#because if he gets caught flying in a storm hes the easiest target. and that aversion became a phobia of storms even when hes grounded

[size-two-shrimp]

If V2 had survived Greed, do you think they'd develop a fear of heights??

[bcdwhcre]

hello love !! i absolutely adore your writing, i find you do the characters so much justice <3 i was wondering if you would be able to do a piece where the reader, a mewly appointed captain of the regiment, has a talent for drawing that no one knew about. she suddenly finds time for this hobby and commences drawing portraits of her fellow comrades, mainly of levi, and picks up the habit of leaving all the sketches under the door of erwins chambers once a month, thinking it would be a great anonymous gift or at least, some fun. levi does not see it as fun and instead is convinced this is a threat to him directly and that someone is watching them, making it known that they can attack at any time. everyone hunts for the culprit in secret, the reader doesn’t know bcs she’s in the capital delivering something. levi finds out it was the reader and they fight physically about it, accusing her of treason etc... until reader confesess it was her and that she had feelings for him, he says he likes her back but she should’ve brought a different approach , fluff in the end <3 much love <33

“Works of Art,” Levi x Reader

Why can I see Levi being dramatic like this over some drawings🤧💀

Summary: You’re secretly an artist that draws your fellow comrades (mostly Levi) and secretly leave it under their door but Levi takes it as a threat.

Warnings: none

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You had sat in your room, pencil in hand and a piece of paper laid out in front of you. You didn’t know what to draw at first but your mind settled on your previous Captain.

You’ll admit that most of your drawings has been Levi and you couldn’t help but feel the urge to draw him, he had the most perfect facial structure- at least to you and it was much better to draw out on paper.

Of course you’ve drawn your other comrades from time to time. You’ve even slide the drawings underneath their doors at odd hours so nobody knew it was you.

It’s not like you didn’t want them to know but a scout spending their days slaughtering Titans just to come home and draw wasn’t exactly an ideal topic you wanted to get into.

As time went on, the more you paint and draw out Levi on the canvas in front of you, your stomach would flutter, being able to admire his face without staring him down from across the room.

You admired Levi more than anything, he really inspired you in ways he doesn’t even know about. The first day you saw him riding down the town with his horse, coming back from a expedition and you were standing off to the side just a teenager.

That day, that look on his face, the way he carried his team and was the most popular for his skills- you wanted to be like him and after convincing your family (more like telling them you’re not taking no for an answer) they finally let you go off to the training corps.

Now years later, you’re here. You were under Levi’s team for well over two years before you got pushed up to be a Captain but you missed the moments being under Levi’s team- you enjoyed every moment. You missed the days he’ll willingly train you and push you towards success and that was the main reason why you were so great at being a scout, why you were pushed up as a Captain.

You looked up to him, you watched his work and you trained yourself into oblivion to be as good as he is.

Now you’re sitting here on your day off painting his face. You were embarrassed thinking too hard about it, if he were to walk in right now- it’ll be over for you. You wouldn’t be able to look at his face again.

Months went by quickly, the more drawings you had left under your comrades door- the more Levi started to see it as a threat as he looked at the piece of paper with his face on it.

He even called a meeting with Erwin to discuss about the drawings, he felt as if he was being targetted- that the scouts were being targetted and he didn’t take this lightly.

He was more determined to find out who it is and even told a few close comrades to search in secret. You didn’t know this- only because you were in the town doing some work.

Levi noticed you didn’t come to the meeting and walked inside your office, his eyes looking around and he didn’t want to be nosey but out of the corner of his eye- towards the back of the office tucked in the corner was some paint.

This interested him enough to walk over, flipping open the sketch book and seeing the pages, the drawings and even found a few of his face. This immediately boiled his blood, you were a traitor- you were targeting him- that’s all he could think of.

He stormed out of there, grabbing his things and walked outside to try and find you. It was absolutely the worst timing for you- you stepped inside the land where the base was at while fixing the uncomfortable gear you wore around your waist until unexpectedly Levi had charged at you with his sword.

