Dead Dove Do Not Eat - Blog Posts

The warmth of his flesh

CW: Cannibalism (no gore actually described, just.. subtle descriptions? Probably could make you queezy idk) This is my first time writing a fic, so critique is welcome! :)

NOT A KINK/FETISH!! (i'm not weird trust)

I specifically wrote this for school in like 1 hour after the submission time so it's rushed... uh yeah that's it from me! :))

Summary:

Hyacinth can't help herself, she really can't! She wants to consume her lovers' flesh and she hates herself for it. What was she think of course he's going to say no! He's going to be so disgusted, what if he reports he- What? He said yes? He said he'd be honoured to?

How very lovely.

Continue reading!

“I’m rather disgusting aren’t I? I must reek of death.” He didn’t flinch, he didn’t look surprised. He just stared. “I will never be able to get the feeling of death off of me.” He just sat there. He didn’t say a word. “Especially after becoming one with it.” Hyacinth paused, waiting for a change in his expression. She gripped the fabric of his dress, waiting for the worst to come. 

“What an odd name you have, how come I've just noticed?” He ignored her, continuing with his ramble. “Hyacinth, Hyacinth, Hyacinth… surely you know what it means? He laughed. “What am I saying? Of course you know. A desire for forgiveness. Is that why you’ve come to meet me, at this hour?”

He looked back at her, her body tensed, her hands curled into his fists. “I’ve.. consumed flesh before.” 

“How many times?”

“Three times- it’s a horrible feeling though, it's honestly quite disgusting-”

“Then why do you do it?”

“I…” She sighed, pushing her hair back with her hands. Her mind was racing. What a stupid, stupid idea. Why did she think this would’ve worked? She should’ve just kept it in. But she couldn’t. The thought was consuming her every moment of the day. Every glance at him would make it even worse. She tried to rub the feeling off, taking hour long baths, scrubbing her skin till the water turned brown. She was disgusting, thoroughly disgusting. What a disgusting, terrible human she was. Was she even human?

What kind of human would have thoughts of consuming their own lover? Her wretched flesh had to be punished, for thinking in such ways. She’d scratch her flesh, days on end, attempting to rip her own skin out, to pay for the terrible things she’d done, yet she just couldn't stop. She never threw the meat out of her cellar. And now she keeps on going, now with her fourth lover. But this time felt different. He was different. He provided her comfort like no one else could. To have that comfort within forever, would be an ultimate bliss. 

He snapped his fingers. “You okay love? You seem disoriented.” Even now, after hearing what she’s done he still cares for her. His care disgusts her and comforts her at the same time.

“Did you hear me? I said i-”

“Yes, yes, you’ve cannibalized your lovers before, what else?” 

Her blood ran cold, her eyes wide. How did he know about that? She never told him that detail.

“How did you know?”

“You forget I've known you long before we were even together darling. Of course I noticed when my friends went missing, it’s just now I know why.” He chuckled.

“You don’t care? You’re not mad?”

“How could I be? I haven’t done anything remarkable in my entire existence, except being with you. Now you’ve done something that people wretch at the thought of. How wonderful.”

She scoffed at him, angered by his unexpected acceptance. “You know what I’m going to ask you then, right?”

“Of course, I recognize your pattern, and I graciously accept.” He bowed dramatically, unable to hide his laugh.

“Don’t mock me!” She looked at him, tears starting to well up in her eyes. “It’s not like I want to! hate the very thought of parting with you!” It was true, she really hated herself for wanting to do such a thing.

“Now why are you crying? I didn’t yell at you did I? Even better, I accepted!” He sighed, putting his back against the wall.

“But why?” She was confused, concerned, scared,but another feeling was creeping up her back. Glee. A lover becoming a part of you is one thing, but when they accept and are willing? Now their souls really would be intertwined.

“Because all I am is yours. I’ve never done much in my life, and I don't think I will. All I want at this point is to please you. My death will be meaningless. But if I offer myself to you, perhaps..” He paused, refusing to continue further.

She looked at him, unsure of what to do. Thank him? Cry? Hyacinth froze, unable to respond.

“I ask for one thing from you though.”

“And that is?”

“Time. Time spent with you.”

“Is that all?”

“Yes.”

At 6:00 in the afternoon, Hyacinth dragged her lover to her house, or rather her mansion. They rarely spent time there together so he often forgot about his darling’s lavish lifestyle. He’d rather go somewhere else, somewhere less stuffy, somewhere less… uncomfortable. It wasn’t her peculiar diet that made him feel uneasy, nor was it the way her wide eyes bore into his soul. It was that wretched mansion. The entire estate was gloomy, adapting a color palette only a ghost could enjoy. It was painted a dark grey, the roof an even darker shade. The windows loomed over him, reaching the ceiling. The entire mansion was surrounded by long, thin trees. Oh how he hated her place, but whatever would make her happy.

At 7:00 pm they were sitting in the living room, the fireplace warming up the entire room. Hyacinth was laughing at a dumb joke he made, one that he didn’t even find funny. They were laying on the wooden floor, talking about the most trivial things in existence. She played with his hair while he went on about his day, before he saw her, which instantly brightened his day. 

At 9:00 pm he attempted to fancy up the dining room, with much disapproval from Hyacinth. “I’m just preparing the dining room for your meal”, he joked. She didn’t find it very amusing. He stuffed random flowers such as lilies and hydrangeas into the closest vases and pots he could find. He lit candles all across the room, turning off the chandelier, making the entire room illuminated by the melting candles.

At 9:30 they sat down on opposite sides, discussing the most random topics they could think of. She laughed at all of his poorly thought out jokes, cracking a smile that could light up an entire room. “You know I love you right?” He smiled at her, resting his head on his hand. “I’m aware.”

“I’m doing this because I love you.”

“Yeah.”

“You provide me with a comfort that I want to be engulfed in forever.”

“Then I'll give you that.”

“I really do love you, I really do. I can’t help myself.” She started to cry.

“And here comes the waterworks.” 

“I hate myself for doing this to you.”

“I don't mind.”

“I love you.”

“...”

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

At 2:30 am Hyacinth’s full course meal was prepared. There was everything he could ever ask for. She grabbed her knife and fork hesitantly, staring at her meal for a while. She told herself to stop staring and start eating. If she didn’t start soon, the food would probably go bad, then it would all be for nothing. She slowly picked up her fork, stabbing the meat, slowly carving into it with her fork. She opened her mouth, her lip quivering. She took her first bite.

At 3:15 am the entire dining room was a mess. There was food scattered across the long table. She had long forgotten about her utensils, instead opting for her hands. She was probably eating her entire stock in one sitting. She had never done that before, but this time it was worth it. Every bite she took provided more and more comfort, her insides melting from the chewy texture. She just couldn’t stop herself. She grabbed at more meat, her face stuffed to the brim with the meat, the remnants spilling on her white, floor length frock. She tried to make herself throw up, but she just couldn’t. Her face was stained with tears. She sobbed through each bite. “I’m really sorry, I really am! I just couldn’t help myself! You just taste too good!” She shoved her face with more bites. “I’m so disgusting, aren’t i?”

Chapters: 17/32 Fandom: 僕のヒーローアカデミア | Boku no Hero Academia | My Hero Academia (Anime & Manga) Rating: Explicit Warnings: Rape/Non-Con Relationships: Aizawa Shouta | Eraserhead/Reader, Yamada Hizashi | Present Mic/Reader, Aizawa Shouta | Eraserhead/Yamada Hizashi | Present Mic/Reader, Aizawa Shouta | Eraserhead/Yamada Hizashi | Present Mic, Dabi | Todoroki Touya/Reader, Takami Keigo | Hawks/Reader, Dabi | Todoroki Touya/Takami Keigo | Hawks/Reader, Usagiyama Rumi | Miruko/Reader, Kayama Nemuri | Midnight/Reader, Aizawa Shouta | Eraserhead/Kayama Nemuri | Midnight/Yamada Hizashi | Present Mic/Reader, Shigaraki Tomura | Shimura Tenko/Reader, Akaguro Chizome | Stain/Reader, Toyomitsu Taishirou | Fat Gum/Reader Characters: Reader, Original Female Character(s), Aizawa Shouta | Eraserhead, Yamada Hizashi | Present Mic, Dabi | Todoroki Touya, Takami Keigo | Hawks, Kayama Nemuri | Midnight, Usagiyama Rumi | Miruko, Shigaraki Tomura | Shimura Tenko, Akaguro Chizome | Stain, Toyomitsu Taishirou | Fat Gum Additional Tags: Female Reader, Polyamory, Chubby Reader, Short Reader, reader wears glasses, generic brand kinktober series, Kinktober, Kinktober 2024, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Rape/Non-con Elements, Dubious Consent, Toxic Relationships, Abusive Relationships, more specific content warnings will be included in each chapter, most stories feature healthy dynamics, I'm just covering my bases, One Shot Collection, confident reader, Yandere Summary: A late Fall collection of kinky, explicit one shots featuring various MHA characters paired with a female Reader. Mostly Erasermic/Reader focused.

ᯓ★ CEMETERY LADY! MY CEMETERY GIRL! ~

( ၴႅၴ+ —YANDERE!NIKOLAI GOGOL! x YANDERE!ZOMBIE!FEM!READER!

SUMMARY: Your name.. Written in beautiful dark crimson red ink, a psychopathic clown has taken a liking to a lady. A lady that he found so utterly beautiful, a beauty of imperfections that nikolai found oh so perfect. But a tragedy has struck him, before he could continue his obsessive motivs and plans, bang! You were dead, but that didn't stop you from laying on your casket. you had unfinished buisness, which is your undying love and obsession that made you crawl out of limbo and find your beloved once again.

ᯓ ⁺₊ ♱ .ᐟ— DEAD DOVE+ ROMANCE + YANDEREAU! + SUGGESTIVE! + SMUT! (seperate maybe, i might make it but it will be linked in between the scene when its starts, you may find it at @heartz4verlaineszz, my freak acc)

MDNI!!

A/N: mutual yandere btw! Nikolai was already obsessively inlove with reader when reader was still alive and this works to reader too, reader has always been obsessively inlove with him too, also possessive reader and nikolai :P and this fic is shorter than my other fics

(art by CREATNZY)

๋࣭ ⭑♡WARNINGS! : suggestive, blood, yandere themes, swearing, obsessive themes, collecting of each others belongings, initial skin ingraving, pet names (Moya Lyubov (my love), Moya pitchka(my little bird), milaya (sweetheart))

Ah, love. Something foreign to nikolai, not until he laid his eyes on you. What a beautiful lady! Your imperfections had him infatuated with you, to your personality and to your hyperfixations, how cute.

Everything was going so well for nikolai, he stalked all your posts. Checked up on your phone history by hacking into it when you had your screen protector replaced for being too clumsy and dropping it.. He also went as far on stealing your clothing and buying the same perfume that you wear.. It was eating his heart away, the thought of feeling you near him made him just wanna squeel and giggle uncontrollably. Not until he heard you got into an accident and died.. He misses you so baddddddd!

Your funeral was being held soon, he sighs and lays on his bed with his hand on his forehead, not really having motivation to do anything. What shall he do now? He doesn't have a purpose anymore really.. To be frank, his life objective was to be with you. With you gone.. He thought that if you're gone now, might as well meet you in the afterlife as well.. But, not yet. He has to feel you at least once, even if you're already dead. He sits up with his back slouched, lookin around his room, fully decorated with candid pictures of you and a big shelf with your belongings, to your used plastic water bottles, lock of hair displayed in a gold picture frame with red wallpaper, your bras, shirts, makeup, jewelry.. Anything that you've touched really.. He smirks after seeing your stuff, he stands up and grabs your shirt and bra before stuffing his face in em, laying back down on his bed and sniffing your faint scent, "mmm", he mewled out before sighing and sliding your shirt and bra off his face.. His expression bored and numb, he missed you so much, he would be lying if he said he wasn't devastated. He hasn't eaten all day since normally he'd be stalking you at this hour.

He eventually sits up after hours of whining and smothering your used shirt and bras with his face. He thought at first that now your dead, he'd finally be free.. Oh but he was so wrong! The thought of not watching you and never being yours pained him. More than the thought of him never being free. It made him wanna dig his nails into his skin and scratch the meat off his bones off!

The grandfather clock on the wall ticking made him feel more restless, he slides his shoes on before leaving his place. The walk to the place where your casket is was no biggie, he kept his expression was bored and a void as he walked, different than his usual excited and smiley expression. As he reached your funeral, he stays behind the trees for a while, alot of your family members and friends were still crying and wheeping as they surrounded your casket, your burial was just a few days away, he still has time to make you his cemetery baby.

A few hours later, nightfall came, your family members and friends have finally came home! Leaving your body and him outside. He smirks as he stood up from his hiding spot and walked over to your gorgeous fuckin body that was laying peaceful in the casket. He lets out a few giggles, his eyes filled with excitement, his fingers twitched to touch you, he sees your pretty face taking it into his hands and caressing your cheek before leaning your head back, noticing how they didn't even try to put on the correct makeup style you liked. He quickly applied some lippie that he stole from you a few weeks ago, changing your lipstick before quickly kissing you hard. Chuckling into the kiss softly before setting your head down gently, your body was a little rusty so he had to be extra careful with his beloved.

"Ah.. There you go, you look more you now.. How stupid of those people to not know what your lip color preferences are." he talks to himself while staring down at your face,mocking the way your own family didn't even put on the correct lippie on, slowly lacing his hand to hold yours. Your hand cold as ever, he smiles to himself, kissing your knuckles.. Noticing how cold your hand was compared to his warm large ones. "hm.. Its okay, I'll warm you up!" he whispers and giggles, his eyes half lidded but filled with hunger.

He kisses your knuckles slowly before sliding in a ring to your ring finger. A beautiful red ruby gem, a red that was red to be the same shade of your own blood. He smiles sweetly at your calm face, the smile radiating a sense of insanity and obsession to it while he caresses your hair and cheek sweetly, "Moya ptichka.." he whispers sweetly as he gives your hand another kiss with his eyes staring at your eye shut face, "This isn't goodbye, I'll see you once again, milaya."

⁺‧₊˚ஓ༻𓆩♡𓆪༺ஓ˚₊‧⁺

At your perspective, your soul was still stuck at limbo, unaware that nikolai was already giving you what you craved for. Limbo was tough. Fog and mindless spirits everywhere, it made you irritated at how lost you were, but of course nothing was ever gonna stop you from digging out of your grave and watch him again.

Now.. Back to nikolai. It was already the next day, he only came to visit your body at night. Where nobody was around. It was the last day of your body staying on land before you get buried 6 feet below. He brought a few things with him, a dagger, a locket filled with his and your hair and some other questionable trinkets.

The foggy and dark night could be frightening for some, especially at the cemetery. But not for him, he brought a lantern to see your face just in case! As he ran over to your casket with an undying hungry smile, he jumps in joy in seeing you up close again. "Moya Lyubov!" he takes your hand gently, it was his last day on meeting your body physically. He snaked his hands to your hand, kissing your knuckles once again before tying a red ribbon around your wrist to mark you.

His gaze was pressuring against your unconscious body, the fog and darkness surrounding you and him was unbearable, the only light source around was his lantern that he brought that illuminated his hungry gaze and your gorgeous face.

A tune in his head played, an urge to hold you close and waltz in eloquence to prove how much he adored you. Though your skin was rotting piece by piece, your cheek stayed fresh as ever, he caressed your cheek in obsession, "still forever soft for me."

The fog and darkness really gave nikolai an advantage of not being seen, one of his hands slowly snaked down to your thigh, pushing your dress up and squeezing it with hunger, "The world has been so cruel to you, milaya." he whispered, talking to himself while you struggled in limbo to leave and see him even while you were dead. "But.. Even in death, you belong to me." he smirks, a smirk that could've haunted lots of individuals but it was also a smirk that was meant for you. For you to remember and burn into memory.

A few hours has already passed, with him just sitting on the edge of your casket and holding you gently while talking to himself all obsessed like he was talking to you. "Even if death make us part, you'll forever still be mine."

He caressed your cheek, holding you gently to avoid hurting your dead body, "Remember when you first started wearing that lipgloss and that perfume? Oh you are a gorgeous little thing. I couldn't stop staring! You were perfect just like how perfect you are right now." he talks to himself again, giggling and remembering how you smiled when you found something funny, another reason why he wanted to have you as his dear lady. Your looks just add to your eccentric and unique dear personality you know?

With the last few hours of the night fell down so the sun could rise, he held your thigh tightly, "Moya Lyubov, im sure you wouldn't mind having a symbol of me with you forever right?" he giggled, slipping a dagger in his hand, "This might hurt.. Apologies in advance." he whispers near your ear before slowly but surely engraving his initials on your upper thigh, gently wiping the blood of, whispering apologies and cooing, obviously you felt nothing since your soul was still at limbo. "Mm..you're so pretty. I'm sorry it hurts milaya." he coos at you, caressing your cheek and giving your thigh a quick kiss before covering you up again with your dress.

he quickly leaves the dagger under the pillow that was cushioned below your head, a symbol of him giving his dagger to you. he slowly slid the locket with his hair and your hair around your neck. As the daylight rose up, he kisses your forehead before slipping off after hearing your family members talking and their heavy footsteps.

He slips off to the nearby forest, waiting for your burial. Time passed as he got in disguised to look more like your..friends. Your casket was about to be buried. affirmations filled his head,

"I love you, I love you,I love you,I love you,I love you,I love you, I love you,I love you,I love you,I love you,I love you, I love you,I love you,I love you,I love you,"

he repeats in his head like a mantra, he takes a step near your casket, dressed in black suit,white jabot with a red ruby brooch and his hair all inside in his black top hat to conceal his long braided hair. Everyone stared at him, assuming he was one of your close friends since he held a dark red rose. Your casket slowly lowered down into the 6 feet deep hole, he throws the rose to your closed casket, "Death will not end us or stop me. We will be reunited milaya,"

At your point of view now, you successfully escaped limbo. The limbo that had a blueish tint, fog, mindless spirits that has been driven into insanity from how long they have stayed in limbo, and the murky floors that made you feel all icky at the sensation of sludge. In an attempt to leave this foggy void your will and unfinished business on earth gave you the strength to escape and return back from the dead.

⁺‧₊˚ஓ༻𓆩♡𓆪༺ஓ˚₊‧⁺

A few days has passed, a rotting feeling ate nikolai alive, oh god he needed to see you. His heart was beating so fast, only thinking about you whenever he gazed at the grass or that photo of you sleeping in your room. A photo that he adored so dearly. He thought he'd go off fine and be free but this thought of having your body with him eternally wouldn't seem like such a bad idea..that's why he packed a shovel. 2:55 AM, he snuck off, running to the cemetery on where you were buried. He slowly stood on top of your grave, extending his arm to get something from his cloak. He tapped his foot as he grabbed around before grabbing out the shovel and a lantern. He sets the lantern down and began to dig rapidly.

Pants and huffs and the sound of soil thudding could be heard, he digged and digged before hitting a "clink!", your casket, the sound of his metal shovel and your casket clanging, he smirks, sweat beading off his forehead, he sighs and let's the shovel go, letting his ability to push you into the land above. "We'll be together again Moya pitchka!" he laughs, Panting with a love dazed expression.

He sticked his tongue out in concentration as he pushed your casket into the portal, as he successfully got you on land, he wasted no time to open your casket, only to find that your body was gone.

Nikolais eyes widened, what happened to his lady!? Even the dagger he hid under your pillow was gone! He places his hand under his chin, thinking on who could've kidnapped your body. Nobody was around your grave for the past few days, who could've done it?

⁺‧₊˚ஓ༻ 𓆩♡𓆪༺ஓ˚₊‧⁺

Back at nikolais house, you were running into the woods, his dagger in your hand and your dress dirty from the soil that you climb out of, a few stumbles and runs you reached his place. With a quick climb of a window and expecting to see him, you found the house to be empty. You scratch your head and sigh in dissapointment, quickly moving back to ur apartment to change and quickly sneak back in to his room, so far so good. Nothing has changed. It was weird how you have never seen him sleep on his own bed. You look around, looking at his weird trinkets before reaching his closet, opening it and collecting some of his clothing before tripping on one of the gloves that fell to the floor, "oh-!" you land with your face against the wall of the closet before hearing the sound it made. It sounded like..it was hollow inside. You quickly stand up and dusted yourself, with a knock to test it to its fullest, you find a socket. You put your fingers in the rectangular socket, pushing it to the side to reveal a staircase, you smile proudly after seeing this, has your dear nikolai have been hiding a secret room? Perhaps it was a room full of more of his stuff. You waltz down the stairs, singing a soft tune, your voice having a hint of curiosity as you mutter to yourself, "Now now, i wonder what this room could b-! Oh."

You expected the room to be filled with more of his stuff, either it be more of his hats, clown makeup, guns, and other trinkets you can "borrow", you find yourself staring at the things that You own. The walls a dark crimson red and rosewood floors, and tons of big wooden shelves against the walls, all containing each of your missing things. Your lacy bras, Your used lipsticks , your panties, shirts, gloves you worn, used pillow cases, your pens, the old phone you had. You get the point. The walls were adorned of hundreds of candid photographs of you, one of the bigger picture was in gold frame. a picture of you sleeping and Nikolai in the corner as if he took a selfie and printed the picture out to have it all framed and pretty..Then you realized,the bedroom that you've been stalking and watching was just a decoy.. A decoy to hide his undying obsession of you.

you looked around the shelves and seeing the tons of bottles of your favorite perfume distracted from the feeling of your beloved nikolai having an infatuation of you,large hands began to wrap around your waist "Oh.. There you are milaya." he whispers into your ear,pressing your back against his chest,a haunting sweet smile spread across his lips as he leaned closer to you snaking his free hand to grab your hand "You're not supposed to be here you know?.." he pouted sarcastically before laughing "Moya pitchka don't run away from me..You can see how much I adore you." he whispered, his voice cooing and desperate while he was caressing his hand to your waist then down to your hips..your breath hitches as you feel his touch. Your gaze brightens up, letting him touch you freely, "Oh.. Hello my dear kolya." you gently taking his hand.

he grabbed your hand back swiftly,he quickly spins you around,your back hitting the wall and his knee in between your thighs..He had a hand on your hips tightly.. tight enough to leave a bruise on your skin You gasp at the impact huffing from the tension you've been caught. But you just can't help but enjoy this moment.. he had a hand on your hip and his other hand on your thigh,gripping it tightly and huffing, "I missed you so damn fucking much.." he kissed your neck, huffing and holding you tightly as if you would dissappear if he loosened his grip. "You wouldn't understand how much i love you, it hurts milaya." he whispers into your ear in between his soft neck and collarbones kisses, his kisses always changing into soft and gentle to rough and desperate.

You look down, not resisting but rather wrapping your arms around his neck, the dagger he left you in one of your hands, the blade was near his pulse, close enough to end his life before you sweetly say, "But i do understand. I missed you too." with those 4 words falling from your lips,his eyes widened. You weren't frightened or screaming like he thought you would, his wide eyes changed into a smile, a cheeky hungry smile. Perhaps this was a new reason on why he adores you damn fucking much.

He quickly pressed his lips against yours roughly, gripping onto your thigh and waist tightly, "Oh, baby, You dont know much i need you." he says in between kisses, slowly sliding his large hand around your inner thigh, lifting your thigh up, his other hand on your waist to support you standing. His voice turned into breathey, his voice evident with need and desperation, his grip on your thigh tightening, as if you were gonna disappear again if he loosend his grip, "Please.. Please, milaya, let me show you how much i adore you." he panted out in between kisses desperately, you huff and you gripped on to his shoulders, the dagger near his neck falling onto the ground, clinging and thudding from the fall. He leaned closee to your ear, whispering sweetly, his voice sweet as honeydew but breathey and desperate too. "See? I told you death wouldn't keep us apart.. Now.. Let me show you what dreams are made of."

A/N: lol idk if i should write the smut part, just comment if you want it, also.. When i was first and originally writing this I ACCIDENTALLY DIDN'T SAVE THE DRAFT SO I HAD TO REWRITE IT ALL AGAIN.. ACCORDING TO MY MEMORY.. GRRRRR.... but anyway, enjoy!

Chapter 10: When the Silence Breaks

TW ⚠️

Emotional and psychological trauma, Implied domestic abuse (Clara’s backstory. Not that detailed tho), Medical scenes and mild body horror (organ-like dream realm), Brief discussion of death, Mild violence and unsettling imagery, Mental disorientation / hallucination & Light profanity and dark humor

It had been days since everything happened. I’d been waiting—hoping—for an announcement that would finally let me take part in the journalism program.

But today… it was raining.

Raindrops tapped softly against the glass of my bedroom window, each one leaving a faint trail as it slid down. I stayed cocooned beneath my blankets, the quiet hum of the rain wrapping around me like a lullaby. For a moment, there was peace.

Then came the restlessness.

I wasn’t sure where the restlessness came from. Maybe it was the waiting. Maybe I just needed to move—to be somewhere else, even for a while. That had to be it.

So, I decided to go for a walk, rain or not.

The pavement shimmered under the drizzle as I stepped outside, the gentle patter of raindrops drumming softly on my umbrella. It was oddly soothing, like the world had quieted down just for me.

As I strolled through the streets, the rain gradually faded to a light mist. Eventually, the clouds began to part, and the sun peeked through, casting a golden warmth across the damp streets of Aloy.

Before I knew it, I was standing in front of the National Museum—Metallica. That’s one thing about living in the city: you can stumble upon places like this without even meaning to.

I looked up at the massive structure towering above me. A chill ran down my spine—not the kind that warns, but the kind that hums with something unspoken. Like clouds rolling in with no promise of rain. Oddly enough, it felt… inviting.

So, I took a step forward, and walked inside.

Inside, dim lights welcomed me, casting soft shadows along the museum’s quiet halls. Every artifact seemed to hum with its own presence—each one whispering a different kind of power. I could feel it in my chest, in my fingertips.

And it made me feel so…

Nice.

Until—

I stopped.

There, right in front of me, stood a statue.

“Oh…” The word slipped from my mouth as it fell open slightly.

My eyes locked onto it—unmoving, unblinking.

The Statue of the God of Time.

“Temureth,” I whispered, stepping closer to the statue.

There was a weight in the air—heavy, ancient. I was still caught in that silence when a familiar voice broke through.

“Hagarin! You’re here too?”

I turned. It was Clara, her eyes bright with surprise.

“Yeah,” I said, a small smile tugging at my lips. “I was just strolling, and somehow ended up here.”

She nodded, her voice softer now. “I always come here alone when I feel lonely. My mom used to bring me.”

I nodded, understanding her sentiment. “I don’t blame you,” I said gently. “If there’s any place—or anything—you hold close, of course you’d cherish it.”

She gave a soft smile, then sighed. “Wanna have a drink?”

I deadpanned. ———————————————————————

At first, I thought she meant alcohol.

But now we were sitting in a café. The sun had fully broken through the clouds, casting warm light across the windowpane.

“Y’know, Hagarin,” Clara said, eyes on the menu, “you remind me of my older sister.”

“Oh?” I asked, absentmindedly flipping through a spare menu. “How so?”

“She was… chill. A lot like you. But she’s not around anymore.” Clara’s voice dipped, but she kept talking. “I’ve got a brother too. He’s a doctor. Busy guy.”

She paused. Then, after a breath: “My mom… she died. My father abused her.”

The silence that followed was heavy. I looked at her, then exhaled.

“You don’t have to tell me if it’s too much,” I said quietly. “It’s okay. You’ll find a way to carry it—maybe even grow past the pain someday.”

Clara gave a quiet nod just as the waitress approached our table to take our orders.

“A salad, please,” Clara said as the waitress nodded, jotting it down.

“And a slice of apple pie,” I added with a small smile.

When the food arrived, we fell into easy conversation—talking about anything and everything.

“Speaking of school, I’ve finally caught up on everything,” I said.

Clara groaned lightly. “And here I am, still needing to go back just to pass some things.”

“Really? What is it?”

“Well… I was sick the other day, so I’ve got to hand in everything I missed.”

“I’ll come with you,” I said, without thinking twice.

The good atmosphere lingered even after we finished eating. There was something comforting about it—like we’d both needed that quiet hour more than we realized.

The sun had taken its rightful place in the sky, high and golden, casting long shadows across the street as we made our way toward school. The sidewalks were still damp, glistening faintly, and the air smelled like wet pavement and leaves.

We didn’t talk much on the way. We didn’t need to. There was something about shared silence that felt more intimate than words.

When we reached the school, Clara turned to me and gave a small smile. “I won’t be long.”

“I’ll wait here,” I replied.

She disappeared through the doors, her footsteps echoing faintly down the hall as she made her way to the faculty room. I lingered just outside, near the row of lockers lining the hallway. A few students wandered past, chatting among themselves, laughter echoing in snippets that came and went like passing winds.

I leaned against the cool wall, folding my arms. The stillness gave me too much room to think.

The image of Temureth’s statue flashed through my mind—how the stone felt alive, how his name tasted strange on my tongue, like something forgotten yet familiar. There had been a presence in that room, subtle but undeniable. Like something old was watching. Waiting.

I shook my head a little, trying to bring myself back to the present. Still, the feeling lingered.

The silence around me wasn’t as peaceful now. It felt suspended. As if time itself had slowed, stretching out the seconds into something just a little too long. Just a little too still.

And then—I felt it again.

The same chill I felt at the museum. Faint, like a whisper running along the edge of my spine. Not cold enough to shiver, but enough to notice.

I looked around. Nothing out of place. Just lockers, bulletin boards, classrooms with doors slightly ajar. The ordinary shape of a school afternoon.

But something felt…off. Like a ticking clock had skipped a beat.

That is, until I heard it.

A shriek—sharp, panicked, and startlingly loud. What made it worse was that it came from a man.

The sound cut through the hallway like a blade, jolting me upright before I even had time to think. My instincts kicked in. I didn’t call out. I didn’t hesitate. I just moved.

I followed the direction of the sound, my footsteps echoing softly against the tiles as I passed one hallway after another. The school, once familiar, now felt unfamiliar—twisted slightly by the weight of something I couldn’t name.

Eventually, I reached the stairwell.

The air felt heavier here, like the very space was holding its breath.

I climbed the steps slowly, cautiously, my hand brushing the rail. With each step, the atmosphere grew more tense, more… off. Like walking into a place that time had forgotten.

At the top of the stairs, the hallway was dim. Lights flickered above, struggling to stay alive. A faint hum buzzed from a nearby socket, but it was the only sound besides the soft thud of my heart.

Then I saw it.

A room—its door slightly ajar, pale yellow light leaking from the gap. The windows were completely covered by thick curtains, drawn from the outside. The whole space looked swallowed in shadow.

I approached slowly, heart beating a little faster.

And then I saw the sign on the door.

Faded lettering. Nearly rubbed away by time and cleaning.

But still readable.

“Time Studies - Research Archive Room 3”

“What are you two doing here?!” the teacher’s voice boomed, sharp and urgent—but it sounded far away, like I was hearing it through water.

Everything was fogged, muffled.

“I—I don’t know why she was here!” Clara’s voice cracked, panicked, as she held onto me.

Then—darkness.

I didn’t get to hear what came next. The pain in my chest spread like ink in water, and the world around me unraveled. My limbs gave out. My mind slipped.

And I passed out. ——————

Is this real life? Or is just fantasy?

I heard cackles.

Sharp. Echoing. Wrong. It was Ezra’s laugh. Twisted and distant, like it didn’t belong to him—or maybe like it did, and I’d just never heard it this way before.

“Ezra?” I jolted awake, gasping.

But it was just a dream… wasn’t it?

I blinked. My vision blurred, then settled.

“Ezra…?” I whispered again. His giggle still lingered, soft and persistent, like it had taken root in the walls.

