#He should die. I will make it my lifes mission to end his life

[abnomi]

i locked in too hard and fought tooth and nail with ibis paint to make this but by god i did it 🛌 THE FILE GOT CORRUPTED LIKE 5 TIMES. i think turbo is real and he is out to get me.

these are a collection of experiments i did to figure out how i want to draw The Freak! i certainly learned a lot. i love drawing characters in 50 different ways with no consistency its so fun moohahaha. expect more turbo art in the future (but probably less artistically chaotic as this turned out 👶 oopsays)

There's alternate versions under the cut + have a bonus doodle :-]<

good grief

[roturo]

SUCCESSOR -`♡´-

summary: He believes he’s going to die soon, and the idea of leaving the Kira case unfinished gnaws at him. The thought of his legacy fading away too soon is unbearable. He needs a successor. And soon.

warnings: A LOT of breeding, smut, unprocteted sex, overstimulation, multiple rounds, pwp, tummy buldge, mentions of cum, mating press, virgin!L, obssesed!L, mentions of forming a family, not proof read and sleepy while writing this. and more.

a/n: ik this is going to have as much support as my other works, but it's def one of my best and favs writings, so please show me your support with a comment and reblog! it means a lot for me!

You've been part of the task force for a while now, ever since L handpicked you for his elite team. As a regular member, you've earned your place and trust within the group. The necessity of keeping your identity hidden has diminished, thanks to the expanding team, but you still opt for an alias during meetings, maintaining a veil of secrecy around your true connection to L.

L’s mind is a labyrinth, each thought of a winding path leading to an unknown destination. His strategies are always a step ahead, his deductions razor-sharp. Yet, despite his brilliance, one specific thought has been haunting him lately:

He believes he’s going to die soon.

This isn't a paranoid delusion but a calculated assessment. L understands the immense dangers tied to the Kira case. The complexity of the situation has grown, and he suspects an external force at play, one that eludes even his grasp. This unknown entity has shifted the balance, making the case more perilous than ever.

L is determined not to let his legacy end prematurely. He has dedicated his life to solving the world’s most challenging mysteries, and the idea of leaving the Kira case unfinished gnaws at him. The thought of his legacy fading away too soon is unbearable.

He needs a successor.

And soon.

Finding someone who can match his intellect and tenacity is no simple task. The successor must be able to understand his intricate methods, to carry on his relentless pursuit of justice. The urgency of this mission weighs heavily on him, as he prepares to identify and groom the next guardian of his legacy.

You were the perfect match for him, and his calculations confirmed it. There was an 86% probability that having a child with you would result in someone with a higher IQ than his own, combined with the social skills he lacked. In the realm of interpersonal relationships, L was inexperienced, never having had a relationship or intimacy before. Recently, he had been contemplating how to propose this idea to you.

Should he ask you outright? Should he try to make you fall in love with him first? No, this wasn't about love. It was a precaution, a step in his investigation, a way to ensure his legacy continued if the worst were to happen.

The atmosphere in the headquarters was tense as always, the dim lighting casting long shadows across the room. You sat at your desk, engrossed in your work, when L’s quiet footsteps approached. His presence was magnetic, his aura of mystery and intellect always palpable. He paused beside you, his gaze fixed on the monitors displaying the latest updates on the Kira case.

“Can we talk?” His voice was soft, almost hesitant, a rare departure from his usual confident demeanor.

You looked up, surprised by the uncharacteristic uncertainty in his tone. “Of course, L. What’s on your mind?”

He shifted, glancing around the room as if searching for the right words. “There’s something I need to discuss with you. It’s… personal.”

Your curiosity piqued, you nodded, giving him your full attention. “I’m listening.”

He took a deep breath, his eyes meeting yours. “You’re aware of the importance of my work, of the dangers we face daily. The Kira case has made me realize that I must consider contingencies I hadn’t thought of before.”

You nodded, waiting for him to continue.

“There’s a… statistical analysis I’ve conducted,” he said, his voice becoming more clinical as he explained. “It suggests that if I were to have a child with someone of your intelligence and social capabilities, the child would have a higher IQ than mine and possess the social skills I lack. This could be crucial in continuing my work if anything were to happen to me.”

The gravity of his words hit you like a ton of bricks. L, always methodical and rational, had approached this highly personal matter with the same analytical mindset he used to solve cases. You could see the logic in his plan, yet the implications were overwhelming.

“So, you want me to… have a child with you?” you asked, trying to keep your voice steady.

“Yes,” he replied, his eyes unwavering. “But understand, this is not about emotions or personal desire...I think” He whispers to himself before he continues– “It’s a precaution, a part of my contingency planning. I’ve never experienced a relationship or intimacy, so I’m uncertain how to approach this.”

The room seemed to close in around you as you processed his request. It was a cold, calculated proposition, yet it carried a weight of vulnerability and trust. L was placing his future, his legacy, in your hands.

“How do you expect this to work, L?” you asked, your voice tinged with both curiosity and trepidation.

“I’m not sure,” he admitted, his facade of invincibility cracking slightly. “I’ve considered different approaches. Should I simply ask you directly? Should I try to make you fall in love with me first? But this isn’t about love. It’s about ensuring that if I am no longer here, someone capable can continue my work.”

A silence fell between you, heavy with unspoken thoughts and emotions. L’s eyes searched yours, looking for understanding, perhaps even acceptance. You could see the conflict within him, the struggle between his logical mind and the unfamiliar territory of human connection.

“I need time to think about this,” you finally said, your voice gentle but firm.

L nodded, a flicker of relief crossing his features. “Of course. Take all the time you need. This is not a decision to be made lightly.”

Finally, you made your decision.

One evening, you found L in his usual spot, hunched over his laptop, eyes glued to the screen. The dim light cast shadows across his face, highlighting the intensity of his focus. Taking a deep breath, you approached him, your heart pounding in your chest.

“L,” you said softly, breaking the silence. He looked up, his piercing gaze meeting yours.

“I’ve thought about what you asked,” you continued, your voice steady despite the turmoil inside. “And I agree.”

For a moment, L simply stared at you, processing your words. Then, slowly, he nodded, his fingers tapping lightly on the edge of his desk. “Understood. Thank you for your cooperation.”

You took a seat across from him, the air between you charged with a new sense of purpose. “How do we proceed?”

L leaned back, his thumb brushing his bottom lip in thought. “We need to ensure this doesn’t disrupt our work or compromise the investigation. The task force must not be aware of our personal connection, as it could create complications.”

You nodded, understanding the delicate balance that needed to be maintained. L’s expression remained impassive, but there was a flicker of something in his eyes. “I must admit that emotional connections are not my area of expertise. This will be… a learning experience.  Should… we do it tonight?”

“Ah- Ah- Slow down, L-Lawliet!” you gasped, your voice breaking with a mix of pleasure and urgency.

L’s thrusts were sloppy but fast, driven more by instinct than experience. His movements lacked rhythm, a clear sign of his inexperience. He had come twice already without withdrawing from you, his body responding purely on primal urges.

He had done his research, concluding that a mating press might be the most effective position for this purpose. But he never anticipated how overwhelmingly good it would feel. Was it like this with everyone? Or was it something unique because it was you?

His thrusts grew more erratic, almost desperate. Small whines escaped his mouth, each one tinged with your name like a prayer. You could feel every twitch, every movement inside you, the raw intensity of his desire almost too much to bear.

“L,” you whispered, trying to regain some control. “You need to… slow down.”

He nodded, a bead of sweat trickling down his forehead. “I’m trying,” he panted, his voice unsteady. “It’s just… so overwhelming.”

His usually sharp, calculating mind seemed lost in the haze of sensation. Every thrust, every brush of skin against skin, was a new experience for him. You could see the conflict in his eyes, the struggle between maintaining control and giving in to the raw pleasure.

He moaned at the familiar, overwhelming sensation of climaxing again, and you could feel your own release approaching. The intensity was almost unbearable when he grabbed a pillow and slipped it under your back, angling you into an even deeper mating press. His thrusts became more deliberate, his cock somehow reaching deeper, hitting your g-spot with precision over and over again.

The pleasure was so intense, so all-consuming, that all you could do was chant his name like a mantra, each syllable a prayer of ecstasy. “L-Lawliet,” you breathed, your voice trembling with the force of your impending climax.

He watched you with dark, hungry eyes, his own pleasure driving him to thrust harder, faster. “S-shit,” he gasped, his breath hitching, “I think—” His words dissolved into a whine as he came again inside you, his release flooding your womb with a desperate, addictive need.

This wasn’t just about producing a successor anymore. It was about the raw, primal satisfaction of filling you over and over again. He was captivated by the sight of your bodies joined, the way your mixed arousal leaked from where you were connected, glistening in the dim light.

“Lawliet,” you cried out, your own climax hitting you with the force of a tidal wave. Your body tightened around him, milking every last drop of his release as he continued to thrust, his movements erratic and needy.

He whimpered, the sound vibrating through his chest as he pressed his forehead against yours, his dark hair falling in a messy curtain around your face. “You feel… incredible,” he whispered, his voice rough with emotion and exertion.

He groaned before pressing his lips to yours, the kiss deep and fervent. His cock remained erect inside you, pulsing with an insatiable desire. The feeling of having you this close, of being connected so intimately, was overwhelming. In that moment, he lost all sense of reason and the initial purpose behind his actions.

His mind, usually so sharp and focused on the Kira case, was now clouded with visions of a future he never thought he'd consider. He imagined how adorable you would look, carrying his child, a baby with his eyes and your smile. The idea of having a family with you consumed him, pushing all thoughts of logic and strategy aside.

Without realizing it, he began thrusting again, the movement instinctual and desperate. Each thrust was deliberate, fulfilling the small bump of cum inside you that was already visible through your tummy. He watched in awe, fascinated by the sight of your bodies joined so intimately, the tangible evidence of his desire and your shared pleasure.

“L-Lawliet,” you gasped against his lips, your hands clutching his shoulders as he moved within you. “What... what are you thinking?”

He pulled back slightly, his eyes locking onto yours. “I’m thinking… I’m thinking about us. About a future I never allowed myself to dream of.” His voice was rough with emotion, a raw edge that you rarely heard.

Your heart swelled at his words, the vulnerability in his usually composed demeanor striking a chord deep within you. “Lawliet,” you whispered, your fingers tracing the contours of his face. “I never imagined… I never thought you’d want this.Want me”

“I didn’t either,” he admitted, his thrusts growing more purposeful. “But now, with you, that's all I can think about. The idea of you carrying my child, of us having a family…you in general… it’s overwhelming.”

He kissed you again, more gently this time, savoring the softness of your lips against his. Each thrust sent waves of pleasure through you, the sensation heightened by the emotional intensity of the moment. His hands roamed your body, memorizing every curve, every detail.

“Do you… do you want this too?” he asked, his voice trembling slightly.

“Yes,” you breathed, the admission freeing a weight you hadn’t realized you were carrying. “I want this. I want us.”

His eyes darkened with a mix of relief and desire, and he kissed you harder, his movements inside you becoming more urgent. The room filled with the sounds of your shared pleasure, each moan and gasp a testament to the bond growing between you.

As he continued to thrust, you could feel the tension coiling tighter within you, each movement pushing you closer to the edge. He seemed to sense it too, his rhythm intensifying as he chased his own release.

“Lawliet,” you cried out, your climax hitting you with the force of a tidal wave. Your body tightened around him, every nerve ending alight with sensation.

He groaned, his own release following closely behind, filling you once more. The feeling was addictive, the raw intimacy of it all-consuming. He held you close, his forehead resting against yours as you both caught your breath.

“I can’t believe this is happening,” he whispered mostly to himself, his voice filled with wonder.

“Neither can I,” you replied, your heart pounding in sync with his. “But it feels right. It feels perfect.”

He nodded, a small smile playing at the corners of his lips. “It does.”

You stayed entwined like that, savoring the afterglow and the newfound depth of your connection. The Kira case and the outside world faded into the background, replaced by the warmth of each other’s presence and the promise of a future together.

Eventually, as the reality of your situation began to seep back in, you knew you had to return to your duties. But the bond you had forged would remain, a source of strength and comfort in the days to come.

As L gently pulled out and helped you adjust, he pressed a tender kiss to your forehead. “We’ll figure this out,” he said softly in a small whisper. “Together.”

“Together,” you echoed, your heart filled with a certainty that no matter what challenges lay ahead, you would face them side by side.

[kaiser1ns]

#. SOUL EATER : RESONANCE

𝘄𝗶𝗻𝗱 𝗯𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗸𝗲𝗿/𝗯𝗹𝘂𝗲 𝗹𝗼𝗰𝗸 𝘅 𝗳𝗲𝗺!𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗱𝗲𝗿 ıllı. takiishi chika, umemiya hajime, suo hayato, endo yamato, sakura haruka, kaji ren & itoshi sae, michael kaiser, nagi seishiro, bachira meguru, itoshi rin, isagi yoichi

fluff. death weapon meister academy's best students and the resonance between you.

happy belated halloween! 500-600 words per scenario so hope you enjoy these treats from yours truly ♡

MEISTER!CHARACTER x WEAPON!READER

ITOSHI SAE

“Sae, please talk to me!” You tug at his blouse, practically pleading. “I’m sorry, okay? It just happened, and you know I’m still learning to control my powers—”

Sae’s gaze finally drops to you, cold and his face holds none of the understanding you’d hoped for. “You were being incredibly stupid,” he says bluntly. “Dr. Stein wanted us out immediately after you went out of control. When I wield you, I need to know you won’t act on your own.”

It’s not like you tried to go rogue. You’ve been with him through countless missions, pushing yourselves, and trusting each other even in the roughest of battles. But this? You bite back, your irritation rising. “It wasn’t my fault! And Dr. Stein helped, didn’t he? It’s not like I was going to die or anything!”

Your voice comes out sharper than intended, the words fueled by a frustration you can’t hold back. He knows you better than anyone and knows how hard it is to keep in sync, to keep this connection as flawless as he demands. Yet here he is, acting like one mistake makes you a liability.

“Y/N…” Sae’s tone turns low, a warning. “You were unconscious for two weeks. You don’t remember what happened. Do you want me to tell you?” His words hit you hard, hurting you more than any wound you have had so far.

He’s always held high standards for you that sometimes feel impossible. As his weapon, he expects you to be perfect—flawless, untouchable. You feel the weight of his pride as a meister, his expectations towering over you. And there’s a bitter ache that tightens in your chest as you wonder if he sees you as unworthy now as if you’re a weak link in his chain.

You exhale slowly, feeling the pressure of his stare, every unspoken word bearing down on you. “I know, I know! But it’s not fair to think I’d instantly be able to control all of that power the second it woke up in me! I’m trying, Sae.”

He sighs, and for a moment, the hard line of his mouth softens just a little. He reaches out and flicks your forehead lightly. “For someone who’s going to be with me for life, you’re rather annoying,” he says, his tone lighter. The tension eases, and every time he flick your head you know you have made up. He smiles a little and you can’t hold back as you grin.

“You’re the best,” you say softly, finally stepping forward and pulling him into a quick, impulsive hug. You press a light kiss to his cheek, the gesture small but he is used to your affection and he takes everything you have to offer. He rolls his eyes, but there’s a ghost of a smile in the corner of his mouth. “Yeah, yeah. You should be the best, too.”

TAKIISHI CHIKA

The night sky is colored with stars, tiny silver shards that seem to tease you with promises of power and action—things your meister, Takiishi Chika, rarely lets you offer. You sit on the cold stone steps, arms draped across your knees, watching him fight without you, again. He’s a human inferno slicing through enemies like it’s nothing. For all his talent, he refuses to call on you, even when a single second of hesitation could mean his life. 

You sigh, looking back at the stars, counting them just as you count each missed opportunity he has to use you. If only Takiishi would stop being so... Takiishi. The battle finally ends with him victorious, but there’s no acknowledgment of your presence—no glance your way, no word of thanks for even being there. He simply turns and begins walking off, leaving you alone on the steps.

“Takiishi!” Typical. You groaned, launching to your feet and jogging to catch up with him. “You can’t just leave me like that! Hey, are you even liste—”

Finally stepping in front of him. He pauses, looking past you, expression cold and bored. “Move,” he says, his voice flat and utterly indifferent, flames still flickering across his body as if they, too, ignore you.

“I won’t move until you realize that this is teamwork,” you counter, setting your stance. “You can’t do everything alone.”

“I don’t care. You’re in my way. Move.”

The indifference is like a cut, sharper each time he says it. You clench your fists, feeling the familiar ache of unspent energy ripple through you. “Fine. If that’s what you want, then maybe I’ll ask Umemiya. He’ll be more than happy to partner with me.”

The second Umemiya’s name slips from your lips, Takiishi’s face barely shifts, but something flickers in his eyes, gone in a flash. You feel the weight of his stare, and it makes you feel powerful that you have your meister in such an unusual state. It’s almost enough to make you stay but you take a step back, ready to leave, but his hand reaches out, catching yours.

You turn, surprised to find a softness in his face, he looks… lost. Vulnerable. “What?” you ask, brow arching. He doesn’t answer, just tightens his grip slightly. He’s like a wolf trying to hide its wounds, but you’re not about to let him off that easily.

“Don’t go...” he finally mutters, eyes avoiding yours. For someone who doesn’t want to rely on you, he sure hates the thought of anyone else doing so.

“And you suddenly care when I mention switching partners?” you retort, your voice softer now, realizing just how much the idea unsettles him.

Before you can question him further, a monster lurches from the shadows behind you. Takiishi’s hand snaps to your shoulder, pulling you behind him protectively, his flames flaring up in a blaze that makes the night momentarily glow. His eyes meet yours, this time without words, but you know what he’s asking.

You sigh, offering him a small, resigned smile, and nod. Maybe he’s stubborn, cold, and reckless—but he’s your meister, and for better or worse, you’re his weapon. He needed you now. Transforming and letting your power flow into his hands, trusting him to wield you to your fullest.

You would always be the strongest weapon in his hands, because even if he’d never say it, you were his, and he was yours.

MICHAEL KAISER

His hand trails through your hair, fingers brushing against your scalp in slow, gentle strokes that lull you deeper into rest. The exhaustion of yesterday’s training took a lot of energy and it’s hard not to sink into the comfort of him beneath you. His chest rises and falls steadily under your cheek, matching the rhythm of your breaths. 

“You’re that tired?” His voice is soft, a whisper more to himself than to you, but you manage a faint mumble, not bothering to move. It earns a small chuckle from him, and he pulls you closer, his hand never stopping its movement through your hair. “Still, you did well today. Especially against Isagi. That was impressive,” he murmurs. There’s a hint of pride there because he is so proud of you. He never expected less from the best weapon and girl in the whole wide world.

“Mmm, otherwise you’d still be complaining about losing,” you mutter, words muffled against his skin. Your fingers trace lazy patterns across his tattooed shoulder, and you can feel him smile at that. The Academy, your training, the never-ending cycle of challenges and rivals—it’s not important now when the two of you relax in his room.

You barely notice as your breathing slows, and the last thing you feel is his hand brushing your hair from your face before sleep overtakes you completely.

But all too soon, the alarm rings, pulling you out of the warmth of his embrace. You groan, stretching as you peel yourself off his chest, and the soreness from yesterday’s battles immediately makes itself known. Rubbing the sleep from your eyes, you stumble to your feet as you walk over to where your uniform is laid out. You catch a glimpse of Kaiser stretching beside you, his hair tousled from sleep, his expression as groggy as yours. Yet somehow, he’s already flashing that smirk of his, the one he knows you can never fully ignore.

“You always look good when you’re about to kick ass,” he teases as you pull on your jacket, adjusting the fit around your shoulders. “Especially Isagi’s ass.” The playfulness in his eyes tells you he means it, though it’s more than just a compliment. It’s his pride, his own way of showing you how much he values you by his side. He can’t resist adding fuel to the fire, of course, but there’s this satisfaction of always being the winner, his appreciation for you and the way you fight.

“Shut up,” you mutter, rolling your eyes, but the smile slips onto your face before you can stop it. Kaiser grins, knowing he got through to you, knowing that he’s managed to start your day and remind you exactly why you’re here with him. As you finish dressing, he is in his uniform too, now wrapping his arm around your waist ready to go out and show you off, because as exhausting as it all is, being his partner—being the one he trusts, the one he praises and boost his ego—it’s something you wouldn’t trade for the world. 

UMEMIYA HAJIME

Everywhere you go, you hear whispers. First-years talking, pointing in your direction as if you’re something out of a storybook. "That's Y/N,” they’d say, praises dripping from their mouths, “Umemiya’s death scythe." There’s admiration there, and maybe even fear. After all, a weapon as powerful as you is rare, and with a laid-back meister like Umemiya, it seems like an odd pairing.

He’s known for his easygoing nature, approachable smile, and willingness to help anyone with anything… even if it’s absurd. To you, this sounds noble in theory. But in practice? It means moments like this one, where you’re looking down at your meister with your arms crossed, his hands clinging to your legs as he begs you to transform.

“Please, Y/N! I left my gardening tools in the shed back home, and we’re already here! Can’t you just… you know, turn into a scythe? Just for a few quick cuts!” You can only gaze down at him. A death scythe, being used to prune vegetables. The absurdity of it makes you grit your teeth. “Ume, I am not doing that! I’m a Death Scythe, not a hedge trimmer!” You try to shake him off, but he clings tighter, not one bit fazed by your irritation.

“Please, please, please!” he insists, hugging your legs harder. “I’ll cook for you, whatever you want! The most delicious meals, I promise!” He looks up at you, blue eyes pleading that would make a saint roll their eyes.

You narrow your eyes, pretending to consider. “Let’s see…” You tap a finger on your chin, drawing out the answer as long as possible just to make him sweat. “Eenie, meenie, miney… No!”

He sulks, face crumpling as he clutches at you dramatically. “Y/N! I thought you were my partner in crime! Partners always have each other’s backs, right?”

“Oh, don’t even try that on me,” you huff, crossing your arms tighter as you look away. “We are not partners in vegetable cutting.”

“Y/N!” he cries, the pouty lip and big eyes coming out, that was so immature for a strong leader and Meister, but that's just who he is.

“Umemiya Hajime,” you say, voice sharp and final, making him flinch. That full name is your last resort, and he knows it. “Go buy some vegetables from the market. I’m not wasting my energy on this.” Finally, with a sigh, he lets go and stands, running a hand sheepishly through his hair as he gives you a look of innocent exasperation.

“Fine, fine,” he mutters, deflated, but the spark never leaves him. “You win.” You’re about to turn away, feeling victorious, when he clears his throat, looking at you with a warning in his eye. “Just… to let you know, though, we’ve got to help an older couple with tree cutting tomorrow. They really need it.”

Your jaw drops and your eyes go wide. “What?”

He smiles, trying to look innocent. “Hey, they’re really nice! And they could use a little help from the strongest weapon-meister duo in the academy…”

You take a deep breath, feeling your energy drain just thinking about it. "You're unbelievable, Ume."

He raises both hands in surrender, laughing nervously as he grins, wide and bright, completely unaffected by the exasperation in your voice. It’s times like this when you wonder if you’re the meister and he’s the weapon. But one thing’s for sure: whether he’s charging into battle or begging for garden work, Umemiya Hajime is going to be the death of you. And if he pulls another stunt like this? He just might meet the wrong end of his own scythe.

NAGI SEISHIRO

“Sei, please!” you say, as you stand in front of the couch. “I’ll get you that new game if you accept this mission!”

Nagi Seishiro doesn’t even open his eyes. Instead, he gives a long, drawn-out sigh as he stretches his arms out behind his head, his tall frame too long to fit comfortably on the couch. His legs dangle over the edge, but he doesn’t seem to mind. Honestly, he seems to enjoy lounging around more than he enjoys actually doing his job as your meister.

It’s not that he can’t do the work. No, it’s the opposite. Nagi is ridiculously skilled—maybe even one of the best—but he’d much rather spend his time avoiding the responsibility altogether.

Missions? Too much hassle. Classes? Why bother. Training? He’s already good enough. Meanwhile, you’re trying your hardest to uphold your reputation, keep your grades up, and, most importantly, collect souls to be stronger. But none of that seems to matter to Nagi unless it somehow involves him not being bored during the mission or anything that has to do with moving.

He cracks one eye open, glancing at you with that familiar sleepy stare, “New game, hmm?” he mutters, finally giving you his attention.

You nod, your hands pressed together like you’re praying, “Yes! It's the new one from the series you like. With the best graphics and battles, you know the bes–”

“Hmm…” He rolls onto his side, considering if he should take up your offer. “Sounds like a lot of work.”

“Exactly,” you counter. “Just like this mission is going to be for us. But if we succeed, Lord Death said he’d give us a few days off, and… I’ll use that time to get you the game. You’ll have something new to play instead of replaying the same one a hundred times.”

