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

[riboism]

haunted ═╬ act II: the count

♱ content tags: centuries old vampire! seonghwa x fem reader, vampire au, gothic romance, gothic horror, story takes place circa early 1900s, reincarnation, smut, angst, forbidden love, slowburn, lots of yearning, no happy ending, blood, satanism, animal cruelty, nosferatu/bram stroker’s dracula/edward scissorhands vibes

♱ wordcount: 4.2k

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The dream wrapped around you like a silken thread, soft yet suffocating. You were standing in the castle, but it was not the same. The walls seemed closer, the shadows deeper, and the air heavy with an unspoken yearning.

A figure emerged from the darkness—him. The Count. He moved with an almost otherworldly grace, his long fingers reaching toward you with a tenderness that made your breath hitch. When he touched you, it was as though your skin had always been waiting for him—familiar yet distant, comforting yet electrifying.

"Y/N…" he whispered, his voice velvet-soft, reverberating in the cavern of your chest. His lips brushed the curve of your neck, leaving a trail of heat and shivers in their wake. "Why do you feel like mine?"

You wanted to answer, to ask him the same question, but no words came. Instead, his touch deepened, his hands tracing the contours of your arms as though committing you to memory. There was a sadness in his gaze as if he knew something you didn’t.

Your hand brushed against his cheek, the coolness of his skin startling yet inviting. He leaned into your touch, his eyes fluttering shut as though your warmth was something he hadn’t felt in an eternity. The weight of his presence, so near, sent a shiver coursing through you.

“Please,” you whispered, your voice trembling with need. “Hold me. I’m so cold.”

The air around you shifted suddenly, and the two of you were no longer indoors. You stood together in the garden, bathed in the silvery glow of the moonlight. Dew clung to the grass beneath your feet, the night alive with a symphony of soft rustles and whispers. Your skin seemed to glow under the ethereal light, every nerve tingling as his gaze lingered on you.

He stood before you, his chest rising and falling with labored breaths. His dark eyes raked over you, devouring every inch of your form that hid behind the sheer nightgown, but his restraint was palpable. He bit down on his lower lip, his jaw tightening as though battling something within himself.

You stepped forward and embraced him, wishing to bask in his warmth for the rest of the night, but the heat failed to find you. It was strange how badly you desired to feel him. You could almost see yourself outside of your body, shaking your head, begging to run away, but your screams went silent and ignored. It felt as though your body no longer belonged to you, moving of its own accord, driven by an unseen force you couldn’t comprehend. Desire burned inside, and you took his hand, guiding him to your covered breast, the thinly draped fabric leaving nothing to the imagination. A desperate moan left your lips, your nipples hardening at his cold touch. The Count parted his lips, looking as if he was shaken with defeat. His fingers gripped your soft flesh, kneading them in his hand firmly, your soft and breathless moans stirring something within him.  

You eased the strap of your white nightdress down your shoulder, the fabric slipping to reveal the soft curve of your breast. The pale moonlight illuminated your skin, highlighting the delicate lines of your collarbones. His gaze lingered, dark and intense, drawn irresistibly to the expanse of bare flesh before him. “Touch me,” you begged in a breathless whisper. You reached down and palmed his clothed cock, his size slowly increasing in your grasp. “Make me yours.” 

The Count shuddered under your touch. You were so tempting, like a forbidden fruit dangling just out of reach. The way you stood there, so willing and determined, broke down his strength bit by bit. He fought against the pull, but the faint tremble in your voice only deepened his desire. 

You sank to your knees, the damp grass cool against your skin. A hunger stirred deep within you, unrelenting and all-consuming. It defied explanation, an ache that demanded no reason, only release. You didn’t question it—you couldn’t. It claimed you completely, guiding your every movement, every thought, until all that remained was a singular, desperate longing for him. 

You peered up at him, your eyes smoldering with desperation. His breathing grew unsteady, a faint tremor betraying his composure as he watched your face linger so close to his pulsating cock. You rested your cheek against his growing bulge, your unrelenting gaze holding his. “I need you,” you said into his thick trousers, your tongue darting out of your mouth and licking a long stripe over his buttoned fly. “It’s been too long…make me yours again.”

His knees buckled, a flicker of vulnerability breaking through, as though he might collapse under the weight of his restraint. His hand reached out to pet the top of your head, watching intently as you lapped over the fabric that restricted him from you. You spoke with an enchanting allure, each word weaving a spell around him. It left him powerless, yearning to give in, to surrender himself entirely to the bliss you promised. Then suddenly, he blinked, as if snapping himself out of a trance. 

“You foolish girl!” he said at last, his voice raw with anger. He pulled himself away from you sharply, his hands dropping to his side as though your skin had burned him. “You know not what you ask of me!”

You fell forward, your hands grasping onto the wet grass and dirt. You reached for him, your fingertips grazing his legs, but he stepped back into the shadows, his presence retreating like a phantom. The distance between you grew into an abyss, and the longing you felt swelled into an ache that pulled you from the dream.

⸺

You woke with a jolt, your breath catching in your throat as the remnants of the dream clung to you like a shadow. Sweat slicked your forehead, and your pulse hammered in your ears. The strange ache of his touch still lingered in your chest, a sensation that you couldn’t shake.

You sat up quickly, your eyes darting around your small, humble quarters. The quiet stillness of the room greeted you, a stark contrast to the vivid intensity of the dream. The sun streamed through the window, casting soft light across the faded linens of your bed. You blinked, realizing with a start that you’d slept too long.

With a quick shake of your head, you wiped the sweat from your brow with the hem of your nightdress, the fabric cool against your skin. The warmth of the day was beginning to fill the room, and you could hear the faint chirping of birds outside the castle walls.

You hurried to your feet, pushing the unsettling remnants of the dream aside as you tried to ground yourself in the present. You had work to do. There was no time to dwell on the strange, unnerving sensations still swirling inside you. Shaking off the weight of the dream, you composed yourself, smoothing down your nightdress and bracing yourself for the tasks ahead.

You made your way to the kitchen, your eyes scanning the space for any signs of breakfast, but there, on the counter, you noticed the note. It was simple, but the neat handwriting caught your attention immediately.

Y/N,

Please deliver these paintings to Mr. Kang down at the bank. And please collect my mail from the post office.