The room around me pulsed faintly, cramped and alien. The walls weren’t made of stone or wood—they were… flesh-like. The color of organs, deep reds and purples, squirming gently as though alive. Veins, maybe. Or shadows.

I couldn’t tell where I was—but it was definitely not the school anymore.

It was disturbing. Claustrophobic.

And still, I could hear Ezra’s giggle.

Light, childlike.

Wrong.

“Hagarin… Hagarin!”

His voice echoed everywhere. Not just once. It multiplied—clashing against itself in distorted waves, rising and falling like laughter buried beneath madness.

It was Ezra’s voice. But it wasn’t Ezra.

Each syllable struck like a drumbeat inside my head, louder, faster—relentless.

I clutched my temples, stumbling back as the space around me pulsed like a living thing. The squirming walls grew tighter, the colors deeper—veins bulging, floors rippling beneath my feet.

My breath hitched. Confusion swelled. Panic followed.

And that’s when I felt it—my powers flaring uncontrollably.

Like a storm breaking inside my chest.

No direction, no form—just raw energy reacting to the fear, the disorientation, the voice.

It was overwhelming. It felt like being stripped back to zero. Like all the control I’d built up until now had been burned away in a second.

I fell to my knees.

“Hagarin…” Ezra’s voice whispered again, this time gentler, but no less twisted. “Why are you afraid of what you already are?”

“Get… get out of my head! Ezra!” I cried out, my voice cracking, heavy with panic. My hands trembled as I broke down into sobs, unable to hold it together any longer.

And then— Silence.

The giggling stopped. The echoes dissolved. Even the room… settled.

The walls no longer squirmed in chaos. They pulsed slowly now—steadily. Like a heart at rest.

And that’s when I felt it.

A sharp sting in my palm.

I looked down— A clean cut had appeared across my hand, fresh blood welling at the surface. It wasn’t from the dream. It was real.

Pain flared. The world snapped into place.

I gasped, sucking in air like I’d been underwater.

My eyes flew open.

Bright lights. A ceiling. The sterile scent of antiseptic.

I was back.

Breathing hard, my chest rising and falling rapidly, I scanned my surroundings—disoriented.

Hovering above me were three figures. Clara—her brows knit with worry. A nurse gently checking the IV line in my arm. And a teacher standing behind them, arms crossed tightly, eyes unreadable.

Sir… Evan?

I blinked. Focused.

His school ID swayed slightly from a lanyard around his neck. Evan M. Soriano, it read. Faculty, Temporal Studies Division.

I was shaking.

Not from fear—at least not just that. It was exhaustion. Discomfort. A heaviness that settled in my bones like I’d run a marathon inside a nightmare.

What the hell was that even? Was that… Ezra’s power?

I clenched the blanket over me, trying to stop the tremble in my fingers, but it didn’t help. My body still remembered the chaos—even if my mind couldn’t fully make sense of it.

And that place—ugh.

I swallowed hard as the memory returned, vivid and raw.

It was like I had been trapped inside a living organ—walls that pulsed, colors that moved and squirmed like tissue under a microscope. The floor wasn’t solid. The air felt alive.

It wasn’t a dream. Not completely.

Because the pain was real. The cut on my palm was real.

The bolt of darkness, Ezra’s eyes, that voice—

I wanted to throw up.

I closed my eyes, steadying my breath. But I could still hear that distant giggle—lingering like a splinter in my mind.

When I tried to sit up, everyone in the room panicked.

Clara practically jumped three feet in the air. “Hagarin, no—lie down!”

The nurse rushed to my side, gently but very firmly pushing my shoulder back against the bed. “You need rest—please don’t make me use tape.”

Even Sir Evan, who looked like he hadn’t blinked in ten minutes, took a step forward. “You shouldn’t be moving yet. You’re still stabilizing.”

“Stabilizing?” I muttered. “I’m not a nuclear reactor.”

But they didn’t laugh.

Probably because I looked like I’d been through a nuclear meltdown.

Still, I couldn’t stay put. I was too rattled. Too… itchy inside my own skin. My brain was spinning, my chest still tight, and every time I blinked, I saw squirming walls and heard Ezra’s creepy little laugh echoing in the back of my head.

“I can’t just lie here,” I said, struggling against the blanket like it was actively restraining me. “I’ve literally been inside a sentient meat room and black magic’d through the chest. I think I earned a walk.”

Clara’s eyes widened. “A what kind of room?!”

Sir Evan sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose like he was already regretting ever getting a teaching license.

The nurse finished patching up my palm with a soft sigh, gently placing my hand back down on the bed. She didn’t say anything at first—just turned her gaze to the hospital bed next to mine.

I followed her eyes.

Then Clara looked.

Then Sir Evan.

We all deadpanned.

Ezra was lying there.

Sleeping.

With his eyes open.

Another nurse was tending to him, adjusting his IV like this was completely normal behavior, as if sleeping with your eyes open was just some cute little personality quirk.

“Is… is he dead?” Clara whispered.

“No,” the other nurse replied, unfazed. “He’s sleeping.”

“With his eyes open?” I asked, tilting my head slightly like it would help the situation make sense.

“It’s… been happening since the incident,” she added, as if that explained anything at all.

Clara leaned closer to me. “I feel like I’m in a horror film.”

“You are,” I muttered. “Except there’s no popcorn and I’m the one getting possessed.”

Sir Evan let out another sigh. “Enough. He’s stable—for now.”

“Ezra… his power is highly contagious. Everyone knows that. Everyone should know that.” Sir Evan started, dismissing the nurse with a wave before turning back to us.

“We all grew up thinking that the five elemental categories—nature, air, water, fire, and time—were the main sources of power. But the truth is…” He paused, folding his arms. “Those five aren’t the ‘main.’ They’re just the most recorded. The most understood. That’s why they dominate the books, the schools, the statistics.”

He stepped closer, his tone growing firmer. “There’s no such thing as a true ‘main’ element. Every power is different. Some valuable. Some… completely useless. But even the rarest ones have gods tied to them.”

I furrowed my brows, listening.

“That’s why gods and goddesses exist in so many forms—each representing something deeply specific. Take this nation, Aloy. Ruled by a god who commands metal. Yet ironically, the highest recorded ability among our people? Air.”

He glanced toward the window, briefly, before continuing.

“And then there’s Ezra. We don’t know where he came from. No nation claims him. No lineage traces back to him. But one thing we do know…” Sir Evan’s voice lowered.

“…is that the power he carries is called Pulsebind.”

My stomach turned at the name. That was the thing that put me in the fleshy, breathing nightmare?

“It’s a contagious ability,” he said. “When Ezra experiences intense emotion or trauma, even brief eye contact can infect someone. That’s all it takes. In some cases, he can even cast Pulsebind into an object.”

He looked at me, pointedly.

“It craves flesh and bone, and once it gets ahold of your mind, you’re trapped. Inside a world that’s him. A place built from his instincts, fears, and whatever twisted shape his subconscious decides to take.”

Through an object… My fists clenched.

That’s what he did to me. That’s how it started. And if Clara hadn’t stopped me—damn it.

I sighed heavily, glaring at the unconscious boy nearby.

If it weren’t for his face, I’d have decked him by now.

“Though it’s still taught in basic education that those five—time, air, fire, nature, and ice—are the main elements, truthfully, that should’ve been changed a long time ago.”

Sir Evan’s voice carried a hint of frustration, as if he’d said this before, many times, to ears that refused to listen.

“They’re not the ‘main’ because they’re fundamental. They’re just… common. Well-documented. Easy to explain to children. But the truth is, there are countless types of abilities out there. Some born from emotion, others from ancestry, or even divine influence.”

He took a breath.

“And then… there’s time.”

At the mention of it, something in the air shifted.

“It’s still one of the rarest powers ever recorded. And yet, despite its rarity, it’s counted among the top five strongest abilities known in history—not because of how many people have it, but because of what it can do.”

He paused for a beat, letting the weight of that settle.

“Time itself doesn’t just manipulate moments—it bends memory, rewrites decisions, reshapes futures. That’s why gods like Temureth are feared, even by other deities.”

“But… our rules clearly say never to tamper with the timeline,” I said, brows furrowed. “How can you say it’s possible to change the past?”

Sir Evan didn’t flinch. He simply looked at me, calm but heavy with meaning.

“Rules exist to keep something in place,” he began. “To protect what’s fragile—like cause and effect. And yes… if you do interfere with the past, you’ll likely be stuck in that altered timeline forever. That’s the consequence. But that doesn’t mean it’s impossible.”

He leaned forward, voice low and firm.

“You can change the past. You just might not survive it.”

I swallowed. “But why would anyone even want that? To live in the past… until their soul cracks from the weight of what they’ve done?”

A shadow passed over his face.

“If you don’t belong in a timeline,” he said quietly, “the world will notice. And once it does… you die the moment you’re seen.”

Sir Evan checked his wristwatch and let out a quiet sigh. “That’s my cue,” he murmured. “I have to leave. In the meantime, get some rest. Another proctor will take over from here.”

He stood from his seat, giving one last glance toward Ezra, then at me—like he wanted to say more, but chose not to. With a nod, he turned and left the room, the door clicking softly behind him.

“That was… a lot to digest,” Clara finally said, breaking the thick silence that had settled between us.

I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding, eyes drifting to my bandaged palm. “Yeah. I’ve got a million questions, and zero brain cells left to process them.”

“I think I’ll just ask Ms. Renée later.”

There was a pause.

“Sometimes,” I muttered, “I really want to strangle Ezra.”

Clara let out a small snort. “Same. But he’d probably trap us in another meat realm the moment we touch him.”

“Ugh. Don’t remind me,” I groaned, pressing my palm to my forehead.

“Maybe let’s change the topic then?” Clara offered with a soft smile, trying to lighten the mood.

I nodded, rubbing my temple. “Yeah… good call.”

She glanced out the window for a moment before saying, “Back at the café… I didn’t really finish what I was saying. About my mom.”

The air shifted—just slightly. I sat up straighter, the exhaustion still there, but I gave her my full attention.

“She used to take me to the Metallica museum,” Clara began, her voice gentler now. “Not because we loved art or history or anything. She just… wanted me to be somewhere quiet. Somewhere she could pretend we were safe.”

She paused.

“My dad was the kind of man you never knew what version you’d come home to. Angry. Drunk. Silent. And my mom… she was always trying to shield us. Me, my sister, my brother. But eventually, she couldn’t anymore.”

Clara looked down, fidgeting with the edge of the bedsheet.

“She died. Not all at once. Piece by piece. Until there was nothing left to protect us from him.”

I swallowed hard, unsure what to say, so I just listened.

“My sister left first. She ran. And I don’t blame her. My brother buried himself in school, became a doctor. I… just learned how to disappear when I had to.”

She glanced at me, her eyes glassy but steady. “That’s why I go to the museum when I feel lonely. It’s the last place I felt like she was still trying.”

“I… honestly just wanted a loving father,” Clara murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. “Someone who would provide love and care for me. The man who created us three—me, my sister, my brother—he used to love Mom so much.”

She exhaled, long and tired.

“I just…” her voice faltered, “maybe the idea of loving someone or settling down—it’s hard to imagine now. The world feels too dangerous for that kind of dream.”

She paused again, her eyes unfocused.

“Life is such a beautiful thing… but sometimes I wonder why we were brought into it, only to live through so much pain.”

“I used to be so fixated on the idea,” Clara said softly, “that somewhere out there, there’s a man who’ll love me forever. I… I hope I’ve already met him.”

She sighed, eyes lingering on the floor.

I couldn’t help the quiet smile that tugged at my lips. “That’s why there’s Clarence.”

Her head snapped toward me. “Where the hell did that even come from?” she huffed, giving my arm a playful slap.

I laughed, wincing slightly as the movement pulled at my bandaged palm. “I dunno. Just saying. He looks like the type to write poetry in secret.”

We both laughed quietly, letting the tension melt into something lighter. But just when I thought we were done, Clara tilted her head with a sly grin.

“Oh yeah? What if Ezra likes you?”

I didn’t even blink. “I’ll shove this dextrose tube down your throat if you keep talking.”

She burst out laughing, clutching her stomach. “You’re so dramatic—he’s not even conscious!”

“That’s the only reason you’re still alive.”

In the end, it all dissolved into quiet giggles and soft chuckles—like nothing had happened. Like we weren’t just talking about trauma, or powers that trap people in organ nightmares, or the terrifying mystery that was Ezra.

For a fleeting moment, it felt normal. Almost safe.

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

3,857 words

Chapter 9: Totally a Normal Day

warnings: None, just humor and a normal day.

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

Three days have passed since that day, yet I don’t feel any better. In those three days, Liviya never missed a chance to shoot me dirty looks, her face barely concealing the rage simmering beneath the surface. But to her credit, she kept it at bay—perhaps the only thing about her I could actually appreciate.

Today, Prince returned to collect our consent forms for the offer he made. I watched as he moved through the room, gathering the papers one by one. When he reached me, I handed mine over without hesitation.

Leaving this place has been on my mind for a long time—an idea I’ve weighed, dissected, and planned for. I may not be in the best shape to explore the world beyond, but something deep inside tells me that if I take this chance, something will shift. A moment of risk, a chance at change. It’s not that I hate this place—not entirely. Maybe it’s just preference. I don’t want to be caged here while everyone else gets to be free.

But this is the reality of my power. Isolation is the safest choice until I can truly stand on my own. So I endure. I find ways to appreciate this place—though appreciate is hardly the right word for a place that feels more like a prison than a home.

The clock ticked away until it was finally break time. Clara approached me, inviting me to eat lunch with her. As we sat down, our conversation drifted to my plans for joining the journalism team.

“I want to use this as a way to get involved in activities outside the campus,” I said, opening my lunch box. “I suppose it’s a good way to clear my mind, too.”

Clara nodded, chewing thoughtfully before speaking. “I guess that makes sense for you. But… I think you might end up like one of those exhausted, overworked students.” Her words came out slightly muffled by the food in her mouth.

“Why?” I asked, raising a brow.

“Well, journalism can be both fun and tiring. Instead of resting, you’ll have a ton of things to balance,” she replied.

“I expected as much—maybe even worse.” I shrugged.

Clara let out a sigh. “Just don’t do too well, or they might send you off on some big assignment. Who knows? You might never come back.” She tried to sound playful, but there was a hint of something else beneath her words. “I suppose it fits your goals, but… I’d miss you, Hagarin.”

I chuckled. “I get it. But won’t we all go our separate ways eventually? Everyone has their own dreams to chase.”

“You don’t have to rush yours, though,” Clara murmured. “Enjoy things with us while you still can.”

I scoffed. “You make it sound like I’m good enough to just leave everything behind without a second thought.”

“Because you are,” Clara said simply.

I shook my head. “No. I’m not perfect. I have my fair share of mistakes.” I set my lunch box on my lap, my gaze drifting toward the track and field. From here, I could see the open space stretching beyond the school buildings, a distant world that felt both inviting and unreachable.

“Still,” Clara insisted, “you’re more than qualified for it.”

I let out a sigh, irritation creeping in. “You put me on too much of a pedestal.” Such a glazer.

Clara didn’t respond, and I quietly finished my food, the weight of her words lingering in the air between us.

“Sup, guys? Why so quiet?” Ezra strolled over, eyeing my food like a starving stray. I sighed and handed it to him without a word.

“Just fussing over the fact that Hagarin is gonna leave us,” Clara exaggerated with a dramatic sigh.

“Leave? You mean the journalism thing? I signed up too,” Ezra said between bites.

Clara’s eyes widened. “No way you’re gonna be a reporter! You look more like a criminal!”

Ezra gasped, clutching his chest as if she had just stabbed him. “That’s so mean, Clara!” The laughter slowly faded as we settled into a comfortable silence, eating in peace—until Ezra, as usual, broke it.

“I heard we’ve got a returning student,” he said, casually between bites.

That caught my attention. I glanced up, listening closely.

“Oh? Sebastian? Yeah, he actually went on an adventure,” Clara said with a chuckle. “For real this time.”

“What did he do?” I asked, curious.

“He was chosen for the Rite of Astralis,” Clara explained. “It’s kind of a tradition here. You get to go through these... I don’t know, adventurous arcs? Trials? Either way, it’s a big deal. A dream, honestly. You could be chosen next year!”

I nodded slowly. “How was he chosen?”

Clara tilted her head, thinking. “Mmm… maybe it’s ‘cause he’s always so composed? Honestly, no clue. But he’s good. Performs really well. Probably a little like Ezra—just, you know, less chaotic.”

Ezra tugged her hair in retaliation, and the two immediately broke into their usual squabble, bickering like cats and dogs. I just watched them, quietly amused. ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

During the grace period our professor gave us, some students were cramming last-minute tasks, while others just chatted idly. Nothing unusual—there weren’t many of us to begin with, so the room always felt quiet, almost predictable.

That is, until someone new walked in.

He had fair skin that seemed to catch the light in just the right way—almost glowing, though that sounds dramatic. Still, there was something undeniably striking about him. Maybe it was how healthy he looked, or how all his features came together so effortlessly, giving him this… natural charm.

That must be Sebastian.

His chestnut hair fell just right, giving him a charismatic air that somehow lit up the room. Almost instantly, the atmosphere shifted. Students cheered and greeted him like an old friend.

It was...nice.

When the professor finally returned, he paused at the door, his expression softening the moment he saw Sebastian.

“Ah, welcome back,” he said with a nod, then gestured toward the back of the room. “You’ll be seated with Clarence.”

So that’s why that seat was always empty.

As Sebastian made his way to the back, Clarence looked up—and for the first time in a while, his usually unreadable face broke into a genuine smile.

The two exchanged a brief look, one that spoke volumes. No words were needed. It was the kind of silent understanding only close friends shared—like they hadn’t seen each other in months but had picked up right where they left off.

Sebastian slid into the seat beside him, and just like that, the energy in the room shifted again—familiar, but different.

During our free time—while the professor was still present—we were allowed to work on tasks from other subjects. The only condition? No noise, no distractions, no chaos.

But... yeah.

I watched as Ezra strutted around like he owned the place, talking loudly with Clarence and Sebastian at the back of the room. Honestly, Sebastian wasn’t much quieter either.

“Boys at the back! Silence!” the professor snapped.

Clarence immediately facepalmed, clearly regretting his life choices.

“And you,” the professor turned his glare toward Ezra, who froze mid-sentence.

Ezra gulped and quickly dropped into his seat.

“Three days ago was your fifth visit to the counselor. Are you planning to make it a sixth?”

All three of them winced at the same time as the professor launched into a scolding loud enough for the whole class to hear. Wow, what a normal day today. 

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

In the final hour before dismissal, I found myself zoning out. The discussion had become unbearably dull—like a lullaby disguised as a lecture. It was as if whispers of mischief snuck into my head, gently urging me to just give in and sleep.

I closed my eyes for a second… and that second stretched into what felt like eternity.

And just like that—I was out.

Faint whispers stirred around me, then slowly faded into an eerie silence. Only the soft hum of the air conditioner filled the room, its cold breath brushing against my skin. For a moment, the stillness was oddly peaceful.

Until—

“Okay! Class dismissed!”

The professor’s voice exploded through the quiet like a bomb. I jolted awake with a flinch—only to be met with the blinding flash of a phone camera aimed right at me.

Ezra.

“Hey!” I shouted, glaring as he grinned behind his phone.

Laughter erupted around the room, and I could only groan, hiding my face in my hands.

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

1,415 words

next chapter

Chapter 8: Blades and Rivalries

Tw: Mild language

Days had begun to settle into a quiet rhythm once I got the hang of everything—by trying everything. But that didn’t make it any less exhausting.

Now, I find myself walking through the library, where the soft patter of rain against the windows casts a monochrome hue over the space. The dull light filtering in makes everything feel muted, as if the world outside had drained all its color and left only shades of gray behind.

The library is vast, its towering shelves stretching endlessly, yet it holds only a handful of students scattered between aisles. Their presence is barely noticeable beneath the heavy silence.

I wander deeper, trailing my fingers along the spines of old books, savoring the rare tranquility—until it's broken.

A voice rises from the other side of the shelf.

"I still can't believe Hagarin has returned," Liviya mutters, her words laced with something sharp, something bitter.

"Why? Does she bother you?" Another voice responds. Sashenka.

I freeze in place, my ears tuning in despite myself.

"Yeah, she does. I suppose you could say she’s stealing my spotlight." Liviya scoffs, the sound grating against the hush of the library.

My brow arches as I process her words. Stealing her spotlight? I comb through my memories, trying to recall a moment where I had even tried to get involved with her. But I had barely interacted with Liviya—let alone threatened her place in anything.

"What do you even mean by spotlight?" Sashenka asked, her tone laced with curiosity.

"She’s taking the valedictorian spot," Liviya replied, and I nearly choked on my own saliva. Woah. Valedictorian? That was the last thing I expected of myself.

"How are you even so sure?" Sashenka asked, skepticism thick in her voice.

"Because I’ve seen her perform in all aspects, and I must admit—she’s no ordinary student," Liviya said, irritation creeping into her words.

Sashenka sighed. "She’s ordinary. What are you even talking about?"

I heard the faint rustle of pages as she reached for a book, and my stomach twisted in panic. If she pulled that book from the shelf, she’d see me standing right here. Too close. Too risky.

Instinct kicked in—I grabbed the book before she could.

For a second, Sashenka tugged at it, confused, as if sensing an unseen resistance. Then, after a brief pause, she let go with a quiet, puzzled huh.

"You don't get me, Sashenka," Liviya said, irritation creeping into her tone. She was too caught up in her own thoughts to notice Sashenka’s growing confusion as she stared at the book.

"I really don’t," Sashenka scoffed. "You make it sound like she’s some all-powerful, high-and-mighty Hagarin, when really, she’s just doing what any student would do."

"You don’t get me," Liviya repeated, her voice firm.

"Oh, I get you," Sashenka shot back, a grin breaking through. "You’re just as crazy as the rest of them." She let out a hearty laugh, and I stood there, utterly lost.

Crazy? Competing? Me?

I hadn't done anything to rival anyone—I could barely keep up with my own inner turmoil. And yet, somehow, I had ended up in the middle of something I never even signed up for.

Without thinking, I turned and walked away.

I didn’t stop until I was back in the main building. Unlike the quiet halls I had left behind, this place buzzed with life—students moving in all directions, their voices blending into an endless hum.

"You’re here?"

I turned at the sound of Hanari’s voice as she appeared behind me, her eyes gleaming with curiosity.

"I was bored," I admitted.

Hanari beamed before looping her arm through mine. "Perfect. Come on!"

Before I could protest, she was already dragging me toward the cafeteria.

She pulled me toward the cafeteria, where the hum of conversation and clatter of trays filled the air. The place was alive—brimming with energy in a way that felt almost foreign after spending so much time in the other department.

I glanced around, taking in the familiar scene. It was nice. Comfortable, even. I hadn’t realized how much I missed this until now. Maybe that other place had drained more life out of me than I thought.

Hanari and I grabbed our food before settling at an empty table just outside the cafeteria.

"I kinda doubt that the only reason you're here is because you’re bored," Hanari said, poking at her food before taking a bite.

I sighed. "It’s the truth. Don’t overthink it." I focused on my own meal, hoping she'd drop it.

"Ironic, coming from someone who overthinks everything," she shot back, giving me a knowing look. "Just tell me. I feel like ‘boredom’ is just the tip of the iceberg."

I hesitated but eventually let out another sigh. Fine.

"Someone doesn’t like me," I admitted.

Hanari paused—then burst into laughter. Loudly.

"I can't believe people over there have the time and energy to hate someone when there aren’t even that many of you!" she cackled. "Like, seriously? They had to go out of their way to despise you?"

I rolled my eyes but couldn’t help the small smile tugging at my lips.

"So? Are you not gonna share the context?" She eagerly waited for me as I sighed. "She said that I have the potential to take the

"The valedictorian spot? I’m clearly just an average student," I said, rubbing my chin before letting out a sigh. "If I were going to compete, it’d only be if I actually had confidence. And honestly? I just hope she won’t be mean to me."

Hanari scoffed. "You can handle yourself in any situation. I doubt you wouldn’t find a way to shut her up the moment she starts spouting nonsense." She nodded, as if already picturing the scene.

"Yeah, but making a big deal out of everything is just a waste of time. For what?" I muttered, shaking my head.

"That’s their problem, not yours," Hanari said simply. "Unless you actually want to take responsibility for something you never even signed up for."

She had a point. I leaned back, mulling over her words before nodding. "I’d only fight back if I have to."

Lunch passed, and I made my way back to the building where I studied, Hanari heading off in her own direction.

While waiting in the elevator, the doors slid open, and as I stepped out, my gaze landed on someone in the hall. He was refilling his water bottle, dressed in an outfit that could only be described as… adventurer-like.

A sun hat—the kind classic explorers wore—sat atop his head, and a camera hung around his neck. His entire attire practically screamed "traveler," though a subtle detail caught my eye. Somewhere on his clothing, a logo of the school was embroidered, almost like a mark of recognition. My eyes lingered on him for a moment longer before walking back to my classroom. 

I settled into my seat just as our professor entered the room, their presence immediately commanding attention.

"We have a visitor today," they announced. "Someone will be offering an opportunity to join the media analyst team."

The door opened, and in walked the same guy I had passed by earlier—the one dressed like an adventurer.

"Good afternoon, everyone." His voice was steady, confident.

"I’m Prince, a member of the media analyst team. I’m both a journalist and an adventurer," he introduced himself, adjusting the camera slung around his neck. "Today, I’m here to recruit students to join our team. In this field, we take on activities ranging from real-world adventures—documenting stories from the outside world—to tackling controversies within the city itself. Everything we uncover, we write and publish in the media."

With a flick of his wrist, a stack of brochures scattered through the air, gliding toward us like leaves caught in the wind. One landed on my desk, and I picked it up, scanning the details.

Almost without thinking, I muttered, "What are the pros and cons of this?"

Silence followed. Did I just say that out loud?

I cleared my throat. "Sorry," I mumbled before quickly lowering my head to read the brochure properly.

A scoff echoed from behind me, sharp and unmistakable. Liviya.

Of course. As if my mere existence offended her. I’ll have to find a way to keep her on her toes.

Prince, however, remained unfazed. "To answer your question," he began, adjusting his glasses with a practiced motion, "the biggest pro is experience—real-world exposure in every aspect. You’ll develop literacy in global issues, gain firsthand knowledge, and sharpen your analytical skills."

He paused before continuing, "However, the cons depending on your personal weaknesses. Some might struggle with the risks, the unpredictability. Others might find the weight of knowledge overwhelming."

I let his words settle in my mind. Exploring the world… that does sound nice.

But leaving home? Maybe that’s where the real downside comes in.

"I’ll return in three days to collect the list of those interested in joining. Please stay tuned for further announcements," Prince said before turning on his heel and leaving the room.

Almost immediately, Sashenka turned to Liviya, who sat behind us. "Are you gonna join?"

Liviya scoffed. "I wouldn’t join if she was in the same room as me. Oh, but let’s be real—I’m too smart to even be there to begin with." She flipped her hair, her tone dripping with self-importance. "Joining a team of journalists to refine political stances and views does sound like a decent choice, but I’m going to be a lawyer. Studying law will sharpen my thinking just fine."

I mentally rolled my eyes so hard I might as well have yanked her hair while I was at it.

"I see…" Sashenka simply nodded, though she stole a glance in my direction. "What about you, Hagarin?"

"I’m considering it," I said casually.

"Ain’t no way!" Clara’s voice shot across the room from the other side. "You’re leaving again?"

I blinked, tilting my head. "I get to leave?"

As if I’d just found a loophole—a perfect escape from this place.

"Oh, but of course," Liviya said, her voice dripping with amusement. "I actually suggest you leave, Hagarin. Maybe people there would find you interesting." She chuckled, her words laced with something just short of mockery.

Sashenka glanced at her but said nothing. No backup this time, huh?

I exhaled slowly, finally turning to face Liviya. "Oh? Was that necessary to say?"

For a split second, her composure faltered—just the slightest crack.

The classroom fell silent. Even Clara, who had been outspoken moments ago, had gone quiet, reduced to a spectator along with the rest. The tension in the room thickened, all eyes flickering between us.

Liviya recovered quickly, offering a play-it-safe response. "Of course, I’m just saying you’d meet more people there."

"As if I’m looking for people to surround me," I shot back, my voice daring her to say what she really meant. "What’s your point, Liviya?"

Before she could answer, the professor’s voice cut through the air.

"That’s enough."

Liviya clicked her tongue. "Tch. Sensitive."

I smirked. "Egotistical.

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

The next day, we were gathered in the gym for yet another exhausting activity. Physical combat. As if that wasn’t bad enough, Liviya had somehow decided to turn this into a rivalry—one I couldn’t care less about, yet she still managed to irritate me to no end.

"For the next activity," the instructor announced, "we will be exploring weapons. This exercise is meant to sharpen your skills and help you find a weapon you may prefer. Please take your time testing them before we begin sparring."

I glanced at the collection laid out before us. They were all crafted from wood and other harmless materials—blunt enough to prevent injury but still effective for training.

Reaching into a bag, my fingers brushed against the hilt of a katana. I pulled it out, weighing it in my hands. Not bad. Feels comfortable.

A hushed whisper reached my ears.

"Look at her, using a katana. Isn’t that weird?" Liviya murmured to Sashenka.

Sashenka barely reacted, giving me a quick glance before shrugging it off.

I exhaled slowly, rolling my eyes before casually picking up a small rock and tossing it in Liviya’s direction. It wasn’t hard enough to hurt, just enough to startle her.

Without waiting for her reaction, I swiftly left my spot, making my way over to Clara and Clarence, who were deep in discussion about their weapon choices.

"I saw what you did, Hagarin," Clara chuckled, shaking her head.

Clarence adjusted his glasses. "Liviya’s just looking for any excuse to talk bad about you. A katana is just as useful as any other weapon."

I sighed. "Is she really like that? I almost feel bad for her—arguing with a wall must be exhausting."

Clara raised a brow. "Well, this is a first. I honestly don’t know why she has it out for you either." She picked up a magic book, flipping through the pages. It was the kind designed for combat, filled with spells that could be cast in an instant.

"I overheard her in the library the other day," I admitted. Both of them turned their full attention to me.

"She said I was stealing her spotlight. That I might take her throne as valedictorian." I rubbed my chin, still baffled. "Which is ridiculous. I took months off just to pull myself together. I’m not even caught up yet."

"She’s just afraid of being outsmarted. That’s it."

Ezra strolled toward us, seamlessly joining the conversation.

"Really?" I asked, eyeing him.

Clarence sighed. "You’re back from detention. What did you do this time?"

Ezra let out an awkward chuckle, rubbing the nape of his neck. "Well… I was supposed to prank that egotistical guy in our class by scaring him—but I scared our professor instead. Dang, almost got him. So… yeah." He sighed dramatically.

Clara stifled a laugh. "You’re impossible.""And yeah, about Liviya—she hates being outsmarted," Ezra continued, shaking his head. "She’s been getting on my nerves, too. As if that pretty face of hers makes up for her problematic ass."

"What’d she do to you?" I asked, curious.

Ezra scoffed. "Laughed at me for being mentally unwell. Man, I should’ve kicked her in the face." He groaned, clearly still bitter about it.

Before I could respond, a sharp whistle cut through the air. The professor called us to gather.

"Now that your five minutes of weapon selection is over, we will proceed to picking opponents."

I straightened, gripping the hilt of my katana. Let it be Liviya. I wanted to see her squirm—just a little, just enough to get under her skin.

"Hagarin and Sashenka."

Oh.

Everyone stepped aside, clearing space for the spar.

"The rules remain the same as last time," the professor announced. "If you stay down for five seconds, it will count as a defeat. However, today, supernatural abilities are strictly forbidden. This will be purely physical combat."

I adjusted my grip on the katana, rolling my shoulders as I settled into my stance. Across from me, Sashenka did the same, raising her sword and small shield. A shield? Nice choice.

