#love that is only grief. grief that is the earth and the trees and the rivers and the roots of it all. not a poison to them

[mistyechoes]

did you know? love is real and its all around you. its inside of you and you cant get rid of it sorry. like a poison but nice poison. but still poison. it will rot you and everyone else when they take it away. just the same as losing all the trees and the flowers and the rivers and the seas. yet those aren't poison, not in their world. do trees love? do their roots spread in hopes of reaching the stem of a lonely little flower sitting by a carved stone? and yet they stay rooted in the dirt. loves funny like that, i suppose. unshakeable, immovable, unstoppable poison and it tastes so sweet and bitter and salty all at once. yet i strain for its petrichor in the midst of motor fog. the blurs not caused by wind smudge the poison into dirt. its the worms now, and the trees, and the flowers, and the rivers, and the seas, and they're all listening because they wanted to love but we didn't understand it. their love wasn't poison because there wasn't anything to lose. and yet we are surrounded by the corpses of what once could have loved us, too.

[comfortless]

hades! konig and persephone! reader

content/warnings: 18+ minors do not interact. abduction, voyeurism, dubcon, not very explicit smut.

notes: this has been on my mind for an eternity actually thank you sweet anon for finally encouraging me to write it out! if you celebrate, merry christmas! and if not consider this just a lil gift for absolutely no reason apart from for being my first Kö request. 💕

A hollow grows within him the moment his gaze meets hers. A chance crossing whilst collecting a rare offering of fruit laid out just for him. Most mortals wouldn’t beckon his attention, and the gods often left him just as well. He knows better than to take insult and become reckless, though… recklessness comes as easily as breathing when his stare settles on her across the glade. She twirls in silent dance, pirouetting carefully as if to avoid crushing the nature that springs up, brushing against her soles. Her voice picks up in a song when she notes the figure watching her from a distance, her cadence no less beautiful than any choir despite the flighty waver in her tone.

When the nymphs rise up from the stream to listen, he stands transfixed for a moment as they pull her in with them for a more elaborate dance, voices all melding until they break into a chorus of giggles and stories.

It should have been left at that.

She walks an earth made for her; flowers blossoming beneath her bare soles, each root extending for just a chance to brush against tender flesh, a breeze that flits gently against her hair. The daughter of Demeter, something unattainable, too precious to be dirtied by the howling abyss below her feet.

He is tethered to darkness and unknowns, an enigma with dried blood beneath his fingernails; the only songs he hears are screams. He’s since stolen flowers from the meadows she dances in. Beautiful peonies and soft green things that smell sweet. Flowers don’t bloom in the dark, they wither and dry.

Days are spent in melancholic longing, nights his roaring grief melds with the wailing of lost souls. Ugly and tainted noises that he dreams will reach her ears, that she will come to him with her lashes wet with tears, wrap him in her arms and quiet all but her own voice as she tells him that he’s more beautiful than her rivers and her blooms.

Yet, she never does.

König takes it upon himself to walk the land of mortals, teemed with life and pleasures more often now. He pulls himself from below with unnatural fire behind his eyes, a horrible, yearning abyss in place of the feathery, clumsy love that he’s watched so many others allow for themselves.

She notices him while he watches her bathe amongst the nymphs, stood upright and imposing beneath the shade of a tree. Each time, while the nymphs shy away with giggles and hands curled over their breasts, she merely keeps her eyes on him; lips-parted and pulse raging. He knows, would swear by it, that his obsession is not entirely one-sided.

Once, she chooses to wave at him, a demure flick of her wrist while his stare remains fixed upon her. The droplets of water from the curve of her neck, down to the swell of her breasts and the pebbled nipples there— down, further into the water that envelopes her and sends his mind to flicker, a roaring flame building from his chest to his groin.

All of his frustrations pale and cower at the fantasy that he just may be able to grant himself the liberty of sinking into something writhing and warm from just one, simple gesture.

He knows he’s fucked, because his first thought after the lullaby of attraction subsides is to poke her just a little; prod her and see what makes her cry the hardest, blanket her in the shadow of himself and pick her apart like a vulture to a cadaver, do things to her that no man ever has or should. It’s not right, and he has to force himself to turn away, the fabric of the veil obscuring his face as he slinks back into the dark where he belongs. Away from the untouchable maiden who seems to haunt him endlessly with her teasing.

The giggles and splashes of the nymphs whisper through the air like the chirping of birds. Though, one voice stands out above the rest of the noise, causes him to halt in his tracks.

“Why does he never speak to us?”

Her voice, so sweet, asking about him when she should be speaking of nothing but the beauty surrounding her, the warmth of the sun and never the cold darkness of the moon.

It’s eating away at him, he realizes, when he can no longer satisfy himself. Nights lain in a haze, staring up at blackened walls with his length in hand. All it takes is the memory of wet lashes and a soft smile, usually. Her beauty is enough to bring even him to his knees, yet, he finds himself instead on the brink of hysteria the first night he finds a vision of her is not sufficient enough to reach the brilliant white haze of a climax.

The thought of stealing her away from her world of beauty to drag her down into the dark with him fills him with both elation and a terrible guilt. Zeus himself is no different; the thought shouldn’t warrant a seeping coldness in his veins, nor should it have caused him to spill his seed into his hand with only a mere flick of the pad of his thumb over his tip, yet it accomplishes both. A waste, when it should be buried deep inside of his beloved.

It takes only two nights for him to plot, to have Gaia choose to favor him, and on the third day the Narcissus flower blooms, pretty and golden. It echoes false promises, softness and beauty beyond even the daughter of Demeter’s imaginations. She will hate him, she will. Her very soul will sour the moment she lays her eyes on him next, but eventually… she will come to understand, return his love with a whisper of her own. Lightly, at best, but it would still be more than he had ever known.

He watches the roots of the plant from below, a pinprick of warm light shining down. The thumps of footsteps overhead, shaking down loose soil like raindrops, giggles like crackling thunder. She’s roaming about with her nymphs again, gentle with her and all of her beauty. After watching her for so very long, he’s more than certain they will be braiding the flowers and falling asleep after fits of laughter with the taste of fruit on their tongues. Only, she’s condemned herself by being so predictable. She will fall, not into soft grasses with a woman’s arms thrown over her, but directly into his own. She won’t eat the fruit of the earth, but drink his wine and allow him to lose himself in her flesh, bedded down against the pelts of beasts and blackened out by shadows.

The wait isn’t long. Her voice breaks through the quiet of the earth below her feet, seems to light up even the space between the two of them as her footfalls halt only several paces away.

“Look at this one!,” she calls out.

Several steps follow after her as one of the ladies of the river comes to join her. He imagines the smile on his beloved’s face, the way her body curves as she kneels down to his trap and his fingers twitch in anticipation of what’s to come.

“Maybe not that one, sweet,” the nymph warns. “There are prettier ones by the bank.”

König can feel his jaw tighten, eyelids pausing to narrow up at the small light as he tries, forces himself to believe that this was fated. She wouldn’t turn away— she couldn’t.

“No... just look at it. We’ve not seen one so lovely since last spring.”

“What if someone else planted it for themselves?”

“But… I want it.”

She sounds so pitiful, so gentle, and he can feel that swell of heat curling inside of him again. The urge to simply love her feels all-consuming with each word that passes from her mouth.

The two above giggle to themselves at her mischief, before finally, the roots begin to move from a gentle tug above. In a matter of seconds, the entire plant has been uprooted. For a daughter of nature to not long for its beauty would be unrealistic, yet he still exhales his relief. The earth riots beneath the women’s feet, splintering cracks and loud discordance echo through the valley. The nymph’s shrieks join the disarray as her featherlight footfalls lead her far, far away from what belongs to him: the dark, the rot, and now her.

With so little time to react, she falls headfirst into the abyss, clutching the narcissus tightly between her soft breasts. Waiting arms are raised to the glimpse of sun and beauty to catch her as he pulls her tightly against his chest, tucks her head against a broad shoulder and grasps at her waist. Whatever he had imagined her flesh to feel like paled in comparison to her warmth, the softness that gives with each press of a digit that makes her tense beneath his touch.

She’s crying, shaking, terrified as she weakly raises her head and offers him a smile. It’s the kind of smile that screams savior, and he can’t bring himself to correct her. No one has ever looked at him with such tenderness.

Everything quiets the moment she looks up to him like that, after condemning herself to him as though she knows nothing of men and gods. She looks at him like he’s an angel, in turn he bites his tongue so hard he can feel the pinpricks of blood and soreness blossom from the wound. He knows he isn’t good, but the heavens have got their filth, too.

“Thank you.” She speaks in a whisper as the world above falls back into place, blanketing them both in shadow and the scent of soil and brimstone. Politeness seems unnecessary, now, though he places her gently onto her feet.

He’s far too mesmerized to stop himself from dropping to his knees in front of her and trailing a hand from her knee to her thigh, squeezing flesh so warm that the very feeling lingers pleasantly against his palm.

If a god couldn’t pluck him from this emptiness and set him on a right path, perhaps a goddess could, as he has always imagined. It’s only confirmed the instant he realizes she isn’t flinching away from his touch.

“I didn’t save you,” he explains calmly.

He’s struck down titans, claimed rulership over the underworld, and yet nothing has made him feel smaller than the fretful look in her eyes as she looks down to him kneeling before her like little more than a common man. As if to provide comfort, selfishly to himself, his massive hands drift higher to rest on her hips still wet with river water and blades of grass clinging to her just as he has longed to do. For what’s felt like an eternity of waiting, of pining, only to have it end with something as simple as a flower.

“I brought you here.”

She’s still beautiful when she cries; a palm is clasped over her mouth, eyes swimming as she trembles in his grip. Of course, she knows what this is about without ever having to ask, yet she still does as if to plead him to tell her that her thoughts are all wrong— that she’s safe and will return to her lovely friends, to her mother that would assuredly be worried sick and furious.

The rise to his feet feels like a mile long stretch, whilst he keeps her caged between the dirty wall and the vast expanse of chest. He shushes her with a gentle tone, wipes her tears away with the ghosting of fingertips before pushing up the veil covering his face to lie claim to her mouth as though his very life depended upon it. Perhaps it did. Though he did not fear Demeter, nor his brothers should she call upon them, he feared not having this ethereal, gentle thing at his side. He feared the creep of loneliness that ravaged his bed each night.

She sighs against his mouth, but does not reciprocate. Everything about her is tense and stressed, a wild mare preparing to kick out for the first time. His tongue lolls out to lap against her soft lips, just twice before he forces himself to part from her.

His beloved brushes away stray tears from her cheeks with the meat of her palms, shivering just a little as she tries to force herself to straighten up, appear braver despite the way she teeters on the edge of falling apart so easily before him. The heavy gaze of obsession fixed upon his face turns further predacious when she apologizes for not being able to help herself in response.

“I didn’t know it was yours,” she explains, holding out the ruined flower to him in one, shaking hand. She protests in her own way, eternally kind, but it all falls on deaf ears as he brushes the petals from her palm and takes her up into his arms again. With an arm beneath the backs of her knees and the other wrapped tightly around her middle, he leads her deeper into the underworld.

A mere taste wouldn’t do.

Her protests are nothing more than soft sniffles when he does take her to his bed of pelts, her arm even thrown over his shoulder as her body presses tightly to him. He thinks for only a moment that he could take his time, stop this all before she truly does grow to loathe him, but the descent into the bed only fortifies his resolve; his belief that this gentle woman of the earth, who smells of magnolia and clear waters belonged entirely to him. For now and forevermore.

“You are to be my wife.”

That quiets her for a moment, her eyes finally meeting his once more as he hovers over her, a palm to either side of her head. She has a mind to shyly curl her hand against her chest then, centered between her breasts which rise and fall with each flighty breath. It’s not panic, but more— curiosity, a misleading thing that he takes to be acceptance until she graces him with a mere murmur of her voice again.

“I don’t belong here.”

König knows that she doesn’t belong in a place like this, for all her grace to be lost to the cold, the rot; his kingdom is nothing but a wasteland riddled with the dead and subjects who take up the mantle of cruelty in his stead. The thought of actually allowing her to go instills rage and melancholy so quickly, he curls his fingers into the fur below to keep himself from flinching.

“You will.”

A digit reaches to trail across her bottom lip, tentative, but the need to touch overwhelms him past the point of caring for much else. To his amazement, she still does not push him away.

“How could that be?”

He doesn’t respond.

More than bedding her, a matter more pressing pushes to the forefront of his mind. Though he knows the likelihood of anyone being aware of her disappearance is nonexistent, a mere whisper from the beaks of crows by this time, he would do well to ensure that she wasn’t leaving. Just as every other soul resigned to dwell here with him, she too would remain.

“You’re famished,” he whispers the suggestion as he splays a palm out over her bare abdomen, only backing away enough to allow her a small length of space between them.

Her concerned stare shoots from his palm to his veil in an instant before she weakly nods her head and props herself up on her elbows.

“Quite… yes.”

She allows herself to be pulled into his lap without a fuss, doesn’t make mention of the hardened cock beneath her. His mind is swimming with the fantasies that kept him tame on so many nights without her as he presses his nose against her temple. A shallow intake of breath, and her lips part readily for him as he pushes the sweet pomegranate seed into her mouth, savoring the brush of her tongue against his fingertip. She eats without thought, never knowing how she’s tethered herself to his plane.

There’s an offering of sweet wine followed by a gathering of honeysuckle for her to sip the nectar from as well before he’s convinced she’s pliant enough. Despite the desire raging within him for all of this time, he would not be cruel to her. The thought of hurting this sweet, little dream doesn’t excite him. It’s her love that he wants, not her anguish.

He lies her back with sweet whispers, gentle caresses as he listens to her murmurs in response. She speaks of the stories only small creatures would know; the way the winds change and the rivers flood, the prettiest places she’s been. No fruit has ever tasted sweeter to her than the pomegranate, and nothing has ever filled him with such emotion as the moment he penetrates her.

He speaks to her through it, tries to, whilst he’s overcome with a pleasure that assuredly no other has ever had the blessing of. She affixes herself perfectly to him, clinging to him as he takes her with gentle thrusts. Gritted teeth and barely contained grunts are met with dulcet mewls as her hands reach for his. His heart aches, truly, at the knowledge that she isn’t meant for this place; his kingdom is nothing but suffering, and she belongs beneath the sun in meadows of flowers. His last thrust is deep, reminds him of the places he dares not tread often, the domains of his brothers, pillow soft clouds and a heaven far above, lost to him.

It’s her consoling him when he fills her to bursting with his seed— delicate arms curling around his head, cradling him against her breasts as she silenced the tears he hadn’t even realized he had shed. He had damned her, yet her soul had not soured; not all flowers withered in the dark.

The endless night is easier on his beloved after the first. She visits with the other souls and comes to him for comfort when the screams and cries in the darkness become too much to bear. She’s less fragile than he had anticipated when she demands he bring her home, and those demands so often end with little else than König taking her into his arms to lead her elsewhere. The underworld can be beautiful too, when seated upon a throne being hand fed by a man that knows little more than to blanket her in as much softness as he can muster. He tells her of the titanomachy, of the white tree, of anything to keep her entertained. His tongue does not shy from telling her that he loves her, too, often met with a shy glance or a soft giggle. Not outright disdain, and for now it feels enough.

She cries often, in longing for her mother and her friends, though never over this love she had never sought herself. Her loneliness only fuels her need for comfort. Selfishly, he believes that he’s saved the night she willingly wraps her arms around him, pulls him close and falls asleep nestled against his chest.

— — —

With the reliance on mortal offerings and Demeter’s anguish having been brought to light with seasons of failed harvests, it was only a matter of time before she was forced away from him. The months without her feel dreadful and empty, but he doesn’t dare disturb her while she walks the earth at her mother’s side. The agreement was beneficial for all of the gods and goddesses, and he knew better than to tread upon it by rushing to her like little more than a pleading dog. When winter took hold, bathing the lands in its icy touch and withering the plants she cherished and freezing over the rivers her nymphs played in, she would return to him as she must.

Each time is different. His beloved is not simply a thoughtless vessel as many of his subordinates. She is the most incredible thing he’s ever had the joy of meeting.

When she returns in tears, calling to him for his comfort he does not hesitate to kiss them all away and remind her that her summers will return and everything above will be just as it was on the day that he brought her below.

Sometimes, she’s angry, jealous even. She asks him often why he doesn’t come to see her while she’s away. He is her husband, after all. Was there anyone else in which he spent his nights with? Someone fairer than even she? The satisfaction of seating her on his cock, satisfying her as she does him on their shared throne far out rivals even ruling the domain itself. He would do anything to prove to her that she was his only; the sole thing he even thought of whilst her mind was filled with new songs and tales from the nymphs she spent her time away with.

Never has she returned with a gift.

Yet, she stumbles back into his realm clutching a small satchel, dripping with the scent of a juice sweet and familiar. A pleasant smile paints her features as she seats herself next to him on the throne. The bench of marble felt far too vast and dreadful to hold someone so delicate, the sight is something he’s grown accustomed to; emptiness is replaced with familiarity seeing her interact with anything here. It may not be home to her, but something in the way she looks to him— as she always had with tenderness, makes him question if a part of her sees him as home.

“I’ve brought something back for you,” she chimes as she pats her thigh.

Each time was different, but it had never been like this before.

He pulls himself to her side before slumping down to rest his head against her, tracing his fingertips along the length of her leg as his gaze drops almost sheepishly.

“Did you?”

She hums in reply, plucking one of the seeds from the satchel before slipping her hand beneath the veil to feed him. His lips part as he takes in the flavor of the aril, the honeyed taste almost akin to the look in her eyes.

“Just like…” She trails off for a moment as she lowers her head to press a kiss to the cheek of his veiled face. The delicate laugh that follows is unlike any he’s heard from her prior, it’s unique, saved solely for him.

“The six that I fed to you?” He asks her quietly, as he pulls himself away from her to meet her eyes directly. The air around them feels thick, loosely charged with a feeling that he can’t quite place; an intensity that he’s never felt before. Any groaning or wailing off in the abyss is silent now, just quiet words spoken.

Things have always felt warmer since her descent, but he’s learned to not expect anything more than she was willing to give. Still, hope cinches his heart tighter than it ever did prior. Even in battle, slaying his father alongside his brothers, he had never felt his heart race the way it does now.

She nods her head, opening up the satchel just wide enough to reveal the other five arils.

“I don’t think that I understand.”

“You should.”

He mulls over that for a moment before the fog finally clears. Any doubt that he had is remedied by a mere two words. He stares at her dumbly, searching her eyes for any hint that this is some horrible, cruel trick; that the implication is something he’s horribly misunderstood.

She couldn’t possibly come to love him… could she?

“To tie you to me,” she says softly.

The smile remains on her face when she closes the distance to kiss him. Not over the veil, but beneath it this time.

Her descent was one of a selfish longing, and his felt as though he was plunging into a world of flowers.

[astrophileous]

Every Single Day

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female Reader

Synopsis: When his daughter demands him to tell the story of how the two of you met, Spencer can't help but oblige.

Warning(s): dad spencer🥰, established relationship (eventually), parent-child relationships, alcohol consumption, brief interaction with a douchebag, made-up astronomy facts, made-up places, idk if there's any cursing but I'll throw it in here to be safe, implications of sex and nsfw themes (minors be advised), pregnancy, mentions of illness, mentions and/or implications of character death, topics of loss and grief, angst and fluff because I love the best of both worlds👍 (pls lmk if I missed anything)

Word Count: 7700-ish

Author's Note: hi 👋 I'm back again with another dad!spencer fic bc apparently I'm a sucker for him. I got a lil carried away with this one lol but anyways, I'm also writing this for the meet cute challenge hosted by the amazing and talented @imagining-in-the-margins so pls go head to her profile and show some love cause she's a peach ❤️ don't forget to leave a LIKE+COMMENT+REBLOG

Criminal Minds Masterlist

The air smelled of freshly brewed coffee. Against the wind, shades of crimson and orange swayed on the trees. Fallen leaves crunched underneath his feet to the cadence of his leisured steps.

Two deep breaths, in and out. Spencer Reid greeted autumn with the deep longing of an old friend.

Next to him walked a source of light bigger than the sun, jumping and bouncing excitedly on the sidewalk. Her tiny fingers emitted warmth inside of his hand. There was a skip to her step that reminded him of the innocence he had long lost. The innocence she now possessed.

Spencer loved this little girl beyond everything he had ever known.

"Puddle, Dee."

The tiny bundle of joy jumped to escape the small pool of water, grinning up at her father, who then began ruffling her hair until she evaded his onslaught with a shriek.

"Daddy?"

"Yes, Pumpkin?"

"You never told me how you met Mommy."

Spencer glanced down at the 6-year-old, dressed gorgeously in her favorite floral dress, complete with a sweater that had entailed a hearty discussion about humans' perception of cold. It was only after he bribed her with the promise of a chocolate cupcake from Wakey Bakey did Spencer finally convince her to wear the woolen piece of clothing.

His daughter stared at him with a radiant smile peeking out behind a curtain of hair. A smile which Spencer always argued had belonged to you, even though the rest of Diana Aurora Reid was the splitting image of her beloved father.

"Surely I've told you before, Dee."

"Nuh-uh."

"Of course I have."

"No, Daddy. You haven't."

"Pumpkin, you know I don't forget stuff ever," Spencer said, looking at the little girl who was swaying along to the rhythm of her footsteps. "I used to tell you that story all the time. Back when you were still a baby."

Just as predicted, Diana let out a dramatic gasp as if Spencer had uttered the most offensive thing known to mankind; like claiming the earth was actually flat, for example. Spencer couldn't contain his grin upon seeing her reaction.

"But Daddy, that was so long ago!"

"Do you not remember, Dee?"

Diana shook her head.

"Fine. But Mommy must've told you the story already, right?"

"She has, but--"

"But?"

"But I wanna hear it from you."

Little Diana knew that her father could never resist her puppy dog eyes, especially garnished with that adorable pout on top. Once upon a time, you declared it sickeningly cute and annoying whenever Spencer would pull the same trick on you. When Dee started doing the same to him, you had simply laughed and kissed his cheek, letting him get a sweet taste of his own medicine.

Spencer smiled at the young girl next to him, squeezing her nose and relishing in the gleeful squeal that echoed from her chest.

"What do you wanna hear, Pumpkin?"

Diana held her chin, seemingly deep in contemplation before deciding, "Everything, Dad! I wanna hear it from the start."

"The start, huh?" Spencer hummed thoughtfully, his mind already reeling back to the first moment he ever laid eyes on you.

The story began on yet another ordinary Friday night.

Luck was on the BAU's side when the team managed to wrap the case they had been working all week just before Friday afternoon. By the time the sun was setting, their jet was already high up in the sky, en route from the state of Delaware to Quantico, Virginia. Spencer was looking forward to going home at a reasonable hour for once--maybe catching up on the four reading materials he had promptly pushed aside after his team was called to Delaware to work on the latest case--but that plan dissipated when Derek Morgan suddenly appeared by his side.

"Drinks. Tonight. Everyone's coming, and I'm not taking no for an answer," Derek said before dragging a reluctant Spencer away with him, ignoring the protests that the younger man kept grumbling under his breath all the way to the team's favorite bar.

Spencer just hadn't known it yet, but later down the road, he would spend the rest of eternity thanking Derek Morgan for dragging him along that night.

The Friday night crowd at Shaw's was borderline brutal, but fortunately for the team, a booth in the corner became vacant the moment they stepped into the threshold.

Two hours later, Spencer's fellow teammates weren't even close to calling it a night. The last chorus of "I Wanna Dance with Somebody" by Whitney Houston had just finished blasting from the speakers when Derek sauntered back to the booth, twirling a flushed Penelope Garcia in front of him. Spencer slipped out of the booth to allow them in--preferring to stay on the most outer seat instead of crammed between his tipsy friends' bodies--before sitting down once more.

"Hey, Genius," Penelope called, waving her empty beer glass in front of Spencer's face. "Be a darling and get me a refill, will you?"

"Garcia--" Spencer quickly snatched the glass from her hand before she could send it smashing against someone's head, "--are you sure you want a refill?"

Penelope scrunched her nose. "Why do you ask?"

"Because I think you're plenty drunk already."

"I'm not that drunk," Penelope denied, giggling when an unexpected hiccup interrupted her slurred words. "Derek, tell the beautiful Doctor I'm not that drunk."

"She's not that drunk, Reid." Derek grinned. "While you're at it..."

Spencer could only sigh when Derek slid his own empty glass across the table.

It was past 10 o'clock at night, and the crowd of people in the establishment seemed to have doubled in the couple of hours that the team had been there. Spencer had to squeeze himself through the ocean of patrons flooding the bar, barely able to move his limbs without other people's arms or elbows bumping against his ribcage.

Spencer was waiting for the bartender to complete his order when he happened to glance towards his right, catching sight of the concealed panic that triggered every profiler bone in his body.

Any other person would have taken one look at your face and presumed that everything was alright, but Spencer knew better. He recognized the frantic movement of your eyes, the tight press of your lips, and the impatient knocking of your fingertips on the counter. He only caught the tail end of your voice before discreetly listening to what the man you were talking to had to say.

"--so, unfortunately, I can't."

"I told you, Baby. My Veyron runs at over 260 miles per hour. We can go to Red Clover Hill and get you back home safely by twelve. It's simple math," the guy slurred smugly.

"Actually, that's not true."

The drunken man turned around at Spencer's interruption.

"Excuse me?"

"The Red Clover Hill State Park is approximately 229 miles away from here. Though theoretically, you could drive your Veyron at its maximum velocity, which is around 268 miles per hour, it's very unlikely you'll be able to maintain that speed for the entirety of the ride, considering the terrain you would have to go through between here and there. The fastest you can probably get to the park is in 60 minutes, give or take, and that's being generous. You would have to drive back to D.C. as soon as you arrive at the park if you wish to be back by twelve. It's just realistically impossible."

The man in front of him couldn't be less impressed by Spencer's lengthy rant.

"And who the hell are you?" the drunken guy said, pinning Spencer with a stare that was clearly supposed to be intimidating.

Spencer didn't even flinch. "No one. Just a guy who happens to know a lot about... simple math."

Your loud cough tore Spencer's attention away from the drunk man and towards you, who looked ready to burst from the laughter you were holding underneath. Even under the terrible lighting of the bar, Spencer could still pinpoint the hint of unspoken amusement glimmering inside your eyes.

"Sorry, Bill," you said to the man. "I really do need to be back home by twelve tonight. Maybe some other time?"

Bill didn't need to be told twice. He received the message loud and clear.

Spencer watched the other man scurry away, tail between his legs, before your charming smile enraptured him once more.

"Thank you for that. I was beginning to think he might never leave."

"Happy to help." Spencer smiled thinly, scratching the back of his neck even though the spot wasn't itchy. "What did, uh, why did he want to take you to Red Clover Hill, of all places?"

"Oh. That was... partially my fault." You grinned innocently. "I didn't know he was gonna be an insufferable drunk when he came over, and I was in the middle of watching this."

You pulled out a silver tablet from your lap. Spencer took a peek at the screen, seeing what looked like a live feed of the night sky--over North Carolina, judging by the visible constellations on the vast scene--stamped with the day's date at the bottom of the footage.

"You're watching the Roux-Nell?" Spencer deduced after gathering the facts: the live feed of North Carolina sky, the mention of Red Clover Hill State Park that harbored one of the highest grounds in North Carolina, including a collection of some of the most sophisticated telescopes in the country; you must have been planning to view that night's sighting of the Roux-Nell comet, its first time since the last one in 1927, and only its third one in history.

"Yes! How did you... don't tell me. You're an avid astronomy fan, too?"

Spencer's responding smile only made you beam even brighter.

"Anyway, that guy earlier, Bill, he approached me and asked what I was watching. So, I started talking about the Roux-Nell and about how I wish I was at Red Clover Hill right now since everyone keeps saying it's one of the best spots to view tonight's sighting. I thought he was genuinely interested until he started talking about his Veyron this, his Veyron that. I didn't even realize until a whole five minutes later that he was talking about his car!"

When you finally finished explaining, your eyes locked with Spencer's hazel ones before you seemed to cower shyly.

"Sorry. I can get a little excited when I'm talking sometimes."

"No! Don't be, it was--" Spencer stopped himself before he could complete his sentence.

What was he about to say?

Insightful? Entertaining?

Endearing?

Eventually, Spencer opted to settle for something safe and simple. "I get that way too, sometimes. A lot of the times, actually. So you don't have to apologize."

The fire flickered back inside your gaze following Spencer's admission. It burned brilliantly beneath the kindness you radiated, forged by the sharp intelligence he could see shining out of your eyes.

"So--" Spencer cleared his throat, attempting to shift the conversation in order to distract his racing mind, "--why did you tell him you needed to be back home by twelve?"

"Oh, that? I told him I'm donating blood tomorrow morning, so I need to at least get seven hours of sleep for the night."

"That's a clever lie."

You tilted your head slightly at his statement. "What makes you think it's a lie?"

"Because you're here. Nobody drinks alcohol before they're supposed to donate blood."

Your eyes flashed with surprise. "Not bad, Mister. You're very perceptive."

Spencer shrugged, trying not to appear too flustered by your casual compliment. "It's what I do."

You raised an inquisitive eyebrow at his reply.

"I'm a profiler."

"Profiler?"

"With the FBI."

"FBI, huh?" You hummed, something akin to intrigue swirling in your eyes. "So, you study criminals? Trying to decipher their way of thinking, why they do what they do. Dissect their past history for any related trauma, maybe even pinpoint a psychological stressor that could trigger a criminal behavior, that kind of stuff?"

Upon hearing your response, it was Spencer's turn to be intrigued. "Exactly that kind of stuff. How did you...?"

Grinning sheepishly, you pulled a professional badge out of your pocket, holding it up in front of Spencer so he could see the emblem covering its surface.

"Edgewater Psychology Center," Spencer read the words aloud, understanding dawning on him as he found your eyes once more. "You're a psychologist."

"Guilty as charged."

Spencer couldn't fight off his amused smile. "That explains it, then."

"You know," you began, leaning further against the bar counter to shorten the distance between you and Spencer, "I've never met a profiler in person before. Most of my colleagues, they have consulted on a federal case at least once in the past few years, but the bureau hasn't yet contacted me so far."

"Really?" Spencer took a step forward, closing the distance by a mere inch. "Sounds like a big loss for us. We're idiots."

You bit down on your bottom lip to suppress a smile, your gaze flicking between Spencer's own lips and eyes. For the shortest of minutes, nothing else existed in Spencer's world but you; your smile, your scent, and your kind eyes. You were a magnet carved out of his wildest dreams, and Spencer, well, he might as well have been made out of the purest of irons.

But before Spencer could get lost deeper in your relentless gaze, a shout of his name slashed through the air from across the bar. Back at the booth, Derek was waving his hand frantically in the air, stopping only when Spencer signaled him to sit back down and that he was returning in a minute.

"I have to go." He smiled tentatively, apologetically.

"Oh?"

Spencer tried not to revel too much over the small dip of disappointment at the edge of your voice.

"My friends. They, uh--"

"Oh, no, it's alright. You don't have to explain," you told him gently. "See you around, Mr. Profiler. Hope you have a great night."

With that said, you went back to watching the live feed on your tablet while Spencer, begrudgingly, trudged across the room with two refilled beer glasses in his hands, back to where his friends--minus Rossi and Hotch who were conversing among themselves at one of the standing tables--were waiting.

"Finally," Derek groaned once Spencer slammed the glasses down on the table.

"Who was that?" Emily asked as he slipped into the booth.

"Huh?" Spencer followed Emily's gaze, finding you perched up at the very end of it. "No one."

"No one?" Emily's eyebrows rose. "She didn't seem like no one from where I was sitting."

Spencer took an insanely large sip of his leftover beer.

"Holy shit, you like her, " Derek muttered. "He likes her. Pretty boy's got a crush."

"No, I don't."

"Yeah? Tell that to those red cheeks of yours." JJ chuckled.

Instinctively, Spencer touched his own cheeks as if he could physically feel the change of colors on his skin.

"I'm just tipsy," he tried to reason.

A collective scoff reverberated through the entire booth.

"What's her name, Spence?" JJ asked.

When a full minute ticked by without so much as a grunt of acknowledgment from Spencer, Penelope reached out and slapped the man right across his shoulder.

"Ow!"

"You didn't ask for her name?!" Penelope exclaimed.

"It didn't come up!"

"That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard you say, Reid," Emily noted before sipping her margarita.

"Nope. I'm not having this. Not tonight. Look at me, Sunshine." Penelope grabbed Spencer's face in her hands, forcing him to stare directly into her glasses-rimmed eyes. "I'm not letting you spend the rest of the night like this. You will get your cute little tushy out there and talk to that girl. You will get her name and also her number, maybe even ask the nice pretty lady out while you're at it. Now, have I made myself clear?"

Spencer barely managed to swallow his nerves before he offered Penelope two tiny nods.

"Good. I don't wanna see your face back here if you're not at least pocketing her phone number. Now shoo."

Penelope sent Spencer flying across the bar with a dramatic stumble. By the time he reached your side, Spencer was nothing less than a stuttering mess and a thundering heart.

"Hi," Spencer breathed out once he found your welcoming eyes.

"Um, hi?"

"I'm Spencer."

"Okay... Spencer?"

"Reid. Spencer Reid." He cleared his throat. "Sorry, it's just... I realized while I was sitting over there--well, my friends actually made me realize--that I, uh, never got your name. Which, you know, of course I never got it because I didn't ask. So, I was coming here, wondering if maybe you'd like to give it... to me?"

You blinked once. Twice.

By the third blink, Spencer wished the earth would open up and devour him whole.

"You want my name?"

Spencer nodded.

"What are you planning to do with it?"

"Call you?" At your bemused expression, Spencer quickly elaborated, "Not call like call. I meant referring. Yep. That's it. Although, maybe if you want to, I would love to call you as well. Sometime. And perhaps, you know, ask you out... on a date?"

Spencer swallowed the lump of nervousness in his throat. In front of him, you were pretty, even with the conspicuous scrutiny in your eyes as they assessed Spencer as if he was some sort of an enigma. Embarrassment burned hotter through his veins with every second that passed by. He was merely two exhales of breath away from dashing out of the door when you finally spoke up.

"Okay."

"Okay?"

Smiling, you produced an old receipt seemingly out of thin air and asked the bartender to lend you a pen, scribbling something down as soon as you had it between your fingers. When the tiny piece of paper emigrated to Spencer's hand, the Cheshire cat in him jumped out once he noticed the ten digit numbers written neatly underneath a name he could only assume as yours.

"Will that be enough, Spencer Reid?"

"For now," Spencer replied before grabbing his wallet and shoving the paper containing your name inside. "I'll call you."

"You better."

After Spencer's departure, you returned your attention back to the tablet in front of you. Barely five minutes later, though, your serene watching session was once again interrupted. Only this time, it was by the ringing of your phone.

"Hello?"

"Hi, this is Spencer."*

Surprised, you swiveled your head left and right, stopping once you spotted Spencer standing on the other side of the room. His eyes were trained towards you, and behind him, a booth of four people seemed to have directed their attention at you as well.

"Spencer?"

"I know this is very untoward," he began, "but would you like to go out with me?"

"Boy, you certainly don't waste any time at all, do you?"

"I believe it's called being efficient," he countered, making you laugh. "So, what do you say?"

"Sure," you answered, enjoying the way Spencer beam at you from across the room. "I would love to, Spencer."

A breeze blew gently against Spencer's face, caressing the tendrils of curly hair that had fallen over his forehead. Diana's little fingers started to grip his tighter as the wind strengthened.

"Did you take Mommy on that date, Daddy?"

"Of course," Spencer replied, reminiscing the exact day when he had picked you up in your apartment, sweat glistening on his palm as he clutched the bouquet of flowers in his right hand. "We went to see a Mark Rothko exhibition at the National Gallery of Art, and before I took her home, we stopped by Wakey Bakey to buy some lemon tarts."

Diana gasped. "Wakey Bakey?!"

The little girl's reaction compelled a chuckle from Spencer's chest. "Yes, Pumpkin. Wakey Bakey."

"What happened after that, Daddy?"

"What do you think happened after that, Dee?"

"Um--" Diana pursed her lips, deeply lost in thought, "--did you become girlfriend and boyfriend?"

"Yes, we did."

"And you got married?!"

Spencer laughed at Diana's apparent excitement over the prospect of her parents getting married. "We did, yeah, eventually. After I proposed to her."

"Oh! Oh! The proposal!" Diana exclaimed, jumping up and down in the middle of the sidewalk without a care in the world. Spencer had to tug her back towards him before she could harm herself or the other pedestrians. "Tell me! Tell me! Tell me about the proposal, Daddy!"

"You wanna hear the story about how I proposed to your mother?"

"Yes, please!"

Chuckling to himself, Spencer mumbled a quick fine before his gears had started turning towards a specific memory in his mind. Spencer was sure, even without his eidetic ability, there was no way he could have ever forgotten about the day in question.

The day you agreed to have him as your forever.

Spencer had fallen in love with you during the first date, right around the time of yet another one of his animated ramblings, where instead of shaming him to shut the hell up, you had simply stared at him in awe and said, "You're pretty when you talk."

The young agent was sure he couldn't get rid of the blush adorning his cheeks for at least an entire week.

By the time the fifth date rolled around, Spencer was absolutely certain that you were the one he wanted to spend the rest of his life with. It wasn't a surprise, then, that a few weeks before your first anniversary came up, Spencer had pocketed a diamond ring with a promise of forever on the tip of his tongue.

Combing the courage to take this historical leap was easy. Difficult was trying to conjure up the perfect proposal plan that he would deem worthy enough for someone like you. There were no rooms for mistakes. Spencer wanted everything to be perfect because he believed you deserved nothing less.

Which was why, in moments of desperation, Spencer ended up turning to his fellow teammates in the FBI for help.

"I don't know if I'm the right person to ask about this, Spence. Will only ever proposed to me after finding out about Henry, and we only got married after I thought he was gonna die on the field," JJ explained. "It was never the most ideal of situations, but I would never change a thing even if I could."

Unsatisfied with JJ's answer, Spencer proceeded to find the BAU's tech genius in her bat cave.

"Go big or go home, my friend," Penelope said following a 10-minute hysteria she erupted into upon learning about Spencer's intent to propose. "Splash out on the bottle. Don't hold back on the grandeur. Spend all of your savings if you have to."

"Garcia--"

"Fine, maybe not all of your savings. You should leave some for the wedding."

Spencer spent weeks mulling over Penelope's advice.

Working as an FBI agent didn't pay as well as most people thought it would, and Spencer's tendency to collect first edition books wasn't exactly an affordable hobby. It meant that as much as Spencer wanted a proposal filled with the greatest grandeur--just as Penelope had suggested--he didn't have a fat enough balance in his bank account to make his ideal proposal concept a reality.

And Spencer probably would have spent the limited fund in his savings down to its very last cent, had it not been for Derek catching him browsing through the internet for the cost of a hot air balloon ride.

"I just want to give her the perfect proposal," Spencer admitted after he finished revealing everything.

"Kid, it doesn't matter," Derek said. "Don't you see? She doesn't care about hot air balloons or any kind of grandeur. She only cares about you. There's no such thing as a perfect proposal. You're just using it as an excuse to put off asking her 'cause you're scared of what she's gonna say. But you don't need to. You two are so devastatingly in love, it's disgusting."

