#it feels like its burning me alive from the inside out and always will be

[comfycozycrossfox]

i am unloveable and impossible to be friends with let alone date and i will never get what i really want 👍 ok

[stylesispunk]

"What remains of us"

outbreak! Joel miller x f!reader

Summary: Joel doesn't die after the brutal encounter with abby because you saved him on time.

wc: 4k>

warnings: angst,mentions of blood, mentions of murder (reader becomes violent), fluff, mentions of broken bones. english is not my first language so excuse my mistakes. Written in a rush.

a/n: so uhmm. How are we feeling? I personally feel broken by the events from episode 2 so I rewrite the story while i was free in the morning to help me cope with the grief and joel is alive.

dividers by @/saradika-graphics

Something felt wrong in your bones the moment the snowstorm hit harder than expected.

Not just the kind of wrong that came with whiteout conditions and freezing wind — this was deeper. Ancient. It whispered through the trees like a secret from another world, brushing icy fingers down your spine. A warning dressed up as weather. You felt it in your chest, in the weight behind your ribs, where your breath stayed too long before escaping.

Your skin burned from cold, your limbs throbbed with fatigue — but none of it compared to the way your heart pounded. Not from exertion.

From fear.

“Hey, you alright?” Jesse called ahead, pulling his scarf down just enough to glance at you.

You nodded too fast. “Yeah, just—cold.”

Ellie was further up the ridge, carving her own path through the deepening snow with the horse, unaware of how your whole body shook with more than frost. You hadn’t told them. Couldn’t. How do you explain that your body knew something your mind hadn’t caught up to yet? That every step forward felt like walking away from safety?

Your heart was screaming in a language older than logic. Since the morning. Since Joel left before you could fully wake up.

The echo of his voice still lingered in your memory — low and warm, brushing against your ear as you stirred under the covers.

“Get some more sleep, darling”

But he hadn’t kissed your forehead like usual. He hadn’t lingered. And when you finally did get up, your gut twisted when you saw the empty space in the stable, the saddle still had damp with snow.

Joel was out there with Dina; you had no idea under what circumstances. And the sky had turned gray with anger.

You shook your head, tried to focus on Jesse’s voice. Tried not to feed the panic unraveling in your chest like a pulled thread. But the cold in your mind spread, and no matter how tightly you gripped the reins, no matter how fast your horse moved, the feeling remained.

Something was wrong.

You finally found a rundown outpost, an old hunting cabin half-buried in snow and swallowed by pine trees. The roof sagged, one of the windows was cracked, and the door barely held on its hinges, but it was shelter. You and Jesse pulled your horses inside the narrow lean-to out back, while Ellie stomped snow off her shoes and kicked the door open with more force than necessary.

Inside, it was cold and smelled like old weed and damp rot, but you didn’t care.

There was a radio.

You didn’t hesitate. Your gloves were off before Jesse could even say anything. Your fingers moved over the knobs, turning dials, trying to find the frequency Jackson always used for patrol check-ins.

A burst of static.

Then another.

Finally, a signal.

Your breath caught. “Jackson patrol, do you copy?”

Ellie moved closer. Jesse pulled his scarf down, suddenly silent.

“Joel? Dina? Come in.”

Only static.

“Come on,” you muttered, heart hammering, twisting the dial again. “Joel, please, respond.”

Nothing.

The silence wasn’t ordinary. You knew silence. This wasn’t delay. It was absence.

Your body went rigid, every instinct screaming louder than your racing thoughts. Your limbs moved before you made the decision. You were out the door and into the snow again before Jesse or Ellie could stop you.

Jesse called after you.

But Ellie was already grabbing her rifle.

“Where are you going?” Jesse yelled, chasing behind.

“Something’s wrong!” you snapped, swinging onto your horse. “I just know it!”

Ellie mounted up beside you, eyes wide and fierce. “Then we’re not wasting time.”

Jesse hesitated, glancing between you both and the radio inside.

“You don’t even know if that’s where they went—”

“I know,” you growled, already riding. “I feel it.”

Ellie followed without a word.

The snow clawed at your skin like it wanted to peel the truth away. The wind howled as if it knew what was waiting ahead. But you didn’t stop.

Because something had happened.

And Joel and Dina were out there.

You and Ellie rode hard, the snow whipping across your faces like knives, the hooves of your horses lost beneath the storm. You could barely see five feet ahead — but then, in the distance, a glow.

“Shit,” Ellie hissed beside you, pulling her hood lower.

You followed her gaze. Through the trees, past the slope of the hill — firelight. Orange, flickering, wrong. It wasn't from a patrol cabin or torch post. It rose in a bloom, too wild to be controlled. You slowed your horse as your stomach dropped.

“It’s from Jackson,” you whispered, more to yourself than to Ellie.

It wasn’t the whole town, not yet. But something was burning. And it was enough to send a coil of panic twisting through your gut, feeding that same deep certainty that had been clawing at you all day.

“Come on,” you growled, spurring your horse harder, cutting off the cold fear before it could settle. “We are too far.”

And it wasn’t long before you saw it, the lodge.

It sat crooked and hunched near a clearing, like it had been dropped there by accident. One of the side windows was shattered. Smoke was seeping through cracks in the boarded upper floor. The front door hung ajar, barely moving in the wind.

You pulled hard on the reins. Your horse bucked a little, skidding in the snow. Ellie drew her rifle and slid off hers.

Your eyes locked on two shapes near the side of the lodge.

Horses.

Your heart stopped.

Joel’s and Dina’s.

Both were tied loosely, their coats soaked with snow, hooves pawing nervously at the ground. Alone. No movement near the front entrance. No voices. No patrols. No sounds but the wind and the creak of the old building groaning under weight it wasn’t meant to bear.

You slid off your horse.

“Ellie…” you whispered, your voice barely audible, breath clouding in front of you.

She already had her knife out.

“Oh shit...”

You didn’t wait for backup. Couldn’t.

Because Joel’s horse was here. And he wasn’t.

And whatever was inside that building, you felt it—It was about to break you open.

The sound of screams of agony and a body hitting the ground echoed down the hallway like a gunshot.

You knew that sound. It was torture. It was pain.

Your boots thundered down the corridor of the lodge, Ellie at your side, a worry and desperate look in her eyes. She’d followed the path like a wolf hunting a pray, her eyes screaming please don’t let it be too late.

You didn’t say a word. Couldn’t. Your heart was stuck in your throat, and the only thing that moved was your body, in fast motion, furious, drawn to the man who should have never left your side in the first place.

Then you saw it. The door, a from inside, screaming slipping from the lips you used to kiss every day. Joel’s screams.

You didn’t wait. You didn’t breathe. You kicked the door open and your world shattered.

Joel was on the floor, a mess of blood and pain and something worse. His legs bent at unnatural angles. One hand barely raised in instinct. His face, bruised, bleeding, one eye swollen shut. His body twitched like it wasn’t sure if it should keep trying.

And above him, a woman. Blonde. Rage carved into her face like she’d practiced it. Her arms raised again, a golf club in her grip, stained red.

She didn’t see you at first. Her eyes were solely focus on Joel, but you weren’t having that.

You roared, not screamed, roared and tackled her with everything you had, all your weight, all your fury. You slammed her into the wall with a force that cracked wood. The club dropped from her hand and hit the ground.

“No more.” you growled.

Her people came fast, like shadows. One tackled Ellie to the ground. Another raised a knife.

But they hadn’t counted on you.

You were already moving, eyes wild, mind gone. You fought like someone who had nothing left but him.

You weren’t skilled like Joel. You didn’t need to be. You were desperate. Right now, you were desperate.

Fists cracked bone. You took hits but didn’t stop. Didn’t feel them. You were pulling someone off Ellie, dragging them by their collar, throwing them into a chair that splintered on impact. You used what you had — a piece of wood, a broken lamp, your fists, your fury.

And they couldn’t stop you. Because you couldn’t be stopped.

The blonde tried to rise again. You met her halfway and slammed her back to the floor. She spat blood. You didn’t flinch.

“Get away from him!” you screamed.

The crack of your shotgun echoed like thunder as the first shell slammed into one of the men flanking her. Blood hit the wall. Chaos exploded in every direction.

“Who the fuck—?!” Abby turned, fury and shock colliding in her face.

You dropped the shotgun, drew your blade, and charged.

The first one that tried to reached for you got a knife through the ribs. You shoved him off like he was made of paper. The next came at you with a bat, you caught the swing and used his momentum to slam him face-first into the fireplace bricks.

“You don’t get to touch him,” you hissed. “Not him.”

Abby swung the club toward your face. You ducked.

Then you hit her. Right in the gut. The force of it sent her staggering back, wind knocked from her lungs.

“You wanna kill him?” you growled. “Try me first!”

She looked at you like she wanted to, but she hesitated.

And that was her mistake.

Because Ellie broke free just long enough to grab your dropped shotgun and aim it at her. “Step back,” she spat, blood in her teeth, voice shaking but solid.

“Now.”

Abby looked between the two of you. At Joel — bleeding, still breathing — at her fallen group. Then she backed off, raising her hands slightly.

“This isn’t over,” she said.

“Yeah,” you snapped, “it is.” You said, pointing your gun right between her brows.

Your shotgun echoed in the stillness of the room.

The blast slammed into her chest, and her body jerked back like a puppet with its strings cut. She hit the floor; eyes wide. No final words. No redemption. Just silence.

Ellie flinched.

You stood over Abby’s body, breath hitching, heart pounding in your ears. The room reek of blood and then there was silence, except for Joel’s ragged breath.

You dropped beside as your knees had finally given out.

“Hey,” you whispered, your voice cracking into pieces. “Joel, look at me. I’m here. I got you.”

His one good eye fluttered open, dazed, unfocused. There was blood crusted at his brow, dried and fresh, a cruel mask across the face you’d kissed so many times before.

“Y-you---"he rasped, voice like torn gravel.

You nodded, cradling his face in your hands, not caring that blood smeared across your palms. “I’m here. You’re safe. Don’t you dare go anywhere.”

His breath stuttered, chest rising too slow, too shallow. His eyes couldn’t stay fixed on you. They wandered, like he wasn’t fully in the room anymore.

“I thought I lost you,” you whispered, leaning close. Your forehead rested against his, warm against cold.

“Hurts,” he mumbled, eyes slipping closed again.

“No, no,” you said quickly, your hands gently patting his face. “Stay with me. I’ve got you. You’re gonna be okay. Help’s coming, okay? Just—just hold on.”

But he didn’t answer. His breathing slowed.

Your heart lurched in panic. “Joel!”

Nothing.

You pressed your fingers to his pulse—still there, but faint.

“Don’t you do this,” you choked out. “You fight, dammit. You’ve been through worse, haven’t you? Don’t you leave me now.”

You’d already faced your worst nightmare. Now you were living in it, holding it in your arms.

Joel lay limp and broken on the floor, his breath rattling against the stillness. His face was swollen and unrecognizable on one side, purple and black with bruising. One eye swollen shut. Blood trickled from his nose, his mouth, the side of his head. His legs—

Don’t think about the legs. Not now.

“Hey,” you whispered again, voice hoarse. “Joel. You still with me?”

A faint groan. Barely audible.

But it was enough.

He was still here.

You pulled off your jacket and shoved it under his head. Your hands were shaking, but your mind was locked in: every first aid trick you’d learned from scraps of survival guides, emergency manuals, anything Joel had ever shown you when he thought you weren’t paying attention. You had paid attention.

You just never thought you’d be using it on him.

Dina stumbled in, still pale and groggy, her hand gripping the wall. “Ellie?” she rasped. “Wh—what the fuck happened…?”

You didn’t look up. “You were drugged. Ellie is moving the bodies. We need the space.”

Dina staggered past, gagging at the sight of blood, but she didn’t hesitate. She knew. The air had changed.

This was a war zone. A zone you had built in seconds because you didn’t know what else to do. You blinded yourself; you had become a murderer monster just to save Joel.

You pulled Joel’s shirt open — shredded, stained with red. Purple splotches across his ribs. Swelling. At least two broken.

Your voice cracked. “You’re gonna hate me for this, Joel. But I have to move you.”

“Don’t…” he mumbled, almost unconscious. “Just… leave me—”

“Shut up,” you said, fierce now, your tears splashing onto his collarbone. “Don’t you dare say that. You don’t get to give up.”

Ellie appeared, face pale, blood on her shirt, Dina behind her with a blanket and an old mattress from the back.

“We cleared the room,” Ellie said. “It’s just us now.”

“Good,” you said. “Help me splint his legs. We need to keep him still until we can get him out of here.”

You tore up a curtain and grabbed two broken chair legs. It wasn’t perfect, but nothing about this was. Ellie held Joel’s leg as steady as she could, while you worked the makeshift splint around the worst of the fractures.

Joel screamed.

It was guttural, raw as if he was being dragged through hell.

You didn’t flinch. “I know,” you whispered, pressing your forehead to his as you tied the cloth tight. “I know, I know, I’m sorry. I’ve got you.”

You felt his breath against your skin, shallow and hot.

His lips moved. “Why?” he whispered.

You leaned back and looked at him. “Because I love you,” you said simply.

His eye fluttered open — just barely. And for one fragile second, the pain slipped away. There was only you and you brush the hair from Joel’s face. He was burning up. You needed to clean the wounds. Stop the bleeding. Keep him warm.

Keep him alive.

And somehow, by the grace of whatever broken god still watched over you all, you would.

You pressed a damp cloth to his temple where skin had split beneath Abby’s final blow. His blood soaked through instantly. You didn’t stop. You couldn’t.

Your hands moved on their own now. Wash. Compress. Tie. Splint. Whisper to him. Stay with me. Please stay with me.

Ellie and Dina had gone quiet. Standing behind you. Watching. Waiting for direction.

Then your voice broke through the stillness.

“Go back to Jackson.”

Ellie flinched, like she hadn’t expected you to speak.

You didn’t look up. You were holding Joel’s hand — limp and calloused in yours.

“We need help,” you said, barely audible. Your voice was shot. A raw whisper. “Tell Tommy… tell him to send help. We need to get Joel back there.”

Silence. Just the sound of Joel breathing. The sound of blood dripping from the club Abby left behind.

“Please,” you added, and that word cracked like bone. “Please. I can’t carry him by myself. He’s—he’s too heavy. He’s—”

You swallowed hard. Your fingers curled tighter around Joel’s hand.

Ellie stepped forward. “We’re not leaving you.”

You finally looked up, eyes glassy and red-rimmed. “You have to. We need a stretcher, a team. Horses. Anything. I can keep him alive for a few more hours. But I can’t move him like this.”

Ellie’s jaw clenched. Her knuckles went white. “I don’t want to leave you with him like this.”

You reached out, brushing Joel’s graying hair from his brow with trembling fingers. “I’ve got him.”

A pause.

Then Dina touched Ellie’s arm. “I’ll go,” she said gently. “I’ll ride. I’m faster. You stay.”

Ellie nodded, eyes not leaving yours.

You left a loud gasp “No,” you said quietly, lifting your eyes once more to Ellie’s. “Ellie… you go with Dina. I’ll stay here.”

Ellie’s shoulders stiffened. Her brows pulled together like she was bracing for another blow. “What? No. I’m not leaving you and him.”

You sat back on your knees, your hands bloodied, trembling. Joel’s chest rose and fell in shallow, ragged motions beneath you.

“You have to,” you said, your voice breaking. “You have to, Ellie. Dina shouldn’t be riding alone.”

Ellie looked at Joel. Looked at you. And shook her head. “I can’t leave him like this. I can’t.”

You grabbed her hand.

That startled her.

It startled you too.

But you held on, grounding her, pulling her attention back to your face. Your voice dropped to a whisper.

“Please,” you said. “Please. Help me save him.”

Ellie’s eyes filled. Not with tears — not yet — but with everything she couldn’t say. The guilt. The fury. The fear that maybe… it was too late.

But you looked at her like there was still something worth fighting for.

And Ellie, for the first time in what felt like forever, let herself believe it.

She swallowed hard. Nodded once.

“I’ll go.”

Your chest caved with relief. Joel let out a faint groan beneath you, and you turned back to him, brushing your thumb against his jaw.

“I’m here, baby,” you whispered. “I’m right here.”

Ellie hesitated at the doorway. “Will he be okay?” she asked before daring to step a foot outside the room.

You nodded, but it was instinct, automatic, hopeful, desperate. The truth lodged in your throat like a splinter you couldn’t spit out.

“I don’t know,” you said softly, voice trembling. “I—I need to stop the bleeding. His leg is bad. His ribs—fuck, I don’t know how much damage they did.” Your eyes flicked over Joel’s body again, breath catching at the way his chest rose unevenly. “But he’s breathing. And that’s something.”

Ellie stepped closer, still pale, still wide-eyed, her clothes soaked with blood—some hers, some not. “What do you need me to do?”

You looked up at her then, and for a split second, she looked like a kid again. Shaken. Haunted. But standing tall.

“Just go back to Jackson and bring help,” you said, your voice barely more than a breath.

Ellie’s eyes burned. She nodded once; jaw clenched. “Okay. Okay. Just hold on, please.”

You gave her one last look. “I’ll keep him breathing.”

She was gone the next second—boots pounding out the door, calling for Dina. You were left in the broken room, just you and Joel and the slow drip of blood on floorboards.

You pressed your hands to the worst of the wounds, breath shaking. “You hear that, Joel?” you whispered, pressing your forehead to his. “Help’s coming.”

He didn’t speak. But his fingers twitched again, slow, and curled around your wrist.

It wasn’t much but it meant he was still here.

That night felt heavy like wet ash. Outside, the snowstorm had died to a bitter hiss. The wind still screamed through cracks in the lodge, but inside, everything had gone quiet—except for the sound of Joel’s ragged breath and the low creak of floorboards every time you moved.

You’d done everything you could.

His legs were splinted crudely with a broken table leg and belts. His wounds were packed with gauze you tore from your own coat lining. You boiled snow over a fire in the next room just to clean the worst of the blood from his side. You weren’t a medic. But you were a woman in love. And that made you terrifying.

He’d faded in and out of consciousness, his lips murmuring your name between groans, sometimes not even sure it was real. You sat beside him, your back against the bloodstained wall, holding his hand in both of yours.

But then it went still.

You hadn’t realized how quiet it had gotten until the sound stopped completely.

“Joel?” you whispered, leaning close.

No answer.

You shook his shoulder, gently. Then harder. “Joel.”

Nothing. His head lolled to the side. His skin felt clammy beneath your palm.

Your breath broke in your throat. “No, no—please, no. Joel—” You cupped his cheeks. “You stay with me; do you hear me?”

Still nothing. And then a twitch.

His brow twitched. His lips parted, barely, and a broken whisper slipped out.

“…Sarah.”

The name came out like a breath lost in time. You froze. Your heart cracked open.

His eyes fluttered beneath closed lids, a flicker of life.

In his mind, it was Austin again.

The smell of smoke and gasoline in the air. Sirens in the distance. Sarah was laughing, running ahead of him, calling back over her shoulder: “Dad, come on!”

And he was smiling. Genuinely smiling. He could hear her. Feel her hand in his again. It was warm. Real.

He turned and they were on the couch. Watching a movie. She was leaning against him, head on his shoulder. He’d just said something dumb. She rolled her eyes. He didn’t want to blink—afraid it’d all vanish.

But then came the gunshot.

Her warmth gone. He spun. He screamed for her. And when he looked down—

You were there.

In the memory. Not Sarah. You. Covered in blood. Crying. Calling his name.

Joel, please. Please.

Your hands were glowing with firelight, trembling as they pressed against his chest.

He tried to reach for you. He couldn’t move. The world was slipping.

And then—your voice cut through the haze.

“Joel, please. Please don’t do this.”

His heart stuttered once. Then again. A sharp inhale tore through his chest as if he’d been drowning.

“Joel!”

He coughed, body shaking, and your hands caught him just in time.

You sobbed, half-laughing as you gripped his cheeks again. “You scared the shit out of me—oh my god” you sobbed.

He looked up at you, dazed, confused. Then his eyes cleared, just a little.

“You were crying…” he mumbled, lips cracked.

“Yeah,” you whispered, brushing your thumb beneath his eye. “Yeah, I was.”

He blinked slowly. “Stop...”