"Be ready," the professor warned.

The moment the signal rang out, we lunged at each other.

Steel met steel in a sharp clash. Sparks of friction. A test of strength. I dodged a strike, twisting my body to avoid the blade, only for Sashenka to counter just as quickly. We moved like pieces on a chessboard—attack, dodge, counter, repeat.

Each step, each motion, was calculated.

And neither of us was willing to be the first to fall.

Our blades clashed in a sharp burst of motion. Sashenka struck first, aiming for my side, but I parried with the katana’s blunt edge before twisting away from her shield bash. She was fast. I had to admit that. Each swing came with precision, her balance unwavering.

She wasn't just swinging wildly—she was testing me.

I stepped back, dodging another strike before retaliating, slashing toward her shoulder. She blocked it with her shield, the impact vibrating through the air, and shoved me back with a quick push. I skidded a step before regaining my footing.

Sashenka smirked. She's good.

I exhaled. Fine. Let’s speed this up.

I darted in again, feinting to the right before pivoting left, slashing low. She barely raised her shield in time, but the movement left her sword arm vulnerable. Taking my chance, I twisted my grip and struck toward her wrist.

A clean hit.

She hissed, losing her grip for a split second—long enough. I swung again, forcing her to step back, her defense breaking apart. I pressed forward, relentless, pushing her into a corner.

She raised her sword for one final attempt at striking me down.

But I was already a step ahead.

Ducking under her blade, I swept my leg out, hooking behind her ankle. Her balance wavered. A moment of hesitation—just a moment.

Then she fell.

Her back hit the ground hard, sword slipping from her grasp as I stepped forward, pressing the dull side of my katana against her chest.

"One… two… three…" The professor began counting.

Sashenka groaned, glaring up at me before letting out a small, breathless laugh.

"Four… five! Match over!"

Silence filled the gym for a beat before a few murmurs broke out. I exhaled, stepping back and offering Sashenka my hand. She took it, shaking her head as she got up.

"Damn," she muttered. "Guess you aren't as rusty as people think."

I smirked. Damn right.

I glanced at my friends who were silently cheering then to Liviya with a prose of envy. 

That's her problem now. 

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

2,949 words

Next Chapter

Chapter 7: Defending the Future

Days passed like trains speeding down endless tracks—too fast to process, too loud to ignore. I could still feel the grip of my past struggles clawing at my throat, as if it all happened just yesterday. But it's not yesterday anymore. It's been five months.

And now, here I am, standing at the edge of a train platform, watching the rails stretch into the unknown. The air smells like rust and rain. My hands clutch the strap of my bag a little tighter, my nerves refusing to settle down.

I'm heading to Ms. Renée's house, a visit I asked for myself. I need her guidance, not just as a teacher, but as someone who's seen what this power can do—to me, to my mind, to my reality. I need to know how to stand my ground without collapsing into it.

I miss Clara. I miss Clarence, and, surprisingly, even Ezra. I've been left behind in ways that aren't just academic. Time doesn't wait for people like me. Time drags us along, whether we're ready or not. I know they're worried about me, and honestly, I'm worried about me too.

The train arrives, and with it, the next step I'm both terrified and desperate to take.

As I stepped inside the train, a quiet sense of surprise flickered through me. The train car was nearly empty, a rare sight in a world that never seems to stop moving. Then it hit me—the holidays. Most people were off work, gathered with their families, or finding comfort in the warmth of their homes.

I found an empty seat by the window and settled in, resting my forehead against the cool glass. The world outside blurred as the train moved forward, passing familiar buildings, slumbering houses, and empty roads. For a fleeting moment, it felt like the whole city was asleep—like I was the only one awake, drifting alone in a sea of quiet.

My gaze flickered upward, landing on a massive billboard that stood out between concrete and sky. It was a hair product ad, featuring a model with flowing, silky hair that danced in the nonexistent wind.

Without thinking, I reached up and ran my fingers through my own hair. My scalp stung faintly at the tug, and when my hand came down, a few loose strands were tangled between my fingers. Stress already leaving its mark.

I sighed softly, brushing the strands onto the floor, watching them fall like broken threads of myself. The train kept moving, but my mind stayed behind—somewhere in those last five months, somewhere in the place where my control slipped, and time itself almost swallowed me whole. 

The speaker crackled to life, its metallic voice slicing through the quiet hum of the train. It announced the next station—my stop.

I exhaled, shoulders heavy with a weight I couldn't quite name. Gripping the cold metal pole beside my seat, I pulled myself up, my legs moving before my mind fully caught up. This is it.

The doors slid open with a soft hiss, and the world outside awaited—a familiar station, an unfamiliar version of me stepping out. It's my stop.

It didn't take long before I slipped through the sea of strangers, each step pulling me closer to something familiar. And finally, standing before me—Ms. Renée's house.

I raised my hand, ready to knock, but before my knuckles could meet the wood, the door swung open. Ms. Renée stood there, a trash bag in hand, her expression flickering between surprise and quiet amusement.

"Oh! You're here," she said, brushing stray hair from her face with the back of her wrist.

"Yeah, uh..." I shifted on my feet. "I just wanted to go somewhere—anywhere, honestly. I've been stuck at home and bored out of my mind, but...I'm not ready to go back to school either."

"Feel free to sit in the living room. We have a lot to talk about." Ms. Renée walked past me, the trash bag dragging softly against the ground as she disappeared outside.

When I stepped inside, a soft meow greeted me. A small furball of a cat was sitting by the doorway, its curious eyes staring up at me.

"That's Mimi—my companion through everything," Ms. Renée said as she returned, brushing her hands clean and gesturing toward the couch. I followed her lead and sank into the cushions beside her.

A sigh slipped out of me before I could stop it. "Life's... tough. If I had to sum up how I'm doing right now, that's the word I'd use."

Ms. Renée leaned back into the couch, wearing a relaxed expression that felt too practiced to be real. "You'll be fine. I know it's hard to find the motivation to fight back against everything that's weighing on you—but you're still here, and you have every logical reason to stay."

My gaze wandered to the clock on the wall, the ticking sound strangely louder than before. "But am I really still alive? Or just... mentally dead? I've been wondering if I'm actually going insane."

Ms. Renée didn't flinch at the question. Instead, she simply shrugged. "Maybe you are," she said. "But the real question is—what's bothering you right now?"

"To start with... what I saw in that psychological test—it's still there, lodged into my mind like barbed wire tangled in my veins. No amount of sleep can shake it off. It feels like I'd need to be high just to silence it." I sighed, my fingers tracing patterns into my palm. "But I can't exactly start doing weeds now, can I?"

Ms. Renée didn't laugh, but I could tell she wanted to. Instead, she stayed quiet, letting me spill what was stuck inside.

"And that's why I can't move forward," I continued. "It's the root of all this procrastination—the reason why the thought of going back to that school makes my stomach twist. The trauma clings to me like a second skin."

"You're strong, Hagarin," Ms. Renée said, her voice steady but soft. "I know once you've walked through this, you won't even recognize yourself."

"How can you be so sure?" I asked, my tone sharp with doubt.

"Time will tell."

I frowned. "Or did time already tell you?"

"No," she replied, exhaling like someone who'd had this conversation more times than she could count. "The future shifts with every breath you take. What happens next depends on what you do now. That's why I'm telling you—get a grip, Hagarin. Not because I'm scolding you, but because I know you can. And someday, you'll thank yourself for trying."

"I suppose that makes sense... if I really think about it," I muttered, my fingers curling into the fabric of my sleeve. "Maybe rationality is the only thing keeping me from snapping completely. But still... what else can I do? How do I stop my own powers from eating me alive?"

Ms. Renée's expression softened, but her words carried weight. "Stay calm—no matter what. When the storm rises, you don't fight it head-on. You learn to sail through it. You listen to what it's trying to tell you, and you pull apart every tangled thread at your own pace. One by one."

She placed a comforting hand on my shoulder. "Only then will you understand the blessing hidden within your power. It's not a curse, Hagarin. It's a privilege—a rare one. To see time itself, to glimpse futures others can't, even if it breaks you a little along the way. One day, you'll realize that seeing everything isn't meant to destroy you. It's meant to teach you how to live."

"To help you feel a little better, let's shift gears and think about the future for a moment," Ms. Renée suggested, her voice softer now. "What do you want to be when you grow up?"

I blinked at her, caught off guard by the question. "I... I never really thought about that," I admitted, scratching my hair absentmindedly. A few more strands came loose, and I flicked them away. "Honestly, I should probably stop just drifting wherever life pushes me and actually think of something big — something that gives me purpose."

I glanced at her, half-expecting her to have some magical career roadmap just waiting for me. "Any suggestions? Something that might actually fit me?"

Ms. Renée smiled, a glimmer of amusement in her eyes. "Alright. On a scale of one to ten, how curious are you about how this world works — not just the ordinary world, but the parts hidden beneath it? The gears and wires and ancient laws holding up this cruel, magical mess we live in."

I tilted my head, considering it. That itch in my brain, the one that always wanted to know — to pull back curtains and poke at things until they made sense — it flared up again. "Ten," I answered without hesitation. "Or maybe eleven."

"Then maybe, just maybe," she said, "you should consider becoming the kind of person who studies both history and future at once. A timekeeper, a chronicler, or even a seer who isn't just at the mercy of their powers — but someone who understands the story behind them."

I stared at her, heart pounding slightly at the thought. For the first time in months, the future didn't feel like a monster hiding under my bed.

It felt like a question I actually wanted to answer.

"I want my name to be etched into history," I said, my voice steady despite the slight hesitation curling at the edges. "I want to fight for change, to ride the thrill of chaos without letting it consume me. And one day—when it's all over—I want to come home, sit in my own house, and have a story worth telling my little sister."

The words settled in the air between us, heavier than I expected. A part of me wondered if I was just saying what sounded right. But deep in my gut, I knew—this was real. This was what I needed to do.

Ms. Renée studied me for a moment, her expression unreadable. Then, slowly, she smiled—small, knowing, as if she had been waiting for me to realize this myself. "That," she said, "is a future worth chasing."

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

After that day, I became history.

And I had never felt better.

Every day, I trained—refining my control, steadying the power that once threatened to consume me. Until, finally, I was stable enough to return. The halls of my school no longer felt like a battlefield but a place where I could reclaim what I had lost.

The day eventually came when I no longer needed my mask. But even then, I kept it—an emblem of who I once was, a symbol of the anonymity that once shielded me.

Months passed, and stress hit me like an unforgiving tide. Catching up was brutal, but it was a price I had to pay for being left behind. My nights were a constant battle—sleepiness on one side, and me drowning in school paperwork on the other. Then came the days, where I was left physically drained from relentless training sessions with Ms. Renee.

At night, I’d stumble through the door with bruises blooming across my skin like twisted flowers, every step heavy, every breath shallow. My body ached in places I didn’t even know could hurt, and my throat felt like it had forgotten how to form words. There were nights when I just stood there in the dark, hands trembling, unable to cry, unable to scream—just... silent.

Within every training session, my mind would spiral into chaos. Thoughts clashed and screamed over each other, like a storm trapped in my skull. The pressure built until it became unbearable, and by the time it ended, I was often left with migraines so severe that only a healer’s touch could ease the pain. Would that even be excluded from the toll I was paying? Sigh. I wasn’t just being worn down physically—it was like my soul itself was fraying at the edges.

Sleep didn’t come easy. Sometimes, it didn’t come at all. I’d lie awake staring at the ceiling, muscles twitching from the day’s strain, mind still echoing with the noise it couldn’t shut off. Every second felt like a war between rest and responsibility, and I was always losing to both.

Then the sun would rise. Too early. Too bright. And with it came the cruel reminder that it was time to do it all over again. Wake up. Push through. Train until my body couldn’t take it anymore. Study until my brain went numb. Smile when I had nothing left to give.

And still, I endured. I don’t know if it was strength or just stubbornness. But each day bled into the next, and the cycle kept turning—cold, relentless, unforgiving.

And today, standing before my classmates, I faced another challenge—an academic report.

I wasn’t sure why it was necessary, why it mattered in the grand scheme of things, but I supposed it was all part of the process. Just another task in this department.

The room was silent. All eyes were on me.

I took a deep breath.

Time to begin.

I exhaled slowly, standing before the class, gripping the edge of the podium. The projector behind me flashed the title of my research:

"The Ripple Effect of Inflation: A Meta-Analysis on Economic Strains and Societal Adaptations."

I cleared my throat. “Good day, everyone. Today, I will be presenting a meta-analysis that examines various research studies on inflation and its cascading effects on different socioeconomic groups.”

A few students shifted in their seats, already looking half-bored. I continued anyway.

“Inflation is not just about rising prices—it’s a systemic issue that affects wages, cost of living, and economic stability. By analyzing multiple studies from economists and financial institutions, this research aims to uncover recurring patterns, disparities in impact, and potential mitigation strategies.”

I clicked the remote, shifting to the next slide. A graph appeared, showing inflation trends over the last decade.

"First, let’s discuss its causes." I pointed to the data. “Several factors contribute to inflation: supply chain disruptions, excessive money supply, and demand-pull effects. In recent years, the COVID-19 pandemic and geopolitical tensions have significantly worsened global inflation rates.”

I glanced at my classmates, noting some furrowed brows. Good. They were listening.

“Now, let’s talk about who suffers the most.”

A new slide showed a comparison of income groups. “Low-income households bear the brunt of inflation. Unlike wealthier groups, who can adjust their investments or savings, working-class families struggle with rising costs of essentials. Studies indicate a direct correlation between inflation spikes and increased poverty rates.”

Ezra, sitting at the back, raised a hand. “So, are you saying we’re all doomed?”

I sighed. “Not necessarily. Let’s move on to solutions.”

The final slide appeared: a set of policy recommendations drawn from economic literature.

“To combat inflation, governments and financial institutions implement various strategies—interest rate adjustments, fiscal policies, and market interventions. However, historical data suggests that while these measures provide short-term relief, they do not always prevent future inflations. Instead, a sustainable solution must involve a balance of monetary control, wage adjustments, and investment in local production to reduce dependency on volatile global markets.”

I paused. “In other words, while inflation is inevitable, its impact can be controlled with the right policies.”

The professor nodded in approval. “An insightful analysis, Hagarin. Any questions?”

A hand shot up. I braced myself. Time to defend my research.

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

I exhaled slowly, standing before the class, gripping the edge of the podium. The projector behind me flashed the title of my research:

"The Ripple Effect of Inflation: A Meta-Analysis on Economic Strains and Societal Adaptations."

I cleared my throat. “Good day, everyone. Today, I will be presenting a meta-analysis that examines various research studies on inflation and its cascading effects on different socioeconomic groups.”

A few students shifted in their seats, already looking half-bored. I continued anyway.

“Inflation is not just about rising prices—it’s a systemic issue that affects wages, cost of living, and economic stability. By analyzing multiple studies from economists and financial institutions, this research aims to uncover recurring patterns, disparities in impact, and potential mitigation strategies.”

I clicked the remote, shifting to the next slide. A graph appeared, showing inflation trends over the last decade.

"First, let’s discuss its causes." I pointed to the data. “Several factors contribute to inflation: supply chain disruptions, excessive money supply, and demand-pull effects. In recent years, the COVID-19 pandemic and geopolitical tensions have significantly worsened global inflation rates.”

I glanced at my classmates, noting some furrowed brows. Good. They were listening.

“Now, let’s talk about who suffers the most.”

A new slide showed a comparison of income groups. “Low-income households bear the brunt of inflation. Unlike wealthier groups, who can adjust their investments or savings, working-class families struggle with rising costs of essentials. Studies indicate a direct correlation between inflation spikes and increased poverty rates.”

Ezra, sitting at the back, raised a hand. “So, are you saying we’re all doomed?”

I sighed. “Not necessarily. Let’s move on to solutions.”

The final slide appeared: a set of policy recommendations drawn from economic literature.

“To combat inflation, governments and financial institutions implement various strategies—interest rate adjustments, fiscal policies, and market interventions. However, historical data suggests that while these measures provide short-term relief, they do not always prevent future inflations. Instead, a sustainable solution must involve a balance of monetary control, wage adjustments, and investment in local production to reduce dependency on volatile global markets.”

I paused. “In other words, while inflation is inevitable, its impact can be controlled with the right policies.”

The professor nodded in approval. “An insightful analysis, Hagarin. Any questions?”

A hand shot up. I braced myself. Time to defend my research.

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

3,044 words

Next Chapter

Chapter 6: What time took from me: Temporal Cipher

Content Warning for Chapter 6 This chapter contains depictions of psychological distress, hallucinations, paranoia, mentions of therapy, and unsettling imagery (including gore-like descriptions, though not physical). Reader discretion is advised, especially for those sensitive to topics related to mental health struggles and dissociation. DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT.

there's fluff despite everything, dw, you're not just a reader! there's aftercare.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Another day. Another twisted activity waiting for us.

We were all gathered in a cramped, windowless room today — air thick with tension and the faint metallic tang of stress-sweat. Proctors paced back and forth, handing out assignments, their shoes tapping like countdown clocks against the tile.

Every student had their own task: someone bent metal into intricate symbols; another whispered to a bowl of water until their reflection screamed back; one kid calculated endless numbers, their fingers twitching like flesh calculators.

And me? I got the box.

It sat at the center of the room, black and heart beating, almost alive. When the proctor called my name, my gut twisted painfully — the same way it did when I first learned my mother died. A slow-blooming nausea that whispered, This will change you.

I obeyed anyway. Because what else could I do?

The moment my fingertips brushed the box, everything around me ruptured.

The walls melted, my classmates vanished, and suddenly I was standing on a bridge suspended over nothing. The sky churned with black oil clouds, and the only sound was my own pulse, loud and thunderous, rattling my skull from the inside out.

The first puzzle piece was easy — a small section of the box slid away under my touch, clicking into place like a child's toy. Too easy.

The second piece? It bit into my skin. Razor-sharp edges slid under my nails, prying them up like peeling fruit skin. Blood welled fast and slick, dripping down my wrists — but I couldn't stop. My fingers moved like puppets under some crueler hand, and the more I solved, the more reality warped around me.

I saw my mother's coffin. Even though in reality, I never had the chance to give my mother a proper burial.

It was standing upright beside me — nailed shut, but not enough to stop her hand from slipping through the crack. Bone-thin fingers, nails ripped clean off, reaching for me.

Behind me, Clara stood with her throat slit wide open — petals growing from the wound like some macabre garden, blooming faster every time I blinked.

Worst of all, in the mirrored shards scattered on the ground, I saw myself. Or versions of me. 

One had no eyes, just empty sockets filled with writhing, ink-black worms. 

One had my lips stitched shut with golden wire, my hands folded politely like a corpse. 

One stood with her back bent at a grotesque angle, head hanging loose by a thread of skin.

I should have screamed. I should have stopped. I didn't.

Because the box wouldn't let me.

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

With every new piece, the puzzle took more from me.

My left eye burst — or at least, it felt like it. A blinding flash of pain seared through my skull, and something thicker than blood leaked down my cheek. I wiped at it, trembling, and my hand came away soaked in black ink, dripping like melted shadow.

My fingers began to crack and splinter, bone peeking through skin. Every time a piece slid into place, my own flesh unraveled — as if solving the puzzle meant dismantling myself.

But I couldn't stop.

Time twisted in knots around me. The bridge collapsed and rebuilt itself beneath my feet, forcing me to step forward, backward, sideways — every wrong step dropped me into another memory.

I fell into my childhood bedroom, staring at my mother's empty bed.

I fell into the schoolyard, watching Clara wave before a flower pierced her hand.

I fell into my own grave, dirt filling my mouth until I couldn't scream.

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

Somewhere, some tiny rational part of my mind knew the truth.

This wasn't real. None of it. This was the test — a psychic simulation planted directly into my skull by the proctors. My body was still standing in that tiny room, trembling, hands clutching the real box.

But the rest of me? I was dying. Over and over and over.

This was how they forced my powers to awaken. Not through training — through terror. Through stress so violent my time magic would activate by instinct.

They were ripping me open, not to teach me, but to see if I could survive it.

When the final piece slid into place, I hit the ground hard. My knees split open against jagged stone, and for a moment I could taste my own blood, bright and sharp like a warning bell.

The bridge shattered beneath me, sending me into a free-fall through my own memories, my own past mistakes. I relived my mother's death in reverse, watching her rise from the grave, heal from her sickness, smile at me once more—

And then I woke up.

Back in the room. Hands trembling over the very normal, very wooden puzzle box. The proctor nodded once. "Good work." My gaze fell to the woman by his side. It was Ms. Renée

She didn't ask questions. Didn't tell me it was all fake, because she knew it didn't matter. My mind couldn't tell the difference. My body still remembered the agony, the trauma. The phantom pain lingered, too deep to scrub out.

She knelt beside me, hands warm on my frozen skin. "Hagarin, You're okay."

I couldn't even answer. My throat felt stitched shut.

She wiped my face gently — her sleeve coming away soaked with cold sweat and tears. No blood. No ink. Just a terrified kid they pushed too far.

The walk home is as though paranoia grips through my skin, it causes me to shiver to no end, no relief, no warmth.

Ms. Renée walked me home, her arm never leaving my shoulders. Every step felt like it existed in three different timelines — one where I fell, one where I ran, one where I stood still until time ate me alive.

When we reached my door, I froze.

It wasn't my house. It was my mother's funeral home, twisted into the shape of my front door. Her coffin was waiting inside — not real, but my brain didn't care.

I collapsed to my knees, trembling so violently I thought my bones would rattle apart.

Ms. Renee held me, whispering, "You're here. You're real." I didn't believe her.

I still don't.

That night, I lay in bed, staring at my hands.

The injuries were gone. My fingers were whole. My eye was intact. My skin was clean.

But when I clenched my fists, the air shimmered, rippling faintly like time didn't fully trust me anymore.

Every time I blinked, I saw the stitched-mouth version of me sitting at the foot of my bed, watching, waiting for me to break again.

Time didn't just test me today. It claimed me.

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

Morning light gently seeped through the veil of my curtains, painting fragile gold across the room and...

Sleep didn't come.

When I closed my eyes, I fell into the bridge again. Into the coffin. Into my own corpse.

I woke up gasping, fingers clawing at my throat, convinced it was still sewn shut. I vomited once — black sludge that vanished the moment I blinked, leaving me doubting if it ever happened.

Time magic is supposed to be beautiful. But mine feels like a curse — a parasite gnawing at my spine, whispering, You don't deserve control. We do.

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

The next morning—another morning. I saw my reflection.

My face was fine. But my shadow moved slower than me, lagging by just a fraction of a second — like time itself didn't fully trust me anymore.

At breakfast, my cup cracked when I picked it up — age speeding up around my fingertips until the glass simply couldn't hold itself together.

I was unraveling. And no one could see it but me. 

They wanted me to learn control. 

What I learned instead is that time has teeth — and every second you touch will bite back.

I'm stronger now. But I'm also haunted.

Because every time I close my eyes, I still see that stitched-mouth girl — still sitting at the foot of my bed, still waiting for me to break her free.

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

The past five days unraveled like a slow, cruel unraveling of thread — paranoia soaked into every corner of my mind until it left me disheveled, barely standing today. My fingers now brush against the fragile edges of reality, where I could finally distinguish what was real and what was only a phantom born from my fear.

Guilt curled itself around my throat like a noose, tightening with every breath I took. I never gave Hanari the explanation she deserved — I simply pushed her towards Ms. Renée, too ashamed, too fractured to speak for myself.

The school excused me for a month, a mercy disguised as punishment. They said I needed time to recover, as if time alone could soothe wounds carved into my mind. Even now, I'm not sure if healing is something I can reach.

A therapist was assigned to untangle my chaos, but how do you calm nerves that still vibrate with phantom pain? How do you silence a storm that's made a home inside your head?

The day I finally told Hanari the truth, the weight of my own words crushed me. I cried. I broke. I admitted I was not okay — and somehow, saying it out loud made it all feel so much heavier.

When the tears finally fell, Hanari pulled me into her arms — no words, no questions, just the quiet strength of her embrace. It was her way of reminding me that I was still here, that I was alive, even if my mind had long wandered into the graveyard of my fears. Her warmth bled into my skin, thawing the frost left by endless nights of paranoia. And in her arms, I could finally...

Breathe.

And for the first time in days, I drifted — not into nightmares, not into fractured time loops or restless visions, but into something tender and whole.

I slept in peace.

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

Days slip through my fingers, and still, my feet refuse to touch the school grounds. I've let procrastination drape over me like a second skin, curling into my blankets as if they could protect me from everything I'm not ready to face. I feel better now, at least my body does — but my spirit won't rise.

Not yet.

There's a whisper in my mind, one that tells me to step forward, to walk into the unknown, because life rarely waits for those who hesitate. But I'm too tired, and for once, I want to be selfish enough to stay still — to let my bones sink into rest without guilt gnawing at me.

So my world shrinks to something soft and familiar: cooking for my sisters, sweeping the floors, folding laundry, turning ordinary moments into quiet lanterns that light my way back to myself. I even let myself imagine a life of simple domesticity.

But no — a housewife I could never be. Not in this life, not in this body.

I was tracing meaningless lines into my sketchbook when the silence broke. A knock — sharp, loud, persistent — rattled the door. A knock so familiar, I already knew whose hand it belonged to.

I wasn’t wearing my mask, so for a brief moment, I caught a small glimpse of the future. It was them — Ezra, Clarence, and Clara. Oddly enough, my mind felt calm, as if the usual storm had finally settled. Maybe it was because I was relaxed, and for once, my powers weren’t overwhelming me.

Perhaps the only real weapon against my own abilities was something as simple as staying calm. Maybe that was the key all along.

I walked toward the front door, and just as my vision predicted, there stood Ezra.

"Oh, my dove! I missed you!" Before I could even process the moment, Ezra swept me off my feet — quite literally — pulling me into a hug so sudden it forced a yelp out of me. Strangely enough, my little glimpse into the future never warned me about that.

The second he set me down, Clara stepped forward, pulling me into her own embrace. There was a warmth in it that made my heart ache in the best way. In that moment, surrounded by people who cared, I felt alive.

"I’m so glad you’re okay," Clara said softly, her voice trembling as unshed tears gathered in her eyes.

"Hey, don’t cry. I’m here — I’m okay now. Sane as ever," I reassured her, though my smile was just a little wobbly.

"Ooh, nice house." Ezra’s eyes darted around, already scanning every corner like a curious child in a new playground.

I let out a quiet groan, fully expecting him to start touching everything he could get his hands on.

"I’m really glad you’re okay now, Hagarin," Clarence said, his voice softer than usual. "When we saw you leaving school with Ms. Renée, you looked... not great."

I nodded, the memory making my shoulders tense involuntarily. "It was hell," I admitted. No sugarcoating, just the raw truth.

I led them into the living room, only to find Ezra already making himself at home, flipping through the movie collection like he owned the place.

"Have a seat, guys. I own the place anyway," Ezra joked, sprawling dramatically across the couch like a king claiming his throne.

Without a second thought, I grabbed a cushion and threw it straight at his face. Clara and Clarence burst into soft laughter as they settled into the room, filling the space with a comforting sense of normalcy I hadn’t felt in a while.

And it was nice — really nice.

I didn’t feel alone.

I had them, too.

They might each carry their own ghosts, their own cracks and sharp edges, but knowing we all had our struggles somehow made it easier to breathe. I wasn’t drifting aimlessly in isolation anymore. I had my people—chaotic, flawed, and human—right beside me.

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

2,535 words

next chapter

Chapter 5: Of fights, Farewells, and Fools

I woke to the sharp chime of the bell, the sound pulling me abruptly from my daze and dragging me back into reality.

"Time's up," the proctor announced, his voice cutting through the lingering haze in my mind. Right — the gymnasium. I was still here. 

I turned my head, only to find Ezra sprawled unconscious on the floor. Instinctively, I reached out to shake him awake, but before my hand could make contact, a voice interrupted me.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you." I glanced up, finding one of my classmates watching me with thinly veiled amusement. "And why not?" I asked. He raised a brow, clearly unimpressed. 

"Are you seriously asking that?" Something about his tone scratched at my nerves. Still, I forced myself to remain calm.

"If you can't answer a simple question, perhaps you shouldn't waste your breath."

"A sharp tongue won't save you from your own ignorance."

"And your refusal to clarify only proves your own." I frowned, though he only responded with a careless scoff. 

"Enough, Maverick," Clarence cut in, stepping between us with the practiced ease of someone used to extinguish petty conflicts. Maverick shrugged, utterly unbothered, and walked away without another word. 

"What's his problem?" I muttered to Clarence. Clarence let out a tired sigh. "He's always like that. Not the brightest socially, but quick to mock anyone who's even slightly out of the loop. Let's just say he finds entertainment in other people's confusion." 

"Charming," I said dryly. 

"Anyway, what do we do about Ezra?" 

"I'll notify the proctor," Clarence said, adjusting his glasses. "And for future reference, you should avoid touching him directly. His abilities are highly contagious — you did learn that from the time-travel session, didn't you?" 

"No," I admitted. "I didn't get that far. The bell rang before I could see anything else." "I see." Clarence gave a thoughtful nod before heading off to inform the proctor, leaving me alone with Ezra's motionless form and the unsettling realization that there's far more to this boy than I ever imagined. I watched as Ezra was hurried off to the infirmary, and with his absence came a flood of questions swirling in my mind. Why is he contagious? The thought looped over and over, each repetition tightening like a knot behind my eyes. 

Before I could stop it, my head began to ache — a slow, creeping pulse that warned me something was coming. 

A vision, maybe. My magic stirring to life. Panic shot through me, and I bolted toward the bench where I'd left my mask, my hands shaking as I slipped it back on. Just in time, too — a fragmented memory was already clawing its way to the surface, blurring my vision and distorting reality. If I hadn't covered my face, I'd probably be the next one dragged off to the infirmary. A sigh of relief slipped from my lips as I sank onto the bench. 

Honestly, I can't even overthink without overthinking the fact that overthinking might actually make me pass out. And somehow, just by trying to figure everything out, I end up drained by my own powers. Truly, fate has a twisted sense of humor. 

"Hagarin~" Clara's sing-song voice rang out as she skipped over and settled beside me. I noticed her monocle wasn't on her face but dangling between her fingers. 

"I saw your face earlier! You're really pretty, you know that?" she said with a bright smile.

"Oh... thank you?" I replied, caught somewhere between confusion and gratitude. She only giggled in response.

"Wait—why aren't you wearing your monocle? Wouldn't that give you a headache if your power activates?" I asked, tilting my head slightly. 

She shook her head with a proud grin. "I've managed to control about ten percent of my power now. It's not much, but it's a lot better than having no control at all." 

"That ten percent lets me shut down a small part of my ability. It only kicks in randomly if I'm feeling really anxious or overwhelmed," she explained, and I nodded along. 

"What about the rest of your power? What can you do at full strength?" 

"Well..." She tapped her chin playfully. "The best part is feeling almost normal—for once. No headaches, no sudden visions of doom. It's peaceful." 

"But why a monocle? Wouldn't it make more sense to cover both eyes if seeing the future is such a problem?" I asked. She laughed softly. "I only have time magic in one eye—my left. The right eye? That one's all nature. Back when I was a kid, I used to keep my mom's plants alive with a flick of my fingers." 

"Speaking of my mom, want to come visit her with me sometime? She's dead, by the way.""...What—oh! I'm so sorry for your loss," I stammered, completely thrown off by her delivery. Clara only smiled, unbothered as always.

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

When class hours ended, Clara insisted that Clarence join us, but he politely declined, mentioning he already had other plans. So, in the end, it was just me and Clara. We strolled along the stone pavement, the crisp air mingling with the rustling of trees lining the path.

