#along with the heavy use of them around his eyes to give him a world-wearied‚ haunted look

[ewanmitchellcrumbs]

Into My Arms

Pairing: Osferth x f!reader Warnings: Canon typical violence, smut, fluff. Word count: ~1.4k

Summary: Osferth is tired of her underestimating him, of being seen as nothing more than "Baby Monk", so goes out of his way to prove to her that he is so much more than that. A little birthday treat for @doomwhathouwilt - based on this request.

Author's note: I don't have a tag list - please follow @fics-by-ewanmitchellcrumbs and turn on post notifications. Community labels are for cops.

She points the tip of her sword to her opponent’s chest, dragging him closer by the shoulder as it plunges forward to the hilt, before sliding it back and watching him crumple in a heap before her, his lifeless eyes staring up towards a gray sky. She cannot hear the screams of pain, the cries of triumph around her over the roar of the blood in her ears.

Her body aches with exertion, the arrows in her quiver are long spent, meaning she has to use her blade to defend herself. As the fighting dies down she is left only with the hammering of her heart, panting for breath as the world swims back into focus, and she is greeted by the coppery smell of viscera and the rancid stench of shit. She feels like crying, the adrenaline that courses through her is beginning to subside as she watches what little remains of their opponents flee, the majority of their forces having been cut down.

There is rarely a dull moment on the road with Uhtred and his men; she's been with him since he parted ways with Brida, accompanying him and Leofric on their travels. She enjoys never settling anywhere for long, drinking ale and sharing stories beneath the stars. It keeps her skills as an archer sharp, their battles are frequent, though lately she finds herself tiring of them, there is little joy to be found in taking the life of another.

She longs to give up, to declare she can take no more, but as her weary eyes look up, taking in the aftermath of the battle, she is met with the very reason why she continues on. Osferth’s eyes, vividly blue and wide with fright remain fixed ahead, his grip on his weapon so tight his knuckles are blanched with the force of it. Though he fights courageously, there is fear in his heart and she worries about what will happen to him if she simply walks away from all of this. They all give him a hard time; he is a Christian, always seems to say the wrong thing and has no qualms with passing judgment on their behaviours that he deems inappropriate. Despite all of this, he is steadfast in his loyalty to the group, and so she along with the rest of them would gladly lay down her life for him.

They sit around the campfire, tending to the minor injuries they’ve sustained, cuts and scrapes alike. She bats away Sihtric’s attempts to dab at her temple with a moistened rag.

“It’s a scratch, leave it be,” She says with resignation. Her eyelids feel heavy as she stares ahead into the flames, she longs for sleep.

“I think this calls for ale and women!” Finan declares, slapping his thighs and standing up.

“And prayer,” Osferth adds, with a hopeful smile.

“Yes, but in that order,” Finan counters with a grin.

She remains seated as the four of them head towards the village, she has no desire to join in with their festivities.

Osferth glances over his shoulder, pausing and allowing the group to move ahead when he notices she remains where she is.

“Are you not joining us, my lady?” He asks, brows pinched together with concern.

“Not tonight, no,” She says quietly. “I’m not in the mood.”

He nods, returning to the fire and seating himself next to her. “Then I shall stay with you and keep you company.”

“You don’t need to do that.”

“I don’t. But I want to.”

She looks at him, a warm smile spreading across her face as she sees the sincerity in his eyes.

“There’ll be women waiting for you in the village,” She teases.

The tips of his ears turn pink. “I’m not interested,” He tells her with a shy grin.

“I doubt you’d know what to do with them anyway, Baby Monk,” She chuckles lightly.

“I do, actually,” His voice is stern, his expression hardened and she worries she’s offended him.

“I was only jo–”

Her words are cut off as Osferth leans in, pressing his mouth to hers. His lips are soft yet firm against her own and the kiss steals her breath away. He keeps their foreheads pressed close, his thumb tracing lightly over her cheek as he pulls back.

Her heart flutters wildly as her breaths come shakily. “Y-your blood still runs hot from battle, Baby Monk, we should not do this.”

“I am tired of waiting for you to see me as I see you,” He whispers. “Let me show you how much I desire you.”

This time when his lips capture hers, she returns the gesture with equal enthusiasm, allowing herself to get lost in the basic primal urge of feeling wanted.

Deft hands exchange caresses across each other’s bodies, each pass of their fingers serving to remove an item of clothing until the two of them lay bare beneath the night sky. Her flesh prickles against the chill of the air, but she barely notices as her eyes drink in the sight of the man before her.

She looks appreciatively, silently cursing the robes that have been swamping the hard planes of muscle of Osferth’s torso. Her breath hitches at the sight of his hardened length, it’s thick and long, flushed pink at the tip, it appears that he is full of surprises.

“You are beautiful,” He declares softly, taking his time to gaze upon her own form, and she feels her skin grow heated at his compliment.

As he moves his body to cover hers, his mouth travels a path from her neck to her chest, leaving a trail of wet, opened mouthed caresses. He suckles on the hardened peaks of her breasts and she arches against him, a soft moan escaping her at the jolt of arousal that rushes through her.

She halts Osferth’s movements when he attempts to move lower, the ache between her thighs is unbearable and she is certain she needs no further preparation. “Please,” She whispers. “I want you.”

He inhales sharply at this, pupils blown wide with lust and hovers over her as she spreads her legs further to accommodate him. The gentle stretch as he pushes slowly inside is exquisite torture and causes her to gasp.

He pauses for a moment, softly stroking her hair. “Am I hurting you?”

“No, it feels good,” She reassures him. “Please don’t stop.”

He kisses her deeply as he bottoms out, allowing her a moment to adjust before he begins to rock his hips. His strokes are sure and even, and she finds herself wondering if this is practiced or purely instinctual. She had expected Osferth to be clumsy and inexperienced, yet every thrust of his hips finds a spot inside her that leaves her crying out as her toes curl involuntarily.

“I have wanted you for so long,” He whispers into her ear, as his hips snap against hers with more urgency. “You feel better than I have ever dreamed.”

She feels her eyes grow misty with emotion at this, the combination of his soft confessions and the pleasure she is experiencing becoming too much, until the tightly wound coil within her lower belly finally snaps, and she falls apart, clenching ceaselessly around him, as her cries of ecstasy are offered up to the stars above them.

Osferth shudders, pulling out of her with a strangled groan, stroking frantically at himself as he paints her upper thighs with his spend before collapsing beside her.

As the euphoria begins to wear off, she becomes aware of the tickle of the damp grass against her back, the coolness that licks against her sweaty skin.

He gently tugs her to his chest and she goes willingly, draping herself across him, listening to the rapid thud of his heartbeat.

“Are you alright, my lady?”

“Just fine, Baby Monk.”

“Could you…could you just call me Osferth? Simply Osferth.” He asks gently.

She lifts her head from his chest, raising a questioning eyebrow at him and he smiles fondly down at her.

“It seems more fitting for you to call me by name if you’re to be my woman.”

“Your woman?” She feels her stomach flutter.

“Yes, my woman,” He gives her a squeeze. “If that’s agreeable to you.”

She squeezes him back. Nothing has ever sounded better.

#osferth #osferth x reader #osferth smut #the last kingdom #TLK #osferth fan fiction #osferth fanfiction #osferth fan fic #osferth fanfic #the last kingdom fan fiction #the last kingdom fanfiction #the last kingdom fanfic #the last kingdom fan fic #ewan mitchell

[ghoulangerlee]

Mushy May 11 - Papa Time / First Kiss

this is for day 11 for mushy may, i've combied Papa Time w/ First Kiss and thus we get Dew and Copia's first kiss vaguely based in my You Share Not universe (though a technical AU since this has yet to happen).

Mountain is also mentioned but not present, heavily implied Moutain/Copia, Mountain/Dew and Rain/Dew and Mountain/Dew/Copia :)

you don't have to have read you share not to know anything other than it's a slowish burn au of Copia taking over the mantle as the leader of the ghost project and the ghouls eventually fall in love with him.

-

Copia's nervous energy manifests itself into a sour sort of scent, cloying Dewdrop's senses as he watches the man pace along the aisle of the tour bus.

They're due soon, at their first stop of the tour and for the most part, Copia had seemed excited to leave the heavy and imposing walls of the church, ignoring the way one of the Clergy suits had tittered at them before they'd boarded, wishing Copia a good tour.

We'll be watching, of course. Do us proud.

There was a thinly veiled threat there that made Dew's hair stand on end, the urge to slink up to Copia's back and intimidate the man had been there for a moment, before Dew had bitten it back, knowing it was no use to pull the ire of the Clergy with so little time left.

"Hey, why don't you come sit down or something," Dew says, right as Copia's about to turn sharply and make another circuit around the small aisle, he pats the couch beside him and relaxes his stance when Copia stops pacing and looks up at him.

Copia glances at Dew and then at the space beside him on the couch; it is, for the most part, a comfortable couch.

He sighs, spins on his heel and drops onto the couch beside Dew; leaning his head back against it. "First time jitters," he says, half a joke but mostly serious, turning his head to look over at Dew. "You'll forgive me if I'm not an old hat like you."

Dew snorts softly, nudges his shoulder against Copia's, "It'll be fine. First few shows are always nerve wracking but once we've gotten a few under our belts, things will fall into place."

"So you say," Copia says with a healthy amount of trepidation, "I feel like one wrong move from me and they'll somehow orchestrate pulling me off stage." He presses his lips together, dark circles more prominent under his eyes now that he's not wearing his paint.

He looks less of the proud Cardinal and more along the lines of a weary man with too much responsibility; things that Dew had seen in small bits and pieces during their time at the church, in preparation, keeping a strong facade up.

"Over our dead bodies," Dew says, he's mostly joking, but there's a fire in his heart as he says it, beating loud in his ears, zinging through their bond, "No one's going to pull you off stage for messing up some lyrics."

He tries to play it off as a joke, to quell the strong emotions he's feeling, but Copia smiles a small sort of thing, his eyes crinkling fondly as he does.

He looks younger, happier, with a smile on his face, less like the world has settled on his shoulders.

It's a good look on him.

"I won't mess the lyrics up," he says, though there is some doubt in his voice. "It's not my fault that some of the older songs are written the way they are."

Dew hums and knocks his shoulder against Copia's again, "Do you want to talk about it though? Your fears and stuff? The thing that's got you all," he waves a hand im Copia'd face, "stressed."

Copia reaches out and grabs Dew's hand, pulling it further into his space, "Not really," he says, pausing for a moment, "I think, the stress is coming from the expectations, the careful way we've planned these shows. I'm worried something will go off kilter and it will throw everything off. They want bigger and better and well. I want to give everyone that, but there's a voice in the back of my mind that's saying what if this isn't big enough, even though the Clergy have signed off on it."

He pauses, squeezes his fingers around Dew's; his own skin is slightly cool to the touch, a stark contrast to Dew's warmer skin; the difference calms him a bit, "Apparently I do want to talk about it." he says with a little laugh. "But, I'm done, I'm done." He squeezes Dew's fingers again and Dew shifts closer, pressing their thighs together.

"I'm just glad to be away for a bit."

Dew finally tips his head to the side and rests it against Copia's, "Yeah, me too," he says quietly, basking in their closeness. "Gonna be in close quarters with a bunch of hellbeasts for the next however many days, though. Might start missing the silence of your own room."

"When do I get silence in my own room?" Copia asks, amused, "There's this pack of ghouls who keep welcoming themselves into my room most nights." He says, incredibly fond.

"All you've gotta do is shoo us away," Dew says, the words catching a bit, wondering for a moment if they're all coming on too strong--

Copia hums softly, brings Dew's hand up to his mouth and brushes a kiss to his knuckles, "I didn't say it was a bad thing." he murmurs, lips still pressed against bare skin.

Dew can feel the roughness of Copia's lower lip against his skin and his mind short circuits for a moment, his words catching in his throat, and then Copia's pulling away, letting his hand fall back to his lap and turning a bit so he can look at Dew.

He's so close now.

"Dewdrop?" he says, there's a warble in his voice, hesitance and Dew shakes his head before turning just enough to press his mouth against Copia's.

It's chaste, the angle is a bit off and Copia's hand squeezes at his while his other hand sort of uselessly hovers by his hip, but when Dew pulls away, there's a bit of a flush on Copia's cheeks, a soft look on his face.

"Mountain did say you'd get there eventually," Copia says after several long moments, breaking the silence. "But, I'm always happy to wait."

That pulls a scoff from Dew and he butts his forehead against Copia's, "Mountain needs to mind his business," he grumbles, remembering the night they'd spent together, and how Mountain had whispered things in his ear about Copia, riling him up. "He was getting a little too comfortable, being the only one that gets to kiss you."

He sounds petulant, something about the amused look on Copia's face making him want to hide his face from the other man, "There's plenty of me to go around," he says with a little laugh.

Dew goes quiet then, hides his face against Copia's shoulder, basking in his scent, mellow and happy now, instead of acidic and thick, "I do understand your hesitance though," Copia murmurs after a long moment, "If I had gone through even an ounce of what you'd gone through after Terzo's death, I would have kept my heart guarded as close as I could too."

Copia presses a kiss to the side of Dew's head; he'd sort of shaved the hair there, given himself an undercut to keep cool under the helmet during shows, so he's able to feel the warmth of Copia's lips against almost bare skin.

"Thank you for opening yourself up to me," he continues, sliding his free arm around Dew's shoulders, keeping him close. "I won't take advantage of that."

Dew wants to snort, to make a joke and cut the tension that had built up, but he doesn't, he just buries closer to Copia, allows himself to relax.

"Mountain's going to be so annoying about this," Dew says with a sigh a bit later, pulling back so he can look Copia in the eye, "He's so annoying about things like this. He was the same way when me and Rain got together."

Copia grins, a teasing sort of thing, leans in close to Dew, "Don't worry, I know the best way to shut him up. Something you can help me with now that we've figured ourselves out."

The grin works its way onto Dew's face after a moment, his eyes flashing, "He'll never know what hit him."

#mushy may #cardinal copia #dewdrop ghoul #dew/copia #copia/dewdrop #the band ghost fic #my writing

[theweirdgoodbyes]

“Come on, Skipper, sing for us.”

Andrew finds himself unable to ignore the incoming agreements, the whistles and claps sounding off from his men. It’s been a long day, a hard day, and the new ground they’ve secured will keep them safe for the night, the sounds of fighting far from them as H company holds the line some miles away. He shoots Eddie a look and sees the man grinning back at him, fingers deftly strumming his guitar to no particular tune.

“Now who got the idea in their head that I can sing?”

“Little birdy told us you was in choir,” says Snafu from his spot huddled next to Sledge, “can sing like an angel.”

“That little birdy have a name?” Andrew asks, already knowing the answer.

“I ain’t no rat,” is all Snafu says, just shifting closer to Sledge with a shrug. Sledge is also looking at him with hopeful eyes; the day had been tough on him, Andrew seeing the first cracks in his psyche that always slowly takes all his men.

“You boys don’t want to hear me sing,” Andrew replies, waving them off with his hand. He’s met with a round of boos, something loud enough that if they weren’t secure for the night would surely alert the enemy of where they were.

“Please, sir,” says Burgie, setting down the dented tin of rations he’d been picked at, “give us something to think about aside from the smell.”

‘Give us something to think about aside from what we’ve just done and seen’ is left unsaid.

“You boys really want me to sing?” Andrew teases, hands on his hips with a smile. This is where he’s his strongest, comforting his men like a father does to his children, making them feel safe and young again when they are far from it anymore. All of the men cheer out their consent, a few moving closer to settle on rocks near where he stands, “you know ‘If I Didn’t Care’, Eddie?”

“Sure do,” Eddie says, sounding nonchalant. He doesn’t mention that it’s a song he’s played for Andrew in private many times, tucked away from the others in some rock enclave or tent, or how many times Andrew has sung it to him softly, daring to press kisses to Eddie’s neck when they’re sure no one is looking.

Andrew lets Eddie play the first few chords while he settles on the ground, crossing his legs and clearing his throat. All his men look at him with anticipation, also making themselves comfortable amongst the rocks and dirt they will call their beds tonight.

“If I didn’t care,” he begins to sing, watching the shoulders of the men around him slump and tired eyes begin to close, “more than words can say…if I didn’t care, would I feel this way?”

He continues to sing, watching these men he’s sworn to protect finally relax. Jay watches him with weary eyes, head resting on Leyden’s shoulder. Burgie mouths along to the lyrics, and Snafu taps along on Sledge’s knee. For a moment, these hardened men are children again, soothed by a lullaby.

As the song ends, Andrew moves his eyes away from his resting men to look at Eddie, meeting his gentle gaze. It’s a heavy burden they bare, caring for these men. Caring for each other; loving each other when the world around them is so dangerous and cruel. Andrew doesn’t regret any of it for a single moment, thankful for the beautiful man he has found amongst all the ugly.

“And would I be sure that this is love beyond compare,” Andrew sings to Eddie, just Eddie, wanting nothing more than to reach out and touch his him, rest his head on the shoulder of the man he loves, watch everything around them fade away, “would all this be true if I didn’t care for you?”

#Spotify #couldn’t get these two out of my HEAD #hbo war fanfic #hbo war #the pacific fanfiction #the pacific #andrew haldane #ack ack haldane #eddie jones #hillbilly #hilldane #maddie writes

[youreallyshouldtalkmore]

Rousing Cry

A.N: My TWST OC Mia during Book 6, when the Prefect the had give a rallying cry before the group is split into three teams.

Twisted Wonderland Masterlist  

——————————————————

Mia stood off to the side quietly as she watched the boys pick who was going to be what team. She absently rocked on her feet; she really hoped that she wouldn’t slow them down. Without magic, Mia was aware that she was a liability. Part of her regretted coming along, but she was sick of not being able to do anything, and she was worried about Grim.  

And it wasn’t even about her half a student status being up in the air. Who was even thinking of that? 

Although, he annoyed her most of the time, she didn’t want anything bad to happen to him.  

But right now, listening to them figure out how to break up into groups made her want to sigh. She really, REALLY hoped they could set aside their differences for the 2.5 seconds needed to, you know, save the world. 

She shuddered once. 

That wasn’t even a dramatic saying right now. 

They really were going to save the world. 

She was snapped out of her thoughts when she suddenly heard Rook mention her name as he gave her his usual sunny grin.

Blinking, she managed to catch up with the conversation. She was surprised that he wanted her to be part of the team huddle as well, “What, me too?” 

Rook only laughed as he beckoned her over,  “Of course you too!! You are part of this team and I daresay the very heart of this group!” 

Mia ducked her gaze as she stepped between Rook and Epel, “Please stop embarrassing me.”

Epel grinned, “I think Rook is right, for once!” 

A quiet awkwardness descended the group. 

“Okay, we are huddled, now what?” Jamil asked finally.  

After a few more words from the others that were going nowhere fast, Rook finally spoke, “Mia, would you do the honors of giving us a rallying cry?” 

Mia started, “What the…?”

Rook laughed, “This is the time when the heart is needed, don’t you think?” 

Vil gave a small smile, “Good idea. Otherwise, this group is going to start bickering about who says what.” 

“And make sure to put some spirit into it!” Epel added almost crowing the process. 

Mia sighed. He was waaayyyy too into this. She might have argued, but given that they were on a time sensitive mission, she pushed that to the side as she quickly thought of what to say. 

“Alright fine!” She cleared her throat and held out her hand. 

“Really?” Leona deadpanned. 

She glared and tsked silently at him. 

Must he make this even more difficult? 

Epel fairly slapped his hand on top of her with a grin of determination, “Come on guys!! It’s for the team spirit!!” 

The others followed suit amidst the grumbling. Leona gave a heavy sigh out of this nose as he was the last to put his hand on top of the pile. 

“Wonderful! Now we are gonna make it back to school together and don’t you forget it!! HA!” 

“HAA!” Rook and Epel showed the most spirit.

“Ha!” Jamil and Vil went along with it while still maintaining their dignity. 

“H-ha…”  Riddle lagged behind a second, a light blush painting his cheeks. Azul also managed to catch up as well. 

“.....”  Leona didn’t even bother trying. 

Mia turned away from the boys, embarrassment permeating her being as she tried to push it aside. Rook saw her lone hair dip, ever so slightly, as it shuddered.  

When she finally got herself back together and was turning around, Rook took that time to speak, “A rousing cry, mademoiselle! I feel I shall carry this as we march into the unknown!” 

“Glad you’re happy….meanwhile, please, please try to get along for the sake of this mission.” she spoke, her eyes trailing over the group of boys. 

“Why do you look at me that longest?” Leona groused. 

“No one is singling you out. Don’t take it so personally!” Vil spoke. 

Mia gave a wearied sigh, “This is exactly what I’m saying. I’m begging you. I know you people by now. Half of you can’t stand the other half, but this is our future we are talking about. You can get it together for three hours.” 

Azul spoke with a careful grin, “I am ready and willing to do my part to help the fiasco. My financial future depends on it.” 

Mia's lips were flattened, “Exactly, think of whatever it takes to get through this. Even if it’s selfish ambition.” She sighed again. “Who am I kidding? If this wasn’t affecting you guys, I know for a fact half of you would not lift a finger.” 

Leona smirked, “I’m glad you learned something over the months you’ve been here.” 

“Be nice.” 

Leona sniffed as began to walk away, “I’m never nice.”

“Be nice.” This time she mouthed it this time. 

Jamil only inclined his head before following after Leona. 

As the group split up, Mia only gazed sweetly up at Rook, “And Rook, when you are done saving the world, and we get back to school. See me, we gotta talk about you putting me on blast like that.” 

Rook only smiled as he opened the door, allowing Vil, Epel and Mia to entered first. 

As he shut the door behind him, his smile never wavered, “Of course. When things die down, I shall avail myself to your rebuke.” 

Mia’s lips couldn’t help but to twitch. 