The promise of the game seems more than appealing. He pauses, a thoughtful look crossing his face as he scratches his head. “But this mission’s rated hard, isn’t it? Ugh… fighting tough enemies is such a pain.”

“Yes, but it’s nothing we can’t handle. You’re a genius, remember?” you say with a smirk, hoping to stroke his ego just enough to sway him.

His options between taking the mission and going back to sleep. Finally, he sat up and rubbed the back of his neck. “Alright, fine. I’ll do it. But you better make sure you get me that game.”

You can’t believe that it took you all of your savings for a game, but you managed to pull him out of his comfort zone. As you gather your things and prepare for the mission, Nagi is already stretching out his arms, yawning. “Let’s make this quick, okay? I want to be back before I get too tired,” he says, already planning his next nap.

“Yeah, yeah, lazybones,” you mutter, walking out of your home, but even as you roll your eyes, you can’t help but smile. If tricking him with video games is what it takes to get your lazy meister in action, you’re more than willing to make that deal every time.

SUO HAYATO

“Come on, if you keep hiding things from me, I’ll keep seeking,” Suo’s calm, playful voice trails behind you as he walks with that unchanging smile, hands clasped leisurely behind his back. But you keep your gaze fixed forward, pretending you didn’t hear him, or at least, trying to. That relaxed, endlessly patient look of his was somehow just as frustrating as it was comforting, especially when you were feeling out of sorts. You know better that he is no stranger, he is your meister, and he knows when something is troubling you.

“I said I’m fine.” It comes out as a rude remark, and you immediately regret it. You stop, pressing your lips together in frustration, only to feel the softness in Suo’s eyes on you as he stops too. You turn, and though you try to fake your expression, the sadness in your gaze betrays you. He notices it all—of course, he does.

“Breathe in, then out,” he says softly, his hand settling on your shoulder. “I’m here for you.” His voice wraps around you like a safe embrace, and before you can stop yourself, the tears start falling. Your meister pulls you close without hesitation, his pristine white chang-shan serving as an unintended handkerchief.

You swallow, finding your voice as you mumble, “It’s just… Endo said I’m not worthy of being in Bofurin…” Your voice is muffled by his clothes, but he seems to catch every word. Each tear, each word, he hears and feels it. Your soul is connected to his so gets to experience your pain.

Suo’s hand moves gently over your back in soothing circles. “Ah, Endo,” he chuckles lightly, unfazed. “I should have guessed. He’s just trying to get a rise out of you, as usual. Remember how he did the same with Sakura?” He leans back slightly to meet your gaze, even if one eye is covered by an eyepatch. You blink, remembering that day. Sakura had been angry and lost after one of Endo’s comments about him. But he’d risen above it, and you had admired his strength then, just as Suo had assured him he was worthy. Now, it feels like he’s giving you the same gift of perspective.

“But what if… what if I’m not as good as him?” you ask, voice trembling. “What if he’s right?”

Suo’s expression softens, and his gentle smile stays. “If you weren’t capable, I wouldn’t have chosen you as my weapon,” he says simply, his words holding nothing but the truth. “Endo wants you to feel lesser because that’s his tactic, his way of keeping others from growing. But you don’t have to give him that power.”

You take a shaky breath, letting his words settle. The doubts lose some of their weight in the light of his quiet confidence in you.

“Besides,” he adds, his tone playful, “That guy lives to get under people’s skin. You don’t need to believe everything he says.” He winks, and you can’t help the small laugh that escapes. There he is again, always finding a way to make you smile.

“Now,” he continues, holding your hand in his, “How about a tea date instead? It’s been way too long since we’ve had one, and I could use an excuse to relax with my favorite and only girl.”

MEISTER!READER x WEAPON!CHARACTER

BACHIRA MEGURU

As Bachira’s laughter echoed down the school halls, you couldn’t help but smile, clinging tighter to his shoulders as he dashed ahead, but with him everything is more fun when you don't do things normally.

“Bachira, slow down! We’re gonna fall!” you said, more like screamed in his ear, your words nearly drowned out by his wild laughter. And as much as you enjoyed it, sometimes he went a little too far.

“Not a chance!” he shot back, barely avoiding a janitor’s cart as he took a sharp turn. You tighten your grip, feeling the wind rush past as the hallway blurred by. Finally, with a screech of his sneakers, he stopped just outside Lord Death’s office, grinning back at you. “Arrived at the destination! Kisses can be used as payment.” He tapped his cheek with a smug look, and you rolled your eyes but leaned in, giving him a quick peck.

“Not the best drive,” you muttered as you slid off his back, “wouldn’t recommend…but will see if I would do it again.”

Opening the door, you straightened up, slipping into professional mode, though it was hard with him right behind you, still buzzing with energy. In front of you, Lord Death stood by his massive glass mirror, wearing his jagged, dark robes and that cartoony skull mask that had a way of being both silly and terrifying.

“Lord Death, we’re here,” you said, trying to balance respect and calm as you addressed him. "What did you call us for?”

“Ah, Y/N and Bachira! My favorites! Please, please make yourselves comfortable,” he replied, gesturing toward a table absolutely loaded with cakes and sweets. Without a second thought, Bachira made a beeline for the table, already stuffing his face with something chocolatey as you tried to listen to Lord Death’s orders.

“Now, now,” Lord Death continued, “I need the two of you to retrieve this missing item. It’s a secret mission, so remember: not a word to anyone. It’s for your safety.”

You nodded, glancing over at Bachira, who now had chocolate smeared all over his face, looking like a kid who’d just discovered sugar. “Fo yu feef fus fu fo fere fand—” [So you need us to go there and–] he tried to say, his mouth completely full. But he was cute and was excused by such informality and Lord Death enjoyed how the young weapon was so himself.

You shook your head, amused, and finished the sentence for him, “And get the job done as fast as possible.”

“Pricelessly, yes!” Lord Death clapped his hands together. “You two make an excellent team!”

You shot Bachira a look and handed him a napkin, wiping away the chocolate smears with a grin. “If we’re going on a secret mission, we might as well look good.”

Your partner just laughed, grabbing you and hauling you back onto his shoulders, bright yellow eyes sparkling with his never ending playfulness. “Hold on tight, Y/N! Next stop: victory!”

“Not again!” you yelled, clinging to him as he left Lord Death’s office at full speed, rounding the first corner so sharply you almost slipped. But you knew he’d never actually let you fall.

Lord Death watched you both go, shaking his head with a smile. “Ah, youngsters. Full of life.” He knew there was no better duo for the job.

ENDO YAMATO

It was supposed to be a simple mission: slip in, take out the Kishin, collect the soul, and get out. No complications, no distractions. But when Endo was involved, even the simplest things became… well, complicated.

“Did I ever tell you about the time Takiishi used me in that fight against the ninja guy?” he whispers, just a little too loud. You shoot him a glare as you crouch low, scanning for any signs of the Kishin lurking in the shadows. But Endo, oblivious to the situation’s demands, just keeps going. “Seriously, it was incredible! The way he wielded me—I'm telling you, it was like magic! I mean, you’re amazing, obviously, but this guy? The two of you together would be unstoppable.”

Your patience was wearing thin, and it was showing. You glanced over your shoulder, whispering in a low, scolding tone, “Endo, would you shut up for once? We’re supposed to be done with this by now.”

He just smirked, leaning against the cold stone wall as though this was a casual night out instead of a mission. “Aw, come on, doll. What’s the rush? We’ve got all night to take down one little Kishin." watching you with those eyes that showed nothing good, "Besides, don’t you think you need to loosen up a bit? You’re always trying to be ‘Miss Perfect.’ But you’re already the best, hands down.”

You scoff, rolling your eyes. There’s no way you’re letting his endless banter derail the mission. You extend your hand. He takes it with a lazy smile, intertwining your fingers just a little too slowly. “Transform, now,” you whisper, trying to ignore the warmth of his hand in yours and the playfulness in his eye.

Just then, you hear footsteps, a shuffle in the darkness. Instinctively, your grip tightens, and Endo shifts, his form glimmering as he becomes a sleek, polished pistol in your hand. The perfect weapon for one clean shot.

“Right on target, or I’m putting you in detention,” you mutter, aiming carefully. A soft chuckle echoes from the weapon in your hand.

“Only if you’re the one giving it to me,” he teases, his voice vibrating through your body.

You don’t bother responding, steadying your aim. Pulling the trigger, the shot resonates in the silence as the Kishin collapses. A faint smoke drifts from the barrel as Endo shifts back, grinning as he strides over to collect the soul—a glistening blue orb hovering above the remains. He snatches it with satisfaction, letting it vanish into his mouth as this was his dinner, but he is always ready for dessert.

You’re already turning to leave when he catches up, nudging your shoulder. “So, now that we’re done here, think we can swing by the party? Takiishi will be there, and—”

His words trail off when he catches your unimpressed look. But as always, he doesn’t give up. Instead, he steps closer, tilting your chin up with his tattooed fingers. “Or maybe,” he murmurs, his voice low, “I could show you a little more of what I can do. Just the two of us.”

You smirk, catching his hand and intertwining your fingers as you start leading the way back to the academy. “You’d better make it worth my while, then.”

He chuckles, that lazy, cocky sound trailing after you. “Oh, you know I will, doll. Anything for you.”

ITOSHI RIN

You’d been searching for him all day, irritated, annoyed but not surprised. Why does he have to pick a fight with Isagi again? Poor guy probably didn’t even do anything this time, just breathing and existing. But Rin’s temper? It seems to have a strong trigger, and you are fully prepared to be the one to finally make it go off on him.

You scanned the room, spotting your friends who gave you sympathetic glances, some even knew what was coming. When you finally spot Rin sitting at his desk in class, like he doesn't care about anything in the world, he's just there.

Without a second thought, you shove the classroom door open, and it bangs against the wall with a force that pulls every head in your direction. Even Dr. Stein, who usually comments on such disturbances with some dry remark, raises his eyebrow at you, his mouth opening. But one sharp look from you shuts him up. He knows better.

“Itoshi Rin. Out, now.” Your voice is hard as steel, nothing like the sweet tone you save for casual days, when you’re both training, laughing, maybe even getting along for once. But today, this? This is all business, and everyone knows that if you’re mad enough to pull him out of class, he’s in trouble.

Rin just rolls his eyes and scoffs, pushing himself up from his chair and sauntering to the door. You let the door close behind you with a polite, “Excuse us, Doctor,” as you exit. Stein just sighs, casting a pitying look at Rin’s empty chair.

Behind you, someone whispered, “Think she’s gonna be the first meister in centuries to kill her weapon?”

Dr. Stein gave an unbothered shrug. “I’d like to see the body afterward, for... scientific purposes.”

Outside the classroom, you stop, crossing your arms and tapping your foot. Rin is slumping against the wall, his hands shoved deep into his pockets as he stares at you, his expression completely unbothered. He seems to be waiting for you to say something, but you wait for him, pressuring him to do something.

“What do you want?” he finally mutters, almost as if he’s bored.

“What I want,” you begin, warning him with that tone, “is for you to stop with this ‘I’m going to kill Isagi’ nonsense.” You can’t keep the anger out of your voice, but you do try to stay calm and controlled. He needs to understand that you are serious without having to scream it in his face. “Rin, there’s nothing wrong with wanting to be the best. But you know as well as I do, we don’t need to crush everyone else to prove that. Not him, at least.”

He’s staring at you, but it’s clear he’s listening to you, but he doesn't hear. He finally scoffs, mumbling, turning his head in the opposite direction to avoid you. “As if.” What he hated the most was to be told what to do.

You take a step closer, pressing a finger to his chest. “Listen, I don’t have all day to deal with this. I don’t care if you have a grudge or if he has better luck sometimes. You’re my weapon. And that means you follow my orders.”

Rin’s eyes flash, and he grabs your wrist, his grip firm as he leans down just enough to be intimidating. “I do whatever I want.” You yank him closer by the shirt, unflinching. “And I can crush your soul if you ever cross that line with me again. So don’t forget, Rin—who’s the one with the control here?”

For once, his blunt expression falters. You’re not sure if he’s backing down…or if he’s just considering something else. Either way, he releases your wrist, mumbling under his breath, but for now, he’s been put in his place.

SAKURA HARUKA

"Can't you run faster?" As you leap from one rooftop to the next, Sakura's voice echoes in your head, scythe held tightly in your grip. To achieve his ultimate form as a Death Weapon Scythe, Sakura needed to consume the soul of a witch, and tonight, you had one within your sight. “Shut up! I'm trying my best here," you snap back, spinning the weapon instinctively to keep your balance. His groan vibrates through your hands as he starts to feel dizzy.

"Huh?! This is your best?" he taunts, irritated by your fighting, more like defending yourself. Your patience finally snaps, and you grind to a halt, releasing his weapon form as he transforms back to his human shape beside you. His expression is just as fiery as yours, brows knitted, eyes blazing. His sharper-than-normal teeth peek out in frustration.

"Sakura, stop! I’m fed up with your attitude," you say, barely keeping the anger out of your voice. He stares back at you, unyielding. "I'm your weapon for a reason, remember? Because you’re supposed to be one of the strongest Meisters out there. Don’t make me regret my choice of picking you."

The tension between you crackles, the adrenaline and frustration of the hunt mingling into something that even Lord Death won’t be able to stop, as he tried so many times to teach you to be one with your partner. But before you can respond, a voice interrupts from the shadows, lilting and playful, just what you need right now.

"My little pumpkins... I’m so sorry to interrupt," the witch croons, hovering just above you in the sky. Her glittering eyes shine in the moonlight, a smirk playing across her lips. "Are we going to do this tonight, or should I come back another day?"

The two of you whirl on her in perfect unison, “Shut up!” you shout, voices harmonizing as she pouts, clutching her hands to her chest in mock hurt. But you’re too caught up in the moment to notice the glint of magic in her fingers. Before you realize it, she’s already begun her spell. A sudden pulse of energy knocks Sakura against you, making you stumble on the edge of the rooftop.

You feel yourself losing your balance as the ground rushes up toward you, but Sakura’s arms find their way around you, his grip tight in fear of not letting you go. Instinctively, you clutch him back, bracing for a rough landing.

But instead of cold pavement, you crash into something soft and oddly bouncy, breaking your fall with an unexpected jolt. You open your eyes to find yourselves surrounded by squishy pumpkins conjured by the witch’s magic. You’re still tangled up with Sakura, his arms wrapped around you protectively, as he is more concerned now than angry. Your safety was his number one priority, even if you had arguments most of the time you had missions.

"Such cuties you two are!" the witch giggles, waving her fingers at you like she’s saying goodbye. “Well then, until next time!”

And with that, she vanishes, and your weapon mutters something under his breath, finally letting go of you as he stands up, brushing off imaginary dust with an embarrassed frown. You can’t help but smile at him, as he helps you stand up, handing his jacket to you as he walks forward, hands in his pockets as he sneezes and little air hearts appear around him.

"Soul resonance, huh?" you say knowing this won’t be the last time you’re stuck like this together.

ISAGI YOICHI

It was training time, the kind where you and your weapon partner go head-to-head against another meister and weapon pair. But this wasn’t just any opponent; this was Michael Kaiser, who had a habit of voicing his unwanted opinion about your partnership with Isagi. And, of course, Isagi chose him. His determination to take on Kaiser was fierce, and despite your reservations, you went along with it.

Running side by side, Isagi transformed into a set of shurikens, sharp and deadly, perfect for an offensive strike. You launched forward with a powerful kick, targeting Kaiser directly. He countered quickly, his weapon Ness—perfect, yet irritatingly well-matched partner—swinging to meet you.

"A strong meister like you using him? That’s so low of you, meine Prinzessin,” Kaiser taunted as he dodged your kicks, punches, and Isagi’s whirling shuriken form. His smirk was only growing wider as he grazed your defenses. Every time he opened his mouth, his mocking words were something you wish you could just cut with your weapon.

“Shut up, you stupid Emperor,” you spat, gripping Isagi as he shifted into his katana form, readying for another attempt to close in on Kaiser. You sliced left and right, and your movements were calculated, though the Emperor evaded most of your attacks. The best you managed was a slight tear on his shirt—a minor victory, though not satisfying enough.

“A girl like you, so strong, settling for a weapon like him?” His voice dripped with disgust as he angled Ness, testing your patience. “You deserve more than someone who thinks life’s a puzzle to solve. So much more. It’s honestly��� cute, watching you struggle.”

It took everything not to let his words worm into your mind. You knew he was trying to rile you up until you’d snap and lose control. He wanted you to get reckless, to expose a weakness he could exploit. You clenched your fists, steadying yourself. You weren’t going to let him get the satisfaction.

“Isagi, I swear, I’m going to kill you for picking him instead of Barou,” you muttered through gritted teeth, tossing a glance at Isagi mid-battle. He chuckled nervously, though he knew just as well that this rivalry ran deep.

You darted forward, throwing Isagi in his shuriken form in a high arc behind Kaiser, who barely gave it a glance, his eyes pinned on you as you closed in. The fool thought you’d just thrown Isagi away.

“Oh, finally giving up and throwing out the trash?” Kaiser sneered, that self-satisfied smirk still painted across his face.

You mirrored his smirk, feeling the satisfaction bubble up as you locked eyes. “Quite the opposite. I’m taking it down.”

In a flash, Isagi shifted mid-air, transforming back into his human form just in time to land on Kaiser from behind, knocking him to the ground. Before Kaiser could react, you pressed a foot to his chest, holding him down firmly. Isagi stood beside you, eyes shining as he looked down at Kaiser with that victorious smirk.

“Who’s unworthy now, Emperor?” Isagi’s voice was laced with mockery, enjoying every second of the results. Kaiser, winded but not defeated, glared up at you. But even he couldn’t deny that for once, he’d been outmatched.

KAJI REN

You're patrolling the streets of Death City, trying to find the Kishin that has been disturbing the peace for a few days now. Beside you, Kaji Ren walks, hands in his hoodie pockets, a lollipop perched between his lips as if he didn’t have a care in the world. Headphones cradling his ears, pulsing with the beats of a very familiar song. Just as you’re about to comment on his distracted state, he freezes, eyes narrowing as he spots something moving in the shadows.

Without thinking twice, you reach out, snatching both his lollipop and his headphones when he barely has time to register the theft before you’ve popped the lollipop into your mouth, its sugary taste spreading across your tongue. Kaji’s eyes widen, and for a second he looks stunned, ready to make a witty remark but you’re already moving, sliding the headphones over your ears, the music from your shared playlist flooding your senses, pumping up your adrenaline.

“You—!” he starts, but he’s already transforming, his body twisting in a flash of light until the cold steel of his scythe form lands firmly in your grasp.

The music pulses through you and the beat matches your footsteps as you lunge toward the Kishin. With Kaji in your hand, you dance around the creature, slicing it as you move to the rhythm. You could feel his irritation vibrating through his blade form, and if he’d been human, you’d bet he’d be yelling, but his words are muffled by the blasting music in your ears.

“Y/N, watch ou—” You grin to yourself, knowing you don’t need the warning. You leap high, spinning mid-air, and bring Kaji down killing the Kishin with a powerful strike. It vanishes quickly, leaving only its blue soul glowing in the aftermath.

Landing gracefully, nodding your head to the rhythm as you pull off the headphones and let Kaji return to his human form. His mouth opens, clearly ready to throw an insult, but before he can get a single word out, you press the headphones back into his hands with a nonchalant smile.

“Yes, yes. Here you go. Return what I’ve taken,” you say, casually, popping the lollipop back into your mouth. “But I’m keeping this,” you add, twirling the sweet between your teeth. “It’s just too good to give up.”

“You won’t even he—” His protest dies as you press a finger to his lips, your teasing smile flashing as you look up at him, “Shhh, Ren. You’re so cute when you’re mad, you know that?” The faintest hint of a blush creeps into his cheeks, his brows knitting together, making him look even more annoyed. You always cut him off, you didn't listen to him and he was mad, but at the same time, he was too enraged to say anything. Turning away, looking forward to your next task—if only to tease him more.

HONORABLE MENTIONS

WBK. Weapon!Togame, Weapon!Hiragi, Meister!Nirei, Meister!Choji, Meister!Kiryu, Weapon!Suzuri

BLLK. Meister!Karasu, Meister!Barou, Weapon!Reo, Weapon!Otoya, Weapon!Shidou, Meister!Aiku

taglist :: @kiurona @nyxypoo @17020 @stunies @maruflix @ryescapades @yoru-exe @heartkaji @seneon @choccorin @littleplantfreak @meidiary

©2024 kaiser1ns do not copy, repost or modify my work

[deadsetobsessions]

Your name is Tim Drake and you are nine years old.

Today, tomorrow, and soon, you're going to save Robin.

----

Tim stares at his reflection on the sink tap. It trembles, along with the plane, as he contemplates his situation.

His face is rounder, now, with unfamiliar baby-fat rounding out the sharp lines he'd come to expect. Even with the subpar reflection, Tim can tell that his dark eyebags are all but gone, replaced with youthful skin.

Magic. He's being quite literal, seeing as he's been tossed into the body of his younger self at the hands of a crazed magician.

He could find a way back... or he could create a completely different timeline by fixing everything that went wrong. It's not like he has anything to go back to, anyways. That crazed magician was actually competent and killed everyone he ever cared about. Tim barely got away with his life. He could go back to save that shell of a world- surrounded by people whose minds were broken beyond magical and medical repair- or stay here, fix his own personal troubles and cut off the magician before he could start with his world domination bullshit.

Well, Tim already has an idea of what he wants. So he begins a list, after having oriented himself.

Save Robin

There's no point trying to convince Bruce that he knows where Jason's being held. So, Tim finds himself on a plane to Ethiopia a day before Jason's meant to die. This was long before Barbara even thought of being Oracle, and the tech is ancient in his hands. In short order, nine year old Tim has a trust fund with millions in it, all siphoned from billionaires like Lex Luthor and his own parents.

Tim toddles back to his seat, after washing his hands because he still can't shake the extra bit of paranoia that came with a missing spleen. Oh. Tim blinks guilelessly at his seat neighbor, smiling like Timothy Drake, Angel of a Son as he reels from the realization that he still has his spleen.

Tim adds another box to his list:

Keep Ra's away from my spleen, creepy bastard.

What else...? Ah, the League of Assassins.

Damian

Tim pauses. Holy crap. Damian's only six right now. Tim moves Damian's box upwards in urgency. Tim might have a mildly antagonistic relationship with his younger brother back then, but he wants baby pictures of his siblings, dammit. He's gonna put that photography expertise to good use if it's the last thing he does.

Watch over Z, Owens, Pru

'They're alive!' His mind screams. Cold rationality slaps the sentimentality down with a quick 'But they won't be if I fail.'

His mind wanders to Dick Grayson. He scowls as something pops up in the back of his head.

Catalina Flores

Contact Nightwing- in space

He's gotta call Dick back from that Teen Titans mission, Jason's gonna need all of the support he's going to get.

Find Cass

Train Steph

Save Duke's family from Venom

Tim taps at that last point. He'll save them. But that might mean Duke might never join their family.

But he'll be happy and Tim... will deal with it. He'll be the only one mourning, anyways. To end on a lighter note, he adds something that he should have done ages ago.

Give Tam a raise.

Tim sighs as he gets out of the airport, the hired escort he found and vetted, delivering him to a predetermined hotel. They think his parents are already inside. He laughs and does not say anything to make them think otherwise. He has so many things to do, Tim laments as he settles down to track the Joker's movements. Here. That's where Jason's being held. Being tortured.

He can, however, knock two things off his list in one go. Tim picks up the burner phone he acquired. He doesn't have time, or else he would have done this sooner and saved them all the trouble.

[RR: Are you in Ethiopia yet?]

[Deathstroke: Payment confirmed. In Ethiopia.]

[RR: Third building by the docks.]

An hour.

[Deathstroke: Confirmed. Target spotted.]

Ten minutes.

[Deathstroke: Target eliminated. Bringing Robin to Safehouse.]

Twenty minutes.

[Deathstroke: Basic first aid applied. Leaving.]

[RR: Secondary payment sent. Confirm?]

[Deathstroke: Confirmed. Pleasure doing business with you.]

Tim sprawls on the king bed. He sighs a breath of relief. He'd check on Jason in person, if he weren't paranoid about leaving traces that would get back to him. Tim's pretty sure that Deathstroke's going to get hunted down in the near future, regardless, so he made sure to add a huge tip on top of the extra fees for burning one of Deathstroke's safe houses and the emergency first aid. He taps into the rudimentary camera Deathstroke had given him the access codes to, to stare at Jason's rising and falling chest. On a further table, the Joker's head laid in a preservation box.

He bypasses all of the security on the Teen Titan's tech to send Dick a message.

