her hands and found her entire body covered in a translucent light only she could see. And that could only mean one thing.

'Sorry, I'm right here.' Y/N concentrated hard on revealing herself and when she could no longer see the translucent light, she knew she could be seen again.

'Whoa,' the red-head said, his mouth gaping in shock.

'That... is wicked cool,' the broad-shouldered man exclaimed.

'As I was saying before,' Charles said, sounding sheepish at forgetting her ability, 'this is Y/N. She will be joining you all and her gift... Well, we will leave that to her to discuss that with you all. Erik?'

'Yes,' Erik replied, and then the two of them were gone, closing the door behind them and leaving Y/N standing all alone.

Y/N was usually a confident person - she had to be as a waitress - but having six pairs of eyes staring at her so intently had her wanting to hide again. The beautiful blonde stood up from her place on the white couch and sauntered over to her. Y/N found herself looking up at the woman, who seemed to have legs for days and the most beautiful smile as she approached.

'I'm Raven,' she said, holding a hand out in greeting. When Y/N shook her hand, she gestured to the couch. 'You've come at the best time. We were all just about to discuss our gifts with one another.'

Y/N was quickly dragged to the couch and plunged into an in-depth conversation with the six. After only a few minutes, Y/N felt as if she'd always been there, talking and laughing and joking around and becoming more confident. Although, she couldn't compete with the blond boy with the smooth smile from earlier, now known as Alex Summers.

In the short time she'd heard him speak, she'd deduced he was the cockiest man in every room ever. No wonder he was put into solitary confinement, she thought when he mentioned he was picked up by Charles and Erik at his army base. He's probably been the instigator of more than one fight.

'We should think of some code names,' Raven suggested enthusiastically. 'We're technically government agents now. We should have code names. I want to be called Mystique.'

'Damn, I wanted to be called Mystique,' Sean, the red-head, groaned in fake misery, causing everyone to laugh.

'Well, tough. I called it,' Raven said, then her voiced changed as she physically did, eliciting gasps from the group as she now sat as an exact replica of Sean. 'And I am way more mysterious than you.'

The group gave her a round of applause as she morphed back into the beautiful blonde, but now that she'd revealed her gift, Y/N wondered if what she showed everyone now was her true form or just another disguise.

One by one they went around the room, showing off their abilities and coming up with names for each other. The mood somewhat soured when Angel asked Hank who he wanted to be.

'How about Bigfoot?' Alex jested as he took another sip of his coke. His condescending laughter communicated that it wasn't a nice joke, and that didn't sit well with Y/N.

'Well you know what they say about guys with big feet,' Raven said, eyeing his own feet before she continued, 'and, um, yours are kind of small.'

Alex's smirk dropped instantaneously as the group laughed and oohed at Raven's burn. Except for Darwin, who rounded the group back to the topic at hand.

'Okay, okay, settle down now,' he said. 'What can you do, Alex. What is your gift?'

'How about being burnt by women?' Y/N murmured just loud enough for the group to hear, earning another round of laughs and a hard glare from Alex. Y/N held his gaze with a smirk in challenge, taking a sip of her own drink. He might've been top dog back in army bootcamp, but Y/N didn't like bullies, especially if they were meant to be teammates.

Alex eventually dropped his glare, his whole demeanour changing as he rubbed the back of his neck nervously. 'Um, it's just... It's just that... I can't do... I can't do it in here.'

'Can you do it out there?' Darwin asked, and when Alex hesitated to answer, the rest of the group started goading and pleading him to show his abilities. Y/N even found herself intrigued. What could Alex do that he needed open space for?

The group cheered victoriously as Alex gave in to peer pressure, put his drink down and climbed through the broken glass courtesy of Sean moments before. As Alex set up outside, Y/N joined the others who leaned out the broken window to watch him.

'Get down when I tell you,' Alex said as he lined up in front of the bronze statue that's head still smoked - courtesy of Angel's fireball during her demonstration.

'Get back,' Alex said, and Y/N leaned back with the rest of the group, but they all apparently were too intrigued and so they all leaned out from behind the wall to watch him.

Alex went to make a move until he realised the group hadn't listened to him. 'Get back!' he warned again, but when no one moved, he faced the statue again. 'Whatever.'

Y/N found herself gaping at Alex as he seemingly powered up, red rings of plasma rotating around him until he slung them out into the open space but uncontrolled. The last one hit the statue, slicing it on a diagonal that had its head and part of its torso falling to the grass in flames.

The group erupted in rounds of applause as Alex walked back to them. He appeared more confident now as his teammates applauded. Y/N figured he wasn't used to that. Perhaps that was why he'd been in solitary confinement as much as he had been.

'Well, I'm glad you did that out here,' Darwin said, looking at the wreckage slightly worried. 'You've caused... a bit of chaos.'

'I can't control it, unfortunately,' Alex said, looking at the damage he'd caused. 'I'm hoping that might change one day.'

'Don't be ashamed of your gift, Alex,' Raven said, resting a reassuring hand on his shoulder. 'You're amazing.' She looked to the rest of the group. 'We all are.'

When Raven did that, Alex's attention fell onto Y/N again, a skeptical look on his face. 'So what about you? Do you do anything useful or do you just disappear when you get a little embarrassed?'

Y/N's cheeks heated with anger. Who the hell was he to judge her? He didn't even know her.

'At least I don't cause havoc with my gift,' she bit back, motioning to the flaming buildings and statue.

Where a normal person would look at the damage and wince with remorse, Alex had the audacity to look at his handiwork and laugh in amusement. 'Havoc. I like that. Maybe that should be my code name, except change the c to a k so it looks cooler written down.'

Y/N rolled her eyes while the others complimented how good a name it was. But she had to admit it was a fitting one, just a shame he turned her insult into a name for a hero.

Y/N released a sigh then held out a hand to the fires in the courtyard, concentrating on grasping the energy in the air. After a moment, small bubbles of white energy appeared and Y/N was vaguely aware that her new friends had gone quiet as she forced the bubbles to encapsulate the fires. With a flick of her fingers, the bubbles started shrinking, depriving the fires of oxygen and eventually extinguishing them.

When Y/N turned back to the group, she found them all gaping at her in wonder and shock.

'Well, that was cool,' Angel said, earning hums of agreement from the others.

'What exactly did you just do?' Hank asked.

'I don't really know what it is,' Y/n answered honestly. 'But, I think I can manipulate energy or something like that. I can create those force fields, and as you saw before...'

Y/N let the energy hide her, and she relished the shocked faces of her friends as they could no longer see her. Feeling cheeky, she ran at Alex then dropped and swiped his legs out from underneath him, sending him sprawling to the ground.

He landed with a resounding thud, his breath escaping him in a loud, 'Oof,' as he did. Only then did Y/N reveal herself, looking down at him with a smug smile.

'...I can turn invisible.'

The others clapped in appreciation of her demonstration while Alex looked up at her in annoyance. Y/N offered her hand to help him up and surprisingly he took it and together they pulled him to his feet.

'So what, you can control, like, the Force, or something?' he asked.

Y/N rolled her eyes. 'This isn't Star Wars, asshole. It's more like... I can feel the aura of the energy around me and I connect with it and then use it to my will.'

'That's it!' Angel exclaimed suddenly. 'That's your name!"

'What is?' Y/N asked, confused.

'Aura!'

'Aura.' Y/N tried it on her tongue. She had to admit, it had a nice ring to it.

'Aura, Havok, Banshee, Darwin, Angel...' Raven said each of their new code names as she looked at them, grabbing a drink for herself from the table. She looked to Hank. 'We'll find one for you soon, Hank,' she reassured, then pointed to herself. 'And Mystique.' She raised her drink high and everyone else did the same. 'Here's to our new life. Here's to being our true selves.'

'Here, here,' Sean said as they all clinked their drinks together in solidarity.

'So, what do you think?' Alex said just to Y/N as seperate conversations between the others started. Angel switched on some music and her and Raven jumped on the coffee table to start dancing.

'About what?' Y/N asked.

'Are you going to be your true self here? With us?' he asked, and there was a little challenge in his question, as if he really wanted to add Or are you going to hide away?

Y/N had so far lived her life in constant fear. But Erik and Charles said they needed her, that the world needed her. Perhaps it was time to stop hiding.

Y/N flashed Alex a small smile, reflecting his challenge in her own eyes. 'I don't think you could handle the true me, Havok.'

Alex's grin widened devilishly. 'Try me, Aura.'

1962 - X Mansion, pre-Cuba

It had been weeks since the C.I.A Mutant Division facility had been attacked by Shaw, that Angel had chosen his side, that Darwin had sacrificed himself in the effort to save them all, Angel included.

Egos bruised and hope extinguished, Charles had brought those who remained back to his mansion to train for the upcoming battle with Shaw. Which is what Y/N was doing with Raven when Charles entered the gym requesting her presence in the war bunker.

'You want me to what?' both Alex and Y/N exclaimed together in the bunker, gaping at Charles because he'd clearly lost his mind.

'You heard me,' Charles said nonchalantly, walking to stand in the middle of the room. 'I want you two to spar while you, Y/N, protect me. Expand your range of concentration so you can control different energies at once, manipulate numerous fields doing different things simultaneously. Alex now has the tools he needs to control his power so he won't be as volatile as he once was.'

'Hey now,' Alex said, clearly offended.

Charles offered a mediocre apologetic smile before readdressing Y/N. 'You have to push the limits you have set for yourself in order to become stronger. I can sense your full potential hasn't even been scraped at yet. How about we try today.'

Y/N looked between Charles and Alex, who also looked at Charles like he was crazy. But there was an air of truth to his demands. Shaw was no novelty mutant, and neither were Angel and the other mutants following him. If Y/N didn't do this, she would be their next victim, and what kind of teammate would she be if she died too early?

Y/N eventually nodded her agreement. 'Okay, let's do this.'

'You sure about this?' Alex asked her.

'Aw, is big old Alex Summers worried about hurting me?' Y/N taunted, though she didn't really know why. His concern was sort of sweet.

It disgusted her.

Alex's concern scrunched up in annoyance on his stupidly beautiful face. 'No. I just... Oh, screw this. Fine let's spar, L/N.'

Y/N went to stand at one end of the bunker and Alex at the opposite end. Charles planted himself right in the middle of the two, looking too casual for Y/N's liking. Did he really have that much faith in them?

'Whenever you two are ready,' Charles called out, rocking on the back of his heels in anticipation.

'Okay,' Alex said hesitantly as he fired himself up. His new chest plate helped him to control his plasma so he surely would hit the professor if Y/N didn't do something.

Just as Alex fired, Y/N placed a force field over Charles and the plasma blast bounced off it and straight back at Alex. Alex had to duck quickly as his own blast came hurtling back at him, and Charles let out a small laugh as the blast made a small dent in the wall behind Alex.

'Well this is going to be fun,' Charles said, and the fight truly begun.

Alex would sling shot after shot at Y/N and the professor, but Y/N deflected every shot and held the force field around the professor soundly. At one point, Y/N managed to to turn in visible while Alex was distracted and landed a few blows.

But Alex managed to knock her back, the blow forcing her to reveal herself. She had no time to worry about being exposed however, as Alex powered up for what seem to be one giant blast. Y/N managed to bring up a force field around her as the blast connected, but instead of bouncing up off it, the plasma seemed to sink into the force field.

Y/n looked around in confusion, feeling the energy flowing stronger through the force field and increasing with every second. She was vaguely aware of someone calling her name - it sounded like Charles - but the energy was becoming too much to hold up now.

Y/N let out a cry as she released the force field, and the shockwave it sent through the bunker sent both her and Alex flying to opposite ends of the bunker.

Y/N smacked into the solid brick hard, sending an intense throbbing through her head as she hit the ground. Her vision blurred and she felt drained of power like never before. Two blurry figures were in front of her, their mouthes moving but not saying a word. She thought they were saying her name.

After a few more seconds, her hearing came back to her as well as her vision, showing Alex and Charles kneeling beside her with worry on their faces.

'Y/N, can you hear me?' Charles asked, scanning over her body for any injuries.

'Are you okay? Can you hear us? Say something,' Alex said, eyes searching her face for any sign that she understood anything they were saying.

Y/N hummed in reassurance and his worry dissipated into relief. Alex quickly helped her into a sitting position as she gathered herself. 'Well,' she breathed out, giving Alex an amused smile, 'that was... fun.'

This elicited a laugh out of both men as they helped her to her feet. Y/N was very aware of Alex's hand holding her steady on the small of her back as they both listened to Charles.

'My! You two create quite the show,' he exclaimed with an enthusiasm that kind of scared Y/N. 'Brilliant! Absolutely brilliant work, you two. You have both grown in leaps and bounds these past few weeks. I daresay you will both be quite powerful when you fully master your gifts. Now, take the afternoon off, possibly head to Hank in the lab for some patching up and look overs. I will see you both first thing tomorrow.'

'He sounds like a professor talking to students,' Alex muttered after Charles had left.

Y/N shrugged. 'Well, we kind of are students, so I guess that would make him our professor.'

The two shared a small laugh and both their eyes slipped to his arm, which was attached to the hand that still pressed gently against her back. Alex quickly dropped his hand and Y/N took a decent step away from him. Well now it's awkward.

'G-Good fight,' Alex finally said after seconds of silence, unable to meet her eyes. He did the thing where he rubbed his neck and Y/N's stomach did a little flip at how cute the gesture was.

Quit that, she told herself, then realised she hadn't responded to him. 'Y-yeah. You too. Sorry... for sending you into the wall.'

'It's okay. I've been hit harder,' he said, and his cocky smirk was back. Something about his statement rubbed Y/N up the wrong way, like he was undermining her ability. That was a pretty decent fight they just had.

Y/N just huffed and stormed out of the bunker. 'Whatever,' she muttered as she left him behind.

'Hey,' Alex called out as he ran to catch up with her. 'What's wrong? You want me to apologise too? Okay, I'm sorry for sending you into the wall, too. There? Happy?'

'You know,' she started, stomping up the stairs that would take her to the first floor of the mansion, 'you can be such a jerk, Alex.'

'What are you talking about?' he asked, and he had the audacity to sound genuinely clueless.

At the top of the stairs Y/N finally stopped to let Alex catch up. She didn't care that he was taller than her, she looked up at him with annoyance in her eyes. 'You can never admit that someone could be better than you, let alone that they could be your equal.'

His face screwed up in confusion. 'What? That's not what I meant. Where did you get that impression from?'

'You think yourself superior to us all, and for what? We all have gifts, Alex. We are all special and useful and powerful. Yet you make fun of Hank, you belittle me. What is your problem?!'

Alex stepped towards Y/N, closing what little space there had been between until she felt his breath brushing her heated cheeks. 'You know, I was just about to pay you a compliment but forget it.'

'I wouldn't want a compliment from you, Alex. They're more like insults than anything,' Y/N said then stormed off.

'Princess!' Alex called out after her in a last ditch effort to have the last word.

'Jerk!' she answered over her shoulder.

'Coward!'

'Asshole!'

Y/N finally entered the lab and Hank was already looking at her crossed arms.

'You know, you two really need to take your fights outside,' he simply said, already reaching for his equipment to check her health.

Y/N raised a brow in a silent question, to which Hank responded, 'The walls and floors to this place aren't as thick as they appear.'

Downstairs where Y/N had left Alex smouldering, a certain telepath entered Alex's mind. Well that's an interesting flirting tactic.

'Oh, piss off,' Alex hissed aloud as he walked in the opposite direction towards his assigned bedroom. Y/N was the most aggravating person in existence. Flirting with her was the last thing on Alex's mind.

I don't know, I think you two would make a rather nice couple, Charles interjected again.

'I said piss off!'

1962 - Cuba Beach

Y/N was locked in a fight with Riptide when she saw Alex and Sean crash onto the beach, Angel having shot them down. As she went to attack, Alex shoved Sean out of range as he unleashed his uncontrolled plasma rings, his chest plate missing.

He caught her wings, slicing them in half and sending her flying to the ground, but as Alex helped Sean to his feet, Y/N spied Angel get to her feet, rage in her eyes and fire burning in her mouth.

Alex's back was turned. He would never see it coming.

Y/N, rejuvenated by the threat, turned back to Riptide and conjured up a large energy wave and sent it hurtling at Riptide. He tried bringing up a wall of wind to counteract it, but the wave was stronger and sent him into the side of the uprooted submarine. He fell to the sand with a hard thud and didn't move.

Y/N immediately ran for Alex and Sean, hands raised and conjuring up a force field around her friends just as Angel spat fireball after fireball at the two of them. The fireballs bounced right off the force field, angering Angel even more as she turned her attention to Y/N.

Before she could attack, Y/N trapped Angel in another force field, raised her off the beach, and sent her out over the ocean where she finally let the force field drop. It hurt her to hear her old friend's scream as she fell into the deep water, but Angel had done this to herself.

Y/N turned back to the boys. 'Are you two okay?' she asked, looking over them for any injuries. All she could find was Alex's bare chest and a hole in Sean's wing suit.

'We had it covered,' Alex said, his tone annoyed.

Y/N scoffed. She couldn't believe it. He was still being a self-righteous jerk in the middle of a battle?

'I just saved your life, asshole,' she said, stepping towards him in anger. 'Maybe you should be thanking me instead of complaining like a little boy.'

'Get down,' he said, his eyes on something over her shoulder, but she didn't care. He wasn't listening, but she would make him.

'Don't you tell me what to do you self-righteous jerk-'

'I said get down!'

Before she knew what was happening, Alex was pushing her behind him as he sent plasma rings at Riptide, who Y/N obviously hadn't knocked out entirely and was lining up to attack her from behind.

Riptide saved himself from being sliced like the statue back at the C.I.A. with a small tornado, but the impact from the plasma rings sent him flying over the submarine and out of sight.

'And I just saved yours,' Alex said as her tuned back to a shocked Y/N. He was panting heavily, obviously not used to exerting so much energy in such a short time frame. 'Now we're even.'

The way his words were haggard from his lack of breath made his voice raspy and Y/N hated how much the sound tingled up her spine pleasantly.

Y/N opened her mouth to retort at him - tell him how stupid and reckless and irresponsible and idiotic he was - but she couldn't find anything to say, and so snapped her gaping gob shut in indignation. The two just stared at each other for what felt like an eternity, eyes locked as so many unspoken emotions passed between each other.

Until Sean walked in between the two of them, shaking his head in disbelief. 'Damn, get a room, you two,' he said, his tone both disgusted and amused as he started walking back to Charles and Moira still on the crashed jet.

'We're not-' Y/N started.

'It's nothing like-' Alex interjected at the same time, but Sean was already out of earshot.

Y/N and Alex looked back at each other, both their cheeks flushing with embarrassment.

Alex was the one to finally break the silence. 'We should...' he trailed off as he gestured after Sean.

'Right,' Y/N immediately answered, grateful for the change in subject. They still had a fight to win, otherwise the whole world would fall into another war.

Y/N and Alex followed Sean swiftly, happy to leave the awkward interaction behind them. But even after the fight, Y/N didn't know about Alex, but maybe there was a little truth to what Sean's words implied. It wasn't that Alex was unattractive. He was just... infuriating.

But he had saved her life, put his body on the line protect her. That meant he cared for her in some capacity... right?

1967 - X Mansion

'You're what?!' Y/N exclaimed, standing up from her seat in the middle of Charles' office.

'I'm sorry, Y/N, but I have no choice,' Charles said, his voice sad and exhausted.

Y/N should've seen this coming. She'd seen the signs. How Charles had let his hair grow out, how the shadow of a beard grazed his jawline. How he lounged in his wheelchair instead of sitting with his usual perfect posture. And the hope and colour of his eyes had faded to loss and hopelessness.

'Yes, you do,' Y/N argued, slamming her hands on his desk. 'You can choose to keep fighting. You can choose to keep helping and teaching. You can choose hope, Charles.'

'There is no hope left, Y/N,' Charles replied, dejected as he looked anywhere but Y/N's eyes. 'Erik was right. The world is not meant for mutants. The world does not want mutants.'

Y/N walked around the desk to kneel before his wheelchair. 'You can't truly believe that, Charles,' she said trying to catch his gaze. 'After all you have done, after everything we've been through, you cannot believe that. Look at what you've achieved!'

She gestured to the room, but she meant the school as a whole, whose corridors buzzed with students who possessed unique powers. Admittedly the numbers had dwindled significantly because of the Vietnam War, with most of the teachers and the older students being drafted. Y/N had managed to not be drafted so far, and had dedicated every second she had to teaching. She was now in her late 20s and had learned all she could as a student. It was her turn to teach the next generation what it means to be a mutant.

But regardless of numbers, there were still children who needed help. They couldn't close. They just couldn't.

'Please, Charles,' she said, placing a gentle hand on his cheek to guide his eyes to meet hers. He looked in so much pain - a pain Y/N couldn't see but she could certainly try to understand. 'There is still hope. There is still good in the world. We just have to find it again.'

Charles didn't say anything at first, and Y/N took that as a sign that maybe she'd gotten through to him. Since beginning her teaching career, Charles had become like an older brother to her. He hadn't given up on her when she didn't believe in herself all those years ago, she wasn't going to give up on him now.

But Charles gently took her hand away from his face and turned his chair so he faced away from her. 'Hope is a human error. I've already made up my mind, Y/N. I suggest you forget about all of this and go live what life you have left. God knows society won't allow you a full one.'

Y/N remained crouching, too shocked to argue, too horrified to be angry. As Charles turned his back on her - busied himself with his bookshelf - Y/N left the room in a daze, still unsure what had just happened. That's how she felt for the rest of the day as she taught and supervised, students constantly asking her if she was okay as she usually wasn't as silent as she was.

Y/N easily deflected the questions, but she couldn't ignore the breaking of her heart every time she spoke with a student, saw them master an ability, ask a question. How would she break the news to them? A more accurate question would be how could she? They looked up to her, to Charles, to all of them. Some of them had no homes to go back to, no families that accepted them or no families at all.

By the time the last bell rang, Y/N was on the brink of breaking down.

It was now late at night, the children well and truly asleep. But Y/N remained awake, walking the mansion, dreading breaking the news tomorrow during the assembly. God knew Charles was in no condition to break the news himself even though he was the headmaster. And Hank hated public speaking despite being a teacher. No, she had to do it, but she'd be breaking hundreds of hearts in the process.

As she reached the front foyer, looking around and remembering her first few days there, remembering the first few days of the school opening and it being full of enthusiastic and excited children, tears welled up in her eyes.

They'd just started to slip when the front doors clanged open. Y/N immediately went into defensive mode, her hands lighting up as her mutation activated

Alex threw his hands up in faux surrender. 'Whoa! Easy Y/N, it's just me!'

Y/N breathed a long sigh of relief as she let her hands drop. 'Jesus, Alex. You mind knocking next time? What are you even doing here? It's two in the morning.'

Alex was also a teacher at the school, but he sometimes slept off campus as his family home was just a few suburbs away. He usually didn't slip back in until just before class though so this encounter was a little surprising.

'I needed to see the professor,' he said, then his face scrunched with worry as he looked over Y/N. 'Were you just crying?'

Y/N quickly turned her back to him to wipe away the tears that had escaped. 'I'm fine. It's nothing.'

'No it's not,' Alex said, and he took quick steps until he stood beside Y/N. He placed a gentle hand on her shoulder and managed to turn her to face him. He looked down at her with such concern Y/N felt more tears welling up.

He was a dick. From the day they'd met he'd solidified that for himself. But the past five years had seen him mature, grow, change in ways Y/N had no idea he was capable of. She saw how gentle he was with the children, how fiercely protective he'd become of them.

And while they still clashed and fought like cats and dogs, they'd found comfort in each other more than once. They would always laugh on the terrace late at night as they had a nightcap, downloading their days to one another; Y/N would occasionally bring Alex food when she knew he hadn't made it to lunch because he was so busy with work; and Y/N would wake up sometimes from nightmares to Alex comforting her.

Out of all the original X-Men group, those two had become the closest. With Charles busy running the school, Hank busy with his lab, Raven, Erik, and Angel off recruiting for their Brotherhood, and Sean deciding to go see the world, Alex and Y/N only had each other.

'What's wrong?' Alex asked so gently. 'What happened?'

Y/N couldn't get a word out, her heartbreak finally bubbling to the surface as tears and sibs wracked her body.

'Hey, hey, hey,' Alex said as he pulled her tight to his chest, arms wrapping securely around her, hands rubbing up and down her back soothingly. Y/N clung to him for dear life, the only part of her body she could control as she continued crying. 'It's all right. I've got you.'

They stayed like that for a few minutes before Y/N had no more tears to cry. When she finally pulled away, there was a dark patch of tears staining his white t-shirt that he wore under a plaid overskirt. 'Sorry about that.'

'Don't be. Ever,' he said, and Y/N had never seen him so serious before. 'Now, what's wrong?'

'Charles is closing down the school,' she said, voice dejected.

'What?' Alex looked up the stairs then back to Y/N, confusion and anger morphing his features. 'I'm gonna go talk to him.'

He made to run up the stairs and no doubt give Charles a piece of his mind, but Y/N quickly grasped his wrist and halted him. 'You can't,' Y/N said. 'He's already made his mind up.'

'Like hell he has,' Alex seethed, making to leave again but Y/N pulled him back.

'Alex,' she pleaded with him, 'believe me if I could change his mind I would be up there right now doing so. But... he has no hope anymore. The war has dwindled us thin. He doesn't see the good in the world anymore. That's not something we can give back to him. He has to find that again on his own.'

Alex looked ready to argue, jaw clenching as he looked between the stairs and Y/N. But Y/N slipped her hand into his and squeezed it gently and his features softened. He rubbed the back of his neck - as he always did - as he let out a defeated sigh. 'So I guess there isn't any point in informing him that I've been drafted for the war?'

Y/N's eyes bulged and her heart rate spiked with fear. 'You what?' she asked, but she'd heard him correctly.

His jaw clenched as if he didn't want to elaborate. 'Got the call this morning. I'm just surprised it's taken this long for them to find me again.'

That's right. Y/N sometimes forgot he had been in the army just before they met. 'When do you leave?' she asked.

'Two days from now,' he said regrettably.

Y/N never considered herself an emotional person, but tears welled up in her eyes again. 'It's just not fair,' she said, breathless as she tried to keep the tears back. 'You deserve to be free. You deserve to be happy, Alex.'

'Hey, hey,' he cooed, using both hands to cradle her head and neck, forcing her eyes to meet his. 'I'll come back. I promise. And who says I haven't been free and happy?'

He swallowed thickly as his eyes scanned over Y/N's face, hesitating on her lips before looking back at her eyes. Y/N felt then something change. In the air, between them, possibly both - she couldn't quite tell. But the way he was looking at her, how he held her so preciously, had her heart racing.

'The past five years here have been the most free and happy I've ever been,' Alex admitted. 'Training and teaching with Charles and Hank... and you. You have given me a home away from home, a new family. You've protected me when no one else would; you've laughed and cried and fought with me, for me...'

He leaned in closer now, as if there was a gravitational force pulling them together. 'I will come back, Y/N. To you.'

Alex Summers was a dick, but he was also a kind and loyal man. A man silently laying out his heart before her despite their previous disagreements.

'Promise?' she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

'Promise,' he said, and with that confirmation Y/N stood up on her toes to lock her lips with Alex's.

His hands cradled her face still as he held her to him, their lips melding harmoniously as they kissed. This had been building in Y/N since day one when he'd flashed her that smooth smile that sent her stomach into somersaults. Every fight (verbal or physical), every conversation, every drink they shared, every looked that passed between them, it had all been leading to this.

They finally pulled apart but pressed their foreheads together as they caught their breaths.

'I've been wanting to do that for a long time now,' Alex admitted, his words breathless.

'How long?' Y/N asked, curious.

'Since day one,' he answered, then let out a small chuckle. 'I didn't know it at the time, and when I finally did I never wanted to admit it. I think Charles and everyone else knew before I did.'

'It was the same for me,' Y/N assured him, and Alex smiled brightly before he pulled her in for another kiss.

The rest of the night was spent catching up on lost time. Y/N was thanking Charles that all teachers' rooms were at the other end of the mansion to the students' rooms. Y/N and Alex managed an hour of sleep before the rays of dawn warmed them awake.

'We probably shouldn't have done that,' Y/N said, tracing a finger along Alex's toned stomach.

'We were pretty quiet, I thought,' Alex said, stopping threading his fingers through Y/N's hair to press a kiss to the top of her head. 'Though, you did get a bit loud when I-'

'Shut up, asshole,' she said, giving him a slight shove that sent the both of them into a quiet giggling fit. Once they'd both calmed down, Y/N returned to tracing Alex's abs. 'I mean, we shouldn't have done that because you're leaving in two days.'

'Yeah, we certainly have great timing, huh?' Alex tried joking but when Y/N didn't laugh, he sat up in bed bringing her with him. 'Hey, I told you I will come back. Nothing's going to stop that.'

'You can't assure me that,' Y/N countered.

'What was that whole thing about having hope?' Alex questioned, and when Y/N couldn't find an answer. 'I believe in us, Y/N. I have hope. You taught me that. I will come back. I promise.'

Y/N still had her doubts but she allowed herself to play into the fantasy that it would all end up okay, and she leaned in for another mind-melting kiss.

'Okay, Alex,' she conceded. 'But just know you're still an asshole.'

'And you're still a princess. But you're my princess.'

As the two got ready for the day, Alex asked, 'So what are you going to do? When the school closes down.'

Y/N had been thinking about it since Charles told her and hadn't been sure if it was the right thing to do, but she had to try. 'I heard that Raven has broken off from Erik and is going about their cause on her own. I'm going to go find her and bring her home.'

'That's going to be dangerous,' Alex said, his tone worried.

'And going to war isn't?" she countered. 'Raven is like my sister. I've got to help her. There is good in her, she's just angry at the world. You're right. I have to keep hoping, even if everyone else has lost it. Because we are worth it.'

She walked up to Alex to cradle his face as he had done so many times the night just gone. 'We are worth it,' she whispered.

Alex placed a hand of his own over hers, pressing it closer to his face which had only gotten more handsome over the years. 'You're amazing, you know that right?'

Y/N just smiled before bringing him in for another kiss. When they broke apart she took a moment to contemplate his face then laughed.

'What is it?' he asked, an amused smile on his lips.

'We're just two idiots, aren't we?' she said, her tone bordering on sad. 'All that time wasted on arguing. All seems stupid now in the face of danger and death.'

'I disagree,' Alex said as he took her hand and headed for the bedroom door. 'I wouldn't change that time for the world. I am who I am because of that time, and you were always so cute when you were mad.'

'Hey!'

1973 - X Mansion

Y/N breathed a sigh of contentment as she stood out the front of the mansion, all tidied up and ready to reopen.

'I forgot what it used to look like without the overgrown weeds and dusty windows,' Charles admitted as he looked over the entrance too.

'Now whose fault would that be?' Hank asked with a smug smirk on his lips, but it quickly dropped with Charles' side eye.

Y/N smiled at the familiar banter. It had been a long six years full of struggle and pain and loss since Charles officially closed the school. But a man called Logan from the future had convinced Charles of something Y/N had been unable to, and while Y/N hadn't be able to bring Raven home, she'd been able to help their future and bring Charles back to life.

It had taken a few weeks to clean the mansion up with just the three of them. They had no one else to ask. Logan was missing, Raven too. Erik had gone into hiding, and Sean and Angel and most other mutants had been subjected to and killed by Trask's cruel Sentinel trials. None of them had a chance to say goodbye, and that very thought haunted Y/N even now.

And Alex... Last time Y/N checked, Raven had freed him and other mutants in the army who'd been locked up from the rest of the soldiers for some reason. No doubt for experiments. Y/N had been on base that day, but she'd gone to another bunker with other mutants. Her and Raven had stayed behind after that; Y/N never got even a glimpse of him, but Raven said he was okay and that he missed her.

'That doesn't matter now,' Y/N said. 'What matters is we're doing what we were meant to be doing all along. Speaking of which...' Y/N turned to the two men kind of sheepishly. '...I actually can't start teaching again just yet. I have to go.'

'What?' Hank asked. 'Why? We need you here.'

'I know, and I have every intention of coming back,' Y/N hastily reassured. 'I just... I need to go find someone.'

'Who?' Hank asked, but Charles was looking at her knowingly.

'It's Alex, isn't it,' he asked, but it wasn't really a question. Besides, he'd probably read her mind.

Y/N nodded. 'He used to call me from base every two weeks, send letters once a month. But then the calls stopped coming about a year ago, and so did the letters. I didn't even know if he was alive until Raven and I went to his air base. But I didn't see him, and now I need to find him to see if he did make it home after all.'

Charles looked at her and he smiled, the action caught somewhere between pride and sadness. 'You really love him, don't you?' he asked softly.

