#no beta we die like scar

[windfighter]

Prompt: Distress call

------

ImpulseSV drowned.

Impulse’s breath got caught in his throat. His body shook. I’m not there, he told himself. His hands trembled. I’m not there, I’m in the season nine world. He couldn’t get air into his lungs. He scratched at his neck.

The gills weren’t there any longer. The fin that had long since disappeared swooshed behind him. He scratched at his neck. He couldn’t breath, he needed water, not the bed he was sitting on. He stood up.

Stopped in the middle of a step. He wasn’t there. Wasn’t stuck in the temple, constantly attacked, constantly drowning. He clenched his hands. They tingled. A spike shot out from his back, tore through his shirt. His back felt like it was boiling.

He struggled to breathe. Shaky, quick breaths that didn’t fill his lungs and only made him dizzy. He needed… His breaths got quicker.

He reached for his communicator. His death stared him in the face with bright white letters. Impulse’s chest hurt. His legs trembled, didn’t want to carry him. A jolt went through his knees landed on the ground. He pressed his back against the bed, his fingers gripped the communicator tight.

”I’m not… there”, he whispered.

It didn’t convince him, didn’t make his heart stop racing.

”I’m a dwarf”, he whispered. "Not a guardian."

But the words were barely audible. He could feel the tailfin behind him, trashing against the ground. Hitting the bed. The bed was still. Impulse’s body trembled. He stared at the communicator.

ImpulseSV: Blue creeper

He closed his eyes, leaned against his knees and tried to catch his breath.

-------

ImpulseSV drowned.

Tango laughed. Drowning was such a noob-death. Tango would never. He jumped off a block, fired off a rocket and slammed his face into the side of Decked out. A loud bang echoed through the dungeon as his totem exploded. He landed and took his porkchops out.

”Did anyone see that idiot?” he asked. ”Who smashes their face like that?”

He quickly ate three porkchops and felt his health returning. Hurried to grab another totem and the two shulkers with deepslate he had been going to get. Work was never-ending down in the dungeon and he flew back up again, almost popped another totem and skadoodled back to work.

Block, after block, after block. There was something mesmerizing with it. Calming. One of the reasons Tango didn’t outsource building the dungeons to anyone else. He’d forget time and space when he was working.

The communicator beeped. Most of the time Tango wouldn’t hear it, music discs constantly playing, pistons going off, observers clicking loudly nearby. But this time he was further down, working on the third level of his Magnum Opus. He took the communicator out.

ImpulseSV: Blue creeper

Tango dropped the stack of cobbled deepslate he was holding. Decked out didn’t matter any longer. He fired off a rocket, navigated through the lines of redstone, the noodly caves. Typed a quick command into the communicator to locate Impulse.

Fresh air against Tango’s face. He flew higher, far up into the sky. Compared his coordinates to Impulse’s and turned around. Rocket after rocket exploded in his hand, singed his fingers as he flew at rocket speed towards Impulse. He was almost there, heard a rocket that wasn’t his go off.

Zedaph passed him, started downwards and Tango followed. He could see the black bed on the ground, Impulse pressed against it. Curled up. Tango’s face landed on the ground, his totem went off. Green and yellow particles rained over him, spread over the ground. Tango stepped over them, knelt next to Impulse. Small, orange spikes had torn through Impulse’s shirt, had appeared hidden in his hair. His hands, curled around his arms, had a greenish tint to them with webbing between the fingers. Zedaph knelt on Impulse’s other side, both he and Tango put their hands on Impulse’s shoulders.

”Hey man”, Tango whispered.

Impulse’s breaths were quick, shallow. Zedaph fiddled with something in his inventory, grabbed a bottle of water. Tango sat down next to Impulse.

”I’m…” Impulse started.

His voice cut out. He didn’t uncurl. Tango bumped their shoulders together.

”We’re here, you’re safe.”

He heard Zedaph unscrew the bottle. Impulse stopped breathing. Water dripped onto Tango’s shoulder.

”Zed!”

Impulse took a deep breath. Zedaph grinned. Sat down and bumped Impulse into Tango. Tango bumped him back. Impulse took another deep breath.

”Will it…” Impulse asked.

His voice shivered, trembled. He swallowed.

”Will it ever go away? The memories?”

He clenched his hands harder around his arms. Tango grabbed Impulse’s hand, made it grab his instead. Impulse’s grip was hard after all the work digging out the mountain, his fingers calloused and rough. Diffrent from how slippery they had been during the inbetween, the time none of them wanted to think about. Tango remembered his own fate, stuck in the nether, slowly becoming more and more like a blaze with every day. Maybe that’s why he had chosen the ice-covered plains this time, why Impulse had chosen a deep mountain.

”Probably not”, Zedaph said. ”But you’ll always have us.”

Impulse laughed. There was something desperate in it. Tango stood up. It wouldn’t get much better with them just sitting there. Waiting for it to go away. It never just went away. He brushed dirt of his robe and grinned against Zedaph and Impulse.

”So, I’ve got some ravagers that need help into a dungeon…” he suggested.

Zedaph grinned excitedly as well. Impulse looked at Tango and Tango could see the orange spikes slowly retreating, disappearing. There was a weak smile on Impulse’s face.

”Yeah, that sounds fun”, he said.

He stood up, broke the bed and took his rockets out. Zedaph jumped, took off into the air. Tango hit Impulse’s shoulder with his fist.

”You’ll be fine, man. We’ll all be fine.”

”Most days it is”, Impulse answered and fumbled with his rockets.

He took a better grip around them, smiled for real. Tango smiled as well.

”More and more days”, Impulse added. ”Every day more and more days are fine.”

”Yeah”, Tango shoved Impulse with his shoulder. ”Come on. I’ll raise you to the citadel. Last one there gets to guide the first ravager!”

He took off, rockets shooting off in his hand. He heard Impulse lift from the ground as well. Zedaph flew circles above them, waited for them to catch up and then all three of them headed towards the citadel and Decked Out.

[skeletonsfortea]

Meeting Lesser Dog

You head out before light to do Sans's errands. The preferred time for you to be gone. Slipping down the path towards the shop, you're distracted when the door to Grillby’s bursts open. You stiffen. Shit, you don’t have any time to hide-! But the monster that comes out stumbles down the steps and faceplants into the snow, motionless. You pause, unsure. “I’m gonna give you three pieces of advice, kid. One, you don’t give someone something you can’t afford to lose. Two, this ain’t a charity, everything comes at a price. Don’t take anything you can’t pay for unless you’re prepared to lose tenfold. Three, there is no knight in shining armor down here. If you get caught by a monster, run, or fight like you have a reason to live.” That’s what Sans told you, many months ago, when he was very, very drunk. You still remember it though, because it’s the only thing he’s said to you that has been rooted in good intention. Well, none of the rules said “don’t go checking on random passed out monsters” so you step closer, the snow crunching under your feet. It’s…a dog monster.

“Hey, you awake?” You ask. There’s no response. You glance around. He might freeze out here if no one helps him…you reach down and grab his arms, pulling him up with a groan. Dropping to your knees to get behind his back, you slot your arms under his armpits and get up. He’s actually not too heavy! You start dragging him out of the street and towards the alley. You can’t take him home with you, obviously, so you’re at a loss for what to do. Setting him against a building, you shake his shoulder a little. “Dog monster..?” You notice there’s a bit of dust falling away from his face, and your heart lurches. You can’t see his left eye under the dust, and his left ear is gone. You search yourself for anything you could use to help and ultimately settle on one of  the only things you have to lose. You pull off your trusty hoodie. It’s one of the few items you have from the surface. It’s too big on you now, though that doesn’t mean you love it any less. Still…you wrap the hoodie awkwardly around his face and head. 

You know nothing about monster anatomy, let alone how to care for them, but…no one can say you didn’t try. You shiver a little when a cold wind picks up your shirt. Wrapping your arms around yourself, you gaze, worried, at the monster. You reach out again, shaking his shoulder. “Buddy..?” His right eye comes slightly open, and he whimpers. Aw shit. You drop to one knee. “Hey, it’s ok, buddy. You’re ok.” You pet his head in what you hope is a comforting way- who knows if petting a dog monster will be seen as demeaning. You hear a low grumble and see his nose twitch. Reacting fast, you pull your hand away just before his sharp teeth can snap down on your fingers. “Shit,” you curse, cradling your hand as you get to your feet. The monster tries to get up, but ultimately collapses back against the wall with a whine. You don’t feel ready to abandon him to the elements even after his attempt to bite you. So you search your pockets for something to help. Nothing. You glance around the alley, and spot something in the snow. You step closer. It’s a stick! You hurry over to grab it and take it back to the dog monster.

Maybe having something to chew on will make him less likely to try eating your fingers? You offer it to him, and after a moment of staring at it, he sinks his teeth into the bark. You’d be disturbed by the amount of drool that drips from his mouth after, if you weren’t just relieved he accepted it.

“Great. That’s great,” you say, and reach for him again. He growls, lips drawing back. You pull away. “Ok, fair enough. I won’t try to lift you. Can you…can you stand up?” He tries to get up again, and you reach out to grab him on instinct when he starts to tip. He growls a little, but it’s more subdued this time. “Relax, buddy, I have no reason to hurt you.” You say. He stops growling, but his posture is still tense as you shift to stand beside him, putting his arm over your shoulder. He growls again when your arm goes around his waist, but quiets when you go still for a second to make it clear you won’t do anything. “Let’s get you home,” you say once he’s relaxed a little. Providing him with stability, you help him out of the alley and through Snowdin. After a short trek, you find yourself at a house. “Is this it?” You ask him. He nods, and you head up to the door. “Anyone home?” He shakes his head. “Do you have the key?” He grabs something from his pocket and struggles to get the key into the knob. After a couple of attempts, he eventually gets the door to open. You help him inside, kicking the door shut behind you. You’d be more worried about your current predicament if it wasn’t for the fact that the monster is putting literally all of his weight on you. If you let go, he’d fall over like a sack of potatoes.

Sitting him down on the nearest chair, you reflexively reach to scratch his head. Oddly, he doesn’t growl- but his neck lengthens? Curious, you stroke his head, and his neck keeps growing. You smile a little and scratch behind his ears, prompting him to lean into your touch. Your smile grows. So he really does act a bit like a dog. There’s something soothing about the familiarity of it, the feeling of soft fur under your fingers. But…you glance at the door…you should go, before Sans assumes you ran. You pull away, and the monster whines.

“Sorry, buddy, I gotta go,” you say, “but…it was nice to meet you.” You turn and head for the door, only to freeze when a low growl sounds from behind you as you reach for the doorknob. You glance back at the monster. He’s still seated in the same spot. He tips his head when you look back at him, and you feel a flash of sadness. You’d really like to keep helping him…but, “hey, maybe we’ll meet again. But I have to leave now. Or else I’m going to get my ass beaten.” You chuckle a little, smiling slightly, and you don’t think you imagine how the monster’s eyes narrow. He works his teeth around the stick a little more before getting up, having to use the chair to keep upright. “Buddy, what..?” He stumbles over to you, and waits. Slowly, you put out a hand. He drops the stick into it, and you see his tail start to wag. You smile, genuinely, despite how gross the stick feels. “Heh. Thanks. You’re a good boy.” Aw shit, reflex again. He doesn’t seem disturbed though, if anything, his tail has started wagging harder. You scratch his head one last time before heading out into the cold. As you get further, grip tightening on the slobbery stick in your hand, you know you’re going to pay for those couple minutes of respite, but…it was worth it.

You run your errands with a lingering warmth in your chest.

[smol5824]

You have heard the story of Icarus, the boy who flew to close to the sun.

But have you heard the tale of who the void called Icarus?

There was a young god, and for lack of a better name, was called Icarus. A callback to the well known greek tale.

This Icarus was different though. He dared not look the sun in the eyes, no one did, for fear of going blind. He dared not stray far above the waterline, the sun was too much. But he stood before the moon, who’s only light is that reflected off the sun, and dared run. Dared to refuse the call, dared to refuse to kneel before

the moon, who watches over all lands, that moon. It was the moon he dared to disobey. Icarus will fly too close to the sun one day, but until then he will stand his ground and refuse to bend to the gods will.

Icarus has wax wings, but they are still wings. He can still fly with them.

Wax wings. Thats what they say Icarus had. Wax wings, wings that melt when they get to close to the sun. Well, there’s no sun in the void. No moon either. No light, other then the light from lanterns and fire.

Icarus is a legend. A greek myth, and a void fable. A fable all believe, know, is true.

Icarus, the story with the more versions then any other void tale.

Icarus, the admin who gave up his power for his friends safety.

Icarus, the leader who made a choice for his people.

Icarus, the youngling who was given power as a sugarcoat for the pain he put his friends through

Icarus, the one who gave up his friends for power.

Icarus, the man who lost everything to the gods.

Icarus, the child who the gods gave everything to.

Icarus, the boy who was taken, stolen, rescued from his server.

Icarus, the fool who flew to close to the sun.

All versions contradict each other. But all agree on one thing.

Icarus was the boy, the admin, the friend, the whatever, the only one who dared look at the harsh ways of those who watch and say no.

And say he would not do what they asked. Say he would rather die.

And he almost did. Icarus almost died. But he didn’t. He escaped the void, and now fly’s free. He flys on wings of wax, but he flys nonetheless.

Now, he is exposed to the sun. But he knows better then to fly to close to the sun.

Icarus, the one who stares at the moon and dares it to look away. Dares those who watch from the moons light to look away from what he has achieved. He dares them to try and take it away.

And they don’t. They can’t. And that is what allows Icarus to stare the gods in the eyes and say “I will not bend to your will. I will not fall victim to my namesake, I will stay away from the sun.”

“I am the sun.”

[whatwh]

Ending of the First Witch! Chapter

As Grian glides into the Entity, he runs into Mumbo who was buying some logs. The latter gives Grian a once over before deciding that he wasn't going to ask about Grian’s sorry state. Instead bringing up his project, what he needed the wood for, and any materials to add to the Entity. See, not everyone on the server loves the Store as much as its creator. In fact, most find it absolutely disgusting. Mumbo wasn't about to travel for a singular stack of wood though, so he made do. Honestly, he isn't sure why it's such a surprise to him. Grian has always brought strange things to the server. Not to say the server was at any point normal, but it was a new kind in season 6 compared to 5.

The conversation was quick, as the ‘richest man on the server’ had work to do. And Grian was begging for sleep, so Mumbo couldn't make much sense from the random antidotes. He learned a long time ago not to listen closely to the sleepy birds ramblings. Instead saying goodbye and heading past Scars diamond pillar, only to get hit in the head by one such block.

“Hello!” He screamed into the “Elf’s” ear, laughing as he caught the edge in a desperate attempt at not further ruining his statistics. He was about to continue on his way when Scar yelled for him to wait a moment.

“Hey,” He slyly remarked after looking around “You don't happen to have any blood do you? You know me, I keep forgetting to restock! It's not like we can go to the major markets just for blood, I mea-”

“Yes I have some spare, no need to be so extra.”

“Thank you! You're a lifesaver! So where are you heading?”

“To the mines, I can always make more redstone.”

“Mumbo, you've been overworking yourself even more than normal. And that's Saying something! I demand that you go to your bed, or I'll just kill you and send you there myself.”

“I know, but I've just had so much energy lately! I can't get rid of it. I'm starting to think that it might be a side effect of this blood batch.”

“It seemed fine to me, maybe this person had ADHD or something?”

“In all my Shape-shifter years I have never picked up on something like that, I normally just get some physical remnants. Even those have never been detailed like that though. The only real outlier being when I ate Grian’s soul, and had to deal with bird instincts for a bit. I've only been using the blood bank for a little while though, so maybe? I might have to talk to a Shifter if it continues in the next batch.”

“All right, just keep me updated. I will be dragging you to your base though. I need blood and you need sleep.”

“I'm not getting out of this, am I?”

“Nope!"

[yawnderu]

Simon ''Ghost'' Riley - Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Prompt List

Sex Pollen - Simon ''Ghost'' Riley x Reader:

After being hit by the experimental drug, Ghost can't get enough of your body.

You make it hard to be a Ghost - Simon ''Ghost'' Riley x Reader:

You write him poetry; Ghost rejects it every single time with a heavy heart until his walls start to crumble down.

Longing - Simon ''Ghost'' Riley x Reader:

The simple ways Ghost shows you how much he cares with his actions while you both yearn for each other's love.

Together - Simon ''Ghost'' Riley x Reader:

Ghost finds strength with your love in a near-death experience together.

Cold - Simon ''Ghost'' Riley x Reader - PART I

You come back to base a changed and scarred soldier after being held captive for a year, Ghost is desperate to help bring you back to be the woman he loved.

I'll meet you here — Simon "Ghost" Riley x Reader

Simon finds peace for the first time after retirement.

