#beneath the chaos and debris

[rabidgeneralgrevious]

procrastinating writing my actual fic so here’s shit art instead LMAOOO

[yannawayne]

not a weapon but a person—capable of loving and being loved.

SYNOPSIS: You get kidnapped and Damian snaps. TAGS: Graphic Depictions Of Violence! Genderneutral! Blood, Hurt/Comfort, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Kidnapping, Childhood Trauma, My Mother is the Worst Woman Alive and I'm her Favorite Son, Damian is Eighteen.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽ ♱

A heavy thud. Ragged breaths. Then the sound of footsteps.

The same hands that had ruthlessly beat your kidnappers to a pulp—the ones that had pulverized flesh with blood splattered across his knuckles, the ones that had heard the crack of bones beneath his grip, the ones that bore the scars of countless cuts and stabs—now traced your cheek with a featherlight touch.

"Beloved."

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽ ♱

YOUR PALMS WERE PRESSED tightly against your eyes, wrists raw and burning from the rope that had bound them just minutes ago. Sobs slipped from your lips, eyes bloodshot, and mouth parched dry.

The rotting smell of the warehouse was an assault on your senses—an acrid mix of trash, harsh chemicals, and the faint tang of gunfire that lingered in the air.

There was a hushing in your ear as you leaned against a cloaked figure—Batman. Bruce. 

His hand rubbed at your back, firm and steady, a grounding presence amid the chaos. His cape, dark and imposing, wrapped around you like a shield, blocking out the violence unfolding just in front of you.

Shadows danced erratically on the walls as Robin moved with lethal precision. Bodies fell unconscious, thudding heavily against the concrete floor. Blood splattered. Screams echoed. Each punch landed with a sickening crunch, bones breaking. Crates and debris were scattered haphazardly, wood and concrete slamming onto the floor. 

Damian couldn't see anything but red.

His vision was tunneled, focused solely on the next target, the next blow, the next scream. 

A swift roundhouse kick sent one assailant crashing into a stack of crates, the wood splintering under the impact. One punch connected with a jaw, the sickening crunch of bone breaking echoing through the air. Blood sprayed on his fist. Another one rushed toward him, brandishing a knife, but he disarmed the man with a swift twist of the wrist, jamming the blade into the attacker's palm. The man screamed, clutching his arm as red streaked his skin.

Damian's eyes flickered with a dark satisfaction as he watched the thug stumble backward, clutching at the wound.

One last man remained. One who had lunged at him from behind, grappling onto his back. Damian scowled and surged backward, driving both himself and his attacker into the wall with bone-crushing force. The man's grip loosened, a pained gasp escaping his lips as the air was knocked out of him.

"Fool," Damian spat, his voice dripping with venom. "Do you have any idea who you're dealing with?"

The thug whimpered, trying to scramble away, but Damian was relentless. He twisted sharply, dislodging the assailant and slamming an elbow into his ribs. The man crumpled against the wall, clutching his side, his eyes wide with fear and pain.

"You think you can touch those I care for and get away with it?" Damian growled. He didn't give the thug a moment to recover. He swung a powerful fist into the guy's face, the impact sending a spray of blood and teeth into the air. 

"F-Fuck you, man!" The man yanked a gun from his waistband, but before he could even line up a shot, Damian’s foot kicked out, sending the weapon flying through the air. The gun clattered against the concrete with a deafening clang. With a snarl, Damian lunged forward, grabbing the thug by the collar and slamming him into the ground.

"H-Hey! Mercy! Mercy! I'm a-already down!" the assailant wailed, his hands clawing at Robin's uniform in a desperate plea. "The Bat don’t kill! You—you ain't gonna kill me!"

Damian's expression hardened, his eyes narrowing as his voice dropped to a low, menacing growl.

"I'm not Batman," he spat, the tone amplified and darkened by the modulator. "Every breath you take is a mercy I choose to grant. By the time I'm finished, you'll be begging for death."

He raised his fist, the tension in his muscles coiling like a spring ready to snap. The thug’s eyes widened in terror, his pleas growing frantic as he braced for the blow. However, just as Damian’s fist was about to land, a hand clamped down on his shoulder, grabbing onto his hand with a vice-like grip. Before he could react, Batman—Bruce—had tackled him, pinning him firmly against his chest. 

“Robin,” Batman’s voice was firm, concern barely concealed. “That’s enough.”

Damian's struggle was fierce, his body thrashing under his father’s strength as he roared in fury.

“Let me go!” he screamed, his voice raw with anger. “I’m going to kill him for what he did to them!”

The anger engulfed Damian like a stormy ocean, dragging him beneath its violent waves. Visions of his mother’s face, his grandfather’s form, and accusing shadows surged from the depths, all condemning him. Damian’s cries erupted into a raw, guttural scream, gradually dissolving into ragged gasps as he battled the relentless tide.

Though Bruce had shaped him into a hero, a beacon of justice, and his family had offered him a fragile semblance of belonging, Damian was still his mother’s son.

The violence and anger roiling within him were like roots twisted deep within his soul. There was not a thing that could purge the primal rage and pain that had taken root before his first breath.

When he finally broke through the surface, baptized in blood and weighed down by sins that clung to him like chains, he sought you out with an urgent, almost desperate need.

A heavy thud. Ragged breaths. Then the sound of footsteps.

The same hands that had ruthlessly beat your kidnappers to a pulp—the ones that had pulverized flesh with blood splattered across his knuckles, the ones that had heard the crack of bones beneath his grip, the ones that bore the scars of countless cuts and stabs—now traced your cheek with a featherlight touch.

"Beloved."

Your hands were carefully peeled away from your eyes, and you met soft emerald eyes through a veil of tears. His hands moved to unlatch his cape, the soft fabric pooling around your form. His lips, speaking in his mother tongue, murmured a soothing litany of comfort, Arabic endearments flowing like silk. He pressed your head against his chest and you found refuge in the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. 

Bruce watched the scene with a pensive look. His son's body had dwarfed you, broad shoulders and strong muscles enveloping your form like a shield. His head was tucked into your hair, his hands raking all over your tense and sweaty skin.

Damian had momentarily shed the hardened exterior he so often wore—a soldier with a heart that, despite its armor, occasionally revealed cracks. This was a side of him that often surprised people.

Because Damian Wayne was the farthest thing from soft.

He was all sharp edges. Poisonous, scalding words that could sear through the thickest armor of patience. Rough, nearly violent in his touch, like a blade pressed against skin. There was no gentleness in his movements, no softness in his gestures, only the relentless precision of a trained killer.

From the earliest moments he could walk, his life was an unending series of tests, each more grueling than the last. Each cut and bruise was a lesson. Failure was met with harsh punishment, success with silent approval. Affection and praise were as rare as mercy. 

The League’s doctrine was ingrained in him: emotions were vulnerabilities, attachments were liabilities, and loyalty was owed only to the mission and the League. His purpose in the League of Assassins was clear—to be the perfect instrument of their will, a living embodiment of their principles. 

Emotion was his enemy, a weakness to be purged.  He was taught to suppress his feelings, to turn them off like a switch. Pain was an illusion, fear a phantom to be banished. He learned to compartmentalize his thoughts, locking away his humanity in the deepest recesses of his mind. 

By the time he reached ten, he was a finely honed instrument of death.

A living weapon in a world that knew no peace.

It had taken Bruce eight grueling years to begin undoing the damage. And even then, he had barely scratched the surface.

Then there was you.

The trembling, warm-faced student Damian had introduced during his senior year—his partner for a science project, he said. 

At first, the interactions were subtle—a fleeting glance here, a hesitant smile there. But as time went on, it became impossible to ignore the way your presence began to soften the sharp edges of Damian's demeanor.

Bruce had seen you both fall for each other over the months. And he saw hope. 

You were the opposite of every lesson Damian has ever been taught.

To him, you were soft, in every sense. Soft movements, soft features, soft voice. Everything about you exuded comfort.

You made something he had always pushed down and shut away come to the surface.

You made him feel things—things he should not.

When you touched him with your soft hands, everything in him burned. The gentle brush of your fingers against his skin ignited a searing heat, a raw and unfamiliar longing that clawed violently at the walls he had worked so hard to maintain. Each touch chipped away at the concrete barriers of his training, breaking them down and leaving him exposed, aching for something he couldn’t quite name.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽ ♱

Mania. Drake had called it, a wild obsession of his that could consume and devour.

Damian's arms encircled you like a lifeline, holding you close as though he feared you might slip away. His lips brushed against your temple, warm and tender, while his biceps pressed firmly under your chest, anchoring you in his embrace. The air was thick with the mingled scents of sweat, blood, and the lingering residue of fear. 

And yet, amidst these odors, there was an underlying, almost imperceptible hint of Damian’s cologne—Arabian oudh. It was rich and smoky, with notes of aged wood, a faint earthy sweetness, and subtle undertones of leather and spice.

You buried your face into the crook of his neck, the fabric of his suit brushing against your cheek.

A Crush. Todd had chalked it up to puppy love, something that would eventually fade with time.

He lifted you effortlessly from the floor, his strength evident in his smooth, controlled movements. The way he adjusted his hold with such care to ensure your comfort spoke louder than any words could.

Warmth enveloped you—Damian had always run hotter, like a human furnace. On sweltering days, his clinginess (no matter how much he denied it) had been a nuisance, his heat making you feel as if your skin might melt off. But now, that same warmth was a comforting embrace, a welcome shield.

Infatuation. Grayson had suggested, thinking it was just a fleeting, intense passion. But there was something deeper in the way he looked at you, something that felt permanent and unshakeable.

“I am here. I am here, beloved," he spoke to you lowly. "It's alright now."

Love. His father called it.

In an instant, everything seemed to collapse around you. Tears welled up and streamed down your cheeks as you sobbed into his chest, each shudder of your body sending waves of anguish through him. Damian’s heart twisted painfully at the sight of you. 

He has seen suffering—he has inflicted suffering. But this was different. Your pain was a torment he was helpless to alleviate. 

Face twisted in guilt, he pulled you tighter against him, as though he could hold the world’s pain at bay if he just held you close enough.

A hand tapped at his shoulder, and he flinched, turning to see his father.

“The Batmobile is just by the docks. We can—”

“They're in shock,” Damian scowled. the fire back in his eyes. “Do you honestly believe they're in any state to be moved at this moment?”

Bruce’s gaze was firm. “Damian, we don’t have time to—”

“They need to be stabilized first,” Damian cut in sharply, his tone brooking no argument. He turned abruptly, striding towards the exit. “If you want them to survive this, we need to take care of them properly, not rush them into a car. I shall be outside.”

Without waiting for a response, Damian moved swiftly, the clatter of his boots echoing as he stepped into the cool night air with you. Once the warehouse door closed behind him, he turned his full attention back to you, his hand gently brushing your tear-streaked face. 

He moved to press his forehead gently against yours, the warmth of his skin meeting yours in a tender connection. He could offer no verbal comfort anymore; words seemed woefully inadequate. Your cries gradually subsided as you drew comfort from his presence.

Love.

He lifted his hand to the side of his face, pressing a button. As his mask retracted, his eyes met yours. Damian knew that more than anything else, you loved his eyes.

Time and again, you found yourself drawn to them, unable to tear your gaze away. They were hypnotic—an exquisite blend of emerald green, green as vibrant as the leather cover of his sketchbook, flecked with gold and streaked with brown paint.

His eyes were windows to his soul, offering the only genuine glimpse into the depths of his emotions. In them, you could see his anger burning like a stormy sea, joy dancing like sunlight on rippling water, embarrassment flitting like a shadow, and pain etched as deep as his scars.

At times, his eyes grew gentle, revealing something much softer—something that made your heart swell and your knees feel weak. A love so pure and unexpected that it could melt the coldest of hearts.

Damian Wayne was the farthest thing from soft.

But in these soft, fragile moments he shared with you, where his heart beat in sync with yours, Damian found an unexpected calm. It was in these rare interludes, away from the brutality and darkness that defined his world, that he could truly be himself.

Here, he was not a weapon but a person—capable of loving and being loved.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽ ♱

ao3: yenwayne

NOTE: I want to delve into the line I wrote: 'Damian is still his mother’s son.'

It's just to show his trauma, I despise Talia with all my guts.

Talia's control over Damian is a textbook example of manipulative conditioning at its most extreme. In psychological development, early experiences and parental influence are crucial in shaping one's self-concept. From his earliest days, Damian was deprived of a normal childhood. His personality, thoughts, and desires have all been sculpted by the League of Assassins from day one.

His anger, protectiveness, and sense of duty are manifestations of this—a child raised to be a killer, now struggling with the fragments of a humanity that was never fully allowed to blossom.

I'm not saying he hasn't changed!!! He has turned into so much more than the weapon they intended him to be. He is genuinely good. But the impact of such deep-seated trauma cannot be easily overlooked or resolved. It’s not something that can simply be swept under the rug or fixed overnight.

So, this was my attempt at capturing his character! I’m very open to constructive criticism since I’m new to the fandom. Please be kind and gentle with your feedback :)

[sunsburns]

four or five moments (ii.)

pairing: wade wilson/deadpool x fem!assassin!reader

summary: you're literally just trying to do your job, and it's going great so far, you've killed trask, all you have left is to stop that truck from leaving new york. few problems: deadpool can't stay dead, you're having a moral dilemma and why is that car getting closer? oh shit-!

—or: deadpool literally hits you with a car

word count: 4k+

warnings: fem reader, wade being nasty, flirting, sex jokes, canon violence, there isn't too much plot, blood, strange conversations about morality, wade being annoying, he also breaks the fourth wall a few times, i did not pre-read this pls bare with spelling mistakes

notes: i was peer pressured to write this. it literally strays off from the og plot so bad you get whiplash!!

part one

All you really need is four or five moments.

Four or five moments to prove that you're better than them, that you wouldn't stoop as low, to prove that an eye for an eye will only leave two people blind. No blood will bring mercy. No. But it might get you some peace of mind knowing that they can't hurt you anymore, knowing that there's one less asshole on the earth that's trying to hurt you and the people you care about. It is heartless, you're well aware, but you are not trained to have much of a heart, much less to care.

You remind yourself of that fact as lights blur into neon streaks and speeding vehicles race by. Your heart pounds in your chest, adrenaline sharpening your senses, and the stab wound on your leg becomes a distant throb.

You leap onto a motorcycle conveniently left unattended by a fleeing warehouse worker, hot-wiring it with practiced ease. The engine roars to life, and you peel out onto the road, weaving through traffic. The bike vibrates beneath you, a sleek, powerful beast responding to your every command.

Behind you, Deadpool is a persistent shadow. You catch glimpses of his red suit and mask as he commandeers a car, recklessly swerving through lanes to catch up to you. His determination is infuriating, but you can't afford to be distracted. You grit your teeth, focusing on the chase.

Your earpiece crackles to life, and a familiar voice comes through. "I've got eyes on your tracker," your handler says. "They're heading towards the docks. Be careful; we don't know if it's a set-up."

"Understood," you reply, voice steady despite the chaos.

As you near the docks, the industrial landscape looms ahead, a labyrinth of shipping containers and cranes casting long shadows in the dim light. The truck is just ahead, its taillights glowing like beacons.

You accelerate closer, and with one hand, you grab an energy gun, in a quick movement, you shoot at the truck doors, immediately regaining your grip on the handle afterwards. The doors fly open, revealing giant metal scraps and wooden crates.

You nearly curse, swerving out of the way when a pipe tumbles out from the back of the truck, crashing onto the road. The clang of metal on asphalt echoes in your ears. You slow down by the truck's blind spot, knowing you'd have to stop it, especially now that the cargo was confirmed to be in it.

You stay ready with your gun, pulling it from the holster on your thigh. You wait a beat, then another, and as the truck starts to pick up speed, you make your move and roll up to the driver's window, shooting through the glass. The bullet flies through the driver's head, causing him to slump forward, pressing on the horn. The blaring sound drowns out your second shot, which takes down the man in the passenger seat before he can shoot you.

The truck starts to slow, veering erratically before it crashes into a building with a deafening crunch of metal and shattering glass. The impact takes down a few light posts and parked cars, sending debris flying. Broken electrical wires dance and crackle around the wreck, their sparks reflected in the spray of a burst fire hydrant.

"Great job," your handler's voice crackles through your comms. "Dispose of the truck. No witnesses—"

The connection cuts off as you are violently hit from the side by a black car. The force of the impact sends you flying off your bike, tumbling across the rough asphalt. Your suit and helmet take most of the fall, tearing and cracking under the friction. Your visor shatters, the protective plastic lining breaking at the base.

You feel the sting and burn of broken skin on your arms and legs, grime and dirt mixing with the blood seeping from your cuts. Your vision is blurred, and a high-pitched ringing fills your ears. Every breath you take is shallow and painful, your ribs protesting with each inhale. Biting the inside of your cheek, you push yourself to pull off your broken helmet, tossing it aside. You blink hard, trying to focus your vision and spot a figure approaching.

Through the haze of pain and confusion, you recognize the distinctive red and black suit. Deadpool. He strides towards you with casual confidence, katana in hand, his eyes hidden behind the mask but undoubtedly filled with a mix of amusement and determination. The streetlights cast eerie shadows on his suit, highlighting the dried blood and grime.

"Please, don't be mad, honeybuns." Deadpool's irritating voice is the first thing you can hear when the ringing stops. He's standing before you, gloved hands out for you to take.

You don't move, heaving, "What the fuck, Wade?"

"Oh, are we on a first-name basis now? I think I like it." Wade Wilson hums, and when you still don't take his hands, he kneels before you. The smell of sweat and gunpowder wafts off him, mingling with the metallic scent of blood. "I know this all seems a little confusing—"

"You hit me with a fucking car, you dick!" you belt out, eyes wide with rage. The pain and exhaustion make your voice hoarse, every word a struggle.

"Well, yes. But it's only fair—"

"Fuck you."

"Listen to me." He says a little desperately, and you're glaring at him through your tears. Wade doesn't let it get to him, instead, he calls out your name, barely above a whisper as he looks at you. "You are getting innocent people killed." He tells you. "Look around. This might not be a cul-de-sac, but there are civilians, and they're hurt. We need to leave. You need to call it."

You glance over his shoulder, tired eyes scanning the area. He was right. Dock workers are running around, shouting and helping people out of the old building the truck had crashed into. It's late at night, but not late enough for the place to be deserted; people are still at work, still trying to get by.

You wince as you watch a pregnant woman being led out of a crashed car by her husband, a gash on her head. The smell of gasoline and burning rubber fills the air, mixing with the acrid scent of smoke from the crashed truck.

"Killing shitty people is one thing," Deadpool tells you, and you hate the way his voice is almost earnest. His tone is different, more serious, a stark contrast to his usual unserious demeanour. "But I'm familiar with your no-witnesses rule. This would just be mass murder if I let you keep going. Not exactly my piece of cake. Just..."

He stops, letting his head hang for a moment as if he were too repulsed to say it. You can see his shoulders slump slightly, a rare show of genuine emotion. "Oh god, I can't believe I'm about to say this," he grumbles, "Four or five moments. That's all it takes. Just stop and think. It's all it takes to be a hero."

You grit your teeth, hating that Wade Wilson is your voice of reason. The biggest asshole in New York, and here he is lecturing you on morality.

Hairs are falling out of your braid and sticking to your forehead, yet you don't care. Sweat mixes with blood, creating a sticky mess on your skin. You can only glare at him. "You're the last fucking person who should be telling me how to be a hero."

Wade sighs, loud and obnoxious, his mask wrinkling around his eyes as he scrunches up his face. "I'm sorry I hit you with a car. You kinda deserved it after killing Trask. He was my last chance at becoming pretty again. Now I have to stalk another crazy scientist." He taps his chin thoughtfully, "I always figured I'd end up chasing a mad scientist again, but not under these circumstances."

It's when you can no longer hold yourself up with your arms that Wade takes in the gravity of your injuries. He winces, watching you crumble to the ground before him. "Oh, wow, that's a lot of blood," he notes, his voice suddenly devoid of humour. The sight of your blood pooling on the asphalt seems to pull him back to reality. "Should I take you to a hospital? How many fingers am I holding up?"

He doesn't give you a chance to answer.

"Three? No. Two? Yikes. It's worse than I thought." Wade stands, and the worry in his voice is poorly masked by his usual sarcasm. "Here we go. Up, up!" When he moves to pick you up, you start turning away, your body protesting every movement.

"Wade, wait—" you rasp, trying to stop him from touching you. Your voice is weak, barely above a whisper.

But it's too late. When he reaches for you, your body phases, a faint white glow surrounding you as his hands and arms fall through your body as if you're a ghost. He recoils, jumping back while a squeamish sound escapes his lips. He stares at you, then his hands, then back at you on the ground as you try to sit up again, confusion and amazement written all over his masked face.

"Oh. My. Motherfucking. Fuckballs." Wade gasped, eyes wide behind his mask. "Did my hand just go through you or is all that cocaine finally kicking in?"

You ignore him, holding onto your side as it throbs with pain. Every movement sends sharp, agonizing waves through your body. "Fuck."

"No way, you're a fucking mutant?" His tone is a mix of awe and excitement, like a kid discovering a new toy.

It's not like you kept it a secret. You used your abilities whenever you needed to, and sure, it was useful at times, especially in your line of work when you needed to get through locked doors and hidden rooms or just for the element of surprise. But it's draining. Leaves you winded after only a matter of seconds. You've always had a hard time controlling it when you're slightly delusional though. You must've hit your head really hard. Maybe that's why you haven't shot Deadpool, yet.

"Shut up, Wade."

"Hey, no need to be ashamed of it." He reassures you while trying to pick you up again. This time, he is more cautious, his movements slower and more deliberate. When he succeeds, you can tell he's grinning like a child underneath the mask.

He carries you back to the same fuckass car he hit you with, holding you with one arm under your knees, the other supporting your back. There's a faint skip to his step as if you're not on the verge of losing consciousness. While kicking open the back door, Wade continues his chatter, and you really wish he'd killed you on impact.

"Being a mutant is great! Plus, it's not the early two thousands anymore, or whatever timeline Stewart was in. Man, they sure did hate mutants in that trilogy."

He sets you down in the back seat gently, his hands surprisingly delicate. "You know, I always knew you were different. You hit me harder than regular people. I just figured you really hated me."

"I do." you mutter.

"Oh, my little sweet buns, I'm sure you do." To your annoyance, he pokes your nose playfully. "But you can't hate me too much right now, I'm literally your knight in shining armor. See, I can be nice, especially to my fellow mercs. You'd bleed to death if I left you there."

"Only because you hit me with a fucking car," you snap, the pain and frustration boiling over.

"Good to know you're still harboring great anger towards that. Means you're still conscious. Keep being mean to me, baby, that's how I'll know you're okay." He pauses before shutting the door, looking at you lying on the backseat, bleeding and all the glory that comes from it. "And it also turns me on a little bit. God, I can't believe your suit is torn and not one bit of extra cleavage is exposed. What will it take for a guy to get some rated R nudity over here?"

And with that, he slams the door shut, the car shaking with the force of it. The sound makes the ringing return to your ears, and you bite back the urge to curse him. He takes a seat in the driver's seat, starting the engine and rushing out of the scene before first responders arrive. The car roars to life, and as he speeds away, you feel your consciousness slipping, the pain and exhaustion overwhelming you.

The two of you sit in silence for the most part, only the sounds of the engine running and Wade humming the tune of a song you think is from The Greatest Showman soundtrack. You force yourself to stay awake. Mostly because you don't trust him, but it's also because you fear that if you let your eyes close you won't wake up again. Yeah, it's mostly because you don't trust Wade Wilson.

"Where are you taking me?" you finally ask, and you hate the way your voice sounds weak, barely above a whisper.

"Just a little safe house I know." He tells you, glancing back at you for a quick moment. "Very homey, trust me."

"What about the shipment?" you murmur, your mind struggling to stay focused.

"What?"

"The truck," you repeat, fighting to keep your eyes open.

"Oh, don't worry. That's no longer our problem." He says, "We're about to enter a whole new setting. That truck is forgotten plot."

Wade takes a sharp turn, and you wince as your body shifts uncomfortably in the back seat. The pain is getting worse, each bump in the road sending jolts of agony through your body. You grit your teeth, trying to stay conscious, but it's a losing battle.

After what feels like an eternity, the car finally comes to a stop. Wade gets out and you hear his footsteps crunching on gravel as he walks around to your door. He opens it carefully this time, his usual wiseass demeanour replaced by a rare show of genuine concern. He scoops you up gently, and you're too weak to protest.

The last thing you remember, before everything goes black, is the sight of a grand mansion looming ahead, its imposing silhouette framed by the moonlight. The large iron gates creak open as Wade carries you through them, the gravel path crunching under his boots. The mansion, with its towering spires and Gothic architecture, looks like something out of a fairy tale, a stark contrast to the violence and chaos you just escaped from.

When you wake up, the first thing you notice is the softness of the bed beneath you. The second thing you notice is the smell of lavender and the faint hum of medical equipment. You try to sit up, but a sharp pain in your side makes you gasp.

"Whoa, easy there," a deep, accented voice says from beside you. You turn your head slowly, the motion making your vision swim. A towering, metal-skinned mutant sits by your bed, his imposing figure softened by a look of genuine concern. "You need to rest. You are badly injured."

Your throat feels like sandpaper as you rasp, "Where am I?"

"The X-Mansion," he replies in a soothing tone, the accent heavy but comforting. "Wade brought you here. You’re safe now. I am Colossus."

You try to take in your surroundings, your head feeling heavy as you look around. The room is vast and elegant, with high ceilings that seem to reach the heavens. The walls are adorned with rich tapestries and framed paintings, depicting serene landscapes and grand historical scenes.

Large windows let in the soft, golden glow of morning light, casting gentle shadows that dance across the floor. It’s a far cry from the dingy, rundown places you’re used to, especially that old apartment with its creaky floors and peeling wallpaper.

Your eyes finally land on Wade, who is slouched in a chair in the corner. He’s flipping through a Playboy magazine with exaggerated interest, still in his dirty suit from the night before.

When he sees you stir, he grins and waves a hand in your direction. "Morning, sunshine," he says cheerfully, his voice carrying an unnerving mix of sincerity and teasing. "You gave us quite a scare. But, I've got to say, that hospital gown is doing wonders for your figure. I love the blue. Great contrast to that black you're always wearing."

You roll your eyes, too exhausted to respond properly. The gown feels scratchy against your skin, and every movement sends sharp pangs of pain through your body.

Colossus, noticing your discomfort, shifts slightly. "How are you feeling?" he asks, his voice deep and steady.

"Like I got hit by a truck," you mutter, sending a glare in Wade's direction.

Colossus chuckles, the sound deep and resonant, like rolling thunder. "Do not worry about him. We will take care of you."

Despite the throbbing pain and overwhelming fatigue, a wave of relief washes over you. For the first time in a long while, you're surrounded by people who genuinely want to help. You close your eyes, letting yourself sink into the softness of the bed. "Thank you," you whisper, the words feeling strangely comforting. For once, you don’t feel the need to be constantly on guard.

Wade's grin widens as he leans back in his chair, stretching his legs out and adjusting his mask. "Anytime, honeybuns. Anytime."

As you drift in and out of consciousness, you feel the cool, soothing touch of a wet cloth on your forehead. The gentle pressure is a welcome contrast to the persistent throbbing pain.

The sound of soft murmurs and quiet footsteps fills the room, creating a cocoon of calm around you. At some point, you notice Colossus's massive hands, surprisingly gentle, as he carefully tends to your wounds, applying bandages with precision.

Eventually, a teenager with short hair and a no-nonsense expression enters the room. You learn her name is Negasonic Teenage Warhead. She carries a phone in one hand, handing Colossus a stack of clean bandages with the other. The faint scent of antiseptic and medicinal herbs fills the air, mixing with the crispness of the freshly laundered bed linens.

Hours pass, or maybe it's days—it's difficult to gauge. When you next wake, the room is dimly lit, the golden light replaced by the softer hues of early evening. The pain has dulled to a manageable throb, and the heaviness in your limbs is slightly alleviated. Wade is still there, his previous outfit swapped for sweatpants and a dark green sweater, though he keeps his red and black mask on. He lounges in the chair beside your bed, now engrossed in an iPad, giggling softly to himself.

"Oh, man. Instagram reels are crazy," he snorts, shaking his head as he scrolls through the screen.

He looks up and hums when he sees you're awake again. "You're tougher than you look," he comments, turning off the iPad with a flick of his wrist. "Most people would have keeled over by now."

"You wish."

"Oh, trust me, I do." Wade nods vigorously, his mask bobbing with the motion. "I tried injecting poison into your IV, but your body rejected it."

"Don't worry. My handler will kill me for you."

Wade groans, dramatically rolling his eyes as he gets up from the chair. "You’re still worried about that? I already told you, the truck and all that shit is past plot. We’re in the sequel now, babe. There are new rules. Who knows, maybe this is your redemption arc where you join the X-Men. Though, I will miss your assassin era. You were so sexy in that suit."

You make a face, "Fuck off."

Just then, the door opens with a soft creak, and Colossus enters with a tray in hand. He’s followed closely by Negasonic, who carries a stack of fresh bandages. Colossus places the tray on a small table beside your bed with practiced ease. The tray is filled with a bowl of steaming soup and a couple of slices of crusty bread, the aroma wafting up and making your stomach rumble.

"How are you feeling?" Colossus asks, his voice calm and reassuring as he sets the tray down.

"Better," you admit, managing a small smile. "Thanks to you guys."

Negasonic shrugs nonchalantly, a small smile tugging at her lips despite her usual scowl. "Don’t mention it. Just doing our job."

Wade groans, clearly troubled by the kindness. "Oh great, now you’re all buddy-buddy. What am I, chopped liver?"

Colossus chuckles, the sound of a comforting rumble. "You must eat something. It will help you regain your strength."

You nod gratefully, and with Colossus’s help, you manage to sit up enough to sip the warm, comforting soup. The broth is rich and flavorful, and the bread is soft and fresh. As you eat, you can’t help but feel a strange sense of belonging. Despite the pain and the chaos, you’re surrounded by people who care, and for now, that’s enough.

Wade, not one to be left out, scoots his chair closer, setting it right next to your bed. He stretches out, propping his elbows on his knees as he leans in. "So, what do you think of the X-Mansion? Pretty swanky, right? Lots of rooms, big kitchen, danger room for training... and other things."

Negasonic scoffs, her eyes narrowing. "Gross."

You finish your meal, feeling a bit stronger. As Colossus helps you settle back into the bed, you glance at Wade. "Why did you bring me here?"

Wade’s expression shifts, becoming uncharacteristically serious. He looks at you with sincerity. "Because you’re one of us. And because... well, everyone deserves a second chance."

You blink, surprised by the depth of his words. Before you can respond, he’s back to his usual self, grinning and turning on his iPad. "Plus, it’s not every day I get to play hero. I gotta milk it for all it’s worth. And no, Colossus, I will not join your boy band, thank you very much."

The metal man grunts, waving a hand dismissively before walking out, Negasonic following right behind him. Wade stays seated next to you, his lips curled into a wide, amused grin that seems to stretch just a bit too far was he watches you.