Y/N found the same smile stretching across her lips as she nodded. 'Very much so.'

Charles chuckled softly as he looked away, then somewhere over her shoulder. 'Very well then, off you go. But... something tells you'll find him closer to home than you think.'

Confused, Y/N turned to follow where he was looking over her shoulder and saw a black Cadillac pulling into the driveway. It wasn't until the driver pulled up in front of the building and stepped out that Y/N realised what Charles meant.

Alex Summers stood facing her from the driver's door, smiling smoothly at her as he pulled off his aviators. 'Hey, princess,' he said, his tone somewhere between his usual swagger and pure relief.

Y/N flew down the front steps and over to him. He held his arms out expecting a hug, but all Y/N saw was red as she lined up to slap him square across his face. The sound was crisp and cut through the air, silencing even the birds.

Alex was stunned as he turned back to her confused. 'What the heck was that for?'

'How long have you been home' Y/N asked, ignoring him.

'Um, like, a month? I don't really know-'

'And you didn't call me? Let me know you were okay?'

'I was kind of busy consoling my family since I've been gone for like six years,' he argued, rubbing his cheek. 'And you seemed to be busy too. You know, saving the world and all.'

Y/N couldn't argue with that, but she still wanted to be mad at him. He had her all worried for nothing. 'You still could've called me.'

'I'm here now, aren't I?' He reached a hand out to clasp hers and she allowed him to puller her closer with it. 'Trust me, there wasn't a day that I didn't think of you, wishing I was back here with you. I'm sorry if I made you worry.'

His genuine tone softened her anger until it was nothing but relief and joy at seeing him. She pressed her forehead against his own and smiled. 'Like you said: you're here now, right?'

With that, the two connected in a long awaited kiss that reflected all their longing and love for one another. They were so enthralled with one another that they didn't hear a word of Charles' and Hank's conversation happening just a few steps away.

'Wow,' Hank said, trying not look at his long-time friends making out in front of him. 'Alex and Y/N. Not going to lie, did not see that coming.'

'Oh, I did,' Charles said smugly, though his eyes reflected the happiness he had for his close friends. 'From the moment they met, I knew they were inevitable. You didn't need to be a psychic to see that coming.'

1978 - Alex and Y/N's house

Y/N sighed as she unlocked the front door to her and Alex's house. They'd moved in together about a year ago, hating constantly going between the school and Alex's old apartment. He hadn't returned as a teacher to the school after the army as she had, and so found a place of his own. But one night they'd both realised they didn't want to keep figuring out whose place they would spend the night at. They wanted a place for themselves, and the rest was history.

Y/N kicked off her sneakers, grateful for the relief she felt as she walked into the lounge room where her feet sunk into the carpet. Alex seemed to have had an early mark from his office with the U.S. Military, as he was in the kitchen cooking. His soldier days were thankfully over, but he'd been promoted to a desk job which didn't really suit him but it paid well and he could actually try and make a difference from there. For both humans and mutants enlisted into the army.

'Hey, princess,' he said, stirring up some sauce that had Y/N almost drooling for.

'Hey, baby,' she said tiredly as she came up behind him and cuddled him, breathing out a content sigh as she attempted to meld into his back.

'Wow,' he said with a chuckle, 'no asshole today? You've definitely had a bad day.'

'Don't push it,' Y/N warned, but it was an empty threat as she didn't move a muscle. Alex was always so warm, and now that it was winter she craved his presence even more. 'You didn't have to make dinner.'

'I know,' he said nonchalantly, continuing to stir the delicious smelling sauce. 'But I figured if you weren't home by five, you'd had a hard day.'

'Aw,' Y/N cooed, squeezing his torso slightly tighter. 'Alex Summers, you can be so thoughtful, you know that?'

'Besides,' he said, finally putting the sauce bowl down and turning in Y/N's arms to face her, a cheeky smile on his lips, 'you take forever to cook and I want to eat at some point tonight.'

Y/N's smile dropped. 'I take it back. You are a jerk.'

'That's nothing new,' he said as he pulled her in for a loving kiss. Y/N really enjoyed their more fervent kisses - the ones that left her breathless and hungry for more because she just couldn't get enough of him. But this - the gentleness, the care, the love transferred between their lips - calmed and grounded her. Reminded her she was at the best place in the world: home.

'Why don't you go have a shower, relax, and I'll have dinner ready by the time you come out?' Alex asked after they ended their kiss, rubbing his hands up and down her arms in comfort.

Y/N shook her head. 'While that does sound like a wonderful time, I'd rather help you cook the rest of dinner.'

'You sure? It's nothing special or hard. I can handle it-'

'Alex,' she interrupted, heading for the drawer with all their aprons, 'I have spent all day at a desk or in a classroom looking at paperwork and marking grades. I want to help. I want to spend time with you. It's treat enough that you're home before the sun sets.'

She tied her apron up, rolled up the sleeves of her dress shirt and reached into the pantry 'Now, let's get this pasta cooking.'

The rest of the night was relaxed, with Alex and Y/N chatting about anything and everything while they cooked. They continued chatting during dinner, and Y/N laughed at Alex spilling red pasta sauce all over his cream shirt. Before they knew it, bed time had fallen upon them.

Y/N was just brushing her teeth as she was explaining how her day was going to go tomorrow. 'Now remember, I'm going on an excursion with the kids tomorrow to the national history museum so I won't be home until six, I think.'

When Alex didn't answer, Y/N asked, 'Alex? Did you hear me?' He didn't answer again, and so Y/N spit out the toothpaste and hurried back into their bedroom.

'Alex? Why aren't you-'

Y/N's heart almost stopped as she was met with Alex Summers on one knee, holding a delicate but beautiful ring up to Y/N.

'Believe me when I say I had a different plan in mind for this,' he said, eyes hopeful and the twitches of a fearful smile pulling at his lips. 'I had it all planned out and was going to do it when we go on our trip next month. But those places don't mean anything to us: here does. In our home.'

To Y/N's surprise, Alex's eyes welled up with tears as he continued his speech. 'Tonight was perfect, and I realised... that I want to have a night like tonight every night. You are too good for me, Y/N. I can be a jerk and an asshole and self-centred and rash - but you take it all in stride and put me in my place and I thank you for that.

'I love you, Y/N. And I want to love you - fight with and for you, explore with you, live with you - for the rest of my life. So, Y/N L/N... will you marry me?'

Alex never cried, so seeing him get emotional opened the floodgates in Y/N's own tear ducts. Y/N clasped her mouth as both sobs and joyous laughter escaped her, leaving her a blubbering mess.

Y/N wiped away her tears and flashed Alex the most loving smile she could manage. 'What do you think? Of course I will marry you, Alex Summers.'

Alex breathed a sigh of relief and his tears of joy finally fell as he stood up and embraced Y/N. Y/N couldn't hold him any tighter it seemed, couldn't pull him close enough even when there was no space left to close between them. But finally they parted and Alex slipped the delicate ring onto Y/N's finger. It shimmered in the low lamp light coming from their bedside and Y/N couldn't imagine anything more fitting.

'It's beautiful, Alex,' Y/N said, still sniffling.

'Anything for my princess,' he muttered into her hair as he held her close.

Y/N laughed into his chest before craning her neck back to look up at him. 'You're locked in now, asshole. No take-backsies.'

Alex laughed. 'Don't you know?' he asked, leaning down to capture her lips in another loving kiss. '...I was always in it for the long run,' he said after breaking away, warm breath fanning across Y/N's cool skin.

1983 - X Mansion

Y/N was just leaving her classroom when four students came flying by.

'Hey!' Y/N called out, and the four students stopped.

'Sorry, Mrs. Summers,' Jubilee said, a bashful expression on her face.

Y/N eyed who else was with Jubilee. Jean Grey, and the two new students: Kurt Wagner and her brother-in-law Scott Summers.

Y/N placed her free hand on her hips as she looked at them skeptically. 'And where are the four of you off to in such a hurry at this time of day?' she asked, noting how it was the middle of the day.

'Uh...' Jean started, looking unsure.

'We were just off to the library,' Scott interjected, his voice confident and full of bravado. 'To study.'

Y/N narrowed her eyes on Scott. Scott was not the studious kind, and usually she could read Scott like a book. But since his mutation kicked in and he'd had to wear the ruby quartz glasses, it was hard to tell what he was truly thinking.

'That's right!' Kurt added over-enthusiastically, and the others nodded in agreement.

Based on their adamant responses, Y/N knew something was up. But she released a sigh and waved them off. 'Okay, but don't study too hard then.'

'Yes, Mrs. Summers,' Jean and Jubilee said together, then grabbed Kurt and headed around the corner and out of sight.

Scott was just about to do the same when Y/N called out to him. 'Hey, Scott.' He stopped and turned, his lips pulled down in a frown, possibly worried that he'd been caught out. But she just smiled and said, 'It's nice to see you've made some friends already.'

Relief and genuine appreciation split his lips into a smile. 'Yeah. Me too,' he said, then he took off after the others, their laughter bouncing off the walls of the old mansion.

It genuinely made Y/N happy to see Scott making friends. He was usually the reserved type, making small rebellions but certainly not as loud as his older brother. He used to be the kid that got picked on at school, so to see him actively engaging with other kids was promising.

It was the changing period between classes and so all the students were milling about the halls as Y/N made her way down the steps to the front foyer. She had a free period so she was in no hurry.

What she didn't expect to see, once the children had cleared, was Hank and Raven of all people standing together in the foyer.

'Raven?' Y/N said in disbelief, a baffled smile adorning her lips.

Raven and Hank seemed to have been engaged in a serious discussion, but she returned Y/N's smile and opened her arms for an embrace. 'Hey, Y/N.'

Y/N accepted the offer and embraced her long-time friend tightly. 'Oh, it is so good to see you, Raven. It has been too long.'

'Yeah, since seventy-three I believe.' The two women pulled apart but held hands. Raven ran her fingers over Y/N's hands and her fqace changed to shock and happy surprise. 'Oh my God, you got married?!' she exclaimed, bringing Y/N's left hand up to inspect the delicate diamond.

'Yeah. Alex and I just celebrated five years,' Y/N said, her words taking on a sad tone.

'Five years...' Raven dropped Y/N's hand, a sad expression on her face. It was then Y/N recognised that Raven was in the skin she'd worn for years to fit in with society, not her natural blue. There was slight betrayal and hurt on Raven's face too.

'We tried finding you, Raven,' Y/N said, grasping tight to her friend's hands. 'I wanted you there. Truly. You just... Well, since D.C. I imagine you've been busy.'

Raven's betrayal morphed into shame. 'I'm sorry,' she said. 'I would've loved to have been there. For you.'

Y/N knew she meant it, and so she flashed Raven a smile and said, 'It doesn't matter now, though. You're here now, and it is so good to see you. Speaking of which, why are you here?'

'I came to speak with Charles about Erik,' Raven admitted, the two women finally releasing each other's hands. 'I think he's in some trouble.'

'I was just telling her Charles and Alex were out,' Hank added.

'Well, they should be back in the next hour, I think,' Y/N said. 'Why don't we wait in Charles' office until then.'

As they all waited, Y/N and Raven decided to catch up. They discussed everything from the school to Raven's personal missions as a vigilante for mutants to Y/N and Alex's marriage.

'I must admit, I always knew you two would end up together,' Raven commented, a knowing and cheeky smile on her face.

'No you didn't,' Y/N argued. 'Did you even know Alex and I back then? We fought like cats and dogs!'

'Still do, depending on the day,' Hank muttered as he drank his tea.

Y/N flashed him a hard glare before turning back to Raven.

'Oh come on, it was practically inevitable you two would end up together,' Raven countered, laughter dancing on her words. 'But I'm happy to hear you two are happy. You're some of my oldest friends and you deserve happiness.'

'Thank you, Raven,' Y/N said softly.

'So, how many do you have?'

Y/N raised an eyebrow in confusion. 'How many what?'

'Kids. I can only assume you've got an army waiting for you at home...' Raven quietened as she noticed Y/N's demeanour change. Her smile dropped and she sunk back into the couch more. 'Did I say something wrong?'

Y/N shook her head and tried smiling for her friend, but tears welled in her eyes. 'No, you didn't. It's just... Alex and I found out we can't have children about a month ago.'

'Oh, Y/N.' Raven didn't know what to say or do. She just reached a hand out was a grateful that Y/N took it for support.

'We've been trying since we got married,' Y/N explained, wiping the tears away before they even fell. 'When nothing was happening, we decided to go see a specialist. But I guess even being a mutant doesn't make us immune to human genetic failure.'

She gestured to the closed doors that led from Charles' office to the school beyond 'Besides,' Y/N continued fondly, 'I have hundreds of kids already to deal with,. Children of my own would just complicate that probably.'

Raven just hummed in agreement, but said nothing more. No doubt she could sense or even see Y/N only meant half of what she said. Y/N truly loved each and every kid at the school, but it broke her heart to know she'd never have a daughter or son that had her eyes or Alex's smile, her wit or Alex's bravery.

Before they could dwell on the sad matter any further, the doors to the office opened and in came Charles, Alex, and someone Y/N thought she'd never see ever again.

'Moira?' Raven said as the three entered the room, standing to her feet in shock.

'Raven?' Charles asked.

'I'm sorry, have we met before?" Moira asked, cluelessly smiling at Raven, then Y/N and Hank.

Soon enough, Raven and Charles needed to converse privately and so Y/N, Alex, Hank, and Moira stood in the foyer awaiting their decision. Hank took one for the team and took Moira for a bit of a tour around the school while Y/N and Alex stayed in the foyer to talk.

'Never thought I'd see you step inside these halls during school hours again,' Y/N said cheekily.

'My brother and Charles are the exceptions,' he said, and when Y/N pouted he added quickly, 'and of course my beautiful wife.'

'Hmmm, sure asshole,' she said, before allowing him to kiss her briefly.

'You know you can be so mean sometimes,' he said as he pulled away.

'That's why you love me though, right?' she asked.

'Hmmm, sure princess,' he mirrored her earlier comment, earning a light slap to his shoulder as they devolved into laughter.

'So, how's Scott doing?' Alex asked, genuinely concerned for his little brother.

'Don't worry,' Y/N reassured him. 'He's fitting in just fine. Although he said he was going to study just before...'

'Oh, he's definitely doing something he shouldn't be then,' Alex said.

After a moment of silence, Y/N said, 'I was talking to Raven just before... about us not being able to have children.'

The topic always made Alex more protective, and so he placed his hands on her arms and started gently rubbing them up and down slowly. 'You okay?'

'Yeah I'm fine, but it did get me thinking... why don't we look at adopting?'

Alex looked halfway between shocked and happy when she said it. 'Are you sure?'

Y/N nodded. 'Why not? There are so many kids in this world that have no homes, no families. We could be that for them.'

Alex smiled brighter than he ever had as he embraced her so hard he lifted her off her feet with joy. 'I love you,' he said as he finally put her down, then looked at her as if she was the light of his life. 'We're gonna have a family.'