~ P. SH

Paintings? You blinked, trying to make sense of it. The Count, an artist? The idea was strange to you, as you had never once seen a single paintbrush laying around in the mess of his home. In the corner of your eye, you spotted them—two wrapped canvases in the corner, waiting to be delivered.

You walked up to them slowly, almost hesitant. Your fingers brushed against the rough brown paper that wrapped the paintings, a strange sense of curiosity tugging at you. What kind of art did he make? His workspace was off-limits, so you had no way of knowing.

After finishing your quick breakfast, you set off into town. The weight of the paintings strapped to your back was a constant reminder of your responsibility. The cold morning air nipped at your skin as you made your way down the winding path leading to the village. The walk was long and uncomfortable, but you couldn’t afford to mess this up—not on your first task.

With each step, your mind kept wandering back to the dream you’d had, its lingering effects still curling around you like smoke. The sensation of the Count’s touch was so vivid, so real. You had to shake your head, forcing yourself to focus on the day ahead. There was no room for distractions. Perhaps, you developed a small girlish crush on your master, and your imagination went wild. 

The whispers seemed to grow louder the closer you got to the heart of the town, the townsfolk casting wary glances your way. It was a strange feeling, to be the center of attention in such a way. You kept your head down, determined to ignore them as best as you could. There was work to do, and you didn’t have time to let idle gossip rattle you.

When you finally reached the grand bank, its impressive structure towered over the cobbled street, its tall stone steps leading up to a heavy wooden door. You adjusted the paintings on your back carefully, making sure they were secure before stepping up to the threshold. The scent of ink and paper greeted you as you entered, the soft hum of quiet conversations in the background as people conducted their business.

You approached the marble counter, where a teller stood, organizing papers with practiced efficiency. The moment she looked up, you felt a brief, cold shift in the air—an unspoken judgment, perhaps. But you kept your gaze steady.

“I’m here to deliver some paintings for Mr. Kang,” you said, your voice more steady than you felt. “He’s expecting them.”

The teller nodded, her expression cool but polite. “One moment, please.” She turned to the side, picking up a small bell and giving it a single ring, the sound echoing through the marble halls.

A few moments later, a man in a well-tailored suit approached from the back of the bank, his presence unavoidable as he stepped into view. His sharp features softened when he smiled, and you could tell immediately he was the person you were looking for.

“Ah, you must be the new housekeeper from the castle,” he said smoothly, his voice warm but with a hint of something curious. “I’ve been expecting these. Please, come in.”

He led you to a private office in the back, where a large desk was stacked with papers and books. A few other paintings hung on the walls, but none of them resembled the size or shape of the ones you carried. Mr. Kang gestured to a chair near the desk. “I’ll take the paintings from here. I appreciate your effort in bringing them all this way.”

You gently unstrapped the paintings from your back, handing them over to him carefully, feeling an odd sense of relief now that the task was done.

Mr. Kang inspected the canvases for a moment before giving a slow nod. “I can see why it took Count Park so long to finish these. Quite extraordinary work,” he muttered, more to himself than to you. He looked up at you then, a glint of curiosity in his eyes."Are you familiar with his work?" he asked, his eyes twinkling with a hint of pride as he turned to you.

"No, actually, I just learned myself that he is a painter," you answered softly.

He chuckled, the sound warm and light. "He is the best there is. I needed something that would brighten up the waiting area, and this is just what was needed."

He gently moved one of the paintings, revealing it fully to you. As he adjusted the frame, you couldn't stop yourself from gasping.

The scene before you was breathtaking—a serene ocean at sunset, its waves gently lapping at the shore beneath a sky painted in hues of violet, gold, and soft pink. The water shimmered with hints of silver, as though the moonlight itself was woven into the brushstrokes. Silken clouds floated lazily above, catching the last golden rays of the day. Far off in the distance, the outline of a ship’s sails seemed to catch the breeze, adding a touch of movement to the otherwise tranquil scene. The whole painting seemed alive, as if you could almost hear the waves crashing softly against the rocks and feel the salty, cool ocean breeze against your skin.

"It's stunning," you murmured, almost in awe, your eyes lingering on the artwork. "He truly is talented."

Mr. Kang smiled knowingly, his eyes fixed on the painting. "Indeed. The Count's work speaks for itself." His tone shifted slightly, becoming more thoughtful as if considering something. "It’s a rare gift he has, a gift that few can appreciate fully."

You nodded, still captivated by the painting. It was hard to imagine that such beauty had been created in the cold isolation of the castle.

"You should be careful, miss," Mr. Kang warned, his voice low, a slight edge of concern in his tone. "People talk... about the Count, about the castle. The tales they spin can be... dangerous to believe."

You nodded, the uncertainty twisting in your gut. The weight of his words lingered, and you couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something deeper beneath the surface. But before you could respond, he turned back to the paintings, tracing over them with a thoughtful hum.

“It’s a pity really…” he mused, his voice taking on a more somber note. “Outcasting a man isolated in his grief. The townspeople are uneducated and overly pious, and people like that love to gossip about things they cannot understand.”

You couldn’t help but wonder if that was exactly what you were doing, too—siding with the stories and rumors instead of the truth. His words resonated with you, and a wave of empathy swept over you, the image of the Count, sitting alone in that grand, empty castle, growing clearer in your mind.

"Do you know the Count well?" you asked, hoping for more of the truth behind the mystery.

Mr. Kang paused, a thoughtful look crossing his face. "Hmm? Oh, no. I haven’t had the pleasure of meeting him face to face. I commission him from time to time, sometimes for other people in need of artwork, though I never tell them who the true artist is." He seemed lost in thought for a moment before continuing. "It’s an understanding the Count and I have. He wants to stay hidden up there, refusing to take credit for his hard work. No one would accept anything that he touched anyway. I don’t blame him for staying up in that lonely castle. With the way people are down here, I’d isolate myself too."

Your heart tightened at the mention of his isolation. You’d only just begun to understand it, but you could already see the toll it must have taken on him over the years.

You hesitated for a moment, unsure if you should press further, but your curiosity got the better of you. “Though it’s not my place to ask, but… do you know why it is that he secludes himself up there? You mentioned grief…has he lost someone?”