"You're never gonna take that off?" you ask him.

Wade's laughter is a low, rumbling sound that feels almost too bright for the quiet room. "Oh, no fucking way," he says, his voice dripping with mock seriousness. "I wasn’t kidding when I said I’m ugly under this. Trust me. You’d be repulsed. Like, horror movie-level repulsed."

You give him a look, your eyebrow arched in disbelief. "I doubt it."

Wade leans in closer, the grin on his face widening. He taps his chin thoughtfully with a gloved finger, the gesture oddly contemplative. "Maybe next time I’ll take it off for you," he says, a taunting tone in his voice as he raises his brows. "Maybe that and a little more."

"There's a next time?"

"I mean, as the famous words of Natasha Bedingfield say: the rest is still underwritten."

"God, you’re fucking ridiculous," you mutter, the words coming out with a mix of exasperation and reluctant amusement. "I can’t wait to get out of here and never see you again."

Wade's shoulders slump, the white eyes of his mask narrow at you, "What, that's it? No steamy sex? No heavy petting? Is this how it ends? Not even a kiss?"

"Fuck no. Get out."

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[mo0nfairy]

ᥫ᭡ . # ۫ , ⸺ STREETS !

summary :: over 20 years of kenji’s life has been spent preserving the surviving scraps of innocence from his childhood. since then, he has been desperately searching for anything to fill the rotten void in his chest. when a news reporter gives him everything he could ever ask for by merely existing, kenji fears the man he may become without them near.

word count :: 8.3k

content warnings :: mdni! yandere!kenji, obsessive!kenji, g/n reader, blood/violence, alcohol, stalking, drugging, kidnapping, nausea/sickness, mentions of sex, use of ‘daddy’ honorific (but nothing sexually explicit occurs).

kenji sato's yandere traits are . . .

nurturing, heroic, & smothering

──── Over the course of his childhood, Kenji possessed the same desires every child had. The same wishes he’d whisper to planes he mistook for shooting stars.

He remembers climbing the blunt limbs of the oak tree in his backyard, pretending to be a hawk and searching the grass for any delicious rodents to sink his claws into. He can still feel the dirt under his fingernails when he’d get lost in the woods, pretending to be a tiger and barring his teeth to any predators after his kin. His only worries would consist of his next meal and where he'll settle in for the night, instead of the loneliness that resided back home.

However, as all stories go, Kenji grew up. As the years passed, though, the more constricting his grip became on this childhood dream. For every candle Kenji blew out, he only wished to be one with the great outdoors and rid himself of the expectations shoved upon him. As any child innocently wanted.

Now in adulthood, every candlelight snuffed out was a silent plea for peace. And so desperately, he is trying to protect the bird nest he intricately crafted. Woven with strands of his young, raven-black hair, chunks of sidewalk chalk, tufts of fur of his favorite stuffed animals — every forgotten, sacred piece of his childhood that still remains unscathed.

Year after year, the relentless abuse of the world and his responsibilities reign down on him, prying their violent, eager fingers into his beloved bird nest. Today, Kenji holds whatever scraps still remain close to his chest, nestling them beneath a canopy of creativity and everlasting hope. Protecting whatever bits of innocence and childlike luster that survive the weight of the world.

When he pictured his father’s role of Ultraman as a child, he imagined perseverance and bravery. Now with that title bequeathed to him, Kenji is anything but. He is clumsy, reckless, and negligent. The very last thing he wishes to do now is follow his father’s footsteps, but alas, he has been given no choice.

The Neronga waltzes through the city streets, exuding chaos with every step it strides. Tossing around chunks of buildings and fistfuls of debris. And begrudgingly, Kenji trails after it like a parent trying to tame their exuberant child. 

A booming roar echoes from the beast's throat, angry bolts of electricity sparking from its horn. One swift punch to its jaw and the creature is out cold, leaving miles of destruction and disorder in its demise. With the threat neutralized, now comes the clean-up. He plucks citizens like they are tiny dolls and drops them to safety, who all thank him profusely for his aid. All except one.

Several bystanders crowd over a pile of rubble, waving their hands in an attempt at garnering the attention of Ultraman. 

“Yeah, yeah. I’m coming, I’m coming…” Kenji mutters, stepping over passing cars as though they’re scatterings of colorful legos. 

Piece by piece, he brushes past the lumps of bricks and metal. Disinterred from beneath the rubble is you. Hauntingly beautiful in your unconscious state. 

“Oh…” He exhales breathlessly, chest rising and falling with rapid pants. 

And there it is. 

That canopy of creativity enveloping him; that bird nest suddenly overflowing with rebirth and life. Everything bursts in colors so prismatic, Kenji finds himself at an impossible balance between feeling weakly heavy and ecstatically light. Never has his soul been so completely satiated before, even in the brightest days of his childhood.

Love, that’s what this must be! Love, warmth, happiness — every inkling of light this world has to offer! How could he ever feel dejected again with this angel now in his-? 

“Your heart rate is spiking.” That familiar, robotic voice interrupts. “You know what happens when Ultraman gets stressed.” 

Like clockwork, his color timer blares in distressful hues of light blue and sharp red. Though, how could Kenji possibly pay attention to such trivial matters when he’s holding you in his hands? How could he pay attention to anything else? 

Unfortunately for his sake, reality tears him away from his entranced state by brute forcd. A blinding flash of white permeates the street and in a blink, Kenji has returned to his normal self. He is back to being the notorious baseball player, worldwide heartthrob, and, most notably, smaller than his heroic alter ego.

When he shifts his gaze up, he finds you descending from the grasp he once held you in. Just like the fearless prince in every child's imagination, he scurries to catch you before you meet the unforgiving ground.

When his bare hands meet your skin, a gasp is yanked from his chest. His heart lurches, obtaining speeds he did not deem possible. Even sprinting from base to base did not garner this physical reaction out of him. You just feel so good against him, so perfect. Like the missing puzzle piece he’s been tearing apart the house looking for, now within its respected place. Bound to be cemented there forever – that sounds good to Kenji. 

“Ken, they can see you!” Mina’s frantic voice interrupts once again. 

When he pulls his vision from you, he finds a collage of people begin to surround the adjacent area. Their mere gaze threatens to jeopardize his identity once and forevermore.

“I’m sorry, ‘m so sorry, baby.” Kenji whispers into your ear.

Pressing a hard kiss to your cheekbone and relishing at the sensation of your skin beneath his lips, he reluctantly guides your limp body atop of the rubble. A few final caresses to your warm flesh and he is scurrying off into the night, completely inconsolable with these brand new emotions. New emotions he fears terribly, but has now clasped all coherent function in his body.

A single week had passed since the city's last Kaiju attack. These several days have proven to be nothing short of torturous for Kenji.

He has been rendered miserable after latching onto the light he’s been chasing for years, only to have it torn from his hands like candy from a baby. All because he’s been forced into a gig he never signed up for. Kenji has lost the love of his life and nothing can reprimand the grief it has left behind. 

Through extensive, but fruitless effort, he has assigned Mina the task of dissecting all of Japan in search of you. With only a description of your face, coated with dirt and blood, there is very little the efficient robot can do. And once again, his desires are left to collect dust in the hollow corners of his soul.

Kenji now resides in his ‘man-cave’, as he so confidently calls it. “Healthy body, healthy mind.” Mina teases, displaying the assortment of coconut water stacked in the fridge. With a sigh of defeat, he takes a resentful sip and cringes at the horrid taste. His efforts to stuff his face with junk food like some heartbroken blonde in a chick-flick were rejected by Mina, as she is always pushing him to pursue greater health. Waving his white flag, he asks for Mina to just turn the TV on, searching for anything to mend the pain poisoning his heart.

“Ken. I wonder if you might consider taking a break.” Mina confesses. 

He stares at the robot, searching her metal face for reasoning.

“From TV?” 

“From finding that citizen.”

His face scrunches in disdain. 

Quit you? Is she serious? How could he ever do that? Could he even survive such a predicament? 

“Give up the one thing that puts a smile on my face?” Kenji questions. “Sorry. No. TV, please.”

Some sincere praise from saved citizens will surely fill the hole in his chest, he assumes. Help him in his efforts to protect that bird nest he cradles close. 

The TV flickers to life and presents Channel 7 News, the place in which Kenji is featured most on. Seeing his most recent work with a bold “WOUNDED NERONGA AFTER ULTRAMAN EXIT” beneath the scene granted no surprise to him. 

What does stun him into a defying silence is when the screen shifts and your face fills up the expanse. Bandage on your scalp and microphone in your hand, you inform viewers at home of the recent neutralized threat and your new status here on the channel.

“Well, this has been quite the warm welcome! I’ve just arrived here in Japan and I’ve already been greeted by the Neronga, evident in this bandage on my noggin’.” 

The coconut water in his mouth spews out like a sprinkler when Kenji spits out the beverage. He chucks the open can across the room, ignoring the stain it will inevitably leave on his lavish carpets.

“That’s them! That’s them, that’s them, that’s them!” He exclaims to Mina. 

Shuffling off the couch, he crawls over to the television as though his legs had completely given out beneath him. His hand caresses the surface where your cheek is. 

“Sources tell us you were rescued by Ultraman himself!” A news anchor speaks. 

“Yes, that is true. Unfortunately, I was a bit too woozy to thank him properly, but he did save my life. It is heroic acts like Ultraman that help keep this city alive.” 

Unbeknownst to you, your words made a certain baseball player melt into putty. Hearing your praises, even when it is probably written on a script behind the camera, is nothing short of heavenly. 

The anchors, third-wheeling between two soulmates, continue to blabber about other fresh events taking place in Japan. Pressing languid kisses to the fuzzy static, all Kenji can listen to, all he can focus on, is you. Every twitch of your brow, every curve of your skin, every stretch in your smile — it all has him mesmerized. Like a siren lulling a fisher into the sea, where he would dive straight into oblivion had it been you in the deep waves.

“This was Y/N L/N with Channel 7 News.” 

Your name sits like honey on his tongue. Sickeningly sweet and absorbing of every word. 

“Y/N, Y/N, Y/N, Y/N, Y/N.” He repeats your name like a magic spell, almost as if you’d manifest into existence had he whispered it enough.

“Signing off.” 

The screen cuts and you vanish from the screen, overtaken by irritating advertisements. As though you were physically there with him, Kenji reaches for you. Desperate to bring you, his Y/N, back into his unwavering embrace.

Now, if there is anything renowned about Ken Sato, it is his charm, which also serves as his most powerful superpower. So, with enough flexes in the mirror to give himself a good ego boost, his “put a ring on Y/N’s finger” plan has now ensued in full effect. 

The foundation of this plan resides in who you are, what intricacies and threadings course through such a marvelous creature. He demands Mina, stronger than he ever has before, to learn every little detail there is to know about you. There cannot be a stone left unturned. Kenji needs to know everything. 

And every fragment of information she delivers to him binds his presumption furthermore: you two were made for each other. You’re like a page torn straight from an ancient fairytale. Crafted by God himself to hold his hand. He’s sunk his fingers into your background, your dreams, your hobbies, and he has nestled them all into his bird nest, entwined with the elements of himself. Bound to remain at one another’s side for eternity.

To enlighten you on these matters, however, Kenji has to find clarity through the whirlwind of emotions overpowering his senses. Then, he is positive he’ll be granted the ability to finally speak to you. However, the thought alone is enough to send a sun-hot shiver down his spine. He’ll need some thorough caresses to his ego before he can garner the confidence to merely stand in the same room as you.

It certainly does not help when everyday is spent battling the intense waves of euphoria, obsession, and of course, the suffocating guilt.

He left you behind. He abandoned the one thing that matters most to him and nothing can atone for this mistake. All because of Ultraman being most imperative, which Kenji had been force-fed to believe. Never again will he choose his occupation over you. Or anything, for that matter. You outweigh everything in terms of vital importance. 

He begins these efforts with baby-steps. To start, he assigns Mina to leave expensive gifts upon your bed. Bouquets of flowers, lush clothing, rich chocolates, luxurious jewelry, action figures and plushies galore! All you have to do is look at something in the store for more than a picosecond and it’s wrapped in a bow for you the following day. You also cannot forget the amount of times you’ve arrived home to find your favorite meals freshly made on the kitchen table.

In your overworked, lethargic brain, you assume everything is left by your sweet, elderly landlord who misses her grandkids and needs a fresh face to spoil rotten. You just choose to ignore how the gifts are impossibly far out of her budget.

Miles away from you, Kenji is tearing himself apart as he assumes your lack of recognition to be rejection. He knew he should’ve purchased those shoes in a different color! What was he thinking buying you roses instead of carnations, God, how cliché can he be!? 

He should’ve known you wouldn’t lend him your heart in return for his riches. You are not that foolish or shallow; you’re far more meticulous than the greedy pigs he’s so accustomed to feeding. 

Kenji will not claim defeat yet, though. He is never one to waver so easily, especially when it is you that is the golden prize. If he cannot flaunt his riches, why not himself? The richest item of all? And if his money cannot slither himself into your heart, he is positive it can push him in the intended direction. 

He’ll leave lumps of cash in the hands of massive corporations, all to cast his face wherever it can reach. On billboards, on buildings, on blimps — whatever place you may possibly be. Inevitably, you will have no choice but to see his gorgeous face and fall head over heels with him. The same way you so easily made him fall for you. 

Unfortunately, though, there are not enough cans of coconut water or buckets of chicken drumsticks in the world to bring you to his doorstep, there to fall into his arms and promise forever at his side. Kenji has failed in claiming your heart as his, once again, but another failure is not nearly enough to get him to welcome defeat. Not when it is you he is promised, never when it is you.

From here, he’ll pursue grander efforts. You’ll be occupied in the studio, skimming through your lines while makeup artists poke and prod at you. A squeal of excitement will permeate through the expanse, shouting out for a man by the name of Ken Sato.

Loud rumbles echo through the city streets as Kenji revs the engine to his motorcycle, complemented by his famous hair-flip and heart-throbbing wink. And feverishly, he scrutinizes every face behind the window, desperate to see those gorgeous features smile and melt at the sight of him. Then, he can spring straight into your studio, gather you in his arms, and race off into the sunset with you. Just like the fairytale dream you deserve. 

But alas, the universe refuses to give him such a privilege. You’re too engrossed with the tasks at hand, not some money-obsessed athlete who adorns the walls of teenage girls across Japan. 

If he could hear your assumptions, he’d assure you are sorely mistaken. Kenji doesn’t want the accolades, the riches, the fame. He just wants you. The one who showed him what it truly meant to be wild; the one who showed him what it truly meant to be free. So desperately, he wants you to know this, as well. To feel it with every beat your heart passes, to feel it imprinted in your skin with every kiss and caress he leaves. He could lose everything, just not you. God, not you. 

The man is speeding off with the pieces of his shattered heart before you can even process what had even occurred.

Kenji, once again, is met with another revelation. If it is not his name that can bring you into his embrace, then maybe it is his second self, the one you so wholeheartedly praise for his heroic acts.

Dressed in these ridiculous garbs, Ultraman leads danger towards your direction to “save” your life, all other innocent bystanders be damned. These efforts do not ever bridge on being dangerous. Merely a quick scare or two. And it definitely pays off, oh, does it pay off. Watching the fear in your eyes ease into relief at the sight of him never fails to get him numb with rapture.

“Fear not, citizen! Kenj- I mean, Ultraman will save you!” 

The last occasion he ever abused his role consisted of an orchestrated car accident. Nearly caught in the crossfire, you ever-so-gracefully dove away from the scene and skidded your knee in the process. A thundering “NO! BABY!” rings through the air. So absorbed in adrenaline, you do not even process the volume of the sound. 

What does grasp your attention is Ultraman taking you into his hand and lifting you far, far away from the ground. You ensnare yourself around his finger in response, clinging to him like a lifeline. Kenji melts from the action, as well as the underlying implications. You, relying on him, your silver-armored prince, for protection — that is everything he could ever wish for sat right in the palm of his hands. 

“Shh… It’s okay. You’re gonna be okay… Daddy’s here…” 

The words, shaky as they are, fall from his mouth like water through a cracked dam. It’s all just so easy, assuring you of his protection and comfort. The only way of preventing him from caring for you is to end his life. And Kenji has a lot of fight in him before he’ll allow himself to be separated from you.

You remain in his hands until an ambulance arrives. For the umpteenth time, he is forced to let go of you again. He cannot hide the perceptible agony it brings him to watch you rely on somebody else for aid. 

One day, it will be him, he assures himself. One day.

In the meantime, your rejection continues to take a heavy toll on him. Kenji is now famished without you, emaciated and starved to the bone. In some feeble attempt at satiating this hunger, he’ll try to find these fragments of you in others. He will drink himself ill then bring a blurry face to bed, all to shake the memory of you out of his head. These efforts, once more, only result in failure.

This time around, a harrowing guilt rots in his chest. There is no one else like you, he should’ve seen it clear as day. Kenji was a fool to ever think there could be. Now, he has cheated on the one who matters most to him. And there is nothing to placate the anguish he’s tormented by.

This perceptible ruination does not go unnoticed by journalists, either, who do not waste the opportunity of an eye-grabbing headline. Articles about him flood the web, detailing his miserable failures out on the field. Crawling to base seconds too late, sprinting directly into walls, and receiving more strikes than anyone can count — Kenji and the famous Sato name are falling apart by the seams.

He examines the glistening trophies and signed baseball cards in another attempt at protecting his ego and its butchered remains. None of it is enough, though. None of this success is notable without you at his side.

In a fit of rage, he throws his Giants helmet against the basement floors, landing with a harsh thud.

“They reject me? Ken Sato!? Best baseball player of all time!? The one and only Ultraman!?” 

His poor helmet is victim to his abuse, once more, as he leans all his might into a forceful kick. 

“Nobody can resist Ken Sato!” 

Another attempt at thrashing around in anger results in his knees buckling beneath him, sending his body to the cold ground. That was the final failure Kenji needed to break down into a sobbing fit. Head buried in his palms, he begs, pleads, for mercy. 

“I… I’m doing my best, okay? God!”

His body curls into itself, like pathetic prey trying to protect itself.

“I buy you everything you want, I save your life again and again, I-” 

Kenji cuts his tangent short by choking on a gagged cry. His fist clenches over his heart, overwhelmed from the sheer pain the organ is enduring. His chest stutters and twitches from the force of his blubbering. Globs of snot and spit gush across down his face, some clumps managing to pervade across his tongue.

“Ken? Are you crying?” A monotone voice speaks. 

“No! I’m… Not crying!” 

His coughing whimpers and wet face reveal the truth. Weakness is something he was taught to be ashamed of, after all. What kind of man would he be if he let himself crumble over such petty matters? Would you ever fall for him after witnessing such a dramatic sight?

“Want me to load up Y/N? That might make you feel better.” 

A few snivels through the silence and Kenji answers her. “Yeah… Yeah, I-I’d really like that…”

Maybe this is what he needs, just a few hits of his favorite drug to keep him in stable condition. Then, he’ll utilize the newfound strength to revive his honor, finally earning your affection in the end.

Pixels unfold in varying colors across the ground, spreading across the walls and ceiling like a reaching wave. The scene overtaking the basement now displays a romantic scene. Cherry blossom trees dance with the warm wind, petals drifting through the Spring air. A grand waterfall descends from a moss-covered mountain and leads to a river, where fish swim along with the stream. As he stands to his feet, Kenji finds himself at an arched bridge stretching over the river as the gentle melodies of nature sing around him.

When his gaze drifts around, he feels his heart practically plummet into the pit of his stomach when he sees you. Leaning over the wicker barrier and tossing out handfuls of kibble for the hungry fish.

Turning over your shoulder, you look up at Kenji with those glittering eyes, causing his breath to get caught in his throat. To make matters even worse for Kenji’s weak self, your face then breaks out into a candy-sweet smile. You are so innocently oblivious to how you’ve reduced his heart rate to an old engine, stuttering miserably. That smile could make even the devil repent, he’s sure of it. With luminosity like that, the greatest evils would have no choice but to succumb to their contrition.

Dusting your hands off, you frolic over to where Kenji stands. A lighthearted giggle escapes past your lips in the process, nearly bringing him to tears from how precious the sight is. Your hand slips into his and he might as well have crossed the pearly gates of heaven. Fuck, why hasn’t he made Mina do this before?

“Come on! Come feed the fishies with me!” You cheer in that captivating tone. That adoring voice could ask so sweetly for death and he’d deliver you buckets of blood. Just keep talking to him like that.

The impact you have on him is so immense, in fact, Kenji falls to his knees. The throbbing ache that his fall courses through his body might as well have been background noise, not when his senses are overwhelmed with how blissful your presence is.

His arms enclose around your legs, burying his face into your fuzzy sweater. With an amused hum, you sink your hands into his dark locks. The gesture makes him dizzy with elation. Spinning around the merry-go-round of devastating jubilation.

“Tell me you love me.” Kenji whines, his sensitive voice muffled against your stomach. 

With another giggle that squishes his gooey heart, you respond.

“I love you, Ken.” 

… Ken? 

No! No, you wouldn’t call him that! 

You’d call him Kenji, or better yet, you’d conjure up some adorable nickname in that witty head of yours. Anything but Ken; anything but what everyone else sees him as. 

And just like that, the fantastical facade shatters and reveals what really lies beneath. None of this is real. As much as he wishes it would be, as much as he’d throw away everything for you to be beside him in this moment, all of this is merely a figment of his imagination.

“No! You’re not real! Y/N- They would never-!”

The tears return and leave his body through broken wails. Once again, he has been forged into a mess of cracked hiccups and ground-shattering sobs.

His clenched fist meets the solid ground, piercing pain invading his entire arm from the impact. The punch was thrown far from where you stand. Even as a hologram, Kenji cannot bear to hurt you. He couldn’t wish violence upon you even if he wanted to. 

The dreamscape stood before him crumbles as quickly as it was formed. Darkness spreads once again and the romantic scene of cherry blossoms and fish kibble fades away. A physical manifestation of what he has become without you present.

Chasing after a sliver of your attention has now thrust Kenji into a staggering state of despair. His sob playlist shakes his house with its ear-splitting volumes, pushing more tears down his face while he stuffs his mouth with donuts. 

The weight of the pain pushes him toward drastic measures, as he is now a hollow shell of who he used to be. Measures he assured himself he would never come to, but has inevitably crashed landed in.

If you do not fall for his riches, his charm, his fame, then Kenji will just have to… “persuade” you towards that goal.

Cameras flash and flicker in his face as he charms his way through another press conference of millions. Only this time, he has ground-breaking news to share. 

“Fans have seen you blow supposed kisses to someone outside the venue. Is there a special someone in your life?” 

Directly across the field is your studio, but he will not tell others this fact. It is his duty to protect you, after all. But, scattering a few breadcrumbs won’t hurt anyone.

“Yes. Yes there is.”

The room erupts in hushed gasps and the rushed scribbling of pens. Another wave of questions tumbles toward Kenji’s way.

“They mean everything to me. I owe all my success to Y/- I mean, my baby.” 

A knowing smirk grows on his face. The Sherlock’s of the internet will surely connect the dots. Netizens will also fawn over how misty-eyed he became speaking of you, while others will rage in jealousy over their dream man falling for someone else. No matter what occurs, he will protect you during your sudden shift to fame. You have his word on that.

Days later, Kenji receives an email. And he almost considers admitting himself into a hospital for the near heart attack he receives upon reading it. 

Signed by none other than Y/N L/N, you ask him to meet with you in order to “clear the air” and “sort out this drama”. 

Several times, he scans the username to find some sort of fault, something that shows him it is just the works of an envious hater. However, his suspicions are never confirmed. The message is purely and undoubtedly you, no online troll or basement hologram in sight!

Without another second to waste, he responds to your email with a place and time, that being two hours from now. Kenji intends on fulfilling his role of the dashing boyfriend and to drive you there himself, flaunting his sumptuous motorcycle in the process. Mina, however, has since been programmed to detect every potential danger in your path, even something as minor as a crack in the pavement. When she displayed the graphic results of recent biking accidents, his heart lurched in his chest.

For now, he will simply have to meet you at the luxuriant restaurant he booked the best table for. In the future, he will convert to safer forms of transportation and your foot will never touch a pedal again. Not with your prince charming around.

Arriving an hour early, Kenji bursts through the bathroom doors and wipes the beads of sweat seeping down his face. All the makeup and detail he put into his appearance, all melted to a mess because of the anxiety you pump through his body. 

It is almost comical. He, Ken Sato, is nervous? He’s done the classic dinner-date over a zillion times, delivering his suggestive pick-up lines and swift winks. Staring at his exasperated face in the mirror, he is at a loss of where to go from here. What will he even say? What famous lines can he use? How can he give you his black card and a copy of his house key without you running away? 

Kenji finally sits down at the reserved table, located on a far balcony and looking over the grand city. His wristwatch blares red and presents the stack of missed calls from his dad, of which he willfully ignores. He went twenty years without his father and survived. Meanwhile, he went one week without you and thought he was on the cusp of death. He cannot bring himself to care about anything else. Not when he’s finally got a hook on you.

A waiter then asks him if he was feeling alright, concerned over the sight of his pale skin, shivering body, and twiddling thumbs. Kenji assures the man he is alright as he restlessly taps his foot, stalking the door ahead for the face he loves most to saunter through. The building could just about crumble to ash and he’d still sit here, waiting for your arrival.

And just like a movie, you pass the threshold and rob all the air from his lungs. 

You merely walk his way, but to him, you resembled a fawn frolicking through a green meadow, an angel wandering across roads of fluffy clouds. Those sporadic nerves die at the sight of you, rendering him to a melted pile of twitterpated nonsense. You tread closer and closer and closer and Kenji does not know how much more his body can handle before you completely dissolve him into a puddle.

“You have five minutes.” 

Your voice perfuses into his ears like birdsong, real and raw this time. That noise greeting him every morning is the only wish he’d ask from a magic genie. 

“Wh-Wh-?” He stutters like a lovesick loser, mentally slapping himself across the head for such a pathetic introduction.

“I said you have five minutes to explain yourself. Then, I will le-” 

“I love you.”

Surprise eases out your scrunched expression. You’ve never met this man before. Yet here he is, spewing out this gibberish. All of this has to be some form of joke, you assume. Where those irritating Youtube pranksters will sprint out from their hiding spots and shove their cameras in your face, cackling like hysterical hyenas.

“I am in love with you.” 

Maybe this is just his way of leading partners into bed with him. A powerful effort to add another name to his lengthy body count. And for whatever reason, he plans to jot down your name on that list.

“And you are worth more to me than anything.” 

You scrutinize his face for some inkling of rationality, something to explain what the fuck he means by that. Your efforts prove to be futile, as those teary, doe-eyes peer into your soul with nothing but sheer, unadulterated devotion. As though you were both fresh newlyweds enjoying the luxury of your honeymoon, complemented by the glimmer of your new wedding rings.

“Okay.” You swallow dryly, unease bleeding through your body. “You get another five minutes to explain yourself. On one condition.”

Kenji perks up at your proposition as though you had offered your hand in marriage. 

“Yes! Yes, whatever you want!” 

The man in question ponders over what riches you could ask him for and how elated he’d be to give you them. Taking you on shopping sprees and serving as your adoring husband, paying every penny and carrying your bags for you while you peruse to your liking. Just say the word, maybe flutter those pretty lashes, and he’ll personally deliver the very planet into your hands.

“I want you to leave me be.” 

If it weren’t for the fact this man was a complete stranger, you’d feel a sting of guilt over the perceptible emotion that washes over his face. Kenji anticipated the demand of clothes, foods, travel tickets, of which he would gleefully fulfill. Not this. Anything but this. 

“Alright, f-for how long? 10 minutes? 20?” 

“Forever.” 

You might as well have surged your fist into his chest cavity and torn his heart out, stomping out the ba-bump beneath the force of your boots. You might as well have climbed the tree behind his childhood home and ambushed his bird nest, tearing apart the array of twigs and squishing the healthy eggs. You might as well have just killed him right then and there, as nothing could pain him more than such a fate. Forever without the one he loves most is a life you couldn’t pay him to suffer through.

His bottom lip begins to tremble, stomach gurgling with nauseated shock. A few gags masked by coughs go unnoticed by you, as you could’ve sworn you saw a bright flash of white in the distance. Did someone… Take a picture? 

“... What’s wrong, baby? What are you looking at, huh?” 

Shifting your gaze back to Kenji, you find his features sheen with sweat and sickly-green from the queasiness you’ve forced upon him. What you especially notice is the accent of smugness beneath it all, etched into the smirk stretched across his lips.

Hushed whispers in the distance accelerate in volume, until the entire restaurant erupts in flashing lights.

Paparazzi!? What the fuck are they doing here!? 

Kenji leans back into the chair and slings an arm around the back post, seemingly posing for the photographers invading your conversation.

“Oh, no! We’ve been caught! The horror! Whatever will we do now that our secret is out…?”

If it weren’t for the sake of your career, you would’ve socked that smile clean off his face. Maybe even knock out a few teeth while you’re at it.

Critics have now officially cleared the name of Ken Sato due to his recent spike in excellent performance. Sports commentators even toss around jokes of how Sato’s new partner has knocked some sense into him.

Another game of hundreds and the cologne of arrogance around Kenji could suffocate the entire arena. A recent report detailed by you is casted on the billboard outside your studio. He blows yet another kiss your way as he jogs onto the field, ignoring the shouting fans who seethe with envy. He has made it official across the nation that his heart is sewn into your hands. And not even God could level the happiness coursing through his body. 

That is, until an uninvited visitor opens his mouth. The Swallows catcher begins to taunt him about his lover on the big screen, unaware of the lethal consequences it would harbor.

“You let the team hit, Sato? Shit, I might talk to coach about a transfer so I can get a piece of th-” 

The baseball bat in Kenji’s hands collides with his jaw before he can finish his sentence. 

Several more plunges into his skull and a swarm of teammates swarm around to break apart the scene. The crowd is alive with excited hollering, drowning out the noise of the blood-stained threats Kenji barks his way, strings of saliva spurting from his mouth like some feral mutt. 

The onslaught of players quickly, albeit with struggle, overpower him, successfully retrieving the weapon from his grasp. The edges of his manicured nails dig into the meat of his palms, forming maroon crescents in his flesh. Blind with rage, more threats that will surely put him behind bars are screeched into the air.

A few harsh yanks from the group of men and Kenji is finally pried from the catcher. He is dragged off the field past the rushing paramedics before he can fulfill his promises.

“And now it looks like there are words being exchanged between Sato and the Swallows catcher... Oh! Oh, no. We haven’t seen a brawl like this in a long time! Both benches have cleared. They’re throwing punches…” 

Soothing his sore muscles in an ice bath, Kenji watches the recording of his public meltdown with trepidation. Your eyes are not far and surely, you will bear witness to the violence his hands are capable of. He fears you daring to think he will treat you as such and his chest aches from the thought alone.

All he wants at this moment is to tear down the door to your apartment, take your precious face into his hands, and speak the utter truth as he assures you he will never bring harm to you. He’ll inform you of the context of the fight and what sparked such a reaction out of him. Then, you’ll thank him profusely for his heroic defense and drown him in your sugar-sweet kisses. Just like he has dreamt of every night, often waking up in the morning with his puckered lips against his knuckles.