Y/N nodded then pulled him into a short kiss, just as Hank and Moira finally came back to the foyer and Charles' office doors opened. 'Y/N and Hank, you are dismissed from classes for the rest of the afternoon,' he said. 'We have to find Erik.'

~~~

It all happened so fast.

Someone hijacked Cerebro and controlled Charles momentarily, taking over the world for just a split second. Raven, Hank, and Y/N were finally able to wrench Charles free of the power and then Charles commanded Alex to destroy Cerebro.

The incident left the whole group, except for Moira, panting and drained as they exited the flaming room. Charles was unconscious in his chair, giving no signs that he was okay.

Y/N sensed a change in the area's energy force, and looked down the hallway to where a portal was opening. 'Uh, guys...'

The rest of the group followed her gaze to where five figures stepped out of the portal, one notably being an old friend.

'Erik,' Raven said softly, realisation dawning on her face too late. He was not here to be friendly.

Before anyone could react, Erik reached out to Charles' chair and brought him in to their portal which was firing up again.

'Charles!' Raven called out.

The winged figure protected Charles as the others stepped in front of him as barriers. Not that any of Y/N's group chased after them - wait, one person did.

'Alex, no!' Y/N said as her husband ran past her. When he didn't listen, she chased after him.

'Alex!' Hank called out behind them.

'Hey, asshole!' Alex called out to the blue man standing out the front of Erik's group.

The portal reopened around Erik, Charles and the other figures, the blue man stepping out in front to say, 'All will be revealed my child.' His voice was haunting, echoing all around them in a way that emanated power. He was not a standard level mutant.

But Alex still ran, and Y/n sensed he was charging up to fight.

'Alex, don't!' Y/N was almost there, could reach him in another few steps.

'Wait!' Hank called out, but Alex was lining up, red plasma already bursting from his chest. 'Stop!'

Y/N finally realised Hank's fear. While she was trying to stop Alex from chasing after mutant much stronger than all in the room, Hank was more concerned as to what was just beyond the doors Erik and Charles stood before.

Y/N's fingers just grazed Alex's shoulder when he let out a powerful plasma blast. But Erik and Charles disappeared into the portal before the blast could reach them, instead allowing it to burn through the metal doors that lead into the jet hangar.

Y/N pulled Alex behind her as the explosion happened. She threw up her hands and conjured a force field that surrounded the entire hangar just as the fire was about to reach her face. The strain was immediate as well as the heat, and Y/N almost crumbled as the explosion bounced and rolled around in the bubble.

'Y/N!' Raven called out, and Y/N felt hands on her arm and shoulder as Alex came into view.

'Baby?' he asked, eyes apologetic and frightened.

'I'm okay,' Y/N managed out, breathing deeply as the strain increased. 'Get everyone out. Now.'

'We can't just leave you here,' Hank argued.

'We won't,' Alex answered. 'I'll stay with her. Let me know when everyone is out.' When Raven and Hank didn't move, Alex said, 'Go!'

Once they'd gone, Y/N said, albeit with a strain, 'You should go, too.'

'I'm not leaving you,' he said, the weight of his hand on her back ever present. 'Hank and Raven can get the kids out themselves.'

'I'm not just talking about the kids.' Y/N managed to tear her gaze from the swirling explosion just beyond her force field to look Alex in the eyes. 'Go find Scott. Make sure he's okay.'

'I trust Hank and Raven,' Alex said.

Y/N's hands shook and so she turned her attention back to the force field. 'Alex, I don't know how much longer I can hold this. And I'd rather you not be here in case-'

'Don't say that.' Alex moved more into her vision so she didn't have to break her concentration. 'I put you in this mess, I will see you through it. You're the toughest person I know, Y/N. If anyone can hold this, it's you.'

Y/N saw on his face he truly meant it, but her hands shook harder now and the fire was pushing against the field more. Y/N swallowed a groan because as much as she didn't agree with Alex, she had to try.

Every second counted.

But every second was torture.

In reality, it was only five minutes before Hank notified Alex that the school had been cleared. But Y/N's vision was starting to spot black and her entire body now shook. Sweat rolled down her face and exhausted tears threatened to spill over.

Alex's phone buzzed and he answered the incoming call. 'The kids are all out,' Hank said, his crackling due to the horrible service of the lower levels. 'We're coming back for you.'

'Don't!' Y/N strangled out, groaning as the strain increased. She was aware of Alex's gaze on her so she turned slightly to look him in the eyes and saw something that she didn't want to see.

Hank kept talking. 'What? No, we're coming back down-'

'It's okay, Hank,' Alex said calmly, his eyes never leaving Y/N. 'Just... keep them safe.'

'Alex, wait what-'

Alex ended the call and Y/N could've screamed with frustration. 'No,' she whispered. 'You're not staying with me.'

'You never planned on getting out of this alive,' Alex stated. 'Did you?'

'I've made my peace,' Y/N explained. 'You need to be here for Scott.'

'You are my wife, Y/N!'

'And he is your brother!' Tears finally spilled as her powers began to wain. 'He is young and scared and he needs his brother so please Alex, go!'

Pain and indecision whirled in Alex's eyes as he looked from her to the doors that would save his life. Y/N couldn't hold on much longer, but she'd make sure he would get out. Tears spilled down his gorgeous face. Even after all this time he still looked as he had when him and Y/N first met, apart from the hair of course.

Resolve and love and apology was on his face as he finally looked back to Y/N, and he said, 'Scott will understand.'

He was really doing this. He was really going to die with her.

'I can't protect us once I let this field down,' she strangled to say, tears and pain and regret threatening to overwhelm her. 'I have nothing left, Alex.'

'You've done enough,' he said gently, then manouvered himself to stand between her arms so he was face to face with her. He cradled her face in his hands then pulled his lips to hers for one final kiss. 'I'm sorry,' he whispered, tears streaming down his face.

'I'm not,' Y/N replied, and despite their situation she smiled as brightly as she could. 'We had a pretty good run, didn't we?'

That finally brought a smile to his face. 'We sure did, princess.' He looked into her eyes, his gaze unwavering and the way he held her was heavenly. 'I love you.'

'I love you,' Y/N answered, then her energy emptied completely and she fell into Alex's arms.

They held each other as fire engulfed them and the mansion exploded, unable to be torn from each other even at Death's door.

1983 - X Mansion, post Apocalypse Battle

Scott Summers stood before two headstones with X's on them that had been put up in the school's courtyard. Both had his last name.

Alex Summers

Havok

1941-1983

Husband, Brother, Friend, Hero

Y/N Summers (neé L/N)

Aura

1942-1983

Wife, Teacher, Friend, Hero

Scott took his glasses off to wipe his tears. He hadn't been able to fully process his loss thanks to Apocalypse, but now that the school was rebuilt and he was back at school, he was more than aware of Alex and Y/N's absence.

He felt a hand slip into his, and he put his glasses back on to find Jean smiling sadly at him. 'I'm so sorry, Scott,' she said, and he didn't need to be a mind reader to know she truly meant it. 'I never met your brother, but Aura - Y/N, spoke often of him and their heroics at our age. He sounded amazing.'

'He was,' Scott said, looking back to his brother's and sister-in-law's graves. 'He was my hero.'

'They both were heroes.'

The two teens turned to find Hank, Raven, and Charles - now bald from the battle - strolling and wheeling into the courtyard respectively. Charles didn't speak again until the three of them reached the teenagers. 'Even as children, I knew they would be heroes. And in a society where mutants weren't trusted, even feared... They saw the best in the world. Always.'

'They gave everything they could to this school,' Hank added, eyes watering behind his glasses as he looked over his friends' graves. 'They were some of the best people I know, even now.' Hank allowed a tear to fall but he laughed. 'Even if your brother was a bit of a dick, sometimes.'

'Only sometimes?' Scott said, and the group laughed and the weight of grief on Scott's shoulders lifted slightly.

When it grew silent once more, Jean said, 'But is this to be our fate? Where we fight for a world that doesn't want us? Is a premature death only inevitable?'

'Death is always inevitable, Jean,' Raven said gently, and walked up to place a reassuring hand on her shoulder. 'But if Alex and Y/N proved anything to us all is that it doesn't matter what time we have on this earth; it's what we make of it. While we can, we will fight for a better future. For all of us.'

Jean nodded then turned back to the graves along with everyone else. Resentment and pain and loss roiled within Scott as he looked down at where his brother and sister-in-law rested. 'I wished he hadn't died,' he admitted, because that's all he truly wanted.

'Me too, Scott,' Charles said, wheeling up beside him. 'He loved you very much, though. Always spoke about you - about how you were to do great things with your life. I truly believe that, you know.'

'At least he died doing what he loved,' Scott said as he gestured to the rebuilt school. 'Protecting mutant kind.'

The group was silent for another few minutes, just reflecting on their times with the two people in the ground. Then Hank ushered the two teens back to class, and after sometime Raven left to go teach also.

Charles remained for a while longer, unable to leave his friends that he'd buried, that he'd gotten killed. Some small part of him wished he'd never sought them out to join the X-Men. They could've lived quieter lives, safer lives. But we wouldn't have been happy, Charles could practically hear Y/N say with that hopeful smile of hers, and Charles smiled at the thought.

And besides, if he hadn't recruited the two, Alex and Y/N wouldn't have met. And wouldn't that have been a true disservice to his students to never have witnessed such hope and love.

Or maybe they would have. After all, like he'd said, they'd been inevitable from the start.

And maybe Jean was right; possibly, a mutant's life was to inevitably end prematurely. But Raven was also right.

Charles touched Alex's headstone, then Y/N's, tears pouring down his face. 'Thank you, friends,' he whispered tearfully. 'Rest well. You've earned it.'

As the years went on, and the school took on more students and the gardens grew higher and wilder, Charles sought to personally keep his friends' graves clean and tidy. He told each student the tales of his fallen friends, the ones he was unable to bury as well. He made sure that the First Class of X-Men were not forgotten, and that their dream of a better future lived on in the next generation.

Sometimes, as he grew older, Charles saw a little bit of Alex and Y/N when he saw Scott and Jean. It broke his heart to know that Alex would never see his little brother become an excellent hero such as Alex, or that Alex and Y/N wouldn't grow old alongside him and Hank and Raven.

But their spirit lived on anyway, and maybe that was the inevitability of it all in the end.

[dcxdpdabbles]

#holiday requests

i wouldn't mind more royal consort if you're willing to write it

just sent a request for royal consort as anon

There was panic all around the room, but Danny couldn't focus on anything for too long with all his senses so overwhelmed. He was suspended in the air, power rolling through and over him in busts of electricity. He can feel himself being ripped apart, rearranged, and placed back in the same way he had been when he was fourteen, but this time, the feeling is prolonged.

The portal does so again and again and again until Danny can't tell what he is anymore. Oddly enough, it's relatively peaceful. There had been no ripping pain when his necklace and portal transmitter had connected, but there had been an overwhelming sense of cold.

It was as if Danny had been plunged into iced water, spreading across his body like a tidal wave. Danny would have almost relaxed into the portal's form if it wasn't for the pins and needles that followed each wave.

Maybe it was worse for Jaz, who was fully human when they did this to her, but Danny had Phantom to fall back on. In more ways than one, given the army his future self has summoned and the insane amount of killing intent that Phantom was broadcasting.

If he could pick up on it from within this ball of semi-consciousness, he bet everyone else was likely drowning in Phantom's rage.

The dead knights fling themselves towards the portal with gusto, slamming their swords and bodies against the force field. Each strict flung Danny further from reality, drawing them back into the welcoming void of numbness, only to be ripped back by another cold wave.

"Danny, focus!" Phantom voice boomed. "You have become the key! Close the damn portal!"

Danny blinks slowly, trying to comprehend what the words mean, until a bolt of lightning zaps out of his fingertips, twisting into the outer layer of the portal. It's then he knows the horrible truth.

The world's end is coming, and Danny is the cause of it. The portal makes a strange zapping sound before it starts stabilizing and expanding. The first large ship was passing through, leaning in like a bizarre docking ship.

"Danny!" Phantom yells, more than a bit desperate. His call reminds him of the future and what will come if he doesn't stop the monsters now. He curls his hands, grabbing the power that made him King, and yanks his arms together. His forearms shake from the effort, but he holds on, willing everything to return.

The air goes boom as the portal starts dragging things inwards instead of out, as he commands the thing to call back the aliens. The ships and the few foot soldiers- lizard-looking men- are yanked right out of the air and thrown back into a new white portal.

It takes Danny a moment to realize the animalistic screaming is coming from him as the portal slowly retracts all the energy it has thrown out. He wills the portal's power to retreat into his chest, overflowing his core with energy that spins and whirls in a tornado.

He instinctively curls up, wanting to escape the pain when he feels the cracks take shape in his core. The breaking apart of the center of his soul echoes through his skull, drowning out all other noise.

"No!" Phantom's horrified screech exploded into a ghostly Wail, ripping around the mother ship, attempting to push past. Since Danny yanked the edge inwards, it pushed beside Danny instead of through him. It had turned on its primary thrusters. The rockets burn against the strain of escaping Dany's gravitation pull and force their way through the small gap in the top left of the portal.

On the deck, more lizard-looking poachers are ripped to spreads. Their screams let Danny know Phantom had wanted them to die and die painfully. The Ghostly wail was a sonic attack, but it didn't skin enemies unless Phantom purposely rolled his tongue like that.

In a sense, Phantom had turned his wailing vibrations into whip lashes at a speed that only the Flash or Superman could outrun. The aliens had no chance.

Danny peeks through one pain-filled eye, watching as Phantom's lips curl, even as the poachers are scrambling to collect their dead. He knew that his future self hated these creatures, and they had ruined Earth in two short years, but he had not realized the amount of hate that burned in those glowing green eyes.

Hate enough that when Phantom started throwing glowing punches, the ground shook. The few people the Waynes hadn't been able to evaluate shouted as the King turned off the gravity. Everything started flouting, and Danny could even spot some cars outside lifting into the air.

Phantom didn't seem to notice as his features started melting into something inhuman, sharper, colder, and green glow expanding from his pupils across his entire eyes as punch after punch hit the force field.

A few scouter ships broke away from the portal, but they were quickly swarmed by the flouting undead soldiers who aggressively sliced the smaller vessels with their blades. Danny knew why his future self hated them, not the skeleton soldiers. Maybe they just like to fight.

A loud crack echoes through the room over ghostly wails, blowing wind, screams, and metal clacks. The sound is similar to breaking glass, shattering as Danny's core falls apart.

Danny's back arches as a scream that tears at his vocal cords is ripped from his throat. The portal around them crumbles, closing at the tip of the mother ship, tearing it apart. Just as it vanishes from sight, everyone floating around the Consort can see it slowly burst into flames on the other side.

The portal slams shut just as Phantom's fist shatters the force field. "NO!"

His head feels heavy, much too heavy for his neck, as he flouts up toward the torn-up ceiling. Gravity is still missing as Phantom swims towards him; his features melt back into more human ones as he wraps his arms around him. "You little idiot. Do you have any idea of what you just did?"

"Saved...Jazz," He manages to grunt out, smiling through the pain. Phantom's arms spam around him.

"You didn't just change the future. You rewrote our fate." As if on cue, Clockwork's amulet turns into dust. Phantom's timeline was gone.

He would have also turned to dust were he still in it, but since he was outside the timeline, Phantom would now live in this one as a permanent member.

Phantom's eyes soften. "You saved more than just Jazz. I'll send our armies to kill them off now that I saw which galaxy the rats were hiding in."

Danny's shaky smile wobbles as the numbness in his body starts to retreat. It leaves licks of burning, aching pain, and he whimpers, leaning his head against his counterpart's chest. "It hurts...."

"You shattered your core." Phantom whispers, almost as if he knows the loud noises hurt Danny's head. It thumped in time with his heartbeat, sending little shockwaves of agony through his bones. "We'll have to take you to FrostBite. But I can't take you without knowing who had the portal key. We can't risk them calling the army before our men finish them off. Pandora is leading the charge against them right now."

"Okay....it was the Wayne Butler who had the key. He needs help."

Phantom's arms tighten as furry rippled under his skin. "He's a dead man."

"No." Danny attempts to shake his head, but the motion is too much for his poor shot nerves. He thinks his fingertips are smoking when he curls one hand in Phantom's cape. "He was in the containment unit. An alien took his place. I think it was pretending to be him."

Phantom hums. "That was one of their favorite tactics. I chased them across the cosmos. I saw them collect other aliens on some protected planets, so they resorted to luring people away by using familiar faces."

Danny makes the same sound, half awake. "They stripped him naked. Covered him in triangles."

"Fuck. What color were the tringles?"

"Blue."

"They weren't going to sell him as a pet. They planned on marketing him a breeding bull or an expensive meat plater for aliens that like exotic animals. Likely due to the poor guy's age." Phantom hisses, pushing a floating table away from them. "What happened to the alien that was pretending to be him?"

"Killed him"

"Good job." Phantom pats his back. "Rest now. I'll handle the rest."

"Okay." Danny is releasing the few strands of consciousness when he hears Tim Drake's desperate call from Phantom's left. It's much closer than it should be, considering they were still flouting near where the once grand chandelier had hung.

"Your majesty! Please turn the gravity back on! The surrounding fifty miles radius is in a panic, and people are flouting away!"

Phantom sighs, his cape flaring dramatically as he adjusts Danny to snap his fingers. There are clacks and crashes as gravity yanks everything back to the floor. Phantom doesn't pay them any mind as a new green portal blooms in front of him, the swirling green like a calm lake surface, a welcoming difference to the zapping one of the enemy.

Phantom steps through, ignoring the cries of the humans. The portal closes on Tim's desperate "Please allow us to help the Consort!"

Strange, Thinks the injured Halfa. He shouldn't sound so close anymore. He should be on the ground somewhere.

Danny just knows they will be panicking about him being hurt. Didn't wars start because of similar situations whenever a royal visits a different country? Danny isn't too sure. His mind is fuzzy, and he's only awake because he hasn't been surrounded by darkness yet, but he's flouting near it."

Frostbite jumps to his feet with a slack jaw. He bends in a bow, stumbling around his desk's stacked scrolls and research papers.

"My King!" He cries, his eyes swinging back and forth between the two Dannies. The yeti bows again, a little more hesitant as he mutters, "And my other..... King? What is happening?"

"We need your help," Phantom tells him. "His soul core got shattered. I think he's dying."

Danny whimpers, only half aware of how serious this is. He doesn't want to die. Not like this. Please. Everyone still thinks he's married to himself. He'll forever be remembered as Phantom's Consort instead of all his other talents.

Like making one mean salsa.

Frostbite makes a sad, choking whine, but Phantom doesn't pay it any mind. He presses Danny closer, and the human can feel the vibrations of his voice on his chest as he demands. "Prepare your operation chambers. I'm giving him my core."

"But, My King, that would mean you....."

"I don't care. I didn't return to Earth expecting to live. This is a command from your King. Do it"

Danny fades away into the darkness, unable to protest Phantom's request. He goes limb in the strong arms of his future self, aching for the version of himself that saw his world destroyed and would not be able to see the peace their actions brought.

Frostbite's grim voice echoes in the darkness. "This is another way, my King, but we need a human sacrifice."

"I'll do it." A third, unexpected voice cuts in, and Danny identifies it as Tim Drake before he knows no more.

[meownotgood]

in circles (running down) / viktor x gn!reader, character study, yearning, angst, seriously too much angst, hurt/comfort, implied past relationship, season 2 spoilers, s2 act 2 viktor, astral intimacy, (you follow the rumors of a healer to the commune, and viktor allows you to teach him what it means to be human.) word count: 15.7k

read on ao3

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Metamorphosis begins with kaleidoscopes of colors, an ache between your ribs, and your hands tightly gripped around Viktor's wrists. 

You have him pressed underneath you, pinned in place, like a butterfly's specimen; unearthly gaze pliant, gazing up at you as though you're something worth observing. A sea of stars. Infinite possibilities. Or perhaps he can see the intricate pattern of every notion you've tried to keep hidden. 

There is a distant, fragile outcome somewhere, blissfully free of the strife he's been attempting to cure, where the both of you are guided only by the present. Where stumbling inside the elysium he's made for himself means falling into familiar, waiting arms. It means whispered confessions of, Viktor, I missed you. It sets itself into motion with your arms around his neck, while your mouth remembers the shape of his. Blurring moments upon days upon years into a worshipful, mortal culmination. 

Somewhere. It isn't this reality. 

Your temple forms a near painful knot, your breathing is weighty in your tired lungs, but your old partner's expression remains blissfully passive; Schrodinger's, some kind of paradox. Not dead, not alive. It should be easy to keep him pinned underneath you, despite the newfound weight to his form. Your arms shouldn't be shaking. Viktor eyes you calmly, as patient as he is unreadable. 

His hands twitch slightly — you're binding his wings — less akin to a human's natural irregularity. Instead, more like a complex system, thumbing through and testing its limits. Still, he doesn't attempt to break away from you. He has no need to. 

"I am certain you have recognized," Viktor begins, his voice familiar, despite the odd steadiness it carries, like the calmness of a frozen, still lake. Despite the distant rumble of monotonous vibrations that manifest between his words, "I need not delve into your mind, in order to unravel it." 

Understanding one another comes naturally, when you've long since held his shape in your soul. 

Your grip tightens on his wrists. The soft satin of his makeshift clothing brushes your skin when your knee prods into his stomach. 

You've seen what Viktor is capable of. The rumors were everywhere, from the moment you fled into the Undercity. Deciphering thoughts with a mere touch, examining the minds of those he pries into. Sensing emotions and evolving them, eclipsing them. Healing ailments that shouldn't be fixable; accomplishing the future you once dreamed of, one way or another. No matter the consequence, whatever it takes. 

He isn't the man you remember. This new boundary of existence is something near-eternal. Something more star-bound, boundlessly fate-defying. 

The utopia he's prospered runs cold, when the vessels within it lack heat. Cool air, clean and sharp, nips at your skin, carried on its own phantom breeze. Viktor's chambers are quiet, more ghostly than peaceful. He's lined the floor of his cocoon with flowers. Brilliant blooms of purple hydrangea and blue wolfsbane, petals rustling, whispering prayers to the deep night sky. 

Flowers, in the Undercity. Gods. 

Viktor's hair fans out around him, messy and unkempt. Longer than you remember, chestnut strands tapering off into hues of vanilla. His gaze swirls, in shades of sunset and petroleum, polychrome like the rainbow of oil on water. His eyes remind you of a summer storm. Clouds covering the sun, before it begins to shine again. 

You shouldn't have come here, shouldn't have let his doe-eyed acolytes lead you in. But when one of them murmured in a voice you'd almost forgotten, a voice you were sure you'd never hear again — when Viktor spoke through them, to sweetly promise he'd been expecting you, how were you ever meant to escape? 

You could fill an ocean with your doubts and shouldn'ts — it was foolish. Stupidly, terribly irrational, to follow the rumors that Viktor was still alive. Looking at him now fills your veins with nothing and everything. A cataclysm of sensations, compounding all at once. 

Grief echoes in the hollow chamber of your chest. Viktor can't be real, he was supposed to stay dead. Your hands shake, fingertips digging firmly into the hard edges of his synthetic wrists. 

Viktor, on the opposite spectrum of emotion, barely falters. 

"It must be all-consuming. Irrefutable. An… anomaly, burning within you. What epitomizes the worst burden to bear?" He murmurs, resolute. Gaze examining you, submerged in tender oblivion. "Resentment? Regret? Misery?" 

Are those words an attempt to unequivocally define love, or an admission, an echo of what he is sure you are experiencing, because he once felt it in turn? 

You resent the reverberation of his voice as it throbs through your mind. You've come to regret every wasted moment, each swallowed confession. Finding him again feels like a curse — and he knows. There's a gaping, empty maw in the pit of your stomach, and you can't keep it from destroying you. You've sacrificed yourself on his altar, without realization. Twin flames are destined to find one another. They were born from the same wildfire. 

"It doesn't matter, not to you," You're gritting out. They're the first words you've spoken in ages, and they're all-too sharp when they spit from the edges of your teeth. "You don't feel anything." 

Viktor's chest heaves gently, faint breaths that contrast the mechanical thrum of his shell. 

"Your accusations are turning bold," He hums, not denying, not quite acknowledging. His voice isn't what you remember, but it's close enough, accented. Warm, when directed towards you. Enough to kill. "There is a persistent numbness, that emanates from a lack of humanity. But it is not infallible." 

Your brows pinch. "So that's- that's it? I was some kind of afterthought, I meant so little and you were so numb you couldn't think to tell me you were still-" 

"No," Viktor interrupts. Tone gentle, dream-like. Eyes softening, as his words become perfectly and paradoxically earnest. "You were the reason I felt alive." 

He watches you, observes the conflict in your shifting expression. Flexes his fingers, clenches his hands. Idly thinking. The mere sight of you is an anchor within him. Returned pieces, notches clicking into place. Radiancy, bursting with light within him like a sacred heart — a final brush of his fingertips, to the fading edges of mortality. 

Figments of sensations, the qualities he'd assumed were lost on him, are made to surge through him with the strength of a dull current; this is your doing. He can sense the faint warmth of your hands, nearly chokes on your name in his throat when he swallows. There's pain in your expression, a desire to falter, and it feels — reminds him of a gaping hole to the chest. 

Viktor opens his mouth to speak, and your free hand opts to harshly wrap around his neck. 

"The hurt, you are experiencing- when it is able to be sensed, examined," Viktor takes a harsh breath, as you tilt his chin up with a firm, bruising grip. "It begins to resound." His jaw grinds. Strands of his soft hair tickle your knuckles. His pretty, familiar mole follows his mouth when his lips briefly press into a hard line. "It is innate. Engrained memories, amidst fleeting desires for connection. Knowing how deeply you are broken vexes me." 

He waits for your eyes to meet his own. Your gaze is practically piercing. 

"And nothing is stronger than this ache."

The ache he can sense, because you are caught in it. Shared, entwined pain; two complements, sewn together. 

Viktor believes part of you exists within him. It's inescapable: one's ties to another. 

Simplicity was a circumstance he took for granted. Days in the Undercity, before it became this. Evenings spent researching or collaborating or re-learning how to breathe, when your dreams hovered just out of reach. Now, you're masquerading as a God and an apostate. 

His mind hasn't quieted, since he felt your presence in his sanctuary. How could so much hurt stem from a once endless abundance of fondness? Tossing aside all past restraints seemed to be the most sensible option, the arcane's chosen option, but you are such an oddity. 

Your very existence defies and redefines reason. You are… unforgettable. A sweet, exceedingly tempting obstacle. An inevitable destiny, worthy of any sacrifice. Irregardless of if the threads of fate decide they should will it. You were the missing piece to this theorem. And yet, my ignorance aspired to push you away. 

I have you, now. I can reach you, I could begin to quiet the pestilence within you. 

So why do you refuse? 

Viktor's jaw clenches ever-so slightly. His gaze flashes with a hint of resolve, or tenderness, or something in between. 

"I understand you have… missed me," He murmurs, his tone fraying around the words when he reaches their sore spot. To have each other as something to miss is so very human, so very quaint. "There is so much tension, hidden behind your eyes. Volatile. Yet still so… gentle. I remember the times when I would call out to you, simply to watch the way they softened." 

They're softening now; your gaze can't help but melt, every single time you look at him. Despite the pain, despite the anger. The memory digs at you, it pries into your chest with sharp, thorned roots. Irreplaceable murmurs of your name in his voice. With his accent, with life in his tone, before the world sought to take it from him. With the cadence he clings to each time he goes through the syllables, your syllables, that screams, you are something I covet. 

For a brief moment, you swear Viktor shifts from his ever-endless calm expression, chapped lips tilting to form the slightest, melancholy ghost of a smile. 

"I fear I have long since owed you many apologies, little spark. There isn't much to offer, in the way of consolation. But, I-" Viktor's gaze weakens, flickers over you with dying sparks like a candle-lit flame; his hands clench, his sharp breathing echoes. 

"I would have never forgotten you. You were irreplaceable. As was the life we once shared together. For every moment spent in my solitude, I lost myself, in the certainty that we might meet again." 

Your throat tightens. An ache forms in your chest, threatening to spill over, like an overflowing chalice. 

There's a distinct weight to his wrists, as you continue to hold them in place. A heavy, but still hollow chassis, his hands are criss-crossed with various mechanical patterns. The Hexcore's corruption is beginning to envelop more of him. It isn't like carving runes into delicate skin. That, at least, was a choice. A desperate, self-destructive, self-saving choice. 

Bright, purple veins surge across what remains of his skin. They knot into his forehead, they curve underneath his tired eyes. Energy thrums from inside his hands, reminiscent of sparks rippling through electrical wire. The glow is faint, perhaps weakened. Ornaments trail down his neck, beneath his robes. Outlines of steel and amber carved into his figure. 

Unconsciously, you long to reach out and touch. To trace your fingers along his intricacies: golden, godlike. To decide if his skin, if the smallest shred of what remains of him, is still as soft and lovely as you remember. 

Your palm slips from his neck first. 

It trails across his chest, in between the silhouette of collarbones. He isn't cold, nor warm. Empty, more like. Pulses of distant magic meet your fingertips, like pressing your hand to a static-filled television screen. He weakens underneath your touch, body going limp as a silent acknowledgment. There is no heartbeat. But you can feel the repeated ricochet of his breathing, however fake, however practiced. 

Viktor's body feels powerful, reflecting the extent of his talents. It is a strong, complex, restrained prison. It must be freeing, in some ways; to breathe without the choke of rot in your lungs. To run, with the wind at your back as the ground meets your feet. You should be happy. Grateful. Viktor is alive — but he isn't able to be saved. 

The objective you arrived with is already starting to crumble. Oh, you knew this wouldn't be a quick affair. 

You didn't follow him for information, or for evidence. You weren't led by the wishes of the council's remains, or by the ambitions of your once-shared lab partner — or by anything else, besides your own heart. Nothing else matters. Just your own wavering strength, and the echoes in your mind to do something. Just each shaky step you took, traveling further into Zaun despite the smog that filled your chest. Just the plea in your mind, and the rumors at your feet that Viktor hadn't fully left. 

Finally, when you stumbled into the commune with tired legs and weary lungs, you could breathe. And you couldn't decide if it was because of the plants, the trees, the fresh air, or if it's because of him. 

You failed. You weren't meant to stay, weren't meant to trust him. But the moment your eyes locked with his, it was over. (Viktor smiled, you swore you saw amber, and he beckoned you close, without hesitation.) 

It's crushing, to feel so much. You're suffocating in the wake of your own pounding heartbeat. Throbbing in your chest, echoing in your eardrums. Pulsing in your throat. 

There's no use reconciling with your partner's shadow. And yet, in spite of it all, your partner, your reflection, rests underneath you. Gazing up at you with eyes that whirl in endless, lifeless shades. The silence stretches, and he doesn't fight the enveloping sting. 

Yes, he was right, you are burning. As bright as the sun, with a fierce fire in your chest; caught between your ribs, as the flames attempt to escape through the gaps. It's reminiscent of the sticky-warm suffocation of bleeding out. Blood made to pour onto his chest and his clothes and his hands, as Viktor would press his palms to your side to stop your wound from spilling. 

Love is a promise to pursue. To covet a name underneath your tongue. To swear to be doomed from the start. Like tying a string around two fingers — the path was set, you only needed to follow. 

Your shoulders become tense, before they start to shake. The grip you've been holding on his wrists loosens. Viktor allows his hands to flex, now freed, but you're stumbling, collapsing in on yourself. 

Uselessly, clumsily, you hide your face in your hands. It hardly helps. Your chest stings, your cheeks are wet. Your tears fall onto him like rain, droplets gently hitting his cheek. 

"Oh," Viktor's lips quiver, as he tries to find words, but there's only one solution: "Come here." 

And as though every reality led to this moment, as though embracing you is less of a conscious choice, and simply what he was made for, Viktor reaches for you, without hesitation. 

The simple movement of his palm warps reality around it. His hand hums, buzzes mechanically, thrums with an otherworldly glow. His fingers are shaky; they haven't trembled this much in ages. 

Careful fingertips brush up your arm. Your shoulders slump, and he grabs onto your wrist with little force. He feels your pulse. Each dull thud reverberates in his own chest, twisting up his spine as a surge of fire. His eyes can't help but flutter closed. 

That's when natural intuition takes over, a pulse resounds throughout the entirety of Viktor's system, and all at once, he is touching your soul. 

Your pent up emotions are an aurora in his mind. A vast array, everything complex, knit together so tightly, he doubts it's unwindable. He attempts to search through each individual spark, between every luminous flicker of starlight. Your very essence is rich with a sense of longing; it tastes like sugar on his tongue. 

Slowly, carefully, you unfurl, as if your petals were exposed to the sun. Your heart hears him, you recognize it is Viktor's touch. Soul to soul, hands threading over you, within you. And like running into a waiting embrace, you vividly let the layers of your mind open. 

There are beautiful rays of loving light, warmth that feels like the sun on his face, and subsequently feels like you. Affection burns into him with the heat of fierce, dripping candle wax. Then, there's fragile echoes that pierce through him, like pulling your lover in by the wrists, while they plunge a knife into your heart. 

And there are deep, dark depths of drowning water. An endless, barren abyss to be swallowed into; you sit at the very bottom, curled in on yourself, untouchable. He reaches out to you, extends a palm for you to take, but you won't come. From here, you won't even look at him. 

When he dives further, he sees himself. 

Feels himself, sensing and tasting and experiencing his own image through your perception. He is the warmth underneath your skin, you are the celestial glow in his ribcage. It's a rebound, a ripple, a pulse of sonar. Touches and affections that he can feel on his skin, within his own body, and then through you, with your palms. 

A touch to the small of one's back, or to a tensed shoulder, to a protruding spine. A palm between the butterfly-wing shape of his rigid shoulder blades, soft caresses to calloused knuckles and fresh wounds. His hands to the weakest parts of you, and your fingertips, tracing the still-human parts of him, before they were lost to his reunion with fatality. 

Hands finding one another, fingers brushing, fingers interlacing — and Viktor remembers how it felt to wish your hand could be in his forever. He memorizes the shape of your heartbeat, as if it were his own. 

Drowned in vivid color, painting-like and hazy, he reaches stretches of your imagination. It's easy to become lost in your dreams, within the places you wanted those touches to lead. Where you wanted him to touch. Your reveries are so bright they're blinding. 

In your dreamscape, caresses travel. Your hands become bolder than they should, when they're massaging and soothing the ache in his shoulders. The press of skin to skin is a gentle connection, between soft, hesitant, dangerous pleas for more. There are confessions in a thousand different ways, countless almosts and bitten tongues. 

Every instance is simple. Blissfully mundane. You replay and reimagine a sudden profession, while your head is resting on his shoulder, and it feels good instead of terrifying to let everything change. And when your hand finds his own, his thin fingers lace with yours naturally. And the academy is quiet, but your voice as you mumble his name is infinitely quieter. 

You imagine mutual desperations to pull each other closer. 

(Gentle brushes led by quickened breaths, exploring pallid skin, skimming the details you've mapped out in your mind. There's faint freckles on his arms, when he rolls up his sleeves. He has a mole on the back of his neck, only noticeable when his collar gets loose. A palm traces his spine, and you're picturing pressing your mouth to the scattered trail of moles on his back. Your breath is hot enough to burn, to leave behind marks of your own.) 

Oh, and you wanted him so close. Closer than he knew. Closer than you could ever be, not now, not anymore. 

Viktor sees his own image more clearly than ever; vibrant, when filtered through your eyes. Every moment shared between you plays on repeat. Looping, convening together. 

Everything he achieved — the complexities of his discoveries and innovations amazed you, but they begin to blur in your vision, when you can't help but be drawn to the thrilled, pretty look on his face. All of his details — down to the most minute. The routine fidgeting of his fingers when he's lost in thought. The specific swirl he adds to a select few letters when he writes. 

Your heart cradles each of his subtleties. Gods, how you adore him. You have all of him memorized. 