 I found myself enjoying the peacefulness, a rare moment of tranquility. Out of the corner of my eye, I watched Clara hopping along the stepping stones, entertaining herself like a carefree child. "Y'know, Hagarin, I have a feeling you'll end up acing the entire class," she said suddenly, her voice light and confident. 

"I'm not sure if I should believe that, considering we both have the ability to see the future," I hummed, keeping my gaze forward. 

"I'm saying this from instinct, not sight." She spun to face me, sliding her monocle back into place—a clear sign she wasn't using her powers to peek ahead. 

"Right," I scoffed softly. "Why won't you believe me?" she pouted. "You're already better than half our classmates, and most of them barely have two functioning brain cells to rub together. Plus, they're just mean for no reason." "Are they?" I raised a brow. "I guess I never really paid much attention to anyone." The scenery was far more interesting, in my opinion. 

Clara hopped off the last stepping stone and walked beside me. "Have you not noticed Maverick? Or even Liviya? They're not full-blown bullies or anything, but the mess in their heads is loud enough to drown out whatever kindness they might have had. Honestly, they're so chaotic, it's hard to even see them as normal." 

"I suppose they do give me some unpleasant looks now and then," I admitted after a brief pause. "What about the blind girl? I haven't seen her face either. Everyone took off their... stuff during class, but I never caught a glimpse of her," I said, curiously. 

"Oh, Alain? She's sweet, just incredibly quiet. But if you ever get the chance to talk to her, you'll like her," Clara said with a fond smile. 

"She's blind, yes, but her powers let her see everything—every possibility, every shift in time. That's why she wears a blindfold. Without it, her mind gets overwhelmed. Though, from what I've seen, she's making progress."

"That's... actually fascinating. It's like a blessing wrapped in a curse." I rubbed my chin thoughtfully. "Imagine being born without sight, unable to witness the beauty of the world—only to be gifted the power to see everything at once. Still, I'm guessing that's nothing compared to ordinary vision."

I glanced at Clara, my thoughts drifting. "Seeing through the eyes of a time traveler is so strange. For me, it's all washed-out shades of blue, with a slight distortion. Like looking through fogged glass." 

"Really? Blue?" Clara tilted her head. "For me, it's this pale brown haze, almost sepia." She laughed softly. "Maybe it has something to do with our actual eye color."

"Could be," I said, returning her smile. "Just another strange part of our lives, I guess." 

We finally arrived at her mother's tomb. "Hi, Mom. I brought a friend with me today—another new one besides Clarence," Clara said softly as she stepped closer to the grave.

"We learned how to time travel in class today." The tomb itself was well-maintained, adorned with delicate decorations built into the stone. It felt intentional, almost like a tradition that had been passed down through generations. Every small detail seemed to hold a memory. 

I stood beside Clara, quietly listening as she rambled on, speaking to her mother as though she were still right there with us. 

I'd be like that too if I ever had the chance to bury my mother—to care for her tomb and visit her like this. But no, life gave me something far more cruel. A memory I can never bury, no matter how much I want to. 

When it ended, we both lit candles as a gesture of respect, the soft flicker of the flames dancing in the cool air. 

As we slowly walked down the stone path, I broke the silence.

"Clara, if life wasn't so cruel, would you actually enjoy living?" I asked as we slowly made our way down the stone path.She gave a soft laugh, but there was a hint of bitterness behind it. 

"I'm content with my life—even if the word enjoy doesn't really fit anywhere in it. If life had been kinder, I wouldn't have met Clarence... or you."

"Everything that happened today wouldn't have happened. That's just how fate works—we either accept it or keep fighting something we can't change." She paused, looking up at the floating lanterns that were starting to light our way. 

"I know this world of ours is swallowed whole by magic, and sure, anything feels possible—like we're trapped in some cruel fairytale. Hell, reincarnation might even be real for all we know. But even so, I think I like this life. Just... go with the flow. Maybe you'll find a reason to keep going."

"Right," I murmured. "The power to rewrite my past and change the future is right at my fingertips... yet I didn't take it."Clara glanced at me, her expression unreadable. 

"Because you know you'd die if you mess up your timeline."

"Time, fate—whatever people want to call it—it's such a tangled mess," she sighed. 

"Sometimes, I wish I had something simple. Like the power to grow flowers or control fire. Something that doesn't make my head hurt."

"I get that," I said quietly. Neither of us spoke after that. We just walked, both letting out a long sigh at the same time, letting the silence say the rest.

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

Later that evening, Clara and I parted ways to head back to our homes. Tomorrow was another day, and honestly, I was relieved this one had finally come to an end. When I stepped through the door, the soft murmur of the television greeted me. 

"I'm home... sorry I'm late," I said quietly, spotting Hanari lounging on the couch. 

"Where'd you even go?" she asked, barely glancing my way as I slipped off my shoes and dropped onto the couch beside her. "I, uh... went with a friend to visit her mom's grave."

Hanari just hummed in response, munching lazily on her slice of apple pie. 

"I don't have any friends anymore, you know. You're never there. Maybe you could come to the main building and have lunch with me sometime? I saw your schedule—you have way more free periods than I do." 

"Can't," I shrugged. 

"Too lazy to walk that far, and the main building's practically on the other side of the campus."Hanari groaned dramatically, flopping back against the cushions like her life was ending.

"What if I just come to your building instead?"

"They probably won't let you," I said, stealing a glance at her.

She groaned again, louder this time, like the weight of her tragic social life was too much to bear. "I look like some lonely loser."

"You'll live," I muttered, grabbing her fork and stealing a bite of her apple pie before she could protest.

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

Friday — Sparring Day.

Every Friday, our class dedicates the entire day to sparring practice. It's the only time we're allowed to fully use our powers against each other — under supervision, of course.

We were all gathered at the field, the usual spot for these sessions. I stood at the edge, quietly observing my classmates as they clashed, each person using their abilities in creative or chaotic ways. 

Some were flashy, showing off like they were performing for an audience. Others fought with precision, wasting no movement. Then, the proctor called out the next pair. 

"Hagarin... versus..."There was a brief pause before the proctor continued.

"Oh, Clara." Both of us froze for a second, equally surprised. From across the field, Clara waved nervously.

"Go easy on me, Hagarin!" she called out with a laugh, though there was a flicker of real concern in her voice. We took our places, standing opposite each other in the center of the field. 

All eyes were on us now — classmates whispering, some curious, others already making guesses about who would win. We stood across from each other, the afternoon sun casting long shadows over the field. 

The proctor raised his hand — the signal to begin. Clara didn't waste a second. The ground beneath me trembled as thick roots erupted from the earth, twisting and surging toward me like serpents. I leapt back, narrowly avoiding the first strike, but more followed in its wake, branches splitting off and shooting upward to block my escape. 

She's fast. Faster than I expected.

I darted between the branches, my body weaving instinctively to avoid getting caught. From the corner of my eye, I saw Clara raise her hand — this time, a single rosebud bloomed at her fingertips. 

With a flick of her wrist, the rose shot toward me like an arrow, its petals sharp like blades. It wasn't aimed at me directly — it was after my mask. I ducked just in time, the flower slicing through the air above my head. 

"She's really aiming for my mask?" I muttered to myself. Typical Clara move — clever, but predictable. If my mask comes off, my power will surge uncontrollably, and we both know that could end the match in chaos.

"Trying to cheat already?" I called out, though my tone was lighthearted.

"Not cheating! Just creative strategy!" Clara shouted back, a grin splitting her face as more vines slithered toward my ankles.

I stomped hard, shattering a root just before it wrapped around my foot. If I let her trap me, it's over. The rules are simple — whoever hits the ground and stays down for five seconds loses.

 "Alright," I muttered, cracking my knuckles. "My turn." Clara raised a brow, unfazed, as she unleashed another wave of attacks — every flower she could summon sharpened into dart-like projectiles, whistling through the air toward me.

 I dodged each one with ease, weaving left and right, but just as I landed, something coiled around my ankle. 

A vine. Clara snorted, clearly proud of herself, her confidence radiating as she tugged slightly, tightening the grip on my leg. 

"Gotcha." But this was exactly what I wanted. I kept my back turned to her as she broke into a sprint, closing the distance between us. I could feel the anticipation rolling off her — she thought this was her win.

 That's when I calmly reached up and removed my mask. For the first time, the power I'd always struggled to control worked with me instead of against me. 

Clara's eyes widened in shock as my gaze met hers, the air between us thickening as time itself slowed to a crawl. The vine around my leg twitched, then loosened, retracting inch by inch as Clara's body faltered. 

She stumbled, knees hitting the grass with a dull thud, a soft curse slipping from her lips. I could feel her discomfort, the telltale headache caused when her own time vision clashed with the distortion I created.

 Her powers were fighting mine, and neither of us could fully stop it. Still, all I had to do was keep her down — and slowed — long enough.

"5... 4... 3... 2... 1!"The entire class counted down, their voices echoing across the field.

I took a deep breath, lowering my mask back over my face just as the proctor raised his hand.

"Winner — Hagarin." 

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

"It's fine, really. You don't have to apologize." Clara reassured me, still comfortably seated on the hospital bed.

"Clara! I'm really sorry." I showed up at the infirmary, holding an apple pie as my peace offering. She just smiled, waving off my concern.

"You really did well back there, but didn't I already tell you to go easy on me?" She chuckled softly.

I sat at the edge of the bed, carefully cutting the apple pie. "Well, I'm glad I lost though. Thanks for the food, I guess." Clara added with a light laugh.

The laughter and chatter from earlier had long faded, replaced by the quiet hum of the evening settling in. The sky outside was painted in soft hues of sunset as I walked down the hall, my steps slow and hesitant.

Part of me didn't want to leave Clara alone in the infirmary, but she had insisted I go home, saying her dad would be there to pick her up soon anyway. The halls were practically deserted now — most students had already gone home, leaving only a few teachers and staff lingering somewhere in the building.

Or so I thought.

That was until I heard soft giggles echoing behind me — the unmistakable sound of someone laughing to themselves. And who else could it be but Ezra?

"Don't touch me," I said immediately, spinning around to face him.

He raised both hands in mock surrender, a grin plastered on his face. "I haven't even done anything!"

"You always tense up when I'm around, don't you? Dove, you gotta ease up a little," he cackled, his voice echoing faintly through the empty hall.

I crossed my arms, trying not to let his antics get to me. "What do you even want? And why are you still here this late?"

Ezra clasped his hands together, his smile never fading. "Oh, I got detention — something about almost killing a classmate earlier!" he said, far too casually for my liking.

I raised a brow, equal parts concerned and confused. "Almost killing someone? How did you even come to that conclusion?" 

"Easy! That classmate was Maverick — y'know, the guy who acts like he's the smartest person in the universe but actually reeks of arrogance." Ezra rolled his eyes dramatically before clasping his hands together, voice brimming with exaggerated enthusiasm. "So, to help him fully experience my sincere, heartfelt, emotionally touching anger, I pulled out a pistol when I got close to him."

He even pointed upward like some self-proclaimed intellectual giving a lecture.

I blinked, trying to process the sheer absurdity of what he just said. "Wait—hold on. A pistol? How did you even... What?"

Ezra gasped, clutching his chest like I'd just shattered his heart. "You didn't watch me? Oh, dove, I'm hurt! Absolutely heartbroken!"

I just stared at him, my silence practically speaking for itself. Ezra, on the other hand, stared back at me like a giant question mark had just popped out of his head.

Oh. Right. I forgot — he couldn't even see my face. The mask was still on.

"So...uh, just don't do it again." I finally broke the awkward silence.

"I like whatever is wrong with you — it's fascinating. I'm following you home." Ezra grinned, that usual chaotic glint in his eyes.

"Don't—"

"Too late! Let's go!" Before I could even finish, he grabbed my wrist and practically dragged me along.

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

3,429 words

next chapter

Chapter 4: I see you

Content Warnings for Chapter 4:

Child Abuse (Physical and Emotional)

Neglect and Abandonment

Drug Abuse Mention

Domestic Violence

Mentions of Poverty and Financial S

trugglesTrauma and PTSD

 ThemesMental Health Struggles (Insanity/Breakdowns)

Graphic Descriptions of Injury/AbuseDissociation and Psychological Distress

viewer discretion is advised ⚠️

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

My footsteps echoed softly through the unfamiliar halls, each step carrying me closer to a classroom I had never entered before. There was no sense of certainty about what awaited me beyond its door, only a quiet apprehension that lingered in my chest. After signing a consent form handed to me at the entrance, something unexpected happened—the paper itself shimmered faintly, folding and twisting until it transformed into a mask resting delicately in my hands.

I recognized its shape almost instantly, though only from the books I had devoured back at the facility. It was a kitsune mask, a relic often associated with spirits and tricksters from old tales. Traditionally, these masks covered the entire face, which struck me as suffocating and isolating—perhaps a personal bias formed from my own sensory sensitivities. To my relief, however, this mask was only a half-mask, designed to shield my eyes rather than my whole face. A practical adjustment, I assumed, meant to make it less overwhelming to wear.

Ms. Tess, who had been silently observing my reaction, stepped forward and explained the mask's true purpose. It was not simply an ornament or a ceremonial object—it was a tool. A containment device meant to dampen the constant flood of visions and fractured moments that relentlessly played across my mind like a broken film reel. With the mask in place, the overwhelming torrent of future flashes would ease, granting me at least a fleeting sense of normalcy.

She also gently suggested that I visit her every Friday—a standing invitation to what she called 'sensory moments.' These were designed to ground me, a time dedicated to unraveling the tension knotted inside my mind. Apparently, my powers were not only fueled by external triggers but also amplified by my own relentless overthinking, the constant hum of unease I carried with me. It was this internal chaos, she explained, that kept my abilities flaring wildly out of control, leaving me drained and vulnerable.

Those fleeting thoughts, fragile as fallen leaves beneath my feet, crumbled the moment I stood before the door. Room 206—a name so ordinary for a place that felt anything but.

My knuckles rapped softly against the wood, and with a breath caught between hesitation and resolve, I pushed the door open.

"As predicted, here she is."

The voice belonged to the professor, whose gaze flickered toward me with the faintest trace of expectation. I lifted my eyes to meet theirs, offering a plain, almost weightless, "Good morning," before stepping fully into the room—a presence without fanfare, yet not without gravity.

My gaze drifted over the room, tracing each unfamiliar face. Eleven students. Only eleven.

So, they weren't exaggerating after all. Those who walk the uncertain paths tied to time itself—our kind—are rare as cracks in the sky.  From what I see, they all have unique different objects they wear to help them control their powers, which is quite amazing to think that there's this one girl who have her eyes blindfolded.

"Please introduce yourself." The professor said as I nodded. "Good morning. I am Tachibana Hagarin..."

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

Curious gazes devoured my presence the moment I settled into my seat. I suppose I couldn't blame them—a new face in a room so small was bound to attract attention. The silence that followed pressed against my skin like a second atmosphere, thick and unrelenting.

"For the continuation of our lesson," the professor's voice cut through the hush like a knife against glass, "we begin at Chapter 5."

A pause—deliberate, heavy.

"Dark Triad."

The words slithered into the air, curling like smoke around the edges of my mind.

"The Dark Triad refers to Narcissism, Machiavellianism, and Psychopathy—three personality traits bound together by manipulation, absence of empathy, and an insatiable hunger for control."

The professor's voice echoed within the hollow of my thoughts, and for once, the clarity of it felt almost indulgent. My mind had been left unclouded for days, all thanks to the mask resting against my face — a fragile shield between my sanity and the endless unraveling of time.

Even so, I couldn't help but wonder why we were treading the waters of psychology in the first place.

This was supposed to be a class for those who twist time itself — so why did this feel like an autopsy for the mind? 

When the class ended after 2 hours, I finally reached the schedule of vacant time. I was quietly thinking of what to do with the given 2 hours of vacant but suddenly...

A pen rolled near my shoe, its faint clatter against the cold floor somehow louder than it should have been. I leaned forward, fingers poised to grasp it—

"No!"

The word cracked like a whip through the air, sharp enough to slice through my hesitation. I looked up to see a girl, panic carved into every step she took as she nearly stumbled toward me, her shoe sending the pen skittering across the room.

"You shouldn't touch it," she whispered, her voice low and urgent, as if the walls themselves had ears.

I followed the flicker of her gaze to a boy slouched near the back, his grin stitched too wide across his face, a glint in his eye that spoke of cruelty reserved for those who knew no limits.

"Why?" My voice was calm, but curiosity curled beneath it like smoke.

"That pen," Clara murmured, fingers trembling as they curled into her sleeves, "has been laced with someone's twisted magic. If you touched it, you would've been swallowed whole — into a room stitched from riddles and silence. A place where you could scream until your voice breaks, and still no one would hear you."

Her words tasted like truth, bitter and lingering.

"But you kicked it," I pointed out, my voice softer now. "Wouldn't that count as contact?"

She shook her head, strands of hair sticking to the sweat gathering at her temple. "No... It needs skin. It craves warmth. Bone, flesh, the pulse beneath your fingertips. Shoes are just leather and rubber. They hold no soul."

Her eyes drifted back to the boy — the architect of this sick game — who merely offered a laugh that sounded more like something choking on itself.

"Just be careful," Clara said, voice dipping lower. "You're new. You don't want to end up... you know... a plaything."

I offered a nod, the weight of her words settling across my shoulders like a damp cloak. "Thank you for the warning."

There was silence, then her hand stretched toward me, trembling just slightly. "I'm Clara."

I took her hand — cold skin against mine — and held it for a breath longer than I meant to. "Hagarin."

A pause, then: "Can I ask... more about this place? This department?"

Clara sighed, her expression caught somewhere between pity and exhaustion, before she sank into the seat beside me.

"I'll tell you everything I can," she said, her voice no louder than a prayer, "in hopes it makes you feel a little less like prey."

When Clara settled beside me, I let my gaze linger on her — a habit born from survival rather than curiosity. Her hair, a shade too soft for this place, was braided into a bun plait, too delicate for a room that reeked of fear. The strands twisted like a noose, and at its center, her monocle gleamed like an artificial eye — an elegant restraint to a power I knew she could barely hold back.

"Where would you like to start?" Her voice cut through my observation like a scalpel, precise and clinical.

I averted my gaze, as though looking too long would unravel me. "I suppose... we could start with the culture here. What do people do in a place like this?"

Clara's smile was thin, barely there, like a ghost caught between walls. "Culture," she repeated, as though the word was foreign, a relic long buried beneath dust and rot.

She folded her hands in her lap, knuckles pale. "This building breathes silence. Not by design, but by consequence. We are few — a species on the verge of extinction, clinging to corridors stained with the mistakes of those who came before us. But we all share the same disease."

Her voice dropped into something brittle. "The disease of seeing too much."

I felt my stomach twist. "And the subjects you study?"

"Psychology, History, Philosophy, Sociology, Politics," she listed them like names on gravestones.

"Why?" I asked, though I already knew the answer would taste bitter.

"Because if you lose your mind, your power will devour you." Her words carried the weight of a funeral prayer. "This place is a coffin for those who couldn't hold their own sanity together — their powers grew wild, untethered, until they swallowed them whole. If you can't control your mind, you can't control the time."

Clara scratched at her temple, the skin red and irritated, as though her own thoughts were a splinter beneath the flesh.

"These subjects aren't about learning — they're about survival. You study history so you don't repeat your own mistakes. You study psychology so you understand the voices crawling inside your head. Philosophy teaches you to question your reality before it eats you alive. Sociology reminds you that you aren't the only monster walking these halls. And politics..."

She trailed off, but another voice filled the void.

"Politics teaches you the rules of power. Knowing when to kneel — and when to slit a throat."

The footsteps were soft, measured, each one deliberate like the ticking of a clock. A boy stood before us, the air around him heavy with calculation. His uniform was too neat, his posture too perfect, like he belonged in a portrait rather than this crumbling room.

His smile was polite, but his eyes were scalpel-sharp, stripping me bare in a single glance. "Sanity is currency here," he said. "If you lose it, your power consumes you from the inside out. So, we sharpen our minds until they're blades — because the only way to survive this place is to cut first."

The room felt colder.

The boy offered no introduction but just a polite smile. "Right, no need to sound like a walking thesis just to make us feel stupid, Clarence," Clara shot back, her voice light, but her eyes rolling with enough force to tilt the earth off its axis.

Clarence chuckled — a low, deliberate sound that somehow felt like it belonged to someone who knew exactly how and when you would die. "Just doing my civic duty. Our new little time anomaly deserves the full orientation package, doesn't she?" His gaze flickered to me, sharp but amused.

I rested my chin in my palm, already exhausted. "If we're supposed to be trained into functional, sane people, why's that guy..." —my finger lazily pointed at the slumped figure drooling onto his desk, the one who rolled the pen towards me— "acting like he's escaped from a psychological horror film?"

Clara snorted. "Oh, him? That's Ezra. He's new, like you. Except he skipped the 'gradual breakdown' part and just speed ran straight into 'hopelessly unhinged.'"

Clarence leaned against the desk, his expression darkening into something more serious — the kind of look you'd wear at a eulogy. "He's a walking cautionary tale. His sanity wasn't just fractured — it was pried apart, piece by piece, until the light itself showed him everything he couldn't bear to see."

He paused, his fingers tracing patterns on the desk absentmindedly. "You see, for some of us, the power doesn't break us. It shows us how broken we already were. And once the mind is exposed to too much truth, it shatters like glass."

I didn't respond. There wasn't much to say when someone described a fate you could practically feel breathing down your neck.

Clara, mercifully, broke the silence. "Anyway!" she clapped her hands together, trying to inject some life back into the room. "Moral of the story — don't touch random objects, don't stare too long at the void, and for god's sake, never trust the vending machine on the third floor."

"Why the vending machine?" I blinked, confused by the sudden shift.

Clarence just smiled. "It eats more than your money."

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

Several days have passed, and I suppose I've begun to adapt to the peculiar rhythm of this place. The atmosphere here is unlike the main building, which was constantly alive with noise and bustling students. In stark contrast, this department feels almost isolated, its silence only interrupted by the occasional conversation or the faint hum of distant footsteps.

Throughout these days, I've found myself gravitating toward Clara and Clarence. They seem to have taken it upon themselves to ensure I don't entirely lose my mind in this strange environment. When they're occupied, however, Ezra tends to appear — often without warning. His presence alone is unnerving, considering our first encounter involved him casually rolling a cursed pen in my direction. A pen, mind you, capable of trapping me within a labyrinth of riddles until I somehow managed to solve my way out. To put it lightly, Ezra's existence leaves me with an enduring sense of wariness.

At the moment, our class is gathered in the gymnasium. Today's exercise focuses on building connections — not through casual conversation, but through direct access to each other's memories. The process is simple in theory: remove any object that dampens our abilities, select a partner, and lock eyes until the walls around their past begin to collapse, allowing us a glimpse into their personal history. It is, apparently, a foundational technique for understanding time travel. For some reason, the moment I removed my mask, nothing happened. No sudden flood of memories, no overwhelming rush of visions — just the ordinary sight of the gymnasium and my classmates. It was almost unsettling how quiet my mind remained, like a static screen where chaos should have been.

Perhaps it's this building itself — designed to keep us on edge, to suppress what we rely on most. I couldn't help but wonder what kind of subtle tricks they embedded into these walls. A spell? A mechanism? Or maybe something much simpler, like the weight of constant observation. Whatever it was, the absence of noise in my head felt louder than any commotion ever could.

"I'll be assigning partners," our proctor announced, glancing down at the clipboard in his hands. A collective groan rippled through the room, though none of us were particularly surprised. Of course, we couldn't choose for ourselves — not here.

"Hagarin and Ezra."

Ah, yes. The radiant beacon of my existence. How fortunate I am.

From behind me, I heard the unmistakable twin reactions of Clara and Clarence — a synchronized oh that carried both sympathy and amusement. I turned to them, silently pleading for some form of rescue, but all they offered in return were sheepish smiles and helpless shrugs.

Before I could plot my escape, a hand clamped down on my shoulder, spinning me around with unnecessary enthusiasm. "Aren't you the luckiest? Partnered with me!" Ezra's grin stretched ear to ear, radiating the kind of chaotic energy that could set off a fire alarm just by existing.

"More like a curse," I replied, shaking my head. "You cling like a wasp that refuses to die."

"And you," he said, utterly unfazed, "are the honey — all sweet and easy to mess with."

"Dear god..." I muttered with a cringed reaction etched on my face, turning to walk away, only for him to seize my wrist and pull me back into his orbit, cackling like a villain in a low-budget play.

He's going to be the death of me someday — that much I'm certain of.

The proctor continued announcing the other pairs, though his voice felt distant, like a soft hum beneath the weight of my own thoughts. Soon enough, it was time to begin.

We were instructed to sit across from our assigned partners, knees barely apart, eyes locked. No masks, no objects to soften the edges of our abilities. Just direct eye contact, until the world around us dissolved into memory.

The rules were clear, spoken with the sternness of someone who had undoubtedly witnessed the consequences of disobedience: Do not touch anything. Do not move anything. Do not allow yourself to be seen. Do not speak to anyone. Observe, nothing more. A quiet ghost in the river of time.

I met his gaze, and for a brief moment, I forgot how to breathe.

His eyes — mismatched and striking — were a story in themselves. One a rich amber, warm like sunlight spilling through ancient windows; the other a deep, stormy blue, like the sky moments before thunder shatters the silence. They pulled me in, gently at first, then all at once, like falling into a trance where the edges between past and present began to blur.

Somehow, without meaning to, I found myself wondering — if eyes could hold someone's entire history, what kind of story would his tell me?

A blur crawled into my mind, cold and relentless — like fingers dragging me under the surface of a frozen lake.

The flood of memories didn't arrive gently, nor did it feel like a tender unveiling of his past. It was violence wrapped in silence, the kind of silence that pulses against your ears when screams are too hoarse to escape. Whispers slithered through the cracks in my consciousness, fragmented mutterings, desperate pleas, the sound of skin hitting skin, the begging — oh god, the begging to live.

And that is the story of Ezra.

A boy born into the middle ground — not poor enough to be pitied, not wealthy enough to be spared. His life was average in the cruelest sense, hovering just above ruin, surrounded by people too broken to love him properly. Those smiles and bursts of manic energy were a carefully crafted mask, because the truth was too ugly to show.

Deliberately ignored by the very hands meant to protect him, Ezra learned survival the hard way. His mother — the woman meant to fill his stomach and soothe his fears — turned to drugs instead, letting substances take the place of responsibility. The house became a prison, the walls soaked with the stench of neglect. And when she wasn't a ghost, she was a monster.

She made sure his body bore the weight of her frustrations. Bruises blooming like rotting flowers, bones learning to break before they could fully grow. There were nights he couldn't walk, mornings he woke up wondering if his legs would ever carry him again.

And yet, here he sits — bright-eyed, loud-mouthed, and relentlessly alive.

But now I know the truth.

Every smile is a desperate defiance. Every laugh is a scream buried under his tongue. Every careless act of chaos is a child daring the world to break him again.

And in this flood of someone else's pain, I realized: some people aren't born survivors — they're made into them.

I wanted to help him.

It wasn't a fleeting thought, nor some heroic impulse — it was instinct, primal and unforgiving. My bones screamed at me to reach out, to shatter the rules, to tear through the veil that separated my reality from his.

But I couldn't.

Because the rules are absolute.

Do not touch. Remain unseen. Just watch.

So I watched. I watched as he collapsed onto the cold, filthy ground, limbs trembling from the weight of bruises layered over bones too fragile for this kind of life. His breathing was shallow, the kind of breath that doesn't expect to last.

And when I thought that was the end — that this was where his story would end in a puddle of blood and neglect — she came.

An old woman with shaking hands and kindness carved into every line on her face. She scooped him up like he was something fragile and precious, like broken things were meant to be cared for, not discarded.

She gave him warmth, food, and clothes that didn't hang off him like skin he was waiting to shed. She gave him a home, not just a house. And for the first time, he tasted love. Real love — the kind without conditions, without fists hiding behind smiles.

"What's a wife?" young Ezra asked one day, small fingers tugging at her sleeve as they sat by a hearth that crackled softly — the only sound that didn't hurt his ears.

The old woman smiled, gentle and sad. "A wife is someone you'll love — someone you'll never turn your back on. She's like a seed you plant, one that grows into something beautiful if you care for it properly. Promise me, Ezra. When you find someone, treat her right. Be the kind of man your father never was."

And for a while, it seemed like fate would be kinder to him.

But trauma doesn't disappear — it festers. It finds ways to seep into every crack, even when you think you've sealed them shut.

So Ezra grew up with kindness in his heart, but madness wrapped around his mind like a second skin.

He became a man who laughed too loudly and too often, because silence was where the ghosts lived. He turned himself into a living spectacle — an insane clown wearing tragedy like face paint. But beneath the chaos, beneath the theatrics, he was still that little boy asking what love was, praying someone would show him how not to break it.

Ezra is a good man.

Just one who was built from broken things. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------ 3,743 words

Next Chapter

lil description for my story

Hagarin never expected her life to become a story worth telling. Born into an ordinary existence, her reality twists when she discovers her fate as a time traveler-one with no map, no prophecy, and no warning for what comes next As her twin sister Hanari once said: "You've got a hell of a story to tell." With each jump through time, Hagarin sees the world through fractured glimpses: memories that aren't hers, tragedies she can't stop, and horrors she must survive.

From battles against monsters and violent self-defense to heart-wrenching losses and fleeting moments of love, every fragment shapes the tale she's destined to live-and the one she's meant to tell. This is a story of fractured futures, untold horrors, fleeting romances, and the weight of knowing too much.

Dead Dove: Do Not Eat.

proceed to Prologue

Chapter 3: Answers and Change of Plans

Content Warning: This chapter contains mentions of death, health-related distress (migraines/passing out), themes of isolation, and discussions about mortality. Reader discretion is advised.

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

I woke to the sterile scent of bleach and the muted hum of fluorescent lights, the weight of my own skull pressing down like stone. My limbs felt waterlogged, heavy as if the bed beneath me was slowly pulling me into its core.

Hanari's voice reached me before my vision fully returned, muffled and sharp at the edges, her tone caught somewhere between anger and fear. "You should've told me."

I blinked against the ceiling, pale and cracked, a spiderweb fissure directly above me that seemed to throb in time with my pulse. "Are you done moping?" My voice came out raspier than expected, irritation curling through my words—not because I was angry at her, but because I needed something to feel other than dread.

Hanari folded her arms, her posture defensive, but her eyes too wide, too soft. The mask didn't fit today. "Dramatic sigh" barely covered the shaky breath she let out as her shoulders rose and fell. "You're such a dick."

The glass door creaked open, and Ms. Renée stepped inside, her reflection warping in the glass like something unreal. The setting sun behind her fractured into shards of light, cutting her figure into pieces. In her hand was a mug—coffee, dark and bitter from the scent that followed her in.

"I'm glad to see you awake," she said, but her smile didn't quite reach her eyes. "How are you feeling?"

"Headache's gone..." I answered, but the relief felt fake. "What did you do?"

Her face flickered with something unreadable before she folded her arms, considering her words too carefully. "Focus on resting first. Your health comes first."

"Don't patronize me. I want answers." The words ripped out of me before I could soften them, sharp and uneven. Something burned inside my chest, a simmering panic I couldn't name.

Renée sighed, long and tired. "Kids these days. Always so hungry for ruin."

Beside me, Hanari leaned in, whispering through a half-smirk, "You're stubborn too."

"Listen closely." Renée's voice lowered into something quieter, colder, like she was telling us a ghost story we were already trapped inside. "Hanari, when you found Hagarin, I mentioned the headaches. They aren't migraines. They're symptoms."

"Symptoms of what?" Hanari's voice broke slightly. The cracks were showing.

"Time travel."

The word alone made my stomach twist. Time was no longer a concept or a lesson or even a power. It was inside me. A disease eating through the walls of my skull.