In the end, grandeur wasn't even present in the room when Spencer decided to pop the question.

On that particular night, Spencer arrived in his apartment just a few minutes before midnight. His aching muscles were calling for sleep as he toed his shoes off, but his footsteps soon ceased when he caught sight of his dimly lit living room.

You were fast asleep on the couch, face illuminated by the television light. Spencer's movements were careful as he knelt in front of you, studying the soft and hard edges of your features like historians would an ancient scripture. He couldn't help it when his fingers reached out on their own accord, brushing the softest of touches against the high point of your cheekbone. Inside its cage, Spencer's heart started to stir.

You were so beautiful.

Even after one year of being together, Spencer was often still taken back by how lovely you were. He adored every detail of your being, most fervently the scars that littered your skin in a constellation of stars. All of the places in your body where your scrutiny had wandered in a fleet of insecurity were the same places that Spencer wanted to worship for the rest of his life. In his eyes, you were eternally magnificent, and this thought clouded Spencer's mind as he went to shake your shoulder gently.

"Spencer?" Your groggy voice sounded meek in the comfort of Spencer's apartment, the same one he had been sharing with you since you moved in three months prior. Your lips tilted with the tiniest hint of a smile at the sight of him, and Spencer thought he would melt when your fingers instinctively reached for his face. "You're back."

"I'm back," he confirmed, leaving a trail of kisses on your palm. "Why aren't you in bed, my love?"

"I was waiting for you," you admitted. "I have something to say."

"Really? Me too."

"Hm?" Curiosity flared in the center of your eyes. "You first."

Smiling, Spencer leaned down to steal a quick kiss before saying, "Marry me."

Your breath hitched.

After a few seconds of silence, your nervous laughter filled his ears. "Right. That's a nice one, Spencer. Very funny."

"I'm not joking, sweetheart."

Spencer reached into the inside pocket of his satchel, pulling out the velvet box that had weighed down his bag by several grams for the past few weeks. Any remnant of sleep you still had in your eyes was instantly washed away the moment he opened the box to reveal a pretty ring sitting inside.

"I've had this for a while now," Spencer admitted. "I kept putting off asking you because I believed I wanted everything to be perfect, until Derek knocked some sense into my head and made me realize that I was just afraid of taking the leap. He's right, as always, but don't tell him I said that."

Spencer paused at your teary laugh, relishing in the melodic sound that made his heart nearly burst in two. "My love, I don't need the perfect proposal when you're the promise of a perfect life. Any life with you is the one I want to live for the rest of my time, and I want to start living that life from this point onward. What do you say, sweetheart? Will you marry me?"

Spencer never thought the word yes could sound so incredibly spectacular.

The celebration had started right away, commemorated by the shedding of clothes from each other's bodies, finalized by panting breaths and entangled limbs beneath rumpled sheets. You lay on the bed with your palm on Spencer's chest, his own hand tracing invisible patterns on the vast canvass of your skin.

Spencer watched as you stared at the ring circling your finger. "Do you like it? We can exchange it for a new one if--"

"Spencer Reid, don't you dare."

"Apologies, ma'am." He grinned, continuing the random patterns he was drawing on your skin before he spoke again, "By the way, you said you also have something to tell me."

You looked up at him with a blinding smile before scooting out of Spencer's arm and reaching for the nightstand. When Spencer saw what you had rummaged out of the bedside drawer, Spencer thought his heart had forgotten how to beat.

"Is that--"

"Surprise," you murmured giddily, handing over the object in your hand into Spencer's awaiting palm. "I found out yesterday, but I wanted to tell you in person."

Spencer sat up on the bed, staring with disbelief at the small item in his hand. He only realized he had started to cry when a drop of tears fell down, blurring the two tiny pink lines in his vision.

"This is... you're..."

"I'm pregnant, Spencer," you professed.

Just an hour earlier, Spencer thought the word yes was the best thing he could ever hear falling from your mouth. But as he held you in his arms, his lips catching yours once more in a heated kiss, Spencer realized that you had many more surprising admissions waiting to be said out loud.

And Spencer couldn't wait to spend the rest of his life listening to every single one of them.

"Daddy, are you saying I was already in Mommy's belly when you proposed to her?"

"Yes, you were, Pumpkin," Spencer said, smiling at the blatant curiosity in Little Dee's eyes. "You were a surprise we didn't see coming."

Diana's responding smile was a picture of satisfaction. The father-daughter pair continued to walk down the street until Dee's voice tore through the silence once again, "Daddy?"

"Hm?"

"I thought you said a man and a woman can only make babies after they're married."

Spencer's footsteps halted on the pavement.

The silence must have stretched for only a partial of a minute, but the expectant stare Dee was nailing against his face, along with the internal panic that had short-circuited Spencer's brain made it seem as if the world had skidded into a standstill. Frantic eyes darted everywhere for a chance at rectification, and Spencer couldn't stop the words from tumbling off his lips when he saw the worn-down sign of a florist up ahead.

"Dee, would you like to buy some flowers for Mommy?"

The little girl squealed an excited yes before skipping the few steps left towards the flower shop. Spencer let out a relieved breath at having narrowly escaped such a harrowing crisis.

Once Spencer stepped into the shop, a multitude of fragrances immediately enveloped his surroundings. Diana was lingering back and forth around the vibrant displays when Spencer approached, her tiny eyebrows frowning in the most adorable way as she assessed the rows of flowers in front of her.

"Have you decided yet, Pumpkin?"

"Can we get some of Mommy's favorites, Dad?" Diana requested, pointing her tiny finger at the display of flowers she knew to be your favorites. "And then we can add some of these daisies, too!"

Spencer couldn't fight the smile blossoming on his face as he asked the florist to assemble a bouquet made out of daisies--Dee's favorite type of flowers, the same one printed all over the dress she was wearing--along with your favorite flowers in the center. Diana stared in awe at the deft work administered by the florist, her mouth forming an "O" once the bouquet was wrapped and ready to go.

"Do you think Mommy will like them, Daddy?"

"I know she will, Pumpkin," Spencer answered earnestly, his memory replaying that first time he had come home bringing the same arrangement of flowers in his hand.

Spencer came home to the apartment in utter disarray, and yet, it still was the best view that he had ever witnessed in his entire life.

Ever since his office was transformed into a nursery, the books he previously kept in there had to be relocated to the living area. Most of them had gone by now--some donated, and some others sold at second-hand bookstores--but piles of them still littered in various corners of the room.

Apart from his mountainous collection of books, small trinkets also covered every available surface of the place. From the empty nursing bottles in the kitchen sink to the breast pump on the counter, and the tiny socks on the coffee table to the pacifier jammed between the sofa cushions; every single one of them contributed to the mess that his apartment had become. Yet as he paused to inspect every inch of the place, Spencer couldn't find any other emotion besides warmth flooding his chest.

Muffled footsteps padded towards the living room before you appeared from the hallway with a freshly bathed Diana in your arms. As soon as your eyes locked with his, the crease between your eyebrows automatically vanished.

"You're home."

"I'm home." Spencer grinned before welcoming you into his embrace.

He stole a quick kiss from your lips before bending down to smother a 7-month-old Diana who yelped in glee when Spencer began attacking her with kisses all over her face.

"She's been fussy since yesterday," you told him. "I think she missed you."

"Did you, baby? Did you miss Daddy?" Spencer cooed. "I can take her for a few while you rest. You look tired. Are you feeling okay?"

"Gee, Spence. What a way to a girl's heart."

"You know what I meant, sweetheart."

"It's fine, Spencer. I just got a headache, but it's all better now that you're here."

Spencer smiled as he kissed your free knuckles. "If it's any consolation, you're still the most heavenly creature that I've ever laid eyes upon."

A sneaky laughter rumbled past your chest. "Fine. I'll let you go just this once," you said before letting Spencer take a yawning Diana into his arms.

As Spencer carried Dee towards the couch, you noticed a bouquet of flowers lying next to the kitchen sink in the corner of your eye. You glanced at the young genius with a discreet smile before aptly transferring the flowers into a vase.

"These are pretty," you commented, joining your family in the living room. You put the vase in the middle of the coffee table amidst the books and various baby clutters before dropping yourself against Spencer's side.

"They're your favorites."

"I know. As usual." You smiled affectionately. "And daisies. You've never bought me daisies before."

Spencer's eyes gleamed. "I bought the daisies for Dee."

"Oh?"

"I think daisies are gonna be her favorite."

"You do, huh?"

"One hundred percent."

Spencer's eyes looked up from Diana to you then, whose own gaze had been kept intently on your husband and daughter. Darkness embellished the area underneath your eyes, and Spencer couldn't help but count the lines of fatigue that seemed to have multiplied on the contours of your face. Even then, Spencer thought you had never looked more stunning than you did at that moment; as his wife, the mother of his child, and the woman who owned the sole reign of his heart.

Confusion wandered into your eyes when you noticed Spencer's stubborn stare. A surprised squawk escaped your lips as Spencer unexpectedly captured them in a rather long kiss. When he pulled back, Spencer looked the very image of a man who was drunk on love.

"I love you. You know that, right?" Spencer confessed as he squeezed your hand twice in his palm.

"Spencer, what's going on with you?"

"Nothing. I just--" he paused for a chuckle, seemingly trying to find the right words to say before he could continue, "--I owe my life to you, sweetheart. For all of the times you have pulled me out of the darkness, to the light you've brought into my life. You and Dee are the reason I keep on breathing. Without the two of you, I'm nothing."

"Spencer," you breathed out. "Where did all of this come from?"

"I don't know." He shook his head. "I just wanted you to know how grateful I am to have you in my life and that you've brought Dee into ours. Everything worth fighting for about me is because of you."

The telltale signs of tears began to cast a shadow over your eyes. You pressed your hand to Spencer's cheek, feeling the rugged sensation of his newly shaved stubble stroking your skin. Spencer melted into the warmth of your touch.

"You're giving me far too much credit here, Spencer," you whispered. "Everything you are has always been your own doing rather than mine. All I ever did was cheer you on from the sideline. You would still have become the person that you are today even if I weren't in your life."

Spencer physically shuddered at your last statement. "Don't say that. I can't even begin to imagine a life without you in it."

"Well, even if such day does come, when I won't be a part of your life anymore, I know you're gonna be just fine. Because you'll have Dee with you--" you stroked Diana's head lovingly, "--and I know that the two of you will give each other enough love and strength that you won't even notice I'm not around anymore."

The frown on Spencer's face deepened.

"You're not allowed to leave me. Ever," Spencer decided childishly.

"Fine. I won't. But you have to remember--" you brought your palm towards Spencer's chest, feeling each rhythmic thrum of his heart which seemed to flutter ever so slightly underneath your fingers, "--I'll be right here if you need me. Always."

Spencer's own hand landed on top of your hand, entwining your fingers together without ever tearing his fierce gaze away from yours.

"Always."

The sun was shining down in flimsy rays when Spencer and Dee finally walked past the familiar gate. Glimmers of gold sneaked past the reddish leaves on branches before falling upon the ground.

Next to him, Diana was humming a melody that Spencer recognized from one of your specially curated playlists. Her little hands struggled to carry the gigantic bouquet that she couldn't wait to present to you. It didn't matter that the bouquet itself was nearly as tall as she was, Diana still refused to let Spencer assist her.

"I wanna give Mommy the flowers myself," she had told Spencer in a manner that reminded him too much of your own stubbornness.

After a couple more minutes of walking, Spencer's reverie was soon broken by the excited squeal coming from the little girl beside him.

"Mommy! Mommy!"

Diana dashed into a sprint before words of warning could fall from Spencer's lips. He watched intensely as Diana's little feet moved upon the ocean of fallen leaves on the ground. Her tight grip around the bouquet never wavered even when she ran up the grassed hill, all the way towards the destination in her mind.

All the way towards the headstone with your name written on it.

When Spencer finally got there, Diana was kneeling next to your grave with panting breaths, but the smile stretched on her lips was the biggest one that Spencer had ever seen.

"Hi, Mommy. I'm back with Daddy," Diana announced. "Daddy, go say hi to Mommy."

"Hello, my love." Spencer smiled before taking a seat next to his daughter.

"We brought flowers, Mommy! They're your favorites. I added daisies to make them prettier." Diana beamed before putting the bouquet against your headstone. "You're not gonna believe what happened in class yesterday!"

As Diana animatedly began to recount the funny incident in her classroom--somehow involving a boy named Patrick and a cup of slushie--Spencer watched over her with a permanent smile on his lips. The little girl loved to talk--a trait she obviously acquired from both of her parents--and Spencer knew just how much you used to adore listening to Dee's rambling at any time of day.

It must have been at least ten minutes later when Diana's story eventually whirled to an end. Her attention instantly shifted to the family who was paying their own respect just two headstones over, a small squeak of puppy tumbled from Dee's lips before she dashed towards the boy with a golden retriever pup beside his legs.

Spencer shook his head affectionately at his daughter's antics.

"I know we were just here a couple of weeks ago, but Dee wanted to tell you about the slushie incident herself," he said. "And, well, I can never deny the chance to visit you, love."

A loud laughter boomed a few feet away. Spencer watched as Diana ran around jubilantly with the little boy and his dog. The boy's father waved at Spencer from the distance, which he replied with an acknowledging nod.

"She's getting so big, sweetheart. Sometimes, I just wanna stop time and keep her as my little girl forever. I wish you were around to see how much she's grown." Spencer smiled ruefully. "I can't believe that it's been more than a year since you were gone."

Spencer thought back to the last few moments you spent on this earth. How just a few months prior, the doctor had advised you to stop the treatment and take a rest at home instead.

The chemo isn't working, was what the doctor was really saying. You should be spending as much time as you can with your family.

So, that was exactly what you ended up doing.

Spencer had quit his job at the FBI shortly after you were diagnosed, opting to take a full-time job of teaching where the hours were more humane and reasonable. The day you were discharged from the hospital, Spencer made a vow to himself to make every day as memorable as he could, and he was keeping true to it. Those last few months were filled with countless road trips, an unforgettable weekend at Disneyland, and visits to various museums across the states. Spencer made sure that each day was charged with love and laughter, a perfect day culminated by an equally perfect night, with you falling asleep in the safety of his arms.

Until one morning, when Spencer woke up to your cold and lifeless body lying by his side.

"Do you remember what you told me once? About how Dee and I would never notice you were gone because we would have each other?" Spencer recalled. "You were wrong about that, sweetheart. Your absence is the first thing I notice every time I start my day. The moment I open my eyes, I notice that you aren't lying next to me on the bed like you're supposed to be. I notice the cold imprints on the sheets where your warmth used to linger. I notice you in every corner of our home, but most importantly, I notice you in Dee."

Spencer glanced at his little girl, playing and running around a pile of fallen leaves with her newfound friend and his pet dog. His heart floundered at the scene.

"Everyone keeps saying that she's an exact copy of me, but I see glimpses of you in her more and more every single day," Spencer admitted. "She's the only anchor I have left now, my love. Without her, I'm lost. I try constantly, with whatever strength still resides in me, to give her everything she would ever need. Shower her with every ounce of love I have left in my heart."

A lone tear cascaded down Spencer's cheek. He quickly erased it away with a wry chuckle.

"What I would do to have a minute with you again, my love. I hope you know I'd give my heart and soul to have those extra sixty seconds just to stare at your beautiful face. To hold you in my arms one last time. I try my best to fill the void that you left for Dee's sake. Some days are difficult, and I keep thinking about how much better it would be--how much better off she would be--if it were you here with her instead of me. I'd trade places with you if I could. I fear that all of me would never be enough for her, because she needs you. We both do."

Spencer inhaled a breath, forcing the imminent wave of tears from breaking the dam he had masterfully crafted since the moment you were gone. He promised a long time ago never to allow the grief to consume him.

He still had his daughter to think about.

"I'm beginning to think people are wrong when they say time makes everything better. The pain never lessens. It just becomes bearable with time. Dee makes it bearable," Spencer confessed. "I can only hope I'm doing the same for her."

"Daddy! Daddy!"

Spencer hurriedly wiped away any sign of tears from his face before he caught Diana in his arms. Her innocent laughter was a balm to the gaping wound in his chest, and Spencer allowed himself to bask in the bliss that his little girl brought to his life.

"What is it, Pumpkin?"

"Look what Brian's mom gave me!"

Spencer looked at her tiny hand to see a plastic daisy ring gracing one of her fingers. He looked up towards the family in the distance, mouthing a thank you to the mother who waved him off with a smile.

"It's very pretty, Dee."

"Like me?"

The young dad chuckled. "Yes, very much like you."

"Like Mommy, too?"

Spencer's smile softened. "Very much like Mommy, too. Yes."

The exhilarated smile Diana rewarded him could probably light up the entire state of Virginia at night.

Five minutes later, Spencer found himself bidding you a goodbye, with Diana promising to visit again very soon to give you an update over the slushie incident that supposedly got Patrick in a lot of trouble at school. The air was getting even chillier as the two walked the path they had taken after arriving at the cemetery. Spencer tugged Diana closer to his side once he saw the familiar gate lurking a few feet ahead, keeping her safe while simultaneously seeking her warmth.

"Daddy?" Dee's voice arose shyly once the pair had reached the main street.

"Yes, Pumpkin?"

"I miss Mommy," she admitted quietly.

Spencer's fingers instinctively tightened for a split second around his daughter's hand. "I know you do, Pumpkin. You just need to remember, even if she's not physically with us anymore, that she's always watching over you and keeping you safe."

Diana nodded her head understandingly. "Do you miss her, too, Daddy?"

"Every day, Dee." Spencer smiled, glancing back towards the gate of the cemetery behind him. "Every single day."

[bluetimeombre]

🀥 𝐇𝐮𝐫𝐭 𝐦𝐲𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟, 𝐛𝐲 𝐡𝐮𝐫𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐲𝐨𝐮

He's not your Logan, but you wish he was.

[I have so many Logan drafts I have to publish, oh no…. While I’m working on p2 of the Hugh Jackman and Ladypool I made this. It’s my first real attempt at smut and I cringed so bad.]

Warnings: death, grief, smut, dirty talk, language, oral (f! Receiving) penetration sex, not proof read

·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:·

The events of Logan:

When you'd seen Logan running through the field, soaking up more bullets than sweat, you knew it was going to be tough to save him. You knew it might even have been impossible but god you were going to fucking try. Even if he didn't want you to.

You'd gone with the kids, with Laura to keep them safe, but you hadn't thought you'd have to keep Logan safe to.

And you tried to. You tried so hard with your limited strength and ability, but it wasn't enough, not when you and Laura watched as his clone threw him into a fall tree, the other end poking out his bloody chest.

You screamed. You think you screamed. The only thing you knew for sure was that you took the adamantium bullet and shot it through the clone's head.

'Logan,' you stood over him. He was staring up at you, pale and watching your every move. 'No.'

Laura was at his other side and behind him. She started to hack away at the tree, until Logan groaned and slowly slid to the ground.

You grabbed him, gently settling him down as Laura joined your side. 'No, please.' You grabbed his hand and held it tight enough for them both.

His fingers gripped yours with the only strength he had left as his eyes cast to the girl. She was crying, tears down her cheeks as she whimpered. She looked down at his wounds, almost as if she was trying to find a way out. Even your hands were already soaking up his blood. 'Don't be what they made you,' he whispered. 'Laura... Laura.'

She sniffed and watched his lips slowly move to say her name. 'Daddy...'

His breath was short and shallow but even then he managed a small smile. His fingers around your hand became weaker as his eyes lifted to look you over. His smile remained and his eyes that had been filled with such pain and exhaustion filled with... love. They looked over you as if taking in every last detail. 'Look... look after our daughter.'

You cried, sobbing, holding his hand to your chest so he could feel the heart that only beat for him. 'I- I love you.'

His eyes softened, his lips forming words you could barely hear. His hold on your hand ended. 'Ah, so... so this is what it feels like.'

The smile on Logan's face fell and his eyes would stare at you forever. He was gone. The love of your life. Your best friend. Everything. Dead. It was over like that. His life span of years over in the snap of a finger.

'Logan?' you cried, brushing your fingers through his short grey hair.

Laura cried. 'No. No. Daddy?'

You fell back on your heels, hanging your head as tears hit the earth under you. The weight of their grief was enough to shake the earth.

Laura's small hand crawled up to claim the one that wasn't desperately clinging onto Logan's. She tucked herself into your side, her head resting on your chest. Finally, you brought your head up and rested it atop hers, your tears soaking her hair.

'Look after our daughter,' and you would. With your whole life.

The events of Deadpool and Wolverine:

'Who-who brought us here, anyway?' asked Deadpool.

'That would be us.'

Everyone turned, including Logan, as a girl- a young woman really, walked out from the shadows. There was another behind her, but they lingered back, staying closer to the dark and leaning on the doorframe.

Laura made herself visible to them all, stopping in front of Deadpool. 'Don't make us regret it.'

'Holy shit,' he said. 'Logan that's her, that's X-23.'

Logan watched the girl for a moment as he took a gulp of the bottle. The girl's eyes assessed him back, as if she had some of her own judgement. He didn't have anything to say to her- he didn't know her. But Logan caught whiff of someone else, a scent so familiar to him but having only been kept with him in a dream.

'Wait, who's that?' Deadpool looked to the figure.

Laura looked back, smiling at her.

Logan almost dropped the bottle as you walked down. You hadn't aged a day. You were just the same as the last day he'd seen you, that day he'd walked away and lost everything. It was your body he found last, surrounded by the children you had been protecting. Your ring, the ring he had given you, bloody.

'Y/N!' Deadpool gasped. 'No way! Holy shit! I didn't think you'd gotten any of my calls. Can I just say- woah. Logan, look who it is!' he boasted.

Logan was still looking at you. You didn't think he could ever look away, but neither could you. You weren't each other's, but you looked it.

'Oh yea, there's some tension here,' said Deadpool. 'How did you even end up here?'

'Our universes were dying and the TVA knew we wouldn't be going quietly, so they sent us here,' you said, walking down the last steps and busing yourself around the room, anything not to look at that Wolverine that wasn't yours.

But you glanced at him, you told yourself just once and he was still looking at you. Looking between you and Laura. Your Logan's last words replayed in your head. 'Look after our daughter.' and you had. Though it hadn't gotten you anywhere. Only to the void.

'The answer is yes, I'm in,' said Deadpool.

'In what?' asked Blade.

'The team. Me- you. You- me, all of us. All of us together, getting the hell out of this place.'

'Don't listen to him, he's a fucking lair!' Logan snapped.

'It was an educated wish!' he corrected.

'Ha!' Logan barked, taking a drink of the whiskey. He caught your eyes and thought better of it. He thought of the times the two of you would sneak to the kitchen to get a beer when you first met each other, how- once the two of you stayed in the same room- he'd never leave your side, even for a drink. Instead, he'd hold you tighter and just watch.

Deadpool, somehow, talked you all into a team up. You thought that's what was happening, frankly, you were distracted watching Logan.

'Hey,' Laura approached you quietly while everyone else spoke. 'You ok?'

'Yeah, yeah, i'm fine,' you assure her, brushing her hair back. 'You?'

Laura glanced back to him. 'I don't know yet.'

'Oh, Johnny must have loved you. X-23, what's it gonna be?' Asked Deadpool.

'The name's Laura,' she corrected him, looking from you to the room. 'Let's fucking go.'

'Let's fucking go.'

'You're all fucking dead,' said Loga.

'My god, read the room.

That night, before your big takedown, Logan took to sitting around the fire.

You and Laura watched for a good ten minutes, trying to come to terms with the father, the lover, you both lost.

'He looks just like him,' said Laura.

'I know,' you agreed. 'But it's not him.'

She looked up to you. 'What if, it could be?'

You didn't want to think of it or believe it. The only thing keeping you from him was the memory of your Logan's blood over yourself. 'It can't,' you told her. For a moment, the both of you continued watching, until Laura walked away from you. Toward him. 'Laura, Laura!'

He must have heard you calling as he glanced over to see her. 'No, no, no, i'm not looking for company, get outta here, kid.'

'You remind me of him,' she said, settling on the other end of the log. 'Angry, drunk, mean-'

'Sounds like a great guy,'

'I wasn't finished,' she said.

You were close enough to hear and you chuckled, watching the two. She was no more than ten the last time they saw each other, she could barley speak to him with all her words in English. It was their first chance to speak.

'He showed up when it mattered the most, couldn't help it. You might not know it, but you're a good man, Logan,' she told him.

'You might not know it but apparently i'm the worst Logan,' he said.

You lowered your head, holding onto the tree.

'I got to have a life because of you. And Y/N. But I got to grow up, because of you. A lot of kids did.'

Logan looked into the fire. 'A lot of kids didn't grow up because of me,' he was thinking about it again. Your body, the kids bodies around you. The blood. The ring. 'Trust me kid, i'm no hero.'

'That suit says different.'

He hummed and looked down at it. 'Scott used to beg me to wear it. So did Jean, Storm, Beast. All of them. Y/N. Wanted me to be part of the team, but I wouldn't. Told them they all look fuckin' ridiculous. I couldn't have them thinking I wanted to be there. Kept saying i'd leave, I only stuck around for Y/N,' he watched the fire. You watched him. 'Then one day I did. I left and the human's decided to go mutant hunting.'

'I can guess the rest,' said Laura.

Logan shook his head. 'No, no, let me say it- I- I need to say it. By the time i'd stumbled home shit-faced from the bar it was too late. They were dead- they were... and the suits all I got to remind me of who they were. What I did.' He took a gulp of his bottle and tried to forget.

You turned from them, thinking of how he lost you in his universe and how you lost him in yours. Both of you couldn't do anything to save it. Perhaps, you were destined never to live happily. You let him and Laura say their farewells in peace before she walked by you, offering you a small side hug.

'Is it your turn, bub?' Logan called to you. 'You gonna give me a speech?'

Cautiously, you stepped closer until you could see the tears in his eyes and the sweat on his brows. 'You never really listened to the speeches.'

He scoffed as you sat where Laura had, if not a bit closer. You couldn't help it. 'And you were never really the sort to give them,' he said, looking to you. His face froze when he caught sight of you. You wondered if he was thinking how similar you looked to her, because all you could think was how close he looked to him. 'You're not my, Y/N.'

'And you're not my Logan.'

You sat in silence for what could have been hours before Logan offered you the bottle. You took it and gulped down more than you should've. You coughed, practically shoving it back to his hands. 'God, I never knew how you drank that.'

He chuckled. 'I know.'

Perhaps not completely different.

'Wade says I died for her, that kid,' he said.

'Laura.' You smiled. 'You were dying anyway. Giving yourself up to protect the kids and her, is probably just a way to speed up the process.' You were taken back to that moment like it was a dream, the blood, his eyes, his last words.

He shook his head. 'If you're Logan was any Logan, then he'd never have voluntarily let you go.'

The two of you met each others gaze.

'I just wanted to make him happy,' you said. 'In the end, I couldn't even do that.'

'You made us happy,' said Logan. 'I'm sorry, about what happened to your Logan.'

'And i'm sorry about your Y'N.'

The after:

You were dying. At least, you thought you were. You could've sworn you were in the void. But then, the TVA turned up again (you may or may not have put up a fight when they put their hands on you and Laura) and whisked you away to another universe.

'Welcome to Wade's world,' said the murk with the mouth, opening the door to you and Laura.

'That's not the trade mark, right?' you asked.

Laura laughed and walked in, joining the party.

Wade had pulled a few strings to get you and Laura back to his world to be with his Logan. It was a work in progress, sort of what the whole party was for. A dozen of his friends were invited just to get you and Logan in the same room together. Everyone was in on it, he suspected even Logan knew what he was doing but he didn't oppose.

Instead, Logan dressed some what good for the evening and planned to try to get to know Laura and to see you as you and not once his.

Wade ushered you through the room. 'There's drinks, food, cocaine cause disney's not here anymore, oh and-'

Logan set the dog- dogpool- into Laura's arms and headed to you. This was his que. 'Hey, bub.'

'Hi.'

The two of you silently stared at each other while Wade watched like a giddy school girl before he found Vanessa in the corner of his eyes and rushed to her.

‘You’re here,’ Logan noted.

You nodded. ‘So are you. You’re out of the suit.’

‘Yeah,’ he looked down at his outfit.

‘You always looked good in plaid,’ you said.

Logan looked up at you through his lashes. ‘Yeah?’

You nodded, lips forming a tight line.

After some more awkward small talk, everyone set down for pizza. You and Laura were introduced to the large group, making talk with them all- some you recognised, others you didn’t.

Laura sat between you and Logan, like a true child with her parents. You were just happy to watch her interact with him, sipping a beer as Logan smiled and chatted happily. He’d changed. His face lit up and he didn’t look like your Logan, but a happy one. It was a rare thing. ‘Oh, I’m gonna get the dog!’ She slipped from her seat, forcing you and Logan to acknowledge each other.

He nodded to the bottle in your hand. ‘Want another?’

‘I’m good.’

He nodded, finishing the rest of his. ‘She’s a good kid,’ he said.

You glanced back at Laura who was chasing the dog around. ‘Yeah, she is.’

Logan smiled at you. ‘You did good.’

Those three simple words seemed to tip the tension over the edge. It was all you’d needed to hear, Logan, telling you you were doing good with his last wish. Your eyes tears up, your hands shook.

You cleared your throat and pushed your chair back. ‘Sorry, need some air.’ While everyone chatted you slipped up from the table and out the front door- Logan watching you go, startling out of his own chair.

Wade turned to him. ‘What the fuck did you do?’

‘Shut the fuck up,’ he couldn’t wait any longer and followed you out.

He couldn’t see you when he stepped out the building and panic set into his bones. He sniffed the air and followed the trail down the side of the building where you leaned on the wall, your back to him.

He said the suit was all he had, but on his dog tags, hiddin under, was your ring. The last thing he had to remind him of you.

You heard movement and whipped around to see him. ‘Sorry.’

‘It’s ok, bub.’

‘It’s just-'

‘I know,’ he said, holding up a hand.

You lean your back on the wall, taking him in as he stepped closer slowly. ‘You know i have nothing to remember him by. Not a suit. Not a picture. Even his dog tags were buried with him- or not anymore after what Wade did. Now, there isn’t even a grave. He exists only in here, in memory,’ you tapped your head. ‘And then you came and you’re just like him. Like a slap in the face.’

Logan nodded, listening and knowing the feeling. Every time he looked at you there was a twisting feeling in his gut, dread and desire mixing in the worst ways. ‘I told Laura that the suit was all I had to remember them by, but that wasn’t true.’

He stood before you and pulled at the chain around his neck. Dangling at the end were the familiar dog tags you knew and loved so much, between them a band of something else, branded with a diamond.

‘This was hers. Or yours, in my world. I’d given it to you a year before … the accident. Knew I loved you. Knew I needed you always. But I was still terrified, I’d never let you know that of course. This was all I had to remind me that you loved me.’

With enough time for him to tell you to stop, you reached out to the chain, looking at the ring.

‘You have good taste.’

He smirked. ‘Scott helped.’

You chuckle and gently set it back on his chest.

Logan took your hand, holding it, his thumb soothing over the back. ‘I know I’m not your Logan, but I want to be. I want you to be my Y/N.’

You knew the feeling. The hold he had on your hand, the only one to hold your hand since was Laura and even then, she carried a piece of him in her. Memories weren’t the only thing you had left of him- you had her. Your daughter.

Logan took one more calculated step toward you until the toes of your boots were pressed together. He held your other hand, pressing them between your bodies. ‘I want this, and so do you,’ his voice came out low, breaths like pants. He hadn’t been close to anyone in so long, it made sense the only one he’d return to was you.

You met his eyes and your resolve washed away like the ocean. You pulled your hands away from his to grab the side of his face and kiss him.

It was a slow movement of lips as you both got familiar with the taste of each other after all these years before his tongue licked over your bottom lip and you moaned into him.

Logan’s tongue swept in and the kiss became desperate. His hands fell on either side of you on the wall as you pulled him into cage you against the bricks. You barley pulled away for breath, like any space would kill you both.

You hands crept around until they were in his hair and tugging.

Logan bit down on your bottom lip before trailing down your jaw to your neck and biting down, groaning at the taste of your skin.

‘Logan,’ you gasped, rocking your body into his until you could feel the tent in his pants.

‘I need you, bub,’ he said into your neck, nuzzling his face there and licking and biting until you were bruised.

‘Baby,’ you trail a free hand down his chest until you grasped the outline of his heavy cock. He groaned and nipped harder.

‘Where are you- where are you staying?’

‘Hotel,’ you mutter in his ear, biting down in his earlobe.

‘Call a taxi.’

You pulled back enough to see his face, his expression drunk on you.

‘What about Laura?’

‘She can stay with uncle Wade!’ Called a voice from above. The two of you looked up to see Wade hanging out the window, looking down at the two of you. ‘We’ll have a girly night, let you guys get at it like rabbits in heat!’

Logan sneered. ‘Fucking jokes.’

Laura appeared next to Wade, poking her head out. As if indecent, Logan pressed his body into yours and you held onto his shoulders. ‘Yeah, I’ll stay with Wade!’

You sigh, knowing you’d regret keeping her with Wade but regret letting go of Logan even more.

·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:·

The two of you were like teenagers. Like being in love for the first time all over again. Your hands remained hovering over his crotch throughout the taxi ride and his lips never left you alone.

You walked through the lobby with some dignity but by the time the doors of the elevator slid shut, he had you pinned to the wall and was sliding a huge thigh between your legs and letting you grind yourself on it.

You just had to have a room on the top floor. At some point, an elderly couple joined you and Logan pulled away just in time. He kept a firm grip on your hand and you dragged him out as soon as you arrived at your floor.

You fumbled with the key card and threw it somewhere else as soon as you got in the room.

Logan growled and kissed you, tongue parting your lips and teeth nipping. His hands grabbed your thighs and hoisted you until you were wrapped around his body like a kola on a tree. His hands moved around until they cupped your ass and moved you to grind into him.

You moaned into his mouth, sucking on his bottom lip as he made his way toward the bed.

He dropped you down as you bounced on the mattress. Looking over you, he made quick work at pulling his shirt over his head as you opened your legs, inviting him in. ‘Desperate, bub?’

You nodded, biting down on your lips.

What a sinful look. He moaned just at the sight of you before dropping to his knees.

You fumbled with your jeans, undoing them quickly and shifting your hips until Logan pulled them down and threw them behind him.

His hands were just as rough as your Logan and just as large as they climbed up your legs, his lips following suit. With every dent his fingers made his lips kissed until he was hovering over you me panties, damp and waiting. ‘Oh, poor cunt hasn’t been treated in a while, has she?’ He whined, looking up to you from between your thighs.

You watched his tongue dart out to swipe across you hidden pussy before falling back on the bed in pleasure. He’d barley touched you and yet you were a mess, wiling to beg and do anything for him. For any part of him. ‘Logan, please.’

‘I will bub, I will,’ he smirked, inching closer and closer. ‘But we have all the time in the world.’

He blew against your clit and begun to make out with the dampness of your pussy. His tongue only made it more wet, going between farting out and taking long strokes.

‘Logan,’ you pulled at his hair, trying to get him closer.

He hooked a finger through your panties and pulled them aside, burying himself in there.

The moans you emoted were pornographic as he took long strokes with his tongue, teasing you as his tongue repeatedly nudged your clit.

‘Fuck!’ You moaned, holding a hand to your mouth.

Logan looked up, saw this and grasped your wrist, pinning it to your stomach. He pulled away. ‘I will fucking stop and let you do the job if you dare think about shutting up,’ his voice was rasp and it sent a shiver through you. ‘I want you to scream, sweetheart.’

He spread your folds and feasted like a man starved. He had been. He’d forgotten things about you, the depth of your laugh or the twinkle in your eyes. The way your body vibrates and the way you taste. Now, he was willing to work days and nights to get it all back.

Your thighs trembled, caging around his head.

Logan laughed against your pussy. ‘You want to keep me here, baby? Want me to suffocate between your thighs?’ He didn’t even try and pull away. He grabbed your thigh with one hand and with his other, he slid a finger into your.

Your hands gripped the bed sheets. ‘Logan, I’m..’

He groaned, moving his hips against the sheets. He wouldn’t last long and he knew it, but he wanted you on your face before he came inside of you. ‘You’re so tight baby, did other Logan not treat you right? The way you deserve.’

You muled, unable to do anything else but squeeze your eyes shut and feel your high approach.

Logan laughed. ‘He didn’t stretch you out enough, did he baby?’ He slid in another finger and rested his head back on your thigh, keeping watch on you with dark eyes. ‘If it were me, I’d have fucked this cunt every day. Made it fit for me and only me. Have it crying out for me all day and every day.’

‘Logan, I’m gonna cum,’ you gasp.

He darts his tongue out and flicks your clit and scissors his fingers until you moan out, trying to lift your hips as you come all over him.

Logan doesn’t waste a second to lick you up. His tongue cleaning you softly as his fingers trace circles in your thighs. ‘So good for me, fuck, you taste like your mine.’

‘I’m yours,’ you utter.

Logan looks up at you, backing away from your legs. Your all over his lips, his tongue, his mind. He thought his dick couldn’t get harder but it strained heavy against his trousers. ‘All mine, hey bub?’

You put yourself in your elbows and look down at him. ‘All yours, Logan.’

He leapt upon you like an animal, flattening you to the bed with all his weight on top of you. Your fingers fumbled with his belt as he pulled away enough to rip your shirt in two, bra following.

He squeezed your tits, rolling one nipple between his fingers and taking the other between his teeth.

You panted under him, that familiar ache climbing up your body as you ground your damp panties into him.

Once you’d undone his belt, Logan tugged them off, freeing his cock.

‘Good to see all Logan’s go commando,’ you tease.

He smirks. ‘Only for you, bub.’

He trails kisses between your tits, trailing all the way down your stomach before he found your panties again. He pulled them down agonising slowly with his teeth, your body awakening in shivers at the touch.

Once you were both left bare, he took his cock, pumping it and looking at you withering body, awaiting him.

‘You want my cock, sweetheart? Want it inside of you?’

‘Please.’

‘Were you always sweet for your old man?’ He asked, slowly sinking lower, this tip of his cock feeling your heat. ‘Did you tease him? Were you a good girl for him?’

‘Yes!’ You whine.

He laughed at your desperation.

‘You gonna be good and take it like my Y/N?’ As he asks, he slips the tip between your folds and moans out, throwing his head back as you bite down on your lip, whimpering. ‘Oh fuck, bub. Shit. Too good for me.’

You grasp at his back, trying to pull him in more.

He tutted. ‘That’s not very patient of you, thought you were gonna be good.’ He wanted to tease, wanted to spend the rest of the night getting familiar with you again, but fuck did you feel so good swallowing up the tip of his cock.

‘I’ll be good, Logan.’

‘Fuck, yea you will, bub,’ he slides in further, gripping the base of his cock to guide himself in. ‘Fuck.’

The two of you are silent, gasping and groaning as he tries to fit himself all in. Your legs are spread and you clutch onto his shoulders.

When he’s half way, he pulls back only to slide in faster, deeper. He repeats, muttering under his breath. ‘Fuck, fuck, shit Y/N.’

‘Logan,’ you moan.