Heavy and encapsulating, the warmth left by you is so much worse, when he is pressed in between all of your pieces. He remembers himself in a much kinder way. In the way you remembered him: intelligent, remarkable, enthralling. Edges blur together and clutter the horizon where he ends and you begin. He's lost in soft greetings, and gentle farewells, reverberating in his own voice. I missed you, I was thinking of you, I'll see you. 

He walks through cathedrals of everything you admired. Your shared dreams, and his budding ambitions. Promises to make his home a better place. Hallways of framed stolen glances. Quiet utterances of the smallest assurances, and swears to achieve great things together. Embraces that molded you into one another's muse. (Something fulfilled, and something lost.) 

And deeply, strongly, he aches. His chest burns, explodes with light. To you, he represents a spark, the sun, the moon, the stars. He radiates in echoes of everything at once. And he is — 

Alive, he is irrefutably, relentlessly alive. 

Your fondness forms around him as palpable rays of radiance; glimmers surround his stratosphere, small suns and brilliant meteor showers. You are a thousand beautiful colors, smashing and blending together. You are as exceptional as he always knew you to be, you are the definition of devotion. As if your hand is at his arm, guiding him to touch the edges of the sky and the sea. Together, you are one in the same. 

It transcends corporality. Viktor reaches into the spiral of your mind. He finds you, he drags you from the depths you've tried to hide yourself in, and he pulls you into the cosmos. He embraces you. Palms pressed to your back, arms around you, as the phantom edges of his figure merge into yours, like paint blending together on a palette. 

Viktor clings onto your starlit particles at his fingertips, he savors every flickering memory and vivid emotion. You're unraveled in his palms completely, deciphered down to your faintest atoms. Your limbs entwine with his; without strife, utterly weightless. 

Time fades, combines itself into a single thread — until, for a brief moment, it's impossible to tell if minutes have passed, or hours, or centuries. 

Until he feels your touch, and realizes it isn't within the confines of your shared mind. It's real. 

All at once, he returns to reality. 

Viktor's eyes flutter open abruptly. His own soul careens back into him with the force of a freight train. His breath comes in hard pants that half-fill his makeshift lungs, and shake the entirety of his chest. The back of his throat is rough and raw. He blinks, to refocus his misty vision. 

Oh. He's cupping your face in his hand. 

Your palm has decided to press itself to the back of his knuckles, determined to keep him there. Absently, your fingertips brush the sharp angles of his metallic joints, his gold accents. The flowers surrounding his chambers rustle. Their soft petals tickle his cheek. 

Dull energy thrums from his touch — sparks of the arcane, briefly buzzing on your skin like static. Touching the scars within your deepest layers. Your presence has pulled him back onto your plane. His magic tapers off, slowly and steadily. 

Now it's just him, just his hand at your cheek. Blissfully simple. 

Your tears have stopped. Your breathing shakes. With merciful, trembling touches, Viktor caresses your face, as though it's the first time. His thumb gently brushes away a stray droplet. 

The intricate texture of his hand is irregular, almost metallic. Far from what you remember, far from the familiar softness of skin. It isn't anything you could consider human — and yet, you still lean into him, your cheek practically nuzzling into the hard edges of his palm. Brazen and affectionate, desperate and cat-like. 

Viktor's jaw clenches. His harsh gasps echo throughout the vastness of his hollow chambers. 

No, this isn't- it's not possible, he thinks, in his own stupidly weak voice, barely able to form the words. It can't be. The arcane would not allow it. 

He feels like his head might pound out of his own skull. The warmth of your cheek is the only thing he can focus on, radiating against his palm like your skin is made from stardust. 

All at once, he has been carved down to his most basic components, until what remains is pure, raw emotion. His emotion, not the residuals of yours. 

He is himself, no longer on the outside looking in. Not the shell of what remained after the fire, the hunger, the waves of corruption. A soul returning to the body feels nothing like how he'd imagined — it's sudden, unexpected. It's a swell of fire, like kindling familiar flames in the depths of your chest. 

And his complex theories should prove that this shouldn't be happening. This body feels in tessellations, with precise, predetermined, machine-like processes. Everything within him must work in harmony. The arcane possesses, as much as it aspires to synchronize. 

His own quickened breathing resounds in his eardrums mockingly. He's grown used to what became of his body and the Hexcore, and the fusion between them: the thrumming in his veins, sparking impulse, potential. 

Yet, within him now, there's nothing but silence. Endless, persistent silence. 

It scares him. 

Countless cycles of inner contemplations led him to this. His thoughts and functions are supposed to click into place, to be understandable. Distance is meant to be placed between the inner self and the surface. Separating the body from the mind is how he was able to foster this community in the first place, how he's managed to help so many — his own sense of self needed to be secondary. His own desires, his emotions. Like a covetous God, the greater good demands sacrifice. 

But there was an outlier. A contingency. A chance, a small stir amongst his faded, longing ashes, that promised it could metamorphose him. Viktor considered every possible option. In every prediction, within the web of this reality, it doesn't work. 

His reunion with you was inevitable, but in his predictions, when you arrive to see what the arcane has made of him, everything begins crumbling down. The soft embrace he'd share with you is limited only to his imagination. Your fingertips press to numb metal, and Viktor can't feel your touch when it finds him. 

He foresaw your arrival. It wasn't part of his plan; it meant little to the overarching design, to his hopes for the Undercity. It was — you were — a fated tie. He'd hoped for this. Lost himself, in the inevitably of finding you, just to have you torn from him once more. 

Every intricacy in the array before him gave the same response. He knew this was written to be a tragedy, but Gods, none of it would matter once he saw your face, one last time. 

But this? This, he could not predict. 

The intense radiance in his veins, the fire in his ribs, the warmth of you underneath his own palm; you've flipped everything on its head. Somehow, someway, you've proved him wrong. You have proven fate wrong. You are the cause of his newfound light, and you are the lighter to his innermost match. 

You've made him return to humanity. 

Viktor pulls his palm away from your cheek. His chest heaves. He pushes himself up onto his elbows, and runs his purple-hued fingers through his hair, over his forehead, somewhat surprised by the lack of sweat. 

Then, he examines his hand. Turns it over, flexes his shaky fingers. Vividly ascertains that yes, these are his own eyes that he's looking through. He attempts to steady his breathing, he tries to send power thrumming through his system. Nothing answers. Magic fails to reach his palm, aside from a few faint buzzes, like the sparks that would linger after cutting a power line. 

"Impossible," Viktor grits out, half in wonderment, half in panicked disbelief. His own hand continues to shake in front of him. He can't think, now that he has you, and he has no idea what to do with his own soul; "How could this- how could you-" 

With a dull, echoing sob, you're tipping into him. 

Viktor feels your arms clumsily wrap around his shoulders. Your weight rests comfortably against his fake body. He sees in hues of amber and gold, basking in the honey-rich glow of the sun as it fills his iris, before the sky darkens, and the colors around him go wild once more. 

You embrace him. So, so tight. As though he might disappear, slipping through the gaps in your arms and the cracks between your fingertips, if you ever were to let go. 

A hand grabs a fistful of his rumpled clothing, a palm staggers down and finds where it's loose, to let your fingers feel the back of his neck. They trace down, unsteady. You brush your fingertips over the first bolt embedded into his makeshift spine. Grazing it repeatedly, feeling the defined notch. Caressing the smooth, metal surface underneath your thumb. 

It's an anxious, idle motion. Viktor listens to the shake in your breathing. He remains still, half-limp in your weak arms. 

This is unnatural — the press of soft human limbs, to an ever-present mechanical body. Yet, Viktor can feel all of you. Every gentle fan of your breath on his neck. He senses your fingertips when they move, and with another sad little sob that has his heart splintering, your hands are getting lost in his long hair. Grasping, trembling. Viktor feels electricity race from his scalp, down to his back. 

A thousand connecting sensations come to life within him: constellations of memories, once-dormant hopes that bud like wildflowers. And he realizes, fiercely, abruptly, within what has become of him, he still remembers the shape of your name in his chest. 

Holding you is an action he wasn't meant for, it embodies everything he isn't. But Viktor expels a soft sigh. He allows himself to pretend. His arm slowly wraps around you, and his palm gently finds your back, when your head buries itself into the perfect crook of his neck. 

This body has been re-made, sculpted in the image of the arcane, and yet it cannot rid itself of the most basic human subtleties. The curve between his neck and his shoulder was made for you to rest there. He caresses your back with smooth, slow motions, and your frames fit together like two pieces of the same inseparable, destiny-drawn puzzle. 

Faint thrums of power emanate from the entirety of his shape. Weak, constant. An enveloping throb, to substitute a quickly beating heart. You sniffle against his nape, and Viktor holds you just a little bit tighter. 

Deep down, with the desperation of a man too entwined in the eternal threads of fate, he wishes he'd have the strength to bring about change. Not for this, not for him. For you. 

If the auroras he's touched and the light he encompasses could press into you, he would eclipse your darkness in radiance. If his hands could be capable of more than healing — of adoring, of remembering, he would let his palms memorize the statue of your frame, so he might carve it into himself. He'd take your strife and make it his. 

When you finally pull back from him, it's only slight; you stifle another weak noise, and your forehead falls against his own. The moment your head meets his, he collapses into your soul. He feels your pain ricochet through him, sharp and unpredictable. 

Anguish shakes your entire system like stormy waves. Guilt and devotion and lovely past lifetimes paint the surface of his skin, the center of his chest bleeds itself raw — and then, he's gone. Pushed out of your mind, unable to fight as the hold of his weakened magic slips. 

Swallowing thickly, eyes fluttering open again, Viktor wills his breath to stop faltering. It was so brief, his second brush with your emotions. But the ache you've been struck by is utterly palpable. It stings the corners of his eyes, sinks sharp teeth into his insides. 

He places his palm on your cheek, and he carefully guides the both of you apart, so he can finally look at you. 

"All of this pain. This emotion," Viktor murmurs; his voice shudders, resounding like the distant rumble of thunder. His gaze on yours floods with soft colors, reminds you of the surrounding sea of pastel florals. His index tilts your chin, to keep you looking at him. "My poor, resplendent beloved." 

You've essentially fallen into his lap; Viktor shifts, props himself up further. Gods, is he captivating. Stupidly, terribly captivating. The gnawing ache within you pleads for you to turn away, to run, but the pained pinch to his thick brows is more familiar than ever. So is the way he looks at you. Reminiscent of the one you once loved, despite the swirling shades that shine beneath. 

As you admire him through misty vision, you can almost trick yourself into believing nothing has changed. Almost. The distance in between you and Viktor begs to be closed, it mumbles promises in your ears like the way the edge whispers before a long fall. It won't hurt, as long as you close your eyes. 

Compromising, your palms shift to weakly hold his face. They push his messy hair from his eyes, and caress the edges of his jaw, where his skin tapers off into the Hexcore's corruption. Your thumb strokes lazy circles over the mole above his mouth. His skin is soft, his jaw is rigid, silky with a labyrinth of smooth, swirling patterns. 

To see his face is one thing, to be able to touch him and hold him, and know he's still here — they're privileges you never thought yourself worthy of earning. You hold him warmly, tenderly. The way you wanted to before he was gone. Like he is yours, or a deity worth worshipping. 

"Viktor-" 

You can't help it. You're starting to sob. Every heave of your chest is dry, your eyes sting with tears that won't come. You take your bottom lip between your teeth and bite hard, but the temporary pain does little to quell your all-consuming heartache. 

Trembling thumbs brush his skin, and you shake your head, you sputter, "I'm sorry, Vik, I'm so- s-so sorry…" 

Viktor is a servant to the sickening shudder that laces through him. His brows form a knot, his gaze drowns in clear sadness. Refracting in shades of autumn and azure. 

"But you have no reason to be. I have you," Viktor murmurs gently, the edges of his tone deliciously smooth. Your arms weakly drop down to his shoulders, and he gives your still-wet cheek a slow caress. "Shh, shh. You do not have to apologize. I know. I know. Your emotions are still so grievously tender." 

His tone is warm, like how you remember. Ages ago, you would've done anything to hear it again, filling the silence left by his absence. When you're able to see through the otherworldly rumble, the distant reverberation, you're able to hear just him. As though no time has passed at all, like he never left. 

"Viktor-" You hiccup, "Please- I'm sorry- Viktor." 

His name was designed to meet your voice. You make it sound maddeningly tender, as though it's something to covet, even when your heart is aching and you wish that it wasn't. 

As though you've flipped the meaning. To conquer can be something soft, it can be a gentle checkmate, a hopeful spark between ribs and an ambitious fire at the edges of fingertips. A promise to prevail, with hands intertwined. 

He feels like he's going to be sick. 

"I'm here. Breathe," Viktor answers, "Talk to me, zlato. Tell me how you are feeling." 

"I thought you- thought you were gone," You're sniffling, slurring your words together. Viktor's expression weakens. You are falling apart in his hands, and he feels so unbelievably useless. "When I- when they told me you ran off to Zaun, I was… angry. But I can't- I can't stay mad at you, I just can't." 

Viktor softens. His gaze flickers over you, as he fruitlessly attempts to find the right words to fix this. But you're already continuing. 

"I grieved you, Vik. So much." You take a slow, shuddering breath. Your words come out one at a time. "Part of me thinks I still should." 

The choice to use his familiar nickname, usually spoken so joyfully, so exuberant in his memories — I'm here, I missed you, you're so sweet, Vik. To hear it sputtered, instead, his own name chewed up and spat out short-hand; it's like a kiss to the cheek, in between a punch to the face. 

Viktor recalls what it felt like to be lost inside your mind. So much fondness, a dense galaxy of longing, was crammed inside a small, beating heart. Endless implosions of love and loss, with nowhere to go, had no option but to dig themselves deeper. He felt the weight on your shoulders, like the heaviness of rain. The icy pain in your ribs: bleak coldness, where all you can see is your own breath. Once pleasant dreamscapes were twisted and tugged into knots, because this is the end — and Viktor knows he wasn't meant to be granted an epilogue. 

"No one could have blamed you," He says, words soft enough to cushion your fall. You clumsily lean back into him, resting on his shoulder, and Viktor calmly pets the back of your head. 

Your hands quiver. "I did- I blamed myself." 

"And what choice did you have?" Viktor counters, speaking through an almost-sigh. "You were frightened. Alone. You were inconsolable, deprived of respite." And he left you. He wandered astray when you needed him most. "Affection and pain are-" He tenses, quiets. "An antithesis, forming an equilibrium. Fond memories begin to die, as fractured stars do, when such dreams encompass all you have left." 

A pause. You savor a few more moments in his arms, debating. Waiting for your resolve to return to you, before you're drawing back, and sitting up. Hastily, you wipe your eyes with the back of your hand. When Viktor tries reaching for you, you're swiftly pushing his palm away. 

"I- I should leave," You're choking out, "I can't be here." 

Viktor's brows furrow. 

"Why not?" He questions, and there's a broken edge to his voice, a weakness that nearly sounds hurt. He hurriedly grasps your wrist — faint energy pulses from his touch, weighty enough to make you shiver — but you stay still, not moving, not yet. "You, out of everyone, have always been welcome." 

"They were talking about setting up a barricade, back in Piltover," You're mumbling weakly, although it's clear to him you're dancing around the true reason. 

"You can stay here," Viktor interrupts. 

"No, I can't." 

"Yes, you could. There is another reason for your avoidance." His tone softens, lays itself before you like a lamb to be slaughtered. "Let me in. Please." 

"There isn't anything, Vik. It'd be better if I wasn't here. That's all. I'm sorry, I just-"

You sniffle, your heart breaks, and Viktor brushes a tear from your eye before it has the chance to fall. His knuckles caress down the length of your jaw, he softly coos a few words of reassurance. Shh, shh. Don't cry. 

Bleeding into him distantly, melting against his hand and within his veins; easily this time, as though reaching into the depths of your existence is purely natural — he feels you. 

Your soul has decayed to a dull, dying flame. You embody the convergence between warm and cold. Your mind longs to find its place within his arms, to fall into him once more and never return, as much as it believes you should push him away. There's a conflicting, swords-crossing battle inside your own heart. He experiences each of your sensations, tastes and samples them: the pleasant, and the painful. Echoing, exhausted, whispered in your own voice, he hears what you are thinking. 

Please, Gods. Why can't I forget him? 

Oh. Your mind doesn't lie. 

The boundaries of your psyche begin to crumble — toppled bricks, chipped stone, and he can't help but tense. He feels sharpness stab into every part of him, like the closing walls of an iron maiden. 

Look at what has become of him. Why must you hold on, when it would be infinitely easier to just let go? Viktor understands. He is well-acquainted with the strife of forgetting. 

It must be torture, to hold someone so close to your heart. To remember them as the sun, when all that remains is their shadow. A half-dead symbol of divinity. 

Everything would've been easier, more simple, better for the task he sought to accomplish, if he was able to cast his affections aside. This body should make it trivial, but it is still Viktor's body. It is still his vessel, and his mind, and his memories. 

Emotions hinder progress. They killed countless Gods before him, and yet love digs in deep and persists. Consumes, from the inside out. It sets fire to your soul, and makes you watch as it burns itself out. The whims of the heart are impossible to stifle. He was correct, to predict your return. But what of a body without a heart, what of him, what of the future? 

I believed I could untwine fate, Viktor thinks, as his palms brush the intricate stars laid out before him. Yours, mine. But my attempts were not conceivable. Enlightenment was never strong enough to predominate over devotion. A revival cannot undo the basis of human nature. I can never unwind myself from you, but in this, I was complacent. I was prepared to let you become my ruin. 

And your mind resounds. There's a voice, unable to hear him, speaking with itself. Shouting through a storm to harmonize with the whispering wind. Recalling pain, loss, and ashes. 

Why was it you, when it could've been me? 

Part of you envisions going back. Imagining yourself in his place, threading through options to come up with one that might save him. Or perhaps, in a blind stupor of sadness and frustration, you would've returned to the Undercity. You would try to find yourself and change your path, assuring your younger self to stay, you weren't cut out to be a scientist — to undo the outcome of ever meeting him. 

Regret eclipses you, the moment the thought crosses your mind. He overhears your internal struggle, your own voice fighting with itself. No, that isn't true. It can't be, you couldn't bear it. 

But perhaps, he thinks, for you, it would have resulted in less pain. 

He witnesses every thought, feels every regret and all of your uncertainty. As sharp as a blade, twisting within you; pressing inside him, in turn. 

Until Viktor's shaky fingers trail the back of your neck, his eyes fluttering open. He realizes you've collapsed into him, as his own weakness forces him back to the present. 

Viktor holds you, for a long stretch of time. You promised you'd leave, and yet, here you are, running into his arms once more. It's still sublimely surreal. Your palms trace his open sides, examining the golden bands, the deep indentations where ribs might sit. When his arm around your back grows loose, you're prying yourself from him hesitantly. He meets your gaze, and his lithe fingers delicately find your jaw. Admiring, thinking. 

You are terribly beautiful. Wonderful. There is nothing comparable. Not the sea of vivid flowers, not the sun, not the countless collisions of stars that he's witnessed. If he could go back, he would hold your pain in his hands. He'd make it his. 

It would mean more to him than anything, more than all of this, to see you happy, smiling, and free. You've always been so lovely. An inspiration. A dream. 

The arcane could strip him of himself, but even as it's pulling his bones from his body, it could never take away the devotion he remembers. Your touch, your voice. Your atoms and your particles, falling like rain at his fingertips, forming every retained, held-onto expression of you. 

Soft letters, exchanged between the margins of messily sketched blueprints. Tearing the paper, to keep the note you'd left, because your handwriting felt like home. Drowsy words, shoulders pressed too close together, and almost falling asleep, but trying to stay awake to talk for just a little while longer. Even though hindsight would tell him he's acting a fool. Even though the night is melting into morning, and you have projects to complete by tomorrow. None of it ever seems to matter, when the two of you are lost in each other. 

He remembers smiles like sunflowers, bright and radiant. Giddy laughter and naive wishes. Hands brushing when they shouldn't; finding one another under tables, between meetings. Fingers interlacing to swear promises, palms pressed to a quickly beating heart. 

Further, there are gentler sentiments, moments that could only come with age and years of understanding. Sitting together in silence, because it helps, when sleep refuses to come. Lessening pain wherever you can. Soothing tired muscles, holding shaky hands. Knowing where it hurts without the need to ask, and when to encourage, but also when to rest. 

Falling apart, in the ways no one else gets to see, because he knows you will be there to put back his pieces — and Viktor realizes every memory, every recollection, every death begins and ends with you. 

Gods. He breathes soft shushes, and little murmurs of, It's alright. All it takes is one brush with your heart to bring his humanity circling back. 

Your expression weakens, your heavy gaze stays steady on his own. For a moment, he expects you to collapse again. He knows he will catch you. But you breathe deeply, and when he caresses your cheek, nice and gentle, your eyes take on a dull sparkle — the same light he remembers, from countless lifetimes ago. 

"No," Viktor coos softly, with a shake of his head, "No, I believe this is precisely where you were meant to be." 

He holds your chin delicately, between his thumb and forefinger. "Stay. Please." He murmurs, continuing. I need you to stay. "Spare me a few more moments." 

His voice sounds impossibly human. There's less of a rumble, more of a tremble. Uniquely him, decidedly weak. 

It's fruitless, and he knows it. A few more moments is hardly enough, it won't make up for everything you've needed. But it's all he can have. Because in every reality, this doesn't work. 

There are mistakes he can't take back, pain he can't reverse. Humanity is a vice he can no longer hold onto. And you — once again, at the center of everything — you do not deserve this. After the boundaries you've crossed, the lengths you've travelled, you must be so, so tired. You, his dream, for all of the radiance and light in your heart, do not deserve to be drowned in more darkness. 

For every almost, for each soft touch and pained reminder of his fragility — the warmth of your arms around him, dulling the sharpness in his leg — he should have pulled you closer. From the very start, he was running out of time. He should have died. Yet, he must continue to live, with the same weight in his shoulders, with the knowledge of his failures. And with the palpable reminders of the twin flame he lost. 

He's strayed too far to make things right, now. You're two ships on different currents. 

If you were to change course and crash together, hands grasping one another tight, soft skin entwined with unnatural fingers made of violet; close enough to let heavy breaths meld into one; close enough to taunt the forces that made him, the result would prove catastrophic. Shattering his goals, the hold the arcane has on him, and your wavering heart. 

Viktor knows he cannot put you through this. His new purpose, his curse, perpetuated by the Hexcore's distant, inexplicable itch, surmises that he is destined for rebirth. Over, and over, and over again. You've already grieved him, and for your sake, this needs to be the final time. 

"Okay," You breathe, exhaling heavily, inhaling weakly. He holds your cheek in his familiar hand, and you tremble, struggling not to lean into his touch. "I… Okay. I'll stay." 

Your warmth radiates against Viktor's palm. Low and soft, tired and grief-stricken. Then brilliant, burning. 

You already know what it's like to lose him; how it feels to watch light slip from his gaze, either as a slow descent into torment, a faint snuffed out flame. Or as a vivid, scorching implosion. Forcing you to remember blood and fire, as smoke overtakes the edges of your vision. 

Ash chokes your lungs. Pain thrums in all of your joints. Muffled screams echo in your ringing eardrums. Panicked breaths, and shouts of, he's not breathing, between Jayce grabbing your shoulders, trying to shake you awake, but you just — 

Viktor pulls his hand away from your cheek, as though he'd been burned. Dull remnants of your pain linger in his chest, sharp, strained, and ashen. His index finger presses to the side of your jaw, gently guiding you to look at him. 

"Don't imagine such things," He mumbles gently; his color-rich gaze finds yours, as naturally as the moon finds the Earth, locked within the same orbit. "You are only going to exhaust yourself further. What happened that day was- it was not your fault. Not in any capacity. You know this, right?" 

Right? The soft lilt in his voice — pleading for confirmation — makes a tingle trace your spine. 

"I know," You answer dryly, your voice a little sore. "I'm fine." 

Your eyes have long since dried up, but you still sound deeply numb. Distant, as though your soul is somewhere far away. 

"You are not," Viktor counters quickly. Like you're two rival schoolmates, arguing once again. Not two inseparable souls, on the verge of the end. Close to collapsing and crossing an edge neither of you could come back from. 

"I am. I promise." 

"You have not slept. You have been following the trail to the commune for days, now. And the moment you try to rest, to let sleep find you, your mind is plagued by fits of nightmares. I do not think you need me to tell you this, but you are pushing yourself to the brink." 

It hurts, somewhere in his fragile system, to see the pain he has caused you. He hasn't merely witnessed it, he has felt it. All of your guilt and your emotions, surging through his filaments. Nearly as strong as the passive waves of magic. 

"The nightmares started long before this," You're arguing on impulse, mumbling under your breath. 

They began when he was dying. 

And he knows the nightmares, the visions he saw through your eyes, of embers and death and destruction and fragility — they are all because of him. 

You swallow, before you sigh, and your tone quiets when he places a reassuring hand on your tensed shoulder. "I wasn't asking you to pity me. It's just- it isn't anything I'm not used to." 

Viktor pauses. Then, he gives a small, amused huff. 

"You are as stubborn as you were when we met." 

He recalls it vividly: your very first meeting. You were both young, immature, and terribly eager to prove yourselves. Determination and stubbornness were traits you unfortunately shared. 

You argued. Over some unimportant invention, and then over your notes, and the ways they differed. Viktor can barely remember the assignment. But he recalls the pinch in your brows, the fiery heat in the back of your gaze. Convinced you were right, and unable to get Viktor to budge, you left, tossing some remark over your shoulder as you slammed the door shut behind you. We should ask the professor if we can change partners. It's clear we'll never get along. 

"Am I?" You mutter; it's rhetorical, obviously, made evident from the half-hearted roll of your eyes. He's sure you're dwelling on the very same memory. You breathe something of a feeble, fatigued laugh, "You really think I was the stubborn one?" 

"Mmm," Viktor hums. His lips twitch into the faintest imitation of a smile. "Possibly. You haven't told me to shut up yet. I suppose we could consider that an improvement." 

Ambitious and tender, alive and in front of you, is a part of him you'd thought you lost. 

"And you somehow still remember." 

Viktor's temple forms a knot, but his gaze is entirely unreadable. He brushes an exploring palm down the small of your back, keeping himself propped up on his elbow. You're leaning into him naturally, as though you've hardly planned to. Your arms rest on his shoulders, your weight settles gently and tangibly in his lap. 

"I told you," He says, voice barely more than a whisper, a plea, a prayer. "Regardless of what is taken from me, you are far too precious to forget." 

Your breathing is unsteady. It echoes in his ears, becoming all he can focus on. Sharp in, shaky out. 

"I didn't know I mattered so much to you." You're glancing away, while you brush his long hair from his eyes; your breath shakes, you twirl an ombre strand around your finger. "I mean, not after- not when you're- fuck, I don't know." 

"Not as you remember?" Viktor completes. 

You reply with a shallow nod. "You're just… different." 

Alive. Anew. A vessel, not a man, not the one you admired. 

Viktor's jaw tenses. His chest stings, it pulls at him like there's a black hole where his heart should be. And this time, he isn't caught between the residuals of your emotions. He is feeling his. 

He gives a low, quiet, simple answer. "There is much between us that differs, now." 

You're silent, for a few moments, caught chewing on the inside of your cheek. 

"The Hexcore," You start, "You… absorbed it, right?" 

"In theory." 

"Our studies made it seem alive. I wasn't sure if something like that was even possible. I read your notes, Vik, I saw the runes and your leg, and I didn't- I should've been there." 

Viktor takes a breath so quiet it nearly goes unnoticed. "I should have made you stay out of it." 

He sees the heartache on your face before he feels it — Viktor's fingertips, rough and metal-like, trace the gentle curve of your jaw. But his power is weakened. Your emotions thread through him as faint pulses, and he can't dive deeper. 

Even when he closes his eyes, there's a barrier; a wall, for him to bang his fists against, despite knowing there's no way to reach you. Your soul manifests in his horizon line. Admirable and bright, unable to be touched. 

When Viktor's eyes flutter open, they're whirling in dizzy, wild shades, like the colors beneath have been mixed and shaken. They shift from crimson, to cobalt, to citrine. Impulsively, he cups your face to keep you close, to make certain you won't disappear. To remind himself that he can still feel your soft skin against his blasphemous palm. 

"You have blamed yourself enough for my atrocities. So much of your pain could have been circumvented, but then I-" Viktor softens. He brushes his thumb over your cheek slowly, over and over, like an anxious, desperate tick. "Perhaps I should have turned you away the moment you reached the commune." 

Your hand finds his, grasps it tight and keeps him pressed to your cheek; and your pain bleeds for him, inviting him in. Foggy and infinite, covered in thorns. Curling in on itself, an infinite fractal of warm tenderness and icy, bitter melancholy — 

"Viktor- that isn't-" 

"Your mind crumbles, in all cases, each and every time you look at me." He speaks carefully. Chews through every word, before he spits it out. His voice rumbles, reverberates like an earthquake, "Why?" 

He supposes he already has his answer. Delving inside your mind left him with no room for doubt. This is his fault. It's a form of self-sacrifice, a familiar brush with endless destruction, he thinks, to hear you say the final words. The ones he already knows. You are allowed to let go. Fate will embrace you in the ways I could not. 

"Because, dammit, I still care about you," You're blurting out, "More than anyone, or anything else." 

"I do not deserve it. Considering what I have-" 

"I don't care, Vik. And every time I see you, when I feel this," You squeeze his hand hard, enough to incite the rigid surface of his faux fingertips with transcendent sparks of the arcane, "I remember your notes, the fire. The days I spent following you into the Undercity. I see the empty look in your eyes when you first saw me, and I keep thinking this isn't real. That I'm going to wake up, and you… you'll be gone." 

Viktor's gaze flickers over your face, wide and iridescent, a perfect contradiction. His breathing runs quick, his palm shakes. But within the dance between your soul and his, he's daring to reach for you. 

Bright, vivid light washes over. It blinds him, for a moment. Bathes his figure in radiance. A force within him is gnawing, whispering in runic words that he shouldn't be able to understand, telling him he isn't supposed to feel this, isn't meant to have a place within him carved to fit your shape. The best option is to turn you away, to listen to his head. Evolution requires a steady mind, an unwavering resolve. An inhuman herald. 

Viktor refuses. He listens to his non-existent heart, instead, and he feels your petals, closed yet delicate. He lets himself become your sun, so he can watch you bloom. A figment of his own humanity shimmers before him. The light obscures his vision, it burns his eyes. But he holds on — pallid palms pressed together with all his might, containing his bursting luminescence and the flowery resonance of you. 

A gentle thumb brushes your cheek, and you're sighing, confessing, "I shouldn't. But I missed you, Viktor. So much." 

Your thoughts echo inside him like a ripple in water. I wish you could be more than just a memory. 

Nothing exists for him to promise. Your breathing shakes, your eyes flutter. Your body subtly arches into his touch, when he comfortingly caresses the back of your neck. 

"I missed you more than words could express," He admits, voice low, close to cracking like the edges of old stone. Everything blends, in a haze of his own making, as his palm clumsily returns to hold your face. As he gently guides you, tilting you towards him by your jaw. 

"Look at me. You meant everything. For so long, so deeply, I treasured you- do not ever think otherwise. But I was powerless. Over and over, I perpetually imagined the last time I saw you. The soft sound of your voice, and the mundane instances in between. I would have done it over again, in the same order. To be frozen in time, with this memory of you." 

Stars fade, the galaxy around him chips and splinters. But he knows this is the truth. The arguments, the introductions, the pain, the softness, the falling, the fading — history would repeat itself infinitely, and he would gladly lose himself in its spiral with you. 

Your hands clench on his shoulders, your gaze grows lost in his own. You drown in the gentle nebulas of eyes that still feel so remarkably his. 

Every outcome before him weaves into the same ending, every star carries the same grim message. He cannot go back, that's the crucial cusp of it all. The strings of fate pull him along, igniting a sharp taste in his throat. They seek to make him into the arcane's chosen puppet. 

"Viktor," You're sighing, and oh, the syllables of his name are more than a plea when they're breathed from your lips, they're a washed-out memory, a poem and a promise between his ribcage — 

"But you have me right now." 

"I know," Viktor says, because it's all he can say, "I know." 

When you trail off into silence, Viktor finds that the abyss of your soul echoes with a single unfathomable sentence. 

I still love you. 

So this is the tragedy. 

His faithful step in the universe's eternal return. An infinite expression of his fleeting, useless affections, strung throughout an inseparable existence. 

Viktor realizes now, the truth was merely a means to the end he expected. This is the predetermined resolution, where he finally gives in, and recognizes he cannot escape the path laid before him. He was always going to break you, perhaps from holding on too tight. 

Once again, he is powerless; this time, to his own body. He can sense the thrumming in his limbs, glowing through every vein. This can't last forever. He knows you are his focal point, and once you disappear, the arcane will take your place. In his hands, in his chest, in every breath he takes. Blotting out the last of his humanity. 

You smile, and it's a crooked, broken, undeserved thing — but it captivates him just the same. A flicker of heartache catches the light in your eyes. He believes he is watching you think, seeing the cogs click into place as your jaw grits uncomfortably, as your eyes threaten to well up again, as you come to the same conclusion. This is futile. 

Then, let this moment at least be yours. 

Viktor places both palms on your face. He guides you to follow him, when he falls back. The weight of your body presses his chassis into the ground. His head rests against the flowers. His hair fans out around him, faint blonde strands interwoven, like a painting's highlights: the finishing touches. 

But you aren't staring at him. Not at his eyes, your gazes don't meet. You're staring at the pretty mole, placed perfectly above his mouth — and he knows, because this isn't the first time. 

It's where you would focus when he found you lost in thought and drowsy, coming up with excuses not to stare at his lips. He remembers feeling you touch the corner of his mouth, close but not quite, before your fingertip brushed down the length of his nose; the space between you barely leaves room for accommodation, and Viktor brings a palm to your chest to push you apart, despite wanting to drop his cane and use both hands to — 

Dangerously, you stop yourself by leaning close. Viktor's eyes flutter shut, as your forehead comes to rest against his own. 

His voice is barely audible. Accent thick, low, and familiar. 

"However this may end, I need you to realize," He exhales, slow and shakily. "There was never a moment where I did not adore you." 

Those words press into you like an arrow in your chest, a hot knife lodged between bones. You breathe in deeply, you sigh carefully, and Viktor feels your breath as it fans against his mouth. 

It's merely the surface of what he wishes he could say. There is so much more, I admired you since we met. You were smart, radiant. Gods, was it the most egregious combination, because you both intimidated and captivated me. You were effortless to adore. I thought I made myself obvious. Requiring your help for every insignificant invention, stealing you at every turn because it felt delightful, to have you all to myself. Those moments are distant, yes, but they are not blights. They were brilliances. 

An infinity would not be near enough time to fall for you. I would wish to alter fate, but I can't, I cannot save you from myself. From this… inevitability, this expectation that we are doomed for ruin. 

You unfurl, you blossom. The sparkle of your soul follows the glow in his palms, eclipsing his body, shining over the rot; two lighthouses glimmering towards one another, communicating in their own code — and your mind pleads for him, one last time. 

Prove it. I need you to show me. 

And he almost does. Really, truly, almost. He nearly pulls you in, denies destiny to follow impulse, and veers both your courses towards destruction. 

The simplicity of a kiss would prove this is real, prove his humanity. It would be something for him to have, not a token for the arcane to take. No, the arcane would weep, as he ignites his new body's first experience with selfishness. The intensity he's longed for would no longer be numbed, he'd feel it surge and shine and breathe through him. Pooling at his fingertips, as he pulls you in, guiding heat to draw itself into you. 