"The headaches, the blackouts, the visions—they're your brain trying to reconcile past, present, and future all at once. Your mind wasn't made to hold infinity." Renée paused, letting the silence soak in. "If you don't learn control, time itself will drown you."

That's when the word hit me like a knife to the chest: Death.

It was no longer a distant concept. It was here, sitting beside me, breathing on my neck. I had always wondered—would it be a void? Would it hurt? Would I even notice when I crossed the line between existing and not?

My head spun, nausea curling deep inside me.

"Can you..." My voice barely worked. "Can you explain what happens? From experience?"

Renée's smile was brittle. "Of course."

She leaned back, eyes drifting to the ceiling, where memories seemed to stain the tiles like watermarks.

"The visions never stop. Past, future, alternate versions of now—they whisper constantly. You'll hear things that haven't happened yet and things that already did but differently. You'll see your own death a thousand times over in a hundred different ways. Your brain will try to split itself into pieces just to make room." Her fingers traced the edge of her chair like she was touching a grave marker.

"When I first realized what I was, my parents locked me in a room for months. I was dangerous, even to myself. They thought isolation would save me—but it just made me a prison of my own mind."

I could see her now, a younger version, curled up in a corner, knuckles white, vision flickering between every timeline where she lived, died, ran, stayed. A thousand lifetimes trapped inside one skull.

"So how did you survive?" My voice sounded small. Fragile.

"I ran." She didn't sugarcoat it. "I ran until I couldn't hear them screaming my name anymore."

Hanari and I exchanged a glance, that unspoken what the hell? hanging between us.

"It's survival," Renée said with a shrug. "Messy, desperate, survival."

Golden light sliced across her face, painting her like a portrait half-burned at the edges.

"I was thirteen when I learned to lock most of it away. I got into this school. They transferred me to the time traveler department, and I stayed hidden there until I understood how to breathe without choking on centuries."

She stood abruptly, shaking off the weight of her own story. "Anyway, I run a library five blocks from here. Visit sometime."

"Will you actually be there?" I asked, half hopeful.

Her smile was half a ghost. "No. I'm a history teacher, not a prophet."

She left before I could answer, the door swinging shut behind her.

Hanari's shoulder pressed into mine, warm and real in the empty room. "Woah...quite the announcement."

I stared at the tiled floor, letting the information sink in like water through cracks. "Yeah."

"It'll be fun," Hanari said, too bright, too forced. "You'll have a hell of a story to tell."

"Consent would've been nice," I muttered. "Ms. Renée never even asked."

"Maybe the admins will do an official talk. They have to, right?"

I didn't answer.

"Have you decided?" Her voice softened.

I stared at my hands, at the faint tremble I couldn't hide. "Dunno."

Hanari leaned her head against my shoulder. "You have a death wish."

The words should've been funny, but they weren't.

We sat there, shoulder to shoulder, while the room darkened around us. Just two silhouettes against the fading light, floating somewhere between fate and fear.

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

The air inside the counselor's office clung to my skin like cold sweat. The silence had weight—like the room itself knew secrets it couldn't say aloud. The printer groaned in the corner, coughing up a consent form, each page landing like a death sentence.

"You're early," Maria Tess said, voice mildly surprised. "I haven't even prepped the files yet."

I glanced at her nameplate, gold edges catching the flickering fluorescent light: Maria Tess. Funny how official names always felt like gravestones.

"Wanted to get this over with," I said. "So I can sleep after."

"Even Ms. Renée isn't here yet. Relax."

Relax. In a room where my fate hung from a single sheet of paper.

The doorbell chimed, and Ms. Renée stepped inside, her coffee steaming, her smile distant. Maria Tess handed me the form, paper still warm, ink still drying.

"We're all aware of your situation," Maria Tess began, words too rehearsed. "When students discover dangerous powers, we relocate them. For safety. For survival."

Time travelers didn't get to choose. Time itself chose them, and all they could do was keep breathing until it didn't want them anymore.

"Without control," she said, "your mind will fracture under the weight of the past and future. And it will kill you."

The word wasn't metaphorical. It was bone-deep, absolute.

"Sign here."

"This is how you stay alive." "Hagarin." Ms. Renée's voice cut cleanly through the silence, slicing apart the fog of my thoughts. "This will benefit you — if you want to keep living."Maybe I needed that bluntness. A reminder that this wasn't just a choice between two doors, but between survival and collapse.

I blinked, my gaze still locked on the consent form. My hand hovered near the pen, fingers curling and uncurling like they couldn't decide if they belonged to me.

"...Would this damage me financially?" The question tumbled out before I could think it through, my voice quieter than I meant."Not at all," Ms. Tess replied, her tone brisk and assured — at the exact same moment Ms. Renée answered too, her voice overlapping in a soft echo.  For some reason, that made me smile. Just a little.

 I exhaled slowly, letting the air drag out all my hesitations with it. 

 "Alright." 

 The pen felt heavier than it should as I picked it up. With each stroke of ink, the page drank my consent, sealing my fate in writing.My name rested there, small and sharp in the sea of legal language, and though my heart felt like it was trying to claw its way out of my chest, the signature was already drying.

 It was done.

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

1,512 words.

Hi guys, I plan to write more than 1k words.  Every chapter gets worse and worse, hang in there, Hagarin will be insane soon.

Next chapter

Chapter 2: Confusion

This chapter includes:

Headaches, migraines, and medical distressInsomnia and exhaustion Mild body horror (temporary sensory loss, forced unconsciousness)Mentions of an accident (without graphic detail)Mild language and frustration between characters

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

Hagarin's POV

After a few months of studying books, history, and magic, we finally reach a moment wherein we are permitted to experiment on what kind of alchemy power we can cast.

And I feel a headache growing in my head today. Come to think of it, my head doesn't seem to stop aching within those past months. I often pass out, and a visual of people's memories flashes through my mind.

This led to insomnia.

Pills weren't enough to ease the growing ache in my head. All I ever had to do was sleep away the pain. I have no idea what is going on with me. Yesterday evening, I instantly slept on my bed when I returned from school. My siblings were growing worried about my antics, and I often left them hanging with lame excuses. Truth be told, I also don't know what's going on.

But in all seriousness, I want to find out what is going on with me. For I don't want to worry my sisters, and I also don't want to wait for death knocking at my door for not taking care of myself.

Today is the day we practice magic.

I silently wore my shoes while tolerating Hanari's loud munching on her macaroni food. "You are so silent, and it's killing me," she bluntly said.

I turned to her to retort a reply, but the sharp headache suddenly spiked up again. I had a frown etched on my face and couldn't hear her properly, but I could see her speaking. But why can't I hear her?

"Hey, are you okay?" I heard her faint voice and buried my face in my hands as I steadied my breathing. Another memory flashed in my mind. She held my shoulder to slightly shake me awake.

"Why are you avoiding my gaze, Hagarin?" She said as irritation lingered in her voice. "I can't explain it," I answered, and it sums up the confusion and tension hanging in the air between us.

"No, you explain." Hanari said while attempting to make me look at her, but I closed my eyes instead. "wait, my head hurts." another lame excuse flew out of my mouth.

"Yeah, I can see that. Is your vision going bad?" She asked worriedly.

"I think...?" I lied.

It's not about my vision.

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

After arguing with Hanari, we both ended up going to school anyway. We are currently doing experiments. Many discovered a few tricks to manipulate an object to float them in the air, and many discovered things on their own, and here I am, blankly staring at the small white flowers that the spell I created.

Weird. The image that flashed in my mind seemed that it didn't happen. Was it because I avoided something, and that's why the outcome was different? I don't understand.Hanari was supposed to shake me. To snap out of my daze. It didn't happen. Why?

"Hagarin. Hello?"

I snapped out of my daze, and my eyes wandered to the person who called me. I braced myself for the headache forming from a mile away.

"Yes?" I stared at her. I somewhat felt...Glad? Glad that I didn't feel any sharp pain, headache, or worse, a migraine. It's Ms. Renée who called me. "You've been staring blankly at that flower. What is going on?" concern lingered against her voice as I avoided her gaze.

“Yes.” what?

“I meant to say, I’m okay.”

"From your actions, it doesn't seem like it." She said with a hint of amusement in her tone. I let out a sigh and hesitated whether I should share this annoying headache with her or not.

"Lately, I've been feeling extreme headaches." I started.

"And that headache hinders my ability to do daily tasks with ease." I sighed and felt another migraine from a mile away. "As exaggerated as I make it sound, it does really hurt like a dinosaur stepping on my head." I dramatically expressed making her deadpan.

"You would've died if that's the capacity of the pain of the headache is giving you." She crossed her arms. "Go on and continue." She waved her hand dismissively while checking her phone.

"When the headache continued, images kept flashing in my mind. It's as if I could see what could happen." I sighed. "I later learned about it today because I literally saw a bus flash in my mind, and it hit a little girl on the road."

Renée abruptly stopped scrolling on her phone and paused. "what?" Was all she uttered.

"5:40 AM, near the cathedral, at the Osuado street..." She muttered under her breath, however, that didn't go unnoticed by me.

"How do you know? It wasn't aired in the news..." I replied as she stared at me. My eyes widened when I saw her glowing. Her amber eyes were glowing as the faint gold color was added a touch up to the bright light.

"Hagarin." Her voice echoed, and before I knew it, our surroundings turned grey. Except for us.

"Ms. Renée...?" I muttered worriedly as she walked towards me. "You're power is no ordinary."

"And, I'm sorry if I failed to notice this sooner Hagarin. I shall put you to sleep and worry not, you'll feel at ease once you see the light again." I heard her voice echo as she spoke. But why?

I saw her hand come in contact with my forehead and felt my lids grow heavy until the last glimpse I saw was Renée's figure.

And everything went black. - What day was it? Was it night or day? I'm hungry.

Muffled sounds of voices entered my hearing. I couldn't see anything. My eyes wouldn't open when I tried to. My senses were working but my sight seemed to have other plans.

Why can't I open my eyes? What happened?

I have to wake up. I have to know what is going on. I have no choice but to do this.

3...2..1...

I forced myself to suddenly move and that made me effectively open my eyes because I accidentally hit my arm with a metal. I let the surroundings ponder inside my head and finally realized. I'm at the clinic.

and on a hospital bed.

How long was I out for?

"Thank whatever gods that granted you to wake up." I heard a voice beside me. It startled me when it was Hanari. "What happened?" We both said at the same time making me deadpan while she just gave me an expression filled with disbelief.

"Don't play with me right now." She returned the same deadpanned expression as mine. "I knew something was wrong with you, and you weren't telling me. What are you? 4? Do I have to baby you for you to tell me?" She said as I only sighed out of irritation. Of all the things I could get, why do I have to deal with her unwavering concern the first time I open my eyes after passing out?

"Look, I don't know what is going on with me either," I answered. It made her give me an exasperated sigh as if the world was gonna collide. "You could've told me about you're fucking migraine." Hanari gave me a stern expression. "And what?" I deadpanned.

"What do you mean "What?" Do you not know how much worry and concern I felt when I saw you being carried here? Ms. Renée told me you are experiencing headaches!" she shook my bed out of frustration.

"Oh, right. Ms. Renée." I thought for a moment making her let out a scoff. "So? Are you not gonna explain and wait for her to return?" Hanari crossed her arms as she waited impatiently on the chair.

"alright, but you gotta answer my questions too."

"deal." ------------------------------------------------------------------------------

1,316 words.

next chapter

Chapter 1: Present time

This chapter contains themes that may be sensitive to some readers, including:

References to past violenceMentions of death, Light school stress and academic pressure, Brief mention of dangerous creatures and plants (idk how sensitive are yall but hell yeah), Mild language.

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

Hagarin's POV After many years, we are finally old enough to leave the institution and live independently in the city. My sisters and I are still together and living under the same roof. I also saw several changes in ourselves as we grew up.

And today, both Hanari and I are 15 years old. We spent years studying within the facility and never had the opportunity to attend a regular school. Now that we are living alone, we can finally attend school. I considered staying at home and do houseworks while my two sisters continue with their studies, but Hanari insisted that I should as well.

We all know that education will always be important in many aspects in lives. 

In the world we live in, survival demands sharp minds—not just sharpened by magic, but by the brutal chaos we humans created for ourselves.

We’re still human, I suppose. Just tainted—twisted by the very magic that makes me wonder: is this still humanity, or were we meant to become something else entirely? 

The world has grown far more advanced ever since magic spread across it. Nothing feels impossible anymore. Some have forgotten where they came from. Others cling to old traditions and beliefs. And then there are those who simply don’t care.

Maybe that’s why the world feels so loud. Everyone’s different now, and no one seems willing to accept what we’ve become.

Look around, and you might see flying cars soaring through the skies of this city. In another, people ride enchanted brooms as their everyday transport. Everything and everyone is different—blended together in a strange mix of magic, machines, and habits.

But here…

I live in a city considered the richest in the world. The nation itself—Aloy—owes its wealth to vast oil reserves. Oil money built everything here. Because of that upper hand, nearly everything is accessible. Magic, technology, luxury—you name it. In Aloy, nothing feels out of reach.

What this city values most, though, isn’t oil—it’s metal. Preserved, traded, revered. I think it’s because the city was once ruled by a god whose very touch could turn anything into metal. Not figuratively—literally. Stone, wood, even flesh. Everything he touched became metal.

And that kind of power leaves a mark. On the land, on the people, on the way we see worth.

But that might not matter now. What matters is that every morning, we follow a certain timetable. I get up early to cook our breakfast, and Hanari and our younger sister will get up early to prepare for school. When they're finished, we'll all enjoy breakfast together. After that, Hanari will wash the dishes as I prepare for school, and our younger sister will assist in putting the plates back in the drawers.

That routine goes on and on everyday.

Sharing what has just happened at the school we attend is stressful, at least for me and Hanari. Our younger sister is stress-free since she is still young and a kindergarten student.

Lately, we have been learning many magic spells, doing scientific experiments, studying a bunch of literature and theses, and many more.

I can say that studying magic spells and doing scientific experiments will help us discover what elemental power we possess.

As I listen to my journalism teacher, I'm fighting the urge to fall asleep. She was now discussing the significance of magic, particularly how it began.

"Magic is important to everyone. No matter how unfair or how much chaos it brings to our lives." she went on to say. "And, in the beginning, the use of magic was legalized as a weapon to defend ourselves, but I have to warn everyone not to be such a prick when it comes to using magic." She giggled, went to the board, and began writing.

"To be exact, 8290 years ago, magic was discovered by a witch," she said, making my focus adjust to her as I listened. I was intrigued. "That witch was none other than Victoria Lemioska." It intrigued the whole class. "Also known as; Victo. Now that you all came to a realization, in all places in the world, her face, and statues are everywhere. As we are all deeply connected with her discovery of the magic," she said before turning to us once again.

"Since Victo is a witch, she first discovered a spell to make a withered plant come back to life." The teacher pulled out a withered rose and used magic to bring it back to a healthy life while it floated in the air. "Victo discovered that spell and named it Resuscitate."

"As time passes by, more spells are discovered by her."

"You can learn it in your spell class."

"But as a journalist, I have seen her notebook filled with magical spells; half of it is forbidden to be used as it casts irreversible damage to anything." She snapped her fingers, making an image of the notebook appear in the air.

We all gazed up, awestruck. It's quite a hefty notepad. Though the object is significantly tarnished due to its age, I can see that the writing on the notepad is still legible and readable to anybody. However, I was attracted by the prohibited magic. I feel that the banned spells are not included in the magic books that are handed to us.

when the image disappeared and the rose landed on her desk. "The notebook was located in our national museum, the Metallica Museum." Our teacher was about to speak again, but then a student raised their hand.

"Ma'am, what about the five major elements?" A student asked.

"The five major elements were discovered by Baili Hermin," our teacher stated. "He was also a journalist like me, and of course, being a journalist requires traveling around the world to explore many things."

"Fun fact, he also used to work under the branch of media analyst, wherein I also work." She proudly claimed. "Moving on, it may sound unrealistic, but Baili met Victoria in a desert. Baili was almost attacked by a lion, but Victo blinded the lion with a spell and took Baili to a cave."

"There's proof, no matter how unrealistic, that Baili's diary was found, and it was also in the museum. He documented his whole journey of travelling around the world, and the most highlighted part of his diary was the discovery of the five major elements."

"He discovered it because of Victo. Baili wrote everything about what Victo said about magic spells, making it more believable that magic spells exist."

"When the article reached many people, the majority of the people started to panic, and out of panic, everyone else planned to execute Victo. The reason is that Victo is nothing but an outcast in the world; possessing magic is absurd and unbelievable."

"And yet, we are here, prone to using magic," our teacher said.

"The elements were discovered when Victo was executed; a light escaped from her chest, making it explode through the sky. It landed on humans, animals, and most importantly, plants."

"Which resulted in why we have species in the forest that are completely dangerous and can harm your life, for example, the flower Rafflesia."

"Before the light landed on that flower, it's just the biggest flower in the world and has a foul odor to attract insects to kill."

"Now it still does its purpose, but it has the ability to stretch away from its position and follow you everywhere in the forest." Our teacher deadpanned making the whole class laughed.

"To make this quick, the five major elements landed on five humans, and those humans are now known to be the gods of those major elements." Our teacher sighed. "We are all aware that the most powerful and rare element to possess is time; in other words, you can control the time, predict what's going to happen, and there are many other signs to feel if you possess one."

"Second is nature."

"Remember, never mess with nature itself, as it was the one that gave us a reason to live in, to breathe in. The ability to possess nature grants you access to control plants and animals."

"But isn't changing the weather also a part of it?" A student asked. "Only the god of nature can do that." Our teacher chuckled. "Come to think of it, the God of Nature has a 15-year streak of absence. Many say that her aura is still around, but many also believe she has passed away, and it's just nature speaking," the teacher sighed.

"Moving on, fire is on the third."

"In my study, fire is always predicted to be possessed by someone who has such a boisterous personality, while the ice one is someone who is...restrained. However, this is just a myth. It is still mostly believed that no matter what personality you posses you'd still get whatever." our teacher summoned her book and it was probably her personalized book. It has a lot of pages and everything that was written in that book was her understanding on how to predict which element do a person possesses.

"ah, here it is." She placed her book on the desk and started reading.

"The element of fire is known to be the most fascinating, exquisite and ravishing elemental of all. It was asserted as one considering a klatsch of people are indulged to play with fire even if it only steers to harm."

"and by all means of harm, it can also be describe as destruction." she finished making the whole class whisper among themselves. "But that doesn't mean to treat someone with disrespect just because they hold that elemental power." She sighed.

THIRD PERSON'S POV

The teacher noticed the change of atmosphere in her class and sighed. "You all probably have forgotten my name but once again, my name is Renée and I hope you all learned something today." Renée glanced at her watch on her wrist.

many students started to protest on her from leaving. They still have a lot of questions with the history but that will all be answered at the next time they see each other again. Renée only stifled a chuckle at the frustrated expression of their students. Curiosity truly made their heads run wild.

"An advance reading on your textbooks won't hurt. Simply just turn your page to chapter 5 and all of your questions will be briefly answered as it provides descriptive explanation to everything." Renée finally exit the classroom.

Once she did, the students in her class opened their textbooks to discover a lot more information. As Renée exit the classroom, she went to the elevator to venture her way to her next class but she was greeted by another teacher; Kyla.

"I see you've gotten your students all pumped up. Quite a headache to deal with." Kyla scoffed as she pressed on the buttons. It only made Renée shrug. "Don't act like you aren't as curious as them when you're at that age." Renée retorted to only make Kyla chuckle and let Renée's tone slide for now. "I assumed you've found someone with a rare element in this class. Hmm?" Kyla's eyes watched Renée's expression from the reflections of the elevator.

"It was such a rare occurrence indeed." Renée remembered Hagarin. "Her eyes are different from the rest. The colors were a lot more dull than the others making it more accessible to assume that she was an extraordinary person." Renée thoughtfully answered. "And this by this she you are referring to, who is she?" Kyla averted her eyes from Renée and focused on the door as it opened. a small ding was heard as they reached the floor. Renée walked ahead of Kyla but spoke before leaving. "Hagarin."

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

2,022 words.

Chapter 2

Prologue - Blood Stains Don't Wash Off

Tw: mentions of abuse, and violence. Dead dove, do not eat.

There are countless ways to avoid violence. But avoidance doesn't mean survival.

Violence is stitched into the seams of existence — a pulse running beneath every century, every age. It thrives, adapts, becomes more creative, more cruel. We like to pretend we are better than our past, but reality doesn't flinch under the weight of our illusions. Even in a world infused with magic, people are still monsters. And monsters don't need fangs or claws. Sometimes, they wear the faces of your neighbors. Or your own family.

Hagarin was not the victim that day.

She was the witness.

A child, too young to spell her own name properly, stood paralyzed in the doorway as her mother's body became a canvas for violence. A fist to the ribs, a boot to the spine. Blood, spit, sobs. The kind of sounds that become permanent residents in your skull. Hagarin clamped her small hands over her eyes, praying that darkness would protect her, but the sharp metallic click of a pistol tore through the air.

"Watch."

A command. Not a plea. A curse.

She was forced to see it all — her mother's skin bruised into unrecognizable shades, her breath turned into shallow gasps until there was no breath left to take.

Hagarin's mother died that night, leaving behind three little girls and a silence too loud to bear.

In a world glutted with magic, you'd think there would be a spell for justice. But magic didn't save her. Magic was a luxury — one used more often to destroy than to heal. Power and violence walk hand in hand like childhood friends, both feeding off each other's hunger. Hagarin understood this at an age when most children only understand fairy tales.

Those who crave chaos? They are not misguided souls. They are predators, drunk on their own sense of invincibility, poisoning everything they touch. They rip the seams of peace just to see what spills out.

And Hagarin? She learned young that survival is not a right — it's a skill.

At seven years old, she became a mother, a protector, a builder of shelters, a scavenger of scraps. She wasn't good at any of it. But no one else was left to try.

She used magic to knock down trees because her hands were too weak. She built a shack with trembling fingers and whispered prayers that the walls would hold for at least one night. Her sisters clung to each other for warmth, while Hagarin stood guard at the entrance, eyes fixed on the sky. The moon was too bright — like it was exposing their helplessness for all the world to see.

That night, her lips moved in silent prayer — not to gods, but to whatever force was out there listening.

"Please. Let me be strong enough. Just for them. Even if it breaks me."

Tears traced down her dirt-streaked face, and for the first time, she allowed herself to feel the weight of what had been taken from her. But grief is a luxury you can't afford when you're responsible for someone else's survival.

They walked for days — blistered feet on broken ground — until the steel skyline of Aloy City appeared like a mirage in the distance. Aloy, the City of Metals. A place where survival was possible, but only if you were useful.

"Are we almost there?" the youngest sister asked, her voice soft from exhaustion.

Hagarin squeezed her hand. "Just five more hours." She wasn't sure if that was true. But hope tastes better when you lie with confidence.

"You're just guessing," Hanari, her twin, muttered.

"Obviously." Hagarin shrugged.

Hanari, loud and bright despite the darkness they carried, was everything Hagarin was not. They bickered like breathing — every argument a strange lifeline that reminded them both they were still alive. Still sisters.

Aloy was both salvation and sentence. A city where children like them became projects — charity cases processed and filed into the system. At the help center, they sat across from a woman who asked too many questions with too soft a voice. What happened to your parents? What did you see? How do you feel?

Hagarin wanted to scream. Instead, she said nothing. Hanari did all the talking — filling the silence with half-truths and protective lies, all while Hagarin's hands dug crescent moons into her palms beneath the table.

When they were placed onto a bus, bound for an orphanage disguised as a "facility," Hagarin didn't cry. She just stared out the window, watching her reflection blur against the world passing by.

Life at the facility was not kind, but it was stable — which was almost the same thing. They were clothed, taught to read, trained to summon spells from nothing but breath and willpower. Time passed, and they grew taller, sharper, harder. But Hanari never lost her brightness. The little sister never lost her innocence.

And Hagarin never lost the weight in her chest — the cold iron reminder that peace is temporary, and safety is always conditional.

She watched from the window as Hanari and their sister chased each other through the grass, laughing like the world hadn't tried to crush them under its boot.

For a moment, Hagarin let herself believe it was possible — that they could outrun the ghosts, the memories, the trauma woven into their bones.

But only for a moment.

Because Hagarin knew better than anyone: The past never stays buried.

And the worst monsters aren't the ones hiding in shadows. They're the ones smiling in the light.

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

 2,731 words.

Next chapter: Chapter 1: Present time

yan!butcher! ( ˘ ³˘)♥

a/n: yawnn gojo series coming sooonnnn :3

cw: gaslighting, gore (butchered body parts), dead dove, reader is a stereotypical horror movie character, gn!reader, paranoia

credits for dividers: @lavendergalactic ! please check out their work

yan!butcher who noticed the new person in town, hauling things out of a truck and moving in to a cottage nearby. he didn't pay attention much, he had a whole business to run! that is, until you showed up at his butchery.

you looked all confused, probably never having to talk to the butcher before and instead grabbing the meat from the shelves. you kept asking him questions about which part was the brisket and which one was the tenderloin. and he'll admit, his heart melted. he gave you a pound of beef and told you the best ways to keep it fresh, he even offered you a discount!

yan!butcher who remembers his mom telling him a way to a person's heart is through the stomach. which makes sense anatomy wise, so it must work with you too! so now he always asks if you're eating well and whatever your answer is you're still getting a pound of meat.

yan!butcher who notices you haven't been visiting lately, did he give so much meat you're stocked for the month that you don't even need to visit him anymore??? he asks some of the locals, and he comes back with the fact you went shopping in the far away mall...with your friends.

why do you even HAVE friends anyways...he's much more fun to be around...even his neighbors have been asking him why he's so gloomy! he has to do something about this! he can't let these..these friends steal you from him!

....looking at one of your friend's corpse, he can't help but think it was too easy. he propped them up at his butcher block, kind of just staring at them as if he didn't know he did it. oh well, he's one step closer to you! maybe he could give you a message, something to show he means business!

...you're terrified when you open the random box left at your doorstep to see your friends' hands and head. what do you do with this?! do you turn it in to the police? the police doesn't seem very capable around these areas...maybe if you ignore it and throw it out it won't be a problem.

then another one, and another one, and you're left with one. you beg them to leave early, not saying why, but you know they're scared too. so now you have no one but yan!butcher. a win for him!

you vent to him about how your friends 'disappeared', and how you're scared you're gonna be next. he only keeps reassuring you that no one would kill you because it'd be a war crime to kill someone so pretty like you. you don't seem comforted.

so...instead...yan!butcher invites you to stay over at his house! just to make sure! you very much reluctantly agree, figuring you have nothing to lose since he seems nice, and he's basically your only friend in town.

he sets up his spare bedroom just for you, remembering that he actually has to wash blankets he doesn't use because it'd be weird. he's very formal about the whole thing, so formal it's kind of endearing and a bit funny in some way?

you settle down, pulling your blankets over, still a bit paranoid, but eventually falling asleep.

if only you paid a little more attention to those cuts.

𝑴𝑨𝑵𝑰𝑨 — obsessive love; experience great emotional highs and lows; very possessive

RECEIVERS。stalker!nikolai gogol x fem!reader

WISHCARD。He remembered that night was an absolute hell. He was always so close to you, and yet you were still too far to reach. He did not want to spook you. He hated this. He hated this desire towards you—but goodness, how blissful was it. 

BOUQUET。n.sfw 18+ dark content, stalker!au, stalking, murder and corpse, male masturbation, light angst, obsessive and possessive behaviour, voice fetish(?), cheating, nikolai's pov, the fic is set way before the events in all stalker!au, DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT

PRICE。approx. 4,3k

FREEGIFT。scary love (the neighbourhood), i wanna feel you coise (AIYLOM)

MAIN MENU。FOUR SHADES OF PINK

February is almost ending. 

Nikolai is anxious. He still hasn't thought of giving you a gift. Sure, you do not know him and never see him for who he truly is outside his ringmaster persona—but he already knows you. He knows you too fucking well. 

Ever since he started to stalk you, he wishes Valentine's Day was never a thing. One of his biggest fears is seeing you being happy and all romantic with another person who is not him. Nikolai hates that just seeing you smile towards your friend makes him all jealous inside. His feelings are eating him up and he cannot just look away even if that's the most merciful thing he could do to himself. 

February 14, hidden in one of the many rooms in your house, Nikolai had to endure witnessing you and your girlfriend kissing and making out on the couch. He saw her hands touching every crook of your skin, spots he had yet to touch. 

He could have just left the house and pretended nothing was happening between you and her. But God—your voice—even if those sweet noises were for somebody else, Nikolai was content enough to imagine that you were purposely being loud enough for him to hear. 

Perhaps that was it! Perhaps you knew he was hidden in the storage room with the door slightly ajar and you moaned and whined loudly for his ears. You were probably climaxing because you were thinking of him, because you knew he was watching. 

Oh, sweetheart! You truly are one!

But drown himself all he wanted in his fantasy, deep down, Nikolai knew you were too in love with that girl. Hell, you still did not know about Nikolai's existence other than his career as a ringmaster. You still have not noticed him around the house, watching you from outside. 

I’m fucking jealous now. 

His cock grew harder when your voice was getting higher. You were panting your girlfriend's name as she rammed her fingers into your cunt, teasing your sweet spot. The squelching noises of kissing and your pussy is luring his own hand to touch himself. Without realizing it, he is already palming himself while his eyes are focused on you and your body through the small gap between the door.

Nikolai thought hours passed but it was just ten minutes before you were cuddling with your girlfriend. His heart burnt and he was overwhelmed with the need to barge out from his hiding and take you away. But he can't do that now. You were enjoying your moment and he did not want to ruin your smile. 

Nikolai made his way out of your house just as quiet as he sneaked in. In his car, driving away, the image of you under someone else's touches was attacking him nonstop. He wanted to pry his head with a knife, hoping he could gut out that image forever. 

But you are already carved inside him. 

His apartment had never felt as empty as ever. Usually on February 14, he can get some people to come and stay the night, hooking up with them. However, ever since he laid his eyes on you, the thought of getting intimate was just towards no one but you. 

Nikolai tried to sleep off his desires but your voices, moans, gasps, gestures, faces—they were all fucking swarming his head. And he stared at the ceiling for hours till the clock struck twelve, indicating the end of Valentine's Day, he still saw you. 

He remembered that night was an absolute hell. He was always so close to you, and yet you were still too far to reach. He did not want to spook you. He hated this. He hated this desire towards you—but goodness, how blissful was it. 

His Valentine's night was just filled with staring and scrolling through the pictures he had taken of you while finishing almost a big bottle of whiskey by himself. Nikolai does have a strong tolerance towards alcohol, but he does have his limits. He collapsed onto his lonely bed with a picture of you on his phone screen. And his room had never felt so cold. 

February 17, was the day he decided to drive your current girlfriend away. No, he cannot let anyone touch you again. He was done suffering. Thus, after he ended his performance that night, he spent the rest of the day trying to find out about your girlfriend. It was easy—Nikolai does have a lot of experience doing this kind of cybercrime after all.

He tracked her down, like any maniac would. He forged his identity to get closer to her, pretending to be a guy who was interested in a relationship. She was a very friendly one. He found out a lot of things—she was a regular in a nightclub that is just so close to your house. 

But her reactions towards his advances made him just a little suspicious—was she really your girlfriend or just another person you hooked up with? 

If she was a cheater, then that's more horrible. 

See, darling? You can't trust these people. I'm the one you need. 

Ten days of talking and luring a woman into his trap, on February 27, he finally meets the very lady who had touched you a little too much. Nikolai introduces himself as Akaky, a name he had used for countless schemes. 

“So, you're really single?” Nikolai asks her as he pays for her drink. She nods as she sips her margarita. Nikolai tilts his head, noticing a red and yellow ring on her finger. He knows that ring. It is one of the affordable merchandise from his circus. 