“I won’t,” you promised. “I’m here. I’m staying.”

And as the fire cracked quietly, Joel leaned ever so slightly into your palm, the pain pulling at him, but your voice anchoring him.

The night lingered like a wound that wouldn’t close.

You didn’t sleep.

Your body screamed for rest, but you stayed next to Joel—watching the way his chest rose and fell, slow and shallow, praying it wouldn’t stop again. Every time his breath caught or he groaned too hard, your stomach twisted into knots.

The lodge was cold. Blood had dried into the floorboards. The fire in the next room was too far away to warm either of you, and you didn’t dare move him to get closer.

So you pressed your body to his side gently, just enough to share warmth without causing him pain.

“Still with me?” you whispered.

His eyes fluttered open, sluggish and heavy. “Yeah…” His voice was more gravel than sound.

You breathed out a shaky laugh, your forehead resting lightly against his temple. “You’re stubborn as hell, y’know that?”

Joel let out a faint puff of breath—maybe a laugh, maybe a wince. “…Learned from the best.”

Your throat clenched. You reached for his hand again, interlocking your fingers with his—gingerly, so you wouldn’t brush the torn knuckles.

“I thought I lost you,” you whispered.

His eyes moved—slow, searching—until they landed on you again. Then he mumbled something you barely heard.

Silence settled like snow. You closed your eyes, listening to the wind groaning against the walls. Time stretched, only broken by Joel’s breath stuttering again.

Then—his fingers twitched around yours.

Then you whispered, “Joel?”

He made a sound.

“I love you.”

He didn’t answer right away. His eyes were glassy with pain. But then he squeezed your hand, and his voice came soft, barely a breath.

“I love you too.”

It felt like the first time he had told you those three words and that had broken you in the gentlest way.

You buried your face in his shoulder, careful of the bruises, and let yourself cry—not in panic, not in fear. But in overwhelming, soul-shaking relief. He was alive.

He was alive.

Joel woke to the soft hum of voices and some old machines. The scent of cleaner stung his nose before the light even reached his eyes.

His body was pain, muted but deep, like a dull echo in his bones. He tried to move, but something warm and heavy rested on his side.

Your head.

You were slumped in a chair beside him, your cheek pressed gently to his arm. Your fingers were laced with his, your grip loose with sleep but still holding on. Still there.

The light in the room was soft, filtering through the curtained window like morning fog. Outside, life stirred in Jackson. But here, it was quiet. Just the two of you.

Joel blinked slowly, his throat dry, the taste of cotton still on his tongue. His gaze drifted down to you. There was a crease between your brows even in rest. You looked exhausted. Pale. Eyes ringed with shadows.

But you were here.

He breathed your name, raw and hoarse.

You stirred at the sound, your head lifting slowly as if from the depths of a dream. Your eyes met his, still sleep-warm but wide with shock. Disbelief flickered, then relief so powerful it made your lips tremble.

“Joel…” you whispered, leaving a sob behind.

His smile was small. Barely there. “You didn’t leave.”

Your hand came up to cup his cheek. “Never,” you said. “You scared the hell out of me.”

He swallowed hard, his hand tightening weakly around yours. “How long?”

“Three weeks,” you said, voice shaking with the memory. “You were unconscious the first few days back. Fever wouldn’t break. They weren’t sure if you’d make it through the second night…”

He looked at you again, really looked. “And you sat here the whole damn time?”

You gave a soft, broken laugh. “Where else would I be?”

His good eye softened. “Didn’t think I’d ever see you again.”

You leaned closer, resting your forehead to his. “You promised me once you wouldn’t leave me.”

He nodded faintly, his eyes closing for a moment as your breath mingled.

Your fingers brushed his temple, so gently, as if afraid he’d fade again like some half-formed dream. Joel’s skin was warm beneath your touch, warmer than it had been in days, and that alone nearly broke you all over again.

“It’s going to take time,” you whispered, your voice barely louder than the hum of the machines. “To heal. For everything.”

Joel didn’t say anything, but you felt the tremor in his breath.

You threaded your fingers more tightly with his. “But I’m not going anywhere. You hear me?” you said, firmer now, voice catching on the tears in your throat. “I’m not leaving your side. You will get sick of me.”

His lips parted like he wanted to argue, maybe even protest, but then he looked at you again. Really looked. The cut on his brow. The bruising on his cheekbone. The pain behind his eye, and beyond that, the softness that only came when it was just you.

“You shouldn’t have had to—”

“I had to,” you cut in, gently but unshakable. “Because I love you. Because I couldn’t lose you. And I won’t.” you paused to take a deep breath before continuing, “You and I will grow old together, and we will die peacefully in farm, together.”

Joel blinked. His hand tightened slightly in yours again, like the only strength he had left was meant for that one touch. His voice was barely a whisper when he said, “I don’t deserve you.”

You leaned in and kissed his forehead, bruised, stitched, healing. “You’re mine, Joel. And I’m yours. That’s not about deserving. That’s just how it is.”

Silence fell, heavy but not suffocating. The kind of silence where you could finally breathe again. Where you knew, he was going to live.

Joel let his head rest back into the pillow, the edge of a tear slipping from the corner of his eye.

“Okay,” he whispered, smiling at you.

You smiled through your tears, the kind that burned hot down your cheeks but carried no pain—only release. Relief. Love.

You shifted in the chair, reaching up to brush a bit of hair back from his forehead, careful not to touch where it was most tender. His skin warmed beneath your fingertips. Alive. He was alive. The reality of that still hadn’t fully settled in.

“I’m gonna be here when you wake up,” you promised, voice like a hush of wind through leaves. “Every morning. Every damn day if I have to. You focus on getting better.”

Joel's smile trembled, worn and crooked, but it was his. The first real smile you'd seen in so long it felt like a lifetime ago. His good eye drifted shut, but not before his fingers gave yours one more squeeze, like he couldn’t bear to let go even in sleep.

You watched him as his breathing evened out again, slow and steady, like the beat of a familiar song you never thought you’d hear again. The machines hummed softly beside him. The faint glow of a streetlamp outside filtered through the hospital window, painting golden lines across the bedsheets.

You rested your head by his side again, your cheek brushing his arm, eyes closing just for a moment. Not to sleep, but to hold the feeling. The warmth. The miracle.

He was still here.

And you would be, too. Always.

[annievrse]

rumour has it!

trafalgar law x fem!reader —ᡣ𐭩 fic

summary: rumour has it that the surgeon of death is your boyfriend... w/c: 5.3k c/w: suggestive, secret relationship, reader wears a dress, no use of y/n, she/her pronouns.

The sun is just moments off dipping behind the horizon, the pink and orange hues meshing into subtle indigo. Since leaving the previous island, the air has been humid and sticky, but the slight breeze drifting through the Grand Line is refreshing. 

The inside of the girls' quarters smells of vanilla, salt, and Robin's rosewater incense. The waves crash against the side of the ship, seaspray making its way through the ajar porthole, and you're sure Nami will scold you for leaving it open, but you're far from caring now.

The cotton sheets of your bed, a present from Robin for your birthday, are soft on your legs as you turn over for the nth time in ten minutes. You wouldn't call your current state one of grief, since he is still alive, but the rawness of your throat and the deep ache in your chest makes it seem so.

Skipping dinners and chores was enough for Nami and Robin to know there was something wrong, but you've been holed up in the room since departing the last island, and now they're positive this is more than just feeling sick.

The door slams against the wall when Nami kicks it open, a scowl on her features as she stomps over to you and rips the sheets off. You whine at the loss of cover, your body curling further in on itself as you shove your face into your pillow.

"Leave me alone."

Nami scoffs. "You're kidding, right?"

"Nami—“

"We're worried about you," Robin's soft voice comes from the doorway. "You've never skipped out on your chores for this long before."

Shaking your head, you squeeze your eyes shut. No words leave your lips, and Nami and Robin share a concerned glance.

"Come on, dinner's ready. The crew's been waiting for you to join."

You sniffle and swallow thickly, remaining unresponsive to their words. If you were to tell them it feels as though your heart is going to explode and your limbs are lethargic because of a man, you fear they'd laugh at you.

"Has that window been open this whole time?—"

Robin says your name softly, abruptly cutting Nami off. "Please?"

You've always thought of the archaeologist as an older sister of sorts, so when she gives you an encouraging smile and a hand to take, you give in. Robin's always been more understanding than Nami, but you wouldn't trade either of them for the world.

"If this is about that rumour..."

You ignore her, your skin ablaze with apprehension at Nami's implication. The fresh air of the deck hits you in the face, and joyful screams and laughter from the galley have your stomach churning with anxiety.

"We understand if you don't want to talk about it, we know that rumours can get out of hand sometimes."

Your eyes remain on the floor while your cheeks burn with embarrassment. You're feet away from the kitchen door, and you resist the urge to run in the opposite direction.

"Seriously," Nami says, an easy laugh falling from her lips. "You can tell us anything, you know that."

Guilt bubbles under your skin, and you feel disgusted with yourself for feeling like you couldn't confide in them. You open your mouth to reply when a sharp gasp cuts you off.

"You're here!" Luffy exclaims, his contagious giggles making your lips turn upwards for the first time in a week. "I missed you!"

Suddenly, limbs are wrapped around you, and Luffy's grin presses against your cheek.

"I missed you, too," You smile and lean your head on his shoulder.

"Are you hungry?" Luffy asks, unwrapping himself from your torso. "Sanji cooked up a feast!"

And he isn't exaggerating. The cook stands before you, his eyes wide with concern as he takes your hand. "I made your favourites, mon amour."

You nod as you take in the platters and towers of food splayed on the long dining table. Brook, Franky, Jimbe, and Chopper sit on one side, and Usopp and Zoro sit on the other, all giving you reassuring smiles as you greet them.

"Thank you, Sanji."

"Anything for you, my angel!"

You take a seat beside Zoro and Luffy slides in next to you. "Let's eat!"

Dinner is as chaotic as usual, and in the week you've been hiding in your room, you've come to miss the disordered affair. Mountains of different dishes are piled onto your plate, thanks to Luffy, as Zoro pours sake into your mug. You won't be drinking tonight, but the thought that Zoro wants to share his beloved drink with you has your heart growing with warmth.

You pick up your fork and stab a piece of grilled broccoli. The flavour melts on your tongue as you chew, your gaze scanning your crewmates as they continue with their normal dinner conversations.

"So is it true?"

The room goes silent, and the only sound is the clink of Chopper's hoof on Brook's humourous. You stare into the voids of his eye sockets and swallow quickly to avoid choking on the vegetable.

"Wrong thing to say?"

Nami is the first to growl as she stands. "Yes, idiot!"

The rest of the crew groans and throws their assaults at the skeleton before he cries out.

"Okay! Okay, I'm sorry," Brook winces, his hands up in defence. "If I had a heart it would be full of remorse right now."

His usual gag makes you exhale a short laugh and the crew visibly relaxes.

"I'm fine, guys," You sigh. "I'm not going to break."

"So, Traffy, huh?" Zoro is amused, and when you look at him, he raises an eyebrow. "What? It's what we're all thinking."

"He's not wrong," Franky pipes up. "Rumour has it you're together."

"Who knew you two were such gossip?" Robin quips, a mug of tea held up to her lips. "Where'd you hear this so-called rumour?"

"Around," Usopp says, evading answering with a proper response.

"It's not true though, right?" Franky asks.

You shake your head immediately, stomach souring. "How would it be? I haven't seen that guy in forever, let alone be in a relationship with him."

"That's what I said!" Nami exclaims, slamming her hands on the wooden table. "I think I would know if my best friend had a boyfriend, especially if it were Traffy."

As the crew start discussing who they think started the rumour, you sit quietly. There's no telling who or how the rumour started, and you'd rather not think about it.

The article in the newspaper had been published a month ago, and to say it had caused waves was an understatement. With you and Law on two separate, infamous pirate crews, it was bound to affect civilians and pirates alike. The thought of the Heart Pirates and the Strawhats allying again had the world on edge, and if it was because of something as fragile as love, then it would be problematic for both sides.

You pick at your plate with no appetite. There are eyes on you from across the table, but you ignore Robin and continue moving food around with your fork. She can think all she likes, and so can the remainder of the crew, but you're not giving up your most vulnerable secret that easy; especially when the rest of the world thinks the same.

—

You have to tread lightly. Above you, a monthly meeting between the Kid Pirates, the Strawhats, and the Heart Pirates is taking place.

Nami rushes around the girls' quarters for a map she forgot before she stops and sees you at your desk. Various pens and papers are sprawled on the surface, and Nami wonders what you're writing. However, she doesn't press and scolds you instead.

"You're meant to be upstairs."

You groan and spin in the chair. "I'm busy."

Nami rolls her eyes. "Come on. This is important."

"Can't you just relay it to me when it's done?"

The newspaper and the rumour have been long forgotten. It's been two months since the dinner and a month and a half since the crew dropped the gossip, and you've been back to your old self. Nami's grateful that you're no longer affected by it, but there's something about the way your wrist flicks the pen on the page that has her suspicions surfacing again.

You mumble something she can't hear and stand. Nami furrows her eyebrows when she sees the state of you—you wear one of your nicer dresses and your eyelashes seem fuller, longer. She doesn't question it, but her mind circles back to the months-old rumour.

The walk upstairs and onto the deck is a tense one, and you feel the excitement of seeing Law swirl in your stomach. It's been a while since you've seen him, and him you, so, when the sun warms your skin and the heads of all three captains turn to the creaking door, you smile.

"Hi, everyone!" You say. "Sorry, I'm late."

Luffy brushes off your apology and grins while he tells you to sit with the crew. There are multiple sets of eyes on you, but only one makes your nerves dance.

You find a spot beside Chopper and face the other crews. The silence of your arrival slowly dissipates as the pirates start chattering again. You sigh deeply and scan the crowd. A familiar polar bear catches your attention, and you wave when Bepo meets your gaze.

The mink greets you with a warm smile, one that never fails to lighten your mood, as he nudges Penguin beside him. The pirate rubs his bicep before he realises what Bepo is saying, and then he grins, promptly whacking Shachi while doing so. It's a chain reaction, and soon, all of the Heart Pirates are waving at you from across the deck.

The more you think about it, the more the reason why the rumour was started becomes clear; you're not subtle.

Ikkaku almost squeals when she sees you, and soon she's crossing the grass to squeeze between you and Chopper.

"I've missed you," She whispers, throwing her arm over your shoulders. Chopper looks at her curiously, his head tilting as the cogs in his mind turn.

Sure, you've always been friendly with the Heart Pirates, but that's because you hailed from the same island as Law, Penguin, Bepo, and Shachi before you landed yourself in the East Blue. Simple. Definitely not because you're in love with their captain and have been for the past ten years of your life...

You refuse to think about the fact that you haven't told your crew yet, though, you're confused as to how they couldn't know. Sabaody, Punk Hazard, Dressrosa, Zou, Wano... on all islands, you were attached at the hip despite trying your best to remain indifferent toward each other.

Maybe your downfall was hoping that they could figure it out themselves.

"Strawhat." His timbre is low, one you've heard countless times yet it never fails to give you goosebumps, even on the hottest of days.

"Traffy." Your captain laughs.

"May I talk to your seamstress for a minute?"

The crews fall quiet once more, and the air is thick with anticipation. A legion of owlish eyes set their sights on you, and you shift with discomfort.

Luffy nods and waves his hand in your direction. "Go ahead."

Ikkaku pats your knee before she stands and you watch her skip back to her spot beside Shachi. Law gives you an expectant look and nods his chin toward the Polar Tang.

A low whistle behind you makes you freeze and you glance at Zoro. He shrugs at your raised eyebrows, and smirks. He may not seem to be the sharpest knife in the drawer, but you know he's onto you, and from the looks the rest of your crew throw you, you know they are too.

You brush them off with a flick of your wrist and follow Law to the edge of the Sunny. He's quick to shamble you onto the Tang and lead you inside.

Once the air-tight door is shut, you release your breath.

"You okay?"

Nodding, you take a step toward him. Law watches you intently, his own shoulders relaxing.

"Come 'ere," Law mumbles, tugging you against him. You smile into his chest, your hands splayed across his back. "Missed you."

You look up at him, a smile on your lips. "Missed you more."

Law snorts and leans down, his nose brushing yours. The silence is comforting, especially when you're in it with him, a quiet kind of peace that speaks volumes without saying a word. There’s no need for conversation, no pressure to fill the air with sound. The moment stretches between you like a soft, invisible thread, binding you together without effort.

"Did you see the newspaper a few months back?" Law's voice carries an undercurrent of caution, and from the way he hesitates, you can tell he’s debating whether to bring it up. You hum, your eyes flickering briefly between his.

"The crew asked a lot of questions, but I never let it slip," You say, but there’s a tension in your words.

The need to be careful has grown more important as time passes, as the world becomes more dangerous, like a delicate dance you’ve learned to navigate without drawing too much attention. Still, the questions, the rumours, the assumptions—they're starting to take their toll.

“It shouldn't be like this,” Law murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper. His eyes close briefly, as though he’s trying to block out a reality he can’t change. "But is there any other choice?"

You can hear the desperation in his words, the quiet plea for an answer that seems impossible to answer. This hidden side of you that's tucked away from prying eyes and curious minds has become both a refuge and a cage, something you never wanted it to be.

"No," You answer softly, your voice steady even as your heart tightens in your chest. "There’s no other choice."

You don't need to say more—he knows. Both of you know.

"But I’m going to tell my crew," Your voice cracks the silence, and the statement hangs in the air between you. "They're onto me."

Law exhales, and you can see the conflict in his eyes. The fear of consequences and the possibility of everything unravelling if the wrong person knows eats away at you, and from the way Law's eyes plead, you know it hurts him too.

"Of course you can," He mumbles, his voice low. "I would never tell you what you can and can't do."

His words are firm, but they don’t bring the comfort you're hoping for. You both know that telling is easy, but it’s living with the consequences of that decision that’s the hard part. It’s about what you risk losing if it all falls apart.

You lean back to look at him from a different angle, your heart beating a little faster than it should.

"But you’re scared, aren’t you?" You say quietly, knowing the answer before he even opens his mouth. You know him, you don’t need him to say it aloud. 

"Yeah," He admits softly. "I am. Because I can’t lose you. But I know you don’t want to lie to them either."

There's a raw honesty to his voice that he usually keeps under lock and key when there are other people around. But when it's just you, Law is as vulnerable as he allows himself to be, which is much more than he's ever shown to anybody else.

"It’s not about them," You whisper. "Whatever happens, we need to decide what we can live with. Because if the four seas know we're each other's weakness, there goes our cover of ambiguity, and you've always been mysterious."

There’s a flicker in his eyes, a brief spark of something, and for a second, you think maybe he’s going to speak, probably some remark to dismiss the tension or shift the conversation. But instead, Law chokes out a laugh—quick and unexpected.

It is short, but it carries relief, like an exhale after holding in too much. The tension between you lifts, just slightly, in the aftermath of it. You can’t help but smile, even though the gravity of everything is still hanging just beneath the surface. The humour is a welcome distraction, a brief flicker of light in a room that’s been dark for too long.

And you suppose it has. You haven't seen Law in a few months, and every time you do, it's like the floodgates of your heart open all at once—suddenly, there’s no holding back the torrent of everything you’ve kept buried, everything you've tried to push aside. Nights crying yourself to sleep, endless days stuck in bed replaying the memories, dealing with the longing, and suffering through the unsaid words that have accumulated in the silence between your last meeting and this one.

Law moves one hand to rub the back of his neck, his usual aloofness returning, but softened with your attempt at making him laugh.

“I suppose that would make me less... mysterious,” He murmurs, regarding you with that familiar smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "No one’s going to take me seriously as a captain if they know this side of me."

Rolling your eyes, you press onto your toes and press your lips against his. You giggle against his mouth when he immediately kisses back, his response urgent, as if he’s been itching for this moment, for permission to bridge the gap between the two of you.

There’s no hesitation in him now, just the raw need that’s been held back, tightly reined in for months on end. His hands find their way to the back of your neck, his fingers threading into your hair, pulling you closer like he never wants to let go.

"They're probably waiting for us," You gasp as Law trails his mouth down your jaw. "Wondering what the hell we're doing."