[Robin has been retrieved from the Joker. Contact Batman for details.]

Then, he sends Bruce the location of the safe house. Tim spends the rest of the day staring at Jason and watching his father in another timeline break as he huddles close to the broken body of Tim's Robin.

Timothy Drake destroys the burner phone.

[yesimwriting]

Heyy ya!! Hwo you doing? I wanted to ask maybe you can write Coriolanus x reader when he gets to district after just finishing training for pacekeepers, or maybe where his tribute just arrived to the capitol and the reader maybe says the “what does my mentor do besides bring me roses?” Line? ❤️

A/n the turn around for this was so fast for me 😭 i got excited

hi!! i love these prompts and am so glad for the excuse to write something for him 😭,, also i didn't blatantly make the reader the district 12 tribute bc i didn't want to necessarily cute lucy gray out all together, but it's clear that she's from a poorer district and that being assigned to mentor her is an insult to the Snow name,, also reader pulls a katniss and volunteers for a younger family member bc the irony of that scratches an inch in my brain

Summary: After the very public slight of being assigned to mentor a female tribute from a lower district, all Snow can think about is the uphill battle that winning the Plinth prize will now be. Until, he realizes, that he's been given the first ever district volunteer who seems to have a quality that makes people care about her.

Warnings: my first time writing for a specific character, Coriolanus's internal thoughts are a little softer than they should be at some points but i love the accidental and deeply impractical crush trope so

---

Of Angels

The desperation masquerading as fierceness behind her eyes is undeniable. Coriolanus feels the way your panic, your shock as the weight of your own words dawn on you in his chest. He swallows, forcing down the feeling.

Take me--take me instead! The phrase is repeated again and again, shaky and pleading.

Something about the display, about the 12-year-old girl that desperately tries to cling to you as peace keepers push you forward, makes it hard to watch. Even worse, it makes it impossible to look away.

The first ever district volunteer. A suicide mission or a--a desperate call for attention? A decision made out of hysteria that you're already starting to regret?

He can't decide as the footage of you being ushered onto stage is played. Surely, Dr. Gaul and other Capitol officials won't find this acceptable. The concept of volunteering has always been reserved for the careers, the districts that produce well fed children that train for this. It's a way to allow them to pick their best, their strongest. It is not a way for someone to lay down their life for someone else.

"Are you saying you volunteer?"

You blink, eyes wild and bright as you openly survey the crowd. Coriolanus briefly thinks that you might attempt to take what he doubts is an actual out. You seem to be considering something before finally nodding once. The motion so stiff it makes you look smaller, like the girl whose name was originally called.

"Yes," you mumble. The softness of it is a personal accost. Your choice was made in panic, but that isn't who you are. You're not much of a performer or a fighter or even bold...you're not much of a chance at the Plinth Prize. "I-I volunteer."

----

In the end, he had come because of Tigris. She had insisted that there was a way to see his tribute as more than just another face from the districts, as more human than animal.

She loves that little girl enough to die in her place. If I was her, I'd want someone to tell me that my choice meant something. I'd want someone to show that they care about me.

The words had felt dismissible at first, but the more he thought about them, the more it made sense. Panem had seen the entire thing, had seen the way that his tribute continued to comfort the younger girl even after sentencing herself to death. There's a story worthy of a show in that.

If he can convince you to go on camera, to speak of the girl, of the choice...maybe he'd have a chance at his future. And if the public support manages to help you in some way or another, that'd only be an additional benefit. You love that girl enough to die for her, maybe that means you love her enough to fight tooth and nail to live for her as well.

The train that stops at each district pulls to a stop. The doors open, releasing the sound of tributes that are learning the consequences of attempting to cause issues for the peacekeepers.

A boy he vaguely recognizes steps out, and then a younger girl. Are you one of the tributes already risking their lives in an attempt to aggravate peacekeepers? Or maybe you're cowering at the back of the train, clinging onto the safety of a familiar space.

You prove to be neither. You emerge from the train, perfectly in tact and stable.

Coriolanus parts his lips, yet no words manage to come out. You're different in person, the white you're dressed in is objectively dirtier than it was when you were reaped and yet somehow, here in the dim, gray station it feels brighter. A stray beam of sunlight breaking through a cluster of clouds. A promise that the storm will end soon and that the angels have yet to abandon the earth.

Your dress is a simple thing, loose enough to be a hand-me-down or maybe even borrowed, the lace of the skirt falling farther down your knees than it should. That paired with the ribbon scraps tied to each side of your head make you look younger and cruelly innocent.

"Hello." The blandness of his own beginning forces a burning sort of regret to take over his chest. You attentively turn, expression kind and expecting. It only makes the embarrassment he doesn't fully understand scorch him from the inside out with more violence. He's once again struck with the desire to look away and finding himself incapable of doing so. "My name is Coriolanus Snow, and I'm your mentor."

You nod, features hardening. You've pieced it all together--his appearance, what he's saying, and where you are. He's revealed himself as part of the Capitol and now you can no longer watch him with kind, accepting eyes. The look you're giving him is almost enough to make him wish he could have presented this differently.

Coriolanus extends an arm, the carefully chosen pure white rose an olive branch. You blink, eyebrows drawing together before you slowly reach out and take the flower by its stem. Your fingertips brush against his own, the warmth of your skin is so shocking he has to remind himself not to flinch.

"A mentor?" You repeat the word like your only reason for doing so is to try out the foreign word on your tongue. "Does everyone get one or am I just lucky?" You look down at the rose you're now holding. "Or has the rumor that I'm a rebellion trick spread to the Capitol?"

The last question genuinely surprises him. It shouldn't, there had been some talk about why anyone from a poor district would ever choose to go into the games. The way you and the girl you saved reacted to each other could have been staged...but Coriolanus didn't think it was enough to warrant genuine rumors. Anyone that had looked at your eyes and seen the fear in them would have known that it was sacrifice. Is sacrifice. That girl means the world to you.

"No," he starts slowly, "No, everyone gets one and no one here has any preconceptions about you."

You raise your eyebrows, making it clear that you don't believe him. No preconceptions had been a strong way to phrase things, but the urge to assure you had taken over with no warning. You then look away, glancing around to take in your surroundings.

"Then why isn't there..." You trail off, your gaze landing firmly on him. "You're not supposed to be here."

He blinks. For the first time, it feels like you're truly looking at him. His own susceptibility to your wide eyes turns his stomach. You're the one that should feel like something up for display under his stare. "No, I'm not."

The admission forces the edge of your lips to pull upwards. "Alright," you hum, "So what does my mentor do for me besides bring me roses?"

"I do my best to take care of you."

For a second, all you do is stare. He's surprised you. The realization brings him more relief than it should. "The girl who you volunteered for..."

You tilt your head downwards, hiding your expression as your fingers carefully toy with the exterior of the soft petals. "My cousin," the explanation is low, cautious, "But we uh--we're more like sisters."

An in that he doesn't even have to work for. "I understand that." You look up, not bothering to hide your confusion. Maybe you weren't expecting something so human to come out. Maybe human works for you. "During the war, we took care of each other...and then after our parents passed, we were left in the care of our grandmother."

The silence that follows is tight, straining against the sympathies you're not willing to extend to someone like him. Your lips part, and Coriolanus is disgusted by the part of him that's curious about what's going to come next.

You're pushed back with no warning. His attention snaps towards the peacekeeper who is shoving against your shoulder with more force than necessary.

"Excuse--" No reaction, no response as another peacekeeper grabs your arm. "Excuse me, I'm her--" You're being dragged away in order to be packed into another vehicle of transportation with the rest of them.

Coriolanus stays near, doing his best to never lose sight of you in the chaos. A tribute breaks free from the hold of the peacekeepers and launches his body forward. An ill thought out escape attempt. The distraction is all Coriolanus needs. This is his chance to go after you, to cement a connection that will guarantee cooperation.

It's not the distraction that gets him to move or even thoughts of the Plinth prize, it's the final flash of angel white fabric as its forced back into darkness. He rushes forward before he can overthink, entering the vehicle just as the doors shut.

----

i think i might make a part 2!!

[kinzhae]

"Too Late."

After a heated argument, Gojo Satoru pushes you away, becoming cold and indifferent. During a mission, you are severely injured by a curse, and Gojo arrives too late to save you. As you die in his arms, Gojo is forced to confront the painful consequences of his actions and the love he never expressed.

Warnings: Death, Emotional Abuse, Angst, Grief, Violence, Angst with no happy ending, mentions of death, ignoring.

This has been sitting on my draft but didn't know if I should post it or not.

Gojo x Reader.

You’d reached your breaking point with Satoru’s arrogance, his refusal to take anything seriously. After a mission where his antics nearly got a teammate killed, you confronted him.

"Why do you always act like nothing matters?" you shouted, your voice trembling with anger. "Do you think it’s funny when people almost die?!"

Gojo’s smirk was firmly in place, his hands stuffed casually in his pockets. "Relax, no one actually died. I was there, wasn’t I?"

"That’s not the point!" you snapped, tears burning in your eyes. "You can’t keep acting like this is all a game, Satoru. People care about you—I care about you—but you make it impossible to reach you!"

His smirk faltered for a split second before he recovered, his voice dropping to an icy tone. "If caring about me is so hard, maybe you should stop."

His words struck you like a physical blow, and you staggered back, staring at him in disbelief. "Is that what you really want?" you whispered, your voice cracking.

Gojo turned his head away, the faintest flicker of regret crossing his face before his usual arrogance took over. "I don’t have time for this," he said simply, walking away and leaving you behind.

From that moment, he froze you out completely. In the halls, he ignored your presence as if you didn’t exist. On missions, he stood back, arms crossed, watching you struggle.

"Having fun?" he’d call out mockingly as you fought against a curse, his tone laced with cruel amusement. "You said I don’t take things seriously. Show me how it’s done, then."

Each word was a dagger to your heart, but you refused to let him see you falter. You pushed yourself harder, determined to prove you didn’t need him.

But your body couldn’t keep up with your determination. On a solo mission, you found yourself overwhelmed by a curse far stronger than you’d anticipated. You fought with everything you had, but it wasn’t enough.

Gojo arrived just in time to see you collapse, your blood pooling around you as the curse disappeared into nothingness. For a moment, he stood frozen, his heart pounding in a way he hadn’t felt in years.

"Satoru," you whispered weakly, your vision blurring as he knelt beside you. "Guess you were right… You didn’t need me after all."

"Stop talking," he said, his voice uncharacteristically sharp as he pressed his hands to your wounds, his mind racing. He could heal himself, but not others. He had never learned. "Don’t… don’t do this. You’ll be fine. You’ll be fine."

Your hand weakly reached for his, and he grasped it tightly, his grip trembling. "You’ll be fine," you murmured, your voice fading. "You always are…"

For the first time in his life, Gojo Satoru felt powerless. As the light left your eyes, his entire world crumbled.

He sat there for hours, holding your lifeless body, his blindfold damp with tears. "You were wrong," he whispered hoarsely, his voice barely audible. "I needed you. I needed you more than anything."

But no one was there to hear his confession, and the silence that followed was louder than any scream.

[dcxdpdabbles]

Do you have any DC ideas that aren't crossovers

I fear you may have missed the point of my blog, but if this is a genuine question, I did have a fic idea I was considering writing. It's more of a floating idea that I could work on someday.

It would be Tim Drake-centric, with him killed while on a mission after bringing Bruce back from the timeline. The top members of the Justice Leauge feel awkward around him and don't know how to apologize, leading Tim to just drift away from everyone.

He went from a beloved friend and trusted leader to someone they rarely turn to, and Tim thinks it was because they thought he was crazy. This creates a gap between his command of a team and his determination to do everything on his own.

It would be an avoidable ancient, so Tim is killed when they fail to ask him for a plan and unknowingly blow his cover. He thinks they did it on purpose, dying without knowing the broken pieces he left behind.

He wakes in his own grave months later and realizes he came back on his own like Jason. He claws his way out of his own grave, sits in front of it for a while, and decides he no longer wants to be a part of the hero scene.

They let him die.

So, instead, Tim creates a new identity and chooses to live among the regular citizens of Gotham. Since he no longer has access to the Wayne or Drake funds- as even hacking the accounts would create a lead to him- he has to slum it until he can make enough money to start somewhere new. He keeps his training out of habit, keeps his head down, and avoids crime or crime-fighting like the plague. \

He's Alvin Draper, a law-abiding GED student working two part-time jobs. That's all there is to it.

Tim doesn't know that he may have woken up in Gotham, but not his Gotham. He's in a different dimension, having taken over the body of Tim Drake of this world and accidentally breathing life back into the corpse.

Oh, and another big difference is that this is a Reverse Robin world where Damian is the eldest and Dick is the youngest. That means Tim should have been this world's Jason, which means he stopped Red Hood from existing. Also, his family is slightly different as Bruce's first son was a bloodthirsty accident that both had to learn to soften. It also means Damian was secure enough in his spot in the family that he adored Tim when he came to the manor.

He was devastated to learn his brother had died and laches on to Jason and Dick in a more protective manner as a result. Then baby Dick, at the ripe age of twelve, spots Alvin working at a pizzeria in Crime Alley when Jason takes him to see his old stomping grounds.

He's older than when Tim died, but Dick is convinced Alvin is somehow related to his adoptive dad's deceased second son, and when no one believes him- it's been years since Tim died, not months- he decides to get proof on his own.

Tim is unaware that the cute blond kid that comes around for hours on end is his once older brother Dick Grayson, who is determined to bring him to a home that was never his.

[theother-victoria]

all hearts as one beneath the sun

SYNOPSIS: before kakavasha dissolves into the nihility, there is one hope he has to let go of. may you meet again in a kinder world and under a warm sun.

CHARACTERS: kakavasha, aventurine, dr ratio, aventurine's family, sunday

TAGS: angst, no comfort, established relationship, mentions of suicide, 4k+ wc

TAGLIST: @mitsvriii, @harque, @hazyue, @gabile18, @khoncore, @moineauz

NOTES: sobbed to "had I not seen the sun" the entire time I was writing this I love making myself cry w my own work

special thanks to @akutasoda, @tragedy-of-commons, and @https-sourlimes for proofreading this! love u all <33

link to the playlist

Aventurine was mildly surprised when he received word that he would be handling the Penacony mission. Why him, of all the Ten Stonehearts? Surely someone more capable such as Opal would be trusted with a mission of this caliber. 

He only realized why when he pried further into the details. 

Penacony was a death trap. With so many powerful and important people gathered in one place, one wrong move on his part would spell his end.

He chuckles sardonically. Figures. They’re sending their most suicidal employee out for a suicide mission.

As if to rub the situation into his face, he finds out they’re pairing him with Dr. Ratio. What purpose is he supposed to serve, suicide prevention? Too little, too late, in his opinion. 

The doctor doesn’t look too thrilled about the fact either. It makes Aventurine feel somewhat better about this whole situation. 

“You’d best get your affairs settled before we leave, gambler. The odds that you make it back alive from this mission aren’t as high as you’d hope they’d be.”

“Ooh, well I do like the sound of that.”

A glare sent his way makes Aventurine roll his eyes, but he shuts up anyway. Plans are made and discussed for what role each of them will be playing before it’s time to leave. 

“Well then, I look forward to working with you in Penacony, Doctor.”

“Just don’t act like a complete idiot and we’ll be fine.”

The two men head their separate ways. Ratio’s advice to settle his affairs lingers in his mind, though. That means there’s a will he has to sign, assets he has to distribute, funeral arrangements to be made, and more. Of course, most, if not all of it, will be going toward you. You’d be set for the rest of your life, never having to work a day again if you so chose. 

He heaves a sigh. Ah, it’s all so tedious. It was all so much easier before you came along. He had no will to worry about. He’d toss caution to the wind every mission and wind up sorely disappointed when he returned, still alive. If he did end up dying, his assets would end up being pawned off and most likely make their way back to the IPC somehow. So what even was the point then?

With all that being said, he didn’t mind putting in all that extra work for your peace of mind and so you’d continue to benefit, even after his death. 

Still, the stakes this time around are higher, and he has you to consider now before placing his bets. One wrong move and you’d be left without someone to welcome home. And then there’s the consideration of whether he’d be willing to die when the moment came. Sure, he’d attempted several times before but they’d all failed. Would he be able to take the plunge this time, should the opportunity present itself? 

“Hey, Doc?”

Ratio is about to leave, but the uncharacteristic hint of hesitation in his voice makes him stop and look over his shoulder.

“... How can you tell if you’ve lived a life worth living?”

Ratio stares at the blonde in silence in disbelief over what he’s hearing. Aventurine chuckles, trying to dispel the awkwardness that’s settled in the air.

“No answer? Never mind-”

“That answer will vary from person to person. However, if you were to ask me personally…”

The doctor’s ruby eyes flit over Aventurine’s frame, narrowing in contemplation- and perhaps a hint of resignation. 

“Ask yourself this question: can you die today without any regrets?”

“Can I die today without any regrets?” Doctor, what were you thinking when you posed that rhetorical question on me? Obviously the answer would be no!

Expensive leather shoes click against stone as Aventurine hurriedly makes his way through the Dreamscape. The weight of having mere hours left to live looms above his head like an anvil, leaving him scrambling to figure out how to cheat death- not for the hope of living to see another day, but so he can carry out his mission. 

When confronted with death, even a suicidal man will cling to the urge to live for one reason or another. 

He’s hardly paying attention to where he’s going, muttering out half-hearted apologies to those he bumps into as he stumbles through the Dreamscape before he ends up in a secluded area. The kaleidoscopic iridescence in the corners of his vision makes him stumble and he audibly groans when a searing pain flashes through his temples, the Harmony’s brand on his mind assailing him again. 

Dammit… am I really at the end of the line now? And before I could do anything meaningful either…

He hears the sound of a… child humming some distance away? That’s strange, there’s no one else here. 

“Mister, are you lost too?”

That voice. 

He turns around slowly, as if that would change anything. Aventurine’s eyes dart across the boy standing before him, with rags for clothes and scraped knees. The child in front of him is everything he is not- or rather, what he was, but is no longer. Optimistic, with bright shining eyes. Hope still exists for him. 

Those eyes. Oh, it’s himself. 

Aventurine thinks he’s about to be sick. 

“Woah, you have such pretty eyes! Can I call you Mr. Pretty Eyes?”

Aventurine stiffly nods. 

“Sure. Call me whatever you want, kid. What’s your name?”

“It’s Kakavasha. Nice to meet you!”

And that’s the final nail in the coffin confirming his suspicions. 

Kakavasha looks around nervously.

“I was searching for my family, but I got lost. This place is so much bigger than home… Mister, do you think you could help me find them?”

Aventurine shakily extends a trembling hand out.

“Of course. Lead the way. How about you hold onto my hand so you don’t get lost anymore?

Kakavasha latches onto it and begins wandering around, calling out for his parents and big sister. Every unanswered call feels like a punch to the gut but he has a faint flickering of hope that he’ll be able to see them.

“You really love your family, kid,” remarks Aventurine in an attempt to keep some conversation going. 

“Of course! I do!”

Kakavasha pauses in his steps and thinks for a bit, eyes wandering skyward and free hand resting on his chin.

“… Do you have anyone you love, Mr. Pretty Eyes?”

“Yes, I do. Their name is (Name).”

The boy’s eyes light up, sparkling in curiosity.

“Woah, really? What’re they like?”

A light chuckle escapes Aventurine’s lips as he crouches down to Kakavasha’s eye level and ruffles his hair. 

“They’re the best thing to have ever happened to me.”

“Wow, they must be a really amazing person for you to say that…”

“They are. They're incredible.”

I don’t deserve them.

He chuckles and stands back up again, hand reaching for Kakavasha’s. The little boy continues to lead the way, until he suddenly stops and turns. 

“Would you like to meet my family? They’ve been gone for so long I think they went back home. You can introduce (Name) to them as well!”

Panic wells up inside him. Seeing his family? In this state? After all he’s done? No, he can’t. He can’t, he can’t, he can’t. Not under these circumstances!

“Kid, I don’t think-”

“It’s ok if (Name) shows up late. They’re nice people and they’ll understand.”

“No, I-”

“Come on, let’s go! They’re already waiting for us!”

Aventurine feels himself being forcefully pulled under and he instinctively closes his eyes. A blast of hot, sandy air hits him, making him shield himself. When it settles down, he opens his eyes to a familiar sight. Sand stretches as far as the eye can see. There’s minimal vegetation and he can feel the sun beating down on his back already.

Sigonia-IV. He’s returned home. 

Kakavasha eagerly tugs on his sleeve. 

“This is my home! I know it’s not much, but everyone I know and love is here. I think you’ll like it too.”

Still holding onto Aventurine’s hand, Kakvasha begins running toward the horizon. Aventurine, meanwhile, feels numb all over. 

There’s no way this is happening. Is this some sort of cruel prank? What did that chicken-wing boy do this time? But if this is just a cruel prank…

He looks around at the yellow sand stretching as far as the eye can see and the mountains in the distance.

… Then it’s far too realistic. How is this happening? If I filter out the memories of the massacre, then everything is the same as I remembered it. 

“We’re almost there!” calls out Kakavasha. “Just a little longer now!”

Three familiar figures stand in front of a tent some distance away and Aventurine feels his heart seize up in his chest. He’s long forgotten their faces, but he instinctively recognizes them.

Mom. Dad. Big Sis. 

Kakavasha lets go of his hand and sprints toward his family. He leaps into the arms of his big sister, who spins him around giddily while his mother plants kisses over his face and his father holds his tiny hands. 

As he approaches, he realizes they have no faces. Where there are supposed to be eyes, a nose, and a mouth, there is nothing. A blank canvas with dents and ridges where the features are supposed to be greets him and he feels the hairs on the back of his neck rise up in warning. 

The only exception to this is his sister, with her grinning mouth and her long blonde hair billowing in the wind- the only feature he remembers clearly about her. She takes notice of him and tilts her head curiously to the side. 

“Kakavasha, did you br▇ng a f▇▇▇d of ▇urs?”

Her voice comes out scratchy and distorted with only a few syllables recognizable. There’s a sinking feeling in his stomach when he realizes why.

He can’t remember her voice anymore. Or the voices of his parents, for that matter. He’s forgotten what they look like, and now what they sound like. What’s been forgotten can’t be restored. 

“Yeah!” exclaims Kakavasha nestled safely into his sister’s arms now. “Everybody, meet Mr. Pretty Eyes!”

They greet him with friendly waves and scratchy sounds that he thinks are supposed to be words of greeting. He almost chokes on the guilt and regret building up in his throat

“▇▇ look just like ▇▇ Kakavasha over here! ▇▇ ▇▇ ▇▇ ▇▇ his long-lost b▇▇▇▇r or something?” 

Aventurine forces out a laugh as the others join in. 

If only they knew…  

The sun is going down now, and the solar winds that blanket the planet grow harsher. They quickly usher him into the tent, telling him to make himself at home and inviting him to stay for dinner. There’s no way out as far as he can tell, so he obliges.

 It’s smaller than he remembers, he thinks as he ducks to avoid hitting his head. There’s a rudimentary kitchen setup in the back that Kakavasha’s mother is tending to as she begins preparing dinner. Kakavasha hops into his sister’s lap and shakes the sand out of his hair and gets it everywhere, to which she lightly scolds him with a tug on his cheek. 

He takes a seat on the fraying rug in the center and rubs a brightly-colored teal tassel between his fingers. The sand is already starting to seep into his clothes. He feels grains of it in his shoes and it pools onto his pristine white dress pants. Grains of it are nestled deep into the fur collar of his coat from the harsh solar winds outside that even vigorous shaking won’t dislodge.

Kakavasha’s sister smiles at him. It’s a bit unnerving, just seeing a smiling mouth with no other features.

“So, Mr. ▇▇▇ Eyes, w▇at 's your ▇▇▇ ? At least, I’m a▇▇▇ ming Mr. ▇▇▇ Eyes isn’t yo▇▇ r▇l name.”

“It’s Kaka-”

He swallows hard and kicks himself. He’s not Kakavasha. Not anymore.

“It’s… Aventurine.”

The very act of saying that name makes him feel like he’s betraying his family, stabbing them in the back. 

“A▇▇▇▇▇ , huh? What an in▇▇▇ing and pretty name!” remarks his sister. He feels the air rush out his lungs and almost coughs up a sardonic laugh from the sheer irony of it all. First his family, then his language, then his body, and now even his name? Is there anything left that he can truly call his from his culture? 

Thunder distantly rumbles overhead. Kakavasha and his sister peek their heads out curiously of the tent. She gasps excitedly and points to the darkening clouds overhead. 

“Hear that? ▇▇ sign ▇▇ your birthday is ▇▇▇ ▇!” she exclaims as she holds Kakavasha’s hands in hers.“▇▇▇ ▇▇ excited?”