Mr. Kang sighed deeply, leaning back in his chair. There was a weariness in his eyes, as if recounting the story exhausted him. “I’ve only moved here a couple years ago, but I quickly learned of his misfortune. The Count lost his wife in a fire long ago, right at that very castle." His voice softened, the gravity of the story weighing in on him. "He fell into a deep depression, occupying himself with painting to help maintain his estate and cover the cost of the damage. He remained up there for years. There was never a proper burial, and the Count was never a churchgoer himself, so the townspeople began spreading rumors, marking him as some diabolical entity hungry for blood. It’s sad, really. I felt for him when I first learned of his sorrow. Of course, that’s not a popular sentiment. I only know of this because I manage his financial accounts."

The words hit you harder than you expected, as if the puzzle pieces of the Count’s life were suddenly falling into place. The tragedy, the loss, the isolation—it all made sense. And yet, despite the understanding, something still felt off. You could feel the weight of those rumors clinging to him, twisting the truth into something darker, something harder to grasp.

Mr. Kang paused, his expression turning more contemplative. “It’s a shame. If the townspeople knew the truth, maybe they’d see him differently. But instead, they cling to their ignorance. He will forever be their scapegoat.”

You found yourself nodding slowly, your thoughts turning back to the Count, his lonely figure in the castle, hidden away from the world that had rejected him. You didn’t know what to make of it all, but one thing was certain—you were not going to let the strange rumors rattle you anymore.

⸺

The sun dipped lower on the horizon, casting the castle in hues of amber and crimson. The days seemed shorter now, the warmth of the sun slipping away faster than you remembered. You sighed, striking a match to light the candles scattered around the kitchen. Their soft glow danced across the walls, illuminating your hurried movements as you chopped vegetables and stirred the pot, determined to create a hearty, meaty dish for the Count. Tonight, you hoped to redeem yourself for last night’s lackluster soup.

With the meal prepared, you carried the steaming platter to the dining room. But as you stepped inside, you froze. The bowl of soup from the night before still sat at the table, untouched. Your heart sank as you approached, examining it closely. The spoon rested where he had left it, its handle sinking into the cold broth. The loaves of bread were stale, the wine glass barely touched.

He hadn’t eaten a single bite.

Your chest tightened. Was it your cooking? Or had he been too occupied to dine? Either way, worry began to gnaw at you. The last thing you needed was to fail at the one thing you were meant to do.

A sudden, loud thump echoed through the castle, startling you. The sound of heavy footsteps descended the grand staircase, growing closer.

Panic spurred you into motion. You quickly cleared the untouched bowl and set the table anew, arranging the fresh meal with care. As you adjusted the wine glass, your hands trembled slightly. The air seemed to shift, thickening with an unspoken tension. You could feel him approaching, even before you heard the final step land with a resonant thud.  

The Count entered swiftly, his long coat trailing behind him as he moved with purpose. He didn’t pause to acknowledge your presence fully, offering only a curt, “Good evening,” before taking his seat at the head of the table.

“Good evening, sir,” you replied softly, your voice barely carrying over the quiet clatter of silverware as you adjusted the place setting.

“Did you complete the errands?” he asked, his tone even and controlled as his eyes refusing to meet yours, instead,  shifting to the food before him.

“Yes, sir,” you answered quickly, standing a few paces away from the table. “Mr. Kang seemed pleased with the paintings.”

He paused, his gaze still lowered. “Did he?”

You hesitated, unsure if you had overstepped, but you pressed on. “Yes. He even showed me one—an ocean scene. It was beautiful, sir. I had no idea you were so talented.”

For the briefest moment, his expression softened, a flicker of something akin to pride flashing in his eyes. But just as quickly, it was gone, replaced by his usual stoic demeanor. “They’re just paintings,” he said flatly, turning his attention to the pile of mail beside his plate.

You nodded, unsure how to respond. He picked up a newspaper, the edges crinkling as he unfolded it.

“Does the food look alright, sir?” you asked, trying to gauge his reaction as he absently swirled the wine in his glass.

He glanced at the platter, barely sparing it a second look. “Yes. It looks fine.”

The dismissal in his tone stung more than you expected, but you maintained your composure. “Is there anything else you need tonight, sir?”

He folded the newspaper with a sharp flick of his wrists and set it aside. “No. That will be all for now.”

You curtsied slightly, more out of habit than necessity. “Very well. Have a good night, sir.”

He didn’t respond, already engrossed in the unopened letters before him.

As you stepped out of the dining room, you couldn’t shake the strange feeling that lingered in the air. His reaction to your compliment wasn’t what you had expected. There was something guarded about him, as if the mere mention of his art touched on a part of him he wasn’t ready to share.

You carried your dinner back to your quarters, setting the plate down on the small desk before you. Sitting in the dim glow of a single candle, you stared at the food, appetite waning as your mind wandered. He had been colder today—aloof, distant, as though your presence was no more than a passing inconvenience.

Had you done something wrong?

You sighed, leaning your elbows on the desk as you poked at the food with your fork. Already, you were tired of this endless game of wondering whether you had pleased him. It was exhausting, this constant dance around his moods and silences.

But then again, wasn’t this what grief did to people? It hollowed them out, turned them cold and untouchable. Maybe that’s all it was—a man drowning in his own sorrows, closing himself off to anyone who dared get close.

You shook your head, trying to push the thoughts aside. Grief or not, you had your own worries to tend to. With a resigned sigh, you took a bite of the hearty stew, the rich flavors of tender beef and vegetables grounding you, if only for a moment.

⸺

You dreamt of him again tonight. 

You were seated in that same garden, the air cool and damp with the promise of more rain. A cat purred softly on your lap, its warmth seeping into your frail hands. You looked down, startled to see how much they trembled, the wrinkled knuckles swollen with age. The ache in your fingers was dull but persistent, and your breaths came shallow, each one rattling faintly in your chest.

The garden was beautiful, though your weakened eyesight struggled to make out its finer details. The flowers seemed like smudges of color in the dim twilight, their shapes indistinct. You squinted, trying to focus, when a figure appeared at the edge of the garden. It was the Count.

Even blurred, his silhouette was unmistakable—tall and poised, his face ageless and unchanged, striking against the dusky sky. He stepped closer, his boots crunching lightly on the gravel path, and his features sharpened as he neared.