Law's chuckle is dark as he continues his attack on your neck. "If they can't guess then they're dumber than they look."

Your giggle dies on your lips as Law gently pushes you against the metal wall of the Tang, his leg slipping effortlessly between yours.

"That’s a low bar," You manage through gasps. "Have you seen those guys? They think jumping in the ocean is the epitome of cleanliness."

He laughs against your skin, the sound vibrating through you. "Yeah, okay. But, if your crew don’t know by now, they’re either blind or still trying to figure out if the looks I give you are innocent."

You pull back slightly, glancing at him with mock seriousness. "Innocent? You just bit me on the neck, Law."

He grins, clearly enjoying himself. He ignores your comment, reality creeping back into his mind. "If they don't already know, you tell them, alright? I want you to be happy."

He looks at you like you hung the stars, and there's no other way you would wish him to look at you. You nod and kiss his cheek. "We're not that subtle, though, are we?"

Law furrows his eyebrows and recalls a time from your past, the memory making him smile prematurely. "Like the time you tried to sneak past Bepo and Penguin and knocked over an entire shelf of medical supplies?"

You wince and then laugh. "Well, they didn’t hear that, did they?"

Law tilts his head, his lips curling into that devilish grin. “I think they'd be more concerned if we weren’t doing this. I mean, what else would explain us sneaking away like this?”

You snort, trying to hold back the laugh threatening to escape. "Probably think we're plotting to steal the Sunny's meat stash. Honestly, I'd be more worried about that."

“Hey," Law's voice drops to a mockingly serious tone. "Strawhat would argue that meat is the only thing worth risking a mutiny for."

You burst into laughter, shaking your head. "Guess they really are dumber than they look if they don’t figure out what we’re up to."

"Exactly," Law says with a wink, pulling you back into him, his lips finding your neck again. "Now, stop talking, and let’s just enjoy the mystery.”

—

When you emerge from the Polar Tang, the noise hits you first—the unmistakable sounds of raucous laughter and clinking sake cups over the familiar lull of the ocean. The air is thick with the smell of grilled fish and meat, and the warm, comforting aroma of rice wine.

The moment you step onto the deck, you're greeted by the sight of Franky and Zoro having a challenge to see who can drink the most sake without passing out. Usopp’s telling a wild, drunken story that no one can fully believe (and everyone’s too tipsy to really care if it's true or not, it's funny as hell). Nami’s chatting animatedly with Robin, Ikkaku, and a few women from the Kid Pirates, all of them clearly amused by the antics happening around them. Sanji’s serving food, and from the looks of it, he’s already had a few cups of sake himself—he’s not even trying to hide the gleam in his eyes when he sees you.

Law is as calm as ever, his cold demeanour never faltering as you step into the crowded area, though you catch a flicker of amusement in his gaze. It’s as if the two of you are invisible in plain sight. You exchange a glance—silent communication, the kind that only the two of you can manage—and it’s clear: they don't seem to suspect the rumour to be true.

Zoro waves a half-empty bottle of sake at you as you step towards the group of girls, his grin slightly lopsided. "Hey, hey, you're back! What’s the deal? You two off somewhere plotting how to take the all the sake?"

Nami looks over, catching the tail end of Zoro's question, and you can practically feel the shift in the air as her eyes flicker between you and Law. Her eyebrow arches, the wheels in her head turning. She throws you an exaggerated eye roll, but there's something different in the way she does it now—a knowing, almost playful glint in her eyes.

"Ugh, you guys are too much," She says with a knowing smile playing at the corner of her lips. "That rumour doesn't seem so far-fetched now, does it?"

Seems your crew is a lot sharper than you wished they were.

“Wait, what?” Zoro squints at the two of you as though trying to piece it together. “Are you saying these two really have something goin' on? Thought it was just a dumb rumour..."

Nami’s grin only widens, her arms crossing as she watches you squirm under the weight of her gaze. “Oh, Zoro, you really haven’t figured it out yet? Please, it’s obvious. All the sneaking off when we meet with the Heart Pirates, the looks they give each other when they think no one’s paying attention, her constant sulking when we part from them—come on, you’re not that dense.”

You freeze as Nami starts listing off what seems to be a mental list. Had you really been that naive to think she wouldn't know? Your eyebrows triangulate as you try to catch her gaze, your eyes full of regret. Nami smiles softly when she sees the look and waves her hand. You know she'd never use this against you, but you can see the flicker of hurt in her amber eyes.

Maybe you underestimated your crew's observation skills, or maybe you deemed yourself unworthy of being the centre of attention. Whatever it is, it's making you uneasy.

On the other side of the deck, the volume of chatter softens. The Kid Pirates may not have been paying much attention to the earlier drama, but now they’re looking at you, and every single one of them has just become aware of the situation. Especially Kid, who raises an eyebrow in your direction, leaning forward slightly.

Your heart skips a beat when you realise they have also figured it out, and then the whole keeping it between your two crews turns into the Kid Pirates knowing too. Panic rises in your chest when you register the severity of the situation—if they know, then how easy is it for strangers to do the same?

"Wait, you two...?” Kid starts, his voice rough and a little too loud. His gaze flickers between you and Law, then back at his crew, who are clearly picking up on the vibe. "Huh. That’s not a surprise, but I guess it explains the newspaper thing."

Killer’s grin widens, a knowing glint in his eyes. "So the rumour was true?"

But Law, ever the picture of composure, only tilts his head, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

"It’s really not that interesting," He says dryly, arms folding across his chest.

Kid is unimpressed with Law's deflection, his eyes flicking back to the rest of the crews, who are now too interested in the drama to look anywhere else. "Guess that rumour was right, after all. Kinda figured you two had something going on, especially after that time you both disappeared on Sabaody while the fight was going on."

You stare at Kid, trying not to let your face betray how uncomfortable the situation has become. "That had nothing to do with this."

The laughter, the teasing, the questions—everything starts to blur together, an overwhelming rush of voices and jabs that twist around in your head, all at once. Your heart hammers in your chest as you struggle to keep up with the rapid-fire chatter.

"That long?" A shocked cry comes from the other side of the deck. Sanji's dramatic approach is unmistakable, his wide eyes filled with genuine concern as he rushes over, his steps quick but careful, like he's about to witness something catastrophic. “You two... really?”

You inhale sharply, trying to steady yourself, but your breath feels shallow, trapped in your throat. The reality of the situation hits you all at once. The entire crew—your family—along with your second family, and the Kid Pirates are staring at you, waiting for some reaction, some explanation.

"Enough."

Law’s voice cuts through the haze, louder than anything you’ve heard in the past few minutes, sharp and commanding enough to grab your attention. It’s like the snap of a whip, but it doesn’t feel threatening—just firm, steady, the sound of someone who’s done with the chaos and isn’t going to let it continue.

The silence is immediate.

"We were going to tell you soon," You say, voice quiet. “But I just don't want to whole world to know, you know, considering the positions of everyone here.”

"Wait," Usopp says, finally grasping the situation. "Are you telling me the rumour has been true this whole time? You’re… you’re really together? And we didn’t notice?!"

“What?” Luffy blurts out, voice high and incredulous. "You two? Together?" He tilts his head, processing the words at lightning speed, then grins ear-to-ear as if he’s just solved the greatest mystery in pirate history. “That’s awesome! I knew it! I knew you two were up to something! You’ve been acting all sneaky, like when I steal food and nobody sees me! I can tell, you know?!”

Nami opens her mouth to scold Luffy but is cut off by Robin. 

"Interesting," She says, but there's no judgment in her tone—just an almost quiet understanding. “I must admit, I’m curious as to how long this has been going on. You both hide it so well.”

Her gaze lingers on you and then shifts to Law. The curiosity in her voice is gentle, like a conversation you might have over a quiet cup of tea. She’s not pressing for answers; she’s just acknowledging the truth without making a big deal out of it. There’s no teasing, no grand statement, just that calm acceptance that feels like an anchor in the middle of the storm that’s just hit the Sunny.

“Few years,” Comes your vague answer, but it satisfies Robin nonetheless. 

“I’m glad you both are happy," the archaeologist says simply, and there’s a softness in her eyes that makes you feel like she truly means it. Your honorary big sister approves of your relationship, and it makes tears prick the corners of your eyes. “Don’t worry about the others too much. They’ll adjust. Just take your time.”

“Adjust, my ass,” Zoro quips, crossing his arms with a sigh, his voice dripping with sarcastic amusement. “So you two were just playing it cool while the rest of us looked like idiots? And you still managed to dodge all my questions? Impressive—"

A loud, exaggerated "yohohoho!" from the back of the crowd echoes across the grass, interrupting Zoro. You glance at Brook, who had been standing somewhat aloof in the corner, a wide grin plastered across his skeletal face. His arms are thrown dramatically into the air like he’s just witnessed the most epic romance of the century.

“Well, well, well, it seems that true love has bloomed!” He says, his voice full of glee and a touch of theatrical flair. “I can see it now!” Brook continues, hands raised to the sky. “'The Pirate King’s Crew: A Hidden Love Unveiled!' A ballad of passion! A symphony of suspense!” He pauses dramatically, looking back at you and Law with a gleam in his eye. “You two should definitely star in it... or, perhaps, just provide the inspiration. Yohohoho!"

“I’m glad someone’s enjoying this,” You say with an uninhibited giggle.

Law shakes his head, though he’s clearly amused by the skeleton’s antics. "If he writes a song about us, I'm throwing him off the ship."

“Oh, don’t worry, captain!” Brook says brightly. “I’ll make sure the song is perfectly respectful! There will be no disrespectful verses in this one! It’ll be a tale of true love!”

Nami facepalms and ignores the musician. “I told you guys they were too subtle. You seriously think you can get away with anything with me around?” Her eyes flick to Law. "But I’m guessing you didn’t exactly want to make this public right now. And with Kid's crew around, I can see why."

“Hey!—”

“It wasn’t about hiding it forever,” Law cuts in, his voice steady and calm. “We just didn’t want to deal with the... complications. Not with everyone constantly looking over our shoulders.”

“So I assume Law’s crew has known for a lot longer than we have?” Robin says. “Considering you’ve known them since childhood?”

"I'm sorry." Your nod is sheepish, though there’s no anger, only mild surprise from your crew.

“We didn’t mean to keep it from you guys…” Bepo calls from his spot on the bow with Shachi and Penguin. “It was just... well, her and Law’s business, you know?”

“We’d rather keep this under wraps,” Law announces, his glare pointed at Kid. “So don’t go running your mouth, got it?”

Kid throws his arms up in defence, a smug chuckle leaving his lips. “Don’t care that much anyway, Trafalgar. No need to get your panties in a twist.”

“Got it!” Luffy laughs, shoving a hunk of meat into his mouth. You trust your captain with your life, so his easy answer is enough for you.

Law tuts and turns to you. He looks slightly pale at the realisation that people know, but the relief in his posture is evident. 

There’s an air of collective understanding in the air as the chatter starts up again. Usopp is back telling his stories to the women, and Zoro throws another empty sake bottle at Franky’s feet before the cyborg can finish his drink.  

You wish to explain your side to Nami, but she looks content sipping on her cocktail and conversing with the Kid Pirates. You'd tell her all about it when this meeting is over and you have a clearer head.

“Well, now that that’s settled,” You say, turning to Law with a smirk. “How about we finally get some rest?”

“And give them more ammunition?” Law asks, the corners of his lips curling into a smile.

You sigh, glancing back at your crew. “Not like we’ll escape it ever again…”

And as you look around at your family, both the Straw Hats and the Heart Pirates, as well as the Kid Pirates, who are revelling in the gossip, you can’t help but feel a warm sense of relief. It’s out there now. No more secrets, no more hiding.

And you wouldn’t have it any other way.

[withleeknow]

lemuria.

pairing: hyunjin x reader genre/warnings: established relationship; fluff; unedited bc i suck, self-indulgent etc etc, this is pretty straightforward idk word count: 0.7k note: SO! the only reason i wrote this was bc of a certain purple-haired artist who altered my entire brain chemistry just by saying the words "ma petite artiste" 🫠 iykyk! but please tell me someone knows bc i am dying to talk about this with more people. even the title of this drabble is another desperate attempt to find my people lmao

as always, i’d appreciate any thoughts or comments you may have, and please drop a like and/or reblog if you enjoy reading ♡

navigation / masterlist / ko-fi

In your head, you have a list of favorite things that can’t easily be topped: Saturday mornings (it’s the best time of the week, argue with the wall), cuddles with Hyunjin, and cuddles with Hyunjin on Saturday mornings. Not necessarily in that order though. You’re a simple woman.

You’re in bed, draped over his chest like a lazy house cat, watching as the sunlight slowly filters into your bedroom. Hyunjin’s got one arm around you and the other reaching for his lap, where he’s balancing a pencil and his open sketchbook, gracefully dragging the pointed graphite head across the page until the doodle is detailed enough for you to recognize. It’s nothing special — just the (dying) plant that sits in the corner of the room. At first glance, it seems healthy, lusciously green and thriving but really, it’s grown too leggy to be able to survive on its own.

You call it Viv, short for Vivian, which obviously is an unconventional name for a plant. Hyunjin says goodbye to it every time he leaves the house. In a way, you suppose it’s like a child that you care for with him, something that you try to keep alive and nurture together.

You sigh, pressing a kiss to his shoulder. Your artist, your love. Your muse too if you were even one tenth as gifted as he is.

The sun ventures further into your safe space, tiptoeing across the wooden floors like slowly-skipping stones, brushing against every object in sight until it reaches the two of you. You lean back when the light lands on him, smoothing over his soft, soft hair, caressing his cheeks, weaving itself in the tiny spaces between his fluttering eyelashes. You’d put him in a museum if you could.

You don’t know what compels you to reach out, but your hand has a mind of its own anyway. It makes him pause the sketch, your fingertips tracing the slope of his nose and the curve of his lips. His chiseled jawline and the beauty mark that you love to kiss. Hyunjin, Hyunjin, Hyunjin – important things must be repeated thrice.

“What are you doing?” he asks, a glint of amusement in his sharp eyes.

“This is my way of drawing you,” you say, completely unbothered, enamored with the way his smooth skin feels under your finger.

He hums, abandoning the pencil and the sketchbook in favor of catching your wrist and pressing his lips to the palm of your hand.

“Ma petite artiste,” he murmurs against your skin.

For some reason, it floors you. Flabbergasts you, stuns you into silence for a few seconds.

When you come to, you make a show of dramatically arching an eyebrow, a silent accusation despite the way your face flushes with a rosy tint, burning you from the inside out. You can barely suppress the smile that tugs on your lips, and Hyunjin catches it oh so easily.

“Where did you learn that?” you probe with affection. “Who are you trying to impress?”

“Duolingo,” he says as he moves to press you against the bed, ignoring the second question in its entirety because it simply doesn’t warrant an answer. Who else would he do anything for but you? Who else would it ever be for?

“Duolingo,” you repeat in amusing disbelief, barely containing the laugh that threatens to escape from your throat even though the heat on your cheeks is still painfully obvious to the both of you. You’re shy, embarrassed that all it took to melt you was a couple of cheesy French words he learned on Duolingo of all places, but Hyunjin is endeared, always so damn endeared by you and everything you do. “That owl teaches people how to flir–!”

He doesn’t let you finish your sentence, doesn’t let you get to the quip before he’s kissing away whatever remaining wit you have in your flustered state. The kiss, deep and slow and intimate in a way that sets fire to the heart inside your ribcage; his lips, addictively soft and wonderfully warm, much like the caramel sunlight that dances over the two of you.

It’s Saturday morning, and your plant is still (probably) dying but you can’t really bring yourself to care about it right now, not when you’re drunk on his pillowy smile pressed against your own, on his quiet giggles as he tries to make you blush.

It’s Saturday morning, and Hyunjin is your favorite person in the world.

all rights reserved © withleeknow. reposting, translating and/or modifying is not permitted by any means. [posted 06.03.2025]

[ludwigplayingthetrombone]

Post war/coma comic about Gai struggling with his recovery

Since tumblr hates long form comics, I have to split this into 2 bc its 36 images. This is the first part, part 2 i'll either do as a reblog or a separate post right after this, stay tuned! Links to support me in pinned post <3

tw: s*icidal thoughts, injury, a little blood

Bisuke: Gai's Back!

Gai: GRAAH!

Kks: Im home Gai: Welcome back Kks: [wheels rolling] Hey,

Kks: Ga-!? Gai: Im fine. The tile is cool on my face. Kks: Wanna go lay down in bed? Gai: I am so /sick/ of lying down. Kks: Ok. What do you want for supper?

Gai: You're not going to comment? Kks: I already know what happened. You overdid it again. I should be able to keep up with chores, kakashi. Kks: You can. Just don' bull through it all in one go. Do you want to end up in the hospital again? Gai: Please don't. Kks: I know sitting still is hard for you, and "too much" is in your DNA, but you have to take this slow so you don't exacerbate your injuries, Gai. You went from hyper-aware to pretending your body limits dont exist. Gai: Like you haven't done the same.

Gai: You've proved your point. Kks: It's not about that. And you've dragged me to bed and out of bed repeatedly when I needed it. You were burning alive from the inside. Tsunade told you your immune system is out of whack. You need to take it easy. /I/ know you're capable, but are you trying to prove to /yourself/ you are? Gai: You want me to admit my embarrassment? Kks: If something serioud happens, You'll be even more embarrassed then

Gai: How could you possibly know how I FEEL?! How could you EVER KNOW HOW I FEEL?! Kks: I DON'T! But I've /been/ the one ouking and sobbing on your bathroom floor because I couldn't take living anymore! And I don't want that for YOU!

Kks: I'm sorry, Gai. Gai: I'm sorry

Kks: I can't stand knowing you're in pain, and I can't get you help. If there was a way, I'd do anything. Gai: You do so much to help me already.... And I yelled at you Kks: I've screamed at you so much, that was pretty tame. I wish I was like you with things like this. Not great with what to say...... But I can listen.

Gai: I hate feeling so weak. I'm tired all the time, in constant pain, I can't even walk-..... I can tell tenten and the boys worry despite my efforts to appear positive. Kks: They're just not sure how to react. They know you hate being babied, but don't want to push you into hurting yourself. You hate being told you can't do something. They love you. You get stronger everyday, everyone is cheering you on.

Gai: I know it's irrational, but... I feel like you gave up the Hokage position to take care of me. Kks: Haa!? I'm grateful if anything. I'd be retired too if I could. That'd be amazing. I'm dreading just helping Tsunade but as long as you're by my side, I'll be fine. We're still equals, rivals, friends, partners

Gai: Even if I can't- Kks: /Always/ wil be, dickhead. Gai: You worry about me hurting myself? Kks: I know you think about it

Kks: We're the same in that regard Gai: I would never act on this, please believe me, these thoughts are rare........... Kks: It's ok, Gai. Gai: Sometimes I think i should have just died. I feel so out of place on the streets I used to feel so at home at. I never asked to live. I didn't plan to. I just don't know how to-...

Kks: I understand that. Though, dying didn't feel any better. Gai: I know I didn't fully pass like you did. I didn't see papa. Just for a moment, I wish I could have seen him.

Kks: As much as I'm sure he wants to see you again, It's too soon. Dai'd slap the shit out of you for wanting to waste your youth just to see him. Gai: [chuckle] probably. Kks: I have those thoughts less and less now, but they're still there. "why am I the one who survives?" "Burden" "Gai will come to his senses eventually"

Gai: FALSE!! None of my grief is with you! I love living here with you! My love for you only burns hotter each day! You're so lovely inside and out! Kks: Maa What did I do to deserve such praise from teh mouth of the hottest man in Konoha?? Gai: YOU STILL THINK I'M HOT?! Kks: YOU-! [CACKLE]

Kks: Your bad taste is the only reason I had a chance before someone snatched you up. Gai: The worst. Kks: Thought we'd irritate eachother, but it's been pretty smooth. Even though you still get played by the dogs. Gai: You really wanna throw those stones?

Gai: They play you just as easily. don't lie. Kks: My point is, whatever you need from me, you have it. No questions asked. Even if you yell and scream, i can take it. You held me together when I was unraveling, and I'll never forget it. Didn't trust anyone else to see me like that. Broken

Gai: I never saw you as that. Kks: I'll never see you as that

[lenaswritingandstuff]

Your Teddy ~ Theodore Nott x f!reader (Drabble)

Requested: No

Pairing: Theodore Nott x f!reader

Summary: Theo has only felt pain ever since y/n was kidnapped by Death Eaters, but her return might even be just as painful.