… His birthday? 

Thunder rumbles overhead again and he hears the pitter-patter of raindrops hitting the tent. 

His birthday. The Kakava Festival. 

His heart sinks into his stomach as his family chatters around him. They talk about birthday celebrations and what they’ll do that day, but it’s a muffled mess in his ears. Is it really almost his birthday already? Sigonia-IV followed many beliefs that were independent from the rest of the universe, namely the Aeon belief system, and that also extended to the calendar system. Truth be told, he wasn’t exactly sure what day his birthday was in the Interastral Standard calendar system. He usually just flipped a coin and that was if he even bothered to celebrate, which he hadn’t done in many years. 

Aventurine does some quick estimating and realizes that yes, it’s almost his birthday. But how would he celebrate his birthday in this world, where all was good and he still remembered their faces and voices? 

Aventurine closes his eyes and thinks. His mother would be overjoyed to know that her beloved son finally has a lover now. She’d make him clean the tent from top to bottom in preparation for your arrival, even though the sand would find its way back inside again within a matter of a few hours. His parents would cook up a feast for your arrival while his sister would pester him to tell more stories about you- as if there were any left that he hadn’t. When the time would come and you’d nervously step through the tent flap with one hand holding his tightly and another clutching some gifts, his mother would rush forward and greet you with a kiss to the cheek, having already accepted you as family. His sister would steal you away from him to dote on you, much to his half-hearted chagrin. His father would tell corny jokes that you’d cringe at, and his mother would teach you recipes that had been passed down for generations, her warm, weathered hands resting atop yours and lovingly guiding your movements in the kitchen. 

The five of you, safe, warm, and alive under the sun. 

Hours after the rest of his family had gone to sleep, you’d lie side by side outside, watching the stars drift on by. Sigonia-IV is nothing like Pier Point. Free from light and industrial pollution, you’d have a stunning view of the cosmos every night. Twinkling stars shine overhead, so close you could practically pluck them out of the sky. Multicolored clouds of gas and stardust bathe the sky in their shifting hues as he tells you stories that have been passed down from generation to generation with the occasional shooting star passing by. You’d stay like that for hours on end, content to just listen and watch, until you were lulled to sleep by his voice. 

It would be cold, as all desert climates are at night, but it was nothing he couldn’t bear with your warmth nestled into his side. 

In the spring, or around now, he’d take you to celebrate the Kakava festival under the stars with a roaring bonfire. The festival itself would be a solemn and silent celebration with people murmuring prayers to the Mother Goddess and tossing sacrificial vessels into the fires, but the celebration of his birthday afterward would be loud and joyful. Bonfire sparks would rise up into the sky, carried by the hot solar winds and the rich sounds of his people’s songs. His mother would drape you in turquoise jewelry and gift you traditional clothes that she would’ve spent hours beforehand making by hand, every stitch a labor of love. He’d teach you to dance to the cheers of his family and the familiar tunes he’d hum under his breath. His movements would be fluid and graceful as he spins and twirls you around, while you stumble and flail along. He’d enjoy every second of it- even if you step on his feet the whole time. 

He would be kinder in this world, he thinks. He’d still be Kakavasha. Aventurine would be an unknown man to him. He’d wear his heart on his sleeve and his eyes would still have life to them. He’d never have to hide his left hand. 

And you’d be happier too. You wouldn’t have to sift through the layers to find the true self underneath the act he puts up. He wouldn’t be so hot and cold- practically love-bombing you one moment and then disappearing without a word for weeks the next. He wouldn’t be a dirty gambler, a two-faced businessman, a disinterested womanizer, cheating scum, an IPC mutt, a corporate bootlicker, a worthless Sigonian slut or who knows what else you’ve heard about him–

In this world, there are no Katicans. The Avigins and his family are still intact. His neck is unmarred and he speaks the Avigin dialect fluently, instead of the halting and choppy cadence that's even worse than that of a child’s. Syrupy, honeyed words spill from his mouth as he teaches you common words and phrases in his mother tongue. Have you eaten yet? How did you sleep? How was your day? I missed you. Mother. Sister. Father. Lover. Goddess. I made you something. I saw this today and thought of you. Be safe. Sweet dreams. Goodnight. I love you. He chuckles when you parrot them back to him haltingly, with your accent mixed in. The notebook you keep with various phrases, their meanings, and their phonetics grows every day. The most worn out page was the one crammed full of declarations of love that sound more akin to poetry as your mastery over the dialect grows. The ink is smeared from how often you’ve run your fingers over them, murmuring them under your breath until you’d committed them to memory. In your arms is the safest I’ll ever be. I’m lucky to call you my lover. I sleep better when I’m with you. I secretly name stars and constellations after you. I’ll kiss the weariness away from your face every night. I pray to Mama Fenge every night for your safety. I imagine her hands and embrace to be as warm as yours, and it reassures me somehow. I’ll miss your warm hands when that day finally comes. Goodnight, I love you.  

We’ll be together even in Kakava’s next aurora. 

Aventurine jolts forward with a start. His eyes search around frantically, instinctively searching for his family and you, only to be greeted with a familiar sight that isn’t his home. Bright flashing lights, the sound of cars honking and speeding by, muffled pop music playing in the distance, and the sugary scent of SoulGlad greet his senses instead of arid hot wind that howls in his ears and endless seas of sand. You and his family are nowhere to be seen either. 

Oh. Right.

The Dreamscape.

His clothes stick to his skin drenched in a cold sweat and his glasses are resting lopsidedly on his face. His whole body is shivering uncontrollably, as if he’s been plunged into ice-cold water without warning. The world is going white before his eyes and all he can hear is the loud thump of his pulse in his ears that suddenly drops. He thinks he’s about to pass out again. This is the end, he thinks. Aventurine leans against the side of a wall again, taking deep, heaving breaths to steady himself and quell the nausea swirling around in his stomach. 

When it subsides and he doesn’t feel like he’s on the verge of death (sadly), he sits back up and forces out a laugh in place of a sob. First forcing a religious consecration onto him, then dangling his family in front of his face? How much crueler could the head of the Oak Family get? 

His heart sinks and an overwhelmingly bitter feeling engulfs him. It was just a dream all along. A dream within a dream, really. Was he really that desperate for something familiar again?

(And just like that, the mask known as Aventurine is back in place.)

(But he couldn’t even say goodbye or apologize to his family one last time, even if it wasn’t them.)

It was a pleasant dream, he’ll admit. How nice it would be to live in that world forever. But he knew it was a dream because it could never happen, as much as it pained him. 

Aventurine hears the voice of Kakavasha drifting along from further up ahead and knows he’s nearing the final leg of his plan. With what little time he has left, he takes pictures with the boy for posterity and buys the child all the treats his eyes rest on for more than a second. Aventurine delights in the way his eyes light up at the first taste before he eagerly digs in for more. 

It’s cathartic, in a way. 

Before stepping on stage, he looks up at the sky. It’s perpetually nighttime in Clock Studios Theme Park, but he knows the sun is shining elsewhere in the Dreamscape. Is the sun shining where you are back at home? He thinks it’s morning for you. You must still be asleep with the cat cakes curled into your sides, blissfully unaware of the news you’ll wake up to. 

Get onstage. Fear not. Never look back. 

One last thing to do.

He sends a final text to you.

Aventurine: I love you.

It stays on delivered when he puts his phone away. It’ll be the first thing you see when you wake up, and that’s more than enough for him. 

It’s time for the curtain call.

The feeling of Kakavasha’s tiny body in his arms won’t be enough to chase away the grief. Nothing ever will be. But this’ll be the closest he can get.

Aventurine hugs the boy close, squeezing as hard as he can without hurting him. He feels how he’s nothing more than skin and bone beneath the oversized rags. No child should have to be this thin, he thinks, and he’s even more glad he treated Kakavasha to his heart’s content earlier. 

This is the end. He gives Kakavasha one last squeeze to imprint this memory into his mind and gets up, waving goodbye over his shoulder all the while. 

He never looks back. 

In a shower of light, Kakavasha dissolves into the Nihility, and with him, Aventurine’s hopes for the ideal future- the one that you deserved. The Horizon of Existence is finally devoid of all color save for himself and the dark sun beckoning him forward toward the event horizon.

He takes a step forward, and then another. The sound of his footsteps against the surface and liquid splashing echo loudly in the empty space. 

The Nihility is beginning to slowly engulf him. He feels it encroaching at the edges of his mind, eating away at his thoughts one by one until nothing remains. A hollow, empty feeling settles into his heart that weighs him down. Aventurine looks down at his hands and realizes the color is beginning to seep from his vision until he, too, would become one with the Nihility. The point of no return beckons to him like a moth to a flame. Nothingness, emptiness, worthlessness. There’s nothing left for him to do. 

“Can you die today without any regrets?”

Aventurine finally has an answer to that question. The past is gone and he’s walking toward no future.

Yes. I finally can.

enjoyed this? my taglist is open!

@ theother-victoria, do not copy, repost, modify, translate, or feed to ai

[hihomeghere]

One Bed : Five Hargreeves / F!Reader

Part of the Tesoro Series (Can be read as a one shot)

Word Count : 3.7K Summary : After a failed mission with the commission, both you and Five find a hotel to rest in. The only problem is, you'll have to share a bed. Aged up!Five. ( I do not own the umbrella academy or any of it's characters ) Warnings : Smut, cursing, mentions of headaches

“Damn It!” You groaned, leaning on your knees, your chest heaved. You changed back into yourself. Happy to be back in your body instead of a very hairy man with a limp. Your head pounded, you should have been more careful. After barely getting any sleep last night you should have known better than to push your abilities. You coughed, spitting bile out onto the pavement in front of you. A crackle of blue light appeared next to you before Five flew out of the portal. He was equally out of breath.

“Where did they go?” He turned to you, throwing his hands up.

“I don’t know,” you spit glaring at him, your emotions running high, “he disappeared.” You waved in front of you. Your lungs screamed, drinking in oxygen in deep breaths, letting your lungs inflate to their limit before breathing out again. 

“Disappeared?” He yelled, whipping his head to look at you. His hair falling out of his neat side part. He ran a hand through his hair, letting out a strangled scream.

“Where were you huh?” You hissed, narrowing your eyes “You could have blinked after him if you were here!” He glared at you, his face scrunched into a sour expression.

“God you are unbelievable!” He groaned, clenching his fists. His hands glowed blue before fizzling out, “I pushed myself too hard, I barely made it back to you!” You huffed rolling your eyes. Fighting would get you nowhere, Five loved arguing. When there was a fire lit in him he was an eternal flame, furning for days on end. Once you had stolen his favorite coffee mug, for no other reason than he had said something to piss you off. That was a week of hell you never wanted to relive.

“Look,” you took a breath, “we’re both tired, let’s just go find a hotel and get some rest.” You put your hands up in defeat.

He clenched his jaw, the muscle tightening. He huffed looking around.

“Fine, but you’ll follow my plan tomorrow, got it?” He pointed a finger at you. You didn’t know if it was his age, but the way he would scold you like a child drove you insane. 

“Fine.” You said through gritted teeth. “Shall we?” You asked motioning to your parked car. He moved past you, hitting your shoulder as he went. You sighed following him, hurt blooming in your chest. You hung your head as you walk to the car.

He stopped, turning back to look at you. You didn’t have the best poker face, not with him at least. You looked down at the ground, refusing to meet his eyes. He bit his lip, guilt washing over him in waves. 

Five had always been in agreement with himself, being alone in the apocalypse there was no room for second guessing. It was live or die every second of every day. When a simple infection from a paper cut could have as easily killed him as a broken bone, Five was always thinking ten steps ahead. Even after the commission picked him up his survival instincts hadn’t fully gone away. Whether he was in the field or not, his primal instincts still had him making decisions quickly and with no room for reflection. This was his way of life, learning layouts of offices, the nearest escape routes. Until you barged into his life.

With you, Five was constantly second guessing his actions. Normally he wouldn’t have given a shit if he was abrasive, cold or unfriendly. He didn’t come to make friends, he came to save the world. He had a job to do, and more importantly a plan. To get back to his family and stop the apocalypse. You were never a part of that plan. He had already calculated his steps when you came in throwing in three more steps to an already difficult dance. Sashaying your way into his life and heart. 

He walked in front of you, cursing himself as he opened up the door of the 1977 Isuzu Gemini SL Coupe. He gave you a small smile as you got in. He closed the door behind you before walking to the driver side and getting in. 

You drove in silence, leaning your head on the window. It throbbed from having to change into so many people. You rubbed your temple, praying for a shower and a warm bed.

Five’s hands gripped the wheel, he was spent. His body ached and the cramp in his shoulder was getting worse as he drove. The stress probably wasn’t helping. He stole glances at you every once and awhile. The only thing illuminating your face was the street lights as he passed under them. 

He sighed under his breath, he shouldn’t have snapped at you. And it’s not like he was mad at you, he was mad at himself. He had let the guy get away, he had been worried about your safety. He had lost you at the beginning of the warehouse. The whole time he had been jumping around looking for you instead of the target. He knew he had made a mistake, using his powers for his personal gain instead of the mission. If the handler only knew, he would never be assigned with you again. Good thing she didn’t. As much as he tried to deny it he had started to enjoy working with you. You helped him maintain his humanity, like Delores had. You two were very similar, both kind, selfless, always thinking ahead. He admired your ability to stay true to your heart, even in your line of business.

He pulled off into a parking lot. Passing the glowing red sign that blinked vacancy. He rolled into a parking spot, putting the car in park. You both sat in silence, you sighed looking into the hotel lobby.

“I-“ Five started before cutting himself off, you raised your head looking at him. He stared straight ahead, his hand lazily draped on the wheel. “I’m sorry.” He mumbled, his gaze dropped to his lap.

“It’s ok.” You said touching his arm, “We’re both tired and overworked.” You looked over at him, your head throbbed. You shut your eyes covering them with your hand.

“Is it your head?” He asked, looking over at you. You nodded tears pricking in your eyes, “Hey, let’s get inside.” He said squeezing your shoulder. You nodded, wiping away tears that slipped past your eyelashes. Five opened the door, stepping out of the car. You followed him into the hotel lobby, the bell ringing as Five opened the door. 

You winced, sitting down on a leather chair. The fake leather had started to crack, you mindlessly picked at the flakes. The orange carpet under your shoes had multiple stains, you wrinkled your nose in disgust. 

Five walked up to the counter, his hand hovered over the bell before he looked back at you. He put his hand back into his pocket and leaned on the counter.

“Hello?” He said looking around. An older man walked out, he had a full unkempt mustache. Frizzy hair to his jaw, his tall body squeezed into a tweed suit. “One room please.” He said handing him twenty bucks. The man nodded, plucking a key off the wall behind him. He handed it to him, Five turned the red pass over in his hands. He walked back over to you, your head in your hands. His heart squeezed in his chest, he needed to get you to bed. He gently shook your shoulder. “Come on,” he said, helping you to your feet. You gripped his bicep, leaning on him. Any sense of pride had left your body when your headache started. He led you to your room, putting the key in the hole. He had to jiggle it slightly before the lock gave out.

Fives face fell as he took in the room. Only one bed. 

“Damn it.” He muttered, shaking his head, you walked over to the bed. Sinking down onto it as you reached down to untie your shoes. “I’ll sleep on the floor.” He said matter of factly, sighing.

“Five.” He looked into your tired eyes. “We’re both adults, just take the other side of the bed.” You shrugged off your suit jacket, pushing yourself off the bed. You pulled out a hanger and hung your suit jacket up. You unzipped your pants, Five felt heat creep up his neck. You had undressed in front of him before, why did this bother him so much? You unbutton your blouse, hanging it up as well. God, your head hurts. It was no longer throbbing, but pounding. 

“I’m gonna go take a shower.” You mumbled walking to the bathroom. 

Five sat down on the edge of the bed. He untied his shoes, setting them down next to the bedside table. He listened to the shower turn on, your soft voice humming as the rings of the shower curtain scraped across the metal bar. Five swallowed, his mind started to wander. He imagined you washing your body. The suds over your breasts, letting out a sigh of relief as the hot water washed over you. He felt his dick jump in his pants. He pictured your hands traveling lower down your body, over your soft stomach, reaching between your legs. His dick was standing at attention now. He had a good couple minutes before you would be out. He reached down, rubbing himself through his pants. He could only imagine your hands instead of his, your hot breath fanning over his neck, lips, ear. He leaned back, letting his back hit the bed. He tugged at his belt, undoing the buckle. He unbuttoned his pants pulling them down with his underwear. His dick, no longer confined to his pants, sprung free onto his stomach. He spit into his hand, lubricating his dick. He ran his palm over the tip, once, twice, before he noticed the water had turned off. He quickly pulled his pants back up, buttoning them. He stood up walking over to the window, pulling back the thin green curtain. Trying to act as nonchalant as possible. 

You opened the door. Your hair still slightly damp, you had a fluffy robe wrapped around your body. He turned slightly to look at you. You smiled at him, the windows low light illuminating him perfectly. He was reminiscent of a painting of an angel, the hotel sign acting as holy rays behind him. He stood tall, his arms crossed over his broad chest. 

“All yours.” You sighed happily, throwing yourself onto the shitty mattress. The box spring whined as your body hit it. He nodded before taking a couple steps to the bathroom. 

You laid back, combing through your hair with your fingers. You slipped under the covers, the throbbing in your head was now only a slight ache. You heard the water turn on, and shut off after a few minutes. Five opened the door, a towel hung low on his waist. Your eyes traveled down his body, for his toned chest to his firm stomach. You took in all his scars, one above his belly button, it looked like an old knife wound. Your eyes traveled further to his v, a small patch of hair leading from his chest to his hips. You looked away, a blush creeping onto your cheeks. He was drying his hair with a towel so thankfully he didn’t see you ogling him. He walked over to the bed, pulling the covers back. He sank down, the bed dipping with his weight. He laid back, his arm brushing against yours. Electricity flew up your arm.

“Night.” You said softly, he hummed in response. You rolled over, away from him. Looking out the window, listening to his breathing.

-

When you woke up, it was still dark. The sun hadn’t come up but the sky was turning more of a light blue. You felt Five’s warm arm wrapped around your waist, and Five’s breath fanning across your neck. His hand was splayed out over your stomach, holding you tightly against him. You sighed contently, enjoying the closeness to the man you had come to develop feelings for. Although any pure thoughts disappeared when he rolled his hips against your ass. A low groan left his throat, which seemed to shoot directly to your core. 

You froze, you could feel his erection pressing against you. Experimentally you rolled your hips back into his, he moaned nuzzling your neck.

The angel on your shoulder yelled in your ear to wake him up. You savored the feeling, trying to memorize exactly how he felt against you, saving the memory for a later time when you were alone in your apartment, before you nudged him slightly.

“Hmmm?” He mumbled into your ear.

“Five, wake up.” You said nudging him again. He jolted up, taking in the situation. 

“Oh god,” he said, pulling away from you, his voice gravely from sleep. “Jesus, I didn’t mean, if I’ve made you uncomfortable in any way I-“ he groaned, running a hand over his face.

“Five. It’s ok,” You said, pulling his hand away. Looking at him in the low light, he was breathless, a light layer of perspiration on his body. Your mouth watered as you took him in. “If you wanted to, I wouldn't be opposed…” you trailed off your eyes locking onto his face. He froze, his lips slightly parted. He tilted his head, his brows furrowing. He stared down at his hands, deep in thought. “I don’t want to pressure you into doing anything.” He said softly, you smiled. For a man who was always so self-assured, he seemed so unsure of himself.

“I’m offering. This is just to get some relief, no strings attached.” You said biting your lip, you untied your robe. Letting it fall around your body. Now having no protection from the cold night air, you felt your nipples harden. Five’s eyes raked over your body, you felt yourself grow hot under his gaze. He stared at you like you were a cool glass of water in the apocalypse. 

Five was sure he had been murdered in his sleep. There was no possible reality where you were all but throwing yourself at him. All Five wanted to do was ruin you and make you his. Make you crave him as much as he craved you. He couldn’t remember the last time he had even had sex, possibly in his early days at the commission, but only to get his dick wet. He didn’t care about those girls, now you on the other hand were something special. And you were naked, in his bed. 

“Right, no strings attached.” He repeated back to you. His fingers twitched and you could feel his hesitation. You grabbed one of his hands, squeezing it gently. You brought his hand up to your breast, he let out a shaky breath, his eyes finding yours for confirmation. You leaned forward to nibble his neck, kissing over the bites. He shivered his body tensing, you grinned your breath fanning over his jaw. He pinched one of your nipples, smirking as you gasped. He ducked his head, his mouth covering your other nipple, his tongue flicking the bud. Your hand tugged on his hair, he sighed around your breast.

“You’re gonna be the death of me.” He groaned, you chuckled looking up at him through your eyelashes. His erection was now painfully stretching against his underwear, you grabbed him through his boxers. He let out a pained noise, like he was being stabbed instead of pleasured. He was puddy in your hands, ready to be shaped anyway you wished. He pushed you back against the bed. In a sudden shift in dominance, his lips found your neck, kissing and nipping slightly. You bucked against his body, your nipples rubbing slightly against his bare chest. His hands mapped a path down your body, like he was trying to memorize it. Unbeknownst to you he was. His fingers found your clit, testing the waters. You gasped, your hand finding its way into his hair. You pulled at his scalp slightly, earning a low groan from him. He slipped one finger inside you, curling it as he thrusted it inside you. You moaned softly, any pain from your headache was now long gone. He added a second finger, his eyes never leaving your face. You couldn’t decide whether you wanted to cower under his gaze or beg for more. Your skin was ablaze, Five’s touch was electric, his incredibly eager fingers thrusting and curling inside you. You gripped the sheets, pleasure building in your stomach. That familiar coil tightening inside of you. 

He pulled his fingers out of you, bringing them up to his lips, sucking them clean. “Shit, you’re sweet.” He hummed, swiping the head of his dick down your folds, lubricating himself with your slick. You both shuddered as his velvety soft tip found your entrance.

“Are you sure about this?” He asked softly, his other hand rubbing light circles on your thigh. You hadn’t expected him to be so doting, tales circulated around the commission of the absolute animal Five was in bed. But as his green eyes peered into yours, you could put those rumors to rest. You felt entirely bare, like he was peeling back the layers of your soul. The alarm bells had been ringing in your ears, this man was a killer. He was a survivor, stepping on anyone he had to, to get to where he was. He was a mercenary, follower of no moral code, but if he was all of these things why did he hold you like you were made of glass?

“Yes.” You said, propping yourself up on your elbows. He lowered his gaze pushing the head of his cock in slowly. You both let out a moan, he hissed, baring his teeth.

“Christ you’re tight.” He sighed his eyes squeezing close. His hands gripped your hips, his nails dug in leaving crescent shaped marks. Although you couldn’t seem to care, you had never felt so full in your life. Your hands gripped his thighs for dear life, a strangled cry left your throat as he thrust all the way in, knocking the breath out of your lungs. He stilled, a blissed out smile on his lips. You wiggled your hips, trying to get any stimulation from him.

“Fuck me.” You whined, grabbing his face, forcing you to look at him. His eyes widened before a devilishly handsome smile split his face.

“Yes ma’am.” He started a slow rhythm, his dick spearing you every time he thrusted into you. Long, hard strokes. His cock rubbed at the spongy part inside of you and you mewled. “You like that, sweetheart?” He teased a mischievous glint in his eye, you couldn’t help but nod, stroking his ego along with his cock. He took the lead titling your hips up, throwing one of your legs over his shoulders. You needed him closer. Gripping at any part of him you could get your hands on, your nails raking down his back. He moaned, breathy and high pitched. Your breath was stolen out of your chest as he quickened his pace, going deeper than before. 

“Oh fuck, Five.” You groaned holding onto his shoulders, your tits bouncing.

“You’re gripping me so good tesoro.” He grimaced, his eyes fluttering close. He let out a strangled cry against your leg. Biting down harshly before kissing your calf. You yelped fingernails digging into his thighs.

“I’m close, I’m so close.” You babbled tears slipping down your cheeks, every part of you was screaming out in pleasure. This spurred him on, one of his hands traveled between the two of you rubbing tight circles on your clit. You swore you saw stars, your toes curled and you couldn’t help the high pitched whine that ripped its way out of your throat. He leaned forward, his body looming over yours. His arms effectively trapping you underneath him. Working you through your orgasm as he grinded his hips against you, using your leg as leverage. 

“I’m not gonna last.” He mumbled his forehead resting against yours, wincing slightly. You grinned, reveling in the fact that you had such an effect on him.

“Cum then.” You said before sucking a deep purple mark on his neck. You felt his breath catch in his throat against your lips.