You gave her that ring, darling? How sweet. I wish you would give me the same ring once we are together. 

“I like your ring,” Nikolai says again and she smiles. 

“Yeah? My girl— uhh, friend— My friend bought it.” She replies, twirling it. “It's cute but… Well, I'm being honest with you here. It looks… cheap, isn't it?” She says with a snort before she takes the ring off. 

“Well, it looks like it's made from metal, it seems. Plated with some colours.” Nikolai says. She looks at him in awe and nods slowly. She smirks, nudging his leg with her foot—a flirty gesture. 

“You know a thing or two about jewellery?” 

The ring merchandise is Erika’s idea…

“I am a collector, remember?” Nikolai says confidently. “I have collected a lot of things for ten years now, so… it’s pretty easy to figure out which is what.” He continues, receiving a small ‘Wow’ from her. She then looks at the ring before she offers it to him. 

“You can take it as a… collection.” She grins. Nikolai smiles back but he felt bittersweet about it somewhat. He knows you gave this to her—probably as a romantic gesture—because he knows you love his circus and its elements enough to collect merchandise. But seeing how easy your gift is being given away like this makes him feel a little sympathetic.

“You sure? Your friend doesn't mind?” Nikolai asks as he takes the ring. It is smaller and certainly he could not fit it in his ring finger. So he tries to slip it onto his pinky finger. A little tight, but it can still be taken off. 

Ah, this ring used to be yours. 

His heart jumps when he realizes how close you are to him now. This ring used to be in your possession… and now he is wearing it. Your touch, your fingertips, your trace—they were on this ring. And they are now on his skin.

You’re so close to me. You're too close to me, love.

His lips threatened to curl up. 

“You like it?” 

Nikolai almost forgets the lady beside him. He turns to her and then he feels a poke on his cheek. She is smiling—almost seductively. “You’re blushing,” She chuckles. “You’re really a cute guy. Do you like me that much?” 

This ring was yours. This ring was yours. This ring was yours. This ring was yours. This ring was yours. This ring was yours.

“Perhaps.” He smirks back. “You’re a tease, aren't you?” Nikolai's voice comes out just as lustrous. He props his head on his hand as he scans her up and down. The lady’s hand touches more of his face, caressing and tugging his cheek. 

“You wanna touch more of me?” He asks and her eyes glimmer in excitement. Nikolai leans closer, bringing his hand to her thigh as he gently caresses her skin. “I know a place.” He whispers. She chuckles before she clung her arms around his neck. Nikolai placed his hand on her waist, pulling her close. 

“You wanna go?” 

“Yes, sir.” 

“Good. I’ll make sure you're screaming tonight.” 

— ♤

Guilt is slowly planting its seed. 

Nikolai glances at the bed. She is lying down on it, only in her underwear. Her mouth is covered with a napkin but her body is lifeless. A knife is plunged into her chest and blood is painting the whole sheet flamboyant red. 

He sighs before he sits on the bed, just beside the corpse. He does not mind the mess. This is his campervan anyway. He drove the van out from his circus, as he did not want to bring his newest victim to his place of work. 

Lighting up a cigarette, Nikolai takes a long inhale of it. His body is covered with a sheen layer of sweat and splatters of blood. He is still in his briefs, as they were just making out until he unleashed a knife and stabbed her in the chest. 

She screamed out loud before he muffled her mouth with her top, subduing the noise. Her fingers clawed at him as he twisted the knife deeper and wilder in her flesh until she slowly stopped moving. 

Nikolai stares at the dead body, already desensitised to this kind of sight. But still, a sense of guilt is already growing in his heart— because he murdered again. 

Nikolai reaches for her handbag, seeking any things that could be useful for him. He opens her purse, takes her cash and throws it onto his working desk. He then takes her phone only to find it locked with a fingerprint ID. So Nikolai holds her thumb on the sensor, unlocking the device. 

He immediately sees several messages from you from the notification board. His heart beats fast, just seeing your name. He clicks on the app, and immediately, he sees you are already online and typing. 

mine xxx [11:23 p.m.] : [7 missed calls] 

mine xxx [11:24 p.m.] : Mia, please answer my call

mine xxx [2:12 a.m.] : I don't know why you're ghosting me like this. Please, let's just talk. 

mine xxx [2:13 a.m.] : Did I do something wrong? 

mine xxx [2:13 a.m.] : I’m sorry if I do anything hurtful to you. I still love you. I promise.

Nikolai frowns. He does not want to come to a conclusion early. But this seems not right. So he looks to other contacts, seeing Mia’s—this woman he killed—interactions with others. 

Me [8:17 p.m.] : I already did the dare, didnt i? Gimme a break now

Jake [8:18 p.m.] : Nooo you need to keep it until the end of February!! 

olivia <3 [8:18 p.m.] : thats what u get loser bitch xx

Me [8:19 p.m.] : Stfu 

olivia <3 [8:19 p.m.] : aww don't be mad bae. are u comin' tonight? i can pick u up

Jake [8:20 p.m.] : Please bring your girlfriend too :p

Me [8:20 p.m.] : Not coming! I have a new date tonight xx

olivia <3 [8:20 p.m.] : u cheatin on ur girl???

Me [8:21 p.m.] : Sorta. Its not really cheating if I dont fuck him right?

olivia <3 [8:21 p.m.] : what if ur gf knows? 

Me [8:22 p.m.] : She wont. Besides, shes not really my girlfriend, isnt she?

Me [8:22 p.m.] : Its fine, i’ll break up with her later

Jake [8:22 p.m.] : You should send her to us or something 

olivia <3 [8:23 p.m.] : are we passing girls rn? 

Jake [8:23 p.m.] : Nah. I just need to get my dick wet sometimes

olivia <3 [8:23 p.m.] : 3some?

Jake [8:23 p.m.] : Only if Mia’s girl want

Me [8:24 p.m.] : Stfu horny sickos. She will be yours after i break up with her alright

Me [8:24 p.m.] : I need to get ready. Bye <3

Nikolai sighs. As he expected, this relationship of yours was just another one-sided game. He deletes the messages and leaves the group chat out of spite. It kind of hurts him to see your name is being brought up for bad reasons. He wonders if these failed relationships you are having would have a longer effect on you. 

What if you start to expect the worst whenever you catch feelings? What if you would rather be alone, yearning for a good relationship, instead of trying to pursue one? What if you feel more insecure? 

Nikolai feels bad for you. 

Bad relationships surely would force your brain to work differently. An emotion is not being satisfied. As much as he is aware of how bad of a person he is, he wants to create a healthy relationship with you.

He already planned for it—Nikolai would approach you as a ringmaster and indulge your interests in the circus. After all, he loves it when you are flaunting over something that makes you happy and cheerful. The fact that his circus is one of the reasons for that just makes his affection towards you grow deeper. 

And then, after you and him get to know each other normally, maybe he could take you out for dinner and spoil you rotten. You deserve to be treated like a princess after all. 

Nikolai does not plan to tell you about his stalking activity. He does not think he will. Besides, it is not like you are noticing him or anything! You just know him as Gogol and he has all the chance in the world to go through that peaceful route. It is fine if he stays silent about his not-so-good side—you don't have to know!

Nikolai clicks on your contact again, seeing that you are still online. The call button right beside your profile picture is alluring. His thumb hovers over the icon. His heart is beating faster and his chest is heaving up and down. His cock is hardening as he stares at your profile. 

He presses it. 

His hand is shaky as he brings the phone to his ear. His other hand is palming his boner as he hears the dial. He hears a click and finally—fucking finally—he hears your voice. 

“M-Mia! Oh thank God..” 

Nikolai throws his head back as his hand is slipping inside his briefs, taking out his hard cock. Precum is leaking on his tip as he strokes his girth slowly upon hearing your voice. 

You’re talking to me. You're talking to me.. You're talking to me..! 

“Mia, listen..! I’m really sorry if I hurt you or anything, okay? I really am. I don't know why you're ghosting me—” 

A sniffle. 

Nikolai realizes you are probably crying. Ahh, how glad he is to have killed the very person who made your tears drop. He bites his lips, trying to not make a sound as his hand is fisting his cock faster. 

“Sorry.. It's just… Sorry, I’m just… confused… Why do you i-ignore me like that? I am worried. I love you so much—” 

“Haa— F-Fuck…” 

“Who's that?”

Nikolai scrunches his face, biting his lips harder as he realizes he fucked up. That short love confession makes his arousal heighten so much. He is leaking onto his palm, the squelching noise becoming louder as he jerks himself faster. 

“W-What’s that noise? Are you with someone else now? W-Who's this..?”

Nikolai accidentally lets out a small whimper upon hearing your voice again. His hand is gripping the phone tightly, just as tight as how he is jerking his cock right now. His mind wanders—imagining a near future where you are the one lying on this bed, with you between his thighs and your lips around his girth. 

His brain replays that scene where you were fucked by Mia in your house. The way your voice gets louder when she put four fingers inside—Nikolai could not quite see it but he swears he did see a glimpse of your pussy. 

He could only imagine what face would you make when you squirm under him as he tries to fit his big cock into your pussy—you must feel so so so fucking warm and tight. He could see the way your nails are buried on his back and his arms as his hand fondles your pretty tits. Do you have sensitive nipples? Would you whine louder if he sucked on them? Would you caress his head as he marks your mounds? Do you allow him to sleep on them? 

Nikolai moans again as his hips buckle slightly. He says your name in a broken groan as he spills onto his stomach and hand. He looks at his stomach and then the phone, seeing that you have ended the call about two minutes ago. Your picture and basic profile on the chat are also gone, indicating just one thing. 

You blocked her. 

He hastily grabs the tissue from his desk and wipes his cum off his body and hand. Nikolai grumbles to himself as his high is slowly decreasing. 

“Shit.” 

Nikolai realizes he just jerks off beside a fresh corpse. He does not feel creeped out about it but he wishes the ghost of Mia the cheating cheater would not hunt him tonight. 

Nikolai knows he needs to dispose of her and the bed as soon as possible. The blood is already seeping into the mattress and he does not want the trouble to clean them up. He already has a spot in mind to go to hide the evidence—this is not the first time he committed atrocities and truth be told, he does like this challenging side of cleaning up after a murder. 

As he fixes his briefs, he looks at Mia again. Her eyes are still wide. Her body has gone cold and her face is getting paler. He scoots closer and reaches to her eyelids to close them. Nikolai looks at the dead body again and his eyes are fixated on her hand. 

He touches her hand, letting his fingertips trace her cold fingers. He holds it up, staring at her fingers. 

These fingers were once inside you. 

These fingers once touched you. 

His breathing is rapid again as the memory lingers in the back of his mind. Jealousy is burning, igniting a strange desire. Slowly, Nikolai pries open his lips and engulfs her fingers in his mouth, sucking them. 

These were inside you. 

I am touching you. 

—  ♤

Guilt is growing bigger in his heart. 

Nikolai does not know what he expects when he finds you in such a miserable position. 

You are curled up on your bed and your face has traces of dried tears. He is careful enough to tiptoe around your bed while holding a gift box in his arm. Nikolai notices a bottle of pills right on the small table beside your bed. He examines it, only to find out that they are melatonin pills. 

Oh, my dear… 

He puts the bottle back and then he notices the small trash can beside the table. It is full of tissues, but he notices one tiny thing that sparkles out due to its colour. 

It's the ring. 

He purses his lips. You must have thrown it away after whatever assumption you made. He feels slightly hurt as he is wearing the same ring on his pinky right now. How he wishes you would keep it, so he can keep deluding himself into the idea of you two wearing the same ring because you two are connected by fate. 

Nikolai takes the ring from the trash can and with slow steps, he makes his way to the kitchen. The layout of your house is engraved in his head already. You are a worker during the day while he is a worker at night. He can easily get into your house during the day while you are away. 

He washes the ring at the sink and uses the hand soap to make sure it is cleaner. He walks back to the room and Nikolai gets down on one knee right beside you by the bed. 

Will I really do this? 

Nikolai does not want to spook you or scare you. He really doesn't. He wishes to develop his relationship with you healthily and in a good way. Truth is, he does not want you to notice him stalking you around the house. 

If he makes his existence as your stalker evident, you will be scared and you might not trust him and you might be paranoid about being in a relationship with him and you might hate him. 

But she loves getting scared, doesn't she? That's why she comes to the circus so often. —his heart entices. 

No. She already had a bad relationship. I want a normal relationship with her… —his head reasons. 

Nikolai is stumped. 

Normal? Normality? Is this really what he wants to achieve? He does not want that. He does not want to be humane—he has lived all these years to be insane. He wants to lose sight of himself and he never plans to stray away from that big goal. 

And besides, besides! Why do I have to listen to you, dear head? You are trying to restrict me to a set of morality. Why, oh why, should I listen to you when you are the very thing that has been brainwashed since the day I was aware of this world? I don't need to hear you. I don't need you to reason with me. Just and unjust can scram to Hell. I will drag you to my chaos as well. 

Nikolai gently holds your hand. He is shivering—excitement, lust, devotion, passion—he feels everything at once. Your skin feels so much better. You are so soft, so fragile, such a darling. 

He slips the circus ring on your ring finger. It fits perfectly. And this mere gesture only sends Nikolai into a frenzied state for a few seconds. 

It feels like a marriage! Like we are connected and entangled with each other so closely..! I can already see us! I see us, my little dove..! 

Nikolai is in Heaven—a complete mania. This is the greatest Valentine's Day ever! He even forgets what day it is—but all he knows is that this is truly a fateful day for you two. 

He reaches your face, slowly touching your strands of hair. You are sleeping too deeply and he thanked the pills for that. Now he does not feel that guilty for what happened yesterday. All those events lead to this historical moment. You will smile again—he will make sure of it. Besides, he can tell Erika to make a ticket giveaway for his circus. He will make sure you get it. And then you can come to his circus and watch him perform. Perhaps your smile will emerge again from his acts. Then he can finally approach you and coax you into a relationship! 

Right, right, this is all in his favour! Oh, how he loves this life, now that you exist as his ethos. 

Nikolai smiles to himself as he pulls the gift box closer to his legs. He is supposed to leave this gift in your mailbox, but he decides not to. Oh, nothing much. It is just some cut-off Mia’s fingers. But he decides that he will take his spooky act slowly. Not now, not now. He will give you more luxury when the time is right. 

“Perhaps I should leave…” He mumbles, realizing that he might have been in your house for quite a while now. He stands up but he stops when he hears you stirring in your sleep, making a small noise. As he smiles, expecting a cute face from you, all he sees is just a painful expression. 

An arrow shoots straight into his heart. 

Nikolai just remembers that you most likely cried yourself to sleep, based on the dried tears on your face. You must have dealt with insomnia for the past few nights because of Mia ghosting you. And he knows you won't get a proper closure for this relationship, as Mia is no longer here in this world. 

He feels bad.

Nikolai contemplates his decision. He wants to stay longer. He doesn't mind sitting on the floor, in the dark, starved or thirsty, as long as he can watch you sleep. But, Erika has already warned him to come to the meeting at nine in the morning. 

He does not even sleep yet. 

Pursing his lips, Nikolai looks at you again. After ten complete seconds of thinking, he sits back on the floor right beside your bed. He sees your body is jerking a few times and your forehead is frowning—nightmares? He hopes not. 

Nikolai bravely moves his hand up, finally holding your hand just loosely nice. This is the closest he has ever gotten to you. He sees how your hand and his are both showing the same rings. He already loves this day—this moment. He feels at peace, somewhat, despite the cacophony of love in his heart. And if this is how the rest of his Valentine's Day is going to be, he will gladly stay.

He promises your next Valentine's Day will be the greatest ever. After all, you are already his.

©cherikolya 2024 — do not copy, plagiarize and repost my works to any platform, reblogs are very appreciated

if you like my works, consider buy me a ko-fi!

very heavy stuff today, but i need to get it off my chest

i dont exactly know how tumblr does the whole "read more" thing, so there's gonna be a spam of line breaks and after that read at your own risk. I dont even know what kinda TWs this would qualify under so consider this your "bad shit under here you've been warned"

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

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

I am so fucking close to snapping i swear to neptune, allah, fucking buddha, any god that is fucking out there why do i have to be such a broken, useless piece of shit. fucking AAAAAAAAAAAAA im so fucking tired, so fucking tired of only existing to be beaten, used and abused then forgotten. Fuck my fucking life. It's never getting better, people keep fucking telling me that same platitude but i've been waiting two fucking decades for it to just magically "get better" and guess what IT FUCKING DOESNT. Im not even a real fucking person, im a goddamn *shard* of what used to be a person. im incapable of taking care of myself, incapable of ever "functioning" in modern society. all im ever going to be is someone's fucking retard burden to drag them down for the rest of my natural born fucking life. I look hideous, im completely disabled because of decades of constant mind-breaking trauma and will likely never recover, the country i live in is going to shit, im absolutely penniless with no hope of ever having an income. what fucking future is there. At this point im about ready to just give up, let go of the controls and let myself fade into nothing. There's two more fucking backup personalities in here maybe they wont be such fuckups. I was made to be a weapon, a survival-mode emergency shield and nothing more, i cant survive actual life. I cant even be someone's fucking malewife housecat and be pampered all day because i spun the orientation wheel and got "Dom-top". How the fuck does that work when i can barely get off the couch in the morning? when i have to be kept pretty much on fucking life support by someone else or ill literally drown in my own garbage. Maybe the bronchitis i had as an infant was meant to kill me and this is the world's way of correcting its mistake. Holy fuck here's to hoping i get hit by a meteor, like to charge reblog to fucking nail me like the dinosaurs.

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

Vent over, here's a fish as a palate cleanser

I've been a sucker for Poly Dabihawks/hotwings, so can I request poly dabihawks NSFW with a female darling who escaped and almost told the cops what happened but hawks just tells the cops she's drunk, they'd believe the number 2 hero more than some civilian, right? Can you make it 🍥 with collar and leash kink, hair pulling, and sadisim with burns and stuff?

AAA, I love the burnt chicken pair. And of course you can request that!

Shouldn’t have done that 🍥 🎂 🍮

MASTERLIST

Word count: 5k

Contents: Yan!Poly!DabiHawks punishing fem!darling who escapes.

Warnings: DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT. NON CON, PUNISHMENTS, MANIPULATION, HEAVY SADISM, BURNING, LEASH AND COLLARING, HAIR PULLING, DEGRADATION, FEM!DARLING, DEPICTIONS OF VIOLENCE AND DEATH, ORAL (GIVING), BRANDING.

You don’t know how much time you’ve been trapped here, considering that you had no contact with the outside world. The television doesn’t have a news channel for some reason, so you can’t figure out if the world knows you’re still alive, if the world still cares about getting you back to safety.

Tears pool at your eyes, you know Dabi will be angry if he sees you crying again. You don’t want to piss him off, he scares you. And you know that if Keigo sees you crying he’ll force cuddle you, he’ll force you to talk to him about why you are crying, and if you tell him that its because you miss the outside he’ll be the one that's pissed off.

You hiccup heavily, but something inside you sparks when you feel a current of cold air hit your back. Your breath hitches, and you run outside of your room towards the kitchen, where the backdoor is.

Its open.

Its open.

Its a trap.

Or is it?

You step outside for a second, barefooted and feeling the warm sun hit your face. You giggle at it, you’ve missed this so much, tears quickly find their way in your eyes again. 

You take another step, and another, and another, and yet another one. You start walking, getting away from the house of nightmares. You walk faster, trying to find somewhere safe, somewhere you can run to, a friends house, a family members house, something, anything. You start running, the smallest of sounds feeding your paranoia of both men running to catch you. 

You run, not caring about the curious looks of people around you. You don’t care, you need to run, you need to hide, you need to find someone who helps you. You look around, you look at the sky for the menacing silhouette of one of your captors, circling around you like a vulture at a dead animal.

You run again, your feet are burning but there’s nothing you care about except running away. There’s no compassion, nobody offers to help you, nobody offers to lend you a hand, to ask if you’re okay, this feels you with rage, but also with fear.

You keep running away, trying to find a familiar face, maybe an old teacher that you had on high school, maybe a pro-hero that wasn’t completely insane, maybe a friend you hadn’t talked to before your disappearance, that aunt you didn’t see often, the old man that sold you vegetables on the weekends, your boss, a co-worker, anything, anyone, please.

And then you saw it, a police officer. A person who could empathize with you, a person who was also quirk less and could see how to help you.

Hawks enters the house, chirping happily. He brought you your favorite food since he has seen you a bit down this last couple of days and he wants to chirp you up.

“Hey, duckling! I have a surprise for you” he places the takeout bags on the kitchen counter, curious about the fact that there’s not a single sound on the house.

‘Maybe she’s asleep’ he thinks, stepping towards the room. He doesn’t find you there ‘maybe Dabi took her somewhere, I’ll call him’ he thinks again, trying not to panic. He dials the number, the scarred man picking up quickly “ ‘sup, birdbrain?” he asks “everything alright?” 

“Is y/n with you?”

“Why would I take her with me? its not ´bring your baby to work’ day” he says sarcastically, picking up what was wrong in the situation “she’s hiding, Hawks. Don’t worry, she’s hiding on the cabinets again, I’m sure. I’ll come back there, c’mon wait for me” 

“Fine, hurry up” he sighs, hanging up, maybe he’s right, you must be hiding. He’ll let you stay there for a moment, if you come out before Dabi gets here he’ll negotiate something so you don’t get punished. 

And he gets there quick, entering the house panting. “Did she come out?” he asks trying to catch his breath, Keigo shakes his head. Dabi sighs heavily “c’mon y/n, its not funny” he yells towards nowhere “we won’t punish you, doll. Its alright” he’s telling the truth, he can understand why you’re afraid, maybe you broke a plate, maybe you spilled some water, maybe you did something stupid and you’re scared “baby, we’re gonna find you anyways, so come ou-” he can’t finish the sentence, the backdoor of the kitchen opening.

He had to fix the lock, Hawks told him.

Well shit.

Hawks doesn’t even tell him, flying out the door towards the city. You ran away, its alright, maybe you were going to tell them, maybe you were gonna buy something, maybe someone broke in and you were trying to run to safety. 

But he’s boiling in anger when he finds you, you’re trying to reach a police officer. But not so fast, he scoots you in his arms in the blink of an eye, not even giving you a chance to get anywhere near safety.

“What the hell are you doing?” his eyes are sharper than usual, and his voice is stern “better have a good explanation for this” he hisses, lifting you up high “you’re in big trouble, y/n” he keeps talking “this is probably the single most stupidest thing you could have done in your life time” he rushes towards the house “what I’m saying is...” he opens the door and uses one of his feathers to push you inside “you shouldn’t have done that”.

Dabi receives you, is usual mischievous grin is gone, it makes you shiver. He sits you down on the couch, you try to run towards your room, to hide from them, a burning hand stops you. You yell and cover your face in a reflex, Dabi can almost pity you, but that won’t stop him from doing to what he has planned.

“Well, explain yourself” he stands there with his arms closed, cocking a brow while Keigo locks all of the doors. He forces you to sit down on the couch, you’re sobbing and shaking. He has to control the urge to comfort you, to let you cry in his big strong arms while birdbrain scolds you. But he can’t do that, you fucked up big time, and you don’t deserve the treatment he wishes to give you.

You can’t explain anything you did, and you don’t even regret doing it. If only you had told the cops you would be safe by now, that's the only thing you regret about this whole situation. You sob heavily, hyperventilating and trying to find a way to demand them to let you go, tell them how much you despise them, how much you hate that stupidly kind and warm smile Keigo gives you every morning, how much you want to puke every time Dabi calls you a sweet pet name.

“I hate you!” you bark at them, red eyed and completely contrary to your docile and meek attitude. Hawks’ wings puff up, making him look more menacing than before, his eyes sharpen. And one his feathers places at your throat, sharp and ready to slice it open. Your breath hitches, you still bend and break as easily as before. He removes it from there, not a single wound on your body.

Yet.

Dabi can feel sadness and anger accumulate inside him, he grabs a handful of your hair. You yell, you scream, you plead for him to let you go, that you didn’t mean it, that you are sorry.

“You dirty fucking liar” he hisses, his grip on your hair is hard and unescapable, he throws you to the ground, your scalp hurts  and tears pool at your eyes. You hear something unbuckle, and your previously closed eyes open wide at the sound, is he going to hit you with his belt?

He sits down, still holding you in place with his hand. If you try to struggle he will hurt you badly, so you only await for what's prepared for you. He pushes his pants down, not all the way, just enough to let his semi-hard cock peek. You start crying now. Your knees are bruised from falling down forcefully, you would expect the blonde to stop him, to tell him that what he is doing is wrong and that they are the ones that should apologize.

But that moment never comes.

Dabi uses the already hard grip on your hair to pull you closer to the head of his cock, your nose and lips touch the thick length and you have to contain the urge to puke at the sight of that pierced dick in front of you. Its bigger than average and you know it, you can see little white hairs growing at his lower abdomen. Its seems hygienic enough, but you just can’t help but be so disgusted about it, maybe its because of the person carrying it.

Keigo smirks, already knowing what Dabi has in mind just by the sight of you being forced on his cock, you open your mouth reluctantly, but he shoves his length inside you quickly, making your eyes crystalize as you gag down on that piece of meat. He gets closer to you, not saying a word, just slowly unbuckling his belt as well. Dabi looks at his golden eyes, sharing a mutual pleasure of finally getting a taste of you.

They had contained themselves, wanting your first time with them to be consensual and loving, but it seems like plans have changed. Dabi pulls your hair as he pulls your mouth away from his cock, instead forcing you closer to Keigo’s. “C’mon, please him” he orders, you don’t say anything. Your eyes reflect the most anger they had ever seen someone had “be a good pet” your eyes open wide and your brows furrow “I don’t want to” you say in a thread of voice, Dabi chuckles gravely “that was an order, not a request” he says, sending a shiver down your spine. 

You open your mouth again, Dabi lets go for a second, letting birdbrain take control of the pace he is going to fuck your mouth with, you try to escape, instead earning a slap on your face, its feels as if you’ve been hit with a hot iron, you cry harder, but none of them comfort you, instead a soft hand pulls harshly at your hair. He inserts his length all the way into your mouth, neatly trimmed blonde pubic hairs tickle at your nose, but the fast pace he fucks your mouth at doesn’t allow you to focus enough on that. You’re tempted to bite down at his length, to chop it and make a bloody mess, would he kill you if you did? Was it worth it to taste your luck like that?

You decide its not, only sucking and pleasing that winged psychopath. “Gonna fill your throat so good” he groans, you internally plead that he doesn’t cum on your mouth, you just hope that he will have the mercy to not stain your insides with his filthy cum. “Watcha’ say? I wanna se her pretty little face covered in cum” he invites Dabi to join on his malicious plan, you want to scream. But when the scarred man joins him stoking his cock, and you feel him pull out, your face gets covered in cum as you gasp for the air that your lungs where craving. Sticky, hot ropes of thick white liquid stain your lashes, nose, lips, temples and every part they can reach. Those monsters on top of you have the audacity to laugh at your teary eyes.

“Aw, don’t cry birdie” Keigo pets your hair, you tense “you owed us this for what you just did, and I think you owe us even more” he whispers the last sentence, this time you tremble.

“Go clean yourself up, whore” Dabi instructs, pulling his pants up and searching for a cigarrette to smoke. You can’t move, instead hugging yourself while tears run down your cheeks. He pulls your hair again, forcing you to stand up. You cry and scream for him to let go “don’t piss me off more, go do what I told you” his eyes narrow “Or are you that dumb of a mutt that you need us to do it? Is that it? Are you just a stupid useless bitch that needs their masters to help them behave?” he asks, you kick and scream trying to free of his grip. Its a pitiful scene, your face is covered in cum and your hair is messy, your eyes and lips are puffy. He smiles at how much power he has over you “well then you should have told us” his smirk grows “we’re always happy to discipline a bad little doggy”.

You only cry and beg him to let go, you’re abruptly thrown to the ground, you curl upon yourself. Trying to catch your breath. You lift up your dress and use the skirt to clean the things that cover your face. You look at the remains attached to your skirt, and you almost gag at how disgusted you feel. Its horrible, you regret every part of this god awful day.

You wonder what would have happened if you didn’t run away, if you compliantly waited for Hawks to get home and told him in a soft voice “I think Dabi left the door open by accident, Keigo”. He would frown and ruffle your hair, and kiss your cheek “its okay, birdie. I’ll fix it in no time”. He would use his feathers to do the job, he would fix it in no time and would feed you with whatever those take out boxes had inside. It would be a nice day, he would let you watch television while cuddling with him. When Dabi came home Keigo would scold him, you would giggle at their fight without them noticing.

“Stupid burnt piece of shit! You left the door open, what if something happened to y/n?? What if someone entered and took her away? You’re lucky they waited for me to get here and fix it”

“Well, you could have closed the door yourself, not my fucking fault” he would smirk as he exhales smoke purposefully on Keigo’s face.

You would kindly ask them to stop fighting, Dabi would sigh and kiss your forehead “don’t worry doll, I won’t kill this stupid bird man” he would smile “yet” he would whisper high enough for Keigo to hear, you would giggle again, this time he notices. His blush and anger disappearing and being replaced with a soft smile.

Maybe if things had been different this situation wouldn’t be happening. They would lovingly caress your body, Keigo would place some soft kisses on your shoulders while hugging you from behind, you would feel his pretty cock rubbing at your back and ass. Dabi would place his thick warm fingers inside you, spreading you open as he coos how pretty you look all flustered.

Keigo would help Dabi force his cock in while he is inside, taking you both at the same time. Your glistening pussy stretched out so lovingly that all of the pain of the double penetration would be forgotten. A sweet night of love making.

But that day would never come, not since you did this.

That’s the worse part, you could have avoided this and you knew, but still chose to obey that primal and irrational part of your brain, Did you even stand a chance of getting away? Would the number two hero leave you alone? Would he even be arrested? As you analyze the situation further you realize how much of a mistake you have made, how wrong it was to do this, how bad you had fucked up.

“I’m sorry” you mumble, hoping it would make things right “you should be” Dabi answers. Hawks seems to have disappeared, you can’t feel his presence nor hear his voice. Quickly there’s a sound at the door, Hawks drops a bag on the ground. Dabi stands up, inspecting what he bought with a smile.

The blonde uses one of his feathers to lift you up and bring you close to both of them. He uses both of his hands to hold you in place, not that you would have tried to run anyways, the burning feeling on your cheek reminds you that you should stay still. “Since you wanted to be a disobedient mutt so bad we bought you this” Dabi smiles, placing something on your neck. You know what it its, and you can’t believe this is happening to you. A collar, pastel pink, with little hearts to make the illusion of spikes, the shackle is also heart shaped, its bigger and it seems it has been designed for a matching leash.

Hawks lets go of you, a feather on your throat reminding you yet again to not do anything stupid. He places the matching leash on the shackle, he lets you hold the leather piece on your hands, its pastel pink as well, it has your name branded on it. You look at it with pure horror, not knowing what to do or say, your eyes tear up again as Dabi snatches the leash away from your hands, he pulls at it without a warning making you trip, he catches you in his arms before you fall “careful” he teases, and you contain the urge to fall on his arms completely, to let go and just give them the opportunity to take all of you for themselves just like they wanted, to own your body, mind and soul in exchange of a gentle treatment, of a warm bath and a nice meal. But you don’t, you tremble in his arms as he chuckles again “such a little cry baby” he says, he makes you fall to your knees. And both of them are standing tall in front of you, menacing and completely over powering yourself.