Word count: 811

Warnings: slight mentions of torture; angst; English is not my first language

A/N: I will post the second part on Friday, let me know if you want to be tagged! This is my first time writing for Theo and it's rushed, so I hope it's still alright. Comments and feedback are always appreciated. Sorry for the typos. Hope you enjoy it!

Tag list: @helendeath @im-jesus @wolfyychan

Ignoring the people around him and their confused looks, Theo ran through the corridors, with only four words in his mind - we found miss y/n.  

He had spent three months, three months waiting for her to come back, for her to give him any sign, for her to come back to him, for his whole body and mind to function normally again. It had been three months since y/n had disappeared, captured by Death Eaters one week before winter break. The image of her, defenseless and screaming as she was being tortured had been plaguing Theo ever since, and he hadn’t been able to think of anything else other than he didn't know where y/n was, if she was even alive or not, and what kind of atrocities she was facing. He had completely stopped going to class, stopped going to the Great Hall for meals - despite how many times his friends had asked him to come, saying y/n wouldn’t want him to be like that -, staying in his dorm instead, where even despite the constant closed shutters, he couldn’t even sleep, as he had terrible nightmares of y/n screaming for him as she was being tortured every time he tried to sleep. 

He had tried to look for her, of course. How could he not? But old Dumbledore had anticipated it, and had ordonned him to not leave the castle without a teacher. The first few weeks, Theo had been going almost every day to Dumbledore’s office, asking if there was new information about where y/n was, and he always got the same answer. I’m sorry to tell you that we do not. But trust, Mr Nott, that we are actively looking for her and that I am sure that we will find her. At the beginning, Theo had somehow managed to control his anger and frustration, but at one point, he had screamed at the headmaster, saying that it wasn’t enough, that no one could understand what it was like, and even had broken a few items. 

But, today, Professor Snape had knocked on his door, saying the four words Theo had been dreaming to hear. And now here he was, running to the hospital wing. He only slowed down when he arrived by its door, and, still breathless from the running, immediately opened the door, and then rushed inside to the only bed that was currently occupied. 

“y/n!”

“Mr. Nott, please don’t-”

But Theo ignored Mrs Pomfrey’s words and walked past her, instead going to sit on the bed and hugging y/n’s body as hard as he could. Mrs Pomfrey continued to protest and ask him to stop, but he couldn’t care less. All that mattered was here, in his arms. He gently stroked her hair, feeling his eyes burn with tears. All the pain, stress, fear and anger that he had felt from the moment he learned that she had disappeared faded away, replaced with her warmth presence and the feeling that fucking finally, she was safe, safe in his arms like she was supposed to be. 

“Cazzo, y/n, baby. I missed you so much.” 

You’re here. You’re here. I’m never letting you out of my sight again. 

He slightly detached himself from her but only to kiss her forehead and look at her, look at the face and eyes he had fallen so hard in love with. But instead of looking at him with warm eyes full of love like she always did, there was only confusion - which was also shown in her frowning - and that was the moment he realized she didn’t hug him back, or even touched him at all. 

“Um, I…I’m sorry, but…who are you?” 

If Theo thought he had known pain every second of y/n’s absence, that was nothing compared to the heartbreak her words caused throughout his whole body and mind. He was now also confused, and his arms dropped from her by themselves. 

“y/n…It’s me…Teddy.”

Your Teddy. 

“You…” He had never struggled to find his words so much before. “You don’t recognize me?”

y/n opened her mouth to answer, apparently embarrassed and turned to the matron for help. 

“I’m sorry, Mr. Nott, but Miss y/l/n lost all her memories. Professor Dumbledore and I are still trying to figure out why, and how to bring her memory back,” she said with a kind voice, before turning to y/n and putting a hand on her shoulder. “Miss y/l/n, this is Theodore Nott, your boyfriend.” 

No! Not Theodore, not Theo, fucking damn it. It’s Teddy for her. For her and nobody else. Teddy. 

Her Teddy.

y/n nodded and looked at Theo.

“I’m sorry for not remembering you. I can’t remember anything, really.”

Theo rose from the bed. 

“No, I’m sorry.”

Not wanting for an answer, he turned around and left the hospital’s wing, feeling more broken than when he entered it.

PART 2

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[batsycline69]

Hell Knows It's Got A Home For Folks Like Me

Summary: After losing your childhood sweetheart, you sought a life of adventure. Years down the line, when your gang is gunned down by the notorious outlaw 'Two Guns,' you find the life you've built for yourself turning upside down

Pairing: Cowboy!Jason Todd x Outlaw!reader

Words: 7.2k

Content/warnings: kidnapping, brief descriptions of scars and wounds, grief, longing, hidden identity shenanigans, real threats turning to playful threats, jason likes when you're mean to him, p in v sex, reader is not described, 18+ MDNI

You always thought ‘Two Guns’ was a bad nickname. Plenty of people had two guns; what made him so special he got a moniker for them?

The speed, you understood, was what made him so special. The precision of his shots, even on the back of his galloping horse. Even as he took out most of your crew mates, some part of you was stunned by the way he moved.

Black Mask rode off and didn’t look back, leaving anyone still alive for dead. Two Guns was happy to oblige, scattering bodies all along the pasture.

His accuracy is an assurance that you were intentionally left alive. Prairie grass tickles your nose as he pins you to the ground. You struggle like a wild animal against the weight of his knee as it presses into your back.

“Get off me!” you snarl, trying to wrench your arm from his iron grip.

He lets out a scoff as he ties you up with a casualness that warns you he’s done this before.

If he ever thought the Black Mask gang posed as a threat, that threat didn’t include you. The thought prickles at your nerves, makes you want to spit if you could only crane your neck enough.

“Not a chance,” is his only reply. A terse muffle beneath his red bandanna. The leather of his gloves brushes against your wrists as he ropes them together before moving down to your ankles.

“Mask isn’t gonna pay for me,” you say. “You’re wasting your time. Just let me go!”

He doesn’t say anything as he hoists you up onto the back of his horse, chuckling at every threat you make against him on the way back to his camp. Given your current situation—reduced to some spoil of war—you thought your ride would be rockier, yet Two Guns takes the ride easily with you dangling over the back of his horse.

His people seem surprisingly pleased to see him. Certainly far from the reception Mask gets, but you know most of your late crew mates weren’t in the gang for love. Most of them are dead now, their lives abandoned all from the service of a man who only saw them as bodies to shield him from men like the one currently hauling you from his horse.

Two Guns shoves you towards a little tent set up at the edge of camp. Only when he plops you down on a stool inside that you get a somewhat decent look at him. He’s no longer a blur of endless action. The bandana makes it difficult to tell his age. All you can make out is the sea of his eyes, something playful glinting within them.

“What do you want?” you ask, eyes narrowed in on him.

His dark, scarred brow quirks up. The small narrowing of his eyes suggests he’s smirking at you. Right now, you feel more irritation than fear. “Black Mask usually doesn’t keep such nice company,” he says as if that answers your question. Before you can demand an answer, he pulls out the sack you’d been carrying. He must have grabbed it after he’d tied you up.

You struggle against your restraints to no avail. “Stay out of there!”

Everything clamors together as he rifles through the bag carelessly, tossing its contents onto the bedroll on the ground as he goes. He ignores your small sack of money, the small folio of maps, even the little journal of jotted notes, only to pause at a stack of yellowed envelopes.

“You’ve got a lotta junk in there,” he says nonchalantly as he turns the bundle over in his hand.

The sight of your name scrawled across those envelopes in that familiar boyish handwriting makes something snap inside of you. “Put those back!” you snarl, a new ferocity burning in your voice.

You finally catch Two Guns’ attention. “What, these your important plans with Mask or something?” He takes a step closer to you.

You’ve got plenty of choice opinions on Two Guns from everything you’ve seen of him so far, but you know he’s not stupid. If he wanted your plans with Black Mask, he could have them, but he’s already tossed them aside in favor of old letters.

“They’re nothing to you,” you reply.

“Nothing, huh?” he challenges. He undoes the tight knot binding the stack together. Your eyes follow the red ribbon as it drifts to the ground.

You remember the boy who gave you a handpicked bouquet of prairie flowers wrapped with that ribbon.

“Stop it.”

He doesn’t. Paper rustles as Two Guns pulls the letter from its envelope. You can’t make out the expression in his eyes as they scan the page.

The silence is agonizing. The sounds of Two Guns’ crew moving about camp are the only thing filling the void. You stare at the worn page in a stranger’s hand. Pages rumpled from being held to your heart as you cry and remember the boy you’d lost.

“Aw, a beau at home, huh?” he asks, glancing up from the paper.

“Put it back.”

“You carry these around with you everywhere?”

Another fruitless jerk against the ropes around your wrists. “What do you want?” you demand, your patience with his games growing thin.

Two Guns slips the letter back in the envelope, his eyes fixed on you as he does. “I want to know what a nice thing like you is doing running around with Black Mask.”

A nasty glower grows on your face. “Tough luck.” You don’t want to lose your indignation, but thinking of the words in those letters makes your heart twist in your chest.

In the schoolyard, your life seemed so perfectly laid out. You loved a boy who promised you forever. A boy whose heart seemed as wild as your own. Someday, you’d leave town, just you and him. Run away to a place just for the two of you.

Just after he turned seventeen, a falling out between Jason and his adopted father had him off to search for his birth mother. He’d promised you he’d come back for you once he found her. That you both could finally make the lives you wanted for yourselves.

In place of him, a letter found you in town. Jason’s mother had traveled with a bad crowd, and he’d gotten caught up in the middle of it.

Your mourning stretched out endlessly because moving on from him felt so unfair. Somewhere in these meadows, your heart laid buried. The walls of the life you were supposed to build together crumbled around you, and you were the only one left to clean it up. So you left. Getting married off to someone who wasn’t Jason was no life you could live. And if you could no loner find adventure with him, you would find it on your own. You never chose Black Mask out of any respect or adoration; he had money, and you needed some of it.

Two Guns gives an unimpressed hum at your resistance before pulling out another letter, eyes skimming the page again. “Let me guess. It didn’t work out too well for loverboy? Didn’t get your happy ending, sweetheart?”

Fury roars in your chest. “You don’t get to talk about him.”

Those blue eyes study you thoroughly for a moment before he puts the letter back in its envelope. The pile of letters scatter across his bedroll as he tosses them down. If you mouthed off to Black Mask like this, he’d probably kill you. For a moment, you think Two Guns might be the same.

“They feed you in Mask’s camp?” he asks instead with an evenness that makes you see red. You always knew how Black Mask was feeling from his incessant yelling. But Two Guns is giving you next to nothing to work off of.

You watch him carefully, trying to put together what he’s really asking.

“Yes.”

His eyes pass over you again like he doesn’t believe you. You brace for more questions, but none come. Wordlessly, he slips from the tent, leaving you alone with your mind cobbling together a plan.

Maybe you can slip out the back of the tent. Steal a horse. Black Mask’s gang was heading to a job; you could try to catch up? The strategy has enough gaps you know you’re better off trying to level with Two Guns, but you can’t get the image of his hands all over your letters out of your head. He’d touched Jason’s letters. Read Jason’s words that were only ever meant for your eyes. All you have left of him.

For that, you hate Two Guns. For that, you don’t care if he feeds you or offers you safety. You never found out where Jason was buried, so leafing through his letters felt the same as desecrating his grave. You want Two Guns dead for that.

The wish is enough to drive you through the burn of rope against your raw skin as you wrestle with it. But before you can make any progress, he returns, a bowl of something in his large hand. You freeze, looking at him with your eyes burning with resentment.

“You gonna run if I cut the rope?” he asks, looking down at your bound ankles.

“No,” you lie. Two Guns chuckles like he knows, but he pulls a knife from his pocket regardless. Slowly, he approaches, crouching down without moving his eyes from yours. Those damn eyes that give you nothing to work off of.

The muscles of your legs stay tight, prepared to kick if he tries anything. His blade dips between your ankles, beneath the thick rope before sawing your legs free. He keeps staring up at you like he’s waiting for you to make your move.

You don’t.

He towers above you as he rises back to his full height, gaze never shifting. You feel certain he’s trying to intimidate you as he stalks behind you. The smooth leather of his glove holds your wrist in place. You feel the rope tugging against your raw skin as he cuts, and finally you’re free.

As quickly as you can, you try to pull your arms back in front of you, but Two Guns catches your wrist just above where they’re red before you can hide the evidence from him.

“No use trying to loosen those knots. You’re not the first person I’ve tied up, sweetheart,” he says. “As long as you don’t bolt, I’ll get you something for those burns.” He turns away from you—cocky bastard—and picks the bowl back up. “In the meantime, eat.”

You stare down at the chunks of something in a thick broth and look up at him skeptically. “What is it?”

“Well, it’s stew. I’m sure it’s nothing compared to the five course meals you get over in Black Mask’s camp, but it’s food.” Sarcasm. No one ever said Two Guns was such a charmer.

After you hesitantly take your bowl of mystery stew, he disappears from the tent. Your back straightens once you’re alone, setting down the stew to carefully peer through the gap in the tent. Two Guns talks to one of his crew, the expanse of his back blocking most of your view.

They speak low. From where you are, you can’t make out a single word, and Two Guns walks away before you can try to put it together through context. When he turns to rummage through a small box, you move quick to collect all your belongings strewn about Two Guns’ bedroll.

Your fingers are steady as you take great care to bind Jason’s worn letters back together—can’t say working with Black Mask never taught you anything—before tucking the bundle gently into the pocket where they’re always kept.

Time isn’t on your side, but experience is. Black Mask always had you sneak around when furtiveness was required from a job. Usually, however, you were sneaking up on belligerent drunks and not a notorious outlaw in the confines of his own tent. But desperate times call for desperate measures.

Two Guns may have swiped your gun when you brought you to his camp, but he famously has two. He doesn’t strike you as the sharing type, but you don’t let it deter you. You aren’t really the asking type, anyway.

You poise yourself, waiting for the moment his hand slips through the opening of the tent. As he emerges, you reach out as fast as you can for one of the holstered guns on his hip. Fingers curl around the cool metal and tug, turning the weapon onto him as soon as you retrieve it.

Two Guns is facing you before you have time to celebrate, one hand gripping your shoulder firmly. The other holds his remaining gun just below your chin.

“Don’t tell me the stew was that bad,” he says as he crowds you. When you don’t lower your weapon, he nudges your chin with his gun. “I’d like that back,” he says with a self-assured cock of his head.

“Or what?”

He laughs. “Or you’ll have to go out there and explain to the rest of my gang why their boss has a hole in his head.” He knows you’re in no position to follow through with your threat, but the idea of admitting defeat and giving him the gun back makes you livid.

You step back as he shepherds you back to your seat. With one hand still occupied by his gun, he fishes a roll of linen out of his pocket. “Now, if you don’t give me that back, I won’t be able to wrap your wrists, and I’d hate for you to get an infection.”

“I can take care of myself,” you refute. Two Guns seizes the moment the second it occurs, disarming you and sliding the gun back to its holster as soon as you’re even marginally distracted.

“Oh, I know that,” he says. You hear the smirk in his voice. And he’s passing you your bowl of stew again. Ripping strips of linen with practiced ease.

He’s lucky he got the gun when he did. You would have pulled the trigger the second you heard that arrogance.

One of his large hands stretches out for yours expectantly, the bandage dangling in his grip.

Irritation prickles up your spine. You stare at his hand as if you don’t understand what he wants from you. Take a long, petty slurp of your stew to fill the time, your eyes never leave his.

Two Guns keeps his eyes locked onto you, hand still held out for you. He knows our game, and he doesn’t seem keen on giving you the satisfaction of his annoyance. “May I see your wrist?” he asks evenly.

You consider tossing your bowl of stew onto him, but the lukewarm meal would only serve as a minor inconvenience. So you surrender with a sneer on your face, giving him one of your rope-burnt wrists.

“Thank you,” Two Guns replies, still speaking in that same even tone that’s been steadily growing on your nerves. He sinks a knee down into the earth. The leather of his glove warms your arm as he begins to wrap it up. You know he could hold you harder than he does.

He doesn’t see you as a threat. Another reason to hate him. You’ll find Mask, make sure he takes care of Two Guns once and for all. He just lost half his gang to him, and while you certainly have no true loyalties to Black Mask or his gang, you know he’s going to be hellbent on getting back at Two Guns. You just want to be there when it happens.

When one wrist is wrapped, he holds his hand out for the other. You give it to him, still trying to work out his plan here. Why not kill you? If he thinks you’re going to tell him anything about Black Mask, he’s got another thing coming. It wasn’t like he ever told you anything anyway. You were nothing but another body for his means to an end.

“There,” he says, when your tender skin is safe behind bandages. He drops your hand and rises to his feet. “Now, stay here, and I’ll get you sorted once I’m back from killing your boss.”

“I won’t tell you where he’s going.” Two Guns must think you’re loyal to Mask, which is a laugh. Right now, your strongest loyalty is to making Two Guns’ life as impossible as possible.

“Don’t need you to,” he replies. He pulls a stack of envelopes out of his pocket, shoving them into your hands, but you don’t even spare them a glance. “Now, my guys are a lot less nice than I am, so if you’re wise, you’ll stay in here.”

He takes a step back towards the flaps of the tent. You wait for him to turn around, disappear from the tent, but he just stares back at you for a moment. Rage burns in your chest again. You want to throw whatever he passed you down into the dirt, show him how little you care about anything he has to say to you.

A gun emerges from one of his holsters, the barrel nudging up the brim of his hat like some kind of polite nod before slipping out. Without hesitation, you storm after him. What does he mean get you sorted? What’s he going to do after Black Mask is dead and gone? His step doesn’t falter even after you protest after him.

One of his men catches you by the shoulder the second the light of the sunset hits your skin. “Two Guns says you’re stayin’ here,” he says.

The outlaw mounts a hulking stallion as your stopped. In the dark corners of your mind, you understand he would need a large horse to accommodate for the sheer bulk of him. You try not to entertain the thought. Two Guns helps, making your mind go completely blank as his eyes meet yours one last time.

His gaze feels like a suckerpunch. Somehow, it’s worse when he looks away.

When he rides off and the rush of horse hooves grows faint, you’re pushed back into your captivity. Only then, do you process he handed you something.

You sit back down on the stool looking down at the envelopes in your hand for the first time.

The tent feels as if it could be at the bottom of the lake you and Jason would swim in during the sun-drenched days of youth with the way the air seems to disappear. The familiar writing makes your hand tremble like responding to a long-forgotten call. The slopes and curves of the way your name is written. You know them by heart because they’re the same ones you seek when you miss Jason so badly everything within your body aches.

These letters feel like a trick. Your optimism has long vanished. So you pull out your own savored letters to make sure Two Guns hadn’t just snatched some earlier just to pass them back. But the weight of your bundle is the same as always, all letters accounted for.

Your only next guess is that Two Guns knows something of Jason’s death. He was somehow privy to more details than you. You, who waited in town for him to come home, only to be met with a letter from one of the guys he’d been running with. The one letter you never kept.

When you realize these are letters you’ve never read—letters from Jason with your name scrawled out on the front—you immediately begin to tear through them.

The first letter is dated two months after you were told Jason died. But these are his words, his penmanship, assuring you he’s alive. A close call, but he survived the shootout that was claimed to have killed him. He had things to do before he could see you again, but he assured you soon he would.

He alludes to letters he’s never sent in the next few, and slowly, your heart drops as you make the realization that Jason chose never to mail these to you. He was alive, and he chose not to let you know.

There’s a few months gap between letters until Jason writes to you to say he’s a bad man. He does bad things because someone needs to. He’s a bad man because he never came home to you, and now he’s not sure if he’s good enough. You wonder if the things you’d done to survive would qualify you as bad too. You wonder what that changes between you, if anything.

His last letter was written yesterday.

‘Two Guns’ Todd rode to your childhood home in search of you, only to find you were no longer there waiting for him. The townsfolk told him you left town after your childhood sweetheart was killed.

Jason didn’t know where you were, but he promised he would find you.