#twst #twst pomefiore #twst leona #twst jamil #twisted wonderland #twst fanfiction #twisted wonderland fanfiction #twst riddle #twst azul

[solmarillion]

a life freely given, a favor returned  [SFW version]

Summary: Finrod and Bëor stop for a while on the road to Nargothrond to rest. The bodies of the Secondborn often grow weary, and Finrod laments, massaging Bëor's back and renewing his beloved's vigor with the work of his hands. But Finrod has other burdens of his own, Bëor soon discovers, returning Finrod's favor in the best way he knows how.

Inspired by There in the Fragrant Pines by Maggie_Honeybite.

Thank you to @elablackcat, @daegred-winsterhand and @jadebrace-art for looking over my work.

Words: 2490 Rating: Mature This is a SFW version of the full fic, made by request, please support the original post here.

Relaxing by the bank of the river Sirion, surrounded by the silent woods and willow trees of the vale of Nan-tathren, Finrod and Bëor found themselves yet again ‘lost’ on the way to Nargothrond. It had been Finrod’s decision to stop here, though, so it was more akin to an intentional detour, one of many little pauses along the journey that they treasured. Finrod had noticed Bëor struggling to match his pace, for Bëor’s breath was heavy, his back hunched only slightly. No matter how often Bëor insisted there was strength in him yet, Finrod could not help but worry for his beloved, afraid of losing him too soon. Though it was impossible for Finrod to change the fate of Bëor’s kindred, he wished to at least ease whatever afflictions he could.

And so it was, that Bëor came to rest in Finrod’s arms, the elvenking’s golden curls dangling over his shoulders, their hue reflecting the warmth of summer, all to remind him just how fortunate he was to have met such a beautiful, wise, kindhearted spirit as Finrod.

“Is there anything at all I can do, my Bëor, to wash away the pains of our long journey?” asked Finrod, gently rubbing circles over his mortal lover’s back as if by instinct, before kissing Bëor behind his ear. “I know I worry unceasingly–”

“Actually, Nóm,” said Bëor, “what you’re doing now, with your hands, it’s most pleasant. I would have you give more of it. Figure I could use your help, getting out a few sore spots.”

“Ah– really?” Finrod found himself becoming flustered. “You wish for me to knead your back for you?”

“If there’s any touch that can soothe me,” Bëor insisted, “it’s yours.”

“You give me too much credit,” said Finrod, his tone lighthearted, “but I shall not disappoint you.”

Finrod soon went right back to work, taking in the warmth of Bëor’s skin and the contours of his muscles through the light fabric of his shirt, searching for tense areas; it did not take long for him to find them. Bëor leaned over just enough for Finrod to get the perfect angle, with Finrod circling his fingers deep into Bëor’s upper back. As Finrod worked through the knots, melancholy came to him. The lives of the Secondborn were so fragile, Finrod was reminded, their bodies so easily prone to weariness. Though Finrod did not notice it, his sorrow, his fear of finality, his need to hold onto Bëor for as long as he could– all of it was being channeled into his touch, bringing Bëor into his world.

Bëor could feel his senses heightened, each gentle touch sending warm pulses throughout his body as reality itself seemed to bend around him. Sounds which were before an unremarkable part of the background now echoed in his mind like bells– the rushing waters of Sirion, the leaves blowing in the wind, even the conversing voices of the trees. Summer rays reflected off of the water with a sparkling, ethereal light, and Bëor found himself enveloped in a soft, ethereal glow, sighing as the pain seemed to melt away.

By the time Finrod finished, Bëor wasn’t sure how much time had passed, but he was brought back to reality by the beautiful songs of birds, as if Finrod himself had summoned them; Bëor couldn’t help but smile, eyes widened from the otherworldly experience. But when he turned to face Finrod, he could sense the loneliness in his eyes; now it was Bëor’s turn to be worried.

“How did I do? I believe I softened most of the sore areas,” Finrod asked, avoidant of Bëor’s gaze after realizing what had come over him.

“How did you do? Oh– it was everything, you, you... brought me to another world entirely,” spoke Bëor in awe. “In your hands lies a powerful magic, for as you healed me with your touch, I found myself caught up inside a dream, with you at its center.” He smiled as he gently placed a hand on Finrod’s cheek, hoping to comfort him with his own touches.

“Ah, but you know that such ‘magic’ is only how you of the Atani see it,” Finrod reminded Bëor. “I’m glad that I could help, at any rate? I hope... it was not too overwhelming for you.”

“Not at all, you were wonderful, Nóm. Do not doubt your talents.”

“If you say so.” Finrod was nervous for a moment; he did not wish for Bëor to place him on a pedestal he did not earn. “Though I love you, I still worry that in your unending admiration, our sundered fates, we are much too distant... or much too different. I still fear for the day when I lose you.”

“Please, let your heart rest,” said Bëor, leaning in closer, “for I am here now, and I love you, all of you, and that is all that matters. We must live each day one at a time. Let us enjoy this moment together, and think only of each other’s company.”

“Ah... I suppose you’re right, dearest Bëor; I would not wish to waste our time together with the weight of my troubles.” Finrod sighed, accepting Bëor’s words. For even as one whose fëa was tied to Arda, Finrod had foreseen that his own time in Middle-earth was finite; he was to sacrifice himself for an oath of his own, as he confided to Galadriel. Finrod realized his path was not as different from Bëor’s as he first thought.

Finrod soon embraced the flame alight in his pounding heart, knowing what he needed to do. “But what better than your love, to distract me from such unwelcome thoughts?” he said, finally meeting Bëor’s gaze with a gentle smile. “We shall make this moment count.”

And Finrod seized the moment, closing the space between them, pulling Bëor into his warm embrace as he pressed his lips to Bëor’s own. Finrod poured everything into the kiss, as if every second of his love could add more years to Bëor’s life; and Bëor returned that same fervor, his heated breath mingling with Finrod’s, the hairs of his beard brushing up against Finrod’s soft skin and driving the elf wild. Resting his hand against Bëor’s cheek, Finrod took in more of the texture of his beard; no matter how many times Finrod caressed it, it was no less beautiful to him, no less satisfying and tingling to the touch.

Bëor, as he kissed Finrod with such tenderness, could only think of how far they had come together. He remembered how he and his people had thought Finrod a god at first, only to discover he was something better, more human than the radiant glow around him suggested, perfect in all his imperfections. They’d shared songs, recipes, stories, traditions; they’d learned each other’s languages. They had become truest friends, and found something more. Bëor’s kiss was one of gratitude, sliding his fingers gently through Finrod’s curls, brushing over his ear, making it twitch, lighting another spark of passion between them.

Finrod soon parted his lips just slightly, allowing Bëor’s tongue to slip inside and press against his own. He couldn’t help but moan, for as Bëor held him tightly, he delved deeper in Finrod’s mouth, sending shivers through the elf’s body. And as his body grew hotter, Finrod knew that this was no ordinary kiss. For every second when they had to part their lips to catch their breaths, he found himself hungry for more; he wanted to feel more of Bëor, more of the mortal he loved.

When the kiss finally ended, Finrod sat in silence, clinging to the memory of Bëor’s soft lips against his own. Sweat was forming between his legs; Finrod was still left wanting, and desperately. He couldn’t quite understand why, what made this kiss so different, to bring to the surface that feeling of desire he’d suppressed for the longest time– it bothered him. One worry had replaced itself with another, and the more he thought about it, the worse he felt.

Then, all of a sudden, Finrod was hit with a memory, from his time in Valinor, and reminded exactly why he had not allowed himself to feel this way.

Finrod never forgot the tears that had fallen from Amarië’s eyes that day, when they were forced to part for their transgressions, their natural desires. Though he longed for more of Bëor’s touch, his guilt and shame had come back to haunt him, as he breathed heavily, nervously.

“Nóm... are you alright? You have worried much today.” Bëor was filled with concern, noticing Finrod’s troubled expression, though he soon realized what had happened. “Oh,” he muttered. “I... I apologize, if I went too far.”

“Ah– No, not at all, I wanted this, I... I do want more,” Finrod insisted. “But I... have not felt this way, in a long time, desiring another like this. It feels wrong to me, that I should want it so.”

“Wrong? In what way?” Bëor was taken aback. “Are the Elves often this restrained about sex?”

“It is our custom,” stated Finrod, “that bodily union should be reserved solely for marriage.”

“But you say you have felt this desire before.”

“Yes. These urges are normal for my kind, as they are for yours, though we are expected to be careful about how we react to them, and I was not always so,” Finrod explained. “Long ago, I felt them most passionately– for one I had to leave behind, in the land of my birth. We were never formally betrothed. Yet, she desired me, as I desired her, and one night, we gave in...”

“And you were punished for this?”

“Rumors had spread about us, people were asking questions... we were not permitted to see each other, after that. I accepted full responsibility.”

Bëor’s eyes widened in disbelief. “Stars, I’m sorry, I can’t even imagine such a thing, being treated so cruelly, for what came so naturally to you,” he said carefully, gently holding Finrod’s hand to comfort him. “Surely, you don’t agree with these rules?”

“No, of course not, though it was never about what I wanted,” Finrod said with full honesty, more at ease now from Bëor’s touch. “I always found them to be nonsense, and horribly unfair.”

“Then why do you force yourself to follow them? You know they’re ridiculous, your body is saying the same.”

“I... fear the consequences,” Finrod admitted, not fully believing his own words.

“But didn’t you tell me you left your birthplace, to escape such constraints? You shouldn’t be bound by them here. You are the king of your realm. These customs are for you to decide.”

Finrod paused to take in Bëor’s words, resting a hand on his temple– you are the king of your realm, he repeated inside his head. So often, Finrod found himself forgetting his own title, even only for a moment, as he spent more time travelling, exploring, discovering than actually ruling his own kingdom; it was a habit for which Galadriel rightfully criticized him. Finrod realized, through Bëor’s simple advice, that leaving Nargothrond to explore more of Beleriand was not the only way to seek freedom for himself. In his own realm, he could grant himself the freedom he longed for, he could allow himself to accept his bodily desires, and in turn, grant that same gift to others.

Bëor always seemed to have the right words to say. And as Finrod fell more and more in love with the Atan, he knew he would never forget those words.

“Nóm you call me,” said Finrod, “yet I have allowed the weight of my past to blind me to the most obvious truth.”

“But you are no less enlightened for it,” Bëor insisted, “for the wise are made greater still through the counsel of another.”

“Very true. With that resolved... perhaps now, we can finish what we started?” asked Finrod, a bit nervously. “I do still want you.”

Bëor nodded. “Consider it returning the favor, for the lovely work of your hands. My hands may not hold the same magic as yours... but I can work some of my own,” he teased.

-

When they had finished, Bëor was in awe at the sight of Finrod, overcome by ecstasy, alight with an ethereal golden glow. He was bright like the sun, shining from his skin, hair, every part of him; it was more radiant than Bëor had seen from his beloved. Bëor was completely taken aback by Finrod’s light, staring in shock.

“Mm...?” Finrod’s eyes fluttered open once his high began to subside, returning Bëor’s surprised gaze with a comforting, relaxed smile. “Is there... something wrong, melda?”

“You- you’re glowing,” Bëor observed; could Finrod truly not see his own brilliance? “I have seen your light before, but never like this... Is this normal, for your kind?”

“Oh, that? I suppose so,” answered Finrod, “though I wouldn’t think much of it. This light is not my own, merely a reflection of one that shall never return, and even in me, it will fade.”

“On the contrary,” said Bëor, knowing Finrod spoke of the light of the West. “It is indeed your light now, as it shone for our love. It will not fade, for as long as it lives in memory; I plan to cherish it, for the rest of my days.”

“And those days, you have chosen to spend with me...”

“I would follow you anywhere, my lord.”

Finrod sat up, taking in breath, getting teary-eyed, drawing Bëor closer to him once more. Do I deserve this? he asked himself. And he did not have to wait long for an answer, as Bëor pulled him into another passionate kiss, comforting him, making him feel whole. When they parted, they exchanged tender, knowing smiles, gentle hands on each other’s cheeks; everything had fallen into place in that moment.

“You have given me so much, something greater than magic,” said Finrod, his voice soft, heartfelt. “It was through your gift that I remembered what it means to be free, to live as myself. I must repay you, somehow...”

“To be able to live the rest of my life with you is enough,” Bëor promised.

“Oh, but I insist!” Finrod asserted, the tone of his voice becoming more playful as he placed a hand under Bëor’s chin. “Have you not been wanting the same pleasure you gave me? I am a swift learner, I assure you. Do not neglect your own needs, your desires, for my sake.”

“Well, I can’t argue with that,” Bëor laughed, and he let Finrod kiss him again. They would surely be delayed in reaching their destination, Bëor knew; but it was the journey, and the beautiful man he’d chosen to spend it with, that he would come to treasure more than all of the riches in Nargothrond’s halls.

#soleil's fanfics

[k0ski]

ABOUT.

you love him, you hate him, you wonder where the fuck he popped out from-- it's everyone's favorite man, sampo koski!

NAME. sampo koski--but you knew that already. "NICKNAMES" (used generously). silver-tongued bastard, underground merchant, that-asshole-who-scammed-me-out-of-a -hundred-shield. GENDER. cis male, but doesn't mind playing around with appearances to fool the masses. AGE. somewhere ranging between his mid-twenties and early thirties. he'll complain often of being an old man with aching joints and world-weary knees, but it is dubious as to whether he speaks the truth, or is weaving yet another lie. SEXUALITY. homosexual. sorry ladies, if he's hitting on you, you know a scam is in the brewing. ORIGIN. epsilon xii native, but he doesn't much like talking about that.

BODY. lean, fit, and raring to go to escape at a moment's notice, for being the self-proclaimed lazy individual that he is, one would not be at fault for noticing how oddly well-built he is. after all, would a lazy man such as himself not prefer to grow fat and soft? ah, but you see, a man needs to have cash to feed himself, and his line of work does not cater to the lazy and slow. thus, sampo koski is condemned to keeping himself trim and in shape, for one never knows when they'll be running from a fresh wave of silvermane soldiers with a taste for sampo koski flesh. HEIGHT. 6'3". he's a tall bastard. WEIGHT. 190 lbs. almost on the cusp of being well filled-out in muscle, but still not quite there to rival good ole gepard. damn that prince charming and his chiseled good looks. EYES. vivid and bright, sampo likes to proclaim his jade-green eyes to be one a centerpiece of his beauty. they always sparkle with a welcoming mirth that sucks in unsuspecting prey and levels them into a sense of false security--until they realize they'd been bamboozled and set loose to the wolves while he's vanished into thin air. framed by thick, heavy-set lashes, the slight downward angle of his eyes provides a softer, innocent air to him, like he's truly nothing more than an innocent fool trying to get on by. ATTIRE. at initial glance, sampo koski dresses rather light, especially for the belobog freeze. trousers, jacket, and a shirt with a hint of teasing skin cut-out just at the hips and an opening upon his chest, he looks more prepared for a slutty merchants' gathering than the deep freeze. yet, one would find he's more than prepared---okay, well, not for the cold, but for other things! hidden under his jacket and upon his belt using state-of-the-art cloaking devices are a myriad of fun trinkets. in fact, sampo would be keen to inform you that his outfit is explicitly designed for hiding things on it! ... okay, yeah, and maybe to be a little slutty. he enjoys the looks people give him when they catch that first flash of seductive skin, okay? knives hide along the crease of the utility belt embracing his torso up to his arm, and in hidden pockets, smoke grenades await for the time of escape. plus many, many other fun things--but we can't be giving away all of the excitement of a good surprise. being an honest and good man, he tries to avoid using all of these things on his person, but, well, survival of the fittest and all.

#about/

[bakuhoes-dumbass]

Aberration - Chapter 2

MHA!Various x Fem!Reader

Thriller/Horror/Drama

Criminal!AU

Words: 1.5k

A/N: Yay, here’s the second chapter of my new AU! It’s a little shorter but I promise chapters will get longer as we go.

Warnings: Yandere Themes, Mentions of murder, blood, felonies, bullying, swearing.

Disclaimer: I do not own the characters of MHA, just this story. In no way does this reflect the characters, writers or VAs of the show/manga. MINORS DNI.

~~~

Aberration Masterlist

~~~

"Now, on to your next subject. Inmate 04, Eijiro Kirishima." You flip the page of your inmate profiles to see a picture of a red-haired man. "He is of a higher danger level, so make sure to keep your guard up. And for the love of God, under any circumstances…

Do not touch him."

Only slightly acknowledging his warning, you look down at your notes, eyebrows shooting up in surprise at the words on the page. "He suffers from Erotomania? Interesting…"

Aizawa nods. "Ah, yes. A very rare condition indeed, especially in males. The affected person strongly believes that another individual is in love with them. This delusion develops and persists despite clear evidence to the contrary."

"That's a very exciting find. I can't wait to meet him." Your eyes light up, quite intrigued.

Aizawa sighs and gestures with his head. "Follow me."

Kirishima's room was only a few doors down from Tokoyami's. Once again, Aizawa presses his hand to a key code and you hear the door unlock, following a buzzer. You slowly make your way into the room. It mirrors Tokoyami's down to the last detail, the only difference being a redhead was currently doing pushups.

He barely acknowledges a person stepping into his room, eyes flitting to your form and back to the ground. It takes him a moment to realize it was someone new. As soon as he does, his eyes widen and he springs onto his feet, slightly startling you.

"Oh! Hello there! You're new!"

You nod your head and smile at the red-head. "That I am. My name is Y/N and I'm the newest scientist at this facility. My role here is to get to know and observe you all to help further our findings for a cure." You choose to leave out the 'friends' part, as something about him makes you weary. You don't need anything being misinterpreted.

"Hello there, Y/N! My name is Kirishima!" He takes a step towards you but is suddenly stopped by a lower force. You look down to see his ankles chained to the heavy-duty bed frame, connected to him by quirk-canceling cuffs. You look back up to see him looking at you intensely, with a shark-toothed smile. "Man, you're really pretty!"

You swallow thickly, but keep your smile. "That's very kind of you to say, Kirishima. Now, if I may." You take a seat at the desk like you did with Tokoyami. Kirishima follows suit and sits across from you on the bed. His smile never wavers, making you slightly uneasy. You ignore it and turn to a blank page in your notebook. "Now, if you could please state your full name, age and date of birth?"

He gives you a chuckle and points to himself proudly with his thumb. "I'M Eijiro Kirishima! I'm 22 years old and my Birthday is October 16th!"

You giggle softly at his extroverted personality. "Ahh, same birth month as Tokoyami." You mumble to yourself. His ears perked up and his smile faltered slightly.

"You met Tokoyami already?"

"Hm?" You look up and smile fondly. "Ah yes, I have. He was the first one. A very nice young man."

You look back down at your notes, failing to see Kirishima's eye twitch slightly. He returns to his signature smile as you look up at him again. "And what is your quirk?"

"Oh, it's so cool! I can harden my entire body to an extreme. I can make myself a shield or a weapon! Pretty manly, am I right?" Kirishima wiggles his eyebrows at you, causing you to chuckle.

"That is definitely a unique one, Kiri." You, once again, fail to notice the way his eyes light up at the nickname, too busy looking down at your notes. "Now I see here that you've been charged with Stalking and 2 counts of second degree murder. Is that correct?"

"Yup! Although I don't understand how it would be considered 'Stalking', when she always knew I was around. She was okay with it, too! I mean, we WERE in love, you know." He furrows his brows.

You raise a brow and write down everything he says. "Care to continue explaining what happened? Why were you brought into this facility?"

Kirishima sighs and rests his chin on his hand, a dazed look on his face. "Well, you see. There was this girl. We were totally, completely head over heels for each other. You've probably heard of her, Kim Hyuna?"

Your eyebrows shoot up. Yeah, you heard of her. She is one of the biggest idols around right now, extremely pretty and extremely talented. She has millions of fans from around the world. You already can see where the direction of this story is headed.

He continues with a wide smile. "We used to go out on dates everywhere. To the mall, the salon, even to her dorms. We were so in love." His dazed expression turns sour. "Then that stupid boy shows up outta nowhere. He took her from me. He dared to take something so precious from me. So, I couldn't take it anymore and, uh, kinda killed them."

You watched him rub the back of his neck sheepishly, like the situation was no more than a mere broken dish he dropped on accident. You nod your head carefully, writing the last bit of information down. Clicking your pen, you look up and give the young man a fake smile.

"Well, that's it for today, Kirishima. I must take my leave, but I'll be back to run some tests soon."

Kirishima frowns and quickly stands up. "W-Wait, already?"

You gather up your notes and clipboard. "Yes, unfortunately. I do have some other patients I need to get to before-" as you go to stand up, your foot gets caught under the chair leg and you trip. You accidentally fall forward and into something hard. Looking up, you realized you fell against Kirishima himself, your hands splayed out against his chest.

His eyes widen, staring down at your hands against his chest, something shifting in his eyes. Before you're able to pull your hands away, his own reach up and snatch your wrists, holding them in place. A blush appears on the apples of his cheeks.

"Y-Y/N. I-I had no idea you felt the same."

Your eyes widen in fear. You attempt to tug your hands away, but his iron grip tightens into a bruising force. "Kirishima, I would advise you to kindly let go of me. Please, don't misunderstand the situation."

His grin widens, showcasing his sharp teeth. Red eyes bore into yours with a wild look. You hear the door buzz behind you and a flood of voices coming in. You feel a pair of arms reach around you and hands grip your elbows. Two pairs of hands each grab Kirishima by the arms and force him to release his grip on you. You watched two of Aizawa's assistants hold down a struggling Kirishima as you were forcibly dragged out of his room.

Once safely outside, you were spun around to meet the eyes of a fuming and worried doctor. "Are you alright, Y/N?" Aizawa's eyes travel along your body, doing a quick examination to make sure nothing was injured.

You nod your head and rotate your slightly bruised wrists. "Y-Yeah, I'm fine. Just a little shaken up."

Aizawa sighs. "Didn't I say NOT to touch him? His obsession tends to solidify with physical contact."

You wince. "I know. This time it was an accident. I tripped and he just happened to, uh, be the 'wall' I fell against." You think back to the moment you fell against Kirishima. His chest felt almost rock solid, not like a normal human body would be. Now you're thinking that his quirk leaked through the cuffs and that thought scares you.