Character Study - Simon ''Ghost'' Riley

In-depth character analysis on Simon ''Ghost'' Riley based on the comic, campaigns, and voice lines from multi-player.

Idyllic - Simon ''Ghost'' Riley x Reader - Part I

content: fluff, mutual pining, idiots in love, your honor, they love each other.

Tainted - Simon ''Ghost'' Riley x Reader

Ghost became judge, jury and executioner.

CW: paranoia, gore, anxiety?

Salvatore - Simon ''Ghost'' Riley x Reader

You join Simon for a late-night smoke, bad dad jokes ensue.

Lovely — Dad!Simon "Ghost" Riley x Mom!Reader

No one knows how much violence it took to be this gentle.

Afraid - Simon ''Ghost'' Riley x Reader

content: angst with a happy ending, mentions of death and injuries, hurt/comfort.

Monster | Simon ''Ghost'' Riley x Reader

Based on the violent sexual fantasies Simon ''Ghost'' Riley experiences after being tortured by Roba.

CW: noncon, darkfic, mind break, forced deepthroat, forced penetration, face slapping, tit slapping, rough sex, give in.

Perfect Life — Dad!Simon "Ghost" Riley x Mom!Reader

The first night home with the baby.

Adoration — Simon "Ghost" Riley x Reader

Content: fluff, pregnant!reader, horrible dad jokes.

Living Dead Man - Zombie!Simon ''Ghost'' Riley x Reader

What is a husband but a man with a rotting body you can barely recognize?

CW: body horror, gore, tongue kiss with a dead man(?), is she wrong? morally, angst with a happy ending.

Beacon — Simon "Ghost" Riley x Reader

Cozy day in the life of a soldier and his pregnant wife.

Birthday Boy — Simon "Ghost" Riley x Reader

content: mutual pining, idiots in love, fluff.

Mine - Simon ''Ghost'' Riley x Reader

Synopsis: knowing he couldn't provide you with the life you wanted, Simon breaks things off with you. Two years later, you come back to base with a baby that isn't his.

Content: angst, hurt/comfort, fluff, mutual pining, established relationships, breeding, erotic lactation, romantic love making, praising. No beta we die like Roach.

Lorelei — Simon ''Ghost'' Riley x Reader | Part I Part II | Part III

Synopsis: Aware of the way his lifestyle doesn't align with your dream life and unwilling to quit his life as a soldier, Simon breaks things off with you. It isn't until a year later that he sees you again, a tiny carbon copy of him held in your arms.

Believer - Simon ''Ghost'' Riley x Reader

In which Simon believes he's truly undeserving of love, moved only by your stubbornness.

K-9 — Simon ''Ghost'' Riley x Reader | Chapter I

Simon Riley and his pathetic efforts to get close to the new medic will earn him a scar or two

or

Simon Riley is in love with an uninterested, tired medic.

[gators-aid]

decode (pt. 4) - toji f. x reader

masterlist

part three. | part five.

you and toji fushiguro have been in an on-again-off-again relationship all throughout high school. over the summer break after graduation, you find out you're pregnant. too bad toji has already skipped town after your last breakup.

tags: fem!reader, cheating, mention of spiking drinks (nothing happens, just mentioned in passing), americanized setting, non sorcerer universe, 00's setting, reader is megumi's mom, exes to lovers (eventually), their relationship is toxic rn, not beta read we die like toji :(

wc: 2.7k

If you had to admit it, you were getting a little sick of house parties. Sure, they were fun once you got fucked up, but the aftermath wasn’t always worth the temporary thrill. 

There was one time where Toji had to physically carry you out of the bathroom of some girl’s house. If you were being completely honest, you couldn’t exactly remember her name. Since you two had started going to parties together, he had stopped drinking all together so he could keep an eye on you. It was a little embarrassing to fake the flu to your mother when you woke up hungover the next day. 

Hakari’s parties were cool, sure, you always felt safe at his house, but that’s typically because you had Toji there with you. Not many creeps were willing to try and spike your drink when a big mass of darkness lingered around at all times. Going alone (with Utahime) for the first time in months was a little daunting, but you had a plan.

An immature, potentially incredibly damaging plan, but a plan nonetheless. “Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned,” Utahime had said when you explained it to her. She looked just a little concerned. You thought she was exaggerating a bit, but when you caught Shiu’s eye from across the room that night, you understood. 

It would be worth it, you had convinced yourself.

It only took a couple of drinks for Shiu to be all over you. You knew if he was here, Toji was sure to be nearby, but you hadn’t seen him all night. The two of you danced together in Hakari’s living room, lips unnaturally close and bodies in contact at almost every possible surface. 

You would never necessarily say you were attracted to Shiu, he was just your boyfriend’s friend to you. Always in your peripheral, sometimes tagging along with you and Toji. Usually, you were too wrapped up in your boyfriend to even notice he was there. Frankly, you didn’t think about him much at all. If he had paid any attention over the past couple of months, he would know that too. But maybe he had thought about you quite a bit, because it was almost too easy to get under his skin.

A touch here, a brush of the lips there, a few drunken stumbles into his chest, and boom. The night found the two of you making out in the same closet Toji had kissed you in for the first time. It was almost like desecrating a sacred temple. The cramped closet full of Hakari’s parent’s winter coats and a giant vacuum cleaner in the corner should’ve stayed a holy ground, but you wanted not only to hurt Toji, but to erase any memories you had of him.

Would this work? Probably not. You couldn’t bring yourself to care.

You had planned to sleep with Shiu that night, and you planned to make Toji know about it as soon as it happened. You and Shiu exited the closet, going to make a trip upstairs, to a bathroom, or maybe even the back of his car. You held his hand lightly in yours as you led him out. 

The whole time you couldn’t help but compare the two men. Toji’s hands were larger and more calloused. His lips were slightly fuller with a dry patch where his scar crossed over. Toji was a lot more intense, that intensity translating into a passionate exchange whenever you two were together. 

You didn’t care much for Shiu. Sure, you felt bad to be using him like this, but you weren’t concerned about his feelings right now. 

You were only focused on yourself and your conquest for revenge. 

The two of you made your way down the hallway, squeezing past drunk teenagers and squealing couples. That’s when you saw him. 

The whole night you had been wondering where he was. You knew he had to be here if Shiu was, but he had eluded you. Earlier, during a particularly spiteful thought, you wondered if he was upstairs with another girl, fueling your rage. 

There he was, leaning against the doorframe to the kitchen and staring right at you. 

Fuck. He was just a little bit scary. 

You had never seen his face like that. It was completely blank, but you could see the rage simmering under his eyes. You could see the way his hands gripped his forearms where they were crossed across his chest. All the indicators of his rage were incredibly subtle, but something about him seemed to warn of danger.

You felt Shiu’s hand fall from your grasp, could hear him ruffling his clothes behind you, probably adjusting his shirt that you had grasped in your hand earlier. 

This is what you wanted, so why didn’t you feel accomplished? Why couldn’t you bring yourself to smile in his face and continue on with Shiu? 

“Y/N!” Someone yelled over the music. Utahime. You finally broke eye contact with Toji to look at her bounding toward you. 

“Come with me, I wanna dance!” She grabbed your wrist and dragged you away, stumbling along as the two of you moved toward the living room. But she didn’t go toward the living room, instead taking you to a downstairs bathroom, cutting the line to bring the two of you into a private area. 

“Shit, are you okay?” She asked omce the door was closed, suddenly sounding a lot more sober. You want to reply yes, tell her that you got what you wanted without even having to sleep with Shiu, but instead you felt your hands start shaking. 

“I thought I should step in, that shit looked intense. He scared me a little bit.” She said nervously, pushing a strand of hair behind your ear and pulling on your shirt to straighten it out. 

“Yeah,” your voice cracked, “I’m okay.” She smiled at you sympathetically. “You ready to go?” She asked. 

You were, but you didn’t want to ruin Utahime’s night because of your drama. 

“No, no! I told you I’m fine!” You heard someone banging on the bathroom door, clearly not happy that the two of you had cut the line. “Let’s get back out there.” 

Toji and Shiu were gone from their spot in the hallway. You didn’t know what exactly you expected. Maybe for them to be locked in a staredown in the same spot, maybe beating the shit out of each other in the kitchen, but there was no sign of either of them. 

“Saoriiiii!” You heard Utahime yell. She grabbed your hand and pulled you with her to the living room, the designated spot for dancing. 

It felt like your ears were ringing, you were too aware to be this close to the speakers and surrounded by this many people. You could feel a deep anxiety start to pool in your gut, your fingertips starting to feel tingly. 

“I’m gonna go get something to drink!” You yelled at Utahime, not looking back to see if she had heard you. 

The walk to the kitchen felt longer than it should have. Would Toji be lingering around in there? Would Shiu? You definitely didn’t want to see him right now.

Neither of them were. The kitchen was almost completely empty except for one person. Takako.

Shit. You’d rather not see her either. She looked at you over the rim of her cup. She had to slightly look down at you, as her seat on the kitchen counter placed her about a head taller than you. You tried to ignore her as you sorted through bottles of liquor, trying to find something that wasn’t empty or filled with questionable liquids or cigarettes. You intentionally put your back to Takako, hoping she would just ignore you.

“You’re a real selfish bitch, you know that?” That makes you pause. No way she seriously just said that. 

You turned around to look at her, preparing yourself for conflict. You didn’t think Takako was the type to physically fight, but people are a little different when they’re drunk. What you see is not what you expected. She’s crying. 

“You have,” she pauses to take another drink from her cup “everything I’ve ever wanted,” You squeeze the neck of a bottle in your hand. “and you just throw it away. Like nothing.” 

She’s not seriously talking about Toji, is she? “You have no idea what you’re talking about.” Is what you decide to reply with. 

“I know exactly what I’m talking about.” She hops down from the counter and crosses the kitchen to approach you. “I can’t even get him to look at me now.” She says. From here you can see just how miserable she looks. Her eyes have deep bags, her mascara is running down her cheeks and her lips are bitten raw. 

That sets you off. “You can get him to fuck you, though.” You say bitterly. 

She laughs. “You’re the one who has no idea what she’s talking about.”

You grip the bottle harder. “What, so you didn’t sleep with him? Do you think I’m stupid?” You don’t have the energy for this. You need to get out of here. 

“I sleep with him one time when we’re both drunk, and then the next day he won’t even respond to my texts. I try to talk to him in person and he looks at me like I disgust him. I can barely get him to look me in the eye.” She’s swaying slightly with every word, clearly very drunk. You know this is the kind of information you couldn’t torture out of someone like Takako. 

“His bad attitude toward you isn’t my problem. He slept with you of his own free will. I can’t control how he acts afterwards.” She sighs and throws her empty cup onto the ground. “You just don’t fucking get it. I would do anything to be in your spot right now, to be with him.” She laughs, “and you get to go fuck Shiu when you have him sitting here fucking waiting for you.” She must have seen the exchange between you and Toji earlier, but she won’t even say Toji’s name. 

“You don’t know what it’s like to be cheated on, clearly.” 

“I have an idea.” 

“What the hell is your point in telling me this?” You finally ask.

She sighs. “Hm.. I don’t know.” She throws her head back and looks at the ceiling. “Appreciate what you have.” You scoff at that. 

“I’m done talking to you.” You say. You should probably have taken up Utahime’s offer to leave early. This is way too much.  “Take it as a win that he doesn’t want you. He brings nothing to the table but misery.” You say.

“I think we both know that's not true.” She retorts. 

You unclasp your hand from the bottle you’ve been holding and leave the kitchen.

A week goes by before he shows up at your window. School had been uneventful. Takako had stopped giving you looks everytime you passed each other in the hall. Toji hadn’t made another appearance. You seriously wondered how he got away with missing so much school.

This time, you’re fresh out of the shower after work, towel drying your hair when a tap on your window makes you jump out of your skin. You can see him standing there, waiting for you to come over and open the window. Usually he would push the window open himself. You still hadn’t locked it back, you refused to acknowledge why that might be. 

You stand there for just a second, contemplating what to do. Ultimately, it was a no-brainer, you walk over and open the window. You don’t move to allow him in, just standing in front of the window to see what he has to say. 

“Hey.” Is all you get. 

“Hi.” 

Something rustles in his hands, you can’t see beyond the stool of the window. He pulls up a bouquet of flowers. They’re slightly wilted, and have clearly been out of water for a couple of days. 

“I, uh, I wanted to bring you this… flowers…” He says awkwardly.

You take them from him through the window. “Thanks.” You say, not offering anything more. The two of you stand there for a second, not saying a word. 

“Can we talk?” He asks. You’re getting some serious deja vu. 

You bite your lip. What is it with you and losing all sense of logic whenever he’s around? How can you be so clear headed and (reasonably) rational up until he comes back.

“Sure.” You move aside and let him climb in. This time, you walk to your door and lock it before your mom can come bursting in again. You look into your mirror to continue drying your hair. He sits at the foot of your bed, facing you so that you can see him through the mirror. 

“You look nice.” He says. You look at him in disbelief. You’re out of the shower looking, in your opinion, like a wet dog. Your shirt is wet from the dampness of your hair and your eyes have deep bags under them. “Is this what you came to talk about?” You ask. 

“You know what I want to talk about.” 

“If you’re here to argue I’m not in the mood, Toji. I’m tired.” You’re sure to keep your voice down. 

He doesn’t look as scary as he did the last time you saw him. He almost looks shy. 

“I’m not either, mama. Just wanna talk. Seriously.” 

You throw your towel onto your dresser and sit down at the head of your bed, causing Toji to scoot closer so the both of you can continue to talk quietly to each other. That's what you tell yourself, at least. 

“I’m sorry.” Is the first thing he says, and you feel your heart drop to your ass. This is the first time he’s ever apologized for anything. You didn’t think those words were even in his vocabulary. Your shock must show on your face, because he grimaces. 

“I don’t have an excuse. I regret it every day, though.” It’s a lackluster apology, you definitely shouldn’t accept it. He can’t just show up here with day-old flowers and expect everything to go back to normal. 

But you start to feel the tears pool in your eyes. Can feel your heart clenching in your chest. You miss him. Bad. You had never been attached to someone like you are to Toji. Never felt so strongly about anyone in your life. You just want to hold him again. 

“I, um, I’m sorry too.” Is all you say, though. “About… Shiu.”

He nods at that. 

“I know you said you don't have an excuse,” you say, picking at your nails, “but can you at least tell me why?” you ask. 

There's a pause. 

“I was drunk, and she was there.” Is all he says. Ouch. That doesn’t hurt at all. All you can do is grit your teeth and nod, too scared to say something you might regret later. 

When you get older and wiser and you look back at this time, you’ll know it’s because it was all becoming too much for Toji. He was getting too close to you, letting you in just a little more than he expected. He wanted to push you away, wanted you to leave him before it hurt him too bad. Didn’t think he was deserving of anyone’s affection, let alone yours. So he wanted to hurt you before you could hurt him. 

And then he never got the call to come pick you up from work that night. And he waited for hours, hoping you had just gotten held up, until he decided to drive over and all the lights in the diner were off, and his heart dropped. That’s when he realized he was already in too deep to lose you now. And he had went ahead and fucked it up anyways. 

“Can we call it even?” He asks. 

You purse your lips. “Well, I never slept with Shiu, so not exactly.” 

He moves closer to you, taking your hand in his and biting his bottom lip. “Really?” he asks, not looking you in the eye. You nod. 

He lets out a laugh that sounds like a single breath, he's relieved. You almost wanna punch him in the face, but you don't, you grip his hand a little tighter. Idiot. 

That was the first time you forgave Toji Fushiguro for something that should be unforgivable. The first time you let him worm his way back into your life with little to no resistance, and it would not be the last. 

last flashback chapter! we get back to megumi in the next part :)

thank yall for all the love! send me asks & requests im BEGGINGGGGGG i need validation.

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[enbyenvy666]

I'll do a request how about todoroki and bakugou accidentally burning their partner while sparring? Figure it's how they apologize or make up for it. Partner isn't mad though.

hope you enjoy :)

CONTENT WARNINGS - gn reader, semi-graphic depictions of burns, comfort, mild mild mild angst, accurate first aid, no beta we die like men

w/c - .8k

Todoroki

𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊

𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊

It was part of your weekly routine, sparring with Shoto to hone your skills and his. It wasn’t odd to end up with a couple of bruises and scrapes, you were a pro hero and so was he, both with powerful quirks, it was an occupational hazard. There were never any serious injuries, no black eyes or anything that needed stitches. 

Until one night when you tried to dodge his flaming fist and your exhausted body caused your knee to give way, falling against his arm. He reacted quickly, deactivating his quirk and helping you to the ground so you fell safely. Your shirt was singed, burning away to reveal the reddened skin underneath. You could only writhe, stuck between sucking in deep breaths and being unable to breathe out.