“C’mon, mutt” a deep voice gets you out of your mind, startled you look at them “give us a show, you still owe us something for doing that” Keigo smiles, he tugs at the leash, making you remain on all fours. You don’t really know what to do, there’s nothing you can say, only breathing heavily as you start to panic. But they don’t give you time for that, he tugs at the leash again, and your brain engines start to slowly function “you want me to be your dog?” you ask with a shaky voice “yeah, and for starters: bitches don’t talk” Keigo responds, eloquently as always “so better start acting like one and bark” he says. You start crying “I don’t want to! You can’t make me!” you protests, but earn another wave of laughter at you “Aw, we can’t? Pretty sure there’s a million ways we can break you” Dabi hisses with a smile “so... are you gonna cooperate? Or do we have to give you a little incentive?” that last word makes you feel a fear you have never felt. You don’t want to find out what kind of incentive they’re referring to. It could be violence, it could be drugs.

It could be the death of you.

You gather all of your strength, you gather all of your will ‘I won’t break, I won’t break, I won’t break!!!!’ your mind tells you to run, to fight, to find a weapon, but it also yells, it yells ‘be compliant, be nice, be obedient and maybe you won’t get hurt, and maybe things will go back to normal’ and you decide to listen to that part of your brain, its rational, its something that could work. And so you crawl on all fours closer to them, you’re blushing, you’re crying.

And you’re barking.

You bark, you wiggle your ass in lack of a tail, your tongue is lolling out of your mouth as you pant, hoping its good enough. And it pleases them, watching you loose all of your dignity to make them feel happy, to keep your integrity. Are you enjoying yourself while doing it? Probably not, and that awakes something dark in the back of their heads. 

Still, they just watch you put up that pathetic show in front of them, its not even arousing to them, just funny to watch. And they wonder, should they have resorted to breaking you like this a long time ago? Probably not, you weren’t actively disobeying or disrespecting them. But in the back of their heads there’s something that tells them that they should have. Is it curiosity? Or that morbid feeling that accompanies it? There’s just something that they were craving from you and maybe this was what they wanted. 

You stop, sobbing heavily and covering your face with your hands. They already saw you cry, but there’s something in here that makes you feel more vulnerable, is it the fact that your skirt is covered in their semen? That your face has the hand print of one of them? Or is it the fear that Keigo will actually slice your throat open this time? You don’t really want to find out, you don’t really want to know what is it that you fear so much this time.

It just feels so different, you were already afraid, you were already scared, terrified even, of what they could do to you. You were prepared for anything because of this, to get robbed, sold, raped, anything remotely bad that could happen to you. You were already mentalized for it, just not this, anything but this.

It wasn’t the sexual aspect of it that disgusted you so much, it was how vulnerable it made you feel, how naked you feel, how exposed, how deprived of any free will you have been ever since this whole thing started. And it was the guilt, you were feeling guilty about doing this, not only because of the punishment you were receiving, because of what you did. Was this the start of Stockholm syndrome? Maybe it was, you felt guilty. You felt guilty because you could see the sadness in Keigo’s eyes whenever you assumed the bitter memory of you escaping and almost telling someone came back to his head. Because you could see how Dabi wanted to stop this and comfort you, you could see it in his body language, how he bit his lip harshly at the sight of you on the floor, with a slap mark that he caused.

You were guilty because you caused them pain, you caused them harm. Were you the one to blame for this? You didn’t really know, it was all so confusing. 

And you heard them sigh, one of them at least. There wasn’t a tug at the leash, just a pet to your head. You looked upwards, facing the black haired man giving you a warm smile, you cried again, your  lip wobbling as you hugged his legs. “I’m sorry!” you screamed, because you were. 

Hawks was crying to, he hated to cause you pain, and he knew Dabi did as well. It left a bitter taste on their mouth, considering how much they were harmed as children and even as adults, they hated to cause you any sort of pain. They were the ones feeling guilty, they just wanted to stop this.

Dabi helped you get out of your dress, tossing it away as Hawks searched for something more comfortable to put you on. You were naked, but you felt less vulnerable and exposed than before. Keigo entered with an oversized hoodie and a pair of sweatpants, it looked comfortable enough. But just when he was about to help you get dressed Dabi stopped him. Keigo arched a brow, silently asking him what the fuck was he doing. 

Dabi stared at you with his ice cold eyes, wondering if what he was about to do was right. Your punishment had ended, but he still felt that he had to do it.

“I’m sorry” he mumbled, loud enough for both of you to hear it. Hawks blinked twice in confusion, what was he apologizing for. But when he felt the heat emanating from his body he knew exactly what he was about to to.

And the idea didn’t sound as bad as he thought. It would only hurt for a bit, and it was worthy it. The bitter flavor on his tongue returned, and he frowned as he used his arms to bend you over and hold you in place, ass up and face down. You panicked, your breath hitching once again, you didn’t put up a fight, instead wondering when would you hear the belt unbuckling once again, and when would you feel your cunt being forced open by Dabi’s cock.

But that moment never came “please, stay still” his low baritone voice resounded in every single part of your mind. You felt heat close to your ass cheeks, and you wondered what you were about to feel, and as a hot finger started tracing something you could feel the worst pain you have ever felt. It traced a letter, you screamed, ear piercing and throat soaring scream. Hawks grip tightened, as he sent some of his feathers to hold you further in place. You tried to move your hips but it was useless, you were firmly held in the spot. You kept screaming, as he slowly traced his burning hot fingers on your soft flesh, it was as if time had stopped, painfully slow as he branded your ass. You wondered what it said, if it was something derogatory, your mind went away and then came back. Was it the sudden cold that hit the burning mark on your skin? It stinged, it burned so hard you wondered if this is what cattle felt like whenever they were marked. 

Tears rolled down your eyes, sobbing heavily as you wondered why were they doing this. Did they find joy in the enormous amount of pain you were being put through? There were so many thoughts and so many questions. Hawks’ grip softened, as he hushed your cries. They switched places, Hawks’ feathers never left the spot that they kept you trapped in, you felt something sharp now, opposed to cold in the unmarked place of your other ass cheek, you gasped when the tip of said sharp object started to dig into your skin, making you cry again, you didn’t beg them to stop, only letting him finish his already started job. You could hear him sob as he continued moving the sharp blade on your doughy skin. You cried harder, as you felt blood dripping down your thighs and exposed sex. And when he finally removed the blade after tracing a set of patterns that you couldn’t figure out entirely, but assumed were letters. You fainted, your mind left your body and you fell limp on the now stained silk linen bed sheets.

You felt so exhausted, you didn’t have any dreams on that state you were suspended in of pure nothingness. You just couldn’t feel anything, any emotions or any kind of pain were simply devoided from your already broken mind.

You woke up alone, when you tried sitting down on the bed you yelped in pain, when you tried to massage the sore region you found it to be even more painful, you curled upon yourself, breathing slow and deep in an attempt to stand up with the little strength you had. Memories from yesterday flooded your mind. Little bit of sunlight entered through the closed window, you looked outside, you weren’t were you used to be. You focused your eyes, only finding a dim sky, cloudy and dull. You sighed, there wasn’t the small patio in the back of the house as before. Instead a plain of grass and a couple of trees standing in the way of your eyesight.

You stood up, staring at the outside trying to figure out where the hell were you. You jumped in surprise when you heard someone open the door of the room.

“Hey, dove” the blonde smiled “I see you like the view” he says with a soft voice, he brings you a glass of water, your throat feels raw as you thank him. 

“Where are we?” you ask.

“Far away” he responds

Dabi enters the room shortly after, his eyes reflect pain and guilt but you don’t comment on it. 

“I want- I want to take a shower please” you say, expecting them to lead you to the bathroom “No can do, doll” Dabi answers “it will hurt badly, in about a week or so you’ll be able to, but for now you should wait” he kisses your hand, making you blush.

“Is it because-”

“Yes” he seems to not want to talk about it, you don’t insist “you’re gonna be here from now on” he states “just can’t risk you running away again” his voice lowers by the moment.

You don’t know what to say, its not like you would try to run away again, after that “I understand” you respond. Hawks smiles at this, at least you understand the situation and won’t do anything stupid.

Like yesterday.

He doesn’t even want to remember it, he feels cruel, he feels like a bad person. It must hurt, your skin was branded and carved with both of their names. But it was worth it, now you’ll never be able to escape, not without a mark of who you belong to.

Them.

Forever.

I hope you enjoy this, darling

Have a great day/night

hey, so. if the fic is tagged with “dead dove: do not eat” don’t read it! you think after my 10 years on the internet i’d know that…….

⚠️Cw: mentioned gore/ s@icide

Gf hmu asking what I thought about the new Helluva Boss episode and I thought ok kinda weird she's asking me now because it's on hiatus and the most recent episode came out four months ago but then I looked it up on YouTube and I found a surprisingly well animated clip of Stolas SH@@TING HIMSELF and according to her there are people who think it's legit😭

nsfw below the cut, mdni

THANK YOU @foppydog for the dead dove tierlist!!! teehee

What Do I Tell My Friends Family? Pt. 2

word count: 4662

Pairing: Recom! Miles! Quaritch x Female! Sully! Na'vi! Reader Tags/Warnings: Non-con, slight torture mentioned, smut, blow job, mouth fucking, threats of violence, Dead Dove Do Not Eat, NSFW, degradation, dark themes, hurt no comfort Author's Notes: Aye yo wtf, this was suppose to be a one-shot! XD Some have asked for a continuation, so I have provided! Wanted to get this out on Valentines Day, though that has since passed here. Would have been out sooner but, Cyclone Gabrielle had other plans! Anyway please enjoy. Might make a part 3 for something softer. Apologies for any grammatical errors!

<previous chapter> | 2 | <next chapter>

*by clicking keep reading you understood the contents there within*

Pain.

That is the first thing that you register; a dull throb to the back of your head. You grown at the feeling. Slowly do your eyes flutter open, the sting of light assaults you.

When finally do you adjust to the brightness, you take stock of your surroundings.

White.

The walls. The ceiling. The floor. Where the fuck are you?

You realise you are on the floor. You move to sit up, but you find your hands are bound tight behind you. So it with great effort you that manage to push yourself up into a sitting position, back pressed against the wall behind you.

You gaze around the room. In the centre there is a thick metal table. No chairs. To your left, a bed that would be far too small for your frame. Clearly you are in a human facility. But you do not recognise this interior to be that of Hell’s Gate.

Shit.

Despite the painful throb, you attempt to recount your steps up until this point.

---

Your siblings; Eywa bless them all, but by the Great Mother did they infuriate you. For some unfathomable reason, the little entourage, sans Neteyam, thought to disobey the rules and explore the old battle site. There they happened upon a group of Avatars, decked out in full gear, carrying ARs.

Lo’ak calls it in. Father instructed him to retreat.

You arrived at eclipse, alongside your parents and Neteyam, leaving him with the ikran. You find your siblings captured and in the clutches of these Avatars. There would be no way to rescue them without bloodshed.

Your mother lets loose the first arrow, a clean headshot, and all hell breaks loose in a hail of gunfire. In the scuffle you manage to find Kiri and Spider, leading them away as fast as you can.

But an explosion goes off behind all of you, and though you and Kiri keep balance, you see Spider fall. The two of you yell out to him. Without so much as a second thought, you dove. You clutched his body to yours, wrapping yourself around him as the two of you fell, lessening the impact it would have on him, hoping you have protected his mask.

You hit your head on several tree branches on the way down. With a painful thud you land on the ground. There is a loud ringing in your ear. You think you can hear Spider’s muffled voice yelling your name, screaming perhaps. You can’t concentrate. There is only pain. There is only the ringing.

You faintly register the feeling of being lifted. There is a light, blinding in your eyes, coming from the skies. Then darkness. Nothingness.

Then, you woke up here.

---

It stands to reason then, that you were captured by those Avatars. Fuck.

But where was Spider?!

Panicked, you hoist yourself onto wobbly legs, looking around the room you search, but he is not here. You pull on the bindings in frustration, but it is of little use; they are wound tight.

You turn around and are met with your own reflection. You notice your head’s been wrapped in some gauze; you must’ve hit your head pretty hard. You look at the bindings on your wrist, orange, ones you haven’t seen before. A nice new gift from the Sky People.

Suddenly your ears pick up a soft swoosh of a sound, and the door behind you opens.

Too afraid to turn around you stare at the doorway through the reflection.

One of the Avatar men stalks in, bending as he does to get through the doorway.

By Eywa’s grace, he is tall. Taller than your father, your surmise. Bigger too. Probably not a fight you would win easily, if it all. Especially with your injured head and bound wrists.

“Ah, you’re finally awake.” He says as he approaches you. You turn then, slowly, to face the man. You decide to play nice, for now at least. No need to get hurt even more. Lure the enemy in, strike when they least expect.

You look up to meet his gaze head on, and freeze.

---

That face.

That damned face.

You’re sure you know that damnable face.

But it is not possible. The man you know of, are thinking of, is most assuredly dead. For real dead. You’ve seen his remains, trapped in that machine in the old battle site. You dared not to touch it; afraid it would have disturbed his spirit somehow.

Oh Eywa, his spirit…

How long has it been since you last saw him? Three years? Something close to that you think. You would never forget that evening, that desperate evening, when you approached him. Threw yourself at him. And he caved. Oh sweet Eywa, he had caved.

You knew what you did was wrong. Guilt had eaten away at you in the days that followed. You knew exactly who he was. You knew of his crimes. Yet you did it anyway. Shameful. Disgusting. Monster-fucker, you bitterly thought.

The two of you never really broached the topic of his past. He had given you his name, and it was enough. You told him who you were, and it was enough.

You hadn’t known how to explain the marks that marred your body. You claimed to have fallen off attempting a trick mid-flight. A weak excuse. You can see it in the eyes of your parents that they do not believe you. Your siblings too. But they instead teased you, convinced are they that you must have been with someone.

You decided then, that if you should see him again, you must apologise, it was a mistake, shall never happen again, and to never speak to one another going forward.

It takes two weeks then, for a re-emergence of a shared dream.

You had been psyching yourself up for the encounter.

Except the moment your eyes meet, there is such an unbelievable swell in your chest, an almost immediate heat in your loins. You are beyond smitten.

You let yourself be lost in the feeling.

Days turn to weeks. Weeks to months. And every few days, you found yourself back in his company. Back in his arms. Sometimes, he in yours. And you love it. Guilt be damned you love the attention. The two of you figure that your body must reflect whatever happens to your soul in this Space.

He, tries, to be more mindful of the marks he leaves; but your people already wear next to nothing as it is, so it is a bit of a challenge. You don’t mind though, not anymore. Not after this long. It fills you with confidence, to know you are wanted so deeply, so readily, always.

You find you are able to walk pass those boys who had rejected you with a huff, a flick of the hair. Show them that they are unneeded, and that you have found someone else.

But such a time is not to last. Your family began to pester you; your parents especially. Father is Clan Leader; this you cannot forget. So for his eldest, his daughter, to have some sort of secret lover, he is not exactly keen on. They beg and plead, asking for you to tell them who it is. If this boy, ‘Ha! Boy…’, has accepted you, then they can arrange for him to be your future mate, recognise your future relationship in the clan. Make it official as it were.

You were relucted, obviously. How can you explain to them that you were having, relations, with what is undoubtedly their worst enemy, but also that it wasn’t happening in the real world?

Just when you were slowly coming around to the idea of confessing…it stopped.

Just like that.

No warning. Just complete, nothingness.

When a week had gone by with no Quaritch, you thought nothing of it.

But weeks turn to months. One month becomes two. Two becomes four.

And on the eve of the sixth month, you break. You break down, alone under the Spirit Tree. You connected to Eywa, sobbing, begging, pleading, questioning. ‘Why? Why now?’ If it was so wholly wrong, why put you two together?

You are met with silence.

Months then, turned to years. You never do tell your parents, or your siblings. Your apparent mood change at the seventh months leads them to believe things didn’t work out. It had been months since they saw you with marks in suspicious places. You are grateful they never bring it up though; but you can tell in they walk on egg shells around you that they know.

This goes on for about another few months before all returns to normal.

You miss him, of course. He had been your first love you think. Accepting your body as those boys did not. A freak to them you were. Big breasted and wide hipped. But to him—

“Ahh, you’re all freaks to me darlin’. ‘Sides, if you were human, with a body like that? Pssh, men wouldn’t be able to keep their hands off ye. Lord knows I can’t,” he had winked at you when he said that. That’s when you knew there was no way you could possibly stay away from this man.

But Eywa had other plans it seemed.

“You still with me darlin’?” Your reminiscing is brought to a hastened end by the man before you. He stands just before you, waving a hand in front of your face.

Shit. How long were you staring off into nothing remembering things?

You blink rapidly, then cast your eyes downward. You are far too overwhelmed to look this man in the eye.

“What do you want, Demon?” The last part you spit with venom. You don’t know who this is, but you hate him. Hate that he looks so damn close to your human.

“Ah, so you do speak English…” He takes a step back, crosses his arms and regards you with keen interested. “That was some nasty fall back there. Had the science pukes patch ya up real nice.” You don’t say anything in response.

“Spider tells me you were protecting him. Awfully nice of ya, considering he’s human. Stands to reason then, that I shall return that kindness. Be nice and all that. All you gotta do, is tell me what I wanna know.” He roughly grabs your face in one hand, forcing you to look up at him.

“Where is Jake Sully?”

“As if I would betray my family so easily, Demon! You will get nothing from me!” You all but yell angrily at him. Baring your teeth as threateningly as you can muster.

“Now-now sweetheart, there’s no need to play hard to get. We can do this the easy way. Or the hard way. Your choice. As I said, I’ll be nice. Once. Then I won’t.”

Fear.

Fear bursts through you. You look up at this man, this Demon, this monster and plead with your eyes.

“Please…don’t hurt me…Do not ask this of me…”

Loyalty, even in the face of danger. He admires that. But the soft approach, he’ll save for Spider. His not-son. For you though, savage daughter of that fucking traitor Jake Sully, he’s decided on a not so nice approach.

---

You don’t know how long you’ve been here. Hours? Days? Weeks? Time has all but blurred together. You have not seen the outside in so long. Have not felt the sun upon your skin. It is torture. But nothing, truly nothing, compares to that awful machine.

It pulls at your mind, the digging, cutting, searching. The feeling of a thousand metal spiders clawing into your flesh. Yet you do not yield. You think only of the forest. Of tall trees and swinging vines. Of running through the under brush at night when the world is aglow. You force your mind to think of Hells Gate. Of the scientists. Of the many humans you see mulling around.

Each time your screams fall on deaf ears, begging for the pain to stop. Each time you are brought to tears. Only when you start bleeding from your nose are you let free, returned to that awful white room. They don’t bother cuffing you anymore. You simply lay on the floor weeping to yourself till you fall unconscious.

You’re not sure how long you can keep it up. Sooner or later, you will inevitably think of the Hallelujah Mountains, of High Camp.

And where was Spider? Oh Eywa you hope he’s okay. If they put him in that same machine, you vow you would kill them all. Every. Last. Human. Avatar. Whatever. Anything breathing in this forsaken place was dead fucking meat.

Again you weep for him. You hope was safe and not scared and alone. You prayed to Eywa that they treated him with a modicum of decency, at least for being human. You move yourself and the oxygen mask they gave you into the soft bed, small as it was, a better comfort than the floor. You cry yourself to sleep.

---

It’s frustrating, Quaritch thinks. It’s been about a week, and still they have come up short. Even with Spider riding along, no progress has been made. It was difficult to even get him to agree to come a long. He had insisted on seeing you, outright refusing to cooperate otherwise. It was only when Quaritch had not to subtly threatened to return him to the science pukes that he relented. Still he demanded to at least know you were safe.

It took little effort to lie to the boy. You were technically safe, so long as they didn’t keep you in that machine longer than you could handle. You had a place to rest. Water and food were given to you. A mask too. By all accounts you were still living and breathing. Close enough to safe.

But you. Stubborn, obstinate, infuriating you. They had yet to break you. Their fancy expensive machine failing them at every turn. Quaritch stares at you on the monitors before him. He can hear you weep. Another failed round. He’s clutching his mug tightly. The General will be on his ass if he doesn’t produce results soon. He’s not exactly her biggest fan either. She’s got an arrogance about her that rubs him the wrong way.

It’s your fault, he thinks, as he stares you. Your fault, that progress has come to a standstill. It pisses him off. If you at least gave them something, anything, this would be a whole lot easier. He slams his mug down, anger bristling his nerves, ire ever growing.

“Turn off the monitors. Me and that hostile are gonna have ourselves, a little chat.”

“Sir…?”

“JUST. DO IT.” The human beside him jumps at his tone, hastily turning off the feed as commanded.

“Now don’t go turning that back on till I return. Trust me, I’ll know.” He fixes the man with a stern look before storming off to your holding cell.

---

You awake with a start at the sound of the door opening. You see the Demon step in, then touch the something beside the door. It makes a noise, and you are more than certain he’s locked it. Your stomach drops.

Quaritch looks up at the cameras, making sure there is no red light to indicate it being on. Satisfied, he turns to you once more.

“You know sweetheart. I gotta give it to ya, I’m surprised you’ve lasted this long.” He says, taking slow leisurely steps towards you. You bring your knees to your chest, pushing yourself as far back as you can until your met with the cold wall.

“But this can all go away. No more machine. I can get you outta here. All you gotta do is give me what I want.”

“I will give you nothing! Demon!” You hiss at him, but it is for show. You are scared, trapped with this man in a place you can’t escape. Too weak to fight properly. Without thinking, you spit at him, landing your saliva on his chest. Oh, he doesn’t like that.

“One of these days sweetheart, that mouth of yours is gonna get you in a world of trouble.” A frown adorns his face as he says this, looking at the offending wet patch before drawing his eyes back to meet yours.

“Starting today.” In a flash he’s on you, roughly grabbing your queue at the base. You yelp in both surprise and pain, hands automatically clawing at his wrists. He pulls you off the wall to the edge of the bed. He stands before you. He yanks your head back, pulling your face upward.

“You don’t wanna talk? Fine. Let’s put that mouth of yours to good use then, shall we?” The grips your queue tighter, the searing pain lights your nerves once more and you hiss at the feeling. Tears threatening at the edge of your eyes.

You catch movement on the edge of your gaze. With horror you realise what he is doing. He’s unbuckling his pants.

‘Oh no no no, please, Great Mother NO! Not this! Anything but this!’ Your prayer is futile as you watch him pull out his half-hardened cock.

Quaritch didn’t think he’d find your fear so arousing. But that pleading look you give him every time he sees you, he can’t help the bolt of electricity that shoots through him. Even now he can see the fear in your eyes, he can see you know what’s about to happen, and he reveals in the power he has over you. Doesn’t help that you’ve been walking around in that get-up of yours.

He noticed you, that first time he walked into this cell. You definitely were a half-breed, with those five fingers and toes. Even more so did he notice the swell of your breasts, the expansion of your hips. From the images he’s seen on the data pads, you are clearly not like the rest of your kin. Your portions are almost too human.  He’s not sure if it’s this new body, or the memories of the man he’s emulating, but God damn he can’t help himself.

The frustration of it all, topped off with your stubbornness to cooperate, stagnating their operation too boot, has all been building up. He’s just about had enough. This is all your fault. Seems to reason that you should be the one to fix it, he figures.

Before you can even begin to beg, he pulls out a knife, bringing the sharp blade to where he has your queue in his hand.

“Don’t get any funny ideas darling. One wrong move, and it’s bye-bye Eywa. Understood?” Tears silently fall from your eyes; you nod when you feel him loosen his grip ever so lightly. Seeing those tears sends a pleasurable throb to the tip of his dick.

“Good girl.” He lets your head fall forward properly facing him, he shuffles closer, his legs hitting the side of the bed.

“Now, do you need to be told what to do, or do you already know?”

Of course you know. You spent an almost immeasurable amount of time with your beloved human. He showed you things you never dreamed of, touched you in ways your imagination could never suffice. But now those memories were to be tainted, forever marred by the actions of this Demon. Your hesitation is noted, and met with displeasure.

“I ain’t got all day sweetheart.”

With renewed tears you sit on your knees, and take him in one hand.

---

Slowly you pump, up and down, from base to tip. It doesn’t take long for him to harden. The sight of your tears dripping onto your exposed chest spurring him on.

He’s massive, you realise. You’re sure Na’vi men aren’t meant to be this well-endowed. You’re almost certain actually, from the stories you shared with you by your friends.

He is thick too; your fingers barely touch when encircled around him. He hums with pleasure, tightening his grip on your queue ever so slightly.

You squeeze tighter, pumping his cock with more force. You hear him suck in a breath.

He brings the knife away from your queue to your mouth.

“Open.” He commands, and you obey. “Wider.” He sticks the knife inside carefully, pressing the flat side of the blade onto your tongue. The cold metal tastes awful, making your mouth water. He uses his thumb to pull one side of your mouth away, examining.

The sight alone causes a shudder through his core. You peering up at him, tears in your eyes, tongue flat, mouth pulled open, drool falling freely. Oh yes, he could get used to this.

He removes the knife from your mouth, back to your queue.

“Use that pretty little mouth of yours darling.”

Your lips tremble at the thought of that massive thing in your mouth. But what choice do you have really? Your lifeline is in his hand; quite literally in fact.

He moves your head closer, loosening his grip to give you some leeway. “Watch those teeth darlin’” he warns as you lean closer still.

Slowly you open your mouth, and give his tip an experimental lick. You hear the Demon suck in a breath through his teeth when he does this. You lick his tip again, then take the hold head into your mouth.

The Demon exhales audibly.

You swirl your tongue around the tip, opening your mouth slightly to ease the motion, all the while pumping his cock with your hand to spread your saliva.

“Hnnn—fuck. Keep going darlin’…” The Demon praises you. Once you deem him sufficiently lubricated, you stick out your tongue and proceed to take more of his cock into your mouth. You stop half way before pulling back. You bring your head back down halfway, meeting your hand that pumps him from base to midway.

You set a slow place, squeezing him as hard as you can with your hand. You can hear his laboured breath as you suck his cock with practiced movements.

“You’ve done this before have you? Fucking whore…Bet you got men just lined up back home—!!!” His words come to abrupt halt, followed by a gasp, when you remove your hand from his cock and plunge the whole length into your mouth. He wasn’t expecting that.

You feel the tip of his dick stroke pass the base of your tongue and tease the inside of your neck. Though you’ve ever sucked any other cock other than your beloved, back when you were still relative to his size, he was sure to show you how to take his cock without chocking. Seems those lessons shall serve you well.

You pull back, tracing the vein on the side of his dick with your tongue. You bring his tip to your lips and swirl your tongue around it hastily, before sucking the whole length back down your throat.

“Ffffuuuuuck—” the Demon all but moans loudly, hips sway slightly.

He throws the knife to the floor suddenly, wraps your queue around one wrist, the grabs both sides of your head in his hands.

He starts fucking you like that, holding your head still and he pumps into your throat with reckless abandon. He unashamedly moans, feeling the soft smooth slick of your tongue graze his dick, while his tip meets the inner walls of your throat.

You don’t expect him to go so fast, the intrusion at such a speed shocks you, and you gag unintentionally. This doesn’t deter him at all though, seems to spur him on further. Faster he fucks you, powerful muscles clenched tight as he drives his hard cock down your bruising throat. Each time he can see the imprint of his dick push on your throat and it sends a jolt of pleasure through him.

You look up then, glistening eyes brimming with tears, nose running slightly. Your hands hold onto his wrists for balance. His face is contorted into one of inexplicable pleasure. Eyes half lidded, glazed over, mouth agape, he moans loudly without shame. He’s so close. He can feel it. He’s teetering on that precipice of release. He just needs a little bit more.

One hand leaves your head. He reaches to your shoulder to grab the lines of fabric there. With one powerful pull the threads break, beads and other small trinkets go flying about the room.

You make some kind of shocked noise around his cock; the vibrations send pleasurable waves all throughout.

“Aaaaahhh—fuck yes baby that’s it! Let me see you play with those pretty tits of yours! Come on now!” He yells as he brings his hand back to your head, holding you still once more, resuming his brutal pace.

Timidly you bring your hands to your now openly exposed breasts. You cup yourself in each hand, squeezing gently, you start to massage yourself in lazy circles. You moan around his cock without thinking, the feeling of playing yourself sending a small jolt of pleasure to your pussy.

“Come on baby, come on yes that’s it, you’re such a good girl for me, my fucking little savage whore! Just a little more!”

You move to pinch your nipples as you press your tits together, and you moan a muffled scream at the pleasure lighting your nerves.

That does it for him. With one final powerful thrust into your throat, he cums. Hard. You feel the thick streams of his seed coat the inner walls of your throat. He pulls back and thrusts back in a few more times, filling your mouth with his hot sticky cum.

He holds your head to the base of his cock, your nose pressed against his groin.

“Swallow it baby…Don’t waste a single drop now.” You swallow, drinking deep. You give his cock a couple hard sucks, making sure you drink every last drop. Slowly you pull your head back, his dick comes out with a pop. You open your mouth and stick out your tongue out of habit. Quaritch would always inspect your mouth like this, make sure you were a good girl and didn’t waste his gift to you.

The Demon smirks down at you, his breathing laboured. He sees your tail flick behind you, only then does he notice his also swaying behind him with reckless abandon. He releases your queue then. You almost weep at the relief that floods you. Without a word he puts his semi-soften cock back in his pants, collects his knife and secures it back in place. He gives himself a once over before turning to face you once more.

You’re still sitting on your knees. There’s a thick blush from your tits, up your neck, and splayed beautifully across your cheeks. You’re looking up at him with glistening eyes, apprehension on your face, clearly unsure of what is so happen now.

He clears his throat.

“I suggest, you think ‘bout cooperating. Next time, I might not be so nice.” He leaves without another word. You’re almost shocked by the hastened retreat. When the door shuts behind him, you release the breath you didn’t realise you were holding.

You immediately bring your braid to you front and hold it tight to your chest. You’re crying is renewed tenfold. To lose one’s queue is a fate worse than death. You’ve heard the horror stories. The pain, the fire, the seizures. It is an unsightly thing. And survival is not guaranteed. Even then, what sort of life could you really have, without your connection? Without being about to make tsaheylu? You continue to cry as you rock back on forth, tail wrapping around you in distress.

You swallow your excess saliva, still tasting that Demon’s cum on your tongue.

Without him here, looming over you with the threat of danger, you come to realise an awful thing.

He tastes just like Quaritch.

You all but scream in frustration as you cry even harder.

---

Tag List: @drinking-tea-and-be-obsessed, @lvangel98, @rsclopez, @onlyreadz @manymaria111, @kristeen31xxx

---

<previous chapter> | 2 | <next chapter>

What Do I Tell My Friends Family?

Word count: 5086

Pairing: HUMAN Miles Quaritch x Female NA'VI Reader Tags/Warnings: 18+ ONLY, rare pairing, possibly dark content, smut, adult themes, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, lust, older man x younger woman, under age reader (16), degradation, nsfw, dubious consent, dirty talk, orgasm, orgasm denial, foul language, choking, vaginal fucking

Author's Note: This came to me in a day dream. Listening to this song. Set in the same idea I have for Lie of Providence, where you're able to communicate with the spirit of Quaritch in a Dream. Though it's a bit different there. Won't be included in LoP. Have kept reader's appearance vague in some parts so imagine it as you will.

| 1 | <next chapter>

*by clicking keep reading you understood the contents there within*

You shouldn’t want this. You should not be feeling like this. Oh Great Mother, the shame is near unbearable. Yet you are powerless to stop yourself. You want him, this you know. He is a man. Not like the boys of the clan. Immature, stupid boys who know nothing. No, this is a man. You have no doubt he would treat you the way you deserve. Or perhaps, the ways in which you want to be treated.

It started as a childish crush; a flight of fancy. A silly little thing you were, developing feelings for a man you only see in a shared Dream. You enjoyed watching him flex those oh so strong arms, the expanding of that broad chest with each precious breath. Each movement deliberate, no energy wasted in the fluidity of his being. He was taller than you then.