You don’t realize you’re crying until a tear drops. The ink bleeds across the page, and you gasp like you’ve ruined something sacred. But those words are no longer the words of a dead man. They’re the words of the man who’d lived all these years without you.

You stare down at the letters long after it’s grown too dark to read them, your mind racing as you try to grapple with what this means. Everything you’ve thought for the past two years has been a lie. The boy you loved had gotten to grow into a man without you knowing.

You’d uprooted your life with the grief of losing Jason. Searching to fill the void, you decided to listen to the call of adventure. To do something unrecognizable from the life you and Jason had imagined in the field behind the schoolhouse.

Outside the tent, your guards have fallen into a drunken sleep. Their snores overpower the chirping of crickets and the whirring of cicadas. To hell what Jason wants, you decide.

You make a quick escape with one of the men’s guns, a horse, and a lantern, riding towards Black Mask’s hideout.

Jason may have most of his crew with him, but every part of you needs to be with him now, even if you are absolutely livid with him. But you can’t help but savor the thought of feeling something other than everlasting grief when you think of him. You can scream at him, shove him, tell him you hate him because he’s alive. That’s nothing you’re going to take lightly. Not when you’ve spent your days wishing to see him one last time.

You think of the way he held your wrist as he bandaged it as horse hooves thunder through the night. You think of sunlight filtering through the leaves of trees the first time you kissed him and ran away, face burning with embarrassment. You think of years later when he’d held your hand and promised you forever, eyes burning with a certainty that only comes with youth.

You find Mask’s hideout, the rest of Jason’s gang hooting and hollering of a job well done. Your eyes skim the darkness for Jason, not daring to get closer unless you know he’s there. You’re not about to risk an escort back to camp without seeing Jason first.

“I had a feeling those two wouldn’t be able to stop you.”

The voice startles you. You prepare to be bucked, but Jason is already soothing your stolen horse. And then you realize the horse was never as startled as you to begin with. Its rubbing against his outstretched hand like a friend.

“You—”

“I know,” Jason says.

“I thought you were dead.”

Jason looks at you like you’re history. Like the part of him that held you was still buried in the earth where you thought his body was. Those years feel so much longer ago than they once did now that you’re looking at him again.

“I know you did, sweetheart,” he says, a pinch in his voice.

You scoff. “Don’t sweetheart me.”

“Alright then. Darlin’?” There’s challenge in his tone. His amusement with himself gets under his skin. Nips at your nerves. All this time, and this is how he treats you now that you finally know?

You slide down from the horse. His sturdy body barely moves when you give him a shove. He waits a beat. Lets the silence settle between the two of you, the sounds of his crew seemingly drowned out amidst the tension. “I take that as a no.”

He encroaches on your space as he takes a step closer, his broad shoulders closing in on you. His eyes glimmer with the longing from your youth, only now clouded with the weight of years passed.

Memories linger like a tune stuck in your head. You’d promised him everything. You’d meant it, too. But those days have faded away, hardened by the realities of life. Jason’s boyish grin came to you only in dreams, the only real place you had left to cling to him. So you’d thought, at least, because here he is. A phantom of the time you spent mourning him. The ache you’d carried inside your chest because you couldn’t hold him.

You knew what you had. You’d known just as well what you’d lost. A boy with a wild heart. One with kindness in his bones. He stole kisses behind the school when the teacher wasn’t looking. When he was old enough, he pursued greater ambitions, promising you the life you deserved one day.

The years haven’t been kind to you, and you imagine the same can be said about the man in front of you. Jason Todd, your honeysweet boy, didn’t become ‘Two Guns’ Todd for no reason. Fear lingers in the back of your mind that you’ll never get back what you had. That this reunion will end in bitterness when you realize all your childhood dreams were bolstered by naive optimism.

Whoops and hollers of a job well done still linger behind you, though Two Guns no longer seems to be in the mood to celebrate.

“We should talk.” Nearby flames make shadows flicker across his face. Now that you know the truth, you can’t imagine how you didn’t know immediately this was Jason. How the truth has bent him back into a shape you recognize.

“You’re damn right.”

“There’s an inn in town,” he says, crossing over to his horse.

You grip the reins of the horse you stole a little tighter. “And?” you inquire, eyes narrowing.

He tugs down the worn red bandana covering the lower half of his face. That alone is enough to knock the air right out of your lungs. That’s your Jason. Yes, he looks different—a scar along his top lip, another through his cheek—but it’s him.

“And we can talk there,” he replies, turning back towards you.

“Sounds like you’re just buying time,” you reply curtly.

He gives you another look. Both of you know you’re right. He’s not happy you called him out on it. Not happy, after all this time, there are still some things you’ll always have a read on. The men following Two Guns know him as the mysterious figure none of them dare to push. But you know Jason Todd. The sweet boy from class who always got the answers right. Who got in trouble for punching another boy because he made fun of you. The one who has always—would always—have a soft spot for you no matter how hard he tried to outrun it.

As you stand before him for the first time in five years,it dawns on you he hadn’t gone after Black Mask expecting for you to be there. His last letter—his real last letter—told you he would find you. He promised, just like he’d promised he’d come home for you. But he’d made a big show of it, made sure you didn’t know who he was beneath the bandana, so the fear seemed real for his audience. His audience, of course, being the gang you ran to when you couldn’t run to him. But this is your Jason; he’d never had any malicious intent. You didn’t know who he was, but he certainly knew you.

“Then will you allow me a little time?” he asks with a terse air of formality.

You don’t want to, but you agree. The foreign look on his face haunts you enough to not want to kick up any dust. Jason doesn’t run; you’ve always known that. You read what the past five years have been like. It’s not something he can dole out in casual conversation.

Riding beside each other in the night offers you time to think, though you’re not sure you appreciate it. Your thoughts seem to go as far and wide as the prairie, racing as fast as your horses.What happens now? When you were kids, everything was so clear cut, but neither of you went in a conventional direction. When it comes to outlaws, what is the protocol for a future?

As if he knows you’re sinking too deep into your thoughts, Jason spares you a glance. His bandana is pulled back up, but you just barely see his eyebrow quirk up in the darkness. Before you can make his meaning, he begins to speed up. He’s testing you. He wants to see what you’ve picked up since he last saw you, curious by the unexpected turn your life had taken you on.

You give your horse a small kick, speeding up alongside him, shooting him a glare when he glances back your way. You’ll indulge him, but you aren’t going to play around with him.

Or so you think as he starts to speed up again.

The glow of town is so faint in the distance, and his gang is long behind you. It’s just you and him, and that has you feeling bold. So you speed up again, still looking stern as you race beside him. “You’re gonna wear these horses down,” you call over the rush of hooves.

Jason’s eyes are crinkled at the corners again. “Naw,” he replies. “Rochester loves to run.”

As you get closer to town, Jason starts to slow down and you follow his lead. You worry about being a known associate of Black Mask alongside ‘Two Guns’ Todd, an incredibly prominent outlaw, but if Jason is concerned, he doesn’t bat an eye. You’re not sure if it’s his confidence or his reputation that gets you a room in the inn, but it’s certainly not the scowl on your face plastered there to make sure no one thinks you’re there for sex.

He tosses his hat on the bed first. Slips the leather gloves off his long, thick fingers. Fingers you remember as much nimbler from childhood. Hands that had fewer scars when you knew them. Finally, he hurries with the knot of his bandana, freeing himself of the burdens of hiding who he really is.

And now, as he stands before you, and it fully registers for the first time that this is Jason. Not a ghost, nor a haunted nightmare of who he could have been had he gotten to grow up. He’s as real as you are, and your heart pounds with the ache of it.

“Why didn’t you send those letters?” The flame of your anger seems to have been snuffed, now leaving you with only the energy to breathe your question.

Jason looks at you, pinched between the brows. “You read ‘em. You think they make me look very favorable?”

“Favorable?” you scoff. “God dammit, Jason, I thought you were dead. Who gives a damn about favor?”

He laughs. “You sound like you’ve been riding with a gang all this time.”

The attempt to diffuse your mood only fans the flame. You shove him again, this time harder than before. He has to take a step back to catch himself. His eyebrow quirks up at you again, and you want to smack the expression off his face.

“You were alive, and you never told me.”

“Well, sounds like you didn’t stick around very long to wait for me.” He’s still trying to tease you.

You give him another shove. His eyes light up with something. “I would have gotten married off! I couldn’t stay there and wait for someone who wasn’t you.” You shake your head, taking a step back to try and calm yourself down. Jason is just so damn sturdy now. He’s gone against the worst of the worst out here and come out on top. He’s survived death. What are a few pushes for him after that?

Before you can step away, Jason catches your wrist, just above where he’d bandaged them earlier.

“You went to Black Mask of all people,” Jason replies. He smooths his thumb over the linen wrappings gently despite the accusation in his voice. He touches you like he’s reading the signs of what happened to you while he was gone.

“I must have missed the word that Two Guns was looking for crew,” you chide.

From downstairs, you can hear the lively chatter of the people at the bar. Next door, you hear a happy paying customer moaning through the paper thin walls. And between you and Jason is silence, your words hanging heavy in the air.

In a show of the boy you knew, Jason’s cheeks flush slightly as he stares down at the ground, no longer able to meet your eyes. Good, you think. Let him feel ashamed of himself.

And as you glance away as well, you realize his shame may be coming from not his actions but his reaction to your stern voice. A bulge grows in his pants, and for a moment, your brain seems to slip away from your anger. But you only allow yourself the moment.

You’re mad. You have every right to be. You’d mourned for him. You’d planned a life without him in it after the heartbreak of losing him. And he has the nerve to get hard while you’re trying to get an apology.

Except you realize how big he is now. No longer the small, underfed boy you’d shared apples with in the schoolyard. Now he’s all muscle and strength from all of his many activities these past few years. He’s a fierce outlaw, and yet he’s still pink on the ears because of you.

You’re still angry, you remind yourself as your desire seems to catch up with you. You knew what it was like to be held by those hands when they were smaller. But now you can’t help but imagine them smoothing down your skin. You think of running your fingertips over the skin lightened by scar tissue. While he still glances away from you, your eyes flicker over him, hungry to know the grown up Jason.

When you push him again, he falls back onto the bed behind him, eyes surprised up at you. All it takes is a glance, and he knows exactly where your mind is. The hard-on jerks in his pants.

“I wanted you dead for the way you touched those letters,” you say. Jason blushes, but his eyes drink you in as you push him back against the headboard. “When you started opening them, I was thinking of all of the ways I’d get back at you.”

A warm palm wraps around your hip, pulling you close to him, but moves it as soon as he has you on his lap. Like he needs to touch you but can only stomach it for so long at a time like touching a pot still too hot from a flame. The grief that ate you alive was the longing he carried to have you in his life yet again.

One of your hands runs up his firm chest before your fingers curl around his thick neck. You don’t squeeze, but you feel his cock jerk against your thigh nonetheless.

“Lotta people have tried to kill me over the years, sweetheart,” he says, staring up at you like you’ve said something romantic.

Warmth shoots up to your stomach as you drag yourself across his lap. Jason’s punched out air brushes against your collar as he stifles a groan. “Did you let all of them get this close to you?” you whisper.

Jason is far from vulnerable with his guns still strapped on, but you know your Jason; his eyes are always on the prize, always have been since you were kids. You can’t imagine he’d been climbing into many beds when there was work to be done.

There’s no suave answer. Just a quick shake of his head as you drag yourself across his bulge. You duck your head into his neck, pressing your lips against the warm skin of his neck. His hands land on your hips again, curling into the fabric of your clothes. His breath is hot against your cheek.

“I got your gun earlier, didn’t I?” you ask, grinding against him yet again.

This time, he lets out a blissed sigh before he speaks. “Didn’t get you very far.” It’s subtle, but you catch the slight pitch in his voice.

You kiss along the muscles of his neck, feeling him jerk against your seam. Your hips roll into his again, trying to ease the aching between your legs. “I’ve got you distracted,” you murmur, grinding against him to prove a point.

The sound Jason makes is a mixture of a laugh and a groan. He bats his dark eyelashes open, looking at you like a long lost love. Your stomach flips with it. “You wouldn’t kill me now, would you?” he breathes.

You feel drunk on the sounds he makes. For the first time in who knows how long, you feel good. Genuinely. Your mind isn’t on a job or running for your life. Right now, the only thing you care about is the fact that Jason’s heart is still beating.

No. Never.

Instead of a response, you tug at his jacket, the scent of earth and leather lingering once you toss it off the bed. A fear seizes in your chest that this could all be a dream. That you’ll wake back up at Mask’s camp, Jason’s letters hiding away in a bag, and the warmth of his body fleeting with your wakefulness. This moment won’t pass you by without you digging your nails in.

Your lips crash into Jason’s, your hand moving up from his neck to hold onto his jaw.

He kisses like a man starved. Long gone are the timid brushes of lips, and sweaty palms reaching out for your fingertips. His hand stretches out on the back of your skull to hold you against him like he can’t afford to be without.

You feel the growing wetness of your drawers as you grind against him yet again, letting out a breathless sigh against his lips.

Jason’s head falls back, a low groan slipping from his kiss-flushed lips. His lids grow heavy over his eyes, fingers clinging onto your clothes. The sound seems to wipe everything from your mind except for Jason. He’s here. You’re in his lap, kissing him as if your lives depend on it. While you kiss him, there’s no history, and yet there’s all the history in the world. The first time you kissed him. The way his cheeks turned beet red every time you looked at him for a week after.

You kiss furiously as you both shed clothes, until your skin presses up against his. Until you’re sinking down on him, pussy fluttering at the feeling of being filled so deeply. A breathless curse slips through your lips as your head falls against Jason’s chest.

His arms wrap around you, holding you flush against him, another low moan rumbling in his chest. Your breath catches when you feel his heart pounding against your chest. You’re wrapped in Jason Todd’s arms, and everything is right with the world again.

Slowly, you raise your hips just to sink back down again. Jason’s hand catches your head as it tips back, pulling you into his lips again. You rest your hands on his shoulders, using him as leverage as you start to build up your pace, acclimating to the stretch of him.

You ride him, and Jason goes the extra mile to push you down even deeper on his cock each time you lower down, feeling him nudging at something blindingly brilliant. With Jason’s hands back on your waist, no longer holding you to his mouth, his moans fill the room. You could listen to him all night. Jason, who’s been through so much in his life—more than you even know—deserves this, even if he caused you sleepless nights and endless tears.

Your fingers drag through his thick, dark curls, gripping onto the strands at their base. His nails dig into the flesh of your hips as he lets out a whine. The noise drives something in you, burrowing into your brain until all you can think is how badly you need to hear it again. So you tug, and Jason’s lips break from yours to breathe another needy whimper.

With their newfound freedom, your lips move down to Jason’s jaw, nibbling, your breath hot on his skin. You feel warmth growing in the pit of your stomach along with the burning in your thighs, but you can’t even consider stopping now.

He promised you he’d find you. Jason Todd has always been true to his word.

You’re so full of relief and so full of him, you feel tears prickling at your eyes. You’re not sure if it’s more from the pleasure or the fact that you’re together again. As you pull back to look at Jason’s face, you see his eyes watering too, staring up at you like you’re something heavenly.

Both of you crying. You almost laugh, but it gets caught in your throat as Jason’s cock hits something blinding as he holds you down even deeper than ever. Your cry breaks through the room, eyes pinched shut as warmth washes over you. Everything seems to slip out beneath you, and for the first time in a very long time, you feel absolutely weightless.

Jason catches you when you lean back too far, guiding you so you still rock on him through the comedown of your orgasm. Your head clears just in time to catch Jason’s eyes as they roll shut. Even as your legs shake, you go back to work, the meat of your ass slapping against his lap.

He groans out your name, holds your hips down against him, and you feel him spilling into you. Lips parted as he groans, cock twitching against the walls of your pussy.

As he comes down, Jason just holds you against him. You savor his rapidly beating heart, the rising and fall of his chest, the smell of sweat and sex in the air because it’s him. You’re collapsed against your Jason, hand lazily draped against his chest as you still clench around him in the aftershock of your orgasm.

When you feel as if you’ve come to your body more, you look back up at him, wiping away the fallen tears from his cheeks with the pad of your thumbs. He does the same in suit, holding onto your cheek after he does.

“I’m never letting you out of my sight again,” he says. And you believe him.

a/n: huge shoutout to @janybabyy for beta reading as always 💛 if you enjoyed this, please consider giving it a reblog or sharing your thoughts

[ginnysgraffiti]

jealousy, unprotected sex, violence, anger, cursing, fingering, fainting, 18+

&. PAUL ATREIDES x yn

could you blame yourself?

no, not really.

not the way you claimed it, at least.

you always placed so much trust and respect in the visions that paul witnessed in his dreams, for they usually concerned the holy war or future events not clear to his complete awareness yet.

however, you never expected something like this.

you couldn't say exactly if it was due to the fact that you and paul had established an increasingly stronger connection and intimacy, but you were sure that it was definitely because of other factors.

paul and his intuitions had been (disturbingly) accurate for weeks, and your boyfriend was even able to see your sexual needs in his visions.

you liked it, yes. it turned you on like hell, and you knew it had the exact effect on him.

you recognized paul's gaze when he had visions of that kind, you glimpsed it through his hungry eyes and you experienced it when his strong hands destroyed your body.

you lived with a certain constant tension, but your inner self knew that you just wanted that moment to come.

"shut that fuck up! take my cock like the slut you are!!" paul's hand slapped your butt, causing a bitter tear to fall from your face.

this excited him greatly and with his other arm he twisted your legs around his waist, making you arch your back to welcome his wet and warm dick as deeply as you could.

you didn't know if it was your fault, but paul was so furious he would have swallowed you alive.

"look at me in my eyes, damn it! or do you want me to call him, uh? to call your beloved feyd rautha and make him fuck you like i do!?"

"paul-"

yet another thrust of his hips brought your hip bones to clash painfully with each other.

you left a loud and pleading moan but his quick fingers choked you in time and reduced it to a pathetic strangled scream.

"who's the one who touches herself while feyd's name slips down her tongue?! her damn fucking tongue! uh?!"

"p-...paul it was just y-y...your vision-"

deadly move.

the bed creaked and for a moment you imagined the springs surrendering to its bloody rhythm.

your boyfriend grabbed your hair mercilessly, almost detaching them from the roots, while his cock was destroying your inner walls beyond limit.

you were crying, but you were just choking on your own moans and sobs, like a sinful child.

it was just a vision, in fact...but now he was going so rough and raw that crying more made you feel real slut.

your sight was still granted to you, even if your retinas were caged in tears as hot as spice.

you could see him, see your boyfriend taking your pussy with a heavenly expression on your face, perhaps the one you wore in his dirty visions.

his mouth was wide open with pleasure and his eyes closed with excitement. he moved his hips for his own burning pleasure, making you aching, sore and wet all in.

"i don't know what would turn me on more, maybe you really deserve to end up in his maniacal arms! you would regret it of course, but it would be too late to go back!!"

you wished somebody could hear you for your own sake.

the wet and sticky tip of his cock was roaming roughly inside you, but the initial pleasure had reduced you to an unbearable burning sensation. you could feel your chest confiding with every sob, but his hands would travel again, landing on your throat already full of purple, almost black bruises.

"you're so soaked, you little whore. you don't even deserve it, on my sheets!!" he groaned, his own anger causing every vein to pump on the smooth skin of his neck, making him there red with anger every time the jugular pumped before your eyes.

he grunted like an animal too proud for the zoo. he wanted to destroy you until you couldn't stand up anymore.

humiliation.

you could feel his tip reaching the deepest places. you knew that paul didn't care about protections in these extreme cases (even if it was the first time he was so out of it), thus implying that he would even risk pregnancy to satisfy his dick to the point of nausea.

"you hold on too well-"

you held the sheets for dear life when you felt him pushing away but replacing his sex with one of his agile fingers between your sores.

you gasped as he pecked at all the soft spots of yours. he knew too damn well you were too vulnerable and breakable when it came to his experienced hands.

at the same time you knew how much effort would be required of him to make you suffer precisely, hoping he would get tired.

"so fucking sensitive-"

he inserted another finger, moving at an exorbitant speed. you could feel your wetness even reaching his wrist.

ashamed again.