Now, however, Kenji has surely destroyed any chances of gluing you to his side forever. You resent him for that stunt he pulled at dinner, and now, you are afraid of what he and his baseball bat may do. The ongoing success of Ken Sato has crashed and burned, resulting in the loss of what he cared for most.

“Ken!” Mina calls out to him. “I have something to show you!” 

Assuming it is another plan of millions to stamp the title of ‘lover’ all over you, he rushes out of the bath and throws his clothes on. Venturing into the basement, he is met with the very last thing he expected.

The containment unit has been raised. Inside is you, fast asleep with a bow on your head. Wearing just his jersey and holding onto a plushie designed after himself. 

“Surprise!”

Mina’s robotic arms stretch out, presenting the gift she captured retrieved for Kenji.

In addition to your permanent presence, the containment unit has been extensively decorated. The adornments are all pink and fluffy, like a cloud draped over a sunset. A circle-shaped bed is strung above the ground, supporting the weight of you and the mess of plushy comforters. It rocks you from side-to-side like a fussy baby who skipped out on naptime.

The scent of lavender pervading the air eases you into a deeper slumber. Tranquil white noise hums from the surrounding speakers, suffusing with the sounds of a light rainstorm. There are even holograms of shimmering stars and a full moon hovering over you, like some colossal mobile strung above a crib. Among the stars is a constellation, of some sort, that reads “Y/N SATO” in glittering letters.

And poor Kenji doesn’t know if he wants to beat Mina into shambles of wires or give her as many HTTP cookies her synthetic heart could ask for. For now, he is too woozy to make a coherent decision regarding her well-being. As he stated before, you always remain of utmost importance.

“My God…” He gasps out through stuttering breaths. 

His heart pounds so violently, he can barely hear the sound of his own voice over the persistent thumping. Kenji wobbles over to you as though he had just stood on his two legs for the very first time. He is almost positive there is a certain air suffusing from your body, entering his bloodstream and choking him with fervent stress. Every step forward renders his body weaker and weaker.

Images then begin to haunt his mind, preceding what may happen in minutes time. Kenji sees your weeping face, crying to release you from this bird cage. He can hear the thundering volume of your voice declaring you will never fall in love with him, how you’ll soon vanish and leave him to forever rot in solitude.

The emotions these thoughts garner stir in his gut like a meal that doesn’t agree with him. Gags poke and prod at his throat, threatening to release the butterflies fluttering around his stomach. A glob of bile then spurts from his mouth and splats against the floor. Kenji, horrified and sick with worry, races away from the scene before he spills his guts in front of you and humiliates himself even further.

What on Earth is he meant to do now?

When you finally awaken, you’re convinced you’ve been melted into jelly. Maybe even restrained in a tank of thick oil. Limbs weak at wet spaghetti, you cling to any fragments of energy in your system as you try and discern your environment. 

“Well, look who woke up!” A female voice greets you. “Do you want to see daddy?” 

Something globe-shaped hovers around the barrier you’ve been ensnared in. If it weren’t for your groggy state, you’d verify it to be a robot and not a talking basketball. 

“’Daddy’? What the hell are you talking about?” Your confused voice protrudes broken and sluggish, still stained with the sleep you’ve just woken from. 

A screen forms above you and before your distorted vision, you find the very last sight you wished to see. Ken Sato, your own personal parasite, sits stiff in the living room just upstairs. Bouncing his leg in an anxious rhythm, he seems to be engrossed by a video on his laptop. As you listen further, the contents become more distinguishable.

“When the moment is right, lean into your partner slowly and tilt your head to avoid bumping noses.” 

The robot clears her throat in an attempt at grasping his attention, but fails to do so.

“Close your eyes and let your lips connect naturally. Match the pattern of your partner to-” 

Another noise of acknowledgment from the robot and Kenji’s attention is finally held. Barely, that is.

“What, Mina?” He answers curtly, eyes refusing to part from the information he is currently absorbing.

“Someone is waiting for you down here.”

In all the years you’ve lived on this planet, you don’t think you’ve ever seen someone move so fast before. Not only did Mina’s words arouse a visceral reaction out of Kenji, but they practically shoved him off the couch from the sheer force of her insinuations. His foot even gets caught behind a chair leg and causes him to land splat on his face, but this is not nearly enough to deter his acceleration. 

The screen you were studying then folds into itself as an elevator descends from above. Through the cyan, blurred exterior, you see the frame of no other than Ken Sato. The doors open a mere inch before the man in question is squishing himself through the tight space. Always the acrobat he is, he gracefully trips onto his face, once again, before clumsily scrambling to his feet.

Now, you’re given the ability to absorb his appearance. Messy locks of black hair lack their normal gelled accentuation. Dark eyes are blown wide as though he were some feral animal. Tan arms are covered in red scratches from the relentless, anxious scratching he abused his flesh with.

The bold ‘ICON’ on his shirt mocks you. Is that what he is? Is that what he expects you to perceive him as? Would an ‘icon’ do such a thing like this?

You ponder over how much time has passed since you’ve been brought into this horrid basement, how much time has passed before friends and family have deemed you missing.

Kenji knows the answer to your questions. It had only been a day; twenty-four full hours of crazed, restless worry. He even skipped out on the championship for this moment, just to ensure you remained safe in the basement. He trusts Mina, of course, but he cannot rely on her to restrain you. The grasp he has on you is dangling by a thread, worn thin by his own stupid antics from before. 

He knows now that if you were to take one step out the door, you’ll be gone forever. And Kenji will die before he allows that to happen. 

Meanwhile, you’re still trying to garner pieces of your memory together. After returning to your apartment from a hectic day at the studio, you allowed yourself to indulge in the hot meals always waiting for you at your kitchen table. Normally, you’d chuck them in the garbage out of distrust. Tonight, however, you were so overwhelmed with lethargy, you couldn’t conjure enough energy to cook yourself a meal. So, the magic dinner-fairy would receive your blessing in the meantime.

One bite in and you were out like a light, oblivious to what exactly is waiting for you once you wake.

What was waiting for you now dashes toward the edge of your dog kennel, as you’d describe it. Kenji places a hand to the surface and his forehead lands against the wall with a light thud. His quickened, gasping breaths fog the glass. He does not leave even a centimeter between himself and the barrier separating both of you. The legs that have scored him more wins for the Giants than any other played in history suddenly grow weak, trembling as they try to support his weight. 

Kenji’s half-lidded gaze is devoted to you only. A curl forms between his brows from the fervency of his emotions the longer he stares. His cheeks go red as two ripe cherries while he just stands and watches, all dewy-faced and blushing.

“Lower the containment unit.” He pants breathlessly, the sheer tone of love drooping from every syllable that parts from his mouth. Like pockets of honey seeping from a honeycomb. 

“Ken. That might be a bad idea. We cannot anticipate how they will react.” 

He presses lazy kisses against the glass as her words go through one ear and out the other. Ignoring her warning, he assures her of these concerns.

“I got ‘em, I got ‘em… My baby…”

To your horror, the walls plummet and grant this monster full access to where you lie. Kenji collapses, again, not realizing he had been leaning his full weight against the walls of the containment unit. This sudden intrusion causes you to flinch and you crawl away from him, attempting to shield yourself beneath the thick covers. 

Body shivering with feverish need, his hand grasps onto the corner of the mattress to stabilize himself. Mere inches away from your foot. His chin lifts to look your way, his eyes only needing to bathe in the sight of you forever. Within his irises, you find swirling pools of darkness illuminated by specks of glitter. Sparkling for you and you alone. 

A smile pokes at Kenji’s lips, bright and formidable, before he addresses your sour expression. 

“Aww, why the long-face? Is my baby hungry, maybe?” 

At the foot of the bed, a fraction of the floor folds open and rises a platter. On this platter is an array of all your favorite foods. Snacks, candies, sodas, juices, whatever your heart could possibly desire. Mina has correlated an all-you-can-eat buffet just for you. Similar to the dishes left for you back in your apartment.

As it spins, displaying every inch and corner of its delicious offerings, you curl further into yourself. You do not want nourishment, you want to leave! To part from this maniac and never hear of his name again! 

With your refusal to eat, Kenji determines the reason behind your dismay to be because of him. Or, in his egotistical brain, the lack of him. The works of an absurdly large ego, you’d surmise. 

“Do you… Do you need… Me?” The hope in his voice is akin to a child in disbelief over receiving surprise tickets to Disneyland.

And Kenji just melts from how gut-wrenchingly adorable you are. By simply existing, you’re yanking at his heartstrings like a puppeteer, guiding him further and further towards the edge of sanity. With eyes peering up at him like that, he’ll welcome the predicament warmly.

“Oh… I’m right here, baby. Daddy won’t leave you.” He coos in your ear, the warm cadence practically oozing into your brain. 

Still overwhelmed with exhaustion, you do not have a morsel of strength left in your body to fight off his affections. Despite how desperately you wish to. Instead, you have to remain pliant as Kenji guides you onto your back, soothing and shushing you as you sink further into the plush surface.

Tearing his shirt from his body, the loss of the ‘icon’ status, he crawls beneath the opulent covers with you. His arm snakes around your waist, while the other cradles your cheek. Hands shuddering and heart pattering as he presses himself against your back, he wonders how he had not simply died right in this moment. You’re too perfect. It’s too much for his poor heart to take. Cupid may as well have discarded the pink-hued arrows and plunged a knife straight into his chest.

Kenji leaves an array of kisses on the back of your neck as you drift back into a tranquil slumber. All those wishes he set on shooting stars have finally returned and placed you directly in his beloved bird nest. All to stay at his side forever.

All to never leave.

⁺ 🎧 , 🪷 you are currently listening to . . . ⁺ 🪺 , 🎵 ꪆ

❝ WHY CAN'T I FIND

NO ONE LIKE YOU . . . ? ❞

gif creds .

[kateschi]

into the ashes

synopsis: amid the chaos of flames and debris, dabi bares witness to you getting injured. he does not like it.

pairing: dabi x f!reader

⊹ ࣪ ˖ notes: behold i have forced my bestie into liking him

the air reeks of smoke and burnt metal, debris scattering across the alley as another explosion rocks the street. you’re cornered, body trembling from the impact, struggling to regain your footing.

blood trickles down your arm from a gash on your shoulder, and the sharp sting makes your vision blur for a moment.

dabi stands a few feet away, eyes locked on the thug who had dared to strike you. his entire frame is tense, shadows dancing across his scarred skin, the blue flames licking at his fingertips ready to erupt.

he doesn’t even glance your way at first—his gaze is trained solely on the scum in front of him.

"you’re going to regret that," he says, voice low and lethal, a dark promise wrapped in fire.

the thug grins, clearly underestimating the depth of dabi’s rage. but you can see it—the way his blue eyes darken, how the flames around him burn hotter, more unstable.

there’s no room for banter now, no time for him to throw his usual sarcastic remarks. the second you hit the ground, his entire focus narrowed to one thing: absolute destruction.

but as much as his fury is directed outward, there’s something more dangerous in his posture—something sharp and suffocating in the way his hands shake, just barely under control.

for once, he’s not just mad. he’s terrified.

"dabi—" you start, trying to push yourself up, the pain shooting through your side forcing you back down.

he whirls around at the sound of your voice, and for a split second, you see something in his eyes that you’ve never seen before.

it’s brief, but the fear is there, raw and unchecked, the kind of fear that cracks through the facade he wears so well. his lips curl back into a snarl, but the flames flicker dangerously as he rushes toward you, the thug all but forgotten in that moment.

"don’t move." his voice is harsh, sharper than usual, but there’s an edge of desperation beneath it. "just—stay still, alright?"

you blink up at him, dazed, but you manage a weak nod. he kneels beside you, one of his hands hovering just above your wound, hesitating.

his touch is scorching, his quirk on the verge of slipping out of control, and he knows it. the last thing he wants is to hurt you more.

"fuck…" his breath comes out in a shaky exhale as he forces himself to calm down, though the fury in his eyes hasn’t diminished.

"you—you're so goddamn stubborn, you know that?" his voice wavers for a second, betraying the vulnerability he’s trying so hard to conceal.

you manage a faint smile despite the pain. "takes one to know one."

his lips twitch, almost forming a smile, but the moment is fleeting as the sound of movement snaps his attention back to the thug behind him. instantly, his entire demeanor changes.

his hand slips away from yours, blue flames surging to life once more, but this time, they’re different—brighter, hotter, more dangerous. the air around him pulses with a terrifying heat, and the ground beneath his feet begins to blacken.

"you think you can touch her and walk away?" dabi’s voice is venomous now, dripping with pure hatred. "I’ll burn you until there’s nothing left."

there’s no mercy in him anymore, no restraint. you can barely keep up with what happens next as he moves in a blur, his flames surging forward like a wildfire.

you can hear the thug’s screams as dabi unleashes the full force of his power, the blue fire consuming everything in its path.

the heat is suffocating, but you can’t look away. you’ve seen dabi angry before, but this is something else entirely.

this is him unhinged, relentless, the raw intensity of his emotions laid bare for the world to see. it’s terrifying and yet… there’s a twisted kind of beauty in it, in how fiercely he fights for you.

in minutes, it’s over.

the alley falls silent, save for the crackling of dying flames, and dabi stands amidst the ashes of what used to be the thug. his chest rises and falls heavily, his skin gleaming with sweat, but his eyes find you immediately.

without a word, he’s back at your side, kneeling down, his hand reaching for yours again. his fingers are still warm, but gentler now, as though he’s scared you’ll break under his touch.

"don’t you ever—" his voice is hoarse, ragged with emotion. "don’t you ever get hurt like that again."

there’s no teasing this time, no snide remark to hide behind. his grip tightens, not enough to hurt but enough to let you know just how much this is affecting him.

he doesn’t want to say the words, doesn’t want to admit just how deep you’ve gotten under his skin, but it’s there, in the way he holds onto you like he’s scared you’ll slip away.

you give his hand a gentle squeeze, offering him the only comfort you can in that moment. "I’m okay, dabi."

his jaw clenches, and he shakes his head. "you’re not. and that’s the problem."

for a moment, he just sits there, staring down at your intertwined hands. his flames have finally receded, the heat dissipating, leaving only the cool night air around you both.

when he speaks again, his voice is quieter, almost vulnerable. "I can’t—" he stops himself, frustration flashing across his face as if the words themselves are too hard to say. "I can’t watch you get hurt. not you."

it’s not an outright confession, but it’s close. as close as dabi can get. and in the way his hand trembles slightly in yours, in the way his gaze softens, just for you, you realize that maybe that’s enough.

for now.

kofi — navigation — masterlist

do not copy, translate, or plagarize

[doumadono]

✨ SINFUL SUNDAY BITCHES ✨

Can we get some villain Bakugo corrupting pro hero reader?

Warnings: smut w/o plot, non-con elements, rough smut, pussy fingering, cunnilingus, creampie, fem prohero!reader, villain!Bakugo, semi-public, a bit of humiliation and degradation?, Bakugo being sardonic, a little of power play, forced orgasm

A/N: this request got the second highest number of votes during another Sinful Sunday poll I held. Thank you to everyone who voted!

SINFUL SUNDAY MY HERO ACADEMIA

The night was cloaked in darkness, the moon a mere sliver in the sky, casting a faint glow over the bustling city below. Neon lights flickered, casting eerie glows on the wet pavement. The quiet murmur of the city was interrupted by distant sirens, a reminder of the ever-present danger lurking in the shadows.

You were a pro hero, dedicated and unwavering in your resolve to protect the citizens of Musutafu. You stood atop a high-rise building, your heart pounding in your chest as you scanned the streets for any sign of the notorious villain who had been wreaking havoc recently. Katsuki Bakugo, once a promising hero-in-training, had taken a dark turn, abandoning his dreams of heroism to embrace a path of destruction and chaos. 

Your mission tonight was clear: apprehend Bakugo and bring him to justice. But as you stood there, the cold wind biting at your skin through your costume, you couldn't shake the unease that settled in your stomach. Bakugo was known for his explosive temper and unparalleled strength, and you had a feeling this encounter would be anything but easy.

Suddenly, a deafening explosion echoed through the night, shaking the building beneath your feet. You spun around, your eyes wide as you spotted the source of the blast: a plume of smoke rising from a nearby warehouse. Without hesitation, you leapt from the rooftop, and  made your way towards the chaos.

As you approached the warehouse, you could see the flicker of flames licking at the sky, the acrid scent of burning metal and debris filling your nostrils. You landed gracefully, your boots hitting the ground with a soft thud. The warehouse was in ruins, chunks of concrete and twisted metal scattered around the area. And in the midst of the destruction, standing amidst the flames like a demon from the depths of hell, was no one else but Katsuki Bakugo.

He turned to face you, a wicked grin spreading across his face as he recognized you. "Well, well, well," he drawled, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Look who decided to show up. A little late to the party, aren't we?"

You clenched your fists, your eyes narrowing as you met his gaze. "Bakugo," you spat, taking a defensive stance. "I won't let you continue this reign of terror. This ends tonight. I'm taking you in."

Bakugo laughed, a harsh, mocking sound that sent shivers down your spine. "You really think you can take me down, princess? You're welcome to try, but I promise you, it's not going to end the way you think."

With a sudden burst of speed, Bakugo closed the distance between you, his hand shooting out to grab your wrist. 

You reacted on instinct, twisting away and aiming a punch at his midsection, but he was faster. His grip tightened, and with a flick of his wrist, he sent you crashing to the ground, his body pinning yours.

"You're so predictable," he sneered, his breath hot against your ear. "Always playing by the rules, always so righteous. But you know what, sweetheart? That shit doesn't matter anymore. In this world, power is the only thing that counts."

You struggled beneath him, your heart racing as you tried to free yourself from his grasp. “Let. Me. Go.” 

But Bakugo's strength was overwhelming, his body a solid wall of muscle and raw power. He leaned closer, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear as he spoke, his voice a low, seductive whisper. "Tell me, little heroine," he murmured, his free hand trailing down your side, "Have you ever wondered what it's like to let go? To stop fighting and just give in?"

You gasped, your body reacting to his touch despite your determination to resist. "Stop," you pleaded, your voice trembling. "This isn't you. You're not a monster. Your mind is just clouded."

He chuckled darkly, his fingers sliding beneath the hem of your costume, teasing the sensitive skin of your tummy. "Oh, but it is me," he said, his eyes burning with a twisted kind of desire. "And deep down, I think you like it. I think you want it."

With a swift motion, he captured your lips in a searing kiss, his dominance overwhelming. 

You fought against the pull, but the intensity of his touch, the raw passion he exuded, was intoxicating. 

His hands roamed your body, setting your nerves alight with every touch. "Feel that?" he murmured against your lips. "That's the real you, begging to be unleashed."

Your resolve wavered, the lines between right and wrong blurring in the heat of the moment. "Bakugo, stop," you pleaded, though your voice lacked conviction.

"Stop?" he taunted, pulling back just enough to meet your gaze. "You don't want me to stop, princess. You want to see just how far this can go."

You knew you should resist, should fight with everything you had, but you simply couldn’t.

Bakugo's lips found your neck, his teeth grazing your skin as he continued to speak, his voice a low, hypnotic growl. "Give in, heroine," he urged, his hand moving lower, tracing the curve of your hip. "Let me show you what real power feels like."

You bit your lip, an unwanted moan escaping your lips as his hand found its way between your legs, the rough pads of his fingers brushing against the fabric of your costume on your crotch. 

The sensation was overwhelming, a heady mix of pleasure and resistance that made your head spin. "Bakugo," you whispered, your voice barely more than a breath. "Don’t touch me."

He smiled against your skin, his fingers gently slapping your crotch. "Stop it," he murmured, his lips trailing down your neck to your collarbone. "Don’t be such a prude. We both know you like being used. You whores all do.”

And in that moment, as your body responded to his touch, you realized that you were powerless to resist him. Katsuki Bakugo, the villain you had sworn to stop, was slowly and resolutely tearing down all of your defenses, pulling you into his dark, dangerous world.

"You think you can resist me?" he taunted, his voice a low growl that sent shivers down your spine. "I know you feel it too. That darkness inside you, begging to be set free."

"Bakugo, this isn't right," you protested, shaking your head abruptly.

His smirk widened, a feral glint in his eyes. "Right or wrong doesn't matter now. All that matters is what you want. And I know you want this."

Before you could respond, his lips crashed against yours again, the kiss possessive. 

You tried to fight it once again, but failed. "Bakugo," you gasped when he broke the kiss, his lips trailing down your neck, leaving a trail of fire in their wake.

"Say my name again," he demanded, his voice rough with need. "I want to hear you beg for it."

The command in his tone sent a jolt of primal desire through you, your body betraying your resolve. "Katsuki," you whispered, the name a plea on your lips.

He growled in approval, his hands sliding under your uniform again, fingers tracing the curves of your body. "That's it. Don’t be shy, princess."

In one swift motion, he tore at your clothes, the fabric yielding to his strength. 

The cool night air kissed your exposed skin, but the heat radiating from Bakugo's body kept you warm. 

His touch was relentless, every caress igniting a fire that burned through you. "Look at you," he murmured, his voice dripping with satisfaction. "So eager, so willing. I knew you had it in you. Haha, you just can’t wait to have a villain cock in your cunt."

You gasped as his hands found their way to your panties, his touch both demanding and expertly skilled. 

He captured your lips again, the kiss deep and consuming, stealing the breath from your lungs.

"Bakugo, please," you whimpered after breaking the kiss, the need in your voice undeniable.

He chuckled darkly, his eyes flashing with triumph. "That's what I wanted to hear." With a swift, practiced motion, he lifted you like you weighed nothing, like you were nothing but a rag doll, pressing you against the rough brick wall of the warehouse. 

The sensation of the cool brick against your exposed skin made you whimper. Your breath hitched, your resolve wavering under his piercing stare. "Bakugo, this isn't —"

"Oh, shut the fuck up finally," he interrupted, his lips crashing down on yours to silence you. He smirked against your lips, his fingers tracing teasing circles over the middle of your panties. "You're already so fucking wet for me," he whispered, his voice thick with satisfaction. "I knew you wanted this, little one."

He quickly tugged your panties down your legs, and without thinking much, you helped him take them off completely. A gasp escaped your lips as he pushed a finger inside you, the intrusion both shocking and exhilarating. He finger fucked you while licking the pulse point on your neck with the tip of his tongue, wet trail of his saliva painting your throat. He soon added another digit.

"Bakugo," you moaned, the sound of his name a plea on your lips.

"That's right," he growled, his fingers moving faster, deeper, each thrust stroking all the right places deep within you. "Let me hear you beg for it."

"Bakugo, please," you whimpered, your hands clutching at his shoulders, desperate for more. Even though it all felt wrong and he was only humiliating you.

His smirk widened, a feral gleam in his eyes. "Good little heroine," he murmured, adding another finger, the sensation overwhelming. "Feel that? That's me owning you." His fingers moved with relentless precision, hitting all of the sweet, spongy spots. His calloused thumb brushed over your clit at the same time.

Bakugo cupped your face with his other hand in a mockery of intimacy, his rough digits surprisingly gentle against your skin. His eyelids fluttered closed as he leaned in, the warmth of his breath hitting your cheek as he sniffed you. "Fuck," he murmured, almost to himself, "I could get used to this." 

You smelled so good, sweet and soft and clean — a stark contrast to the chaos that surrounded him daily. It had been so long since he had been this close to a woman, and never one who was willing. The scent of you, the feel of your skin against his, it was intoxicating, a drug he hadn't realized he craved.

Bakugo kissed you again while fingering your tight pussy, the sloppy, wet noises so lewd that, involuntarily, you became wetter than before. 

You hated how your body reacted. 

His tongue swept over the inside of your mouth, invasive and brutal. He gripped you forcefully, his face pushing you deeper into the strained hold. 

You had never been kissed like this before.

Bakugo finally pulled his fingers out of you and dropped to his knees, hitching one of your legs up over his shoulder. The velvety skin of your inner thigh looked so delicious that he nuzzled against the bare area and latched onto it, sucking until he was sure you'd have a mark in a few minutes. The rich, feminine scent of your pussy was inches away from him, intoxicating and irresistible. Bakugo's eyes darkened with desire as he inhaled deeply, dying to make you cum in his needy mouth. Without hesitation, he leaned in, his hot breath ghosting over your slick folds before his tongue darted out, tasting you for the first time. The sensation was electric, his mouth working expertly, eager to draw out every moan, every shiver of pleasure from you. He latched onto your clit, sucking and flicking with a fervor that made your knees weak, his grip on your leg tightening to keep you steady. "Fuck, you taste so good," he murmured against you, the vibration of his voice sending jolts of pleasure through your body. He was relentless, devouring you with a hunger that left you breathless.

“B-Bakugo…”

A sound you’d never heard yourself make before forced its way out of your mouth as Bakugo ate you out in earnest, his tongue rubbing against your clit in a stuttering rhythm that gave you no time to catch your breath. You wanted him to stop. And at the same time, you never wanted him to stop. Your hands twitched as you fought the impulse to fist them in the villain’s hair and pin him down between your trembling thighs. His tongue felt so, so good against your pussy. You had never been with a man who was that skilled in pleasuring a woman.

Bakugo curled one arm around your thigh, pulling his face away from your cunny just long enough to push his fingers back into your drenched hole, angling his palm to grind the heel of his hand roughly over your clit. The harsh, rough texture after the warm, wet softness of his tongue was enough to push you over the edge. You cried out your orgasm, your pussy clenching onto Bakugo's fingers as he worked them in and out of you.

"Fuck, that’s it, you little, pathetic whore, cum for me now or I'll have to blow your fucking useless head out," he growled, his voice vibrating through you as he rubbed the bulge tenting in his pants roughly with his free hand. His eyes were dark with desire, watching you come undone. Bakugo groaned, his breath hot against your sensitive flesh, before attaching his mouth to your pussy again. He drank in all of your juices, his tongue lapping up every drop of your essence as if he couldn’t get enough.  

You just came on the tongue of a villain. 

Bakugo looked up at you, a smirk playing on his lips, his chin glistening with your release. "You taste even better than I imagined," he said, his voice low and rough. 

Your legs felt weak, barely able to support you as the reality of what had just happened sank in. You felt oh so humiliated, but a part of you couldn't ignore the raw, undeniable pleasure that Bakugo had drawn from you.

He got back to his feet, and whispered against your ear. "Admit that you want me to fuck you right here, right now."

"Yes," you breathed, the word a desperate plea.

He didn't need any more encouragement. With a growl, he freed himself from his fitted combat pants, his cock sprung up free, resting proudly against his toned abdomen; the aggressive, red tip leaking precum from its slit. He positioned himself at your slimy entrance, the anticipation almost too much to bear. "You're mine," he declared, his voice thick with possessive hunger. “You’re nothing but a tiny hole I’m going to use however I please. You’re fucking nothing but a piece of meat.”

With a powerful thrust, he entered you, the sensation tearing a gasp from your lips. The feeling of him inside you, filling you completely, was intoxicating. He moved with a fierce rhythm, his heavy balls slapping against your pussy with every rough thrust he delivered. He yanked one of your legs up, wrapping it around his hips to find the better angle.

He could hardly think of anything aside from the soft, hot, wet cunt wrapped so tightly around his dick. It consumed his every thought, his every desire. He wanted to live inside your pussy, to fuck your warmth every day, every minute. The feeling of fucking you raw was the best he had felt in months, a primal satisfaction that eclipsed everything else.

"Bakugo," you moaned, your hands clinging to his shoulders for support.

"That's right," he growled, his pace relentless as he hardly squeezed your boob through your sports bra. "Scream my name. Let everyone know who you belong to."

“K-Katsuki!”

The world around you dissolved into a haze of pleasure and desire, the only reality was the feeling of Bakugo claiming you, possessing you completely. His hands gripped your hips, guiding you to meet his thrusts, his breath hot against your skin.

The warehouse was a chaos of fire and smoke, the heat from the flames slowly licking at your skin, but the inferno around you was nothing compared to the blaze between you and Bakugo. The firelight cast an eerie glow over his face, highlighting the intense, almost feral desire in his eyes.

“Such a good whore, taking my cock in her tight little pussy so fucking well,” Bakugo praised, licking a stripe of your neck, growling lowly into your ear.

You clung to him, your nails digging into his shoulders as he pounded into you, each thrust pushing you harder against the wall. The rough brick scraped your back.

Every nerve ending was on fire, the sensation of him inside you overwhelming. 

"That's it," he growled, his pace increasing, the friction of his body against yours driving you wild. “That’s it, whore.”

You gasped at the insult, your leg tightening around his hips, pulling him deeper.

He angled his hips, hitting the sweetest spot inside you that made stars burst behind your eyes with the tip of his massive cock. "Right there," he murmured, his voice rough with satisfaction. "I can feel you clenching around me. That’s a good, little heroic whore.”

You nodded frantically, your breath coming in ragged gasps whenever the tip of his cock kissed your cervix. 

"Bakugo!" you screamed, raking your nails along his shoulders even though they were still covered by the upper part of his gear.

He swirled two fingers against your clit after slipping the hand that had cupped your boob earlier down to your slick pussy. 

You mewled like a kitten at the unexpected stimulation, and he laughed rudely.

"Fuck, that's it," he groaned, his movements becoming more erratic as he chased his own release. With a final, powerful thrust, he buried himself as deep inside you as possible, his cock pulsing and swelling as he came, filling you with his hot, thick release. “Fuck, take it, take it all, bitch.”

Your climax built rapidly as well. Your body tensed, the coil of pleasure tightening until it finally snapped when he came inside of you. With a cry of his name, you shattered, the pleasure overwhelming, consuming you utterly for the second time this evening. Your body convulsed around him, your pussy clenching and milking his veiny cock as he continued to pound into you. “Bakugo!”

“That’s it, little one, that’s it,” Bakugo cooed, his thrust sloppy until he stopped moving. He held you there for a moment. The slurping sound that reverberated in the air as his cock partially left your drenched pussy was obscene. Equally obscene was the cloudy trail of mixed white and clear fluid that connected your pussy and the head of his cock until he pulled away fully. His rough hands were still gripping your hips as he watched with a wry grin how his cum dribbled out of your abused pussy.

"You're fucking mine," he whispered, his voice a rough promise. "There's no place you could possibly hide from me," he whispered. "I'll find you anywhere, little heroine. You are mine, and no one else, nor any other thing, will ever change that."

When clouds of primal lust faded away, clearing your mind a little, the humiliation hit you like a heavy hammer, threatening to crush you under its weight. You fought the urge to cry, the stress and fear coursing through you like a tidal wave. You couldn't tear up like a baby in front of him, couldn't show any sign of weakness. Even though you already did.

Frantically, you looked around for your panties, your heart pounding in your chest as you tried to improve the upper part of your hero costume that was practically torn in half. But before you could find them, his low, mocking laugh reached your ears. You raised your head slowly, your cheeks burning with embarrassment, as you saw him toying with them in his hand, a smirk playing on his lips.