"Nobody said you were clumsy when you were hired," he sighs and runs a hand down his tired face. "There are still 9 other inmates you need to check with. And 6 out of the 9 are above Kirishima's danger level. Are you still up for it today?"

You shake out your hands and nod your head. "Yes! I am. A little scare never bothered me. This is my job."

Aizawa hummed in reply and flipped through his clipboard, stopping on a page. "Inmate 09, Keigo Takami. Mafia leader. He's a level 7 as well, but doesn't have delusions like Inmate 04 does. While he's very dangerous, he's a little more tolerable." Aizawa hesitates before continuing. "Er, minus the excessive flirting."

You sigh and flip through Keigo's information. "Oh goodie. Well, let's get this over with." You follow Aizawa to Keigo's door and once it buzzes, you enter the pristine, white room.

"Good afternoon Mr. Keigo, my name is Y/N and I'll-" You look up from your notes to see a half naked man with blonde hair and bright red bird wings lounging on his bed. Your jaw drops and you hold your clipboard up in front of your suddenly heated face.

Keigo looks over to you with his brows raised. "Well well, looks like we've got ourselves a new baby bird. How…" The handsome man's lips turn up into a cocky smirk.

"...interesting."

~~~

Taglist: @theblueslytherin @sterassion @somechick30003 @meena-in-a-nutshell @justtj-andnonumberspls @zombieonna @amajikiwife @yulifee @atexansadventureintokinkandlife @ep-ip-ha-ny @hcneymilkks @pastelmoonwitche @stayarmytinyzenmoa-l @railmeddy @unlimitedfirepheonix @confaegion @drownedbytears @burntcrips @silverqueenie @the-lady-writes-what @awkward-confused @themotherofmoons @ihaveakoreanseoul @1-800-multifandomness @tragically-here @andyronii @sunnnyshark @henhouse-horrors  @dabis-s-whore 

(If your name is bolded, I couldn’t tag you)

#my hero academia x reader #my hero academia #mha x reader #yandere mha #yandere my hero academia #mha angst #mha scenarios #mha fanfiction #yandere midoriya #yandere bakugou #yandere todoroki #yandere kirishima #yandere kaminari #yandere tokoyami #yandere amajiki #yandere hawks #yandere dabi #yandere overhaul #yandere shinso #bakuhoesdumbass #bakuhoes-dumbass

[besanii]

paper-thin

[ WangXian ; XiXian ]

--

The war is won!

Gusu is victorious!

Hanguang-wang is alive!

--

A sizeable crowd has gathered on the streets outside of the palace gates by the time Lan Wangji arrives, freshly bathed and changed out of his travel-weary and battle-worn armour into his formal robes. He dismounts as the guards approach, keeping the reins in his hand as he shows his pass; they grant him passage with a low bow, moving to the side as he leads his horse through the gates as quickly as decorum will allow.

The maids and eunuchs he passes on his way to the Hall of Mental Cultivation pay their respects with low bows and bent knees, lowering their gazes as they murmur his title with something akin to awe. He nods curtly in response but otherwise does not halt in his progress—it would not do to keep the Emperor waiting, war hero or not.

It's been over a year since he went to war, defending Gusu's coast against the invading forces of Dongying. The war had been harrowing and brutal and there were many times Lan Wangji where hadn't been sure he would survive. But he'd fought on with grit and tenacity, acutely aware of his role as a member of the Imperial family to lead and inspire his troops by example. That is, until a well-aimed arrow caught him in the shoulder between the plates of his armour, and sent him overboard in the midst of battle.

He’d survived. Barely.

The doors to the Imperial study are open when he arrives, and the eunuchs kneeling on either side of the door touch their foreheads to the ground in greeting. He walks up to the eunuch standing closest to the door.

“I am here to see the Emperor,” he says.

“Yes, Wangye,” the eunuch replies.  He gets to his feet and turns to the door, raising his voice to announce: “Huangshang, Hanguang-wang begs an audience.”

They do not have to wait long for a response.

“Enter.”

The Emperor is still dressed in his court robes despite the lateness of the hour—the afternoon court session had been over for at least two shichen already—the black silk sleeves stark against the embroidered gold draped over the desk where he works. He puts his brush down as Lan Wangji parts the beaded curtain hanging from the archway leading into the main chamber, a smile already forming on his lips as he watches Lan Wangji kneel in the centre of the room.

“Your humble servant greets Huangshang,” Lan Wangji says, touching his forehead to the floor. “May our Emperor live for ten thousand years.”

“You may rise, Hanguang-wang,” the Emperor says. "We are very pleased to see you returned to the capital alive and well. Your service to the Empire will be duly rewarded."

Lan Wangji rises to his feet, sweeping over the invisible creases of his robe and shaking out his wide sleeves.

"Huangshang gives your subject too much credit," he replies. "I live to serve the Empire and will gladly give my life a thousand times over in its protection."

"Your devotion is recognised, Hanguang-wang, and appreciated," the Emperor says. "Nevertheless, a great victory such as this should be rewarded. Come, brother, is there anything you would wish for? Name it and it shall be granted."

Lan Wangji's hands curl into fists by his side.

"Huangshang would grant anything your subject wishes?" he asks quietly.

The smile on the Emperor's face freezes. A muscle twitches in his jaw as he swallows; he closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, and exhales slowly. The smile smooths into something cooler, but no less genial.

"Anything within reason," he clarifies.

Lan Wangji exhales and bows his head.

"Your lowly subject dares to presume Huangshang knows what it is I wish for," he says, keeping his voice carefully level. "There is only one wish—one request—your lowly subject would make."

He hears the Emperor sigh, a low, disappointed sound, and his stomach sinks with realisation. But he had not dragged himself out of the depths of hell and back here to give up so easily. In the three months he had allowed himself to be presumed dead, laying feverish and close to death with an infected wound, it had been this one hope, this one wish that had kept him clinging to life. If he survived the war, won the war, then nothing would stop him from coming back and finally—finally—asking for the one thing he's wanted more than life itself.

When he chances an upward glance, the corner of the Emperor's lips are drawn in tight and the crease between his brows have deepened. Lan Wangji has had years to learn the shape of the Emperor's moods, even the ones he hides behind pleasantries and polite smiles, and he knows the Emperor is displeased.

"We would advise Hanguang-wang to make another request," he says finally. Do not continue to pursue this.

Lan Wangji drops to his knees. "Huangshang, you know there is nothing else I would ask for.”

“Wangji, enough!” The room stills. A sigh. “Leave us.”

The eunuchs and maids turn in unison and bow, backing out of the chamber without a word; the door to the study shuts behind them. Lan Wangji curls and uncurls his fists against his thighs, breathing heavily through his nose as he struggles to get his heart rate back under control. He hears the rustle of fabric, followed by footsteps from behind the desk coming towards him, but he dares not raise his eyes.

“Wangji,” Lan Xichen says in an odd, stilted tone Lan Wangji has never heard before. “There is something you should know.”

--

Eunuchs and palace maids alike cower in the wake of his fury, scattering to the winds as soon as he passes. No one stops to question why a male member of the Imperial family aside from the Emperor and his sons is here, unaccompanied, within the gilded walls of the inner palace. Perhaps word had been sent ahead of his arrival, perhaps they had been expecting him--whatever the reason, Lan Wangji knows he would cut down anyone who dares stand in his way right now.

His mind is still reeling as he turns the corner along the once-familiar path that winds through the Imperial gardens, his feet following the route ingrained into him as a child still living within the palace walls.

He hasn't walked this path in close to fifteen years. Not much has changed: the trees and the flowers are the same--still the delicate gentians favoured by the previous mistress of this particular courtyard—only now there are also lotuses surrounding the small pavilion in the heart of the man-made pond, filling the air with their sweet fragrance. And inside that pavilion, an entirely different person is silhouetted against the afternoon sun.

A skirmish arose between Yunmeng and Qishan involving Qishan-hou's second son. 

Wen-er-gongzi was injured in the confrontation.

He takes a step forward, his feet suddenly heavy as though weighed down by boulders, dragging along the gravel. The person in the pavilion is still too far to have noticed him, but Lan Wangji has a clear view of the long black hair twisted up into a half-knot to expose the line of a long, slender neck, held in place by a fanzhan made of silver and set with blue sapphires. The sight of it makes his throat run dry.

Qishan demanded retribution for the injuries inflicted on Wen-er-gongzi. The life of his attacker.

Both Lan Wangji and Lan Xichen were each presented with a set the rare jewels at their coming of age, a mark of their status as members of the Imperial family. To see the same jewels adorning the familiar head of hair—

We believed you dead, Wangji. 

He drags his feet another step forward, the breath catching in his throat as the person in the pavilion half-turns at the sound.

We needed to protect him.

“Who goes there?” a eunuch calls, hurrying around the corner along the path around the pond. “This is Wei-xuanyi’s private garden, outsiders are not perm—”

“It’s alright, let him through.”

A lump forms in his throat so large he can barely breathe around it without pain; whatever hope of this being a cruel joke is crushed at the familiar voice. How many times in the past year has he heard it in his dreams? How many times has the memory of that voice called him back from the gates of Hell itself, when the rest of the world thought him dead?

The eunuch drops to his knees on the side of the garden path and bows his head; Lan Wangji takes this as a sign to proceed.

As a child, the garden path had always seemed wide and inviting; it had always led to his mother, the late Empress, the only source of light and happiness and home in his childhood. And yet now all he feels is dread, cold and dark, seeping out through the cracks in the surface of his façade with every step.

Lan Xichen’s words ring in his ears.

Wangji, it was the only way we could save him.

He stops at the bottom of the steps leading into the pavilion. Four steps. Just four steps, and yet his legs refuse to move, to take even just one more step forward; it is as though his body is fighting with everything it has against it. He can't move.

He is unsure how long he stands there at the bottom of the steps boring holes into the paved stones—it is difficult to keep track when one's mind is filled with the deafening roar of one's own heartbeat. It is not until the sound of footsteps, followed by a rush of activity in his periphery as the palace maids and eunuchs fall to their knees in unison, does he finally raise his eyes.

There, standing at the top of the steps, clad in soft, flowing robes of Gusu blue and Yunmeng purple, with Lan Xichen's jewels in his hair—

Wangji. Wei Wuxian—

Wei Wuxian lowers his head and bends at the knees, his fingertips clasped lightly by his hip. A demure greeting, wildly unsuitable for a member of the gentry.

“Hanguang-wang,” he murmurs. He raises his eyes slightly, enough to peer at Lan Wangji from beneath his lashes. Demure. Restrained.

The ground crumbles beneath Lan Wangji’s feet.

—I have taken Wei Wuxian as a consort.

--

Translations

Wangye (王爺) - equivalent of a Duke, usually Emperor’s brother or uncle

Huangshang  (皇上) - the Emperor; as per usual, I only use the pinyin when the term is used when directly addressing LXC

hou (侯) - equivalent of Marquis, second highest rank after 王

xuanyi (宣儀) - lit. ‘Propagator of Deportment’, a variant of the Tang dynasty concubine ranking pin (嬪) that doesn’t use feminine qualities; the second highest rank after furen/zande (夫人/贊德), used between 662-670 (possibly under Wu Zetian’s influence)

fazhan (髮簪) - hair ornament/pin

--

Notes

Title is taken from the Chinese phrase boming (薄命), which means to have an unlucky fate (usually in reference to women). It literally translates to “thin life/fate”. Inspired by a line in the song 雪落下的聲音 (the sound of snowfall; Story of Yanxi Palace OST):  此生 如纸般薄命 - this life, my fate is as thin as paper.

For those of you wondering where the hell I’m going with this—I have no fucking clue lmao. I just wanted to write WangXian angst with a dose of XiXian that doesn’t involve Dark!LXC for once. I also cannot be bothered to look back on this anymore, so any mistakes are purely cos I’ve given up working on this any further hahahahahaha *dies*

Inspired by a mish-mash of Story of Yanxi Palace (Fuheng x Yinglou reunion anyone???) and Empress of China (mostly the OST, but also the gorgeous costuming and setting of the Tang Dynasty).

Will I continue it? Maybe??? It took me weeks to even get my ass into gear to write this one snippet, I honestly don’t know if I will get around to writing more. But if it interests you, send me an ask about the ‘verse and I’ll try and expand more on it, even if it’s just headcanon form and not fic.

--

buy me a ko-fi!

--

#my writing #wangxian #mdzs #lan wangji #wei wuxian #薄命 #王爺機 x 妃子羡 #lan xichen #xixian #consort!wwx #emperor!lxc #duke!lwj #lan wangji x wei wuxian #lan xichen x wei wuxian #🔪🔪 #harem au #imperial au #set in the Tang Dynasty if we REALLY have to specify lol #paper thin fic

[mercy-burning]

To Be Near

Part of Mercy’s 1k Celebration: A collection of Spencer Reid x Reader requests to celebrate 1,000 followers.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!Reader

Summary: It’s Spencer and Reader’s first night together since he got out of prison.

Category: FLUFF/SMUT (18+), and a ‘lil bit of angst in there too (it’s mostly just kinda sad tbh)

Warnings: Mild language, Smut (oral sex- female receiving, penetrative sex, unprotected sex, creampie, dirty talk)

Word Count: 4.9k

Full Requests:

+ “...ahhh okay what about like a fluff&smut about seeing spencer after he got out of prison? like he’s all soft and “i wanna make love to you” ???” — @shatteredlovesick 

+ “...First, congratulations on 1k! absolutely loved you “I’ve Got You” fic and was wondering if you could make something similar that has fluffy smut.” — @onesstop 

MASTERLIST | 1K MASTERLIST

***

Usually you loved the cold. Feeling the cool breeze on your face and cuddling up with blankets and cardigans and sweaters was just about the most comforting feeling in the world.

But no amount of blankets and cardigans and sweaters could have shaken the devastating chill that settled in your bones when Spencer was gone. And wearing his clothes only strengthened the loneliness that plagued you. It was a blaring reminder that he was spending his days actually behind bars and not with you, cuddled on the couch like you'd done a million times over. Like he should have been.

Sure enough, about a week went by and you barely saw him. The first time you'd seen him since he was released from prison was brief, right before he had to go back to work to get his mom back and safe to him. You held him close, breathing in as much of him as you could before he would be ripped away from you again, making sure he knew just how much you loved him and cared for him.

And what added salt to injury was the fact that even after he was released, he was incredibly busy. It seemed like bad thing after bad thing just kept happening, like a domino effect of evil that left you feeling colder. Because now you were plain scared. And alone.

Penelope was kind enough to text you with updates, and even though Spencer might have been physically okay, you knew that all of this stress and constant danger was probably eating away at him from the inside.

Eventually he'd called to let you know that everything was okay again, he and his mom on their way to a motel to recuperate in for a little while. Hearing his weary voice, broken and completely drenched in exhaustion was the only thing that kept you from begging him to come home to you— As much as you desperately needed him, wanted to comfort him, you knew that he needed time alone with his mom. So yet again, you'd told him how much you loved him and held on to the way he said it back, his soft voice humming low in your heart long after he hung up.

He texted you occasionally, little updates to let you know he was okay. And he rarely ever texted at all. Whenever he did it made your heart sing, seeing his naively adorable attempts at using emoticons coupled together with declarations of love or sometimes even stupid little jokes designed to put a smile on your face. You liked to imagine he sent them so he could picture your laugh in his mind, ringing out softly and sweetly as he read back your usual Lol, I love you, silly goose, or something along those lines.

When you finally did see him face-to-face again, it was days later. He briefly mentioned over text that his team was in trouble, but that it would be taken care of and that his mom was safe somewhere. Again your stomach twisted with nerves, hoping and praying that he would come back to you safely. It was always a possibility with his job that something bad would happen, as you've unfortunately witnessed a few times over, but the so-called comfort in knowing that truth didn't help ease your anxieties at all. Maybe they had once upon a time, but after the last few months, and even the last few days, you weren't sure you'd ever know true comfort until Spencer was safely in your arms for eternity.

He'd texted to say he was on his way over in the early morning, and your heart skipped several beats. And in attempt to make yourself look less disheveled and sleep-deprived, you put on a clean pair of clothes—sweats and a tank top with one of Spencer's cardigans—and brushed your hair. To make it all feel a little more real, you splashed cool water on your face and rubbed at your eyes to wake yourself up a bit.

You were patiently sitting on the couch, two warm cups of tea laid out in front of you on the low table when there was a knock on your door, followed by a soft, "It's me," ad you were to the door in an instant.

As always, the sight of him drove you half wild. He looked exhausted, his hair particularly messy and his clothing hung loosely around him. His eyes softened when he saw you, like he was finally in the one place he truly wanted to be, like he was home, and the sight of his bottom lip wobbling every so slightly was enough to have you pull him inside by the shirt and into your arms.

The bag slung over his shoulder dropped with a heavy thud to the ground, and both of his arms snuck to the back of your waist as you leaned up on your tip-toes and squeezed yourself into his body. Your arms clung to his neck, and the big sigh of relief that you felt leave his body utterly wrecked you.

The door to your apartment remained wide open as you stood there in the doorway and hugged each other, silently reuniting in a way that conveyed exhaustion and relief and comfort. There was a tinge of sadness there, too, and you knew it most likely stemmed from the self-deprecation you'd come to know Spencer was prone to. After all he'd been through in the past few months, you knew in your gut that feeling would most likely be very strong in his heart.

So you did your best to quell it, shoving your face further into his neck and running your hands through his hair as he squeezed you tight. Your heart pulled apart at the seams at the way he shook against you, low, shaky breaths that you knew to be cries expelling from his system at last. Deep down it was obvious that he hadn't taken the time to let it all out... Now that he was there with you, safe and out of harm's way, he had the freedom to let go in any way he chose, any way that would be easiest without any judgement or shame.

With you, Spencer was well and truly safe.

"I've got you," you breathed into his neck, your fingers gently massaging the back of his head. "I love you.

He tried to say it back, but when his throat willed to finally make a sound, all that came out was a choked sob.

You held him tighter and let him cry against you, his body going half-limp in your arms.

***

By the time Spencer had finished crying enough for you to move inside, drink your tea in silence, take a well-needed and soothing shower together, and get into bed, it was only noon. He was snuggled into your side, his head resting on your chest as you combed through his damp curls with your fingers. His own fingers drew mindless patterns over the expanse of your stomach, his whole hand shoved up under your shirt and basking in the warmth you provided.

"I don't know about you, but I'm getting kinda hungry," you mumbled loud enough for him to hear. You'd been in silence for so long now, it almost felt too loud, even though you barely used your voice at all.

"I'd ask you to make your mac and cheese, but I don't want to leave the bed... I don't want to leave you."

You laughed a little, his head slightly bobbing at the motion. "I can order some Thai if you want. It won't be here for another half hour maybe, and we can stay in bed a little while longer."

"Okay."

You reached over to your bedside table, grabbing your phone and placing an order for delivery from your favorite Thai place. Just the thought of the food, saying the words out loud and feeling Spencer mutter soft Mmms into your skin at the thought of food made your stomach growl. You honestly weren't sure how long it'd been since you ate anything substantial, and Spencer was probably in the same boat.

Just as you promised, the both of you laid in bed for around thirty-five minutes before the food got there. He grumbled as you got up to answer the door, but you promised him you wouldn't be long and that after eating, you could stay in bed as long as you wanted to.

And that's what you did. You tried your hardest not to scarf everything down, not truly realizing just how hungry you were until the food was right in front of you, smelling as delicious as ever and ready to be consumed.

Spencer sat across from you at the table, though it was obvious in the way he kept looking up at you that all he wanted was to be touching you, to be enveloped in your warmth again. Your heart ached for him as you set your fork down and scooped more of the food onto it. Hoping to somewhat satiate his need to be near you, you reached your leg out under the table, dragging your bare foot over his calf. He smiled softly at you, his entire body seeming to relax again at your touch.

For the next ten minutes you ate in comfortable silence, your foot gently sliding up ad down his lower leg.

And when you were both finally done, he clung to you as you navigated the kitchen, throwing out garbage, putting dishes in the sink, and boxing up leftovers. His arms wrapped around your stomach as he stood behind you, his head resting on your shoulder and his hair tickling your cheek.

At one point you brought one of your hands up to brush his cheek, and your head careened to the side to give him a small kiss on the corner of the mouth. His hands slipped under your shirt then, fingers spreading and engulfing the surface area of your lower stomach. Their gentleness and warmth made you sigh as you slumped back against him, using your hand to cup his cheek as best as you could.

"I missed you so much, baby," you whispered, your thumb lightly stroking his bottom lip. Your wrist was cramping a little from the angle, but you didn't care.

Spencer leaned into your palm and kissed it gently, mumbling, "I missed you, too, sweetheart."

The relief and comfort that seeped out of his words made your heart swell, so much so that you couldn't stand it any longer. You turned around and hugged him again, your arms wrapping around his neck as his pressed firmly to your lower back. You squeezed him tight, peppering tiny kisses along his neck and shoulder blade. Eventually your kisses shifted along his jaw, then his cheek, and then you pressed the gentlest of kisses to his lips before moving to the other side and continuing your adventure along the other side of his neck.

He always loved when you kissed him like that, softly praising every inch of his skin through gentle lips and whispered I love yous in between.

You pulled back for a moment, smiling softly at him as your fingers interlocked behind his head, just at the nape of his neck.

"I... I don't know what I did to deserve you," he said with a slight crack in his voice. "I constantly put you through danger and worry, a—and somehow you still... still manage to make me feel like I deserve your love."

Your throat tightened, threatening to spill choked sobs. But you swallowed and pushed through, one of your hands sliding down over his neck and up to his cheek again. "Spencer, ever since I met you, all you've done is shower me with unconditional love and understanding. You... You teach me new things and you have this natural habit of making me feel like the only woman in the world. Every day, you show me how much you care about other people, and at the end of the day, that's all that matters. It's... The bad days are hard, sure, but when I see your face for the first time in days, sometimes weeks? God... Spencer, there's nothing that compares to that feeling."

You were teary-eyed now, and Spencer was full-on silently crying, tears streaming down his cheeks, and you wiped them all away as you spoke to him.

"So yes, of course you deserve my love... You deserve every ounce of love the world has to offer."

You leaned up and kissed him then, tasting the faint saltiness of tears combined with the food you'd just eaten. If it meant seeing him smile, making him feel comfort and love, you would have kissed away all his tears.

And you were going to, moving to pepper more kisses along his cheeks where the water had fallen, but he brought his hands to your face and kissed you deeper, his body sinking into yours and daring you to never leave him.

You wouldn't, as long as you lived.