It'd feel good, to press his mouth to yours, and discover what your lips feel like in the ways he's imagined for ages. He could hold you as if you'd never have to leave. He could pretend, as though the coolness of his sanctuary is just the evening draft in the lab, and he isn't making up for past regrets, he is fixing them. 

Warmth would return to his figure, his soul would converge into his body, and fate, as cruel as it is, would be forced to do nothing but watch. 

Viktor allows his eyes to open. His palms are still on your face, your gentle weight is still pinning him down. The light of the moon above you creates pale, hazy crescents in the edges of his vision. You are so close. Your heart is its own entity. Pounding so hard in your chest, he can practically feel it as his own. His gaze flickers to your mouth, as his hands faintly caress your skin. 

Prove it, prove it, prove it. 

For a few moments, he debates the repercussions. 

It could be swift, fleeting, an accident. Barely more than a brush, a taste, before he drags himself away. Or, it could be more. 

A point of devotion, expressed with closed eyes and soft lips. Admiring you without seeing, confessing without words. 

Would your lips feel plush, would you hesitate, would you send him spiraling down along with you, as you pulled him in and whispered his name? 

Perhaps it might escalate, into a feverish mess of your hands in his hair and your lips at his throat, and would he still feel them there? Against the gold notches embedded into his neck, kissing down to admire where his body meets magic. Could either of you manage to stop if you tried, or would time bleed together, until he could die like this — until he's convinced he is dying? 

Viktor's thumb brushes your lips. Shakily, mechanically. 

Gravity threatens to drag him in, steady on your pull, strong like absolution. Centimeters stop him from closing the distance, from pulling you close and colliding so softly, so vividly. In one simple, fluid, perfect movement. He dreams of it. But still, still. 

Still, Viktor struggles to catch his own breath, although it hardly makes sense for his perfected system. Still, he allows himself the small privilege of caressing your cheek, feeling your skin beneath his ruined fingertips. Your gaze widens — he can't help but wonder, but foolishly, uselessly hope, that you might've been expecting more — and he finds your chest with his palm, to repeat past actions, to carefully push you away. 

It isn't the choice he would wish to make. But for once, it will be his choice, all the same. There is strength, a grounding sense of responsibility, a misguided tenderness, in this. Even if it hurts. 

Even if Viktor is already regretting it, the moment he sees the softness fade from your eyes. A wavering gaze stares back at him, as dark as a knot of storm clouds. His hand steadies on your chin to keep you in place. 

His last tie to humanity is a knot he can't undo. The one of few left to mourn him deserves more than empty words, or false promises. You deserve to heal. You are his greatest mistake, and his most lovely exception. 

You were worth every moment, every word, every star. He can feel you, in the chasm of his chest. Guilt runs thick in his makeshift veins. Newfound pain pushes out from his shoulder blades like wings, and he knows you may have been unable to change his fate, but you have changed him. Every piece of you will always press together to form a part of his entirety — with the same soft edges, amongst familiar galaxies of convergences. 

This isn't the end, not yet, not quite. Viktor hopes he can show you. The sun will rise again; you will bask in its glow, warm and unburdened. You'll rediscover your spark. Your soul was meant to burn on a pyre that reciprocates, and logic dictates an inhuman vessel cannot. For you, for your gentle, beating heart, this is only the beginning. 

There will be no more nightmares, no more exhaustion. He can be of use, he can help you rest. His power has limits. However faint, however controlled. But this, the science of dreams, leading their way into passages, establishing connections and fateful meetings — considering his experience with magic and the astral, it should be relatively easy to grasp. 

And he knows it will hurt hard. To see you, to lose you. Though, unlike him, you cannot force your emotions into silence. Viktor harbors a hint of envy. A flourish of frustration. You have never deserved the world's blind cruelty. He would have torn the universe apart to at least keep his pain, so the sharpness in his chest and the blood stained into his palms could serve as final reminders of you. 

One last pleasant memory won't fix what's broken, but it could save you, where he can no longer save himself. 

He supposes it's worth a try. 

"Viktor," You're murmuring, and he hates the way his own name makes your bottom lip quiver, how your shoulders tense as though you could curl in on yourself. "Sorry, I-" 

"No, no, please don't apologize. There is…" Viktor starts; he attempts to keep the words from stammering, but it's difficult when you're still so close. You are all he can see, as your moonlit gaze matches his, like it could guide his waves without trying. 

He grinds his jaw, glances away, and tries again. "There is something I've wished to show you. Could I sit up?" 

Your palms, pressed to either side of his head to prop yourself up, fidget and clench, fingers trembling. But you nod, you shift. He feels your weight leave his lap when you finally slide off of him. 

Viktor pushes himself up. The metal decorations that fix his clothing into place clink together faintly. He carefully folds his legs. He glances towards you, gives a coaxing tilt of his head, and gently pats his palm to his knee. 

"Come." 

The whispering meadow in his elaborate space leaves you plenty of room to sprawl out, as you rest your head in Viktor's waiting lap. Blades of grass tickle your arms. He is firm, rigid underneath you. Not quite the most comfortable pillow, but it hardly matters to you, because your eyes are already growing nice and heavy. 

You're losing your battle with exhaustion, he figures. Resting against him is especially potent at making your tiredness shine through. (He recalls somewhat-sleepovers, sharing the same dorm, your head falling against his shoulder as your breathing echoed into his ear.) He assists the endeavor, brushing his fingertips down either side of your face, adjusting you to make sure his lap is comfortable. You shiver, and he toys with your hair, continuing until you're sighing, relaxing. 

Viktor smiles. His gaze above you meets yours, shines with devotion. There's a new color in his eyes. Some cross between amethyst and crimson, like a swirling red wine, like drops of blood in water — sickeningly sweet. His hair frames his face. Strands brush the faux edges of his jaw. 

A few more moments to admire you is all he allows for himself. Then, he breathes deeply, calmly. He reaches beside him, into the grass, to delicately snap the stem of a tiny, almost-hidden white daisy. 

"I want you to picture," Viktor tucks the flower behind your ear, continuing slowly, the words spoken with a calm, yet melancholy edge: "A place where you can be at peace." 

"Mmm," You hum, hands clasped, resting neatly on your stomach, "Like a memory?" 

"It could be one, yes." 

"Like when we snuck out of our classes to go look at the stars, to see the autumn meteor shower. We missed an evening lecture, and the professor made us write lines…" 

Viktor distantly recalls the way his hands cramped for weeks, how his knuckles ached. His palms had thick calluses from where he tightly held his pencil, his skin was stained with graphite from where he rested his hand against the paper — but vividly, as though he could close his eyes and be transported there, he remembers your excitement. 

Your pure elation, as you hurriedly climbed the endless stairs to the very top of the viewing tower, mumbling about how you didn't want to miss it. You never stopped grinning, as you guided his hand to show him where the stars would fall, pointing to every distant shimmer in the sky. Although, to him, they never seemed to shine brighter than the look in your eyes. 

Ages later, you both returned to that same spot on the outskirts of Piltover, perhaps in an attempt to relive your youth. The viewing tower was rickety and silent. The stairs to the top were long and grueling. The fancy lights shining from various new buildings made the stars impossible to see, now. 

The Hexgates were conceptualized the next year. Viktor's doctor recommended a crutch and a brace. So it was your last attempt, in the end. 

Your tired eyes flutter open, and Viktor gazes down at you, lips upturned into the faintest hint of somber amusement. 

"It only occurs every two hundred years. The professor warned us, he said the meteor shower was a waste of our precious time," Viktor recounts, with a small, playful huff. "He had already seen it, and it failed to impress him." 

"We would've seen more elsewhere, he said, which is true, but…" You shrug lazily. "It was so quiet up there. With just us, and the stars." 

"The calmest place in all of Piltover," Viktor replies in agreement. 

"After that, we talked about getting out of the city. Maybe vacationing somewhere once we graduated, just for a while." 

There were late night talks, sleepy confessions, foolish dreams of far-off places. Much like this, really. Your brows pinch, you stifle a yawn. Viktor can't help but find it adorable. 

Then, your head tilts back, as you gaze at him again. "Remember?" 

Viktor softens. "You dreamt of seeing the flowers in Ionia." 

Your smile widens. "I'll try to picture that, then." 

Moonlight burns in the back of his gaze. Magic returns to pulse through him — connecting threads to the minds of hundreds of followers, casting a line to hook into the arcane. The sort of pain that becomes a new heartbeat, offering to seal itself within him. His fingers shake, as he hesitates to bring them towards you. He forces himself to steady, to meet your tender expression, and commit the depths of it to memory. 

Everything must come to an end. Viktor cups your face in both palms, and prepares for his last dance with mortality. 

"Imagine a field of endless, untouched blooms. Culminating in stunning magic, able to be sensed within the ground itself, thrumming underneath your feet." Viktor's voice is a low, level, comforting murmur. Like he's reading straight from an Ionian textbook; in another life, it would be enough to put you to sleep. 

"And the air smells lovely," You're mumbling, tired. "And the sky is full of thousands of stars." 

"Yes, but," Viktor ever-so gently brushes his fingertips over your eyelids, guiding you to close them. "You must close your eyes, little spark." 

Your expression is perfectly, wonderfully peaceful. For a few moments, he savors it. He brushes his thumbs over your skin and relishes the softness. He watches the gentle heave of your chest. The slow, mortal intake of every breath. Heavy with exhaustion. 

Viktor feels his heart crumble, although he knows he does not have one. 

He swallows, he holds your face tenderly. Energy surges from his palms. Crisp, reality-warping fragments of light. Vivid paradoxes. Sparkling against your skin, in prickles of dull static. 

The warmth of your soul is a small, kindled flame, held weakly in his palms. This time, you can feel it. Touches reaching between your ribcage. Tracing your bones, leaving bright flowers and pockets of starlight wherever his fingertips brush. It is a gradual, languid sensation; like a baptism, hands cradling your edges to carefully lower you into deep, warm water. It consumes, distorts and collapses, connects the two of you in a haze of entwined hands and twisted-together veins. Blood and magic, pain and healing. 

Viktor allows his voice to echo through your weary mind — though he is sure his words will be forgotten, by the time you awake. 

Rest, now. Perhaps, in another reality, or within a distant, rewritten future, we will be offered the chance to begin again. If you and I will it. Not fate, nor the infinite tides of entropy. 

His voice sounds clear, undistorted. Rich and enveloping. There's hints of hesitation. A clear shake. Deep traces of a faltering, human-like weakness. 

Thank you, for the opportunity to appreciate you one final time. Your mind and your emotions were lovely to be lost in. 

And I must apologize. I know our time was meant to be impermanent, yet, I cannot help but believe it was not enough. I am not myself. Your memories showed me this — they reminded me of who I was before I'd lost you. 

I'm sorry. There is a revolution I must lead. Burdens I am destined to bear alone. 

Viktor's palms leave fingerprints on your soul. The light he presses into you is glittering, hopeful. As bright as a cloudless summer's day. Waves roll over your figure, tenderness and exhaustion running thick like honey — akin to a warm hearth, like the sun in full-bloom. 

It perplexes, does it not? The very crux of humanity. I could have held every conceivable universe in my hands. And I would have traded it, to do something good, to earn the privilege of coveting you. 

The entire false, star-bound sky shakes with the weight of Viktor's trembling exhale. 

But our old sentiments hardly matter to the present. A tragedy claims itself as such, because it is certain, in its irreparability. 

Every end merely led me to your beginning. 

Your vessel drinks him in. You taste the arcane in your throat, you choke on the way his name blossoms inside your chest, and you allow yourself to drift. To be swallowed in his gentle, heartsick shadow. 

I loved you. For as long as I have known you. As immensely as a soulless body is capable. 

The last sensation to grace you is Viktor's lips, ever-so gently ghosting your forehead — and then, his fingertips, pressed subtly against your skin, to form a silent goodbye. 

Please. Do not come back. 

Then, everything concludes. The world pops like a bubble, covering you in mist. Your mind runs blank. A vibrant chalkboard of thoughts and equations and colors, erased. You collapse, even though there's nothing for you to collapse against. You're unsure if someone — if Viktor — caught you, or if you were left to descend, disappearing beneath the earth. 

Sleep comes to you in a large, encompassing swell. 

And you dream. 

— 

A meadow manifests before you. 

Flowers trail as far as the eye can see. White roses. Red carnations. Puffs of pink and purple hydrangea. Flecks of pollen drift into the air, glittering with magic, shining like little stars. Soft grass tickles your bare feet. Energy surges from the ground, threading through your every limb. Your body feels weightless, warm, and free. The air is crisp, allowing each breath to be deep and clear. You can see distant trees, and above you, intricate galaxies, spread across a dark blue sky. 

But you aren't alone. 

A figment of luminosity, an anomaly, a hazy spark of pure magic shifts, nearly blinds you, and then convenes into a figure. With a palm cupped over his eyes, to shield himself from his own light, before it finally begins to simmer down. 

The phantom edges of his shape shimmer with starlight. His slender frame — astral, seemingly untouchable — shifts in endless, vibrant colors. Faux moonlight shines through his hair, short and tousled, pure white; like soft snow, like the foam at the edges of waves. Swirling with faint whispers of blue, the fluffy tresses remind you of a cloud-filled sky. 

Your gazes meet, and it feels familiar; it isn't the first time. When he sees you, he glows, his figure alighting in shades of sunlight and gold. The amber in his eyes catches the moon's low rays, his cheeks soften into a shade of rose. His skin is warm, less pallid. The stress present on his features has changed into soft eyes and smile lines. 

Memorized, pretty moles greet you. The one on his cheek stands out like the guiding north star, shining amongst a clear night sky. The mole by his mouth follows along when his lips tip into a carefree, radiant smile. Wide and euphoric and foolish. It shows off the small gap between his teeth. 

He looks just like you remember. Just as you wanted to remember. The same handsome features: thick brows, a sharp jaw, eyes that shine as brightly as they once did, when he was lost in his passions. His expression carries a familiar sense of warmth. It reflects the same tenderness he'd reserve just for you, beloved and beckoning. The sight of you is enough to make his eyes well up with tears. 

And Viktor walks, strides, runs to you. 

He's pulling you into an embrace before you have the chance to breathe; arms holding you tight, squeezing you desperately. Pressing you into his blurry, stelliform shape. 

Your palms find his back, feeling where the cosmos meet his skin. He buries himself into your shoulder, brings a shaking palm up to lovingly cradle the back of your head. Breathing you in, he fills with tenderness, spilling over. His nose brushes your nape, weak droplets tap your skin like rain. A heavy throb works its way into every inch that you touch — his back, his shoulder, his neck, like bruises hued in shades of lilac. Your bodies fit together as though they were meant to. 

When he finally pulls apart from you, it's slow, gradual. He places both hands on your shoulders, so clumsily it slightly jostles you back and forth. His brows pinch, his hands clench until his knuckles are strained. He takes you in, gaze weakening as it flickers over your form. A palm finds your cheek to hold you tenderly; he can barely believe he is touching you. 

"There you are- oh, look at you." Viktor's voice is lovingly fragile, yet perfectly, utterly enamored. Brushing his thumb over your cheek, he can't help but choke on a weak, worthless sob. "Finally, you came, I thought- I was sure it wasn't going to work, but it- I can-" 

He cannot think, can barely talk; dizzy, his chest heaves with every sharp, quickened breath he takes in. Viktor tapers off, his palm slips from your face and his hand on your shoulder goes loose as he falters. 

Head pounding, chest aching, the very figments of his body burn like dying stars. His own pulse thrums in his throat until he can taste blood, until he believes he might cough up his own heart. He gazes at you like you might fade out, brushes his palm from your neck to your jaw like you aren't real. 

But you merely smile, and stare at him as though he holds the entire universe in his eyes. 

"Vik," You're mumbling sweetly; your hand blindly reaches for his, your fingertips brush in a clumsy waltz, before you're grabbing, squeezing, steadying him. "You're so beautiful." 

Oh. Viktor feels your hand in his, he melts in the heat of your light, and he believes heaven is here, right at his fingertips. He reflects your words, as his figure shimmers brighter than the luminous sky above — he is more than a memory. He is yours: a star incarnate. 

"You-" Viktor murmurs, lacing his fingers with yours. Warmth washes over his cheeks and his shoulders; he feels foolish, like he's young and stupid and crushing again. "-rival the divine." 

Tension briefly buds in your shoulders. "You won't… you aren't going to disappear, right?" 

Index drifting underneath your chin to keep your gaze tilted towards him, Viktor grins, putting the both of you at ease. 

"Attempting to get rid of me already?" He asks, a little confident, entirely playful. 

When your palm teasingly pushes at his chest, hardly trying to guide him away, your touch ricochets through him. It makes his vessel surge with energy, as though he'd touched a live wire. He can actually feel it. Hues of scarlet and sunset and the sea swirl down from his neck to his shoulders. Glowing fiercely, rippling incandescently. 

"No, never," You answer, "I just- I'm sorry, I know I shouldn't be worried. It's just been… difficult. Without you, I mean." 

There's a hazy cadence to your words. It rivals the intricacy of flower buds opening, revealing themselves to the waiting moon. Familiar to him, by now. In this pocket of the arcane — free from strife, some dreamy recreation of the Garden of Eden — your minds can be blissfully one. 

Viktor breathes something of a sigh: a tender, understanding revelation. 

"I will stay here for as long as you need," He's cooing, guiding you to look at him again with a soft hold on your chin, even though his radiance in your vision is dazzling. "I promise. We can talk- there is so much I have waited to tell you. Or we can simply lie here. There is time for anything you prefer, my light. My sweet, little spark." 

Gaze never leaving yours, Viktor admires you with a look that cradles; palms gentle, when they hold your wings. Your hand reaches up to mirror his, your thumb gently caressing the mole placed onto the apple of his cheek.

He's staring, and you can't help but stumble out a laugh. "What?" 

Viktor doesn't answer. 

Suddenly, the depths of shared pain and the regret tied to his chosen goodbye barely matter. They are forgotten when you are right here, finally. A thousand emotions thrum through him, thick and overwhelming: fear, regret, hunger, devotion. He can't speak, he couldn't possibly explain everything your warm smile does to him. It reminds him of moments stretched through years, times where you almost pulled him close, and he knew you were just friends but Gods, did he want more — 

And perhaps, here and now, in this dream away from reality, the both of you can have it. 

Carefully, his palms hold your face: soft skin against the ethereal. Pulled in by gravity, mere inches separate you. Viktor's nose brushes yours — slightly awkward, all-too human. He breathes slowly, for a moment, before he exhales a heavy sigh, that feels like finally letting go of everything. His hesitation, his weakness, his destiny. 

And when Viktor kisses you, the infinity before you slips away. 

The surrounding galaxy becomes finite, flourishing and existing for only the two of you. It's only a kiss, but it is the implosion of stars, and the formation of new ones — energy explodes in between you with thousands of colors, smearing out from Viktor's form like paint. As though he can't contain his own resplendence. 

It is everything you have ever wanted. He makes you feel alive. 

Head tilting, he guides you close and keeps you there. Magic sparks within him from the inside out. And yet, this is the closest he's ever been to humanity. In the eyes of a distant astronomer, the press of your figure against his could be mistaken for one singular shape. A puzzle, a paradox. A supernova of affection. 

One of his hands remains steady on your cheek, the other confidently reaches for the curve of your waist. Every brush of his lips against yours feels like electricity, tastes the same as palpable desire. He's softer than the ground beneath you as you fall, weightless, landing on your back. Pressed against the flowers and the grass, as if they're made of clouds. 

Your thoughts fade out, they burn, becoming fuzzy, unfocused. All you can think about is him. Viktor's touch and his mouth, and every moment where you needed this, desperate to learn how his lips might feel against yours — 

Perfect. They feel perfect. Simple, guiltless, and lovely. Like biting into an apple, like giving in to sin. As though this moment was destined in time, and every reality has converged, so the stars and their higher powers could turn to watch it take place. 

Viktor laces his hand with yours. The flowers surrounding you tickle your skin, they blossom from his hands. Threading into you when his palm traces your side, intimate petals sweet enough to taste on his tongue. Every kiss brings you closer, igniting past memories. Frustrations you wished to take out, by slamming your mouth against his. Promises and pleas, stifled farewells. Held back tears, silent confessions. 

This feels earnestly real. Not a goodbye, nor a useless prayer. But a kiss meant to be shared between two destiny-bound lovers. 

Your free hand desperately clings to his shoulders, his back. His body feels radiant, like if a shooting star was tangible. Your fingers thread through his hair, and it's akin to touching waves, or playing with the wind, or sinking your hand into fresh snow. 

Viktor curls into your touch; he chases it, as desperately as his lips seek yours. You're sighing, when he shifts to kiss your jaw, your throat. Then, you're arching into him, blurring the outlines between your body and his, sealing his fate, as he presses his mouth to yours once more. 

He only pulls away when you're both breathless and panting. 

Slowly, gradually, he shifts back to place his figure above you. The light of the sky's faux, anomaly sphere shines onto him. It gives him a halo, bathes him in radiance. You can't decide if it's moonlight or sunlight, or if he is reflecting every ray from within. 

Viktor breathes in heavy gasps. The meadow dims, smudges, losing detail. It becomes hazy, and although he knows deep down this won't last forever, the thought hardly crosses his mind. He can only focus on you; a fallen angel, underneath him. The keeper of the love he sought to chase and possess and drown in, until the rest of the world has faded away. An arm braces beside you, while his free hand curves to hold the small of your back. 

"Your lips are even softer than I once pictured," He murmurs; his eyes sparkle, tender and loving and jewel-like. "Should… should we stop?" 

"No, please," You answer. Your voice is beautiful, unforgettable. Curling into him like a fated spiral. Your fingertips trace the back of his neck, before they re-tangle in his pearlescent hair. "Don't, Vik." 

So Viktor doesn't. He pulls you in, he pretends destiny is within his grasp. He guides you with a hand on your cheek and stars at his fingertips, to kiss you again, and again, and again. 

— 

When you wake, you are far from the Undercity. 

Your eyes flutter open, slowly and reluctantly. You recognize the softness of a bed underneath you. The surrounding room is simple, with empty grey walls, and a plain white ceiling. The vents make a low clicking sound as they struggle to choke out warm air. Familiar, the sounds of Piltover hum. An echoing train bell. The tick of gears on the side table's clock. Unfamiliar voices are kept low, just beyond your quarters. 

Tingles rake down your entire body once you sit up. Sparks trace your spine, your shoulders, your face, like a phantom touch. But they fade into nothing, as quickly as they came. 

It's strange for you to be this well-rested. Your mind feels clear. Relaxed. You were free from nightmares, for the first time in ages; as far as you can remember, at least. You recall sneaking out of Piltover, to descend into Zaun. You were exhausted, stressed, but you reached the commune, and — 

Oh. You're throwing your blankets aside, then. 

You toss on your old clothes; they smell like magic and citrus. A nurse finds you before you can leave. You've been staying at an old, run-down infirmary, on the outskirts of Piltover. Established to provide care to the Undercity, ages ago. It takes longer than you would have liked to convince her you're fine, you don't need to stay. You have somewhere you need to return to. 

You were carried here, she explains, as she walks you to the exit of the infirmary. 

There were a few people. Strange garments, they hardly said much. You slept for nearly a day, but otherwise, your condition is stable. 

Your heart twists; carried? Why and when and how would you be carried out of the commune? Your mind is still hazy, you suppose. You can barely remember where you were, or if you even reached your destination in the first place. 

Perhaps you collapsed just outside of it. Perhaps you failed, and the rumors were wrong, and the one you were searching for wasn't there after all. 

Dead men aren't supposed to come back. 

Despondent, you offer the nurse a few small words of thanks, shaking her hand before you turn to leave. 

She stops you first, though. 

Oh, she says, and as for the marks on you, I wouldn't worry. There's been plenty of cases similar to yours, with the same sort of scars. They seem like nothing to fret over. 

You freeze. 

Reaching up, you shakily brush your hand over your own face. Inscribed onto your skin, marble and metal-like, rests four unmistakable marks to your forehead — the lingering outline of Viktor's fingertips. 

[suguae]

Haunted

part one - part two

જ synopsis. After months of longing and uncertainty, you reunite with your ex-boyfriend Toji and his son Megumi at a nearby diner, where the warmth of their presence fills you with hope for a fresh start and a renewed sense of family.

જ pairings. T. Fushiguro x Fem! Reader

જ a/n. You thought I'd give you guys the silent treatment for month again, probably. But I'm back and I'm going to try my best to upload normal again, keyword TRY.

Six months had passed since the last echo of Toji's voice had graced your ears, each day stretching into an eternity of longing and uncertainty. The memory of his deep, resonant tone lingered like a gentle caress against your skin, stirring a tempest of emotions within you. As you navigated the labyrinth of your thoughts, one question loomed larger than all the rest: was Toji doing okay?

Was he still grieving over his dead wife, or had he begun to heal? And if so, was he ready to love you anew, to embark on a journey of rediscovery and redemption together?

The piercing ring of the phone shattered the fragile sanctuary of your thoughts, jolting you back to the stark reality of the present moment. Your heart quickened its pace as you glanced towards the source of the sound, the glow of the screen casting an eerie illumination in the dimness of your tiny apartment.

Toji's name flashed boldly on the display, a beacon of light cutting through the darkness of the night. A surge of emotions welled up within you—surprise, anticipation, and a tinge of apprehension—all swirling together in a tumultuous whirlwind.

It felt like a sign, as if he had heard the silent echoes of your thoughts reverberating through the ether. Could it be mere coincidence, or something more? The very idea sent shivers down your spine, igniting a flicker of hope within the depths of your soul.

With trembling fingers, you reached out to answer the call, the weight of uncertainty heavy upon you. Was this the moment you had been waiting for, the chance to bridge the chasm that had separated you two for so long? 

You brought the phone to your ear, the anticipation hung thick in the air, each heartbeat echoing the rhythm of your longing. You couldn't help but wonder if perhaps, just perhaps, fate had finally decided to intervene.

Thoughts of Megumi danced on the periphery of your consciousness. Were you guys finally ready to confront the demons of your past and embrace the promise of a brighter future?

The word slipped from your lips like a fragile prayer, carrying with it the weight of all the unspoken hopes and fears that had lingered between you two for so long. "Hello?" you repeated, the sound hanging heavy in the air, waiting for Toji's response to break the silence.

For a moment, there was nothing but the steady thrum of your heartbeat echoing in your ears. And then, finally, a soft exhale on the other end of the line, the faint rustle of movement as Toji gathered his thoughts.

"Hey," his voice came, soft and tentative, yet infused with a warmth that washed over you like a gentle wave. The sound of it sent a shiver down your spine.

you held your breath, waiting for him to continue, the anticipation mounting with each passing second. And then, with a quiet resolve, you spoke again.

"It's been a while," you said, the understatement hanging heavy between the two, a testament to the distance that had grown between you both in the wake of your shared pain. "How have you been?"

The question lingered in the air, pregnant with meaning, a silent plea for honesty and vulnerability in the face of the uncertain future. And as you waited for Toji's response, you couldn't help but wonder if perhaps, just perhaps, this conversation was the first step towards healing the wounds that had long divided you both.

Toji's words hung in the air like a delicate melody, each syllable carrying with it the weight of a thousand unspoken truths. "I miss everything about you," he confessed, his voice soft yet filled with a longing that echoed in the depths of your soul. The vulnerability in his words was palpable, a raw honesty that stirred something deep within you.

As his plea washed over you, you felt a flood of emotions surge to the surface—love, longing, and a flicker of hope amidst the shadows of your past. The ache of separation had carved a chasm between you, but in that moment, his words bridged the gap with an unspoken promise of reconciliation and renewal.

"I need to see you," he implored, the urgency in his tone resonating with the echoes of your own heart's desires. The longing in his voice tugged at the strings of your soul, igniting a spark of courage within you.

With a steady resolve, you met his plea with a whisper of your own, "I need to see you too." The words hung in the air, heavy with the weight of all that had been left unsaid, yet brimming with the potential of what could be.

Toji's insistence reverberated through the phone, his words a fervent plea for connection and reunion. "We can meet up, somewhere… anywhere, baby, just tell me," he urged, the desperation in his voice pulling at the strings of your heart. The prospect of seeing him again, of bridging the chasm that had separated you for so long, filled you with a heady mix of anticipation and apprehension.

And then, as if a beacon had been lit in the darkness, he spoke his name—Megumi. Your heart skipped a beat at the mention of him, a rush of emotions flooding your senses. He wasn't your child, not biologically at least, but the bond you shared transcended bloodlines. From the moment you had met him, he had nestled his way into the deepest recesses of your heart, filling a void you never knew existed.

The thought of seeing Megumi again, of wrapping him in your arms and showering him with the love he deserved, sent a surge of warmth coursing through your veins. He was a constant presence in your thoughts, a beacon of light in the darkness that had enveloped your life.

"Yes," you breathed, your voice barely above a whisper, "Yes, let's meet." The words hung in the air, heavy with anticipation and the promise of a reunion long overdue. And as you made plans to come together once more, you couldn't help but feel a sense of peace settle over you��a quiet reassurance that, no matter what the future held, you would face it together, as a family.

During the aftermath of the breakup, you found yourself spiraling into a dark abyss of self-destructive behavior. Drinking became a crutch, a futile attempt to numb the ache that gnawed at your soul. Overworking became a distraction, a way to bury yourself in tasks and responsibilities to avoid facing the gaping void left by Toji's absence. And as the days stretched into weeks and months, the toll of neglecting your own well-being became painfully apparent.

It was all too easy to place blame on Toji, to cast him as the villain in the narrative of your shared pain. But deep down, you knew the truth—it wasn't his fault, not entirely. You had chosen to entangle yourself with a widower, knowing full well the complexities and challenges that came with loving someone who was still grieving.

Yet despite the turmoil raging within you, a glimmer of clarity began to emerge amidst the chaos. The realization that no amount of self-destructive behavior could mend the shattered pieces of your heart, nor could it bridge the chasm that had grown between you and Toji.

Slowly but surely, the bad habits began to wane, replaced by a newfound determination to confront the unresolved issues head-on. You stopped reaching for the bottle as a temporary salve for your pain, recognizing that true healing could only come from within. You eased up on the relentless pursuit of productivity, learning to prioritize self-care and introspection over the relentless pursuit of perfection.

It wasn't an easy journey, fraught with setbacks and moments of doubt. But with each passing day, you grew stronger, more resilient in the face of adversity. And as you looked back on the tumultuous path that had led you to this moment, you realized that the key to finding peace lay not in blaming others, but in taking ownership of your own happiness and well-being.

As the agreed-upon time approached, a sense of anticipation and nervous energy coursed through your veins. The prospect of seeing Toji again after months apart filled you with a heady mix of emotions—hope, uncertainty, and a tinge of excitement. The void that had loomed large in your heart in his absence now seemed poised to be filled, if only for a fleeting moment.

You arrived at the nearby diner with a fluttering heart and a whirlwind of thoughts swirling in your mind. The familiar sights and sounds of the cozy establishment offered a sense of comfort amidst the uncertainty that lay ahead. The soft glow of the lights, the gentle hum of conversation, and the aroma of freshly brewed coffee enveloped you like a warm embrace.

As you stepped inside, you scanned the room anxiously, searching for Toji's familiar figure amidst the sea of faces. And then, there he was, sitting at a corner table, his gaze locked on yours as if he had been waiting for you all along.

Sitting next to Toji was the little toddler, his bright eyes sparkling with excitement at your appearance. You couldn't help but smile as you caught his gaze, feeling a warmth spread through you at the sight of him. Megumi reached out eagerly towards you, his tiny hand outstretched in silent invitation.

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taglist is closed.

[luminiamore]

STRETCH.

yoga instructer choso x black man-eater reader

a/n: this is heavily inspired by jennifer’s body (・_・ヾ

also 1000 followers WHATT? (つ✧ω✧)つ

no branding included in this fic actually, so yk what that means. part two in the future asf (ﾉ´ з `)ノ

warnings: murder, reader is a succubus who eats boys & the girls she sleeps with (not choso), reader has fangs, big dick choso, he’s shy, he do be eating ass though, sloppy eater, whiny choso, pussydrunk cho, breeding asf, soft dom choso but like (￣ω￣;) subby, he makes reader submit, just nasty, also frens with satosugu

masterlist

man-eater

Noun

man-eater (plural man-eaters)

An animal that attacks and kills humans for food, such as certain tigers or sharks; any animal that consumes human flesh. quotations 

A cannibal; a human that eats other humans. quotations 

(by extension, slang) A seductive dangerous woman, often readily taking and discarding male romantic partners. 

One thing you loved about the 21st century is that there was never a shortage of people. They were everywhere. Crawling around like little ants and fucking rapidly like rabbits. You never ran out of your source of food, your source of life. 

Your species have been around for a long time. You don’t remember how you came to be, but when you first opened your eyes, you were in the center of hot molten rock from the middle of the northwest Pacific Ocean. Tamu Massif, the world’s massive underwater volcano, just 1,600 km east of Japan, was your home. 

Your first feeding, your first kill, happened off the coast on the Seychelles beaches about two days after you were awakened. Your brown body was paling by then, but you didn’t know why. At first, you didn’t know what you were, but you knew you were weak and physically unable to move at some point. While still beautiful, your eyes lacked any life in them. You needed energy.

In your defense, they came to you. The wife did, more specifically. You were under the sun a lot; it was the only thing that could at least give you some life. You suspected she and the buff man with her were here as tourists, a honeymoon vacation spot perhaps. But, even after just being introduced to this world, you knew what you preferred. You were selective.

Her husband wasn’t all that interesting to break, but her... 

She was gorgeous, downright angelic. And you had such a strong desire to fuck her. And weirdly enough, your mouth started savoring at the thought of eating her. 

It seems you hadn’t known just how insatiable you can be, just how powerful you really are. It wasn’t on purpose; you swear it wasn’t. But you know what they say about firsts. She was addicting. How soft she was, how perfect her body fit with yours. She taught you how to feel, how to let go. You were so high on pleasure.

So, you can imagine your distress when you wake up to her unmoving body on top of your naked one. When you shift your eyes to the left, you notice her neck, specifically the missing chunk of it. You lick your lips and immediately grimace at the saltiness. You pushed her body towards your side with a huff. 

At first, you felt quite hysterical. You ran toward the mirror and saw something that caused you to gasp.  

Was that blood?

Red spots were all over your face, and your mouth area was even more adorned. Your locs are messy, cascading down past your hips. It wasn’t difficult to figure out what occurred while you were intoxicated with pleasure. 

Your face is grim as you grasp onto the skin of your forehead, groaning. Flashes start to appear in your mind. A glimpse of her face, body, her pussy. Flashes of you leaning into her neck, flashes of her neck being torn apart, and flashes of her body shaky under your firm hold. 

Oh.

After about ten seconds had passed of your staring in the mirror, you accepted that this woman was now dead. You had killed her. 

But.. you weren’t overwhelmed by dread. Not upset or guilty that you completely depleted this woman’s life force. A strong feeling coursed through every nook and cranny in your veins, and you felt rejuvenated. The eye bags that had formed beneath your wispy eyelashes were absent, you could tell that much despite the amount of blood splattered on your face.

You had a liking for this feeling. Your strength was apparent, and your skin was brighter and clearer. You experienced such a state of euphoria. And well, you would die if you didn’t get more. Literally and figuratively.