“There you are,” he said softly, his voice carrying across the quiet garden. It was the same voice you’d heard at dinner, yet it felt different now—warmer, intimate. “Come inside, my love.”

You looked up at him, a faint smile tugging at your lips. "Just a moment longer, Seonghwa" you rasped, your voice weak but affectionate. "You know how much I love the rain...or…was it snow?" For the life of you, you couldn’t remember which one it was, and the struggle of remembering made you tense.

The first droplets began to fall, pulling you out of your thoughts. You reached a hand out instinctively, the raindrops feeling cool against your skin. You felt the gentle touch of his hand on your shoulder. It was grounding, familiar even.

“It’s going to rain harder soon,” he urged, kneeling beside you. His dark eyes searched yours, soft yet insistent. “You shouldn’t stay out here.”

The cat leapt off your lap as if understanding the urgency, disappearing into the shadows. You tried to rise to follow it, but your body felt heavy, your weak limbs trembling with effort. The blurry edges of the world seemed to darken further, your vision betraying you.

He stayed by your side, his presence steady and comforting, guiding you with a hand at your elbow. “Come,” he repeated, his voice dropping to a comforting whisper.

The rain intensified, the sound mingling with the beat of your heart. Just as you opened your mouth to respond, the scene dissolved, fading into blackness.

You awoke with a start, the sound of rain tapping steadily against the windows of your room. The faint glow of the moon spilled through the glass, casting shadows on the walls. You sat up, pressing a hand to your chest. The dream had been so vivid, so tangible. Almost like a memory that didn’t belong to you.

You looked toward the window, catching the reflection of yourself in the glass. The memory of his touch lingered, warm yet distant, like a melody you couldn’t quite recall. The rain continued its steady rhythm, as if trying to echo the fragments of the dream you couldn’t let go.

taglist: @a1sh1teruu @filmnings @professormingisglasses @felixs-voice-makes-me-wanna @yunyunrin-reads @seonghwasstar @innocygnet

for taglist request or removal, please send me an ask

act III: the woman in the painting ➜

[comfycozycrossfox]

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

[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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[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

[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!*

[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.

[al1fers-haven]

Hear me out, Alastor x Vox's wife

Basically, the reader was married to Vox when alive and hated him but couldn't get a divorce. When she died, she went to heaven, but then fell and was found by Vox, who promptly forced her back into the wife role

But, one night, the reader runs away and meets Alastor, and she instantly bonds with him over a mutual hatred of Vox, which turns into them falling in love

Sorry if the idea is too harsh on Vox, just a scenario I've been thinking about for a while

NO! Don't be sorry love. Its absolutely perfect.

"Oh Deer,"

Alastor x Vox's Wife!Reader

Nothing could have prepared you for the pain you felt when falling. The harsh searing pain that enveloped you as you hit the ground and heard that snap. Tears stained your cheeks as you glared up at the heavens. Too focused on your anger and pain to take in your surroundings and where exactly you were. Demons stared as you stood up, a loud groan leaving your figure as the bright gold blood dripped down your back, the sticky substance sticking to your palms as you tried to wipe it off of you. Vox stopped in his tracks, eyes a bit wide as he saw you drag yourself down the street. Valentino looked back at the TV man before following his gaze with a confused look. "Y/n...?" You stopped in your tracks, looking over towards the TV man and scowling. "Y/n? Is that you? What are you doing down here-" You yelped, trying to move away from him. One of the wings on your back flares up and makes you yell. Breathing harshly as you stared at him.

"Stay the HELL away from me you- you vile demon!" You held your palms against the dragging wing. Sobs wracking your whole form.

"Y/n...It's me. It's your husband...Don't you recognize me?" Your eyes widened, pure hatred filling your brain as you stared at him. "You- You nasty man! You horrible human! You are awful!" Vox stared in shock, your true feelings about him now out in the open. "Y/n...you're hurt." He reached his hand out and Valentino walked up to the two of them. All eyes turned to the pitiful display. "Come home, love."

~!~

"Do you even understand what I'm telling you, woman? Get my coffee. And make it the right way." You flinched, eyes looking toward the ground as your eyebrows furrowed. A small scowl on your face.

"I should've divorced you before you died. You cunt." You let out a yelp as he grabbed the neck of the shirt you were wearing, trying to keep you to 'today's time he shoved you inside of a tight outfit you hated. "Oh? Well, why didn't you." You shoved the TV man off of you. Fixing your shirt. "Because I thought maybe, just maybe. You'd leave me for another woman so I could raise our child ALONE." Vox's TC screen glitched, walking up to you. "Don't you DARE bring her into this!" You poked his chest, puffing your own out to seem bigger. "You don't understand how happy I was to hear you had died in that shitty bar lounge you always sat in! How happy I was for her to get to live without your influence!" You stepped forward, making the man step back. "I raised her all on my own and until she died and I did a wonderful job! Thanks to you dying she didn't have to witness that boring excuse of a thing you called love!" He grabbed your hand and threw you to the ground. Huffing as he stared at you with wide eyes. You obviously hit a soft spot. His eyes softened for a moment. "It's such a shame she died so young." Your eyes burned, Vox's eyes looking down on you. Pitying you for the death of your daughter. "." You stood up, storming out of the room and running out of the building. Vox's head turned to hs associates. "When did you have a kid?" Valentino broke the silence.

You sat on one of the benches in the more secluded part of the city, Your wings tucked into your back as you sat next to the little antique shop. Sobs left your figure as you sat there. Unaware of what to do in a situation like this. It was like you were alive all over again, crying over the loss of normalcy when Vox had died. "Hm?" A red-haired man zipped through the radio behind you. Leaning against the staff in his hand as you stood up and wiped your eyes, "Do my eyes deceive me?" The static startled you, jumping a bit before turning around to see the man. "Oh." You blinked a couple times at the odd figure. Huffing as you ran a hand through your hair. "Alastor, right? Vox's horrible horrible enemy?" You crossed your arms, trying to make it seem like you still had some control in your life. "Yes! And you are his....Assistant?" He waved his hand a little bit, trying not to hit a sensitive spot and deal with more of your weeping.