"You looking for these?" he taunted, holding them just out of reach. "You should know better by now. Everything that touches you belongs to me too." He sniffed your panties, and then theatrically licked the damp spot in the middle with his tongue, making you shudder involuntarily. His grin widened at your reaction, a cruel satisfaction evident in his eyes. After wiping his cock with your panties, he tucked them into the pocket of his pants, adjusting his trousers shortly after with a nonchalant flick of his wrist. "I'll keep these as a little souvenir," he announced.

Bakugo took a step closer to you, his presence overwhelming as he helped you adjust your own pants. "Now, go," he whispered, his voice low and commanding. "Run to them and tell them that not only did you fail to stop and capture the infamous villain, but also moaned like a cheap whore when his cock was buried to the hilt in your wet pussy. I'm super curious about their reaction."

With a sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach, you nodded numbly, unable to form a proper sentence after you pulled up what was left of your hero pants. You turned around and walked away with a shaky step as you prepared to face the consequences of your failure.

[reddesires]

Tethered (Logan Howlett x Reader)

Summary: Memories are hard to get away from, especially while asleep.

Logan Howlett x (Implied mutant) Reader

Rating: Angst 🤧 (Implied happy ending)

Fandom: Wolverine (X-Men) (Deadpool and Wolverine)

A/N: I just had to start with Angst, didn't I?! LOL, I'm planning on doing more fics, including fluff and some smut 🤭 ugh this man has me in a headlock, istg. I've had the BIGGEST crush on this man for YEARS, so THIS IS THE TIME TO BE ALIVE!

ALL HAIL LOGAN HOWLETT.

The flashes of memories that appeared before you in your restless sleep tore through your mind unlike ever before, memories of times that were far behind you. The remnants of your life from before torturing you and nipping at your vulnerable body, the tremors racking your sleeping body doing nothing to knock you from your unconscious state.

You can feel his skin, the warmth seeping into yours as he held the back of your neck as he hugged you into his body, the action itself knocking the breath from your weakened lungs, the taste of iron on the tip of your tongue overwhelming your senses as you struggle to cling on to him desperately.

“Hold on, baby, I got you.” 

You can’t see his face, but you know his voice.

Logan.

A sob climbs up your throat, threatening to break the silent atmosphere surrounding you. This isn’t the present. It's just memories.. Your eyelids refuse to part as you're bombarded by the next memory of a past you're desperately trying to escape.

“Can’t sleep again?” 

His hunched over figure was leaning over the kitchen counter, a beer cradled in his hands. There's a slight smile that pulls at his lips at the sight of you. It's weakened as unreachable sleep clings beneath his tired eyes, but he seems relieved by your presence.

“Yeah.. You too?” His voice is gravely with exhaustion. You can feel the worry tugging at the back of your brain, but you bite it back as you sit in the stool next to him. “I guess it’s just that type of night..” He offers you his beer, and you stare at it in contemplation for a second before accepting it, it’s not like theres any better alternatives to it at this hour, so you minus well indulge.

You plop your head on his shoulder after taking a sip. He lays his head on top of yours with no hesitation, a sigh escaping him.

“Long day, huh?”

“You have no idea, bub.”

No, no, no. This isn't fair! Why must you go through it all over again? He's haunting you, lingering in your very soul, and no matter how much you try to cut those pieces of you out, it’ll just heal over again and again. You’ll remember him for as long as you live and he’ll come to you in sleep again and again.

“Listen to me, doll. You need to go.”

You grip on to his forearms as you force him to look you in the eyes, his hazel meeting your own, the pain was evident in his face and it only caused the tears start to well up in your eyes as you take him in, your heart pounding heavily against your chest.

“Please don't do this. We both know how this ends! Come with us! Come with me!”

The commotion behind the both of you only grows louder and he looks back with a set brow before looking back to you, his lips quiver with words that he can’t bring himself to say and you can see it, the waver in his body and it reels a sob from you.

“This is the only way, I'm sorry.”

The kiss he presses to your forehead is swift as he rips himself from you and runs back into the chaos, you're held back by your teammates as they regretfully watch their Wolverine sacrifice himself for the greater good.

“LOGAN! NO!”

The gasp that pulls from your body forcefully awakens you brutally as you panically look around the room you're in. Nothing is out of place, and the air isn’t riddled with ash and debris. Your blankets were kicked to the side while you struggled with your memory addled dreams. You can feel the moisture of your sweat covering your forehead as you sit on the edge of your bed.

You sigh tiredly as you stand from your bed, opening your bedroom door. You step over Wade's dirty clothes in the hallway like you were walking over a mindfield, you roll your eyes as you think back to how the idiot barged into the apartment singing ‘I Need A Hero’ at the top of his lungs while stripping to the bathroom after he was done with a job.

You grab the water bottle from the fridge, relieved the cool liquid soothes your seemingly raw throat, and press your forehead against the cold surface of the fridge. As you turn your head to the living room, your eyes flutter open, only to see a burly figure sitting on the window frame of the apartment, and you feel your heart completely drop into your ass.

You totally forgot about the Logan variant that Wade’s harboring along with you in his apartment, it seems like Wade enjoys picking up strays of all kinds including yourself, your also a variant of yourself, the version of you from Wade’s universe bit the bullet long ago and he was more than happy to proclaim you his ‘Snookums’.

You know that Logan is aware that you're there but he makes no effort to acknowledge your presence and you're half tempted to ignore him too but you're familiar with that distant look on his face and it tugs at a nerve you have long haven’t felt since you lost your Logan.

You pull a beer from the fridge and walk over next to him, holding the beer out to him. You know he's often broody and keeps to himself a lot of the time but this is your olive branch to him, your aware that you existed in his own world due to wade’s big mouth and you figured that had a lot to do with his distancing himself from you but you’d rather not maintain a awkward atmosphere between the two of you for as long as you're both living in the same space.

When his gaze meets yours, you can feel your heart skip a beat as the familiar hazel looks back at you. It’s been so long since you truly got to look at the features that enraptured your very being, how close but so far he is to you, you know he isn’t your logan but he was a version of him and you couldn’t help but love him. You never truly got to love your own Logan, your romance dying off too soon as you both just realized your feelings for each other.

He accepts the beer from you, his fingers grazing your own and it sends a shock up your spine as you register that he’s just as warm as your Logan, his lips twitch as he maintains his gaze on you and you wonder if you remind him of the version that was his.

“Thanks..Kid.” He mutters as he takes a swig, that gives you a pause but you choose to not to speak on it as you sit across from him looking out at the view he was so invested in before, this was completely different from your former life from when you lived in the Mansion but it was definitely a upgrade from the void.

“No problem, Bub.” You couldn’t help the small smirk that pulled on your lips, and you're relieved when he chuckles at your tease. 

You two were variants from two different universes with endless means of rekindling a bond that tethered every version of each to the other.    

[earthtooz]

x : CHANGE YOUR MIND ! :*+ﾟ

in which: it's 2 am and itoshi sae is outside your door, hoping for a second chance.

warnings: 1.2k words, angst to fluff with hurt/comfort, happy ending, exes to lovers, not at all realistic but it's itoshi sae ok and we're delusional, ooc!sae

a/n: second second chance romance fic for sae LOL he's just too easy to write for when it comes to exes to lovers. idk why the banner is so low quality but enjoy!

you wonder where itoshi sae finds the nerve. after breaking up with you six months ago ‘for the sake of his career’, you never thought sae would have the gall to show up at your apartment, let alone at 2am, rudely disrupting your sleep.

yet, here he is. a soccer prodigy and superstar in the flesh, standing under the harsh lighting of your apartment hallway that always casts an ugly glow on everyone except sae.

“what are you doing here?” you ask, gripping the door handle a little tighter.

“i just got off the plane,” he answers, evading your question. 

“i know. i can see your suitcases.”

he doesn’t say anything more after that. before the breakup, you were able to read the untouchable itoshi sae, translating his stiff silences into words he could never say but wholeheartedly mean, breaking through his ego to then understand the messages of his heart. he only hopes that you can interpret the one he’s brought to you right now.

“can i come in?” asks the athlete, his question shy and lacking the usual demand that sits in his tone.

still, you furrow your eyebrows and stand your ground. “why on earth would i let you in?”

softness is a weapon that itoshi sae owns. he knows that with his typical hardened exterior the best way he can get through people sometimes is with pliability. even you have fallen for it.

he frowns, “because i’m tired and i want to sleep.”

“don’t you have your own five star hotel that your manager booked for you?” 

“can i just come in?”

the nerve. “itoshi, please leave.”

“i will, i will, but will you hear me out first?”

“what could you possibly have to say that you didn’t befo-”

“-i love you.”

the world stills.

the air around you becomes delicate and you’re too scared to breathe in fear of disrupting the silence, but it feels like the floor beneath you just crumbled and you’re falling through the debris. you’re falling and the only thing you can do is search for sae in the chaos. 

but you don’t hold on to him. no, not this time.

“that’s not fair, that’s not fair at all, sae, you can’t-” a sob tears your words apart, “-you can’t break my heart then come back six months later to tell me that you apparently love me, do you know how hard it was for me to just- ugh!”

in a fit of exasperation, you leave your post at the door and retreat back into your apartment. sae quietly slips through the crack you left open, closing the door with a soft click and you don’t even have the energy to chase him out. he even left his suitcases outside- not that anyone would take them at 4 in the morning. 

“you left me so abruptly and carelessly. we were together for almost a year, sae, yet you threw me aside, called me a burden and moved on with a snap of your fingers! was it easy? moving on like that?” 

instead of flinching at your yelling, sae simply stands at the entrance and accepts it, letting your words prick his skin and sink into him as if would make up for the pain you’ve been bathing in. 

“do you know what that did to me?” your voice is quiet now, turned down a few notches. 

he knows. he knows that you’ve been trying to get over it and not let the breakup impact your life too much, despite what he did. you’ve been going out with friends, treating yourself to everything you deserve, and finding a peace that he’s proud of you for. but sae also knows about the many nights you’ve spent crying and being sensitive to loving again, he hears about all of it from rin who lectured him when he first broke up with you and most likely, will lecture him again when he hears about sae’s unplanned visit.

sae was stupid and naive, but you were the first person he ever loved, and the world is colourless without your splash of influence. 

sae knows he shouldn’t be here existing in your space after everything, however, the instant he stepped off the plane, the first thing his heart wanted was to see one of the few things he loves about japan, you. 

“-so, please, just leave me alone and don’t come back,” you request.

the last thing sae is good at is following instructions, especially ones he doesn’t like.

“but, i love you,” he tries again. you fall to the couch with a defeated sigh, his persistence impaling your heart. 

“stop it.”

somehow, he’s now standing beside you. “do you still love me too?”

“sae-”

“-if you don’t love me anymore i’ll leave.”

with your head in your hands, you lie to him, “i don’t want you to stay either way.”

“another chance, i’ll make it right, i’ll fix it with my life, y/n, just please say you love me too.” 

“you’ll hurt me again.”

“i won’t,” he falls down onto the couch beside you, enveloping you with his frame. “i’ll be good and you can kill me if i’m not.”

you laugh. it’s dry and reserved, but you’re laughing and he begins rocking you side to side. “i don’t want to kill you.”

“rin will, then.”

you take your face out of your hands, looking at him properly for the first time since he arrived. “i-i don’t know, sae. you’ll leave again when you decide that you don’t want me.”

he doesn’t know how to tell you that whilst abroad, all he could think about was you. that during the mundane chores, the tedious trips to and from training, and all the times that he had won a match, he was thinking about you. 

he thought about you in the music he played whilst cleaning, he thought about taking you to a restaurant he saw whilst on the way, and his thoughts about you are loudest when he has a medal around his neck yet all he wants to know is whether or not you’re watching.

but you’re not beside him singing along whilst he was mopping his floors, you weren’t there in his car pointing out every fun detail you saw, and he didn’t even know if you wanted anything to do with soccer after what him. 

everytime, the yearning for you would grow, to the point that it lead him here when he should have gone to the hotel to wash up and sleep off the tiring trip instead.

but sitting here now and looking at your tear-stained face, he knows he’ll always prefer you- he’ll always find and choose you, so long as you let him. 

“give me another chance,” and i’ll show you that i’ll never leave again.

“fine,” you surrender after a moment of silence and sae feels like he could jump to the moon. “but we take things slow-”

“-i love you,” he repeats, grabbing your face and pushing you down on the couch, peppering an endless stream of kisses on your skin. sae’s outburst of affection and happiness is uncharacteristic but contagious. “i love you, i love you, i love you.”

between each declaration is sae kissing a new part of your face, showering your cheeks, forehead, nose- everywhere with unbridled adoration that he has been keeping locked up for too long. you’re real between his hands, you’re real in his hold, you’re real beneath him, and he doesn’t want this dream to end. his kisses feel like healing promises and you melt right into them. 

“i get it!” you giggle out, hands on his shoulders as to wrestle him off. “you don’t need to keep telling me, and promise me that we’re going to take it slow-”

a cold tear slides down your cheek, silencing your giggles. it’s not you who’s crying though, so you hug sae a little tighter.

something tells you that this second chance won’t backfire.

© EARTHTOOZ 2023, do not steal, translate, repost my fics and do not recommend my fics onto any other site.

[dee-writes-anime]

Through The Ashes

FEATURING Keigo 'Hawks' Takami x Reader

SUMMARY He won't ever stop looking for you.

CONTENT WARNINGS angst, fluff, descriptions of injuries and war, worried birdy :(

AUTHORS NOTE Hawks has been PLAGUING me ever since they animated him getting choked out by afo. What a daddy broooo

Thick, acrid smoke hung heavy in the air, stinging your eyes and filling your lungs as you watched the aftermath of the battle unfold. Flames still crackled in the distance, licking the sky like the world was burning itself alive. Debris littered the ground in every direction, and the sharp, high-pitched whine of sirens echoed faintly behind you, warning civilians to stay away. Yet, as much as every instinct screamed for you to turn back, you couldn’t.

You couldn’t tear your eyes away from the chaos ahead. The explosion—Toya’s explosion—had been deafening, shaking the earth beneath your feet like an unholy force, and now all you could see were shadows against the inferno. The heat was intense, suffocating, but none of that mattered to you anymore. Not when you saw the figures rushing toward the heart of the flames.

The Todoroki family.

You knew of them, of course—everyone did. Endeavor, the Number One Hero, and his family were always in the headlines. But what you saw now was something raw, something terrifying and intimate. The way they ran toward the flames, toward the place where Dabi—Toya—had been… it wasn’t the hero family you knew from the news. It was just a family, shattered and desperate.

Without thinking, you took a step forward.

Your hands trembled as you pulled your coat tighter around your body, not from the cold, but from fear. There was no logical reason for you to follow them into the wreckage, into the heart of danger, and yet something inside you refused to let them go alone. You didn’t know these people, had no personal stake in their battle, but the sight of them rushing toward the inferno—the father, the children—all of them so broken yet moving forward—it clawed at your chest. Your feet moved on their own, pushing you through the smoldering remnants of the battlefield.

“Wait!” you called, though your voice was swallowed by the roaring fire and the distant shouts of heroes trying to contain the chaos. “Wait!”

They didn’t hear you. They couldn’t. And yet, you kept going.

The heat was overwhelming. Every breath you took felt like inhaling fire, the smoke thickening the deeper you ventured. The acrid smell of burning filled your senses—scorched earth, wood, metal, and something far worse. Your heart pounded in your chest, a mix of fear and determination as your mind raced. You didn’t know what you would do once you caught up to them—didn’t know how you could possibly help—but standing by and doing nothing wasn’t an option. It never had been.

All around you, the remnants of the battle lay scattered. Chunks of debris from fallen buildings, charred vehicles, and the occasional flicker of blue flame still licking at the edges of the wreckage. The world felt like it was ending, and you were running straight toward its center.

You had always been the type of person who couldn’t turn away from those in need. The type to throw yourself into situations others might have avoided, driven by a heart too full of empathy. It was that same instinct that led you now, pushing you forward through the smoke and ruin, your legs moving faster than your brain could process. You didn’t even stop to consider what you were really doing.

Ahead of you, you could still see the Todorokis—Endeavor’s tall frame leading the way, his daughter and sons close behind. Even in the haze, you could feel the tension radiating from them, their steps urgent and frantic as they headed toward the epicenter of it all—toward where Toya had been. There was something tragic about the sight, a family fractured and yet still tied together by the weight of their past, their shared pain.

You stumbled over a chunk of debris, your hands flying out to catch yourself before you hit the ground. A sharp pain shot through your knee as you landed, scraping against the jagged edge of something metallic, but you didn’t stop. You couldn’t. You pushed yourself up, wincing as you forced your legs to keep moving. The smoke grew thicker with each step, the world blurring around you in shades of grey and orange.

It wasn’t rational, this pull inside you. You were just a civilian who had somehow found herself caught in the middle of a war too large, too dangerous. And yet, all you could think about was making sure they were okay. That this family, already so broken, wouldn’t lose more than they already had.

As the heat intensified, sweat dripped down the back of your neck, your clothes clinging to your skin. Your heartbeat thundered in your ears, each breath harder to pull in than the last. But you were close now. You could see them more clearly, the tension in their shoulders, the desperation in their movements.

Your chest ached as you watched them, and for a moment, you wondered why you cared so much. Why were you so willing to throw yourself into this mess? You had no connection to them, no reason to be here. But that didn’t matter. It never had. You couldn’t stand the idea of them suffering alone.

A flash of blue flames roared to life in the distance, making you freeze in your tracks. Your heart dropped, panic clawing at your throat as you watched the fire dance wildly, so familiar, so destructive. You flinched as a sharp crack filled the air—an explosion, small but enough to send a ripple of terror through your body. The battle wasn’t over yet.

Still, you didn’t turn back.

You ran, ignoring the burning in your lungs, the sting in your eyes. The smoke was suffocating now, so thick you could barely see a few feet in front of you. But you kept running toward them, toward the flames, your hands trembling, your breath coming in short, ragged bursts.

You didn’t know if they were okay. You didn’t even know if you’d make it to them in time.

But you had to try.

As you fought to keep going, the chaos around you seemed to blur, your mind drifting for just a moment. Flashes of your past flickered through the haze, small memories surfacing like whispers at the edges of your thoughts.

You remembered the old woman who lived in the apartment next to yours, her voice always soft with age and a weariness that came from living too many years alone. You’d see her every day, struggling to carry groceries up the stairs, her back bent with the weight of time. Most people ignored her, passing by with hurried footsteps, their lives too busy to notice. But you couldn’t. You couldn’t watch her struggle in silence. Every week, you’d knock on her door, offering to help, a small smile on your face. The way her tired eyes would light up at the sight of you—so grateful for such a simple kindness—it was something that always stayed with you.

Even now, in the middle of all this destruction, you could hear her voice in your head. “You’re too kind for your own good, dear. This world will eat you up if you’re not careful.”

But you hadn’t been careful. Not then, not now.

Your feet stumbled over another piece of rubble, pulling you sharply back to the present. The smoke made it hard to breathe, every inhale feeling like fire searing your throat, but still, you pressed on. The Todorokis were just ahead, their silhouettes barely visible through the haze. You had to make sure they were okay. You had to.

Another memory surfaced, as vivid as the heat surrounding you. This time, it was a rainy afternoon, the streets slick with water, and you were on your way home from work. You remembered the boy—barely a teenager, sitting on the curb with his head hung low, his clothes soaked through. People walked past him, umbrellas up, eyes averted. He was invisible to them. But not to you.

You couldn’t forget the way his shoulders trembled, his hands clenching around the thin fabric of his jacket, trying to hide the fact that he was shivering. Without thinking, you had rushed to his side, crouching down and offering him your own umbrella. You had barely any money on you, but you gave him enough for a warm meal, your heart aching for this kid who had nothing.

“Why are you doing this?” he had asked, his voice barely audible over the rain. You remembered the way his eyes had searched yours, confused and a little suspicious, as if he couldn’t understand why a stranger would care.

“Because someone should,” you had replied simply, your words sincere.

That was who you were. Someone who couldn’t stand by while others suffered. Someone who would rather run headfirst into the fire than live with the guilt of doing nothing. And that’s why, now, with the world burning around you, you couldn’t turn back.

The memory faded as a sharp gust of wind sent sparks flying past your face, bringing you back to the present once more. Your heart pounded in your chest, your lungs burning, but your resolve never wavered.

Another flash of memory struck you—this time of the day you stood up for the girl at the coffee shop. She had been just a little older than you, her face pale and her hands trembling as the man at the counter berated her, his voice dripping with condescension. People had looked on in silence, awkwardly sipping their drinks, unwilling to get involved. But you had stepped in, your voice firm as you stood between them, calling the man out for his cruelty. You could still see the shock in his eyes, the way he had stammered before leaving in a huff. And you could still remember the way the girl had thanked you, her eyes wide with relief, as if she hadn’t expected anyone to come to her defense.

You had always been like that—driven by an empathy that wouldn’t let you stand on the sidelines. Even when it hurt, even when it was hard. You couldn’t turn away from someone in pain.

And now, in the middle of this war-torn battlefield, you knew you couldn’t leave the Todorokis to face this alone.

The weight of the destruction pressed down on you, and for a moment, doubt whispered in your mind. Who were you to think you could help? You weren’t a hero. You didn’t have a quirk, didn’t have any special powers to save the day. You were just… you. A civilian. Ordinary. But that had never stopped you before. It didn’t matter who you were. What mattered was that you cared. And that, somehow, always seemed to be enough.

With a renewed sense of purpose, you pushed forward, your feet moving faster now, ignoring the searing pain in your lungs, the ash that coated your skin. You weren’t going to let them face this alone.

Keigo’s chest felt like it was on fire. Each breath was a battle, the air thick with smoke and ash, choking him as he staggered forward. His wings, once powerful and graceful, dragged behind him like broken remnants of what they used to be. Feathers lay scattered in the debris, singed and bloodied, just like everything else around him. But none of that mattered.

Not when you were missing.

His vision blurred as he fought to stay upright, the pain from his injuries dulling into a distant ache, overshadowed by the suffocating weight of fear that gnawed at his every thought. He couldn’t focus on the war, couldn’t think about the destruction all around him. All he could think about was you, disappearing into the flames, into the heart of the chaos.

“Let me go,” he growled, shoving the hands of the medics away as they tried once more to stop him. They were persistent, their voices tight with concern, but they didn’t understand. They didn’t get it. No one did. How could they?

“Sir, you need treatment—” one of them started, her words hurried, but Keigo wasn’t listening. He couldn’t. His mind was a whirlwind of panic, of memories crashing over him like waves, pulling him under. His body protested every movement, pain radiating through his chest and side, his wings twitching uselessly behind him, but he couldn’t stop. He wouldn’t.

“I don’t care,” he snapped, shoving past them with more force than necessary. His voice was hoarse, raw from shouting your name, but he didn’t care about that either. He didn’t care about the blood dripping from the gash on his forehead, or the sharp sting of his cracked ribs. The only thing he cared about was finding you.

Because if he didn’t—if he lost you—nothing else would matter.

Keigo stumbled over a broken piece of concrete, catching himself just in time before he fell. His knees buckled beneath him, his legs screaming in protest, but he forced himself to keep moving. He couldn’t afford to stop. His golden eyes, usually sharp and focused, were wild now, darting through the smoke and flames, searching desperately for any sign of you.

But there was nothing.

Just ash, and smoke, and the broken remains of the world around him.

A sharp, painful memory surfaced as he pushed through the debris. He could see it so clearly—you, sitting across from him in his apartment, the two of you sharing one of those quiet moments that he had come to treasure more than anything. You had been laughing at something ridiculous he’d said, your eyes crinkling at the corners, that familiar warmth radiating from you like sunlight. He had always loved the sound of your laughter, the way it made everything feel lighter, like the weight of the world wasn’t so crushing when you were around.

That night, you had curled up beside him, your head resting on his shoulder, and for the first time in a long time, Keigo had felt at peace. He’d felt safe.

Now, that peace felt like it was slipping away. Like it was being ripped from him, piece by piece, with every second that passed without you by his side.

Where are you?

His heart pounded in his chest, a frantic rhythm that echoed the fear gnawing at his insides. You were out there somewhere, lost in the wreckage, and he wasn’t there to protect you. That thought alone was enough to send another surge of panic coursing through him. His wings twitched instinctively, trying to lift him into the air, but they were too damaged. Useless. He gritted his teeth against the frustration that tore at him.

He was always supposed to be the one who saved others, the one who swooped in at the last second, wings spread wide, to pull them from the brink. But now… now it felt like he was the one drowning.

Keigo’s breath came in sharp, shallow bursts as he forced his legs to keep moving. The pain in his side was unbearable, every step sending a fresh wave of agony through his body, but he ignored it. He had to. He had to find you.

Another memory hit him, this one softer, but no less painful. It was a quiet morning, sunlight streaming through the windows, casting golden light across your skin as you lay beside him. He remembered watching you sleep, his heart full in a way that was unfamiliar to him—so foreign, and yet so right. He’d never been good at letting people in, never been good at trusting anyone to stay. But you… you had changed that.

You had become the center of his world without him even realizing it.

The thought of losing you now, of never seeing you smile again, never hearing your laughter or feeling your warmth beside him—it was too much. It was unbearable.

His heart clenched painfully as he staggered forward, his wings dragging behind him, broken and battered, just like him.

The medics had given up by now, their shouts fading into the background as Keigo pushed deeper into the wreckage, his mind consumed by fear. His hands shook as he grabbed at a piece of fallen debris, tossing it aside with more force than necessary. His muscles screamed in protest, but he didn’t care.

He had to find you.

He couldn’t stop. Not until he found you.

You’re too kind for your own good, you know that? The memory of his own voice echoed in his head, a teasing remark he’d made once during one of your late-night conversations. You’d been sitting on the couch, your legs tucked beneath you, eyes soft as you listened to him talk about the latest mission. He had always admired that about you—your kindness, your empathy. But now, that very kindness had led you into danger. You had run into the flames, into the destruction, without a second thought.

Why did you do it? he wondered, his chest tightening with every passing second. Why did you run into the fire?

But he knew the answer, didn’t he? You couldn’t stand by while others suffered. It was who you were. The same reason you had always stayed up late to listen to him vent, always showed up with that smile that made the world seem a little less dark. You were selfless in a way that frightened him, a way that made him love you more than he ever thought possible. And that was why he was terrified now.

Because that selflessness could get you killed.

“Damn it,” Keigo muttered, his voice cracking as he called out your name again, his throat raw from the smoke, from the desperation that clawed at him like a living thing. His legs buckled beneath him, and for a moment, he collapsed to his knees, his body trembling from exhaustion, from fear. His hands dug into the ground, dirt and ash slipping through his fingers as he fought to keep moving, fought to push himself up again.

He couldn’t stop.

Not until he found you.

The world around him was crumbling, flames licking at the edges of the destruction, the acrid stench of smoke and blood filling the air. Heroes and civilians lay scattered across the battlefield, some being tended to by medics, others… others weren’t moving. But Keigo’s mind was a blur, his thoughts fixated on one thing, one person.

You.

He forced himself to stand, his body screaming in protest, but he didn’t care. He couldn’t afford to care. The thought of losing you—of never seeing you again—it was enough to make him feel like he was suffocating. Like the air had been ripped from his lungs.

“Come on… please…” he whispered, his voice barely audible as he staggered forward again, his heart pounding, his vision blurring with tears he refused to acknowledge.

He couldn’t lose you.

Not like this.

Keigo’s legs were failing him, each step a struggle as the ground beneath him seemed to shift, unsteady and broken like the world around him. He could barely keep his feet under him as he pressed forward, forcing his battered body through the ruins. The smoke was so thick now that it burned his lungs, every breath ragged and painful, but none of it mattered—not when the only thought in his head was finding you.

“Please…” he rasped, his voice barely a whisper, hoarse from shouting, from the smoke, from the sheer panic that clawed at his throat. He stumbled again, his boots catching on a piece of fallen debris, and he went crashing to his knees. Sharp pain shot up his legs, but he pushed it aside. He couldn’t stop. Not now. Not when every second without you felt like a lifetime.

Your name tore from his lips again, a desperate cry swallowed by the chaos around him. The sound of crackling flames, of distant shouting, all of it drowned out the voice in his head screaming for you, his heart pounding with a frantic urgency that felt like it was going to tear him apart.

Where were you? Why couldn’t he find you?

His hands dug into the scorched earth, fingers curling into fists as he forced himself back up, shaky and weak. His wings dragged behind him like lead weights, broken and useless, but none of that mattered. He couldn’t fly—he couldn’t even run—but he would crawl if he had to. Anything to get to you.

Keigo’s eyes darted through the wreckage, searching, searching… but every face he passed was unfamiliar. Strangers—heroes and civilians alike—lay scattered across the battlefield, some being tended to by medics, others motionless, lost to the carnage. But none of them were you.

His heart clenched painfully, his mind spiraling as he staggered forward, his breaths coming in shallow, desperate gasps. His mind raced with questions, with fears, each one more terrifying than the last.

Had something happened to you?

Were you hurt? Trapped?

Or worse… had you been caught in the explosion?

That thought alone was enough to send a fresh wave of panic crashing over him, making his vision blur, his heart race. He couldn’t—he wouldn’t—let himself think that. You had to be okay. You had to be out here somewhere, waiting for him. He refused to believe anything else. But the longer he searched, the longer he called out your name and heard nothing in return, the harder it became to hold onto that hope.

And then, through the haze of smoke and destruction, he saw them.

The Todoroki family.

They were emerging from the flames, their silhouettes hazy against the backdrop of devastation. For a moment, Keigo’s heart leaped into his throat. Maybe—just maybe—you were with them. Maybe you had stayed close, maybe—

But as they drew closer, his hope shattered.

You weren’t with them.

His heart plummeted, his legs nearly giving out beneath him as he stumbled forward, his wings dragging limply behind him. He watched as Shoto helped his father walk, the two of them bloodied and exhausted but alive, with Fuyumi and Natsuo at their side. They were safe. The Todoroki family had made it through the flames, but you…

You were nowhere to be seen.

Keigo’s vision blurred with a fresh wave of panic, his mind spiraling, thoughts crashing over him in a tidal wave of fear.

Where were you?

Why weren’t you with them? Had something happened? Had you… had you been caught in the blast?

No.

The word cut through his mind like a blade, sharp and immediate, but it did nothing to stop the growing dread that gnawed at his insides. His chest tightened painfully, his heart racing as worst-case scenarios flooded his thoughts.

What if you had been caught in the explosion? What if you hadn’t made it? What if he never got to see you again, never got to hold you, to tell you—

Stop.

Keigo shook his head, forcing the thoughts down, but they were relentless, clawing at him like a living thing. His breath came in sharp, shallow gasps, his body trembling with exhaustion, with fear, with the crushing weight of it all. His wings twitched, instinctively trying to lift him into the air, to give him some kind of advantage, but they were too damaged, too weak.

He was useless.

His chest burned with the effort of trying to breathe, trying to keep himself steady, but the panic was overwhelming now. It felt like the world was collapsing in on him, like the walls were closing in and he couldn’t escape. His mind raced, spiraling out of control, each thought more frantic, more desperate than the last.

What if something happened to her?

What if I can’t find her?

What if she’s gone?

Keigo staggered forward, his legs threatening to give out, but he refused to stop. He couldn’t. He wouldn’t. Not until he found you.