"p-paul-...i beg-"

he entered you using his thumb to reach your clit.

you moaned as he lapped at your walls, sliding his sizzling tongue into the heat.

he raised his lips sucking greedily, sliding two fingers in once more.

his grunts made everything wetter.

your body came moaning and shaking, your eyes rolling back.

you whimpered as you felt his cock filling you up, preventing you from coming any further.

"p-...paul, you know you're...the only one i love! a vision doesn't mean anything! i-...i- had always loved you, you're the boy of my life, the one who always had all his trust posted about me. so i ask you praying...believe me..."

your boyfriend moved one inch, hitting your weakest and most stimulated point.

you could feel a slight gag rising in your sore and dry throat as the last bit of lucidity left your body in a deep sleep.

(...)

when you wake up a strong pang pierced your forehead, making the room square and moving around you.

paul was curled up on you, not completely resting on you so that his weight didn't give you even more trouble regaining consciousness.

his white and puffy cheek was resting on your bare breasts, a hint of saliva at the sides of his red and swollen mouth.

you couldn't move so you didn't even try, until you felt something holding you back.

paul was lightly sleeping thanks to a bene gesserit relaxation technique, you could now sense that he was completely alert and attentive to your needs.

his delicate hand was hugging your wrist, listening to your heartbeat since you had probably passed out.

he was making sure you were able to breathe normally.

you assumed he had been in that position since the moment you fainted.

you knew that in the end, he loved you more than anything on that planet.

you were his duchess already.

[keferon]

Did I spend two hours writing this? Ha! No, why do you ask. *lying through my teeth* anyway come here Mecha au Texaid enjoyers. come get yall juice.

———

Vortex isn’t sure when it started. Doesn’t even dare to try to pinpoint the when, why, where and how of it. Just that it exists. Some forgotten feeling stored in the deep recesses of his somewhat intact consciousness that has resurfaced. It burns him, tears down at the steel walls he had formed around himself. Makes him feel like he’s being broken down then built up again. 

It’s a wonderful, terrifying feeling that eats away at him the more ‘he’s’ here. The more that secretly unhinged medic-turned-pilot crawls into his cockpit, every time getting more comfortable with connecting with him literally and figuratively. With Aid slowly coming to not outright radiate hatred with every encounter. Sharing stuff like music, who they couldn’t stand, and answers to the most stupid questions like ‘wha’s your favorite color?’. Vortex had cackled at Aid for that one.

At first he rejects the feeling. Stops it at full force, imagining it going through a trash compactor or being incinerated to ash. He makes himself believe it’s a game. Empty threats, flirtatious behavior and cutting banter puts him at the top 5 of First Aid’s Most Annoying Motherfuckers to Ever Exist list. A tidbit of information he is proud as fuck of.

But that denial came to a stop the moment Shockwave had stepped into his hangar while Aid had been in his cockpit, his visor the only shield to keep that creepo from getting near him. Vortex may have been a homicidal maniac, but there had always been something about Shockwave’s presence that made him feel suffocated even back when he was alive. It took some silent processing to realize—and goddammit he hates himself for it—how afraid he had been. Not so much for himself but for the little flesh bag hidden away inside him. 

It had rocked him, that’s for damn sure. When Aid had asked what made him different from all the other pilots Vortex had disregarded and killed, he answered truthfully at the time. ‘You treat me like a threat, like I’m the one in control of this power instead of you.’ And while that still held some merit, it changed kind of. ‘Threat’ turned into person. And the power that he holds became more and more of Aid’s. How easily Vortex was swayed into giving into Aid’s requests. 

The first one being to dissect that Quintesson. He had reveled in the way it squirmed and screeched, trying fruitlessly to get out of their grip. Vortex considered to simply rip it in half for fun, until he felt something from the connection in the drift. A sort of fascination and curiosity quietly humming through the link. Took him longer than he’d like to admit to realize it wasn’t coming from him but Aid. A drive to know how this creature worked, how to best take it apart to examine its insides. And before he knew what he was doing, Vortex did, cutting it as neatly down the middle as he could manage. He remembers the shudder of excitement from the link, at how different that alien was, how this information could benefit battles in the future. The bombardment of information and feelings had shocked him, though he of course didn’t show it, but it also sent a thrill of wonder through him. ‘This freak’ he had chuckled to himself, feeling as Aid leaned out from his cockpit to examine the creature.

After that he realized how dangerous this was. The power Aid unknowingly held over him, and all he needed were his words. But he found that he didn’t care all that much. Especially not when Aid would sometimes fall asleep in his cockpit after a grueling mission, and Vortex would snap his visor at anyone who tried to get him out. Moments like that made him wish he still had a human body. To flick the nerd’s nose, to ruffle his hair, to playfully shove him. Thoughts like those made his non-existent heart throb, sickening himself with those sappy sentiments. He will never mention this to Aid, you’d have to rip it out of his cold, dead conscience.

Standing in the hangar, he’s not sure when he had decided this promise to himself. Doesn’t even try to pinpoint when. But he knows that if this little ant ever died, he wouldn’t stop destroying everything in his path until he either killed the one who had done it, very slowly at that, or deactivated with vengeance still roaring through his circuits. 

OH I LOVE THIS SO FUCKING MUCH KFKFNFKDNHDKRKTNRJRMT

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[sushiyuzu]

bodyguard’s duty

bodyguard!sylus x reader

a/n: big thanks to @obahajimarkkeu for tagging me and requesting this fic! not the best but i tried lol. i had a blast writing it, and i hope you all love it. your support really means a lot! <3

- do check out my sylus fic book on wattpad if you haven’t already!

your father was always a man of control. every decision, every move he made was calculated, especially in his political career. as one of the most powerful figures running for office this year, he wasn’t just careful—he was cautious to the point of paranoia. so when the threats started rolling in—anonymous messages, rumors of danger—he did what he always did. he took action.

and that’s how sylus entered your life.

he wasn’t the first bodyguard your father had hired, but he was certainly the most intimidating. tall, broad-shouldered, and deadly silent, sylus was a man who carried an aura of danger around him like a cloak. from the moment he was assigned to you, his presence became impossible to ignore. he followed you everywhere, his eyes always scanning, always searching for any hint of trouble.

it was suffocating at first. you weren’t used to being shadowed so closely. and, more than that, you didn’t want to be. you hated feeling like a prisoner, your every move watched, your freedom stripped away because of something as abstract as “danger”. but no amount of complaining to your father helped. he simply insisted that sylus was the best—someone who would keep you alive when no one else could.

“he’s not just any bodyguard,” your father had told you. “he’s the best the market has to offer. you’ll be safe with him.”

you weren’t sure if you believed that at first. but there was something about sylus—something that made you pause, that made you think there was more to him than just a hired gun. something deeper.

you weren’t sure what to make of him at first. his presence was unsettling—there was something about the way he moved, always so precise, always so quiet, like a predator stalking its prey. he was tall, with broad shoulders and a lean, powerful frame. but it was his silver hair and crimson red eyes that stood out the most, giving him an almost otherworldly appearance. he was unlike anyone you had ever met, and from the moment he arrived, you knew that things would never be the same.

at first, you tried to keep your distance, telling yourself that he was just another bodyguard, someone hired to follow you around and make sure nothing happened. but it didn’t take long for you to realize that sylus wasn’t like the others. he didn’t just follow orders. he watched you—closely. too closely. every move you made, every word you said, you could feel his eyes on you, studying, calculating.

one evening, after a particularly tense day, you found yourself standing on the balcony of your room, staring out at the city lights below. the cool breeze did little to ease the heat that had been building inside you over the past few weeks. you couldn’t stop thinking about sylus—the way his gaze seemed to burn through you, the way his presence lingered even when he wasn’t around.

you heard the door behind you open, and your heart skipped a beat. you didn’t need to turn around to know it was him. his presence was unmistakable, his footsteps silent as he approached.

“you think i’m just some hired muscle, don’t you?” his voice was low, rough, sending a shiver down your spine.

you turned slightly, leaning against the railing, trying to keep your voice steady. “aren’t you?” you asked, half-joking, trying to mask the unease creeping into your chest.

he was close now, too close, his tall frame looming over you, his crimson eyes locked on yours. “i’ve been watching you for a long time,” he said, his voice almost a growl. “i know every little thing that makes you tick.”

your heart raced at his words, and despite yourself, you smirked. “sounds like you’re obsessed.”

in an instant, sylus closed the distance between you, his hand gripping the railing beside you, trapping you between him and the edge. his breath was hot against your ear, and when he spoke again, his voice was a dangerous whisper. “maybe i am.”

the closeness of his body, the heat radiating off him—it was overwhelming. your pulse quickened, and every nerve in your body seemed to come alive. you told yourself you should be scared, that you should pull away, but all you could think about was how much you wanted him closer.

his hand brushed lightly against your waist, the touch sending a jolt of electricity through you. you inhaled sharply, your body responding in ways you couldn’t control.

“you should be careful,” sylus murmured, his lips grazing the side of your neck. “because once i have you, there’s no going back.”

his words were a warning, but they only made you want him more. the tension between you was unbearable, the air thick with desire and danger. you could feel his breath against your skin, his body pressing ever so slightly against yours, and it took everything in you not to pull him closer, to close the gap entirely.

but before you could act on the impulse, something caught his attention. his entire body tensed, and in one swift motion, he pulled you back into the room, shutting the balcony door behind you. his eyes scanned the darkness outside, his crimson gaze sharp, focused.

“stay here,” he commanded, his tone leaving no room for argument. but you hated being treated like a delicate flower, hated feeling helpless. you took a step forward, determined to stand your ground, but sylus was faster. before you could even blink, he had you pinned against the wall, his body shielding yours.

“what did i just say?” he growled, his breath hot against your skin, his hand firm around your wrist. “next time, you stay behind me.”

your breath caught at the intensity in his voice, the way his eyes blazed with barely contained anger. and yet, despite the danger, you couldn’t help the thrill that ran through you at his protectiveness, at the way his body pressed so close to yours.

“and if i don’t?” you challenged, your voice barely a whisper.

for a moment, sylus said nothing, his gaze locked on yours, his chest rising and falling with deep, controlled breaths. then, with a swift, almost violent movement, he gripped your chin, tilting your head up so that you were forced to meet his eyes. “then i’ll remind you who’s in charge of keeping you alive.”

the raw dominance in his voice made your pulse race, your skin tingling under his touch. his grip was firm, possessive, but it wasn’t painful. if anything, it sent a wave of heat through you, making your heart pound even harder.

just as quickly as he had grabbed you, sylus released you, stepping back with a clenched jaw, his eyes still locked on yours. “don’t test me,” he warned, his voice quieter now, but no less intense.

you stood there, breathless, your body still buzzing with the adrenaline of the moment. you wanted to push him further, to see how far you could go, but something told you this wasn’t the time.

days passed, and the tension between you only grew stronger. every glance, every accidental touch, felt like a spark waiting to ignite. you knew you were playing with fire, but you couldn’t help it. there was something about sylus, something dark and magnetic that drew you in, despite your better judgment.

one night, after another close call, you found yourself alone with him in your room. the danger had passed, but the adrenaline still surged through your veins, leaving you restless. sylus stood near the window, his back to you, his posture tense. the silence between you was thick, filled with unspoken words and desires.

“i’m sorry,” you said softly, breaking the silence. “i didn’t mean to make things difficult.”

sylus turned to face you, his crimson eyes softening ever so slightly. he let out a low, humorless chuckle. “you think i’d complain? watching over you is the only thing keeping me sane.”

his words sent a thrill through you, and without thinking, you stepped closer, your hand brushing against his arm. his skin was warm, the muscles beneath it tense, and the moment your fingers made contact, you felt the familiar surge of heat between you.

“you’re a constant risk, you know that?” he muttered, his eyes fixed on the floor. “you make my job impossible.”

you looked at him, raising an eyebrow. “then why stay?” you asked, your voice challenging, though there was genuine curiosity behind it. why did he stay? with all the danger, the constant threats, why didn’t he just walk away?

“i’m not just a job to you, am i?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

sylus’s eyes darkened, and before you could say anything else, he pulled you against him, his lips crashing down on yours with a hunger that left you breathless. the kiss was searing, possessive, and filled with all the tension that had been building between you for weeks. his hands gripped your waist, pulling you impossibly closer, his body pressed hard against yours.

every inch of you was on fire, your skin burning with the intensity of his touch. his lips moved against yours with a fierceness that made your head spin, and when he finally pulled away, you were left gasping for air, your heart racing.

“because i’d die before i let anything happen to you,” sylus muttered, his voice rough, his breath hot against your skin.

his words hit you like a punch to the chest, knocking the air from your lungs. you stared at him, speechless, unable to process the depth of what he had just said. sylus, the man who was supposed to be detached, professional, had just confessed something far more personal, far more intense.

and in that moment, you realized that this wasn’t just about a job for him. this wasn’t just about protecting you because your father paid him to. this was something more. something deeper.

backup acc: @sushibelle

[beckyninja]

Relief

Pairing: Demetrian Titus x FemReader

Warnings: talk of periods, sexual content, MDNI

Description: Titus "helps" his serf lover through a particularly painful time of the month.

Forget whatever I said about my last fic. This one is definitely the spiciest thing I've ever written! I had planned on something entirely different, but then "that time of the month" reared its ugly head. And suddenly all I could think about was having a strong, handsome Astartes to help me through it.

Titus didn’t sprint, though he wanted to. 

After enduring the ominous warnings of the Chaplain, the disdain of Captain Acheran, and the incessant prying of his new squad (not to mention the small matter of a tyranid invasion), he longed for the solace of your presence.

Your touch.

Rage still burned like promethium within him when he remembered entering his quarters to find you half-starved. 

“You’re alive.” You’d whispered upon seeing him. “You’re alive.”

When I find the one responsible for her suffering….

His growl sent several serfs darting out of his path. He walked faster and, at last, the door to his quarters came into view. Soon, he would have you in his arms.

Saliva pooled in his mouth at the thought. 

The first time he lay with you, before Kadaku and his remaking, had been beyond his imaginings. Baseline anatomy lessons from his neophyte days supplied the rudiments. But he had the Space Wolves and a solitary Salamander he’d met in the Death Watch to thank for the rest.

He’d encountered the former boasting of their conquests one evening in the dining hall after one of them had smuggled in a few barrels of foul-smelling mjod. As they grew more intoxicated, they delighted in shocking the more puritanical Astartes in the Watch with detailed descriptions of “fraternization”. 

Titus remembered being repulsed at first. Though, against his better instincts, that repulsion soon turned to wary curiosity. 

While the Wolves howled about conquering and claiming, a Salamander Apothecary had taken a seat next to Titus and shaken his head.

“Not all baseline females are the wild she-wolves of Fenris.” The old drake had rumbled quietly. “If an Astartes is blessed with the affections of a woman, he should cherish her with gentleness, for she is rare and precious.”

Titus remembered a sorrowful look in the veteran’s red eyes as he spoke, and the way he stroked a bone reliquary tied at his waist. 

He had tried to incorporate all he’d overheard into your union. You’d been so fragile in his hands, so vulnerable. And when your body welcomed him inside. When, amidst the white heat of his own ecstasy, he saw you gaze up at him….

Throne of Terra, I would slaughter every tyranid in the Hive Fleet to have you look at me like that always.

He punched his code into the access panel. He only had a few hours of leisure to spare, and a third of that had already been taken up in removing his armor. But he needed to feel your skin upon his again.

The door hissed open and-

Blood.

Every enhanced sense he possessed sharpened to a razor’s edge as the metallic scent filled his nostrils. Unlike before, when his mind had been clouded by sleep, he knew with absolute certainty this blood came from your body. 

The room was empty. Half the candles lit. One smoking tapir on its side by the cot. Indents on the mattress the size of small baseline hands. Drops of red on the floor. The sharp taste of stress and pain chemicals. Soft whimpers from the lavatory.

All this came to him in the time between heartbeats. Another heartbeat and he stood before the closed lavatory door.

“Little Healer?”

The medicae had said you would be fine. An injection of nutrients, a high calorie meal, and rest. You already looked better when he left you in the infirmary. They said you would be fine.

He’d had to leave. He had no choice. They said you would be fine!

“Demetrian?”

Conscious and able to speak. He leaned his forehead against the cold metal of the door.

“I am coming in.”

A sharp gasp. “No! Just, just give me a moment, please.”

He heard pain in your voice. His instincts screamed at him to tear through the metal to reach you.

The door slid open.

Pale skin. Sweat beads on your forehead. Hunched shoulders. You smiled up at him, but reeked of misery.

He scooped you into his arms. “We are returning to the infirmary.”

“Demetrian-”

“You are still unwell.”

“Demetrian, please-”

He strode toward the door of his quarters. “Or did you injure yourself?”

“No, Demetrian! Listen-”

“I should not have left you alone.”

A tiny fist bounced off his jaw. He stopped mid-stride and looked down at you in shock. You looked back at him, then down at your clenched fist, seemingly stunned by your own actions.

“I…I…,” you closed your eyes and breathed deeply, “I’m sorry, my lord. I don’t know what came over me.”

“My lord?” He muttered. 

“Please put me down. I’m not unwell. And I’m not injured.”

He scowled. “You reek of blood, woman.”

Throne, has whatever hurt she suffered affected her mind as well?

“I know, but it’s…it’s natural, Demetrian.”

The Warp it is. “Explain.”

She sighed. “Can you put me down first? Please?”

“No.” 

He tightened his grip. If her mind was unbalanced, who knows what she might do if he released her.

Another sigh. “Fine. Once a month, a woman’s body undergoes a certain process….”

He remained silent during her entire explanation. When she finished, he carefully set her upon his cot.

“And this…cycle…causes pain?”

“Every woman experiences it differently. Some only ever feel mild discomfort, for others it’s little short of agony.”

You bit your lip. The pain smell spiked and, with it, his concern. 

“Why have I not noticed before?”

You breathed slowly now, in through your nose, out through your mouth. “You’ve always been on mission during this time. And…agh…in the Watch Fortress, Lord Apothecary Nev’ran made sure to set pain suppressants aside for us female serfs.”

The old Salamander always had a soft spot for the baselines, Titus remembered.

A low moan drew his attention back to you. You folded on his cot, arms wrapped around your midsection. 

His fingers twitched, automatically seeking a weapon. The instinct to destroy whatever caused you pain surged. He needed to fix this.

“Did you request pain suppressants from the medica?”

You started rocking slightly. “I…tried. He said they were unnecessary and dismissed me. I didn’t dare argue. In the Fortress, there were serfs I could go to for help during this time.” You looked up at him with a tight smile. “But I’m beginning to think I’m the only woman on this ship.”

Titus thought back over the last few days, and all the baseline crew he’d encountered.

She may be right.

“Oh Emperor….” 

Your whimper felt like another Carnifex talon through his chest.

“There must be something I can do.” He knelt before you, cupping your face in his hand. “Anything.”

You pressed against him. “Heat. Heat sometimes helps.” 

He let you move his hand to your lower stomach. You opened your robes and pressed it against your skin. 

“And, on my back, please?” 

Before you’d even finished asking, he slipped his other hand in and around. You gripped his arms and whined.

“Oh, oh yes.” 

He shouldn’t be aroused by this. You were still in pain. But your soft sounds of helplessness, the feel of your skin beneath his hands, the way you trembled. All of it called to a primal part of him only recently awakened.

And when you looked up at him in wonder and said, “You’re…you’re so much bigger now.”

Throne damn it.

Titus yanked you to him and took your mouth. You yelped, but did not struggle, instead throwing your hands around his neck and digging your fingers into the hair at his nape. He snarled at the sensation, pushing his tongue past your lips like you’d shown him that first night.

This time your moan sounded of pleasure.

He pressed his body against you, lowering you to your back on the cot. Your hands left his neck and fluttered against his chest. You pulled away from his kiss.

“Demetrian….”

He pressed his mouth to your throat, laving it with his tongue and tasting your sweat. He searched for a spot he could bite without leaving a visible mark. 

“Demetrian, stop!”

The magnitude of his selfishness crashed upon him.

“Throne. Forgive me, Little Healer.” Reeling back, he searched your face for any sign of pain. “I…I did not think, I…,” he raked a hand over his face, desperately trying to rein in his baser instincts.