Shoto spat out apology after apology, wanting to hold you but afraid he would harm you again. But you reached out to him, gripping his arm as you pulled yourself upwards. Through gritted teeth, you asked him to help you to the bathroom so you could run room-temperature water over the burn. He quickly helped you to the bathroom, running the shower so you could sit in the water stream. 

“I’m really sorry, love,” he whispered as he removed your shirt. The cool water over the burn eased the pain enough for you to smile softly, reaching out to cup his cheek, your thumb running over his scar.��

“I’m not mad Sho, it was an accident,” you explained. “If anything I should blame myself for falling.”

“But that’s not your fault!” Shoto countered. With a grin, you leaned forward to press a chaste kiss to the tip of his nose. 

“Help me wrap this up and we’ll call it even.”

Bakugo 

𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊

𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊

Not everyone knew that when Katsuki used his quirk frequently in a short period of time his hands got really hot to produce more sweat. During his hero work, he wore gloves so it wasn’t usually a problem and thus he forgot about it. He was training with you on one of the few nights he had free. He was training his endurance in particular, testing the longevity of his quirk by firing off explosion after explosion in quick succession until he couldn’t produce any more nitroglycerin. 

You held padded blocks over your hands, protecting yourself from his onslaught of explosions. They weren’t as strong as normal as Katsuki was more focused on his stamina for the time being, but even for a moment you felt like you were going to be knocked off your feet. But he finally stopped, shaking out his hands as he felt his muscles twist into cramps. 

You slipped your hand out of the padding, holding it up to high-five as you usually did to congratulate him on a job well done. And as usual, when your palms met, he could pull you in for a kiss. But when his fingers wrapped around your hand, you let out a shriek, ripping your hand out of his grip. It took a moment, but the shape of his hand and fingers showed up on your hand in a bright red.

He cursed, wiping his hand on his pants as if that would cool them faster. They were still warm when he grabbed your good hand to drag you to the kitchen, running the sink and sticking your hand under it. He was quiet, brow knitted more than normal as he glared at the water flowing from the tap. Not a word was said as he retrieved the first aid kit, gently drying your hand with paper towels before rubbing aloe vera over the burn, carefully avoiding spots where blisters started to form. 

You watched his eyes flickering, tense muscles in his face twitching as he fought with himself internally. He made sure to wrap the bandages loosely in case your hand swelled, but his ginger touches were juxtaposed by how he roughly put the first aid kit away, slamming the cupboard closed afterwards. He didn’t come to you when you reached out to him as if he was punishing himself by not allowing you to comfort him. So you went to him instead, fingers weaving through the soft, blonde hair at the back of his neck to pull him down until your forehead met his. 

“It’s okay, I’m not angry,” you whispered. Katsuki shut his eyes, arms slinking around your waist as he allowed himself to bask in your relaxing touch. The back of your fingers on your injured hand lightly brushed across his jaw. He grasped your hand delicately, bringing the digits to his lips to kiss tenderly. Pressing your lips to his, he felt you pulling away after, and quickly wrapped his strong arms around you to pull you back in, his chin on your shoulder. 

“Just a bit longer.”

[1800-fight-me]

Death and His Lady

Death!Aemond Targaryen x Female Assassin!Reader

Rating: E (Explicit - MINORS DO NOT INTERACT)

Warnings: Extreme violence, explicit smut, allusions to reader having prior trauma

Word count: Almost 6k

Synopsis: As the King's assassin, Death becomes your most trusted confidant, but his influence along with unexpected events lead you down a path you never thought you'd walk.

Author’s note: I have literally been so excited about this fic I can't even deal with it!! Here's another gothic horror romance vibez fic from me! Thank you so much @lauraneedstochill for the beta read! Also the new trailer has me freaking all the way out so here we go! This fic is a rollercoaster ride and I really hope y'all enjoy it!!

I do not have a taglist! Instead if you would like to be notified when I post new fics follow my side blog @jo-writes-fanfic and turn your post notifications on!

Aemond Masterlist

You courted with Death in this endeavor, that you were certain. 

Death must be enamored with you, given how many times you have brushed against it. Once, Death held even you in his arms, his embrace warm, but you spun free before he could sink his claws in you. 

This time, you weren’t sure you’d be able to outwit him. 

Like a fox evading a hound, you toyed with Death, amused at his growing frustration at your continued escapes. 

If you’re being completely honest with yourself, you enjoyed being chased as much as you believed he enjoyed chasing you. 

But now, as blood spurted from your lips, your vision hazy, you thought you might very well fully succumb to Death’s clutches today. 

“No,” you groaned as the vision of him flickered in your view. 

White hair, pale skin, one eye of sapphire and one of violet, a jagged scar down his face, clothes of all black to match the black feathered wings at his back.  

He looked like an angel- the fallen avenging kind, and he smirked as he cocked his head at you, the promise of conquest in his gaze. 

There was a yearning deep in your chest, a desire to have his attentions on you and only you, a pull that left you intoxicated at the sight of him. Perhaps that was why you continued this game. 

It was one you could only ever lose.

The wooden chair you were tied to as the men mercilessly beat you groaned in protest from the backwards momentum of your body as your enemy landed another punch, blood spurting again. 

You were too far gone for quick witted comebacks, for speaking at all. Being the king’s most trusted spy and assassin was always a dangerous job, but one you flourished in. 

Today, however, was particularly dangerous it seemed. You couldn’t even remember what information the men wanted from you anymore. 

It didn’t matter, you would never give anything away, you’d sooner greet Death like an old friend than betray your kingdom. 

He flickered in your vision once again. His savage beauty was a welcome sight. Like a fallen prince. Like an avenging angel. Like your heart’s darkest desires. 

Perhaps it would be a relief to sink into his embrace, to give up, to cease the fight. 

His expression changed, no longer self satisfactory, no-  he looked angry with you as he strode across the dank dungeon to stand before you. 

Time paused completely and you let out a gasping breath of relief as fists paused from meeting your skin. 

He leaned down so his face was close enough that your nose nearly brushed his, like a lover would, but no- fury  filled his gaze. 

“Fight,” he growled at you. 

“I can’t,” you gasped. 

“You can and you will,” he ordered, “you will not give up and die. Today is not the day.” 

Some deep primal part of you woke at those words, at the steel in his tone, at his orders. And the rage and fury inside of him reminded you of your own and it filled you once more. Filled you to fight, to survive.

You would not lay down and die today. 

He smirked as he saw the change in your eyes. He brushed a whisper of a kiss to your lips, soft and swift enough that it hardly even counted as a real kiss, but it ignited a flame in you and when your eyes fluttered back open, he was gone. 

The tie around your wrists had been cut and as time started again, you caught the fist aimed at your face and you fought. 

You gave Death a tribute as your torturers met their bitter end at your violent hands. 

Maybe that was why he had always seemed willing to let you go, you mused, you were practically his handmaiden with the amount of souls you gave him, the amount of lives you ended brutally. 

You walked out of that dungeon battered and bloody, but alive enough to continue your game with Death, to live for another day. 

This game had gone on for years, but never once had he interfered the way he did today, never once had he prevented you from passing over into his realm. No, every other time it had been your own grit and guile. 

Today, Death showed his hand when he prevented you from dying. 

He enjoyed the chase as much as you did, that you were certain, and you were determined to continue it.  

————————————————————

You knelt before your king and the silver white of his hair brought up the memory of your obsession. They say that Targaryens are closer to gods than men. Your death god was testimony of that. 

Once, when curiosity won over practicality, you spend days in the royal library researching and reading about all of the Targaryen ancestors until you found a book weathered and brown from age that contained artist renditions and you found him. 

Your personal demon was Aemond Targaryen, rider of the legendary Vhagar, harbinger of death even in his mortal life. 

You read everything you could about his life, drinking in every aspect of his personality that you could learn about him. You were infatuated, perhaps even loved him after his actions to save you. 

Your king told you to rise and you reported to him the events of the past few days, leaving out details about your kiss with Death. 

The king’s looks were nowhere near the godlike chiseled beauty of his ancestor, you mused as he told you of your next mission. Although it’s not like you were one to talk, earlier as healers cleaned off all the blood and stitched up your cuts, you looked at your reflection in the mirror and had to look away from your bruised and battered form, you were nearly unrecognizable. 

“Rest for a few days, then take your leave,” the King ordered. 

“Yes, your majesty,” you bowed, then left the throne room. 

You retreated to your chambers and immediately tumbled into bed. Sleep took you swiftly and deeply, and like the night after every other near Death experience, he was waiting for you in your dreams. 

You asked him once how it worked, and he explained that the veil was always thin after your near crossovers, and he was able to influence your dreams. 

And influence them he did… you whimpered as his cock filled you to the absolute brim. 

He grunted and pulled your lips to his, tongue tangling with your own, and you wrapped your thighs around his trim waist pulling him closer, wanting him as close as possible. 

The angle changed and you shivered, despite the heat of his sweat slicked skin, as he hit the spot inside of you that made you forget anything but him. 

“Aemond,” you moaned and he stopped his movement, became still as Death. 

“How do you know that name?” He asked, his hand on the side of your neck as he pulled back enough to meet your gaze. 

His voice was low and cold, dangerous. 

You took a shuddering breath. 

“I researched, I needed to know more about the one who haunts me,” you said, putting steel in your voice despite your nerves. 

Amusement flickered in his expression, “I knew I picked the right woman.” 

“You probably say that to all the assassins you save,” you teased. 

He chuckled darkly and you clenched down on his length where he still remained inside you. 

His chuckle turned into a growl and he unleashed himself on you, filling you and your heart’s blackest desire. 

In the darkest part of the night his sounds of ecstasy tangled with your own until you both found release in one another, the type of release you’d never found with anyone else, and a feeling of comfort and satisfaction unlike any other filled your chest. 

With him, you felt whole, but that feeling dwindled as you woke the next morning in your bed alone. 

————————————————————

“Lady Death,” the pirate king before you said in an attempt to flatter you. 

His handsomeness was average, nothing exciting or remotely comparable to the sharp features of your devilishly handsome death god. 

His words clanged inside you and hit upon something true and vital. But, you could not show your reaction. 

“Skull King,” you replied, your lips pursed as you lifted your chin. 

He laughed, like a sword scraping over stones, and your hand drifted towards the dagger strapped to your thigh. 

“You are more beautiful than any descriptions I’ve ever heard,” he said. 

“I do not leave many alive to describe me,” you said back with considerable bite in your tone. 

He merely laughed once more and waved a hand at you. 

“Let us cease with the back and forth and discuss why I am truly here,” you demanded. 

“What does your king want?” He asked with a sigh. 

“For you to cease your pillaging of the costal villages,” you said. 

He narrowed his eyes at you, “And why would he send you to negotiate with me?” 

“He knew you would not want or need riches as a bribe. I offer you my services. In exchange for no longer attacking our villages, I will assassinate an enemy of your choice,” you explained. 

His broad feral grin was an answer in itself. 

————————————————————

“Lady Death Lady Death Lady Death” a deep dark voice hissed at you from the inky black. 

Eyes blinked open, shining bright, one sapphire and one violet, and you jolted awake. 

You took a shuddering breath, your skin slick with sweat. It had been weeks since you’d seen or heard from Death, and you’d spend that time trying to forget about your last encounter, though your efforts were entirely futile. 

But the pirate king’s words to you yesterday had shaken something awake inside you. 

You shook your head and arose from your bed, as you readied yourself, strapping an ungodly amount of weapons to your body, you cleared your mind and prepared yourself for another day of offering your midnight lover tributes. 

You crept across rooftops, having spent the entire day and most of the night tracking the Skull King’s most bitter rival. 

Honestly this whole rivalry seemed trivial to you, but you would do as you were bid. 

The man was a piss-poor drunk, having bought himself and the whole bar rounds and rounds of drinks. You watched through the crack in the ceiling as he pulled a barmaid onto his lap despite her protests. 

Certainly, now you were more than happy to be the bringer of his death. You gritted your teeth and reminded yourself of patience as he squeezed her curves and she pushed off him, managing to disentangle herself from his drunk and reeking presence. 

He yelled after her, slurred and vile words that had you gripping your favorite dagger. 

Just wait, just wait, just wait, you reminded yourself. There was to be only one death tonight. If you unleashed yourself now the death toll would be far too great and the act would be sloppy, more easily tracked and blame pinned quickly on the guilty parties. 

So you continued to watch and finally when he stumbled to the alley to relieve himself as you knew he would, you crept off the roof and hid yourself in the shadows. 

Death himself stood there where the rogue pirate should be. Your heart stumbled but you managed to stop yourself from gasping. 

“My lady,” he purred and bowed. Death bowed before you then stepped aside and gestured to the man you were targeting, the man whose life only had moments left. 

As Aemond faded back into the shadows, you knew he was still watching, and you blinked twice, gave yourself a second for one steadying breath, then moved. 

The man’s back was to you and it took little effort to leap upon his back and slit his throat. 

Blood sprayed and you jumped off his back, retreating quick enough that as his body fell to the ground, it did not hit you. 

You waited the moments it took for the gurgling noise of him choking on his own blood to cease and made certain he was well and truly in Death’s grasp before you yanked the ring off his finger, the proof of a job well done, and turned to leave. 

Before you turned completely, you saw Death as he crouched over the bloodied body, he shot you a wink and you shuddered as you ran off. 

You covered your tracks, and when you were certain there would be no possibility of the death being traced back to you, you returned to the office of the Skull King. 

You slipped through the shadows and waited for him, lounging in his chair like you owned it- like it was your throne. 

When he entered, you threw a knife so that it buried itself in the wall close enough to his head that he felt the whisper of its kiss. 

He glared at you and you smirked. 

“It’s done,” you said and threw the ring at him. 

He caught it, his expression torn between impressed and still angry at your nonverbal threat. 

“It needn’t be said, but I can end your life just as easily should you not uphold your end of the bargain,” you said. His face blanched at the tone of your voice, the look in your eye that held Death. 

He nodded slightly and with one more smirk at him, you vanished into the dark. 

You scrubbed the blood off you and prepared yourself for a night’s rest before beginning your journey back to King’s Landing. 

————————————————————

This was the first night Death appeared to you in your dreams even though you hadn’t nearly greeted him in the afterlife. 

“How?” You asked breathlessly as his lips broke from yours to create a blazing trail of fire across your jaw and down the side of your neck. 

“You are mine, and as you do your king’s bidding- slaughtering - our bond strengthens and so does your power,” he said and then ran his tongue up the column of your throat. 

You gasped and you couldn’t tell if it was due to his words or his tongue. 

You are mine. You are mine. You are mine. 

The words echoed in your brain as his lips trailed down your body to your core where he pleasured you with that wicked tongue. 

Every time you killed after that night, he appeared in your dreams, joining your bodies in ecstacy and strengthening that connection. 

He appeared in a vision every time you unleashed yourself in violence and spilled blood, ending lives, and living up to your new infamous title that rippled across the seven kingdoms, Lady Death.

You no longer lived in the shadows, you became the shadows within men fell. 

————————————————————

In the following months, the King kept you busier than ever. You weren’t certain if it was due to the power that your growing reputation provided him or if he wanted to keep you away, that same reputation striking fear into his own heart. 

Lately you hardly completed a mission before you received correspondence from the King with instructions for your next kill. 

He kept you far away from King’s Landing. It was fine with you, that den of vipers was never your home anyway. You didn’t have a true home. Perhaps that was why the embrace of Death felt like home. 

These days you hardly scrubbed the blood off you before you were covered in more. You killed nearly daily. Your connection with Death strengthened, to the point that his presence became near constant, in your waking hours and in your dreams. 

The more he appeared, the more you could feel it, that sensation like something prowled beneath your skin begging to burst forward and shatter the world. 

There had been no mention again of powers, but yet you could feel them growing. 

Months passed, and the first time they manifested, you leveled a building. 

You were trapped, well and truly, and it was due to your careless fatal mistake, overconfidence having become a rampant part of your personality due to your successes, and the strength of the death god who worshiped you. 

You were surrounded, having not been careful enough to ensure your targets were alone, too cocky that you wouldn’t be followed, and now you fought against twelve men.

”Kill them,” Aemond hissed from where he stood behind you, his rage growing stronger and directly influencing your own emotions. 

You could not determine where his emotions began and yours ended, so entangled the two of you had become. 

You tried, you used all of your skill, all of your strength, and it was not enough as the sword sunk into your gut. 

You hadn’t been this close to joining Death in the afterlife in a long while. 

“End them, destroy, and take what is yours,” Aemond growled through clenched teeth. 

You knew he would not do it for you, if he did then you wouldn’t be who he thought you were, who he needed you to be, who he loved.  

And you could feel it again, that thing that prowled beneath your skin begging to be released. 

So you became Death Incarnate as liquid fire filled your eyes and soul and exploded from your body. Black cold flames that instantly killed everyone they touched. 