You stood higher on your tip-toes and clung to his neck as he kissed you, lips sliding over yours perfectly. And though everything about the way he kissed you was a declaration of love and gratitude for your affections and undying support, you'd have be lying if you said your belly didn't pool with a low-burning heat, reminiscent of a pot of boiling water. His hands on your face, the way his thumbs brushed over your cheek and his tongue barely probed your lips open, all of it was more than enough to make you dizzy.

Eventually he moved to kiss your jaw, goosebumps forming over your skin as he whispered against you. "I love you so much, Y/N..." His lips pressed to your neck. "So..." Your jawline. "...damn..." Under your ear. "...much..."

You couldn't help the choked whimper that fell from your lips as he gently nibbled on your earlobe, right before he spoke again. His hands slid down over your arms and interlocked themselves with yours, his breath hot next to your ear. "Let me show you... Please..." He started kissing your neck again, just as one of his hands migrated to the hem of your shirt, slipping under the fabric and tracing featherlight lines into your side. You whined again as he mumbled against your neck.

"Let me make love to you..."

Those six simple words were more than enough to push you off the edge, unable to take any more of this low-boiling heat in your stomach. You hummed low in your throat as your hands grabbed his wrists and placed them at your hips, daring them to firmly grip you— And they did. Spencer's lips dragged up your neck before finding your lips once more, and the whine that escaped you was nothing if not desperate.

He continued kissing you all the way back to your bedroom. Once your legs it the end of the bed, you buckled and sat down, too weak in the knees to stay upright any longer. He wasn't rough with you in the slightest, his lips still passionate but oh so slow and intoxicating, like sweet, thick honey. That alone made your limbs weak and your heartbeat as quick and loud as a drum roll. His hands roamed carefully over your body, up and under your shirt, over your arms, every so lightly between your thighs as he slipped between them to lay you down.

And once you were leaned all the way back, he brought his hands to your face, caressing your cheek the same way you'd caressed his.

He pulled back, looking into your eyes with his, their golden color almost completely swallowed by his pupils. His breath fanned gently over your mouth, and you smiled, resting one of your hands atop his on your cheek. You leaned into his touch and wrapped your legs around his waist, drawing him near and hoping you could stay with him forever.

"I love you," you whispered.

He leaned down and kissed you again, mumbling, "I love you," into your mouth as he did so. His lips migrated down your skin again, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses all over. "I missed you... Missed your warmth..."

He shifted down your body then, his kisses starting up again at your stomach where your shirt had ridden up. When his tongue licked a thin stripe across your lower stomach, you whimpered and trembled underneath him, feeling wetness already dampening your panties. He laughed against your skin, pressing another kiss to your stomach. "Missed all your little whimpers..." He slid downwards, trailing his fingers along the waistband of your pants before slowly tugging them down, his lips following the trail through each new centimeter of exposed skin. "...and how squirmy you get when I touch you like this..."

Your pants were off quicker than you thought, but he left your underwear on as he kissed up your legs, starting at your ankle and slowly making his way up to your thighs. Your hands fisted the sheets when his breath blew out over the crease of your thigh, eliciting another desperate whine from your throat. And though it was hard to hear over the blood rushing in your ears, thrumming nearly as loudly as your heart, you were still able to hear Spencer's low laugh at your reaction, a sound that made you even wetter.

"I missed teasing you like this," he continued, running his middle finger over your opening through the thin panties you had on. You squirmed again, hips jolting at his touch— a touch you hadn't felt in months. You were utterly wrecked, and he barely even did anything to you, a fact he picked up on pretty quickly.

"You missed it, too, haven't you, sweetheart? Hmm?" His finger pressed harder into you, no doubt feeling how wet, how warm and ready for him you were. "My poor, pretty girl, haven't been touched in months. It must have been so lonely..." Though his words were teasing, a means to get you hot and bothered, there was also an underlying tone of truth to them— of this aching pity and sadness and regret... His words were apologetic as much as they were teasing, and everything all at once was making you ache for him more.

"Y—Yes, baby," you choked out as best as you could, opening your eyes to see how thoroughly wrecked he was. "Fuck, I missed you so much... No... No one touches me li—ike you do."

"I'm so sorry for leaving you all alone, baby," he whispers, kissing your thighs once more before moving to where you were already craving his full attention. "Let me make it up to you..."

He replaced his finger with his tongue, warm and wet as it firmly pressed over your clothed cunt. A loud sigh escaped you as he kept it pressed there, ever so slightly curling the tip of it to reach further inside you. He pulled back after a few moments, pressing kiss after kiss all around the seams of your underwear until he reached your center again. He tugged the fabric down until it was off, kissing up your leg again.

"I can't wait to get reacquainted..." His lips moved softly against the skin on your inner thighs, moving closer to where you ached for him with every passing second. And then his face was right there, millimeters away from it when he spoke, his lips ever so lightly dancing over the slick flesh. "...with this pretty little pussy."

When his tongue darted out, you shattered beneath him immediately. It was only the tiniest of touches, the very tip of his tongue coming in contact just below your clit, and still it was enough to ruin you. Among the many lonely nights you'd had over the course of the last few months, you were met with dreams of this exact moment, Spencer's head between your legs as he unraveled you, and it always left you feeling even more lonely when you woke up.

But this was no dream. He was really there, in front of you, making up for lost time. And that's what made you lose control.

He kitten-licked your clit through your first orgasm of the night, and as you came down, you couldn't help but feel embarrassed at how quickly it took for you to fall apart.

"Oh, sweetheart... That was so damn beautiful." He brought his tongue out to lick through your folds again, humming lowly in he back of his throat. You watched him intently, trying not to shake, and noticed his eyes roll into the back of his head with a flutter as he delved further into you. The sight, accompanied by his tongue now plunging itself into you, made you cry out, your head hitting the bed and your hands clenching the sheets even harder.

He reacquainted himself with your pussy just fine, spending almost an hour alone exploring every way to make you come as if he'd never done it before. Each time you came down, he'd pull away and start off slow again, gently probing his fingers inside of you while his tongue massaged your clit every which way. It was like pure velvet, each stroke of his tongue and each curl of his fingers inside of you causing you to crash and burn over and over again. In between your high-pitched moans and cries, Spencer would occasionally mumble words of praise against your skin, a particular favorite of yours being the, "Perfect fucking cunt, princess..." right before gently sucking at your clit.

By the time he was finished, your three slow-building orgasms and the one quick one under his belt, his hair was absolutely wild as he looked up at you. He moved up your body, the wetness on his face glistening in the sunlight that poured through the bedroom window, and the hungry look in his eyes dissolved into absolute adoration and wonder as he took in your appearance.

Your mouth was partway open, your middle finger tucked between your teeth as you recovered from your highs. Sweat glittered over your brow and your chest heaved deeply, a smile forming on your lips when he bit his bottom lip and studied you.

"You sure you're okay to keep going?" he asked you gently, using a thumb to brush over your cheek.

The deep rasp in his voice after having been... occupied for the past hour sent a wave of pleasure coursing through your veins. So you nodded, removing your finger from your mouth and bringing his face down to meet yours in a deep, loving kiss that had you both weak in the knees.

You slid up to the head of the bed, your legs resting wide open as Spencer removed himself of his clothes. You rid your shirt as well, the two of you never losing eye contact as you bared yourselves to each other for the first time in months. The air between you two was utterly electric, all this time apart coming to an end at last. Your bodies practically buzzed with the nearness, your veins going numb each time he brushed up against you as he settled out of his clothes and in between your legs.

When he leaned forward, the head of his cock gliding up through your folds to ready himself, you sighed out, reaching up to grab his face with both of your hands. Your fingers gently brushed away stray strands of hair from his eyes, and you smiled, hoping to convey to him just how much you truly loved him. Sure enough, his eyes softened once again under your gaze, and mostly, almost entirely gone was the insecurity and sorrow that had plagued them.

"I love you, Spencer," you told him, bringing his face down so your noses were touching. You brushed your nose against his and then pressed a gentle kiss to it, right as he started to push into you. You captured each others' shaky, relieved sighs as he bottomed out, holding himself deep inside you and pulling your legs up to wrap around his arms. Your tongue licked up into his mouth as you whined, already so relieved to have him in your arms (and quite frankly your pussy) once again.

He started to move ever so slowly, never fully retreating all the way before pressing his hips back into yours, and the groan that left his throat as he felt you clamping around him wrecked you all all over again. "So tight and warm," he mused softly against your lips, accepting and returning every kiss you gave him as he continued a slow, searing pace inside of you. "I've missed you so much, pretty girl... Dreamt... about you almost every night..."

"Me, too," you admitted, softly moaning out at the burning between your legs. "Missed... feeling you inside me. You always... Ohhh... always f—fill me up so g—good." Pressure was already building between your hips again, threatening to pop like a balloon at any given moment. But you wanted to hold on, to revel in this moment as long as you could.

Your hands grazed over his shoulders, lightly digging your nails into the skin as he drove into you a little harder. His pace was still tantalizingly slow, though the force with which he showed you how much he loved you, accented with a sharp, loud slap of skin each time, more than made up for it.

It didn't help that you could hear how wet you were with each movement, how aroused he made you and how loved he made you feel. It was something he obviously knew, but being able to hear it, every wet and delicious sound that came from your body as he made love to you like that, praised him better than any words could possibly dream.

Still, he asked you anyway, a means of dirty talk if nothing else. "You hear that, princess? You hear how good I make you feel?"

You buried your face into his neck, incoherently moaning and grumbling out curses as he shifted his hips and angled himself deeper inside you. Your legs were burning from being bent and wrapped around his arms, but somehow that burn only added to the pressure building in your belly. You couldn't help clenching around him, an action which made him groan into your neck.

"Go ahead and come for me, pretty girl," he stuttered out. "I... I know you have to. Let go for me... Give me all you got..."

His words, strained and raspy, coupled with hot kisses to your neck certainly helped you get there, but you wanted more. "But I want you to come with me," you whimpered out, clutching onto his shoulders. "I wanna... be... together again."

To help him out, you clenched around him over and over, giving him a tighter space to work with, and a guttural groan escaped him as his hips started to stutter. "Together..." is all he could coherently get out.

As soon as the word left his lips, you both shattered, trembling and sparking to life with pleasure. He spilled over inside of you, white hot and thick. It was a feeling you missed dearly, the dreams of it never able to fully satiate your need for him. In turn your walls fluttered around him and you whined into his shoulder, bringing your hands up to grip his hair as his cock twitched inside of you and gave you everything he had to offer. You clung to the feeling as long as you could, rolling your hips up to keep it all in and ride out your high to the fullest extent.

In fact, you were pretty sure that even by the end, when he'd slumped over on top of you and loosened your legs, you were still orgasming, a low burn settling in your stomach as you kept clenching around him, almost like you were trying to drink him up into you like a milkshake through straw.

"B—Baby, I'm gonna... come again if you keep that up," Spencer stuttered, his hands combing through your hair now as his lips pressed into your neck.

You only hummed in response, wrapping your legs around his waist and hooking your ankles over his ass. You kept contracting slowly around him, rolling your hips upwards, even as his warm cum started to spill out of you. Soon enough, he was doing it again, filling you up with warmth and love, his mouth open and hot on the skin of your neck as he did so, muttering your name over and over.

Eventually you loosened your hold on him, every muscle in your body relaxing and falling to the bed with a low tingle of numbness. With Spencer kissing softly over your neck and up to your mouth, you were the most content you'd been in months.

You must have stayed in bed for hours, even though he tried to tell you that you should probably clean up. You only grumbled in response, holding him tighter to you and burying your face into his neck. Still, he laid there, rubbing your head and clinging to you anyways, finally glad to be home.

And even though you were technically home, it never really felt that way when he was gone— To be home was to be near him. And you never wanted to leave his side again, even though realistically you knew you'd need to be separated eventually.

But for now, you could be near him like he was never going to leave, reveling in the warmth and comfort that his arms provided.

And with you he could do the same.

***

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[heloisedaphnebrightmore]

Deception [Benedict Bridgerton x Reader]

Title: Deception Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x Female!Reader Word count: 4.5k Published: 21 March 2021 Author: Heloise Daphne Brightmore Summary: Violet's constant search for a wife for her second eldest son has become too much for Benedict. The only escape he sees is to ask you to pretend to be courting each other. But how long will it work for with your feelings eating you up from the inside. Bingo: [x] This is part of my Make me feel Bingo Card by @girl-next-door-writes​​​

Square filled: Fake dating

Bridgerton Masterlist | Masterlists

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Benedict Bridgerton was a very capable man. He had a tremendous amount of talent in capturing the real beauty of the world in his drawings. He was confident, but still genuinely kind and caring for his loved ones. He also had a rather playful side to him, a somewhat child-like behaviour, one that the ton would not have appreciated in their society, but Benedict had the privilege to show his real personality to those who loved him, ones that never judged him for who he was.

However, there was one person he felt utterly useless around. When it came to you, he turned into an adorable mess, a clumsy one at that, even stuttering on occasions. Should you have known the reason for his unusual behaviour, it would have brought a rather large smile to your face, but Benedict dared not to reveal his feelings for you.

For someone who has been friends for so long, you both seemed to have found it hard to show your true feelings for one another, as though both of you were clueless. For Benedict it seemed you only spared as much attention to him as a friend would, whilst you thought he was merely looking out for you as a brother figure.

You sat in the ballroom, watching as he grimaced at his mother, who might have slightly forced her second oldest child to dance with one of the many stunning unwed ladies. The one he was forced to dance with however seemed to enjoy Benedict's company. He didn't talk, nor did he look at the woman, still she shined brighter than a diamond in his arms, proud to be so close to such a fine man.

Heaving a heavy sigh, you watched as he held his hand firmly on her back, leading her around the dance floor, making her giggle by just being close to her. Your heart ached at the thought of ever having to give up on him, at the thought of seeing him with another, someone he would choose to love, ignoring to see your longing gazes forgotten on him. How could he have seen, he never dared to look when he felt your eyes on him, nor did you dared to look when he forgot his on you.

Standing up from your chair, you walked towards the terrace, needing fresh air, trying to clear your thoughts as the slightly cool, windy weather stroked your cheeks. You knew you shouldn't have thought of him romantically, but you would have been a fool not to notice the handsome and caring man he has grown into. Watching Lady Bridgerton trying to find a wife to her son hurt both emotionally and physically and you couldn't wait for the season to end, to leave the balls and play-pretend behind you, running away from the inevitable.

"Help me!" you heard his desperate voice, but before you could have turned around, you felt his hand lock around your wrist, gently, but in a haste, dragging you after himself.

"Benedict, what are you doing?" you asked in confusion, trying to understand his chaotic behaviour as he pulled you along, passing corridors by corridors in the gigantic mansion.

"My mother," he sighed as he stopped his steps, breathing heavily. "My mother is becoming—" you waited for him to continue, but he seemed to have been stuck in his thoughts.

"Are you alright?" you asked, frowning at his frozen state, as though he couldn't find the words and his thoughts overruled his actions. You watched his hunched back as he fought to get enough air in his lungs, his eyes focused on a certain point on the marble flooring, completely out of the present. "Benedict!" you called him again, this time firmly, attempting to catch his attention.

"I know it!" he exclaimed, making you jump slightly at his unexpected enthusiasm as a rather wide smile spread across his face.

"What do you know exactly?" you inquired.

"It might sound foolish at first and I do not blame you if you think I have lost my mind, but I need your help," he explained, leaving you even more curious.

"What would I need to help you with?" you asked furrowing at the man as if he has forgotten to include you in his grand idea.

"My mother has been adamant in finding me a wife and there is only so much I can do to prevent her from continuing her crusade. I know I shouldn't ask you such a thing, but I can't possibly think of anyone else who I trust enough," he continued in a secretive manner.

"Benedict, you must be clearer. I don't understand what you wish for me to do," you attempted to push him to finally reveal his idea.

"I need my mother to stop searching for a wife and the only way I can do that is if I already found someone I am interested in," he started. "That is where I would need your help, if you agreed. Should you agree to pretend I am courting you, my mother would surely stop this nonsense and leave me alone," for a mere second you felt overwhelmed by the hope of his interest in you, but that was only until your brain processed his words. "Pretend" being the main focus of your attention, shattering the small shimmering light of hope within you.

You took a shaky breath, trying to compose yourself, attempting to hide your disappointment. "Surely you didn't think this through. Your mother isn't a fool, she would see through us immediately. You can't possibly think it's a good idea," you tried to reason with him, but instead of thinking it through again, he quickly shook his head.

"But it is. Think about it. You have said so yourself, you don't want to marry just yet and nor do I. It would be the perfect option for both of us, solving our issues," he added enthusiastically as if his idea was anything, but brilliant. He could clearly see the weary expression across your face as he stepped closer and reached for your hands, engulfing them in his large and warm palms. "We would only have to pretend for a short while, I promise," he tried to reassure you. Whilst you knew it was a foolish idea, the thought of being able to stay close to him even if for a short period of time, seemed to cloud your better judgement.

"For how long?" you asked looking up at him as a mischievous grin spread across his dashingly handsome face. One that you adored so much. "I wouldn't want to be a spinster, Benedict," you sighed heavily.

"I would never let that happen," he shook his head quickly, his previously playful smile long gone from his face. "Let us do it for a few weeks and we will see how my mother reacts. I'm sure if we work well together, you might even catch the attention of some very noble men too," he winked jokingly, trying to lift your dull mood.

You haven't had much time to contemplate, maybe a few seconds until you ran through all the options you have been provided with, which was basically none. You heaved a heavy sigh and shook your head, offering a sceptical look to Benedict. "Fine," you said, earning a surprised expression from him, your answer shocking him for a second, before he wrapped his arms around your waist and lifted you up, twirling you around happily.

"You are my saviour," he chuckled as he hinted a small kiss on your forehead, stopping himself as he realised what he had done. "I apologise, I didn't mean to—"

"I understand. You are simply happy I have agreed to such a scandalous idea," you rolled your eyes, but you couldn't hide the happiness you felt. Even if for a short while, Benedict was to belong to you, and it meant more than you could have possibly expressed. You knew you couldn't have him forever but having him for a couple of weeks made you feel like the happiest person alive.

"I owe you! I didn't think you would agree," he grinned happily, a childish warmness radiating from his stance as though he had won a grand prize.

"I still don't understand why I did. Surely, I'm a fool," you added quickly with a silent chuckle.

"We both are," he replied as he started leading you back to the ballroom with your arm linked around his. His gaze focused on the way ahead, but your eyes were rather resting on his attractive features. He was a stunning man, and you were sure if he had turned to look at you, he would have seen the amount of love you were harbouring for him. But as many times before, no one of you has ever turned.

Weeks passed by and if anyone, Violet Bridgerton was the happiest person to see Benedict growing closer to the woman, you, she had envisioned beside her second eldest son. She has made it very clear that a wedding should soon be happening, wanting nothing but a little baby in her arms. You never wanted to crash her dreams but hearing her talking about a future between you and Benedict was beyond painful. The thought of you waking up beside Benedict, his arm resting across your waist, his neck hidden in the crook of your neck, his breath tickling your skin made your heart ache, knowing it was impossible.

You stood in Somerset House, one arm hooked around Benedict's as he watched the paintings, his face focused on one particular art with dark colours and shadings, slightly depressing as if the artist tried to capture a horrible emotion. Art was always something that you found beautiful, but never really understood. When Benedict talked about the meaning behind each piece with a childish happiness across his face, it made you feel content. Although you didn't understand much of what he was saying, the adorable expression he wore was worth each and every moment you spent listening to him.

Looking at his handsome features as they relaxed into a content smile, made you mirror his expression. You couldn't look at him and not smile. As though his mere presence made you feel at ease.

"I feel your eyes on me," he chuckled with a mischievous smile, knowing that you have indeed been staring at him for the longest time.

"I'm sorry," you quickly turned away, feeling your cheeks and ears heat up in embarrassment. "I couldn't stop watching you. You were really focused on that painting and it seemed as though you were here physically, but not mentally. You unintentionally make this face when you enjoy a painting," you smiled shyly.

"A face?" he furrowed, not knowing of his own reaction.

"Yes, as if you were completely captured by the painting. You have a certain content smile across your face and even forget to blink at times," you giggled, placing your hand in front of your mouth, remembering his facial expression.

"Don't hide your smile," he said as he reached for your wrist and gently wrapped his fingers around your arm, pulling your hand away from your lips. "You are even more beautiful when you smile," for a second his words made you hope, as though he meant more than he let on. His eyes seemed as if they could see through you, reading each and every single thought that crossed your mind. For the shortest of time, it felt your feelings weren't as unrequited as you thought. However, you quickly had to remind yourself that your imagination was playing a painful game with you, one that would surely end in a heartbreak.