‘I love hearing you say my name,’ he groaned, dropping a kiss to your shoulder as he moved in and out of you. He sped up, gripping you ass to hoist you up and reach in deeper.

You moan loud enough to shake the walls.

‘That’s right. Taking me- fuck- taking me just like you always have, he grunted, looking down at you. Looking down at where he disappeared inside of you, to know it was real.

You grabbed his shoulders, urging you over him as he thrusted in at an un-relenting pace. His chain of dog tags and the ring dangled in your face and you let your tongue out so he could dip the cool metal on your tongue.

Logan moaned and stilled, grabbing your hips. ‘Want you to ride me, bub.’

With a smirk, you tossed yourselves over until Logan was spread out on the bed and you could sink all the way down on his cock. You did it faster than he’d expected, just to see his eyes roll to the back of his head.

His grip on your hips remained tight enough to bruise, but he let you set the pace.

You dreaded yourself on his chest and started slow, agonisingly slow. Enough to torment him.

‘Bub,’ he growled.

You smirked and started to bounce, started to move quicker, throwing your ass against him every time.

The bed rocked on the wall and his growls were animalistic. The rocking of the bed became in time with the slap of his balls against you ass.

‘Keep going bub, I’m gonna cum,’ he said.

‘Cum inside of me,’ you pant, sweat causing the baby hairs to stick to you.

He looked in your eyes, his cock twitching inside of you. ‘Yea? Want me to fill you up, huh?’

You nodded, chasing that familiar buzz in your gut.

‘Bet your Logan didn’t fill you up to the brim. Not as much as you deserve, you deserve it all. Don’t you baby, say it!’

‘I deserve it all,’ you utter. ‘Logan I’m-‘

Logan groaned and he lurched up, gripping your body close to his as he came inside of you, his seed coating your walls as yours ran down his cock to the base. He bit down on your shoulder, twitching as he held you both.

Once you’d both recovered, gently, he rolled you over until you were back in bed and he was still inside of you.

You watched him, marking every bit of him in your memory.

Logan saw this and cradled your head. ‘I’m not going anywhere bub, and neither are you.’

He kissed you sweetly, taking his time to steal your breath and feel your lips. Tasting like home.

·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:·

When you next woke, with the sun up, you felt a heavy arm draped over you and an even heavier body practically on-top of you, caging you to the bed. He was warm, smelled like whiskey and sex.

Logan. Now your Logan, back in your arms

Memories of last night came back to you in fragments like a dream. You fingers brushed through his hair. There were a couple bruises littered around his neck but you were sure there were more on yours.

‘Mornin’ he grumbled, burying himself closer to you.

‘Indeed.’ Said a voice.

Your head shots up as Laura sits in a chair across from the bed, arms folded over her chest and smirking at the two of you. It was lucky Logan’s body covered yours, but all your clothes were still scattered everywhere and the quilt just about hung over Logan’s backside.

He hardly blinked, ‘hey kid.’

You fell back on the bed and for the first time in years, you laughed.

[randomdragonfires]

If The Sun Ever Rises | Chapter 1

CHAPTER 1 | To See You Again

SUMMARY | After narrowly escaping the Battle Above God’s Eye, Prince Aemond is now a hidden fugitive within the very kingdom he once ruled. Driven by vengeance, he plans to usurp Aegon III and avenge his family. His rage-blinded path to the throne begins with getting rid of Cregan Stark and the men who support his nephew’s rule. Having nothing to lose, he recklessly kidnaps the Northerner’s betrothed - his own niece - hoping to lure him and his men out to fight.

Soon, Aemond finds that memories of a first love are strong, and that he cannot steel his heart against the woman he has loved all his life.

WARNINGS | 18+; Smut; Canon Divergence - Aemond lives (but barely); Violence; Stockholm Syndrome; Mental and Physical Trauma; Angst; Canon Incest; Manipulation; No Happy Endings In This House YAY

WORD COUNT | 2k

Text Divider by @saradika

They had been running for three days now.

Slivers of moonlight pierced through the dense canopy above. The twisted and gnarled branches of trees, like skeletal fingers grasping for the Seven Heavens, cast their eerie shadows across the forest floor. The tangled roots snaked across the damp earth and moss clung to the ancient trunks like a dark shroud.

The air was heavy with the scent of damp soil and decaying leaves, mingling with the sweet aroma of wildflowers that dared to bloom amidst the darkness. Faint whispers seemed to echo through the tangled undergrowth, as if the very forest itself held secrets long forgotten.

As they ascended the hill, the terrain grew steeper, the path narrow and treacherous. Each step was a struggle against the relentless pull of gravity, the earth slick with dew beneath their feet. Aemond held onto her hand as tightly as she could - she hadn’t allowed him to touch her initially, having been in shock at being abducted from the arms of her betrothed - but there was only so much a defeated, tired princess could do on her own.

She panted from exertion. The blood on her face was dry now – he’d needed to hurt her to get her to comply. She looked at him with all the anger that he knew she was never capable of, and a forgotten corner of his mind yearned for an easier time when she’d held different feelings for him.

In an ideal world, there would have been no war. He could have married her, just as he’d promised in the protected darkness of the nights in hidden chambers and intimate correspondences. They could have been happy.

Though his thirst for vengeance was screaming at him, a small part of his mind wished for a quieter time; a time that would never come.

His family was dead, and he needed her to balance the scales. He owed Helaena that much. He owed Aegon that much. Mother, Daeron, Criston, sweet Jaehaerys, and Maelor - all his kith and kin. He had failed them all.

He would be damned to all Seven Hells before letting their deaths mean nothing.

At the hill's summit, the forest parted, revealing a precipice that loomed over the land below. The distant glimmer of moonlight danced upon the surface of a winding river, its waters black as night. He let go of her, and she fell to her knees, relishing the feeling of a flat surface and slower breaths as she bid her heart to slow down. He watched her ears perk up as she heard the crunch of his boots over the dry leaves, stalking towards her in that catlike stealth that he had taught himself to have.

He took her by surprise as he tightened his arm around her chest and grabbed her by the neck, making her body twitch in fear as she rose involuntarily. At the edge of the abyss, he turned her around to face him as he let the cold steel of his blade kiss her skin and travel over her frayed white dress from neck to navel.

How did we come to this?

She did not recognize the man in front of her.

He was the boy who had brought her books when her brothers teased her to the point of crying; who had kept her company in her grief of being a dragonless Targaryen; who had held her hand and promised that he would marry her; the one who had come rushing to her the night he claimed Vhagar, promising to take her on a ride.

He was the man who had taunted her and her brothers' parentage at a family supper; who had kissed her senseless in a lone passageway the very same night when he found out that Rhaenrya had no intention of letting him have her. He was the man who had killed sweet, mischievous Luke; the one whom she had left behind when she had been sent to the North; the one whom she had hoped would come and take her away, against all odds.

So many memories tied to him, inexplicably. And yet, she did not recognize the man in front of her.

As a boy, he had had such striking eyes - in color, but more so in the volatility of their regard. Always flitting about, looking for things to imbibe, to brand into his memory. His functional eye had grown different since she had last seen him - distant, devoid of the charming curiosity that would shine in his violet orb.

The eye of a war-worn murderer. He had probably brought her here because he wanted to kill her too.

“You’re supposed to be dead,” she whispered the words, almost uncertain. The coldness of his Valyrian steel dagger made goosebumps rise up on the planes of her skin, and yet, she surprisingly found that she was scared, not in the least.

He smirked and leaned in close to her, the leather strap of his eyepatch grazing her temple as she let the warmth of his breath bloom over her face. He raised the blade to her neck and teased her, being so bold as to let out a throaty, exhausted laugh that sounded more maniacal than anything else. She shut her eyes closed, hoping that if she could keep her world dark, she could pretend that this was all a nightmare.

She had often dreamt that he would take her away. She had hoped and hoped and hoped, and now that he was here, she couldn’t fathom how wrong she had been to wish for it.

Silly little fool.

“Sharp, sweet niece.”

His tone made her flinch. His voice was rough and predatory - so much so that she couldn’t tell if it was him or the situation itself that made her feel that way. “You’re supposed to be dead. Daemon….”

Her voice was lost in the air as he raised his eyebrow, a menacing smile in place as he pressed the blade into her skin - just enough to make a few blood red spots bloom. “I killed him. He thought he was better than me, the old fool. I stabbed him in his right eye, the very one that I lost. Vengeance, dear niece…” His thumb collected the first drop of blood that dripped from where he had made his mark, “... makes for the sweetest of spoils. And I intend to taste more of this victory…”

It happened on instinct, her reaching out to hold his wrist tight through his shirt. The irony of taking the hand of the man who wanted to hurt her and counting on him to not let her fall was not lost on her; but if she didn’t, she was sure she would faint.

“...With you.”

The last words confused her, having her mind scrabbling to piece the puzzle and figure out his intent. “Me?” She leaned her head back to breathe and put some space between her and his blade, but that only spurned him more as he pulled her to him by the back of her neck.

“Aegon, Helaena, Criston, Jaeherys, Maelor, mother…vengeance for them all. When he comes for you, to save you… I’ll kill him, and then I’ll kill the little boy that you call a King. Take what is rightfully mine and avenge them.”

The Aemond she had known was too calculated, too weary to tell anyone anything at all. But this, this wasn’t her Aemond. This was a different man - a mad killer, a stranger; one that intended to use her in his rage-filled path to regicide and revenge.

When he comes for you, to save you… I’ll kill him. 

She could only think of one man who would come looking for her. Her betrothed, Cregan Stark - the same man who had shown her Northern hospitality and shared his home and hearth so she could be kept safe away from the bloodshed of the war.

And Aemond wanted to kill him. He wanted to kill them all and take the Iron Throne.

“Gods…”

She had always felt compelled to help during the war. She wasn’t a skilled warrior, nor was she a bold woman. Dainty little sweetheart, her mother used to call her. How can I manage to keep you safe and sound?

She had always wanted to help her mother - be a good daughter and play her part in helping her sit the Throne, as was her birthright. When she had been sent to the North as Cregan Stark’s betrothed, Rhaenyra Targaryen had told her that this was her duty, her contribution to the Blacks’ victory.

You will help me win by keeping my mind at ease about you, child, she had said. You will help me win by staying safe and bringing the Northerners’ allegiance to our cause. 

That had been her contribution, but it hadn’t been enough. Daemon, Luke, Jace, Joffrey, Rhaenys… they’re all dead. She had done what she could, and it was not enough.

And now, Aemond wanted to kill sweet Aegon. Her beloved brother, the little one who held the weight of the world on his shoulders. He would make a fine king, she knew - but not if Aemond was going to lure Cregan out to fight and make him vulnerable to attacks.

She’d be damned to all Seven Hells if she let him win.

He had been observing her, it seemed. As she let her thoughts sweep her away, he had taken to watching her, reminding himself of every inch of her. She raised her hand to his warm dry cheek, bony from what could have only been a lack of proper food. How long has he been staying here, amidst the trees?

“You don’t have to do this, uncle. Let me go now, and it’ll be like it never happened. There’s been enough bloodshed.”

She thought she imagined it, but she knew it was true when she felt his grip on the blade falter for just a moment. She made good on his momentary lapse and kicked his knee to fold under him with all her might. He fell, and she took hurried steps away from him as he grunted in pain.

Her skirts swirled as she turned just slightly, sneaking a peek off the edge of the hill. If she jumped, she would fall into the waters that ran below - but would that be enough? She’d have to die. She had to. She would not let him use her; she would not let him kill them.

This was her contribution to the war. Her deceased mother’s victory lay in her daughter’s ability to keep the rightful king alive. This was her chance, and she was not going to fail her. He stood up with panting breaths, and she looked him in the eye as boldly as she could, knowing very well that she might as well be living her last and final moments.

She had always wanted to fly - and if she wasn’t going to do it now, then when would she?

She closed her eyes and threw herself over the edge, seeing the sky become a fading memory as she made the steep drop. Halfway through, she opened her eyes and saw him leaning over the edge, panicked, watching her free-falling figure from the hilltop as she flew, flew, flew.

She fell into the water, making contact with sharp tree branches and thorns on the way down in her descent. The blood on her face and body mixed with the water that surrounded her, and blood-red ripples muddled her vision as she closed her eyes.

Water filled her nostrils, and her vision went dark in a matter of mere moments.

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A/N: Got so inspired by the S2 poster, I managed to finish this damn thing hehe. This was a lot more fast paced than my usual writing style, and I'd love to hear what you guys think! I've been really out of touch with fic writing, and feedback is always welcome :)

SERIES MASTERLIST

[yuutaok]

⊹ ‧₊˚✿ Spring Leaves, But I Never Will

Yuuta Okkotsu x Reader

In the eerie mountain forest, you seek to find what is missing. Lost and disoriented, you encounter a mysterious boy with eyes like the dead, his presence is captivating. With a gentle hand, he beckons you, and you follow.

⊹ ‧₊˚✿ Word Count: ~4.4K

⊹ ‧₊˚✿ Content Warnings: 18+ MDNI (Minors Do Not Interact), P in V, AFAB! Reader, prone bone, unprotected sex, creampies, posessiveness, supernatural/paranormal stuff happens, open-ended ending, Reader is lost in a forest and meets Yuuta, Yuuta is a freak

⊹ ‧₊˚✿ Author's note: Hiii I am back with a vengeance. Belated birthday fic for Yuuta ♡ Life exploded me so I never got the chance to finish until now. Also, I would like to thank Sen (@/ banjjakz) for inspiring some of the horror aspects of this <3 They have such a lovely way of writing such mysterious horror that I deeply wanted to try my hand at, so please go read their Yuuta fics bc they are sooooo delicious ok I'll stop swooning now byeeeeee

Lost amidst the dense, foreboding forests of the mountains, you trudged forward, the fading sunlight casting long shadows across the winding trail. Your heart felt heavy with the weight of recent events, the memory of your painful breakup still fresh in your mind. It had only been a couple of days, of course your heart would still hurt and your hands would still shake. And still, the need to escape, to clear your head and find solace amidst the solitude of nature, had driven you to embark on this day-hike alone.

The townsfolk often whispered about this mountain as a haunt for the heartbroken.

And so, here you were.

The hike was pleasant. You took the time to leisurely look at every interesting formed rock or beautiful sprouting flower that you had stumbled upon. Spring had just begun and it felt nice to be in the calm serenity of nature. You took care to not stray too far from the beaten path but still found your way crunching through the trees to look at specimens that caught your eye. It was a great way to get your mind off of things, to forget about life for just a moment.

But now, as the sky darkened and the woods grew eerily silent around you, regret gnawed at the edges of your resolve. Perhaps venturing into the wilderness alone had been a mistake, a reckless act born of heartache. Panic tightened its grip on your chest as you realized that dusk was fast approaching, and you had yet to find your way back to civilization.

With each step you took through the dense undergrowth of the forest, the sense of urgency weighed heavy on your shoulders. Nervously, you glanced at the sky, watching as the sun dipped lower and lower, casting long shadows that danced ominously through the trees. Hope flickered like a dying flame within you, faltering as the daylight waned faster than anticipated.

Your mind wandered to the rumors that had long circulated about the mountain, tales of heartbroken souls seeking solace among the towering trees, only to vanish without a trace.

It was said that the forest held secrets whispered confessions etched into the bark of the old oak trees, and love letters left behind by those who had come seeking solace from their pain. But these were not ordinary declarations of affection; they were haunting, twisted reflections of despair, each word filled with grief, obsession, and heartbreak. You have heard people say that love is the worst curse of all.

Some claimed to have heard mournful voices echoing through the woods, the ghostly whispers of lovers calling out into the darkness, their cries fading into gusts of wind and rustling leaves. Others spoke of strange symbols carved into the earth, cryptic messages left behind by those who had succumbed to the forest's embrace.

You still had decided to come, despite the unsubstantiated rumors that were whispered by the old grannies in the surrounding town. You’d be damned if you suffocated under the weight of your heartache. But as you delved deeper and deeper into the forest, you couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched— honestly, maybe the old ladies knew something you didn’t.

Panic clawed at the edges of your mind, threatening to consume you whole. Desperate, you called out into the silent woods, your voice echoing into the vast expanse of darkness that surrounded you, “Hello…? Is anybody out there? Can anyone hear me?”

But the only response was the feeling of eyes on the back of your head and the haunting whisper of the wind through the branches, carrying with it a sense of desolation that chilled you to the bone.

With each passing moment, the forest seemed to close in around you, its shadows stretching like grasping fingers eager to ensnare their prey. You were never quite fond of the dark.

Heart pounding, you broke into a run, stumbling through the underbrush in a frantic search for anything familiar. Each rustle of leaves and snap of twigs beneath your feet sent a jolt of fear coursing through your veins, your breaths coming in ragged gasps as you raced against the encroaching darkness.

And then, just as panic threatened to consume you whole, you burst through a thicket of bushes, only to collide with an unexpected figure standing in your path. The air left your lungs as you fell flat on your ass.

You looked up at what, or who, you had just crashed head-on into.

It was a boy, his dark eyes gleaming with an unsettling intensity as he regarded you with an enigmatic smile, despite you just pummeling into him with your full force. The shock of the encounter left you speechless, frozen in place as the realization dawned that you were not alone in the woods after all.

You made eye contact with the stranger, and a chill swept through the air, sending a shiver down your spine. His dark hair fell in tousled waves, framing his pale face in an unsettling contrast. His tired eyes bore into you with an intensity that made your skin crawl. A curtain of bangs parted across his forehead, framing his features in a shadowy veil. His lips twisted into a smile and held a hint of something that lurked just beneath the surface.

There was an undeniable aura of unease that surrounded the boy, a sense of foreboding that lingered in the air like a haunting melody. As he extended a hand towards you, offering salvation in the darkness, you couldn't shake the feeling that there was something deeply unsettling about him.

"Are you lost?" he asked, his voice low and soothing. "It's dangerous to be out here alone at night. I can lead you to safety."

You looked up at the stranger incredulously, as if you would be dumb enough to follow a stranger you met out in the woods!

Sending your apprehension, the raven-haired boy smiles kindly, “I promise, I don’t bite. Please, it’s getting late and I don’t think I could live with myself if I left you out here by yourself.”

Weighing out your options, you realized that maybe this was your best choice. It’s either that or freezing out in the woods, or better yet being eaten by some wild animal that you hardly can find yourself against.

You looked around, dazed. With darkness closing in around you and no other options in sight, you accepted his offer.

“Alright,” you sighed. “But please don’t try anything, I’ve been told I have a killer right hook.”

He looks at you, obviously amused, “Of course, I’ll be on my best behavior.”

And begrudgingly you had to admit, despite everything in your body screaming for you to keep running, you felt completely and utterly relieved to see him.

As you followed the raven-haired boy deeper into the woods, the sense of unease only intensified, wrapping around you like a suffocating cloak. "Where are we going?" you finally asked, your voice trembling slightly with apprehension.

His dark eyes flickered with an unreadable emotion as he turned to face you, his expression guarded yet strangely calm. "To my cabin," he replied, his voice low and steady. "It's not far from here. You'll be safe there for the night. You can rest for as long as you need to."

Though his words offered reassurance, there was a lingering doubt in the back of your mind. You had heard stories of people disappearing in these woods, never to be seen again, and the thought sent a chill down your spine.

There was something about the dark-haired man that unsettled you, something that whispered of hidden dangers lurking beneath his calm exterior. And even so, something about him drew you in, made you feel so immediately safe with him.

"Who are you?" you pressed, your voice wavering with a mix of fear and curiosity. "And why were you out here alone?"

Yuuta hesitated for a moment as if weighing his words carefully. "My name is Yuuta Okkotsu," he said finally, his gaze meeting yours with an intensity that sent a shiver down your spine. "I live in the woods, away from civilization. As for why I was out here...let's just say I have my reasons."

His cryptic response only fueled your apprehension, but as the darkness closed in around you and the sound of rustling leaves filled the air, you realized that you had little choice but to trust him, at least for now. With a nod of reluctant acceptance, you followed Yuuta deeper into the woods, praying that you had not just made a grave mistake.

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

His cabin appeared suddenly, a rustic structure nestled amidst the towering trees, its windows glowing with the warm light of a fire within.

"I don't usually invite strangers into my home," Yuuta admitted, his gaze lingering on you with a mix of curiosity and something you couldn’t quite place your finger on. "But I can't leave you out here alone. You're welcome to stay until morning." Though grateful for his offer of shelter, you couldn't shake the feeling of unease that settled over you like a shroud.

There was something about Yuuta's demeanor, a subtle intensity in his gaze, that sent shivers down your spine.

You stepped into Yuuta's cabin, grateful for the warmth and shelter it offered. The cozy interior enveloped you in a comforting embrace, dispelling some of the tension that had gripped you since your encounter in the woods. It was humorous actually, how warm the cabin felt in comparison to the uneasiness its owner gave you.

“Home sweet home,” Yuuta said as he took your coat and nodded his head for you to follow him.

Yuuta wasted no time in playing the role of a gracious host, offering you a change of clothes and access to his shower. His bathroom was neat, he didn’t have much, just the basics, but it was still appreciated nonetheless.

As the hot water washed away the dirt and grime of the forest, you felt a sense of relaxation seeping into your bones, soothing the frayed edges of your nerves.

Emerging from the shower feeling refreshed and revitalized. You found Yuuta busy in the kitchen, a delicious aroma of spices and savory delights wafting through the air.

As you peered over his shoulder, you caught a glimpse of the bubbling pot on the stove, filled with rich, fragrant curry. The sight stirred memories of comforting meals shared with loved ones, and you couldn't help but feel a pang of nostalgia. "That smells amazing," you murmured, your mouth watering at the thought of indulging in the hearty dish.

Yuuta glanced up from his cooking, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "It's just a simple curry," he said modestly, though there was a hint of pride in his voice. "But I find that simple comforts are often the most satisfying."

You offered to help, eager to contribute to the meal in some way, but Yuuta shook his head gently. "No need to trouble yourself," he insisted, his gaze softening as he gestured for you to take a seat at the table. "Relax and settle down. I'll take care of everything."

Though you hesitated for a moment, the warmth of Yuuta's demeanor and the promise of a delicious meal were too enticing to resist. With a grateful smile, you sank into a chair, content to watch as Yuuta worked his culinary magic, the comforting rhythm of his movements lulling you into a sense of peace and contentment.

As you settled into Yuuta's cabin, you couldn't help but take in your surroundings with a sense of curiosity. The interior was simple yet cozy, with polished wooden floors that creaked softly underfoot and walls adorned with faded photographs and intricate tapestries.

The cabin had a rustic charm to it, its bare furnishings lending an air of simplicity to the space. Yet, despite its minimalistic design, everything seemed meticulously arranged, each item in its rightful place. There was a sense of order and precision that spoke to Yuuta's meticulous nature, a trait that you found oddly comforting.

On the shelves lining the walls, you noticed an eclectic array of books, their well-worn spines bearing the marks of countless readings. From classic literature to obscure texts on folklore and mysticism, the collection spoke of a curious mind.

Nearby, a shelf displayed a collection of handmade erasers, their vibrant colors and whimsical shapes. You couldn't help but smile at the sight of these charming little creatures. There was a sense of warmth and homeliness to Yuuta's cabin that made you feel strangely at ease. It was as if the space itself radiated a sense of comfort and belonging, welcoming you with open arms into its cozy embrace.

Before you knew it, the food was done and Yuuta served you a steaming plate.

“Thank you for the meal,” you said, nervous.

“It’s my pleasure,” Yuuta replied.

With the two of you sitting down to eat, you found yourself opening up to Yuuta in a way you hadn't expected. You told him about your recent breakup, the pain and heartache that had driven you to seek solace in the wilderness.

Yuuta listened attentively, his dark eyes reflecting a depth of understanding that surprised you. "It's dangerous to be out in the woods alone," he said softly, his voice tinged with a note of concern. "Who knows what evils could be lurking in the darkness? I'm glad I found you when I did." A chill ran down your spine.

Though he had shown you nothing but kindness, you couldn’t quite shake the feeling of anxiety that crept up around Yuuta's presence. He was good company, however, and you worked hard to ignore the way your hands clammed up and each hair on your skin stood up when he leaned in closer to speak with you. You chalked it up to your nerves.

The two of you continued to converse, him asking you more about your life and you asking about his. As Yuuta shared snippets of his past, you found yourself drawn to him in a way you couldn't quite explain. There was a sort of charm to him, an undeniable allure. Despite the lingering doubts that were dancing in the back of your mind, you couldn't deny the attraction you had towards him. You felt like a moth catching fire as it approached an open flame.

With a sigh, Yuuta leaned back against the cushions, his gaze drifting to the dancing flames of his fireplace as if lost in thought. "You know," he begins, his voice a low, melodic murmur that sends shivers down your spine, "I wasn't always a hermit living in the woods." His words hung in the air, heavy with unspoken sorrow.

"What happened?" you ventured softly, your voice barely more than a whisper, to not disturb the mood.

Yuuta's gaze flickered to yours, a hint of sadness lurking in the depths of his dark eyes. "I used to live in the city, surrounded by noise and chaos," he admitted, his words tinged with bitterness. "But... I lost someone very dear to me." His voice trailed off, grief etched into the lines of his face.

"She was my childhood sweetheart," he continued, his voice barely above a whisper as if speaking the words aloud pains him. "We were inseparable, bound together by pure, untainted, love.”

A heavy silence fell between you, broken only by the crackling of the fire and the soft rustle of the wind outside. "She was taken from me," Yuuta murmurs, his voice thick with emotion. "And I... I couldn't bear to stay in that world any longer."

As he spoke, you sensed the weight of his sorrow pressing down on him, a burden too heavy for one mere person to bear alone. "I tried to move on, to forget her and the pain of losing her," Yuuta admitted, his voice raw with emotion. "But no matter how hard I tried, I could never escape the memories of our time together."

“So I left," he confessed, "I left everything behind and retreated into the solitude of the forest, hoping to find something to fill the hole in my heart.”

His words hung in the air, heavy with the weight of his sorrow, and you could not help but feel a surge of empathy for the man before you. At that moment, you realize that Yuuta and you are not so different after all, both haunted by heartbreak, seeking solace in the expanse of trees. In his eyes, you saw a reflection of your desires, a longing for connection and understanding.

But even as your heart yearned to unravel the secrets hidden within Yuuta’s dark and mangled heart, a sense of unease lingered at the edges of your consciousness. There was still something unsettling about the way the shadows seemed to dance around him, as if alive with an energy of their own. Something you couldn’t quite put your finger on…

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

As the night stretched on, the air thick with a palpable tension, you felt a strange sense of drowsiness wash over you. Your eyelids grew heavy with exhaustion as you let out a quiet yawn.

With a soft smile, Yuuta reached out to you. His was touch gentle, yet firm, possessive even. You felt yourself lean into his touch as if he weaved an invisible spell around you.

"You look tired," he murmured, his voice a soothing melody that seemed to echo with the whispers of the forest itself. "Come with me, let me take care of you."

His words washed over you like a warm embrace, dispelling the last glimmers of doubt and fear as you allow yourself to be guided by his steady hand. With a silent nod, you allowed Yuuta to lead you to the bedroom, the warmth of his presence enveloping you like a protective shield as you sank into the soft embrace of the bed.

The room was bathed in the soft glow of moonlight filtering through the curtains, casting shadows across the walls like dancing spirits. He leaned over you, his body flush against yours, his hand steady and reassuring against your skin.

As you lay there, the haze of drowsiness clouding your senses, you felt Yuuta begin to pull away. You grasped at the hem of his shirt, silently begging him not to go.

His features were veiled by the shroud of night, his smile, though unseen, seemed to materialize in the darkness. With a gentle pull, you drew him down to lay beside you.

"Do you want me to stay?" Yuuta's voice, a soft murmur, caressed your ear as his head nestled against your shoulder.

"Yes," you found yourself pleading, the words slipping from your lips in a whispered plea. "Don't leave."

Yuuta's lips brushed gently against your neck, his touch tender yet possessive. "I won’t,” he murmured, “I won’t ever leave,” his voice a velvet whisper that sent shivers down your spine. “I’ll keep you safe, I promise,”

In your sleepy state, you found yourself melting into his touch. Yuuta's kisses trailed a path of fire along your skin. Each kiss was a feather-light caress that seeped into each layer of your skin, burning you from the inside out.

Slowly, he moved up your neck, his lips leaving a trail of warmth in their wake as he explored every inch of your skin with adoration.

As Yuuta's lips found their way to your jaw, you felt yourself melting into his embrace, lost in the dizzying whirlwind that you now understood as Yuuta Okkotsu.

His movements were calm and deliberate, his touch gentle yet commanding as he explored every curve and contour of your body with dedicated devotion. Each touch left you yearning for more. You would die if it meant you could feel this loved forever.

Soon enough, Yuuta’s lips found yours, his kisses both tender and possessive, his passion evident in the way he claimed your lips.

As his lips danced with yours, you found yourself with the thought of never being apart from him. It filled you with a sense of completion. You could feel the depth of his devotion. Could he feel yours?

As if to answer your question, Yuuta’s touch became more urgent, his hands roaming over your body with a ravenous hunger. You felt happy that you could be consumed so ardently, that you found yourself secretly hoping that you at least tasted good.

Breaking out of your thoughts, you realized Yuuta was removing your borrowed clothes bit by bit. He made sure you were left in your panties.

His strong hands moved to caress your bare skin, his fingers leaving imprints on your body. Yuuta’s nails and grip dug into your skin as he kissed you. His hands moved to explore every curve and contour of your body with a reverence that bordered on worship. You wondered if he was trying to memorize every inch of you.

You leaned up to deepen the kiss, which only furthered Yuuta’s excitement. His lips moved hungrily against yours, his touch seeming eager, desperate, or perhaps so incredibly lonely, even.

Yuuta’s wet kisses left you dizzy, your senses were overwhelmed by him. Noticing the strain between his legs, you reached your hands down to unbutton his pants & paw at his boxers. Yuuta obliged by tossing them off to the side with your lost articles of clothing.

You moved to guide his hips to meet yours. With him between your legs, you moved to grind against him. You both gasped as his hard member pressed against your soaked panties.

You look up to see his reaction but notice something in Yuuta’s eyes become dark. His grip on your hips became tighter as his nails dug crescents into your soft skin.

Yuuta took this moment to grind himself deeper into you, his cock sliding between the lips of your pussy soaked panties. You let out a wanton moan, grinding back against him, desperate for any form of friction or release. You felt his cock rub against your swollen clit, moving back and forth in a way that left you crying out for more.

As Yuuta continued to tease you, he paused for a moment, his breath warm against your ear as he spoke in a low voice, "Do you want this?”

You shivered, a chill running down your spine.

With a hitched breath, you nodded.

“Will you be mine?" He asked, his eyes peering deep and dark into your own. You felt like he could see right into you like he was clawing his way into your soul to make a home in it.

You were okay with that.

You nodded again, “Yes, I’ll always be yours.”

With a glassy darkness in his eyes, he flipped you over onto your stomach, his movements rough and commanding as he positioned himself behind you. He tsk’ed as he ripped your ruined panties off, throwing off into the darkness of the room.

Well, you didn’t need those, anyway.

You could feel the heat of his breath against your ear as he whispered, “I’ll make it so you can’t ever think to leave,” sending shivers down your spine.

Yuuta trailed hot kisses along your skin as he positioned himself above you. With a low moan, he pressed himself against you, the throbbing hardness of his member seeking entrance to your dripping heat.

And then, with a thrust, he entered you. Yuuta’s hands gripped your ass as he slowly sunk his hard length into your wet core. You sucked in a breath, a wave of pleasure crashing over you as he filled your pussy completely. He was big. So much bigger than you anticipated.

‘We fit together perfectly’, you thought to yourself.

His pace was slow, with him getting used to the tightness of your cunt. You looked up at him with adoration as he leaned over your shoulder to give you a sloppy open-mouthed kiss. A trail of saliva left between your lips when you parted.

Yuuta’s spent no extra moment finding his stride, his movements becoming rough and unyielding as he fucks you with such devoted reverence. You’re helpless. All you could do was beg for more as you gulped in the air.

It’s obscene, the way he makes you moan. You’re powerless to fight against the way he makes your heart skip and your stomach churn. You feel on fire like he’s burning you to a crisp of ash and dust only to resurrect you again if only to just keep fucking you.

Yuuta’s movements become more urgent and the tension between you reaches its peak. With each thrust, you feel yourself teetering on the edge of ecstasy, your senses overwhelmed by Yuuta.

Suddenly, you feel a surge of pleasure coursing through your veins, your body convulsing with the intensity of your release. With a cry, you shatter into a million pieces, the only thing able to leave your mouth is the chant of, “Yuuta-- Ah, Yuuta, Yuuta.”

“I’m here,” he replies, voice strained feeling your pussy tighten around his cock, “I’m right here.” Feeling the wetness and tightness of your cum triggers Yuuta’s climax, and with a stifled moan, he follows suit, pouring his hot cum into you.

Yuuta pulls you into his arms, his leaky cock still hard inside of you. Your dark-haired lover kisses your temple and leaves sweet whispers across the sweat of your skin. He holds you close, entwining you into him as your eyelids get heavy and you feel sleep take over your spent body.

You feel loved.

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

In your dreams, you find yourself lost in a labyrinth of shadows, the air thick with the scent of decay. Whispers echo through the darkness, taunting you with half-formed promises and cryptic warnings.

You stumble through the endless maze, searching for an escape, but the shadows seem to shift and twist, leading you further into the depths of your despair.

And then, just when you think you can bear it no longer, you see him. Yuuta stands before you, his dark eyes looking into yours as he reaches out to you with a hand shrouded in darkness.

He whispers something, you don’t understand. But you still reach out, taking his hand into yours.

You awaken with a start, the echoes of your nightmare still lingering in the recesses of your mind.

Heart pounding, you sit up in bed, the room bathed in the soft glow of moonlight filtering through the curtains.

Yuuta is gone, but his warmth remains.

A sense of foreboding settles over you like a shroud.

[with-my-calamitous-love]

YOU’LL SEE ME IN HINDSIGHT

touya todoroki x reader

you spend one last night with your husband before he goes to battle shouto and endeavour.

angst/smut, mha official ending spoilers

part 1/3

inspired by wildest dreams

2 years of hiding. 2 years of silence. 2 years of putting the outside world on pause. 2 years of bliss.

to fall of the face of the earth with your beloved was possibly the most romantic thing you could have ever experienced. you existed in your own snow globe, dancing in circles round and round shielded from the outside world. but you both knew it wouldn’t be forever.

you had a quiet house on the countryside, surrounded by gorgeous acres of land. for you and touya, it seemed much to large for both of you. but acres of nature’s serene solitude provided the two of you enough time to escape from the world. you, at least, wanted to escape. for touya, it was more like purgatory. this is where he spent his time before death.

the backyard was perhaps your favourite part. you sat on the old wooden steps on the porch, eyeing the lush vegetation that seemed to thrive despite the ever-increasing fleetingness of the moment. soon, no one would pick the peaches from the trees, or harvest the sweet strawberries from the bushes. no one would admire the flowers that grew for miles or the sweet smell of life. no one would ever see the beauty of the land that touya todoroki loved you on.

you hear his creaky footsteps come up behind you, watching you as you watch the world- like you are his world. for a moment, he sees nothing.

“the magnolias.” words finally escape your lips.

“hm? whats that doll?” he asks.

you take a deep breath, prying your eyes away from the garden and finally turning to face your lover. your hand raises to point at the delicate white petals bundled together like a stanza.

“those ones over there. magnolias. they smell the sweetest.”

his blue eyes follow over to where you point as he sits down next to you. he simply nods, looking at the flowers you told him smelled the best.

a thought crosses your mind. you overheard him talking it over with shigaraki. you knew what tomorrow was. yet you were hesitant to let the words leave your mouth. you didn’t even want to dare it.

“…you know you’re going to die, right?”

the words leave your tongue like a curse.

at first, he looks over at you, bewildered by the statement. but touya isn’t dumb- he knows you can pick up on things. and he knows he isn’t dumb enough to wanna lie to you- though admittedly the lie is better. the lie is so much more comforting in this instance.

“…i know, doll.” touya tells the truth.

you don’t say anything, but your silence is perhaps the loudest thing he’s heard all day.

“its too late to give up on it now.” he says it like he’s trying to salvage it. as if theres any way to fix all the pain he hasn’t even caused you yet. he knows your grief is only inevitable.

“…thought so.” you sigh, getting up from the creaky wooden steps and moving back into your home. its a home that you and touya have built together. dirty rugs with tracks stained from his large black boots. your coat and his hanging from the door, his so much darker and larger than yours. the dirty bowls in the sink you have yet to wash, leftover from soba night. the memories, the dreams, the love. the world was about to see dabi, but for two years you got to love touya.

so many memories were suddenly engulfed in fire. dancing barefoot in the kitchen, trying on his coat that reached the floor on your frame, hugging him and feeling the warmth only he could give you. all of it was soon to be ash.

he follows you into the house, watching as you move about. he’s silent, since words always seemed to fail him when it came to you. theres a heavy tension that lingered in the house. soon, this wouldn’t be yours and touya’s home. soon, these walls would be haunted. soon, this would no longer be a home.

“you know theres no way you’re getting out of this alive, right?” you ask as if to confirm your worst fears. funny, since you already knew the answer.

“…as long as i take that old bastard down with me.” touya says, a familiar flicker of revenge ruminating in his brilliant turquoise eyes. perhaps love wasn’t meant to end suffering, after all.

and thats enough to make your voice resonate with that familiar crack of anguish.

“…what about me, touya..?”

he winces. he expected you to yell, to scream at him. to tell him how much of an asshole he is. how much you hate him. somehow, your strangled, quiet cry hurts more.

“you… you’ll be fine. you manage.” he’s lying through his teeth and you both know it.

what else could you say?

you turned away from him, walking upstairs to your bedroom. this was the room you loved the most. so many late nights and sunny, early mornings. god, getting to see him all tuckered out from the previous night, the deepest morning voice you have ever heard. his cheeky remarks, half lidded blue eyes looking into you. the way he pulls you back into bed, asking where the hell you think you’re going. all of that love was packing its bags and moving on.

he follows you again, not knowing what else to say but not wanting the conversation to end either. maybe he just didn’t want you and him to end, despite the fact that neither of you had a choice.

“i was never apart of your plan, was i?” your voice cracks again, asking him to confirm your deepest hurt. you knew it to be true. loving you was never something touya ever intended on doing. yet he stayed.

he only sighs, trying to find the right words. “i’m sorry. i never meant to drag you into this-“

“don’t be.” you quickly cut him off once you realize he’s not denying anything.

touya was a man of promises. he knows that he’s made a vow. a vow to bring endeavour down, to expose him for all the suffering he’s condemned him to. to show his father that he was the worst thing to ever happen to the flame hero. he branded that promise deep into his heart, and he had 0 intentions of letting it up now.

not even for you.

the sound of cooing causes both of you to stare out the window. there, perched on the window sill, are two doves- happily chirping to one another, unbeknownst of the pain just lurking behind the glass.

“you know, doves mate for life.” you say, looking at the smaller one nestling into the snow white feathers of its much larger companion.

“kind of romantic, isn’t it?” touya shrugs, also noting the way the two birds hold onto each other like nothing else matters. even with the ability to fly, to sore the sky and see the stars up close, the two birds loved each other like none of that was even remotely interesting.