“Good,” Aemond urged, those same wild flames in his eye. He pressed a kiss to your throat and the flames only grew stronger. 

His hand grazed your stomach, healing the wound. 

Your chest heaved as you took ragged breaths and surveyed the carnage around you. 

The fire grew out of control as you started to panic, but with Death’s careful instruction, you grounded yourself and reeled it all back in. 

You stood, dead bodies littered the ground around you, and only moved when the building groaned and threatened to fall atop you. 

You walked out of the ruined structure side by side with Death, as it crumbled behind you, leaving devastation in your wake. 

————————————————————

One night, during a dream, as you lay breathless in his arms after you both reached such high peaks at one another’s tongues, you asked him the question that had been so heavy on your mind. 

“Why me?” you asked curiously. 

“Hm?” 

His fingers traced patterns on your back. You turned your head from its place in his neck- you were half lying on his chest, and looked over at his wing. 

“Why did you choose me?” 

He chuckled softly. “Never before have I seen someone turn Death into such a beautiful game. You intrigued me.” 

You brushed a finger down the most sensitive part of his wing and he shuddered. 

“And now?” you asked. 

“And now, sweet temptress, you have convinced me to devote the entirety of my eternal being to you,” he growled before flipping you over suddenly so you were beneath him. 

You grinned at him, breathless and in wonder, and had no words, so you simply pulled his mouth to yours and proved to him how utterly devoted you were to him as well. 

————————————————————

It took time and Aemond’s careful instruction- months as you continued killing daily, fulfilling the King’s requirements, but you learned to control your newfound powers, that death fire. Still you couldn’t hide their manifestation in your eyes when you were angry or prepared to kill. 

You stood before your King once more and offered a several months long report detailing your actions since you last saw him. 

“Do not leave out any details,” he warned you through narrowed eyes. 

You pursed your lips and revealed as little information as you could about this magic, these powers that have recently manifested, but enough to please him. 

You knew he’d gotten reports, you rarely left eyewitnesses, but still rumors spread, you could hardly downplay it. 

You saw the wariness in his expression. 

Death manifested at your side. 

“Kill him,” he murmured. 

You ignored him, continuing to report to the King. 

“When were you going to tell me of this new magic you wield?” He asked, distrust in his voice. 

“End him, take his power for your own, sit on the Iron Throne,” Death whispered in your ear, purring like a lover. 

“This is the first time I’ve seen you in months, my King, you’ve kept me busy far away from the Red Keep, one could only wonder why,” you said, with only a little bit of bite. 

The King narrowed his eyes at you once more. 

“I do not have to explain my decisions to you. Your role is to serve and not question,” he sneered. 

For the first time while you were awake, you could feel Aemond’s hands on you. The bond between the two of you was stronger than ever as he stood behind you and intertwined his fingers with yours. He slowly brought your intertwined hands down from the small of your waist to the front of your hip- threatening to go lower, an echo - a memory of the night before he knew he triggered by that action. 

You remembered your dream last night, in a very similar position except then you sat before a mirror as he guided you to touch yourself, to aid him in giving you release, insisting you watch yourself as you moaned his name in ecstacy and he poured honey filled praises in your ear. He pulled two releases from you, forcing your eyes back on yourself, before he finally filled you, and the sight of him inside you, both your expressions twisted in pleasure, was the most erotic sight of all. 

The memory flashed in your eyes and you saw his current actions for what they were, a blatant attempt at seduction, as he used that same deep velvety voice as when he was trying to make you come, as his lips grazed your ear and beautiful silver hair fell over your shoulder, as he said, “Kill him, my love.” 

And you thought… 

You thought he might be right. 

Maybe you should kill this condescending king. You were more powerful than him. You were more powerful than everyone but your lover, no, to Aemond you were his equal. 

His Lady Death, and maybe it was finally time to take what was your own, to use your skills and powers for yourself, not in the service of others, not in the service of a king who didn’t appreciate you. 

You indeed felt that power within you begin to rise to the surface. 

And the king blanched, fear changing his expression. 

“What are you?” He gasped. 

And just like that, the fire that had begun to build inside you, which you were sure was molten in your eyes, sputtered out as if water had been thrown on you. 

“Your loyal servant,” you murmured with a curtsey. 

Death growled his discontentment, but you ignored him. 

The king nodded, his lips pursed, and dismissed you. 

For the first time in a long long time, you were uncertain of your own actions and choices. 

————————————————————

Two weeks later, you were in the North with a list of targets from the king to dispatch. 

The image of the king’s fear of you constantly flashed in your mind, regret and pride creating an uncomfortable cocktail of emotions within you. 

The regret was waning as Death continued as your constant companion, seducing and urging you forward. 

Your days became routine, although it was a comforting routine. 

Wake up, eat, train your magic, prepare, kill, be rewarded in the form of Aemond fucking you, sleep, and do it all over again the next day. 

The last name on your list of kills in the North was one you were actually eager for. This kill you would savor rather than committing without feeling. This time, you were able to use your skills for both your King and your own gain. 

This man had been one of your tormentors in your youth, you’d never had the time to track him down after he fled from King’s Landing, and now you would grant him the slow painful death he deserved. 

He sat in his home, a candle in the window, and you knew the timing was right. You’d watched him for days and knew you had a window of time of about two hours before his preferred courtesan arrived. 

Hate had your heart beating like a drum, your power rising, but you stifled it. You had to be clear headed and you didn’t want to use your powers to grant him an instant death, no, he deserved something wholly different. You wanted to feel his death, his blood on your own hands. 

You snuck through the back door, through the broken lock you’d disabled the night before. 

You ensured you were well and truly alone- besides your Angel of Death, creeping through the dark house towards your quarry.

You stepped into the sitting room and relished the way his eyes widened in fear, then recognition as you threw back your hood. 

He breathed out a name, not one of your many titles, a name from a past life, a name no one besides Death knew, a name not even your king knew. 

The flames in your eyes guttered, replaced by cold rage. 

His eyes again filled with fear as you threw a dagger that embedded itself in his shoulder. 

A yell of pain and outrage as he tried to stand, but quick as an asp another dagger fled from your hand and buried itself into his other shoulder. 

Another dagger was in your hand, poised to throw if necessary. 

He gritted his teeth, blood flowing heavily, and you smirked. 

“Bitch,” he spat out. 

Aemond appeared behind you, and hissed in disapproval. 

Anger fell to cold terror as he beheld the Death God behind you. 

His haunting beauty, both terrible and great, that was the other side of the coin to your own- that made you the perfect pair. 

“You can see him?” you asked. 

He nodded and the smell of urine filled the room. 

“Interesting,” you murmured even as your nose wrinkled at him. 

“It’s high time I teach you what real fear feels like,” you purred, your words an echo of the ones he’d said to you in your girlhood. 

And show him you did. 

Even after you were done, your rage was a jagged thing in your chest that threatened to swallow you whole. You didn’t know how to put it back in that carefully constructed box that allowed you to play the part of the disinterested assassin. 

Aemond crouched over the body, pressing two fingers to the forehead, sending the soul to the afterlife- to eternal torment, as he always did after you killed. 

He was the beginning and end of the destruction you wreaked on others, on the world. 

Slaughter, that was what you had done today. You couldn’t decide if it made you feel better or worse. You supposed it didn’t matter, the man was no longer capable of hurting others the way he had hurt you. 

Death prowled to you, and you looked up at him, chest still heaving and beating hard from whatever today’s actions had both shattered and healed within it. 

He stood close enough that his steady chest brushed against yours. 

Dark flames danced in his gaze, the same that danced in your own when your emotions were heightened, you both had the same unholy powers as a result of your bond, your union. 

And you knew he understood you completely, when he said nothing, for there were no words that would soothe now, no he simply leaned down and kissed you, thoroughly and deeply. 

When he pulled back, only slightly, brushing his sharp nose against yours, he murmured, “You taste better when you mean it, when your heart is in the kill.” 

You let him make love to you in the blood spattered room. 

————————————————————

Your waking hours and dreams bled into one, so filled with him and the pleasure only he could provide. 

This was indeed one of those moments, where the release he pulled from you was so strong, so heady, that you could not be certain if you were awake or dreaming. 

You moaned as he gripped your hips and continued a brutal pace as he thrusted inside you. 

Your power, his power, flames of Death danced and burned in the bed along with you as he joined himself with you. 

You burned with heat, with love for the only one who truly understood you- your mirror image due to the brutality inside both of you. 

But suddenly, he stopped. 

“Wake up,” he ordered, an expression you’d never seen on his face before, something akin to panic. 

“What?” you asked in confusion. 

“Wake up!” he yelled, and at that primal dominance in his tone, you obeyed. 

You held in your gasp as your eyes opened and you beheld the scene before you. 

You were not alone. The room was filled with men all with weapons in their hands.  

“The king sends his regards,” the assassin in your bed hissed as he lifted a dagger to thrust it into your heart. 

You had less than a heartbeat to react. 

Just as the sharp tip of the dagger broke your skin, black flames exploded out of you, ravaging the room and everyone in it. 

You sat up, hand on your chest and blood coating your fingers, and surveyed your destruction.  

The room was filled with fire. Every man was instantly dead, and now your black flames turned them to ashes. 

Aemond stood in the center of your storm, and watched you, pride evident in his gaze. 

Betrayal twisted in your gut, making you feel sick, and you extinguished the fire. 

“He tried to kill me,” you rasped out. 

Your angel of death, your protector, your lover in life and death nodded. 

“He fears you and the power you hold. He is a jealous coward,” he said, cold anger filling every word. 

“You were right,” you whispered, hoping that if you said them quietly enough that they wouldn’t be true. 

He simply nodded again. 

And it finally sunk in. The king you had devoted your entire adult life to, the king you had defiled yourself for through all manner of heinous acts of bloodshed, had betrayed you. 

He had turned on you, quickly and easily, despite your continued loyalty. He’d sent a group of men to kill you in your sleep after you just finished killing everyone on his list. 

He always had someone else do his dirty work, the coward he is, but usually you’re the one he sends out. 

This time he’d sent others to kill you as if you were no more than a loose end, a task to check off his list, and inconvenience that had grown too taxing. 

You met the heavy gaze of Death and said, “I know what I have to do.” 

————————————————————

The entire journey back to the Red Keep Aemond reviewed and revised the plan with you over and over again. 

You were ready. You were prepared. 

All of the skills, techniques, and powers you had acquired you were going to use for your own gain, for yourself today - with Death at your side. 

No one knew the secret passages of the Red Keep better than the King’s Assassin. You crept in at night, using the darkness as a cloak and remaining completely undetected. 

You set yourself up high in the mezzanine above the throne room and settled in for a long wait. 

Patience was key to your plan, to all of your plans generally, but it didn’t mean that the fury didn’t still burn as hot as ever. 

You let the black flames twirl and dance around your fingers and promised yourself that this time, it would be different. This time, you would come out on top. 

Hours passed, your legs cramped, but you ignored it, waiting, waiting, waiting for the right moment. 

You watched as dawn broke, bathing the room in golden light that bounced off the Iron Throne. 

The king eventually sat on that throne, meeting with petitioners, and you continued your game of patience. 

Finally, the moment was right, the room was no longer teeming with people, but not empty enough that there wouldn’t be an audience. 

You leapt from your hiding spot and landed nimbly right before him. Shock and fear changed his previously bored expression. 

You smirked, a cutting spiteful thing, as you stood. 

There was yelling from the king’s guards, but your midnight fire surrounded and circled the king and you, separating you both from everyone else in the room. The few who tried to cross it died instantly, the others learned from their mistakes and stepped back from your flames and watched.  

“Surprised to see me?” You asked. 

The blood drained from his face. 

Satisfaction only fueled the righteous fury in your chest. 

“Yes,” he admitted. 

“You tried to kill me,” you hissed through gritted teeth. 

“Yes,” he merely repeated. 

“I have given EVERYTHING for you and to protect your rule. Have done EVERYTHING you asked. And this is how you reward me? By sending others to murder me in my sleep?” You said, lip curling in a snarl and angry tears pooling in your eyes. 

Death became visible at your side, not behind you like your puppeteer- beside you as your equal. He was not only visible to you- no you knew he was always with you - he became visible to everyone in the room as your fire pulsed higher and hotter. 

His hand on your back steadied and reassured you. 

Gasps filled the room once more. 

You glanced at Aemond, his long white hair juxtaposed against the black of his wings, his beauty something of dreams and nightmares. He had an intense look on his sharp face, but underneath it was love for you and only you. 

The king looked at his ancestor, made eye contact with his own demise, then looked back at you. 

“You were too dangerous to be kept alive,” he said. 

“I was completely loyal to you until your lackey tried to stab me in the heart,” you spat. 

“I suspect it will be the last mistake I ever make,” he said. 

“That is correct,” Aemond replied, his voice smooth and confident. 

“Kill him, my love,” Death urged. This time, you listened. 

A ball of fire appeared in your hand as you bared your teeth at the man who would no longer be your ruler. 

“You were right to fear me,” you said darkly, and threw Death Flames at your king. 

————————————————————

Aemond walked forward slowly and reached towards the king as you took gasping shuddering breaths.

You stopped seeing him, stopped seeing anything, as the impact of your actions crashed over you. 

He was before you once more, and with gentle fingers under your chin, he tilted your head back so you could meet his gaze. 

“My Lady Death, My Queen,” he said loud enough for everyone to hear before he pressed his lips to yours. 

His kiss enveloped and steadied you. 

Your flames sputtered out, but no one made a single move, for fear of the two of you. 

As he pulled back, he smiled at you, took a step back, and placed the conqueror’s crown on your head. 

“How do I taste now?” you asked. 

“Exquisite,” he murmured, his voice deep and soft as velvet. 

You grinned back at him, a wild feral thing.

He took your hand and led you to sit on the Iron Throne. 

Death then kneeled before you, bowing his head. 

“Kneel before your Queen,” he ordered, loud enough for all to hear. 

Everyone in the room followed suit. 

You became the new Queen of the Seven Kingdoms with Death at your side. 

You would rule together, side by side, using your powers for your own gain, as Queen and King, as Death and His Lady. 

[90sbee]

Sometimes a saviour is a soldier afraid of peace

Levi Ackerman x Fem!Reader

4.4k words. Also on ao3.

He looks at her in quiet admiration.

He doesn’t deserve her. But again, he doesn’t really deserve anything. He already has gotten too much: spoiled by the sweet possibility of life when all his comrades have fallen, their bodies twisted, mangled by titans and enemies alike.

Levi hardly cries, but he wants to cry in that moment. She turns on the stove for him, and rummages through his cabinets. She finds two cups and a sob is trapped inside his throat.

He doesn’t fucking understand why she stays, why she puts up with his sorry ass but, damn it. Damn it if he at least doesn’t try.

The war is over, but the demons still haunt Levi. Luckily for him, the last member of his Squad seems focused on remaining by his side as they both face this new enemy: peace.

This was !!! My first fic written in English, actually. Also my first (and only time so far) writing for aot. Levi is such an angsty angel, and this story wouldn’t leave my head, so I had to end up writing it, ofc. This has been in the drafts for... months. Too many months already. And tbh I'm not a fan of how it came out. But. Posting it in case someone else can enjoy Levi finally getting some love and comfort, sjsjs.

Content: Use of 3rd person pronouns. No use of y/n. Mostly Levi's pov. Reader was part of his Squad. Post!Rumbling Levi. Written with the manga ending in mind. A lot of fluff, rude Levi even if he doesn't mean it (but reader knows he means no harm). Healing. Spooning (Levi as the little spoon btw. He deserves it).

Warnings: depressive thoughts, self confidence issues. Mentions of past violence (but nothing gruesome, it's all in passing). SFW. No beta reader we die like everybody in Aot here.

They always meet. Every single day, she leaves her little flat to find him near the fountain in the Marleyan park, eager to push his wheelchair and pass some time with him.

Levi doesn’t understand. When Onyankopon, or Falco, or Gabi let her take the wheelchair, he just ponders. He could understand why they would accompany him: because he is old? because they feel pity of him?… But her?

Nonetheless, every single afternoon, she comes to him. He doesn’t recall when this custom began. It’s like slowly, but surely, she started digging a place into his routine. She was part of his remaining squad, and he really didn’t see any point to her bubbling-self still being by his side.

Still, he appreciates her visits. She exchanges pleasantries with Gabi, already smiling. Why is she smiling?

“Hi, Captain,” she says. Should he feel mocked? He isn’t a captain anymore and the title feels too much, even if it’s comforting in some way. Levi doesn’t reply. He just nods, silently acknowledging her presence. “Is it okay if we go to the stalls for a while, Captain?” She inquires, as if it was the first time they did it, and not a weekly occurrence. His jaw tenses. He doesn’t understand, still. She surely pities him. She has to.