You were thinking this is his sick way of testing out your ability and training- he usually did back when you worked under him.

You slipped your blade out with ease and blocked his attack that near struck your face.

“Levi?!” Your eyes were wide at how close the blade was, he could’ve easily killed you and he didn’t seem phased.

Instead he used his leg to trip you on your back, wincing at the impact of the ground and he held his blade towards your throat with his foot rested on top of your chest to prevent you from moving.

“What the hell are you doing? Is this some sick training exercise?”

“Why have you been sending threats to my office, brat?” He stared at you with a look of disgust on his face and you froze, what threats?

“What are you talking about?”

“The drawings. Are you a traitor? Are you threatening to kill me?” He pressed the blade down more, the tip of it just barely touching your skin but from how sharp it was- it was made a cut.

“They’re just drawings, Levi!” You gave him a crazy look, he was acting completely insane, who acts like this over drawings of them? Shouldn’t he feel special?

“Why is your sketch book mostly my face then, hm? Explain that before I slice your throat here.”

You opened your mouth to say something but quickly shut it. You didn’t want to openly admit your feelings towards him and you sure felt violated for him snooping around in your office. But you also felt completely embarrassed- he’s seen your sketch book.

A lump formed in your throat, your eyes looking away from his as your cheeks started to grow hot and he got impatient, grabbing the collar of your shirt and yanked you up on your feet.

Now you were face to face with him, the dirty look he was giving you could instantly kill you if it was possible and you felt intimidated and terrified.

“Use your words, brat! I’m running out of patience.”

“Okay! Okay.” You put your hands up in defeat, your eyes connecting with his and your hands started to get sweaty.

“I- uh... how do I put this? Most of my drawings are... of you. Only because I admire you, you’ve inspired me to join, to train harder than most and I also.. like you.” You rushed the last part out, your cheeks red as a tomato and he stared at you in disbelief at first.

“So, you draw me because you like me?”

“Yeah, exactly.” You stuttered, biting down onto your bottom lip and he let go of you collar, making you stumble back.

“Why be so secretive about it then?” He asked, putting his blade away and crossed his arms over his chest.

“You’re not the easiest person to open up to, Levi.” You admitted, scratching the back of your neck and he gave you a unamused look.

“Look, Y/N.” He started off, bringing his fingers up to pinch the bridge of his nose.

“Honestly, you could’ve just done it in a different way instead of acting like a spy. Maybe if you would’ve been straight forward, I would tell you I like you just as much.” He looked up at you again, making your heart stop for a quick second.

Did he just admit feelings for you after holding a blade to your throat? You were stunned, you didn’t even know what to say about his confession but it made butterflies fly around in your stomach and your cheeks were turning a shade of red again.

He noticed how flustered you were, chuckling to himself and reached over to place his hand on your cheek, rubbing his thumb over the warm skin and your eyes stared into his.

“Oh- sorry, I guess I should’ve done a different approach.” You said quietly, your hands starting to get shaky as his eyes burned right through you.

“Yeah, you should’ve.” He rolled his eyes, gesturing him to follow you inside and you were quick to follow behind him as he went straight for your office.

Once both of you were inside, he was quick to grab your sketch book and open it back up again. He turned more pages and looked at the drawings he didn’t bother to examine earlier.

You felt shy being in here and watching him go through your sketch book at the many drawings of his face- you even had a drawing of his hands and that made him laugh under his breath at the sight of it.

“You’re talented, I give you that.” He closed the book, setting it down and walked to where you were as you leaned back against your desk.

“Oh, thank you.” You gave him a shy smile, your heart pounding in your chest the closer he got to you.

“Now what if I actually killed you because you were being so sneaky?” He asked quietly, the sarcasm in his tone made you tilt your head as you thought about it.

“Guess I would’ve died an idiot.”

He rolled his eyes again, standing in front of you and even leaned forward to trap you between your desk and his body as he gripped onto the edges of the desk, his eyes staying on yours.