You quickly turned away, trying to shake those foolish thoughts away, before you decided to dwell on them any longer. Clearing your thoughts, you turned back to him with a phony smile across your face, biting your bottom lip to calm yourself. But his deep frown left you confused. "Are you okay?" you questioned as he tilted his head as if he was studying your face.

"You were biting your lips again," he replied. "You do that when you are nervous or feeling uncomfortable," he added, stunning you. Biting your lips was indeed a nervous habit of yours, one that you couldn't stop as it made you feel slightly at ease when you felt as if even your own thoughts betrayed you. You never thought Benedict even realised those irrelevant, minor details.

"I'm fine, Benedict," you tried to reassure him with a smile that you wore confidently but could not fool Benedict.

"Should you feel the need to talk, I'm here," he said, drawing tiny circles on the back of your arm that he was still securely holding onto, reassuring you that he was by your side whenever you were in need of him.

As happy as it made you, you couldn't shake the feeling of disappointment as you thought about the heartbreak when he would finally want to end your foolish little game and find himself a wife that he could cherish forever, leaving you with the most horrible heartache one could cause.

You knew it was inevitable, you knew it would kill you, but you loved Benedict and you would have never forced him to stay beside you for any longer than he wanted to. You were ready to give him up, to be happy even if with someone else. The thought of letting him go hurt, but you weren't sure of your own strength either. Thinking about how long you could stay beside him pretending to be a mere friend left you with just as much pain, if not more. But you were ready to sacrifice your own happiness even if to be able to spend one more second with him.

Days passed by since your slightly awkward encounter in Somerset House. You have pretended to be a couple so in love that you couldn't possibly stay away from each other. Lady Whistledown didn't miss to write a paragraph or two about the two of you, already planning your wedding, one that you found slightly excessive, but dared not to mention to keep your act believable.

As much as you enjoyed the first few weeks of your play-pretend, it was hard to keep it up for long. You loved every minute you spent with Benedict, but the longer you were beside him, the more pain you felt. You wished to make him happy, to continue your act, but you also knew that it wasn't forever, and that tiny little thought suffocated you.

You sat on a bench in the park, right after promenading with Benedict. He joined his brothers whilst your maid brought you a glass of water to refresh yourself. You watched as Benedict laughed with his brothers, a wide, adorable and carefree smile sat across his face. Weeks ago, you would have smiled at his happiness, but then and there, sitting on the bench, watching his happy form, you felt miserable. Each time you looked at him, your stomach jumped nervously, your breath caught in your lungs as he touched your arm. These tiny little details meant nothing to him, but for you they meant the world. He couldn't have known the effects his advances left on you, he couldn't have predicted to hurt you unintentionally, but in the end, he unknowingly caused you pain.

Standing up from the bench, you started walking towards the Bridgerton brothers. Heaving a heavy sight, you lifted your arm and tapped Benedict's shoulder lightly, trying to catch his attention. He turned around with a wide smile, looking at you curiously. However, your face must have forgotten to oblige as his smile quickly disappeared and concern took over him.

"Are you alright?" he asked as he nodded to his brothers and reached for your hand, placing it on his arm, leading you away from his family.

"I must talk to you," you started, your voice unusually grim.

"Go ahead. You are worrying me," he added impatiently. Trying to collect your thoughts, you stopped, halting the man beside you whose worried eyes didn't seem to want to leave you for a mere second. "Talk to me," he attempted to reassure you.

"I am really sorry, but I can't possibly do this anymore," your words earned a confused frown from Benedict, before he finally understood what you meant. "I know I promised to help you and I wish I could have done it longer, but I honestly can't do this anymore," you added as you fought against your tears, trying to keep them in place for as long as you could. You couldn't let yourself cry in front of so many people, you couldn't let that happen. Benedict straightened himself in front of you, trying to hide your face from the curious eyes.

"I understand. I am sorry for forcing you to do this. I never thought it could be this hard on you. I would never hurt you, you know that, right?" he asked, trying to contain himself from wrapping his arms around you, fidgeting with his hands beside his thighs.

"I know and you didn't hurt me, it's not your fault. It has just become rather difficult recently and I don't think I'm capable of pretending anymore," you tried to reassure him, making him feel less guilty. "I'm still your friend and I will always be your friend," you added with a phoney smile. Your own words were a lie. You didn't know how long you could pretend to be his friend, but you knew he needed to hear that, he needed not to blame himself. "I will be going home now, but surely I will see you later," you smiled up at him as you curtsied and nodded towards your maid, ready to head home, completely oblivious to the pained gaze he was watching your slowly disappearing form with.

Whilst you sat in your carriage, letting your tears finally run down your cheeks, leaning on your maid's shoulder, Benedict stood confused between Colin and Anthony, his eyes fixed on the ground, his thoughts filled with you only.

"Brother?" Colin called for him with concern in his eyes. It was unusual to see his brother unresponsive, without a playful smile. "Are you alright?" he asked, earning a frown from Benedict.

"I shouldn't have dragged her into this," he replied, but his words were directed more to himself than his brothers.

"What do you mean?" Anthony asked, seemingly more interested in their conversation.

"It was all a lie," Benedict replied, his gaze still fixed on the carefully cut grass.

"What was a lie?" the eldest Bridgerton brother asked again.

"All along we were pretending to be courting, so mother would stop trying to force me to marry," he scoffed, finally understanding the weight of his idea. "She said she can't do this anymore. That it was too painful to bear," he shook his head, guilt overcoming him.

"You really are a fool," Anthony replied with a sceptical look across his face, earning a confused look from both Colin and Benedict.

"How do you mean? Is it because we have been pretending?" Benedict questioned his brother. "I know it was foolish, but she agreed, I didn't know it would be particularly hard on her," he added with a deep frown.

"Brother, can you not see the way she looks at you? Always trying to make you feel happy, bringing a smile to your face even when she, herself is struggling to do so? Are you really that blind?" Anthony raised a questioning brow, as though he couldn't believe how oblivious his brother was towards your feelings.

"Should I understand?" he asked tilting his head innocently, searching for the right explanation. "We have been friends from a very young age, I am certain we have always tried to make each other smile in a difficult situation," he added, earning an eye roll from the eldest Bridgerton brother, ignoring his manners.

"When you said you were courting her, I thought you finally realised that you weren't the only one with feelings beyond friendship. However, after hearing about this foolish idea of yours, forcing a lady to pretend to love you, when in fact she has feelings for you is beyond stupid, brother, and I'm quite disappointed in you for not realising it yourself," he shook his head disapprovingly.

"Are you telling me she has feelings for me?" Benedict asked in disbelief, his brother's words lighting a weak hope within him.

"Indeed, took you long enough to understand," he scoffed.

"I have to talk to her," Benedict added quickly, heading towards the carriages in haste, carefully planning all he needed to tell you.

The ride didn't take long, 20 minutes at most, before he stood in front of your house, his hands shaking slightly, nervousness running through his whole being. Knocking on the door, a maid opened it for him, asking him to wait to announce his arrival to you.

You laid on your bed, cheeks swollen from crying, bottom lip red as a result of the constant biting of your nervous state. A knock on your door brought you out of your misery as your maid walked into the room.

"Mr. Bridgerton is here to see you," she said with a saddened tone, knowing of the arrangement between the two of you. Your eyes widened in surprise, you weren't ready to see him, especially not in your current, heartbroken state. "Would you like me to ask him to leave?" she questioned, looking at the panicked expression across your face.

"No, it's fine. Please take him to the drawing room," you instructed her and headed to the bathroom to make yourself presentable. Your eyes were bloodshot, your face was slightly swollen, and your clothes were beyond wrinkled. Attempting to straighten your dress, you stroked the material over and over again, but it didn't seem to work, nor did the cold water you washed your face with to remove the evidence of your miserable state. At last, you gave up and walked to the drawing room, knowing you wouldn't be able to do anything else with your appearance.

"We have just parted, Benedict," you said to the man as you stepped inside the room and took a seat across the sofa he occupied.

"I needed to see you," he replied, standing up from his place and taking a seat beside you. "I—, I talked to my brothers after you left," he started, stammering over his words, something he only did in his nervous state. "I am a fool and there is no excuse for that. I can't possibly imagine how hard it must have been for you to pretend—"

"I have told you already, I am completely fine," you tried to reassure him with a faux smile, one that this time Benedict didn't believe to be genuine.

"But are you?" he asked, earning a confused frown from you. "Do you know why I thought this foolish idea to be brilliant in the first place?" he raised a questioning brow, but instead of replying you shook your head. "I wanted to be closer to you. I merely thought it would be my chance to spend more time with you. Surely, I had no intention to marry anyone, and I wished my mother to stop, but my primary concern was you. I wanted to be near you at all times, but I couldn't possibly tell you how I felt, knowing you would only reject me," you couldn't control the surprise sitting across your face, your lips parted in shock, his words seemingly part of your most precious dreams. It seemed surreal.

"You are confusing me, Benedict," you spoke up, trying not to hope once again to then fall painfully.

"I'm saying I love you. I have loved you for so long, I can't remember when it started. I never imagined my feelings could be returned and I turned to foolish ideas to be beside you. I needed my brothers to open my eyes and scold me for being childish, for making me hope that I might have your heart even if only half as much as you have mine," he reached for you hand, gently squeezing it in his hold, reassuring you that he meant every single word of his.

"I love you," you blurted out, astonished by his speech, your own words surprising you.

"You do?" he asked, afraid to believe the words he has longed to hear from you.

"I do," you nodded, this time with more confidence, earning a wholehearted smile from Benedict as he leaned closer and wrapped his arms around you, embracing you in his arms.

"I made you cry, didn't I?" he asked as he pulled away slightly, enough for him to be able to look in your eyes as he placed his hands on your cheeks.

"It wasn't you. I was emotional, because I wasn't sure how long I would be able to stay beside you as a friend before it became too much to handle," you giggled awkwardly, feeling as if you have said too much.

"It was still my fault. I didn't consider your feelings," he shook his head, disapproving of his own actions. The tip of his thumb gently brushed across your bottom lip, leaving you with a ticklish feeling. "Have you been biting your lips again?" he asked as his eyes focused on your mouth. His attentiveness, his attention to detail and his closeness made you swallow nervously.

"I might have," you whispered, not daring to raise your voice any louder. Feeling his breath on your lips, the proximity between your faces, his warm palms on your cheeks made you feel intoxicated.

"You shouldn't do that. From now on talk to me when something bothers you," he spoke in a low tone, his voice soothing, making you feel safe. "You are doing it again," he chuckled, his eyes completely captured by the way your teeth bit on your lip, but this time it wasn't nervousness, but excitement. His closeness affected every tiny part of your body. "It really makes me want to kiss you," he breathed, completely mesmerised by your lips, as if an invisible force was pulling him towards you. You felt your heart beating at a dangerous pace, almost as if threatening to escape your chest and you could swear Benedict heard it just as well.

"Hmm," you hummed in a reply, incapable of creating a coherent sentence, before closing the gap between the two of you, a certain confidence rush taking over your actions. Instead of the surprised reaction you expected from Benedict, a playful chuckle left his lungs.

"Impatient, it seems," he added, before he returned your kiss, pulling you closer to himself, enjoying the feeling of your body in his embrace. He has imagined over and over again how it could feel to kiss you, to hold you, but none of those made-up scenarios could ever compete against the reality and the content it filled him with. "I wish to genuinely court you this time," he added as he pulled away from you.

"I very much hope so," you giggled happily, earning a playful eye roll from Benedict, before he captured your lips once again, wrapping his arms around you securely.

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[papijean]

EMBARRASMENT J.K.

Summary: Jean was thankful for your aid, not so much about the interruptions he faced. 

Warning: mentions of blood, fluff, 

Word Count: 2.6k

A/N: hope everyone is having a good day :) 

"This is completely embarrassing."

"It really wasn't until you said something about it."

As much as Jean acted like he despised being taken care of, he truly adored it - especially when it was coming from you. His front always made him appear as if having someone care about him was the worst thing in the world. On the inside, his heart muddled when you offered to help him out.

Maybe the reason he hated it so much was because it showed he was prone to failure and not consistently the best. Maybe he hated it because it made him feel weak. Either way, his wounds need to be cleaned up before they got worse. He didn't heal like Eren did.

It was a stupid incident ending far worse than it was supposed to. Jean's injuries weren't bad, but you couldn't say the same about the other Cadet. One training session gone wrong all because of the male superiority of trying to figure out who was better through a fight. Jean won, barely.

He sat on his bed in the empty barracks. His shirt off so you could clean the cut on his back. A loud wince came out of him when the damp cloth dragged over the wound.

"Stop being such a baby," you rolled your eyes at him, "you did this to yourself." Jean always felt the need to prove himself, always needing to prove he could be the best there was. Maybe one day even better than the Captain himself. If that was his goal, he had a long journey ahead of him.

"Doesn't mean you have to be so rough with me," he grumbled. There were several other bruises and scratches on his skin, none of them bad enough to need attention but just enough to make you think about how much damage he did to himself. He pushed himself too hard sometimes.

"Maybe I like to be," you joked. Jean's cheeks flushed red at your comment. He was thankful you couldn't see him. Nonetheless, your chuckle didn't help his situation. Jean was weary enough about being shirtless around you, he didn't need these comments to make everything worse. Not when there were already nights he couldn't stop thinking about you.

You set aside the small bowl of now bloody water you used to clean his wound. It wasn't deep but he was certainly going to need to watch it so he didn't get an infection. Knowing him, he'd forget all about it until it was too late.

"You didn't have to help me," Jean was quiet.

"I know," you pushed yourself off the bed to grab the alcohol that was a little too far away for you to reach in your spot. Moving meant you got to face him, and the lingering blush on his cheeks. "But I wanted to. Besides," you paused, looking down his torso and strong arms before meeting his eyes again, "I like the view."

Jean let go of a breath as he felt the bed dip again. You sat closer to him this time, close enough that he could feel your thigh against his lower back and your warm breath against his skin. A clean cloth was doused in alcohol to finish cleaning his cut. Without warning, you firmly pressed it against his raw skin.

"Ah!" He groaned out. Jean's hand shot out, without thinking he clamped his fingers around your leg and squeezed his pain away. His grip was bruising, though you probably deserved it after not giving him a warning. "Christ, that hurt."

He became acutely aware of his hand on your leg. His grip on you loosened but he quickly became fearful of moving his hand away from you. Moving meant you would notice if you hadn't yet.

His palm burned through the thick layer of your pants right into your skin and spread through your body. Jean's touch was out of instinct and yet you couldn't get the thought out of your head about how damn good those hands would feel elsewhere. Everywhere.

For a lingering moment, you were both caught in your own thoughts. You were the first to break it. Standing up, his hand fell off your leg and moved back to his lap. A clean, white bandage threatened to be crushed between your hands. While Jean stared at the floor, you placed it on his cut, finishing your aid with him.

"That's it," you broke the silence. Jean looked up at you with desperate eyes. Desperate to pull you close, desperate to see just how you really felt against him. "Clean it every day, you'll be fine."

A small cut you hadn't noticed before was on his cheek. A purple bruise was beginning to form around it and you were sure it came from a heavy punch. Without thinking your hand went to the cut. It wasn't bad, a few speckles of blood around it but nothing he couldn't handle on his own.

The pad of your thumb swiped just below the wound. While your eyes were glued to the small cut, he couldn't take his off the concern on your face. Jean felt awestruck looking up at you from his bed. He nearly melted as the same hand looking over his wound cupped his cheek entirely.

Fuck it.

Jean grabbed your hips and pulled you towards him. The sudden jerk caused you to tumble onto him and having you both fall on the hard mattress. He gave you no chance to give him hell before his lips were on yours.

His kiss was hesitant, soft like he was waiting for you to peel yourself off of him and give him shit. Without needing to think you pressed further against him. You could feel his lips curl into a smile as your kiss deepened.

His hands grabbed your thighs once more, the intensity of his heat cranked up and instantly making your entire body hot. Jean flipped you around, having your head fall against his pillow. He hovered over you, his bare chest heaving with adrenaline.

"That's one way to thank me, I suppose." Jean chuckled only for a moment, not wanting to stay away from your lips. He adored how your hands trailed across his body - his chest, his shoulder, admiring the muscles on his arms before cupping his face and pulling him closer to you.

"God, I fucking adore you," Jean confessed. His lips trailed along your jaw, your neck, everywhere your skin showed. He nearly collapsed as a breathy moan broke past you when hitting a sensitive patch on your neck. Jean's teeth scrapped against the spot, desperate to get another sound of you. Instead, your fingers threaded into his hair and gave it a harsh tug.

He nipped and sucked at the spot, grinning against you as you whined and wrapped your leg around him. With your heel pressing into him, he lowered himself towards you. His lips were back to yours, desperate for your touch, your taste, everything about you.

"Jean, I-"

"Oh for fucks sake."

You swore your heart nearly burst out of your chest at the voice. Out of anyone who could have entered the room, of course, it had to be your Captain. Levi stood in the doorway, a shameful look on his face. Anyone but him. Hell, you'd take Eren bursting in over Levi. Heat crawled up your neck for an entirely different reason.

"Captain," Jean's voice cracked.

"Get off, (L/N), Cadet. Christ..." Levi dragged a hand down his face. Jean fumbled away from you and did as he was told. The two of you stood up, disheveled and embarrassed, but managed to pull a salute towards your Captain. "Get dressed. Now. You're needed."

Levi said nothing else before leaving. He shook his head on his way out the door, partly amused, partly grossed out. Either way, you'd never seen Jean's face so red in his entire life before.

"That did not just happen," he muttered out, petrified from the experience. Jean looked over to you and became even more horrified at the smile on your face. Were you seriously entertained by the embarrassment? "What the hell are you smiling about."

"Don't worry, Kirschtein," you met his shaky eyes, "you're quite the kisser."

><

You and Jean found yourselves in a crowded room with your fellow cadets. While the pink in Jean's cheek was unlikely to go away anytime soon, you couldn't get the feeling of his hands against you out of your mind. Whatever the hell the Commander was going over, you weren't paying attention to any of it.

To make matters worse, Jean's gaze was constantly going back to you and the Captain kept noticing. It was pretty obvious your mind was in the gutter and not on the task at hand.

How long did Jean want to do that? How long was this pent-up desire going on? By the neediness of his touch, you assumed it was a while. God, his touch, his hands, his lips against yours. Of course, the Captain had to ruin something so god damn perfect. It was too long you were longing for that moment.

A sinister chuckle came from your side. Connie's hand covered his mouth but it was clear he was struggling to keep quiet. The louder he got, the more eyes turned towards him. Jean met your eyes from across the room. It didn't take him long to realize why Connie was in a fit of laughter.

Your neck was tinged purple and a distinct bite mark could be seen from where he was standing. Connie was getting a front-row view. His eyes darted to Jean and upon seeing his expression, could no longer even try to hold back his laughter. Everyone in the room went silent.

"Captain was right!" Connie caught his breath. He pointed towards the mark on your neck. With all eyes on you, you felt yourself cowering in. Never in your life did you want to be somewhere else. "Jean finally gets some and immediately gets cockblocked."

A loud smack cut off Connie's laughing. Without a thought, your hand went up to smack the back of his head as loud as you could with the space you had. It shut him up pretty damn quick. Reiner, who stood beside Jean, not-so-subtly patted his shoulder. Everyone saw how he lusted after you.

"Enough," the Commander cut everyone's disruption off. Your glare at Levi did absolutely nothing to phase him. Truth was, he just found it more entertaining. That's what you got for showing up late to a meeting. "Stay on track, enough fooling around."

"Yeah, (Y/N)," Connie nudged your side, only earning another slap to the back of his head.

You still didn't know the purpose of the meeting or what was discussed by the time it was over. Thankfully, it didn't seem too important. Your brave face of holding back any embarrassment crumbled the moment you left the room. It wasn't like you were ashamed, just more so it being your Captain finding you and spreading the tale.

You made it to the bathroom, eager for a splash of cold water to hit your steaming skin. Jean certainly didn't hold back with his mark on you. You stared at it in the mirror.

The door creaked open. Assuming it was just someone to use the bathroom just like you, you didn't think much of it.

"I'm sorry." The voice caught your attention. Jean was leaning against the wall, his arms over his chest. If he didn't leave that mark on you, you wouldn't have been flustered in front of everyone. He was too caught up in the moment to think about what was next. "I didn't want to embarrass you."

"Embarrassed?" You cocked an eyebrow at him. It was the last thing you were. Frustrated was more like it. "You're giving me less credit than I'm worth, Kirstein. If you think Levi spilling what happened is going to get me bothered you don't know me too well. It's not like he saw me naked."

"I-I," Jean stuttered out. He couldn't move or speak as you approached him. He was horrified, even after all his friends told him he was doing good with you. Having you calm came as a bit of a shock. Even more so, he was worried he lost every other chance with you because of the interruption.

"You what?" Your finger dipped under his chin so he would look at your eyes instead of your neck. "Tell me, Jean, do you wanna kiss me again?"

He didn't hesitate this time. Jean gave you no warning, no confirmation, just the grasping of your face and the softness of his lips. What a stupid question, of course, he wanted to kiss you again, and again, and again until his lips were swollen and his lungs burned for air. That entire damn meeting all he could think about was your kiss.

Your back pressed against the cool tile as he trapped you in once more. Neither of you cared about being in a public washroom as his hands untucked your shirt and caressed your sides. His kiss was more confident this time, he wasn't worried about you having regret, he was worried about fulfilling your needs.