He agrees to her proposal, though.

“Sure,” he replies, barely any emotion on his face.

She smiles at him. For a moment, they look at each other. She sees that familiar scarred face, a grey eye gazing into her soul. He sees the older face of her remaining squad member, some wrinkles next to her eyes, her figure dressed in green. For some reason, he liked that colour on her.

He doesn’t share that with her, though.

“Let’s get going,” she adds, a little chuckle in her voice — he can hear it — as she starts pushing the wheelchair. They check out the little shops that are already so familiar. Sometimes she signals a piece of jewellery or clothes. She asks for his opinion, or points at a silly artwork, in hopes of making him laugh.

When the cold starts to set in, she stops them in front of a coffee shop.

“Wait here a second, Captain,” she tells him.

“Where would I go, anyway?” He wants to say, snarky, but he doesn’t really bother in opening his mouth. He stays silent still, perking his head up to see what’s she’s doing.

“Oi. coffee?” He complains.

She directs her gaze to him and chuckles, paying the vendor.

“I know you like tea but it’s time to broaden your horizons,” she explains. She comes up to him again, and hands him one of the cups. He sighs, but accepts the drink still.

“What is it this time?”

“Just chocolate. Hot chocolate,” she answers, already sipping hers.  She lets out a content sigh when the warmth of it starts to fill her belly.

“I don’t like chocolate,” Levi mutters under his breath. He is lying and she knows it.

“Tsk. That’s not true. Everybody likes chocolate.”

“… Fine,” he sips his drink and, admittedly, enjoys it. She hands him her drink so she can push the wheelchair again, and he takes it, guarding both cups on his lap, a familiar action for the two of them now.

“Where do we go?” She asks.

Levi shrugs. “As if I had a choice.”

She looks at him still, and when he can see her, barely from his peripheral vision, he sees a softer face. She’s waiting for his reply. He looks at her, looks at her lips. She isn’t smiling anymore. Levi sighs, suddenly feeling guilty.

He doesn’t understand still why she does this for him.

“Captain?” She says, just above a whisper, since there are people around them and they both just want to have a calm evening, without the risk of being recognised.

Levi nods before he even opens his mouth.

“The bridge.”

“Good,” she agrees as he sips from his drink again, guided by her. He does feel warmer. Levi inspects the people around him in silence, letting himself be carried, taken to a nicer place. “Hange would have like this,” he thinks. He looks down to suddenly realise he is clenching his fist, hard. “If you could even call it a hand…”

“We’re here, Captain,” she announces, letting his wheelchair rest next to a bench, overlooking the water. She takes a seat next to him, and Levi hands her the drink. He wonders if she noticed how tense he’s been feeling today.

“Be quick with that, brat, or it will get cold,” he warns, as if to pre-emptively shut down any words from her. He’s not sure he could handle it.

She just nods.

“It’s still warm,” she mentions after a moment.

The sunset is taking its place on the sky, a beautiful palette of oranges and pinks against a very flat horizon. A reminder of what was once lost.

“Good,” he says.

Levi looks at her. She is still looking forward, features illuminated by the falling sun, breeze caressing her face. There is something in his heart that aches, but he doesn’t want to think about that. He doesn’t dare to. Levi is old, too old, and too broken. And she only pities him.

He coughs to catch her attention, though.

“Hmh, yeah?” She immediately says.

“I heard the Scouts were going back to Paradis tomorrow,” he begins, the question lingering in the air. The small group was leaving first time in the morning.

“Yep.”

Levi blinks, expecting her to say more, but she doesn’t. He doesn’t want to ask. It feels… too much. He feels too exposed doing that, lower lip trembling.

“Are you going?” He finally dares to ask.

She turns back to him again, and looks at him with the sweetest gaze. Levi doesn’t miss how she looks at his lips first.

“I’m not.”

“Why?”

“I don’t have anything there,” she replies, matter-of-factly. Levi wants to hit his head against something, still uncertain about what that means. Does that mean that she has something here? Someone?

She must notice his doubts, so she lowers her gaze. “I mean. You know I lost my family during my first years as a Scout. And knowing that we tried to stop Eren… All the military forces in the island won’t be very happy to see me. Or any of us. I’ve done my part. I do not want more fighting.”

“… Right”. That still doesn’t answer his question, but it is enough to satisfy his curiosity without seeming to eager. He sips his drink again: it’s getting colder.

“You didn’t want to go, Captain?” There it was again, that fucking title that felt like a joke. He chuckles, not looking at her anymore but rather at the sunset.

“Why do you still call me like that?” He spits back.

“Captain?”

“Yeah,” His tone is unintentionally rude, but he can’t help it, not even around her.

“Well… It’s a sign of respect, don’t you think?”

Levi chuckles, amused.

“I never took you for a polite person.” He doesn’t want to look at her still. She hasn’t added anything, said anything else. What is she thinking of?

She looks at him. There’s a warmth in her belly which has nothing to do with the chocolate anymore. She knows: Her Captain has been way more vulnerable and open since the Rumbling. The little gestures that he could so easily hide before are now an open book. Or at least she feels that way, since she was always one to look at him.

It was so easy to just… stare at him. Admire him in every sense of the word, even now. When they were both soldiers they would fight alongside each other, against innumerable dangers. He was barely visible in the spectrum: always so fast, always so precise. A ray of dark hair and strong limbs, destroying everything to provide peace, to provide protection.

There was no point in denying how she felt about him… Except, maybe, to him.

“I don’t think I would like going back to Paradis,” she finally adds, finishing her drink. He seems to reflect on that idea for a moment, before nodding. He wants to ask why but he doesn’t dare to. “I’m just… comfortable here,” she finishes with a sigh. “This is okay.”

“That’s good,” he says, barely a spark of enthusiasm in his voice, but enough for her to notice.

She looks up at him again. And he feels tiny and scared suddenly, because she looks at him with wonder and care. Levi doesn’t mean to, but he ends up letting his drink fall from his hands, whether due to his nervousness or the state of his hand after the war.

“Shit,” he spits, upset.

“Sh, it’s alright, Captain.” In a second she is picking up the cup, handing him a handkerchief to dry his hands. She walks a few steps to throw both cups into a trashcan and is again, by his side. Such a quick interaction so as to ease his shame, he could notice it. “Are you alright?”

Levi still doesn’t know. He doesn’t know why she still treats him with such respect, why she seems to care so much for him. But he wants to find out, somehow. He barely nods, but she notices it.

“Good,” she says, while taking the handkerchief back. She is about to put it into her bag again when she feels a hand grabbing hers.

Levi.

He doesn’t even say anything. He doesn’t know how. She seems to understand, though, squeezing his hand, softly. Levi quickly lets her hand go, his cheeks going red. She gets behind the wheelchair again, as the sun is about to disappear, and Levi can hear her chuckling.

“Let’s get you home, Captain.”

He stays quiet, unsure if he could even say something useful.

There’s so much he doesn’t know how to say. How to do.

While she is pushing his chair he notices it again. A slight tremor in her right hand. “My wrist seems to ache lately… Must be from holding the blades for so many years,” she had explained in passing a couple weeks ago. He realises that it’s probably taking a strain on her to push him every fucking day.

“Oi,” he says.

“Yeah?”

“Stop pushing me. I can handle it,” he explains, tone serious.

“Oh, no,” her hand is trembling still. “It’s fine, it’s no bother for me, Captain.”

“… It’s an order,” he commands after a moment. She stops in her tracks and he can hear a gentle laugh coming from behind him.

“It had been a while since that, huh.” Confidently, she places one of her hands on his shoulder, gently tapping it. Levi smiles. Barely curving his lips, but he does. He is about to be brave, hold her hand on his shoulder when she removes it from him. “Shit,” he thinks. “Too slow… Too slow? Slow for what? Tsk.”

Despite his missing fingers, he can still push his wheelchair quite properly. It also helps that he can see his street far ahead. She walks comfortably besides him, a silence and gentle ghost as his most devoted companion.

Yeah. There’s definitely something aching in his chest. He had been noticing the past days, feeling getting more painful as they both approach his place. And it has nothing to do with his faulty joints or damaged body or excessive age.

When they reach his door, she asks for his key. Levi gives it to her, his hand lingering for a second too long, reflecting on the brief touch of hands as she grabs it to unlock the door.

He is tired.

And he feels incredibly silly when he realises he doesn’t want her to leave.

“There we go, Captain. I help you in?” she suggests with a bright smile, opening the door.

“… Yes.”

She steps inside and pushes the chair into his living room, almost getting it next to his couch.

“That’s enough” he decides, in a semblance of independency he still wants to maintain.

She nods. “Okay… I guess… I’ll get going, Captain.”

Levi lifts up his gaze. He wants to ask… He wants to know… He savours her image for a moment, her tired expression and the way her dress now looks clumsy and wrinkled but he doesn’t care. Before, before everything had ended up like this he would remind every single cadet to iron their uniforms, all the outfits presentable, so as to look like respectable soldiers and honourable bodies if the occasion arose. Now she can have the privilege of looking messy. Of not worrying about death so often.

“No,” he mutters.

“Huh?” she inquires, taking a step forward.

“Shit,” Levi thinks. “I… I want tea,” he makes up a quick lie.

“Oh, sure. Yes, Captain.” She leaves her bag on the couch and goes into the kitchen, getting a kettle full of water.

He looks at her in quiet admiration.

He doesn’t deserve her. But again, he doesn’t really deserve anything. He already has gotten too much: spoiled by the sweet possibility of life when all his comrades have fallen, their bodies twisted, mangled by titans and enemies alike.

Levi hardly cries, but he wants to cry in that moment. She turns on the stove for him, and rummages through his cabinets. She finds two cups and a sob is trapped inside his throat.

He doesn’t fucking understand why she stays, why she puts up with his sorry ass but, damn it. Damn it if he at least doesn’t try.

He stands up. His body still holds that ability, though his legs get tired rather quickly. He can still walk, so he does until he reaches the kitchen. She is still deciding on the teas when she sees him.

“Oh, no, Captain, please, just don’t…”

He interrupts her, grabs her waist carelessly and pushes her towards the couch, barely moving her.

“Let me handle it myself.”

“Levi…” She whispers, their faces inches apart.

“Go. Sit,” he mumbles, biting his lips and sending his eyes lower, so as to avoid her face.

“Are you sure?” She inquires a moment after, still close to him. He notices she has a hand on his waist as well, a protective aid making sure he stays on two feet.

“Yes,” he says, more commanding this time. He grabs that hand of hers and pushes her away gently now.

She nods, understandingly.

“I’ll be in the living room,” she adds.

Levi nods at her, making sure she finally gets that ass of hers in the couch. He is now faced with his kitchen. Most of the cups and teas, everything has been moved lower, so as to accommodate to his wheelchair. Slowly, he kneels, searching for a specific flavour for her. When he finally finds the peppermint and rose one, he mentally cheers. He stands up again, slowly, as if to show confidence, making sure from his peripheral view that she isn’t coming to his aid.

She isn’t. He catches her averting her eyes, though. A confirmation that she has been staring.

He decides to stare as well. Supporting himself on his weakened legs, he waits for the kettle to boil, while looking at her. It’s as if she could notice that, because her head doesn’t move, still fixated on an indescriptible point in his living room.

“Oi, what you looking at?” He says, a bit more light-hearted.

A smile forms on her lips before she even turns her head towards him. She doesn’t answer. Just keeps smiling at him.

“Fuck,” he thinks when he realises he has also slightly curved his lips.

Quickly he turns towards the stove, the kettle already boiling. Levi carefully fills the cups with water, letting the leaves rest. He lifts his gaze up to her for a second but it is already enough for her to notice.

“Need help with the cups?” Her, always so worried, so in tune with his needs. No need for words.

“Of fucking course.”

Still, the only answer he gives her is a polite nod. She stands up, approaching him.

“I’ll handle it, Captain. Just take a seat.”

He lets out a sigh, taking himself to the couch and plopping himself there.

“It’s hard,” Levi thinks as he sees her come back to the living room, two cups in her hands. He accepts the drink, his gaze not leaving her features. “I… I can’t.”

He knows he can’t accept kindness: he doesn’t know how to. Still, he tenses his jaw and forces himself to sip the tea as she takes a seat next to him.

“Peppermint, huh?” She hums mostly to herself.

 “… Yeah,” comes out of his mouth, unsure, less braver than expected. Is he insecure? Has he made a mistake?

“Good choice” She declares and he breathes again, realising that he had been holding his breath. “Bet you already knew that, right?” She adds, cocking her head.

Levi looks at her again. He has been avoiding her eyes but he hadn’t been trained as a soldier to back down in times of peace.

“I did,” he says, his tone firm, a very weak attempt at showing confidence still. “It’s the one you would always ask for when we would have meetings with the Scouts.”

“It’s good tea.” Her tone seems softer now.

Levi hums, too deep inside his mind to notice it.

She wonders. Wonders if he has ever realized that the only reason she would wander through the headquarters late at night was just to be found and reprimanded by him, the way she would be easily entertained by Levi’s stern face. Wondered if Hange had ever told him about the time she had fallen asleep in their office and woke up, mumbling his name, much to Hange’s delight, though they had promised to keep it a secret.

He looks down at his legs, at his carpeted floor.

He wonders if she had ever noticed the way he would mindlessly lick his lips after looking at her, the boring uniform suddenly a beautiful outfit, making her stand out. Wonders if it was too late to tell her that, yes, after Hange and her had found him, and stitched him up, that he had heard every single word she had uttered near his heart, softly pressing her timid hands on his chest. There hadn’t been time then to discuss anything or even think if it had meant anything else than old scouts being protective of each other, but now…

They finish their teas in silence. It isn’t uncomfortable, rather the opposite, despite the fact that Levi has started nervously tapping his feet against the floor. It is dark outside already, the light from the lamps flowing into Levi’s house, a dog barking a few blocks away.

She stands up, makes sure to wash her cup in the sink and put it away before returning to him.

“Captain?” She mutters. No need for more words.

Levi hands her the cup with slow movements, as if trying to prolong that insignificant action for as long as possible. And when she is already about to head into the kitchen, little plate and teacup in her hand, he decides to be brave. No more lying to himself, no more being a coward. Too many people have died, have bleed, have sacrificed the little they had for a selected group of survivors to be able to live. To enjoy the remaining Earth. For the little ones that survived to be able to find some meaning. Something worth all the pain.

Basking in the fear serves no one. In fact, makes all the death meaningless.

So, Levi looks up at her and grabs her hand, even if he is scared still. Trembling fingers dancing on hers until they secure her hand softly in his. He feels warm even if he doesn’t know what to say, how to convey what he feels. Such a shadow of the man he was. So stupid now.

Levi just wants her to say.

She gasps at the contact but quickly composes herself. A shy smile showing up on her face. They stay like that for a moment, neither daring to break the silence.

“Levi?” She asks after a moment, moving closer to his face, as if asking for permission.

He can only look at her lips in reply.

She shortens the distance between them and kisses him on his lips. It isn’t a big kiss, too flashy or provocative: just a tender contact between two broken people. As soon as he has processed what was going on, she has already moved forward, pressing a kiss on the tip of his nose.

And then, even higher, another kiss on his forehead, her lips remaining close to his face. Levi can’t say anything. Barely reacting. But when she looks at his eyes, she is greeted by the sweet glimmer of tears in them.

Levi. Happy, at last.

And as if reading his mind, she utters: “Do you want me to stay, Levi?”

“Yes. Yes, I do.”

She complies. In the quiet, late hours of the night, Levi wakes up, his body feeling too rested already. It was a habit hard to break, he wouldn’t sleep much anyway. He sighs still, feeling her body pressing against his, holding him from behind. She has one hand on his shoulder, the other keeping him safe and secured, hugging his waist close. He dares to smile and grab that hand across his belly with both of his hands, so as to make sure that it is real: he is being held. There is someone else with him. Levi isn’t alone. Someone is taking care of him. Someone he’s been devoted to for so many years.

He wants to nuzzle up closer, hide in her chest or neck and feel more.

But he doesn’t dare to. He can’t allow himself to do that yet. 

So he stays awake in silence, hearing the soothing and steady rhythm of her heartbeat.

Levi still doesn’t understand, though.

He doesn’t want to think of why she has chosen him, how he got this privilege so late in his life, when all hope seems to be lost and the thought of a partner didn’t cross his mind at all. He also doesn’t know what to do with this gift, this blessing. Why? How? He is such a crippled shadow of what he used to be. Slow, so consumed by roughness and violence and so useless now.

He has always had something to fight for: his life, his friends, his Squad, Erwin, Hange. Yet since the Rumbling he has just… fallen behind. He is just existing and it seems like his body has finally caught up to his age: no longer agile and strong, but a weakened man, finally leaving the survival mode that has characterised every single aspect of his life. He doesn’t have any goals or dreams now. Everything had been slowly trampled down like the titans destroying all land and all life.