"Ex-wife." He blinked a couple times, laughing and grabbing your Backpack so he could sit down and leave you a seat. "Oh? Do tell more." His smile was eerily comforting, a sigh left your figure as you sat down. Obviously still upset. "I left, like i should've when we were living." The words spat out like venom. Eyes narrowing in on the ground. "He was an ass sure but at first he at least tried to pretend he cared. Just like he did here. I fell, he pretended to care for me enough to get me to call him my husband again and then boom. It was back to the same abuse i got out of in our 30's." You leaned back. The radio demon's frequencies stopped for a moment so he could listen. Anything he could use against Vox was a wonderful addition, no matter the baggage it brought with it. "He beat you?" Alastor tilted his head, mildly amused with this information. "Sometimes, not hard but enough to hurt. Slapping, name-calling, kicking. Things that wouldn't leave too much of a mark." You turned towards him. His smile was a bit tense. "When I had our child, my baby girl he changed a bit. Tried pretending a bit more while I was pregnant with her. He seemed to care for her. but just not for me." Your eyebrows furrowed as you continued. "She died when she was 2. About a year after Vox died from alcohol poisoning in that stupid bar."

Alastor put a hand on your shoulder. Now listening intently. "I'm glad she didn't have to deal with his constant fucking whining." Alastor laughed at that, his eyes closing a bit as he nodded. "Why yes, I have noticed quite a bit that he has a knack for whining and crying." You laughed a bit, finally calming down. "My name is Y/n, by the way." Alastor nodded, sitting up straight before sighing. "I'm aware...Alastor." He shook your hand, watching you laugh a bit more. "Y'know he wanted to name our kid Murphy?" Alastor blinked a couple times before laughing more, shaking his head no. It must have been hours, the two of you laughing in the street at all of the stupid things Vox had done before and after he died. Alastor filled you in on all of the stuff he knew while you told him about simple things.

The two of you calmed down a little bit, a smile on both of your faces as you stared off. The radio demon stood up suddenly and reached for your hand. "Well! Why don't you come to the hotel with me! I'm sure Charlie would love a new girl there!" You looked up at him, chuckling nervously. "Well...I don't know about that Alastor." "Cmon! Just for a night hm? Then we can see if we can make a deal." You grabbed his hand and yelped, suddenly being inside a random hotel with a blonde girl staring.

"Alastor! You're back....who is this?" She pointed towards you, a nervous smile on your face as Alastor twirled you a bit. Your laughter filled the room as you stopped spinning and suddenly appeared inside of better clothing fitting your time, an older 1920s-1950s dress fitting you perfectly. "This darling is Y/n! She was in quite the pickle and after...awhile-" You jumped in, hands clasped in front of you in a polite way. "2 hours." Alastor shook his head. "And after some time of talking I convinced her to take a shot at redemption, dear charlie." Charlie squealed, grabbing your hands and hugging you tightly. (Nearly till you died again.) "Welcome to the hazbin hotel!! I'm so glad Alastor brought you here!" Angel stared confused, looking as Alastor let you readjust his tie . A couple blinked of surprise leaving his figure as you walked away and towards the group. Immediately recognizing angel. "Angel!" He blinked. Staring at you. "Mrs? What are you doing here?" He waved his hand as you hugged him, a small frown appearing on your lips. "I left, me and vox got into another argument and I blew up on him." Angel laughed, hugging you again and sighing. "I wish I was there to see that asshole's face! Did'ya give him hell?!" You nodded excitedly. Looking around and taking a deep breath. "Oh, it feels good to be free again! Oh, how can I thank you Alastor!" Husker stiffened in his place, everyone expecting him to ask for her soul. "Perhaps you can tell me more about your dear ex-husband, hm? Seems like we didn't finish our little chat earlier dear." "Oh! Of course! You're such an angel puddin'! Oh, this is going to be so fun!"

[sodavizz]

— Christmas Won't Be The Same Without You.

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ

Pairing: Daisuke x GN! Reader

Warnings: None, just fluff again :3

Wc: 1.3k+

Author's Note: Tadaa!! It's almost Christmas time baby! I'm super duper excited as it is already half of November!! Are you all ready to celebrate it, cause I sure am!

The snow was falling softly outside, coating the world in a blanket of white. The small town where Daisuke had grown up was quiet, the streets lined with festive lights and decorations. Inside his parents' house, however, there was nothing quiet about it. The living room was alive with the hum of Christmas music playing softly in the background, the scent of pine and cinnamon filling the air, and the soft crackle of a fire burning in the hearth. It was the perfect Christmas setting, and you were sharing it with Daisuke.

“Can you believe it?” Daisuke said, his voice full of excitement as he stood beside you in the entryway. His eyes sparkled with that familiar joy you adored. “Christmas at my parents’ house. I'm sure they're just as excited you are to meeting each other!”

You smiled at him, feeling a warmth spread through you as he took your hand, pulling you into the house. “I’m really happy to be here with you, Daisuke. This place feels so… cozy.”

His grin widened. “It’s definitely cozy. And my mom’s cooking is legendary, so get ready for some serious holiday feasting. You might not even have room for dessert by the end of the night.”

You laughed, feeling your stomach growl at the thought of what awaited. You’d heard a lot about Daisuke’s mom’s cooking, but this would be your first time tasting it. You could already smell the roast turkey and baked goods wafting from the kitchen.

The house was warm, full of life, and adorned with decorations that felt like they had been carefully placed with love. Christmas stockings hung from the mantle above the fireplace, each one bearing a name stitched in gold thread, and a grand tree stood in the corner, its branches weighed down with ornaments, tinsel, and fairy lights. The atmosphere was peaceful but bustling, with Daisuke’s parents—his mother in a festive red apron and his father pulling drinks from the fridge—filling the space with energy and laughter.

Daisuke led you to the living room where his family was already gathered. His parents, always warm and welcoming, greeted you with open arms.

“Ah, there you are, so you're the one my son keeps going on and on about!” His mother beamed as he mumbled something to her, seeming embarrassed she would expose him about that. She then stepped forward to give you a hug. “We’ve been waiting for you both. Everything’s ready for dinner, but we can always add more if you’re hungry before the big meal!”

“You must be starving after the drive!” his father added with a grin, holding out a glass of eggnog. “Don’t be shy, help yourself.”

You chuckled and accepted the drink, glancing over at Daisuke, who was practically glowing in his own way, standing close by with a proud smile.

“You must be excited to have us here,” you teased.