His teeth nipped at your lip as he pulled away for a breath of air. Jean loved the feeling of your hands in his hair, even more so when you used his strands to encourage him back to you.

"You can't be fucking serious."

Not again.

It was Ymir who stood in the doorway, eyes glued to Jean's body pressed against yours. Was this how the Captain felt earlier today? Disgusting. Maybe this time you deserved it. This was, after all, a washroom for the entire 104th cadets. There was nothing private about your situation.

"Hey, Ymir," your voice was a little too steady for what was going on. Ymir wanted to gag at how casually you were for being walked in on a second time in one day. Your head peaked around Jean's shoulder, his body protecting your crumpled garments from peering eyes. "We, uh, we just-"

"Getting it on in a bathroom?" She made a disgusted face. "Thought you had more class than that, Jean. Guess I was wrong. Now get the fuck out."

"Yes, Ma'am," Jean nodded towards the girl. He latched onto your hand and pulled you out of the bathroom and towards the barracks. His confidence of being able to have a moment of peace with you was dwindling by the second. Back to the barracks meant your friends would all be there, anywhere else ran the risk of running into a veteran again.

God did he wish he had his own private room.

"Jean," you gave his arm a tug to slow him down. The hallway was empty, even if it was just for a minute or two. Your free hand cupped his cheek. "I adore you, too," you never got the chance to tell him earlier before Levi walked in. You placed a single kiss on his lips, sealing your words.

"Maybe I should get injured more often," he toyed. If you helped out with every cut and scrape he received, he'd surely get all the kisses he wished for. You smacked his chest at the idea. This wound wasn't even a bad one and you were still worried about him.

"Don't forget Jean, I'm a lot better at kicking ass than I am at kissing."

#jean kirschstein #jean kirschtein x reader #jean kirschstein imagines #jean kirschtien #attack on titan #aot #aot jean #aot x reader #aot imagine #snk #snk x reader #jean kirschtein x you #jean kirstein #jean kirsten x reader #levi ackerman

[fanmoose12]

pretty please... if you could so kindly write using that prompt u reblogged about levi and hange sharing his horse on their ride back to let her rest bc of the blood loss and injuries 🥺 whenever u feel like it! sorry, i'm a sucker for whump and hurt/comfort ficlets aaaa 😭

The sun was already rising, the danger growing in size along with the red circle on the horizon. The Titans might appear soon, and they were still a significant distance from safety of the Walls. If they did not want to engage in battle, they needed to spur their horses, or take refuge elsewhere.

They rode out of Shiganshina too late, the stars were already out when they finished their inspection of Yeager's basement. Perhaps, it was unwise to travel after sunset, knowing they wouldn't make it home in time. But no one wished to stay another second in Shiganshina, a place that was now haunted not by one, but two great tragedies. Levi couldn't even think of that little town without shuddering. The field littered with dead bodies, the buildings blown away by the explosion that took so many lives with it... Levi had seen his fair share of nightmarish events, but what happened at Shiganshina would surely haunt him for years to come.

He understood the urge to leave it behind in quickest manner, and, personally, Levi would prefer to quicken their pace even further, so they could reach safe lands as swiftly as was possible. But the horses were already tired from the lengthy travel, and they had a couple of injured among their ranks. Besides... he didn't have the power to decide.

The one who now was wielding that same power was sitting behind him, with arms tightly wrapped his middle torso. Her eyes were closed, her face pressed into the fabric of his cloak, but Levi knew she wasn't asleep. She didn't sleep at all throughout the night. Levi wondered when would Hange be able to sleep peacefully. After everything that had happened, after the responsibility Levi had placed upon her, he couldn't help but wonder if she could ever sleep peacefully.

These thoughts were troubling, but, then again, what wasn't troubling in their changing times?

Levi put the reins in his one hand, his another moving to rest on top of Hange's.

"Hey," he murmured in his softest voice. "Hange, we-"

"I know," the gruff way in which she was speaking was certainly alarming. There were but a handful of times, when Levi heard that tone of hers. It wasn't simple exhaustion - Hange was drained, weary to the bone. And her voice, it was laced with a helpless resignation so stark Levi had to suppress a shudder.

The times were changing. And it seemed like they were changing along with them.

"We're still too far from the Walls," Hange continued. "We need to make a detour, head to the forest."

That was a sound solution, one Levi was leaning towards as well. It was decided then, the only thing left was-

To give command.

Levi kept his eyes focused on the horizon, as he awaited to hear Hange's voice.

But instead of a shouted command, he heard a quiet, broken sound, something in between a bitter chuckle and a choking sob.

"Sorry," for a second Hange's hold on his cloak tightened. Levi lamented that it was the only way he could comfort her right now. He wasn't the one for affection and displays of love, but in that moment, he desperately wished to hug Hange, to hide her in his arms, protect from the cruel world around. He could do nothing, though, but continue to move forward. That was the only thing they were ever allowed to do. "I forgot I'm the one who has to do it now. I'm so used to Erwin doing that."

Before Levi could find his words, before he could get his voice to cooperate and stop shaking, Hange straightened on the horse.

She cleared her throat and, raising up her arm, yelled out, "Soldiers, turn to the left! We're heading to the Forest of Giant Trees!"

Hange waited for everyone to follow the command, then slumped back down, her face returning to the place in the crook of his neck.

"How did I do? I was so afraid my voice would get lost in the wind. I don't have the voice for this sort of job, I think."

"You did great," Levi assured, squeezing her hand slightly. His horse didn't seem to mind that he was steering it with just one hand. Besides, Hange needed his comfort a lot more. After everything that had happened, Levi needed Hange's comfort a lot more.

"How is your eye?"

"Awful," Hange answered. "It hurts like a bitch, but... not as much as everything else hurts."

"Hange," his vision swayed a little, the edges swimming. Levi tried to blame the rising sun for it. "Hange, listen, I'm so-"

"Shut up. I don't understand your reasons, that is true, but you did what you had to. Don't you even dare apologizing for it. I should be thanking you actually. If you haven't made it through... I don't know what I would have done without you, Levi."

"I thought I lost you," he confessed, his voice shaking at the last word. "When we saw that damn explosion, I thought you were its victim."

The memory alone was breaking him, and if Hange hadn't showed up on that roof... He pressed his hand to Hange's, interlacing their fingers.

"So thank you, Hange. For staying."

"We're the only ones that left," she muttered, voice muffled by his cloak.

It was crazy to think about it. It was hard to accept that everyone - Hange's and his squad, Nanaba, Mike, Moblit, Erwin - were no longer with them. It was a miracle that they were still together, a miracle that Levi had to thank Moblit for. The dedicated, loyal Moblit, he died as he had lived - caring for his Squad Leader. Levi could never thank him enough for this.

"We have to stick together," he agreed. "We have to... take care of each other. We'll make it through, Hange, I promise you."

"Of course," Hange's voice lost some of its heavy weight, the life returning to it. Without even looking at her, Levi knew that her lips were already curled up in a smile. A tight knot inside him started to loosen up. "Let's just stay together, and we'll be able to conquer any foe."

Just as the rising sun, the hope inside Levi was turning just as bright. Hange was right - while they were together, everything was possible.

#sheeesh it's been months since i received that ask 👉👈 #i can't even find the initial post with hc #levihan

[stylistiquements]

The Sorcerer pt. 1

Corpse Husband x gn!reader

Reincarnation AU | Summary :

The same candle lights up on Corpse’s desk every time you are reborn and turn 23. He has been looking for you during centuries but this time you might be closer than anticipated.  {Playlist}

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟏 : 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐧𝐮𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝐟𝐢𝐯𝐞

You’re about to blow your 23rd candles and Corpse is about to experience the consequences of it. Somehow, something about your rebirth is different this time.

☾ Words : 6009.

☾ Warnings : angst, mention of death (only suggested and not specific), grieving, swearing 

Masterlist | Next 

What does it mean to be a sorcerer in 2021? Corpse wonders as he chooses an outfit for his black bean character, lightly tapping his fingers in a crafted rhythm against his dark wooden desk. Nothing, really. The modern days turned his kind into a groundless concept, legendary creatures at best and it’s truly a shame when you think about it.

“Alright, are you ready?” Corpse asks as he moves his mouse above the “start” button and projects everyone into a new round.

“I won’t forgive you like I did last round,” Karl warns Corpse, dash of amusement in his tone.

“Sure,” he scoffs and the devious ghost of a smile shines on his lips when the bloody word “imposter” appears above his virtual pink cat hat.

Sorcerers used to be the rulers of this world and the most famous of well-hidden secrets; no one talked about it yet everyone knew. You just had to be here, respect and adoration followed their every move. People from all horizons went out of their way to meet them in hope of witnessing a miracle.

Oh, how the tables have turned now. They didn’t have to hide their face back then and it all went the harmonious way until a certain day when their fate met a tragic outcome. The day when life took a turn for the hidden.

Corpse is somehow retired now. Maybe that’s why he started doing youtube in the first place; because the craving of being needed had to be fulfilled one way or another. Or maybe because the thrill of life has been gone for so long he had to try everything to fill the void in hope of feeling a drip of something again. The weariness of a mere life stiffened in his rib cage from time to time, preventing a proper breathing.

He could have still been able to practice his magic facelessly -he wouldn’t be the first one to do so after all- but it seems crazy, surreal even, for him to picture being so public about such a heavy little secret nowadays. He found comfort in the concealed, in the invisible so long ago.

See, that’s the most important reason why Corpse is who he is today but stopping the explanations there would be neglecting the truth. Corpse would, but I'm more honest than he is.

Somehow, he believes a little too seriously that a kid’s app was designed to ruin his life. He feels this rotting taste that burns his tongue every time he thinks about it, he always talks about it with great passion; as if one minute videos could compete against the thundering energy that travels from his veins to the tip of his fingers. Witchcraft tiktok got the last bit of his ancestral pride and that’s a damn shame.

His character ambles around the hostile corridors dipped in yellow light, looking for a prey to slice in half. He doesn’t have a plan yet but he sure knows how to improvise by now. Corpse deems that he’s rather good at it. He meets Tina in O2. She’s wandering around, running like a headless chicken. What if he took that expression a little too seriously? Alas, he can’t wrap his mind around the idea of the unforgivable and she escapes his reach. Corpse’s nose wrinkles, better luck next time.

His fictional blood thirst gets stronger when he hops inside a vent and observes Rae’s red character doing her tasks. Corpse knows what comes next, it’s inevitable. A hint of excitement and nervousness hatch on his chest.

At the same time on the other side of the country, the ones you love are carrying a big cake to your table. It seems so silly and it leaves you slightly embarrassed that people are celebrating the fact that you were born but, somehow, you can’t forbid that smile to reach your ears.

When you look at the cake, a snort escapes your control. Your friends drew a glazed picture of you but you find yourself hoping that there isn’t much resemblance between that Picasso-ish designed cake and your actual face. I mean, except for that particularity your face displays; eyes that don’t match in colors, one green and one hazel, it really just looks like a kid's doodle.

23, what a weird number. It doesn’t sit quite right with you for some reason. 22 is fine, same goes for 24 but 23 … Somehow, it feels like something is either missing or too much. You’re not too sure which one it could be.

The warmth that emanates from the candles is sweet and tickles your chin softly and everyone is singing along the most disastrous birthday wishes. You’re preparing for your wish. What could you need more? You’re a faceless horror narrator on youtube and life is just about good. I mean, there really isn’t much to complain about and that should be enough.

Your mind drifts off for a second, contemplating what the dream life could be about while one of your friends is already complaining about wax getting all over your glazed face. You could wish for material things but they come and go and their meaning is only ephemeral, maybe 23 is about getting more than that.

Ah, found it. You close your eyes. May I find the place where I truly belong. 23 candles are blown in one breath, not a bad performance.

That’s when the candle on Corpse’s desk starts shining a delicate and orange shade.

Corpse doesn’t notice it at first, too impregnated by his hunt, but when the unusual warmth finally informs him of the merry event, he wrestles to keep his mind into the game. His virtual character stands motionless for a second as he mutes his mic and takes his headphones off.

Fuck, not now please.

Somewhere, a new version of the love of his life turned 23. His mind drifts off, wandering near this idea as his eyes meet the flame.

It’s been hundreds of years and that fucking candle kept you hostage of his mind. Because Corpse couldn’t forget about you, he built those walls to provide you from slipping away, from invading too much of his busy mind. It was a compromise he made with himself so he couldn’t reach you entirely and, therefore, miss you completely. Yet, your rebirth leaks through the pores of his brain and past the fences no matter how hard he tries.

Corpse battles to breathe, he tries to get his mind back on the game but somehow his throat is already filling with a dangerously acidic concoction. Maybe that’s why he doesn’t notice immediately the way his fingers start shaking at a painstaking rhythm.

He moves his character around. Left and right. It’s mechanical and meaningless, nothing but a lost cause. Corpse clenches his grip around the mouse, hoping that the unsteadiness would pity him. How much longer can he carry that feeling? It sits on his shoulders and his chest. It tests out his patience, his own resistance to pain.

“Corpse!” Rae shouts wholeheartedly, rooting him out of his spiral. “Where are you?!”

Fuck; he has no ounce of idea of what is happening in real life, too busy going down this familiar and intimate loop once more. He swallows it all, praying that you would spare him some earned mercy. You’re always so cruel, unabashedly sneaking in and taking over his space despite all his efforts.

“I-huh- I’m in medbay, I have scan," he bluffs, hoping that no one would notice the way his voice cracks at the end.

Because if anyone did, he would have to admit that he’s not okay, that he never was and doubts that he ever will be. Just as if conceding the facts would’ve allowed him to feel how flourishing his despair was. There’s this knot inside his throat. It’s painful and he’s so tired. How many times was he left crawling on his bathroom’s floor when his heart fractured a little deeper? He misses you every fucking day but each rebirth brings back more and more longing.

He would love to abandon himself to the aching pleasure of this unsolicited reminiscence but he knows that if he did, you would possess him wholly and never give him back. You plague his mind like a mist that grows thicker and thicker on his lungs. It diffuses everywhere and intoxicates what’s left of him.

“Sure sleepy but that’s bullshit,” Tina whines. “We know it’s Corpse. He’s been sus’ the entire round!”

“He said he had scan, right?” Sean interferes, believing that Corpse is the jester. “Why don’t you give him the benefit of the doubt?”

They’re all waiting for Corpse to step in, to defend himself but he’s no longer here, too busy trying to swallow the emotions that are leaking all over the place. It gnaws him alive, piece by piece and it hurts so fucking much. Will it ever stop?

Silence is convenient, “I voted” badges get pinned on everyone’s chest. His black character falls into the lava, what an ironic metaphor.

“Sorry guys, something came up and I gotta go.” He finally says, hurry in his voice. He doesn’t try to hide it. In fact, he can’t.

“Are you s…” Rae’s voice gets cut abruptly when Corpse quits the call without further notice.

Corpse knows what’s next, when his head gets overcrowded by feelings and his heart too empty. It’s ugly, it’s messy and oh how he wishes it would be different this time.

The room is spinning from the crumbs of your sweet face and the trickle of your voice that drips through his ears as if you were still here. He clings onto that distorted and stained picture as if it was the ultimate proof that you were real. Were you even real once ? Remembering feels like repeating a word over and over again: with time, it loses its meaning. It wasn’t you he remembered, Corpse figured it out a long time ago. You weren’t there anymore.

The thought of it drives him crazy. He wishes he could get rid of that fucking candle, constant reminder of your rebirth away from him, constant reminder of the defeat he has to endure every time you turn 23 and you’re still not by his side. He has been looking for you everywhere for hundreds of years, from the biggest capitals to the most secluded parts of this world, without a single hint of your existence. You’re his greatest failure and he can’t, he won’t stand that.

Corpse grabs the candle and it collides with the floor with a thud that tangles with his raw voice. His chest moves heavily. It's scattered and in discord and there is this distorted gaze on his face when he remembers that the candle cannot be shattered. It’s this unsolicited spark of self-awareness that brings him closer to reality. Fuck. What the fuck is he doing? Corpse finally lost his damn mind. His hands wander uncontrollably in his hair and he looks around frantically for a second, trying to remember how to survive.

Corpse’s head is pressuring him, rushing him to turn off his computer and spill the words that are stuck on the back of his tongue on a piece of paper. That grip is unforgivable and unclear but he starts writing as if it was the only thing left to do, maybe it is. It feels like survival instinct at this point, it feels like the last attempt to collect the pieces of himself you left behind.

Dear you,

Happy birthday, wherever you are in this world. Another letter is about to join the pile. How many are there already? I wouldn’t know. I stopped counting since it made me sick.

As every time, I hope it’s the best birthday you have ever had. I remember the twenty-third birthday we spent together as if it were yesterday. I can no longer recall the way your eyes wrinkled under your bright smile or the sound of your echoing laughter but I do remember that warm feeling inside my chest, the pain in my cheeks from laughing with all my heart. How pleasant was it to be able to live it all with you? To be able to embrace you, to breathe you, to see you. Forgive me, my love, for I am no longer capable of picturing anything of you. I wish I could. I wish I could be haunted by a proper ghost, at least, and not just a glimpse of the range of emotions that animated me when you were by my side. All I can remember now is that you felt like a firework and that my eyes never met a prettier human. It’s so truly unfair to think about the fact that no one matters as much as you still do.

I am drifting off, am I? I always tend to do that in those letters. I hope you’re doing well, I really do. Did you spend your birthday with the ones who love you? I hope you’re happy and healthy. It’s the only important thing, or at least that’s what I have learned so far.

I hate those letters, they make me realize how lonely I am. Somehow, it feels like I’m expecting an answer that is never going to arrive.

Fuck. My skin aches from the lack of your touch. I miss you so fucking much. Just tell me what to do. I tried everything and you’re still stuck inside my brain. I’m a sorcerer for fuck’s sake, one of the most powerful beings to have ever existed and yet the concept of one single human defeats me day after day, rebirth after rebirth. I’m a fucking shame for my kind. I hate you. I love you so very much. Happy birthday.

Yours truly, Corpse Husband

The paper is stained by the storm that has been building up in Corpse's mind for hours. The letters are deformed now. Look at the mess you just made. He throws the letters away, where he can no longer see it and brings his knees to his chest, resting his head between his legs. He feels like screaming one more time but he’s choking. Sweet and sore agony grips his throat as his veins are burning with thick poison.

Don’t be fooled, Corpse would have been able to cast a spell or two to forget about your existence and spare himself a bit. Yet, it would only erase the last proof he had of you, not his feelings. He would have to bear the burden of a quest he could no longer figure out. He would be left longing for something that no longer existed. As if it wasn’t the case already. He wishes he could sleep, life would be so fucking easier if he could just fall asleep.

A few days have passed since your birthday. The thread between days and nights is thin and confusing and the candle on Corpse’s desk is still radiating with as much energy as the first day.

Corpse’s head is heavy, aching, he wonders if he could still carry it on his shoulders if he wasn’t lying on his bed. That sore body feels like it has been drained from an eagerness that has been growing for too long. Corpse groans, trying to figure out what’s sheets and blankets and what’s limbs, living up to the name he chose for himself.

Every ray of the sun is burning his skin. It leaves his body smelling like heat, he doesn't like that smell. Now, he could just get up and draw the curtains but that laziness is as weary as infiltrated. If only it could rain, maybe it would soothe his nerves and his growing migraine.

After a few minutes of silent fulminations, Corpse finally unlocks his phone and opens his texts one by one just to ignore them. He’s curled up on himself, as if a compressed version of his darkness could help in order to block the light. Sorcerers are supposed to be tied with nature, with every ray of the moon and the sun. His bond with the sun is molded, if not completely doomed to grow untie. Corpse is a sorcerer like no others and that goes without saying.

One text captures his breath and his attention, bringing back some interest into the numbness. It’s coming from you, y/n. Or at least, the “you” from this present life. The “you” who isn’t aware of the past and the “you” Corpse doesn’t know is the one he has been looking for during eternity.

In this life, the two of you aren’t close enough to be friends -and he would never let you take that role- but, by the time of your first Twitter interaction -which consisted of you tweeting emo Sykkuno with tattoo pictures and Corpse replying with a meme that said "If life is a simulation please turn it off", Corpse knew you should be near him at all time. Not too close for you to actually be able to touch him but definitely not too far. It’s peculiar but something that has to be felt, not explained; a primitive hunch so loud it couldn’t be unheard.

His mind is awake again. The plan for today, which consisted of him rotting in his bed, seems compromised right now. Corpse turns to lay on the left side of the bed, where the sheets are cooler. His brows furrow and he sighs heavily as he rubs his eyes with his thumbs.

Corpse really doesn’t know why he’d feel that way in the first place for someone like you. You always seem so organic, radiating, so free in the way you choose to exist. He envies you for being so authentic when all he can afford to do is remain hidden, where no light can really reach him if not to draw a faint shape of his being. No harsh feelings though, it’s just the way he feels about anyone who doesn’t sound fake. There is still a bit of remaining endearment in the way Corpse’s words are thrown at you, you just have to know what to look for.

Now, Corpse trades his horror narrator's advices against some social media help. Those things are bigger than him, he’s too old for that anyway. You think the way he still uses symbols as emojis is charming -no one does that anymore- but Corpse just can’t keep up with today’s slang and way of showing emotions via texts. Kids these days are just too creative with the way they express themselves.

[Hello, Mr Sorcerer, hope you’re doing good. I need your help on something.]

Huh.

He meets your words and his mind gets coated in sweat, frozen blood preventing the next heartbeat from happening. Who told you?

Corpse can’t wrap his mind around the fact that his most precious secret is being exposed with that much negligence. He can count on his fingers the number of people who are aware of his true nature, half of them are actually other magical beings of some sort. It couldn’t be a coincidence.