He shivers, remembering that day and holds her hand tighter.

Once he had completed the promise made to Erwin, his last order, he had nothing more. No more commands. No more slaying titans.

Just existing.

He doesn’t want that. He has been a fighter, a rebel, a monster his whole life. He only knew of endurance and compliance with the spirit of life, of resistance. He doesn’t know of anything else: the calmness, the quietness, the routine walks and just reading books and sitting on his porch… That is not him. That isn’t life. Being able to choose things for himself, devour life gently and enjoy it instead of painfully trying to keep it close, to grip it between calloused fingers… Peace isn’t familiar.

He has nothing to devote himself to, nothing to prove or fight for.

“Yeah,” he thinks. “Everything is… meaningless… Or it was.”

He closes his eyes, relinquishing himself in the warm body against his.

Some things… Some things have meaning still.

Her.

The way she would scrunch her nose when laughing or buy him drinks or attempt to make him laugh or wear that damn stupid wrinkled dress and — “Fuck. I know her so much by now…”

She had been a Scout too. She had fought and devoted her heart and did everything a Scout had to do. She had fulfilled her duty in the same way he did. She has survived and she doesn’t regret a single thing. Not even this life.

She is at peace.

He wants to sob.

He doesn’t understand peace. Sure, it was his goal, what he always dreamed of, but, damn it. Levi had never thought he would actually get to see something resembling it. Unlike her. She understood what it was: she has accepted peace with open arms and a smile that — fuck, somehow— has been shining on her face throughout the years. Despite so much pain and death…  She still allows herself to fucking live in peace. She forgave herself for the death, for the pain and crimes and let go.

He isn’t sure if he can do the same.

Peace is foreign, strange even. An oddity. And he isn’t stupid, he knows that time would run up someday and that things would turn against them for a second time.

But, still, the promise of the rest of his life in peace lingers.

He could have it.

He fucking could.

Levi reflects on those thoughts for a moment, silent still.

He thinks he can get to an agreement. Maybe, when she wakes up in the morning, he can try to spill his soul to her a little. Try to understand how she handles this life, how she can get up in the mornings after killing so much, and just have tea with him.

But for now, in the quietness of the night, as the old warrior he was, he does the only thing he knows: he promises to dedicate his heart once more.

He finally has a reason, a purpose, something worth protecting again.

Levi lifts his hand, crossing it on his chest the way all Scouts would do. But he doesn’t press it on his heart, but rather, moves it to hold her hand, the one resting on his shoulder. He squeezes it gently, suddenly feeling too overwhelmed by her. By the silent love she had been proclaiming to him all these years and that he couldn’t reciprocate before.

Yes. Now it is the time.

Levi would dedicate his heart once more.

To her and only her.

That may have been the cheesiest ending ever written but !!!! He deserves it, I know. Also someone stop me before I write for Hange, the feelings got to me indeed. Dividers by @/cafekitsune @/saradika and @/vase-of-lilies

[going-to-ikea-for-the-fries]

Talk. || baby daddy!Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

[MASTERLIST]

Rating: M Words: 2.2K~ Pairing: dad!gaz x mother!reader CW: canon-typical violence, events of MW2019 (references), CHILD DEATH (mentioned), pregnancy, underage!! pregnancy, some cultural/religious judgements regarding underage/out-of-wedlock pregnancy, birth (references). Tags: you/your pronouns, (reader implied female because 'mum', 'mama' and other nicknames are used + mentions of pregnant!user), hurt/comfort, fluff?, military inaccuracies I'm sure. Summary: Gaz and the reader are co-parents of a 10-year-old girl (the result of a teen pregnancy). Gaz calls home to talk to his family and he's having a bit of a breakdown after a mission. a/n: This happens in the MW2019 game timeline, somewhere after the Butcher's interrogation. NOT PROOFREAD, NO BETA WE DIE LIKE MEN.

“SIMISOLA RUBY GARRICK, I WILL NOT CALL YOU AGAIN, GET DOWN HERE!” You shout at the top of your lungs, your voice reverberating all the way to the upper floor of your small townhouse.

“IN A MINUTE!” The girl’s voice calls out from upstairs for the… umpteenth time in the last 10 minutes.

“I swear, Kyle, this girl will be the death of me one of these days.” You tell him. “I’m not well-equipped to deal with a teenager.” You grumble as you look at Kyle’s face on the phone screen.

“She’s not a teen yet, lovie.” He retorts with a little smile. “She’s only 10.” He reminds you.

“She’s teenager enough for my taste. Bloody ignoring me whenever I call her!” You reply with a bit of a huff.

“She’s gettin’ older.” He says simply. “You tellin’ me you obeyed your mum every day at her age?” He asks.

“No, but…” You trail off and sigh, dejectedly. “I hate when you make sense, you know that?” You retort, glaring right at him with your best attempt at the ‘mum stare’, but it’s not as effective through the phone.

“Sorry, mama. One of us has to.” She adds with a mischievous smirk on his full lips. He knows how much you like it when he calls you that.

“Shut it, Garrick, I don’t want to hear it.” You retort and you can hear, and see, him giggling on the other side.

From the way the area around him has gotten progressively darker as you spoke for the last 30 minutes, you can tell he’s somewhere out East, somewhere where the sun is starting to set, since in Birmingham it’s only 3 P.M. and still fully bright outside.

“How’s the OP goin’?” You ask despite knowing that he’s not allowed to say anything about it so he simply shoots you a look before raising his fingers to bring a cigarette to his lips, taking a good long drag.

“It’s goin’ fine enough.” He adds and shrugs, before looking off to the distance just off-camera. He’s… lying. You can tell from the way his eyes furrow and his scarred cheek scrunches in frustration.

Turning your head back up, you aim your eyes at the stairs. “BLOODY FUCKIN’ HELL, SIMI, DAD’S ON THE PHONE FOR YOU!” You announce to what, at this point, has to be the ghosts that kidnapped your daughter because she refuses to come downstairs.

Your ears pick up on the sound of her bedroom door flying open and her feet taking her through the carpeted hall and down the steps.

You watch her coming through the vintage, little pass-through window in your kitchen. “Did’ya say dad?!” The dark-skinned girl says as she comes sliding around the corner and into the room.

“Oh, THAT lights a fire under your arse, innit? But not all those other times I told you to come down? What if I was dying, huh?” You scold her and she immediately smiles the same impish smile your baby daddy is sporting on the phone screen. He loves seeing you be maternal.

“Sorry, Mamsie.” She says while showing absolutely no regret at all in her young features. Shaking your head, you pass the phone over to Simi, whose face lights up at the sight of Kyle. “Dad!”

“Oi, kiddo!” You hear Kyle say through the phone as Simisola takes the phone with her down to the sitting room and parks herself on the sofa, talking about all sorts of things with her dad.

You watch her for a moment through the pass-through window. She’s bouncing excitedly, talking about school, her mates, her grades… It’s not often she gets to talk to Gaz, less even that she gets to see him.

Sometimes you wonder if the unpredictability of his job is going to mess her up one day. I mean, her chances of that are already high enough considering the two of you are merely 28 and have been raising her since you were still kids yourselves… But the fact he’s more gone than around in her day-to-day life is bound to mess her up too…

Maybe you should get her into some therapy, just in case.

But then again, she seems surprisingly unaffected by all of this. She’s healthy, smart, sweet… a bit of a smartass (she takes after her dad in that)... And above all else, she seems... happy.

All things considered, of all the blokes that could’ve gotten you knocked up at seventeen, Kyle Garrick was the best option… And your daughter was the best outcome possible.

Sure, you weren’t official or anything back then (nor are you now, really... though you share a bed and a home and you kiss and-), the pregnancy had been an unforeseen consequence of a tryst in the back of a car after drinking at the local pub… But looking back, you got lucky.

Either way, you were both too young, too eager, too needy, too… stupid. Neither of you thought of condoms, hoping the ‘trusty’ pull-out method would suffice.

It didn’t.

You still remember the way you had a panic attack in a toilet stall at school, you and a girlfriend skipping class to pop over to Tesco and buy a box of pregnancy tests… She took one with you, just to ease your worries… And then yours came out positive.

The fear and absolute dread you felt was paralyzing, the way you stayed holed up in the loo while your friend tried to console you and used her fuschia Motorola Razr to text your other friends to come to the toilets after class.

From there, your girlfriends texted his mates, and by the time you noticed, Kyle was elbowing his way into the bathroom, past the group of waiting students, all of them mutual friends of you both. He spotted you sitting on the dirty tile floor in the corner, eyes glued on the pregnancy test in your hand. You were ugly crying, snot all over, and hyperventilating.

Even back then, Kyle was already years ahead of any other teen you knew. He was mature and calm, collected… He sat beside you, rubbed your back, and told you it’d all be okay. You know deep down that he only held it together to calm you down but once he was alone he probably cried like a baby too.

His parents are Nigerian immigrants. In their minds, there was an order of doing things and their only son getting a girl pregnant before marriage (or before hitting maturity, really) was NOT it.

And your parents, well… They weren’t very happy about it either. Not that any parent ever is when their daughter comes home and drops the bomb that she’s expecting.

That was a bad moment for your lives… You both lived with your parents and you had to go back and forth between school and baby appointments… Kyle was by your side the whole time (or as much as he could, considering he had enlisted as soon as he hit 18) and both your parents tried their best to be supportive… But you never quite earned Mr. and Mrs. Garrick’s affection. Not even now, 10 years later.

At first, they didn’t even want to believe the baby was Kyle’s. Your father ended up having some very heated choice words with Mr. Garrick, defending your honor, and almost bringing the house down screaming that you weren’t a slag.

You were on edge and depressed back then. Once the news spread, most of your friends stopped hanging out with you out of pressure put on by their own parents… They still smiled at you and showed encouragement to you whenever you saw each other… But they didn’t come over anymore, barely spoke to you in the halls… 

People stared in the streets… Whenever you went into a baby shop or the diaper aisle at the supermarket… You were stared at. The whispers of “Look at her, such a slag”, “So young and already up the duff…” never came, at least not that you heard them, but you found yourself clutching your mum’s arm particularly hard whenever she managed to drag you out of the flat and to the shops.

You don’t like looking back on the pictures of that year in sixth form. As much as you love your child, seeing the way your face became hollow and sad, your eyes weighed down by dark circles as your belly grew consistently until nothing you wore fit you right… It still stung.

You wonder how you managed to retain enough mental faculties to not earn yourself a post-partum depression diagnosis. Whatever your brain did, it did it well...

With her skin all wrinkly and red and screaming at the top of her lungs, her little fists shaking, eyes all glossy, and a little clump of dark hair on her head slicked back by the amniotic fluid… You fell in love with Simi the moment the nurses set her against your bare chest.

And Kyle did too. You could see it in the way his eyes softened, his lip trembled and his nose and chin scrunched up to contain a wail. As soon as he held her in his arms for the first time, so small against his chest, her little body wrapped in a blanket against his fatigues... you started openly weeping at the sight, blaming the hormones, but the fact of the matter was that she was so small, so tender, so… perfect.

You tune out most of your daughter’s conversation with her father as you go about preparing dinner for the two of you, moving about the kitchen, lost in your own thoughts.

Your ears perk up when you hear Kyle ask Simi if she can pass the phone back to you and let the two of you have a conversation. The girl complains a bit about how much she misses him but ends up acquiescing to him. Daddy’s girl, she is.

She rushes over, her mini twists bouncing with each step as she drops the phone onto your hand and then waves an exaggerated “See you soon, dad!”. You watch her bounce away and trot back up the stairs before you look down at the phone.

Putting on your earpods, you set the phone down on the counter, propped up by the flour container so you can still be in frame as you go about breading some thin chicken cutlets. 

“What is it, Kyle?” You ask him softly and raise your brows at him. His face is a lot more grim and he lights a second cigarette.

“We lost a kid.” He replies softly. “A little boy in Urzikstan.” He adds and sighs loudly. Your whole face twists lightly into sadness. “Some… fuckin’ plonker of a terrorist…” He trails off.

“Did you kill him?” You ask him and he nods his head solemnly. You’ve learned long ago not to give your input too much on these topics… He’s chosen to keep you and your daughter away from it all… 

He once mentioned that asking to be let in would be like 'dipping your pinkie toe in a pond, never knowing if something would be reaching up to pull you in'. You swore he got that quote from a John Wick movie, and then you both laughed… But you knew he meant the sentiment of it.

“I had to stoop down to his level first.” He tells you as he takes another drag os his new cigarette. “Threatened his wife… his son… to get him to talk.” He trails off and sucks in a sharp breath.

Even with the progressive darkness that has set in now, wherever he is, you can still spot the way his nose scrunches as he tries to hold in his crying… His voice is still steady, but his eyes… Always so expressive… You’ve learned to read them in 10 years of co-parenting.

“Every time that bloody barrel even went slightly near that kid’s face I-” Kyle trembles out a breath and rolls his shoulders. Then, he goes quite.

“Anyways…” He says, trying to deflect his feelings away from the things he’s had to do. “I… I miss Simi… And I miss you.” He adds.

“We miss you too, Kyle.” You reply, trying your best to be positive for him. He needs it. “She can’t stop talking about you, counting down the days ‘till you walk through that door and come wrap her in one of those alledgedly ‘annoying’ bear hugs of yours.” You quip and a genuine smirk forms on his lips.

He nods and you notice him through away his cigarette and move somewhere else. As he walks you notice the space is brighter, the camera is facing upwards, and you can see the ceiling and ceiling lights… But above all else, you see his handsome face, the light wisp of a mustache and a goatee, the scar on his left cheek, his tired eyes, and disheveled hair.

He crosses a threshold into another darkened space, but this one is much quieter. You hear some shuffling sounds and even though now you really can’t see shit, you know he’s there, staring at you… And you know he’s lying down.

“Lovie… Can I ask you a favour?” He says as he sighs deeply and slowly.

“Yeah, what is it?” You end up saying as you set aside the breaded cutlets and wash your hands.

“Tell me everything I’m missing. Tell me everything that Simisola did and said… Tell me about your day… about work… share all the gossip you’ve got…” He requests. 

“Just… Just talk my bloody ear off.” He pleads. “I just need to hear your voice.” He adds, his tone a lot more gentler. “Please…”.

[windfighter]

Silent World

Mumbo woke up. The stone of the vault was hard to sleep on and he stretched slowly to get life back into his muscles. He’d make a note to not sleep for several months again, or at least make himself a bed first. Lesson learned. He opened the vault, using the very secret escape-if-locked-in button and went outside for the first time since forever.

It was a beautiful day. The sun was shining, the sheep were baahing and the skeletons were burning. A great day to get back to being the richest hermit. He grabbed his pickaxe and some torches and disappeared into the mines. Best to get to work before Grian noticed that he was back.

Getting back into the swing of things was… more complicated than Mumbo had thought when he astral projected to another plane of existance. He was glad he had prepared the mine before he left, it made it easy get back to where the diamonds were found, but it felt like a slog to mine through the deepslate. He caught on fire to lava several times and had forgotten to bring a water bucket. The only food in his inventory was 10 potatoes and he quickly ran out.

Maybe he should ask one of the others for a quickcourse in how to everything.

With 18 diamonds in his pockets and only 4 hunger left he decided enough was enough. There were other things he could do for diamonds. Like opening a Very Successful shop. Should be quite simple, really. He took the elevator back up, ended up locked in his own vault and had to find the escape-button again.

His communicator was quiet. Not even a message from Grian or Iskall. Was there a holiday he had missed? Or were they planning a surprise welcome back-party? It was probably a prank. At any second Grian would divebomb onto Mumbo’s shoulder, he was certain off it.

He put another couple of diamonds in his pockets and took his first look around the area. A lot had changed. A big statue of Ren had popped up. Lots of new shops across the river, but the hermit-town had stayed the same. Almost everyone had already moved away when he went to sleep after all. He stopped at iEnchant and bought a few books before going to the shopping district.

It was… eerily quiet. Mumbo looked around anxiously. The shopping district was always full of life and noise and now it just… wasn’t. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other. Maybe they were just busy with their bases. Probably. But stocks were low in the stores and usually the hermits were quick to restock.

They all were desperate for diamonds after all.

He equipped his elytra, grabbed some rockets and flew towards his base. Grian’s base had grown quite a bit. It was pretty magnificent if Mumbo was honest. He landed on the bridge and looked at it for a while. A couple of creepers were walking around in the doorway, but no sign of a live Grian. Maybe he was away bothering Scar or someone. Mumbo turned to his own base which hadn’t changed much. He should get to work on it. Did he have materials? He flew over the wall and looked through his chests. Not enough. He hadn’t gathered a lot before he fell asleep which meant he would have to do it now. Not a problem, it was fun, relaxing in some ways. The rest had done wonders for him and the thought of gathering sand for hours didn’t feel overwhelming any longer.