“it is romantic.” you agree. “loving each other for the rest of their lives. even if that life is short.”

he quickly catches on.

touya swore he’d love you for the rest of his life. even if that life was too short for him.

touya watches the birds alongside you, their delicate, graceful forms seeming to symbolize something more than just a couple of birds resting on a window sill. they continue to coo quietly to each other, cuddling and nuzzling against each other, completely at ease and content with the love they’d found.

after a moment of silence, touya speaks up, his voice quiet and hesitant.

"you know i don’t want to leave you, right?”

wanting seemed irrelevant, here. it didn’t matter what you or touya wanted. fate was decided, against what either of you want.

“i know.” you say, solemnly. you rest your hands on touya’s side of the dresser, like a wounded soldier hanging his head low. your heart was hurting. by this time tomorrow, he’d be gone. the love of your life would be gone.

for a second, touya is lost in his own world of hate. he hates himself, more than he’s hated anyone in his entire life. he hates himself for letting you love him. he hates himself for having to leave you here, all alone, safe and stranded.

he’s then pulled out of his trance when he sees you in his drawer, holding the ring he’s kept hidden from you for months. a beautiful, silver ring with a sapphire as deep as the blue sea. alongside is his ring, just a simple, silver band. he mentally curses himself for not hiding it well enough.

his heart beats out of his chest, watching you slowly turn to him, holding the ring.

“you remembered i like sapphires.” you say, not a question but a statement. of course he remembered your favourite gemstone. touya remembered every little thing he loves about you.

“yeah… course i did, doll.” he says, as if its obvious he remembered.

he wishes he could actually cry when he sees you slip it onto your left ring finger. god, it fits you perfectly. his eyes remain mesmerized as you flex your fingers, seeing how it looks on you.

you legs carry you over to him, pulling him in close. you rest your hands on his chest and your forehead against his. touya’s scarred hands find their way to your waist, drawing you in as if to shield you from all the heartache thats to come.

“you know we can’t actually get married, right?” you dryly chuckle, your voice barely a whisper. “especially not legally.”

he hums in response. he’s well aware you two could never go down to a courthouse and officially commit to one another. “you think i care ‘bout that?” he manages a smirk. “i still wanna marry you. even if its just between us.”

“so, you’re really gonna turn me into a widow tomorrow hm?” you ask.

his blue eyes flicker down to your ring, his brain still unable to compute that its real. “i guess so.”

you smile, though theres an undeniable hint of sadness in your eyes that touya knows all too well.

“i know you don’t wanna leave me, touya.” you whisper, looking into his eyes, staring into his soul.

he physically feels his heart clench at your words. and at the look in your eyes, he feels a wave of emotion wash over him. he wants to reach out and take you into his arms, to hold you tight and never let go. but he can’t. he has to stay strong, no matter how weak you make his resolve.

“i.. i know i don’t want to leave you, i don’t want to leave you behind. but i have to. i have to do this. i have to take him down.” he says, gritting his teeth at the thought of that bastard.

“i hope you do.” you encourage. “fuck that guy.”

touya almost laughs at this, pressing his forehead against yours. “yeah. fuck that guy.”

“i… i hate him. i hate him for doing this to you. for turning you into this. for taking you away from me. from what we could have had.” you can’t help the tear that falls from your eye just thinking about it, thinking about what you lost. the husband you could have had, the kids, the future… all of that could only live on in your dreams, now.

touya’s eyes widen in surprise and pain at your words. he honestly hadn't thought about it like that before, hadn't considered how endeavour’s actions had impacted you, too. he knew that his hatred and need for revenge had caused a rift between the two of you, but hearing you say it out loud, seeing the pain in your eyes, it cuts straight to his heart.

he looks at you, his expression torn between anger and guilt.

"i’m sorry. i’m sorry I've put you through all this, doll. i’m sorry i let my anger and hate consume me. its all i know.” he says, closing his eyes. he can’t bare to watch you cry over something as pathetic as him.

“i… i think you’re a murderer. and a villain. touya.” you seethe. and he accepts that hatred from you, because he doesn’t deserve anything more or less.

“and i also think you’re a deeply traumatized person who was stuck as a kid who feels like nothing but a failure after, being in a 3 year coma.” you conclude your true feelings. he doesn’t say anything to that for a moment.

he knew that you saw him for what he was- a killer, a villain, a monster. but hearing you say it out loud, hearing you sum up his entire life, stung.

he tightens his grip on your hips, his fingers digging into your flesh slightly as he struggles to keep his emotions in check. he keeps his eyes averted, unable to meet your gaze.

“i know what i am. what I’ve become. i don’t know what else to do.” he says, defeated, like the end of a long battle.

“can you love me? is that an option?” your question is more of a plea than anything else. finally, he looks you in the eye, as if the answer to that question is obvious.

“you’re the only thing i think i’m capable of loving.” he admits, more to himself than to you.

“you’re the only thing thats made my life worth living. and im so fucking grateful. for you. and your love.” the way he says it like a goodbye hurts all too much. but its words you need to hear. making him feel love was an absolute honour.

you pull him close to you, wrapping your arms around his neck desperately. oh, to memorize the feeling of his body against yours as his strong arms circle your waist, pulling you up to match his taller frame.

“you’re the best i’ve ever loved.” you say.

“you’re the only thing i’ve ever loved.” he confirms.

“then spend one last night with me. as your wife. whatever you do in the morning is up to you, i don’t care, but just give this night to us.” he can’t deny the way you beg him- even though you don’t even have to ask. he was already planning on it, visualizing all the ways he was going to physically show you he loves you in the bed tonight. but he needs to make sure, first.

“are you sure you want that, doll? one last night?”

“what i want is forever, touya.” you clarify. “but if i can have just one last night, i think we can make it work.”

and once he’s gotten your consent, the rest of the night is set.

✧.* ⋆.˚ ☾ .⭒˚ ✧.* ✧.* ⋆.˚ ☾ .⭒˚ ✧.* ✧.* ⋆.˚ ☾ .⭒˚ ✧.* ✧.* ⋆.˚

most think that guys can only fuck or make love- but touya gave you both and everything in between that night.

the way his hands roamed over every inch of your body like he was trying to etch himself onto you. god, the way his cock slid in and out of you at an unreasonably fast pace. he can’t help that he wants you, that he wants to be the only guy to ever throw you onto the mattress and fuck you till your absolutely spent all over him.

“fuck. yeah? ya like that doll?” he groans into your ear, the filthy sounds of skin slapping together filling the room. “gonna fuck you so good. god, your pussy is so fucking good.”

he has you on your back, turquoise eyes drinking in the way your eyes roll to the back of your skull. to say it looked absolutely filthy was an understatement, but to you two and just you two, this was how you showed love. touya was never a man of words- sure, he could tell you that he loves you, that he wants you, and that he doesn’t want to leave you, but you both already know that. so he lets his actions speak for him: spreading your legs to opposite sides of the room, playing with your pussy until your absolutely gushing, and not even daring to stop even when you can barely form a coherent sentence. he loves how he gets you like this. because he fucks you until your sobbing- partly from the mind melting pleasure, and partly from the fact that you know you’ll never find a cock this good ever again.

and touya’s not usually a huge biter or a kissed, but god, does he go crazy over the way you scream when he sinks his teeth in. and he won’t stop at a few nicks- you’re funny. the way he loved you is agonizing. loving you manifests as an all-consuming entity. he’s driven wild by the pleasure, and he wishes he could just have you whole right now.

if theres one thing you learned from loving touya, its that the idea of love being just a feeling, a simple chemical in the brain, was simply incorrect. no. love is not a feeling. love cannot be summed up into a simple 7 letter word. love took over your senses, the sight, the ears, the touch, the smell and especially the taste. you honestly wished touya would just consume you. and not just for lust or for petty desires. you wished to become a part of him. he wanted to taste your flesh against his lips like it was god damn salvation. let his being be apart of yours as his lips bless your skin, begging for another bite. let him feel something that is so wrong yet so right. let him want something that feels too good to be true. because its him. god, the way he loves you as if he’s savouring the rhythm of your heart- only he makes it beat that way. he watches, absolutely mesmerized as your fluids drip down your thighs, watching how he makes you melt. in the end, the two of you are reduced to nothing but empty space. because you were touya’s favourite part of himself.

you scream his name until his throat runs dry, as he continuously chases the feeling of your velvet walls clenching around his cock. god, the way he feels when your nipples slide over his pecs. how you scratch down hid back, how he actively has to keep his quirk in check as not to burn you- not that you’d mind a brand in the shape of his hand. he’s already left his fingerprints all over you, anyway.

“p-please! ah! don’t stop!” you moan for probably the 100th time. not that touya’s complaining, he loves your desperate side. he loves that he’s the one who can coax it out of you.

you’ve lost track of how many times you’ve come. from his fingers, to his mouth, to his cock that felt like it was shaped especially for you. your thighs tremble around his waist desperately, begging him to pull yet another orgasm out of you. and touya happily obliges. he loves to fuck you till all you can think of is him.

he can feel himself unraveling, wanting nothing more than to see his cum dripping down your beautiful pussy. he knows that this is the last chance he’ll have to take you like this. and when you arch your back and scream ‘TOUYA!’ at the top of your lungs, he loses it.

the groan he lets out in your ear as he finally releases himself into you is mouthwatering. warm, thick, ropes of his seed stuffing you to the absolute brim. you feel your toes curl and your mind blank, only being able to focus on the sensation of his love melting away every single worry or doubt in your mind. the way the sweat from his and your body forces you two to stick together as he holds you against him, helping you come down from the intense high.

his body collapses down beside you, mustering all his leftover energy to pull you closer to him. he pulls the blanket over you and him, like cementing his rightful place next to you, holding you in his arms.

“could lay here with you forever.” he utters, somewhat hoping you won’t catch what he says.

“i wish you would.” of course you catch on.

he pulls back slightly to look you in the eye. having you here, hair sprawled out, in his arms. you’re covered in the evidence of him like your a crime scene- his favourite crime at that.

his heart clenches at the thought of tomorrow. that at this time in 24 hours, he won’t be with you anymore. and that made him want to scream.

your hands move up to cradle his chin, brushing your thumb over his lower lip. your voice is rasped from your recent activities as you ask your question: “can i ask you something?”

“anything, doll.” he says confidently.

you inhale deeply. “can… can you feel me here?”

you motion to his burnt lower lip, and then to his patches of purple, burnt skin, barely holding itself together. its a question you’ve wondered for years, yet have always feared the answer.

his silence is nerve wracking, before finally answering.

“yeah. i can.”

even then, you’re not convinced.

“even when i kiss you?” your voice is barely above a whisper.

he leans in closer, as if its important to him that you hear this.

“you’re the only person that makes me feel things, doll. yes, i can feel you.”

he inhales again, knowing that he needs to ask you this sooner or later.

“promise me something, babygirl.”

“anything.” you nod.

“promise me… promise me that when i walk out that door tomorrow. promise me you’ll find some other guy. someone that makes you happy and protects you. that..”

that loves you like he does. but touya knows that no one will ever love you like he does.

to say your heart shattered at that was an understatement. how could you ever even think of finding another man, when your heart irrevocably belonged to touya todoroki?

“…is that what you want?” you asked, still shocked.

the question hits him like a punch to the gut. no, he absolutely, unequivocally does not want that. the thought of someone else with you, loving you, holding you, being with you… it makes him sick to his stomach. no, he can’t even bare the thought of someone being tangled with you like this. dreaming of you like he does. loving you with a love so bright it burns- it made him sick.

and when he thinks of that. of you moving on without him.. selfishly, so fucking selfishly, it makes him want to burn the world down. because if it’s nothing but ash, no one will get to have you, even he’s gone. maybe to love him meant burning it all down, anyway.

and for a moment, he's tempted, so very tempted, to say no, to tell you that he wants you to never move on, to tell you to love him and only him, selfish as it may be. but he can't. not when he knows he never even deserved you in the first place.

"…yes."

and you have the audacity to scoff.

he looks on confused, and a little offended. what was so audacious in this moment it had you laughing?

“touya.” you call his attention. his blue eyes never even left your sight as he nods.

“do you honestly think love just ends when you leave?”

it stumps him, for a moment. like his heart stuttering at the thought. he tries to figure out where you’re going with this as he answers.

“no. i don’t.” he affirms.

“exactly.” you say. “it doesn’t. in fact, i don’t think i’ve loved you any more than i do right now. love is felt the strongest when its leaving.”

your words do more to him than he’d like to admit. he gulps.

“so even right now, you love me?”

the answer to that should have been obvious.

“i’m never not loving you.”

he manages a dry chuckle, pressing his forehead to yours. god, he wishes he could have this forever. but he knows a demon like him can’t enter heaven.

so for now, he embraces you fully, rubbing circles onto your back and hushing you to sleep. the cool air blows through the room, so he shields you with his body, wanting you to feel nothing but the warmth and the comfort you deserve. he may not be the guy you deserve, but he sure as hell can protect you like he his.

and for what might be the last time, he savours the way your lips bless his in a kiss. your the only name on his lips, the only one that could ever feel what its like to love him.

he feels his heartbreak as you fall asleep. he hopes you dream of him. dreams are so much happier.

“…i’m never gonna stop loving you.” he whispers.

and with that, touya falls asleep.

[mononijikayu]

cantarella — gojo satoru.

“Satoru.” you called softly, holding up the flower crown you had made. It was a simple creation, woven from a mix of daisies, buttercups, and clover. The flowers were arranged in a delicate, colorful circle, their petals still fresh and dewy from the morning sun. He looked up from his sketchpad, his expression as indifferent as ever, but a hint of curiosity sparkled in his eyes. “What’s that?” he asked, his tone more inquisitive than dismissive. You knelt beside him, holding the flower crown out. “It’s a gift for you.” you said cheerfully. “I made it just for you. I thought you might like to wear it.”

GENRE: Alternate Universe - Nobility;

WARNING/s: Angst, Not Safe For Work (NSFW), Dark Fic, Yandere! Gojo, Toxic One-Sided Romance, One-Sided Incest, Emotional Hurt, Emotional Incest, Hurt/ No Comfort, Character Death, Grief, Mention of Depression, Mention of Mourning, Depiction of Physical Touch, Depiction of Mental Anguish, Depiction of Violence, Depiction of Death, Depiction of Harm, Heavy Angst, Heavy Pining, Please Save Reader;

WORDS: 11k words.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: this was inspired by this version of cantarella by kaito and miku i watched a long long time ago. i remembered about this notes i had about it while sitting and studying for uni. and i wrote it sitting down instead of reading more because inspiration came to me. i hope you enjoy it, even though its a dark fic!!! i love you all <3

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kayu's playlist - side 1000;

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YOU WERE FREE, YOU THINK. As the heavy iron gates of the convent swung open, the world outside flooded your senses, a stark contrast to the cloistered life you’d led for years.

The scent of damp earth and blooming flowers replaced the cold, sterile air of the convent, while the distant hum of life—a world you had been shielded from—pressed in on you. Your eyes blinked against the sudden brightness, the light almost painful after so many years of darkness.

The distant memories of your parents’ tragic deaths haunted you, lingering like a dark cloud over your soul. Their faces were blurred now, softened by time but not forgotten.

The whispers of their absence were loudest in your heart, a constant reminder of the life that had been ripped away from you. Grief had been your only companion, even more than the nuns who had raised you, and now it threatened to drown you as you took your first steps into the world beyond those gates.

Now, as the newly orphaned Duchess, the title weighed heavily on your shoulders, burdened with expectations you weren’t sure you could fulfill. The responsibilities that came with it loomed over you, a shadow of the future that awaited. You had been a child when the world had last known you, but now, the world demanded more—a woman, a Duchess, a leader.

You stepped out into the open, the gravel crunching beneath your feet as the cold wind whispered through the barren trees. The carriage waited in silence, an imposing reminder of the life you were about to inherit—a life you had never asked for. The estate loomed in the distance, its shadowy silhouette framed against a darkening sky.

It was supposed to be home, a sanctuary, yet it felt nothing like it. The sprawling lands, the echoing halls, and the faceless people who would serve you—they were yours now, or so everyone insisted. But as you stood there, shivering in the twilight, you couldn't help but wonder what "yours" truly meant.

Was it the title bestowed upon you, heavy and hollow, that now defined your existence? Or was it the legacy that clung to your name, a legacy built on the sacrifices and sorrows of those who came before?

Perhaps it was the past, a mosaic of memories and losses that had shaped you, leaving cracks in your heart that would never fully heal. And now, as you faced the uncertain road ahead, you realized that your future, too, was bound by these invisible chains. A future where each step would be weighed down by duty, expectation, and the inescapable fear of the unknown.

But despite the fear gnawing at your resolve, despite the weight of the unknown pressing down on your shoulders, you knew there was no turning back. The world outside the convent walls, a world you had once seen only in fleeting dreams, had now become your reality.

A reality where your choices—or lack thereof—would define not just your life, but the lives of those who depended on you. And so, with a heart heavy with dread and determination, you took a deep breath and stepped forward. Ready or not, you had to face it.

The carriage stood before you like a silent sentinel, its dark velvet interior offering little in the way of comfort. The family crest, meticulously embossed on its side, glinted ominously in the fading light, a stark reminder of the bloodline that bound you to this life.

As you approached, the driver, a man of few words and fewer expressions, gave a brief nod, his face as unreadable as the future that awaited you. There was no comfort to be found in his gaze, only the cold efficiency of someone accustomed to serving the powerful.

Climbing into the carriage, you felt the chill of the autumn air seep into your bones, mingling with the dread that clung to your skin. The unfamiliar path ahead stretched out before you, winding through forests and fields that you barely remembered.

Every jolt of the carriage wheels against the rough terrain seemed to echo the uncertainty within you, the sense of being unmoored from everything you once knew. Yet, despite the fear that tightened your chest, a quiet resolve began to build within you. The path was dark, and the journey would be long, but it was yours to take.

As the carriage began to move, you allowed yourself one last glance at the world you were leaving behind. The convent, with its high walls and serene silence, had been a place of refuge, but it was also a cage—one that you had outgrown. The life ahead, with all its unknowns, was daunting, but it was also a chance to carve out a new destiny, one that was truly your own.

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YOU WERE FINALLY HERE. Days had passed before the carriage finally came to a halt. The endless journey had given you time to think, to imagine what awaited you, but nothing could have prepared you for the reality.

The estate loomed large and imposing before you, a testament to the power and wealth that now rested on your shoulders. But it was not the grandeur of the estate that caught your attention as you stepped down from the carriage—it was the man who stood waiting.

Gojo Satoru. Your cousin. The only family you had left.

You had heard of him in whispers and letters, the distant cousin who had managed your affairs while you grew up behind convent walls. The cousin who had wanted to raise you himself but had been overruled by those who deemed it more proper for a young duchess to be sheltered and shaped by the church. A cousin who had become a stranger over the years.

But now, standing before him, you saw just how much he had changed. He had grown handsome, undeniably so. Tall and broad-shouldered, his presence was commanding, his silver hair catching the last rays of the setting sun, giving him an almost ethereal glow.

The dark glasses he wore only added to the air of mystery, concealing his eyes and leaving you to wonder what lay behind them. His lips curled into a smile that was anything but comforting. It was a smile that promised more than a simple welcome; it promised possession.

You were drawn to him, as you had been as a child. The way he moved, the way he spoke—it was as if the world bent to his will. But now, as a woman, you saw the darkness in his gaze, the twisted hunger that had taken root in his heart over the years.

"Cousin." he murmured, his voice smooth and sickly sweet, as if every word was coated in honey, "it’s been too long."

You swallowed hard, trying to steady yourself in his overwhelming presence. "It has, Satoru. I... hardly recognized you."

His smile widened, a flash of white teeth that made your heart skip a beat. "And I, you. But then, how could I recognize someone I’ve only known through letters and rumors? Yet here you are, in the flesh, finally free from those cold walls."

There was something in his tone that made you uneasy, a sharp edge beneath the politeness. "Yes, finally," you replied, your voice quieter than you intended. "Thank you for... taking care of everything while I was away. It must have been a burden."

"Burden?" He chuckled softly, the sound rich and unsettling. "Not at all, my dear. It was a pleasure, truly. I did what any family would do—protect what is ours, and ensure it would be ready for your return.”

“Then…Then, I thank you, cousin.”

Though…." he paused, his gaze lingering on you, "I must admit, I didn’t expect you to have grown into such a… lovely woman."

The way he said it made your skin prickle. There was no mistaking the intent in his words, the way his eyes, hidden though they were, seemed to strip you bare. You took a small step back, trying to reclaim some sense of control.

"I suppose we’ve both changed," you said, keeping your voice as steady as possible. "But we’re still family, Satoru. I hope we can... get to know each other again."

"Indeed," he replied, his voice dropping to a lower, more intimate tone. "Family is everything, after all. And now that you’re here, we can finally be together, as we were always meant to be."

The way he said it sent a chill down your spine. There was something more in his words, something that hinted at a deeper, more dangerous desire. You forced a smile, hoping to mask your unease. "Yes, together. It’s been so long, after all."

He stepped closer, closing the small distance you had created. "Too long, cousin. But now that you’re back, I intend to make up for all the lost time. You and I… we have so much to catch up on."

The finality in his tone left little room for argument, and as he offered his arm to lead you inside, you had no choice but to take it, feeling the warmth of his skin through the fabric of his sleeve. His grip was firm, almost possessive, as he guided you through the grand doors of the estate that would now be your home.

But as you crossed the threshold, you couldn’t shake the feeling that you were stepping into something far more dangerous than you had ever imagined. And that the cousin who walked beside you was not just your protector, but something far darker, something you were not sure you could escape.

The estate he led you to was vast, cold, and eerily silent. Each step echoed through the corridors, the sound bouncing off the stone walls that seemed to close in on you with every passing moment. It was a place meant to impress, to awe with its sheer size and grandeur, but all it inspired in you was a deep sense of unease. The shadows seemed longer here, the light dimmer, as if the house itself had secrets it was unwilling to reveal.

Gojo’s hand hovered just above your lower back, never quite touching, but close enough to make you acutely aware of his presence. It was a silent assertion of control, a reminder that he was guiding you, that you were under his protection—or perhaps his possession. The gesture felt more like a threat than a comfort, his proximity sending a shiver down your spine.

As you walked, you noticed the servants—silent, spectral figures who moved quickly to avoid your gaze. Their eyes darted away whenever they saw the two of you, averted as if they knew something you did not, as if they feared something you were only beginning to sense. They kept their distance, and when they spoke, it was in hushed tones, their whispers carried away by the drafty corridors, lost in the vastness of the estate.

The grand halls, adorned with portraits of ancestors long gone, felt more like a mausoleum than a home. The faces in the paintings seemed to watch you with disapproval, their cold eyes following your every move, judging you, questioning your right to be here.

The air was thick with history, but it was a history that felt oppressive, as though the very stones of the house were weighed down by the sins and secrets of those who had lived here before.

Gojo’s voice broke the silence, low and almost conspiratorial. “It’s been a long time since these halls have seen life,” he said, his tone carrying a hint of something unspoken. “I’m afraid the estate has grown as cold as its master in your absence.”

You forced a smile, trying to shake off the unease that clung to you like a second skin. “It’s... it’s very grand,” you replied, struggling to find the right words. “I suppose it will take some getting used to.”

He chuckled softly, the sound devoid of real warmth. “Grand, yes. But it is a lonely place, cousin. One grows accustomed to the silence, to the emptiness, but I’ve always thought it would be different with you here.”

The way he said it made your skin crawl. There was something too intimate in his words, something that suggested his desire for you went far beyond familial affection. You glanced at him from the corner of your eye, but his expression was unreadable behind those dark glasses, his lips curled into that same unsettling smile.

“You’ve taken such good care of everything,” you said, trying to steer the conversation to safer ground. “I’m grateful, truly. I don’t know how I’ll ever repay you.”

His smile widened, but there was no joy in it, only something dark and possessive. “There’s no need for repayment,” he murmured, his voice dipping into a more dangerous register. “You’re here now, and that’s all I’ve ever wanted. We’re family, after all.”

Family. The word echoed in your mind, but it felt hollow, like a cage closing in around you. The estate, the title, the wealth—it was all yours, but at what cost? And as Gojo led you deeper into the heart of the mansion, you couldn’t shake the feeling that you were being led into something far darker, something that would be much harder to escape.

At last, you reached what appeared to be a sitting room, the heavy doors creaking as Gojo pushed them open. The room was dimly lit, a fire crackling weakly in the hearth, casting flickering shadows on the walls. The furniture was old but well-kept, the upholstery dark and rich, but it did little to warm the cold atmosphere of the room.

“This will be your sanctuary,” Gojo said, guiding you inside. “A place to rest, to think, to remember that this is your home now.”

You nodded, feeling the weight of his words. As you looked around, the reality of your situation began to sink in. This was your home, your life now. But the estate that should have been a sanctuary felt more like a prison, and the man who should have been your protector felt more like a captor.

“I’ll leave you to get settled, cousin.” Gojo said, finally stepping back, though his presence lingered in the room long after he had left. “But don’t be a stranger, cousin. We have much to discuss, and I’ve been waiting a long time for this.”

As the door closed behind him, the silence of the room enveloped you, cold and suffocating. You were alone now, but the shadow of Gojo’s presence lingered, and you knew that this was only the beginning.

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YOU WERE THE CENTER OF THE WORLD. Or at least that’s what Satoru had said when he told you that society celebrated your return with much joy.  A ball was to take place in your honor, a grand affair meant to celebrate your return to the echelons of noble society.

The thought of it filled you with a mix of excitement and dread. After years of isolation, the idea of stepping into a room filled with the most powerful and influential members of the ton was daunting. You could already hear the whispers, feel the weight of their expectations. 

Your reflection in the mirror stared back at you, a stranger dressed in silks and jewels. The gown you wore was exquisite, a deep sapphire that brought out the color of your eyes, the neckline adorned with pearls that once belonged to your mother. But despite the finery, you couldn’t help but feel exposed, vulnerable in a way you hadn’t since leaving the convent.

A soft knock at the door pulled you from your thoughts, and before you could respond, Satoru entered the room. He moved with an easy grace, his presence commanding and almost overwhelming. Dressed in a tailored black suit that accentuated his broad shoulders and tall frame, he was every bit the image of a duke, a man who could have anything and anyone he desired.

His eyes, hidden behind those dark glasses, seemed to pierce through you as he approached. “Nervous, cousin?” he asked, his voice smooth and laced with amusement.

You tried to smile, but it felt forced. But you could not help it, to be this nervous. To feel like you were going to vomit and find yourself in fright. This was your social debut, after being far away from your kind for so long.

“A little.” you admitted, your hands twisting together in your lap. “I haven’t been to a ball since I was a child. I don’t even know how to behave anymore.”

Satoru’s smile was gentle, but there was that ever-present edge to it, a darkness that lingered just beneath the surface. He stepped closer, taking one of your hands in his. His touch was warm, firm, and it steadied you, even as your heart raced beneath your chest.

“Don’t be.” he murmured, lifting your hand to his lips. He pressed a kiss to the back of it, the gesture both tender and possessive. “None can rival your beauty, or your existence. You will be the brightest star in the room tonight, and they will all fall at your feet.”

The way he spoke sent a shiver down your spine. His words were meant to reassure you, but there was something almost predatory in them, as if he was not merely presenting you to society, but staking his claim on you before them all.

“I just… I want to make a good impression.” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. "I am a duchess of the realm. I must do well. For our family."

“You will, cousin. Do not worry much.” Satoru replied, his thumb brushing lightly over your knuckles. “But remember, you have nothing to prove to them. You are the Duchess, the true heir to this estate. They should be the ones worrying about impressing you.”

You looked up at him, searching his face for any sign of doubt, but all you saw was confidence, a certainty that made you feel both comforted and trapped. There was no escaping the life you had returned to, and Satoru was a constant reminder of that.

“I’m here, by your side,” he continued, his voice a low, soothing murmur. “No one will dare speak ill of you. Not with me watching over you.”

His words wrapped around you like a protective veil, and despite the unease that still lingered, you felt a flicker of hope. Perhaps this night wouldn’t be as terrifying as you feared. Perhaps, with Satoru by your side, you could navigate the treacherous waters of noble society.

“Thank you,” you said softly, your fingers curling slightly around his as you let yourself lean into his presence, if only for a moment. 

“Think nothing of it,” he replied, his smile growing wider, more possessive. “Tonight is just the beginning. And I’ll make sure they all know that you belong to me.”

With that, he offered you his arm, guiding you out of the room and toward the grand hall where the ball was to take place. The music had already started, the sound of violins and piano filling the air with an elegant melody. 

As you stepped into the room, all eyes turned to you, and for a brief moment, the world seemed to hold its breath. You could feel the weight of their gazes, the scrutiny, the admiration. But Satoru’s hand on yours was a constant anchor, a reminder that no matter what, you were not alone.

And as the night unfolded, with dance after dance, with whispered conversations and stolen glances, you realized that Satoru’s words had not been an empty promise. You were indeed the brightest star in the room, and every person who approached you did so with a mix of awe and reverence. But beneath it all, you could feel the shadow of Satoru’s presence, always there, always watching.

And though you smiled and played your part, there was a part of you that wondered just how deep that shadow, and how much of yourself you would lose to the man who claimed to protect you.

As the evening progressed and the ballroom filled with the sounds of laughter and music, the time for dancing arrived. You had been introduced to countless faces, each more eager than the last to make a connection with the newly returned Duchess. But all the introductions and small talk had left you feeling exhausted, your nerves frayed by the constant attention.

Then, as if sensing your unease, a man approached you. He was tall, with a calm demeanor that immediately set him apart from the others. His hair was blond, neatly combed, and his sharp features were softened by the warm, sincere expression on his face. He bowed gracefully before you, his eyes meeting yours with a quiet intensity that made your breath catch.

"Your Grace," he said, his voice steady and kind, "may I have the honor of this dance?"

You hesitated for only a moment before placing your hand in his, feeling a sense of relief wash over you. There was something about him—something genuine, something safe—that made you feel at ease in a way you hadn’t all night.

"Of course," you replied, allowing him to lead you to the center of the dance floor.

The music swelled as the two of you began to dance, moving in perfect harmony with the waltz. Unlike the others who had tried to impress you with their skills or status, this man—Count Nanami Kento, as you had been told—was different.

He was careful with you, his touch gentle as he guided you through the steps. His eyes never left yours, and in them, you saw not the hunger or ambition you had grown accustomed to, but something else entirely—kindness, understanding, and a quiet admiration that made your heart flutter.

With each turn, each graceful movement across the polished floor, the weight of the world seemed to lift from your shoulders. The laughter and chatter of the ballroom, once so overwhelming, now faded into a distant hum, a backdrop to the moment unfolding between you and Nanami.

The lights softened, the grand chandeliers casting a warm glow over the sea of dancers, yet all you could focus on was the man guiding you effortlessly through the crowd. His touch was gentle yet firm, his presence steady, grounding you in the here and now.

As you glided together, Nanami spoke in a voice so soft it felt like a secret shared between the two of you. He asked about your life, your thoughts, your dreams—questions that were simple, yet carried a depth that surprised you.

His gaze never wavered, and the way he listened made you feel as if every word you spoke was of utmost importance. There was no rush, no need to impress; just a quiet, sincere interest that drew you in.

Nanami was a world apart from the overwhelming force of Satoru, who often swept into your life like a whirlwind, leaving you breathless and off-kilter. Satoru’s presence was impossible to ignore, a vibrant, chaotic energy that demanded attention.

But here, with Nanami, everything was different. His calmness soothed the edges of your anxiety, his steady demeanor a balm to the storm that often raged within you. There was a reliability to him, a sense of safety that you hadn’t realized you craved until this very moment.

You found yourself drawn to him in ways you hadn’t anticipated. It wasn’t just the contrast to Satoru’s intensity, though that was part of it. There was something about Nanami’s quiet strength, his thoughtful nature, that spoke to a deeper part of you.

As you danced, the rest of the world seemed to fall away, leaving just the two of you in a cocoon of shared understanding and unspoken connection. It was unexpected, this pull you felt toward him, yet it was undeniable.

Your graceful dance continued and little by little, you allowed yourself to get lost in the rhythm, in the soft cadence of his voice, in the comforting warmth of his presence. The worries that had plagued you moments before melted away, replaced by a sense of peace that was rare and precious.

In that fleeting moment, it felt as though time had slowed, and all that mattered was the steady beat of your hearts moving in sync, the unspoken promise of something more that lingered in the air between you.

As the dance came to an end, he held you a moment longer than necessary, his hand lingering on yours. His eyes, warm and sincere, held yours, and you felt a rush of something you hadn’t felt in years—something like hope, like the promise of something good. When he finally released you, he bowed again, his voice low and sincere.

"Thank you, Your Grace," he said softly. "It was truly a pleasure."

The words were simple, but the sincerity in them made your heart swell. You offered him a genuine smile, the first you had felt all night. "The pleasure was mine, Count Nanami."

As he stepped back into the crowd, you found yourself watching him go, your heart still racing from the unexpected connection. There was a warmth in your chest, a sense of peace that you hadn’t felt since you’d arrived at the estate. By the end of the night, you couldn’t deny it—you had fallen for him, the quiet, steady count who had treated you with such care.

But then, as you turned your gaze away from where Nanami had disappeared into the crowd, your eyes were drawn to a figure standing in the shadows at the edge of the ballroom. Satoru. His dark glasses glinted in the low light, but you could feel the intensity of his gaze, piercing through the distance between you. His expression was unreadable, his lips curved into a faint smile that sent a chill down your spine. 

You knew that he had seen everything—the way you had smiled at Nanami, the way your guard had dropped in his presence. Satoru’s eyes bore into you, and the warmth that had filled you moments before was replaced by a cold dread. 

No matter how much comfort you found in Nanami’s gaze, you couldn’t escape the shadow that Satoru cast over your life. And as the night drew to a close, you realized with a sinking heart that the feelings you had developed tonight would not go unnoticed or unchallenged.

✧❁❁❁✧✿✿✿✧❁❁❁✧

IT WAS OBVIOUS, THAT YOU WERE SMITTEN. In the weeks following the ball, the once overwhelming silence of the estate became bearable, softened by the anticipation of receiving each new letter from Count Nanami Kento.

The grand halls, with their cold marble floors and towering ceilings, no longer felt as lonely when you held his carefully penned words in your hands. His letters arrived with a sense of regularity, as if he knew precisely when you needed them most, each one a lifeline connecting you to something warmer, more genuine.

As you unfolded the delicate parchment, the world outside your window seemed to fade away. His handwriting, neat and precise, reflected the man himself—thoughtful, deliberate, with each word chosen with care.

His letters were not just a form of polite correspondence; they were conversations, deep and meaningful, where his interest in your life and well-being shone through. He asked about the small details, the little things that most overlooked, making you feel seen in a way you had not experienced before.

Nanami’s words were a balm to your troubled heart, each sentence carrying a sense of calm and reassurance that eased the tension that often gripped you in the estate’s oppressive atmosphere.

His kindness wasn’t ostentatious or overwhelming, but quiet and steady, like a gentle stream that slowly erodes the hardest stone. Through his letters, he offered you a refuge, a place where you could express your thoughts and feelings without fear of judgment or dismissal.

As the weeks passed, you found yourself eagerly awaiting each new letter, cherishing the moments when you could escape into the world he created with his words. His thoughts and feelings were laid bare, revealing a depth of emotion and understanding that resonated with you on a level you hadn’t expected. In a place where everything felt rigid and predetermined, his letters brought warmth and a sense of possibility, reminding you that there was more to life than the cold formality that surrounded you.

In his words, you felt understood and valued in a way that was rare and precious. The letters became a bridge between your two worlds, drawing you closer to him with each exchange. What had started as a simple correspondence had grown into something more, something that brought light into the darkest corners of your life.

And as you carefully folded each letter and tucked it away, you couldn’t help but feel that this connection with Nanami was something special, something that had the power to change everything.

However, not everyone was pleased with this growing connection. One evening, as you sat in the dimly lit parlor, absorbed in the latest letter from Nanami, the quiet solitude was suddenly disrupted by the sound of footsteps.

You looked up to see Satoru standing in the doorway, his presence filling the room with a tension that hadn’t been there moments before. His usual carefree demeanor was nowhere to be found; instead, his expression was stern, his blue eyes darkened with something you couldn’t quite place.

Satoru had been quieter than usual lately, his playful banter and easy smiles replaced by an uncharacteristic stillness. The change in his demeanor was subtle at first, but now, as he stood before you, the weight of it was undeniable.

His normally relaxed posture was rigid, his shoulders squared as if he were bracing himself for a confrontation. The way his eyes narrowed as they flicked to the letter in your hands sent a chill down your spine, making your stomach tighten with unease.

He didn’t say anything at first, but the silence between you was heavy, charged with unspoken words. You could feel his gaze, intense and searching, as if he were trying to unravel the connection you had been so carefully building with Nanami through your letters. The air in the room seemed to thicken, the warmth of Nanami’s words in your mind now clashing with the coldness radiating from Satoru.

Finally, he spoke, his voice low and controlled, but there was an edge to it that made your heart skip a beat. “You’ve been spending a lot of time writing letters.” he remarked, his tone betraying the undercurrent of disapproval he was trying to mask. The implication was clear, though he didn’t directly mention Nanami’s name. 

You felt a surge of defensiveness rise within you, but it was tempered by the confusion and hurt that came with seeing Satoru like this. The man who had always been a whirlwind of energy and confidence now stood before you, guarded and almost vulnerable in his own way. The tension between the two of you crackled in the air, a silent battle of wills as you both struggled with what was left unsaid.

Satoru’s gaze bore into yours, and for a moment, it felt as if the world had shrunk to just the two of you in that room, locked in a standoff where neither wanted to be the first to back down. The letter in your hands, once a source of comfort, now felt like a weight, a reminder of the widening chasm between you and the man who had always been a constant in your life.

“And I have heard from whispers, dearest cousin. You’ve been spending a lot of time with count Nanami.” Satoru remarked, his voice edged with an irritation that was difficult to ignore. “I see he’s become quite the confidant.”

You looked up from the letter, surprised by the sudden shift in his tone. “He’s been kind to me, Satoru. He’s welcomed me back into the ton with kindness.” you said, trying to keep your voice steady. “We’ve exchanged letters, but it’s just a way to stay connected, to find some comfort in this unfamiliar world.”

Satoru’s smile was thin and cold. “You’re aware, I’m sure, that count Nanami’s intentions aren’t as noble as they seem. He’s a man of ambition, just as any man is and you’re merely a means for him to elevate his own status. He’s using you, and yet you seem to take his words to heart.”

The accusation stung, and you felt a surge of defensiveness rise within you. “That’s not fair, Satoru. Count Nanami has always been genuine with me. He’s been nothing but respectful and kind. I don’t believe he’s using me for his own gain.”

Satoru’s expression hardened, his gaze growing colder. “You’re naïve if you think he has no ulterior motives. He may seem kind now, but he’s a count—an ambitious one at that. He sees an opportunity in you, and it’s only a matter of time before he tries to exploit it.”

“I don’t think you understand him at all.” you said, your voice rising with frustration. “Nanami is not like that. He cares about me, and I care about him. Why can’t you accept that?”