His head is hammered by thoughts. He thinks he’s screwed, that everyone will know. He can already foresee what is about to come. That’s why there is a bit of fear in the way his eyebrows are arching. His alerted mind screams for him to just throw his phone across the room but his fingers, covered in panic, are faster. The first text he sends is not directed to you, but to Sykkuno, his familiar.

Familiars are to sorcerers what assistants are to magicians. In short -but not limited to- a massive help.

Corpse’s link with Sykkuno transcends the law of words and thoughts. They just understand each other and the way they do, without even having to see each other, is just something that has to be witnessed once in a lifetime. It’s a sort of energy that travels through space, a special connection. It's light and invisible but leaves a warm trail on its way.

However, what doesn’t transcend their bond is the concept of time zone -which Corpse forgot about for a second. Sykkuno is probably asleep right now. Corpse’s panic takes back its race once he realizes he’s on his own and he types:

[Haha, very funny. You know, if you wanted to talk, you just had to say hi :)]

Denial, that will do the trick, right? You can’t be that persistent. Or at least that’s what Corpse hopes when he leaves his phone on an unstable balance on his forehead, waiting for an answer he hopes would spare his mind from yet another issue he has to take care of.

[I knew you’d say that but don’t worry, I promise I won’t snitch,] you reply, lips twitching under a sly smile. [I’m way too afraid of you cursing me or something.]

[Who told you shit like that anyway?]

[I just know someone.]

His expression hardens, that head keeps throbbing harder and harder by the minute. You’re so impetuous and it turns him into an impatient and choleric fog. The topic is too important, crucial and it shows how you truly have no idea what you’re talking about when you act as recklessly as you do.

[Some crazy folk told you about magic and you believed them, huh? Thought you were smarter than that.]

[Dream would be pretty upset if he knew you called him “some crazy folk”.]

Corpse stares numbly at his screen before sitting back on his bed, pulling away from his vision the curly strands that fell down. He throws a bunch of silent curses at the sun which is still attacking him, if not even more now. He types a few words but erases them in a snap, repeating the process once or twice more. Now he has to send another text, this one is for Dream : “we need to talk.”

What a weird day.

Questions, Corpse has so many of them but he can’t stop shaking his head with confusion. He had no idea you knew Dream. Why would Dream reveal something so critical as Corpse’s identity? Why would another sorcerer send you his way? That’s not how things are done unless it’s something they deem they wouldn’t be able to handle and there’s really a few things Dream wouldn’t be able to do. Corpse hesitates for second, fingers fidgeting in the air. He doubts that he would ever be capable of doing something Dream can’t do but does it really matter when, right now, you’re holding information you should never be holding in the first place?

[Feeling like trading secrets under the full moon?] You outbid. It’s always so tempting to tease Corpse when he sounds like a grumpy old man.

[A sincere fuck you.]

[That’s very rude, Mr Sorcerer.]

The way you avoid providing any sort of explanation grows in his mind like weeds that need to be ripped off. Really, from all the good timing in the world, you had to choose the worst one. But there’s the faintest hint of a smile on his lips when he does the math and realizes that, if you wanted to use that secret to your advantage, you would have done it by now. A slow relief that softens his headache. Also, Corpse is well aware that, as annoying as you can get, he can’t refuse you a thing.

[Fine, tell me what you need.]

[So I keep seeing the same number again and again and your name keeps appearing in my head at random times. Still don’t get the correlation but I know there is one. I wanna know the number’s meaning and how I can get rid of you.]

Corpse huffs, he’d like to know that himself. He’s about to laugh it off when he reads the text one more time. Something about it is mysterious enough to pique his curiosity. You mentioned his name, it bothers him. Not that he doesn’t appreciate you thinking about him but because it sounds odd enough to be something related to magic in one way or another. There’s this mix of excitement and apprehension that fills the pit of his stomach and now half of a smile is embellishing his lips. This buzzing sound in his brain, maybe it’s the final signal that he should start practicing magic again, the final signal his life will feel thrilling again.

[Call you in 5. This is a consultation by the way, I’m not doing this for free.]

[Fine, you rat.] You answer with a victorious smile.

Corpse’s words linger in the air. It’s smooth like velvet -you could almost touch it if you pictured it hard enough- and it’s soothing in some way. It’s deep mumbles and bits of light chuckles and a little magic. You’re spinning slowly on your chair, playing with strands of your hair. There’s a different tone in Corpse’s voice. He sounds tired and it’s mixed with something else you can’t really pinpoint. For the best or the worst, that, has yet to be determined.

“So.” Corpse says, bringing you back to reality. “What’s that number you were talking about?”

“Right. So, I keep seeing the number 5 everywhere. I wake up at 5:55 every morning. When my eyes are looking at the clock, it’s 5:55PM and it extends to absolutely everything.” You faintly slap your palm against your thighs in exasperation.

Corpse is silent for a moment as he tries to collect the bits of knowledge that are still hanging here and there inside his mind. As he expected, the pressure below his left eyebrow makes it hard to think. He really doesn’t get why Dream wouldn’t be able to take care of a matter that sounds so frivolous. It feels like the most important piece of the puzzle is missing , the one that makes the whole picture makes sense.

“Okay, this is not really my specialty but the number 5 is an interesting angel number.” Corpse hums. The word “specialty” echoes. Dream talked about that once and somehow, that’s how you finally realized that Corpse was, indeed, a sorcerer. Not that you wouldn’t believe the information in the first place but there’s a remarkable difference between learning and experiencing. What would be his specialty then?

Dream introduced you to this new veil a couple of months ago and you never fully believed in it before getting involved. Maybe that’s why you never talked about it to anyone. Even now, your skeptical nature always finds its way back to you. He said all sorcerers had specialties and that his was clairvoyance. You don’t really know what that means but you wouldn’t ask too much. Knowledge seems like a curse in that field, or at least that’s what you have learned from Dream’s distressed tone when he talked about the past. He always sounded like a broken record, a little out of tune, as if his soul was still partially stuck back there and maybe that’s why Corpse always sounded that way too.

“Do you believe in guardian angels?” You raise an eyebrow, high voice brimming with confusion.

“Do you?” Corpse pauses, you’re silent for a couple of seconds and he realizes that he won’t get an answer to that. “The number 5 is your guardian angel trying to tell you that things are about to change in your life. In fact, it means that the process already started.”

“You’re kinda scaring me though,” you say as you readjust your sit, nose wrinkling under an almost grimace. You don’t like it, you don’t like their world. It’s not yours, you’re only a human with a mere life and an almost mere job. Sometimes, you hate Dream for letting you on this secret you were now forced to keep. It always felt so two faced.

“You don’t have to be scared, the change is only gonna benefit you.” Corpse’s voice is soft and the way you can tell he believes in the words he is speaking is almost as surprising as reassuring. You can’t help it, you don’t like change. The unknown is called that way for a reason and maybe this reason is the explanation for why it needs to remain that way.

“Sure,” you coy. “What do I do about you? That’s what really interests me.”

He scoffs. Trust me, that’s what interests him the most as well. Yet Corpse knows no answer to that. He hesitates for a second and his eyes wander into the void. Should he let you know that he doesn’t have a clue, that it somehow scares him as much as it intrigues you? It feels like his broken sorcerer ego would crack even more if he did. Maybe he just had to find out before letting you know.

“Are you obsessed with me, y/n?” Corpse winces. Why would he have to travel through sarcasmland(™) to escape the question? His eyes go wide for a second, flickering on corners of his empty room. It’s only fair that he would tease you like you tease him, right?

“You’re just being annoying now,” you mumble, cheeks flushing in a vivid tint of pink and Corpse snorts.

Corpse almost forgot about himself for a second, about that damn candle, but it hits him once the conversation fades away and the static silence is the only thing left. So he gets up, grunts in complaint rooted out by sore muscles, turns his computer on and plays some rain sounds. The melody of droplets hitting the ground is reminding him how to breathe.

“Rain sounds, huh,” you whisper. “You like those.”

Corpse hums and the two of you are left listening to the rain. It tickles your ears pleasantly, so you close your eyes and relax in the back of your chair for a moment. It’s a beautiful disharmony if you really pay attention, just like Corpse is. You feel like the conversation is about to end, you don’t want him to hang up just yet.

“Corpse?” Your voice trails for a second and Corpse hums again. “Why did you decide to be faceless?”

“What did Dream answer to that question?” His tone is interesting, a bit higher than it probably should have been. What came up as conversation modalities turns into a piqued interest.

“He never answered me," you mumble.

“So people like you can’t take advantage of our nature in real life too,” he lies and you can tell by the half chuckle that travels with the answer.

You know you won’t get more from him, way less than you wish you did. Those faceless sorcerers always leave you hanging. They let you in on their little Hannah Montana life but never bear the consequence that is this endless and flowing well of questions. The rain rings heavily through your ears. It’s time for the call to end.

"Goodbye, Mr Sorcerer,” you sing before hanging up.

When the darkness finally surrounds Corpse, he slips into a strange place that greets him with a familiar smell; vanilla and freshly cut grass. The birds are singing. He takes a long inspiration, his body knows before he does. Corpse looks around, trying to let the image of the surrounding setting sink in.

That place seems oddly familiar, yet totally new; a kitchen made of golden wooden walls. It's decorated with an old and distinguished taste. The wooden table is dressed with a pretty blue and red tablecloth. Vases of fresh flowers displayed on parts of the kitchen, dried herbs hanging above the sink in front of the window. It’s dipped in sunlight, too bright to be real. The rays of light are swaying with the shadows of branches which are dancing outside with the wind. Corpse doesn’t mind the light for once, he even closes his eyes for a second to let every pore of his body get soaked in it. God, did he miss that place.

“Honey, I was waiting for you.”

Corpse’s heart jumps a little before clutching harder. He knows who’s here, he knows it’s his unforgettable love and the idea makes him almost want to never open his eyes again. He can feel it, the profound kindness and sweet smiles that are surrounding you like it always have and it makes his eyes burn with tears that are ready to trail down his cheek, sobs jostling inside his throat. Corpse wishes he could just cover you in embraces and kisses but he can’t, he can never do that in those dreams.

Corpse tries his hardest not to let the frustration immerse him in bitterness by controlling his breathing which could get carried away at any moment now. He finally swallows it all to look at you. There’s a significant disappointment on his face when he realizes yours is as blurry as always. He wishes he could just witness this beauty one more time. He doesn’t remember what your face looks like, you’re not real. It’s nothing but a dream and you’re not here.

“I made some cookies for you.” The ghost of you says as it points out a chair that seems to have appeared out of nowhere, inviting him to take a seat as it does the same. “Those are your favorite, remember?”

With a voice sweeter than honey, so bewitching, Corpse’s body works on its own and mimics your gestures. His eyes are frozen on your silhouette. He tries to remember the shades and colors that were once painted on your face. If only he could remember.

“Did you redecorate our kitchen?” Corpse asks as he takes a bite of the cookie.

“Did I?” Your past self wonders out loud. “It’s been so long, I can’t tell.”

The treat tastes as good as it always has, Corpse takes another bite. The silence in the kitchen is delicate, contemplative. Outside, the weather is lovely; white clouds floating above the endless and bright green meadows. Corpse tries to take everything he can from that dream, from the peacefulness he feels now deep inside, and the perfume of your skin, to the sweet voice that caresses his ears. If Corpse could stay here forever, he would.

“Why are you here, my love?” You suddenly ask, forcing Corpse’s attention which he refuses by looking away.

“I wonder if the wind is warm or cool outside, maybe I should check.”

Corpse knows what happens every time you visit his dreams : you end up asking this question, he answers and suddenly he’s alone and you vanished into thin air. The response is always the same; because I miss you. It leaves him feeling lonelier than ever, craving a presence he can no longer be blessed with. Just a little bit longer, please. He blinks rapidly to expel the few tears that are forming in his eyes, so the knot inside his throat wouldn’t become more unbearable than it already is. Corpse is left feeling so desperate and helpless.

In a precipitation he almost can't control, he gets up and walks towards the door. He just wants to feel the wind on his skin. Please, just a bit longer. Corpse is almost at the door when his eyes deform with stupor under the pressure of a hand that grabs his sleeve. His heart stops, he was never able to touch you in a dream before. What changed? There’s a moment of hesitation before his eyes travel from your hand, to your arm, to your neck, to your face and he can no longer swallow his emotions when he dives into your eyes. Your eyes, he can see them.

When Corpse wakes up, wiped out of his dream, his breath is short and sweat pearls down his forehead. He’s in a rush, he remembers something about your face, something important. He knows what to look for now; your eyes, your irises. They don’t match in color. The left is green, the right has a pretty hazel color.

☾ A/N : Welcome on this new AU my friends I’m so excited to have you here with me on this new journey! I hope you liked the first chapter. A big thank you to @moontwinkles for beta reading the chapter and being a big help 💗 How are we feeling about this? Faceless leo men being sorcerers and familiar Sykkuno??? Idk I’m a little too passionate about it. Don’t worry the next chapter won’t be as angsty as this one but I needed to express my thrist for angst lmao anyway let me know what you think! Until next time (ɔˆ ³(ˆ⌣ˆc)

☾ 𝑻𝑨𝑮𝑳𝑰𝑺𝑻 *OPEN* : @open-minded-chip-101​ ; @lochness-butmakeitsexy​ ; @bizarrebibitch​ ; @bellomi-clarke​ ; @ladybismuth​ ; @katyasrussianaccent​ ; @satanhauntedourcats​ ; @owl-llie​ ; @teenloves​ ; @notannis​ ; @mcntsee​ ; @rottenroyalebooks​​ ; @peachdoppi​ ; @mirahg​ ; @foxxtrot-116​ ; @koi-soi​ ; @lupinpetersclearwaterodairparker ; @butterfly-skinnylegend ; @fanworrior ; @stickystrawberrysyrup ;

#corpse husband #corpse #corpse x reader #corpse x y/n #corpse x you #corpse husband x reader #corpse husband x you #corpse husband x y/n #corpse husband imagine #corpse husband fic #corpse husband AU #the sorcerer #platonic!dream

[anthemxix]

I had an angsty interesting idea and thought you’d maybe like to hear it (since you’re a fan of Wars and Time bonding)

Time and Warriors get separated from the group and are fighting a big ol’ horde of monsters when Time gets hit hard. Like, he-needs-a-fairy-NOW hard. And Wars knows he can’t protect Time while fighting off all these monsters, he’s horribly outnumbered without him, he needs help, he needs more power-

Then he remembers the Fierce Diety mask.

anon, thank you for thinking of me!! i do adore these two bonding! <3 hope you enjoy this little thing i wrote~ uwu

The realization that this ragtag monster horde was capable of implementing a coordinated battle plan carries myriad unsettling implications, but Warriors puts all that aside for later consideration. Right now, he’s rather more preoccupied with his other realization: he and Time are kind of fucked.

Separated from the other heroes by the latest portal (and maybe that was all part of the enemies’ strategy, too?), Time and Warriors are severely outnumbered, two to two dozen. The only reason they haven't lost already is because they've managed to stay back-to-back, fighting together fluidly, watching each other's blind spots. Everything they're doing is purely defensive, purely reactionary, and their stamina is quickly getting whittled away by endless waves of brutal attacks.

And maybe their draining stamina is why there's a slip-up. Warriors hopes that's why there's a slip-up, because he can't bear the idea that his carelessness caused whatever just happened behind him to make Time shout in agony.

Warriors whirls around just as Time crumples to his knees. He steps in front of the Old Man in time to block the heavy stroke of a darknut's broadsword. The blunt impact forces him back half a foot. He grits his teeth and smashes his shield into the darknut's helmet as it winds up for another strike. Armor rattling, the monster stumbles back, briefly stunned.

Swinging around, Warriors throws out his shield against the thrust of a lizalfos' spear, but both weapon and shield collide instead with a translucent blue wall that materializes between them. Sapphire-colored and diamond-shaped, the sudden barrier surprises Warriors for a second before he remembers a child casting the same spell on battlefields some years ago.

"Can't hold it for long," Time says, voice strained, as he presses one hand against his side. Warriors drops down next to him, ignoring the sounds of baffled and angry monsters pounding on the barrier encasing them, and pulls Time's hand away to reveal a terribly deep gash.

Time coughs, and a trail of blood mars his chin. Cursing, Warriors carelessly rips a swatch from his scarf and stuffs it into the wound in the hopes of slowing the bleeding.

"Give it to me," he blurts before he knows what he's saying. His conscious mind takes a moment to catch up to his mouth, but then he feels it. Beneath the clean, blessed magic that Time exudes beats the pulse of something darker, something that wormed into Warriors’ mind without him even noticing.

Suddenly, Warriors knows with certainty how this fight is going to end. He reaches for Time's satchel without awaiting an answer. The Old Man clamps a surprisingly firm hand onto Warriors' wrist.

"No," he says, the tremble in his voice belying the sternness of his tone. "I won't allow it."

The magic, which feels like frenzy barely contained, wraps more securely around Warriors' heart. He wonders how it leaked into him without his consent, how it made him its pawn before he even considered using the mask.

"It's our only choice." Warriors drapes his other hand on top of Time's. The barrier around them flickers, disappearing for half an instant.

Time retrieves the mask from his bag without looking, like he knows exactly where it is. In the open, the mask's alluring magic is more potent. It feels like chaos masquerading as calm, like a threat camouflaged as salvation.

"I could do it," Time weakly offers, even as more blood beads on his lips, as more color drains from his wan face, as resignation clouds his eye.

When Warriors' fingers graze the mask's smooth wood, a shock runs along his spine, prickles the hair on his arms and the back of his neck. The faded red and blue lines that mirror Time's remind him that dabbling with something this powerful has irreversible consequences. In an odd moment of detached lucidity, Warriors recognizes that after he puts on this mask, his life is never going to be the same.

But as he takes the cursed object, he looks down at Time's weeping gash, poorly plugged by blood-drenched scraps of scarf, and feels at peace with his decision.

"I'll be fine, Sprite," he says. "Just promise me you'll be fine, too."

As Time's spell withers and the blue diamond barrier shatters, Warriors puts on the mask.

He's dropped into an abyss that somehow feels both bottomless and claustrophobic. He can't see or hear or touch any more, can't feel his body or what he's doing; he's confined to his mind, condemned to an inky, oceanic emptiness that is filling up with poisonous magic. The deity's overwhelming presence invades more and more of Warriors' mental space, grappling for control.

And it hurts. It's agonizing, the way the subjugating magic bleeds into his every crevice, sunders him at his seams. Peels him apart layer by layer. Breaks him down to his basest pieces. Divides. Consumes.

Rational thought disappears; his darkness is lit only by instinct now, and his instinct tells him to fight. So Warriors resists. As puny and piteous a creature as he is compared to the deity's wrath, he resists, struggling to retain a foothold in his own mind.

And just as abruptly as this hellish internal fight begins, it ends. Full consciousness slams back into Warriors with merciless force. The world seems like a hazy mess of colors and light that he can't decipher. His body feels foreign, and he can't distinguish, spatially, where he is, what he's doing. He thinks he's standing--no, he's falling--

Warriors tumbles back into something solid. Someone solid, who secures their arms around his middle and lowers him to the ground. Dizzy and muddled, he squints up at the concerned face hovering above him. Twilight. The Rancher's mouth is moving, but the words are distant and incomprehensible.

Simply holding his head up is a strain, and Warriors lets himself go limp in Twilight's arms. Through blurry vision, he can see the signs of a massacre: the decimated remains of all those monsters, strewn around the battlefield. He vaguely registers Twilight's fingers on his neck, checking for a pulse, and Twilight's hands running along his limbs, his torso, feeling for injuries.

There's a swirl of red and pink in his periphery. Legend, not bothering to conceal his concern, appears on one side of him. He's speaking, too, and though the words sound a bit clearer than before, Warriors still doesn't understand. Exhausted, he doesn't worry about it, and lets his eyes slip closed.

Twilight and Legend's conversation drones over his head as comforting white noise, and the Rancher's steady breaths begin to lull him to sleep. Then something tugs at his hand, and he pries his eyes open, annoyed, to see Legend trying to take the mask from him.

Warriors blinks down at the cursed item, surprised to see it still clasped in his fist, his unyielding fingers coiled through the eye holes.

"Let go of this damn thing, Pretty Boy," Legend says when he sees Warriors' eyes are open. The Captain can't decide if Legend's voice is actually quiet or if it still sounds weirdly far away. Regardless, he loosens his hold and watches Legend take the mask, grimace at it with a mix of revulsion and anger, and artlessly toss it out of view.

"Captain?"

Turning his heavy head, Warriors finds Wind kneeling at his other side. His expression is all unrefined concern, the watery eyes and exaggerated compassion of a child. Warriors wants to comfort him, but he can hardly move at the moment. He supposes speaking is out of the question, too.

"Are you okay?" the Sailor asks, taking up Warriors' hand in both his own.

Getting no reply, Wind glances between Twilight and Legend. "Why isn't he saying anything? He's okay, isn't he?"

"I'm sure he's fine," Twilight replies. It's a stilted, rote response that holds little conviction. Warriors thinks that should bother him, but he's too tired to care.

"What about those?" Wind says, nodding towards Warriors.

On reflex, Twilight brushes his fingers against the Captain's cheek, looking sadly at whatever is there. "The magic imprinted on him, but he wasn't changed for long. The marks will fade."

Marks? Warriors tunes out the rest of the conversation, trying to deduce what marks they're referring to--until he pictures the red and blue lines tattooed onto--

Time. Warriors twitches, wanting to sit up, wanting to ask after the Old Man. Legend puts a steadying hand on his shoulder, instructs him not to move. Still, he swivels his head around, trying to squint through the still-indistinct mass of shapes and lights that make up the world beyond his little sphere.

Finally, he sees, past Wind, the rest of their troupe. As Warriors is with Twilight, Time is reclined against Sky, with Four and Wild on either side of him. Hyrule is bent over him, hands aglow with golden healing magic that surges into the dangerous wound on Time's side.

Warriors tries to focus on the Old Man's face, and his eyes finally adjust enough that he can see Time, grim and weary, looking straight back at him. He looks sad, Warriors thinks. Sympathetic. Pitying.

It's off-putting, and Warriors looks away. He closes his eyes again and sinks back into Twilight, deciding for now that he'll pretend this is a nightmare, and soon, he'll wake up somewhere else with his soul and mind intact. Yes, he thinks, he’ll let himself pretend for a little while.

#linked universe #linkeduniverse #lu #lu warriors #warriors #fanfic #anthem answers #anthem writes

[yesokaythatsfine69]

Heavy Dosage (Levi Ackerman x reader)

Description: after getting hurt during a scouting mission, y/n is given quite a heavy dosage of medication. Will her secret crush on her squad leader remain secret?

Character(s): Y/n, Hangi, Levi, nurse, eren

Pov: 3rd person

Warning(s): pain, broken bones, kissing, no spoilers