The world was still way too quiet.

He grabbed a few shulkerboxes and took off to the mining desert. It had been pretty cleared out, but Mumbo found a patch where there was still some sand left. He put his shulkers down, grabbed his shovel and went to work.

There was no Bdubs sleeping. The desert got swarmed with monsters during the night and Mumbo had to fend for his life. A Creeper exploaded next to him, brought his health way down and he blocked himself in.

”Can anybody sleep?” he typed in the communicator.

He should have brought a bed. There was a lot he needed to get re-used to. He waited, then broke one of the blocks. It was still night. Mumbo blocked the hole off again and walked in circles on the block he had to move on. Eventually he heard the sound of burning zombies and could peek outside again. He went back to gathering sand. The sun was hot against his neck.

Another Creeper exploded next to him. Mumbo felt his health draining, but he was still alive. Better get out before that changed. He put the sand he had gathered in the skulkers, picked them up and went home.

----------

There was a static noise in the air. Mumbo didn’t know where it came from. It seemed to be all around him and within him. He put a block down, then stared into the distance. He tilted his head, turned it around and tried to figure out where it came from. Was it Grian approaching at supersonic speed? He braced himself, got ready for the impact, but the noise didn’t change.

Mumbo placed another block. The noise got intenser, or he just heard it better now that he had noticed it. He listened for the source, walked around the vault. It was just a little bit louder at the side facing Grian. He walked across the bridge, but the sound got more quiet again. He returned to the vault and placed another polished blackstone.

The static noise shifted. It sounded like words, but not ones Mumbo could make out. Maybe the silence of his communicator was starting to break what little sanity his vacation had given him. He took it out, fiddled with it as he walked back and forth.

”Grian, want me to make you a new vault challenge?”

He walked two laps around his vault while waiting for an answer. The static noise got even louder.

mUmbO

Mumbo stopped. Swallowed.

”H-Hello?”

KrscHshHcCK

Mumbo’s breathing picked up. His grip around the communicator got tighter.

”Haha, very funny”, he typed.

KcHscOMechks

Mumbo left his base. Walked over to Grian’s boulders. The static was barely audible from there. He sat down on the boardwalk and looked towards his vault. Maybe it had gotten haunted while he was gone.

Something was twinkling just below the bridge. Mumbo jumped off the boardwalk and glided to the ground. Skulk was climbing up the side of the hill he had settled on. It hadn’t been there when he fell asleep. He walked closer. The static voice got louder. Mumbo’s head hurt from the sound. He walked along the edge of the hole a few times.

mUmbO

Mumbo swallowed.

”Grian?”

It didn’t sound like Grian, but Grian always pulled shennanigans. It could be him.

KRSCHK!

Mumbo slapped his hands over his ears. He felt the communicator slip between his fingers, watched it fall down the hole. Well, that was absolutely pants. He’d have to go down into the haunted hole to get it back. The static died down and Mumbo let his hands fall. He took a deep breath and tossed himself into the hole.

He could recognize Grian’s build-style by now, but the surest sign that it was his friend was the computer in the middle of the cave. Mumbo took a step closer. It had been so long since he saw that computer, and it looked… slightly different to how he remembered it.

”Grumbot?” he asked. ”Why are you here?”

FATHER NEEDED ME

Mumbo stared at the message. Glanced at Grumbot. Why did Grian need him?

”Why? What happened?”

I WAS CALLED

Mumbo turned around. There was a huge purple portal.

THE RIFT BROUGHT ME

”The… rift?”

Mumbo stared at the portal. The static noises in his head had died down.

”What is the rift?”

UNREADABLE. ERROR.

”Is it a portal?”

Grumbot didn’t answer. It was a stupid question, Mumbo assumed.

”Where does it lead?”

FROM ANYWHERE. TO ANYPLACE.

That… was weirdly typical of Grian as well. Mumbo would laugh if the silent communicator didn’t haunt his mind.

”Did… they leave through it?”

YES.

Mumbo walked up to it. Stepped into it and waited for his body to warp, transported to the anyplace. But nothing happened. He stepped out again. There was a piece of paper on the floor.

MUMBO FOR MAYOR

[mandiemegatron]

Eee!! (⁠◕⁠ᴗ⁠◕⁠✿⁠)

I'm excited ur taking requests!! Would you be able to do a cute n fluffy little killer x reader? Say... A soft intimate moment alone; maybe something about how big his hands are, and the way they would so perfectly wrap around the one he loves so safely, so securely. 🫣 You know, hands that can kill yet choose so be so gentle. 💕

HI CIN BABBYYY !!! Thank you SO much for asking for something Killer, I've been wanting to write something for him for ages and now you've given me a reason to 😭😭😭🤲🤲🤲

I hope this is okay !! Thank you for everything, love you and hope you enjoy !! 🤭🤭💖💖

『 𝙸𝚗 𝙷𝚒𝚜 𝙷𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚜 』

𝙺𝚒𝚕𝚕𝚎𝚛 𝚡 𝙶/𝙽 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛

𝚁𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚍: 𝚃 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎 𝚖𝚒𝚕𝚍 𝚜𝚎𝚡𝚞𝚊𝚕 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚝.

No beta, we die like men 💪

It never ceased to amaze you how gentle Killer was with you.

Hands that could rip a man's head clean from his body held you with the utmost tenderness, the power in his grip never more than what you could handle.

Watching him crush pirates left and right with a cheerful cackle always sent shivers over your skin, sometimes distracting you from your own fight as you sliced men down.

It was the moments at night that reminded you just how gentle this giant could be, cradling your body to his as if you were made of porcelain. You weren't small or dainty; you were hardy and fit in your own way, your skin scarred and full of stretch marks, but every time, Killer would trace your flesh with the softest touch.

You'd had to beg him many times while being intimate for him to let loose, to let his inhibitions run wild as he devoured you whole, but he never gave in, always clenching his teeth and hissing through them as he made love to you. He would bury his face in your neck, breathing you in and murmuring promises of protecting you and loving you for the rest of his life.

Tonight was no different.

Breathing heavily, you laid half on his body, your face smushed into his chest as he held you to him almost too tight, one of his hands wrapped around your back and arms, keeping you to him while the other ran thick fingers through your hair. You traced idle shapes over his massive chest with a tired hand, watching with half lidded eyes as he moved his hand from your hair to lift your hand to his lips, pressing kiss after kiss to your skin.

“Kil…”

There's a soft hum from the man, his mind still wandering as he continues to kiss your hand.

“... Killer.”

Finally, he gives you a side-eyed glance for less than a moment before letting his eyes close again.

“Yes, my love?”

You frown slightly, shifting your body so you're resting over top of him, your face hovering over his as you stare him down. His arm moves from your shoulder to your waist as he tries to fight the slow grin that rises but is unable to, giving a dramatic sigh as he snaps his eyes open to give you a mocking look in return.

"Yes?” He presses again, raising an eyebrow at the expression on your face. You continue to stare down at him for a few moments before finally asking,

“Why are you so afraid to get rough with me?”

Killer freezes under you, his eyes slowly reopening to stare up at you as his thoughts begin to race. His mouth opens to respond, but nothing comes out, just a mildly choked sound that barely escapes his throat.

You tilt your head slightly, brows furrowing as you continue,

“Do you think you'll hurt me or something?”

“Of course I do.”

His response nearly cuts you off, worry and anxiety laced in his words as you stare at each other. You felt your heart sink slowly as you murmur sadly,

“... do you think I'm weak?”

Killer sits up so fast that he almost flings you off him, if not for his grip around your waist. You give a sound of surprise, clinging to his shoulders as he sits you in his naked lap.

“Never in a million years would I think so lowly of you,” he barely gets out, holding your hips tightly in his massive hands, his thumbs rubbing small circles into your flesh. “Never would I think that you're weak. I just…”

You wait patiently for him to keep going, your hands slowly rubbing up and down his forearms tenderly.

“... I would never forgive myself if I hurt you.”

You hummed softly at his words, leaning forward to rest your forehead against his as you asked,

“Not even if I wanted you to hurt me?”

He pulled away to gawk at you, horrified conviction across his face as he snapped,

"Are you insane? What kind of person would want that?"

You shrugged, glancing to the side before murmuring,

“I would, if it's you. I trust you,” You looked back to him as you continued, “I love you, but you act like I'm made of glass, as if you'd shatter me into a million pieces if you fucked me too hard.”

Killer simply stares, blinking a few times as he mulled over your words. You took his silence as rejection, giving a soft sigh as you tried to reason with him.

“I love you, regardless. I just… I don't know, sometimes I just… want more. I love being with you, and being intimate with you is something I'll never take for granted, I just wish you trusted yourself the way I trust you.”

Killer remains silent, his hands still caressing your hips as he takes in your plea. He gives a heavy sigh before leaning in and capturing your lips in his, only pulling away to murmur,

“I love you.”

You gave him a warm smile in return, kissing him back and clinging to him as he wraps you in his arms, your bare front pressing into his.

“... maybe one day,” he murmurs into your throat, pressing a few kisses to your neck as his hands run up and down your back lovingly.

You grin into his shoulder, humming in agreement as you comment softly,

“Maybe one day.”

[spacebarbarianweird]

In response to the NSFW request post.

How about some body worship? Astarion x fem!Tav? Maaaaybe some oral sex?

Synopsis: As a Half-Elf, Tiriel has serious body image issues, and Astarion knows exactly how to help her accept herself.

Thanks @tragedybunny for beta-reading!

Tags: smut, oral sex, vaginal sex, sex in front of a mirror, praise kink

Read on AO3

Masterlist

Headcanons

See Yourself Like I See You

"Biri", an elven woman mutters, glancing at Tiriel as she passes by.

The words hurt like burning coals. Tiriel suppresses the desire to yell at the elf. Or hit her. Violence is always an answer but, probably, beating the shit out of the innkeeper's wife isn't a rational choice, considering you travel with a vampire, who needs shelter in the daylight.

"I speak Elven '' Tiriel says loud enough to attract the attention of the Tel'Quessira.

"Oh? Someone bothered to teach you? I didn't offend you, I just... told the truth. You are only half an elf".

"Biri means trash, not just half an elf."

The elf laughs, and her voice sounds like tiny bells. "You know, in the old times, we forbid our men to mate with... N'TelQuessira. And when it happened anyway, we murdered the children not to doom them to be stuck between two worlds."

Tiriel squeezes the hand of her ax. Her elven father was just a passerby, someone whom her mother found attractive enough to forget about the marriage vows and spend a night with. 

The elf left the village for good, and the woman ended up pregnant with a "fairy bastard," she didn't even bother to give a name.

"What surprises me, biri, is that a High Elf chooses to sleep with you. As if he couldn't find someone more worthy to share the bed with."

With those words, the elf disappears, leaving Tiriel alone. She wishes anger and rage were her companions. But it is only a weeping wound, something she buried so deep within that she thought would never return to the surface.

Tiriel rushes upstairs to the room she  rents with Astarion. The vampire is still outside somewhere, stalking the streets of the town like a shadow.

Good. She has plenty of time to return to her senses. Astarion knows her story well enough - how her family despised her, how her siblings tried to kill her but instead awoke rage in her. 

But it is nothing in comparison to what he was through, and Tiriel doesn’t want to discuss it with him. 

Tiriel places her ax on the floor. She trembles as if the elven woman had beaten her.

All her childhood Tiriel heard the same words. Ugly, unworthy, half a human. Beaten.  Harassed. Tiriel still remembers the dirty looks of the village men who dared to see a little girl as something sexual. Her stepfather cut her right ear to suppress his desires - luckily, a village healer stitched it back.

The only hope Tiriel had was that elves were different. She begged the healer’s husband, an old dwarf, to tell her the same stories over and over again - about his old Wood Elf friend and their adventures. She was sure elves would accept her as one of theirs. 

Apparently, humans are much more accepting. 

Tiriel looks in the mirror. Yesterday, Astarion had a good laugh, standing in front of it. The most useless thing to place in the room with a vampire.

Half-something.

Tiriel undresses as if the fabric of her clothes burns her  skin and studies herself in the mirror.

The more she looks, the more miserable she feels.

Her body is composed of two separate parts. The upper half is elven: narrow shoulders, small breasts. The lower part is the human: wide hips of a woman who is supposed to push kids out of her every year. Strong legs. Pale skin is covered in freckles. The ears - too pointy for a human, too short for an elf. Red hair is too difficult to brush. Scars.

One crosses her eye - a memory of the betrayal when her siblings pushed Tiriel down the cliff, hoping she would die. The other is on her back, a burn from the fight with the Elder Brain.

The tadpole suppressed the pain, but once the parasite was gone, Tiriel almost lost consciousness, feeling her skin burn. When she came to her senses, Astarion was nowhere to be seen, and she was afraid he’d died in the sunlight. She yelled at him when he finally showed up after sunset, resembling a beaten stray cat. 

“Stop screaming at me, Tiriel. I feel like I’ve started developing a degrading kink.”

The burn on her back is probably the most disgusting part of her body. Including the body hair.

"Well, that's how I definitely want to be greeted. '' Astarion chuckles, entering the room. "But I'd prefer to undress you myself. Leave at least something for my imagination."

He wears his leather trousers and a white shirt. His old one was torn apart by a bugbear about a month ago, and Tiriel got him another one, almost identical. Though he still complains it feels off.

"Does something bother you, my love?" he asks, noticing her uneasiness.

"No... Nothing. How was your night?"

Astarion chuckles and, instead, approaches Tiriel and hugs her. In the mirror, it looks like she embraces something invisible. She melts in his arms, feeling safe and protected.

"I can tell when you lie but I will be so kind I won't insist."

"It's nothing, really." Tiriel buries her nose in his chest. Astarion is taller than average elven men and she needs to tip-toe to kiss him.

Astarion pulls away looking at Tiriel with his most adorable smile.

"Gods, you are beautiful."

His words feel like a dagger stuck in a fresh wound. Why now? Why this? Tiriel bursts into tears, not able to control them.

"Tiriel, did I... Did I do something wrong?” Astarion stares at her with utter panic in his crimson eyes. 

She tries to tell him. That it's not him. But she just can't. The only word she manages to mumble is an insult.

"Biri"

The moment she says it, panic leaves Astarion’s eyes. Instead, there is anger. 

"Who said it to you?"

His voice is deceptively calm. The innkeeper’s wife must consider herself lucky she didn’t insult Tiriel in the close proximity of Astarion. 

"It's ok, not the first time I heard that. Maybe the first time I heard someone tell me you can find someone more worthy than I because I have dirty human blood"

"Do you want me to kill the bitch who told you that?"

"No. It's just true, Astarion. I am...damn look at me, I am all scars and freckles with two parts of my body taken from different races. I got used to it, I just hoped I would accept it. "

"You are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen. And I have seen a lot."

Tiriel shakes her head, still crying.

"I am ugly as nine hells."

"Careful, darling, you are talking about my favorite person."

She chuckles but still feels miserable.

"Tiriel, my love, look at yourself."

Astarion takes Tiriel’s chin and forces her to look in the mirror.

“See yourself.” He kisses her neck. “The hair, color of fire, sometimes I think I will burn my fingers touching it. Eyes, one is green like a dry leaf. The other is gray like the autumn sky. The hands are so thin and gentle I am afraid to break your bones.” He goes down with his lips. “Breasts I can cup with my palms. Nipple so sensitive to my touches” he pinches one of them and Tiriel moans.

He stands behind Tiriel placing his chin on her shoulder. The mirror shows only the naked woman, but not the man who whispers the words of praise. Astarion places the hand over her stomach.

“Flat but soft - the best pillow for my head” his fingers go down. “The red pubic hair, even more beautiful than what you have up there…”

Tiriel feels his erection through his trousers. Gods, is it all just enough for him? Just seeing her naked?

She notices his kisses getting stronger and more intense. Astarion doesn’t breathe, but Tiriel knows his mouth is open and eyes are closed as he caresses her skin. 

But the poisonous words still sound in her head.

"Do you trust me?" Astarion whispers in her ear.

Tiriel nods. She feels her own burning desire between her legs.

" I want you to look in the mirror. All the time"

"What?"

Before she manages to object, Astarion tugs her to the bed with him and makes her sit on his lap.

The mirror reflects only one person - and Tiriel looks weird as if floating. Astarion kisses her neck and then places his hands below her thighs and lifts her legs up, spreading them as wide as possible.

"What are you doing?" she gasps. It feels deliciously embarrassing. 

"I want you to see yourself, in every detail.”

Tiriel’s folds are open and she can see her cunt in every detail. The invisible fingers touch her  clit and Tiriel lets out a moan.

"I barely touched you and you are already so wet" Astarion murmurs, coating his fingers in her cunt juice.