Not until he knew you were okay.

“Where is she?” he rasped, his voice barely audible as he called out to the Todorokis. His throat burned, raw from the smoke and shouting, but he didn’t care. “Where—”

But the words got stuck in his throat as they turned to face him, their expressions mirroring his own—exhaustion, fear, relief for their survival, but no answers. They didn’t know. They hadn’t seen you.

You weren’t with them.

And that realization hit Keigo harder than anything else. Harder than the explosion, harder than the injuries that covered his body, harder than the weight of the war. The fact that you weren’t with them, that you were still out there somewhere, alone, maybe hurt, maybe—

No.

Keigo shook his head again, harder this time, trying to clear the thoughts that threatened to overwhelm him. He couldn’t lose you. He wouldn’t lose you. But as the seconds ticked by, each one stretching into an eternity, the fear gnawing at him grew sharper, more suffocating.

He needed to find you.

Now.

Without another word, without waiting for the Todorokis to respond, Keigo turned and staggered deeper into the wreckage, his legs barely supporting him. His wings twitched uselessly behind him, the pain in his side flaring with every breath, but none of it mattered.

None of it mattered if he couldn’t find you.

Keigo was on the edge of losing it. His legs trembled beneath him, his body a fragile shell held together by sheer desperation. Every corner he rounded, every pile of debris he overturned, his hope slipped further away. His voice was hoarse from shouting, from begging the universe for any sign of you, but the only answer was the crackle of flames and the distant wails of survivors.

His chest tightened, an unbearable pressure building behind his ribs. He had fought wars, faced enemies that made grown men tremble, but nothing had ever scared him like this. The thought of losing you, of never seeing your face again, felt like it would tear him apart from the inside out. He stumbled through the wreckage, feeling like a man chasing a ghost.

Until he heard it.

A voice—your voice—soft but unmistakable, rising faintly above the chaos.

Keigo’s heart lurched in his chest, his breath catching in his throat. For a split second, he froze, too afraid to believe it was real. His mind raced, doubt clawing at him—Am I imagining it? Is it just wishful thinking?

But then he heard it again, clearer this time. You.

Without thinking, his body moved before his mind could catch up. He turned sharply, his wings dragging painfully against the ground as he forced his legs to carry him toward the sound. His heart pounded, hope igniting like a fragile spark that he clung to with everything he had.

And then he saw you.

Near the collapsed remains of a building, your clothes singed, your hands blackened with soot, but you were there. You were alive. Keigo nearly collapsed at the sight. You weren’t just sitting idly, either. You were kneeling beside a civilian, tending to them, trying to help, your expression full of determination despite the chaos around you. Even after everything—after the fire, the explosions, the danger—you were still helping others. It was so you, and his chest swelled with a mixture of overwhelming love and pure, unrelenting relief.

Keigo’s legs nearly gave out beneath him as he rushed forward, his body trembling with exhaustion, his wings dragging uselessly behind him. His vision blurred with tears he hadn’t realized he was holding back, his throat tight with emotion as he reached you. He barely noticed the pain in his body, the stinging gash on his forehead, or the smoke filling the air around him. None of it mattered.

All that mattered was you.

He fell to his knees beside you, his hands shaking as they reached for you, unable to stop himself from pulling you into his arms. The moment his arms closed around you, he let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. The weight of the fear, the panic, the agonizing uncertainty—it all came crashing down, replaced by the overwhelming relief that coursed through him like a tidal wave.

“You’re okay,” he whispered, his voice cracking as he held you tight, his wings trembling with emotion. “You’re okay…”

You didn’t have time to react before his grip tightened, as if he was afraid you might slip away again. He buried his face in the crook of your neck, his breath shaky as he held you against him, his heart pounding in his chest. His body was trembling, not from pain, but from the sheer intensity of the relief that washed over him.

For a long moment, he didn’t say anything. He couldn’t. All the words he wanted to say—the fear, the panic, the love—they all seemed to choke him, stuck in his throat as he clung to you like you were the only thing tethering him to reality.

Finally, he pulled back just enough to meet your eyes, his golden gaze filled with a depth of emotion you hadn’t seen before. His voice trembled as he spoke, the words barely above a whisper.

“What were you thinking?” His voice cracked, a mix of frustration and overwhelming relief. He pressed his forehead against yours, his breath coming in shallow, shaky bursts as he tried to steady himself. “I thought I lost you…”

His voice broke on the last word, the raw emotion in it palpable. His fingers curled gently around the back of your neck, his forehead still pressed against yours as he closed his eyes, breathing in the scent of smoke and soot and you. He couldn’t bring himself to let go, not yet, not when he had come so close to losing everything.

“I thought…” He swallowed hard, the words faltering on his tongue. “I thought you were gone.”

The vulnerability in his voice—the sheer terror that had consumed him—was unlike anything you had ever heard from him before. He was always so composed, so confident, but now… now he was broken, his heart laid bare in a way that he rarely let anyone see.

Keigo’s fingers trembled as they trailed down your arm, his grip tightening again, his wings trembling behind him. He was trying to be strong, but the fear of what could have happened, of what almost happened, was still too close, too real.

His breath hitched as he rested his forehead against yours, his golden eyes fluttering shut. “You scared the hell out of me.”

You reached up, your soot-covered fingers gently cupping his face, brushing away a tear that had slipped down his cheek. The small gesture broke something in him, and he let out a shaky breath, leaning into your touch. For a moment, he just let himself be there, let himself feel the relief, the warmth, the overwhelming gratitude that you were still here.

Alive. Safe.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered softly, your voice hoarse but steady. “I couldn’t just stand by…”

Keigo let out a soft, bitter laugh, shaking his head slightly. Of course, you couldn’t. He knew that. It was who you were—selfless, kind, always putting others before yourself. And that was exactly what terrified him. You would run into the flames without a second thought if it meant saving someone else, even if it meant risking your own life. And while that was part of why he loved you, it was also what scared him the most.

“You could’ve been killed,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “I… I can’t lose you. Not you.”

His forehead remained pressed against yours, the heat of his breath mixing with yours in the space between you. He was trembling still, his body weak and battered, but none of that mattered. Not when he had you in his arms, alive and safe. He would deal with everything else later—the wounds, the destruction, the aftermath of the war.

For now, all that mattered was that you were here.

You could feel Keigo’s breath, uneven and ragged, as he held you tightly, his forehead pressed against yours, his body trembling with the aftermath of fear and relief. For a moment, you couldn’t find the words. Your own body was exhausted, limbs heavy from the sheer weight of everything you’d just been through, but the warmth of his embrace was enough to steady you, to remind you that you had made it—that he had found you.

"I’m sorry," you murmured again, your voice soft but steady. You could feel the guilt, the concern radiating off him, but you had to make him understand. You reached up, your fingers brushing lightly against his cheek, tracing the edges of the soot and dirt smudged there. "I couldn’t stand by and do nothing. Not when people needed help. Not when—"

Your voice faltered as his grip on you tightened, his hands curling protectively around your back, pulling you even closer as if he was afraid that if he let go, you would disappear again. His wings, tattered and battered, trembled behind him, but you could feel the emotion rolling off him in waves, raw and unguarded.

“I know,” he whispered, his voice thick with a mixture of frustration and love. “I know that’s who you are. But… god, I thought I lost you.”

His words pierced your heart, and in that moment, you could feel the weight of his fear, the depth of his desperation. You had never seen him like this before—not Hawks, the confident, sharp-witted hero who always seemed to have everything under control. This was Keigo, the man who loved you, the man who had been terrified of losing you.

Your hands moved up to cradle his face, your thumbs gently brushing the tears that clung to the corners of his eyes. You hated seeing him like this, so broken, so vulnerable, but you knew that it was because of how much you meant to him. And that knowledge—that overwhelming love—was enough to chase away the exhaustion that had been weighing on you.

“I’m okay,” you whispered, your voice steady as you leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to his forehead. “I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”

His breath hitched slightly at your words, and you felt him relax just a little, his grip on you loosening enough for you to lean back and look into his eyes. His golden irises, usually so bright and full of life, were clouded with emotion, but there was relief there too—relief that you were safe, that you were still with him.

And in that moment, all the chaos around you seemed to fade away.

The crackling of flames, the distant cries of survivors, the murmur of medics—it all melted into the background, as if the world had shrunk down to just the two of you, holding each other in the midst of the devastation. It was as if, for that brief moment, nothing else mattered. Not the war, not the destruction, not even the pain. Just the two of you, breathing in each other’s presence, finding solace in the simple fact that you were together.

Your hands slid down to rest on his chest, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breathing, the rapid beat of his heart slowly beginning to calm. You could feel how much he had been hurting, how much fear had consumed him, and your heart ached for him. You wanted to take that fear away, to reassure him that you weren’t going to slip through his fingers.

But before you could say anything more, you heard the sound of footsteps—quick and purposeful—closing in around you. The medics had caught up.

"Sir, you’re injured. We need to—"

"No," Keigo growled, his wings twitching protectively as they tried to usher him away. "I’m not leaving her. I’m not letting go."

The medics hesitated, their eyes wide as they took in the sight of the number two hero, bloodied and broken, clutching you as if his very life depended on it. His wings flared slightly, despite the obvious pain it caused him, making it clear that he wasn’t going anywhere without you by his side.

"Both of them need treatment," one of the medics said, her voice soft but firm. "We’ll tend to them together."

Keigo didn’t even acknowledge the medic’s words, his focus entirely on you. His fingers threaded through your hair, his gaze locked onto yours as if he couldn’t bear to look away, as if he needed the reassurance that you were still there, still breathing, still alive.

"Keigo," you murmured softly, your hands finding his again, gently squeezing them. "It’s okay. Let them help."

For a moment, he didn’t respond, his jaw clenched tightly, his wings twitching in agitation. But after a long, tense second, he nodded, albeit reluctantly, his hands never leaving yours. His grip on you remained firm, even as the medics began to assess your injuries side by side. They worked quickly, efficiently, but with a gentleness that suggested they knew better than to push Keigo too far.

The pain of your wounds began to register now that the adrenaline was wearing off, but even through the aches, you found yourself focused entirely on Keigo. You could see the exhaustion weighing him down, the cuts and bruises marring his skin, the blood soaking through the bandages on his side. Yet, despite everything, he still held onto you, refusing to let go, his eyes never leaving yours.

"You were hurt, too," you whispered, your thumb brushing over his knuckles as you held his hand. "You should’ve let them treat you first."

He let out a soft, bitter laugh, shaking his head. "I don’t care about me," he murmured, his voice rough with emotion. "I care about you. I—"

His words trailed off, his throat tightening again as his eyes closed for a moment, as if he was trying to hold back the flood of emotions that threatened to spill over. When he opened them again, his gaze was softer, more vulnerable than you had ever seen it.

"I can’t lose you," he whispered, his voice barely audible over the chaos around you. "I can’t."

Tears pricked at your eyes, your heart swelling with a mixture of love and sorrow. You wanted to tell him that you weren’t going anywhere, that you were safe, that you would always come back to him. But the words didn’t come. Instead, you simply held his hand tighter, letting the unspoken promise hang between you.

The medics continued their work, bandaging your wounds and tending to Keigo’s injuries, but neither of you moved, neither of you willing to break the connection that tethered you together. Even in the middle of the wreckage, even with the world in ruins around you, there was a sense of peace in that moment—a fragile, fleeting calm that you both clung to.

The world outside was still in chaos—firefighters working to extinguish the last of the flames, medics rushing between survivors, the distant wails of sirens cutting through the air. But for you and Keigo, none of that mattered right now. In this small bubble of shared warmth, where his wings wrapped protectively around you and his hand never let go of yours, there was peace. For the first time since the explosion, since the world had turned to ash around you, there was quiet.

The two of you rested together, sitting amid the broken ruins of a world still recovering from war, but all Keigo could think about was you—how you were here, alive, against all odds. He pulled you closer, his wings folding tighter around you like a shield against the devastation that still lingered around you.

"I’m not letting you out of my sight again," he murmured softly, his voice thick with a promise that went beyond just words. His forehead pressed lightly against yours, his breath warm against your skin. "Not after this. Never again."

His grip on your hand tightened, as if to remind himself that you were still here, still solid and real. The fear that had gripped him so tightly earlier hadn’t completely faded, lingering in the back of his mind like a shadow, but now, with you in his arms, he knew he could breathe again. He knew you were safe. For now, that was enough.

Your eyes, still tired but full of understanding, met his. You saw the depth of his emotion, the silent turmoil that still lingered beneath the surface, but you also saw the love that had carried him through all of this—the love that had driven him to search for you when he should have been resting, the love that had made him fight through the pain just to find you. And it was that love that made you smile softly, despite everything.

“I know,” you whispered, your voice soft but firm, filled with the same promise. “We made it through the flames together.”

His heart squeezed at your words. You had always been so brave, so strong, even when the world crumbled around you. You had never hesitated to run into danger to help others, and while it terrified him, it was also part of why he loved you so much. But he couldn’t lose you. Not like this. Not ever.

Keigo let out a shaky breath, his thumb brushing lightly against your knuckles as he spoke, his voice quieter now, almost reverent. "I’ve fought wars. I’ve faced death more times than I can count. But this…" His voice wavered for a moment as he closed his eyes, his forehead still resting against yours. "This is different. Losing you—" His breath hitched, and he shook his head, unable to finish the sentence.

You placed your other hand gently against his cheek, guiding his gaze back to yours. "But you didn’t," you said softly, your voice carrying a gentle reassurance. "I’m right here. We’re both still here."

His eyes flickered, golden and tired but filled with something softer now—relief, love, and a quiet kind of determination. He nodded slightly, letting himself believe it, letting himself sink into the comfort of your presence. You were here. You had made it through the flames, through the chaos, and despite everything that had happened, you were together.

Keigo’s wings, tattered as they were, curled protectively around you once more, their warmth a soft contrast to the cool night air that had begun to settle over the ruins. His head tilted slightly, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead, lingering there as if to ground himself in the reality of this moment.

"I don’t care what happens next," he murmured, his voice low but filled with resolve. "I don’t care about the aftermath or the rebuilding or any of it. As long as I have you… that’s all I need."

You leaned into him, resting your head against his shoulder, the weight of the battle and the destruction finally beginning to settle in your bones. It was over. For now, at least. The war, the flames, the terror—it had all passed, leaving behind scars and wreckage, but also this. The two of you, holding each other in the aftermath, finding solace in the fact that you had survived. Together.

The night air was heavy with the scent of smoke and ash, the distant hum of voices still echoing through the broken city, but in this small pocket of peace, it was just you and Keigo. The weight of the near loss, of how close you had both come to losing each other, hung in the air, unspoken but understood. Yet, despite everything, there was a quiet comfort in the way he held you now, his arms wrapped securely around you as if he was never going to let go.

And he wasn’t.

Not now, not ever.

"I’ll keep you safe," he whispered, the promise threading through his words like a lifeline. "Always."

You closed your eyes, resting your hand gently on his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath your palm. It was the sound of life, of survival, of the love that had carried you both through the flames.

And as the world slowly began to rebuild itself around you, as the fires were extinguished and the chaos gave way to quiet, you knew that no matter what came next, you would face it together.

Because you had made it through the flames once, and you would make it through anything else that followed.

[badger-tales]

Patched Up// S.H x Reader

a/n: Man I'm a bit rusty on the smut but hopefully it's good!! Also, y/n and Steve are severely injured but that won't stop them from getting freaky apparently

word count: 6.5k

WARNINGS: THIS FIC CONTAINS SMUT SO MINORS DO NOT INTERACT. ALSO UNPROTECTED SEX.

request:

Hii can you please write a fic for steve harrington. Where reader and Steve used to be together and broke up. And in the battle with vecna she patches him up and he patches her up and they end up getting back together. Also could it please be a mix of Angst and then smut and fluff.

Tyyy 💜💜💜

The air was suffocating, thick with the acrid tang of smoke, blood, and the metallic scent of fear. It clung to your skin, worming its way into your lungs as you crouched next to the crumbling remnants of a building, the world around you still smoldering in the aftermath of the battle. Every breath felt like swallowing ash, and the oppressive silence, broken only by distant crumbling and the faint crackle of flames, was as unsettling as the chaos that had just ended.

Your hands shook as you pressed a tattered cloth to Steve's side, feeling the sticky warmth of his blood soaking through your fingers. His skin was clammy beneath your touch, and the sound of his sharp, labored breathing punctuated the heavy silence. You dared a glance at his face—he was pale, sweat glistening on his forehead, strands of his hair matted down with blood and dirt. His jaw was clenched in pain, his lips pressed into a tight, thin line, but even through the agony, he tried to meet your gaze, forcing a strained smile.

"Just like old times, huh?" His voice was rough, almost hoarse, and despite the weak attempt at humor, there was an edge to it—an underlying bitterness that stung more than the wound you were trying to heal.

Your heart clenched painfully in your chest. Old times. The words hit you like a punch to the gut, stirring up a storm of memories you had tried so hard to bury. Back when you and Steve were inseparable, two halves of a whole, tangled in a relationship that was messy, beautiful, and broken in all the ways that mattered. But that was before everything changed. Before you walked away. 

The hurt still simmered beneath the surface, the wounds from your breakup never fully healed. You had told yourself it was for the best, that walking away from him was the right thing, that it was easier to let go than to keep fighting for something that felt doomed from the start. But now, with Steve bleeding out in your arms, every decision you made felt like a lie. You had never really let him go.

Your throat tightened, and you tore your gaze away from his, focusing on the task at hand. "Yeah," you whispered, barely able to keep your voice steady. "Except this time, we don’t get a happy ending, do we?"

Steve’s face flickered with something—a flash of hurt, maybe regret—but he held your gaze now, searching for something in your eyes. You weren’t sure what he was looking for, and you were too scared to offer anything. The silence stretched between you, thick with words unspoken, until the distant rumble of debris breaking apart reminded you of where you were. And who you were with.

Slowly, almost hesitantly, Steve’s hand moved to cover yours, his touch warm despite the coolness creeping into his skin from blood loss. His fingers brushed over your knuckles, and that small, simple gesture shattered the fragile wall you’d tried to build around your heart.

"You really think that?" His voice was softer now, more vulnerable than you’d heard in a long time. It wavered slightly, like he was afraid of your answer, afraid of where this conversation might lead. He looked at you with those familiar brown eyes, the same ones that used to make you feel like you were the only person in the world. Now, they just made everything hurt more.

You swallowed, feeling the weight of everything unsaid pressing down on you, suffocating. It wasn’t just the battles that tore you apart—it was fear, the insecurity that gnawed at you both. You were afraid of what loving him meant, of how the world you were thrown into was far more dangerous than you could have ever imagined. The monsters weren’t just in the Upside Down—they were inside you, inside him, inside both of you, festering in the doubts and the heartbreak.

You blinked hard, trying to clear your thoughts, your vision blurring for a moment as you kept pressing the cloth to his side, as though if you just focused on that, you could ignore everything else. "I don’t know, Steve," you breathed, your voice barely audible. "I don’t know what to think anymore."

His fingers tightened slightly around yours, grounding you in that moment. His touch wasn’t desperate, but there was a quiet urgency to it—a plea, maybe, that you couldn’t ignore. 

"We’re still here, aren’t we?" he said, his jaw clenched through the pain. His voice was a mix of determination and vulnerability, a crack in the armor of the Steve Harrington you once knew. "We can figure this out. We can fix it… We have to."

His words sliced through you, fragile and raw. You couldn’t tell if he meant the gash on his side or the rift between the two of you—maybe both. The tension between you felt like a taut wire, ready to snap at any moment. His eyes were locked on yours, and for the first time in a long time, you let yourself really look at him. Not as the boy you used to love, not as the boy who broke your heart, but as the man who had fought beside you, bled beside you, and now, even in his brokenness, wanted to stand with you.

Your heart raced, and you couldn’t tell if it was from the adrenaline, from the exhaustion, or from the way his thumb traced the back of your hand. You’d been running from this— from him—for so long. You didn’t know if you had it in you to stop.

But his words lingered in the air, wrapping around you like a lifeline. And in that moment, as the world burned around you, neither of you had walked away.

The world was still crumbling around you—buildings reduced to rubble, fires crackling in the distance, and the air thick with ash and dust—but for a moment, none of that mattered. You and Steve had found a quiet corner in the chaos, leaning against the jagged remains of a wall. The weight of exhaustion pressed down on your shoulders, and every breath felt like a struggle. Your hands trembled from the effort of patching him up, the adrenaline slowly ebbing away to make room for the dull ache of your own injuries.

Steve shifted beside you, his head lolling back against the stone. His face was pale, the color drained from his cheeks, and despite the hastily bandaged wound on his side, he was still bleeding—just less than before. You had done everything you could for him with what little you had, but every time you looked at the blood-stained fabric, your heart squeezed in your chest.

"I’ll be fine," Steve rasped, his voice rough, though his eyes were soft when they flickered over to you. "I’ve been through worse."

You forced a weak smile, though the knot in your stomach didn’t loosen. "You always say that."

He chuckled, but it was cut short by a grimace, his hand flying to his side, clutching the wound. The sound of his pain was enough to break you all over again.

"We should rest," you murmured, trying to convince yourself as much as him. You pressed your back against the cold stone behind you, wincing as you felt your own bruises scream in protest.

But Steve wasn’t having it. He turned, his eyes scanning over you in the dim light, his expression hardening when he noticed the blood seeping through the tears in your shirt. "You’re hurt."

You waved it off, trying to play it down, though every muscle in your body throbbed. "It’s nothing."

Steve’s gaze narrowed, and before you could protest, he was shifting onto his knees, ignoring the pain that clearly still wracked his own body. "Let me see," he insisted, his voice low but firm.

You sighed, too tired to argue, and pulled back the torn fabric to reveal the gash along your arm, jagged and ugly from the battle. You hadn’t even noticed how bad it was until now, the adrenaline masking the pain that was now starting to pulse steadily through your veins.

Steve’s jaw clenched, his brow furrowing as he took in the sight of the wound. "You should’ve said something," he muttered, more to himself than to you. His hands, though roughened from fighting, were gentle as they touched your skin. He worked carefully, almost delicately, as if afraid he might break you if he applied too much pressure. He used what was left of the supplies—an old, dirty rag that he dampened with water from a flask—to clean the blood from your arm, his focus unwavering.

You watched him, your chest tightening with a mix of emotions you couldn’t untangle. He was so close, his face inches from yours, and you could see the concentration etched into every line of his features. His lips were pressed into a thin line, his eyes dark with worry as he tended to your wounds. Despite everything—despite the years, the distance, the heartbreak—Steve Harrington still took care of you as if nothing had ever changed. As if he never stopped caring.

"You don’t have to do this," you whispered, your voice barely audible over the crackling in the distance. But the truth was, his touch was comforting. It was like you were transported back to a time when things between you were simple, when his touch didn’t make your heart ache with memories.

Steve didn’t look up, but you saw the way his jaw tightened, his hands stilling for a moment before resuming their careful work. "I want to," he said, his voice rough with a kind of determination you hadn’t heard in a long time.

He wrapped the cloth around your arm, tying it with a gentle but firm knot. You winced as the pressure sent a sharp sting up your arm, but you bit your lip, refusing to let it show. Steve noticed anyway. His thumb brushed your skin, a soft, fleeting touch, and for a brief second, the pain didn’t seem so bad.

When he was done, he finally looked up at you. His fingers lingered on your skin, the warmth of his touch spreading through you like fire. You met his gaze, and in that moment, everything else—the battle, the blood, the hurt—faded away. There was only him, the boy who had once held your heart in the palm of his hand, now looking at you like you were the only thing left in his world.

"I never stopped caring about you, you know," he said softly, his voice low and rough, as if it pained him to admit it. His eyes searched yours, as though he was trying to find some hint of what you were feeling—trying to find the part of you that still belonged to him.

Your breath caught in your throat. The words you had longed to hear, words you never thought would come again, hung in the air between you. You felt your chest tighten, a rush of emotion swelling up inside you. And suddenly, without thinking, you leaned in, your lips brushing his in a tentative kiss.

It was soft at first, almost hesitant, like neither of you wanted to admit how much you needed it. But then Steve kissed you back, and all the restraint, all the distance between you melted away. His hand came up to cup your face, pulling you closer, deepening the kiss. Every ounce of love, regret, and longing that had been bottled up inside you both spilled out in that kiss, desperate and hungry.

When you finally pulled away, both of you were breathless. Your forehead rested against his, your eyes fluttering shut as you let the reality of the moment sink in. Steve’s hand remained on your cheek, his thumb brushing lightly over your skin.

"We don’t have to figure everything out tonight," he whispered, his voice shaky but certain. "But I’m not letting you walk away again."

Your heart swelled at his words, and you knew, deep down, that you didn’t want to walk away either. Not this time. Not ever again.

"I’m not going anywhere," you murmured, your voice soft but sure.

And in that moment, amidst the ruin and the darkness, you found each other again—two broken people, patching each other up, piece by piece.

---

The quiet hum of nightfall had settled over the wreckage, the world outside now eerily still, as if holding its breath in the aftermath of the storm. You and Steve had found a fragile kind of solace in each other’s arms. The fires that had raged, the battles that had left you both scarred, felt distant now, reduced to faint embers in the back of your minds. The silence between you was heavy but not uncomfortable—it was loaded with unspoken words, emotions that were too big for either of you to voice.

The adrenaline had finally drained from your bodies, leaving behind an aching exhaustion. After the makeshift bandages, the blood, and the rawness of survival, you both ended up back at Steve’s place. The journey home had been quiet, both of you too lost in your thoughts, too caught up in the weight of everything that had happened. There were no words for the things you had seen, for the battles fought, for the way your heart ached in his presence even now.

But once inside, the silence transformed into something else. There was no need for words after that first kiss. It was as if all the brokenness between you could be healed with a touch, a caress, a look. Your bodies spoke where your voices couldn’t, and it was all so familiar. Steve’s hands roamed over your skin as if they remembered every inch of you, and you found yourself leaning into his touch, the years between you fading like a distant dream. His touch was both desperate and tender, filled with a longing that neither of you had been able to put into words.

The night stretched out slowly, each second heavy with anticipation. Steve’s lips found yours again, and this time the kiss was deeper, more urgent, filled with all the things he couldn’t say. His hands slid beneath your shirt, fingers grazing your skin in a way that made your breath catch. You could feel the hunger in him, the way his chest rose and fell against yours, the way his breath hitched every time your hands brushed over him. 

"Tell me if you need me to stop," he whispered against your ear, his voice a low, gravelly murmur that sent shivers down your spine. His breath was hot against your neck, the closeness of him igniting a fire in your belly. 

Your heart raced, and you shook your head, already pulling him closer, feeling his warmth seeping into you. "Don’t stop," you breathed, your voice shaky with need. "Please."

And he didn’t.

His hands found the hem of your shirt, tugging it over your head, and in the dim light, you could see the way his eyes darkened, filled with something primal, something that had been simmering beneath the surface for too long. His fingers traced along your skin, slow, deliberate, as if memorizing every curve, every scar. When his lips followed the path his hands had made, kissing a trail down your neck, across your collarbone, a soft gasp escaped your lips, your fingers tangling in his hair.

There was no rush, no urgency to get it over with. The night was slow, deliberate, a mix of gentle touches and desperate need. You felt his hands grip your waist, pulling you closer until there was no space between you, his body pressed tightly against yours, skin against skin. Every kiss he placed on your skin felt like a promise, every touch a silent apology for the time you had spent apart.

When his lips found yours again, the kiss was different—deeper, more consuming. His tongue brushed against yours, and you could taste the desperation on his lips, the way he needed you, the way he had always needed you. You could feel him trembling beneath your touch, his body taut with tension, but he was careful. So careful. His fingers skimmed over your skin, mapping every inch of you as if afraid you’d disappear if he wasn’t gentle enough.

Your hands slid down his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath your palm, before finding their way lower. His breath caught as you reached for him, your fingers brushing over the growing hardness beneath his jeans. He jumped slightly at the contact, his muscles tensing under your touch, but he didn’t pull away. Instead, he leaned into you, his forehead resting against yours as a low, breathless groan escaped his throat.

You wasted no time, your fingers working to free him from the confines of his jeans, pulling them down just enough to feel him fully. When your hand wrapped around him, slow and deliberate, Steve let out a shuddering breath, his head falling back slightly, eyes squeezed shut in barely contained pleasure.

His skin was warm, the heat of him almost scalding in your palm as you began to stroke him slowly, teasingly. His lips parted, and you could hear the way his breath faltered, could feel the tension coiling in his body as he tried to keep his composure. But with each slow stroke, you could see him unraveling—his composure slipping with every press of your hand.

His pale skin flushed, a deep shade of red creeping up his neck, and you watched, entranced, as he gave in to the pleasure. His hands gripped your hips, his fingers digging into your skin, but his touch was still tender, still filled with the care you had always known from him. He watched you with dark, hooded eyes as you worked him, his breath coming in short, ragged gasps, and you felt a surge of power in the way his body responded to you.

You pressed your thumb against the prominent vein running along the underside of his cock, and Steve groaned, his hips jerking slightly against your hand. His eyes fluttered shut, his mouth falling open in a soft moan, and you couldn’t help but smile at the way he was coming undone beneath you.

“God,” he breathed, his voice rough, barely a whisper. “You’re gonna kill me.”

But he didn’t pull away. Instead, his hands found your face, pulling you into a desperate kiss, his lips moving against yours with a kind of hunger that made your knees weak. And in that moment, there was nothing else. Just you and Steve, lost in the heat of each other, every touch, every kiss a reminder of what you had lost—and what you had found again.

“Come here.” The words left your lips, a gentle command, yet charged with an intensity that had Steve immediately following your lead. You slid off the bed, your knees sinking into the plush carpet beneath you as you knelt before him, gazing up into his darkened eyes. He obeyed without hesitation, positioning himself at the edge of the bed, his breath already shallow with anticipation.

You could see the way his chest rose and fell, the way his muscles tensed as you brought your mouth closer to him. His cock was hard, flushed with need, and the sight of him made your heart race. Without breaking eye contact, you leaned in, pressing your lips to his tip, and a low, guttural groan tore from his throat. 

Your tongue flicked out, teasing him, swirling around his sensitive head, tasting the saltiness of his arousal. You watched as his head fell back, the cords in his neck tightening as he gripped the edge of the bed. The tension in the air was thick, almost palpable, as you slowly dipped your head lower, taking more of him into your mouth inch by inch. You could feel the stretch of your lips, the way his cock twitched against your tongue, and it only made you more eager.

Steve’s hand found its way into your hair, his fingers curling into the strands, tugging gently at first as if trying to maintain some semblance of control. But when you began to speed up, hollowing your cheeks and taking him deeper, his restraint shattered. His grip tightened, gathering your hair into a makeshift ponytail, and his hips bucked forward involuntarily, thrusting deeper into your mouth.

“Fuck,” Steve hissed, his voice rough, strained with desire as his cock slid further down your throat. You gagged slightly at the intrusion, but the sensation only spurred you on. You gripped his thighs, your nails digging into the soft flesh as you took him as deep as you could, the pressure and the fullness overwhelming but intoxicating all the same.