Satoru’s eyes flashed with anger, the dark glasses doing little to mask his irritation. “Careful, cousin. It’s one thing to indulge in a fleeting fancy, but it’s another to be so blinded by it that you risk your own position and safety. I’m only trying to protect you.”

“Protect me from what?” you demanded, rising from your seat. “From finding someone who treats me with respect and kindness? Nanami is not a threat—he’s a friend, someone who has shown me a different side of life.”

Satoru stepped closer, his demeanor imposing. “A friend who will inevitably use you to further his own ambitions. I’ve seen this game before, and it’s not one you want to be a part of. If you can’t see that, then I’ll have to make you understand.”

The tension in the room was palpable, and you could feel the walls closing in as Satoru’s anger boiled over. His words were like daggers, each one aimed at driving a wedge between you and Nanami. But despite the fear and the rising sense of dread, you stood firm.

“I won’t let you dictate who I can and cannot befriend,” you said, your voice trembling but resolute. “Nanami is more than his title, and if you can’t see that, then perhaps it’s you who doesn’t understand what’s truly important.”

Satoru’s face darkened, and for a moment, the room was filled with a tense silence. The air was heavy with unspoken words, with the weight of conflicting loyalties and emotions. Finally, he turned on his heel, his frustration evident in his stride.

“Do as you wish,  cousin.” he said coldly. “But remember, I warned you. And if you find yourself disappointed, don’t come seeking my sympathy.”

With that, he left the room, the door slamming shut behind him. You stood there, heart racing, the echoes of his harsh words still ringing in your ears. The letter from Nanami lay on the table, a reminder of the solace and understanding you had found in him. Despite Satoru’s anger and warnings, you knew that you couldn’t turn away from the connection you had begun to cherish.

The world outside the estate might be filled with ambition and deceit, but in Nanami’s letters, you had found a glimpse of something real—something worth holding onto, no matter the cost.

A few weeks later, as the seasons shifted and the public gardens came alive with the colors of spring, you found yourself meeting Nanami Kento in a secluded corner of the park. The air was crisp, filled with the scent of blooming flowers and the gentle hum of bees. The vibrant landscape provided a stark contrast to the somber confines of the estate, and as you walked along the winding paths, your heart felt lighter, freed from the constraints of your daily life.

Nanami awaited you beneath a canopy of flowering trees, their petals drifting down like confetti around him. His eyes lit up with warmth as he saw you approach, and for a moment, the world seemed to narrow to just the two of you. He offered you a soft smile, his gaze filled with a tenderness that made your heart flutter.

“Your grace,” he said, taking your hand in his as you reached him. His touch was gentle, and he guided you to a nearby bench, where you both sat, the blooming flowers forming a natural backdrop to your intimate conversation.

“It’s so beautiful here,” you remarked, looking around at the garden’s vibrant colors.

“It is, my lady.” Nanami agreed, but his attention was solely on you. He reached for your other hand, holding both of them on his own. “But not as beautiful as you.”

The sincerity in his voice made your cheeks flush, and you glanced down, unable to hide the smile that curved your lips. “You always know how to make me feel special.”

Nanami took a deep breath, his gaze locking onto yours with a seriousness that made your heart race. “There’s something I need to tell you, my lady. I hope I may be so prude as to ask you for your kindness.” 

You smiled at him tenderly. “I give you leave, my lord. You need not ask my permission.”

“I….I must be honest with you, my lady.” he began, his voice steady but filled with emotion. “From the moment we first danced together, I knew that you were someone extraordinary. Over the weeks, as we’ve exchanged letters and shared our thoughts, my feelings have only deepened.”

He paused, his fingers tightening around yours. “I am in love with you, more than I’ve ever thought possible. And I intend to marry you, if you’ll have me.”

The words hung in the air, their weight both exhilarating and overwhelming. You stared at him, the truth of his confession sinking in. The garden, the flowers, the world seemed to fall away as you looked into his eyes, seeing the depth of his affection reflected back at you.

“Yes, my lord.” you said breathlessly, your voice filled with emotion. “Yes, I will marry you. I’ve been waiting for someone who sees me for who I am, and who makes me feel truly alive. I can’t imagine my life without you.”

Nanami’s eyes softened, and a relieved, joyful smile spread across his face. He pulled you gently into his arms, holding you close as he whispered, “You’ve made me the happiest man in the world.”

You nestled against him, feeling the warmth of his embrace and the promise of a future together. The garden around you seemed to celebrate with you, the flowers blooming even more brightly, the air filled with a sweet, intoxicating scent. For the first time since your return to the estate, you felt a sense of genuine happiness and hope.

As you looked up at Nanami, the man who had shown you a different side of the world, you knew that this was the beginning of a new chapter—one filled with love, joy, and the promise of a future where you could finally be yourself.

✧❁❁❁✧✿✿✿✧❁❁❁✧

YOU HAD NEVER BEEN HAPPIER. The news of your engagement to Nanami Kento spread like wildfire, and by the time of the next grand ball, it was the talk of every guest in the room. The ballroom, usually filled with the hum of polite conversation and the clinking of glasses, was now charged with an air of curiosity and excitement.

Everywhere you looked, people were whispering behind gloved hands, their eyes alight with speculation about the upcoming union between the Duchess and the influential Count. The event, ostensibly a celebration of the merging of two prominent families, felt more like a stage for the spectacle of your new life—a life that had changed so swiftly, it sometimes felt as if you were watching it unfold from a distance.

As you moved through the room, graciously accepting congratulations and well-wishes, you couldn’t help but notice the eyes that followed your every move. Some gazes were filled with admiration, others with envy or curiosity, but all of them were fixated on you, the woman at the center of this momentous occasion.

The weight of their expectations settled on your shoulders, making the air feel heavier, the music louder, the lights brighter. Despite the celebratory atmosphere, a part of you felt detached, as if this wasn’t your life at all, but a role you were playing in a story written by someone else.

Amidst the sea of unfamiliar faces and forced smiles, your eyes were drawn to one figure that stood out from the rest. Satoru. He was present at the ball, his imposing figure a stark contrast to the lively crowd around him.

He cut an imposing figure in his formal attire, his white hair catching the light as he moved with the grace of someone who had long been accustomed to being the center of attention.

Yet, tonight, there was a distance about him, a coldness that had not been there before. He was surrounded by admirers and well-wishers, as always, but even in the midst of the crowd, he remained aloof, his eyes scanning the room as if searching for something—or someone—he could not find.

Your heart ached as you watched him, the memory of your last confrontation still fresh in your mind. The distance between you had grown wider in the weeks since then, an unspoken tension hanging between you like a storm cloud that refused to break.

You longed to mend things, to reach out and bridge the chasm that had formed between you and your cousin, but every time you caught his eye, he looked away, his expression unreadable.

The ball continued around you, the music swelling, the dancers twirling, but your thoughts were with Satoru. The joy that should have accompanied your engagement was tainted by the unresolved tension between you, and you couldn’t shake the feeling that something precious was slipping through your fingers. Nanami’s presence beside you was steady, his hand warm on yours, but it was Satoru’s absence—his emotional distance—that gnawed at your heart.

As the night wore on, you found yourself searching for moments when you could catch Satoru’s gaze, hoping to see some sign that he was still the cousin you had grown up with, the one who had always been by your side.

But each time, he remained distant, his walls firmly in place. The chasm between you seemed insurmountable, and as the ball continued, the realization that you might never bridge that gap settled heavily within you.

Yet, despite the ache in your chest, you knew that this night was a turning point, a moment that would define the course of your future. The ball was not just a celebration of your engagement; it was the beginning of a new chapter in your life.

But as you danced with Nanami, his presence comforting and reassuring, your thoughts kept drifting back to Satoru, the one person who should have been standing by your side, sharing in your happiness. Instead, he stood apart, a distant figure on the fringes of your new life, and the pain of that realization was almost more than you could bear.

With a deep breath and a determination to confront the situation, you made your way across the ballroom toward Satoru. The crowd parted slightly, and his gaze met yours as you approached, his dark glasses hiding his true emotions but his posture unmistakably stiff.

“Satoru, dearest cousin.” you began, your voice steady despite the fluttering in your chest. “I’ve been wanting to talk to you. I’m sorry for how things went the last time we spoke. I didn’t mean to defy you or hurt you.”

He regarded you for a moment, and then his expression softened slightly, though he remained guarded. “I’m sorry too, my lovely cousin.” he said, his voice low and sincere. “I let my frustrations get the better of me. It wasn’t fair to you. I only wanted what I thought was best.”

Before you could respond, Nanami approached, his presence a calming contrast to the tension between you and Satoru. He offered a warm smile to both of you and extended a hand in greeting. Nanami then shifts his face, looking towards your own cousin.

“Is everything alright?” Nanami asked, his tone gentle and concerned.

Satoru glanced at Nanami, then back at you, and after a brief pause, he nodded. “Yes, everything is fine, my lord. I was just about to make a toast in honor of the engagement.”

He signaled to the servants, who quickly moved to bring in bottles of wine and glasses. The murmur of the crowd grew as they sensed something significant was about to happen.

With a gracious nod, Satoru raised his glass, and the room fell into expectant silence. His gaze shifted between you and Nanami, and though he spoke with his usual composure, there was a sincerity in his tone that was hard to ignore.

“Ladies and gentlemen, my gracious lords and ladies.” Satoru began, his voice carrying through the ballroom. “Tonight, we celebrate not only the union of two distinguished families but also the beginning of a new chapter in the lives of these two wonderful people. To my cousin, the duchess, and to my lord count Nanami Kento, I offer my heartfelt congratulations.”

He turned to you and Nanami, his smile warm but tinged with an underlying complexity. “May your life together be filled with happiness and prosperity. May you find joy and support in one another through all the challenges and triumphs that lie ahead.”

The room erupted in applause, a cascade of sound that seemed to envelop you from all sides. The clinking of glasses followed, a symphony of celebration that filled the grand hall, yet in the midst of it all, your heart was racing with a blend of emotions you could barely contain.

Relief washed over you like a cool breeze, cutting through the tension that had been knotted in your chest for what felt like an eternity. The applause wasn’t just for the announcement of your engagement—it was for the moment of reconciliation that had just played out before everyone’s eyes.

Satoru’s gesture, though unexpected, had sent a ripple through the gathered guests. His choice to stand and raise his glass in a toast, his expression carefully composed but unmistakably sincere, was more than just a public acknowledgment of your engagement.

It was a sign—a signal that he was willing to accept your choice, even if it pained him to do so. For so long, the distance between you had been a source of quiet anguish, an unspoken rift that neither of you had known how to bridge. But in that moment, with everyone watching, Satoru had taken the first step toward closing that gap, and the weight of that gesture settled over you with a mix of gratitude and sadness.

You felt Nanami’s hand tighten around yours, the warmth of his touch grounding you amidst the swirl of emotions. When you looked up at him, his expression was calm, yet there was a depth in his eyes that spoke of an unspoken understanding.

He didn’t need to ask what you were feeling; he knew. He had always known. Nanami’s quiet strength, the steadiness that had drawn you to him in the first place, was your anchor in this moment. His support was unwavering, his presence a silent promise that he would stand by you through whatever came next.

The applause continued, but the world around you seemed to blur, the faces and voices fading into the background as you focused on the two men who meant the most to you—one by your side, offering you a future, and the other across the room, finally offering you his acceptance. There was a bittersweet quality to the moment, a recognition that while you were stepping into a new life with Nanami, something else was being left behind.

As you smiled and nodded in response to the well-wishes of the guests, the gratitude you felt wasn’t just for the applause or the approval of those around you. It was for the unexpected turn of events that had allowed a measure of peace to be restored between you and Satoru, even if things would never be quite the same as they once were.

The mix of relief and gratitude in your heart was tinged with a quiet resolve—to honor the connections that had brought you to this point and to move forward with grace, knowing that you were not alone in this journey.

In that moment, with Nanami’s hand in yours and Satoru’s gaze finally softened by acceptance, you allowed yourself to breathe, to feel the weight of the past lift just enough to let you take the next step forward. The path ahead was still uncertain, but with Nanami by your side and the lingering warmth of Satoru’s gesture in your heart, you felt ready to face whatever lay ahead.

“Thank you, Satoru." you said softly, raising your own glass in acknowledgment. “Your words mean a great deal to us.”

Satoru inclined his head slightly, acknowledging your gratitude, and then turned to mingle with other guests, leaving you and Nanami to share a moment of quiet reflection.

The evening continued with renewed energy, and as you danced with Nanami, you felt a sense of peace, knowing that despite the challenges, you were surrounded by people who cared for you and were willing to bridge the gaps that had formed.

As the night continued, the ball's festivities seemed to intensify, with guests dancing and chatting in high spirits. But amidst the celebration, you noticed that Nanami appeared increasingly pale and uncomfortable. His hand, which had been warm and reassuring in yours, grew cold, and he occasionally grimaced, as if battling an unseen pain.

Concerned, you guided him to a quieter corner of the ballroom, away from the crowd. “Kento, my love.....are you alright?” you asked, your voice filled with worry.

He tried to smile, but the effort was clearly painful. “It’s nothing, my darling.” he said, though his voice was strained. “I’ve just been feeling a bit unwell lately. It’s probably nothing.”

You helped him to a nearby chair, your hands trembling as you guided him down. But as soon as he sat, you noticed something terribly wrong. His face contorted with discomfort, his brows knitting together as a pained gasp escaped his lips.

His breathing grew shallow and labored, each breath a struggle that sent a jolt of fear through you. His hand moved to clutch his stomach, his fingers digging into the fabric of his coat as if trying to ward off an invisible agony. His skin glistened with sweat, and his once calm and steady demeanor was replaced by something raw and unsettling.

Before you could even react, his body suddenly slumped, going limp in the chair. The color drained from his face, his eyes fluttering shut as if the strength had been completely sapped from him. Panic surged through you like a bolt of lightning, your heart racing as you dropped to your knees beside him. “Kento!” you cried, your voice thick with fear, hands shaking as you desperately tried to rouse him. But he didn’t respond—his eyes remained closed, his body frighteningly still.

Frantically, you called out for help, your voice breaking as terror gripped you. The noise of the ballroom, once lively with chatter and laughter, fell into a stunned silence. The sudden shift in the atmosphere was palpable, as if the entire room had collectively held its breath, waiting to see what would happen next.

Satoru was among the first to arrive, his tall figure cutting through the crowd with an urgency that matched your own. His usual easygoing demeanor was nowhere to be seen; instead, his expression shifted from confusion to alarm as he took in the scene before him. His gaze darted between you and Nanami, the gravity of the situation sinking in as he knelt beside you, his own hands hovering over Nanami’s still form, unsure of what to do.

A doctor, who had been attending the event, quickly rushed over, pushing through the gathering crowd with a determined expression. You watched in desperate anticipation as the doctor knelt on Nanami’s other side, his fingers moving quickly to check for a pulse, to feel for any sign of life. His face grew increasingly grave as the seconds ticked by, his lips pressing into a thin line.

The minutes dragged on, each one feeling like an eternity as the doctor worked, his movements precise yet tinged with a growing sense of urgency. The room’s tension mirrored the heartache building within you, a crushing weight that threatened to overwhelm you. Every second that passed without a sign of improvement, every quiet murmur from the doctor that you couldn’t quite hear, only deepened the pit of dread in your stomach.

The once festive atmosphere of the ball had been completely shattered, replaced by a chilling silence that seemed to echo your worst fears. The world around you seemed to fade away, leaving only the cold, terrifying reality that the man you loved was slipping away, and there was nothing you could do to stop it.

Finally, the doctor straightened, his expression sorrowful. “I’m afraid there’s nothing more I can do, your grace.” he said quietly. “Count Nanami is dead.”

The words struck you like a physical blow, leaving you momentarily paralyzed as their meaning sank in. It was as if the ground beneath your feet had been pulled out from under you, and you were left to freefall into a void of disbelief and despair.

You stared at Nanami’s lifeless form, his face pale and still, the strong and steady man you had known reduced to this fragile, unresponsive shell. It didn’t seem real—couldn’t be real. The vibrant world around you blurred, the colors bleeding into one another as your vision wavered. The music that had once filled the ballroom, the laughter that had echoed off the walls, now seemed like a distant, haunting memory from another life.

The sounds around you dulled, as if you were underwater, the cacophony of voices and gasps of disbelief fading into a muffled, indistinct hum. The air felt thick, suffocating, as if it were pressing down on your chest, making it difficult to breathe.

The reality of the situation was too much to comprehend, too overwhelming to process. Nanami, who had been so full of life just moments ago, was now gone. The finality of it was like a weight crushing your heart, and you felt as if you were being dragged into a darkness from which there was no escape.

Satoru placed a comforting hand on your shoulder, a gesture meant to offer solace, but it only deepened the emptiness that had settled in your chest. His touch, usually so warm and reassuring, felt hollow and distant, as if even he couldn’t bridge the chasm that had opened up between the life you had known and the unbearable reality you now faced.

You didn’t look up at him, couldn’t bear to see the reflection of your own grief in his eyes. Instead, you remained fixated on Nanami, your mind desperately trying to reject the truth, to find some way to undo what had just happened.

The guests, who had been caught up in the joy and excitement of the evening, were now stunned into silence. Their expressions of shock and somber concern mirrored the confusion and heartache you felt. The whispers began to spread through the room, a low murmur that grew in intensity as people tried to make sense of the tragedy that had unfolded before them.

The once celebratory atmosphere had been shattered, replaced by a palpable sense of unease and sorrow. The collective joy that had filled the ballroom had evaporated, leaving behind only the cold, stark reality of loss.

As you stood there, your mind spinning and your heart breaking, the world around you continued to move forward, indifferent to the pain you were experiencing. The echoes of the music and laughter that had once filled the room now seemed like cruel reminders of a happiness that had been irrevocably taken from you.

The life you had imagined with Nanami Kento, the future you had so carefully envisioned, was gone in an instant, leaving you adrift in a sea of grief and uncertainty. Nothing was left behind.

You clutched Nanami’s hand, tears streaming down your face. “No, cousin....I....I cannot....” you whispered to him. “This can’t be happening. He was just here. We were about to start our life together.”

Satoru’s voice was gentle but firm. “We need to get you out of here, you cannot stay here.” he said, guiding you away from the scene with a sense of urgency. “Come with me.”

As you were led out of the ballroom, your mind was a whirlwind of grief and disbelief. The promise of a future with Nanami had been abruptly stolen from you, leaving you with nothing but the crushing weight of loss. The vibrant night that had once held so much promise now felt like a cruel mockery, its joy eclipsed by the shadow of tragedy.

✧❁❁❁✧✿✿✿✧❁❁❁✧

YOU COULD NOT COPE WELL. Months had passed since Nanami’s tragic death, and despite the time that had elapsed, the ache in your heart remained as fresh as ever. The estate, once filled with the excitement of the engagement and the promise of a future, now seemed like a silent, mournful shell. Each day felt like an endless repetition of grief, with memories of Nanami lingering painfully in every corner.

Satoru, your cousin and now your closest family, had tried to coax you back to some semblance of normalcy. He encouraged you to attend social events, to engage with the world beyond the estate’s walls. But each time, you found yourself unable to muster the strength or the will. The world outside felt alien and unforgiving, a stark contrast to the warmth and hope you had once known with Nanami.

One evening, after yet another failed attempt to persuade you to join him for a dinner gathering, Satoru’s patience finally wore thin. His frustration, masked for so long, burst forth in an outburst that left you reeling.

“Why can’t you just move on?” he demanded, his voice sharp. “It’s been months. You can’t spend the rest of your life hiding away in this grief-stricken state.”

The words stung, and you felt a surge of anger and sadness collide within you. “You don’t understand,” you cried, tears streaming down your face. “You didn’t lose him. You don’t know what it’s like to have everything ripped away like that.”

Satoru’s expression softened, a flicker of regret in his eyes as he saw the depth of your pain. The harshness in his voice faded as he approached you, his demeanor shifting to one of concern and gentleness.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly, his voice now filled with an earnestness that cut through the earlier anger. “I didn’t mean to be so harsh. I’ve been trying to help, but I know I can’t truly understand your pain.”

He reached out, gently taking your hand and guiding you to a nearby armchair. His touch was soothing, a stark contrast to the emotional turmoil you were feeling. “Let me help you,” he said softly, kneeling beside you. “I know this is hard, but you don’t have to go through it alone.”

Satoru’s presence was a grounding force, his usual aloofness replaced by a sincere attempt to offer comfort. He poured a drink from a decanter on a nearby table, holding it out to you with a reassuring smile. “Here,” he said, “a little something to help calm your nerves.”

You accepted the drink, your hands trembling slightly. As you took a sip, the warmth of the liquor began to ease the tight knot of grief in your chest. Satoru settled beside you, his presence a steady anchor in the storm of your emotions.

He placed a comforting hand on your shoulder, the gesture tender and supportive. “I know it’s not the same as having Nanami here,” he said quietly, “but I’m here for you. We can get through this together, even if it takes time.”

You leaned into him, finding solace in his steady presence. The tears continued to flow, but amidst the sorrow, there was a small flicker of hope—hope that perhaps, with time and the support of those who cared for you, the heavy burden of grief might one day become a little lighter.

Satoru stayed with you, his hand resting gently on your back as you cried. In that moment, his support and understanding offered a sliver of comfort, a reminder that even in the depths of loss, there could be moments of compassion and connection.

The truth began to unravel slowly, almost imperceptibly. You had been grieving, struggling to find any semblance of normalcy, and trying to rebuild a life that seemed forever altered by Nanami’s death. Satoru, in his way, had been both a source of comfort and a persistent presence, urging you toward recovery. His support, once reassuring, began to feel increasingly intrusive, as though his concern masked something darker.

One evening, as you were going through some old letters and personal effects, a hidden compartment in one of Nanami’s personal belongings caught your attention. Inside, you found a stack of letters and documents that seemed out of place. As you sifted through them, a particular letter stood out—a letter from Nanami to you, written shortly before his death. Its contents were cryptic and filled with a sense of unease that made your heart race.

The letter spoke of suspicions of being watched, of a growing sense of danger, and a mention of a mysterious figure who had been lingering in the shadows. That evil forces were coming, investigated by the Crown. That he was a blue shadow, a dark shadow. You put the letter down, your chest tightening.

The pieces of the puzzle began to click together in your mind, and a chilling realization dawned on you. Satoru, he...he was called the Queen's Blue Ghost. That was what he does for the Crown. You bit the lower edges of your lip. You could feel your legs losing strength as you grabbed the table to balance yourself.

You shake your head, almost as though you were in denial. It can't be. Your cousin....He would not. He promised, that he would always be good to you. To everyone. He, he can't be.

Desperate for answers, you confronted Satoru, your heart pounding with a mix of fear and anger. You cornered him in his private study, your voice trembling as you demanded the truth. He raised his head and smiled at you. But quickly, that retreated the moment he saw that look on your face.

"Cousin, is something wrong? Dearest one, you are agitated. You must—"

“Satoru, please.” you said, trying to keep your composure. “I require your honesty. Please. I need to know the truth."

"Whatever about? I have always been honest with you."

"Not on everything. And you know this. I know this."

"Dearest cousin, calm down—"

"What really happened to Nanami Kento? About the others. How many? How many others did you hurt?"

Satoru’s face, usually so controlled, betrayed a flicker of something dark and unsettling. He stepped closer to you, his eyes gleaming with an intensity that sent shivers down your spine. The moment you said his name, the moment it all snapped. You could feel your heart pound as he corners you, traps you, in his vicinity. You swallow the bile down your throat.

“The truth, you say?” he replied, his voice smooth but laced with a dangerous edge. “I’m afraid you might not like it, cousin. I fear I might upset you. And....that is out of the question."

You took a step back, the fear overwhelming you. “What did you do? I know you had something to do with it. Did you poison him?”

A cold smile spread across Satoru’s lips. “You’ve been more perceptive than I gave you credit for,” he said softly. “Yes, I was responsible. But it was all for you, my dear cousin.”

The words struck you like a blow. “For me? What are you talking about?”

Satoru’s gaze softened, but the malice beneath it was unmistakable. “I’ve always been in love with you. Even when we were children, I was captivated by you. Everything I did, every action I took, was driven by my desire to have you for myself. And I do not care, how many suffers for it. That lowly count, those pesky tattletales. I do not care, cousin. As long as I have you. ”

The enormity of his confession hit you with a force that left you reeling. “You killed my Kento… just to have me? Do you....do you know how derange that is? How could you? How could you do this to me?”

He stepped closer, his voice a whisper that was both chilling and intimate. “No one else could ever be right for you but me. I couldn’t bear the thought of anyone else taking you away from me. Nanami was an obstacle, and I removed him to clear the path for us.”

Horrified and desperate, you tried to flee, but Satoru’s reflexes were swift. He grabbed your arm with a strength that was both frightening and unyielding. You struggled against him, but his grip only tightened as he pulled you close. Your heart pounded, and tears streamed down your face as you realized the extent of his obsession.

“Let me go!” you cried, your voice breaking with desperation. “I can’t be with you. Not after this.”

Satoru held you tightly, his arms encircling you in a possessive embrace. “No,” he said firmly, his voice unyielding. “You belong with me. I’ve waited too long for this moment, and I won’t let anyone—least of all you—deny what’s meant to be.”

His words, though tender in their own twisted way, were laced with a darkness that left you feeling trapped and helpless. You could see the unshakable resolve in his eyes, the certainty that he was the only one who could provide the life he believed you deserved.

“I did it all for you, dearest one.” Satoru continued, his tone a mix of reverence and obsession. “Everything I did, every sacrifice, was to ensure that we could be together. You’ll see, in time, that no one else can care for you the way I do.”

It was as though for a moment, your memories echoed. That boy Satoru was, the distant and aloof boy you had looked up to, chased after — he was not there anymore. All that’s left is a monster. A monster who believed that loving you meant hurting you. Tears fell as you remember the boy he was. 

The large, sunlit gardens were a backdrop to a series of memories, each one highlighting the contrast between your vibrant, spirited nature and Satoru’s reserved, emotionless disposition. 

You were only six years old when you first encountered Satoru’s indifference. He was sitting alone in a secluded corner of the garden, surrounded by books and sketches, seemingly lost in a world of his own. His silver hair gleamed in the sunlight, but his eyes, hidden behind dark glasses even then, were as cold and distant as the surrounding shadows.

Despite his aloofness, you were determined to reach out to him. You approached him with a bright smile, holding a daisy you had picked from the garden. “Satoru,” you called out, “would you like to play with me?”

He glanced up briefly, his expression unreadable. “I’m busy,” he replied curtly, his voice lacking warmth.

Undeterred, you sat down next to him, placing the daisy on his sketchpad. “But it’s such a nice day! Don’t you want to come outside and enjoy it?”

He stared at the daisy, then at you, a flicker of something—perhaps curiosity or irritation—crossing his face. “I don’t see the point in playing,” he said, turning his attention back to his sketches.

You persisted, your enthusiasm unwavering. “It’s not just about playing. It’s about having fun and being together. We can make up a story about the garden and pretend we’re explorers!”

“I don’t want to.” He whispered.

You pout. “But that’s no fun!”

As a young girl, you were determined to break through Satoru’s emotional barriers. One sunny afternoon in the grand estate’s garden, you devised a simple, yet heartfelt plan. You had spent the morning picking a variety of wildflowers, their vibrant colors brightening your small wicker basket. You were excited to surprise Satoru, who was once again immersed in his books and sketches in his usual secluded spot.

The garden was alive with the hum of bees and the soft rustling of leaves, and the sunlight filtered through the trees, casting playful shadows on the ground. You spotted Satoru sitting against a large oak tree, his focus intensely fixed on his work. With a smile, you approached him quietly, careful not to disturb his concentration.

“Satoru,” you called softly, holding up the flower crown you had made. It was a simple creation, woven from a mix of daisies, buttercups, and clover. The flowers were arranged in a delicate, colorful circle, their petals still fresh and dewy from the morning sun.

He looked up from his sketchpad, his expression as indifferent as ever, but a hint of curiosity sparkled in his eyes. “What’s that?” he asked, his tone more inquisitive than dismissive.

You knelt beside him, holding the flower crown out. “It’s a gift for you.” you said cheerfully. “I made it just for you. I thought you might like to wear it.”

Satoru’s usual aloofness seemed to falter as he took in the sight of the flower crown. There was a brief flicker of surprise in his eyes, a momentary break in his emotional armor. He looked at the crown, then back at you, clearly unsure of how to react.

Without waiting for his response, you gently placed the flower crown on his head, adjusting it carefully so that it sat comfortably. Your fingers brushed against his hair, and you beamed at him with an innocent, genuine smile.

“There!” you said, stepping back to admire your handiwork. “Now you have a crown fit for a king.”

Satoru’s initial reaction was one of shock, his mouth slightly agape as he touched the delicate flowers with hesitant fingers. The corners of his mouth twitched, and for a brief moment, you saw a rare, genuine smile break through his usually stoic expression. It was a fleeting, but unmistakable, expression of delight.

He looked up at you, his eyes softer than they had ever been. “You made this for me?” he asked, his voice betraying a hint of warmth that was seldom present.

“Yes, cousin!” you replied, your eyes sparkling with happiness. “I wanted to do something nice for you. I thought it might brighten your day.”

Satoru’s gaze lingered on you, and you could see the conflicted emotions playing across his face. The flower crown, so simple and yet so heartfelt, seemed to have touched him in a way you hadn’t anticipated. He looked away, his expression growing contemplative.

“It’s… nice.” he said quietly, a hint of genuine appreciation in his tone. “Thank you.”

You smiled, pleased with his reaction. “I’m glad you like it, cousin!” you said, reaching out to gently touch the crown. “I hope it makes you smile.”

As you walked away, you felt a sense of accomplishment. You had managed to break through Satoru’s emotional wall, if only for a moment, and the sight of him wearing the flower crown was a memory you would cherish. Little did you know that this simple act of kindness would become a significant, albeit bittersweet, part of your lives.

The contrast between the boy who had once been so distant and the man who now held you captive was stark and painful. The memories of your childhood—the times you had tried so hard to reach out to him, to bridge the gap that had always seemed to exist between you—now echoed in your mind like a cruel mockery.

Those moments, once filled with innocent hope and longing, now served as a haunting reminder of how drastically things had deteriorated. The boy who had seemed unreachable, who you had thought might one day come around, had instead grown into someone who was both terrifyingly close and dangerously unrecognizable.

As you struggled in his arms, the harsh reality of your situation became all too clear. Satoru’s love, which had once been a source of warmth and comfort, had twisted into something dark and all-consuming. The affection that had once made you feel safe was now a prison, its walls closing in around you with every passing second.

The realization that his love had warped into an obsession sent chills down your spine, and the fear that gripped your heart was unlike anything you had ever known. You had always known Satoru was different, that there was something in him that set him apart, but never had you imagined that his feelings for you could turn into something so possessive, so terrifying.

His grip on you was unrelenting, his arms a cage that you knew you could not break free from. No matter how hard you struggled, how desperately you tried to push him away, his hold only tightened. There was no trace of the gentle boy you had known in his eyes now—only the cold, determined gaze of a man who would not be denied.

As he held you close, you could feel the weight of his obsession pressing down on you, suffocating you with its intensity. The warmth that had once drawn you to him had been replaced by a chilling darkness, and the love that had once been your sanctuary had become the source of your greatest fear.

A profound sense of betrayal and loss settled over you, heavy and unyielding. The man who had once been your closest confidant, your protector, had now become the architect of your greatest sorrow.

The trust you had placed in him, the bond you had thought unbreakable, had been shattered beyond repair. The future you had dreamed of, filled with hope and happiness, was now overshadowed by the bleak reality of his possessive love.

In that moment, as you were held captive in his arms, you understood with a heartbreaking clarity that the Satoru you had known was gone, replaced by someone you could no longer recognize.

The boy who had once been distant, yet filled with potential, had become a man whose love had turned into a dark obsession, and the life you had once envisioned was now lost to the shadows of his twisted affection.

“I waited so long for this day, to have you free from the nuns, from the watchful eyes of the church, from anyone who would keep you from me." He whispered. “And I had to deal with that pest, that lowly pathetic count. All of those who wanted to steal you from me!”

The air in the room thickened as he stepped closer, his breath brushing against your skin. You knew what he wanted, what he had always wanted. It was written in the way he looked at you, the way his fingers twitched as if resisting the urge to reach out and claim you right then and there.

But you were no longer a child, no longer the naive girl who would blindly follow where he led. You were a Duchess now, with power of your own, and you would not be so easily consumed by the flames of his obsession.

Yet, as his hand finally found its way to your chin, tilting your face up to meet his gaze, you couldn’t help but feel the pull. The twisted, sick desire that mirrored his own, the yearning to give in to the darkness that had always lurked beneath the surface of your soul.

"You will be mine, cousin." Gojo whispered, his lips hovering above yours. "Whether you like it or not."

You were drawn to him, as you had been as a child. The way he moved, the way he spoke—it He reached for you, his hands rough yet strangely tender as they cupped your face, his grip firm and unyielding.

Before you could react, his lips crashed against yours with a force that stole your breath. You struggled, tried to push him away, but he was stronger—much stronger. Your fists pounded weakly against his chest, a futile attempt to break free from the iron hold he had on you.

Tears welled up in your eyes, spilling down your cheeks as you felt the helplessness of the situation, the weight of his obsession bearing down on you. But even as your mind screamed in protest, there was a part of you that responded to his touch, a dark, twisted part that had long been buried beneath years of repression.

His hands roamed over your body with a fervor that mirrored the storm brewing inside you, fingers tracing the curves of your form as if memorizing every inch. He pulled you closer, his embrace tightening until there was no space left between your bodies, the heat of his desire searing through your clothes, igniting a fire deep within you.

You hated yourself for the way your body betrayed you, for the way your heart raced not only with fear but with a sick anticipation. You could feel the hunger in his touch, the same hunger that had lurked within you, hidden and denied for so long. 

Gojo’s lips trailed down your neck, leaving a burning path in their wake, his breath hot against your skin. His words were a whispered promise, laced with a dark possessiveness that sent shivers down your spine.

"You can’t escape me, cousin." he murmured against your throat, his voice thick with desire. "I’ve waited too long, dreamed of this moment for too many nights. You’re mine now, and I’ll never let you go."

His hands slipped beneath the fabric of your dress, fingertips grazing the sensitive skin beneath as he explored with an urgency that left no room for doubt. You gasped, the sound caught between a sob and something else, something far more dangerous.

As his touch grew bolder, you realized with a sickening clarity that no matter how hard you fought, no matter how many tears you shed, you were losing yourself to him. The line between love and hate, between desire and fear, blurred until it was impossible to tell where one ended and the other began.

Gojo pulled back just enough to look into your tear-streaked face, his eyes darkened with a twisted satisfaction. His thumb brushed away the tears that still fell, a cruel smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

"Don’t cry, my dearest." he whispered, his voice laced with mockery and something softer, something almost tender. "You’ll learn to love this, to love me, just as I’ve always loved you."

And as his lips claimed yours once more, the last vestiges of your resistance crumbled, swallowed whole by the darkness that he had nurtured within you, until all that was left was the Duchess who belonged to the Duke—no matter the cost.

[devieuls]

ˋ Haunted .✵

Qimir x Ex Jedi Fem Reader < SERIES >

Warning of the Serie: MDNI. Sith Lord Qimir x Fem ex Jedi Reader.

(during the series)

SMUT: Dirty Talk; Fangs; Bites; fingering; Blood; Spit; Jealousy and Possessiveness; Foreplay; violence; Swearing; Teasing; Unprotected Sex; betrayal; slut shaming; oral sex; dacryphilia; outdoorsex; jealousy BDSM. Dom Qimir ANGST: toxic relationship, self-harm, derealization, suffering, Requited / Unrequited love, prejudices, bullying and insults. There will be flashbacks in this series

Aged characters: Qimir 35 y.o / You 22 y.o.

Synopsis: In a twisted web of light and darkness, two opposites are facing each other, dancing on a thin thread called fate. What happens when light and darkness dance on a wire called destiny, two eternal opposites that inevitably attract each other and create something perfectly powerful and chaotic to unite the power of two in one? The answer emerges in a journey of tension and attraction, where yin and yang discover that their opposition is nothing but a reflection of a deep and unexpected connection. This is the story of how destruction is akin to peace, how the moon one day decided to save the sun, how darkness is not so dark and evil so bad. A journey towards change and desire, where opposing forces merge into a future that no one could have predicted.

(Following some events of the series)

Lenght: 4.9k

TW: THE SERIES WILL BE FULL OF DELICATE TOPICS!

⇠ Previous chapter ✵ Next Chapter ⇢

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Chapter I: The Abyss of Temptation

(The shuttle landed silently on the verdant surface of the planet Khofar, a wild jewel among the worlds of the Outer Rim Territories. As the hatch opened, a wave of humidity enveloped the Jedi, carrying with it the intense scent of damp earth and the exotic fragrance of the lush vegetation. The forest stretched out before them like an endless sea of green, where the trees rose like ancient towers, their massive trunks covered in layers of gleaming moss. The thick, intertwined canopies above them created a natural roof, allowing only faint rays of light to filter through, speckling the ground with golden patches. Khofar was a living, wild planet, and they were only temporary visitors, intruders in an ancient and balanced ecosystem. Every rustle among the leaves, every distant call, was a warning. A premonition or prelude to what the day would bring.)

If only you had known in advance that your teammates would die one by one before your eyes as you returned from the hut where Jedi Master Kelnacca lived, you would have thought twice before agreeing to the mission. You had fought against the Sith who killed your friends, battling with anger and bitterness, in a grief too fresh to fully comprehend. In the end, the pain of your body hitting the hard ground was nothing compared to the searing agony in your side from a nearly fatal wound. Your vision began to blur, and you could only see footsteps approaching before everything faded to black.

You awoke slowly, as if emerging from a hibernation that had lasted for years. Your eyes opened with difficulty, greeted by a nearly suffocating gloom. The dim light of a few torches was the only source of illumination within what seemed to be a cave. The rocky walls, uneven and cold, seemed to loom over you. You felt weak, every movement was a struggle, and a dull pain throbbed in your side. You tried to sit up, but your injured side forced you back down, a hiss of pain escaping your lips. You brought a trembling hand to the wound and felt the rough texture of the bandages wrapped around the torn flesh. Despite the agony, the wound had apparently been cleaned and treated with care. Someone had taken the time to tend to it, to ensure it would heal, though it was still far from being fully recovered. You looked around, trying to piece together fragments of memory that crowded your mind. You remembered your friends' deaths, Sol screaming, your lightsaber changing color, and a battle. You recalled the fierce confrontation with the Sith, your fall, and the darkness that enveloped you. But beyond that, nothing. You had no idea how you had ended up in that cave, nor who had brought you there.

Your heart raced, panic beginning to seep into your thoughts. Were you a prisoner? And if so, who had shown such mercy to tend to your wounds? The most unsettling question was the most obvious: why hadn't the Sith eliminated you when he had the chance? A shadowy thought slithered into your mind, and the face of the Sith echoed in the depths of your being. The idea that he might have been the one to save you, to care for you, was as chilling as it was improbable. Yet, you couldn’t shake the possibility from your mind, no matter how absurd it seemed.