“S-shit.” He thrusted hard into you, “you’re so fucking perfect,” He moaned his hips stuttering as he came. “Oh god I love you.” You froze, he loved you? He stopped, pulling out almost immediately. “I don’t know why I said that.” He recoiled, putting as much distance as he could between the two of you. He grabbed his discarded towel, covering himself with it as he stumbled off the bed. You pulled the sheet up, covering your breasts.

“Five it’s fine,” you said sitting up.

“No. It’s not.” He growled, the sudden shift in his demeanor made you recoil. You pulled the sheet tighter around your body, suddenly all too aware of your nudity. “This never should have happened.” He motioned between the two of you.

“It’s just sex. It’s not like you meant it!” You justified, your voice higher than you intended.

He stopped, the outline of his body harsh against the street lamp outside. His head turned slightly, allowing you to see only part of his face. You could see him mentally building his walls back up, brick and mortar in his eyes.

“Five, it’s not like you meant it.” You said it more as a question than a statement, hating the slight waver in your voice. His body tensed as he sucked in a breath, he raised his shoulders.

“No. I must have been thinking of someone else.” He said coolly. Ouch. The air was sucked out of the room as he stormed into the bathroom. Slamming the door behind him. Your heart broke in your chest, slicing up your insides. You swallowed thickly, your mind struggling to keep up with Five’s constant whiplash. One minute he’s taking you to the gates of heaven only to taunt you as he drags you back to hell. 

This was all your fault, you put your head in your hands. You shouldn’t have suggested anything and just lived with the constant sexual tension.

No strings attached your ass.

part two here

[lizziesangel]

BRADLEY BRADSHAW - i still love you

x MITCHELL!FEM!reader - MASTERLIST

SUMMARY: bradley says you should communicate more with him, you tell him that he should be less protective of you. so your dad steps in helps you solve your problems.

WORD COUNT: 5051

GENRE: angst-ish, fluff at the end <3

CONTENT WARNING: english is NOT my first language

pacing in the small kitchen of your house, your arms were crossed over your chest as your mind was racing. the air was thick with unspoken words, and your heart pounded in your chest. across from you, stood bradley with his jaw clenched, his fists balling at his sides. 

“i can’t believe you went behind my back like that, bradley,” you scoff, not holding back the hurt in your voice. 

 he ran a hand through his short hair, “i didn’t go behind your back. i was trying to help! your dad agreed with me—“

“of course! of course, he agreed with you. like he always does! but that is not the point,” you cut him off. “this isn’t about him, it’s about us. you made a decision to get me off the mission without even talking to me!”

"you've got to be kidding me," bradley's voice was low and angry. "you didn't even tell me you were-

"i didn't need to tell you, bradley. i'm a pilot, just like you, it was classified!" you interrupted, voice rising. “i’ve been around fighter jets my entire life life. i know the risks better than anyone. and it is not your decision to make!”

he scoffed, shaking his head, "classified? you could've said something. a heads-up, at least. i had to hear it from hangman, of all people, God knows how he even got that information. do you know how that feels?"

"i don't owe you a whole play-by-play of every mission i'll be going on. you know that is not how it works!" your voice getting an octave higher as frustration started rising in you. "we're doing the same job, bradley. i'm not going to run to you for permission every time i'm assigned something dangerous."

rooster shook his head, "that is not what this is about, and you know it!" bradley's voice cracked as he pointed his finger at you, accusingly. "you've been reckless, and it's not just this mission. you've been pushing your luck lately, takin' unnecessary risks that-"

"taking risks that what?" you cut him off, taking a step forward. "that you think you wouldn't take when you'll get the opportunity? don't act like you're the only one who's capable of making tough calls up there."

bradley ran a hand through his hair, "it's not the same. you've been flying like you've got something to prove, like you're invincible. i've seen it, multiple times!'

"maybe i do have something to prove!" you shouted. "do you know what it's like being maverick's daughter? everyone assumes i'm only here because of him. that i'm not good enough if he wasn't here!"

"i never said that," bradley yelled back. "i know how good you are, but that doesn't mean you can just ignore the consequences. this ain't a game, y/n! one wrong move and-"

"and what? i could die?" you finished for him, your voice hard. "yeah, bradley, i know."

his eyes hardened for a second. “i am just trying to protect you! you don’t need to be involved in such things, you know how dangerous things are-“ 

you felt your blood boil, "you do not get to control when and if i fly! i made a call, and it worked. i got them out of a situation that they couldn't get out of alone," you took a breath. "don't act like you're the only one who's scared of the consequences. but i'm not going to let fear control how i fly, or how i choose to live my life."

"yeah, this time," bradley snapped. "but one day it ain't gonna work, and i'm gonna have to watch you get hurt, or worse-" he stopped himself.

his face was twisted with frustration, "this is not just about fear. it's about trust - trusting the people around you." bradley shook his head, “i lost my dad to this job, remember? i can’t lose you too, you’re asking me to sit back and watch while you put yourself in danger.”

you ran a hand through your hair. “i’m not asking you to watch from the sidelines, bradley. i’m asking you to trust me, to treat me like an equal, not someone you have to shield all the time.”

bradley sighed, "i thought we were in this together, but lately, it feels like you're flying solo. you should've told me about the mission, and you should've thought twice before pulling that stunt in the air today."

"you can't protect me from everything, bradley," you said, your voice quieter now. "we are in this together, but that means you have to trust me to do my job. i'm not reckless, i'm doing what i've been trained to do."

bradley let out a frustrated breath, "i do trust you, but you have to meet me halfway. you shook your head, "we are a team, bradley. but you have to stop treating me like i'm going to break every time things get tough."

he looked at you, the only thing between you two was a heavy silence, before you walked outside towards your dads house.

a week had passed since the fight, and you had ignored bradley every single day. you hadn’t spoken to him since that night in your house. every time he tried to approach you, you either turned away or conveniently found yourself busy with something - anything else. 

you knew your friends noticed the change, but neither of them said anything. they respected your silence, even if someone gave you the occasional concerned look. 

the hangar buzzed with energy as the team prepped for the next mission briefing, but your eyes were completely focused on the clipboard in front of you, pretending to read the details. you could feel bradley’s eyes on you angrily cross the room, but you refused to acknowledge him. 

“you okay?” phoenix asked softly, disrupting your train of thought. 

you forced a tight smile. “yeah, i’m fine. just.. reading.” phoenix raised an eyebrow but didn’t keep asking questions. she had known you long enough to understand that when you didn’t want to talk, it was best to let you be. nat glanced over at bradley, who was standing near the planes, staring at you like he wanted to say something but wasn’t sure how to approach you. 

bob, ever the quiet observer, gave you a look. “if you ever need anything, just let us know.”

you appreciated bob. he had a thing of being there for people without pushing. which made the weight on your shoulders feel a little lighter. 

at the mission briefing, you found your spot next to phoenix, grateful for the buffer she provided between you and bradley. you sensed him sitting just a few seats away, and it took every ounce of willpower not to glance in his direction. so, you kept your eyes on your father, who was explaining the mission.

"phoenix, bob, you'll be running a close-formation drill. i want you tight and focused," maverick said, his voice commanding as always.

"y/n, you'll assist in the observation and debrief."

you nodded, keeping your face neutral, it wasn't anything usual you did things alone, usually working with bradley. observation duty meant you didn't get the chance to fly, and it gave you the perfect chance to stay away from bradley. the last thing you wanted was to be stuck in a jet with him.

"bradshaw," maverick called out, pulling your attention (unwillingly) to him, "you're up on solo drills today. i want you working on precision landing. that means, stay sharp."

bradley nodded, though his gaze flickered towards you for the briefest second. you kept your expression to the front, refusing to give him any acknowledgment.

once the briefing wrapped up, everyone began to filter out to the tarmac. you stuck close to your friends, walking with them as they headed to their aircraft. bradley trailed behind, clearly wanting to catch up with you, but hesitated as he watched you being in a conversation with nat about fuel calculations - anything to keep your mind occupied.

"you sure you're good?" phoenix asked you as you reached the jets. "you've been off all day."

you took a breath, "it's just.. bradley. we had a fight, and i don't wanna talk to him yet." phoenix frowned, glancing over her shoulder at where bradley stood a few feet away, looking frustrated and lost. "you can't avoid him forever, you know."

you nodded, and bob gave a sympathetic nod, adjusting his glasses. you appreciated their concern. as phoenix and bob climbed into their F-18, you took a step back to give them room to prep for takeoff. you took your clipboard and started ticking off boxes for the check up.

the sun was starting to set, casting shadows over the hangar. you were leaning against one of the vacant jets, deep in thought as you watched the fading light reflect off the metal wings. it had been a long day - avoiding him.

you sighed and pushed yourself off the F-18, wiping the sweat from your forehead. you needed a break, or at the least a moment to breathe. before you could turn to head inside, footsteps approached from behind, but they weren't the ones you'd been bracing yourself for, for the entire day.

"evening, y/n," the person turned out to be jake. you redirected your vision from the wing to your clipboard. "hangman," you nodded. "what brings you here?"

he strolled up beside you, hands tucked into the pockets of his flight suit, wearing that trademark smirk of his. "saw you out here all alone, figured you could use some company?”

you rolled your eyes, but there was no intent behind it. “i can take care of myself, thanks”

“never said you couldn’t,” jake said with a smirk, leaning against the F-18. his casual stance did little to hide the intensity in his gaze as he looked at you.

"i'm fine, jake," you said, trying to keep the conversation light. "just doing my task."

he cocked his head to the side, clearly not buying it. "uh-uh, sure doesn't look like it. you've been quieter than usual, which, for you, is saying something," jake took a few steps back, blocking the sun off that was lower now. "anything to do with a certain aviator with a mustache, or... am i reading this wrong?"

you shot hangman a look, but he didn't stop smiling. "you know, for someone who's so smart, you're real bad at hiding what's going on in that pretty little head of yours," jake's smirk only widened.

you gave a big sigh, knowing it was pointless to dodge him. he wasn't the type to let things go easily, especially when there was a chance to get on someone's nerves. "what makes you think this has anything to do with bradley?"

hangman gave you a look, "i'm not blind, y/n. everyone's noticed the way you two have been acting lately. hell, even bob asked if something was up, and that guy avoids drama like the plague."

you huffed a laugh at that. bob was definitely not one to get involved in anyone's personal life, which only meant your fight with bradley had become more obvious than you thought.

"it's... complicated," you shrugged. you didn't want to elaborate, you didn't really think you had a good reason to be mad at bradley.

jake just nodded, surprisingly not pushing for more details. "well, complicated's a word i know all too well. but whatever it is, you can't keep ignoring him, ya know."

you rolled your eyes, "you sound exactly like phoenix."

"smart woman, phoenix," jake shot back at you with a grin. "you should listen to her."

you didn't respond immediately, the silence between you settling into something a bit more comfortable. the truth was, you didn't know how to face bradley yet. it was easier to ignore the whole situation - easier to ignore him.

after a few moments, jake glanced at you, his voice a bit more serious. "look, i'm not here to stir the pot - at least, not too much. but if you ever need to talk... i'm around. no judgement."

his offer caught you off guard. jake wasn't exactly known for being the most emotionally available person, but there was something in his tone that told you he meant it. maybe beneath the cocky exterior, there was more to him than he let on.

"thanks," you nodded, offering a small smile. "i'll keep that in mind."

jake gave a nod in return, "anytime, darlin'."

he turned around to leave after giving your shoulder a slight squeeze. you watched him walk towards the tarmac, where his F-18 was.

just as jake waltzed towards his F-18, he spotted bradley making his way across the hangar, bradley's expression was quite unreadable, his eyes locked on the same spot where you and jake had just been talking.

"well, look who it is," jake said, his tone deceptively light. "bradshaw, got a minute?" jake called out, casually strolling over to intercept him.

bradley stopped in his tracks, his brow furrowed slightly, but he nodded. "yeah, what's up, hangman?"

jake's grin widened as he tilted his head toward you. "just thought you might want to know - y/n's been keepin' busy. got a lot on her plate, but she's holdin' her own. probably needs a little more time to figure things out, though," jake winked at bradley and put his hand on his shoulder.

bradley's expression hardened, and slapped jake's hand off his shoulder. "and what the hell's that supposed to mean?"

"relax," jake said, his tone light. "i'm just sayin'. give her some space."

bradley's jaw tightened, "i don't need a lesson on how to handle my own problems, jake."

hangman raised an eyebrow, "didn't mean it like that, man. just offering a little insight from someone who's seen it all before."

bradley shrugged and looked away from jake, "mind your own business, seresin."

you were sat at the kitchen table, a mug of hot chocolate cooling in front of you. It was too late to drink a good mug of coffee. the evening was quiet, your dad was lounging across from you, a plate of leftovers in from of him. he was in one of his storytelling moods, something you'd started appreciated over the years. even if you'd heard some of the stories more times than you could count.

"right? so, there i was," maverick began, his eyes lighting up with a spark, "flying an F-18 during a mission over the persian gulf. everything was going smoothly until we got, like, a distress call about an aircraft in trouble."

you nodded absently, staring into your cocoa, your mind miles away, tangled up in the mess with bradley. you had been staying in mav's spare room for the past two days, needing a break from your own space. your father's voice was a comforting background noise.

"and then, just as we're closing in on the aircraft, we started having issues with our own plane," maverick laughed as his hands animated and described the scene. "the gauges were going haywire, and the engine started sputtering. and, i knew! we had to act fast."

he paused, noticing you weren't engaged in his story as usual. his gaze softened. "y/n? you okay, kiddo? you seem like you're a million miles away."

you blinked, pulling yourself out of your thoughts. "sorry, dad. just... thinking.

your dad's expression grew more concerned. "wanna talk about it? i'm here to listen."

you took a deep breath, feeling the weight of the past week press heavily "it's just... bradley and i had a fight. i've been avoiding him." you shrugged, "he's been trying to reach out, but i'm not sure how to fix this."

your dad's eyes softened, he always was a good listener. "i see, and it that why you've been staying here for the past couple of days?"

you nodded, "yeah, sorry. i just needed some space. i wasn't sure how to handle everything, and it felt easier to just be here."

mav laned back in his chair, his expression thoughtful. "well, you know, i'm glad you're here, even if it's under tough circumstances. sometimes, a change of... scenery can give you some clarity. but avoiding problems doesn't solve them."

you looked at him, "yeah."

mav's gaze was steady, full of the wisdom that only years of experience could bring. "life's a lot like a flying jet. you've got to keep your eyes on the instruments, stay focused on your course. but, also be ready to adjust when things don't go as planned. sometimes you hit turbulence, and somethings you've got to do some emergency maneuvers. but no matter what, you cannot let the storm cloud your vision."

you nodded slowly, feeling a bit of tension in your chest ease. "that.. kinda makes sense? i'm not sure."

"and as for bradley," maverick continued, his voice gentle but firm, "communication is key. if you're struggling with something, talking it out can make a big difference. don't let fear of pride keep you from making things right."

you nodded, letting the advice your dad gave you sink in.

mav's expression softened, "it's natural to need time, and it's okay to take a step back. but running away won't make it disappear. sometimes, you've got to face it."

you nodded, feeling mixture of relief and determination. "thanks, dad."

he gave you a reassuring smile, then reached across the table to give your hand a gentle squeeze. "you're stronger than you know, kid. i'm here for you, no matter what happens. and when you're ready to talk to him, make sure you're doing it for the right reasons."

you managed to give hima smile, feeling like you were 10 years old again and he was giving you advice, "thanks dad.

his eyes twinkled with pride, happy that his rambling made somewhat a bit of sense to you, "anytime, kiddo. now, let me finish that story about the F-14 before you fall asleep on me."

you laughed at your dad's comment, feeling more grounded. as mav resumed his story, you let yourself be carried away by the familiar rhythm of his voice.

rooster walked down the hallway toward the locker room, his shoes echoing against the hard floor. the low hum of the hangar was the only sound he could hear, he was way too early, but he didn't care. he could only focus on the tight knot in his chest. he hadn't spoken to you in days, and the last time he tried, jake had been there, again, standing in the way - both figuratively and literally. that only added hurt and anger to the fire that was burning inside him.

he sighed, and ran a hand through his messy hair. it had been a week since you two fought, and he couldn't shake the guilt or frustration. every attempt to have a talk with you seemingly failed, and now, the distance between you two felt bigger than ever.

as he approached his locker, still deep in thought, a voice called out to him.

"rooster."

he stopped in his tracks to see maverick approaching him, hands in his flight suit pockets, that familiar look of concern in his eyes.

"hey, mav," bradley said, forcing a smile. "what's up?"

mav stepped closer to him, "i've been meaning to catch up with you. figured now was as good a time as any."

rooster nodded slowly, this wasn't casual small talk - bradley figured. he leaned against his locker, crossing his arms as he waited for maverick to continue.

mav studied bradley for a second, his gaze thoughtful, "something's been weighing on you."

bradley sighed, letting out a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding. "yeah. it's.. y/n," he looked away, almost embarrassed to admit to aloud to her dad. "we had a fight, and things haven't been the same ever since. and, lile, i've been tryin' to fix it, but she's been avoiding me. i don't know what to do."

mav's eyes softened with understanding. he had known brad for years, practically raised him from afar after his father's death. maverick had and will always see bradley as family, and seeing him in this state tugged at his heart.

"yeah, figured as much," maverick replied gently, leaning against the lockers beside him. "she's been staying at my place for the past couple of days. it's clear to say that whatever happened between you two is affecting her just as much."

his face fell, guilt swirling in his chest. "i didn't know she was staying with you." maverick gave him a nod, "she needed some space, to think and stuff. but, trust me, from what i've seen, this isn't just about space. it's about communication."

brad shook his head, frustrated. "i've been trying to talk to her, mav. but, every time i try, she just pushes me away. shuts me out."

"it's not about fixing it right away. you've got to give her and yourself room to feel what you're feeling. but that doesn't mean you should stop trying. she cares about you, like you care about her."

brad looked down at the locker floor, his fists clenching at his sides. "i don't know if she still does. after everything i did - said, maybe she's better off without me."

your dad frowned, shaking his head. "no, don't do that. don't start doubting yourself because of one rough patch. relationships - especially the kind that matter - they're never easy. you're gonna hit turbulence. what really matters is how you handle it."

rooster swallowed hard, the knot in his chest easing slightly. "it feels like no matter what i do, it's never enough. and i know, i messed up, and now i don't know how to make it right."

"look, kid, i know what it's like to carry the weight of your mistakes. god knows i've made my share of them. but the key is learning from them. you and y/n have something real, something worth fighting for. but you cannot expect it to be fixed overnight."

bradley met maverick's eyes. "so what do i do? just wait?"

he shook his head, "no. you don't just wait. you just be patient, but also let her know that you're still there, still fighting for her. she needs to see that you're willing to put in the work."

brad ran a hand over his face, his shoulders sagging with the weight of it all. "i don't know how to get through to her."

"you love her, right?"

bradley didn't hesitate. "yeah. i do."

"then show her that," mav replied simply. "not with words, but with actions. be there for her, even when she's pulling away from you. let her know that you will be her person, even when things are going to be hard."

bradley nodded, his throat feeling pretty tight with emotion. he'd heard maverick's advice before, in different times. but it hit harder than before.

mav put a hand on roster's shoulder, a reassuring gesture. "she's my daughter, bradley, and you're like a son to me. i know both of you well enough to see that this relationship is something worth fighting for. don't give up on her, or yourself."

"thanks, mav," bradley blinked. he gave bradley a small smile in reply.

"anytime, kid. you've got a good heart, don't let the fear of losing her stop you from showing her how much you care."

bradley nodded and watched maverick walk away, the weight on his chest lifting a bit. he turned his head when he heard a locker close.

"wow, i think i just cried," hangman clasped his hands together, as he stepped in bradley's view. "you heard all of that?" bradley's mouth hung open.

"i think you've just ruined a nice moment," another voice cut in. bradley moved towards the sound. "bob? are you kidding me?" rooster scoffed.

"i have an idea, you could show up with flowers," bob suggested. "and her favorite snacks and movies," hangman cut in. bob and bradley gave him a weird look. "what? i have my fair share with the ladies," jake winked.

that afternoon, rooster found himself in a small flower shop, sighing. he didn't know what he was supposed to give her, he knew her favorite flower was a hibiscus syriacus, but he wasn't sure if he saw them lying anywhere.

luckily for him, the cashier decided to be nice enough and help him make a bouquet full of pink, purple and red flowers. it almost costed him fifty dollars, but he didn't care - for his girl he'd give everything he'd had, if it meant to get her back.

the knock on your door was soft almost thoughtful. it was the first night you'd slept at your own place and you hadn’t been expecting anyone, least of all this late in the evening. wrapped in a blanket, you hesitated for a moment before dragging yourself off the couch, still feeling the weight of the past few days pressing down on you.

as you opened the door, you froze.

there, standing in the dim glow of the porch light, was bradley. he looked nervous, shifting his weight from one foot to the other as he held out a bouquet of flowers in one hand and a dvd case in the other.

you blinked, not sure what to say. the bouquet was stunning—pink, purple, and red flowers carefully arranged, each petal as vibrant and fresh as it could be. you knew immediately that bradley had gone out of his way to pick these specifically, knowing exactly which colors you loved most. you blushed a bit.

"hey," he said softly. "can i come in?"

you swallowed, still processing the sight of him standing there, looking more vulnerable than you’d ever seen him. slowly, you nodded and stepped aside, letting him into the cosy beach house.

bradley walked in slowly, like he was afraid to disrupt the fragile peace of the moment. he placed the flowers gently on your kitchen counter, glancing back at you with an uncertain smile.

"i, uh…" he started, rubbing the back of his neck nervously. "i wasn’t sure how to fix things between us, but i thought i’d try starting with these."

your eyes flicked between him and the flowers, the tension you’d been holding onto for days softening ever so slightly. "they’re beautiful," you said quietly, your voice betraying how much the gesture meant to you, even if you weren’t ready to fully admit it.

bradley let out a small breath of relief. "i hoped you’d like them."

you shifted your gaze to the dvd still clutched in his hand. "and what’s that?"

his face broke into a sheepish grin as he held up the case. "your favorite movie. i figured… well, maybe we could watch it together. i thought it might be a way to… i don’t know, make things feel a little more normal. or at least give us a chance to talk."

you glanced at the title—the notebook, your all-time favorite. it was the movie you turned to whenever you needed comfort or an escape from reality, and bradley knew it. the fact that he had brought it with him, even with all the awkwardness hanging between you, showed just how much he had been thinking about you.

your heart softened a little more, but you couldn’t help the guarded feeling that still lingered. "bradley, you didn’t have to do all this. i’ve been avoiding you for a reason."

"i know," he said, his voice steady but filled with emotion. "i get that. and i’m sorry for everything that’s happened. but i didn’t want to keep pushing you to talk before you were ready. i just… i wanted to show you that i’m still here. that i’m not going anywhere, no matter how hard things get."

you looked away, unsure of what to say. the past week had been a whirlwind of emotions, and the fight you had with bradley still hung heavy in your mind. but here he was, standing in front of you, making an effort not just to apologize but to be there for you, in the way you needed most.

"i’ve been thinking about what went wrong between us," bradley continued, stepping a little closer, though still giving you space. "i messed up. i didn’t listen to you the way i should have, and i know that. i just… i want to make it right. i don’t expect everything to go back to normal overnight, but i want you to know i’m willing to put in the work. for us."

you felt the lump in your throat grow as his words washed over you. it wasn’t just the flowers or the movie—it was the way bradley was looking at you, so full of hope and sincerity, like he would do anything to fix what had been broken between you.

for a long moment, the two of you stood there in silence, the weight of the past week hanging between you. but then, something shifted. the warmth of the flowers, the comfort of the movie, and the vulnerability in bradley’s eyes—it all made you realize that maybe, just maybe, you were ready to take that first step forward.

"bradley," you said softly, your voice catching slightly, "i’m still hurt. i need time. but… i don’t want to keep avoiding you. i don’t want us to be like this."

he nodded, relief evident in his expression. "i understand. i’ll give you all the time you need. i’m not going anywhere."

you took a deep breath, then nodded toward the living room. "you can stay. we can watch the movie. maybe it’ll help."

bradley smiled, that familiar, gentle smile that had always made you feel safe. "i’d like that."

the two of you moved to the couch, settling in with the blanket spread across both your laps. as the princess bride began to play, bradley didn’t try to force a conversation. instead, he just sat beside you, his presence steady and comforting, offering you exactly what you needed in that moment—no pressure, no expectations. just him, showing up for you.

and as the movie rolled on, you found yourself relaxing more and more, leaning into his arms.

[aebinspa]

beg for you

PAIRING: winter x y/n reader

SUMMARY: Winter is your trusted, yet hated, co-worker. You both work for the South Korean secret service and are known to be a match made in heaven when it comes to killing or making someone disappear. Your already precarious relationship changes when you are assigned to find, and mercilessly kill, Choi Ye-won, a North Korean spy who has settled in South Korean territory.