You didn’t make an effort to conceal the body; you felt no need to. You felt compelled to go somewhere, but when you looked in that direction, all you could see was the moving water. You escaped into the ocean at the exact moment, moving as fast as you could away from the small island and following the intense pressure calling out to you.

Since that incident, you’ve stayed in Japan. A black woman with unnatural beauty stalked through the night, undeniably being the center of attention. You were the talk of everywhere you went; people often compared you to a witch, a vampire was the funniest one you’ve heard. You were unusual and feared a little by the public. Although you were beautiful, every step you took was infused with a sense of danger and mystery. Death, even. 

It’s common for people who left with you to never be seen again. In the event that they were, they weren’t the same. People had this inexhaustible attraction towards you. They wanted to know more, they tried to discover the secrets you held. But unless you choose them, all people could potentially get out of you was a meaningless glance.

The more you kill, the stronger you become. You became aware of this shortly after your second kill, and you could soon hold off on feeding for weeks if you needed to. Though you’ve grown to realize that you’re superior to a particular breed, you were never the type to go crazy with power. Many of your species, you could tell, were famous and had the most influence on the public. 

Take the city’s most well-known billionaires, such as Suguru Geto and Satoru Gojo. Their ownership of many corporations and businesses allowed them to have multiple connections with dangerous parts of Japan, such as the Yakuza. However, they also contribute significant amounts of income to the city annually. Their support of the most popular things in the population was indisputable, making it impossible not to like them. It wasn’t because they wanted to; they weren’t that generous, but because they loved power. 

Passing them on your stroll, you could tell they were similar to you. Their scent was unlike that of humans, and their energy and absolute pheromones were ridiculous. They were looking for prey that night, you could tell by how potent it was. And perhaps if you were human, you would have fallen for their charm when they called out for you. 

They had plans to make you their meal for the night, but unfortunately, their hypnotic effect on humans didn’t work on you. That’s when they realized that you were like them, and well, they were both amused. 

“Aw, how cute,”

“Bet you would’ve tasted real good too.”

To this day, you don’t know if Suguru was talking about eating you or your pussy. Even so, you became a close friend of the pair from that moment forward. There were days when they would pop up to your apartment unannounced and grace you with their antics. It was more of a domestic setting, not sexual, but they enjoyed being around someone who deeply understood them. 

Today was one of those days. Your peaceful nap ended when they entered your bedroom and plopped down on your bed, discussing the last feeding they had. Satoru’s voice reaches an enthusiastic pitch,

“She was so bendy, Suguru! She bent over backwards, and she was still taking my dick,” 

The long-haired man shifts his eyes carelessly towards his best friend, who is resting on your thighs and intensely focused on something on his phone. You were oblivious to the words spewed out by Satoru, fighting against the sleep you had gotten before they arrived. The latter raises a brow,

“Hmm,”

“She told me she takes something called yoga classes? It’s a shame she’s dead now, she was fu- Wait! Hey, Y/n?”

Your response is a hum as he shifts his head to your face and speaks with a sly smile on his lips,

“Do you take yoga classes?” 

You were not very fond of modern activities, so you rarely indulged in them. You rarely attempt to learn about human life and what they do for fun or work due to that knowledge. Their values never weighed down on you, and as a result, you lived a peaceful life. When you glanced down at piercing ice eyes, the confusion was evident on your face, 

“What’s..yoga?”

Suguru gave a response instead, knowing that Satoru would give you a misleading description of the exercise, 

“It’s just an activity humans do to calm the mind and stretch the body.”

“I see. Does it bring pleasure?”

“Maybe, they seem to be very satisfied afterwards.”

You twist your head in thought, interesting. Satoru pokes at your shoulder, and when you glance down, he shows you his phone screen. Plentiful pictures of women in various positions, very flexible..positions. Was she holding herself up on her forearms?

“Where can I find this? I’d like to.. learn.” Your own words caused you to startle yourself, and now you’re completely awake. 

Since when? 

You hear a breathy laugh coming from beneath you. “Oh yeah? Didn’t peg you as the type to like playing with your food.” His fingers move to find the nearest yoga studio by your building, despite his taunting, and he feels internally happy when he discovers it’s one he knows. 

You flick his head, giggling while he grunts a bit. “It’s interesting. I didn’t know the body could shape itself like that.” In all honesty, he presented you with some pictures that made you grimace a little. 

“There’s a place called Kamo’s Zen Sanctuary a few blocks from here. Of course, Suguru and I are friends with the owner.”

The mentioned man hums in assurance, 

“We can send a car to take you tomorrow afternoon if you’re up for it.” He wiggles his brows as he waits for your response.

As always, they kept their word without fail. Before the car arrived the next day, a large package was delivered to your door with a flimsy note that said, ‘You’re welcome.’ 

It’s probable that you only needed one yoga set, but your friends wanted to give you a wide array of choices to pick from. Ultimately, you opted for a lightweight black set. When you looked in the mirror, you really saw how the clothing accentuated your body, especially your ass. Oh, you liked this.

Stopping outside the studio, your mind suddenly became well aware that you didn’t know how human establishments operated. You took pleasure in the decorative pieces that this place had. Cold air, a Buddha statue spilling water steadily in a bowl, and soothing violin music immediately welcomed you upon arrival. 

Despite not being familiar with the environment, you still entered it with grace. You would have left if it weren’t for the tall, handsome gentleman who sneaked up on you from behind. His silent demeanor made it impossible to hear him, and when you saw his face, you indeed weren’t disappointed.

“Do you need help, miss?”

Smooth was how his words came across. When you faced him, his face was smooth, too. Your body vibrated, your fingertips were slightly twitching, and your mind was reeling in the fact that you were suddenly very, very hungry. Although it’s been a week since you last had anything to eat, you’ve already found your next prey. 

Him. The quite pale man with a pair of beautiful, solemn eyes. The dark line across his face is a perfect fit for him, and it’s hard not to notice. His plum lips are almost puckered, but they look so soft you want to sink your teeth into them. You want him.

You eye his exposed biceps in the black shirt clinging onto his pale skin, “Yes, I want to learn yoga. How can I?”   

Even as his ears flush, he maintains a steady tone and unbothered expression when addressing you, barely making eye contact, “I can get you started with that. My name is Choso. I’m an instructor here. Come with me, miss.”

You nodded without reason because the man had already turned and started walking to a different room. You’re staring at him, more so the way his muscles ripple with every step he takes. There’s an intangible desire on your part to fuck this man, bite every inch of his body until he was withering in pleasure. 

Choso seemed shy, but you liked that he was nervous and fidgety around you as you faced him in a larger room with a mirror covering both ends. There were no lights on, only candles surrounding the black walls. The echo from the fish swimming in the small pond could be heard throughout the space. 

His back could be seen through the clear glass. As you looked around, you also noticed red mats and..blocks? This place was strange. You lick your lips when he speaks again, 

“This is where we do the practice. I sense that you’re new to this. Do you want to start with a small stretch first?” His hand reaches behind him to pick up a thin mat, his low purple eyes flickering between the object and you. 

“Of course, Choso.”

Choso has a sweet scent, almost like a bakery. The moment you walked inside, his scent infiltrated your nostrils. The sheer proximity of his body when he guided you into what he said was the downward dog position made you feel like you were floating. You felt hot, even on fire, when he touched you. The fabric you wore was so tightly held onto your body that it felt like he was touching your bare skin.

He was exerting pressure on your lower thighs, making them conform to the position. When you glanced in the mirror, he seemed so focused on what he was doing. You swear your pussy had a heartbeat. His gaze catches yours,

“Head down, miss.”

You listen wordlessly, your locs making small thumping sounds when they hit the red surface. Maybe Choso could feel the heat and craving radiating off of your body. Maybe he couldn’t. It’s impossible to read his thoughts, no matter which way you look at it. His face remains blank after he says ‘good job’ for maintaining the position after a minute. If he can feel your body heating up like you can, his expression doesn’t make it known. 

His body, however, does. More so, how red he gets, as if he’s heating up too as if he’s experiencing the same shit you are. Could he be?

Choso tells you about the next position he’s going to put you in,

“You’re a little tense on your outer hips, so we’re gonna do something called the Pigeon pose.”

You’re almost about to ask, ‘What’s that?’ but he shows you before you can even part your lips. Your right leg is flat against the floor, twisted in front of you almost perfectly, while your left leg elongates towards the back. Choso observes the difficulty of your arms in holding you up, so he goes in front of you to help. The firmness of his hands on your hips reflects his strength, especially when he presses down slightly to stretch the area. 

“It’s okay. Your legs are supporting you. You can relax a bit.” Can you, though? With the way, he’s pressing on an area that’s suddenly very sore to you. His voice is scratching some primal part of your brain. You think it’s impossible.

“Am I supposed to be doing something while in this position?” You intentionally lower your voice to make him look at you. He does, just not in the way you want. That stupid, blank expression is still on his face. You rub your lower body on the mat, shivering a little as it barely touches your clit through the fabric.

“You’re supposed to breathe. Just be.” He speaks softly against your face. You were fond of his closeness, the sensation of his breath being directly on your skin. 

“When will this feel pleasurable?” You exhale. You honestly weren’t seeing any interest in human activities again. You were only getting a slight burn on your legs, and that was due to the grip Choso still had on you.

You don’t know what it is you said, but you watch Choso intensely. You can see his eyes widen for a split second before returning to their original state.

“Pleasurable? You came here.. for pleasure?” 

There was a slight hiccup in his voice at the end of his question. You got him, you think. It shouldn’t be much to get him under you now. He taps his long fingers on your hip twice twice in an attempt to make you shift to the other leg, causing you to jump. 

A wince escapes your lips as he releases his grip on you, “I hear that this practice can give that. Is it true?”

You finally caught Choso’s eye on you. In fact, his gaze remains on you even after he observes your body shift its position. You believe that you like his eyes on you. He lowers himself to your level to help you still your body.

“I suppose it depends on what kind of pleasure you’re looking for, miss.”

You hum softly as you breathe him in once more today when his palms rest against you once again. What did he mean by that?

You reply, but your gaze never leaves his, “What kind of pleasure can you give me, Choso?” 

Choso was quiet, reserved from the public, and honestly tried his best to avoid any eye contact with you during your entire time in his studio. But he only has so much self-control, as did you. The only conversation was a series of intense squelching sounds as Choso sucked on your pink bud obscenely. 

“Oh fuck- Just like that, Cho!”

He moaned fervently against your brown lips, pulling your hips against his face and keeping your cheeks apart with his large grip. You were on your knees, back shaped into a perfect arch. He was not letting go, squeezing his tongue down your wet pussy lips. Your body shakes as his tongue licks a stripe through your folds, circles all over your puckered hole, and drool slips onto the thin mat.

“Ah-!”

Your cries made Choso even more red in the ears. He thought he was pretty dull, not exciting or engaging to talk to. He didn’t pay much attention to his looks, girls always found him too.. weird. It wasn’t something he expected to happen on his day. He knew who you were before you came in, Satoru had the pleasure of letting him know you were on your way. But the minute you came into his place of work, he found it very hard to resist you. That’s why he didn’t make any eye contact. 

The truth is, Choso was deeply attracted to you and found it terrifying. 

Choso’s pretty head was puzzled by the fact that he was responsible for the angelic sounds that emerged from your plump lips. He couldn’t fathom that he was on his knees licking the most sensitive parts of your body. But, he welcomed it, letting himself sink into the essence of you with a feeling of overwhelming desperation. 

“Want more. Come on, miss. Give m-me more, please.”

How much more can you give him? He already has his face deep inside of you. You understand what he is trying to say when he inserts two fingers into your wet mound, dragging them in and out and carefully grazing the spongy spot that makes you thrash around. You immediately clench at the intrusion, feeling the overwhelming pleasure burn in the pit of your stomach. 

Choso is eager to pay attention to all parts of you but doesn’t know where to focus. Every part of you tastes so celestial, he wanted you to give him everything at the same time. His finger-fucking is swift, and your mind is entirely absent when the man pushes his tongue into and out of your ass simultaneously. Choso was so turned on that his precum was making a stain on his shorts from how much he was leaking.

His moans vibrated against your lower lips, and you swore in all your existence that you had never been eaten so nasty like this. He was going to make you cum so fast that you couldn’t even be mad about it.

He can feel it. The fatness of your pussy is pressing against Choso’s two big fingers, forcing him to use more strength to maintain his rapid pace. Your wetness creates a beautiful clear puddle under his attack, and he can feel it. Could you also do that on his dick? Milk his cock over and over and over again until he couldn’t cum anymore? Choso has been an atheist his entire life, but he almost prayed for this one favor.

“Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Ouuu fuck! I’m g-gonna-”

The man doesn’t respond at first, only presses into your G-spot harder and more forcefully, as if he has a point to prove. He circles at your clit, wrapping the twitching bud around his lips, and sucks hard. What does it for you is the drunk whispers vibrating against your core of ‘Please, give it to me. Just cum. Fuck, it’s so wet.’

Your stomach tightens, your hands grip the carpeted floor in front of you, and your mouth releases pornographic moaning as cream pours out of you and onto his waiting tongue. Choso is clamoring for your taste, and as a result, he moans out with you. You have a strong desire for him, but for some inexplicable reason, your body is unwilling to eat him. Instead, you never wanted to fuck a person so badly in your life. 

Choso’s close proximity makes him ignore your little whimpers while rubbing his blushing, leaking tip up and down your sloppy cunt. When did he even pull his dick out? 

“Bet it’s so w-warm inside. Ah-” When his flushed tip accidentally slips in, and he gets a taste of the warmth you bring, his breathy voice cracks. You’re whining now. Pushing back on Choso, sucking his wide cock in your greedy hole, feeling impatient to force him down far enough to rip your pussy. 

Choso has the most beautiful moans you’ve ever heard. His voice is deep, but his tone gets so high in pitch when he’s like this. It’s so whiny it makes you cream. Literally. His voice cracks, just like his resolve does when you slide all 7.8 inches of him in so that your hips are flush against his pelvis. The feeling of his dick inside of you is so good that you’re so close to begging.

He thought he could have some self-control, but he barely kept it together when he was just eating you out. Your drooling pussy convulsing and contracting against Choso, against his cock, is a sign that his soul has reached a part of heaven. He couldn’t stop himself, really. He couldn’t do anything but relentlessly fuck you at an inhuman pace. 

“So good. So good. Pussy’s so fucking-” He cuts himself off with a loud groan when he witnesses your soft brown cheeks being spread apart for him, revealing a magnificent view of your pussy being stretched beyond their limits. Giving him a beautiful view of your messy pussy creaming the more his dick repeatedly punches your g-spot again and again and again.

You’re wailing. You’re trying to find something to hold onto that can bring your mind back to reality. Choso makes it so hard. He is becoming more and more clingy to your liquids, and his hips are vibrating violently against yours, making you believe he might be bruising your cervix. You love it. You love every speck of pleasure flowing and rippling through your body. You love everything he’s giving your body at this moment.

“I-I know what you- Oh fuck. W-what you are,”

Huh?

The thought is almost pushed out of your head when he angles his hips to get deeper inside of you. Wet and dirty sounds of his balls hitting your clit are filling the air of the stretch room. Choso is rambling now. Your pretty pussy’s attempt to milk his cock until there was nothing is making him feel delirious. It just feels so good, so safe, so wet. God, you were so fucking wet for him. He continues his fucked out declaration,

“A-And I can tell y-you don’t like c-commitment, but please. Please let me k-keep you satisfied for all e-eternity.” His rough and insatiable pounding sends your mind to distant places while he pleads. 

With whatever coherent part of your brain is still there, you cower away at the proposition. Shaking your head rapidly in a ‘no’ motion. His harsh thrusts are practically felt in your womb, pushing your hips away when you scramble to grab something stable to hold you on the floor.

Of course, Choso doesn’t let you run away like that. He quickly brings your waist back against him, making sure that his cock is nestled in the deepest parts of your warmth for a moment before starting to thrust again. You’re forced to take it all, and he doesn’t even need to say a word to prevent you from trying that shit again.

Still, you whimper out,

“Chooo baby, I can’t- Ahhh! Can’t l-let you do that.”

Choso only frowns at the evident lie on your lips and pushes your entire body harder onto the mat. A loud gasp escapes your lips when you unexpectedly squirt all over the thin object due to the sudden pressure you feel on your cervix. He was so deep.

Choso doesn’t slow down; he only moans with staggering moans when your pussy sprays its juices on him. In fact, he goes faster. 

“P-Please, miss. I can make you feel this g-good whenever you want. I can- Fuckk. I promise I c-can always fuck you deep like t-this. I’ll worship you. I’d do anything you- anything you ask, just please. L-Let me.” 

It seems that Choso understood precisely what you needed, a bit of prodding and persuading. He’s sure that if someone happens to walk into the lobby, they’ll hear exactly what’s going on due to the loud squelching you both are making. But why does he want that? Why does he want everyone to know that he is the one making you cry out so pretty as if he were your god? Despite your brief resolve, you give the handsome man exactly what he asks. You.

“Yes! Oh fuck yes! M’all yours, Cho! M’cumming- Shit. Shit. Shit. I’m-”

The sounds you both made at the same time were too much for your lovemaking to drown out. With your dam breaking, your pussy twitching open and closed, and your tight pussy covering his heavy cock with splashes of clear liquid and your sweet, sweet cream, Choso gets a taste of heaven. He cums with you. His hand grips the sides of your hips so hard, even through your dark skin, that it might leave bruises. Your perfect pussy squeezing a heavy load out of the man so much that he was shaking when he felt it overfill your cunt. Fuck, you’re too much. 

Heavy breathing and a light pap sound coming from his cum dripping out of your poor pussy could barely be heard by both of you. Choso was in such a headspace that his mind needed to take a breather to gather what the fuck he was going to say to you in a few minutes, his dick softening inside you. You were feeling the after-effects of being fucked so good, buzzing in your right ear, spasming on a cock that’s still buried deep inside of you, and aches on your lower body.

You start to pull off of him, thinking that’s what he wants, but he immediately grabs your hips and keeps you still, still not getting over the euphoric feeling of your pussy on him. Choso realizes something, and at this moment, he feels the most embarrassed he has ever felt. He managed to get a girl's commitment without even knowing her name. 

“Um.. miss?”

You barely let out a whisper, “Yes, Cho?”

“… What’s your name?”

There’s a beat of silence. Please don’t hate me. Please don’t hate me. Please don’t hate me. Choso is pleading that you won’t hate him.

His thoughts were disrupted by a melodic laugh and a honey voice, “It’s Y/n, cutie.” 

Y/n? He finds that name so.. pretty. Almost as pretty as your body. Almost as pretty as the sight of your tight pussy creaming up and- 

Well, now he’s hard again. You won’t mind if he pleases you a little more, right? After all, he made a promise, and Choso is never known for breaking his promises.

tags🏷️:: @hatake05

tags🏷️:: @thickbihhwitdagapp

[nikovraskol]

Yk what would be crazy if past reader (16 year old version of them) got transported to the future in which they’re dead. Like imagine seeing ur kid (that you’ve neglected for so long ) just show up to your doorstep again but it’s the young version of them. Like what would be their reaction? I imagine reader just being so confused bc one minute they were at school and the next they’re being hugged by the batfam.

I love your batfam series and I honestly can’t wait to see more omlllll I love the way this is headed 🫶

thank u for this delicious request.. yall.. i've written soso many drafts for all ur requests but i dont want to overstimulate yall..its important to make sure to go at a pace your partner is comfortable with :(

masterlist

at sixteen, i imagine reader to be very nervous for the future, sixteen is two years from eighteen and i believe that they're scared that once they're a legal adult they'll no longer have any chance to be accepted -- that they'll be too old.

also, i know some goober is gonna ask so let's decide that 21 y/o (name) was able to return their 16 y/o body while 16 y/o kept their body, well, 21 y/o's body was drained of their life force and unlike jason with superboy indirectily healing him.. can we understand what im tryna say

so let's paint a picture, you're casually in school, feeling depressed because when are you not? your teacher drones on in the background as you scribble notes in your book lazily.

you're trying to drown out in your teacher one minute and then the next you're staring at the door to the manor.

oh. okay.

you're understandably a little puzzled but you brush it off, it's not the first time you've disassociated, it hadn't happened in a while but you're under a lot of stress with school and the crippling sorrow threatening to swallow you.

so you open the door, completely unaware you're walking to your doom, you step inside, your head hung low as you morosely walk in, not excited to be back in this manor of gloom and doom.

and then you hear it, a loud, absolutely offended shriek -- to which you don't look, it's not any of your business, they're probably just playing around without you, indulging in their inside jokes.

and then you're embraced, tightly, too tightly.

"what the--" you're.. being hugged? is alfred feeling alright?--

and then you see the jet-black hair you've seen countless times in passing, and then you feel the warmth of his body against yours, and then he looks up at you -- eyes wild and focused on you. only on you.

"what the fuck?" you're genuinely, so unbelievably confused. have you died? is this heaven?

"you're-- you're alive? this is real?" bruce breathes out, your father is looking at you. looking at you like you're his child, your lips tug into a thin line as you watch as the rest of the clowns join the circus.

oooh boyy.

you probably don't even notice the fact that you've switched universes at first.

like, you're so confused but also lavishing in the attention-- i mean, this is what you've wanted your whole life, right?

bruce is hanging off your every word, no longer does he brush you off or ignore you, he stares at you intently -- memorising every part of your face, every twitch of your muscles, every single detail of you, his precious child, alive in the flesh.

dick clings onto you way too much. every waking moment of the day he's by your side, sometimes he'll hug you tight, his hand gently snaking to press against the pulse point on your wrist, his eyes strangely darkened as he feels your pulse thumming against your skin.

jason is similar to dick in this scenario, the guilt from the incident weighing heavy on his mind, he doesn't let you out of his sight, he's always lingering. he's also way more protective in a smothering way, you're cooking? don't be silly, you might cut yourself! you're running around? slow down, you might fall! you're leaving the manor? why? what do you need? don't leave him, please, never again.

tim is a lot more .. atuned to your emotions. he regularly asks how you feel, at first it's more-so because he is truly glad you're back, he wants to make up for the past! but after a while, it gets to a point where it feels like you're being studied. he's just making sure you're not upset, that you're not thinking of leaving, again.

damian is downright terrifying, not in a violent way, but in a way that you're not sure how to react.. i mean, he used to be the one to belittle you the once, seeing him being so.. gentle. it's unnerving! he's almost kind to you? he'll soften his words, urge you to rest, it's .. strange. very strange.

after a while, the attention gets suffocating. very suffocating. you enjoy the attention, in fact, you've never been happier. but since coming home since that one day, you've not had a moments peace.

you wake up, someone's hovering over you. you go to eat, someone's making sure you don't choke. you're going for a walk? no, you're not.

it gets loathsome, you feel like a porcelain doll. you're not allowed any freedom, you don't go to school anymore -- anytime you bring it up you get strange looks.

that's not the only oddity. you feel different, stranger. not only are you taller, but your mind is different, and while buying something from the store, you notice an id. what? an id that says your age is twenty-one.

and another thing, alfred, the man you consider a father, is dead. dead. like, buried in the ground dead.

if you try to bring it up with your family, they share strange looks. they won't tell you, no, they want to keep you happy -- want to ignore the fact that you're not really their y/n, so don't bring it up too often. kay??

[nebulaafterdark]

Dragonseeds (Pt. 1)

Aegon Targaryen ii x Velaryon(Cole)!Reader

Summary: If any man can claim a dragon, what good is the blood of Old Valyria?

18+ ONLY MDNI

Y/N Velaryon has loved Aegon since she was small; fascinated by the Prince, three years her senior. Like a shadow, from corridor to corridor, and one day, like a switch, they flip.

Aegon begins seeking her out, searching the castle high and low for his betrothed. Training fiercely by the sword, with the understanding that only a knight could properly defend her. A sworn sword will only go so far, they could not love her the way he does.

“I love you too much, you have ruined me.”

He often tells her, to which the princess smiles.

“As dearly as I love you.”

When they are forced to wed immediately after the incident at Driftmark, neither the prince nor princess are eager to produce heirs.

They fight often, loud, passionate disagreements. He raises his hand to her once, in a fit of rage. Using every bit of self restraint to cup her cheek instead, a bit too forcefully. With blunt nails digging into her delicate skin as she watches him with wide eyes. “I meant to strike you.” That is what one does when the person they love refuses to listen, is it not?

“You did not.”

“I wanted to,” he admits. “I could not.”

The princess offers a sad smile, turning her face into his palm. “That is what matters.”

They do not lie together for some four years, until the growing protests become too loud to ignore.

“The smallfolk believe that a strong line of succession is the work of a strong marriage. My claim is already in question, we will need a strong line.” Y/N whispers against his lips.

Aegon loves his wife, but detests the notion that she is to be bred like cattle to uphold their duty to the crown. He hates being a prince, he hates being a Targaryen.

That is why he so loves Y/N’s hair, each dark, rebellious wave. How it screams ‘I do not belong to you.’

He hacks off his silver tresses at the first sob of his wife on the birthing bed. Never allowing it to grow past his chin again.

The future Queen and King consort are blessed with twin daughters, followed by three sweet sons, the youngest two inherit their mother’s dark locks. Pleasing Aegon to no end.

“I want a daughter who favors you.” Aegon admits.

“Then we must try again.” Y/N grins.

Aegon fists a hand in her dark locks as they make love, as though it will grant his wish.

They are expecting a sixth child before King Viserys’ death. Before Aegon takes the throne to guard it. Before Y/N crowns him, in the dragon pit, at Ser Criston’s order.

“Listen to me now, these next days are critical. Decide now whether you wish to live or die, if you want your children to live.”

“My children are in danger?” Y/N whispers.

“Your children have been in danger.” Ser Criston sneers.

“Why are you helping me?”

“You know why.” Cole grits out. Blood of my blood.

“Surely it would be easier for you if I were gone.”

“I do not wish you dead.” The man tells her. “Crown Aegon, the people must see you to do it. Surrender it peacefully and they will fall in line.”

“And my mother?”

Cole squares his shoulders, “we save who we can save.”

————————————————————————

Only two days later tragedy strikes, pressing on the delicate ties that hold the greens together. Severing them with the news of Vhagar’s betrayal.

“I did not mean to kill Lucerys.” Aemond admits, in the presence of his mother, grandsire and brother alone.

“What did you mean to do?” Aegon slams his fist against the table.

“Have a bit of fun.”

“Fun?” Aegon scoffs, “is it entertaining to you that I must now break this news to my wife in her condition?”

“Aegon,” Alicent sighs, “mayhaps you might wait until-”

“I will not lie to her, mother.” Aegon says, “better she hear it from me.”

“The grand maester should ready a draft, something to calm her.” Otto suggests.

“No.” Aegon shakes his head.

“Think of the babe.”

“I do think of the babe!” Aegon shouts, “I think of the babe and I think of my wife. My poor, sweet, wife who is never considered by another soul, save for me.”

Alicent swallows hard.

“This world can be cruel.” Otto admits, “you must keep your wits about you, your grace.”

Aegon scoffs, storming out of the room to find his wife, standing but a foot from the doorway. “How much did you hear?”

“Very little, I was headed to look in on the children. I heard you shouting.” She admits, “it stopped me.”

“Come, my heart.” Aegon murmurs, wrapping her in his arms. “There is something I must tell you.”

Y/N nods, against his chest. It must be something awful, she can feel it in her bones.

“I need you to do your best to keep calm. Our child needs you calm, yes?”

Again she nods.

“There’s been a terrible accident,” he begins swaying her. “Lucerys and Aemond had a run in at Storm’s End.”

“No,” she clutches him a bit tighter.

“Vhagar…is accustomed to war. I do not-“ he breaks off. “Aemond insists it was an accident.”

“My brother is dead?”

“I am so terribly sorry.” Aegon murmurs, pressing his cheek to hers, in a desperate attempt to absorb even an ounce of her pain. “I am so sorry.”

“I cannot breathe.” The thought of sweet Lucerys dying frightened and alone is inconceivable.

“You must.”

“I should have been there, to fly for my mother’s claim.”

“You are with child.” He reminds her.

“I am always with child, it makes little difference.” She heaves in a bitter breath.

“You could not have changed it.”

“I might have tried!” She pulls herself away from him. “I need a moment alone.”

“My heart, you should not be alone.”

“Please,” she insists.

Aegon spends the evening drowning himself in cups, choking down the urge to murder his brother.

————————————————————————

Y/N and Aegon make the decision to leave with their children under the cover of nightfall.

Ser Criston catches them of course, he always seems to. Only this time he makes no move to stop them.

“I swore an oath to protect you.” Cole insists. “For too long I have stood idle, allowing Rhaenyra to guide you. To mold you into the heir she so desperately needed.” He looks to Y/N, “I offered her a quiet life on the hillside, selling oranges.”

Y/N blinks at him.

“She wanted no part in that,” Cole smiles. “I suppose Ser Harwin Break Bones was more agreeable.”

Y/N stares back at him with familiar eyes…his eyes. “Are you not ashamed of me?”

“I did not turn away from you because I was ashamed. I have never been ashamed of you. I wished only to make it easier on you, so that you would not bear the shame.” Cole tells her. “Now you decide for yourself…the life you want. Return to your mother on Dragonstone, or fly away across the narrow sea.”

Part 2

Aegon taglist: @narwhal-swimmingintheocean @niyahnotnia

[redvexillum]

A/N: Please note! I'm still away with limited to no access to internet! Now, let’s talk about this story. A couple of quick notes: originally, I had a mini-series planned as a gift fic for @redfoxwritesstuff similar to this prompt. So, naturally, I decided to hijack the prompt and turn it into a little taste test of what you can expect from me next year. Also, fair warning—this one-shot is long AF. Enjoy! Also Kit said this was a very fluffy-wuffy story ✨️

SUMMARY: When Alastor summons a demon to strike a deal, he’s horrified to discover the entity is none other than his future self—a twisted, unrecognizable Overlord of Hell. The price for their agreement? Allowing his future counterpart a single night with you. But as the night unfolds, the deal unravels, and Alastor is confronted with a vision of his destiny and a choice.

TAGS/WARNINGS: f!reader, demon alastor, human alastor, period typical racism, reader is white for plot reason, p in v, cucking, big smoll sad, it made kit's eyes water lol, time travel, human!alastor is a jerk, human!alastor is bad with feelings, @safination i'm not here right now so you have my permission to lovingly yell at Kit.

When Alastor, your enigmatic and ever-poised boss, had called you for the first time early evening, asking you to meet him in his office, your heart thudded wildly, teetering between anticipation and trepidation. Alastor never went out of his way to summon you—it was always you lingering behind, staying past your hours, quietly soaking in his presence as he worked tirelessly. 

This was different. 

It felt intimate. 

You’d spent an hour preparing, choosing your best dress—a sleek, elegant number that hugged your form just enough to be alluring without being improper. A touch of makeup brought colour to your cheeks, but not too much; you wanted to be perfect, to catch his eye. Yet, despite your efforts, you knew how he would react. Alastor’s gaze was always detached, his smile fixed, his brow quirking only slightly when you adorned yourself in jewels or dresses that begged for attention. Still, you couldn’t help but try, craving even the smallest acknowledgement. 

But what bound you to Alastor wasn’t something you could ever flaunt. It was your secret—a dangerous one that you carried with trembling hands and a racing heart. The two of you were entangled in a forbidden affair, one that defied both class and the suffocating bigotry of your family. 

Alastor was beneath your station—a man your father would see erased from existence if he ever knew. Worse still, he wasn’t even of your race, a detail that would ensure not just scorn, but ruination. 

Despite the risks, you couldn’t quell the fervent pulse of your heart or the fire that grew with every lingering glance, every stolen moment. You loved him. But you would never dare breathe those words aloud. Love, you were certain, would drive him away, or worse, force him to sever your professional ties altogether. No, you resolved to bury it deep within you, content to simply bask in his presence, treasuring every fleeting second by his side. 

The taxi ride to the radio station felt eternal, every bump on the road a reminder of your growing tension. Your stomach coiled with a delicious, agonizing heat, your mind a swirl of fantasies about what the night might hold. Would his hands be on you? His voice—a low, sultry murmur in your ear? You had lied with practised ease to your mother, telling her you were meeting a friend, knowing the scandal it would incite if anyone knew you were alone with an unmarried man in the dead of night. 

You stepped through the radio station doors, your pulse hammering like a drumbeat in your ears. Each step toward his office sent a ripple of nerves through you, your hand trembling as you raised it to knock. The soft rap of your knuckles against the wood echoed in the empty hall. 

“Come in,” came the familiar cadence of Alastor’s voice, low and steady, but there was a rasp beneath it that made your skin prickle. 

As you pushed the door open, your breath caught in your throat. The world seemed to tilt, your vision narrowing to the abomination lounging in Alastor’s chair. It wasn’t him. It couldn’t be. 

The creature was grotesque, its twisted form a nightmare made flesh. Its grin stretched impossibly wide, revealing too many sharp, glistening teeth. Your knees threatened to give out as you stumbled back, a trembling hand flying to cover your mouth. 

“S-Sir,” you stammered, your voice a feeble whisper. Tears welled in your eyes as you pointed a shaking finger at the monstrosity before you. Your mind screamed at you to flee, but your legs felt as if they’d been turned to lead. 

And at that moment, all the fantasies, the yearning, the secret desires—all of it shattered, leaving you drowning in a sea of terror. 

In the chair where Alastor usually sat was a figure so utterly alien, so menacing, that your breath hitched in your throat. Your eyes widened, taking in every horrifying detail. 

The creature’s stark, blood-red hair fell in a sharp bob, the blackened tips framing his face with an eerie precision. Two tufts of hair atop his head mimicked ears, their softness betraying the menace of the antler-like bones that protruded from his skull. These jagged horns gleamed under the low light, their surface polished and unyielding. The skin stretched over his sharp features was a ghostly grey, as if every drop of blood had been leached from his body. His long claws glistened, crimson as though freshly dipped in blood, and their razor-like points promised destruction with a single swipe. 

His choice of attire was oddly elegant—a dapper, pin-striped red suit that hung impeccably on his tall frame, paired with a crimson shirt beneath. The vivid fabric clung to him, amplifying the danger in his already striking presence. When his gaze lifted to yours, your stomach churned. His eyes were an unsettling sea of red, the sclera and iris indistinguishable except for the black, slit-like pupils that seemed to pierce straight into your soul. 

“Why, hello there!” the monster greeted you, his voice dripping with exaggerated joviality. The sound was layered with static, like a distorted broadcast through a radio, dissonant and grating against your ears. 

As he rose from the chair, his height became even more terrifying. The tattered ends of his jacket fluttered slightly, like the remnants of a garment torn through battles untold. He was impossibly tall, towering so far above you that even Alastor’s impressive stature seemed diminutive in comparison. 

“You’ve arrived pretty quickly,” a familiar voice interrupted your spiralling fear, anchoring you for a brief moment. Your head snapped toward the sound, and relief flooded your chest as your boss came into view. Alastor was seated on the plush couch to the side, his elbow resting on the armrest, one hand pressed to his temple as though nursing a splitting headache. 

“S-sir,” you called out, your voice trembling as you instinctively shuffled closer to him. Every nerve in your spine prickled, the weight of the monster’s unblinking gaze crawling over you like bugs. He grinned wider—unnaturally so—his yellowed teeth gleaming in the dim light, the corners of his mouth stretching impossibly far, as if the act of smiling alone was tearing his face apart. 