You dragged yourself out with great effort, and through the blinding light, you saw the silhouette of a man, barely identifiable. You followed him stealthily, still holding your side and trying to endure the pain from the wound. For a moment, you lost sight of him, only to find him again shortly after, immersed in a pool of water in what seemed to be a coastal area with black sand you couldn’t identify. Your eyes fell on the figure facing away from you, submerged in the water, his muscles relaxed, his raven hair wet and slicked back. To your eyes, the man seemed completely unaware of your presence, though he appeared to have a vigilant awareness of the surrounding area. You moved silently among the rocks and vegetation, observing your target until your gaze fell upon a pile of clothes near the shore, where the deactivated lightsaber lay. With swift and somewhat precise movements, you approached the lightsaber. Tension mounted inside you as you crouched to pick it up, aware that any sound could betray your presence. You grasped the metallic object and assumed an attack position as the man began to speak, still with his back turned while he calmly washed himself.

"how does it feel?" he said, turning towards you. You recognized him immediately. The mere sight of his face sparked rage within you. "Pleasant, don't you think?" His tone was a piercing screech to your ears. You gritted your teeth, not responding, remaining in your attack stance. "Your stance is good despite the wound on your side, but your elbows are a real mess. I had my doubts when we fought last time, and now I see why it was so easy to defeat you. Your elbows are too low; you should keep one higher, you know?" he continued, observing you. "…To block more quickly and strike with more precision." He took a brief pause. "Since you don’t know how to use the Force, you should learn to block better," he concluded, stepping out of the water, now only a few steps away from you.

"Don’t move," your stance changed, now aiming the off lightsaber directly at him. Your gaze was sharp and cold. "If you don’t want to join me, at least let me put my clothes on" he said. You took a slight step back, allowing him to exit the water. You swallowed, trying not to let your gaze fall on the naked, wet defined body of the man, keeping in your mind that he was your enemy. You began to ponder whether it was appropriate to attack him now. But it was neither Jedi-like to strike a defenseless man nor to act in such a dishonorable manner. "Surely, you’re wondering if it’s honorable to kill me like this," he began, his tone different from the one used in battle. You swallowed. Your gaze fell for a second on his chest, and you cursed yourself for the terrible idea. "In battle it’s justified, but days later isn’t it revenge?" he asked with a sarcastic tone, as if he already knew the answer. "And now you wonder if I can read your mind… and the answer is… no. Anger betrays your thoughts" he continued, dressing himself as if you weren’t pointing a weapon at him. His gaze seemed oddly gentle, more delicate, almost innocent. So much so that he almost didn’t seem like the same man who had killed seven Jedi just a few nights before.

"Why did you bring me here? Why didn’t you kill me?" you asked, watching him sternly, uncertain of what to do next. "Am I your prisoner?" "Prisoner? You’re the one with a weapon" he said with an overly calm look and an obvious tone in his voice, as he walked back towards the cave, passing by you without fear. You followed him, teeth clenched. You wanted revenge on this man, but what a miserable person you would be to strike him from behind while he was unarmed. "If you keep me here, Sol will come for you. He’s found me before, and he’s powerful with the Force." Your voice sounded threatening, though not as forceful as you’d hoped due to the stabbing pain in your side. The man turned and looked at you with a puzzled expression. "Do you think he’s powerful with the Force? It’s you who’s powerful with the Force, y/n. Someone should teach you," he said. You were stunned for a few seconds, as he knew your name. To you, he was a stranger, but you didn’t seem to be as unknown to him. The stranger walked back into the cave, and you followed him, confused. "In what way am I powerful with the Force? You should know it’s something to be practiced. If you don’t train it, it fades" you said, your voice still sharp as you scrutinized the man who seemed so at ease in your presence. You had long abandoned being a Jedi, retreating shortly after becoming officially part of the Order. If it hadn’t been for your sister leaving a trail of blood wherever she went, you would have stayed far away from that world. You had lost every Force ability, not having practiced it for many years. You vaguely remembered how to use a lightsaber, thanks to Sol, who had helped you recall the skills during the time you spent together, training with his young Padawan Jecki.

The stranger was seated next to what appeared to be a small campfire, while you kept your distance. He tasted the food he was cooking. You didn’t trust him; something about him made you suspicious, aside from the fact that he had decimated your team. "You know… The Jedi teach that there’s only one way to access the Force, and if you don’t do it their way, it fades. But there’s another way," he said gently, turning his gaze toward you. "Beneath the surface of consciousness, there are powerful emotions." "Anger. Fear. Loss…" he slowly mentioned the emotions you had learned to suppress, as you had been taught in the Order during your time as a Jedi Padawan. "…desire." The last emotion was spoken almost in a whisper as he took on a more serious and penetrating expression. You swallowed, observing him with disdain, though you subconsciously held your breath as he listed the emotions. "That’s the path to the dark side," the words came out acridly from your mouth.

The man’s expression darkened for a moment, but he quickly masked it with a mocking smile. "semantics… You Jedi are so closed-minded," he replied, turning back to the fire, stirring the stew he was cooking. "The light side isn’t the only way to access the Force. The dark side… amplifies emotions. It’s just another way to access the Force. A way… to freedom." His convincing tone almost seemed reasonable, though it was contrary to your way of thinking. "You killed my friends," your gaze grew even sharper and more bitter, as your hand still gripped the hilt of the deactivated lightsaber, seeking comfort in the familiar cold metal. The Sith’s words were like poison seeping into your mind, exploiting the insecurities you had always tried to suppress. "Friends? That’s what you call people who come to seek you only in moments of need and then ignore your existence?" His voice was laced with a mix of disdain and feigned compassion. Every word from this man was a blade sinking into your soul, touching raw nerves you had tried to ignore. You had been trained to combat fear, anger, desire—all emotions that, if left unchecked, could lead you down the dark path. But at that moment, you felt the internal storm growing, fueled by suffering and loss, a mourning.

"War isn’t pretty, y/n, sometimes…" he began, his voice dropping to a near-whisper as he stood up, beginning to walk toward you with determined steps, never breaking eye contact. "Sacrifices must be made for a greater good." He stopped just inches from you, his penetrating gaze studying you with a mix of cynicism and desire, as if challenging you to contradict him. Every fiber of his being radiated an irresistible force, a magnetism that seemed to envelop him like a shadow. He leaned slightly toward you, his warm breath brushing against your skin as his lips dangerously neared your ear. "Your friends," he whispered with a cold, almost contemptuous tone, "were just collateral damage." His words were like sharp knives—cutting and relentless—but the seductive tone with which he spoke betrayed an unsettling intimacy, as if he were confiding a dark secret that only you could understand.

The stranger leaned back slightly, just enough to meet your gaze. His dark eyes, deep as an abyss, stared at you with an intensity that seemed to penetrate directly into your soul. His face was close, too close, and his expression was serious, almost sorrowful, but there was no trace of remorse—only a dark understanding. "Why do you love people who can only go so far?" His voice dropped further, becoming a near-confidential whisper. "Who can’t go as deep as you can?" His gaze was intense, his eyes locked onto yours with an expression that seemed to reveal far more than his words had. There was a hidden desire, a need struggling to surface, but the man skillfully masked it, maintaining a subtle balance between cynicism and seduction.

You held your breath, feeling the weight of his words and his proximity. You knew that behind those words lay a darkness trying to corrupt you, but his allure was dangerously real. Your mind was conflicted, torn between repulsion at the Sith’s cynicism and the irresistible magnetism surrounding him. The man gave you a slight smile, a smile that never quite reached his eyes, as he pulled back just a few centimeters, leaving you teetering between temptation and inner struggle. "Maybe, y/n," he added in a mellifluous voice, "you’re destined for something more… something greater… something that I can show you." "I’m not my sister. I’m not so easily corrupted," you said, looking him straight in the eyes, trying to maintain control over yourself. Every fiber of your being struggled to suppress the tumultuous emotions the stranger had tried to awaken in you. Your heart pounded loudly, betraying you, but your face remained impassive, covered by a studied veil of disgust. With a slow, deliberate motion, you took a step back, putting distance between you, your gaze charged with superiority and defiance.

Qimir observed you with an impassive expression, but behind his dark eyes was growing interest, a sort of admiration for your resilience. To him, you were not like the other Jedi he had encountered, too weak or easily swayed. In you, he saw a potential acolyte, someone with an inner strength that could be nurtured and guided toward an even greater power. A subtle smile appeared on his lips, a nearly imperceptible curve that betrayed his pleasure at seeing you so determined. "You’re not like your sister, that’s true," he admitted with a tone that seemed both a compliment and a challenge. He took a step toward you, closing the space between you once more, but this time with an even more calculated calm, like a hunter who knows its prey. "But don’t mistake your determination for invulnerability," he continued, his voice soft and sharp as a blade. "The force you suppress within you, the force you’ve learned to stifle, is what could make you great—much greater than the Jedi could ever imagine. I see in you a potential that goes beyond the limitations of their dogma, and that is what frightens them." He stopped just a few steps from you, his gaze locked on yours, trying to pierce through the mask you had erected. "I’m not here to corrupt you," he whispered, his voice almost persuasive. "I’m here to offer you a choice, a path that the Jedi have always denied you. A road to a freedom you don’t yet know." You felt a shiver run down your spine, but you refused to show any weakness to him.

"I don’t need your freedom," you replied coldly, your voice steady despite the internal turmoil. "Your whispers don’t touch me. I know who I am and what I represent." "So sure of yourself" he murmured, with a tone that seemed to appreciate your determination. "But what do you truly represent, y/n? A Jedi struggling against her own nature, stifling the potential that could make her truly powerful? Oh… perhaps I should say, ex-Jedi?" he asked with ironic amusement, towering over your figure. You clenched your teeth, pointing the hilt of the deactivated lightsaber at his stomach.

He tilted his head slightly, amused, his gaze growing more penetrating as he sought to reach that part of you he knew existed—the part that thirsted for knowledge, power, something more. “You feel the Force, you perceive it in ways that even the Jedi cannot understand. And you know there is a greater, deeper power calling you. It is not betrayal to explore that possibility. It is… evolution.” His words, spoken with such conviction, seemed to echo in the cave, breaking through the barriers you had erected to protect yourself. You raised your lightsaber to meet the man's neck. “Do it… light it” he ordered, his tone of challenge making your blood boil. The Sith, on the other hand, seemed delighted by your anger, his sharp and contemptuous smile only fueling the tension. Qimir merely tilted his head slightly to the side, offering his neck completely to you, his penetrating gaze fixed on the lightsaber you pointed at him, waiting for the moment you would decide to ignite it.

“A Jedi… does not attack the unarmed" you said through gritted teeth, your voice a murmur of frustration and determination. Your mind was a tumult of emotions, but your will to remain true to your principles was steadfast. “Do you still think you’re a Jedi?” he asked, his voice low and enveloping, almost hypnotic. “Don’t you remember how your lightsaber changed color the last time? Do you still believe you must adhere to a code you’re questioning within yourself?” Those words hit like a punch to the stomach, evoking images you would have preferred to forget. The blade of your lightsaber, once glowing a pure blue, had trembled, taking on red hues like those of the man before you. You took a step back, your heart racing, desperately trying to put space between you and that voice which seemed to read into you with ruthless precision. But the man gave you no respite. His hand moved with surprising speed, gripping your arm in a gentle yet firm hold. His fingers closed around your wrist, not enough to hurt, but enough to keep you from withdrawing the saber from his neck. The contrast between the contained strength of his touch and the relaxed calm of his face left you breathless.

His penetrating gaze was fixed on your eyes, a subtle yet relentless challenge. “You know yourself that after what’s happened you couldn’t return to the Jedi even if you wanted to,” he whispered, his tone charming and confident, as if he had already won this silent battle. “Sol has seen it, don’t believe that after succumbing to rage and revenge you can return to a position that no longer belongs to you.” You felt trapped, not so much by his hand holding you but by the words resonating inside you. His words seemed to challenge every certainty you had until that moment. Every fiber of your being wanted to reject him, but there was something in his tone, in the way he looked at you, that made you doubt, even if just for a moment. Qimir moved closer, his warm breath against your skin, each movement calculated with lethal precision. “It’s not a matter of principles, y/n,” he continued, his tone now almost seductive. “That pain, that anger… this is what you are.” Your breath grew irregular, your heart pounding in your chest as you struggled to maintain control. “Let me go.” you threatened, your voice a low growl, but you knew there was a shadow of hesitation you couldn’t hide.

“Sol saw it… the Jedi saw it” he continued, his tone now softer but laden with cruel truth. “And for that, they will throw you away, again.” His piercing gaze cut into you, as your eyes took on an expression of anger and fear at his words. You felt his words like a sharp blade piercing through your defenses, and your gaze hardened, but you couldn’t hide the flicker of fear in your eyes. The fear that, deep down, he might be right. The fear that your Order, those you would give your life to protect, might indeed see you as a threat, something to be eliminated. The Sith sensed that shift within you, and his gaze became even more penetrating, probing every corner of your mind. It was as if he could see every weakness, every hidden thought, and he used them with a terrifying skill. “You can’t hide from what you are, y/n. The dark side isn’t a weakness… it’s your strength. And you know it.” You gritted your teeth, disgust and anger mixing into an explosive blend that pushed you closer to the edge. He seemed to know exactly which buttons to press; every word, every look was a sharp blade striking at your raw nerves. The tension inside you grew, turning into a knot that threatened to snap. Until you could no longer hold it back, and it was in that moment that you ignited the lightsaber, the glowing blade just a breath away from his neck. “It won’t be like that,” you hissed, your voice barely above a whisper, desperately trying to stay calm, though your eyes betrayed the mask of confidence you wore. “I will not succumb to the dark side.”

The man remained still, his mocking smile slowly widening as his eyes stayed fixed on yours, as if he were looking through you, reading every hidden thought. He swallowed slowly, a gesture that seemed almost like an invitation, a further provocation. The blade of your saber illuminated his face, but there was no trace of fear in his eyes, only a cold calm. “It’s not something you have to give in to… it’s inside you,” he said with that velvety voice of his, each word a whisper insinuating doubt into your certainties. His words struck you like a blow to the heart, breaking that fragile barrier you were desperately trying to maintain. “Your potential is immense,” he continued, lowering his voice to a warm, almost intimate whisper. Your gaze grew sharper as the subtle poison in his words sought to seep into your consciousness. The lightsaber blade barely touched his skin without making contact, his calm expression only annoying you. It was as if the threat had no effect on him, as if he knew you would never have the courage to go through with it. Every movement he made was slow, deliberate, calculated to keep you on edge, playing with your emotions like a master puppeteer. Anger bubbled within you, a fire growing ever stronger, fueled by his words, his confident smile, the way he seemed to control everything. You couldn’t deny it; there was a part of you that wanted to give in, that wanted to let go of the anger, the pain that burned so intensely. And he knew it; you could feel it in his voice, see it in his eyes.

“I understand…” His voice was a seductive whisper, just above a breath, as his hand rose with studied slowness, approaching yours without ever touching it. His eyes, which had been filled with impenetrable confidence until now, took on a new light, something deeper, almost vulnerable. “I’ve lost everything, y/n…” His gaze now seemed sincere, almost pleading for some strange reason. “But when you lose everything,” he continued, his hand now resting on yours, which still gripped the cold lightsaber handle. The contact was surprisingly gentle, a light pressure, but enough to make you feel the warmth of his skin against yours. His grip was soft but firm, and the contrast between his words and the apparent gentleness of the gesture made you waver. “That’s when you’re truly free,” he concluded, his voice a whisper carrying an inescapable weight, an invitation to surrender, to let go of everything that still bound you to the light. His gaze locked onto your eyes, deep, almost pleading, but not for pity: for understanding, for sharing. It was as if he wanted you to see the world through his eyes, to understand that the dark side wasn’t a condemnation but a liberation. His words struck you forcefully, penetrating your defenses once again with lethal precision. It wasn’t just a mental game; there was something genuine in the pain that lingered in his voice, a shadow of loneliness that echoed your own torment. And in that moment, the Sith you had seen as an implacable enemy became a figure that seemed to understand your suffering, your anger.

“The anger you feel, the pain that consumes you… you don’t have to fight it,” he continued, his tone calm and inviting. The tension between you was thick, almost suffocating. You felt the dark side’s pull toward him, the promise of freedom shining like an irresistible temptation. But there was something more in that man, something human, making it harder to you to ignore. The sincerity in his gaze, his voice dropping to an almost intimate whisper, made you doubt your certainties. His hand, warm against yours, made you feel dangerously close to an abyss you weren’t sure you wanted to avoid. You remained still, analyzing his words in your mind. The lightsaber still tightly gripped in your hand, your teeth clenched as you swallowed before sighing, thinking about what you should do. You deactivated the lightsaber and stepped away from him, pressing the hilt of the now-deactivated saber against his chest. You wouldn’t be deceived by his seductive words. You knew who you were and what you fought for. But, inside, a small part couldn’t help but wonder: what if he was right?

“You don’t know me to tell me these things. And as I’ve said, I’m not corruptible like my sister,” You hissed, your voice charged with a tension the man couldn’t help but appreciate. He let his smile spread slowly across his face, watching with almost amused interest as you deactivated the lightsaber and then pressed the hilt against his chest. The determination in your eyes, the resolve in your gesture, fascinated him. It wasn’t the reaction he had expected, but there was something in you, an inner strength, a resilience that intrigued him deeply. He could see the internal struggle you were facing, the conflict between the Jedi code and the emotions he had deliberately stirred.

The Sith, with a slow and measured gesture, placed the hilt of the deactivated lightsaber on a nearby rock. The smile on his face shifted into a smirk of satisfaction. “Perhaps I know you better than you think,” he admitted, his voice soft and filled with an intensity that echoed in the silence of the cave, where only the crackling of the fire could be heard. “I see who you are… who you could be. Your strength, your will…” His steps continued to close the distance between you, and you took a step back, trying to maintain the space between you. He gently took your wrist and pulled you slightly towards him, towering over your smaller figure. He looked at you with what might have seemed like admiration or… desire. You held your breath, swallowing, paralyzed by what could be the gentlest yet most dangerous of predators. The man brought his face closer to yours, the distance between you reduced to mere centimeters, his breath mingling with yours, warm and slow. His touch was once again firm but never painful. His eyes, dark as the abyss, glowed with an intensity that slowly captivated you. You found yourself hanging on his lips, almost asking for permission to breathe regularly. “It is rare…” he concluded. You took a deep breath, and the tension between you was growing increasingly palpable. His tone was like sweet poison, flowing slowly through your veins, making you doubt once more everything you had always believed. His hand slowly moved from your wrist to your side, stopping just below your ribs, where the wound, though treated, still throbbed painfully. The contact, though light, made you flinch, a mix of pain and something else you couldn’t quite identify. You felt the warmth of his body against yours, the tension between you becoming almost unbearable.

“You’re still loyal to someone who didn’t think twice about abandoning you to the enemy on Khofar some nights ago…” You swallowed at his words, feeling the knot in your throat that blocked every word and the weight in your stomach. “Deep down, you’re still searching for a master, someone to guide you… That life, you’ve never truly felt it as your own; they never understood you,” he continued, his gaze fixed on your eyes as if he could see inside you, reading every thought, every hidden emotion. “But I can.” For a moment, you felt yourself falter at those words. The tension between you was palpable, and you could not take your eyes off what must be your enemy, although your mind tried to keep lucidity. Your breathing was slow and irregular, each breath an attempt to hold back an invisible and unknown force that seemed to want to overwhelm you. The knot in your throat was getting tighter, blocking the words you wanted to say. Your eyes were mesmerized. There was an incredible intensity in those foxy eyes, a mixture of fear and fascination that left your heart inexplicably throbbing and mind confused. You failed to swallow trying to make words come out to counter his claims

“You are like me…” he whispered a short distance from your lips.

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Notes :

Well, yes, the sexy hot af villain who will be the protagonist of the new series is Him. Qimir, from The Acolyte. If you don’t know him, go and watch that series because Manny Jacinto put all his effort to seduce us towards the dark side. This is just the beginning, still do not know how many chapters will have but I hope not many, I would like to write about more topics for him.

if you haven’t seen the series there will be some spoilers, so please watch the series first

-Mel

˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦　　　 　˚　　　　 . ★⋆. ࿐࿔　　　.   　　˚　　 　　*　　 　　✦　　　.　　.　　　✦　˚

[sirenedeslily]

𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐍 𝐌𝐄𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐒 𝐒𝐍𝐎𝐖 ‎𐦍 𝐦atthew 𝐬turniolo

❛too tired to move, too tired to leave.❜

𝐢𝐧 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐜𝐡 a tormenting and bitter autumn fades into an even colder winter, unrelenting flurries shrouding two lovers in a painful veil of memories and grief. a girl, forever haunted by what was lost and what can only unfold beneath the snow, remains trapped in a ceaseless cycle of naive love and unyielding despair’s. she finds solace in the one soul who saw her, truly saw her and gazed lovingly upon her bare, scarred flesh.

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠, heavy themes of grief, loss, and death. extreme violence, graphic description of physical abuse. intense emotional turmoil, including scenes of blood, domestic abuse, and parental neglect. dives into suicidal ideation and mental health struggles. little use of religious imagery, just the worst most tragic angst (i hope)

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭, 5k !

𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞, well !!! haha !!! lol !!! y’all wanted more of the “poison in the water” universe and i didn’t think the last one hurt enough so :p this is fully inspired by “hard times” by ethel cain aswell as jackieshauna from yellowjackets and also lilies + knuckle velvet by hayden again !!! i love our doomed in every universe lovebirds (,:

snowflakes drift from the sky, like tiny, crystallized secrets falling from a heaven that refuses to speak. they flutter around you, landing softly on your skin, kissing your cheeks like cold lips. you stare up at the grey sky, the winter clouds heavy with a weight they can’t hold, threatening to spill over. the air is biting, but the cold doesn’t bother you much anymore. your breath forms misty plumes that fade into the ether as soon as they appear—transient, like everything else in this world.

you turn your head slightly, and there he is—matt, smiling at you from just an arm’s length away. his face is serene, untouched by the frost gathering on his eyelashes. his eyes, usually half-lidded with that perpetual look of exhaustion, are now clear and focused on you. his lips part slightly, and he exhales a soft laugh, visible in the chilled air, and it almost makes you forget how cold you feel.

you both lie side by side, limbs sprawled like the delicate branches of the bare trees surrounding the both of you, creating a canopy over your makeshift resting place. for a moment, it feels like you’re both floating, suspended between the earth and the sky. you smile back, your lips trembling not from cold, but from something deeper—a desperate desire to hold onto this moment, this vision of matt that’s pure and unbroken.

“isn’t it beautiful?” he says, his voice soft as the snow.

“yes,” you whispers, though you’re not sure if you’re responding to him or the way the world seems to slow around you. your fingers twitch, aching to reach out and touch him, to feel the warmth you know won’t be there.

but then, something shifts. a shadow creeps over your consciousness, like dark water lapping at the edges of your mind. you blink, and suddenly, the snow is not so comforting. it’s biting into your skin, sharp and relentless. your hands are covered in something darker than frost—blood. your breath hitches, your chest seizes. matt’s eyes are closed now, his breathing shallow, and you remember—

it had all started with the letter.

the church was always cold, even in the summer, but that day it felt like ice. you stood at the back pew, your fingers trembling as you slipped the letter between the pages of an old, dog-eared bible. this was your spot, where you and matt would sit during the long sermons, half-listening and half-lost in your own world. you thought he'd come here, find it, and know everything you hadn’t been able to say out loud. you didn’t want to see the pity in his eyes when he read her words, but you needed him to understand.

you never noticed it, but you weren’t alone.

your father, the preacher, had come to the church earlier than usual that morning. maybe it was fate or bad luck, but he saw you. he saw the way your hand lingered on the bible, the way your eyes darted around as if you were afraid of being caught. later, when he found the letter and read the confessions hidden within, he didn’t need to guess whom it was for. rage twisted his features as he clenched the paper, the words like a poison seeping into his mind.

he didn’t confront you just yet. no, he waited. binding his time.

“stay with me,” you murmur, and you’re back in the snow again, your voice small, a thin thread against the wind. you reach out to matt, your fingers grazing his, and for a moment, he feels warm. his smile is still there, but there’s a tiredness to it, a heaviness that mirrors the snow pressing down on you.

“you know i’m not going anywhere,” he says, his voice steady and calm. his hand comes up to brush a stray snowflake from your brow, and his touch is so gentle, so tender, that you almost believe it’s real. “i can’t.”

but then you see it—a flicker in his eyes, a shadow that wasn’t there before. your heart clenches, and suddenly you’re falling again, tumbling back into the dark.

the dock had always been your sanctuary, a place where the rest of the world felt miles away. you both came here to escape, as you always did, wrapped up in each other, sharing whispers and stolen kisses. the lake stretched out like a silent witness to your secrets, its surface a broken mirror reflecting the twilight sky. you nestled into matt’s side, your head resting against his shoulder, feeling his steady breath against your hair. for a moment, it felt like the world was quiet—just the two of you and the water. but your heart was restless. you looked up at him, eyes searching his face as if you might find your future there.

“matt,” you began, your voice barely a whisper. “i’ve been thinking... thinking about leaving.”

his hand, which had been drawing lazy circles on your arm, stilled. “leaving?” he echoed, his voice neutral but his body suddenly tense.

“running away. far from this place,” you continued, your words gaining strength. “we could go somewhere new. somewhere no one knows us. you could write your stories, take it seriously, and icould run a little bookstore. just the two of us.”

you were smiling now, your eyes bright with the fantasy of it. you painted pictures with your words, of the city life and cozy apartments, of mornings spent writing and nights wrapped up in each other. you looked at him, waiting for him to smile back, to share in your vision.

but he didn’t. his face remained still, his eyes distant.

“no,” he muttered, almost too quietly to hear.

your smile faltered, but you pressed on. “we could make it work. i know we could. we just have to take that first step—”

“no,” he said again, louder this time.

you blink, your fantasy shattering like glass around you. “why not? why can’t we—”

“because i can’t just up and leave, yn!” he snapped, pulling away from you. his voice was sharp, tinged with an anger you hadn’t heard before. “i have a life here, a family. i can’t abandon them just because you want to run away from yours.”

your breath hitched, and you felt a burn behind your eyes. “they’d understand, matt. they’d want you to be happy—”

“happy?” he cut in, his voice rising. “you think this is about happiness? you think i can just throw everything away for some half-baked fantasy?”

“it’s not a fantasy!” you cried, your voice breaking. “it’s a chance—a chance for both of us to have something more!”

you were both standing now, facing each other on the dock. the wind whipped around you, and the lake seemed to swell with the tension between the both of you. tears spilled down your cheeks, but you didn’t care. you were desperate, pleading.

“please, matt,” you whispered, your voice raw and broken. “come with me. we can start over. together.”

he shook his head, his expression hardening. “no,” he said, his voice low but firm.

“why not?” you begged, stepping closer, your hands reaching for his. “why can’t you just—”

“because not everyone wants to run away from their problems, yn!” he shouted, his words like a slap. “not everyone wants to leave everything behind because their life is so fucking tragic and pathetic!”

you recoiled as if he’d struck you, your eyes widening in horror. he didn’t stop; the words kept pouring out, ugly and twisted with anger.

“you think i don’t know about your father?” he continued, his voice cold and sharp. “you think i haven’t seen the bruises? the way you flinch whenever someone raises their voice? i know, yn. i’ve always known.”

your breath caught in your throat, and for a moment, you couldn’t breathe. you stared at him, your chest heaving, feeling like you might shatter into a thousand pieces. he knew. he had known all along.

“just because your life is miserable doesn’t mean you get to drag everyone else down with you,” he spat. “i’m not going to ruin my life because yours is a mess.”

there was a moment—a long, terrible moment—where neither of you spoke. the air between the both of you was thick with pain and anger, the silence louder than any scream. you looked at him, tears streaming down your face, your heart breaking in your chest.

you didn’t say another word. you just turned and walked away, leaving him standing on the dock, the cold wind biting at his skin.

“matty,” you whisper, back in the snow again. you don’t want to remember. you don’t want to see.

“stay with me. please.”

“i’m here,” he replies softly. his voice is steady, but there’s a fragile break beneath the surface, like thin ice over deep, dark water. and you want to stay here, forever, with the boy you love. even if you can’t truly feel him. even if you know you never will.

the snow falls thicker now, a suffocating veil that dims the world. it’s getting harder to see, harder to breathe. you can’t quite tell if his eyes are open or closed, but you know he’s there. you want to reach out, to touch him, to feel something other than the agonizing emptiness, the cold truth settling into your bones. this isn’t yours. it isn’t real. the edges of your vision blur, and the snow closes in like a shroud, heavy and relentless, burying you under its weight.

you want to stay here, in the not knowing, in the almost, but— you blink, and the world shifts again.

you’re back. back to the house that was never a home, back to the cold, accusing stares of your father—the man who looked at you like you were a blight on his very soul. your mind was a haze of pain and betrayal, and you moved like a ghost through the hallways, numb to everything but the weight in your chest. you didn’t notice your father watching you from the shadows, didn’t hear the way his breath quickened with rage as you passed by. you stumbled to your room, shutting the door behind you, and crumpled to the floor, your body wracked with sobs so violent they shook you to your core.

you didn’t know. couldn’t have known. not until he stormed into your room, his face twisted with something beyond rage. he’d been the devil that night. his eyes burned with a fanatic fire, a hatred that seemed born from somewhere far deeper than anger. “dirty, broken angel,” he hissed, his voice trembling with a fury that shook the walls. “do you think you can fool me with those innocent eyes? do you think I don’t see what you are?”

the words were venom, each syllable a lash. you tried to shrink away, tried to disappear into the walls themselves, but he was on you. his hands gripped your shoulders, shaking you so violently your teeth clacked together.

suddenly, the room dissolved, the walls melting away into a harsh, biting white. you were pulled back to that relentless winter, a chill that seeped into your bones, a cold you could never seem to escape. snow fell heavily around you, swirling like ash in a dying fire. matt stood before you, his face drawn and pale against the frozen backdrop. his eyes, usually warm, were unreadable, his expression soft yet distant.

he reached out, his hand gentle as he cupped your cheek, but you couldn’t feel it. his touch, meant to soothe, was nothing but a ghost against your skin. your lips trembled from the cold, a shiver running through you that wasn’t just from the chill. “i love you,” he cooed, his breath misting in the frozen air, words meant to anchor you, but they felt hollow, distant.

he leaned in, his lips brushing against yours, but even then—nothing. his kiss was as cold as the winter wind that cut through you, no warmth, no comfort. your eyes stayed wide, filled with fear and confusion, searching his face for something real, something to hold onto. but his face remained serene, his eyes boring into yours like he was trying to see something buried deep within.

then he whispered, his voice low and intimate, but the words were not his. they were familiar, dripping with venom, heavy with the weight of years past.

“this is your mother’s fault,” he murmured, and the world seemed to tilt, your breath catching in your throat. his voice, his tone, had shifted, morphed, becoming something more sinister. it wasn’t matt anymore; it was your father, the words twisted into something cruel. “your cursed existence is the reason she’s gone. a punishment. a living testament to sin.”

the snow, the cold, it all shattered like fragile glass around you, and you were back—back in your room, the air thick with dread. your father loomed above you, eyes wild and feverish, his face a grotesque mask of hatred and righteous fury. his words were still echoing, each one a branding iron against your skin.

“a punishment. a living testament to sin.” the mantra pounded in your head, searing into your very soul.

you were there again, your cheek stinging from his strike, but the pain was drowned beneath the roar of blood rushing in your ears. you scrambled to your feet, breath ragged and desperate, only to find yourself cornered against the wall. the splintered wood dug into your spine, cold and unyielding, a cruel reminder that there was nowhere left to go.

he loomed over you, his face a grotesque mask of hatred and righteousness. the stench of whiskey on his breath was sickly sweet, mingling with the cold sweat that ran down your face. his hands trembled, but his eyes—they were steady. they were locked onto you with a feverish intensity, the kind that burrowed under your skin and settled in your bones.

“you think you can be saved?” he spat, voice low and venomous, each word a curse. “you think there’s redemption for someone like you?”

his voice dripped with contempt, each word sinking into your skin like a brand. you could feel the weight of his words pressing down on you, crushing your ribs, making it impossible to breathe. and there, pinned between the wall and his hatred, you felt it—the cold realization that nothing you could say or do would ever be enough to erase the stain he saw in you.

you didn’t know what to say. you couldn’t speak; your throat felt like it was closing in on itself. you tried to slide along the wall, to find a way out, but he slammed his hand next to your head, trapping you.

“no,” he continued, his voice rising. “you’re beyond saving. you and that boy, both tainted.”

tears blurred your vision, but you looked up, your eyes red and swollen , yet you could still see the rage in his eyes, the way his lips curled into a snarl. his hand, still clutching the letter, the paper crumpled and torn. trembling with fury. his mouth foaming with scripture twisted into madness.

“please,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. “i didn’t—”

“shut up!” he bellowed, his voice echoing off the walls. the letter fluttered to the ground, and his hands grabbed your shoulders, his grip like iron. “you ungrateful little whore,” he spat, shaking you. “you think you can defy me? disgrace me?”

his fist connected with your stomach, driving the air from your lungs. you doubled over, gasping for breath, your body folding in on itself. you felt his hand in your hair, yanking your head up, forcing you to look at him.

“i will not have a daughter who defiles this house,” he said, his voice trembling with a twisted kind of conviction. “you will repent, or you will suffer.”

his words were like ice in your veins, and you knew in that moment that there was no reasoning with him, no escaping the hell he intended to put you through. you had to get out. you had to run. he continued, his words a twisted sermon, each syllable a lash against your soul. you tried to fight back, but he was too strong, his grip like iron. the room blurred around you, and you felt yourself slipping away, drowning in the darkness.

the snow falls heavier now, each flake sharper, the cold seeping deeper into your skin, into your bones. you're back again, lying beside matt on the snow. his face is still there, just inches from yours, but it’s fading, the world around you closing in, shadows creeping in at the edges of your vision. you reach out, your hand trembling, desperate, and touch his cheek. His skin is cold—too cold, lifeless under your fingers.

“matty,” you murmur, your voice fracturing like ice under pressure. “i’m so sorry.”

he doesn’t answer. his eyes are closed now, his chest barely moving. the silence is a vast, hollow thing, swallowing you whole. panic coils in your throat, sharp and jagged, a desperate, choking fear that clutches at your lungs.

“please,” you whisper, your voice a thin, ragged thread unraveling in the cold. “don’t leave me. not you.”

but he’s slipping away, dissolving into the snow like a ghost, like something that was never real to begin with. you try to hold on, to keep him there, but your grip is weak, your fingers numb and useless. the snow piles higher around you, burying you both, burying everything you tried to hold on to, leaving you with nothing but the relentless, empty cold.

and then you’re back there, in the backyard, crumpled on the cold, dead lawn. the grass feels like shards of glass under your bruised skin, the world around you spinning in a dizzying blur. the preacher’s foot slams into your side, and you’re thrown like a ragdoll, your breath torn from your lungs in a choked, desperate cry.

“daddy, please,” you gasp, the words breaking like glass in your throat, sharp and jagged. “i’m your daughter… i’m supposed to be your little girl—”

but he doesn’t hear you. his eyes are vacant, unseeing, lips moving in some silent prayer as if trying to exorcize you like a demon. another kick lands, and you hear the sickening snap of a rib, a sound that splits the night like a gunshot.

matt is pacing his room, the silence unbearable. your face haunts him—the way your eyes widened, pools of betrayal and hurt, the way your lips trembled as you tried to hold yourself together. his words, venomous and cruel, play on repeat in his mind, an echo that builds into a deafening roar. he has to see you, to make it right, to take it all back. he grabs his coat, the cold biting at his skin, and starts toward your house.

when he arrives, the front door hangs slightly ajar, the dim light inside flickering like a dying flame. his heart pounds, a sickening dread coiling in his gut. he steps inside, calling your name, his voice breaking in the stillness, but only silence answers.

then he hears it—a low, broken cry, barely a whisper, from the backyard. he runs, panic surging through him. and there, beneath the skeletal trees, he sees your father dragging your limp, bloodied body. time slows; his breath catches in his throat.

“let her go!” matt’s voice tears through the night, raw with terror and rage.

your father turns, eyes wild and unfocused. “you,” he snarls, his voice thick with malice. “this is all your fault.”

matt doesn’t think—he just charges, fists flying, his body a blur of desperation and fury. he has to get to you, has to save you. they grapple, slipping and sliding in the mud and blood, until somehow, he manages to pull you free. you collapse against him, your body broken, your eyes wide and glazed with terror. he can see the fear in them, the plea. he can’t fail you.

your father isn’t finished. he comes again, a knife gleaming in his hand like a shard of moonlight. matt braces himself, his heart pounding like a war drum. the blade slices through the air, and white-hot pain sears his side. he grits his teeth, using the pain as fuel, and throws himself at your father, knocking him to the ground. they tumble, crashing through the underbrush, the world a chaos of limbs and fury.

“take it out on me instead,” matt shouts, his voice trembling. “if you need to hurt someone, hurt me. i can take it.”

and your father does. the knife comes down again and again, each strike a white-hot burst of agony. you scream, a sound that tears through the night like a wounded animal, but he doesn’t stop. not until matt is a crumpled heap, his face unrecognizable, his breath ragged and uneven.

“Matt,” you whisper, your voice breaking on his name. You’re a few feet away in the snow, struggling to move toward him. his blood is staining the snow around him, and your heart pounds with every agonizing inch you crawl closer.“matt,” you whisper, your voice breaking on his name. you’re there in the snow,

“stay with me,” you plead, your voice cracking, barely more than a breath. “please, stay.”

his eyes flutter open, just for a moment, and there’s something there—something soft and forgiving, something that breaks your heart all over again. his lips part, but no sound comes out. you can see him slipping away, fading into the cold night.

the knife clatters to the ground, a dull, final sound, and your father staggers back, his face a twisted mask of rage and relief. the snow around you is stained with blood, an obscene, violent canvas beneath the indifferent stars.

your body is a symphony of pain, but you force yourself to move, to crawl toward matt. every breath is a struggle, every inch a battle against the screaming agony in your bones. “matthew!” you cry, your voice ragged, desperate. “matt, please!”

the wind howls around you, carrying your cries away into the night. you drag yourself closer, your hands slipping in the blood-slick snow. the world narrows to this moment, to him.

when you finally reach him, you collapse beside him, your hands trembling as you press them against his wounds. you can barely recognize him through the blood and bruises. his breaths are shallow, each one a fragile, fading whisper. your fingers tangle themselves in his blood-matted hair, tears freezing on your cheeks. his blood is warm, soaking through his shirt and into your skin, and you press your hands to his wounds, trying to keep him here, trying to keep him with you.

you press your hands firmly against his wounds, trying to stem the flow of blood, your tears mingling with the crimson on his face. “stay with me, matthew,” you plead, your voice cracking with desperation. “please, don’t go. we can make it through this. just hold on.”

but his eyes are distant, his breaths more erratic, slipping away like sand through your fingers. “my fawn,” he whispers, his voice a ghost of itself. “i’m sorry.. i would’ve loved to run away with you—”

“no, no, no!” you scream, your voice shattering in the cold. “don’t talk like that. you’re not going to die. you can’t. please, just stay with me. i need you. i need you.”

your sobs tear from you, raw and broken, echoing through the empty woods. you hold him tighter, pressing your forehead against his, but his skin is growing colder, his breaths fading until, finally, they stop. the light in his eyes dims to nothing, leaving you alone, utterly alone, in the dark, cold night.

the agony of his death seized you in its jaws, tearing at your insides with a cruelty so profound it almost felt unreal. your screams became the wind, your cries the haunting echo that would reverberate in these woods long after you were gone. blood, warm and dark, seeped into the snow, turning it a shade of sorrow, and the night seemed to grow colder, sharper, like shards of glass piercing your skin.

time twisted around you. seconds stretched into eons. you sank into the snow, cradling matt’s broken body, your hands trembling against his cooling skin. his eyes stared past you, vacant and unfocused, his lips parted in a silent goodbye. you pressed your forehead to his, desperate to breathe him back to life, to share your warmth and will him into staying. but his soul had already slipped away, leaving nothing but this empty vessel that had once held everything you loved.

the world dimmed around you, edges blurring into a haze. somewhere in that numb, drifting fog, you saw him again—not as he was now, but as he had been: smiling, his eyes soft and full of mischief, his hair catching the sunlight just right, as if touched by gold. he was running through a field, hands outstretched, laughter dancing on the breeze like a melody only you could hear. you reached for him, a breathless plea escaping your lips, but he remained out of reach, a ghost haunting the periphery of your fading consciousness.

the snow began to fall heavier, thick flakes descending like feathers, almost gentle, almost kind in their relentless descent. you were so cold. you could feel your own life ebbing away, the blood slipping sluggishly through your veins. the forest around you seemed to shift and sway, a cruel dance of shadows and snow. your limbs grew heavier, the weight of grief and exhaustion pulling you down into the earth. your breaths came shallow, and you could taste the iron on your tongue, the salt of your tears freezing on your lips.