He nodded eagerly. “Are you kidding? I’ve been counting down the days to Christmas here with you and my family. I think I’ve spent almost every Christmas here since I was a kid, and this time it’s even better because you’re with me.”

The sincerity in his voice made your heart skip a beat. There was something about being here, in the warmth of his family’s home, surrounded by love, that made everything feel like it was falling into place.

“I’m really happy to be here, too,” you said softly, meeting his gaze. “It feels so... right.”

Daisuke grinned and reached for your hand, giving it a gentle squeeze before turning to his parents. “I think it’s time for us to get the party started! We still need to do the Secret Santa exchange, and I’m pretty sure everyone’s excited for that.”

His mom laughed. “Oh yes, we can’t forget about that! We all got something special this year, so I hope everyone’s ready for a little holiday fun.”

Dinner was a true feast. The table was piled high with everything you could imagine—roast turkey, mashed potatoes, gravy, stuffing, roasted vegetables, and an assortment of freshly baked rolls. In the center, a large cranberry sauce dish sat alongside platters of sweet potatoes and baked brussels sprouts. Daisuke’s mom had clearly outdone herself, and as you dug into your meal, you could tell that everyone was savoring each bite.

Between mouthfuls, you shared stories with Daisuke’s family, laughing and chatting about everything from your childhood traditions to more recent adventures. Daisuke’s dad was particularly fond of telling embarrassing stories about Daisuke when he was little, which had everyone in stitches. Daisuke, for his part, seemed unbothered by it all, even joining in with some of his own stories about his mischievous younger days.

But it wasn’t just the food or the laughter that made this night feel special—it was the way Daisuke kept glancing at you with that soft, affectionate look in his eyes, the way his hand would subtly brush against yours under the table, or how he’d pull you close during moments when no one was looking, as if to remind you that this was your time together.

--

After dinner, Daisuke insisted on taking you outside to see the backyard, which, as it turned out, had a stunning view of the town covered in snow. The Christmas lights from nearby houses reflected off the snow, creating a soft, magical glow that made the night feel like something out of a holiday movie.

“Come here,” Daisuke said, wrapping his arm around your shoulders and guiding you to the porch. “This is one of my favorite parts of Christmas—just looking out over the snow. My family used to come out here every Christmas Eve when I was younger and just… enjoy the peace.”

You stood with him, watching the snow fall gently, the cool air brushing against your skin. His presence beside you, his warmth, was enough to make everything feel even more magical.

“I never imagined I’d get to spend Christmas like this,” you murmured, leaning into him. “It’s been perfect.”

Daisuke smiled down at you, his fingers threading through yours as he pulled you a little closer. “I’ve been looking forward to this for so long, just to share it all with you. Christmas is better when you’re with the people you love, and that’s all I want for us.”

You leaned up to kiss him, the moment soft, gentle, and full of meaning. When you pulled away, Daisuke’s face was alight with happiness, his eyes sparkling.

“Merry Christmas, the most beautiful person I've ever seen,” he said softly.

You chuckled at his compliment as you stared deeply into his eyes in an, oh such affectionate way.

“Merry Christmas, Handsome,” you whispered back.

Later, as the evening drew on, everyone gathered around the tree for the Secret Santa exchange. You’d gotten Daisuke’s mom, and after some playful teasing, she opened the gift you’d picked out—a beautiful hand-knitted scarf, which she immediately wrapped around her neck with a delighted laugh. Then, Daisuke gave you your gift, a small box wrapped with care. When you opened it, you found a delicate silver bracelet with a charm that read together, a reminder of how far you’d come and how much you meant to each other.

You blinked back tears as you hugged him, your heart swelling with gratitude. “I love it, Daisuke. Thank you.”

“I’m glad you like it,” he said, his voice full of affection as he kissed your forehead. “This is just the beginning of our holiday together. I want to make this Christmas the best one yet.”

As the evening wound down, the two of you snuck off to a quiet corner of the living room, away from the laughter and chatter, to enjoy each other’s company in peace. With the soft glow of the Christmas tree lights surrounding you, Daisuke wrapped his arms around you, pulling you close.

“This is all I ever wanted,” he whispered, his voice full of love. “To be with you, here, now.”

And in that moment, surrounded by the warmth of his family, the love between you, and the gentle snowfall outside, you knew he was right. It didn’t matter where you were, as long as you were together.

“Merry Christmas, Daisuke,” you whispered, kissing him again.

“Merry Christmas,” he replied, smiling softly, his heart as full as yours.

[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.

[dee-writes-anime]

Through The Ashes

FEATURING Keigo 'Hawks' Takami x Reader

SUMMARY He won't ever stop looking for you.

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

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

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

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

The Todoroki family.

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

Without thinking, you took a step forward.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Still, you didn’t turn back.

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

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

But you had to try.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Not when you were missing.

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

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

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

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

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

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

But there was nothing.

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

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

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

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

Where are you?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He had to find you.

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

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

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

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

Because that selflessness could get you killed.

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

He couldn’t stop.

Not until he found you.

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

You.

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

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

He couldn’t lose you.

Not like this.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Had something happened to you?

Were you hurt? Trapped?

Or worse… had you been caught in the explosion?

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

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

The Todoroki family.

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

But as they drew closer, his hope shattered.

You weren’t with them.

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

You were nowhere to be seen.

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

Where were you?

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

No.

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

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

Stop.

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

He was useless.

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

What if something happened to her?

What if I can’t find her?

What if she’s gone?

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

Not until he knew you were okay.

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

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

You weren’t with them.

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

No.

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

He needed to find you.

Now.

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

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

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

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

Until he heard it.

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

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

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

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

And then he saw you.

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

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

All that mattered was you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Alive. Safe.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Sir, you’re injured. We need to—"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And he wasn’t.

Not now, not ever.