Alastor rose fluidly from the couch, his presence commanding despite the monstrous figure looming nearby. With a calmness that baffled you, he reached out and took your trembling hand, his touch steady and grounding as he gently pulled you closer to his body. 

Your heart raced, your cheeks burning as his fingers brushed against your skin. You tilted your head up, seeking answers in his expression, but his whisky brown eyes were unreadable, his smile just as enigmatic as always. Why wasn’t he alarmed by the abomination in his office? 

“My dear,” Alastor purred, his deep voice resonating through you like a caress. The sound sent a shiver down your spine, and your head instinctively dipped, your gaze lowering to his polished shoes. Heat rushed through your veins as your body unconsciously fell into a submissive pose, the practised habit of yielding to his authority deeply ingrained from the private games you’d shared. 

His chuckle was warm, teasing, a sound that both soothed and tingled your nerves. He lifted a hand, his long fingers tilting your chin upward with an almost tender touch. His smile softened, though it remained wicked at the edges. 

“I need you to do me a favour, darling,” he murmured, his voice soft yet commanding, the undertones so addicting you felt yourself nodding before the words fully registered. 

“A-anything, sir,” you stammered, your voice trembling with unease. Instinctively, your fingers twitched toward him, longing for reassurance, but you stopped yourself, letting your hands fall to your sides. You knew better—Alastor disliked being touched without his permission, and crossing that line would only make things worse. 

His grin widened, a sinister curve that sent a chill down your spine. For a moment, it mirrored the demon’s unsettling smile, sharp and predatory. “Excellent,” he mused, his tone deceptively light. Then, with an elegant step back, he distanced himself from you, leaving a void where his warmth had been. You shivered, feeling the icy tendrils of isolation creep in. 

Turning his attention to the monster, Alastor tilted his head, his expression unreadable but his voice cutting like a blade. “You see, my little assistant would do anything for me.” His chuckle was dry, short, and devoid of emotion—a sound you were intimately familiar with. “So, do what you will with her, and we’ll conclude our arrangement.” 

The words struck like a thunderclap, dousing you in a cold wave of shock. Your body froze, your mind racing to process what he had just said. You turned to him, wide-eyed and pleading, hoping—praying—for some sign that this was a cruel joke, a test of your devotion. But the cold detachment in his dull, brown eyes offered no comfort. 

The monster loomed closer, his presence suffocating, his malevolent aura wrapping around you like a vice. Your chest tightened as fear clawed its way up your throat, and you finally understood. Alastor had summoned this being—a blasphemous act, all for some dark purpose. Was this your fate? Had he lured you here to offer you as a sacrifice? 

Tears burned in your eyes, the sting mingling with the sharp ache in your chest. Your nose tingled as you fought to hold back a sob. You had said you would do anything for him, but now the weight of that promise crushed you. 

Would you die for him? 

Could you? 

The monster’s low, guttural chuckle rumbled through the room, a sound that vibrated in your very bones. His eyes glowed with a hellish light, his razor-sharp teeth gleaming as his grin widened, promising pain. You hiccuped, your trembling gaze darting back to Alastor, silently begging him to stop whatever horror he had set in motion. 

As the monster drew closer, his towering form engulfed you. You whimpered, your eyes squeezing shut, bracing yourself for the agony you were certain would follow. But instead of searing pain, there was a gentle touch—a feather-light brush of fingers against your skin. 

Cautiously, you opened your eyes, your breath hitching as you met his gaze. The malevolence was gone, replaced by something softer, almost…tender. His grin had dulled, the sharpness of his teeth no longer as menacing. 

“My, I was such a bully to you, wasn’t I, cher?” he murmured, his voice low and intimate. He stepped closer, his movements slow and deliberate, as though not to startle you. Gently, he lifted your trembling hand, his clawed fingers cradling it with surprising care. His eyes fluttered closed as he pressed a soft kiss to the back of your hand, the unexpected tenderness unravelling the knot of fear in your chest. 

“Al…Alastor?” The name slipped from your lips unbidden, your voice barely above a whisper. This creature looked nothing like your boss, yet his mannerisms—the way he spoke, the delicate way he touched you—felt achingly familiar. 

The monster’s eyes snapped open, a flicker of something unreadable crossing his face. Slowly, his gaze locked onto yours, the intensity in his glowing red eyes pinning you in place. His body shifted closer, his towering frame crowding you, but without the suffocating malice from before. 

One hand slid to rest gently on your hip, the other cupping your cheek with a touch so light it felt like a whisper against your skin. His thumb traced slow, deliberate circles, brushing the warmth of your cheek as though memorizing every detail. 

“You’re as beautiful as I remember you to be, cher,” he said, his voice soft, almost reverent. The words were spoken as if they were meant for you alone, a secret shared in the space between your breaths. The tenderness in his tone sent a pang through your chest, your fear melting into confusion, longing, and something deeper—something that tugged at the very core of you. 

Your eyes darted past the monster, seeking the warmth and steadiness of Alastor’s familiar brown gaze, but he wasn’t looking at you. Instead, he busied himself with tidying the scattered books on the floor, his movements precise, almost indifferent. 

“I suppose you’d like an explanation?” The monster’s voice lilted with amusement, the tone grating against your raw nerves. 

You tried to speak, to demand answers, but your throat felt constricted, the weight of fear pressing your lips shut. What could you possibly say when confronted with something so unnatural, so wrong? 

The monster’s grin widened as he studied your silence, his laughter cutting through the tension like jagged glass. “My younger, alive self, I might add,” he began, voice dripping with mockery, “decided it would be a brilliant idea to summon a demon. And what a surprise—I managed to transcend time itself, back to when I still drew breath. Ha!” 

He chuckled, the sound lighthearted, as if he were recounting an amusing anecdote instead of explaining your potential doom. With an unsettling ease, he began to sway you side to side, guiding your body like a puppet, as though a melody only he could hear played in his mind. 

“W-what?” you stammered, your voice barely audible, the weight of his words sinking in. 

The demon leaned closer, his glowing red eyes narrowing as he held you in his gaze. “You see, cher, your dear father was planning to pull out his support. Said the new age of entertainment was approaching,” he purred, his tone lowering, his words curling like smoke around you. “He claimed the radio was a dying medium. Can you imagine?” 

Your heart stuttered, the implication dawning on you in jagged pieces. 

Before you could process further, the demon pulled back, his face twisted into an unsettlingly cheerful grin. “So,” he continued, his voice unnervingly jovial, “my younger self decided to strike a deal with me.” 

Without warning, he yanked you closer, your body pressed firmly against his towering frame. His claws trailed lightly along your arm, his grip firm yet almost reverent as he tilted your chin up to meet his gaze. His sharp teeth flashed in a grotesque mockery of a smile as he leaned in, his words soft and poisonous. 

“Help him convince your father to keep his investment in the radio business,” he explained, “and in return, I get you—for one night. However I please.” He sighed wistfully, as if the thought alone was a gift. 

“I…” The swirl of emotions in your chest was unbearable—fear, disgust, betrayal, and a growing sense of dread. Your stomach churned, and tears pricked at the corners of your eyes. The enormity of what he was saying crashed down on you like a tidal wave. Alastor had sold you. Sold you to this…this demon for a fleeting deal. 

Your voice wavered, cracking under the weight of your panic. “P-pl-please,” you whimpered, trembling in his grasp. “I-I can convince my father. I swear—please, just don’t hurt me.” A tear slipped down your cheek, hot and bitter, the first of many as your resolve crumbled into despair. 

Behind the demon, Alastor’s voice cut through the moment, sharp and impatient. “Think of it as another…act,” he said with an air of dismissal, waving his hand as though the entire situation was trivial. His arms crossed over his chest, his expression tight with irritation. “I’m ordering you, for one night, to experience pleasure with another man, ah, rather an otherworldly being. Surely, you love following my orders, don’t you?” 

His grin was forced, brittle at the edges, and his gaze was devoid of the warmth you had once clung to. The coldness in his voice pierced you deeper than the demon’s claws ever could. 

Something deep within you cracked, a fracture so profound it reverberated through your entire being. The tears came harder now, streaking down your cheeks in silence as the pain hollowed out your chest. Your voice faltered, swallowed by the void left behind by his betrayal. You were adrift, unmoored, and utterly broken. 

Before you could fully crumble in the demon’s arms, his voice cut through the storm of your emotions, soft yet laced with disapproval. “My, my, my,” he sighed, shaking his head with an air of mock disappointment. With a sharp snap of his fingers, the air crackled, and tendrils of shadow unfurled from the floor like living smoke. They coiled around Alastor’s limbs, binding him in place. 

“Hey—” Alastor managed to bark before one of the tendrils silenced him, curling tightly over his mouth. His eyes burned with malice, glaring daggers at the demon. The raw hatred radiating from him sent a shiver cascading down your spine. 

The demon tutted, wagging a clawed finger as though scolding a misbehaving child. “Tsk, tsk. I’m quite certain our mother taught us better manners when it comes to treating the fairer sex, wouldn't you agree?” he chided, the red monocle adorning his eye gleaming in the dim light like a sly wink directed at you. 

He turned his attention back to you, and before you could shrink away, his arms enfolded you in a firm embrace. “Now, now, cher,” he murmured, his voice a warm, honeyed drawl. “No need for tears. I dare say, I’m truly amazed. Imagine… falling in love with me, despite everything.” His head tilted, amusement dancing in his crimson gaze as his grin softened ever so slightly. 

Your muscles locked, your mind too frazzled to process his words. Your wide eyes remained fixed on Alastor, bound and seething within the shadowy restraints. “P-please, Mr. Demon, y-you’re hurting him,” you stammered, trembling as helplessness gripped your frame. 

“Oh, sweet thing, don’t you worry about him,” the demon cooed, his tone light yet edged with a strange finality. “And for the record, I’d prefer it if you called me Al.” 

“A-Al?” The name felt foreign on your tongue as you hesitantly turned your gaze back to him. 

“That’s right,” he replied with a theatrical flourish, a microphone staff materializing in his hand out of thin air. He stepped back, spreading his arms as though addressing an invisible audience. “Allow me to properly introduce myself!” His grin widened, impossibly sharp. “I am Alastor—the Radio Demon. I hail from the future, though I come bearing tidings from Hell itself! It's a pleasure to meet you, again! Haha!” His laughter echoed, rich and chilling. “But for you, my darling, you may simply call me Al. I much prefer it that way.” 

His words sank in like stones, heavy and impossible. This demon… this creature who had embraced you so intimately… was Alastor. Your Alastor. The very thought clawed at your sanity, pulling you deeper into the pit of madness. 

“How… how is this possible?” you whispered, the question barely audible over the hammering of your heart. 

His response was another snap of his fingers, the sound sharp and commanding. The plush sofa in the corner of the room shimmered and transformed, warping into a small, inviting bed. 

“Anything is possible with a little magic, darling,” he said with a devilish grin, his hand slipping to the small of your back, guiding you toward the bed. His voice dropped, a velvet purr curling through his words. “And my time here is fleeting. So, cher, allow me this one indulgence—to feel you once more, as I’ve longed to do.” 

“Y-you’re Alastor,” you murmured, your voice soft, trembling as your mind wavered on the precipice of disbelief and reluctant acceptance. It felt surreal, like a twisted fairy tale brought to life. 

“The one and only,” he declared with a radiant grin that sent a jolt of familiarity straight to your heart. For a moment, your breath hitched. That smile—it was Alastor’s, unmistakably his. The way his lips curled, the self-assured confidence radiating from him—it mirrored the expression you’d seen so many times after his broadcasts, a smile brimming with satisfaction and happiness. 

But now, that smile belonged to this—to him. 

As he followed you to the bed, his movements unhurried yet purposeful, you found yourself sinking into the mattress, your body trembling with a cascade of emotions you couldn’t contain. The instant he sat beside you, you threw your arms around his neck, clutching him as though he might vanish into smoke if you let go. Pressing your face against his chest, you whispered, voice quivering under the weight of your heartache, “W-why are you in Hell?” 

Tears spilled freely, soaking into the fine fabric of his jacket. Your words, soft and trembling, carried a deeper pain than you realized. “Why?” you repeated, pulling back just enough to meet his gaze, your blurred vision making his grin all the more surreal. 

The concept of Hell clawed at your mind—a place of endless torment, unimaginable cruelty, and eternal suffering. The thought of Alastor, your Alastor, enduring such a fate twisted your stomach into knots. Your hands, trembling with hesitation and sorrow, rose to frame his face. The grin on his lips remained unchanged, unfaltering, though its presence felt like a knife plunged into your chest. 

“I-is it scary?” you asked, voice breaking under the weight of your despair. “Is it… painful?” The tears came harder now, spilling like a deluge, each one carrying another fragment of your breaking heart. “Is there…” you hiccuped, searching his eyes for something, anything, “…anything I can do? To…to save your soul?” 

For a moment, he froze, his crimson eyes fixed on you. Then his lips parted, and laughter spilled forth—a sound both melodic and unhinged, a discordant symphony that sent shivers rippling across your skin. 

“Oh, my!” he exclaimed between peals of manic laughter, his head tilting unnaturally. With a sickening crack, his neck twisted in a full circle, the motion so grotesque you flinched. He turned his warped grin toward the immobilized Alastor, bound by shadows in the corner of the room. “She doesn’t know?” he howled, the sound echoing as though bouncing off invisible walls. “Hahaha! She doesn’t know! Oh, this is rich!” 

You stared, frozen in both awe and horror, as the man you loved unravelled into something far stranger, far darker. The resemblance to Alastor was undeniable—the mannerisms, the way he carried himself—but there was something else, too. Something foreign, something… wrong. He was a blurred reflection, a distorted echo of the man you thought you knew. 

Without warning, his head snapped back to face you. Before you could process the movement, his lips descended on yours, the suddenness of it stealing your breath. You stiffened, your body rigid with shock. But then his lips moved, tender and familiar, in the exact way Alastor used to kiss you. The familiarity melted your resolve, and against your better judgment, your fingers brushed against the lapels of his jacket. 

His hand came to rest on yours, gently clasping your trembling fingers. 

“Cher,” he murmured, his voice a soft, aching melody. His lips brushed against yours again, as though afraid this moment would slip away. “Oh, how I’ve missed you, cher,” he whispered, the raw longing in his tone unravelling something deep inside you. 

He pressed you back onto the bed, his weight settling over you like a ghost of memories long past. If you closed your eyes, you could almost convince yourself it was him—your Alastor. It was so easy to believe it was his hands, his voice, his breath against your skin. 

“I’m not… with you...down there?” you whispered, your voice breaking as he finally pulled back, his forehead resting against yours, breaths mingling. 

For a fleeting moment, something unspoken flickered in his crimson eyes—pain. Then it was gone, replaced by his ever-present grin. “Of course not, silly girl,” he said, his voice laced with a deceptive lightness. He pressed a soft kiss to your cheek, his touch gentle despite the shadows that clung to him. 

“Your soul, of course, went to Heaven,” he continued with a wistful chuckle. “How could it not? You’re far too pure, too precious for the likes of Hell.” His words were tender, yet they carried an undertone of something far darker. Something that left you both mesmerized and terrified. 

The way Al held you was intimate, possessive, and far too tender to be anything other than the embrace of a lover. It was as though, in some distant future, you and he were entwined in a life you could only dream of. 

Could it be true? 

Your gaze shifted to Alastor, who was furiously struggling against the shadow tendrils pinning him in place. The sight of his thrashing form, his narrowed eyes burning with frustration, sent your heart pounding. The sound of your pulse roared in your ears as conflicting thoughts raced through your mind. 

Perhaps, in the future, the world had changed—laws once meant to keep you apart finally lifted. Perhaps Alastor had grown to see you, not as an assistant, but as someone worthy of his love. Perhaps, together, you’d built a life, a family, and shared moments of happiness you could scarcely imagine now. 

But then, a darker thought surfaced. Perhaps Alastor had died, his soul condemned to Hell. If that was true, and this demon before you was proof of that fate, would your future self feel the same unbearable ache at being parted from him for eternity? 

Tears welled in your eyes as the thought took root, threatening to undo you entirely. You buried your face against Al’s chest, his warmth anchoring you as you fought to calm the whirlwind of emotions. Hugging him tightly, you slowed your breathing, trying to chase away the storm of uncertainty. 

“I…” you started, but your voice faltered. You cast a glance back at Alastor, still bound and silenced, his struggle relentless. The words caught in your throat, and you pressed your lips tightly together, unwilling to voice your fears. 

“What’s wrong, cher?” Al whispered against your hair, his voice soothing and laced with curiosity. He began peppering light kisses across your forehead and hairline, each touch feather-soft yet disarming. “Is it something you don’t want my present self to hear?” 

Your body tensed in surprise. How had he read your thoughts so clearly? 

He grinned mischievously, a spark of devilish delight flashing in his crimson eyes. With a sharp snap of his fingers, the shadow tendrils tightened around Alastor’s head, shrouding his eyes and ears. “There. Now he can’t see or hear us!” Al giggled, his claws tracing idle patterns down your arm before moving to the buttons of your dress. 

“I never told you how much I admired your dresses, did I, cher?” he murmured, his tone dipping low, intimate. 

“W-what?” you stammered, breath hitching as his fingers worked with slow precision, unfastening each button one by one. 

“You always tried so hard to catch my attention,” he said, his voice husky, tinged with regret. He leaned in, his lips brushing against your collarbone with a tender kiss. “And I, stubborn fool that I am, ignored the signs—despite my obvious interest in you.” 

Another kiss landed on your other collarbone, his warm breath ghosting over your skin. His words sent a shiver coursing through you. “Have we made love yet, cher?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper. 

Love? The word echoed in your mind, foreign yet tantalizing. You and Alastor had shared moments, stolen kisses, and even acts of passion, but love…? You weren’t sure if anything between you had ever been tender enough to call it that. 

Your silence was answer enough. Al hummed softly, his lips quirking upward. “I suppose that tells me where I am in the timeline,” he mused, his fingers gliding over your skin as he peeled your dress away. 

His sharp inhale was audible, his hands reverent as they traced your bare form. He cupped the curve of your breast with a featherlight touch, his claws grazing your skin before sliding down to rest at your navel. The intensity of his gaze made you feel both vulnerable and cherished, and your heart ached at the dichotomy between his tenderness and the sharp edge of danger he exuded. 

“Such beauty,” he murmured, his voice a low rumble, filled with awe and longing. “How I must have adored you…ah, How I adore you even now...” His words trailed off, his lips returning to claim yours in a kiss that was soft, searching, and impossibly bittersweet. 

You stifled a moan, the sound barely escaping your lips as your heels dug into the mattress. Heat coiled low in your belly, but a nagging thought held you in place. If this truly was Alastor, you knew how much he relished control. Surely, he’d expect you to stay still, waiting for his next command. 

“Does this form disgust you, cher?” Al’s voice sliced through your thoughts, low and rich, dripping with desire. 

His words startled you, and for a moment, you were lost in the depths of his crimson gaze. Disgust? The notion was absurd. If anything, this form was fascinating—intoxicating. Your mind had already accepted that this demon was, in essence, Alastor, and now you couldn’t help but marvel at him. The fiery red of his hair spoke of passion, his sharp smile held a mischievous allure, and those ruby-like eyes gleamed with a predatory hunger. 

“N-no,” you stammered, heat rising to your cheeks. “I-I just know you like to take control… I didn’t want to upset you or make you stop.” 

His ministrations paused, his claws resting against your bare hips, sending shivers racing along your skin. The top of your dress hung open, exposing your brasserie, while the fabric was bunched around your hips, leaving you vulnerable beneath his touch. He hovered, his knees pressing close to the apex of your thighs, radiating heat and tension. 

“What is it you wanted to ask me, cher?” Al inquired, his voice soft yet commanding, drawing you into the moment. “My present self won’t hear a thing. This might be your only chance to know.” 

The weight of his words settled heavily on your chest. You’d heard countless tales of how meddling with knowledge of the future often led to ruin. But this wasn’t about destiny or fate—this was about Alastor, the man whose stoic mask never faltered, whose true heart always remained hidden behind an impenetrable wall. 

You took a shaky breath, your voice barely above a whisper. “Do you… love me? In the future?” 

The question hung in the air, fragile and trembling, as your cheeks burned with embarrassment. You dared to meet his gaze, bracing yourself for his response. 

Al tilted his head, his ear-like tufts flopping to one side, his crimson eyes narrowing with an unreadable glint. Then, with a soft chuckle, he countered, “Do you love me now?” 

The breath hitched in your throat, but you forced yourself to nod, summoning every ounce of bravery to seize this fleeting moment of truth. “Y-yes,” you confessed, your voice trembling yet resolute. “I… I do.” 

For a heartbeat, silence enveloped the room, thick and heavy with unspoken emotion. Then, Al’s expression softened, his grin shifting into something that resembled bittersweet longing. 

“There isn’t a single day I haven’t thought of you while in Hell, cher,” he murmured, his voice rich with a reverence that sent your heart spiralling. His claws traced a slow, deliberate path along the edges of your underwear, the sensation both thrilling and overwhelming. 

“Not a single day,” he whispered, his words a tender confession as he gently peeled the fabric away. His touch, so soft yet searing, seemed to convey every unspoken emotion, each one wrapping around you like a vice, leaving you breathless and yearning. 

You weren’t sure why the tears came, hot and relentless, welling in your eyes until they spilled over. A sudden ache bloomed in your chest, overwhelming and raw. Without thinking, your trembling hands flew to cover your lips, muffling a quiet sob. “I’m sorry,” you whispered shakily. “I... I didn’t mean to cry.” 

The words felt inadequate, your voice small beneath the weight of the moment. You weren’t even certain why you were apologizing—perhaps because you’d never heard him like this before. Alastor’s voice, always sharp and full of confidence, now carried a vulnerability so deep it left you breathless. That softness, that tinge of hurt, was foreign and startling, and it wrapped around your heart, squeezing until it ached for him. 

“Shh,” Al soothed, his voice low and caring as he leaned in to kiss away your tears, each press of his lips feather-light and reverent. “There’s no need for apologies, cher. Just let me...stay with you.” 

His words were a promise, spoken with a quiet urgency that made your breath hitch. His claws slid beneath the lace of your bra, cupping your breast with a surprisingly warm touch, even gentle. His fingers splayed across your skin, firm yet careful, as though he feared breaking you. 

A soft sound escaped you when you felt the faint tug of a zipper being undone. His movements were unhurried, deliberate, and when he pressed the heated length of himself against your core, you inhaled sharply, your back arching ever so slightly. His pace was slow, almost excruciating, as he guided himself inside, inch by inch, allowing you to feel the stretch, the fullness, the raw intimacy of the act. 

“Ah,” you exhaled, a breathless moan slipping from your lips as he continued, filling you completely. The pleasure was deep and consuming, his every movement precise, yet tender in a way that left you trembling beneath him. 

A sudden snap echoed in the room, and Alastor—the present Alastor—gasped loudly, finally free of the shadows that had silenced him. “You bastard,” he snarled at his future self, his voice hoarse from restraint. “You absolute—” 

“This is how you treat her,” Al murmured with a grin, his tone tinged with amusement, though his attention never wavered from you. He shifted his hips, filling you to the hilt, and a soft cry of pleasure tumbled from your lips, mingling with a moan that seemed to echo in the dimly lit room. 

He groaned above you, the sound rich and guttural, his breath hot against your skin as he nuzzled against the crook of your neck. Each movement made you keenly aware of him, the way he stretched and filled you, the way his body seemed to fit yours so perfectly. His claws brushed a strand of hair from your face, tucking it gently behind your ear as he whispered, “Oh, look at you, my cher. Look how beautifully you take me.” 

This was unlike anything you’d ever experienced with Alastor before. It wasn’t rough or commanding, nor was it tinged with the sharp edges of teasing and denial. This was different—soft, intimate, and achingly...gentle. It was as though, for the first time, you weren’t simply giving yourself to him; you were sharing something mutual, something sacred. 

“Wrap those lovely legs around me, cher,” Al murmured, his voice low and intoxicating. You obeyed without hesitation, curling your legs around his waist and pulling him even closer. The sensation was overwhelming, his movements sending waves of pleasure that left you gasping, clutching at his jacket as if it were the only thing grounding you. 

He captured your lips in a kiss, his tongue brushing against yours in a dance as he swallowed every moan and whimper that escaped you. The intensity built rapidly, pleasure coiling tightly in your core until you felt as though you might shatter from it. 

“I’m sorry,” you gasped against his lips, the words barely audible. “I’m so close, I don’t think I can hold back.” 

Your fingers curled tighter around his jacket, clutching it desperately as you tried to hold on, to prolong the moment just a little longer. But the pleasure was relentless, building higher and higher, until it consumed every thought, every sensation, leaving only him—only this.

Al chuckled warmly, a sound rich and velvety, like dark chocolate melting against your ears. It carried a hint of mischief, yet something darker lingered beneath it. “See this?” His voice was smooth, teasing as he turned to face Alastor. 

Your gaze followed, and a rush of heat flooded your cheeks as your eyes landed on the unmistakable bulge pressing against the front of Alastor's pants. 

Alastor’s lips were pressed into a thin, trembling line, his expression a storm of rage and humiliation. His dark eyes burned with fury, darting between you and his future self. “Just get it done and over with,” he growled, his voice taut with barely contained anger. He thrashed against the shadowy tendrils that restrained him, but they held him fast. 

“Oh, but we have all night,” Al sang, his voice almost melodic, a sinister contrast to the tension in the room. “Tell me, how many times have you robbed her of her pleasure?” 

Before you could process his words, Al shifted your position with a surprising ease. You found yourself facing Alastor, your back pressed flush against Al’s chest, your legs spread wide and entirely exposed. Heat flared across your skin, searing with a mix of embarrassment and arousal. 

“See this?” Al murmured, his voice low as his fingers gently guided your chin, tilting your face toward Alastor. Your heart pounded, your breath hitching as Al’s grip anchored you in place. 

You gasped as he entered you again, deep and relentless, stealing your breath with every thrust. “Oh—oh, A-Al,” you cried, trembling against his unyielding hold. 

Al grunted softly, his lips curling into a smile. “Look at her,” he urged, his voice thick with desire. “See how beautiful she is, wrought with pleasure.” He thrust into you harder, the lewd, wet sounds of your joining filling the space. 

Alastor’s expression flickered—anger, something unreadable, then averted eyes. He bit his lip harshly, a deep flush creeping up his neck, betraying his growing frustration. 

“You’re close, cher,” Al whispered against the shell of your ear, his breath hot and tantalizing. “I can feel it—the way you clench around me, so tight, so perfect.” 

He was right. The tension coiled within you, sharp and demanding, pulling you toward the edge. 

You tried to fight it, to hold back, but it was futile. A tidal wave of ecstasy crashed over you, tearing a cry from your lips as your body trembled with the force of your climax. Al’s hands guided you through it, his movements unrelenting as he drew out every last shiver and quake of pleasure. 

As the haze of your release began to fade, your breath came in ragged gasps. Al held your face gently, his thumb brushing your flushed cheek. Your eyes flicked to Alastor, catching the way his hips moved almost imperceptibly, his lips parted, panting slightly as his gaze fixated on you. His anger seemed momentarily forgotten, replaced by something darker, something needy. 

“How many times have you robbed her of this?” Al’s voice was soft, but his words cut sharply. He kissed your cheek, his cock still nestled deep within you. “Shall I right your wrongs? For every pleasure you denied her, I’ll give her double.” His chuckle was light, teasing, and yet his tone carried a promise of endless indulgence. 

Your body trembled at the thought, your mind spinning. Could you even withstand more? The lingering pulse of your release still coursed through you, leaving you breathless and yearning. 

“Shut up,” Alastor spat, his voice thick with venom. “Are you done yet? How much more of this absurdity must I endure?” He turned his head sharply, his expression a mask of disgust, but there was something unspoken in his eyes—a flicker of hurt that struck a chord within you. 

It shouldn’t have stung, but it did. 

“Typical,” Alastor sneered, his anger boiling over. His lips curled into a cruel grin. “I always knew you’d open your legs for—” 

Before he could finish, a shadow tendril coiled around his throat, cutting him off mid-sentence. His words dissolved into a strangled gasp as his body stiffened. 

“Alastor!” you cried out, panic flaring as you instinctively tried to move toward him. 

But Al pulled you back against his chest, his arms locking around you. “Don’t fret, cher,” he said smoothly, snapping his fingers. The tendrils vanished instantly, and Alastor collapsed to the ground, coughing and gasping for air. 

You watched as he rolled onto his side, spittle dripping from his lips as he sucked in desperate gulps of air. Your chest ached at the sight of him, weakened and furious all at once, but before you could speak, Al’s lips brushed your temple, his voice soft and unnervingly gentle. 

“Some wounds, cher,” he murmured, “are better left to fester.” 

Al’s hips began to move again, a slow and deliberate grind that sent jolts of sensation through your overstimulated body. You bit your lip, trying in vain to stifle the shameful moans that spilled from your throat. Every inch of him seemed to ignite a fire within you.

“Don’t ever,” Al murmured, his voice dropping into a cold, cutting tone that sent a shiver racing down your spine, “disrespect my woman like that.” 

The words were like a proclamation, and before you could process them, his hand tightened around your breast, his movements becoming forceful and unrelenting. His hips snapped against yours, filling the room with the sound of skin meeting skin, each thrust pushing you closer to another crescendo of pleasure. 

Al’s lips found your neck, searing hot kisses trailing along your sensitive skin before his hand guided your face to meet his. He claimed your lips with a ferocity that left you breathless, his tongue exploring you in a way that felt both possessive and intimate, tracing your teeth and stroking the inside of your cheek as though savouring every part of you. 

Your body was still trembling from the aftershocks of your previous release, hypersensitive to every movement. Yet, the way Al continued to thrust into you, his pace calculated but demanding, stirred another wave of pleasure rising too fast for you to suppress. 

You moaned unabashedly, your head tipping back as you tried to keep your legs open despite the overwhelming sensations. Al’s kisses turned savage, his lips and tongue trailing down to taste your collarbone and the curve of your shoulder. Before long, your vision blurred, and your body arched into his. Your walls clenched around him, gripping tightly as your second orgasm ripped through you like a tidal wave. 

You cried out, your voice breaking as pleasure coursed through your veins. Every nerve in your body seemed to light up, leaving you trembling and weak. Your muscles spasmed around him, your breath hitching with every aftershock as you slowly slumped against his chest, utterly spent. 

“Y-your woman?” Alastor’s voice broke the spell, sharp and incredulous. He coughed, clearing his throat before finally finding his footing and standing upright. 

“Last I checked,” he continued, his tone rising with indignation, “she wasn’t even in Hell with you—with us!” His hand went to his neck, rubbing the tender skin where the shadow tendrils had choked him moments before. His darkened eyes narrowed, and he took a step closer, his voice brimming with outrage. “You’re insane.” 

Before you could react, Alastor reached for your wrist, his grip firm but not painful. He tugged you forward, your weakened body pulled unceremoniously into his arms. Your head fell against his chest, and you felt the warmth of him seep into your skin. His hand slid possessively to your hip, grounding you as he glared at his future self. 

Al leaned back, a picture of ease and command, lounging as though he were a king on a throne. He regarded the two of you with a smirk, a glint of amusement in his ruby eyes. 

“She…” Alastor began, but his voice faltered. His grip on your wrist loosened until his fingers slid away entirely. His gaze dropped, his anger giving way to something quieter, something aching. “She lives in an entirely different world than us. Than me.” 

Your chest tightened, the weight of his words settling heavily over you. 

You turned slowly, your eyes lifting to meet Alastor’s. This was the man you had fallen for—the one you had dreamed of, the one whose guarded heart you had hoped to reach. His expression struggled to wear his usual impassive mask, yet, his jaw tense and there was something raw in his eyes, something he didn’t dare speak aloud. 

The air between you hung thick with unspoken words. And as you looked into his face, you realized just how fragile this moment truly was. 

Alastor’s fingers brushed a strand of hair back from your face, the motion hauntingly familiar to the one his future self had performed. His touch was gentle as he tucked the strand behind your ear. His eyes met yours, and for a fleeting moment, you thought you saw something vulnerable flicker there—only for it to vanish beneath his ever-present smile. 

“You remember, don’t you, dear?” His voice was smooth, almost casual, but there was an edge to it, like the sharp bite of a slap. “What we have, what we are... it’s just for—” he paused, his gaze holding yours for a fraction too long before finishing, “fun.” 

Fun. 

The word echoed in your mind, hollow and cold. All the hope that had swelled within you moments earlier, kindled by Al’s words, dissipated instantly. 

Fun. 

It was what you and Alastor had agreed upon. A fleeting arrangement, a temporary indulgence in each other’s company, meant to burn bright and brief before the inevitable end. It was never supposed to be more. Never meant to last. 

Fun. 

That was the word that cut through you, sharper than any blade. You had known this from the start, hadn’t you? Once your father found the perfect match for you, you would disappear from Alastor’s life forever. That had been the unspoken agreement. Yet somewhere along the way, the lines blurred, and your heart betrayed you. 

You glanced toward Al—the demon who claimed to be Alastor’s future self. His words, his touches, his teasing... was it all a game? A cruel trick to see how far he could bend you, how much hope he could ignite only to snuff it out? 

Your awareness sharpened as embarrassment crept over you, your vulnerable state of undress now unbearable. Your arms instinctively crossed over yourself, clutching at your dress as you tried to cover the skin that felt too exposed, too raw. 

The dress you had painstakingly chosen for this evening, carefully picked with Alastor in mind, now hung loosely, undone and crumpled. Your hair, once meticulously brushed and curled, was now a chaotic mess. You had spent hours perfecting your makeup, only for the tears streaking your face to smear it into ruin. 

You looked like a fool. 

The urge to flee surged within you. You couldn’t bear to stay here, not like this. But even as the thought crossed your mind, another, more painful realization followed—if you left, what would happen to the deal? Your heart ached at the cruel irony. Even now, after everything, you still cared about him. About what he wanted. About fulfilling your part of the bargain. 

For him. 

Tears welled up in your eyes again, spilling over despite your best efforts to contain them. You forced yourself to look up, but not at Al. Instead, your gaze found Alastor—the man you had fallen for despite all the odds, despite his impenetrable walls, despite knowing he would never truly be yours. 

“H-how much longer,” you began, your voice trembling as you struggled to hold back the tears, “must I satisfy the demon, Alas—” Your voice faltered, and you lowered your head, your next word barely above a whisper. “S-sir?” 

For a long moment, Alastor said nothing. His face was unreadable, his whisky brown eyes scanning your dishevelled appearance with an intensity that made your breath hitch. You wanted to disappear under his gaze, ashamed of the image you must have presented to him now. 

But then, to your surprise, he moved closer. Slowly, deliberately, he reached out, his long fingers brushing against your trembling hands. Without a word, he began to button your dress. One button at a time, his movements were delicate, almost reverent. 

There was no teasing in his touch, no mockery in his expression. Just a quiet, unexpected gentleness. 

His lashes fluttered briefly against his cheeks, soft and fragile behind his round glasses. When he spoke, his voice was low and filled with quiet resolve. “You should wait outside, dear,” he whispered, his words carrying the faintest tremor of tenderness. “At least let me take you home. It wouldn’t do to have a lady out this late.” 

Moments like this, where he allowed a sliver of gentleness to break through his sharp edges, made your heart both race and ache. You clung to the sound of his voice, the kindness laced within it, even as uncertainty churned in your chest. 

“What about the demon—” you began, the question heavy with fear and concern. 

He silenced you with a single, sharp look. His frown slowly curled into a grin, that eerily familiar expression that always danced between charming and menacing. “No need to worry about that, dear,” he said lightly, though his tone darkened as he shifted his gaze to the demon. “Unless the demon wishes to force his cher—” he spat the title like venom, his disdain palpable “—to pleasure him.” 

The air grew taut, charged with a dangerous energy. The red devil, Al’s supposed future self, froze for a moment, his grin tightening as his eyes narrowed. It felt as though the room itself bristled with his restrained fury. Then, almost too casually, he smoothed a hand over his pants, fixing himself, preened his dishevelled hair, and adjusted his monocle with precision. 