“matt,” you rasped again, his name a prayer, a curse, a lamentation. you were collapsing inward, folding into the pain, the emptiness where he used to be. you pressed your lips to his temple, feeling the chill seep into your bones. “please don’t leave me here alone.”

and then, in your delirium, there was a flicker—a vision, perhaps, or a cruel trick of the mind. you saw him standing before you, whole again, untouched by death’s cruel hand. his eyes met yours, and they were filled with such love, such deep, abiding love. he reached out, his fingers brushing yours, and for a moment, you felt warmth. real, solid, impossible warmth. it seeped into your skin, a desperate gasp of air after drowning.

reality snapped back with a vicious bite, and you were left grasping at nothing. his body was cold and still beneath you, the snow swallowing you both inch by inch. you could feel the blood pooling around you, freezing in the night air, a red halo that bound you together in death.

the cold became everything. it seeped into your veins, slowed your heart to a staggered, final beat. you lay there, cheek pressed to his, your breaths shallow and ragged until they too were gone. the last thing you felt was the brush of his hand in your mind’s eye, the ghost of a touch, pulling you gently into that endless dark.

and then, silence.

the numbness seeped deeper, and you were too tired to resist its pull. the pain tethered you, wrapped you in chains you were too exhausted to break. a thousand whispered thoughts blurred in your mind like snowflakes in a storm, i’m tired of you, forever tied to me. bleeding whenever you want. each word was a throb, a pulse that faded, that grew quieter with every breath you let slip away.

you wanted to move, to leave, to rip yourself from the bone-deep ache of him. but your body betrayed you, too heavy, too hollowed out. the cold kissed your skin, numbed the raw edges of your grief, but the weight of him remained. always him. always this.

your eyelids fluttered, closing against the snow that stung like a thousand tiny needles. darkness edged closer, a heavy curtain drawn around the last flicker of your consciousness. you wanted to slip beneath it, to surrender to that deep, inviting sleep. i just wanna sleep. the words were a prayer now, mouthed against his frozen cheek.

each moment stretched longer, like the last taut thread of a fraying rope. your body trembled, but your spirit was drained, emptied of all fight. you wanted to sleep, to let go of the agony that bound you to him. please, can i sleep, can i sleep? the plea filled the hollow of your chest, a soft, desperate echo.

you were tired of the way his death clung to you, the way his absence seeped into every breath, every beat of your failing heart. you were too tired to cry, too tired to feel the tears that had already frozen on your cheeks.

your breaths came slower, shallower, until there were no more breaths at all—only the silence, the snow, and the darkness that cradled you. the cold was absolute now, and you could no longer tell where you ended and he began.

you were tired, he was all you had left, the only tether in a world that had gone dark. and so you clung to him in those last moments, not out of hope, but out of sheer exhaustion, out of a weariness so deep that it became a final, bitter kind of love.

too tired to move, too tired to leave.

and at last, in that unbearable stillness, you drifted into the long sleep you had begged for, the snow falling over you both like a curtain drawing shut.

the snow descended steadily, indifferent to the agony it buried. it covered you both in a pristine shroud, erasing the violence, the blood, the suffering. alas, the world went on. the woods stood tall and quiet, a witness to the horrors of love, what it would hold onto long after you were nothing but particles and forgotten memories.

in the end, there was only the snow—soft, unfeeling, eternal. it fell and fell, a cold, white blanket that erased the past, the present, and any promise of a future. it covered you and matt, sealing you away from the world that had betrayed you both, keeping you together in a final, frozen embrace.

and there, beneath that silent, bitter veil, you found peace in the way the living never could.

ᨳུ⠀𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 ! @carvedtits @et6rnalsun @wovenribbons @flouvela @l34n @sturniolossss @eternaldecisions @lovingregulusblack @cl1tlover3000 @mattslolita @mattssgf @le4hsblog @brvtall @chratts-left-ball @fiowerbeds @fratbrochrisgf

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[head-empty-just-ace]

Renovating my room means I'm blasting music through the speaker. And I am also just stuck on Hozier's music (if u don't know him— now you do). So, here are Hozier's music that I think suits the following OP men!

Featured Characters: Ace, Luffy, Zoro, Sanji, Brook, and Usopp

CW: Suggestive Content (it's Hozier. Ofc, there're going to be some feral undertones)

Note: I might edit this and add more if I feel like it.

Portgas D. Ace

I had a thought, dear However scary About that night The bugs and the dirt Why were you digging? What did you bury Before those hands pulled me From the earth?

I will not ask you where you came from I will not ask you, neither should you

Honey just put your sweet lips on my lips We should just kiss like real people do

To Ace, you were the one who brought him back to life and away from the darkness of his own mind. There was that understanding between the two of you. Both knew the other had a past haunting like a shadow.

He won't pry. He won't undo the stitches of whatever had hurt you in the past. Let the ghosts stay as they are— just let him love you now. Two people that simply fell in love with each other.

The two of you feel like broken pieces of a whole to form a mosaic in each other's embrace. It becomes a chaotic madness that only the two of you could understand the raw beauty of it.

Monkey D. Luffy

Boys workin' on empty Is that the kinda way to face the burning heat? I just think about my baby I'm so full of love I could barely eat There's nothing sweeter than my baby I'd never want once from the cherry tree 'Cause my baby's sweet as can be She give me toothaches just from kissin' me When, my, time comes around Lay me gently in the cold dark earth No grave can hold my body down I'll crawl home to her

As playful as Luffy can be, he's fiercely loyal. He'll go through hell and back just to have you in his arms. May it be against the world, heavens, or even the universe its— he won't let it take you away. He can't lose another loved one.

He's already done this for so many people. No pain nor torture could stop this man from being with you. Not even the gods can help the ones who even dare try to.

The guy won't die for you. Luffy would make sure he's alive to make sure you're safe and happy. That's why not even death could keep him away.

Roronoa Zoro

You know better, babe, you know better, babe Than to smile at me, smile at me like that You know better, babe, you know better, babe Than to hold me just, hold me just like that

I know who I am when I'm alone I'm something else when I see you You don't understand, you should never know How easy you are to need

Don't let me in with no intention to keep me Jesus Christ, don't be kind to me Honey, don't feed me, I will come back

A man of solitude finally found the place to call his home. Zoro keeps to himself, and yet you wormed your way into his life without realizing the effect you had on him.

There's a silent intensity to it. He's a man of strict self-discipline. He knows who he is. But with you? Gods, a switch turns on in his brain that makes him feral.

The warmth of your soul seeped deep into the crevices of his bones and warmed him from the inside. How could he not need you and the warmth you've shown him?

Sanji

I'd be the voice that urged Orpheus When her body was found (hey ya) I'd be the choiceless hope in grief That drove him underground (hey ya) I'd be the dreadful need in the devotee That made him turn around (hey ya) And I'd be the immediate forgiveness In Eurydice Imagine being loved by me!

I won't deny I've got in my mind now all the things we'd do So I'll try to talk refined for fear that you find out how I'm imaginin' you

Oh, everyone knows Sanji isn't by any means silent with his affections. But behind those honey-like words of adoration? Behind the hands that hold you so tenderly? There's an underlying heat to it that consumes him whole.

He won't tell you— not yet. Too afraid to scare you away by the growing desire in his chest. He doesn't just want you. He needs you.

That's why he'll put up a front of a dignified lover to you. Fawning over every little detail of your being while his fingers ache to feel the warmth of your bare skin.

Brook

She's gonna save me, call me "baby" Run her hands through my hair She'll know me crazy, soothe me daily Better yet, she wouldn't care We'll steal her Lexus, be detectives Ride 'round picking up clues We'll name our children, Jackie and Wilson Raise 'em on rhythm and blues

Lord, it'd be great to find a place we could escape sometime Me and my Isis growing black irises in the sunshine Every version of me dead and buried in the yard outside We'd sit back and watch the world go by

In the vast lonely life Brook lived, there was something about you that made him forget what loneliness ever felt like in the first place. You're just it to him.

No matter how peculiar he may seemed— you were always there by his side. Laughing along his jokes. Even matching his humor and love for music.

You are his muse. And he'd gladly play the ballad of your love until the end of time, if you'd let him.

Usopp

Remember once I told you 'bout How before I heard it from your mouth My name would always hit my ears As such an awful sound And the soul, if that's what you'd call it Uneasy ally of the body It felt nameless as a river undiscovered underground

And the first time that you kissed me I drank dry the River Lethe The Liffey would have been softer on my stomach all the same But you spoke some quick new music That went so far to soothe this soul As it was and ever shall be Unearth without a name

Some part of me must have died The first time that you called me baby And some part of me came alive The first time that you called me baby

Usopp knew that there was this part of him that felt hollow with all the grandoise stories he tells. And the way you would always listen to him as if you truly believed his words made him feel as though he was saved.

Bit by bit, he no longer lived in the tales he spun in his mind. He lived in the moment— with you. All the adventures you two would go on together were all he could ever talk about now.

It felt great because it was real. You were real. Choosing him despite all his flaws and quirks. To have given him the honor to hold your heart in his hands and be the one to protect it.

~~~~~~~

Okay, I might make a part 2 for this w/ Jimbei, Shanks, Law, Kid, and Yamato. Here's my masterlist to check it out!

~~~~~~~

Taglist: @that-student-that-has-homework @captainportgasdace @ofoceansandtombsanew @lynndt-chocolate

[ellecdc]

hi my lovely, i was wondering if i might please be able to make a request! absolutely fine if it doesn’t inspire you or you don’t get around to it for a while or you don’t like it it’s no pressure!!

i was just wondering if i might be able to request big brother sirius or best friend barty (my loves) and a reader who is so stressed with classes and workload- ive been having a hard time lately and i feel so out of my depth and its seems that no one else is struggling like me and my adhd really isn’t helping me cause i try and get my work done and i just end up sitting there for hours and then breaking down cause i can’t do it and i just feel so useless

so sorry for going on a tangent i just don’t really have anyone to talk to! again its totally okay if you don’t want to write this just speaking about its made me feel better! i hope you’re doing well my lovely, you bring me so much comfort! and i hope birdy is behaving herself

🪩

cheering you on babes! sorry for the wait in this request, and thanks for your patience in me <3 hope your workload isn't causing you too much grief, and both Big Brother Siri and BFF Barty have asked me to tell you to make sure to take breaks and be nice to yourself!!

please note: my requests are currently closed as I finish exams and work through the requests that I currently have.

BFF!Barty Crouch Junior x stressed!reader [GN] who Barty forces to take a break

You were on your umpteenth read through of your notes for your upcoming Herbology exam when your books were rudely ripped out from underneath you.

“Hey!” You shouted at the unknown assailant when you raised your head to see Barty carefully piling your notes together and shoving them into his own book bag. “Barty, give them back.”

“No can do, Treasure. Let’s go.” 

You watched, dumbfounded, as Barty began to walk away from your table in the library before he turned around when he realised you weren’t following him. 

“Hello!? Earth to Treasure?” He sing-songed on his way back before he waved a hand in front of your face, which you quickly swatted away.

“Barty, this isn’t funny.”

“I agree.” He answered quickly; his tone garnering a severe quality that made your skin crawl. “You’ve been shacked up in this library for Salazar knows how long, I don’t know when your last real meal was that didn’t consist of tea and Honeydukes sweets, and when was the last time you got fresh air? You know? That stuff that's produced by trees and life and not tainted with the musty smell of old books?”

“Barty, I need to prepare for this exam.” You pressed.

“Which you have, and if you humour me right now, I’ll even help you study more later. Now, let’s go.” He demanded as he took your elbow and hauled you up from the table and dragged you by the wrist unceremoniously behind him. 

After numerous failed attempts at getting Barty to tell you what he was doing, where he was taking you, what he was up to, why he was dragging you across the castle, you spent your trek across the castle grounds in a begrudging silence with only the occasional muttered protest escaping your lips.

Finally, Barty released your wrist as you stopped in front of an expanse of wall encasing the southern grounds near the quidditch pitch that didn’t seem to get much traffic at all.

You watched as your friend dug his arms into the bag much further than should have been humanly possible alerting you to the fact that he had, indeed, cast an illegal undetectable extension charm.

He was going to make you fail your exam and an accomplice to a crime. 

He pulled out a large stack of ceramic plates he no doubt pilfered from the kitchens and placed them beside you before reaching back in and retrieving another stack.

“Barty. What are you doing?”

“Blowing off steam, as the muggles say.” He explained simply as he moved to stand beside you and placed a matching stack of plates on his other side.

“By scrubbing dishes outside like a down-and-out House Elf?” You asked bemusedly as you picked up one of the plates and twisted it around in your hands. They didn’t look dirty.

“Ye have so little faith, dear Treasure.” Barty said theatrically before he launched a plate at the ancient stone wall and watched it shatter before the pieces rained down into the grass below it. 

“Barty!”

“Too much talking, not enough throwing Treasure.” He called over to you as he hurled a second plate at the wall.

“Can you at least tell me why we’re defacing school property?!”

With a long suffering sigh, Barty allowed the plate he’d been in the process of picking up clatter back onto its stack unceremoniously.

Barty moved to stand in front of you, crouching down ever so slightly so as to force you to make direct eye contact with him and placing a hand on each of your shoulders should you consider bolting.

“Alright Treasure, listen. Are you listening? I love you, you’re my best friend, my soulmate, my ride or die, I would live, die, and kill for you; you fucking suck when you’re stressed out. Okay? You’ve been living in that library for a week, you’re barely eating or getting any vitamin D which is already difficult enough in sodding Scotland without you actively avoiding the sun’s rays, and…I miss you.”

You looked between both of his green eyes which oozed nothing but earnestness and concern before letting your shoulders drop.

“Fine, but why are we smashing plates?”

Seemingly trusting you not to take off, Barty returned to his full height with far more pep in his step than he had before he read you like one of your Herbology textbooks.

“Great question! I was trying to decide between this and shoving Gryffindor’s into the Black Lake; I figured you appreciate this better.” He said as he shot you a wink. “Now get throwing, Treasure!”

Deciding that it was folly to try to argue or reason with your…capricious friend, you picked up a plate and lobbed it dutifully at the wall.

What started off as you merely humouring your friend in his antics quickly left you breathless, smiling, and squealing in delight with each smash of a plate. You and Barty spent much of the afternoon cackling and dancing under a shower of broken porcelain before you reparo’d the plates and did it all over again.

You hardly realised the sun was beginning to dip behind the trees when you turned to look at Barty; his face flushed red and a wide grin spread across his face which you were sure was mirrored on your own.

“Thank you, Barty.”

His smile turned softer as he looked at the plate in his hands somewhat abashedly. “No need to thank me, Treasure. You know I’ll always look out for you, ‘specially when you forget to do it yourself.”

“Easy there, Junior; I'll start to think you’re going soft on us.” You teased as you nudged him in the arm with one of your plates.

He scoffed and shoved you away from him. “I will not tolerate this slander.”

“Is it slander if it’s true?”

“Defamation.”

“There’s no one here to hear me.”

“Hey, Y/N!” The sound of James Potter’s voice rung through the air as he walked towards you from the Quidditch pitch. “It’s good to see you outside of the library! I was getting wor-”

You never got to hear what James had been worried about as Barty quickly began lobbing plates in his direction. 

“Barty!” You shouted as James began dodging the assault.

“Sorry, he spooked me.” Barty deadpanned, not sounding sorry at all as he continued throwing plates at the Gryffindor chaser.

“I’ll catch up with you later!” James shouted as he started jogging towards the castle in the opposite direction of his attacker.

“You know, for a quidditch player, you have terrible aim.” You grumbled at your friend as you shot him an unimpressed glare.

He returned your glare in response to your insult. “I’ll have you know, if I wanted to actually hit him, I would have.”

“Soft.”

“Alright, that’s it. Pull out your wand, Treasure.” He barked as he dropped his plates, brandished his wand and took a duelling stance.

“I am not fighting you, Junior.”

“Those were fighting words.”

And before you could retort, he had picked you up and thrown you over his shoulder before he began marching towards the castle. 

“What are you doing?!” You squealed as you playfully swung your fist against his back.

“Throwing you in the Black Lake.”

“Barty!”

You didn’t return to the castle until the sun had fully set; feeling tired in a good way and far happier and more relaxed than you had felt in days.

[milliesfishes]

omg you write angst so well😭😭😭 literally been sobbing while reading your latest works 😭😭😭😭😭 anyways here’s an idea: billy finally settles down with you and the two of you start a family and have a little daughter together (girl dad! billy agenda never ends!!) and right before he almost thinks he has it all the world takes you from him :(

⋆౨ৎ𝓘 𝓒𝓪𝓷 𝓖𝓸 𝓐𝓷𝔂𝔀𝓱𝓮𝓻𝓮 𝓘 𝓦𝓪𝓷𝓽, 𝓙𝓾𝓼𝓽 𝓝𝓸𝓽 𝓗𝓸𝓶𝓮⋆౨ৎ

[fem reader] contains: death, grief, illness, *angst* pairing: billy the kid x fem reader summary: you were the center of billy's world, and the center faded away author’s note: offering my apologies once again <3 tagging @phantomamor because they helped me come up with some of the content <3 Pinterest Board Spotify Playlist

Everything was bright, the day an endless dawn that rested its rosy cheek on the glass that covered the earth and touched the spot between reality and dreams.

You felt the stirrings of that feeling as you leaned on the porch railing, hair falling over one shoulder and tickling your wrist. The wood was grainy and smooth under your palm, and you shifted from one foot to the other, dulling the ache brought on by the activities of the day. It was a happy thing, borne of the many joys present in your life.

Off in the distance, by the oak tree that sprouted thick and wide, with leaves that blocked the sun on summer afternoons, your daughter sat among the knotted roots, playing quietly by herself. You had always said Annie was born content, evident in the way she minded herself, preferring long daylight hours spent alone. It was a touching thing, how comfortable she was within the confines of her imagination.

Bootsteps thumped on the wood of the porch, the boards creaking under Billy's weight, and then a pair of warm hands were creeping around your waist like the vines that crawled up the walls of the house, pulling you in. You smiled, leaning back and finding his body less than a breath away. He ducked his head and pressed a kiss to your cheek, the gentle prickling of love lingering long after. "How's my wife?"

Five years you'd been married, and still you could hear the way he relished the word like a sweet melting on his tongue. Billy wore his ring proudly, brandishing it for all the world to see. The gunslinger feared far and wide across the south was tied down, and he was happy for it.

You had been pleasantly surprised by how well he took to domesticity after so long on the run. He'd built this house for the two of you, every nail hammered in establishing permanence. It had been a rare luxury for him before, even when you'd met. But he'd proudly given you the brass key to your new house, sweeping you into his arms to carry you over the threshold even though you'd been married for a year at that point.

Now, standing on the porch built with your husband's own hands, sheathed in his arms, you could practically feel the love he'd siphoned into every board, every wall. Billy hadn't only built you a house, he'd built a life. All those nights holding him, promising him he wasn't ruining yours had come to fruition. It had been clear when your belly had begun to swell with his child, a promise of tomorrow. And it was clear now, as you watched that little girl hum to herself under the tree that had been a mere sapling when you'd first moved in.

The first breaths of spring were opening the world up again, sunshine kissing your skin and whispering about new beginnings. It instilled a sense of hope in you, something beautiful brimming with joy. This was your favorite time of year.

"I'm good," you responded to Billy, holding one of his hands against your stomach. "Really good."

He kissed the top of your head, swaying the two of you back and forth. "Should we go inside?" Billy nosed at your neck. "Think you need a little lovin'..."

You laughed, turning around in his arms and pressing your cheek to his chest. "With Annie out here?"

"Aw, she won't come inside 'till it's past dark and we make her." You could hear his smile in his words, and you lifted your chin, tilting your head and letting your hair brush his hands on your waist.

"Hm, maybe you're right," you murmured, reaching up and playing with his collar, straightening it out.

Billy ducked his head to catch your lips in a brief, tender kiss. He pecked your lips once after. "Just make sure to be quiet."

"I'm not the one who-oh-!" Suddenly you were being hauled up, lifted to hang over his shoulder like a sack of flour. He laughed quietly, not wanting to disturb Annie out in the distance, carrying you through the door of the house and shutting it gently. Your hair obstructed your view, and you parted the silky curtain when he bent, setting you down on your feet and grabbing your hand.

"C'mon, pretty-" Billy paused, looking at you and squeezing your palm. "Baby? You okay?"

You were frozen, eyes wide with a sudden realization of the happenings within you. Your skin was icy hot, a blizzard and a wildfire blended into a raging storm that ravaged at your chest. It tore into your bones, filled them with a cloud of dread. Something's wrong.

Billy came closer, blue eyes struck with concern as he searched yours. "Sweetheart...what-?"

Your knees buckled, weakness spreading in a swarm that enveloped your body. Now you were tumbling, poised to hit the ground before Billy's arms caught you, his voice speaking your name over and over like a prayer. "Honey...what's wrong?"

No words found you, only blackness.

The doctor was summoned quicker than Billy thought possible, and he thanked the heavens above for the man's swiftness. You insisted he stay with Annie while you were being examined, and he suspected it was for his own sake as well as your daughter's.

Annie was quiet, staring at the door you were behind. It felt ominous in that moment, and he tore his eyes from the sight. His knee was bouncing, heel of his boot tapping the floor over and over. The voices in your room were muffled, and Billy wished he hadn't listened to you.

The sun was setting now, smearing a palette of color across the sky and shadowing the clouds in hues of orange and pink. He ran a tired hand through his hair, weary already from whatever news awaited.

He reached wordlessly for his daughter, and she crawled into his lap, head resting against his chest. Billy didn't know what to say to her, and so he chose silence. He was grateful for her old-soul tendencies, but also wished she was still naive enough that she was oblivious. More than anything he wanted Annie to be able to be a kid, to be able to forget her mother's distress and go out to play.

He wasn't sure what he was expecting. The way you had collapsed so suddenly worried him beyond belief. That was the way it had all started with his mother. And now she was no more than a shadow, a memory haunting him.

When the door opened, he shooed those thoughts from his mind, standing and lifting Annie to sit on his hip. The doctor appeared, bag in hand, expression grim. He nodded once at Billy, gesturing to the room. "We'll talk in a minute."

Billy offered half a nod before rushing in to you, Annie in his arms. The sight of you nearly stopped him in his tracks. Paler than a ghost, nearly the color of the sheets you laid atop.

When you noticed them, a sweet smile brightened your face, and you reached out, beckoning. "Annie."

He set his daughter down, and she ran to you, burying her face in your chest. You hugged her tight, kissing the top of her head. "Sweet girl. Are you okay?"

Annie mumbled something Billy couldn't make out. He was still, like a statue caught in time's grip.

Nothing was going to be the same. He had that thought over and over in the next few weeks.

It was a symphony of the same scenes over and over again. Your illness took hold of you, settled into your bones and became all that had been you. That version of you was replaced with a feverish imposter, weaker than a newborn foal. You still laughed often, but it was a dull, raspy sound that panged at Billy's heart.

He clung to hope that somehow you would pull out of it. That by the grace of a miracle one day he would wake up, and you'd be looking back at him, saying you felt better.

The opposite persisted. Every time you awoke in the throes of a fever, tossing and turning until he wound his arms around you, he felt you slipping away. It pounded at his chest, an awful realization he ignored in the hopes that it would prove wrong. He shut it out, hiding his face in your hair, holding on tight and wishing, praying, pleading.

You seemed oblivious to it, though you were feeble and listless most days. Still, you smiled, hugged your daughter, kissed him. You were bedridden, but still your spirits were high as the heavens. Even now, as you read quietly beside him, thumbing through the little book with the red cover you so adored, he swore he saw glimpses of you before the sickness that had eaten away at your being.

Billy was absentmindedly stroking your side, lost in thought. He kissed your temple. "Why don'tcha rest for a bit, sweetheart? You can read more when you're better."

He reached his hand out for the book, and you waited a moment before handing it over, letting him set it on your nightstand beside the vase of dried flowers, petals withering away. They had been a gift from Annie, picked in the field not too far from the oak tree.

You settled limply against his chest, fingers rubbing up and down his stomach softly. Your quiet spoke magnitudes, things Billy wasn't sure he was ready to hear.

"I'm not going to get better," you whispered, though the quiet did nothing to dull the sting your words ensued. He felt a tide of panic begin to crash, and immediately ran the other way.

"Shh, don't say that," he murmured, squeezing your shoulder. "You'll be better in no time. Just needa rest, baby."

"Billy-" you sat up, lifting your head from his chest. He tried to pull you back down, but you shook your head. "We need to talk about this."

"No. No." Billy looked away, dread crawling over his insides. He felt as though he were in the middle of an ocean, waiting for it to swallow him up. "You have to get better. I need you-"

"You're going to be okay," you promised, taking his face in your hands and turning it back to you. "It's gonna be okay."

He was struggling for air. "It can't...I can't...how am I supposed to do a damn thing without you? I can't..." Tears were pricking at his eyes, threatening to spill over. "Baby..."

"I need you to be there for Annie. She'll have questions," you murmured, making sure he was looking at you. "She's gonna need you."

"I need you," he whispered, arms tightening around you. "I can't do this without you. I can't raise her. I-" Billy swallowed thickly. "I can't live without you."

"You still have me," you said softly, and he could see tears in your own eyes now. "You have Annie. She is me. She's got all the good parts of both of us, none of the bad."

"There were never any bad parts of you," Billy breathed, and you took in a breath, smiling in a bittersweet way.

"Promise me you'll be there for her," you said, voice firm despite your gentle hold. "Please."

"I promise," he managed, biting the side of his cheek. "Baby-" An unborn cry cut him off, and he looked down, squeezing his eyes shut. Everything he'd tried to avoid had him pinned down now, shaking his shoulders and screaming at him to wake up.

You took in a breath, pulling him closer, down so his head was on your chest. He clung to you, feeling like a child. Your fingers stroked his hair, delicately roving through his curls in an attempt to soothe. Billy only let himself cry then, tears soaking the front of your nightdress. You breathed, "Oh, Billy," and he fisted your bodice, trying not to imagine what things would be like if you were no longer here.

When you were no longer here.

He wasn't ready. How can anybody ever be ready?

Grief hunted him down, made him miss you before he was gone. It stripped the skin from his bones, buried itself into his being and filled the spot where you were. He couldn't remember how it had felt before.

You were slipping away too quickly, and he was grasping for you, milking every second he was allowed. This was a familiar notion- he'd known it before, so he'd thought. But it was different now. You were a new love, one he'd embraced wholeheartedly. He'd given up everything to be with you and done it gladly. You were the center of the life he'd built so far from the land of outlaws and wanted posters. You were epitome of everything good and pure in the world.

Had his sins truly been so unforgivable that you were now being taken from him? Was he so far from absolvable? Billy had repented with every second since he'd met you, knowing that men who kept doing bad things didn't get to keep women like you. It had all been for naught now, because you were turning into memory.

"Give Daddy extra love, okay?" you whispered to Annie, holding her in a tight hug despite your growing weakness. "He's gonna be sad for a while. Can you give him love for me?"

Annie nodded, and you kissed her forehead, squeezing her to your side one last time. You said one last soft thing to her, and she nodded, leaving your side and shutting the door behind her when she went into the other room.

When she was gone, you gave him a tired smile, one that told him everything he needed to know. Billy crawled in beside you, pulling you to lean against his chest. He felt tears wet his shirt, unsure if they were yours or his.

"I don't want to die," you whispered, the pain in your voice making him want to sink into the earth.

Billy squeezed you, tears raining into your hair. "I know. I know, angel."

"I don't want to leave you." Your hand found his, winding fingers together and clenching.

He felt the lonely rise of grief's dull ache seize him again. "I know, angel." Billy's lips parted, something he both wanted and didn't want to say lingering between them. It escaped before he could think further. "Just rest. We're...we're gonna be okay. You can sleep now. I'll hold you the whole time."

"Billy-" you were grasping, breathing faint. He could see life draining from you, your body growing heavy.

"Shh," he whispered, tears like rivers down his cheeks. He brushed them aside, sitting up and pulling you into his lap, so your head was resting against his shoulder. He was still in one piece, strong for you as he rocked you steadily, holding you tight. Love...that was what you needed right now. To know you were loved.

He wouldn't fall apart yet. Not when you were still here for now, clinging to him and holding on for every moment you could squeeze out. Billy leaned down and kissed you tenderly, trying to convey every bit of what had always been yours. His heart. "I love you."

Your body relaxed, and sunbeams spotlit the floor through the windows. He could hear birds outside, singing their merry tunes. It was the birth of summer, the sister of spring. Your essence alone existed in these few months, and it would echo at him for the rest of his days.

Billy held you close as your expression grew peaceful. The veil separating life and death was thin, and you were answering its call. He whispered over and over like a mantra. "I love you. I love you. I love you."

Your body went still.

And now he fell apart.

[inyourgravehcs]

♡ Sweet dreams ♡

❥ TAGS: gn!reader, hurt/comfort, fluff. I'm a little late, but happy birtday, Xiao, my beloved.

The clear sky, unencumbered by a single cloud, a blossoming tree spreading it’s wide branches in all directions, the gentle warmth of the sun's rays tickling his skin playfully. A beautiful scenery, previously unknown to Xiao. The blood stained soil, a devastated battlefield, chains of despair curling around his limbs and restraining them — this was what he was used to, not this gentle idyll.

But more important than anything else is the fact that you're here.

He always feared that if your image suddenly appeared in his dreams, he would plunge into the very depths of his ugly mind, disfigured by thousands of years of torment. That he would have to fight himself, protecting a fragile figure that had nothing to do with the vile spawn of the adeptus’ inner demons. What if he had failed to shelter you from this hidden danger? Was his title as your guard valid in that case? How weak would he be if he couldn't even keep you safe from his own subconscious? One thing he knew for sure: If that had happened, he could have been considered to have succumbed to darkness from that moment on.

But it didn't happen.

No, it’s exactly the opposite. With your appearance, it was as if you had healed the bleeding wounds of his mind, and with a gentle touch you had quelled the insatiable karma. With every step you took, flowers bloomed on the ground instead of the scars of the past, and the frozen earth came alive again, giving birth to something beautiful.

He no longer hears voices. He hears only the quiet rustling of the grass beneath your heels, coming closer with each step. It was truly astonishing, How the peaceful silence suddenly puts an end to the calm and gives rise to a newfound anxiety, the source of which is unknown. A new sound beats in Xiao's ears, different from anything he has heard before. Yaksha listens intently to the unknown with his eyes closed, trying to determine its direction - only to realize that it's his heart coming alive because of your growing proximity to him.

There you are, right here, less than a meter away from him. So many thoughts run through the Adeptus’ head at once, almost overwhelming in their intensity, but that ends when you reach out and gently take Xiao's face in your hands. So firmly, but at the same time so tenderly, that peace falls over your lover’s mind. His shallow breath falters from second to second, and he doesn't even notice himself snuggling into the oh so cherished by him palms, squinting his eyes contentedly. So warm and serene... When was the last time he felt like this in a dream? His love-stricken consciousness sighs for you so much that Yaksha can't realize tears coming to his eyes, threatening to roll down his cheeks in thin streams that will never end if so happens.

But that's why you're here. For him. The sight of your lover is pitiful, but also admirable — how strong does he have to be to hold back such untold amounts of pain and grief for centuries? Outlining the delicate skin of Xiao's cheek with a kind stroke, you admire his cathartic state that was yearning to come out for so many years. Your thumb reaches for the corner of your lover's eye as if of its own volition, picking up a heavy tear and brushing it away at the same moment.

He stares at you with a sudden realization, not taking his eyes off you for a moment. Golden irises glisten and shimmer, moistened by such a sudden but welcomed flood of tears. The glow of the wet glare of his eyes gives him a far more emotional appearance.

In that moment, it seemed as if your hearts united. That they beat as one - in unison.

Sighing lovingly, you press your lover's face against your chest, hugging the back of his head. At the same moment, Xiao's breath stops: like a frightened cat, with his eyes wide open, he presses himself against his beloved's heart, not daring to move a millimeter. At this moment, adeptus seems amusingly adorable because of the contrast with his already established image. But really? He was really nothing more than a lost soul, flitting from place to place, hoping to find his ultimate destination. A bewildered creature who had suffered much and put on a thick protective shell. You knew that — knew it better than anyone else, and you knew how to handle it.

A slight smile had been on your face all this time. That's how your lover really is, a lost little chick who's heart is so fragile. You could play an entire symphony on the strings of his soul, and he wouldn't even be able to resist you — but you won't. You're here to save and heal Xiao.

That's why you touch his hair, stroking it and playing with the short, curly strands. A gesture of comfort, full of genuine concern. He accepts it, and accepts it willingly; he clutches tightly to your chest and sighs with relief. The moment was impossibly tender in its sweetness - not even the most exquisite almond tofu could stand next to it. It seemed like it couldn't get any better, and trying to interrupt the perfect moment of union with each other would be a sin — but you had a talent for making everything better. Cautiously, you lifted his chin with your index finger, causing your eyes to meet again. Smiling casually, you lean closer and closer, shortening the distance between your faces…

“Xiao, what's next?! You've been beating around the bush for how long now, constantly stammering!”

...No. He couldn't just recount that moment of the dream to you like that.

“Don't look at me like that!” Xiao exclaimed with his eyes wide open, pressing his hands to his cheeks in an attempt to hide the acute embarrassment he felt. “It's... Personal.”

“How can it be more personal when we're already a couple?”

After taking a deep breath, you roll your eyes, sighing defiantly. No, he certainly looks really cute right now, but you need to know what was next!

“Hmm. Since you won't tell me about that part of the dream, why don't I reconstruct the course of events in reality and see how it ends?”

A sly smile lights up your face, while Xiao is at a loss for words and stammering incoherently, trying to squeeze out some sort of answer.

Of course, you couldn't waste any time at such a perfect moment. You'd shortened the distance between you two in just a few quick steps, and you were already holding Xiao’s face in your hands, recalling in your head his warm descriptions of his dream today. His anticipatory look of excitement couldn't help but awaken in you the very same tenderness he must have been looking for in you the most every time.

“So that's how you see me....”

The Yaksha's confused eyes softened, and his troubled breathing normalized. Swallowing tensely, he only nods eagerly a couple of times, forfeiting the need to be blunt and straightforward with his answer.

Closing your eyes, just as in his dream, you cradle his head against your chest — stroking, caressing the scalp and dark green hair. A perfectly reproduced moment that makes the hearts of both of you belt out an excited tune.

Not without its nuances, though, ‘cause the real you was far more multifaceted than your dream version.

“Xiao," you whispered his name playfully, "I'll be sure to recreate every moment like in your sweet dream... But I'll have to improvise on the part you were too shy to describe.”

♡ ── ✦ ──『♡』── ✦ ── ♡

Please note that english isn't my native language and can be awkward at times.

Please don't translate or repost my works without asking for my permission first!

[averagewriter-inthedark]

Life Did Not Treat Us Well 🌙 | Harry Potter Imagine

set during the events of HP 3 & 7

HP Masterlist

Characters & Pairings: all platonic—Harry Potter, Remus Lupin, Sirius Black, Severus Snape, Hermione Granger, Ron Weasley, Minerva McGonnagal, Albus Dumbledore

Content Warnings: angst, hurt/comfort, implied character death, cannon divergence | Female!reader (she/her) | wc: 6k

Premise:

When the dust clears at Hogwarts, Harry searchers for the one person who can relate to him, now that all close to his parents were dead. She was the last remanence of the family he could have had, if life had treated them well. Now they were two lost souls, carrying the weight of reality on their shoulders. But while Harry would one day greet death as an old friend, she was bound to the Earth forever.

-----------

Harry found his Godmother in the Astronomy Tower. Or what was left of it really. Seated on the edge with feet hanging off, the cool breeze blowing through her hair. As he got closer, he saw the blank look in her eye, staring out to the distance at the river and trees. Smoke from the fires sizzling out until disappearing forever. 

He announced himself as he approached, although Harry knew she was aware of his presence. “Thought I might find you here.” Coming beside her, Harry crouched and swung his legs off the ledge to sit next to her. 

“This used to be my favorite spot in the castle,” She replied without looking at him, but Harry heard the small smile in her voice. The tone one has when recalling happy memories. “I loved coming up here after hours to admire the stars. It was the one place I found solace in, and what I missed most after….” 

Harry understood what she referred to, tilting his head down. The question left his lips without thinking, “Did you ever hate them? Dumbledore, Sirius….Remus. At any point?” He glanced up with curious eyes, “For what happened that night.” The boy received a sigh, emanating the exhaustion she felt after the long, devastating battle. It was laced with grief and sorrow. Making Harry regret asking. He went to apologize but she cut him off. 

“To say I didn’t want to would be a lie,” the confession hung in the air, a tightening in her chest despite the weightlifting off her shoulders. “Especially in the beginning, Harry. It’s why many years passed before I returned home. I was enraged.” Turning to him, she pressed her lips together, “I feared what I’d do, and it didn’t help that my emotions were not only all over the place, but heightened and made me uncontrollable.” 

A shiver migrated down her spine, the memory of her early years after the transformation resurfacing. Along with the fear, guilt, and despair. Sniffing, she panned back to the river, “But you must know, I do not-- did not, ” she corrected with a crack, “hate Remus. Nor did I harbor any blame for what he did. He wasn’t in his right mind, as you’ve witnessed when there’s a full moon.”

Harry shuddered, thinking back to his third year. The night of many revelations. Sirius’ innocence, Peter’s betrayal, Remus’s lycanthropy…and Y/n’s vampirism. 