Steve's hips began to move in sync with your mouth, each thrust pushing him further into the heat of your throat. His fingers tugged at your hair, guiding you, and you moaned around him, the vibrations of your voice sending shudders up his cock. His quiet grunts filled the room, punctuated by your soft, wet sounds, and the air around you buzzed with the tension of his impending release.

Your eyes watered as Steve’s movements became more erratic, his hips jerking forward with reckless abandon. Each time the head of his cock hit the back of your throat, you gagged around him, the sensation both overwhelming and thrilling. You flattened your tongue against the underside of his length, relishing the way his body tensed, how his cock twitched as you brought him closer to the edge.

“Shit,” he groaned, his voice breaking, his hand tightening in your hair as he struggled to maintain control. His breathing was ragged, labored, his body trembling with the force of holding back. But you could feel it—he was so close.

“Come back on the bed,” he panted, his voice strained with urgency. “I won’t last much longer if you keep this up.”

You slowly pulled away, your lips releasing him with a soft, wet pop, and you couldn’t help the smirk that tugged at your lips when you saw how wrecked he looked—his cheeks flushed, his chest heaving, his cock glistening with your saliva. Without a word, you climbed back onto the bed, settling yourself down as Steve shifted to make room for you. His eyes were locked on yours, dark with a hunger that sent a shiver down your spine.

Once you were comfortable, Steve wasted no time. His eyes devoured the sight of you, and his hands moved with a gentleness that contrasted the earlier urgency. He cupped your breasts, his thumbs brushing over your nipples, and the soft moan that escaped your lips only seemed to encourage him. 

His gaze flicked up to meet yours, and there was something almost reverent in the way he looked at you, like he couldn’t quite believe you were here with him again. Slowly, he leaned down, his lips trailing a path of hot, open-mouthed kisses down your chest, over the curve of your abdomen, until he reached the waistband of your shorts.

With one smooth motion, he unzipped them, pulling them off and discarding them carelessly to the floor. His eyes darkened further as he took in the sight of your lace panties, a wicked grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. 

“God, you’re beautiful,” he murmured, his voice low, almost like a growl as he looped a finger through the waistband of your panties. The anticipation made your pulse quicken, your body humming with need as he slowly pulled them down, exposing every inch of you to his gaze.

You were bare before him now, vulnerable and open, and yet the way Steve looked at you made you feel powerful. His eyes never left yours as he moved forward, his body shifting until his head was level with your thighs. The warmth of his breath ghosted over your skin, and you couldn’t help the way your hips instinctively lifted, seeking more of his touch, more of him.

Steve’s lips curled into a smirk as he leaned in closer, his breath hot against your core. His eyes stayed locked with yours, and the tension between you both was electric, a coil wound so tight it was ready to snap. When his mouth finally descended, pressing a soft kiss to your aching heat, the sensation was so overwhelming it made your back arch off the bed.

“You taste incredible,” he murmured, his voice sending a jolt of desire straight through you. His tongue flicked out, teasing your clit in slow, torturous circles, and the pleasure that coursed through your body was enough to make you gasp, your hands flying to grip the sheets beneath you.

Steve’s fingers dug into your hips, holding you firmly in place as he began to devour you, his mouth moving with a precision that left you breathless. Each flick of his tongue, each gentle suck, had you spiraling closer and closer to the edge. Your moans filled the room, mingling with the soft sound of his mouth working you, the air thick with the heady scent of sex and the tension between you.

Your legs trembled as his tongue worked you over, his pace building, each movement sending waves of pleasure crashing through you. You were barely able to think, your mind clouded with desire, your body completely at his mercy as he pushed you closer and closer to the brink.

And all the while, Steve’s eyes never left yours, watching every reaction, every gasp, every moan as you came undone beneath him. Steve took a moment to admire her, his gaze lingering on her flushed cheeks, her lips parted in anticipation. The sight of her like this—vulnerable, waiting, with her skin glowing in the dim light—was enough to send a surge of desire coursing through him. He could feel her trembling beneath him, her body taut with need, every breath she took coming out in shallow, shaky exhales.

And then he moved, lowering his head between her thighs, his lips finding her swollen clit. He latched onto it with a fierceness that had her gasping, sucking harshly before smoothing it over with the soft, deliberate strokes of his tongue. The pleasure rippled through her, waves crashing against every nerve as he took his time, dragging it out, building her up slowly, almost teasingly. He knew exactly what he was doing, bringing her closer to the edge but never quite letting her fall.

Her hands flew to his hair, fingers tangling in the dark strands, nails scratching lightly against his scalp as she held him against her, wordlessly begging for more. Her body writhed beneath him, hips bucking up to meet his mouth, but Steve was in control. His hands roamed over her body, exploring every inch of her skin, and when his fingers found her nipples, he couldn’t help but pinch them, rolling the sensitive buds between his fingers as his tongue continued to work her over.

He moved lower, his tongue slipping down to her entrance, teasing her with soft, languid strokes. The mewling noises that escaped her lips only spurred him on, each sound like fuel to the fire burning inside him. He pushed his tongue inside her, and she let out a choked gasp, her back arching off the bed as she pulled him closer, urging him deeper. 

“Please,” she whimpered, her voice shaky, desperate. “I’m so close.”

The way she bucked her hips against his mouth, her body trembling with the need for release, was all the encouragement he needed. He picked up the pace, his tongue moving faster, his fingers pinching her nipples in rhythm with his movements. The tension in her body built and built, until finally, she let out a loud, breathless moan as her orgasm crashed over her, her thighs shaking around his head as she came all over his tongue.

Steve stayed there, nestled between her legs, his tongue lapping at her softly, helping her ride out the waves of her orgasm. Her body was trembling, her breath coming in ragged gasps, but she didn’t pull away. Instead, she reached for him, her fingers wrapping around his arm as she tugged him up toward her, desperate for his kiss.

“Steve…” she panted, her voice still breathless. “Fuck me. Please.”

The words alone nearly sent him over the edge. His cock twitched at the sound of her begging, her voice raw and filled with desire, and it took everything in him not to lose control right then and there. But he steadied himself, his hands bracing on either side of her as he repositioned himself above her, his body hovering just inches away. He searched her eyes, waiting for her to give him the slightest nod, the sign that she was ready for him.

And when she did, her eyes half-lidded and lips parted, he moved. Slowly, carefully, he began to enter her, sliding into her inch by inch, his breath hitching at the overwhelming sensation of her tight, wet heat around him. It was almost too much, the feeling of her body clenching around him, pulling him deeper, and Steve swore he could’ve died happy in that moment. The way her body responded to him, the soft, breathy moans spilling from her lips, sent his head spinning.

When he was fully inside her, he paused, savoring the feeling, letting her adjust to the stretch of him before he began to move. His hips rolled slowly at first, drawing out each thrust, watching the way her body arched beneath him, the way her hands gripped his shoulders, nails digging into his skin. The sounds coming from her—those sweet, breathless moans—only made him want her more.

He could feel the tension building inside him, his control slipping with each slow thrust. The slick sound of their bodies moving together filled the room, mingling with her soft whimpers and his quiet grunts. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from her, watching the way her chest rose and fell, the way her lips parted in pleasure. Every thrust sent a shudder through her body, and he could tell by the way her breathing faltered, the way her grip on his shoulders tightened, that she was close again.

“Faster,” she panted, her voice thick with need, her pupils blown wide with lust. Her legs wrapped around his waist, pulling him deeper, and Steve obeyed, quickening his pace, his hips snapping against hers in a desperate rhythm. 

“I’m close,” she moaned, her voice high-pitched, the pleasure overtaking her as she gripped his shoulders even tighter.

“Me too,” he groaned, his voice low and rough, the fire in his belly growing hotter with each thrust. His own release was rapidly approaching, but he held on, determined to push her over the edge first. His hand slipped down between their bodies, his fingers finding her clit and rubbing tight, firm circles over it.

The effect was immediate. Y/N let out a guttural moan, her body tightening around him as her second orgasm tore through her, her thighs trembling as she came hard. The sensation of her walls pulsing around him was enough to send him spiraling. With one last thrust, Steve pulled out of her, his hand moving to his cock, giving himself a few quick pumps as he reached his release. He came with a shuddering groan, his hips jerking as thick ropes of cum spilled over his hands.

For a moment, the room was filled with the sound of heavy breathing, their bodies slick with sweat, hearts pounding in time with each other. Steve collapsed onto the bed beside her, his chest heaving, still reeling from the intensity of it all.

Y/N turned her head to look at him, her eyes still glazed over from the aftershocks of her orgasm, a lazy smile playing on her lips. She reached out, brushing her fingers through his damp hair, and Steve turned his head, meeting her gaze.

Neither of them said anything for a long moment, but they didn’t need to. The connection between them was electric, the air still charged with the heat of their passion. Steve reached out, pulling her closer until her head was resting on his chest, his hand idly stroking her hair as their breathing finally began to even out.

And in the quiet aftermath, with the warmth of her body pressed against his, Steve knew that this moment—this connection—was something he would never let go of.

The world seemed to slow down. The only sounds in the room were the faint rustling of sheets and the soft cadence of your breaths, mingling together in the stillness. Tangled in each other’s arms, you lay in silence, the heat of your bodies slowly dissipating as the room cooled. Your head rested on Steve’s chest, rising and falling with each steady breath he took. His heart beat strong beneath your ear, a rhythm that soothed you in ways you hadn’t realized you needed.

Steve’s fingers lazily traced patterns on your skin, gentle swirls and lines that sent soft shivers down your spine. His touch was delicate, almost reverent, as though he was memorizing every inch of you all over again. The warmth of his hand lingered wherever he touched, grounding you in the present moment. It was a stark contrast to the urgency from earlier—the passion that had left both of you breathless and trembling. Now, it was just the two of you, wrapped in a cocoon of tenderness.

You shifted slightly, turning to face him, catching the soft smile tugging at the corners of his lips. His hair was tousled, sticking up in places, and his eyes were half-lidded with exhaustion, but there was something else there—contentment, maybe even peace. You hadn’t seen that look on him in so long, and it made your chest tighten with an overwhelming sense of longing.

“I never thought we’d get here,” you whispered, your voice barely audible, like you were afraid saying it too loud might break the spell of the moment.

Steve’s smile widened just a fraction, his eyes softening as he met your gaze. His hand slid down from your arm to find yours, his fingers intertwining with yours as his thumb brushed gently over your knuckles. “Neither did I,” he admitted, his voice low, but filled with a sincerity that made your heart ache.

He leaned in slowly, pressing a feather-light kiss to your forehead. The gesture was so simple, yet it felt like a promise—a silent reassurance that this time, things could be different. That the broken pieces between you could be mended.

“I missed this,” Steve murmured, his breath warm against your skin. “I missed you.” There was a raw honesty in his voice that made your throat tighten. “I tried telling myself I didn’t, that we were better off apart, but I couldn’t… I couldn’t stop thinking about you. About us.”

Your chest tightened as his words sank in, the vulnerability in them echoing your own feelings. You’d missed him too—more than you could ever admit to yourself. The space between you had felt endless, the weight of your decision to walk away a constant ache you carried. But now, lying beside him, the ache was replaced by something else—hope.

“I missed us too,” you whispered, your voice catching slightly as you spoke. You tightened your grip on his hand, pulling him a little closer, needing to feel him next to you. “I kept trying to forget… but I couldn’t. I didn’t want to.”

Steve’s hand found its way to your cheek, cupping it gently as he studied your face, his eyes filled with a softness that made your heart swell. “You don’t have to anymore,” he said quietly, his thumb brushing across your cheekbone in a tender caress. “We don’t have to pretend. Not anymore.”

Your eyes fluttered shut at his touch, a warmth blooming in your chest that chased away the last remnants of doubt. His words wrapped around you like a safety net, catching you before the fear of losing him could take hold again. When you opened your eyes, you found him staring at you with that same unwavering gaze, as if you were the only thing that mattered in the world at that moment.

“I’m not going anywhere this time,” he whispered, his voice filled with quiet determination. “I don’t want you to either. We can make this work, I know we can.”

His words were a balm to the wounds you had both carried, soothing the hurt that had lingered between you for so long. Your heart swelled as you looked at him, seeing the boy you had fallen in love with, the man he had become, and the hope that still lingered between you. The road ahead wouldn’t be easy; you both knew that. But in this moment, wrapped in each other’s arms, the weight of the past didn’t feel so heavy anymore.

You leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to his lips, your fingers brushing the side of his face as if to anchor yourself to this moment. “I’m not leaving, Steve,” you murmured against his lips. “Not this time.”

His smile was small, but full of relief, and you felt his arms tighten around you, pulling you closer until there wasn’t a single inch of space left between you. He pressed his forehead against yours, his breath warm on your skin, and for a long moment, neither of you spoke. You didn’t need to. The silence was comfortable, filled with the quiet understanding that you had found your way back to each other.

“Do you think… we can really do this?” you asked softly, your voice laced with both hope and hesitation. 

Steve chuckled softly, the sound vibrating through your chest. “We’ve faced worse things, haven’t we?” His fingers threaded through your hair, gently tugging you closer. “I think we can handle a second chance.”

You couldn’t help but smile, a sense of lightness washing over you as you curled into his side, your head resting on his chest. His heartbeat, steady and sure, lulled you into a sense of peace you hadn’t felt in what felt like forever.

“Promise me something,” you said quietly, your voice barely above a whisper as you traced patterns on his skin.

“Anything,” Steve replied without hesitation, his voice soft and full of affection.

“Promise me we won’t let go of this again.”

Steve’s hand came to rest over yours, his grip firm but gentle. “I promise,” he whispered, his lips brushing the top of your head. “We won’t let go. Not this time.”

And as the night stretched on, the weight of the world slowly fading away, you held each other close, knowing that while the road ahead wouldn’t be easy, you were ready to face it—together, patched up, healing, but never alone.

[spacedace]

Reluctant War AU Part 2

Part One

...I ended up writing more for that Reluctant War AU...Like. Wrote this before work and started on part 3 with plans for part 4 more.

this was supposed to just be a brain worm what happened (also thank you @catastrophic-crow for the AU name <3 <3 <3 Also, also: welcome to the cult of Ancient of the Speedforce Elle! Membership includes nonsense, shenanigans and chaos haha)

-

Gotham had always been a place for ghosts.

Every corner haunted by death and tragedy.

Every street stained red at least once in its many years.

Every dark shadow holding the faint shadows and shades of the dead.

Gotham was, before all else, a grave yard.

Jason had known that his entire life. Every kid born and raised in the Alley did. Death came fast to Gotham’s streets. Especially for those the rest of the city turned its back on. He did his best to lighten the reaper’s load when it came to the people that called Crime Alley home. Well, mostly. He’d certainly added names to old Death’s list before, when the occasion called.

When the armies of the dead descended upon Gotham, the only surprise Jason could feel was that those white wearing pieces of shit had dared to try and hunker down in his city.

It was a sentiment shared by most of Gotham’s fine citizens. By the city itself - herself? Something to ask later, if there was a later - even if the impossible, living shadow that rose up out of Gotham’s many dark corners was anything to go by. He knew, almost instinctively, that the entity - skin of cracked pavement, mouth a bridge suspended too wide across the face, eyes of CCTV camera lenses and body built brick by grimy, bloody brick of the sharp skyline - was Gotham. Not a ghost but something bigger, greater. Something awfully, terribly alive in all its horrible, noble glory. His city, manifest in the shape almost human beneath the green glow of the torn apart sky above.

Phantom’s armies arrived without warning as they had everywhere else, and their enemies poured out in unforgivably unmarred white suits to meet them. Horrible and garish against the Gotham streets. How they’d ever managed to slink by unnoticed while being so blatantly, clearly not of Gotham Jason wasn’t sure he’d ever know.

If either side thought this would be like the battles they fought before, they were mistaken.

Gotham was a place for Ghosts.

A place the dead piled up, lingered well beyond their deaths. A place where the rules were different from everywhere else in the world. Where crime was rampant and chaos reigned but at the end of the day people said their thanks that they were born to this hellhole and not so cursed to call anywhere else in the world home.

The dead came to fight

And Gotham, a thing so alive it was sickening to look upon, rose up to fight right along side them all.

The agents were ready and prepared for the incursion of the dead. It’d been two weeks since the first volley of attacks. Two weeks spent shoring up defenses and ramping up weapons and strategizing ways to kill what was already dead. They were, as best as they were able to be considering how endless the armies that came for them, prepared.

They weren’t prepared for Gotham.

Weren’t prepared for the city itself to rise up and take spectral, eldritch shape. Jagged building spire and shattered glass teeth bared in a snarl that spanned miles. Screaming rage in a voice made of gunfire and the concussive boom of explosions and the shrieks of a furious crowd.

Weren’t prepared for its people to ignore the gentle ushering of the dead trying to push them away to safety and instead press forward to fight shoulder to shoulder with the ghostly armies.

Weren’t prepared to have brick and bottles and trash and debris rain down upon them from the jeering living. Weren’t prepared for dirty faced children with hard eyes to light up rags stuffed into chipped beer bottles filled with gas and kerosene and throw them with more speed an accuracy than any professional baseball player. Weren’t ready for Gotham’s motley crew of terrifying Rogues to band together with the citizens they so often accosted and worried and bring down wave after wave of chaos and Goons.

Weren’t prepared for Red Hood to swap out his rubber bullets for the real deal and start mowing the fuckers in white down, his own crew at his back, the rest of the Outlaws on their way.

The Justice League was trying to find a peaceful resolution. Trying to play go between to the US Government and the infinite dead. Too wound up in US politics to side with the dead outright, too disgusted by what the American government had done to ever want to stand with them. All it had gotten them was spun wheels and confusion and the slow creeping realization that the time to try and play negotiators had well passed.

Red Hood wasn’t a member of the Justice League.

He had no obligation to try and find a way to talk things out.

What he had was a grave he’d dug his way out of, enough ammunition to arm a sizable country, and a burning need to make things right.

Gotham had always been a place for ghosts, and Jason had long accepted that he was one of them.

Haunting the streets he’d survived as a child, the city he protected as Robin, the family he’d loved and lost a thousand and one times before and after his death.

The sky cracked open above his home, and it was not an invading army that came rushing out but a native one. Friends, neighbors, strangers on the street you caught from the corner of your eye. The people of Gotham knew their own and fought for them. Only Gotham was allowed to fucked with Gotham and they’d been screwed over enough by the government themselves to know what side they were on.

He lifted his guns and fired, teeth bared in vicious satisfaction beneath his helmet as white was splattered bright red.

A hissing electric whine of a weapon, a flash of green from the edge of his vision.

“Down!”

He was thrown bodily to the cracked and ruined street beneath him, the body shielding him warm and living as one of the agent’s weapon fired a blast of energy right where he’d been a second before. He’d seen that same weapon reduce one of the raging dead to dripping green and screams of agony the dead should not be capable of making.

Before he could shove himself up and respond in kind, the body above him was in motion and the air above him cracking with the snapping-popping-roar of a gun of a much higher power than even what he had. The fucker in white that had shot at him dissolved into a mist of red viscera, body seizing and shuttering in the briefest moment it had before it was obliterated completely.

“Watch yourself.” He looked up - and up - and wondered at the lovely, fierce face he found staring down at him. “Even without shooting at them you’re Liminal enough to trip their sensors.”

She was tall enough to be an amazon, six inches in height on him at least. Body strong beneath the pitch black armor she work - as deep and dark as the depths of space, etched with starlight, a familiar crest upon her chest in the dizzying burst of a supernova - she held herself with confidence. Strands of hair the color of a warning sunrise escaped out from beneath the helm she wore, bright against her pale skin, warming the glass-sharp teal eyes that had pinned him in place.

The hand not holding the gun she’d just used to delete the asshole that had just tried to shoot him - a strange, impossible thing that made him taste lightning at the back of his throat to look at it - stretched out to help him up.

He accepted it.

Something pulsed to life in his chest. A piece forgotten where it’d been left behind, half buried in grave dirt and broken pieces of a casket he’d clawed his way out of. It burned like a hot coal in his chest, froze him with the same aching cold of a blizzard, crackled his nerves to life with lightning even as his brain popped and fried with the same sizzling energy.

On his feet, hair on end and body and Core pulsing with the need to fight, to rend and tear and scream for all done to him, his people, his home, he met the eyes of the woman before him. Her cool gaze softened, just a moment, just a second as she seemed to realize what had happened. Her hand, lighter than the armor she wore should allow it to be, tightened on his just a moment, mouth tilting from determined frown to soft understanding.

Gotham had always been a place for ghosts.

Jason had long accepted that he was one of them.

---

Part Three

[pretzel-box]

Idea for a reverse au fic?

Reader gets flashed by a passing Expendable. How would Sebastian (and reader) take it?

REVERSE AU MASTERLIST HERE

PART 6: RIGHT IN SIGHT

Tags: Light jokes, some action, reader and seb encountering a possible enemy

Words: 1,6k

The sterile, metallic halls of the Hadal Blackside stretched out before you and Sebastian as the two of you moved quietly, scavenging for any useful supplies. Despite the ominous setting, the atmosphere between the two of you was light and carefree as always. You tossed jokes back and forth between each other, your banter echoing softly in the cold, dimly lit corridor. It was rare to get moments like this, where the tension of your reality seemed to melt away and you could focus on the cute human right by your side.

“Look, if we don’t find any decent scrap soon, I’m just gonna start decorating our hideout with broken tech. Really give it that ‘desperate survivor’ vibe,” Sebastian quipped, a grin on his face as he glanced over at you. He liked to impress you with his crappy jokes, taking in the way your expression shifts every single time into one of laugher and joy.

You chuckled, your claws lightly tapping against the floor as you sifted through some debris. “Well, at least if we don’t find anything, we can hang up your terrible sense of humor for decoration.”

He shot you a mock-offended look, not expecting such a good comeback. “Wow. Harsh. And here I thought I was your favorite human.”

You smirked, glancing over at him, your sharp, artificial eyes glowing faintly in the low light. “Well, you are my only human, Seb. That makes you both the best and the worst.”

Sebastian laughed, his voice warm, and for a moment, the cold, underwater world around you felt a little less hostile. It was moments like this that reminded you why you stuck together, why despite all the dangers, you and Sebastian had found a strange, unbreakable bond in this twisted place. Human and experiment—survivors, somehow managing to hold onto something normal in the midst of the chaos.

As you continued searching, something caught your attention—a small device partially buried beneath a pile of broken tech. You crouched down, pulling it free and inspecting it. “Hey, think this could be useful?” you asked, holding it up for Sebastian to see.

He moved closer, studying it for a moment. “Maybe. Could be some old keycard or part of another similar thing. We can figure it out back at the shop.” He grinned again, leaning in just a little too close. “Or, you know, it could just be more junk for your decorating project.” His words hitting your ears, giving you a small shiver down your back, one of the good kind.

Before you could retort, a sudden flash of light exploded in the hallway, blinding you instantly. The sharp, searing brightness hit your sensors like a sledgehammer, causing you to stagger back with a sharp cry. You instinctively raised your arms to shield your face, but it was too late—the damage was done.

“Shit!” Sebastian cursed, his voice suddenly serious, filled with panic. He grabbed your arm, trying to steady you. “Hold on, I’ve got you—”

The flash beacon. You knew the feeling all too well. It was a device designed to disable experiments like you, to overload your optical systems and incapacitate you. Your vision flickered wildly, and the surge of light made your entire body feel disoriented, unstable. Whoever it was—they knew exactly how to neutralize you.

“Seb…” you rasped, struggling to regain control of your vision, but it was hard to focus, hard to even stand with your lack of balance. Your body felt like it was shutting down, forced into a state of emergency reboot.

Sebastian tightened his grip on your arm, his eyes darting around the hallway as he scanned for whoever had used the beacon. “Stay with me, okay? Don’t worry. We’re getting out of here,” he said, his voice full of determination. He quickly crouched, grabbing a piece of scrap metal as a makeshift weapon.

Footsteps echoed down the hall, and you both knew that whoever was behind the attack was getting closer. You could feel the weight of the situation pressing down, but you couldn’t help but curse internally—this was supposed to be a routine scavenging trip. A fun, light-hearted break from the usual dangers.

But now, everything had turned dangerous.

“Can you move?” Sebastian asked urgently, his arm slipping around your waist to help you stand.

You groaned, trying to focus through the buzzing in your head. “Yeah... I think so. Just... need a second.”

“We don’t have a second,” he muttered, glancing down the corridor again, his expression grim.

With Sebastian’s support, you managed to take a shaky step, but your body still felt off, uncooperative. It was taking longer than usual to recover, and the frustration gnawed at you. You were supposed to protect him, not the other way around.

“I’m fine,” you insisted, though your voice was shaky, the lie obvious. “Let’s just... get out of here.”

But before either of you could move, another blinding light filled the hallway. You felt Sebastian’s body tense beside you, and through your still-fragmented vision, you could see the silhouette of a figure approaching—whoever they were, they were armed, and they weren’t here to help.

“Stay behind me,” Sebastian whispered, his voice low and tense.

Even in your weakened state, you couldn’t stand the idea of Sebastian putting himself in harm’s way for you. You were the experiment, the one designed to handle danger, not him. But as the figure drew closer, you realized that this time, it wasn’t going to be so easy.

“Seb...” you started, but before you could say anything more, a sound filled the hallway and three red dots pointed at you—a turret, aimed directly at the two of you.

The moment the turret whirred to life, its mechanical sound sent a jolt of adrenaline through your systems. The barrel locked onto you and Sebastian, a low hum signaling that it was ready to fire.

"Seb, get behind me!" you shouted, your voice cutting through the chaos.

Sebastian didn’t hesitate, ducking behind a pile of debris as you moved toward the turret. You felt your senses returning bit by bit, the effects of the flash beacon still present but waning. The danger of the turret, however, forced your mind into sharp focus.

The mysterious figure, cloaked in shadows, smirked before glancing up at the vent near the floor. They were quick, nimble, and clearly had the upper hand in this situation. You knew they were planning to escape, but you couldn’t focus on them right now—not with the turret locked onto you both.

The turret's motor clicked, and you heard it ready to fire. You dove behind a nearby crate as it began unleashing a barrage of bullets, pinging off the walls and scattering bits of metal everywhere.

“Damn it,” you muttered under your breath. You peeked out from behind the crate, your eyes locking onto the base of the turret. You could see it—a control panel just beneath the rotating barrel. If you could just reach it, you might be able to disable the turret before it turned Sebastian or you into scrap metal.

“I’ll cover you!” Sebastian shouted, grabbing a nearby chunk of debris and tossing it toward the turret. It clanged off the barrel, momentarily redirecting its attention.

Now’s your chance.

You launched yourself out from behind the crate, hurrying toward the turret as it recalibrated its aim. The whir of the barrel grew louder, and you could feel the heat of the bullets whizzing past you, narrowly missing as you zigzagged toward the base. Your claws dug into the ground as you slid to the control panel, your fingers immediately working to pry it open.

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw the figure climbing into the vent, the grating pulled aside. They paused for a split second, glancing back at you and Sebastian, a look of triumph in their eyes. Then, with one swift movement, they disappeared into the vent, the cover sliding back into place.

“No time to worry about them now,” you growled, focusing on the control panel in front of you. The wires were a mess of colors, tangled and confusing, but you didn’t have the luxury of being careful. The turret’s barrel shifted again, locking back onto you, and you knew you had seconds before it would fire.

With a sharp inhale, you jammed your claw into the circuitry, pulling a handful of wires free. Sparks flew, and for a moment, the turret seemed to stall. Its motor whirred in confusion, the barrel twitching as if trying to re-engage its targeting system. You ripped another cluster of wires loose, praying you hit the right ones.

Suddenly, the turret powered down with a groan, the barrel slumping to the side as its lights blinked out. The hallway fell into a heavy silence, the echo of the gunfire still lingering in your ears.

You exhaled in relief, leaning back against the wall as your systems tried to calm down from the sudden burst of activity.

Sebastian emerged from behind the debris, wide-eyed and impressed. “Holy crap, you did it.”

“Yeah,” you breathed, wiping the back of your hand across your forehead. “But they got away.”

Sebastian glanced up at the vent, frowning. “Figures. Whoever they were, they knew this place too well. But I’m not worried about them right now.”

He crouched down next to you, his expression softening. “You alright? That was a close one.”

You managed a tired grin. “Takes more than a turret to take me down. But I must admit, I was almost as pierced as a slice of cheese.”

He chuckled, giving you a pat on the shoulder. “Good to know. Let’s just hope there aren’t more surprises like that waiting for us. Also…a cute slice of cheese.”

The compliment made you break into a smile despite the thoughts in your head.

As you both stood and began to gather yourselves, you couldn’t shake the lingering thought of the figure who had escaped. They were fast, resourceful, and clearly knew how to navigate the facility. But right now, your priority was survival.

[sabrinasopposite]

✧˖° chaos;

red kryp!clark kent x scarlet witch!reader - imagine

summary: Influenced by the red kryptonite, Clark Kent is on the verge of not only losing control but also his loved ones. The only person who could save him was also the one who had to face the consequences.

It's a moment of chaos where Clark is on the brink of attacking his friends—if not for Y/N stepping in. angst - anger - happy ending :)

ps: the reader has the abilities of the scarlet witch.

☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:* ☆・.:*・°☆.。.:・°☆.。.:*・°

Clark stared at his friends with red-tinted eyes, which sometimes glowed when his alter ego took control, affecting not only his mind but also his emotions. People often associate colors with feelings, and one thing Chloe and Pete knew for sure was that Clark's reddish anger was simmering just beneath the surface.

They had rarely seen him so mad. One time, when Chloe was hurt by a guy, Clark was so furious that he stared at the guy for just a few seconds, and the guy ran away in fear. It’s hard to imagine anger on Clark’s typically golden face—you’d think this was someone who didn’t experience anger at all, given his heart of gold. Yet, even the people closest to him could sometimes glimpse the darker emotions within.

"Clark, listen—you need to take the ring off," Chloe urged, her voice shaky as she hid behind Pete, who stood protectively in front of her. They both backed away slowly from Clark, who smirked and approached them, each step he took radiating more danger.

"Oh, that? I don’t think I will," Clark replied with a smug grin, until his madness wiped the smile from his face. His eyes flared with heat vision, and a fiery beam shot up at the ceiling, causing it to collapse. Chloe and Pete quickly moved, trying to escape the disaster, but a force field surrounded them.

Y/N appeared in front of her friends, her hands raised, glowing with a reddish energy sphere as she grunted with effort. She tossed the falling debris aside, then turned to Chloe and Pete.

"Y/N!! He’s—," Pete started.

"I know, Pete. You need to go, now!" she interrupted, placing a reassuring hand on their shoulders. They nodded and hurried away.

Clark's smirk returned as he addressed her. "Well, well, who do we have here? Mrs. 'I wanna save the world'? You better back off, because that title belongs to me." He chuckled darkly.

Y/N turned her head to face Clark, letting out a sigh. "I know this isn’t the real you, Clark."

"Oh, but it is. You just can’t handle the fact that I have more power than you," he taunted.

"That’s never been a concern of mine. The only thing that concerns me is that you were ready to kill your own friends!" Y/N shouted, her voice filled with anger and pain. She knew Clark was under the influence of the red kryptonite, but the sight of him almost killing their friends had shaken her deeply.