“It’s all right. It’s just, now might not be the best time.”

“Would it cause you more pain?”

A blush spread across your cheeks. “Um…no, that’s not it. In fact, some women say…this…actually helps.”

“Truly?” 

Desire welled within him once more, washing away any lingering guilt. He bracketed your small body with his hands and loomed over you. 

“Then why should I stop?” You turned your face away, but he gently grasped your chin. “Look at me, and tell me why.”

“It, it,” he heard your heart beating wildly, “it could get a bit…messy.”

He blinked, then allowed a slow smile to spread across his face. “Woman, when has an Astartes ever shied away from the sight of blood?”

A new smell met his nose, one he had only recently become familiar with. He lowered his face close to yours and inhaled deeply. 

“You want this as much as I.”

You nodded frantically, hands suddenly pawing at his collar. “Yes! I want this. Please, Demetrian. Please, please, please!”

He tore his robe open and flung it to the floor. Your clothing swiftly followed. The scent of blood and arousal maddened him. He tried to pull your thighs around him, but you winced at the stretch.

For the first time he cursed the Primaris surgery. Grasping your hips, he turned you on to your front and settled behind you. He ran his hands down your back and sides, loving the way you trembled.

“Are you ready for me, my love?”

You pushed back against him. “Please, Demetrian.”

He thrust and your wet heat welcomed him in. His eyes rolled at the sensation, still so unlike anything he ever thought he’d experience. You cried out far louder than you had the first time. 

“Demetrian! S-so big…!”

Again. Again. Again, he thrust. In this position he felt powerful, primal. Like a beast claiming its mate.

The Wolves were right, damn them!

All at once, you tightened and screamed. With a growl he followed you over the edge. 

You collapsed onto your front. “Please…more….”

The first time, he’d only taken you once, denying his satisfaction for the sake of your overwhelmed little body. But now you begged him to continue. Who was he to refuse?

Three more times he released deep within. He pressed himself to your back, hand fondling your breasts as he pounded relentlessly. He lost count of how many times you shook apart around him. His own blinding pleasure paled in comparison to the knowledge that his actions relieved your pain. 

A tool designed to inflict suffering on others, but he brought you ecstasy.

“D-Demetrian…,” you whimpered. 

His fingers dug into the bruised flesh of your hips. “One more.”

You wailed as he filled you one last time, arching his spine to sink his teeth into your shoulder. Then he collapsed on his side.

He caressed your sweat-streaked back, allowing himself a brief moment to revel in the haze of pleasure. You lay still and panting next to him. 

“Are you well, my love?”

“Mmmm.”

By now, he recognized the sound of bone-deep satisfaction. He smiled down at you, already feeling his own body recovering. 

“You were right about one thing.”

“Mmm?”

“That was rather messy.”

You turned your head and attempted to glare at him. He chuckled, rose, and fetched a wet cloth from the lavatory. Ignoring your reaching hands, he cleaned the both of you. Then he sat on the edge of the cot and lifted you into his arms.

“Better?”

Your dreamy smile answered him. An entirely different kind of heat warmed his hearts as he cradled you. He ran a thumb over the imprint of teeth on your shoulder.

“I was not too rough?”

“You were perfect.” Your hands traced his new scars. “Throne of Terra, I came so close to losing you, didn’t I?”

He heard tears in your voice and held you closer.

“I’m sorry.” You sniffled. “Another side effect of this time. I tend to turn into something of a weepy, clingy mess.”

“I enjoy your clinging.”

“But you need to go.”

“Yes.” As always, your respite, brief as it was, left him better prepared to handle the weight of his duty. “Will you be alright?”

“You have enough trouble without worrying about me, Demetrian. Human women have endured since our species began. I’ll be fine.” Your smile flickered. “Please, be safe. I love you.”

“And I you.” He pulled his robe back on and leaned down to kiss you once more. “I will return.”

And, I swear, I will find another way to ease your pain. 

***

An hour passed. You rested for a bit, then dressed and cleaned yourself more thoroughly. You stripped the sheets from the mattress and prepared for the trek to the laundry and then the serf’s dining hall. Not only had Titus's attentions eased your cramps, but you thought you might actually have an appetite again.

Just as you were about to leave, a few sharp raps sounded at the door.

“Who…?” 

You opened it to find a slight young woman with a face full of freckles and a satchel over one shoulder. Her robes marked her as a serf and a medica.

“Thank the Emperor!” She gushed. “I was afraid I’d gotten the wrong room!”

“Um. Hello?”

“My name is Vesta. I was just transferred here alongside my Lord Callistus. He’s supplementing the Apothecaries already in residence, you know. I was afraid I’d be the only woman! There are so few of us serving on the battle barges.”

You blinked, head-spinning from the rapid-fire chatter. “I see?”

She continued, stepping straight past you into the room. “I was just on my way back to the infirmary, when this massive Primaris Lord Angel barreled down on me. How fearsome he was! I don’t need to tell you I was terrified I’d done something wrong, and on my first day on a new ship, too! But he said you were experiencing some difficulties and needed assistance.”

Oh, Demetrian…. You fought a smile.

Vesta plopped the satchel on the cot. “I have pain suppressants, cleansing cloths, sanitary napkins. I do hope I brought enough.”

“This is incredibly kind of you.”

“Us women have to stick together, right?” She smiled cheerfully. “I hope we’ll be great friends!”

You found yourself warming to her effervescence. “I would like that.”

“You’re so fortunate to have a Lord Angel who’s attentive to your needs!”

You turned away, suddenly all too aware of the pleasant ache between your thighs. “Yes. I am.”

@remembrancer-of-heresy @solspina @sleepyfan-blog @moodymisty @gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan

@bispecsual @kit-williams @cosmic-cryptid-from-beyond @adhd-fandom-hyperfocus @lemon-russ

@justeverythingnothingelse @scriberye @bleedingichorhearts @c-u-c-koo-4-40k @mooniequeen

@passionofthesith @noncon-photobomb @sinistermojo @b-rabbitboss @vyzz-undercover

@missmannequin @rivalriotrenegade @iloveoutlinesiswear @jaghatai-khock

If you enjoy my writing, check out the rest of the stuff on my Masterlist.

[fel-09]

You can get burned by him

Tommy shelby x reader

Tags: Fluff, 18+, Everyday life .

Author's notes:I write lighter works more often, because for me it is in some sense an outlet, and in addition I try to write everything more realistically, which would be characteristic of the characters, this is my separate "Roman empire "that I hold on to

The sun shines softly through the translucent curtains, casting a warm, golden light over the room. There's something enveloping about this lazy morning, as if time itself has stretched out, allowing you and Thomas to linger within its confines a little longer than you're allowed.

His breath slides over your skin in hot, lazy touches as he runs his nose along your neck, barely awake. Warm, moist, tinged with tobacco and whiskey. Before he's fully awake, he still reaches for you, as if reluctant to let go of the dream world, preferring the reality of you beside him.

You hide from the morning light without opening your eyes, burying your nose against his neck. His pulse beats evenly under your skin, a little slower after sleep, and that measured rhythm seems the only true rhythm in this morning lull.

His palms, warm, confident, slowly glide over your stomach, exploring it as if for the first time. His fingers lazily trace invisible patterns, sometimes squeezing your skin a little harder, leaving behind a pleasant, subtle tingle.

Thomas hums softly, nuzzling his nose into your hair with a lazy grin.

- Lazy woman- he says, his voice low and morning, a little gray from sleep.

You smile, but you don't answer, only snuggle tighter against him, feeling the warmth of his body intertwine with yours.

It's never cold in winter. He's like a stove, hot and warm, wrapping you in his heat while the wind howls and the rain pours outside. You hide in his arms, covered by his body, and Thomas holds you against his chest, tightly, as if he's afraid you'll disappear. At times like this, it seems as if there is no war, no blood, no filth of the streets of Birmingham-just his breath in your hair and his hands clutching you as if you were the most precious thing he had.

But in the summer... In the summer, he's a challenge. He's hot as a coal, and even the slightest touch of his palm leaves you feeling like you've been burned. You scramble out of bed, seeking refuge across the room, stretching out on the cool sheets, hoping to cool off a little.

But he always finds you.

A dark shadow flickers at the door, footsteps approaching-unhurried but inevitable. Before you can even squeak, Thomas lifts you easily into the air, tosses you over his shoulder, ignores your protests, and returns to bed, tucking you stubbornly beside him.

- Did you think you'd run away? - he whispers hoarsely, sliding his lips over your skin.

You frown, but you realize there's no use in running. Because his arms are already around your waist, tight, sure, and not even the sweltering heat can make him let you go.

But when you make love, it's pure hell. His heat penetrates you, driving you crazy, driving you to the edge where any touch becomes unbearable, but you're still drawn to him

His skin is red-hot, his kisses hot marks on your body that throb like they're alive. You're burning, shivering, tears rolling silently down your cheeks, either from pleasure or in a vain attempt to cool your body, which is literally melting from his proximity.

The way he moves, quickening his pace each time, and it was already tight inside, but having him inside you stretches the walls too much, and for a little while you thought you were going to pass out like that, but a light slap on your firm ass brings you to your senses, and then it starts all over again.

But that's not the point.

It's a surprisingly nice day today. Not too cold, not too hot-perfect for lazing in his arms, not running away, not wriggling, not complaining about the unbearable heat. His body is warm, just warm enough to make you want to stay close, to let yourself be a little weak, not thinking about time.

You lie with your nose against his neck, breathing in the familiar scent of cigarettes, whiskey, and something elusively familiar. Thomas moves slightly, lazily running his palm over your back, drawing invisible lines. He doesn't seem to want to get up either, to go to work, to sink back into his business.

You have a little more time today. And he, as if realizing this, only pulls you tighter against him.

- Okay, I have to go to work-Thomas said, kissing your forehead and pulling your hands away. His body instantly became absent as soon as his embrace withdrew, leaving only warmth on your skin. He got up from the bed, going to get dressed.

You snorted, sliding onto the bed and looking into his eyes.

- 'Well five more minutes, please,'-you stated, not taking your eyes off him, trying to squeeze out just a little more time.

Thomas only shook his head, not losing his resolve.

- No, I can't- he said, picking up his shirt from the floor and pulling it on.

You weren't going to give up. With lightning-fast determination, you clung to him, wrapping your arms around his shoulders from behind and pulling him sharply towards you. He was on his back, eyes wide with surprise when he was in your arms before he even realized it.

- Are you out of your mind? - He snorted, trying to hold back a laugh but still unable to get up. - What if I'd run you over with my body?

You just turned around to face him, squeezed him a little, and said quietly but confidently:

- You couldn't.

His eyes grew darker, and he tilted his head slightly, watching your every move, taking his time to make the first move.

- You're impossible- he sighed, his fingers sliding down your cheeks, leaving a slight warmth on your skin. As if lost in that touch, you gave in and rested your head against his hand, feeling the softness and certainty of his movements. Thomas looked into your eyes again, and there was everything in that look, tiredness, tenderness, and a slight weariness, as if he didn't know why he couldn't just leave, but instead stayed, stayed with you.

- Five minutes- you whispered, your voice barely audible, but there was an insistence in it that only strengthened your request. He stared at you, his eyes exploring your face as if he were trying to unravel some mystery you were hiding. A sigh, barely audible, escaped his lips, and he pressed his forehead against yours, wrapping his arms around your body so tightly that he seemed to be trying to memorize every moment, every sensation.

He was there for you, and you didn't need anything more. In that moment, his warmth, his closeness, was all you needed.

- Five-he whispered again, and his lips found your neck, leaving a hot trail there as a reminder of his presence. That kiss was gentle but passionate, as if it were a promise that this moment, this morning, would be yours.

[r3starttt]

KISS ME

PAIRING: Jackson! ellie x reader

CW: request. outbreak | tlou universe.

SUMMARY: Ellie takes care of you after patrol.

DON'T BUY TLOU | PALESTINE MP PALESTINE LINKS | DAILY CLICK

TAGLIST | - ellie taglist: @ilovetaylorrr @imdrowningindispair @rkivedpages

The night sky stretches above you, a deep canvas of blue-black, with only a few stubborn stars daring to puncture its vastness. The moon, however, shone with an almost ethereal glow, casting a silvery light that softened the edges of the night. It illuminated your path home. Yet, its light did little to ease the weariness clinging to your body. Every muscle ached, each movement sending a fresh wave of pain through your tired limbs.

The ground beneath your feet felt distant, as if you were walking on shattered glass, each step a jagged reminder of the day’s relentless toll. It felt as though the very bones in your feet might shatter with the weight of the exhaustion that clung to you, heavy and unyielding.

From the moment you left the safety of yours and Ellie's shared walls, it was a relentless march through the wilderness, every mile weighing down on you like a stone.

The hours went by in a haze of heat and sweat, the sun’s unforgiving rays beating down on you until you felt as though your very essence was melting away. The memory of that heat still lingered, a phantom pain that sapped what little strength you had left.

Your legs had carried you far beyond what should have been your limit. Every patrol was a test, pushing you to the edge, but it was always the final stretch—the steps that brought you back home—that hurt the most. The pain of a long day wasn’t truly felt until you stood on the threshold of safety, when the body, sensing the nearness of rest, began to unravel, finally allowed to release.

The night was quiet, the crickets were quieter tonight, their usual chorus subdued, as if they, too, were tired. Instead, the usual symphony had been replaced by the distant air, a murmur of voices- the sound of the town coming alive in the evening.

People greeted the returning patrols, their voices carrying a mix of relief and fatigue, like echoes of a world that still held onto some semblance of normalcy. Your own group had been particularly weary tonight, the day’s struggles etched into the lines of their faces as they shared tired smiles and half-hearted jokes. Last voices you heard were tinged with exhaustion, drifted to you, words that blended together in a chorus of shared fatigue.

But the sounds of the night could not drown out the ghosts that clung to your mind—the groans and cries of the infected, the hollow echoes of what once were human beings. Their twisted forms a grim reminder of what awaited those who let their guard down.

A smear of dried blood clung to your cheek, the crimson stark against your sweat-streaked skin. Every inch of you was covered in the grime of the day, the sun having left its mark in the form of a relentless burn that sapped your energy and left you feeling hollowed out.

The bruises and cuts scattered across your body throbbed with a dull ache, a heavy weight that seemed to settle in your stomach, twisting it into tight knots. It felt like you’d been running on empty, forcing yourself through sheer willpower, and now that you were so close to rest, the pain was finally catching up to you.

Your fingers brushed against the rough wood of Ellie’s porch door, the familiar texture grounding you for just a moment before it was pulled open. The door swung inward with surprising ease, and there she was—Ellie. The first thing you saw was her eyes, green orbs filled with worry as they drank in the sight of you. She had been waiting, her anxiety palpable in the way her fingers fidgeted nervously, tangling together as if she could knit away her fear.

Without a word, she reached for you, guiding you inside with a gentle hand on your arm. You stumbled through the doorway, the weight of your body dragging you down, but before you could even think to shrug it off, Ellie was there, the moth tattoo peeking out from beneath her sleeve as she motioned for you to turn around. Your body moved on autopilot, dragging itself to obay her command, sluggishly.

Ellie had barely waited for you to move before she was easing the heavy backpack from your shoulders, her fingers deftly undoing the straps as if they were second nature. Too enveloped in the warmth, in the soft glow of the Christmas lights adorning the room and adding to the feeling of safety that she always manages to create around you- barely registering the weight of your backpack being lifted from your shoulders.

“Hey, you okay?” Her voice was soft, a quiet melody tinged with concern, though you could only manage a nod, your throat too tight to form words. The day had stolen your voice, leaving you with nothing but the heaviness in your chest. But Ellie’s voice wrapped around you like a blanket, soothing in its familiarity.

The space enlightened in a gentle, golden hue. It felt like a safe haven, a sanctuary where the world outside could not reach you.

You stumbled toward the couch, your hands fumbling with the laces of your boots. On your ears echoed the faint rustle of fabric as Ellie hung up your—her—jacket on the hook by the door, the simple act somehow grounding you even further.

“Let’s get you cleaned up,” she murmured, her gaze lifting to meet yours, a small smile playing at the corners of her lips. Despite the exhaustion pulling at your very soul, you found comfort in that smile, in the way she always knew how to take care of you when you couldn’t take care of yourself.

Yet the calm faded with a frustrated groan that escaped your lips as you encountered a stubborn knot, the simple task suddenly insurmountable in your current state. Ellie noticed immediately, her eyes softening with sympathy as she was already there, kneeling down in front of you, "Stop, you’re gonna make it worse,” she chided gently, her hands brushing yours aside with that lopsided smile you knew so well.

“Let me,” her whisper insisting once again, preventing you from even thinking on fighting her back. Ellie's tone low and husky, a sound that always sent a shiver down your spine. Her fingers worked deftly at the knot, untying it with ease, her touch careful and deliberate. As she did, she glanced up, her voice dropping to a softer, more husky tone, as if trying to coax a response out of you. “Did you hear what I said?”

You managed a half-hearted reply, more of a mumble than anything else. “Get me cleaned, yes.” her fingers finally loosening the stubborn knot, helping you out of your boots. It felt as if the weight of the day begin to lift, replaced by the comfort of knowing that you had her with you, in this very moment to finally provide you safeness.

She would never say it, but you could see the relief in her expression, the way her worry eased just a fraction realizing the same thing. After a long day, she had you there, safe.

"Come on," you groaned, tilting your head back as you sighed deeply. Inside your mind, you counted down from five before finally taking her hand and standing up.

The stiffness in your feet began to ease as you pressed your feet against the cold, hard concrete floor. Its coolness and firmness, in contrast to the warm flesh, added just enough pressure to make you feel better.

Ellie led you into the bathroom—it was only a few steps, really. Her hand was a steadying presence, her fingers resting gently on your opposite arm with each step you took. The small space was dimly lit, a single candle flickering and casting soft, dancing shadows on the walls. Ellie’s bathroom was simple but functional—a small tub, a sink, and a water system. A barrel of water sat near the ceiling, connected to a series of tubes that fed into the showerhead, sink, and toilet. It wasn’t much, but it worked, and in this world, that was everything.

The absence of her touch contrasted with the tender atmosphere. From your viewpoint, you could see her hair, messily tidied into a bun, with a few baby hairs and stray strands adorning her neck and the area behind her ears. You wanted to kiss them.

She knelt by the tub, her movements loud as she filled a bucket with water. The sound of the water splashing into the bucket was soothing, a gentle reminder that you were finally safe—finally home.

Ellie set the bucket down next to the tub and looked up at you, only then realizing you were already looking back. It was quiet, aside from the sound of the water, but everything felt blurry in her presence.

You shifted slightly, resting the back of your arms and elbows against the sink to keep your composure, making enough space for both of you and allowing her to stand up.

She reached out, her fingers brushing lightly against your cheek, wiping away the dried blood that clung stubbornly to your skin. "Arms up," she said with quiet determination, an unspoken promise that she wouldn’t let anything else be a struggle tonight.

You nodded, too tired to do much else, and let her help you out of your clothes. Each piece of fabric that left your body and fell to the floor felt like another layer of the day’s grime and exhaustion being peeled away. By the time you stood there, bare and vulnerable, you felt lighter—still weary, but no longer weighed down.

The tub was cold and stiff, making your bones ache. But it was all easily forgotten. Ellie dipped a sponge into the bucket and began to gently cleanse your skin. She worked in silence, her touch tender and methodical as she wiped away the dirt, blood, and sweat that clung to you. The water was cool against your overheated skin, soothing the burns left by the sun and the aches buried deep in your muscles. The sponge moved across your body with a kind of reverence, as if she were handling something precious. In that moment, you were—precious to her, and safe in her care.

When the sponge had done its work, Ellie carefully poured the dirty water over you, rinsing away the last remnants of the day and ensuring your hair was thoroughly wet. The water cascaded down your body, carrying away the grime and blood, leaving you feeling half-clean—both physically and emotionally.

You let out a soft sigh, feeling as though the water was rinsing away more than just dirt. It was washing away the tension, the fear, and the exhaustion, leaving you with nothing but the comfort of being home, of being with her.

Ellie reached for the soap, lathering it between her hands before gently running them over your skin. The smell of it—something mild and earthy, a scent she had traded for a few weeks back—filled the small bathroom. The soap felt comforting against your battered skin, and Ellie’s hands moved with the kind of care that came from knowing just how fragile you felt in that moment.