GENRES: angst, violence, suggestive, death, blood, bad ending!

WORD COUNT: 3k

AUTHOR'S NOTE: english is not my first language! as you can see graphic design is my passion (i tried please ignore). i don't know if i'm good at writing stories like this but i tried!! i'll make it up to you by writing next time something extremely sweet for minjeong :))

It was night. Not even a sound seemed to rise in that total silence. The only noise the human ear could have heard was your breathing and your colleague's combined. The one who broke the religious silence was your colleague who began to reload the magazine of her gun. “Winter, for the love of God, be quiet” whispering had never been easy for you and, with a colleague like that who drove you crazy every second, all you could train was patience, certainly not silence. “There is no one in this hole in the forest anyway. And what's a mission without a little action?” she replied sarcastically to you with a raised eyebrow.

You, Panther, and Winter, your colleague, had been tasked by the South Korean secret service agency to find, interrogate, and then eliminate without any mercy Choi Ye-Won, informant and daughter of one of the most important men, at a managerial level, of North Korea. The young woman had been in South Korea for a few years and could get a huge amount of information to the North, without ever being traced. For a week, however, the secret services had been breathing down her neck and seemed to have discovered one of her many secret hideouts.

“I've always said that. Kill and let kill, what’s wrong with that? We are the God who decides what is right and wrong” Winter snorted, whose code name described her perfectly. “You’re crazy. We should only kill when it’s strictly necessary. What’s so nice about knowing you’ve taken someone’s life?” even though you knew no one was around, you persisted in whispering. “That you stole his life and his last words. He will die seeing you and no one else"

You and Winter thought differently about everything – it was always a debate. Nothing ever coincided when it came to you. Life, death, and desire were concepts that took two totally different paths in your subjective vision.

“Let’s stop for today, this little princess of the North won’t be captured so easily” “Well, what are you going to do?” A spark lit up in the eyes of the young girl with whom you share this difficult job. Winter took the gun and threw it as far as she could; it ended up near the abandoned house that you were observing from behind the trees. You turned to her, speechless; Winter walked past you with a satisfied smirk and headed toward the house

“Are you dumb?” “Why?” “First you complain about my inability to understand how important it is to do everything by the rules and now, not caring, you are perched on a criminal’s bed.” You yawned loudly and invited her to sit next to you.

Winter, despite appearances, sometimes seemed to let down that insurmountable barrier. The eyes, almost always empty and dull, sometimes revealed an unusual light that would have made even the darkest place shine. It wasn’t the first time you found yourself staring at her: her blonde hair, now gathered in a high bun, and the heavy black makeup made her seem more attractive - and cold - than usual.

“Are you kidding, right?” “Can't stand me at all?” your cheeks reddened slightly. “It’s counterproductive to get attached to someone you work with, Panther. Learn some basic rules” “So if we didn’t work together, would you be able to get attached?” Holding Winter’s gaze was an impossible mission; the mission you were trying to execute was child's play in comparison. You turned away unable to continue looking at those two puddles.

An unexpected thud made you turn towards the door, both with loaded guns and two lives to protect. You both exchanged a knowing look, before hearing another thud and coming back to attention. Winter didn’t fail to make a sarcastic comment before thanking God for sending you to die or kill.

“Don’t shoot” The first thing they taught you when you were still spending your days training was to not trust anyone. Sure, you wouldn’t shoot until you were shot, but you couldn’t say the same about your partner. You turned to look at her and noticed that she didn’t have any killer instinct. “Don't shoot for any reason, Y/n”

It was the first time she called you by your name. In astonishment, the gun slipped from your hands which had turned to butter. The next second Winter was pointing the gun at you.

“What are you doing?” “I thought you would end up getting more upset when this time came. I was wrong, maybe you are more qualified than I expected” “Winter” your angry gaze for the first time was able to hold the icy one of your colleague. “Everything will be fine, just do what I say”

These were the last words you heard, then something in your mouth prevented you from rebelling, and finally, darkness.

In a hotel room with furniture of questionable taste and an air that smelled of rottenness, you opened your eyes after a few hours. Your hands and feet were tied together, your mouth was dry and your hunger was starting to eat you from the inside. The first sensation when you woke up you also hoped would be the last. You didn't know where you were, you weren't completely aware of the dangers around you, and above all you were without a gun. Even though the last drastic moments you had lived with your perhaps no longer colleague were flashing through your mind, you had a hard time rationalizing everything. Was the woman who had accompanied you for the last five years trying to send you to the other world? And then, who was the little girl who had joined Winter? In the whirlwind of emotions and resentment that was building up in you, the door of the room slowly opened, contributing to creating more agitation in your nervous system.

“Hey sweetie, didn't you get scared while you were waiting all here alone?” You wanted to scream, but you only then noticed that your mouth was covered with a dirty cloth that prevented you from making any sound. “I know, I know. Take it easy. First, let me introduce you to my assistant,” she came forward timidly, in front of the bed where you had been placed, the girl who had stunned you, “She’s Choi Ye-won. Or at least, it’s Choi Ye-won on the passport that brought her here.”

Your head hurts. It felt like someone had landed countless blows on your head - maybe that's what happened. All the words that came out of Winter’s mouth came to you distorted. You wanted to answer her, but everything you thought couldn’t take shape.

“Y/n” Just saying your name for the second time, you started to thrash furiously on the bed, so much so that you scared the little girl who hid behind Winter. “Calm down, let me at least get this stuff off your face…” the blond-haired girl approached with huge strides as if to make you understand that it wouldn't be a problem for her to handle you and your outbursts.

As soon as Winter pulled the fabric out of your mouth, you instinctively grabbed her right arm and bit it so hard it made her in agony.

You tried to take your first steps after the impetuous action you had done, but you immediately realized that your legs could not move. Immediately after, cold as death, a gun was pointed at your temple.

“Let's calm down so no one gets hurt, what do you say?” “I won't play your game much longer, Winter.” “You'll be the one to say the famous last words, Y/n.”

Winter was in front of you, sitting on a wicker chair that screamed to the world that it had been clandestinely manufactured. The little girl, now sitting on the bed where you had been, was looking at you with a grim look.

“Ask me what you want.” Winter had no intention of letting you breathe: every word was accompanied by a lethal look and a gun pointed at you. Her ways were familiar to you but feeling the effect on your skin was something else entirely. “Who are you?” Winter looked at the little girl on the bed and then rested it on you. “Are you already ready to die?” “Answer me so I can die without regrets.”

Winter stood up from the chair and came closer, then sat on your lap and put her arms around your neck. This time the gun went to place behind your head. “What’s going through your head is probably right, Y/n” “Stop calling me that. I’m still in a work context” A disturbing giggle left the blonde’s lips. “I always told you: perfection will kill you”

This time Winter ran a finger over your lower lip and then over your upper lip. He gingerly approached your lips, kissed you, and then bit you so hard it made you bleed. The drop of blood hit your neck until it reached the hollow of your breast. Winter looked you in the eyes before smiling and lowering her head slightly; she slowly licked the trickle of blood. She met your eyes once more and licked her lips before speaking.

“I’m Choi Ye-won” A simple answer was enough to send you into a state of confusion. All the certainties, everything you had shared in the last five years flashed before your eyes: when was the truth falsehood and falsehood truth? “Prove it to me” Winter snorted loudly. “That’s my younger sister, she was brought to South Korea a few months ago and now everyone is convinced that she’s Choi Ye-won. They thought they had found the right person,” another stupid, irritating laugh came out of her mouth “But the right person is me and I’ve always been here. Next to you, next to the secret services, and close – maybe too close for your tastes – to South Korea”

“Why?” “Explain yourself better, Y/n” “What does all this mean?” Winter dropped the gun and, with her free hands, began to stroke your hair. “Unfortunately in all of South Korea, the agents chosen to carry out this mission were the two of us. The prey and the hunter. You understand that one of us had to disappear, one way or another”

The cold coming in from the large window of the room had numbed your body. You were unable to move. “So you're going to kill me?” “I'm not going to let you live”

Still sitting on your lap, Winter moved the gun from behind your head to your heart with a coldness that seemed forced even for her. “I know very well that after telling you everything you won’t let me escape to my country with my sister. I can’t stay here anymore. Winter only exists on South Korean soil and in your heart” “Winter is you” “No, I am Yewon. You're Y/n. I don't need to know anything else to make my own decisions."

A staring contest as painful as yours had never been seen, and yet you should have been two of the most feared women in Korea. Cold hands, throbbing hearts, and blood were all that remained of you. This time it was you who approached the blonde to kiss her and, Winter, without being told twice, returned a kiss that was anything but sweet: blood and saliva mixed, your wound continued to bleed and Winter couldn't help but be violent even in a moment that should have meant something else entirely.

“When?” “When I’m ready” “And when will you be ready?” Winter stood up from your lap and immediately the cold air hit you mercilessly. “I have to save my sister. I’m sorry, in another life maybe it would have gone differently” “It’s not your fault. After all, you always told me that it’s counterproductive to make friends at work” Winter laughed loudly at the word “friends” and then left the room with her sister. They both wished you goodnight. That day you abandoned the idea of ​​sleeping and kept your eyes open for fear that someone would kill you without giving you the chance to see her one last time.

The next morning Winter seemed intent on carrying out the final act. She was gripping the gun with all her strength and, as she paid the bill, her hand was shaking. The two sisters had planned to leave that day. They had taken a suitcase and filled it with any junk that might pass them off as respectable people. Watching them get ready so hastily confirmed to you that the two were desperate and couldn’t wait to leave and get protection. Are you willing to leave everything behind, Winter?

You walked side by side. Winter held the fully loaded gun behind your back. The two had revealed to you that a North Korean collaborator would come to pick them up and take them safe and sound, after a nice trip around the Sea of ​​Japan, back to their homeland.

“How old is your sister?” you asked, bored by the situation you found yourself in. “Sixteen” “Um. It must be fun for you to put a minor in danger.” “I have never killed or let people get killed who had nothing to do with the shady dealings their guardians were involved in.” “Your work ethic is sometimes worse than mine.” “Um?” Winter turned to look at you, shocked to hear such a serene tone.

You stopped, noticing how the boat that was waiting for the two young girls was a wreck in all its parts. “I see that North Korea treats you well” “There is no reason to expect more than salvation”

In Winter’s eyes, you see a new form of anger, rejection, and renunciation. The blonde touched the trigger of the gun and pointed it at you. “Y/n, I know it may seem terrible as an ending, but at least I will be the one to kill you. Your companion, your beloved and, soon, the incarnation of death” “Uhm” “Your last words?”

Looking into Winter’s eyes was a great way to distract her, and the five years you had spent together had proven that. You smiled cheekily, not losing eye contact with the blonde. “Maybe you really do have a heart too”

A second later a scream broke the unhealthy atmosphere between you and your colleague. Winter quickly turned in fury towards the scream uttered by her sister, who now found herself in the arms of the man who was supposed to take them to North Korea. “Leave my sister, you fucking idiot!” Oh, how satisfying it was to see a cold and calculating woman lose all her composure in an instant.

The man had a gun pointed at his younger sister’s temple. “Winter” In response, the girl turned violently towards you, pointing the gun straight at your forehead. This time it was you who had an annoying smirk on your face.

“That man works for the Secret Service, he’s a colleague of ours. There’s an entire squadron nearby ready to intervene at the first gunshot” Winter was shaking. “I'm about to offer you an advantageous deal” “Speak, you ugly bitch” “Leave the gun” "Never"

Winter had perhaps forgotten that in martial arts you had been at the top of your class for years. With a quick gesture, you threw the blonde’s gun as far away as possible. Now it was you who had the gun pointed at the young North Korean girl's forehead. Winter started laughing. “When did you realize that?” “When we were in that shitty little house and you came out with sentences I’d never heard before. Killing is your life, saying you didn’t want to do it was a pretty strong warning signal, don’t you think?”

“What do you want, Y/n?” “Your life.” Winter didn’t look scared at all. “And what do I gain from it?” “Your sister will live. I will personally send her back to Korea and cover up any clues or traces that could lead her back to you.” “Was I her doom?” “You can be her salvation.”

Winter turned to her sister and told her to cover her eyes and ears. “I trust you, Y/n.” “Me too. I know I wouldn’t screw up. Work is work and…” “Death is death. Don’t make it long and kill me.”

You pulled the trigger. You looked into Winter’s eyes one last time. The blonde seemed to feel the same. She was shaking, but nothing could stop you from completing the mission. “Thank you for everything, Winter. We’ll complete the mission together this time too” “Spare me this bullshit”

A gust of wind ruffled both of their hair, Winter’s sister let out another scream and started to cry. Tears were streaming down her face.

“Winter, your last words?” The girl smiled like you’d never seen her do. She chained her black pools in your eyes and whispered the next words. “Y/n, I loved y-”

You didn’t let her finish. One blow and the girl’s body was lying helpless on the ground. The pool of blood that formed beneath her seemed to be a representation of the blood she had taken from everyone she had killed over the past few years. She had been a liar, a murderer, the top of her class, and also the love of your life. You turned and signaled to your colleague to leave in the boat, which silently went away along with the tears of a younger sister left alone.

In the months that followed, the secret service agency named you and Winter the best agents they had ever had. Your names were now both imprinted on the golden walls of the department waiting room. No one ever knew that Winter was Choi Ye-Won; everyone cried her name believing that she had been killed by the North Korean whose body and traces you had then eliminated. Winter's sister remained safe in North Korea.

In your memories Winter was never Choi Ye-Won, but always and only Winter. Like the cold earth that now enveloped her body. In the future you asked your colleagues, when your time came, to bury you next to your beloved, yet hated, colleague. Choi Ye-Won was born and died as Winter in your heart.

[hades--baby]

To Die Like This

Summary: Stuck in the Tundra with a bullet in your side, blood in your eye, and the agonizing feeling that your captain was going to throw an absolute fit when your bleeding body walked through the threshold of the safe house.

Note: There's just something about Price being so tender with the girl he loves that makes me go absolutely crazy. Anyway, it's been a long time since I've written anything and an even longer time since I've actually put something out. Hope y'all enjoy :)

(This work was also cross-posted on my ao3 account under hades_baby)

Word Count: 7109

You had always loved the serenity of a snowy forest. 

They were typically peaceful and quiet, a drastic contrast to your usual life of gunfire and warfare. 

The only things that ever really made a sound was the light crunch of snow beneath the thick soles of boots, the little animals scurrying from shrubs to burrows that led to their dens, and the winter birds chirping their little songs as they hopped from branch to branch. 

The air was always so crisp with a light scent of fresh pine and bark. It lacked the smell of gunpowder and the musk that filled the tight barracks. 

Honestly, if you could have it your way, you’d die in a forest like this. 

Have your trauma-ridden life end in a place so ethereal. 

The whole military life never really gave you what you wanted though. 

You typically had to take what you could get.  

The orders you were given weren’t to your liking? 

Too bad, you’d have to follow them anyway. 

The mission you were assigned to was in the middle of the fucking Tundra where you knew your fingers would freeze and you’d never be able to keep warm? 

You’re getting on the damn plane and going anyway because you were told to. 

A lead slugger was shot into your side and you were currently bleeding through your gear and you wanted to do nothing more than lay down in the snow and let the cold take you while the little blood you had left in your system melted the snow beneath your limp body? 

Well, too fucking bad. Get the fuck up because your Captain doesn’t take too kindly to any of his soldiers dying on the job. 

Yeah. 

You didn’t really get your way when it came to being a soldier, but today might have been your lucky day. 

That little snowy death wish that had been playing out in the back of your head for the past thirty minutes was starting to look like it might come true. 

There was a small burning bullet set in your side, a nice little slash on your arm from a bowie knife that had once been stuck in another man’s chest, and there was a cheeky little gash somewhere on your head that was pouring enough blood into your left eye to make you shut it and trek around half blind. 

It felt like you were getting too old for this kind of work. 

Then again, if Price could still keep up with this shit and be chipper doing it, then so could you. 

“What’s your ETA, Frost?”

His voice over your comms had startled you. 

“I don’t fucking know,” you snapped in a breathy tone as you slammed against the side of a pine tree to brace yourself before you could fall flat on your face. The fresh powder beneath you was starting to look really enticing. 

You closed your good eye—the one that hadn’t been flooded with blood—and let out a defeated sigh, dipping your head as you tried to catch your breath and not focus on the stinging sensation of all the wounds that riddled your body. 

“Sorry,” you muttered, apologizing to your Captain for your tone. You glanced at the watch on your wrist to check your current coordinates. “I’m a klick out from the safehouse. I should be there in a bit.”

“Copy.”

Price left it at that. 

He sounded tired. 

It was the same tone he spoke in when he was stuck in his office, getting dragged down into the depths with paperwork and mission reports he didn’t even want to think about. The tone that would come out when someone tried to talk to him too soon after a mission when all he wanted to do was relax and work the knots out of his shoulders. The tone that you heard oh so often when you’d pop into his office to keep him company while he dotted his i’s and crossed his t’s and when you’d work your fingers into the knots and sore spots on his back until he nearly fell asleep in his office chair. 

Fuck. 

You needed to get a move on.

After taking a deep breath, you trekked on, using every other tree to keep yourself upright as you staggered on your tired feet. 

Blood was seeping through all of your gear, some of it dripping into the pristine white powder beneath your feet. It was tragic how the deep crimson liquid stained the gorgeous snow. In your line of work, you had seen blood stain an array of surfaces, but snow seemed to be the worst of them. It was something that was meant to be clean and pure, yet here you were, ruining it. 

A grimace fell over your face at the sight. 

After a few minutes passed by, your legs met the threshold of movement and you slammed into another tree trunk. Your temple met the bark, wood scratching against the skin of your face. You closed your eyes as you tried to catch your breath and focus on not passing out while your limbs buzzed in pain. 

You could make it. 

Probably.

All you could really think about was the fact that you were definitely going to be telling Price that you didn’t want to do any more jobs in the Tundra. You enjoyed the cold climate when you weren’t working, which was almost never, but you still had a few days of leave a year where you got to fully relax (if your brain allowed). 

You liked the cold when you could cuddle up next to someone to stay warm, drink some hot cider, and watch stupid Christmas movies that had too many questionable moments that made you really sit and stare, trying to figure out whether or not you should laugh. 

You enjoyed the cold even more when you could hide away in the barracks, keeping warm with Price wrapped around you, hands tracing over your skin, heating you up quicker than a blanket ever could. 

“Frost.”

“Captain.”

He didn’t respond right away, making you wonder if he just wanted to say your callsign for the hell of it. 

“ETA?”

“Couple of minutes,” you answered. 

The eye with blood in it was starting to sting, the foreign liquid now slipping all the way to your jaw and dripping from your chin. 

“Cut it down to a minute.”

Price was starting to catch on that something was wrong. You were taking far too long to get to the safe house from where you had been coming from and your words were becoming too short and strained every time he asked you a question. Something was wrong and it was taking everything in him to not run out of the safehouse in search of you. You’d always been the type to be vocal when something went awry out in the field, so he silently prayed that your absence of issue meant that everything was fine and that you truly were just taking your sweet ass time to get to him. 

“You’re starting to sound like Gaz with all the worrying you’re doing, Pricey,” you teased, adding on the little nickname that you knew peeved him. 

“Shut it and get a damn move on.”

“Yessir.”

You started moving again just as he ordered you to do, finding some sense of motivation after hearing his gruff voice. It was the voice that had welcomed you to the 141 after Laswell had shipped you off to join the task force. The voice that had let you know that you were okay and safe when the boys had finally found you after you had been taken hostage on a mission in your earlier days. The voice that had talked you through every touch that made your body burn as he sunk his fingers into you. 

It was the kind of voice that you’d betray death for. 

A little while later, the safehouse finally came into view. 

You glanced at your watch, checking how much time had passed. 

A minute and twenty-seven seconds.

Price wasn’t going to let you hear the end of it. 

You winced in pain, feeling the skin of your arm pull apart. The soldier that had cut you had grabbed the knife he used from the middle of another man’s chest and you were starting to feel queasy from the thought of your blood mixing with his. You needed to get your gash disinfected soon or you were going to have a problem. Well, technically you already had multiple problems, but you were trying to take on one issue at a time. 

Alright, maybe it was about time you mentioned something to your captain. 

“Hey, Cap’?” you probed as you quietly trudged toward the short porch steps of the cute little cottage. “Is this a bad time to mention that I got hit earlier?”

You failed to mention how badly you were hit.

“What the hell—what do you mean you got hit?”

You stopped a good ten feet from the steps, furrowing your brows. 

There was no sign of Price having entered through the front door. The powder in front of the stairs had been untouched and there weren’t any wet footprints  on the old wood of the porch. The windows were dark and nothing could be seen from the outside. The only thing that gave any sign of someone being inside was the dark smoke slowly wisping from the brick chimney peeking out of the top of the cabin.

“I mean, I got a nice little slugger in my side and some blood pouring out of me in other places,” you said, keeping your voice low and quiet. You wondered if you were in the right place. You looked down at your watch, checking your coordinates. According to the device, you were. “Are you inside?” 

He ignored your question. 

“Where the hell’s your kit?”

“Somewhere in the forest four klicks back.”

You looked around again, hoping to find some sign of this being the right place. 

“Christ, Frost,” Price muttered. You didn’t need to see him to know that he was shaking his head at you. “How far out are you?”

“Right out front,” you answered. 

You gave in. 

The wood creaked under the thick soles of your boots as you trekked up the stairs. You shoved the door open, stumbled inside, and slammed the door shut as you slumped against the wall. You slowly slid down to the floor. The cold began to set into your bones as the distinctive heat from the fireplace on your left radiated around you. 

Price rushed into the room. 

“Well, aren’t you a right-all mess,” he said as he moved toward you.

“Shut up,” you muttered, shaking your head before tilting it back to rest against the wall. You opened your good eye as he knelt down in front of you.

“Where are you broken, love?” he asked as his eyes scanned over you, clocking every little rip and tear in your gear before you could even say anything. 

He hated seeing you like this. 

It had become one of the toughest parts of his job ever since Laswell had sent you his way to recruit to the taskforce. There was just something about you that made his heart ache whenever he saw you in pain in any way.  

He knew that it was all a part of the job. 

That there were always going to be times where he saw you like this; busted and broken.

And he always fucking hated it.

He knew he’d hate it ever since the first time he had seen you like this. It was way back when you had first joined the team. You’d only been with them for a good six months, but you had already gone on about four missions with them. It had been a busy year for the task force, but you didn’t seem to mind. If anything, you were eager to keep getting back out on the field every time you got back to base. 

On their fifth mission all together, when they believed that they had the upper hand, you and Soap had been ambushed. The Scot had been knocked unconscious while you were taken captive, too many soldiers for the two of you to take out on your own without any supporting fire. 

Learning that you had been taken was worrisome on its own, but Price’s heart ached when they finally found you. 

He had sunken to his knees in front of you, using his knife to work away the zip ties that had you bound to an uncomfortable looking metal chair. Your face was bruised and bloody. Gashes from knife wounds worked their way down your arms and legs. Burn marks from what looked like cigarettes were ingrained into your plush skin. 

You looked beyond rough. 

Price had felt furious that he had let any of this happen to you, but the fury was quickly overcome with worry when you had perched your eyes open and groaned in pain. He let out a sigh of relief, finally knowing that you were, at the very least, well enough to be conscious. He had tried to soothe you as best he could and when you were finally free of your bounds, you practically fell into his embrace, your entire body slumping against his.

It was that very moment—when he wrapped his arms around you and held the entirety of you—that was when he knew that seeing you like this would always pull deadly wear on his heart. His old heart wouldn’t be able to take seeing you like this and hoped that it would be a rarity for his tiring eyes. 

Much to his surprise, it had been a rare sight. 

But that didn’t mean it was a non-existent sight. 

“Got shot in my right side, bullet’s still somewhere in there from what I can tell. Slash on my right arm from a gross ass knife that was already stuck in someone else before it got to me. And I got hit in the head and I can’t see out of my fucking right eye because of all the goddamn blood,” you explained, lifting one of your hands to try and wipe the blood away from your eye, but to no avail, the metallic liquid kept flowing. There was no use in trying to see right now anyway.

“Let’s get you fixed up then,” he said, a sense of urgency finally filling his voice. 

He had been attempting to keep his cool this entire time; to not panic so you wouldn’t panic either. But he knew that you were much too tired to even start panicking, so perhaps he was just trying to stay calm for his own sake. He found it funny that out of everyone on the task force, he had been the one to deal with more field injuries, yet here he was with his damned nerves buzzing out of his skull. 

Something like this shouldn’t have worried him as much as it did. 

But it was you. 