He tilted his head, almost admiring your face and you stayed quiet as the tension grew between the both of you.

“How bout you draw me right here, right now.” He offered, making you raise your eyebrows at his suggestion.

“Really?” He nodded his head, a smile coming across your face as he stepped back and grabbed one of the chairs.

You were quick to grab your sketch book and sit down in front of him, the excitement running through your veins as you grabbed a pencil and opened up to a empty page.

Your eyes moved up to meet his, watching the smile on his face only grow and it made your heart flutter considering it was rare to see him smile and it was rare for him to even agree to do something like this.

But he sat in front you, intrigued and wanting to watch your work up close and how it’s done. He was also very intrigued in you and the hobby you loved so much.

During the time of you drawing him, you had finished up his face before he had leaned over and grabbed a hold of your chin in his hand.

The sudden contact caught you off guard, your eyes staring into his before he had planted his lips on yours in a short but soft kiss.

When he pulled away, he had licked his lips and leaned back against the seat, urging you to continue on as your shaky hand tried to finish off the work of art named Levi.

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Woooooooo hello

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• AOT Masterlist •

[marcipancake]

I hate you! ....but not that much

Summary: Miya Atsumu realises how much he loves his boyfriend when it's too late

Warnings: blood, fight, hospitals, open ending

  “I hate you, Miya!” Sakusa panted from the fight, and even the other could feel the tiredness radiating from his form. His eyes were diluted but kept their focus. His voice was cracking all over his shouted sentences, slowly getting hoarse. 

  "I didn't force you to be in a relationship with me, for fuck's sake! If you hate it that much, why don't you just turn your back on me like you do with all your problems and walk away?" Atsumu asked, seeming much more collected than his boyfriend. He wasn’t short on his breath, nor did he care for what left his mouth. 

   "Maybe that's what I should have done from the start. I should have rejected your pathetic ass confession you could barely even say and treat you like the person you are" the spiker grabbed a vase from the coffee table—one that was a gift from his mom—and threw it at Atsumu, who didn’t even try to dodge it. He just let it break on his chest and fall to the ground, not taking his rage-filled eyes off of Sakusa. 

   "What was that? The Almighty Sakusa Kiyoomi feeling sorry for someone? Feeling pity? Or even feeling anything??" Atsumu in return sent a mug flying. It barely missed the targeted head, as Sakusa caught it. And also broke it with a shaky fist. 

   "Me, the Almighty? I'm not the one going around saying how fucking perfect I am and how everyone who is slightly feeling tired or not always giving their 200% can lick dirt and fuck off!" a pair of mole spotted hands took off, and for a moment Atsumu thought he was going to get hit. But instead, Sakusa only grabbed his collar, shaking him by it with every word he spat out. 

   "Because you never go around and you never say anything unless it's to make fun of me or hurt me!" the blonde grabbed onto his hands. They felt ice cold against his hot, burning hands. He took a step forward, forcing the other to retreat, barely not stumbling on his own legs. 

   "Why, how else am I supposed to act? Just stand there and silently endure the way you talk to me?" Sakusa suddenly threw his hands in the air, catching his lover off guard, thus being able to push him to the ground. 

   "Endure? Endure what exactly?” the setter jumped up at this as if nothing had happened. Sakusa raised his hands, maybe in defence, but the other hit them both away, fuming. “Me accumulating to you and changing myself in a way you would maybe like me? Is it that hard the big Sakusa Kiyoomi can't handle?" 

   "So this is all it was about?” a cruel grin appeared on Sakusa’s face, making him look like a distorted version of himself. “Shaping yourself so you would be loved by someone? And what made you pick me? I seemed the easiest target? Or you missing your brother and wanting someone else to replace him in your heart?"

   "At least I have a heart!!"

   Tick. 

   And tock. 

   Breathing in.

   And breathing out. 

   Sakusa let the other go slowly and Atsumu did so, too. He was still filled with rage, but the pair of dark eyes didn't match the fire burning. He stepped away and started his way to the door, only grabbing his keys on the way. 