She repeated those same motions later, with the soap on your body, her fingers careful not to apply too much pressure whenever there was a cut, bruise, or anything that could cause pain.

“Let me know if it hurts,” Ellie murmured, her voice a low, comforting hum that resonated in your chest. You managed a weak nod, closing your eyes as you surrendered fully to her care. The world outside ceased to exist, reduced to the sound of water splashing against porcelain and the feeling of Ellie’s hands moving over your body in a slow, rhythmic dance.

Finally, she reached up and pulled the chain that controlled the flow of water from the barrel, letting a gentle stream of water fall over you from the showerhead. It wasn’t much—she had to be careful with how much water was used—but it was enough.

"Here," she whispered, planting a kiss on your forehead as she handed you a small towel. It was barely enough to properly dry your hair, but you always managed to make it work.

Too focused on the wet sounds in your ears coming from your hair being dried, you barely noticed the commotion Ellie made while searching for a proper towel for you. She swore she had a clean one left—or maybe she had just convinced herself earlier to avoid doing laundry today. But you didn't know that, so she had to hurry.

When she finally appeared in the doorway, you tilted your chin up, meeting her hands first and then the towel she held. "Come here," she murmured. In a matter of seconds, she had the towel wrapped around your shoulders and was guiding you out of the bathroom and, much to your relief, into the very desirable bed.

She knelt in front of you again, her hands busy with the towel, drying you off with the same care she’d shown throughout. As she worked, her eyes kept flicking up to meet yours, as if she needed to reassure herself that you were really safe, here.

"Can I?" she asked, her fingers lightly grazing the skin of your thighs. Her hazel eyes, dilated pupils, focused on all the bruises, all the wounds. And again, you didn't reply verbally but simply moved the towel aside, exposing yourself before her and allowing her to reach every inch of skin that needed the tenderness of her touch.

It took some pain, hisses, and a kiss here and there. The needle was probably something no human could ever get used to, nor the sensation of the thread between your skin. But you made it work; you had to.

Ellie was gentle, helping you into a clean set of clothes—something soft and warm that smelled faintly of her. You could barely keep your eyes open by this point, the weight of the day catching up with you now that you were finally clean and comfortable.

"Hey," Ellie called softly, taking your hand and gripping it just enough to reassure you. You turned your chin up, meeting her pretty eyes and that sheepish smile. "Let's go eat, come on."

As you did every morning, you forced yourself out of bed. Just as you had done with the couch when you first came in, you took a deep breath, counted to three, and stood up.

Dinner most nights was something she threw together while you were out on patrol. Today, the aroma of a hearty stew filled the room, mingling with the faint scent of herbs.

Usually you’d joke about her cooking, mocking her “chef talents”—she wasn't the best. But tonight, the words stuck in your throat, weighed down by exhaustion and the thought of simply touching the bed again, it looked so inviting.

You slid into your seat at the table, the day's exhaustion making your limbs heavy. Ellie chuckled, her usual dorky grin present but softened by concern. "It's not fancy, but—" she said, sliding a plate in front of you. "It's edible."

She watched as you took tentative bites, her hand resting on your back, offering silent encouragement. As usual, she didn’t touch her own food until she saw you eat.

The silence between you was comfortable, the warmth of the stew seeping into your bones, grounding you after the chaos of the day. Yet, as the meal progressed, your appetite remained low. You gave small glances at Ellie, considering your usual reluctance to eat her cooking.

"I know you’re tired, but you haven't had proper food since breakfast."

You knew that if you refused again, she’d let it slide, waiting until you were sound asleep before eating anything herself just to avoid an argument.

But after all she’d done to take care of you tonight, you couldn’t bring yourself to fight her on this. "I’ll wait with you. We can eat together.” With a quiet nod, you picked up your spoon again and took another bite.

Relief. Ellie could only stare at you with relief. The adrenaline of every time you went out on patrol never really fading until next day- for her, it wasn't only the thoughts of you getting hurt, but killed, taken by anyone and being hurt. She feared humans mostly.

And then, seeing you in front of her- yes, hurt, but nothing else- it was like all the anxiety finally made any sense. What would it be if any day you didn't come back, how could she ever manage to eat dinner herself, alone.

Having you in front of her, so close. Feeling the warmth of your skin under her hoodie- the fact that you're the one on her clothes, right next to her. The fact that she's having to force you to eat. It's always a relief, to know you're here, with her, that she has you.

It wasn't until her brain finally realized it was all good that she started to eat.

You always finished first. Only waiting for your stomach to feel full enough, with a gentle move, you pushed the plate away slightly to let her know you were done. Ellie always replied with a nod and a quick glance. Her hand on your thigh as she finished the last few bites of her meal.

The usual banter and teasing were absent, replaced by a quiet understanding—a silent agreement that tonight was about more than just food or sleep. It was about taking care of each other, about finding comfort in the little things. Like—no dishes to be washed tonight. That's future you both's problem.

“Let’s get you to bed,” she whispered, her voice a soothing balm to your tired mind.

You didn’t argue, letting her lead you to the small bed you shared. The sheets cool against your skin as you slipped under them, Ellie sliding in beside you. She pulled you close, her arms wrapping around you in a comfortable and tight enough embrace that felt like the safest place in the world. The steady rhythm of her heartbeat against your back lulled you.

You could feel the rhythm of her breathing against your neck. It all creating the most desirable sanctuary. And after hours that felt endless, you could close your eyes, focusing on the feeling of normalcy—the simple, precious moment of being held by someone who cares deeply, knowing that no matter what tomorrow brings, you'd wake up next to her, ready to face it together.

[visionsofmagic]

day 17: jason todd [thigh riding]

࿓ synopsis • while begging jason to start fuck you, you discover how you can get the pleasure you seek from riding his thigh.

―❦ nsfw, f!reader, brat!reader, pet names, begging, clothes on, red hood!jason, punishment, watching, jerking off, good girl/bad girl dynamic, ‘is all I guess? • 0.7k • who didn’t think about riding jason’s thigh whenever you see his MASSIVE thighs. mmh, delicious. enjoy! [kinktober m.] + the last work for the second week of kinktober 2023, yaaay! feel so good to come this far & the last week of it is close to the gates – open your horny sides for the rest of ‘em – see you in the last week/the week of games! *kiss* & thank you for all!

“really?” he mocks you, a smirk on his attractive face, eyes full of entertainment, understanding what you try to do after he declines the offer of fucking you – he gives you a punishment for being a brat, calling him here, having only a tiny dress on you, exposing every part of your delicate and soft body to his eyes to make him want to bend you over, starting fuck your greedy clit – he indeed has the desire to do that. however, you need to learn your lesson for making him worry about you in a way you should not.

“jay –“ his name leaves your mouth as a pray, so sweetly that his cock twitches with pleasure inside his pants as you sit on one of his thighs, palms on his well-built abdomen with muscle, holding them dearly as a source of steadiness. “please – please – I need you!”

he doesn’t say anything, only watching you while leaning to the chair he’s sitting on – eyes darting between your soaking pussy on his thigh and half-closed eyes as you roll your hips forth and back, holding him tight, biting your lips to keep your loud moans escaping.

“need me? you’re looking you’re having what you need pretty,” his long fingers hold you by the chin, making you look down at the mess you’re making on his massive thigh, the hips moving on their own – the warm feeling is coming because of both his clothed thigh and your naked pussy rubbing it. the painful motion makes the pleasure you receive get higher and higher until you begin to bounce on him like a mad girl, rubbing still from time to time.

the edge’s closeness comes sooner than you expected it to be – it feels so different to fuck you on his thigh while jason has his fisted hand under his chin, the elbow on the side of the chair, looking at you with a smirk on his face – his clothes make you go shy suddenly, making you feel so exposed – so weak.

for him – you will always be weak, and this is known by both of you. the knowledge makes jason put his free hand on your hip, moving it in sync with your movement – cock getting harder because of seeing you trying to make yourself cum – and only by using his thigh without even getting permission.

he chuckles deeply, voice huskier than ever, eyes on your face – bouncing breasts with hardened nipples, pussy clenching and soaking wet, dark circle on his pants, and your moving ass cheeks from sides. “what a mess you’re making out of yourself on my thigh baby,” he hold you by neck now, closing the gap between your bodies as he pulls you into himself, smirk is still there, burning you alive. “and only by riding my thigh, huh? always a brat, greedy slut for me, aren’t you princess?”

nodding, you close your eyes, breaths hitting your face, sending another source of warmness into your core, making the climax you seek to reach its highest point.

harder you ride his thigh, the more his cock grows bigger inside his pants – a bulge appears visibly, and he can’t hold himself back from jerking himself off above the clothes – hand moving up and down rapidly, same pace as your hips.

and when you look at it, you moan his name loudest, coming undone at the exact moment he holds your hand and makes you hold his bulge, his dripping precum creates a darker color on his pants.

“fuccck – jason!”

he doesn’t wait for you – to get yourself together, get the power to open your blurry eyes, and witness the great amount of wetness you created – your cum drips from his pants onto the floor, chest raising up and down, hot breathes hit his chest you put your forehead on.

by holding your hair gently, he makes you look at him – a pride blooms in his face, sending chills, “what a bad girl,” he remarks, “ride herself on my thigh and cum shamelessly while I was trying to teach her a lesson. even though I like how you look right now, I don’t want my girl to stay ignorant. so, do you want to be my good girl again, slut?” he asks, the grip on your hair getting tighter.

nodding mindlessly, you let him pick your body up – with bridal style, he holds you, walking to the bed you share. “then, you will lie down and take my cock inside your warm pussy princess. you are the reason why my dick is dripping now after all.”

❦ tagging: @lilvampirina & @snowprincesa1 & @dookiemeshibear & @chloee0x0 & @marmar-c *lots of kisses!*

[yanderestarangel]

౨ৎ ADLER RUSSELL X MALE READER || "RETURN"

♡ ┆TW : few spoilers, v!sex, ftm reader, fingering, overstimulation, orgasm denial, angst, make-up sex.

♡⁠┊It had been so long since you last heard of Adler that you thought the man had been a figment of your imagination, and that every touch, kiss, hug, and intimate moment had been a dream too good to be true—you were just a deluded man. But the ring on your finger, shining like a star, said otherwise.

♡⁠┊Since the mission with Bell and Adler's unhealthy obsession with finding Perseus, your husband had left you alone, with only a missing person’s report hanging over you. You tried to live your life normally, even though your mind and heart were trapped in an empty space of loneliness and isolation—after all, he hadn’t been declared dead, just missing. Everything only got worse when they unexpectedly declared your companion an enemy of the state and put a bounty on his whereabouts.

♡⁠┊The CIA looked for you, and as always, you didn’t know where Russell was... Even though you were his husband, he had simply disappeared like tears in the rain—if the former agent was alive, he was well-hidden from everyone and everything, even from you. Your hopes had dwindled, and you were already giving up on the possibility of him seeking you out again—until that night.

♡⁠┊The knocks on the window startled you from your restful state—the sound of the rain had drowned out any previous noise. You cleared your field of vision and saw the unmistakable shadow of Adler standing outside, a practically invisible smile on his lips and scarred face. He was still just as you remembered. A mixture of frustration, joy, anger, and everything else filled your chest as you immediately ran to open the door for him.

♡⁠┊Adler walked in silently, his heavy boots making noise on the floor as he dried the drops of water still clinging to his clothes—he still smelled like cigarettes, gunpowder, and strong, citrusy masculine cologne; it seemed like he had stopped in time.

♡⁠┊"I can explain everything..." Adler began with a soft sigh. But you didn’t let him finish; you pulled him into a kiss, filled with hunger and pain. As much as you were overwhelmed with mixed emotions, you had missed your husband's touch. You needed to feel Russell as much as possible and be sure that he wasn’t just an illusion in your mind.

♡⁠┊The kiss was messy with moans from both of you and desperate touches from both of you to feel each other again - his tongue danced with yours slowly while his agile fingers went against your clothes and took them off without any ceremony - leaving you naked for his gaze.

♡⁠┊You felt that old feeling of desire again when you knew that behind the visor of his glasses, his blue eyes burned with lust when he saw you surrendered to him again. With a firm hand, he grabbed your neck as he always did, his thick fingers digging into your skin while his free hand found its way to your pussy - playing with the moisture that was already accumulating there. "Holy shit-... Do you still want me so much? Did you miss your old husband here, my lad?" He moaned with a slight saccharism in his voice as he stuck two fingers inside your cunt, making you moan and feel him curl his digits inside you – obviously he still remembered how to satisfy you and wanted to put it all into practice again.

♡┊The taller blond saw you a mess with tears of joy, anger and pleasure – he felt guilty for simply leaving, but it was a decision made to protect you only. The two of you kissed as if the world of both of you depended on it. Your fingers touched every part of his still covered body, feeling every muscle and soft part of his flesh. He whispered sweet nothings on your lips again like he used to do before – each word accompanied by faster fingers in your wet hole, dirtying his fingers and his forearm.

♡┊It didn't take long for you to be wet enough to ride his cock again like you always did. You didn't need to talk to understand how much you needed this, you needed each other. Adler pulled his pants down to his knees and his thick, veiny shaft throbbed from its confinement. His large hands rested on the soft flesh of your waist as you lowered yourself unceremoniously onto his throbbing member – it was vulgar, raw and full of need, his eyes widened enough for you to see them shining behind his glasses as he watched your body bounce on his groin as if it was the only thing you knew.

♡┊His scarred lips found their way to your neck and a few hickeys were left there – at the same time you flexed your hips and thighs on the older man and felt every inch of your husband filling you to the point of having a bulge in your belly. You decided to speed up your movements and heard the older man moan hoarsely as he watched your pussy swallow him without complaint, you still fit perfectly into him, as it always did. "Fuck, pretty boy... You're going to kill me like this, holy shit." Adler let out a loud groan as you sat down on his cock harder, his eyes squeezed shut as he tried to focus on not cumming, the feeling of your pussy enveloping his cock was heavenly, the way you moved on top of him, the way you were always so wet for him, the way you looked when you were riding him, it was all too much for him to handle.

♡⁠┊"Fuck... You're so tight... So wet..." He panted, his hands gripping your hips tighter and pulling you down onto his cock with more force, his hips bucking up to meet your downward thrusts – he knew you weren't going to let him cum now, and he was happy to obey, after all he knew it was the lightest punishment he would receive after being away from you for so long.

♡⁠┊When he told you he was going to cum, you quickly pulled his cock out of your wetness, making him groan in frustration and curl his toes inside his boots, his eyes widening in surprise, his body tensing up in anticipation of his release only to have it snatched away from him. He could feel his cock throbbing, aching for release, but he held on, you were in control at that moment.

♡⁠┊He could hear his own heartbeat pounding in his ears, the blood rushing through his veins. And it all only got worse when you made him fuck you in every corner of the house in different positions – and every time he was going to cum, you made him hold on tighter and tighter, in that situation it was like he was your personal dildo and he felt even harder at the prospect of just making you cum. He had become a slave to your desires, and he would do anything to make you happy, even if it meant breaking the rules, even if it meant breaking himself.

♡⁠┊Adler really wanted to last longer but he couldn't, the way your pussy was wetting his cock and balls, the way you were grinding against his groin, the way your ass moved with each thrust. He couldn't obey your command and filled your womb with his hot cum. As you and he recovered, his hands found your face and kissed you on the forehead. "Let's talk now, okay? I really have a lot to talk about." Russell spoke softly, knowing you would like to know what happened... and he had a lot to say.

𝒂𝒍𝒍 𝒓𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕𝒔 𝒓𝒆𝒔𝒆𝒓𝒗𝒆𝒅 ©𝒚𝒂𝒏𝒅𝒆𝒓𝒆𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒓𝒂𝒏𝒈𝒆𝒍 2024. 𝒅𝒐 𝒏𝒐𝒕 𝒄𝒐𝒑𝒚, 𝒓𝒆𝒑𝒐𝒔𝒕 𝒐𝒓 𝒕𝒓𝒂𝒏𝒔𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒆

[takeyrregrets]

Can I request a reader, where he's a quiet but rude guy, but it's not because he's just mean (Well he is mean) but it's also because he has heart problems and doesn't want to be a pushover in his final moments if he doesn't get heart surgery x a delinquent guy

His heart problems cause: He can't run/sprint without breathing heavily and often is out of breath, his fingertips are a blueish color, he often feels dizzy and his head hurts, is fatigued often and sometimes has persistent coughing or wheezing

𝗜𝗻 𝗦𝗶𝗰𝗸𝗻𝗲𝘀𝘀 𝗔𝗻𝗱 𝗛𝗲𝗮𝗹𝘁𝗵 𝗗𝗲𝗹𝗶𝗾𝘂𝗲𝗻𝘁 𝘅 𝗦𝗶𝗰𝗸𝗹𝘆 𝗠𝗥𝗲𝗮𝗱𝗲𝗿 This actually made me really sad while writing, you have an evil mind anon.

You’re not mean for no reason.

Okay. Maybe you are. But not in the way people think. You don’t snap because you want to hurt people (well not usually..)—you snap because it’s easier than letting anyone get close enough to see how sick you are, how your hands shake when you stand too fast. Or the way your breathing goes uneven just from jogging across the street. Or how sometimes you cough so hard you taste iron.

You don’t want pity. You don’t want to be someone people feel sorry for. Especially not now. Not with the clock ticking louder in your chest every day.

There’s talk of surgery, sure. But “talk” and “guarantee” are two very different things. You don’t want to spend whatever time you’ve got left being handled like glass.

So you keep people away. You make it a game. Snap first. Roll your eyes. Shut down anything that might look like softness. Because if they don’t care, then it won’t hurt when you’re gone. Right?

Then there’s him, the biggest asshole of your entire lifetime.

The guy with half-healed bruises and a permanent smell of cigarette smoke. He’s got a laugh like thunder and a record with the school that probably has its own drawer by now. He doesn’t care about authority or grades or even bothering to show up at school.

But for some reason, the one day he comes to your guys shared class, he decided to sit next to you. And than after that?

Every. Damn. Day.

You glare, you mutter, you make your most venomous threats and even just completely walk away from him. But he just raises an eyebrow and bites into an apple like you didn’t just try to mentally incinerate him.

“You always this fun?” he asks the first time you tell him to piss off.

“Only when I’m forced to deal with asshole dickheads like you.”

He grins like you complimented him. “Awesome, 'cause I’m staying!” You ignore the way your face naturally seems to flush at that.

He doesn't know when it started.

Maybe it was the way your eyes look too tired for your age, or how your laugh (when he's lucky enough to hear it after another one of your brutal insults) sounds like it hurts to force out. Maybe it was how your hands tremble when you try to hide them in your sleeves, or the blue on your fingernails.

He’s not good with feelings or with words. But he knows how to notice. And you—well, you’ve been breaking his heart in slow motion every day since you showed up at the start of the semester, all teeth and no warmth, like you were daring the world to fight you.

But he sees it. The cracks. The way you grip your chest like it burns after walking to class. The way you check out for just a second when you stand too fast. Like your body’s lagging behind your brain.

And it makes him angry. Not at you—but at the world. At whatever’s eating you alive from the inside.

So he doesn’t leave. Doesn’t back down.

You call him annoying. He shrugs.

You tell him to go away. He sits closer.

You cough so hard you see stars during lunch, and he slips a bottle of water onto your tray like it’s no big deal. Doesn’t even say anything. Just looks at you with those big, unbothered eyes like “what? I’m allowed to care.”

he knew. something was wrong. he just didn’t know how to say it.

so instead of asking, he hovered. teased. showed up in your space like gravity pulled him there. made himself a constant, because if he couldn’t fix whatever was breaking inside you, he could at least be someone who stayed.

he never stays anywhere. never lets anyone stay with him. but you?

you show up in his thoughts without warning. every cough, every stutter in your step, every second you look too tired to hold your head up—he feels it like it’s his body breaking down. like your pain lives in his chest now, too.

he doesn’t say any of this out loud. not yet.

but when he watches you from across the cafeteria, arms crossed, earbuds in, scowling like you’d rather be anywhere else—

he thinks he'd rather be anywhere else as well--as long as you are there with him.