A/n: hello! I took a little break earlier and recently I've been watching two new animes, AOT and Kakegurui (both r completely different lmao) so I decided to add more fuel to the fire that is the Levi Ackerman x reader tag. Don't worry there aren't any spoilers I just wrote a cute thing.

*none of the gifts used are mine. Full credit goes to the maker.

"Shit!" That was the last thing y/n had said before she disappeared from the view of her fellow squad members. Levi watched, fear causing him to freeze. One moment she had been calling him a "old slow poke", her smile dazzling and eyes brighter than diamonds- and in an instant she was gone.

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Pain had seared through y/n's skull when she finally landed from being thrown. The titan had grabbed a line of her odm gear and flung her, snapping the line and causing her to fall straight down and into a tree. Her body had tumbled through the branches, each branch snapping with the weight of her body and the force she had been thrown from.

Y/n was usually proud to say that Titan's couldn't touch her- she was fast, faster than almost any person in her squad- and that usually meant that she was untouchable to them. She was the one who helped the other members of her squad survive. Today, however, had been different and not even her speed had saved her.

The pain in her skull forced her eyes open. The area in which she laid was dead silent, but she didn't feel scared or worried. It was peaceful and almost poetic. She focused on her breathing, and tried to register where she had been hurt. Her head hurt, her back hurt, and her legs seethed, but she could at least feel pain.

She tried to move but only whimpered when the pain in her legs intensified. Her eyes watered. She couldn't get up and what she thought had been luck that she experienced from not dying from her tremendous fall- had suddenly become a curse. Now, she would be easily found by a titan and just as easily eaten.

"you've...got to...be fucking kidding...me." she wheezed between hot tears. Suddenly a zipping noise broke the silence around her and a small thumping sound caused her tense up. "Y/L/N!" Her eyes widened at the sound of her squad leader's voice. Then, Two arms wrapped around her waist and pulled her up. Captain Levi was above her, on his knees before her- not in the ways she had always dreamed about either.

"What did you do, Brat?" His silver orbs narrowed as he searched her face. Any other time being this close to Levi would've been similar to Heaven, but now, it carried a strange and dangerous weight. "Captain Levi, I-" His expression cut her off. His face was blank, eyes were narrowed, mouth drawn up in a thin line. He was angry, she could sense his emotions beyond what he showed with his face. That had been the reason they worked so well together- y/n could read him like a book.

He seemed to notice she had been crying, and wiped away a stray tear. "I-I'm sorry, Captain Levi I-" He said nothing and hoisted her up in his arms, pressing her head against his chest. She could feel his heartbeat- constant and comforting in her ear. For several moments they trampled in the woods in silence.

Finally he spoke. "I'll get you to the wagons and you'll be okay, y/n, try to be still." His voice seemed tired and his movements were oddly weary. Y/n frowned as she looked up at him.

Somehow she felt like he had said these words not for her benefit, but for his own. He hardly ever used her first name, preferring "brat" and "y/l/n" to order her around with. Now, as his grip on her tightened, she buried her face against his chest, deciding it was best to leave her thoughts unsaid.

As she snuggled against him, he relaxed, his shoulders releasing the tension they carried since he saw that bitch titan thrown her out of his sight. Levi had been angry- but not angry at Y/n. Angry at himself for not protecting her, angry at those fucking Titan's for taking away the people he loved from him. He felt y/n adjust slightly and that's when he realized she had fallen alseep. Her breathing evened out, and she seemed limp against him.

When he reached the clearing Petra ran up to him. "Y/n! Is she okay?" Levi said nothing, and Petra watched in worry as he pushed past her.

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Sometimes lines get blurry. The separation between two distinct things gets combined and those two things once so distinctly different are now seemingly the same. Y/n stared straight ahead, boards on the walls combining and shape shifting. They had given her medicine for her pain, that fact was that her leg had been broken, along with a fractured skull and a few other twisted and mangled bones, so anything was deemed worthy to give her.

The medicine, whatever it was could definitely be considered "that good stuff". She giggled, watching as the nurse adjusted her covers. "You're trying to tickle me!" "Y/n?" Y/n's head slowly bobbed to the side, where Hanji was standing. Her arms were crossed, but a smile shown on her face.

"You look better than I was expecting." Y/n smiled widely. "It's the drugs!" Hanji mimicked her smile. Y/n, was for the most part a lively a fun person. She wasn't anywhere near as loud of bouncy as Hanji herself was- mainly because y/n had a better sense of timing. Now however, Hanji noted that her personality seemed to come on quite strongly.

"I just came to check on you, considering what I heard had happened you are very lucky." Y/n only giggled. "lucky-smucky. Luck had nothing to do with it. It's a skill to hit every single goddamn tree branch in the world and still be kicking." To empathize her point she kicked out the leg that wasn't broken.

"woah, maybe you shouldn't move too much." Hanji put her hands up. "It's okay I don't feel anything!" Y/n lifted her hand up and smacked herself right upside the head. "No pain!" Hanji smiled, "Right, I'll be sure to tell Levi how well you are doing."

Y/n shot up at her captains name. "You should tell him to come see me! It's been too long since I've seen that hot piece of ass!" Hanji frowned. "I- um... I don't think that's for the best...you seem pretty uh... preoccupied." Y/n opened her mouth to most likely say something else unexpected when the nurse reappeared, nodding to Hanji.

"I better be leaving y/n, I'm glad you are doing well. I'll see you later, yeah?' y/n nodded excitedly and Hanji let herself out.

She laughed, nodding her head. "Hot piece of ass...Levi Ackerman?" She snorted. Then, quite quickly the pieces for together and she stopped. "Oh no. Oh no. I should...wait a second, this could be quite an interesting experiment..." She smiled and turned in the direction of the lunchroom.

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

"She is doing very well. So well infact she told me not to send you, she doesn't want you to worry. She'll be out before long." Hanji spoke gently to Levi who stared at his tea, his face expressionless. "What do you mean she doesn't want me to visit her? I'm her squad leader." Hanji shrugged and smiled.

"She's doing very well. You'd be wasting your time. She'll be back before you know it." Levi's eyes flashed to his friend, narrowing. The rage he had experienced when he had found her broken body...the way her teary y/c/e looked up at him... He could've exploded with rage. but he needed to stay with y/n, and that's what he had done, making sure she was safe...And now he was being told to stay away from her? His fists clenched.

Hanji seemed to see the conflict. "Why don't you try and take of yourself now? You've done enough for her." Levi only stood up, the sound of his chair scraping against the floor caused those in the lunchroom to look up at him. Leaving his tea, Levi, in his own Levi way, stormed out of the room. Hanji sat there, stirring her tea.

She raised it to her lips and smiled.

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Levi's feet practically moved on their own to the infirmary, each step more angry than the last. In angry flashbacks he felt her head pressed against his chest, her warm breathe tickling his neck, her warm orbs searching his own icy pair- he felt all of that and more...and yet she didn't want to see him?

Had those affectionate moments just been something he wished had happened instead that had actually happened. No. It couldn't have been. But the why would she try to shut him out?

He pushed open the door to the infirmary. He stood in the shadowy doorway for several seconds doing what he did best- watching.

Y/n had spent four consecutive hours counting each board- one by one. Every time she got to twenty though, she got distracted and had to start over. "Twenty-one!" "Y/l/n?" Slowly y/n's left hand, which she had used to count the board, lowered to her side. "Damnit! Lost count! At least I got to twenty one this time." Her head slowly turned to the side where her sexy captain stood, peering down at her. He looked absolutely peeved and y/n giggled.

"Well hello beautiful? Long time no see!" Levi's eyes widened the tiniest bit- but he quickly played it off. "You didn't want me here? Your own captain? Unless you forgot-" Y/n purred. "Damn you're sexy when you're mad! I don't have a clue what you're talking about but-" she shrugged. "It wouldn't be the first time!" She reached up and tugged him closer.

"I- y/n-" a finger placed itself over his lips. "Shhhhh..." The finger lifted then hit him again. "Shhhhh...shhhh." y/n stared up at him with a dazed, but delighted expression. She gently stroked his face, reaching up and flicking her hair from his eyes. She smiled at his slightly dazed expression.

"how'sithangingbabey?" Levi blinked out of his daze and grabbed her wrist, pulling her hand back from his mouth. "What is wrong with you?" His eyes were fairly wide and his stared at her in both worry and confusion. "I'm in love baby!" She shouted. "In love with youuuuuu!" She sang out flailing her arm and hitting him in the head.

"tch! Ow! Will you-" He paused, his brow furrowed. "You...love me?" She giggled and pressed a finger to her lips. "Shhh. Don't tell Levi." He stared at her. "I am Levi, you brat." Her eyes widened. "Whoops!" She laughed. "My bad!" Levi opened his mouth to speak when the nurse appeared. She gasped upon seeing him. "Captain Levi! I didn't know you were coming!" Y/n lifted her head up to look at the young nurse.

"hey, layoff! This Raven haired beauty's taken!" She yanked him forward. The action caught him off guard and he had to catch himself before he fell. Levi grumbled before detaching himself from her. "I'll speak to you later, y/n."

"You're leaving!?" Gently he ruffled her hair, and in the most soothing voice he could muster, he said, "I'll be back later, don't worry brat." Levi Nodded to the nurse to walk him out. As the nurse turned to follow him she glanced at y/n who mouthed aggressively "he's mine!"

At the door he turned to the nurse, "y/n was in large amounts of pain, so we gave her some medicine to dull it. It seems to have a worked a little..." The two turned back to y/n who had restarted counting the boards again. "Too well."

"tch, right." The end of lips upturned into almost a smile. "Keep me updated." The nurse nodded, "Right, sir."

Casting one last glance he left the infirmary, humming a new tune softly to himself.

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Y/n sighed happily. She had finally been released, given a brace for her leg to help her walk till she was 100% and around fifteen get well cards. Her first move was definitely to go to her room. She missed her room.

She visited with Petra and the other members of her squad, making sure to show off her cool ass brace. She also made sure to say hi to Eren, Mikasa, Armin, Sasha, Connie, and Jean. She hadn't seen Captain Levi yet but she figured she'd find him soon- or he'd find her. The nurse mentioned that he'd visited a few times, none of which she remembered- but the thought that he cared enough to do so warmed her up.

Y/n entered the lunchroom, coming face to face with her captain and his fellow squad leader, Hanji. "Oh hi Hanji! Hello, Captain!" Hanji immediately jumped up and hugged her tightly. "Y/n! Congratulations!" Y/n smiled brightly, and hugged her back. "Thank you! I'm feeling pretty good!" Her eyes turned to Levi, who had been watching her intently. He nodded. "The squad has been waiting for your return, y/l/n." Y/n smiled. "Well, you guys won't have to wait much longer. The nurse said just a little while longer then I'm ready to go."

Levi nodded, his expression remaining stern. "I am pretty excited to finally get some sleep in my own bed though, so I'll see you all later." She turned, but a hand wrapped itself around her wrist. Levi had stood up, and was behind her. "I'll walk you there." Her eyes widened and her cheeks flushed, but she nodded. "The more...the, uh, merrier."

With curt goodbyes the two began their walk to y/n's room. Hanji had watched the interaction without surprise, sipping some tea.

She laughed to herself as the two went out of view, pushing up her glasses. "This experiment- a definitive success."

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"How do you feel?" Levi matched his pace with y/n, careful to make sure he wasn't moving too fast so that she wouldn't have to walk faster on her leg. "I feel good, itching to go back out there." The two stopped walking and turned so that they were right in front of each other instead of side by side.

Levi only made a clucking sound at her response. "Be sure not to push it, brat. You may be feeling fine now but-" He stopped talking when she put a hand on his chest. He frowned slightly and looked up at her from where his gaze had been.

"Thank you, for everything. I- I'm sorry I wasn't more careful. Next time I'll-" He placed his hand over her own. "Tch, there better not be a next time you stupid brat. If there is I do not I think I could handle it."

Her cheeks darkened. "Captain-" "Just Levi." She smiled at him. "Okay, just Levi." The slight upturn smile Levi had worn vanished at her bad joke into a frown. Lifting up his index finger he placed it directly over her lips.

"shhh..." She tried to speak. "shhhh." Y/n raised a brow at him. "I have lost enough in this life, y/n." Her eyes widened at the use of her first name, and his finger remained on her lips. "But, I cannot lose you, too...please." Her eyes glistened a, a familiar wetness clouding them. Slowly, Levi lowered his finger, and soon as he do so she pounced, pulling him into the tightest hug she could administer.

"You couldn't get get rid of me even if you wanted to." He hugged her back. "Good, because I do not want to." She pulled back. It was now or never, and this maybe the only chance she has left. Braving up, y/n swallowed thickly. "Hey...erm, uh Levi...I-I love you, okay?"

Levi smirked, his eyes twinkling with something close to mischievousness. "I know...you, kind of...told me already." Y/n pulled back. "No I didn't." "Tch, you did, y/n." She rolled her eyes. "I think I would remember telling someone I love them."

Levi frowned. "Are you calling me a liar?" Y/n laughed sharply. "Well, I'm not calling you a truther." She turned and began to walk away. "Even if I did, you could at least say it back you jerk!"

With reflexes faster than a blink of an eye, Levi had pulled her back and into his arms. She stared at him, wide eyed. They were mere inches apart now. Never had she been this close to him, and she could clearly see every inch of his face. The silver twinkle of his eyes, his long lashes, the pretty pink of his thin lips. He was so beautiful, like a statue of a god. Y/n blinked, realizing she had been staring a bit longer than innocent and met his gaze.

Levi only raised a brow, seemingly unaffected by their closeness. "I love you too, brat." He said finally, and Y/n relaxed into his arms, much like before. "Good, good. It makes doing this a lot easier." She placed her hand to his cheek, closed her eyes and then she closed the gap.

He sighed into her, clutching her tighter to him. It seemed as if he had been waiting almost as long as y/n had because it was if the flood gates had opened. She dipped her head to get to more of him and he grunted softly, easily letting her. She reached up, finding his soft undercut. She ran her finger threw his soft locks (just as soft as she imagined) and gently tugged. Levi opened his mouth a bit more in response, and she quickly took advantage of his action. Her tongue slipped in, and despite himself and who he was- he gasped.

Maybe this was all a bit quick but hell, she'd been around the man for going on a year now with nothing but this to show. It was quite upsetting, especially because it seemed as if Levi had no idea his effect on women, especially y/n. You can bet on your life, however, she was going to take advantage of it now and teach him exactly what he meant.

He grunted again and pulled his arm to her neck, clutching it softly. She hummed into his mouth, biting his lip and pulling. She loved him, everything about him, and almost as much as that- she wanted him. Now, in almost every way she could've imagined, she had him.

She was so wrapped up in him, y/n put her unbraced leg around his waist, trying to get somehow even closer than before but unfortunately she neglected to remember that her braced leg couldn't handle that much pressure yet and it collapsed under their weight. It sent both her and her lover crashing to the ground.

"oof!" "Tch! Hell!" Levi landed on top of her with a thud. The two shared a look. Levi had messy unkept hair, flushed cheeks and red, abused lips- all thanks to y/n. But she doubted she looked much better. "Are you okay, brat?" "Yeah, sorry. Looks like you made my legs weak." She smiled crookedly.

Levi only sighed and lifted her up. "Tch', Keeping you alive will be much harder than I expected." Y/n laughed and wrapped her arms around him, she was beginning to enjoy him carrying her around bridal style. "What can I say? I wasn't built for the weak."

"No," He hoisted her closer to his chest. "No, you are not."

They resumed their journey to her room. "But at least you are mine, brat."

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A/n: whoo! That was a lot more than I expected to do. I hope y'all like it and don't forget that comments and critism are always welcomed. I tried to make this to where it doesn't really involve any timeline and it's just kind of an extra thing. Thanks for reading!

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#captain levi #levi ackerman #levi ackerman x reader #attack on titan #aot memes #aot headcanons #levi aot #aot imagines #aotc #x reader #imagine #eren x reader #aot x reader #levi x y/n #levi x you

[nalu4emily]

To Love and To Cherish

A short of how Natsu and Lucy welcome their first baby into the world.

"I-I can't... I can't do this!" She panted, her breaths short but heavy as yet another wave of pain tore through her middle.

A cry escaped her lips; the pressure too much to bare. Her mind no longer capable of rational thought as the contraction reached its peak, "I-it hurts..."

She whimpered as the intensity settled once again, her heart beating right out of her chest at the anticipation and dread of the next looming shock wave that was sure to send her over the edge. She couldn't take any more; she didn't want this any more. For the pain to stop was her only thought, the fear and panic cut deep within her chocolate irises.

He felt helpless, like a spare part that no longer had any use, just sat there watching his love and best friend go through a hell he would never be able to experience. It was gut wrenching, his heart ached for her, wishing that this part would be over already, to give her the rest she so desperately needed after hours and hours with little respite.

She gripped his hand, feeling another, stronger wave about to take hold and there was nothing she could do but ride it out. Gritting her teeth, she felt it come hard and fast, taking her breath away. Unable to hold back, a blood curdling scream shattered the room, the glass of the open windows threatening to break.

He held her, her grip so tight he was losing circulation but it didn't matter, he was her anchor, the one that'd been with her every step of the way and he'd be damned if he wasn't going to see this through. To give her the strength she needed to carry on was his only goal.

As she began to calm once more, she rolled to her side, her dripping wet face and rosy red cheeks came into full view. He swept her hair back away from her sticky skin and stroked down her clammy cheek, leaning forward to kiss her forehead and whisper his will of encouragement, the only thing he could offer right now.

"You can do this, Lucy. You're already doing it and look how far you've come." Feeling her grab a hold of his neck, she drew him in firmly, giving him the chance to embrace her too, his hands cradling her head and shoulders, "That's it, Luce. You've got this! You're doing amazingly, and soon we'll have our baby here."

Listening to the calming tone of his voice, she bore down, using the rest of her strength to push as hard as she could, even if it felt like her insides were on fire. With each pain staking minute, she fought with all she had, with one hard push after another—she’d finally exhausted herself.

"Baby's head is born. One more good push, Lucy, and you'll have your baby." Porlyusica said, feeling sympathy for the young girl who’d reached her limit many hours ago, but had no choice but to keep going—Such was the way of childbirth.

"You hear that, Lucy? I told ya; I knew you could do this!" He reiterated, trying to keep positive for Lucy’s sake. She looked completely wiped out and would need all the love and care he could give to her after this. “Just one more big push, Luce, and it’ll all be over.”

"Please, just get this baby out of me!" The celestial mage cried, another wave making her shiver and convulse, but she pushed through with all her might, "Natsu!" She screamed, almost pulling him into the bed with her.

With one last almighty push, he felt her body finally collapse under him and let go, panting heavily as the sudden feeling of pure relief entered her system. He barely had enough time to move, before a squirming, bloody baby was brought up and placed upon Lucy’s heaving chest. It’s lungs filling with air for the first time and letting out the sweetest little cry as it adjusted to its new world.

“You have a baby girl.” Both new parents heard in the distance, too enraptured by the little life that’d been given to them to truly acknowledge what’d been said. Porlyusica reached up to towel the baby down, and placed a blanket around her wriggling body, “You still have the placenta to birth and the umbilical cord needs to be cut, but as soon as that’s done, Wendy can get to work on healing you.”

The young mother had zoned out, to her the only people present at that moment was her and her baby. Her body ached and felt more sore than it ever had done, her eyes burned with exhaustion and the area between her legs felt unimaginably bruised and swollen. Yet, her mind focused solely on the infant that was snuggled up on her chest, looking just as beaten and swollen as she did.

Natsu watched from the side, giving him a front row seat to a mother meeting her baby for the first time and by god, did she look good like it. In fact, Lucy had never looked more stunning in his eyes, after everything she’d been through, the ability to now seem so calm as she stroked her new baby’s cheek was deserving of admiration in itself. She’d been so brave and so strong, having pushed through the excruciating pain that came with birthing a baby, along with the exhaustion that’d left her feeling weak and fragile.

He moved closer, coming to sit next to her and lean himself against her still sweaty forehead and smiled down at the little creation him and Lucy had created together. An overwhelming sense of pride and joy came over him and tears entered his eyes as he bent to place a kiss atop her head.

“Look what you’ve done, Lucy, you were incredible!” She heard him say, bringing her somewhat out of her trance and back into the room again. Tearing her gaze away from the little one enjoying the warmth of her skin and glanced up at the dragon slayer, smiling brightly at him.

“You mean what we did, Natsu. I couldn’t have got through that without you.” She admitted, her voice airy and teeming with sleep as she reached up to his cheek to caress it softly.

Entwining his fingers with hers, he leaned in to her palm, an enormous grin taking over his features, causing a few tears to spill over down his cheeks. He knew Lucy would be resilient, full of determination even when she felt like giving up and in the end, she’d brought their baby safely into the world, something he’d be forever grateful for.

“Do you want to hold her?” She asked him and he looked startled for a moment, but quickly overcome it and jumped at the chance to hold his baby daughter. Gently taking her from her mothers arms, he sat back in his seat next to the bed, holding the baby girl with his strong arms, totally mesmerised by how beautiful she was.

She had puffy cheeks and was still covered in strange fluids and blood, but that didn’t take away from the happiness he felt as he stared at the only other girl in his life that he could ever love as much as he loved Lucy. When she opened her eyes to take a look at her new surroundings, she stared deeply into her fathers enamoured features, seeming entranced by the man that could do nothing but smile down at her familiar tuft of pink hair and large, twinkling brown eyes, bringing her up to kiss her soft cheek.

“Thank you, Lucy.” He squeezed their still tangled fingers and looked up to her, noticing the glow of Wendy’s magic as she began to heal the weary celestial mage, making her more comfortable and ready for sleep. “I love you, so much.”

Managing a small smile back, the girl finally succumbed to the tiredness, “I love you too… Natsu.” She drifted off at the end, her body spent.

The last image to go through her mind was the sight of her beloved dragon slayer sat next to her, holding her hand whilst cradling their newborn in his arms, the look of pure elation as he became acquainted with the little girl.

Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed! :) 

#this is what happens when i can't sleep #Nalu #fairy tail nalu #nalu fanfic #nalu fanfiction #nalu child #nalu baby #natsu #natsu dragneel #Natsu and Lucy #natsu lucy #fairy tail natsu #natsu x lucy #lucy heartfilia #fairy tail lucy #fairy tail #fairy tail fanfiction #fairy tail 100 year quest