But time passes and it brings with it changes you weren’t entirely expecting. Becoming taller than him at 17 was a given. You’re almost 7’5” now, and will surely keep growing till you’re at least your mother’s height. What you did not expect however, was the swell of your chest. The women of your tribe you notice, do not have such large breasts. They are small, extenuating their lithe form, the agile body of Huntresses. But here you stand, barely an adult, with tits bigger than your hands. Your hips are noticeably wider too.

As time made you older, so too did it make you bolder. You care not if his gaze meets yours as you shamelessly stare down at him when he trains. You openly watch him do any human ritual, especially when it involves him testing the limits of his physique. And you notice too, how his gaze lingers on you. His eyes travel up and down your form when he thinks you do not notice. You eat up the silent attention. You sure as shit weren’t getting it from the young boys of your tribe.

Sure, mother and father tried their best arranging future mates for you. But every meeting of the family, you seem to be the only one to notice the boys’ upturn sneer. To them, you were always a freak. Proportionally wrong. A half-breed.

Your friends tell you not to worry about it. Boys are stupid anyway and wouldn’t know a good thing even if Eywa herself was prostrated before them. Yet you can’t help the jealously that rips through your very blood when they speak of stolen kisses and secret rendezvous. They do not make tsaheylu, as that is sacred and meant for their future life mate, but that doesn’t stop them exploring their baser desires with equally eager boys. And as the days to weeks to months pass, the frustration of it all builds until you are bursting at the proverbial seams.

And when the dam finally breaks, so too does your rational thinking. You are sick of your feelings being rebuffed by these stupid, immature boys. And you are equally as sick of this bizarre dance you’ve entered with Quaritch. If his soul is going to share Dreams with you, and so blatantly eat you with his gaze, then by Eywa does he owes you some actual attention.

---

And so tonight you are going to put your plan into action. You adorn the least amount of beads and thread you possibly can, barely covering your nipples let alone the rest of your chest. You wear a loincloth with a thinner cut fabric in the back, it easily gets eaten into the swell of your ass. You’re sure Quaritch is going to like that, if his roaming eyes are anything to go by. The final touch are some pretty feathers in your hair which you let hang lose and un-braided. You take your ikran and fly somewhere else into the forest; you do not want to be disturbed this night and Eywa forbid your family asks about what you are wearing (or lack thereof).

You find somewhere suitable to lay your head for the night, the flattened top of a nearby tree. Your ikran makes themself comfortable elsewhere, far enough to give you privacy, but close enough to hear you call should you need them.

You sit on your haunches and take a big calming breath. You look up to clear sky. Eywa has blessed tonight with warm breezes and a dazzling display of stars. The forest is alight with bioluminescence and it brings you a sense of comfort. And with that, you lay yourself down and close your eyes.

---

The Dreamscape too, it would seem, has taken the shape of Night. As you have hoped, you are immediately in a Human settlement. You think it is perhaps Hell’s Gate, but something is different. You cannot tell, but it feels different. No matter. These are irrelevant details. You are here on a mission.

You let pure instinct guide you into and through a building. You are drawn to him and he to you. Finding him is never difficult. As you traverse the halls, you are thankful you do not have to bend as to not hit the ceiling, though were you fully grown it would probably be a problem. You immediately stop in front of a door. He’s in this room. You take a moment to steel your resolve. You do not want to back out now. Not when you’ve already come this far. You take a deep breath, then press button on the side.

---

Quaritch finds it strange. To know oneself is dead. To be a wondering soul, bound to The All Mother. To say he was surprised to learn she was indeed real, would be an unprecedented understatement. Yet she does not speak to him. But he can feel her influence wherever he wonders. Most surprising though, is You.

By Eywa’s grace, the two of you keep sharing Dream spaces. He’s sure you’re not dead though your spirit visits him often. And he’s also sure of one other thing; you must be sweet on him. Never in his waking life, and apparent afterlife, would he have foreseen something like this. A savage girl, the daughter of the traitor Jake Sully, developing a crush on him.

It was cute at first. When you were small. But you’re not a child anymore. And he has, to his disgust and pleasure, taken notice. He thinks of the way you tease him, swaying your hips with purpose when you jog ahead so as to walk in front of him. That damn tail flicking whichever way to draw his attention. When you puff out your chest when you show him how good you’ve become with bow and arrow. Oh yes, he’s sure you’re doing this shit on purpose. And you stare! You openly stare, and when he catches you, you don’t even try to hide it. The audacity of it all.

He’s not even sure if you’re considered an adult by your people’s standards. He never once cared to learn about the filthy natives’ culture. If he remembers correctly, you had mentioned to him last time he saw you that you were 16, coming on 17. You were complaining about some dumb teenage boy in your clan. Something or rather about not finding you attractive. He let you vent your frustrations by manifesting an appropriate sized gun turret in the shared Dreamscape for you.

You mounted the machine without hesitation, and shot at nothing in particular. Your frusted yells drowned out by the loud rhythmic expulsion of bullet rain. And while you had your cute little moment, he watched as your supple body jiggled and bounced oh so wonderfully.

It’s wrong, he knows it. To lust after such a young teenage girl. But you’re not exactly human.  

He rubs the back of his neck frustratedly; doesn’t even notice he’s manifested himself in his old quarters, a place of comfort.

---

He tries to clear his mind. Think of something, anything else. But it all comes back to you. Fuck you’re a God damn tease. A succubus sent by Eywa to torture him. God dangling a piece of Eden in front of him, just out of reach.

What he wouldn’t give to bury himself deep into that pretty little cunt of yours, a hand grabbing fistfuls of your hair as you cry out in pain and pleasure. He wants to leave pretty purple bruises up and down your skin. Mementos he hopes you carry out with you into the waking world. He wants every one of those pathetic teenage boys to know who you really belong to. Show them how a real man lays claim to what’s his. Typical savages having no fucking taste. There’s a tent in his pants now, and he’s about to reach in and relieve himself when the sound of the door sliding open catches his attention.

Speak of the Devil and so shall She appear.

When the door opens you stop yourself in the door way. There he is, standing in the centre of the room. He’s wearing that black singlet you love so much; the entirety of his arms are exposed as well as part of that divine broad chest. The giant window ceiling lets in the natural light of the night awash the room in gentle moonlight.

You’re blushing hard, you can feel the heat spread up from your neck and dust your cheeks. There is a gentle heat forming between your legs as you keep staring.

“Well hey there Sweetheart. Now aren’t you just a sight for sore eyes…” Quaritch is the first to break the silence. His eyes start from your face, and slowly he rakes it down to your loin cloth and back up to face; not before lingering on your chest you notice.

“Now you didn’t have to get all dressed up pretty for lil’ old me—or should I say, dressed down?” You smile shily, brushing some of your hair behind your ear. “Come closer darlin’, let me get a good look at’cha.” He’s smirks at you mischievously.

You obey without thinking and step into the room to stand before him, the door shuts behind you instantly with a quiet swoosh.

When you’re this close, the height difference is a bit more apparent. His head height is perfectly situated at your breasts.

He hums approvingly, then gestures behind him for you to take a seat on the bed. When you, he standing in front of you, arms crossed on his chest. You bite your lip noticing the bulge of his biceps, your tail flicks excitedly behind you. He chuckles when he notices.

“Now tell me, [Y/N]—” it takes a great deal of willpower to stop the whine threatening to escape your throat when he says your name in that delicious accent. You audibly inhale. “—what exactly is it, that you think you’re doing Sweetheart?”

You decide you to feign ignorance. It is far too embarrassing to simply come out and say it. You want him to say it; want him to be the one to admit it first. He wants you just as much as you want him.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Colonel,” you see the slight tense in his arms when you address him by his title; ‘oh he definitely likes that’. You place your hands in your lap, lightly squeezing your breasts together with your arms. You see his eyes shift down to stare at your cleavage, you can feel your nipples teasing through the bare fabric. He licks his teeth and you inwardly shudder at the action.

“Oh ho, I think you do, you little fucking tease. Now what I’m wondering is, does your Dear ol’ Pa know you’re here? Presenting yourself in front of the enemy like that.” Quaritch bends forward so he’s eye level with you. “I wonder how disappointed he’d be right now. Guess his sweet little [Y/N] ain’t so innocent after all, huh?”

“I do not want to talk about my Father right now Quaritch,” you huff at him frustratedly. You don’t want to think about your family right now, that’d be a sure-fire way to kill the mood before it’s even begun.

“Oh? Then, what is is that you want to do, [Y/N]?”

“You know exactly why I’m here Quaritch…” you avert your eyes, too embarrassed to make extended eye contact. You don’t see him lean closer, moving to the side of your head to whisper directly into your ear.

“Come now you’re a big girl [Y/N]. Why don’t you use your big girl words? Be a good girl, and tell the Colonel what it is that you want?” You audibly whimper. He moves to the front of your face again, grabbing your chin in his hand, forcing your face forward.

“Now I’ll ask again—What is it that you want hm? What is your plan here?”

“Eyes on me baby,” your ears perk forward at the new moniker, eyes immediately fixed on him. Oh Great Mother this man is going to break you.  

“I—I—want…”

“SAY IT.”

“You! My plan! You were my p-plan! It is you that I want! Please Colonel!” You all but yell when he commands you. You squeeze your eyes shut, the shame and embarrassment too much after such a declaration.

You hear Quaritch hum approvingly and can practically hear the smirk in his voice.

“Well, aren’t you just sweet?”

His lips crash onto yours suddenly. Both of his hands are on either side of your head, holding you firmly in place. He doesn’t move at first, testing to see your reaction. When he feels you tilt slightly to one side and gently push up into him, he deepens the kiss. You’re a mess of teeth, saliva and tongue. Hot breath mingling in each other’s mouths. By Eywa does he taste divine. Better than anything you could have possibly imagined. Heat pools at the base of your belly. The tiny flicker of a flame come to life. You stupidly wonder if the boys of your clan are even a fraction as skilled as he.

“I can feel ya thinkin’ about something you shouldn’t be, naughty minx.” He says when he breaks away from you. He pushes your collar bone forcefully enough for you to fall back onto the bed with an oof. You lean up on your elbows to look at him at the foot of the bed, your legs planted firmly on the ground.

He uses his legs to kick apart your legs and stands in the space between.

“Let me clear that pretty little head of yours…”

He leans onto the bed, presses his right thigh firmly against your sex, his hands are on your hips holding you in place. A pleasured gasp escapes you, the sudden unexpected feeling of pleasure sparks from your core through your entire body.

Satisfied that you won’t move, you can feel him move his hands up the expanse of your body, thumbs pressing into you as he traces the stars painting your skin. Upward he travels till he reaches your chest. Your breasts are exposed to the open are, your meagre coverings having fallen wayside when he pushed you back before.

He delicately traces the glowing pattern of one breast, before he gives you a gentle squeeze.

“Hmmm~” you murmur at the feeling, warmth pooling at the precipice of your legs. He grabs you, one in each hand, and starts kneading you firmly. The rough callouses of his palm causing delicious friction upon your nipples. He feels them peak into his hands and squeezes you tighter.

You can’t help but moan. You’ve never been touched like this at all by anyone else. It feels nothing like when you do it yourself. No, this is so much better.

He swings his left leg over you, resting on your side, his right leg presses harder onto your cunt as he leans forward. He kisses you roughly, forcing his tongue into your mouth; immediately seeking you out to fight for dominance. You feel the slick of your cunt coat your loin cloth.

He breaks the kiss to plant kisses on the underside of your jaw. Slowly he starts licking the dots there, tracing down your neck, and he sucks hard on the flesh there, catching the skin between his teeth. At the same time he pinches both your nipples between his forefinger and thumb roughly.

“Fuck!” You exclaim loudly, the pleasure in your body starting to burn. Each nerve is set alight in pleasured brilliance. You body demands more friction, so you rub your greedy clothed pussy up and down his thick muscular thigh, drenching his pants leg in your juices.

“Aww is that all for me? Well ain’t you just a peach,” Quaritch teases you when he feels the wetness upon his leg. He looks down and inspects the darkening hicky on your neck. Satisfied with his work, and continues to leave more on either side of your neck. Not content yet, he starts leaving them along your collar bone. All the while you grace him with the sing-song of your voice, openingly moaning in pleasured ecstasy at his ministrations.

You feel his hands vacate your chest, his leaves a wet trail as he traces his tongue along one swell. He gives your nipple an experimental lick causing you to make the cutest mewl. And when he takes your whole nipple into his mouth and starts sucking like a starving man, you can’t help the profanity that escapes your lips.

You push harder against his leg, enjoying the feeling of his strong muscles rub against your neglected clit. The pleasure from your cunt and tits pool together in your belly. A gentle coil of a promise starting to form. The build up stops suddenly when Quaritch moves his leg from your sacred conjunction. But before you can even complain, you watch as he moves his entire body lower until his face is between your legs.

Your embarrassment is renewed tenfold. You lay your head back and cover your face with both hands; too bashful to watch what’s about to happen. You aren’t completely ignorant, your friends made sure of that, sparing no detail of their escapades.

You obey his command, pushing yourself up on your elbows to stare down at the man poised at your nether region.

Quaritch laughs quietly at your display of embarrassment. He unties your loincloth with ease. When he takes in the sight of you, he cant help but suck in a large breath through clenched teeth. The stars painted on your cunt glow brightly in the moon light, the nectar of your arousal flows freely from your slit. A Waterfall of Eden before him.

“Now that just won’t do Sweetheart. Eyes on me, I wanna see those pretty eyes while I eat this pretty pussy.”

He nods approvingly and lowers himself once more, his eyes never break contact with you.

You inhale sharply when you feel him flatten his tongue against your slick, giving your slit one long slow lick up and over your clit.

Louder and louder you moan, there is no need to keep quiet here; there is only the two of you blanketed in soft moonlight.

He presses his hands into the groves of your hips to hold you down as he gets to work eating you out proper. Up and down he licks between your folds, sucking on your clit finally, in between. He cleans you up good, drinking deep of your honeyed nectar you so graciously give him.

He listens to every keen, mewl and moan. When the pleasure becomes too much you’re on the flat of your back once more, eyes closed in blissful ecstasy. Each hard suck on your clit pulls tight the coil in your core, the fire burning brighter with each passing moment.

And just when the tension on your belly threatens to snap in glorious orgasm, suddenly the feeling stops completely. Quaritch having ceased his ministrations.

“Delicious, thank you for the meal.”

You whimper unabashedly, tears threatening your eyes as you look down at him with a confused lidded look.

“So sorry Sweetroll, but the first time your cumming is going to be on my cock; no exceptions.”

You watch with bated breath as he undoes the belt around his waist. Eagerly does he free his throbbing cock from the confines of his pants. He’s already so fucking hard as he starts slowly pumping himself. He sees you bite your bottom lip as you drink in the sight of him. You lick your lips eagerly.

He feels himself twitch in his hand at the thought of you on your hands and knees as he throat fucks you till your insides are raw. But he’ll save that for another time. Right now the sweet musk of your cunt is beckoning him, and nothing is going to stop him answering the call.

He gathers some of your nectar to spread up and down his member, before he lines himself up with your entrance.

He looks down at you, eyes meeting yours.

“You ready baby? I don’t think I can be gentle,” you nod in response. He rubs his thick tip up and down your slick, gathering more of your nectar. When he finds our entrance, he slowly pushes in just the tip, gauging your reaction. Your eyes close as pleasure assaults every nerve of your body. You feel your cunt immediately drench, excited at the prospect of being utterly fucked full. He can’t help it, seeing your face like that, hearing you sing like that? His resolve all but shatters. In one fell fluid motion he pushes all of himself in up until the hilt, meeting no resistance.

The suddenness of him, feeling his long hard cock stuff the entirety of your pussy, you can’t help the scream that rips itself from your throat. There is a pleasure you didn’t think possible, but also a dull pain from the sudden stretch. You can feel the hairs of his crotch brush against your clit. He isn’t moving though, waiting for you to adjust to this new feeling.

“[Y/N]…Can I?” He’s trying to ask if he can move in between laboured breath. You nod almost immediately. The dull pain nothing you can’t handle.

“P-please move Quaritch,” you beg and he hums in response. You feel him lift both your legs, holding them up at the knees. He pulls out slowly till the tip, then slams back into you.

“Aaah!” You yell in pleasure at the friction gracing your inner walls. Quaritch takes in one deep breath, and he starts pumping into you with all the force he can muster. He is not gentle. He leans over your body, pushing your legs up and apart, granting easier access to your welcoming cunt.

It’s all too much, all too good. The pleasure is insurmountable. Touching yourself will never bring you pleasure like this. Each time he slams back into you, he crashes against your throbbing clit; lightning sparks through your veins, each nerve ending singing a chorus of pleasure, your body is burning in the flames of desire.  

You feel the coil tightening; the build-up of orgasm approaching far quicker than you anticipated.

“Fuck—fuck you feel so good baby,” Quaritch starts praising you. Despite the size disparity, you are tight, perfect, made just for him.

You can’t answer him with words, the only sounds escaping your swollen lips are sing-song moans. It strokes his ego something deep, to see you like this; folded in half, hair framing your face like a [h/c] halo, your face dusted in deep blush. And oh, the faces you make. You can’t be this cute. It should be illegal. If this was Earth, it would be illegal.

But he’s not on Earth. And you’re not Human. Such delicate sensibilities don’t apply out here 4 light years away. Besides. Eywa presented you before him oh so generously, and it would just be impolite to refuse such a gift.

“Q-Quaritch—I’m—” You can’t seem to get the words out, your orgasm approaching without mercy. He knows it though. The squeezes of your drenched cunt warning him. But he’s not ready for you to cum yet. He’s got one more little thing he wants to do.

“Don’t you dare cum [Y/N], you hear me? That’s an order,” he doesn’t relent his pace, the bastard. You close your eyes tight, trying through sheer force of will not to cum.

“Y-yes Sir,” he all but growls the moment you call him that, and you can’t help but smile cheekily. You feel his pace slow to deliberate thrusts. He doesn’t say anything but you feel his hands remove themselves from your legs and hear him fidget with something. You open your eyes in time to see him brandishing his belt in hand.

“Now hold still darling,” he instructs as he, without question, ties the belt around your neck, wrapping the leather around his left hand in tight coils.

“Do you trust me?” he asks as he smirks down at you. Your hand traces the belt around your neck, and your eyes meet his. You stare deep into those blue pools; he is brimming with lust, desire, and something so much deeper. You can’t explain it, but you trust this man with every fibre of your being.

“Yes…I trust you,” You give him the sweetest smile you can muster, and hold your left hand. He threads the fingers of his right hand through yours.

He picks up his pace, returning once again to that brutal pace before. He thrusts and hard as he can, pounding into your cunt with all the strength he has.

“Yesyesyesyes!” You chant eagerly, feeling your orgasm build up for the third time. Without warning, Quaritch pulls on the belt. It tightens around your neck, cutting off your oxygen.

Your eyes widen in sudden panick, reasling you can barely draw in any air. And that feeling, the leather as it bites into the skin of your neck, the tightness in your chest at the lack of air, it is delicious. Your cunt squeezes unabashedly around Quaritch and he huffs with a smirk.

He lets go of your hand then, you bring it up to your throat, grabbing the belt to try and relieve some of the tension.

“No you fucking don’t—!” Quaritch pulls tighter, and with his now free hand, grabs a hold of your tail—and pulls.

Your shut your eyes at the pleasure, tears falling freely down your face. Drool seeps from the corner of your mouth hanging open. No sound escapes your parted lips.

“Such a good girl, you take my cock so well [Y/N]! No one will ever fuck you like I do! Don’t you ever forget that, you God damn hear me?”

You are unable to form any words, the only sound you can muster is a strained moan. Good enough for him.

“That’s it baby—FUCK—Take it all of me like the slut that you are. Throwing yourself at those boys, knowing full well you belong to ME!”

That does it.

The coil in your belly snaps violently, your pussy grabbing his cock in a tight vice as your orgasm wracks your body in glorious ecstasy. You ride the high for all you’re worth. The only sound your able to make is a quiet choke as you struggle to breath, eyes rolling back into your head.

Black spots appear along your vision from the lack of air. But you don’t care, your cunt is still cumming and hard, gushing relentlessly, bathing Quaritch in your heavenly nectar.

You feel his thrusts falter as you continue to squeeze him without mercy. And after a few final pumps, he cums with a load growl. He’s coating your slick walls in his hot seed. He pumps a few more times into you weakly, his hold on the be belt slackens, rewarding you with glorious air once more. You gasp greedily, taking in long slow breathes.

You lay there for a time. Drenched in all manner of bodily fluids. The smell of sex permeates your senses, and you blush, embarrassed suddenly by the activities. You feel Quaritch slowly pull his softened cock from you, the feeling of his cum slowly seeping from your slit giving you a dull pleasure.

Your hole feels utterly abused, but the pain throbs pleasurably, you find you don’t mind the feeling. You feel Quaritch untie and remove the belt from your neck. He hums approvingly at the bruise left in its wake and plants a kiss to your sensitive skin.

He moves up over your jaw to your lips, planting soft kisses along the way.

He kisses you deeply, you can taste yourself on his lips and it almost reignites the fire within you.

When he finally pulls away from the kiss, he’s staring down at you. There is something unreadable in his expression. He opens his mouth to speak. But when you blink, he’s gone.

The room is gone.

Instead, your eyes are greeted with the blinding light of morning; your senses suddenly assaulted with the burgeoning life of the day.

You sit up and immediately notice your clit is sensitive. You smile to yourself; your body must have cum while you dreamt. You stand and stretch, feeling utterly refreshed. You feel a bit bad leaving so suddenly, but that was out of your control. You’ll be sure to apologise in the next Dream.

You call for your ikran, and make the short journey back home. You are trying very hard to remember to wipe the stupid grin from your face. You make your way back to the family nest in the trees, grabbing the extra garments you hid near where you leave your ikran.

Everyone in your family is awake already. You can hear the sound of idle chatter and the smell of breakfast hits your nose. Good, you are practically starving. You don’t bother trying to be quiet as you make your way up. Just as you pull yourself up and onto the platform, it is your brother Lo’ak who addresses you first.

“Ahhh look who finally decided….to…” his voice trails off when he looks up to you.

“What the—WHAT HAPPENED TO YOUR NECK?!” Kiri yells as she immediately stands up and rushes over to you, cold hands immediately on you, turning you this way and that.

Your neck?

Oh.

OH!

Oh no…

---

Author's Note: Thanks for reading!!! Hope it was to your liking! Apologies for any mistakes. It's 1am and I have working in the morning lmao TwT

---

| 1 | <next chapter>

This was requested by beloved, sweet, lovely, beautiful bestie @enden-k, whom I must thank very much, not only bc they actually allowed me to write more about yandere tarti, but for the constant love and support that he has given me since we have become friends. I can't express how glad I'm that you are in my life, I hope we will stay friends for a long, long time. I'm sorry I'm awful with words lmao but anyway! I hope you all will like this, and once again youn, thank u. U have no idea how important you are to me, love u bestie 💕💕💕💕

ೃ⁀➷ TW/CW: DARK CONTENT, Yandere, Smut, 18+ (MINORS DON’T INTERACT), Broken English, Obsessed, Toxic Relationship, Dom Character, Implied Kidnapping, Dubcon/Noncon, Failed Attempted at escape, Gender Neutral Reader (no use of pronouns and body parts), A bit needy yandere tarti cause I'm a hoe, Implied Fight, Tarti has a little bruise but nothing much, One mention of blood, Unhinged Tarti, let me know if I need to add more TW/Tags ♡ My blog contains dark content, be careful when interacting/following! ➳ Pair: Childe x Reader (Genshin Impact) Words Count: 464

⤠ Numbers 14, 48 + Barbatos ⤟ Genshin Impact Masterlist ⤠ Numbers 17, 86 +  Mori, Chuuya ⤟

18. “You look so good with my hand around your neck”

“You sweet, sweet cute little lamp…~” he laughs, his entire body over yours, successfully holding you down against the hard, cold floor.

“Trying to run away from me again hm? You even managed to hurt me…” Ajax's hand goes to his face, touching the so small bruise you somehow managed to give him during your failed escape attempt. It already stopped bleeding for a long time, but he looked so proud.

“That’s why I can’t let you go sweetheart! Where else do I find someone like you? You are just so perfect...” he murmurs against your ear, red chocks of hair against your face as you hear Childe twisted laugh, his lips kissing your cheek in a surprisingly gentle touch.

If it weren’t for the red-haired using his whole strength to keep you down, and his hard big cock buried deep inside of you, you would have tried to say something back much to his enjoyment. But Ajax knew your body better than you did, so it was easy for him to make you become a moaning mess under him, no longer needing to hold you down since how desperate you were to touch him, to get more.

“I love you, I love so damn much!” his lips were now all over your face, kissing every possible inch while confessing his eternal love for you, his hips moving at such a fast pace that was making your head spin. Everything around you screamed Ajax; his voice, his scent, his body warm against yours, he was everywhere.

“Don’t ever think about running away again...” Ajax steals your lips with his, kissing you so hard and with so much passion, drinking all your sweet moans. “What will you do without me uh? What will I do without you?”

His glare was so different now; if before was a fighter glare, cold and dark, now it was one who seemed so in love, so desperate, so needy. You both were needy, Ajax needed you, and you needed him, his hands, his cock going deeper inside. You were so close to cumming, you didn’t really listen to what he was saying no more.

Suddenly his hand, which was on your hip holding you still, got to your neck in a tight grip. His hips were moving so slowly now, you whimper in protest trying to get more friction, but it was too late, your orgasm was now fading as you looked up at him, only to get scared by his smirk and cruel, dark glare on his eyes.

“You won’t try to run away again, right?” Ajax chuckles as you get more scared, his dick twitching inside of you in response. “... Mh. I must say... You look so good with my hand around your neck~”

This work belongs to @/alj0saray, do not repost, translate, copy, rewrite or share on tiktok without my permission.

Found in my mother's freezer... What do you think might be inside??

bo-lonely

*lovingly throws up a half digested bird at your doorstep* have you heard of our new life insurance policy?

`· . ❛ content warnings. ❜ perverted choso kamo. voodoo. non-consensual. raw penetration. coercion. 18+ content.

choso always takes a seat behind you during art class, secretly admiring you with pragmatic, heart shaped eyes while his assignment lies forgotten. his attention is completely enthralled by you, and if anyone else saw him staring at you like that, they’d most definitely think he was a freak. he eyes your back profile, cherishing the fall of your pretty hair cascading over your shoulders and how it flows down your back, studying the way your arms extend, propped on the table to support your lean as you immerse yourself in your work.

“choso, stop staring at her and get back to work,” the professor sighs, and choso jolts out of his daze at the sudden reprimand, his focus on you breaking abruptly. you curiously turn around by the professor’s scolding, and your gaze meets a pair of flustered brown eyes. the male’s ears turn mildly red, immediately diverting his stare elsewhere. your arm jerks awkwardly at the distraction, and it causes the sharp blade of the scissors to slip, accidentally nicking your finger.

with a wince, you quickly bring your finger to your mouth and stand up from your chair to get a band-aid. choso's eyes dart to the scissors—glancing around the room before he leans over and snatches the bloodied pair.

the perfect touch to his project he was working on, and without another thought, he snugly tucks it into his bag.

. . .

you return a few minutes later, searching questioningly for the pair of scissors you were using earlier, and you even look underneath your table, but they are nowhere to be found.

how odd.

you turn to the last resource you could think of—the boy with dark hair styled into two messy buns, a few strands of hair falling loosely and framing his undeniably gorgeous features.

choso kamo, the quiet, reserved, and stereotypical hot emo guy everyone rants about.

you’ve never really talked to him, mainly because you think he’s a little weird with the constant times you’ve caught him staring at you. so, you hesitate for a moment, clearing your throat, mustering up the courage to ask him about your mysteriously missing scissors.

“hey, by any chance, have you seen my scissors?”

choso blinks, completely caught off guard as his dark eyes skim around the classroom, and for a second, he’s just dumbfounded, idiotically staring at you as if he’s fucking stupid.

“uh—i, um… no, haven’t seen them,” he straightforwardly lies, as if he hadn’t just stole them—yet, he initially trips over his words and he mentally cursed himself for sounding so slow.

you hum, not pushing it upon hearing his response, so you decide to just let it go. “okay, mind if i borrow your scissors, then?” you ask, gesturing to the untouched pair of black scissors laying on his desk as his ears start to turn red again. you smile, and you notice how, for some reason, he always gets so jittery whenever you stare back at him or, on rare occasions, talk to him.

. . .

a cloud of unease rolls into the pit of your stomach, and your fingers clench around your pen. you shift uncomfortably in your seat, and that’s when your body stiffens in your chair, thighs instinctively clenching together as you feel a large, unidentifiable object splitting your velvety walls open.

holy shit.

you instantly clasp a hand around your mouth to stifle the moan threatening to escape your ruby glossed lips. your body tenses, goosebumps prickling up your skin while the hairs on the back of your neck rise.

what the hell?

. . .

choso leans against the cool tile wall of one of the bathroom stalls, his breath coming out in choppy, short circuted breaths as his mind whirls lewd thoughts of you—you looked too damn edible for your own good. the way you spoke to him, the way you bent over as your skirt hitched up exposing the curve of your ass as the fabric hardly made efforts to cover you brought him to his knees.

his thick digits wrap around his hard-on, stroking his bulge that had been painfully aching since he'd been eye fucking you earlier in class. shit. a groan tumbles from his slightly ajar lips, his hand gripping his throbbing cock as he aligns himself with the opening between the special replica of you. he slowly pushes in, imagining your flustered expression, and the confusion evident through your knitted brows as the helplessness etches on your face when you grow aware of the sudden feeling of your walls being stretched wide open.

situated in the farthest row of desks in your psychology class, you bite back a moan as you feel a slippery stir between your legs, a fleeting sting that dispersed into bliss. choso's hands tremble, and without wasting another second he pulls back, just until his pudgy tip teased the dolls socket, lightly thrusting into the soft cotton-lined hole inside that clung onto his gooey shaft, and you feel it again—your walls contracting against something as his mushroom tip nudges your cervix.

you lean back, your spine hitting the cold surface of the backseat as your fingers grip the edge of the desk for dear life, knuckles blanching as choso works himself deeper into the doll and it syncs to you, the nirvana pulsing through your veins as the color drains from your face. a quiet gasp slips past your lips which you swiftly disguise as a cough. your eyes flicker around the room nervously, and you can palpably feel the ridges of the veins on the underside of his cock as your plush walls squeeze him, accustoming to the stretch.

his hand tightens around the doll, mimicking the tightness he craved as his shaft disappears into the fluffy fiber. your thighs clamp shut and the sudden pace fastens. subconsciously, you begin to dig your nails into the wooden planes of the table, shifting your hips and trying to ground yourself as choso pumps the doll on his rock solid length—a cry evoking his lips. he’s pathetically whimpering your name, and choso’s weak at the thought of ravishing you without even having to lay a single digit on you—the idea alone was just enough to have his knees buckling. he jerks his hips up to meet the thrust of his hand, and you can’t help the low grunts slipping past your own lips as his length drags against the ridges of your cloying, gummy walls, making it practically impossible for you to sit still.

your heart is well ahead of you, the muscles beating inside your chest rapidly, and the euphoria of his pudgy tip hitting against your hymen has your irises rolling back, tears prickling the inner corners of your vision as your windpipes expel shallow breaths. his lashes bat against the apples of his cheeks, and his raven colored orbs flutter shut. his hand pumps more aggressively on his cock—and his orgasm approaches sooner than he anticipated.

you sense it, his dick twitching inside your spongy, spasming walls before shaky hips buck forward, triggering your stomach to churn in turmoils. choso’s engorged tip kisses your hymen and his warm, creamy seed gushes into the doll, stimulating your own orgasm. your back arches forward and you struggle to remain composed with the heat pooling in the innards of your gut as your teeth gnaw at your tender-vermilion lip, another soft moan slipping from you when you feel your mixed juices dribble down your slick folds.