He couldn’t help himself when it came to you. 

Whatever was going on between the two of you had always left him in the realm of something being completely unspoken. The relationship that had sprouted was in some sort of limbo, but neither of you seemed to mind since it was easier that way. 

It was easier than having to tell the boys that something was going on between you two. It was easier than telling Laswell that there may be some sort of infringement on the team—not that she’d care unless it really started to affect how the two of you went about your work lives. And it was easier than admitting to each other that there might be something more than a quick casual stress-relief fuck. 

The two of you had shared too many moments together for that to be true. 

There were too many night’s of your bodies being pressed together and entwined, skin to skin to keep each other warm. Too many words of comfort as you soothe the nightmares of war away, finding comfort in each other’s arms. Too many gentle kisses for it to not be real. 

Your eyes were closed. 

He didn’t care much for that. 

“Frost,” he said, bumping your arm without a slash in it to jostle you awake. You opened your good eye and looked up at him, sending him a quick look of aggravation. It would’ve been amusing if you weren’t bleeding out before his very eyes. “Need your good eye open so I know you aren’t dying on me, sweetheart.”

You grunted in response, looking away from him but still keeping your eye open. 

The feeling of disquietude was starting to set in. 

It wasn’t normal for you to get hit during missions—it was actually quite rare. Soap was usually the one to take the podium for taking quite a bit of damage out in the field. Regardless of all that, you still knew what to do in such situations. You wouldn’t have been at this level of infantry if you didn’t know what to do. 

The hard part was the fact that you were in the presence of your captain. 

Moments ago, when you were trekking to the safehouse, you knew that you wouldn’t have to do any of this alone because your captain was waiting less than a klick away from you. 

The thought alone made everything feel easier. 

It was always harder doing it all alone. 

You thought back to the first and only time you had applied a tourniquet on yourself. Damn near gave up and bled out from how painful it was to cinch the band as tight as you could to keep yourself from bleeding out. You had spent years in the service of infantry. Years of wear and tear on the body, but that kind of pain was something you never wanted to feel again in your lifetime or in any lifetime. So when you felt your arm begin to fall numb from the lack of blood circulating through your veins, you knew that you had to get to Price before you would be forced to deal with it on your own. 

When he was around, you knew that you’d never have to face anything alone. 

You had learned to find such comfort in that. 

Price felt sick to his stomach as he started to get some of your heavier gear off. Your weapons were first to go, then your holsters, and then your vest. He was almost afraid to remove your thermal to see the damage the thick white jacket was hiding poorly. 

He couldn’t keep his damn head straight. 

Simon had griped with him about it a while back, saying that he needed to do better about keeping a clear head around you, but Price still managed to get work done on missions, so the younger man could never really get on him about it all that much. Simon didn’t know exactly what was going on between you two behind closed doors, but he had enough of an idea seeing how much Price doted on you even when you told him to fuck off and focus on something else for a while. 

It was the playfulness of your jabs that usually gave it away. 

That and the lingering looks you two sent each other as if you were some love sick teenagers. 

Price knew that you were more than capable of handling yourself in the field, but there was always something whispering in the back of his head that had him wearing a deep sense of worry on his sleeve every time he had to send you out on a mission. He had read your file when Laswell had recruited you. You were beyond skilled in almost everything you did and you rarely ever came back to base having to see a medic, so hearing that you had actually been hit—

“I can’t feel my arm.”

“Shite,” Price cursed, snapping out of his thoughts as he snatched his medkit and opened it up to finally help you. 

The cold had finally set in and all the blood that had seeped from your arm was causing your skin to turn pale. The gash on your arm was still wide open, but blood had stopped spilling from it, which meant he could disinfect it and get it closed without anything (hopefully) going wrong. Your side wasn’t doing all that bad, still bleeding, but not bad. He’d probably have to cauterize the wound just to feel like he could leave it be, but that could wait for after he got the bullet out of you. 

“Arm first, then your side,” he decided, nodding his head before he turned back to his kit. He turned back with a bottle in hand and you grimaced at the sight. “Gonna have to feel more broken before you feel fixed.”

“No shit,” you muttered, eyeing the small bottle of alcohol in his hand. “Sorry, I don’t mean to be snappy.”

Price set the bottle down, reached for his belt, and took it off. Something deep in you fluttered, but it stopped when he presented it to your face in a folded mess. 

“Bite down,” he said. You eyed him a little more, making him huff. “Bite down on it, Frost.”

You huffed back at him and bit down on the folded belt. You held it between clenched teeth, watching as he picked the bottle of alcohol back up. He sighed and nodded, almost as if he was telling himself that he was ready to do this. He tipped the bottle and poured the liquid over the wound. You squirmed and held back a writhing scream. He quickly clamped your legs between his knees, keeping you from squirming away. 

“I know, I know, sweetheart,” he said, trying to sooth you as he set the bottle down and wiped around the edge of the wound. He grabbed a needle and thread from his kit.

You groaned through the thickness of the belt as he stabbed the needle into your skin, creating even sutures along the wound. Your eyes closed as you tried to not focus on anything specific, but the feeling of Price keeping you in place while he dug a needle kept you from thinking of anything else. 

Price hated this. 

He hated every fucking part of this. 

Digging a needle and thread into your arm while you bit onto a belt. 

He thought back to the last time he had touched you. 

It was the night before the mission that you two were currently on. Price hadn’t expected to see you until the two of you were meant to take off on the tarmac, but he found himself aimlessly wandering the halls of the barracks until he wound up at the door of your private quarters. 

He almost hadn’t knocked. 

It was late, you two had to be up early, and he still didn’t know where the two of you stood when it came to something like this. 

He knew that there was some sort of love there, but he wasn’t too sure about the type. He knew that if he was stressed about all the ridiculous mission reports and papers he had to sign off on late into the night when he should be sleeping instead, you’d be sitting there with him to keep him company. He knew that if he mentioned that something was hurting, you’d use your nimble and calloused fingers to work away the knots and sore spots that came with all the training and missions. He knew that in a moment of weakness, he could count on you to hold the broken pieces of his soul together. 

Everything in his mind told him to leave you alone and let you be for the night, but the Captain was feeling selfish and he rarely ever got to indulge in such things.

His entire life and career, he was meant to be selfless. 

To put everyone else’s needs before his own. 

And ultimately, he had been okay with that… until he met you. 

He found himself tempted to be selfish when it came to you. 

He had knocked and you had answered. 

It was all he needed for the night. 

Maybe for life. 

“Done,” he said, tying off the last stitch and cutting the thread. 

“Thank fuck,” you breathed out, letting the belt drop from your mouth. 

“Still have a few more things to do,” he said, jerking his chin in the direction of your side before glancing at your head. “I’m gonna have to lay you down flat to get the bullet out, alright?”

“M’kay,” you muttered, still feeling hazy. Your nerves were buzzing in all the wrong ways and you just wanted it to stop. 

Price carried you over to the fireplace and laid you out on the floor next to the fire in hopes of warming you up. The flame felt nice against your freezing skin. He worked quickly to strip you of your thermal undershirt. The wound on your side looked small, but the skin around it was stained red with thick blood. 

“Want the belt again?” he asked. You sighed and nodded. He grabbed his belt and folded it up again before placing it back in your mouth. Your teeth dug into the material as you anticipated whatever pain was about to come. “Ready?”

You grunted in response. 

He used a set of dull tweezers to dig into your side, fishing for the little bullet deep in your flesh. You reeled in pain, damn near shooting up on your own, but Price used his free hand to push your chest back down to keep you steady.

“I know, pretty girl, I know,” he tried to soothe, continuing to search for the hunk of lead. You writhed in pain, pressing yourself against the floor as hard as you could as if that would help you escape the pain that was stabbing into it. The ends of the tweezers grazed something hard and he knew that he almost had it. “Almost got it. Almost done.”

After a few moments, he pulled the metal fragment from your body and pulled the tweezers from your aching flesh. You gasped, shaking as you laid limp. Your shoulders slumped against the wood floor as your chest heaved. Your heart was pounding in your chest as you tried to catch your breath. 

“You’re alright,” he said, squeezing your good arm as if that would make everything better. He massaged your bicep for a moment, using it as an excuse to keep his hands on you. He was also trying to calm you down a bit more before he had to move onto the actual hard part. He grimaced and glanced over to the fireplace. “Do you trust me?” 

“Mhm,” you hummed, lazily nodding your head as you felt consciousness slipping through your fingers. 

“I need you to close your eyes, sweetheart.”

“Mm-mm,” you said, shaking your head this time around. 

“I need you to trust me on this one, Frost.”

You stared at him for a long while before finally giving in and closing your eyes. You slammed the back of your head against the wood flooring as hard as you could, wishing that the impact had knocked you out because you knew that whatever he was about to do was going to hurt like hell. 

Price had always been the type to make sure that his own were safe and taken care of, but he was also the type to tell his own to buck up and take it. Whenever the boys got injured out in the field, he would always make sure that they were okay, and if they were, he’d tell the lot of them to get back to work then. 

Even with you. 

Every time you had been bruised and battered, if you told him that you were okay, he’d believe you and expect you to be okay and not broken. 

So the fact that he was telling you to close your eyes and to trust him meant that it had to be bad and that scared you.

Price waited for a few moments, making sure that you kept your eyes closed before he proceeded with what he was about to do. He grabbed the hot poker from the fireplace, the one that he had been stoking the fire with before you had made it to the confines of the safehouse and trudged in with all of your broken parts. He took a deep breath, knowing that there was a good chance that he was going to hate this just as much as you. 

“Bite down hard and keep your eyes closed, you hear?” he ordered, heaving one last warning before he pressed the burning poker to your skin. 

You did exactly as he ordered even though you were itching to scream and open your eyes to see what the fuck he was doing, but the smell of your burning flesh was enough to urge you to just squeeze your eyes shut even tighter. 

You were going to pass out. 

Or vomit. 

Or maybe scream at Price for cauterizing your wound without a proper fucking warning. 

Maybe all three. 

You eventually fell limp, no longer having the energy to resist the fiery pain that flooded over your skin. The only part of you that could move was your heaving chest as your lungs begged for some semblance of air. 

Price pulled the poker away, tossing the burning end back into the fire.

“You’re doing great, sweetheart,” he said, disinfecting the area around the cauterized wound to ensure that everything was thoroughly taken care of. He placed a bandage over it and then gently grasped your shoulders, his thumb massaging circles into your skin. “Gonna get you up now, nice and easy.” 

He slowly pulled you into an upright position, but you haphazardly slumped forward into his arms, forehead hitting his chest. He let your full weight fall against him. You still hadn’t said anything, nor had you opened your eyes. All you could really manage were hard, labored breaths that made your entire body quake. 

His heart hurt. 

Probably not as much as you were hurting, but still, it hurt. 

He couldn’t stand to see you like this. 

Body shaking in his arms, lungs gasping for air, kind eyes hidden behind low lids. 

He wanted to take you from this world. 

To take you from the world of hurt.

The world where you were constantly shot at and put at risk every time a new mission was assigned to the taskforce. 

But he knew that he’d never be able to take you from this world of chaos and pain. You’d surely raise hell the day you truly had to leave the force. You had always said that you’d probably die in the military. He really prayed that you wouldn’t. 

He pulled you into his lap, settling you down comfortably as he grabbed a clean wrap. He propped you up a little more so your head was resting against his shoulder, face tucked you into the crook of his neck. He wrapped your midsection, making sure to keep the bandages snug and clean. 

“Almost done,” he promised in a sweet coo. 

You opened your mouth, finally letting the belt drop to the floor. You hadn’t realized that it was still in your mouth. 

“Fuck,” you breathed out as he tied the bandages off, running his fingers over the material to make sure it all laid flat and clean. 

“Gonna lay you back down,” he said. 

You shook your head, pressing your forehead against his shoulder in hopes that he’d understand that you wanted to stay like that in his arms, face tucked away so he couldn’t see you cry. You just needed a moment to collect yourself. Tears pooled in your eyes, the pain setting in even more as the adrenaline started to wear off. He placed one of his hands on your back, gently rubbing circles over your shoulder blades in an attempt to calm you down.

“I’ve got you, Frost,” he muttered, pulling you in closer. Hot tears rushed faster from your eyes, slipping down, and staining his shirt as they dropped from your face. The diluted mix of salt water and blood didn’t bother him much. “Gotta check that head of yours. Clearly you’ve got a screw loose since you thought hiding all of this from me was okay.” 

“Didn’t want to bother,” you muttered hazily in broken fits.

“Helping you ain’t a bother, love,” he said, shaking his head. He slowly pulled you away from him and cupped your face in his rough hands. “How’s the head feeling?” 

“Amazing. Thanks for asking,” you said, letting the weight of your head sink into the salvation of his hands. He kept you up, calloused fingers running over your cheekbones to wipe away the stray tears still slipping from your eyes. The salty water had started to clear the blood from one of your eyes, but it wasn’t enough to fully see. You squeezed your eyes shut even more, leaning into him, and slumping in his hold. 

“Need you awake, soldier,” he said, jostling you around a bit. You opened your good eye, staring into his focused ones. 

There was so much comfort in his gaze. 

Solace. 

Made you feel warm. 

Too warm. 

Your eyes closed as you fell fully limp in his embrace. 

He scrambled to keep you in an upright position. 

“None of that now. Come on, Frost—”

God, you could die listening to that voice. 

You woke with the scent of musk and cigar smoke lingering around you. 

It was a scent that you had grown accustomed to waking up to.

There was a sense of easement that fell over you whenever the scent lingered on your sheets whenever he found an excuse to stay the night in your private quarters back in the barracks. A scent that you found comfort in whenever you woke from a long flight after a rough mission. And a scent you had learned to completely love when you invited him to stay with you for Christmas when the entire task force inevitably left for their week long holiday leave. 

You attempted to take a deep breath to take the comforting scent in, but it was cut short when you felt your skin pull against the stitches in your side.

“You scared the shit out of me.”

You jolted from the sudden presence of the familiar gruff voice, but Price’s arms cinched around you tighter to keep you from falling from his lap and onto the floor. You were comfortably curled up in his lap, his arms around your body. His brows were furrowed, eyes riddled with stress and worry as he stared at you. 

It was the same look that he always gave when he felt like he failed someone. 

Disappointed them. 

“I’m sorry,” you muttered.

He stared at you for a little longer before pulling you in to hug you tight. You winced slightly, but were happy nonetheless to be close to the worried captain. You sighed and closed your eyes, letting your face rest in the nape of his neck. The smell of musk and thick cigars filled your system again. 

“You can’t scare me like that again, Frost. I don’t think my old heart could take another fright like that,” he said, shaking his head to nuzzle his face into yours. He took a deep breath, taking in the smell of your hair. Even with everything you’d been through, the light scent of your usual shampoo still lingered. “Plus the boys would kill me if I ever came back with you in pieces.”

“They’d live,” you muttered, even though you knew he was right. 

The boys of the 141 would probably wreak havoc if you ever came back from a mission on the brink of death. Though, they’d never blame Price. You knew that much for sure. They’d know that your captain would do anything and everything in his power to get you back in the best shape he could manage. 

You slowly pulled away from him, staying in his lap as you tried to reorientate yourself. You had been stripped down to your base layers, your other gear laid out near the fire to dry the blood and snow that had soaked into the material. He was also down to his base layers, his gear and his silly little hat in a pile on the other side of the room. 

The two of you were comfortably resting on the rundown couch closest to the fireplace, but the sight of the fire brought a memory back to you. 

“I can’t believe you fucking cauterized my wound you bastard—”

“Had to get it shut, sweetheart—”

“And a fire poker was your first and only thought?” 

He grimaced and sat back so he was pressed against the couch cushion. His hands stayed on you, one on your hip and the other on your thigh, fingers tracing gentle circles into your skin. 

“Stitches weren’t gonna cut it,” he said, shaking his head. 

You sighed, knowing he was right. 

“I want a cigarette,” you said, going to slide off his lap in hopes of finding a pack stashed somewhere in the pockets of your gear. He tightened his grip on you, pulling you back into him. 

“Wouldn’t do you any good to have one right now,” he said.

“I want one anyway.”

He sighed and shook his head before grabbing a cigar from the ashtray on the coffee table beside the couch. It wasn’t a cigarette, but it would do. You found it humorous that a safehouse had an ashtray, but knowing the people you worked with, it almost made sense. 

The end of the cigar was already burnt, meaning he had been smoking while you were out in his arms. He placed it in his mouth and grabbed the lighter, burning the end until he was able to take a decent drag. The breath of smoke was held deep in his chest before he slowly blew it out. He made sure to blow the smoke away from your face before holding the cigar out to you. You went to grab it, but he moved his hand just out of your reach. Furrowing your brows, your eyes flicked between him and the cigar. He slowly brought it back to you, but held it right up to your lips. It wasn’t until you wrapped your lips around it did he let it go and the weight of the cigar rested against your lip. 

You took a deep drag, holding it until you felt light headed. You leaned back, only stopping when his hand braced against your lower back to keep you from tipping over. You slowly blew out, letting the smoke wisp above your head. You passed the cigar back to him and he placed it back in his mouth, the tips of his teeth chewing the end a bit. 

It was a nervous habit of his. 

Typically had to swat his thigh to get him to quit. 

He took another drag. 

He tilted his head to the side to blow the smoke away from your face, but before he could, you gently grabbed his face and turned it back to face you. He furrowed his brows in a confused manner, but you slowly leaned forward and he got the idea.

God. 

He could die like this. 

You sitting in his lap, a cigar in hand, and you begging for something that he could only think to do with someone he loved. 

All he was missing was a glass of whiskey to top it all off. 

He cupped your face and urged you closer, but stopped before your lips could touch. You were tempted to lean forward and close the distance, but you stopped yourself. Your mouth was slightly ajar, wondering if he’d actually go through with it.

He did. 

He kissed you hard and blew the smoke right into your mouth. Heat filled your system as you slowly leaned back and exhaled, letting smoke wisp away between the two of you. 

“Fuckin’ minx,” he muttered before taking another drag with a smirk on his face. “Even on the brink of fucking death.”

“You love it,” you teased. He huffed out a gruff laugh. “I’m sorry for almost dying.”

“Don’t let it happen again,” he said. “Boys would kill me in a jealous rage if they found out you died in my lap like this.”

“As if,” you said, rolling your eyes. 

“You don’t see the way those boys look at you, love,” he said, shaking his head. 

“Yeah? And how about the way you look at me?” you wondered. 

His gaze met yours and you didn’t dare pull away. 

“Just like this,” he said, his lids low as his eyes flicked down to your lips and then back to your eyes. 

The fingers that had once been drawing circles into your skin had stopped, the pads of them pressing into your plush thighs instead. He had a good grip on you. You weren’t going anywhere. Not that you wanted to go anywhere. 

You could stay like this forever. 

“You gonna keep looking at me like that or are you gonna do something about it?” you asked, wondering how far he’d actually go while the two of you were on a mission. 

Then again, you two were technically done with the mission and you were just waiting for evac so… no harm, no foul. 

He let out a light laugh before bringing a hand up to your face and pulling you in until his lips pressed against yours. You leaned into him, your front pressed against his own. You moved your legs until you straddled him, wincing once from the pain in your side. He pulled back, pressing a hand down to where your wound was, looking over the bandaged area. 

“I’m alright,” you assured him. You cupped his face in your hands and slowly tilted it back up until he was looking at you again. “I’m alright, John.”

He kissed you again, resting his hands on your hips with a light squeeze.

“Evac won’t be here for another six hours,” you said, having caught a glance at the watch on his wrist. “Care to kill some time?” 

“Oh, I’d love to.”

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Mission Control 17

Warnings: non/dubcon, violence, blood, stalking, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: Captain Hydra

Summary: a man marches into your life on a mission

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

When you come too, the pain is dull. Yet, the pulsing in your foot and leg is near excruciating. You whimper and clutch the blankets. The smell of your sweat clings to you and the bed. 

The bed shifts subtly and you look down to the end. He sits with his back to you. He raises his head and turns it as he hears you. He brings his hands up to rub his eyes then rises. He struts up to peer down at you. 

You groan as your head lolls to the side. You don’t have the strength left to do anything but languish in the agony. You grit your teeth and squeeze your eyes shut. You just want to keep sleeping. 

His weight creaks in the floor and his steps scuff around the room. He returns and looms over you as you flatten yourself to the mattress. He pokes your shoulder and grunts. You open your eyes as he holds up the notebook. 

‘You need?’ 

You would be annoyed if you weren’t in so much pain. What you need is for him to take you home and leave you alone. That’s not going to happen. As it is, you’re certain you’ll be dead of infection soon enough. 

He taps the page impatiently. 

You sigh and let out a shaky breath. “Hurts...” you murmur. “Something to... make it less.” 

His eyes search you and his blond lashes flutter. He turns and grabs a bottle from the side of the bed. He shows you the label. You squint at the small letters. 

“That’s an antibiotic,” you mutter. “Still...” you suck in air sharply, “pain.” 

He tilts the bottle to examine then puts it back. He shakes the notebook at you again. You sniff and cross your arms over the top of the blanket. You can’t really ignore him or tell him to go away. You could die without him and you hate that you have to live with him, but you’re scared. 

“Anything.” You say. “Just... something to do. There’s nothing here.” 

He makes another noise. Almost like a hum. You bring your hands up and rub your temples. 

“Why don’t you talk?” You hiss. 

He dips his chin down and turns the notebook around. He slides out the pen and scratches onto the paper. He shows you. 

‘No.’ 

“No? You won’t, or you can’t?” You huff. 

His brow furrow, he holds up two fingers.  

“You can’t,” you say. 

He nods. 

You don’t know if that makes it better. You thought it was a game. That he wanted to terrify you with his silence. He could be lying but what’s the point in that? 

He flips the notebook again. He writes slowly. You read his scrawl; ‘food’. 

You look at the ceiling and swallow, “yeah, I should eat.” 

He’s already moving as finish your first syllable. He puts the notebook down and marches out. You stare after him, slightly agitated and just as much perplexed. He set the trap, he can’t be surprised that it went off. 

You put your arms straight and as you try to sit up, the tug in the muscles of your leg throttles you. You have to smother a scream as you stop yourself. You press your hands to the bed and force your leg limp. You drag yourself up to sit with your upper body alone. 

Your tears leak out and you mop them away. You look down at the white nightgown, much like the one you wore the first night there. You reach behind you and move the pillow then lean back. Your foot is on fire. 

You can hear him through the open door. You look over at the notebook and reach for it. You drag it off the night stand and examine his jagged writing. You flip the page back. It’s a list of all the things he brought back before. It’s crooked and all over the page. 

You shuffle back through the pages and stop at the cross hatching of ink. Your likeness stares back at you. It’s you on the bus, watching through the window, looking almost peaceful. You frown. There’s a word sliced through the scene; ALONE. 

You don’t understand it but you’re starting to wonder if he does. There’s something not connected in him. He’s fractured. You should feel bad for him but you can’t. Not after all the pain he’s caused you. 

You close the notebook and drop it back on the night table. You slump and your vision hazes. You gaze endlessly at the wall. 

He returns, his shadow breaking through the blur. He has a plate in hand. He stops beside the bed and offers it. You take it and without thinking, you thank him. You could cringe. Thank you... for what? 

The sandwich is in one piece, meat and cheese juts out from beneath the crusts, and the bread isn’t aligned. You guess it’s the effort that counts. You rest the plate on your lap and brace yourself to sit up higher. He’s quick to bend over you and help pull you upright. 

You groan and let out a whine. He retracts and stands over you, watching. You try to ignore his ominous presence and focus on the food. You’re hungry even if it doesn’t look the most appetizing. 

You take the sandwich and bite into the crust. The rye is rich and the filling isn’t too bad. He even added mayo. A small thing but you can’t help but be relieved it isn’t just dry bread and meat. You chew and look up at him. You hover your hands over the plate. 

“What about you?” You ask. 

His eyes round and he blinks. He looks down at his chest then lifts his chin again. He doesn’t offer any response. 

“Right,” you nod and take another bite. 

His fingers twiddle at his side and he moves his weight back and forth on his feet. You eat in silence, hunched over the plate. When you finish, he scoops up the plate. Before you can react, he’s stomping out. 

Jesus. He’s so damn abrupt. He returns. He had a glass of water. You accept it and drink deeply. The coolness is a relief. 

He grabs the notebook and opens it. He angles the tip of the pen then writes again. He shows you as you sip from the glass. 

‘Not for you.’ 

You shake your head, “not... the food?” You asked confused. 

His mouth slants and he turns the book up. He puts the pen to the paper but doesn’t move it. Not right away. He finally scratches into the paper then turns it back to you. He’s drawn the spike. Your foot thrums at the memory of flailing on the cold ground. 

“The trap isn’t for me,” you say. His eyes cling to yours. “But you didn’t tell me.” 