"It wasn’t that bad," Clark scoffed, tilting his head as Y/N slowly formed a reddish energy sphere in her hand. She stood bravely before him, but deep down, fear gnawed at her. She loved him, and she knew that, somewhere beneath this twisted exterior, he loved her too. She couldn’t bring herself to fight or hurt him—not when it was Clark.

"So, it wouldn’t matter if it were your parents?" she asked, trying to reach him.

"They aren’t my parents, Y/N," he spat out, his voice dripping with venom. The words shocked her. Her eyes widened, and pain surged through her heart. He would never say that. Never.

Clark had always been grateful for Martha and Jonathan, for the life they had given him—a life he might never have had otherwise.

"Take off that ring. Now," Y/N shouted, her voice trembling with a mix of desperation and anger. But Clark just laughed.

"Then you’ll have to kill me to do that," he replied, his laughter echoing through the room.

Y/N’s eyes hardened with resolve, but before she could react, she felt a crushing blow to her back. She flew across the room, slamming into the wall as Clark laughed behind her. He had used his super speed.

"Oh, wait! You can’t even do that—you're weaker," Clark taunted, his words a cruel reminder of the imbalance between them. Y/N gasped for air as Clark approached, but something inside her snapped. She raised both hands and unleashed twin blasts of reddish energy at him, sending him collapsing to the ground. She might not be as strong as Clark, but they both knew that her energy field was somehow his weakness.

Determined, she walked toward him, launching larger blasts of energy. Clark, now on his knees, struggled to resist, shielding himself with one arm. Through the blinding light, all he could see were her glowing, red eyes. She remained silent, and for a fleeting moment, something in Clark felt fear. But that fear only fueled his rage.

With a sudden burst of speed, he dodged her energy attacks and appeared beside her, landing a powerful punch to her head. The force sent Y/N flying out of the room and crashing into the next one.

Y/N groaned, pushing herself up from the debris. Her vision blurred for a moment, but she forced herself to focus, adrenaline rushing through her veins. Clark was already speeding toward her again, his eyes glowing with the heat vision he was preparing to unleash.

Y/N reacted quickly, throwing up a force field that absorbed the fiery blast, sending shockwaves rippling through the air. Clark skidded to a halt, his expression darkening as he realized she wasn’t going down so easily.

"You can't win this, Y/N," he growled. „Well i’m not here to win, I am here to wake u up Clark," she snapped back, her hands glowing with energy. 

In an instant, Clark lunged at her with superhuman speed, but Y/N was ready. She spun on her heel, raising a hand, and sent a wave of energy that rippled through the air. The blast hit Clark square in the chest, hurling him into a nearby wall with a deafening crash. The room shook from the impact, but Clark recovered almost instantly, leaping back onto his feet.

Y/N didn't give him time to counter. She flew forward, propelling herself through the air with the force of her energy blasts, and launched a barrage of glowing orbs at him. Each one struck with a concussive force, but Clark dodged and weaved between them with his superspeed, closing the distance in the blink of an eye. 

He grabbed her by the wrist, twisting her arm and slamming her into the ground. Y/N gasped in pain, but she quickly retaliated, sending a pulse of energy through his grip, causing him to release her. She flipped back to her feet, her breathing ragged but her determination unwavering.

Clark's eyes burned with fury as he charged again, his fists aiming straight for her. Y/N dodged and ducked under his blows, using her agility to avoid his attacks while striking back with her energy-infused punches. One hit landed squarely on his jaw, staggering him for a split second. But Clark recovered faster than she could react, grabbing her by the throat and lifting her off the ground.

"You’re getting on my last nerve, Y/L/N" he hissed, tightening his grip.

Y/N struggled, feeling the strength draining from her as Clark's power overwhelmed her. Desperately, she raised a hand, summoning all the energy she could muster. A blinding red sphere formed in her palm, and with a roar of defiance, she slammed it into Clark's chest. The force of the blast sent him flying across the room, crashing through several walls.

Panting heavily, Y/N stumbled backward, her vision flickering with exhaustion. She knew this fight was taking everything she had, but she couldn't give up. Not now.

But Clark wasn’t done. He emerged from the rubble, more furious than ever. In the blink of an eye, he sped toward her again, this time grabbing a shard of sharp metal debris from the broken walls. Before Y/N could react, Clark drove the shard into her side.

A sharp, searing pain ripped through her body as she collapsed to the ground, gasping in agony. Blood seeped from the wound, and she clutched at it, trying to hold herself together. Clark stood over her, breathing heavily, his face twisted in anger and madness.

"It’s over," he said coldly.

Y/N’s vision blurred as the pain overwhelmed her senses, but deep inside, she still had one last move. Summoning the last of her strength, she reached deep within herself, tapping into her reality-warping power. Her hands glowed faintly, and through her pain, she whispered, „surprise."

In an instant, the world around them shimmered, and suddenly, Clark staggered, his eyes wide in shock. Glowing green rocks appeared on the floor in front of him—green kryptonite. The one thing that could weaken him.

Clark fell to his knees, clutching his chest as the kryptonite drained his strength. He gasped, his body shaking with pain as he tried to crawl away, but the damage had already been done. 

Y/N, still lying on the ground, her breath shallow, watched him with pain-filled eyes. "You may be stronger, Clark," she whispered, "but I know how to stop you."

Clark's strength continued to fade, the kryptonite draining the last of his power, leaving him utterly helpless. Y/N watched him, his once invincible figure now writhing in undeniable pain. Her heart clenched at the sight.

Despite the stabbing pain in her side, she forced herself to move, each breath agonizing as she crawled closer. Every inch felt like a mile, but she couldn’t leave him like this. Clark’s voice, faint and broken, reached her ears. At first, she thought it might be her imagination, or perhaps the delirium of her own nearing unconsciousness. But no… it was real.

“Help me, Y/N...” His voice was weak, almost a whisper, pleading.

Her trembling hand reached out, barely brushing against his. With the last of her strength, she summoned her power, the reddish glow returning faintly to her fingertips.

With a flick of her hand, she willed the red kryptonite to shatter. The world around them rippled, and the dark haze that clouded Clark’s mind vanished as her energy absorbed the malevolent force. The room began to return to its normal state, the reality she had warped fading away. But with each passing moment, Y/N could feel the toll it took on her body. Her power was draining her faster than she could recover.

She collapsed forward, her weakened body falling onto Clark’s chest. Her breathing was shallow, her strength nearly gone, but she had done it. The red kryptonite was destroyed, and Clark was free.

Both of them lay there, broken and battered. The chaos around them had subsided, but the silence that filled the room carried the weight of everything they had just survived. Y/N closed her eyes, her hand still resting on Clark’s, feeling the faint rise and fall of his chest beneath her.

He was safe, and for now, that was all that mattered. Clark’s body lay still as Y/N collapsed on his chest, her breath faint against his skin. 

The haze of the red kryptonite had lifted, and with it, the fog of madness that had clouded his mind. Slowly, his strength began to return, the kryptonite on the floor no longer affecting him as Y/N's energy dissipated it. He blinked, his vision clearing, and reality crashed down on him like a tidal wave.

The first thing he saw was Y/N lying against him, pale and barely conscious, blood seeping from the wound he had inflicted. His heart sank, a cold wave of guilt tightening around his chest. His mind raced back to the moment he had stabbed her, driven by the red kryptonite, and the horror of what he'd almost done to his friends—what he had done to Y/N.

"No..." His voice trembled as he gently cradled Y/N in his arms. "Y/N...? Hey please.."

Footsteps echoed in the distance, and Clark heard the voices of his friends rushing toward the destroyed room. Chloe and Pete burst in first, their eyes wide with shock as they took in the devastation around them. Chloe’s gaze landed on Y/N in Clark’s arms, and she immediately ran over, her face pale.

“Oh my God… Y/N!” Chloe dropped to her knees beside them, her hands hovering, not knowing what to do. Pete stood frozen, his eyes filled with both fear and disbelief.

“What happened?!” Pete finally managed to ask, his voice shaking.

Clark couldn’t meet their eyes. “I… I hurt her,” he whispered, his voice breaking. “I hurt all of you.”

Before he could say more, Jonathan and Martha rushed in behind them, their faces etched with panic. Martha’s eyes instantly found Clark, her son—bruised, exhausted—and the girl in his arms. “Clark…?”

Jonathan hurried forward, kneeling beside Y/N. "We need to get her to the hospital. Now."

Without hesitation, Jonathan gently took Y/N from Clark’s arms, and Pete and Chloe helped guide them through the wreckage toward the exit.

Y/N spoke with an exhausted voice, that sounded like a whisper to Jonathan. ,,Jonathan...is Clark alright..?'' He glanced at her and saw how her eyes closed and her face soften.

Clark stood frozen for a moment, watching as his father carried her out, her limp body barely moving. The guilt clawed at him with every breath.

Hours passed in a blur of white lights and distant murmurs. Clark sat in the waiting room, his head in his hands, Martha sitting beside him, her hand resting gently on his back. He hadn’t spoken much since they arrived. The weight of what had happened bore down on him, making it hard to breathe.

He couldn’t stop replaying the events over and over in his head—the madness, the rage, and how close he came to losing control completely.

Jonathan entered the waiting room, his face grim but relieved. “She’s stable,” he said quietly. “The doctors are treating her wound. She’s going to need time to heal, but she’ll be okay.”

Clark let out a shaky breath, a mixture of relief and shame washing over him. "I could have killed her, Dad," he whispered, his voice barely audible.

Jonathan exchanged a glance with Martha before sitting down in front of Clark. "Son, what happened?"

Clark raised his eyes, guilt written in every line of his face. “I wasn’t myself. The red kryptonite—it took control. I couldn’t stop it... I—" His voice broke. "I stabbed her. I almost killed her. I… I would’ve hurt Chloe and Pete, too.”

Martha moved closer, wrapping her arms around him. "Clark, that wasn’t you. The red kryptonite twists your mind. You’re not in control when it takes over.“ "But I let it happen!" Clark snapped, his fists clenching. "I let it change me, and I didn’t fight it. I hurt Y/N. I almost lost her because of me."

Jonathan sighed deeply. “I understand why you feel that way, Clark. But blaming yourself won’t change what happened. What matters now is making sure this never happens again.”

Clark looked up at his father, his eyes filled with remorse. “How do I live with this? How do I face her, knowing I did this?”

Jonathan placed a firm hand on his shoulder. “You face it by being there for her. By making amends and doing everything you can to help her heal. And you remember that she saved you, even after everything that happened. That means she still believes in you.”

Martha gently stroked Clark’s hair, her voice soft but steady. "You’ve always had such a good heart, Clark. That’s who you are. Not the person you became under that ring. Y/N knows that. We know that."

Tears welled up in Clark’s eyes, but he quickly wiped them away, trying to hold himself together. He nodded slowly, though the guilt still weighed heavily on him. “I don’t know how to fix this.”

Jonathan looked at him with a calm but serious expression. “You start by being the person she knows you are. The person we all know you are.”

Clark sat in silence, his mind racing. He knew his parents were right, but the wound inside him was deep. He hadn’t just hurt Y/N physically—he had nearly betrayed everything he stood for, everything he believed in. Yet, as his father had said, Y/N had saved him. Even after all the pain he caused, she had used the last of her strength to free him from the red kryptonite’s hold.

Taking a deep breath, Clark stood up. “I need to see her.”

Jonathan and Martha exchanged a glance but nodded, understanding.

Clark walked slowly into Y/N’s hospital room, the soft beep of monitors filling the quiet space. She lay on the bed, still pale but breathing steadily. He hesitated by the door, afraid to come closer, afraid of the shame that came with seeing her like this—because of him.

But as he stepped closer, Y/N stirred, her eyes fluttering open. She saw him and managed a faint smile, despite the pain. “Clark…”

He moved to her side, kneeling beside the bed, his eyes full of guilt. "I’m so sorry, Y/N. I—"

Y/N reached out weakly and placed her hand over his. "Clark… I know. I know it wasn’t you. It’s okay."

Clark shook his head, tears stinging his eyes. "No, it’s not okay. I could’ve lost you. I almost did… and I’ll never forgive myself for that."

Her fingers squeezed his hand gently. “But you didn’t. I’m still here. And so are you. You won't get rid of me that easily”

Clark lowered his head, his chest tightening. “I’ll never let anything like that happen again. I promise you.”

Y/N smiled, a tired but genuine expression, as she squeezed his hand again. “I believe you…and I have an idea what you can do for me’’

Clark smiled with small tears in his eyes ,,whatever you wish, please tell me’’ 

,,you own me a dance’’ Y/N smiles weakly.

,,the dance from prom?’’ Clark chuckled.

,,yeah that dance’’ She leans closer to her pillow and smiles.

,,i would love to dance with you’’ He takes her hand and kiss it softly.

☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:* ☆・.:*・°☆.。.:・°☆.。.:*・°

LMAOOO that was intense and kind of staffed with action? if you made it till the end than damn thats crazy! next chapter of ,,emails I can't send'' will be out soon :)

xxx naomi

[sunsburns]

fallen fruit

pairing: eric (a quiet place: day one) x reader

summary: you and eric go on a supply run to help aid the mother and her child at your safe spot, where dozens of other survivors are hiding. it isn't too far of a journey, and travelling in groups is better than alone, however, when the military starts bombing the bridges in new york city, the two of you are forced to go into hiding after being chased by a death angel.

—or: you're being hunted by a death angel

word count: 1.8k+

contains: angst, horror elements, alien invasion, the-end-of-the-world kind of scenario, blood, graphic gore & violence, injury, tending to wounds, kinda intimate

author’s note: got a lot of requests for eric and i'm bouncing off the walls with excitement yayaya!!! anyways i'm killing two birds with one stone with this one since this is based on this request and this one!

They've started bombing the bridges.

You and Eric had ventured out on a supply run for food, hoping to bring back something for the mother and her baby you were hiding with. Fighter jets roar through the skies, their engines a deafening sound of impending doom.

The ground shakes violently with each explosion.

The monsters below, drawn to the cacophony, scramble chaotically, their massive forms casting monstrous shadows against the darkening, orange-tinged sky.

The city is plunged into chaos once more as the explosions ripple through the air, sending shockwaves down the deserted streets, the military making a desperate bid to contain the aliens. The once-bustling bridges of New York are now targets, their obliteration aimed at preventing the spread of the monsters, trapping them in the islands.

The monsters can't swim, the authorities have been broadcasting that for hours, and patrol helicopters circle periodically. But the creatures' relentless pursuit on land paints a grim picture to the people who are trapped with them.

You and Eric move quickly, ducking into narrow alleyways and through crumbling abandoned buildings, always staying vigilant and out of sight. The sounds of explosions reverberate around you, and your heart hammers in your chest, adrenaline propelling you forward even as fear gnaws at your insides.

Every step is fraught with tension, the city's eerie silence punctuated by distant roars and the relentless thudding of your own heartbeat. The glow from the fires casts an otherworldly hue over the desolate streets, transforming familiar landmarks into sinister silhouettes.

Eric glances back at you, his face a mask of determination and barely concealed fear. Despite the terror coursing through you, you draw strength from his presence, a silent promise that you will protect each other no matter what. The bond between you feels unbreakable, forged in the crucible of shared danger and whispered confidences in the dark.

Suddenly, a deafening explosion tears through the air, the ground beneath you trembling violently. You both stumble, barely keeping your balance as the shockwave reverberates through the streets.

The nearby bridge finally collapses in a plume of fire and debris, the impact sending a massive cloud of dust and smoke billowing into the air. The monsters react instantly, their shrieks piercing the commotion of destruction.

A stampede of the creatures surges through the city, their massive forms silhouetted against the fiery skies. They leap from building to building with alarming agility, their claws tearing through concrete and metal as if it were paper. The sheer speed and ferocity of their movement send waves of panic crashing through you.

Eric grabs your hand, his grip firm and reassuring. "Run!" you whisper over the noise, and he doesn't need to be told twice. The two of you sprint together, weaving through the debris-laden streets as you desperately search for shelter. Your heart pounds in your chest, each beat echoing the chaos around you. The air is thick with smoke and the smell of burning.

One of the monsters, massive and swift, barrels through the alley behind you, knocking over everything in its path. The ground shakes with each of its steps, the noise deafening. You glance over your shoulder, eyes widening in horror as it closes the distance. Panic surges through you, lending speed to your legs.

A fire escape, dislodged by the creature's brute force, comes crashing down with a deafening clang. The metal twists and bends as it falls, and you both duck instinctively. Desperate, You push yourself harder, lungs burning as you sprint toward the faintly glowing orange street lights ahead.

But in the chaos, your footing slips. Eric's hand, slick with sweat, slips from yours as you suddenly drop to the ground. Pain explodes in your leg as one of the rusty staircases from the fire escape crashes heavily on top of it.

A scream of agony tears from your throat before you can stop it, the sound raw and desperate. You bite down hard, trying to stifle the noise, but the agony is excruciating. You look down at your leg, and even in the darkness you can see that something is wrong—the unnatural angle, the blood soaking into the fabric of your pants.

The monster pauses, its head whipping around at the sound.

Eric's eyes widen in terror. He skids to a halt, eyes sweeping with horror as he realizes what's happened. He drops to his knees beside you, his hands shaking as he covers your mouth, his own breathing ragged with fear. "Shhh, please, you have to stay quiet," he whispers, his voice barely audible over the pounding of your heart and the pained groan that slips from you, muffled by his hands.

The creature sniffs the air, its head tilting as it listens.

You can feel its presence, a looming shadow of death inching closer, its low growl reverberating through the narrow alley. The scent of your blood in the air draws it nearer, each step making your heart race faster.

You feel as if your entire body is aflame, the pain in your leg mingling with the terror gripping your heart. Eric holds you closely, his trembling hands gentle but firm, a lifeline amid chaos.

The tears finally break free, rolling down your cheeks and wetting his hands. He holds you tighter, his own fear palpable, but his determination unwavering. "I'm here," he mouths against the shell of your ear, "I'm not leaving you."

Its footsteps grow louder, and you can spot its shadow against the brick wall, inching closer, its low growl coming deep within it.

The seconds stretch into an eternity, each heartbeat echoing like a drum in your ears. The creature's claws scrape against the ground, the sound sending shivers down your spine.

Finally, drawn by the louder sounds of the explosions, it moves on, leaving you both in a shaken silence.

The moment it’s gone, Eric scrambles to help pull you out from under the metal. He shakes with effort, his muscles straining, and you’re scrambling to get out from under it once he lifts it high enough for you to move. You bite your lip hard enough to draw blood as he finally frees your leg. The pain is blinding, but you hold back any sound, tears streaming down your face.

The broken glass beneath you shifts quietly with your movements, and Eric tries his hardest to lower the railing back to the ground without making a sound. His breath comes in short, ragged gasps, and he glances nervously at the shadows, every small noise making him flinch.

Eric helps you to your feet, his arm around your waist supporting your weight. Together, you move as quickly as you can, each step sending fresh waves of pain through your leg. You lean heavily on him, your breaths coming in short, pained bursts as you feel blood rolling down your leg, soaking your sock and shoe.

His grip stays firm, urging you to stay with him a little longer.

You duck into a nearby building that offers some semblance of shelter. The air inside is stale, and the dim light barely illuminates the scattered debris.

Once inside, Eric lowers you gently to the ground, his face pale and drawn. He crouches beside you, his hands brushing your hair from your face.

His breath trembles as he looks at you, then your leg, a silent plea for you to let him help.

You nod, giving him the permission he seeks.

Eric carefully rolls up the bottom of your pants, revealing a long gash on your calf where blood steadily seeps out along with his quiet and panicked mutters of 'okay, okay, okay'.

He examines your leg, his hands gentle but efficient, his fingers trembling slightly as he works. You see the worry in his eyes, the fear that mirrors your own.

Eric looks up at you with sad eyes rimmed with pity. The silence between you speaks volumes, a shared understanding of the dire situation. You want to tell him to leave you there, that you would only slow him down before he could get back to the safe spot where you had been hiding with other survivors, but the words catch in your throat.

He starts to tear a strip from his own pants, creating a makeshift tourniquet to wrap around your injured leg. The pain is fierce, but his touch is soothing.

He then reaches into the small backpack you had been carrying, pulling out some of the supplies you had gathered for the mother and her baby. He uses a small bottle of antiseptic to clean the wound, his movements careful and precise. The sting is sharp and you bite your lip, trying to focus on his face rather than the pain.

Eric’s eyes never leave yours, and in them, you see the depth of his concern, the unspoken promise that he won’t let anything happen to you. He uses a cloth to gently dab at the wound, his touch light but sure. Despite the agony, you trust into his presence, seeking comfort in his closeness.

As he works, you find yourself leaning closer to Eric, your need for comfort outweighing the pain. He lets you rest your head against him, holding you steady as he finishes bandaging your leg. His breath is warm against your hair, his heartbeat a steady rhythm beneath your cheek.

Eric finishes tending to your leg and looks up, his eyes meeting yours with an intensity that makes your heart skip a beat.

Without thinking, he leans in, his lips brushing yours in a tender, desperate kiss. It’s quick, almost hesitant, but it sends a rush of warmth through you, momentarily distracting you from the pain. He pulls back, his eyes searching yours for any sign of rejection, but you smile weakly, the gesture enough to reassure him.

You move closer, cupping his face with your hands. You press your lips to his again, this time with more urgency, pouring all your fear, relief, and gratitude into the kiss. It's deeper, filled with the unspoken words and emotions that have been building between you.

Eric responds in kind, his arms wrapping around you, pulling you closer. The kiss is a promise, a shared understanding that in this world turned upside down, you have each other.

When you finally pull back, breathless, you rest your forehead against his, the connection between you more palpable than ever.

The chaos outside is relentless, but here, in this moment, there is a quiet familiarity between you. Eric's fingers brush against your cheek, and you lean into his touch, finding solace in the warmth of his company.

In the silence that follows, you rest your head against his shoulder, the day's horrors fading into the background. Eric's hand strokes your hair gently, and you find yourself relaxing into his touch.

The world outside may be falling apart, but here there is a flicker of hope, a promise of survival forged in the bond between you. The air is filled with the distant sounds of chaos, but within this small sanctuary, there is a sense of peace, a momentary reprieve from the nightmare outside.

You take a deep breath, feeling the rise and fall of Eric's chest beneath your head. His presence is a grounding force, a reminder that you are not alone in this.

There is a flicker of hope, a promise of survival forged.

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[ratatouillewastakendammit]

Hiiii! How are you???

I loved the love-quirk piece you wrote for Touya/Dabi and was wondering if you could do the same trope for Hawks please please please??? 🥺🩷

Ugh I lovvveee Hawks and I hope you enjoy!

Pairing: Hawks x Reader

Summary: Love-quirk trope but Keigo Takami edition because he deserve some nice fluff

Warnings: Language; suggestive

Word Count: 2.9k

The wind whipped through the stray strands of your hair, stinging your eyes as you ran toward the scene. It tousled the fabric of your hero suit, wrapping around your body as you took a moment take in your surroundings.

Despite the fact that the commotion seemed to have calmed down a bit, it was easy to see that chaos had just recently erupted. Haphazard concrete was littered across the street, a lamppost smashed through the middle strewn directly in front of you. Its dying bulb flickered amidst the debris, a beacon of energy among all of the destruction.

You had gotten the call maybe seven minutes ago. At the time, you had been peacefully drinking your morning serving of coffee. The word of criminals attacking the Northern side of the city rumbling over the agency forced you to push the steaming cup aside, ignoring the look of dejection stemming from the kind intern who had brought it.

Hawks had gotten there significantly earlier, thanks to his widely known speed and the fact that you were on the opposite side of town.

Speaking of your partner, he was nowhere to be seen, but the stray streaks of red plumage floating through the air alluded to him being close by, most likely taking down remaining villains in the nearby vicinity.

If the multiple unconscious bodies were anything to go by, he had already taken care of most of the assailants. Still, there seemed to be a few scattered around, all of which immediately began gunning for you.

You weren't exactly worried, however. Groups like this believed their abundance in numbers would make up for a noticeable lack of skill.

There was one left moments later, armed to the teeth, but visibly sloppy when it came to close combat.

Arms forward, you readied yourself for a quick win as a flash of color registered in your peripheral vision. You turned, almost positive that it was your partner, but wanting to make sure. That recognizably cocky grin and friendly wave confirmed your suspicions.

That grin faltered for a moment as he watched you pause, fists growing limp and face showing no reaction to the scythe-wielding villain running straight for you.

Reaction time as extraordinary as ever, Hawks shot forward and rammed his body into yours, the both of you colliding into the road as he tried your best to protect your head within his arms. A wall of feathers were unconsciously sent towards the criminal, the man currently screaming and banging on the now iron-like plumes.

Hawks took a breath, your face still buried in his shoulder and cradled beneath his biceps. His attempts to ignore the speed of his heart at your nearby demise went in vain, even as he forced that usual lighthearted upswing into his tone. "What the hell happened? Trying to keep me on my toes or something, sweetheart?"

Pulling away slightly, he readied himself for that usual glance of annoyance he'd receive when using the nickname. Surprisingly, your features held none of that discernible exasperation.

One of embarrassment and guilt lay there instead, your eyes flitting towards the ground.

"I'm sorry... I guess I got distracted." You lifted your gaze to meet his. "I just was thinking that you looked really nice today."

The absolute deadpan expression he wore would've had you chuckling any other day, laughter bubbling at the way his eyes seemed to almost double in surprise. Regardless, a saccharine smile, sweet and alluring, was what you offered.

His flirtatious remarks towards you were nothing new. He had liked you for a while, sure, but his usually amorous persona was known by many, so he wasn't sure you thought much of it. You had definitely never indulged in it, however, usually brushing it off with some sassed retort for the sake of professionalism.

The way you looked at him had his mind in shambles. It looked like you were on cloud-nine, blithe and unbothered despite your near death experience.

"Excuse me?"

Hawks jumped up, lacing an arm beneath your shoulders to take you with him.

A navy-clad police officer stared back at you both.

"Thanks for your help." She cleared her throat, trying to wipe away the look of surprise she was wearing. "We can take the cleanup from here."

"Thanks," he offered her a friendly nod before turning around and walking away, a hand wrapped protectively around your wrist. Craning his neck slightly downward, he muttered a quiet, "You okay?"

"Mhm. I feel fine."

"Uh-huh." Golden eyes glazed over your form, unconvinced.

"I am kind of tired, though. Can you fly us back?"

He stopped.

There had been a few instances where Hawks would fly you back to the agency's building after a mission.

Or, more so, he would offer, you would kindly decline, and he would sneak up from behind, pulling your body into his before taking off without warning.

It was something about the way you were forced to wrap your arms around his neck, hanging tightly in fear despite the fact that he would never allow anything to happen to you.

And even though the display of your annoyance didn't go above the usual huff of complaints after landing, you had definitely never asked for him to do it.

There was something wrong with you, that much he could tell. And while he was covertly enjoying this overly affectionate version of you quite a bit, the worry he felt for your well being easily overshadowed any satisfaction he was feeling.

Still, he nodded, not keen on letting you out of his sight as of now, sliding a hand behind your back and under your knees before pulling you close and rising into the air. He watched your expressions closely, well enough versed in the layout of the city to be able to not pay attention to where he was going.

As usual, your features were brimming with quiet anxiety, but nothing else exactly seemed to be all that different. Besides the way you clung onto him without the slightest bit of protest, of course.

It had been mere minutes before the agency faded into view, mirrored windows reflecting the splendor of an early evening sunset. His landing was just as graceful as the departure, combat boots sliding just barely across the cobblestone road.

You hopped out of his hold, but kept an arm laced around his own as Hawks led the both of you inside. Photojournalists were a constant outside of his agency and he was sure a shot of you two, your head resting beneath his shoulder as you practically hung off his side, would make them go crazy.

And while he didn't exactly mind, he was almost certain that you would be peeved if the paparazzi began spreading word of some dating scandal.

That could wait until you were more than just rumors.

Keigo was nothing if not persistent.

Especially when it came to you.

Automatic doors shut behind you, the soft click of shoes against polished marble echoing off the lobby's walls. The receptionist, a elderly woman with silvery hair and glasses much too large for her face, offered Hawks a wave, expression faltering slightly as she saw your hand laced with his.

"Are you okay, hon?" She leaned over her desk as you came into hearing range, aged voice lowering into a whisper. "He bribe you or somethin'?"

You laughed, the sound light and carefree. It gnawed at the edges of Keigo's chest. "Not at all!"

The older female flicked her eyes up to her boss, eyebrow raised in overt suspicion.

"Yeah, I'm not really sure what's going on yet," he sighed, running a hand through his golden bangs. "Can you get me the security footage from earlier today?"

She took a moment, face wrinkling in thought before looking up. "You!"

The subject of her call, an intern carrying a tray of steaming cups from a nearby coffee shop, jumped in surprise. Hawks had recognized him from around the office, but his name was lost, mix up in the sea of other employees that came on for the Summer.

"You're good at the screen stuff, yeah?"

Nodding hesitantly, the worker moved closer, eyes locking with the both of you. Panic washed his features as his gaze went back and forth over the heroes in front of him, each orbital shift making it seem like he was trying not to vomit.

As he reached the desk, he practically ducked under your line of sight, reaching the receptionist's computer, fiddling with it for a moment, and scurrying away without another word.

The suspicions in regards to the intern followed Hawks as he took you upstairs, ignoring the looks of confusion from some of his other coworkers. As the door to his office shut with a soft click, he pulled out his desk chair, slumping down with a sigh.

"Alright, lovebird. You're gonna stay in here while I look through some videos. Got it?"

You flashed in a grin. "Think I'm gonna get in trouble or something?"

"Seeing as I had to save your ass half an hour ago, maybe." A smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. "Ya know, I don't think I got enough groveling for that."

"Yeah?" You moved over to where he was sitting, sliding a leg over both of his and sliding down until you were able to straddle his lap. Wrapping your arms around his neck, you looked up at him, eyes glossy and voice dripping in temptation like honey. "Thank you, Hawks, for saving me."

If there was ever a time he wanted to tell someone his given name, it was now. Every inch of him wanted to hear that needing tone lilt through his name, not the famed honorific the world knew him for.

Hearing you moan it would be even better.

Still, the possibility of some mind control or body swap being behind your strand behavior gnawed at the peripheral of his mind.

He was desperately trying to ignore the thought of how nice your hips would look between his hands.

Responsibility and desire wrestled in his mind, the latter getting dangerously close to a KO when the knocked sounded from behind his door.

"What?" The sound came out sounding significantly ruder than how he'd usually like it, but that couldn't be helped.

The frosted glass entryway slid open slowly, a trembling hand pushing it forward. A figure followed it, the fidgeting intern from earlier that Hawks had almost forgotten about.

"May I speak with you, sir?" He swallowed, eyes flickering from you both to the ground. "Alone?"

Cocking an eyebrow, Hawks turned to you. "I'm just gonna be a few minutes. Can you wait outside for me, sweetheart?"

You nodded, but the slight pout running through your bottom lip displayed your aversion to the idea.

It easily had Keigo's pants tightening.