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

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

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

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

[tetzoro]

STRAWBERRY FRECKLES — ༉‧₊˚.

ft. portgas d. ace

꒰ SYNOPSIS ꒱ : feeding ace strawberries during some down time

꒰ CONTENTS ꒱ : fluff ! a little suggestive at one point — WC : 1k

꒰ NOTES ꒱ : i haven’t really written anything in almost a month but i enjoyed writing this so, so much !! i hope you enjoy ^_^ divider by @/cafekitsune ᰔ

reblogs and interactions are always appreciated ! (*ᴗ͈ˬᴗ͈)ᰔ*.ﾟ

ace had an aura like no other. the light, the warmth that he exuded was easy to fall into. a pool of molten lava that you think should burn you alive but ends up delicately caressing your skin, leaving gentle kisses in its wake.

a man the world sees as someone to be afraid of, someone that should be captured and answered for his crimes beams up at you with a smile that seeps through your skin, filling you with a warm glow that you couldn’t get anywhere else, shooing away any coolness left in your body.

times like these with ace were like no other. the two of you lived busy — extraordinary lives, ones that kept you at just out of arms reach from one another far too often. but the times you could steal a moment alone together was the very thing you both treasured most in this great big world.

the moby was busy, per usual, but today you had the luxury to hang back and relax. you and ace returning from a mission that left you both exhausted yet happy to be safely back in each other's arms.

earlier, you had the bright idea to sweeten the day a little, a reward for your heroics. sneaking into the kitchen, narrowly avoiding thatch and grabbing a small bowl full of the ripest strawberries you’d ever see.

a fruit that always brought your mind back to ace, the seeds resembling each little freckle on his face. the pinkish red color matching his skin whenever you caught him staring at you for a moment too long or anything that left him a little bashful.

nestled in a more private spot on the main deck, ace lays his head in your lap, looking up at you like he’s found the secret that ties this world together — or at least the one that ties his. you were his saving grace, his anchor, the one he was able to call home.

no matter how stormy his seas got, he always knew he’d have a safe place to rest his head — literally. in his favorite spot, he soaks up all of the love you have to give him like little rays of sun directly washing over him.

and the fact that you were feeding him definitely helped make him feel it all the more. gently reaching down with a strawberry for him to eat out of the palm of your hand, spoiling him as richly as he deserves.

“careful!” you warn him again, with absolutely no bite in your voice as his teeth stray dangerously close to the tips of your fingers. he would’ve taken you more seriously if you weren’t fighting for your life trying to choke back a giggle.

“‘m always careful!” he smiles, encircling your wrist with his hand, the muted heat from his palm warming you up from the inside out. he finishes chewing, bringing your fingers to his lips and placing a delicate, albeit sticky kiss on each one. “thank you for taking care of me.”

“of course.” you smile as he lets go of your hand. your softly caress his freckled cheek, freshly kissed fingertips running over each one as you map out the endless constellations, prettier than the night sky could ever show you. “it’s my most favorite thing in the world.”

his brown eyes glaze over, something inside of him dragging him back into the depths of his mind. the gears in his head turning as he tries to figure out how lucky he was to be loved by someone like you, before morphing into something darker, if he even deserved your love.

something you find yourself easily reassuring him, as simple as breathing. loving ace was the thing you were put on this world to do and you’d do it again and again every day, for the rest of your life.

“what would i do without ya?” ace’s smile pops back up on his face before he opens it up, eagerly waiting for another berry.

“the real question is what would i do without you?” you boop his nose and he playfully scowls, closing his mouth when he realizes another berry isn’t coming yet. he had already eaten more than half of the ones you stole.

“you’ll never have to know.” he sits up, facing you now so your knees are touching, plucking a strawberry from its dish. “your turn.”

ace places the end of the berry in his mouth before leaning forward, waiting for you to take the other end. he watches as your lips wrap around the vibrant fruit before biting down, the juice gushing between your joined lips, coating you both in its sweet nectar.

you can’t help but suppress a giggle as you lean back, chewing your half of the strawberry. you watch as he eats his share, practically inhaling it.

ace makes a show of swallowing it down, an audible yet satisfied gulp that shows that berry was the best one yet.

strawberry coated lips meet yours as he presses them against you. moving and gliding in sync as you’ve done a thousand times before. warm palms run up your thighs before finding purchase in your lower back — effectively pulling you into his lap.

gone were the sweet moments with the strawberries, something else taking its place as ace’s tongue slips into your mouth and drowns out any rational thought you had left.

whisked away by his passion for you, getting lost in the love ace so easily basks you in, you didn’t hear the angry footsteps stomping your way.

“there you two are!” thatch’s voice rings out, breaking you two apart. you both jolt back, the evidence of strawberries coating your mouths. “i knew it was you guys who took those berries.”

“uh oh, look at the time! we better go!” ace yells, fiercely grabbing your hand. you all but trip as he pulls you up before dashing away with you in tow. thatch was still scolding you from where he stayed put, a playful smile on his face as he watched the two of you make your great escape.

but you couldn’t hear him — the only noise that filled your head was ace’s sweet laugh dancing in the air, swirling with the love you held for each other.

thank you so much for reading ᰔ

[syluslnd]

Just read House Of Cards and it got me good ༼⁠;⁠´⁠༎ຶ⁠ ⁠۝ ⁠༎ຶ⁠༽ aksbsjsanoaksdjsnkasjian– *dead*

Anyways, can you make the continuation of that story?

(Tired of me being delusional so now it's his turn for him to be the one who is delusional)

From what I read, Sylus always in denial when his men sent every piece of her until the last moment he snapped. What if he goes back into being delusional then? That MC is still in bed with him. Or going to the arcade with her (clearly he go there alone because MC is ☠️)

How people inside there giving him a weird look because they see some disheveled man talking about he would buy the entire arcade (in the game. Canon.) for his beloved.

Thank you!! (⁠人⁠ ⁠•͈⁠ᴗ⁠•͈⁠)

pt 2 to this story

house of cards;shattered

(note-It makes me so happy you liked it so much that you needed a continuation🥹thank YOU & I hope you really like this, kisses xx)

────୨ৎ────

The days following the discovery of your body were a blur for Sylus. The once-cold and calculating leader of Onychinus was unraveling at the seams, haunted by a rage so consuming that it drowned out everything else.

The names of the men responsible for your death, those who dared to touch what was his, had been whispered to him by his remaining loyalists like and kieran,sylus wasted no time tracking them down.

He wanted them alive. He wanted them to feel pain-slow, excruciating pain, the kind that would make them beg for death long before he was willing to grant them that mercy.

The first man was found in a decrepit building, hidden away like a rat. Sylus didn't speak as he dragged the man into the basement of one of Onychinus's many safehouses. There was no need for words.