“But Sirius and Dumbledore…..”

He heard her sharp intake of breath, her voice growing lower, “It pains me to admit it, Harry, but…..I wanted to kill them. ” Of course that feeling disappeared a long time ago. After a long journey of reflection, acceptance, and resilience. Y/n forgiving Sirius for his actions that led to her nearly dying at the hands of Remus when she saved Snape from falling into Sirius’ trap. Their reunion in 1993 was a bittersweet moment. Filled with apologies and hope for the future. 

As for Dumbledore, part of her--especially now after everything that’s happened, after everything she’s lost, deep down Y/n wishes he had let her succumb to the injuries. 

“What do we do, Albus!” Madam Pomprey shouted, on the verge of hyperventilating as she attempted to aid the girl in front of her. Blood poured from multiple parts of her body as she laid on the bed. Withering, shivering, turning paler by the second. 

James and Sirius stood frozen in the corner, covered in Y/n’s blood from hauling her to the infirmary, watching the scene unfold with horror. Snape, laying in his own bed, mirrored their expressions as Professor McGonnagal tried to block his view. The older woman had a hand covering her mouth, “God be with us.”

Y/n groaned, face becoming drowsy as her body desired sleep. Madam Pomprey’s dress painted deep red, pleading to the headmaster with her eyes. “This is beyond my reach, headmaster. We must take her to St. Mungos.”

Albus refused, “She’s in no condition to apparate, nor travel by Floo. She’ll die before we’d set foot inside.” He thought deeply, glancing between the girl and his colleagues with an unreadable expression. Then, as though fighting the thoughts in his head, Albus sighed in defeat. “There’s only one way to save the girl.” As he reached into his pocket, retrieving the vial he’d grabbed on his way out of his office in case of the worst possible outcome, Albus motioned for Filch. “Send an owl to the Department of Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. Tell them they must send a representative to Hogwarts before the sun rises--it is a matter of the highest urgency.” 

With a nod, Filch makes haste out of the infirmary towards the owlery. Leaving the remaining members of the group confused and worried. Minerva approaches the man, “The Department of Magical Creatures? What in Heaven's name are you thinking, Dumbledore? Remus didn’t bite Y/n--.” She then notices the vial in his hand, face dropping, “What is that?”

Albus briefly glances at the boys before focusing back on Y/n. Preparing himself for the negative reaction he was sure to receive. “ Vampire venom .” Air catches in all their throats, Sirius looking like he wants to throw up. The women gasp, Minerva absolutely appalled. 

“Are you suggesting turning the girl into a vampire?!” her voice carries with an unfamiliar tone no one had ever seen from the professor. It was like she didn’t recognize the man in front of her. In disbelief he even possessed the venom when only three known vampires were alive and located away from England. 

“It’s the only way to save the girl, Minerva.”

“That is illegal!” She shouted, making even Pompfrey flinch. James and Sirius felt their stomachs drop, hearts pounding against their chest. Seeing their head of House look genuinely frightened on top of their best friend dying ignited a fury of anxiety. Minerva stepped closer to Albus, voice stern, “If the Ministry doesn’t see fit to kill her they will surely send her away. They will remove her from Hogwarts--and her family! To be alone for all eternity,” Minerva’s heart already broke for the girl. Her favorite student and protegee. “If you do this you are sentencing her to a fate worse than death, Albus.” 

He was quiet for a moment, as if debating what to do. But then brushed past the woman to move beside Y/n, uncorking the vial. “Likely so. But it is a risk worth taking.”

Minerva had to turn away, squeezing her eyes shut to not watch the man do the unthinkable. Meanwhile James steps forward, sweat still beading his forehead and yells, “You can’t do that, headmaster!” Albus’ hand pauses in the air before it could pour the liquid in Y/n’s mouth. Glancing up to find James’s horrified face. The young Potter had read a bit on vampires along with the stories his father told him. 

The most notable details being vampires were hunted all over the globe to the point only three were known to be alive. Living off the grid and nomadic. And that not every human bit survives the transformation. More often they die before the venom reaches the heart depending on their state. 

Knowing this, James feared for his friend. “What if she doesn’t survive the change?” Albus simply looked at him and replied, “And what if she does?” James said nothing, gulping as he took his place back beside Sirius. 

They watched intently as the headmaster leaned over Y/n, gently parting her lips to open her mouth. “I am truly sorry about this, my dear.” Pausing, he glanced up to Pompfrey, “Clear the room. Anyone with open wounds and covered in blood will be her target.” With urgency, Pompfrey had the boys help her lift Snape out of the infirmary. Leaving only Minerva and Albus with Y/n, who was moments away from death.

“Are you sure about this, Albus?” Minerva asked one last time. Her eyes glossed over, saying a mental prayer for Y/n and for herself in the case the transformation works and Y/n attacks them in a bloodlust. 

Though sure of himself, Albus felt his heart skip a beat the moment he let the venom fall into Y/n’s mouth, “Regardless if I am sure…there’s no turning back now.”

“I hated them,” she voiced with emotion, picturing the moment she awoke to a new reality, Harry noticing the way her eyes glossed over. “Dumbledore especially. Sirius I forgave because at the end of the day he was just being a stupid kid who didn’t think his actions had consequences. But Dumbledore…I never looked at him the same again. After all, he was the one who made the choice. Yes, he saved my life, and you’d think I’d be grateful,” she shook her head, turning back to Harry with sorrow filled eyes, “but how can I, when he sentenced me to walk the Earth for all eternity. Stuck with the same face I had at eighteen. Never to grow old while those around me live their lives until death comes to greet them.”

And now she was the last Marauder. All of her friends were dead, leaving her alone in the world. 

Harry’s heart broke for his Godmother. With his parents, Sirius, Remus--and even Snape--gone, Y/n was the last person close to his parents living. The only family he had left--save for his muggle aunt and uncle who really could care less about whether he lived or died in the war. 

It was just him and Y/n. The Boy Who Lived and the Lone Vampire.

Harry thought back to the first day of his third year. The day he and his friends met Lupin. Enjoying their dinner with their house in the Great Hall and how curious everyone became at the mention of another guest roaming the halls.

The Frog choir had just finished their song, the room erupting into applause as Dumbledore took to his podium. 

“Welcome, welcome to another year at Hogwarts!” He announced with raised arms, “Now I’d like to say a few words before we all become too befuddled by our excellent feast. First, I’m pleased to welcome Professor R.J. Lupin, who’d kindly consented to fill the post of Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher.” He motions to the man, who stands from his chair to smile and wave to the crowd. “Good luck, professor.”

Beside Lupin, Snape offers three simple claps while remaining stoic, while the other teachers beam at the newest edition to their faculty. 

Dumbledore continues, “Our Care of Magical Creatures teacher for many years has decided to retire, in order to spend more time with his remaining limbs. Fortunately, I’m delighted to announce that his place will be taken by none other than our own Rubeus Hagrid.” As the half-giant stands, shaking the table as he does, the Gryffindor table erupted into cheers. Some whistling and shouting with glee. 

“Finally,” The headmaster quiets the crowd, “on a more describing note. At the request of the Ministry of Magic, Hogwarts will until further notice play host to the Dementors of Azkaban until such a time Sirius Black is captured.” Murmurs echo against the walls, students whispering in hushed voices. Faces painted with concern. Most notably Harry, who turns to his friends, also visibly worried. 

“The Dementors will be stationed at every entrance to the grounds. Now, whilst I’ve been assured that their presence will not disrupt our day-to-day activities…,” he pauses slightly, eyes catching a figure walking past the entrance of the Great Hall. Dressed head-to-toe in black leather, heels barely clicking against the pavement with how light her footsteps were. Behind Dumbledore, the demeanor of the entire faculty shifted. Lupin and Snape tensing, while Minerva visibly paled. 

The students, particularly the Golden Trio, took the change in behavior in regard to the Dementors & Sirius Black. Who could blame them really. Sirius Black was the talk of the town. Then there was the incident on the train with the Dementors. None were aware of the mysterious woman disappearing from sight as she passed the entrance to continue her journey throughout the castle.

Dumbledore cleared his throat, “A word of caution. Dementors are vicious creatures. They will not distinguish between the one they hunt and the one who gets in their way. Therefore, I must warn each and every one of you to give them no reason to harm you. It is not in the nature of a Dementor to be forgiving,” he pauses once more, lifting a finger, “but you know, happiness to be found even in the darkest of times.” His hand waves over a candle, distinguishing the flame, “One only remembers to turn on the light.” waving his hand again, the flame returns. 

“With that being said, we’ve taken the necessary precaution to further ensure your safety in the castle.” Albus glances over his shoulder and meets Minerva’s eyes, then quickly does the same to Remus and Severus before returning his attention to the crowds. All three appear nervous. Deep down, Albus feels the same, but puts on a fake smile. “We are pleased to welcome another guest to Hogwarts.” 

This piques the interest of everyone, and Harry straightens in his seat to look around the faculty for an unfamiliar face. However he falls up short, narrowing his brows in confusion. 

“A fellow alum, who’s recently returned to England after many years abroad. Miss. Y/n L/n…” murmurs once again fill the room, mostly laced with wonder when they notice Dumbledore had not motioned toward a woman to provide face to a name, like he did Lupin. Harry frowns, looking at Hermione who just shrugs in response. “Has graciously accepted the position of taking over nightly surveillance from Mr. Filch. She’ll be roaming the halls after curfew and is expected to report any and all suspicious activity. Including any students out of bed. Therefore, I advise you all to not leave your dormitories after hours,” Dumbledore’s voice suddenly turns serious, “unless you wish to receive the proper punishment.”

Off to the side Harry overheard the twins, Fred and George, mumble something along the lines of, “That’s rubbish. How are we supposed to see if she’s fit if she’s only in the castle at night?” A statement which had all the girls in proximity roll their eyes and glare. 

Ron leaned over to Harry, whispering loud enough for Hermione to hear, “that must suck. Imagine being the only one awake the entire night while everyone else is asleep. Quite a boring job if you ask me.” 

Dumbledore ended the announcement, expression slightly troubled, “Miss. L/n will not be joining us for day-to-day activities, her duty is required at night. 

While Ron and Hermoine fell into conversation as the feast began, Harry’s attention was rather occupied. Noticing something strange those around him failed to see. 

The guilty faces of his teachers. Including Dumbledore and Snape. 

It would be a few months into the term that Harry would first meet Y/n. Dumbledore wasn’t joking about her reporting all activity after hours. Several students had breached curfew. Some go to House parties, others to get a glimpse of Hogwarts mysterious security guard. Each was met with detention that week, and all were shocked having never spotted the woman lurking about the castle. 

It was as if she were a ghost. But even the ghosts of Hogwarts were lively. 

She was all but a mystery. 

It was a bad idea. He knew better than to sneak out of the dorms after hours. But seeing the name Peter Pettigrew, a man known to be dead on the Marauder’s map, Harry had to investigate. So, with his wand leading the light in front of him, he made his way into the halls toward ‘Pettigrew’s’ location. 

“Put that light out!”

“Sorry,” he apologized to the portrait, bringing the light in front of the map. There it showed Peter moving towards him. Harry paused, staying in his position while flicking his wand outward, but caught nothing in the darkness. 

His heart pumped faster, breathing heavily as he felt the anxiety rise. What was he supposed to do? Peter Pettigrew was supposed to be dead. What would it mean if he was alive? What did it mean for Sirius Black?

The footsteps on the map closed in on Harry, until they were right in front of him. Then Harry turned, lifting his gaze expecting to see the culprit but scared himself as he met his own reflection in a mirror. Confused, Harry looked back at the map to find Peter’s name scurrying away, turning the corner moving away from Harry. 

Then another name appeared.

Severus Snape approached the intersection of the opposite corridor, Harry mentally cursing as he waved his wand over the map, “Mischief managed. Nox,” the light went off, plunging him into darkness. 

Unfortunately he was a second too late. Severus non-verbally casts ‘Lumos’ and flashes the light in his face. “Potter,” he snarled. “What are you doing wandering the corridors at night?”

“I was sleepwalking,” was the first thing that popped into Harry's mind. A horrible excuse he was sure Snape wouldn’t believe but tried anyway. 

“Extraordinary like your father you are, Potter,” Snape muttered, tone laced with displeasure. “He, too, was exceedingly arrogant. Strutting about the castle.”

“My dad didn’t strut,” Harry sassed, “and nor do I.” Matching Snape’s hard stare, Harry never lost eye contact, “Now if you don’t mind, I would appreciate it if you lowered your wand.”

Almost like he was impressed with Harry’s attitude, Snape made a face, pointing his hand downward so his wand was directed at the floor. “Turn out your pockets.” When Harry didn’t move, Snape repeated the order sternly, “Turn out. Your pockets.”

Sighing through his nose, Harry removed the map from his hoodie, but did not offer it to Snape. 

“What’s this?”

“A bare bit of parchment.”

“Really,” Snape didn’t believe him. “Open it.” A second paused before Harry complied. Then Snape placed his wand directly over the parchment. “Reveal your secrets.” They watched as lettering appeared, revealing the names Harry already became familiar with but instead of a map, there was a message. “Read it.”

“Messrs. Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, Prongs,” Harry began, briefly flicking his eyes up , “and Missus. Hops, offer their compliments to Professor Snape and--.” Harry cut himself off, unsure to continue as his eyes scanned over the next sentence. 

“Go on,” Snape drawled, and Harry lifted his head to look at him. 

“And request that he keep his abnormally large nose out of other people’s business.”

Snape saw red, “Why you insolent little--.”

“Professor,” Remus announced himself, Snape turning so fast Harry thought he ought to have whiplash. Black hair pretty much covers his eyes.

“Well, well. Lupin . Out for a little walk….in the moonlight. Are we?” 

Remus ignored Snape, offering only a smirk as he approached the two. “Harry. You alright?”

“That remains to be seen.” Snape, again, turned hastily and snatched the parchment out of Harry’s hands. Leaving the boy stunned. “I have just confiscated a rather curious artifact from Mr. Potter. Take a look, Lupin,” he extends his hand, allowing Remus to take it. “It’s supposed to be your area of expertise. Clearly, it is full of dark magic.”

Remus rolls his eyes at the accusation. “I seriously doubt it, Severus. It looks to me as though it’s merely a parchment designed to insult anyone who tries to read it.” His chuckle echoes. “I suspect it’s a Zonko product. Nevertheless,” he moves his hands away when Snape attempts to retrieve the parchment. “I should investigate any hidden qualities it may possess. “‘Tis after all, as you say, my area of expertise.” 

As Remus goes to have Harry follow him out, they are interrupted by the sound of footsteps approaching, causing all three of them to freeze. Severus points his wand out, light emitting into the darkness. They follow the light as he points it in the opposite direction, where they see nothing. Then, as they turn back to the original direction they were facing, the three men stagger back when they’re greeted with the sight of a woman standing directly in front of them.

She was dressed in all black. Beneath her long trench coat, she wore a turtleneck, gloves, and heeled boots. Striking facial features. So youthful; skin clear and smooth like fine China, a jawline and cheekbones that could cut through wood and eyes void of color. They were a bright gray, nearly white. And the moment she spoke Harry noticed how white her teeth were. Reflecting against the light from Snape’s wand. 

“Gentlemen.” Her voice was feathery. Almost a whisper with a slight echo. Unlike anything Harry ever heard. She sounded far away despite being so close. 

Harry saw the way the men reacted to the arrival of their guest. Relaxed, but somewhat uneasy. Remus’s head slightly tipped down, “ Y/n.” Harry’s face contorted to shock, despite assuming the moment he saw the woman that it was Y/n. But what made the boy think otherwise was how young she appeared. As though she were a student and not faculty. Physically looking like she belonged with the seventh years. “Apologies for disturbing you this evening.”

Y/n’s expression was stoic, “Your apology should be directed to those hanging on the wall trying to sleep. Something you all should be doing as well.” Eyes flickered over to Snape, then to Harry, causing the boy to tense under her gaze. It lingered on him for a moment before returning to Remus, “It is not safe to be out at this hour.”

“Agreed,” Snape drawled, glaring at Lupin slightly. “We were all just leaving. Isn’t that right, Lupin?”

“Yes,” the DADA professor cleared his throat. “That’s right. I was actually going to request Harry’s company back to my office to answer a few questions regarding this item he came into possession of,” he waved the map in his hands. Casting a knowing look to Y/n, who merely raised a brow at the parchment. Then her lips curled up while lifting her hand. 

“Might I?”

At first he was hesitant, but then Remus slowly lowered the parchment into her palm, her delicate fingers taking grasp before analyzing the piece up close. “Well, well,” she hummed, a glint in her eyes. “What a peculiar thing. With a sense of humor.” She ignored the annoyed reaction from Snape, making Harry hold back a snicker. 

“Yes,” Remus murmurs with a small smile, but it’s filled with emotion as he looks down at her. When she met his eyes, the man straightened, clearing his throat. “Again, our apologies for the disturbance.” 

Y/n hands the map back, nodding sharply, “Quite alright. At least it was you all responsible for the noise.” She smirks, “I’d hate to report the Weasley twins again for the third time this week.” Remus chuckles and Harry smiles while Snape just rolls his eyes. 

“Been having your hands full, I take it?” 

A scoff escapes her, “Like you wouldn’t believe. These students are more rebellious than I imagined. Though I have to give it to them. They’ve become rather creative in their ways of sneaking out after curfew.”

Remus tilts his head, “More so than how we were,” he whispers so Harry doesn’t catch it, but knowing she would. Her nod confirms so, and Remus shakes his head with a chuckle. “Well I can only assume Filch is pleased to have the nights off now.”

“Oh, he makes it well known when we trade off at dusk.” They share another laugh, but she cuts it off when she spots Harry watching them with curious eyes. “I’ll leave you gentlemen to it then.” Her eyes traveled to Harry, making his breath catch as they lingered on him. Pinning him to his spot as he caught the way they softened. “It’s a pleasure to finally make your acquaintance, Harry Potter.” 

The boy stuttered out a response, “It--it’s nice to meet you too, Miss. L/n.” 

“Please, call me Y/n.” She approaches him, stopping short and before anyone could react, she was lifting a gloved hand to his face. Gently brushing a finger over his cheek, causing Harry’s heart to skip a beat. Even with gloves on, her touch was chilling. 

Behind her Harry saw the professors stiffen, meekly sharing a glance. Then Y/n’s voice echoed once more against the silent, almost a kiss of a whisper. “My, don’t you look like your father.” Harry swallowed, processing her words which were nothing but a shock to him that the woman knew his father. Then again as she, with a pained tone, added, “But those eyes… those eyes are all Lily .”

Harry wanted to know more about Y/n after that night. About her relationship with his parents. How she knew Lupin. And Snape when she appeared no older than Percy Weasley. Why was she confined to patrol the halls of Hogwarts at night and could not join them during the day. He tried asking Lupin questions when they got to his office but the man was reluctant to answer. 

Harry had told Hermione and Ron of his interaction with the woman the next day. Igniting surprise in friends as well as curiosity. Hermione particularly found Y/n’s predicament quite questionable. And all the more suspicious when Harry mentioned her youthful appearance. 

“I’m telling you she knew my parents,” He said, placing the goblet on the table. Glancing up he was met with her penetrating stare, brows furrowed.

“That’s impossible, Harry,” she leaned over after checking to see if anyone was listening. “If what you’re saying is true, she’d have to be the same age as Lupin--in her thirties. The only other thing I can think of is she was a child whose parents were friends with yours. Are you sure it wasn’t just your eyes playing tricks on you?”

He shook his head, crossing his arms over the table as he thought back to the night’s events. “No. The way she and Lupin interacted…it was friendly, but tense at the same time. Same with Snape--like they were old acquaintances.” He sighs, scratching the back of his neck. “Whatever, you’re probably right. She must’ve graduated the year before we came here--that would make sense why Snape knew her too.” 

Hermione felt like something was still off, “but…you said she didn’t look older than Percy.”

“So?” Ron cuts in.

“So,” Hermione repeats with an edge to her voice, “It doesn’t make sense for her to be the same age as Percy, but graduated three years ago and knew Harry’s parents the way he’s implying she did.”

“Then she might be twenty or something,” Ron swallows a mouthful of food. At their expressions he lifts his hands with a shrug, “Look all I’m saying is some people age differently. There’ve been times where I can’t tell if someone is eighteen or twenty-five.” 

Hermione slumped in her seat, no longer feeling the energy to argue. Ron did have a point, but her intuition was screaming at her there was more to the story. She’d have to do some digging.

The Golden trio discovered many revelations the night Sirius Black came to Hogwarts. After Sirius dragged Ron into the Shrieking Shack, where Hermione and Harry followed them too, they were stunned to their core upon the arrival of Remus and Y/n. Hermione nauseated at being in the same room as Y/n once more. Having met her the night after Harry when she snuck out of the dorms to the library. It led her to investigate the years Harry’s parents were at Hogwarts, at the same time Snape assigned an essay on werewolves . Resulting in Hermione to uncover two shocking discoveries. 

And seeing the two with Sirius brought an overwhelming fear to consume her. 

“No!” She shouted, still blocking Harry from the three. “I trusted you! He’s a werewolf!” She points to him, glancing over her shoulder to her friends. “That’s why he’s been missing classes.” She gulps, moving her gaze to the woman beside Lupin. Her voice went lower, “And she….she’s a vampire .” The boys’ stomach plummeted, shudders running up their spines as their mouths went agape. 

Lupin was a werewolf. And Y/n was a vampire.

Lupin creeps closer, removing his hand from Sirius shoulder while Y/n stays put. “How long have you known?”

“Since Professor Snape sent the essay,” she pauses again, a cold chill upon her by the way Y/n was staring at her. Intimidating her with those blank eyes. “And when I found the yearbook from when you were all at school. She’s looked the same for fifteen years!” Hermione took a step back as Y/n moved beside Lupin. “Minus the eyes. It’s why she only walks the castle at night. And why Dumbledore’s been having blood from blood banks donated to madam Pomprey.”

The adults are impressed, Y/n holding back a laugh as she mutters, “Clever girl.”

Remus smirks, “Well, well, well Hermione, you really are the brightest witch of your age I’ve ever met.” From behind, Sirius loses his patience.

“Enough talk, Remus, c’mon. Let’s kill him!”

“Wait--!”

“I did my waiting!” The words echo off the walls, bursting out of Sirius's chest like an explosion. “Twelve years of it! In Azkaban!”

The night had been full of so much chaos. Not only was their professor a werewolf and nightguard a vampire, but Peter Pettigrew was alive and Sirius was innocent. Then Sirius revealed to Harry once they left the Shack that Y/n had actually been named Harry’s Godmother. Filling in the blanks Harry conjured as he tried to piece together the relationship she had with his parents. 

Sirius didn’t want to talk about the night she turned, but informed Harry that she’d left England by order of the Ministry. They put her on their record of living vampires and told her she’d have to request permission to return each time she wanted to visit. Sentencing her to a nomadic life across the globe. The one time she did come home was shortly after Harry’s birth when Lily managed to track her down. Three years after becoming a vampire, her self-control had improved. 

Their conversation was interrupted when the group had the horrifying realization it was the night of a full moon. Lighting up the sky as it broke through the clouds. Casting down its curse on the man bound to it. 

Harry will never forget the image of watching Remus in full transformation going toe-to-toe with Y/n’s true form. The black veins under her bloodshot, blackened eyes. The gray disappeared from the dilation of her pupils. Fangs protruding from her gums, jaw practically dislocated and hissing like a wild animal out for the blood she craved. The two ripping at each other’s flesh, their strength inhuman. Y/n obviously holding back to not kill Remus by accident, who was fighting her with the intent to kill given his mind was lost to the moon. If either of them bit the other it would end in tragedy. 

And while at the time Y/n had 15 years of self-control under her belt, there was always the risk she could lose it.

Even Snape was terrified. Seeing the creature in replace of the girl who saved his life all those years prior. A painful reminder of what could have been his reality. In the years following the incident Snape felt guilt and remorse for Y/n--who’d been the only one in James Potter’s friend group to show him kindness. Often scolding the others for their behavior. She was close to Lily and even sat with her and Snape in class or the Great Hall.

After the clouds cleared and the sun replaced the moon, Harry found himself in Remus’s office, alongside Y/n. It was the first time she’d been out in the daylight, though her body was covered head-to-toe, and sunglasses masked her eyes. Staying along the walls where the shadows seek shelter from the sun. 

“What happened?” Harry asked her when Remus left the room, but not before giving Y/n a friendly hug with the promise to write to her. She would be returning to Hogwarts, continuing her position as night guard. The Golden trio added to the small list of people aware of her condition. “How did you…” he bit his lip, unsure of the right words. “Become what you are?”

If she was bothered by the question, she was good at hiding it. Face never wavering from its expression. “It’s not a pleasant story to the ears, Harry. And I don’t,” she gave a sad smile. “I don’t want to ruin the image you have of your Godfather and Dumbledore--and even Remus.” That had him confused. 

Why would it ruin his image of them? Especially Dumbledore?

“You’re my Godmother,” Harry defended, still reeling in the happiness of knowing he had some family besides his abusive aunt and uncle. People who cared for him. “I want us to not have secrets with each other. I want to understand you--and know how to help you.” 

Y/n chuckled, bringing a cold hand to push some hair from Harry’s face that fell between his eyes. Gently stroking the scar on his forehead as she did so. “I’d expect nothing less from a Gryffindor. You were very brave last night. Saving Sirius and coming between Remus and I.” He flushed, rosy cheeks painting his face. Y/n sighed, removing her glasses so Harry could see her gray eyes. “What I’m going to tell you is not a story for the faint of heart, Harry. Remus, Sirius, Snape, your father….” her sharp inhale lingered a moment. “Life did not treat us well. And we’re still dealing with the consequences.” 

By the end of the tragic story, Harry was at a loss for words. Disbelieved by the truth of Y/n’s origins of becoming a vampire. Initially he thought the group had stumbled upon a rogue one and it targeted her. No, it was deeper and more personal. 

Sirius tried pranking Snape during a full moon. Snape took the bait. His father and Y/n went to save Snape from being killed and Remus attacked her. Leaving her half-dead by the time they reached the infirmary. And Dumbledore made the life-changing decision to transform her into a vampire rather than let her die. 

Sentencing her to a life of eternity, feeding off the blood of humans and to watch her loved ones die while she remained. The same face of an eighteen-year-old girl walking the Earth forever. 

Harry’s heart shattered. 

“What now?” came the question minutes later. Wondering how Y/n managed to stay at Hogwarts, working for the man she clearly loathed by the way she talked about him. Still angry by his decision. “Why are you staying when Sirius is free? Don’t you want to get away from here?” 

‘Away from the painful memories?’ He wanted to add. 

All he got was a shrug and a small smile. “And leave you?” His chest burst with emotion. A statement so simple, but worth a thousand words. “You’re my Godson are you not? Other forces are a threat to you, Harry. And I will not let your parents down.” 

And she didn’t. 

Four years later after that fateful night and here the two were sitting on the edge of the half-destroyed Astronomy tower. Overlooking the river while a lone Phoenix flew across the sky. Embarking on the silence, honoring their loved ones. 

Unsure of what future laid ahead of them, but one thing was for sure. Life may not have treated them well, but the best they could do was move forward. Not let the deaths be for nothing. Make sure the peace withstood to prevent another war. 

The history books would go on to write about the Boy Who Lived and his Godmother, the Lone Vampire. Her name and face, however, are hidden from the public eye. And as the decades pass more and more of her friends join the souls lost in the castle. Leaving only those lucky enough to cross paths to have a glimpse in their memory.

For she would forever be a mystery, with the moon and stars as her companion. 

[vampsywrites]

balance of life. PT.2

synopsis: from this dance with darkness, hear rebirth's whispered grace. see love's flame rekindled as grief is erased.

pairings: olo'eyktan! aged up! neteyam x tsahik! fem! reader

tags: mentions of death, trauma, grieving, funeral, blood, out of body experience, ritualistic behavior

☄️part 1 💫

"Please," Neteyam's tears drip onto your pale face, fingers trembling as they brush against your blood-stained skin, gliding across your flesh with an almost desperate tenderness, as if his touch alone could heal the wounds that mar your body.

The battle rages on around you, the chaotic sounds of war blending into muffled ringing. In this moment, time stands still, and the world around you fades into shadows.

"'Teyam…" Gasping for breath, you feel a final heave escape your body before everything is consumed by a blinding light.

NEYTIRI

It’s Neteyam that haunts her dreams the most.

It was the way he clung to your body, molding it against his, as if in a futile attempt to fuse your fading spirit back into existence.

It was the way his hands, once revered and celebrated, now carry the weight of his guilt; Marred with a deep crimson and tainted by the mark of his failure.

And it was the way fear seized those golden eyes, a haunted gaze that bore witness to the crumbling of his world.

The clan had already began the preparations for your funeral. And though it has only been a week since it happened, it lingered like a festering wound, refusing to heal.

In the late hours of the eclipse, Neytiri found herself alone in your vacant kelku. Once a warm and comforting space, it now stood devoid of life. Neteyam, deeply affected by your recent death, couldn't bear the atmosphere in the pod. It had stirred up painful memories which prompted him to move out, longing to escape the reminders of your presence that haunted him.

The glow of the night illuminated the walls as Neytiri hummed to herself quietly. In her hands, she held onto your songcord, tracing every bead, feather, and gem with an utmost care. The song that had once been yours now lived within her, a cherished melody that brought solace in moments of darkness. Closing her eyes, Neytiri let herself be carried away by the memories, allowing the echoed memories of your voice to envelop her.

A sudden brush against her arm startles her awake, aureate eyes shooting wide open. She quickly scans her surroundings, searching for the source of the unexpected touch. That is when her gaze settles on the soft glow of an atokirina, gently floating down until it lands onto your songcord, resting on a specific bead.

REBIRTH.

It was the very first bead on your songcord. A plain wooden square intertwoven with purple tendrils, symbolizing your rebirth. It represented the day you became one with the people, the day you were born anew.

The atokirina floated upward and out of the pod, brushing against Neytiri. It felt like an urging, a sign for her to follow.

Taking a deep breath, she rose from the wooden floors, her grip on your songcord firm. Stepping out of the pod, she was greeted by a sudden chill that seemed to course through her. It was as though she had forged a connection with the earth itself, feeling its presence resonate within her. A powerful thump reverberated through her body, sending tremors that hinted at your lingering presence in the air and the soft whispers carried by the wind.

"Ma Eywa," she gasps out, rushing after the atokirina. "What is this, Great Mother?"

Guided by the woodsprite, Neytiri arrives at a clearing that feels strangely familiar. With her feet anchored firmly in the soil, she gazes upward, captivated by the shimmering bioluminescent leaves adorning the trees, resembling stars. As she takes a deep breath, Neytiri surrenders to the tranquility of the moment, shutting her eyes. The symphony of forest sounds and the gentle touch of nature embrace her completely.

An overpowering sensation surged within her, causing her muscles to tense involuntarily. Waves of energy coursed through her body, causing her limbs to writhe and contort, as if responding to an unseen force. Beneath her feet, the grass throbbed with a pulsating rhythm, emitting radiant rings of light that expanded outward, like echoes of a beating heart.

"Sa'nok?"

Caught by surprise, Neytiri gasps, her trance abruptly broken as her gaze lands on Neteyam standing before her. Tears stream down her cheeks, evidence of the overwhelming emotions that had enveloped her. Her body trembles, still shaken by the otherworldly experience she had just undergone. Sinking to the floor, she finds herself overwhelmed.

Sensing her distress, Neteyam rushes to her side, his hands gently running up her arms as he anxiously asks, "What's wrong? What happened?"

She faces her son, a ghost of a smile gracing her lips. "I heard her, Eywa's voice has reached me," she whispers.

Neteyam's eyes widen with surprise. "What did she say?" he asks eagerly.

Neytiri's hand rests on her racing heart as she collects her thoughts. After a pause, she speaks.

"From this dance with darkness, hear rebirth's whispered grace. See love's flame rekindled as grief is erased," she gasps out.

Her words hang in the air, creating a pregnant pause, before she continues, her voice filled with hope.

"She will come back to us, Neteyam. Our prayers will be answered."

"Ting Mikyun Ayoer, Ruxte, Ma Nawma Sa'nok!" Neytiri's voice booms, carrying an unbridled power that reverberates like a primal growl. As she utters the sacred words, her hands ascend through the air. The earth crackles and hums with a raw power, responding to her fervent invocation with an electric surge of energy.

"Srung si poeru, Ma Eywa!" The collective voices of the people unite, their intertwined hands clinging tightly as they sway back and forth upon their knees. In response, the towering tree before them pulsates with an extraordinary surge of force. Rings of iridescent light emanate outward, casting a celestial glow across the open expanse.

"Eo Eywa oe ‘ia, eo Eywa oe 'ia," Neytiri surrenders herself to the rhythmic chants, her eyes rolling backward in a trance-like state. After a prolonged minute of fervent chanting, she abruptly ceases, snapping her eyes open. With a commanding gesture, she signals for the others to halt their chants, bringing a hush over the gathering.

"Srung si poeru, Ma Eywa," Neteyam repeats, kneeling beside your limp body as he intertwines his hands with yours. Alongside him, Mo'at raises her hands, a sacred spice cascading from her fingertips, delicately dusting your body.

This sacred rebirth ceremony holds profound significance, as it marks the first of its kind since the days of the first songs. Neytiri, assuming the role of Tsahìk in your absence, guides the ceremony, for it was she whom Eywa had contacted.

Neteyam, quick to react, extends his arms and delicately cradles your lifeless form, drawing you close to his chest. In a gentle whisper, he softly calls out your name, as if his voice could serve as a beacon to summon your spirit back from the realms of the departed and into the embrace of the living once more.

And then, in response to his heartfelt plea, a low whimper escapes your lips as your eyes flutter open. They struggle to focus at first, but eventually, they settle on Neteyam's face.

"Ma'Teyam…?"

Silence hangs in the air, stretching out the seconds as Neteyam absorbs the reality before him. A choked cry wrenches itself from his chest. He struggles to comprehend that you aren't just another phantom haunting his dreams, but that you are real, truly here with him. Relief washes over him like a tidal wave, intertwining with joy and a bittersweet hint of lingering sadness. It plays across his face, a complex tapestry of emotions writ large for anyone to see.

"Yes," he heaves, voice carrying both tenderness and a hint of watery emotion. "Yes, it's me, yawne. You're here, you're back."

A wide grin spreads across Neytiri's face, her heart swelling with uncontainable joy at the sight of your revival. Turning towards the gathered people, she addresses them with exultation in her voice, "The Great Mother has heard us! She has returned!" Her words ring out, carrying a shared sense of celebration and renewed hope.

Consumed by an overwhelming surge of longing, Neteyam leans in with urgency. It feels as if the mere act of not touching you will rend his skin apart, spilling forth the crimson of his love.

With a desperate groan, he crashes his lips against yours in a searing kiss. His arms wrap around your waist, pulling you closer, teeth clashing and tongues intertwining in a passionate dance. Every sense is heightened as he savors the sensation of your cool skin against his, lost in the euphoria of your return.

The atmosphere erupts with jubilation as the crowd joins in, their cheers and shouts blending into a symphony of delight.

"My girl," Neteyam laughs lowly against your lips, an overflow of tears streaming down his cheeks. The warrior then pulls away and burrows his face into the crook of your neck. Gritting his teeth, Neteyam does his best to hold himself together but try as he might, he can't stop the sob that slips from his lips. "Oh, my sweet girl."

Feeling a bit disoriented but still filled with love, you raise a hand and tenderly cradle the back of Neteyam's neck. A gentle smile graces your lips as you speak in a hushed whisper, "I'm here. It's okay. I'm here."

As the last note of your song fades into the air, your hands gently release the songcord, letting it fall to your lap. Leaning back, you find solace in the comforting embrace of your beloved. Neteyam's strong arms envelop your torso, holding you securely as he presses his body flush against your back. His lips trace a tender path along your neck, leaving a trail of kisses that go up your collarbone and to your jawline.

In the distance, the sounds of celebration echo through the air as the clan honors your remarkable rebirth. However, seeking a moment of intimacy away from the festivities, you and Neteyam sneaked away, yearning for precious moments alone together.

"Srrìri tìreyä. Ma Eywa, ma Eywa."

With a low giggle, you tilt your head back, planting a gentle peck on Neteyam's cheek.

"I thought," Neteyam's voice suddenly quivers with a rare vulnerability, his battle-hardened hands, weathered from countless struggles, tenderly gliding up the curves of your sides. Each touch is laden with the weight of his fears. "I thought I had lost you forever, syulang."

His words hang in the air, laden with the profound weight of his anguish. They unveil the nights riddled with torment, where sleepless agony engulfed him, entangling him in a web of restless nightmares. The mere thought of a life without you by his side loomed like a suffocating shadow, darkening every aspect of his existence.

In those dark hours, he became a prisoner of his own mind, tormented by the phantom presence of your absence. The echoes of your laughter, the touch of your hand, and the warmth of your embrace haunted his every waking moment. It was as if fragments of you lingered in the corners of his vision, teasing him with fleeting glimpses that dissolved into cruel illusions.

"Oh, Neteyam," you tenderly call out his name, the sound of your voice pulling him away from the depths of his mind. With utmost care, your hands reach up and caress his sharp cheeks, their touch gentle and soothing. As your fingertips brush against his skin, Neteyam realizes that they are damp with his tears. Had he been crying?

With his lips quivering, Neteyam bows his head, his vulnerability laid bare. "I thought I had lost you," he says.

"You didn't," you reassure him, slipping back into his lap and wrapping your arms up and around his broad back. "I am here. Safe and sound with you."

As Neteyam's trembling subsides and his tears dry against your comforting touch, he surrenders himself to the solace of your presence, seeking refuge in your embrace. Bathed in the ethereal glow of moonlight and bioluminescence, the world around you seems to fade into insignificance.

With a sigh, Neteyam closes the remaining distance between you, his lips descending upon yours in a tender, lingering kiss. The touch is gentle yet full of fervor, as if each brush of his lips conveys all the love and longing he has harbored during your time apart.

Moments pass, and you eventually raise your head from his, breaking the kiss but keeping your bodies intertwined. His warmth envelops you, and silence follows.

"Nete," you begin, your voice soft but filled with a hint of playfulness, "I have a feeling that I won't be allowed to work for the next few weeks…"

Neteyam grins, a spark of amusement flickering in his eyes, and his chest rumbles with a deep, booming laugh.

"Oh, absolutely not," he responds, his voice a gentle murmur against your ear. His warm breath tickles your skin, causing a pleasant shiver to dance down your spine. "You're going to be under my constant watch. I will make sure you rest and recover properly. No arguments, yawne."

You playfully pout, feigning upset, but deep down, you're filled with gratitude for his unwavering care and love. As you snuggle back into his embrace, you feel the steady rhythm of his heartbeat against your back, a comforting cadence that anchors you in the present moment.

"Oel ngati kameie," Neteyam whispers against your temple.

"Oel ngati kameie," you hum, smiling up at him.

TAGLIST — peeps who asked for part 2 <3 if your name isnt here that means i couldnt tag u bb :( :

@unknownkii @brattzslattz @blackspideysstuff @jennasluvrgirl

☄️part 1 💫