Once the door had shut behind you, the intern took the open seat in front of the desk, hands wringing one another in a desperate attempt to smother some anxiety.

Based on his expression, it definitely didn't seem to be working.

"So, uh... I know why she's acting like that..."

Those unanswered suspicions from earlier jumped in Hawks' chest, despite the fact that they had been forgotten mere moments before.

You were a distracting little thing.

Maybe this debacle was as dangerous for him as it was for you.

But if you were his undoing, he wasn't sure that he would mind.

"I promise I wasn't trying to do anything wrong," the worker continued, voice meek and entangled with nerves. "I just... I just wanted to see if she liked me back."

Jealously burned in the back of Keigo's chest, a feeling distasteful enough to be difficult to ignore, but your well being was currently more important.

He ran a hand through his hair, one of the few physical tellers he exhibited when exasperated. "What did you do?"

Swallowing, the man in front of him continued. "Well, um, I have a love quirk and I usually bring the other heroes their coffee, so I kinda sorta used it while it was handing it out to her this afternoon."

Silence hung in the air like some toxic, poignant type of humidity.

"What?"

The worker bowed in an apology, the top of his head barely missing the wooden edge of Kiego's desk as it was thrown downward. "I know it was stupid and I promise I'll never do it again. Please don't fire me."

The number two hero wasn't exactly known to get angry.

But dammit, if he wasn't downright terrifying when he was.

"Are you serious? Didn't you stop to think that she could've gotten hurt?" Hawks stood up, the heels of his chair skimming across the floor. Golden irises flared in vexation, matching the sneer resting on his mouth. "She could've died! Fuck, she almost did!"

Now trembling a bit, the intern let out a sniffle. "I'm sorry. It's just... she's so pretty and is always nice to me."

Sitting down, Hawks took a minute to breathe, letting the indignation filter out before he said, or did, something he would regret. Some part of him couldn't exactly blame his employee; he had fallen for you just as easily.

He sighed, rested his face on the palm of his free hand. "And how the hell would making her fall in love with you prove whether or not she was interested anyway?"

The worker looked like they were about to keel over. "The quirk only works if the effected individual makes eye contact with someone they have feelings for."

Fireworks went off in his mind, blowing a usually cunning train of thought to shambles. To say he was fucking giddy was an understatement and if he hadn't been so pissed off at his own intern, he might've thanked him.

Still, he had one more question.

"So, how do you, ya know, turn it off?"

"You gotta," his employee cleared his throat. "You gotta kiss her."

Anger from moments before and pure glee were fighting for dominance in Hawks' head.

"If anything like this happens again, you're out. Understood?"

The intern nodded fervently, practically sprinting out of the office and offering sputtered words of thanks all the way. You followed shortly after, eyes darting around to make sure you weren't interrupting any meetings.

Hawks stood, immediately walking over to you.

"Is everything okay? That guy seemed kinda ner-"

He pushed his lips against you, swallowing your words with a soft moan as he hands found their way around your waist.

When he pulled back, he watched you blink away the confusion. He could practically see the gears of your mind turning. It didn't take long for embarrassment to wash over your features, a look of amusement falling over his own as you lifted a hand to your face in awe.

"Oh, shit," you breathed. "Oh my gosh, I am so sorry. I swear I didn't-'

"Ah, come on, you don't have to be shy. I thought it was cute." A smirk found its way onto his expression.

You turned away from him, trying to ignore the blistering heat finding its way into your cheeks. "What even happened?"

"You're just too trusting." He looped his arms around your body, leaning down to rest his chin on your left shoulder. "What am I gonna do with you?"

Boyish charm dripping off his features, he continued. "But don't worry, I think I might like it better when you're pretending you aren't obsessed with me. It's more satisfying when I get you flustered that way."

"I'm not..." If the lack of confidence coating your words were any indication of their untruthfulness, the way your heart beat seemed to increase with every syllable was the real betrayal.

That was one of Keigo's favorite parts of his quirk, the way his heightened senses could pick up on every hitched breath, every quickening of the muscle in your chest that reinforced your lies.

He spun your around in his arms, gently taking your burning face in his fingers and forcing you to meet his eyes. They raked over your body, hungry and arrogant. "Liar. You were practically grinding on me earlier."

"Fuck." You groaned, the sound seeming to do nothing but widen Keigo's grin.

"Don't worry, gorgeous. I like you too." He gave your waist a little squeeze using his free hand. "And you can get off on me all you want. I'm free right now actually if-"

"Shut up." You gave a lighthearted smack to his chest, but the soft smile brimming from his own confession seemed to abandon any real animosity.

"So, you gonna let me take you out or what?"

You huffed, trying to ignore the way the flirtation lacing his tone made your chest constrict. "Fine. We can go out for coffee or something."

His expression darkened, limbs tightening as he pulled your body into his, head resting atop your like he was scared you would slip out of his grasp. You tried to wriggle out of his hold, cursing those annoyingly attractive muscles that had built up over years of hero work. "You're not allowed to drink coffee anymore."

[7s3ven]

ATHENA’S GIRL. luke (pjo) / pt 2

trailer > part 1 > part 2

( masterlist )

IN WHICH… Chaos endures on the trio’s trip to Camp Half-Blood and Luke learns that Y/N isn’t as tough as she projects herself to be. Upon finally arriving at camp, Y/N is met with a pleasant surprise when Athena claims her on the spot.

“Have you forgotten to turn off your heart? This is not you. I see you changing from how I've designed you. Have you forgotten your purpose?"

Warning : LONG chapter

—

Athena had one goal in life; to create a dazzling warrior who would be worthy of calling themselves her golden child. She moulded her kids into the people she wanted them to be but they often strayed from her ideals, only disappointing her. Perhaps her biggest success in life was designing Y/N.

She was such a brilliantly bright teenager with a natural knack for fighting, using her prior learnt skills from numerous sports classes (all compulsory at her school). Athena liked to call Y/N her pride and joy. Or, she would’ve if she didn’t notice the fondness forming between Y/N and a certain Hermes son.

Y/N lay asleep on the train, resting her head in a pillow she had found in one of the compartments. Luke and Chris sat across from her, impatiently tapping their feet.

“Psst.” Luke whispered, nudging his friend, “You wanna check out the food cart?” Chris turned to stare at Luke, slight frowning.

“She told us to stick together.” He muttered back, gesturing over to Y/N who was quietly murmuring in her sleep.

“She’ll be fine. We’ll be quick anyway. By the time she wakes up, we’ll be back.” Luke reassured Chris, ushering him towards the door. The two Hermes boys silently shuffled out of the small room and walked down the hallway, following the smell of food.

Y/N turned on her side, resting her head against the back of the plush seat. She groaned, half conscious yet still half asleep. Everything was a blurred daze as she slipped back into an unconscious state, ending up in a barren desert.

The H/C-haired girl looked around, confused and a little shaken. She quickly pinched her arm and winced when she felt a twinge of pain. “Where am I?” She whispered to herself, yet her voice echoed.

The sand beneath her feet rumbled and twirled around her, forming a hurricane. Y/N panted in panic as grains of debris threatened to hit her eyes. She turned her head to shield her face until the sand finally dropped to the ground again, revealing a beautiful and grand hall.

The walls were pure white with delicate golden details. If Y/N didn’t know any better, she’d think this was what first class would have looked on the Titanic ship. Or what was portrayed in the movies, at least.

“Do you like it, my dear?”

Y/N spun around at the sound of a silky, feminine voice. A tall woman sat on a marble carved throne, resting her elbows on the sides. She smiled at Y/N. Her skin was pale, almost ghostly looking, and her brown eyes held warmth within them. She brushed a lock of long, shiny raven hair aside.

“I know how much you wanted to see the inside of the Titanic.” She spoke again, crossing one leg over the other. “Come closer, don’t be shy, my love.” She beckoned Y/N forward.

The H/C-nette slowly stepped towards the goddess. “Who… are you?” She asked when she finally stood not a meter away.

“I’m your mother, dear.”

The more Y/N looked at the woman, the more she saw their similarities. Although Y/N’s hair wasn’t as glossy as her’s, their sharp facial features still held the same stony gaze and their heights reflected one another.

“Why am I here?” Y/N carefully asked, her eyes darting around to stare the crystal chandelier.

“I’ve been watching you, my love. You’re a wonderfully talented girl gifted with such academic skill.” The deity let a small laugh slip past her red lips, “But I must warn you, do be careful on what you choose in life. Not everything is as it seems.”

Y/N sent her mother a confused look. She could decode complicated English written in her beloved books but she couldn’t understand what the goddess was telling her.

“You are still a young girl, Y/N.” Finally, Athena rose. She stood before Y/N in all her beautiful glory. “I understand that the topic of love may plague your mind and hide your true goals from you. But is it worth choosing a boy over high education and your academic studies?”

Y/N was slowly piecing everything together. “Is this…” She spoke softly as she trailed off, “Is this about Luke? Because I don’t like him. Not at all.”

“I didn’t mention a name, dear. You came up with that one on your own. Don’t let a boy cloud your judgment, especially not a Hermes son. They are as tricky as they are mischievous.”

Athena pulled Y/N into a sudden hug that seemed a little too tight to be friendly. Y/N struggled to breathe while Athena rested her chin on her daughter’s shoulder. “Don’t forget the lessons I’ve taught you.” She whispered, “I designed you to be perfect and I’ll be damned if I let a Hermes boy of all people ruin my greatest achievement.”

She spoke so gently but there was a dark edge to her voice; a twisted and wicked side to her beauty that Y/N had failed to notice before. “If you ever forget your purpose, I’ll be sure to remind you.”

Her voice faded as Y/N’s dream began to disappear. Her surroundings floated away like watercolour paint bleeding into thick paper until Y/N found herself sprawled on the couch and Luke and Chris nowhere to be seen.

She groaned as she sat up, her groggy eyes stinging from the bright sun. “Ugh, where did they go?” She muttered to herself as she peeked through the door. She yelped when something suddenly crashed. The floor shook and the train came to an abrupt halt.

“Attention passengers, we seem to be having a few problems with the engine. It’ll be up and running again in at least an hour.” The conductor chimed through the speaker.

Y/N cautiously opened the door, coming face to face with Luke. She frowned as she pulled the pair of demigods inside. “You can’t sneak off like that!” She hissed, “We’re not in vacation, you know that, right?”

“Relax, writer. We were just getting by food.” Luke handed her a squished sandwich, “Besides, I don’t think there’s any monsters on this train.”

“Yeah, but they’ll be close to catching up. We have to keep moving.” Y/N locked the door and closed the blinds, concealing what she was about to do next. She picked up her spear, which seemed to take the form of a weapon at the most convenient times, and smashed it into the window.

The plastic glass broke away in shards, falling to the ground. Luke and Chris gaped at her. “Let’s go.” She demanded, picking up all her stuff.

“Remind me never to mess with her.” Chris mumbled to Luke as they jumped out the window. They stayed low but everybody on the train was too busy gossiping about the engine to notice a trio of teens run into a forest.

“It feels like we’re walking in circles.” Luke groaned while Y/N huffed in annoyance.

“That’s because you are. You’ve been walking around that tree stump for the past ten minutes.” She snapped. The group had sat down to rest and Luke took it as his chance to get on Y/N’s nerves again. He chuckled.

"Camp shouldn't be too far." Chris said, looking around. Though, he wasn't too sure. He was merely saying that to calm Y/N's nerves.

"We should keep moving. Better safe than sorry." Y/N stood up, forcing Luke to finally stop circling around the stump.

"But I'm so tired." Luke complained, whining like a man child.

"Well, I guess you'll have to accept being a dragon's snack then." Y/N snapped, furrowing her brows in frustration. Luke and Chris shared a look.

"She's in charge." Chris exclaimed, not wanting to be the tiebreaker. Luke groaned but begrudgingly followed after Y/N.

“As long as we follow the train tracks, we should be fine.” Y/N piped up.

“That’s going to be hard then.” Luke pointed up ahead where the tracks mysteriously disappeared. All that was left was a singular stick of wood. “The monsters are becoming smarter.”

As if on a cue, a shrill laugh cut through the tense forest. Y/N’s head darted up to see a woman with large, eagle-like wings. Her sharp eyes landed on Y/N first. “Just who I’ve been looking for.” She uttered with a piercing voice. She dove below the trees, outstretching a clawed hand to grasp Y/N. Luke quickly stepped in front, swinging his sword at the harpy.

“Give me the girl and I’ll let you be on your way.” The harpy chittered, clumsily landing and circling around Y/N. Luke followed the actions of the monster, narrowing his eyes.

“Why her? If anything, I’m the most valuable member here.” Luke quickly replied. On the sidelines, Chris brandished his sharp sword, watching the harpy carefully.

“Oh, you don’t know what you have in your possession, my dear boy. She’s not merely a girl. She’s valuable.” An unsettled grin pulled at the harpy’s lips. “Just give her to me and I’ll”- The creature was cut off by Chris slicing one of her wings. Luke leapt forward as well, expertly cutting her in places he knew wouldn’t kill her solely to torture her.

“I’m finishing my quest so unfortunately, I can’t give you her.” Luke spat as the harpy tried to dodge his swift attacks.

“What if I told you Hermes would finally see you again?” Her words made Luke freeze. He stared at her in shock, lips parted like he wanted to say something.

Chris was shoving everything into his bag, getting ready to make a run for it as soon as Luke was snapped out of his trance. He grabbed Y/N. “We have to go.” He said but Y/N was stubborn.

“You want me?” She asked, stepping forward with only her glowing spear in hand. The harpy’s eyes flickered to her and she harshly pushed Luke aside.

“Your confidence will be your undoing, girl.” The harpy hissed. “Can you even use that weapon?”

Y/N mockingly shrugged, “I don’t know. I mean, I took down a dragon but maybe that was a lucky shot.” The harpy wasn’t able to react before the spear stabbed through her stomach. Realising she had made a terrible mistake of underestimating Y/N, all the monster could do was scream as she faded away.

“Are you okay?” Y/N asked Luke, who was still kneeled on the floor.

He scoffed. “I’m fine. I didn’t need you to save me.”

Y/N stared at him in disbelief, “What? I was trying to help!”

“Yeah? Well, stop showing off. For the record, I’m easily capable of taking down a dragon and harpy too. You aren’t special.” Luke glared into Y/N’s eyes and she returned his harsh gaze, “Don’t let your arrogance cloud your mind.” The Hermes boy was so close that Y/N could smell his fading cologne.

She was the first to look away in annoyance. “I never said you couldn’t slay those monsters.”

“Yeah, well you thought it then!” Luke exclaimed as Y/N walked off, getting a head start.

“Dude.” Chris finally spoke, “I thought you were like a chick magnet.”

“I believe in being nice to women but her even breathing air annoys me.” Luke grumbled before he jogged after Y/N.

“Haven’t we already passed that rock?” Y/N questioned after an hour of walking.

“I’ve never seen that rock in my life.” Luke snapped back. Somewhere along the dull trip, he had gotten to the front and was now leading the group.

“We passed it on the train.” Y/N uttered as Luke’s gaze began to wander and landed on a nearby building. “And if the train passed it, then that means”- Luke cut Y/N off.

“We’re going the wrong way.” Luke finished. Y/N took a deep breath to calm her agitation. “The harpy must’ve been sent to confuse us.” Luke quickly turned to Y/N.

“You went the wrong way!” They shouted in unison, pointing and pinning the blame on each other. Y/N scoffed, rolling her eyes.

“Don’t blame me!” She exclaimed, slapping his shoulder.

“This is your fault! You walked off first!”

“And you kept walking! You idiot!”

“Don’t call me an idiot! You… you… manipulative, psycho bitch!”

“Are you sure you’re yelling that at the right person?!”

“No! I got it off Gossip Girl! Percy watches it!”

“Who is Percy?!”

Chris pushed his way between Y/N and Luke, shoving them apart. “Guys! It’s only an hour setback! We can get back on the train!”

“The train tracks are missing, genius!” Y/N turned on him.

“We’ll take another train.” Chris replied.

“The next train is in an hour!” Luke added.

“You guys fight and back each other up like a married couple! Make up your mind!” When Chris was getting frustrated now. Y/N groaned to blow off some steam.

“Okay, here’s what we’re going to do.” She said once she calmed down, “We’re going to catch the next train and we stay low until it arrives. Once we’re on the train, we go to our compartment as quickly as possible and we don’t leave until the train stops. Got it?” Y/N sternly stared at the two boys. They silently nodded.

“Don’t make eye contact with anyone.” Y/N warned, fiddling with the tickets.

“You’re going to rip them. Give them here.” Luke snatched the tickets from her, safely shoving it into his pocket.

“So, what about food?” Chris questioned, “We have to eat something on the train.”

“I preordered our meals. Breakfast, lunch, and dinner.”

“And you didn’t ask us? What if we don’t like it?” It seemed like Luke’s goal in life was to frustrate Y/N. And it worked every time.

“Train food is better than plane food.” She grumbled, “If you don’t like it then suck it up, you big baby. Nobody cares about your opinion.”

“You wound me, writer.” Luke quietly chuckled to himself, clasping his hands together.

“Train’s in forty minutes. We shouldn’t be out in the open.” Y/N dragged the two boys back into the shade, away from the burning sun. “We wait here. Don’t move.” Luke tried to walk off but Y/N was quick to grab him.

“What if we need to go to the bathroom?”

“Then be quick. Obviously I’m not going to follow you into the bathroom.” Y/N exhaled in agitation before grabbing her bag, pulling out a book.

“Is this really a good time to read, writer?” Luke asked, peeking over her shoulder. Y/N didn’t reply, which only provoked Luke to annoy her further. Chris was wildly shaking his head but the brunette swordsman only grinned.

“Hey, writer.” He poked her, “Moby Dick is a stupid author.”

Finally, Y/N looked at him again, giving Luke the attention he so desperately craved. “Moby Dick was the whale. The author was Herman Melville.” Luke’s cheeks flushed in embarrassment but he tried to sheepishly play his mistake off.

“I know. I was just tryna get your attention.”

Y/N turned back to her book, silently flipping the page. Chris held back muffled laughs and Luke subtly flipped him off.

The minutes passed like slow hours and eventually, Chris walked off to find a bathroom. Luke was left sitting next to Y/N, his knee bumping her’s occasionally. He clicked his tongue to a random quiet beat to entertain himself.

“Stop that.” Y/N demanded.

“Stop what? I ain’t doing anything, writer.” Luke innocently played it off.

“Stop existing!”

“Woah, I don’t wanna kill myself. Otherwise the girls at camp would be doomed with my charming looks.”

“Yes, well they’d be fine without your so-called wits. You thought Moby Dick was the author. Ha! A whale writing. That’d be something, Castellan.” Y/N laughed, shaking her head in amusement.

“You’re really mean, do you know that?”

“And you’re insufferable. Though, I doubt you know what that word means. It means annoying.”

“I’m not dumb, writer.”

“Moby Dick was a whale.” Y/N tauntingly reminded him with a pointed look which had Luke’s cheeks turning red once more.

“Stop bringing up the whale!” Luke exclaimed, groaned as he pinched the bridge of his nose. Y/N looked away, victoriously smirking.

“The train is ahead of time.” Chris uttered as soon as he returned from the bathroom, “It’ll be here in ten minutes. Let’s get ready to board.”

As Y/N stood on the platform, letting the scorching sun beat down on her, she could feel a pair of eyes stare daggers into her back. She slowly turned her head, locking eyes with a tall Russian man. Almost too tall to be human. He grinned at her, showing off his sharp and pointed teeth.

Luke took notice of the slender man as well. “They know we’re here.” He whispered, subconsciously stepping forward to block Y/N from the man’s view.

“Are we sure he’s a monster or just a little creepy looking?” Chris butted in.

“Let’s get into our compartment as soon as possible. I booked one near the end so it’d be easier for us to get out if anything goes wrong.” Y/N muttered as she stepped onto the steel stairs. She handed the conductor her ticket and he examined it before letting her pass.

“This one.” She mumbled to the two boys. She shoved the door open and once all of them were tucked safely inside, she slammed it shut and locked it.

Luke and Chris watched in confusion as she searched the wall for something they couldn’t see. “What are you doing?” Luke questioned, a little confused.

“Compartments like these often have a door leading to the next one.” Y/N exclaimed, “These doors are able to be locked and unlocked but I don’t doubt a monster’s ability on being able to acquire a key. Oh, and close the curtains, will you?”

Chris was quick to do as Y/N said, grasping onto the velvet fabric and yanking it to conceal the window.

“You seem to know what you’re doing. Are you sure you haven’t run away before?” Luke said that in a joking tone but Y/N’s frantic actions to find the lock paused.

“I… uh… tried running away when I was ten. The orphanage wasn’t exactly the best place to live. But after spending what little savings I had, I returned because there was nowhere else I could go.” Y/N cleared her throat and shook her head. “But that’s in the past. I don’t regret it because I was able to see parts of the world that nobody in the orphanage could. And it was beautiful.”

“So how’d you end up in that private school?” Luke pressed on further.

“The school has a deal with the orphanage. Every year, one child is picked to study at the school. It’s like a scholarship, if you will. All costs, even lunch, are covered. And I knew I wanted out because I couldn’t stand being in a cramped room any longer. So I worked harder than everybody else and I studied overtime because I don’t accept defeat. I get what I want and that scholarship was no different.”

Luke let out a low whistle. “Impressive, writer. But I didn’t expect anything less from you.”

“I found the lock.” Y/N announced, “Do either of you have a key or a pocket knife or anything I can jam in there?” Luke handed Y/N a small pocket knife and she slightly smiled before harshly shoving the blade into the lock. “That’ll hold it.”

She collapsed on a squeaky mattress, her legs dangling off the bed. Luke could hear the faint sound of her back clicking.

“How long will this train take?” He asked as he sat down across from Y/N. Chris had already dozed off, sleep-deprived and exhausted. Y/N subtly shrugged.

“Maybe a day? I want to get off as soon as possible because that man creeped me out. Check the other wall, will you?”

Luke had no choice but to stand again and search the smooth barrier for a lock, running his hands over the wall and furrowing his eyebrows.

“Nothing.” He concluded. Y/N hummed, seemingly pleased.

“Meals will be delivered to us. In the mean time, avoid making interaction with anyone.” She tilted her head back and closed her eyes. Luke hesitated for a moment before he spoke again.

“So… why’d you run away?” Luke was met with silence before he heard Y/N quietly sigh.

“The orphanage didn’t treat us as humans but rather as pests they had to get rid of. They were so happy to see me go to school because it meant they had to spend less time on keeping me in line. I was… a troubled kid. Now I know why. It’s the godly blood, isn’t it?” Y/N cracked open one eye to look at Luke, who nodded.

“You didn’t regret running away?” Luke questioned, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees. He heard Y/N lightly laugh.

“I’ll never regret it because those were the best weeks of my life. I met people I had never seen before and I found comfort in knowing I’d never see them again. There was one girl who was like me, troubled and a little angry. We became best friends for the few nights we spent together until she had to move on.”

“What was she like?”

“Beautiful… and dangerous. She enjoyed starting fights. She was a little younger than me… with brown curled hair and pretty hazel eyes. Her name was…” Y/N trailed off, “Oh… well, I don’t remember now. That’s a shame.”

“Clarisse.” Luke piped up, “That was her name, right? Clarisse?”

Y/N stared at him with her lips parted. “Yes… that was her name. How do you know her?”

“She’s a demigod too. A daughter of Ares. She’s actually at camp as we speak, waiting for new kids to arrive so she can torment them.” Luke chuckled, turning his gaze to stare at the floor.

“You know, you aren’t as mean as you try to be.” He uttered after a full minute of awkward silence. Y/N’s eyes darted to look at him, an eyebrow raised in confusion. “I’ve met girls like you, writer. Girls who do everything to block people out because they don’t see themselves as someone a person could ever like. Those types of girls suffer a lot… don’t be like them, writer. Bring down your walls for even just a few hours.”

Y/N opened her mouth to reply but a shrill scream interrupted her.

“Hey! What happened to the rule of no one leaving?!” Luke shouted as Y/N rushed to the door.

“That doesn’t apply to this situation!” Y/N loudly retorted. Luke spared Chris a glance before he darted after the H/C-haired girl. She was already kneeled beside a woman, frantically shaking her and checking her pulse.

“What happened?” One of the train workers rushed over to see the commotion, his face paling at the sight of the woman’s blood staining the lush carpet below.

“She screamed and ran out of her cabin.” An onlooker explained.

“No pulse… she’s already dead.” Y/N whispered.

“Everyone, to your compartments. Do not move until we give the all clear!” The worker yelled, blowing his whistle harshly. Y/N fumbled around with something in the body’s pocket and Luke was quick to drag her away.

“Someone killed her, Castellan… a swift stab to her chest. Was it a monster?” Y/N breathed as Luke led her to a quiet corner. He shook his head.

“Monsters shouldn’t affect mortals. The mist covers them. This might be actually murder.”

Y/N shuddered. “Warn Chris.” She demanded while Luke furrowed his eyebrows.

“What are you going to do?” He questioned.

“I’m going to search for evidence.” Y/N up a large stolen key, “I wasn’t up until three in the morning solving true crime stories for nothing.”

•

Y/N carefully slipped into the woman’s cabin, her eyes searching for anything out of the ordinary. She crouched down, looking underneath the messy bed. Below the rickety wooden frame lay a single pipette. Y/N reached out her arm, grasping onto it.

“Why would someone need this? Unless this lady was an arts and craft kind of person.” Everywhere Y/N looked, all she found were scraps of paper and an occasional book. “Oh, you deserved to be stabbed for reading this. What a monstrosity.”

Y/N wrinkled up her face as she pulled out a copy of Lolita. She threw it aside but a quiet clang caught her attention. A small brooch had fallen out of the novel and rolled across the floor, hitting Y/N’s shoe.

She crouched down and examined it, running her thumb over the letter H that was engraved in the rusty metal.

“What was this woman’s name?” Y/N grabbed the bags, looking for any kind of name. “Mia… not starting with H. This was left behind… and this pipette… it’s used for cleaning smoking pipes but I see nothing. She wasn’t a smoker.” Y/N shoved the two items into her pocket and quickly exited the compartment, coming face to face with the unusually tall man from before.

“It’s not safe to be lurking around.” He grinned, which gave Y/N no comfort.

“I was just leaving.” She muttered, letting him brush past her. He tipped his hat.

“As you were, miss.” He slinked away and something white fell out of his pocket. Y/N was quick to rush over and pick it up. “A pipette…” The man didn’t smell like the strong scent of tobacco that always seemed to trail after smokers. Y/N narrowed her eyes.

“Where have you been?” Luke stood in front of the door like an angry mom waiting for her kid to arrive home. “The workers called a mandatory meeting. They didn’t know you were missing, luckily.”

“Was there anyone who smoked a pipe?” Y/N asked, ignoring Luke’s previous statement.

“Uh, yeah. A male doctor. Why?”

“Did you get his name?” Y/N was relentless with her inquires.

“The worker called the doctor Harvard Armstrong.”

“Harvard? Like the university? Who names their kid that? That’s just sad.” Y/N scoffed her herself. “But it works.”

“What works?” Luke was sick of being left out of whatever Y/N was planning. He could practically see the cogs turning in her head.

“I found these in the woman’s cabin. Her name’s Mia.” Y/N threw her sad evidence onto her bed, “A brooch with an H on it and a pipette. This pipette is specifically for cleaning pipe cigarettes and Harvard and H match up.”

Chris lifted his brows. “Are we seriously solving this murder crime right now?”

Y/N tuned out his words. “There’s not many people who use a pipe these days. It’s rare to come across. And it was a stupid clue to leave, even under a bed. Is it safe to walk around the train?”

“Yes, but it isn’t advised- Woah, where are you going?!” Luke grabbed Y/N’s arm before she could walk away again. “Look, you may be half god but you’re also half human. You can die just as easily! Don’t go off and risk your life for some Mia lady you didn’t even know!”

“Then come with me, Castellan. What’re you afraid of?” Y/N shoved him aside while Luke glanced at Chris for help.

“Just go, dude. I’ll lock the door. Knock three times when you come back.”

That’s how Luke ended up trailing after Y/N in the deserted corridor.

“I can assure you, Mister Norman, that we are doing everything in our power to catch the culprit.”

As Y/N walked around a corner, she spotted the same sharp-toothed man talking with another staff member.

“Bullshit.” Norman spat and scoffed.

“Are you sure you aren’t the culprit, Mister Norman?” Y/N spoke up. Luke glared at her, trying to shush her.

“Miss L/N, this is a private conversation.” The worker uttered, “You shouldn’t even be out.”

“You’re Russian, right?” Y/N stepped forward, much to Luke’s dismay. “H… I found it in a book written by a Russian author. Isn’t H in the Russian Alphabet pronounced as N? Harvard… Norman. That was a tricky one you left. And the pipette. Very cunning to try and blame someone else. But Harvard Armstrong, the man you tried accusing, was in the room next to us and he never left until after.”

“You’re a nosy girl.” Norman grumbled.

“Yeah… and I just don’t like your vibe altogether. This is your’s, right? Your next reaction will confirm it.” Y/N tossed the brooch high into the air and smiled as it neared the floor. Norman was quick to catch it, holding it close to his chest as if it were a sacred treasure.

Y/N winked, “Bingo.”

Norman quickly turned tail and tried to run but the train worker was faster, practically tackling him to the ground.

“You just solved a fucking murder crime in under an hour.” Luke said, astounded. “How did you know it was even him?"

“As I said, I didn’t like his vibe… and it was a gamble anyway. I took a lucky guess.”

•

“I can’t believe she solved a murder with only two pieces of evidence.” Chris whispered to Luke as they strolled through the woods towards camp.

“Again, I can hear you.” Y/N turned to glare at the boys, “I haven’t disappeared or suddenly gone deaf.”

“Dealing with a deaf you probably would’ve been easier.” Luke cheekily smiled as he spoke his mind.

“Ugh.” Y/N groaned, rolling her eyes. “I can’t stand you.”

“Then sit on my face.” Luke mumbled but it was loud enough for the other two to hear.

Chris choked on air while Y/N spun around bewilderment. "What?" She seethed in shock. Luke battered his lashes like he had done no wrong.

"What? I didn't say anything." He played along, much to Y/N's annoyance.

"You weirdo." She muttered, "How far is camp? It's getting dark and I don't really want to be a harpy's midnight snack."

Chris pointed at a tree on top of a hill that stood not too far away. “At least two more minutes.” He said. Y/N was relieved to finally step past the tree and into the temporary shade it gave her.

“It seems people are already waiting for you.” Luke mumbled under his breath as he spotted the small crowd of demigods standing behind Chiron, trying to catch a glimpse of the girl the oracle wanted Luke and Chris to retrieve.

“She doesn’t look like anything special.” A pretty blond with glossy lips whispered to the equally stunning group surrounding her.

A golden haze began to form the moment Y/N paused in front of Chiron. The golden mist swirled like the sand in Y/N’s dream, forming a majestic looking owl that loudly cooed and flew high into the sky. It dived back down, exploding into golden glitter that rained down on Y/N like heavy pieces of hail.

“Welcome Y/N, daughter of Athena, to Camp Half-Blood.”

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