He was beyond talking. His mind buzzed with one singular thought: revenge.

The man was tied to a chair, blood already trickling down his face from where Sylus had struck him. Sylus circled him slowly, like a predator stalking its prey. The cold gleam of his knife reflected in the faint light and the man whimpered, begging for mercy.

"I wonder” Sylus muttered under his breath, his voice low "how long it'll take for you to break."

With a quick flick of his wrist, he slashed the man's arm, drawing a deep line across the skin. Blood welled up instantly, dripping to the floor in steady, rhythmic beats. The man screamed but Sylus barely heard it. His eyes were cold, unfeeling, even as the man squirmed in his restraints.

One cut turned into two. Two turned into ten.

Sylus worked methodically, slicing deeper each time, his hand steady, his mind eerily calm. He didn't rush. He savored each scream, each pathetic whimper. The man's blood coated Sylus's hands but he didn't care. He wasn't thinking about anything but the pain he wanted to inflict. Pain for pain.

Blood for blood.

He broke the man's fingers, one by one, relishing the sickening snap of bone beneath his grip. The man's pleas for mercy fell on deaf ears. Sylus didn't stop. He wouldn't stop until every single one of them paid for what they had done to you.

By the time the man finally succumbed to the pain, falling limp in the chair, Sylus had carved his face beyond recognition. Blood pooled at Sylus's feet, staining the floor. He stood there, panting heavily, his body covered in the man's blood, his chest heaving. But it wasn't enough. It wasn't nearly enough.

The second man suffered a worse fate. Sylus had perfected his technique by then. He used a blowtorch, searing the flesh from the man's arms and legs, watching as the skin blistered and peeled. The smell of burning flesh filled the room but Sylus didn't flinch.

His expression remained cold, detached, as if he were performing a routine task rather than torturing a man to death.

The man screamed so loudly that Sylus had to gag him but it didn't make a difference.

The man's eyes told him everything. He was terrified. Broken. A shell of what he had once been. Sylus took his time, dragging out the agony for hours, refusing to let the man pass out. When the man's legs were charred beyond repair, Sylus ended him with a single, swift cut to the throat.

But it still wasn't enough.

Each time he killed one of them, Sylus felt a strange emptiness settle over him. He had thought that their deaths would bring him peace. That they would give him closure. But all he felt was a gnawing, festering wound inside him—a hollow void that no amount of bloodshed could fill.

The final man was the one who had sent the message, the one who had orchestrated the whole thing. Sylus saved him for last. This time, he wasn't quick about it. He made sure the man felt every second of pain.

Sylus shattered his kneecaps with a crowbar, slowly, deliberately. The man writhed, trying to crawl away, but there was nowhere to go.

Sylus grabbed him by the hair, forcing him to look up.

"You think you've won?" Sylus hissed, his voice shaking with fury. "You think taking her from me made you powerful?"

The man spat blood, laughing through the pain. "She...was just...a toy..to you..."

The words hit harder than any physical blow could. Sylus's vision blurred with rage. He drove the crowbar into the man's ribs, one after another, each crack echoing in the cold room. The man choked on his own blood, gasping for breath but Sylus didn't stop. He kept hitting. Kept swinging. Until the man was nothing but a bloody, broken mess on the floor.

Finally, when the last man was dead, Sylus stood over the carnage, his breathing ragged. His hands, arms, even his face were stained with blood. But as he stared at the bodies, at the destruction he had wrought, something inside him cracked.

He had avenged you. He had made them suffer. But why did it feel so... hollow?

Then, something strange happened. A thought—no, a delusion-began to take root in his mind. You weren't really gone. You couldn't be. You were too strong for that.

Too stubborn. This had all been some elaborate trick, a twisted game to test him.

That was it. You had never been dead.

He just... needed to find you.

The next day, Sylus was smiling, genuinely smiling for the first time in what felt like an eternity. He was covered in dried blood but that didn't bother him. None of that mattered. What mattered was that he was going to see you.

He walked through the streets of Onychinus with a spring in his step, ignoring the wide-eyed stares and gasps from the people around him. The blood that clung to his clothes and skin was irrelevant. He was happy. He was going to take you out, like you had wanted. You were waiting for him. You always waited for him.

Sylus reached the arcade, stepping through the entrance with a grin. The bright lights and sounds surrounded him but all he saw was you, standing at the claw machine. You were there. Of course, you were there. You'd always be there.

"There you are, kitten" he said, his voice soft, almost tender. "I told you l'd be back."

But the arcade had fallen into a stunned silence. People stopped in their tracks, staring in shock and horror at the blood-covered man standing in the center of the room, talking to... no one.

Sylus didn't notice. He walked toward the claw machine, where he could see you in his mind, laughing at your failed attempts. "Let me help you this time" he chuckled, reaching out as if to guide your hand but his fingers grasped only air.

A child whispered to their mother, "Mommy, why is he talking to himself?"

The mother pulled the child closer, her face pale as she hurried them out of the arcade.

More people began to leave, their eyes darting to Sylus in fear but he remained oblivious, lost in his own delusion.

He leaned against the claw machine, his bloodstained hand leaving a smear on the glass. "You always get so worked up over these games, sweetie" he teased, his voice dripping with affection. "But I always knew you could win if you just had a little patience."

A man behind the counter fumbled with his phone, clearly calling the authorities. His hands shook as he kept his distance, terrified of the blood-soaked maniac who was clearly not in his right mind.

Sylus's eyes sparkled with something close to joy. "You're laughing at me, aren't you?" he said, his tone playful. "I can't help it. I just missed you."

In his mind, you were there. Smiling.

Laughing. Perfect, as you had always been.

But the truth was a far darker reality. He was alone, talking to nothing but empty air, the ghost of your presence haunting his fractured mind and the onlookers could only watch, horrified, as Sylus-the feared, ruthless leader of Onychinus-spoke to someone who no longer existed.

The doors to the arcade opened and the authorities arrived. But Sylus didn't notice.

He was too busy laughing with you, too consumed by the fantasy he had created, a world where you were still alive, still with him.

In the end, the tragedy wasn't just that you were gone. It was that Sylus had lost his mind trying to keep you alive in his own twisted way.

and the reality, cold and unforgiving, was that nothing could bring you back.

[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