His gaze drops and his cheeks tauten. He scribbles another word. ‘Stay’. 

You puff out and nod. “I’m supposed to stay. Got it. My fault.” 

He clucks and frowns. He points to himself. He hits his chest hard then wags his finger at you. He thumps his chest again. You stare and he stretches his hand wide, staring at it. You gasp as he smacks himself hard across the face. He brings up his other hand and lays another strike across his other cheek. He starts to beat himself frantically. 

“Stop! Stop!” You squeal, horrified. He doesn’t seem to hear you. You don’t know what to do. You grip the glass and splash what’s left of the water onto him and holler again, “stop!” 

He stills and drops his arms. He looks at you, his cheeks red and scratches, a cut around his eye socket. You shudder up at him. 

“I can’t do anything. Not like this,” you gesture to your foot. “So I need you... to do it which means you can’t beat yourself up.”  

You sigh and suck your teeth. It’s exactly what he wants. You are stuck with him. You need him. 

[starstruckmiraclekitty]

141 + Konig and Alejandro.

Requesting how they would react to reader having a near death experience and are afraid of losing them. Fluff at the end. Please and thank you ☺️

Of course, thanks for the request! Hope this is what you were looking for!

141 + König & Alejandro Reacting To Reader Nearly Dying

Warnings: blood, mentions of death, mentions of injury, heavy angst- ends in fluff

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Simon Ghost Riley-

It happened so quickly that Simon barely had time to register it.

The enemy had the gun pointed at him, and Simon was prepared to take it. He knew there was no escape from it. But then, you. You and your selfless heart just had to step in.

At the last second, you were nothing but a blur in his field of vision as you jumped in front of him, taking the bullet that was meant for him.

He watched as you dropped to the floor, and his entire world stopped in that moment. In his blind rage, he took down the man who shot you without a second thought, before regaining his senses.

"I need a med evac, NOW! Y/N's been shot." Simon cried out in a panic, rushing to your side. "Hey, hey, keep your eyes open, okay? Don't you dare fuckin' close them."

"I love you, Si." You said, gripping his arm with as much strength as your weakening form could muster. "I'm sorry."

"Don't talk like that, I won't have it. Keep your eyes open, kid." He gave your cheek a light slap as he pressed his hand on the wound on your abdomen. "Don't leave me, please."

You felt yourself slipping away, Simon's pleas being the last thing you heard before darkness consumed you.

~

Your eyes blinked open as a blinding white light blurred your vision. It took you a moment to realize your surroundings, as you looked over to the person whose hand was tucked firmly in yours. "Simon?"

"Sweetheart?" Simon voice was timid, and you knew him well enough to know that he had been crying. "You're awake."

"Hey." You croaked as you tried to sit up.

"No, no, don't move. I'll get you some water." He reached over to the bedside table and helped you gulp some of the ice water. He watched as you shakily set the glass down next to you, his eyes softening as he saw how much you struggled with such a simple gesture.

"You could have died Y/N, what were you thinking?" Simon asked, not taking his eyes off you. "That bullet was meant for me."

"And I couldn't sit by and watch you die, Simon. My body reacted before my brain did. It was just instinct. And I'd do it again if it meant you being alive." Your tone took Simon off guard, his protective walls shattering at your words.

"I can't live without you. I thought you were gone." His voice was barely audible, and you could hear the deep sadness in it.

"I'm here, Simon. I'm not going anywhere." You pulled him closer to you, forcing him to lay his head on his chest.

"Marry me."

"What?" You asked, not sure if you heard him correctly.

"Marry me." Simon repeated, his eyes still staring deeply into yours. "I want to spend the rest of my life with you."

"But you said that-"

"I don't care what I said before. Nearly losing you made me realize that I want to spend every waking second with you for the rest of my life. So please, marry me. We can go to the courthouse tomorrow and make it official."

You let out a small sob as you absorbed his words. "Yes, yes, of course I'll marry you."

Simon smashed his lips to yours, holding you impossibly close as he deepened the kiss. "I love you, so much."

"I love you too, always."

John Price-

"When we are done with this God forsaken mission, I'm taking you to a nice dinner, got that?" John asked, a hint of a smile lining his lips.

"I certainly won't say no to that. I could use a night out with you." You gave your husband a warm smile before turning the corner in the building the two of you were clearing. "Last room, we should be done in just a minute."

John turned his gaze back to you, and his blood ran cold as he saw your foot land on trip wire. "Y/N, WAIT!"

But it was too late. You triggered the bomb set by the trip wire, and you and Pricem were sent flying as the explosion rang out through the building.

It took a moment for John to regain his senses, the impact of the explosion knocking the wind out of him.

John's ears were ringing as he looked for you amongst the debris. "Babe? Where are you!?"

He wiped some of the dust from his eyes and found you lying on the floor across the room, pieces of wood covering the lower half of your body.

He slid over to you, throwing the debris off of you in a panic. "Hey, hey, hey. You better be okay. I can't do this without you, I can't."

His heart was practically beating out of his chest as his eyes raked up and down your figure. You were covered in blood and bruises, and your heartbeat was faint.

He put his arm underneath your limp body and lifted you, holding you close to him chest. "I'm not going to let you die."

~

Sounds of distant talking, and machines beeping drew you from your deep slumber. Your eyes blinked open, as a cough racked through your chest.

"Babe!" John cried out, cutting his conversation with Laswell short. "You're okay."

He hurried over to you, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead as you blinked away the sleep from your eyes. "What happened?"

"We can talk about that later. How are you feeling?" John asked, kneeling next to the bed, grasping your hand firmly in his.

"Like hell, but I'll be okay." You gave him a reassuring smile as you squeezed his hand. Your brows furrowed slightly as you took in his bruised face. "Are you okay?"

"I'm better now that you're awake. Gave me quite a scare, sweetheart." He said as he pressed a kiss to your hand.

"Well, I should work on getting better quickly. If I remember correctly, you owe me a date, captian."

"That I do, I'm going to make it a date you'll never forget."

Kyle Gaz Garrick-

You and Kyle were doing one of your weekly walks on one of the trails near your home.

It was a habit the two of you had formed, and it was a way for you both to unwind from the stresses of your lives.

It was early on a late winter morning, and you were just making your way over a small wooden bridge that rested above a small river. Kyle looked over at you and chuckled as he watched you shiver slightly.

"Should've taken a coat, kid. I told you it was cold."

"I'm no weakling. Besides, we are almost home anyway, I'll be fine." You giggled, bumping into him as the two of you walked.

He gave you the slightest of nudges, as the two of you laughed. At that same moment, you were walking over a small slick puddle on the bridge, causing you to lose your footing.

It happened in the blink of an eye, your valance being thrown off, sending you toppling over the side of the small bridge, into the freezing water below.

Kyle's entire world froze, and sheer panic set in. He watched as your frame disappeared into the water, and he immediately bolted across the bridge, to get to the ground below.

"Y/N? Y/N!" He screamed, his eyes frantically searching for you.

He saw your head emerge from the water, gasping for air as you struggled to tread above the surface. Without hesitation, he tore off his coat and jumped into the freezing water, swimming after you.

~

Dragging you to the surface, he grabbed his coat off the ground and wrapped it around your frame, holding you tightly to him, rubbing the length of your arms vigorously. "Are you okay?"

You gave a nod, as a chill ran through your body. "Thank you, for saving me. I couldn't feel my body."

"I will always, always save you. No matter the cost." He pressed a warm kiss to your temple, shivering slightly as he began to realize just how cold it was. "You are my everything, Y/N. I'm so sorry, this was my fault."

"I should've watched where I was going, it's okay. I'm okay." You said it more to yourself than to Kyle, in an attempt to calm your racing heart.

"Let's get going, I'll draw a hot bath for us when we get back. I think we both at a minimum are going to catch a cold from this." Kyle chuckled, helping you to your feet.

"Maybe this'll teach me to wear a coat next time."

König-

"I'm right behind you, Kö, go!" You called out, running as fast as your legs could carry you.

The building was crumbling around you and the team as you all struggled to make your way outside to safety.

You were nearly out of the building when you tripped on a loose piece of concrete, sending you toppling to the floor. "KÖNIG!"

But it was too late, König was already out in the open before he heard you, and the building finally crumbled to the ground before he registered your cry for help.

"MAUS!" König cried out, watching as the dust settled from the crumbled building. His legs moved before his brain could catch up as he darted toward the rubble.

"König, wait! You're going to get yourself killed!" Price called out, trying to stop the Austrian from running to you.

"I can't leave them!" König slid to his knees and began to dig away at the rubble bit by bit. "I can't leave them."

König felt tears pooling in his eyes, the thought of losing you tearing at his heart in a way that made it nearly hard for him to breathe. "They're my everything."

Price and the others knew that fighting him was hopeless and ran to his aid. They spent the better part of 20 minutes throwing rubble to the side, and were just about to give up when they heard a faint cry from underneath them.

"Help! I'm in here!" You choked out, your throat filling with dust from each breath you took. "Please."

König was sent into a frenzy at your cries for help and doubled his efforts to remove the rocks. "Maus, I'm here! Hold on, I'm here!"

With one final rock thrown to the side, your beaten and battered frame came into his line of sight, and he felt the weight on his shoulders fall off.

You were covered in debris and blood, but still had that beautiful smile on your face. "König."

He reached his hands down and pulled you up to him in a bone crushing hug. "I'm here, Maus. I'll never leave you again."

Johnny Soap MacTavish-

You and Johnny were running from an onslaught of enemies making their way to your location. You were less than half a mile from exfil, and the two of you were running faster than you ever have in your lives.

Johnny heard gunshots from behind him, and heard a sharp intake of breath come from you.

"Babe, come on, we've got to move!" Johnny called out, looking behind him to make sure you were following. What he saw, had his entire world shifting on its axis.

You looked up at him, through bleary eyes, as your hand clutched at the growing blood splotch on your stomach. "Johnny."

"No, no, no." Johnny ran over to you as you started to lose your footing, and held you in his arms. "Hey, kid, it's alright. You're going to be okay."

"It hurts, Johnny." You whispered, the blood loss causing you to grow weaker by the second. "I'm scared."

"You're going to be okay. You're going to be okay. I won't let anything happen to you." His voice was shaky as he struggled to keep his composure. "Please, please keep yourself awake. I'll get us to exfil."

He carried your body and sprinted toward the exfil point, praying to the stars that you would make it out of this alive.

~

Johnny walked into your hospital room a few days later, and his heart felt like it was going to implode when he saw your smiling face looking back at him.

"Theres that beautiful smile." Johnny's voice came from beside your bed. "I thought I lost you."

"I'm here, Johnny. I'm sorry to have scared you." You reached for his hand, giving it a firm squeeze as your eyes met his.

"Don't ever scare me like that again. I don't know what I would've done without you." Johnny's words felt like molasses in his throat, as his tears threatened to pour down his cheeks once more. "I can't live without you."

"I promise. I'm not going anywhere." You pulled him toward you and wrapped your arms around his shoulders as he began to sob into your chest.

"You better not, I won't ever let anything happen to you again."

Alejandro-

Alejandros' worst nightmare had come true. The cartel had taken you hostage in an attempt to get back at him and Los Vaqueros, and it had been nearly three days without any sign of life from you.

He and Rudy were able to locate you at a nearby warehouse, and Alejandro was on a warpath to get to you. Dead bodies were strewn across the floors of the building, left in Alejandro and Rudy's wake.

Alejandro rounded a corner, and his heart stopped at the sight of you strapped to the chair, your body battered, bloodied and bruised.

"Carino!" He called out rushing to your side. He was quick to unstrap the restraints holding you to the chair and caught your limp body as it fell forward. "Carino, please, please be okay."

He carried your weakened body and sprinted alongside Rudy to leave the compound.

His tight grip on you didn't falter the entire ride to the hospital, as hot tears began to fall down his cheeks. Alejandro had been through a lot in his life, but nothing compared to this moment. He could feel the life slipping from you, and bit by bit, his heart began to disintegrate.

~

It was a few days later, when you were finally discharged from the nearby hospital. Alejandro had been distant from you the entire time you were admitted, the guilt of your kidnapping being too much for him to handle.

You weren't going to take his distance any longer, however, and decided to approach him about it a short while after you both got home.

"Alejandro, we need to talk. I'm okay, now. It's okay." You spoke, resting your hand on his shoulder gently. "Please, talk to me."

"It's not okay, I failed you. I should've been there. It's because of -."

"Ale, it's not your fault." You turned him toward you gently. "I don't blame you, not in the slightest."

"But it is, I'd understand if you didn't want to be with me anymore." His gaze fell from you, his eyes lingering on the floor below. "You're not safe with me."

"Don't say that. Alejandro, I'm safest when I am with you. I am not, and will not ever leave you."

Alejandro choked on a sob as he collapsed to his knees in front of you, wrapping his arms around you and resting his head against your abdomen. "I don't deserve you, hermosa, but I will spend the rest of my life making you the happiest person I can. And I promise you, I will protect you no matter the cost."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A/N: I really struggled with writing this one- I hope you all enjoy!

[xythlia]

CHOKE ON MY DEVOTION

› alucard x f!reader

› idk if anyone will even see this but i NEED him idc how stupid it makes me look I gotta fuck this man my life depends on it!!

warnings : mdni. mentions of blood and violence. thigh riding. finger sucking. spit. teasing. a lil angst if u squint in the beginning. degradation ish

"Are you afraid?"

The thunderous rhythm of your heart would betray you but it wasn't pounding through your entire body out of fear, no, it was his intense closeness to you. The way he was all consuming in front of your senses and easily overpowering what little will you had as you stood with your back pressed to the frigid brick wall.

"No." you whisper to the dark, feeling his fingers glide along your jaw with something akin to tenderness.

"Perhaps you should be," he mused, coming into brief focus in your eyesight. Not for the first time you wished human sight wasn't so abysmal compared to a vampires, you bet he was beautiful in the tar black shadow of the manor basement.

It was always like this, this bizarrely passionate insistence that you needed to view him as a beast and your equally spirited push back that no matter how hard he might try that particular point of view wasn't one you'd share. It's not that the bloodshed or violence didn't matter, it was very much a core part of his being but rather that it didn't overshadow everything else that existed in him. No matter how hard he tried to push you away for seeing it.

You recall words you'd heard before regarding him.

A sobbing child that had lost everything.

Wordlessly you shift sideways, away from him and turn to make your way back out of the basement. All you'd needed to do was deliver blood bags, a task that usually fell to you since he enjoyed making other manor employees nearly die of cardiac arrest for the trouble, terrorizing them with various tricks and near psychological warfare. Not that you minded much though, it was an excuse to spend even five minutes alone together.

At first you thought he hated you, detested your presence because each time you'd end up near each other he was far more cold to you than even his baseline treatment of others. Only after being up late one night after a mission that had been a particular bloodbath, tipsy bordering on drunk as you snuck out onto the rooftop that you'd spoken freely to him and he to you. Maybe it was the residual adrenaline, or maybe he felt comfortable with the assurance that in an inebriated state you'd remember less.

He was wrong of course, when it came to him you couldn't help but remember everything in painful detail.

Something vaguely noncorporeal latched onto your wrist before you could make any further move to leave, giving you pause as you glanced down. A tendril of shadow, barely there but enough to almost anchor you in place. Of course he's too proud to tell you to stay, it brings a small smile to your face.

Silently you let it lead you back to him, standing in front of the ornate chair that served as the only piece of furniture in the carnivorous space outside the coffin you were sure was somewhere outside your field of vision with crossed arms once the tendril let go.

"I almost have to respect your insistence," he said, clearly taking in the defiance of your posture as amusing.

"What? Do you want me to call you dog and beast?" You didn't mean for it to come out so testy but his purposefully confusing behavior grated on your nerves. "If I didn't know better I'd say you have a thing for degradation."

That earns you a real laugh, making warmth seep inside your chest. Before you can comprehend it you're in his lap, making you gasp softly in surprise as a sharper, more embarrassed heat floods through your body.

Daydreaming about straddling him and actually doing it are two very, very different things.

"Your stubbornness is unfortunately alluring," he purrs against the shell of your ear, sending phantom fingers down your spine as you stiffen in his light hold. There was an oddly placed note of melancholy in his voice however, despite the intimate position you were in. He didn't give you much time to ruminate on it though.

Alucard was painstakingly mindful of his teeth, much sharper than your own, as his mouth found yours to keep you speechless. It wasn't a difficult task, and your mouth opened eagerly against each swipe of his tongue across your bottom lip. He tasted heady, faintly metallic and it made your hips involuntarily grind down against him.

His fingers dug into your sides, one hand sliding upward to cradle the back of your head as the kiss devolved into a mess of teeth and tongues, bursting with desperation that practically clung to your skin. His other hand only urged the movement of your hips, grinning wickedly against your mouth as your whines reached a louder pitch.

Deftly he maneuvered you into straddling his thigh, clearly enjoying the way your eyes screwed shut feeling him flex the muscles in his leg and push upward, grinding against your clothed cunt.

"You look cute when you're trying not to cum," he teased. It made a high-pitched groan tumble from your lips but before you could utter a word back his ungloved fingers were sliding against your tongue.

Your body didn't even need to do any work, his other hand kept your hips moving at a harsh pace against his leg that made heat pool inside your belly and made your brain feel like it was suddenly made of tv static. If you had any wherewithal maybe you would've felt more ashamed of the position you were in, his fingers jammed in your mouth as your tongue worked spit over them, that same spit sliding from the corners of your mouth to drip against your chest, and the way he had you grinding on his thigh like an obscene toy.

You always thought you were so clever when it came to hiding your feelings for him but knew the moment you laid eyes on him. You didn't stiffen with fear or apprehension, no it was desire that made you turn your eyes away each time. It was such an adorably human trait, to be almost embarrassed for getting caught wanting.

None of that embarrassment was on display now, his hand barely had to guide your movements anymore and the way you sucked on his fingers went beyond pornographic. It made arousal burn in his lungs like a harsh drag from a cigarette, seeing how shamelessly you chased your own end and listening to every salacious moan and whine bounce off the shadows around you two.

Your leg muscles were screaming against the repetitive movement, your breathing coming in short gasps around his fingers and your rhythm fell off into sloppy halfhearted jerks as you felt the pressure inside your gut burst like a dam, the friction against your clit reaching its crescendo.

You grabbed his forearm in a white knuckle grip as you whined and spasmed in his lap, moaning and panting as the orgasm crested over you. Slowly your senses return, and the ache in your legs isn't strong enough to detract from how painfully aware you are of the spit coating your skin and of his smug smile as his fingers stroke along the back of your neck.

"If I had to say, I'd think you enjoy being degraded."

His deep timbre laugh makes you jerk your head to the side, refusing to look in those burgundy eyes.

[niqhtlord01]

Humans are weird: Look the other way

( Please come see me on my new patreon and support me for early access to stories and personal story requests :D https://www.patreon.com/NiqhtLord Every bit helps)

The rise of Gimrak the liberator, or “Gimrak the Bloodied” depending on who you speak to, was an inevitable outcome for his people.  

From humble beginnings as a slave, Gimrak would seek retribution against his oppressors. Not just his slave masters and beaters, but against the society that had allowed such evil to not only flourish, but thrive. Over the course of ten years Gimrak worked in the various deepest and darkest mines of his homeworld all the while creating an elaborate network of supporters and followers. Every mine he was transferred to he would leave behind an ever growing cell of supporters.

By the end of his eleventh year Gimrak had finally amassed enough of a following that he launched an open insurrection across every slave mining complex on the planet. Untold millions of slave laborers battering themselves against their beaters until their guns ran try and their shock batons went cold.

The guards and foremen were the first ones to die. Ripped to shreds by the frenzy of revenge. Some tried to flee to the surface and collapse the entire mine behind them. Many failed in their flight but some did make it and the entrances were sealed under mountains of stone. Yet their measure of safety was short lived, as Gimrak had accounted for this and had secret tunnels, miles long at times, dug between the different mines; and like a flood of rushing water the slaves simply poured through these secret tunnels and breached the surface.

From there the surface of the planet became a bloodbath of untold scale.

No one above ground was innocent. No one who had allowed their fellows to dwell beneath the soil for generations could claim ignorance to the horrors they had played a part in.

With righteous retribution in their eyes entire cities were put to the torch by the slaves and its citizens hung from every light post, building corner, and tree. The body count reached into the millions before the wider galaxy intervened.

Peacekeeping forces were dispatched by the Galactic Council and put a stop to the violence. They did not recognize the slaves as rising against their oppressors, but more as a violent mob enacting their own personal vendettas.

The slaves had been able to rise up against their oppressors, but they were not capable of matching the technological superiority of the peacekeepers. Thousands died at their hands before Gimrak came forward and surrendered himself.

Bound in chains of darkened steel, he was dragged before the galactic council. There he was treated more like a war criminal than a liberator by the council who cut him off at every chance they could. They further humiliated Gimrak by broadcasting his hearing universe wide as they berated the leader into insignificance.  

When it was humanities turn to ask questions of Gimrak he had expected much of the same but was surprised when for the first time he was asked why he had slaughtered so man. The other councilors cut in saying that the reasons why were irrelevant, yet the human insisted to hear why.

Gimrak retorted that they should already know why since they had dispatched peacekeepers. The human admitted that no fact finding mission had been dispatched prior given the dire need of the request for aide.

 Recounting his story, Gimrak saved no detail of his torture in the mines to the day he led his people to a new future. While the other councilors rolled their eyes with disinterest, the human councilor appeared to be following along with every horrific detail. When Gimrak finished he expected to be dismissed and sentenced to a life in prison at best, and a short death penalty at worst. Instead, the human presented a third option.

“After hearing your story, I can’t help but feel that this is an internal matter.”

Gimrak’s eyes went wide as the other councilors turned to shout their objections. The human held up their hand and continued their sentiment.

“Per the regulations of the Galactic Council, we may only intervene in matters of an external nature. Matters in which can damage galactic relations at large or risk the extermination of an entire species.’

“Exactly!” a Binar councilor interjected. “This is extermination plain and simple.”

“On the contrary,” the human countered, “this is a genocide being carried out by a people against their own people; with no external factors at play.”

The look of shock at the human’s words was shared by the entire council and Gimrak. “Are you saying the council should turn a blind eye to such slaughter?” the Binar demanded.

“You did not seem to mind when you looked the other way when the Binar’s forcefully relocated one of your colonies in favor of corporate interests.” The human countered. The Binar flushed red but kept silent as the human turned to another councilor. “Or when the Mintarks decided they needed to carry out purges within their own government to root out corruption with no oversight.”

Now berated into silence the human returned their attention to Gimrak.

“We would of course need certain agreements before we could withdraw our forces.”

“What sort of agreements?” Gimrak remarked as he looked at the human with a flicker of hope.

“First, the bloodshed must be limited within your home system. If the violence continued outside of the borders of your home system it would be regarded as a galactic matter.”

“Second, moving forward a system of trials would need to be held in which proof, either physical or by testimony, of an individual’s involvement before being executed.”

“Finally, any persons not of your species currently in your home system must not be targeted.”

Gimrak had never met a human before yet he could feel something lurking underneath the humans words. While he did not give an open endorsement of the uprisings actions, he had not denounced them either. In fact, through his diplomatic linguistics he had actually given Gimark the means to continue with his people’s liberation free from the interference from outside powers.

“If my people met your terms,” Gimrak spoke slowly, “then you would leave us alone?”

“If all of these terms were met, then this matter would indeed be an internal matter and outside the purview of this council’s jurisdiction. Do we have an understanding?”

It was almost as if the human had wanted him to continue with his retribution, Gimrak thought to himself.

Bowing slightly to the human, Gimrak acknowledge the terms.

Within the hour he was escorted back to the shuttle by the human councilor to return to his followers and inform them of the deliberations. Before he entered the shuttle he turned to the human and asked the only question left to him.

“Why?”

The human crossed their arms behind their back and looked off into the horizon. A wall of soft orange light cascaded over the horizon as the sun slowly set and the encroaching night crept closer.

“When evil presents itself so proudly and unashamed, its decimation must be swift and remorseless lest it spread its vile rot to us all.”

Gimrak took stock of the human’s words. “And how do you know that I am not this evil you wish to destroy?”

Turning back the human shrugged sheepishly. “Then we at least know where to find you, and what to put to the torch.”

With the meaning understood, Gimrak nodded to the human and turned to enter the shuttle; the doors closing slowly behind him as it rose once more into the sky.

In the coming months the bloodshed did not cease, but the savagery and directionless anger had been brought under control. The peace keeping forces withdrew to outside the home system’s borders while the vengeance of the former slaves played out. Some of the higher nobles were able to flee outside of the system, but many more never made it to off world; their bodies rotting in the darkened mines they once ruled over.