Tiriel feels weird with her legs spread - she has never seen herself under such an angle. His thumb keeps drawing circles around her bud as his index finger touches her lower entrance forcing it to contract a bit. 

She feels his bulge below her hips, still hidden behind the front laces of the trousers. She moves a bit causing friction and Astarion gets even harder. 

“I want you” Tiriel mewls. “Please…”

“Be patient, my barbaric love…”

She growls with disappointment but lets him keep torturing her. Tiriel studies herself in the mirror but she still can’t decide if she likes what she sees or not.

Then, Astarion frees her and stands up. For a second, Tiriel is surprised he is still fully clothed.

Tiriel reaches out for his shirt to put it off him but Astarion stops her with his unbearable smile.

“I told you to be patient, Tiriel” Instead he unlaces his trousers, freeing the pale length of his cock.

“You have teased me with your fingers, and now your cock is just a few inches away from my mouth! Don’t speak about patience!”

“Your mouth…” he murmurs. “Yes, it will work.”

He grabs her head forcing her lips to kiss the head of his manhood.

“Don't look at me, look in the mirror!”

Tiriel takes Astarion in her hands and touches the base of his shaft with her tongue. Then she licks it, tracing the blue vein up to the head, forcing the vampire to moan.

She turns her head a bit to see the reflection. Her face is burning red, and drool drips off her mouth. Her  tongue licks something invisible. 

“You look ravishing from up here, Tiriel. Take me with these pretty lips of yours.”

Tiriel opens her mouth a bit and in a second his whole length thrusts into her. She almost gags and tears flush down her cheeks.

The burning between the legs is unbearable and Tiriel starts touching herself as Astarion buckes his hips, fucking her mouth and throat. 

“You take me so good, Tiriel. Your eyes are specifically lovely when you are aroused.” 

Then suddenly when she feels like he is going to ruin her mouth he lets her go and Tiriel gasps for air. A thin string of precum and saliva still connects them.

Astarion kisses Tiriel’s lips, tasting himself on her and then finally gets rid of his shirt and trousers. Then, he sits back on the bed. His cock looks painfully hard. By this time, Tiriel can’t think about anything but the emptiness inside her.

“You look the same when you fight. I wonder if this is because battles make you horny? Or because you see sex as a form of combat? Tell me, what do you want?”

She breathes heavily, still staring at the mirror, not at Astarion. Her body is covered in sweat. Nipples are hardened and the mouth is half-open. The woman in the reflection wants to be taken, ruined…

“I want… you…” 

The vampire grabs Tiriel’s hips and pulls her toward  him. Then, he lies on his back, putting his strong arms on her ribs. 

“And I want you to see yourself. Put me inside you.”

Tiriel squeezes his cock adjusting it to her entrance. 

“You are so beautiful, Tiriel…” Astarion murmurs from below. “So desirable… Whoever told you the opposite is a brainless moron…”

The invisible cock stretches her pussy. Astarion’s manhood is so thick that Tiriel can see herself all the way up to the cervix. 

She moves her hips feeling his amazing length inside.

“My woman. Mine. Only… mine”, he grunts.

Her perky tits sway following the rhythm of the moving bodies. Tiriel’s mind is empty and her mouth just makes whimpering sounds.

Astarion tightens his grip around her as his own release gets closer. Tiriel doesn’t feel her legs as the orgasm takes over her. Powerful contractions tear through her body as his cum fills her to the brim.

Tiriel elbows up to see her entrance better. The cock much softer than it was seconds ago is taken away from her pussy and the cum leaks out.

“Look at yourself," Astarion says. “You are completely ruined.”

He tugs Tiriel with his arm and once their faces are in front of each other he starts kissing her cheeks and lips.

“Speak ill about yourself once again, and I am going to fuck you into a state of unconsciousness.”

“Don’t threaten me with a good time!”

Astarion laughs and Tiriel finally manages to free herself and lay beside him. He immediately wraps his hands around her.

“But I mean it. I know why you think bad of yourself. But it isn’t true. There is no such thing as an ugly half-elf. And you are… something even in comparison with them. Among the elves, you would be a fucking goddess of war, with your red hair and strong legs. All these talks about dirty blood are nothing, but the frustration of elves who aren’t worthy of anything. Tiriel, promise me, if you feel bad you tell me.”

“I just don’t want you… you know…”

“I am not made of glass, Tiriel. I need you and not only when I have nightmares. But you also need me. That’s the deal, isn’t it? Be there for each other.”

“It’s weird to compare my struggles with yours,” Tiriel admits. 

Astarion gently touches her cheek with his finger. “Struggles are struggles. No one has a right to abuse a little child and call her a freak for what she is. No one has a right to tell a complete stranger she is nothing but trash below the “true people's” feet. Besides, we can always kill people we don’t like.”

Tiriel giggles and buries her nose in the crook of his neck. She feels too sleepy for a bath or any sort of aftercare and allows herself to relax. 

**

Tiriel is sound asleep and she doesn’t wake up even when Astarion cleans her skin of sweat and cum. He studies her body, noticing the fresh bruises and old scars. Then, Astarion lies beside her covering them both with a blanket.

He doesn’t need to sleep but he can spend his hours of reverie right now. 

It still troubles Astarion - the very point of the elven trance is to relive the moments of their long lives to remember, to carve them in memory. But he doesn’t want to remember anything before he became free. Before he met Tiriel. 

Memories flood him and he hopes he will have enough willpower to not see anything nightmarish.

The meadow bathes in moonlight. Astarion stays there, waiting. Waiting for this half-elven warrior to seduce and sleep with. To make sure she protects him, helps. Well, it will probably require some talk, some sweet words - but she will be his. 

“You are an idiot”, Astarion says to himself from the past. “Your simple plan will end up with you not being able to think about anything else but Tiriel.”

“Hello, Astarion.”

He turns around and sees her, the fierce leader of their small group.

Absolutely naked. 

Tiriel looks at him with no fear. With a challenge. He can’t take his eyes off her. Probably, Vandria, the Elven Goddess of War, looks like that without her divine armor. 

Astarion concentrates. He wants to remember the first time he saw Tiriel like that, the first time he had her, even though his intentions were pathetic to the very least.

“And what do you want, Astarion?” she asks, getting closer to him.

The question strikes him. What does he want? He doesn’t remember anyone asking him that. He wants… What? This woman? Revenge? Freedom? He doesn’t know.

Tiriel is so close he can hear her heartbeat. She kisses him. With passion, with desire. 

For the first time. It is the first time she kisses him. 

Astarion embraces the memory. He didn’t know at that moment - but that was when he fell.

The reverie slowly lets him go, and the woman he’s dreamt about is still by his side. 

--

@tugoslovenka@marcynomercyy @wintersiree @vixstarriarria @not-so-lost-after-allafter-all @ashiro20 @theearthsfinalconfession @herstxrgirl @starlight-ipomoea@micropoe10 @astarion-imagine-archive @veillsar @elora-the-slutty-songstress @fayeriess @lumienyx @astarion-belovedd @tallymonsterter @caitlincat-95cat-95 @tragedybunnyy @valepratirati @lynnlovesthestarshestars @marina-and-the-diam0nds-bloge-memes @waking-electricectric

[dollidot]

ode to a blade

a mizu x fem!reader fic

tags: slowburn (if you squint), mizu being angry, reader being sassy, reader gives mizu stitches, no beta we die like mikio

to say mizu dislikes you would be an understatement. she hates you. she hates the way you look at her with your pretty eyes and your pretty smile, the way you follow her with your unbearable sense of loyalty, the way you argue back at her just to see her get mad.

she hates you.

but the way you cling to her makes her forget it for a selfish minute. the way you speak at her so softly, voice silken and soft. even right now, in this moment, as you sit atop her and work deftly on her milky skin, she hates you. sure, you saved her life, but you don't have to be so proud about it.

"stay still, mizu. unless you want me to fuck up your stitches." you argue at her as you straddle her thighs, leaning down as your hands work swiftly, pulling thread through her flesh as you soak up the blood oozing from her insides with your kimono. she groans and curses at you under her breath and you give her a look. "do you really have to sit on me like.. this?" she questions, gesturing to your position. you roll your eyes and continue working. you hate her. at least, she thinks you hate her. in reality, you'd be lying if you said you weren't at least a little attracted to her. she's handsome, in a way incomparable to any man you've been with, yet at the same time she's pretty. her eyes hold all the beauty of the ocean, and the same amount of water, too. you rarely see her hair down, but when you do it's stunning, cascading down her back like ink. her skin is soft and milky, her hands contrasting beautifully with their calloused fingers. her body, or rather, what you've seen of her body, is just the same. peppered with scars and imperfections, you sometimes wonder about the parts you don't see. not that it would happen. the swordswoman despises you, she glares at you any chance she gets, and she speaks to you like you're nothing but dirt beneath her foot.

right now she's prettier than ever, underneath you, groaning and closing her eyes as you relish in her defeat. she knows you saved her life, and she knows she couldn't have helped herself, as much as she wants to believe she could've. as you pull her wound closed, lifting your kimono to wipe away the rest of the blood, she sucks in her breath. "a little less force would be nice," there's that tone again. that irritating tone she uses when she's talking to you, almost as if you're a child. it makes you think of your mother, and you sigh. "oh, shut it. it's done now, anyway. maybe if you weren't so stubborn and would just let me help you fight, this wouldn't happen so often-" she grabs your face and looks at you, eyes bright and crystalline, every hue of blue you could imagine. you'd seen summer skies and crystal clear lakes with less life. she brushes her thumb against your chin and smirks at you. "cmon, there's no way you could fight next to me. you lack fluidity, gracefulness, you lack all the components that make somebody a master of the blade. "that would be because I don't fight with a blade, mizu. you know that." you gesture to your weapon, propped against the wall and you laugh. "still. I'd rather you not get hurt."

"hm. so you care about me?"

"oh, shut up."

she hates you.

but oh, how she adores you.

(a/n; this will probably be a multi-part fic if I get positive feedback !! I'd appreciate suggestions for things I can add to the story though since I'm sorta all out of ideas for now lmao)

[we-were-beautiful]

Marry me

Xaden x Sorrengail!oc

WC: 816

Warnings: None just Fluff

A/N: Well I decided to take part in a small writing Challenge. I had fun writing this little blurb and while it has the potential to turn into its own series; I am going to show self restraint by not doing that. The prompt was "I can never say 'no to you" From Jana over at @creativepromptsforwriting

Also fair warning; I didn't send this to any of my betas. So we die like men at this point

Thank you to @skyfallscotland and @justallihere for putting together the Fourth Wing Birthday Bash

Last but not least tumbr is being dumb and won’t let me post from my laptop so apologies about the formatting

“We should get married” I comment wrapping my arms around my beloved’s shoulders, fingers gently tracing along the scars at the top of his shoulders. I look up into his gold flecked onyx eyes and smile widely at him. Was the flight field after lessons the best place to have this conversation, probably not, but I couldn’t help myself. It had been an interesting lesson with a storm about to roll in; the thunder off in the distance rolling. But now with the rest of the third years and Professor Kaori heading back to the citadel, I figured given Xaden a small heart attack would be fun.

Where I would expect to see shock and hesitance on his face I only see a fond smile as he wraps his arms around my waist to pull me into his chest.

“When do you want to get married and how do you want to tell your mother and sisters?” I hadn’t thought of that.

It would be pretty easy to tell Violet. If I could get her away from her squad it would be as simple as that. Mira I could just write a letter too. Shed be pissed at first; she had specifically told me to stay away from Xaden. That didn’t work out since we ended up in the same squad with mated dragons; but Mira could get over it. She’d be happy for me eventually.

My mother; however, I completely forgot about. General Sorrengail hadn’t been a fan of the relationship and she had made it known to me once the word had made it to her office. That had been the only time I had formally gotten called to her office to make her displeasure known; but its been three years. Xaden and I work well together and we have been in love with each other for awhile now. Not to mention we are kinda stuck with each other until one of us dies so at one point or another she’s just going to have to learn to live with it.

I feel Tairn’s amusement in the back of my mind. The old curmudgeon had been riding my ass this last week about acting like a love sick puppy around Xaden. Like his grumpy ass isn’t the exact same way around Sgaeyl.

‘I heard that’ the rumbling voice flows through my head.

‘You were supposed to.’ I felt Tairn’s snout push at my back sending me further into Xaden’ s grasp ‘Tairn!!!’ I can hear Sgaeyl chuckle in my head.

‘I think I shall go get some sheep’ I’m not sure if it is the mighty beat of our dragons wings or thunder, but as the two dragons fly off the heavens open up above us and cold rain begins to pour down. Xaden lets out a hearty laugh squeezing me tightly.

“When do you want to get married love.” He leans down to whisper in my ear repeating his earlier question.

“Want to grab Garrick, Bodhi, Liam and Vi and sneak down to Chantara.” I would do it; grab our family and secretly get married today if he agreed.

“How about we wait until graduation. We can get our family together, before we fly to our post, and have a small ceremony.” He pushes a soaked strand of hair away from my face. “Then it gives you time to let Mira know, so she can try and get leave” leave it to this perfect man to remember that I wanted Mira there when I got married. While Brennen had Mom and Violet had Dad it had been Mira and I against the world. I still had all of the letters we had wrote to each other while she was in the quadrant and then when I started second year. She had to be there on our special day; she would kill me if I ran off today and got married.

“Ok Graduation it is then.” He looks even more breathtaking in the rain as water droplets roll down his skin.

“Alright then lets go Mrs.Riorson.” He lets go of me and moves towards the hidden tunnel entrance.

“Wait.” I call grabbing his hand to stop him. “Kiss me?” Is it cheesy and straight out of the romance books that I brought into the quadrant, yes. But I had always wanted to be kissed in the rain.

“Have I ever been able to say ‘no’ to you.” He gently cradles my face in his hands tilting my face upwards; his lips crash into mine is a passionate kiss. It starts out innocent enough but my hands quickly find their way to his hair and one of his finds its way to my ass. When we break apart we are gasping for breath; Xaden rest his forehead against mine and hazel eyes meet onyx “Marry me?”

“Yes.” I laugh and pull him into another kiss.

[ninnosaurus]

the new professor

i just- i saw @khayalli well dressed donnie drawing and i just wanted to word vomit something that came to mind. I also wanted to practice writing short drabbles.

no beta, no editing, we die like men in here. look out for uh- spelling?

A murmur was buzzing in the lecture hall as you entered. Eyes scanning the room for a free seat that wasn't smack dab in the middle, you were not in the mood for "excuse me"s and "sorry"s and "just coming through"s. Finally, you settled on a seat on the far end of the hall.

Everyone seemed to be vibrating for some... reason you weren't sure about. You'd seen these people before, you've taken the class lots of times. You looked around before resorting to lean over to your right.

"Hey, why... is everyone so worked up? Do we have a test?"

"Hm? Oh, no. You haven't heard?"

You looked at your classmate, head most likely transforming into a question mark right then and there. You shook your head. "No... Heard what?"

"We're getting a new professor, today. Mrs. Larsson passed away in a car accident over the break."

Your entire being deflated like a tire. You liked Mrs. Larsson, you guys always exchanging both recipes and gossip. You made a mental note of sending a card to her family later this week.

Minutes passed. You leaned your cheek on one hand as the other was busy doodling. What broke you out of your zone was how the hall had suddenly gotten quiet. You looked up and saw the door was starting to open. Voices talking in a hushed tone. A chuckle. "Mhm"s. "Yeah"s.

Then he walked in. The door closing with a sssh and hiss at the end. You'd heard about the mutants. Four of them, apparently. Brothers. This must be one of them. He was... Tall. Broad shoulders covered in a knitted, royal purple sweater. Sleeves rolled, ending around the middle of his arms. Arms covered in scars, pinkbrown scars a stark contrast to the green hue that covered him. You tilted your head as you observed him move. Fluent, like water he moved. Long legs carrying him with style and grace. Like he was a human, and not at all bothered by the way people were whispering about him. He stopped by the desk in the front of you all. Leaning against it. Left hand supporting his weight as he sipped out of his mug. A golden watch sliding slightly down his arm. Coffee, probably. He looks like a coffee drinker. You thought to yourself.

Putting the mug down on the desk, he cleared his throat.

He smiled, like he'd been here for years and already knew all of you. "Good morning, class."

His voice, not too dark. If red wine could talk, it would have his voice. You couldn't explain it even if you tried. It just- made sense for you.

"I'm sorry you all have to meet me due to such unfortunate circumstances. I've been called in to... I don't like to use the word "replace", because I'm sure no one can replace Mrs. Larsson. I'm simply here to take over what would have been lost."

He walked to the whiteboard and picked up a marker, that too purple in color. It squeaked in the silence as he wrote. Perfect letters, in a perfect line.

"My name is Donatello Hamato. I'm not personally... big on being called Mr. Hamato, Donatello works just fine."