“That would mean our contract is null and void,” the demon drawled, his words slow and deliberate. He tilted his head slightly, studying Alastor with a smirk that didn’t reach his eyes. 

“That’s fine,” Alastor replied evenly, his voice firm, yet calm. Without waiting for a response, he gently but firmly pushed you toward the door. “Go. Wait for me outside.” 

You hesitated, torn between obedience and the instinct to stay by his side. Your eyes flicked between Alastor and the demon, the two of them locked in a silent, smouldering battle of wills. Finally, with a reluctant nod, you turned to leave, your steps faltering but resolute. 

You had barely taken three steps when the devil’s voice stopped you, his words drifting through the tense air like smoke. 

“Cher?” 

Your shoulders jumped up, muscles stiff with unease as you turned back toward him. The sight of his inky, unnatural tendrils from before lingered in your memory, a haunting reminder of how effortlessly he could hurt—or kill.

The devil’s grin had frozen in place, his sharp eyes scanning your face, your body, as though searching for something he couldn’t find. Slowly, his expression shifted. His two tufts of hair drooped, softening against his head, and for a fleeting moment, his imposing presence seemed almost weak, vulnerable. 

“I hope you have a lovely night, my darling,” he said, his voice quieter now, tinged with something that almost sounded like sorrow. “Ma chère,” he murmured, tilting his head as if bidding farewell to something precious. 

Before you could muster a response, Alastor’s figure stepped between you and the demon. His back was to you, but his presence was unyielding, protective. Without turning fully, he spoke firmly, “Go. Don’t make me repeat myself.” 

Your heart felt heavy, your mind a whirlwind of thoughts as you finally obeyed. With trembling steps, you walked out of the office, leaving the two behind without daring to glance back. 

Now came the hardest part. 

Waiting. 

Standing outside, the minutes dragged on, each one longer than the last. Your thoughts spiralled, dread filling the space left by the closed door. Would it be Alastor who emerged, or the devil? Or worse—would the door open to reveal Alastor lifeless on the floor? 

Clasping your hands tightly, you sank to your knees on the cold ground, closing your eyes as tears pricked your lashes. You prayed, your whispered words trembling as they left your lips. You begged forgiveness from a merciful God for allowing a demon to touch your body, for the sins you had committed, and for the sin you were willing to bear if it meant Alastor would emerge unharmed. 

The only thing you wanted now was for him to be safe.  

Safe, and with you once more. 

The moment the door clicked shut, Alastor turned his glare on the devil who dared call himself his future. “For a devil, you are quite…” he sneered, his sharp teeth glinting, “pathetic.” 

His future self barely flinched, idly inspecting his cuticles as though the insult was nothing more than a passing breeze. “Hmm,” he hummed thoughtfully, raising a brow without lifting his gaze. “I must say, it’s rather odd to look back and see just how foolish I once was.” 

Alastor’s jaw tightened, a vein visibly pulsing at his temple. “You mean to tell me that you’ve clawed your way to becoming an Overlord—one of the highest ranks in Hell, no less—and yet, here you are, chasing after some privileged little gir—" 

“That woman,” his future self interrupted coldly, rising to his full height. His red eyes blazed with a dangerous light, casting an oppressive shadow across the room. “She is my—no, our—love.” 

Alastor scoffed, his disgust palpable. “Love? What rot.” He folded his arms tightly, his long fingers curling into his sleeves as though restraining himself. “I don’t have the time, nor the desire, for such sentimentality. There are far grander things to pursue, far more thrilling paths to follow.” His grin widened, jagged and bloodthirsty. “And I’ve never been one to let anyone dull the taste of the hunt.” 

The future Alastor chuckled low, his voice dipping into something almost pitying. “Ah, yes. Look at you,” he mused, his tone softer now, though no less unsettling. “So young, so single-minded, so…” His eyes flickered with something indecipherable. “...untouched by the weight of eternity.” 

He turned then, pacing with a languid grace, his shadow stretching and twisting unnaturally as he moved. “Eternity, you see, changes a man,” he continued, his voice almost wistful. “It sinks its claws into your mind, warping it, forcing you to reminisce on the past whether you want to or not.” 

Alastor said nothing, his body rigid and his gaze locked on the man pacing before him. Theatrics, he thought with a sneer. It seemed Hell had done nothing but make him more insufferable. 

The future him paused, his back to him now, his shoulders rising and falling with a quiet, steady breath. “She—cher—loved us,” he said softly, the words slipping out like a confession he hadn’t meant to make. When he turned, his expression was unreadable, but his crimson eyes burned. “She stood by us even when she knew. Even after learning our delightful little secret.” 

Alastor’s stomach twisted, though he couldn’t quite say why. He forced his expression to remain unchanged, his grin fixed in place like a mask he’d long since perfected. 

The future him tilted his head, studying him with something that felt far too intimate, as though he could see the cracks beneath the surface. “She looked me in the eyes,” he murmured, his voice softening with the memory, “and she asked,‘Can I stay with you?’” 

Suddenly, he barked out a laugh, loud and bitter, throwing his head back as his hand swept over his face. “Can you believe it? Standing there, dripping in another man’s blood, and she had the gall to ask me if she could stay with me?” 

His laughter died into something quieter, darker. When he looked back at Alastor, his manic grin was gone, replaced by an expression that seemed caught between amusement and sorrow. “How utterly, ridiculously foolish of her,” he said, his voice laced with something tender. 

Alastor’s mask of indifference faltered for just a moment, his mind racing, though his lips curved back into place as quickly as it had fallen. He couldn’t let this man—this thing—see any weakness. But the words lingered, echoing in the silence that followed. 

"Sounds like she stays with me for quite a while," Alastor murmured, his voice low and contemplative. The realization settled into him with a quiet sort of confidence. If the girl remained enamoured with him for an extended period, there would be no need for his future self's assistance. She could keep persuading her father to funnel money into his radio broadcasts. 

He didn't need this thing anymore.

His future self chuckled softly, the sound dark and humorless. “Oh, she does stay with you. And you, in all your stubbornness, deny your feelings for her. Even after your death.” A wry smile curved at his lips, tinged with something far heavier than amusement. “You let her marry another man. You didn’t even stop her wedding.” 

“I had no right to,” Alastor replied flatly, though his jaw tightened imperceptibly. 

“You didn’t kill her husband when he started beating her.” 

“It was no longer my business,” Alastor said through gritted teeth, his fingers curling into tight fists. “What happens between a man and a woman bound by marriage is their affair.” 

The words barely left his mouth before a horrible, grating white noise filled the room. It clawed at his ears, drowning out his thoughts. He staggered slightly, looking up just in time to see his future self begin to unravel. 

His once-dapper figure twisted grotesquely, hair growing shaggy and wild, teeth sharpening into jagged yellow points that glowed unnaturally. His eyes warped, pupils flickering like shifting radio dials. 

“She was hurting,” the figure hissed, his voice a cacophony of static and rage. “And you did nothing to protect her!” 

Dark, gnarled antlers sprouted from his head, resembling the twisted, lifeless branches of a dead tree. His elongated form loomed over Alastor, arms stretching unnaturally as if to choke him, though he stopped just short. 

“She died,” the future self spat, his voice fractured and trembling with fury. “Beaten to death by that pathetic excuse of a husband. You could have saved her! You should have saved her!” He paused, his grinning mask fracturing into countless shards. "I should have saved her. I should have helped her."  His voice became a manic chant, each repetition more unhinged than the last. “Help her… help her… help her!” 

Alastor took several measured steps back, his disgust plain on his face. His eyes burned with disdain as he straightened his posture. “That girl means��nothing to me,” he sneered. “She’s just a means to an end. I will never become you.” 

The creature froze mid-motion, his grotesque form suddenly still. His eyes widened, as if struck by an unseen force, before his body began to shrink and contort, growing smaller and smaller. 

“Oh,” he whispered softly, his voice hollow and distant. As his monstrous visage faded, he seemed more man than demon, his expression frozen in something between grief and longing. “She died before you...before me. She was in Hell first…” His gaze fell to the floor, searching for something unseen. “If I’d died first, I could have protected her…from the extermination... If we’d died together…” His voice faltered, trailing off as he stared vacantly at the ground. 

The future self’s eyes widened in a sudden, dawning realization as his body began to dissolve completely. His time was up. 

The future version of himself turned his face sharply toward Alastor, his crimson eyes wide and frenzied, his grin stretching impossibly as if carved into his face. “Help her, help her, help her,” he chanted, his voice trembling with mania and desperation. Each repetition was a dagger, sharp and insistent, stabbing at the silence between them. “You’ll regret it. You’ll—” 

But before the final word left his lips, his form unravelled completely. He vanished like smoke caught in the wind, leaving behind nothing but the faint, chilling echo of his last plea. 

Alastor stood frozen, staring at the empty space where his future self had been. The chair that had grotesquely morphed into a bed returned to its mundane, wooden form with a soft creak. The room fell still, save for the faint metallic tang of blood in the air, remnants of the summoning ritual still staining the floor. 

A low, derisive laugh escaped him, dry and humorless. It reverberated in the quiet room, a hollow sound that dissipated as quickly as it came. “Ridiculous,” he muttered under his breath, straightening his tie with deliberate care. “Utterly ridiculous.” 

There were hundreds, thousands of people suffering in the world. People beaten, broken, and killed every day. Why should one person’s pain matter more than the rest? His muddy brown eyes flicked to the door, the barrier between him and you. He could feel your presence on the other side, waiting. 

Always waiting. 

And yet... 

He shook the thought away, his lips pressing into a tight line. You were nothing but a means to an end. A convenient piece in his grand design. 

Nothing more. 

Nothing less. 

Alastor inhaled deeply as the oppressive, sulphur-laden air of Hell greeted him. The thick atmosphere clung to his skin, sticky and suffocating, as if the very realm wanted to remind him of where he belonged. He was home—or rather, back in his territory. 

He straightened, a flicker of hope igniting within his chest, faint and fragile. Perhaps his younger self had listened. Perhaps the warnings had sunk in, sparing him the endless torment of regret. 

But as he stood there, he felt it—the empty, unchanging void where new memories should have been. Nothing was different. Every moment, every sensation of you, was still confined to the past, untouched by the intervention of his other self. 

His shoulders sank slightly as he pushed open the door to his residence. It groaned on its hinges, a mournful sound that echoed through the dark, cavernous halls. His home was vast yet barren, shadows swallowing the corners of rooms that had long since been abandoned by warmth. 

There was no trace of you. No scent, no sound, no faint whisper of your laughter to greet him. 

Oh. 

A bitter realization settled over him, heavy and unrelenting. He would spend eternity as he always had—without you. Once more. How fitting, he thought, for a sinner like him. 

He pressed his lips against his trembling fingers, his eyes closing as he forced himself to draw upon the fading memory of your face. The way your eyes lit up with that wide, innocent wonder. The delicate flush of your cheeks that sent his chest tightening in ways he’d never admit aloud. 

“You look wonderful today, cher,” he murmured to the silence, his voice soft, almost reverent. Words he’d always thought but never dared to say. 

“My, is that gift for me?” His laughter cracked as he spoke to the void. “You shouldn’t have... Truly, I’ll treasure it.” 

“Did you do something with your hair?” he asked, his tone warm and practised, though his grin faltered. “It looks lovely, cher.” He smiled into the empty room, knowing the words would never reach you. 

Then, his voice fell to a whisper, a confession carried by the air of a hollowed-out life. “Ah... I love you, ma chère. I do.” The words tasted bittersweet, aching with all the emotions he had locked away. “I love you,” he said again, softer this time, like a prayer. “Stay with me?” 

For a fleeting moment, he let himself imagine the impossible. You, smiling that radiant smile that warmed his cold heart. Your arms wrapping around him tightly as you whispered a resounding yes. 

A life he would never know. 

A life he had willingly forfeited. 

Now, all that stretched before him was an eternity without you. 

An eternity of silence. 

@safination and @redfoxwritesstuff this month was your birthday month. So happy birthday baby girl 💖🎂

Please follow #DRP Smutmas 2024 to get all the latest updates of our stories!

Wanna hang out with me? Come talk to me at Voxtek Server!

[gffa]

*bungee jumping down the arcane fic rabbit hole* got any fic recs?

Save that bungee rope, we're going to need it to get the next person down here, too. And I do have a few recs I've enjoyed! (If you guys have any fics you want to rec that you've enjoyed in this fandom, I'm all ears. I'm still trying to navigate my way through the absolutely massive amounts and my usual method of finding authors I recognize from other fandoms is failing me because APPARENTLY WE HAVE WORK TO DO TO MAKE YOU ALL COME DOWN HERE WITH US.) JAYVIK RECS: (Current brainrot extraordinaire.) ✦ Begin Again by egg_thief, jayce/viktor, nsfw, post-canon, 3.3k or: Jayce and Viktor’s existence continues, somewhere out in the cosmos ✦ not to me, not if it's you by brewstersbru, jayce/viktor, post-canon, 2k They were supposed to die, then, a better ending than Viktor expected. Far sweeter than he deserved. Jayce’s hand warm and broad against his neck, foreheads tipped together, breaths fanning over skin. It was neat. It was nice. And then he woke up, splayed in a field, draped in the tatters of Jayce’s blanket. A groan rose from his left, then some pitiful shuffling before a final, loud thump, accompanied by a slight warble. ✦ the sun is an apricot promise by chicandcheesy, jayce/viktor, post-canon, 5.4k Six months after they destroy the Hexcore, Jayce and Viktor try to settle into a new life as friends. Partners. Turns out they love each other a little too much. ✦ The Softer the Skin, the Sharper the Teeth by ticketytockety, jayce/viktor, nsfw, spoilers, 5.4k During his time trapped in a devastated, apocalyptic world that does not belong to him, Jayce manages a temporary escape to somewhere else. Sometime else. ✦ The butterflies we feel by writin, jayce/viktor, time travel, 8.6k wip It was only right to offer Jayce one last thing: himself. A fleeting moment of shameless intimacy. There was no past, no future — only them, and everything they were willing to give. One final gift, for both of them. Or; S2 Jayce meets S1 Viktor, but there are consequences.

ZAUNDADS RECS: (Don't judge me, the artbook t-boned me with feelings, it's not my fault!) ✦ patience by orphan_account, zander/silco, nsfw, 7.6k He’s been dead five years when he shows up at The Drop unannounced. Vander can't be sure if this makes an already bad week better, or worse.

TIMEBOMB RECS: (This one also side-swiped me out of nowhere, officer, it's not my fault, either!) ✦ better to be poorly accompanied than to be alone by ajstyling, ekko/jinx, post-canon, 2.9k A long time ago, Ekko made a promise. Now he just hopes Jinx will give him the chance to keep it. ✦ the cycle of lonely creatures by red_dragon_rising, ekko/jinx & caitlyn/vi, post-canon, 7.4k So it happens that Caitlyn is now hiding Piltover’s most wanted terrorist and the murderer of her mother inside her ancestral home. So it happens that she’s become a traitor to her city. So it happens, because the girl is Vi’s sister. (AU: Vi dies with Warwick) ✦ pluto by zippe, ekko/jinx & vi, post-canon, 4.2k Ekko and Jinx, time after time

[nuhuhwinniethepooh]

Bestfriends?

Dark!Gojo x Reader

18+ MDNI, dark, animal cruelty, non-con, violence, Gojo is horrible (I mean it), baby-trapping. Dead Dove: Do Not Eat.

You should've known better than anyone that Satoru was never the merciful type.

His cheerful personality wasn't a facade but having known him for years made you aware of all the little tics that made him so terrifyingly him. Particularly that one little tic of his that always manages to send chills down your spine and ice the edges of your heart from fear despite him being your bestfriend.

The kind of fear that makes you wanna curl up into a ball and shrivel up just from the thought of being in the receiving end.

It's the little tic of his that makes him act like a cat which terrifies you even after all these years. It's not the way he acts so annoyingly asshole-ish like some cats or the way he acts so clingy like your beloved cat, Saibo, that scares you. No, it's the way he acts like a cat in it's most primal form that scares you. An instinct so abominable that it makes you cringe from disgust at just the thought of Saibo imitating it.

It's the very tiny tic of his that makes him toy around with his enemies like a cat that toys around with it's prey. Not for a just cause like survival but for the mere fact of entertainment to ease it's boredom; maybe you should've just killed yourself before it reached to the extent of making yourself Satoru's next target, his next prey and his pretty, little wife.

"Satoru, I told you twice already. My answer is a no, I don't want to marry you" you sigh, folding your arms across your chest as you look up at the man looming in your apartment doorway with an expression so blank that it reminded you of a statue.

A statue hand-crafted by the heavens itself and wearing the skin of your bestfriend.

His silence is a curse and for some eerie reason, you could hear the ticking of a clock somewhere behind you. Like a countdown of a bomb.

"Why?"

Flabbergasted doesn't even start to describe what you feel at his question because you've been telling him exactly why for the past two days since he stepped into your office and offered his proposal. And yet here he is, repeating the same question like a stuck recorder. There's nothing else you can say, you've already used up all of your excuses ranging from being an orphan to his clan elders future disapproval.

So when Saibo comes and rubs itself against your leg? There's only one utterly stupid sentence that presents itself-

"I promised my mum that I wouldn't marry anyone until I lose Saibo." Great, just great. You're a damn genius, obviously intelligent enough to dig a deep enough hole and bury yourself alive because why on Earth would you bring your sweet mum up right now. Leave the dead to rest in peace is what you should've don-

The smile tugging on his lips and the light tone of his voice after the uncomfortable silence cuts your monologue off. "That's all? I just have to wait for you to lose Saibo for you to marry me?"

"Watch your words, Gojo. You've gone too far" You snap, narrowing your eyes up at him.

If looks could kill, Satoru would've been buried a good 60 ft deep in because you obviously weren't gonna be satisfied with 6ft. Not after what he said; sure you did imply it but that still doesn't make it any better.

"This is going too far but rejecting me three times isn't?" Satoru scoffs, walking in so confidently that it made you stumble back and made your beloved cat hiss at him, bless her heart. His back faces you and suddenly it's cold, chills runs up your spine after your initial surprise fades and the click of the door lock seemingly drowns itself in the rapid thump of your now slowly thundering heart. You're getting deja vu, you're sure of it, it's the same sensation you always get when he gets on the battlefield.

When he turns back around, you notice that his blindfold was off but the look on his face is what makes you freeze. His gaze was anything but friendly and his eyes were a color so menacingly blue that it cuts through your skin and attaches itself in that tiny part deep inside you that always made you wary of him. For good reason.

Saibo jumps in front of you and promptly growls, a sound that you never heard her make, shaking you awake from your frozen daze and forcing you to watch the person you called your bestfriend quickly close the small distance.

"All I wanted was your acceptance" he says, ignoring the hissing cat in front of him "Is that really too much to ask for from you, pretty?"

"I can give you everything, Satoru. Everything except for that" you breathe out shakily, goosebumps rising in your arms when he caresses your cheeks. A touch so cold that you're not sure if it's because of his infinity or the frozen mechanism beating in his chest that he calls a heart.

"Then give me everything" Satoru's hand on your cheeks slides down to your neck, wrapping around it to pull you close "I'll give you everything you want in return, I'll give you anything in the world"

His hold gradually tightens on your throat, almost like a threat. No, it was a threat.

"Do you even know what you're asking for?" You spit out, nails digging into his wrist but that damn infinity of his kept you out and him safe almost like he was the victim in this situation.

"You clearly know that I do darling, and it's a damn shame really" He leans in, his eyes filled with so much adoration it makes you wanna gouge it out "Since I always thought you were a smart girl but maybe it's time to treat you like you're dumber than you are"

His last words are a whisper in your ears and in a split second his infinity is down and his lips roughly crash against yours, one hand squeezing at your throat and the other forcing your mouth open to shove his tongue inside while your hands tears into his skin and pushes at his chest, his face, his shoulders but all it earns you is a loud moan from him that shrivels something up inside you when you realise he likes it.

He likes your desperate attempts to free yourself from his disgusting hold. Likes the way you struggle against his grasp. Likes the way you whine and whimper protests against his lips, trying desperately to bite down on his tongue and finger but pathetically failing to do so-

What he doesn't like is the way Saibo also manages to dig her claws into his skin, much like you, albeit shallow due to the thick material of his pants but doing enough damage to attract his attention. You've had Saibo for 15 years and never was she so violent, tears springs in your eyes at the thought of it but before a single tear even manages to glide down your reddened cheeks, there's a push and you're down flat on the couch behind you and Satoru is holding a hissing Saibo by her fluffy white cuff.

"Shame, I actually liked you since you looked like me y'know?" Satoru hums, holding her at a safe distance with a small frown "Made me think that you'd remind her of me"

"Satoru, let her down" you manage out shakily, sitting up and holding a trembling hand out for Saibo. Hoping that Satoru wouldn't do what you think he's gonna do, he's your bestfriend afterall...isn't he? He should know better than that-

"I was trying so hard to be nice to you darling. I even went out of my way to ask you three times but you- hah- Honestly, you brought this to yourself" he clicks his tongue with a shake of his head, an almost feline grin plastered on his face as he steps back.

You've known Satoru for years now and sure he was a little volatile, somewhat impulsive and downright crazy when it came to the things he wanted but at least he was constant.

Constant enough for you to know that he was batshit insane.

"Satoru, please" you plead but her back is facing you and his hands is around her neck and there's nothing you can do but rush towards him a second too late. There's a sickening crack and a loud howl and Saibo's back is turned towards you but her cerulean eyes burns through your skin and heart and mind and soul an- the ticking of the clock finally stops. "Well she's gone now. Looks like you're finally able to marry me" his voice is light, almost cheerful while you're frozen in place. Tears blur your vision but both their cerulean eyes burns stark in your mind, Satoru and Saibo.

You've lost two bestfriends in one day. Lucky you.

There's a strangled cry emanating from somewhere, one so despaired that it claws at your heart and makes you wanna cover your ears and just cry yourself to death.

"I didn't want to do this either, darling" there's a quiet shushing and a warm hand places itself against your mouth, blue eyes gazing back at you like he hurts more than you do.

You shut your mouth and the sound is gone but the scratches in your heart still stings when you're pushed flat on your back. Still hurts when you limply tilt your head to the side to look at the lump of white on the coffee table and ignore the dull feeling of someone groping you because your pretty cat laid there, it's dead blues staring at you.

Saibo, your pretty little cat. Your mother had adopted a cat when you were young, a cat just as soft-spoken and warm as her. A pretty little ragdoll with soft, white fur and cerulean eyes that always licked at you like its own kitten when your own mother held you in her arms and cooed sweet nothings to you.

There's a numb hold on your cheeks and a hollow sound of squelching when you feel someone pry your mouth open and force something wet inside. Your blurry gaze flickers down to see your shirt missing and ugly red spots splotched across your chest, flickering your gaze upwards only to find blue eyes staring back at you.

Blue eyes like your mother's cat, one that never left your mother's bed after her death. She had a litter of five when your mother was alive, she had only one left after your mother's passing. The very one that she gently laid down on your open hands, licking your cheeks one last time before curling up in her usual spot and quietly passing away on your mother's bed a month lat-

"Don't go gazing off into the distance on me now, pretty girl" Someone coos in your ear, the blurriness of your vision slowly melting away when a warm hand wipes the silent tears streaming from your eyes. And then you see the familiar face of a man that looked nothing like your bestfriend, nothing like the Satoru you thought you knew.

You blink. Once. Twice. Trying to make sense of his echoing words through the haziness of your mind that wraps around you like a blank cocoon and numbs the intrusive feeling of his touch in between your legs. Time is a privilege and you don't know how long he's been at it but the dull heat resting low in your stomach and the disgusting feeling of his fingers moving inside you was as unwelcome as it was unwanted.

Not like he would've cared if you voiced it out.

Satoru always did have the ability to unceremoniously wrench the space people considered safe from underneath them; you've watched him give his enemies a false sense of security enough time to immediately recognise that familiar smile making its ways on his lips. The smile that made you realise that your fate was sealed, only proven true by the burning stretch that rips at the haze in your mind and steals the welcomed numbness to replace itself with burns that sears into your skin and brands itself deep inside.

"Satoru st-stop" you breathe out, brows furrowing from the sharp stings as you dig your nails into his skin and create little moon shaped dents into the milky expanse of his chest. "C-can't, won't" he groans out, pushing his cock well past the resistance of your clenching walls with gritted teeth "Also relax darling- hngh- you're just making it worse -shit, stop that" His hand besides your head moves to your hair, hold so tight that it pulls at your scalps and makes you grunt out in pain.

"Wait. Look I'm al-already halfway in" Satoru groans out delightedly, forcing your head up to make you look at the way he was buried inside you. Pulling out just a little to show his thick cock covered in your slick and blood because of course you'd bleed when an inhuman size forces itself inside your tight hole even after all the prep.

And then he's pushing back in mercilessly and there's a choked, painful moan forcing itself up your throat "St-stop -ah-it hurts!"

"I'm sorry darling. I know it hurts but it won't for long" he shushes at you quietly, pressing featherlight kisses on your forehead "It'll just hurt this one time, I promise." Your body is screaming so hard from the pain and betrayal that your voice seemingly loses itself in it, quiet gurgles being the only thing rising from your bleeding throat when he suddenly bucks his hips and bottoms out in you.

And then you're gone.

Nothing in this world could ever make you forget the sound of his heaving moan and guttural praises; praising you for taking him so well, acting like he didn't just force himself past your resistance and inside you.

Your tears and sobs don't deter him, it only turns him on, only encourages him to whisper sweet nothings in your ears, the sound of it makes you wanna rip your defiled ears off, and lick at the fat blobs of tears sliding down your cheeks. His small show of mercy is allowing you to adjust to his size; it only makes you feel worse, just the thought of him inside you for a second longer makes you wan-

An impatient thrust is all it takes for you to go numb again, body going limp when he runs out of patience and grabs hold of your hips to slam you down on him. Over and over and over again until you're nothing but a pile of meat and bones, and he's nothing but a groaning mess of everything you hate. Until your howls turns into muted little ah's and his held back moans morphes into a version of your name that he so religiously, and loudly, mewls in your ear with every buck of his hips against yours.

His voice is as muted as the sound of wet skin slapping against each other, your head limply tilted to the side with your gaze blankly fixated against the brown material of your couch when your body shuts itself down. But like all respite, Satoru steals it away again with a click of his tongue and a hand squishing your cheeks together into a small pout to force your head to the other side. Forcing you to look at the disproportioned lump of white on the table that you once called family.

Satoru could just say that he personally killed your mother at this point.

"Don't w- ngh-worry. Always knew you wanted a family" he rasps out, biting and sucking at every inch of skin he could get his lips on "Now I'll give you one, a real one. One that doesn't include a damn cat"

"S'toru" you whisper out, barely finding your voice in the mess and like always, it's ignored for his own rambling. "Gonna fill this right up for little mini-me" there's a sharp sting on your chest, you force your gaze down and look over his hand to watch him suckle at your nipples like a newborn babe searching for milk. An idea he's soon gonna turn into reality. You rasp his name out louder, ignored again when he finally lets go of your cheeks to slide it down to your womb and press down, hard "I-I swear I'll make- ngh-you into a mama if it's the last thing I do"

There's only so much feeling that your body can numb, only so much it can do against Satoru and his dick. Your orgasm was anything but pleasant if not painful, feeling his every inch, vein and curve mold itself inside you and rip you apart with shocks so violent that you jerk and writhe and clench your gooey walls down on him- you know it's finally over when he babbles in your ears and spurts something hot and repulsive inside you, his brutal pace finally stuttering to a stop and turning into a grind, perfectly plugging his obscenity inside you.

"Satoru" your voice is foreign to your own ears, his heat goes unregistered and the white cold lump is promptly forgotten because of that one thought buzzing in your head. "Yes darling?" His voice is as foreign as yours to you, his gaze undecipherable when he pulls away to look at you, leaning down to kiss you on the li- "I hate you"

He pauses, lips brushing against yours just barely. There's that signature smile of his and the regrettably familiar feeling of his lips pressing against yours. His reply seemingly drowning itself in the constant buzzing of your ears, only one thought ringing through your mind over and over again.

You should've killed yourself the very moment he proposed to you.

Masterlist ° NSFWlist Had to post this snippet cuz 2 months is a long time to be dead for. I got the heebie jeebies writing this but I was too far into it so I had to finish it😦

[ataraxiaspainting]

Black and Blue.

Yan Blade x GN Reader.

Synopsis: Blade has a habit of leaving swords on his opponents’ graves. You have a habit of picking flowers near those who are dead. Unfortunately for you, those two things combined had you meet the immortal Stellaron Hunter for the first time.

Warnings: Yandere themes, descriptions of past violence, and implications of a future unhealthy relationship/stalking.

Word Count: 700.

*~*~*~*

“Why… are you staring at me?”

Your body isn’t well covered, Blade notes as he steps a bit back to take in the full sight of you. Your arms are paler than the snow here.

One of your hands grasps the stems of the flowers you had just plucked from an important resting place. It’s deep and just as old as Blade is judging by the crumbled stone bricks and withering vines yet none of the winter elements seem to cover it. Someone or some people must keep it clean to honor the dead. 

Your grip is so tightly that the thorns have dug into your skin and have started to make you bleed. Aside from the roses, your wounds and Blade’s eyes are the only bright red things in the vicinity. 

The clouds of Morana haven’t set in a long time. They cast over this planet like a mist so thick Blade had trouble navigating himself to the top of this mountain. The humans here have angered the long-fallen Aeon, causing her to seek revenge on her people.

It isn’t the first time an Aeon has made sure their followers have tragic fates ahead. Blade knows, and so do people that the Xianzhou have long removed from their historical records.

“You’re a thief,” He replies, his voice slow and steady – afraid that you will run if he is too harsh. “This grave belongs to the late Caterina the Great.”

“Flowers only grow here and nowhere else,” You reply, your tone less scared but more annoyed now. Perhaps you have realized that Blade isn’t from Morana. “It’s too cold down there. This is the only way I can pay for food without stealing it. Please understand…”

He only hums as he listens further, yet he only tries to make sense of his emotions in this present moment.

Is this pity he feels?

No. It’s something else.

Something not like pity, but relatability. 

You have been through plenty; it is as obvious as a fact like a dog’s nature is to be loyal. Your clothes are tattered. You’re shivering from having no warm place to go. But unlike when he was a wanderer with nowhere to go and nothing to hold but his sword, you could die in so many ways here. Someone can have you executed if there are other witnesses to you stepping on a war hero’s grave so carelessly. The elements can freeze your bloodstream if it gets too cold. The mountain itself can have a tree fall on you like your fallen Aeon put all of her hatred into a singular action and positioned it at a singular person. 

The old sword is pushed into the snow in front of your bare feet, and you stop speaking.

“Be more careful next time,” Blade says. “You’ll get hurt if someone sees you.”

He points and you follow his gloved finger. 

“Take it.”

“What?”

“Take the sword,” He orders, and then quickly removes his gloves. He puts them in your palm. “It’s old. It should be enough for a while.”

“Do you mean… sell it?” You are bewildered.

“If that is what you wish, go ahead.” Blade then removes his jacket and sets it on your shoulders. “Or use it to defend yourself. I am not familiar with Morana culture, but you most likely are. Trust your gut when making this decision.”

He’ll follow you after, he decides. For a while. Maybe forever, if Kafka doesn’t allow you on the ship.

[canine-witch]

What Is Next For You With Love?

This has been a season of changes, especially with romantic energies. Some may have ended or begun a relationship. Some may be pondering what the next step is.The intention of this reading is to provide clarity with what you want, and where you may end up in romance. I believe this reading will find people when they're ready. It is timeless and gender neutral, no need to rush!

Drink some water, pick a pile, and feel free to discard what does not resonate with you.

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✧˚ ༘ ⋆｡♡˚✧˚ ༘ ⋆｡♡˚✧˚ ༘ ⋆｡♡˚✧˚ ༘ ⋆｡♡˚✧˚ ༘ ⋆｡♡˚✧˚ ༘ ⋆｡♡˚✧˚ ༘ ⋆｡♡˚✧˚ ༘

Group One ~ The Swans

There is new hope for romance on the horizon. You may be going through a breakup right now, or feeling the effects of a heartbreak that left you wounded. They seem to have truly hurt your feelings. You may be losing sleep or having strange dreams over your love life. But, you can't be scared of change or moving on. The Sun and The World has promised you that there is someone for you, who will fill your emotional needs. But, you need to put yourself out there. You can't be scared of the future or the past. I am seeing a snake halfway through shedding it's skin, rubbing it on a rock trying to get the itchy dead skin off. You need to change, shed your previous skin, and stand in the sun and in your confidence. Put yourself out there, and what you need will be attracted to you, blessed be!

Your angel numbers are 111, 444, and 555. Snakes, the moon, bears, and daggers may be significant to you now. I am seeing the initials A, C, M, K, Z.

Group Two~ The Strawberries

You will recieve justice for a past relationship. There is a heavy energy here of bitterness, envy, and rage that lead you towards a very cold outlook on romance and people. The person you were with has damaged your reputation and changed how people view you. It's been a long fight between you both, and a long divorce with many money troubles may be significant for some seekers. Love has wounded you, and now is the time to heal yourself before you start looking for a new relationship. There is an energy of blossoming and changing, I'm seeing blossoming water lilies. It's not that you will never find love again, but the Hanged Man was revealed to me, telling me that it's time to get through this period with grace, let go of past burdens, accept and forgive yourself, and what you need will come in due time. Blessed be, prayers for you!

Your angel numbers are 222 and 777. Water lillies, frogs, spiders, foxes, grapes, and strawberries may be significant to you now. I am seeing the initals B, D, F, P, T

Group Three ~ The Mirror

You are feeling very bored with romance, seeker. You are a person of high emotional intelligence and high self worth. You are either in a relationship which you are losing the spark in, or seeking a new relationship but can't seem to find the one. You enjoy cat and mouse games, and intellectual stimulation in your relationships. But, love is not always a game. You are giving into vices with the Devil card, and perhaps ignoring your own intuition. You may be playing games or taking advice such as not texting back or playing hard to get. I see a beautiful person wrapped in shining gold and white, expensive furs, but the gates are closed to them. You have probably hurt a partner or a potential one chasing fun, rather than building something. Open yourself, and whoever you are pursuing will acknowledge your efforts. To accept the goodin the future, you must learn how to be genuine now.

Your angel numbers are 333 and 999. The color red, swords, and eyes may be significant to you now. I am seeing the initials F, H, R, W.

Group Four ~ The Garden

You will have many suitors coming to you soon. You have an energy of aloofness, and you are very alluring. Your energy is bright and you are a comforting person, but right now you are more focused on introspection. Many of you probably thought of scrolling past this reading, you may already be in a relationship, or you're just not really looking at this time. But, you are catching eyes. Some people want what they can't have, or they are attracted to the energy you put out into the world. You may have had heartbreaks in the end, but you bounced back, and now people are seeing the fruits of your labor. It will be up to you if you will accept a suitor's proposal or not. Some will be surface level infatuations, some will see right into your heart. You have many cards to play, and the intuition to see if someone is good for you or not. Decide for yourself what the next move is, there is no shortage of paths to take.

Your angel numbers are 444, 555, 666, and 777. Peacocks, morning glories, deep colors, and hair may be significant to you now. I am seeing the initials M, S, U, and X.

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Thank you so much for your time and trusting me with your energies. Praying for each of you!

If you do want more clarification, or you have another question, my free readings are open, using oracle and tarot cards! Limited time only! Click the link for instructions!

Blessings to you all, have a wonderful day!