   "Don't you dare, Kiyoomi! Don't you dare walk out on me like that!" another plate went flying across the room, only to meet its end on the broad back of the spiker, already opening the door. Not even looking back, he walked out. 

   The heavy panting quickly turned into panic in Atsumu's lungs and ran after him after just a second of hesitation. 

   "Don't you come after me. Or that will be the last thing you do" the sharp voice of Sakusa cut both Atsumu's actions and heart in half, stopping him by the doorway as he continued his way to the car in the pouring rain. 

   "You know what? Then don't even come back!" Atsumu shouted back at him, but he didn't seem phased by what he said. He just watched as his boyfriend— was he even still in a relationship with him? ���drove away, still panting from all the emotions.  

   He slowly closed the door after himself and collapsed to the floor. He angrily ran his fingers through his already messy hair. 

   "Shit."

   But he couldn't take back what he said. Even if once he did mean them. And now he had to wait it out until Sakusa calmed himself down and—hopefully—came back. 

   As he looked around in the house, it was a mess. And not just the usual mess with clothes all over. No, it was as if a tornado went loose inside, destroying everything in its path. But, Atsumu realised, that's exactly what happened. They started as a small and harmless rain with their usual bantering about some leftover crumbs on the counter. His own quickly angered and kind of a hothead nature that collided with the coldness of Sakusa quickly grew into a heavy storm that went havoc spiralling more and more out of control with every word said—or later shouted. Not even the room could escape something like this. Broken mugs, plates and glasses everywhere, the dining table pushed aside and the dinner from it now on the floor, their pictures poking out from under the broken frames, as if reminding the setter of the happy and carefree past they just shattered. 

   Atsumu tried to stand up to clean up at least a bit, but he slipped on something on the floor. It was a blood wetted piece of cloth. As the setter raised it to take a look at it, he recognised it as being Sakusa's sock. He stepped into a broken plate and took the sock off when the wetness of the blood annoyed him. 

   The voice of him saying 'I hate you, Miya' haunted him even when he managed to get up from the floor. The utmost confidence and hatred that radiated from his words through the whole fight really made Atsumu wonder if he meant any words he said. He only called him Miya on two occasions. When playfully and harmlessly teasing each other or when he was mad. 

   He brought the sock to the bathroom, along with the torn apart pillows and blankets, putting them in the laundry basket. It was almost full. He should also put some clothes to wash… but he had more urgent things to take care of now. At least only the living room and the kitchen was destroyed. 

   Somewhere along the lines, his vision got blurred so much that he couldn't even point out which direction he was facing. As he raised his hands to touch his eyes, fat teardrops met their ends on his shirt, pants and the floor as they raced down on his cheeks. And at this, his vision also cleared. Just enough to be able to make out the broken mug he threw at Sakusa. It had smaller and bigger pieces of it around him. The first-ever really romantic gift he got from the other. The act itself still warmed his heart as he reached down for the biggest part remaining together. On that part was a picture of their hands entangled. The perfectly tended fingers of Atsumu with the long nails he kept short—possibly the only part of him that Sakusa wasn't disgusted by from the get-go—, together with the fragile-looking but firm fingers and bitten down nails of the spiker, dotted by moles he couldn't stop kissing. 

   It all felt so far away by now. Their lovely-dovey nature in their own unique way that started to drive everyone else up the wall seemed like a distant memory. Or rather, a fairy tale. 

   After long hours, Atsumu’s tears have finally come to completely dry out, leaving him gasping for air through frequent hiccups and with hurting eyes and lungs. Upon rising from the ground, his eyes scanned through the apartment in search of his partner, only giving a negative answer. Sakusa's been out for hours by now, and though normally Atsumu wasn't worried when the other was by the wheel, his calming down drive hasn't been this long. And he couldn't even ignore the growing pain of anxiety forming into a bigger and bigger ball of cramps in his upper belly, either. 

   He didn't have time to think about it for long, as soon their landline phone rang, and Atsumu jumped on it as foxes jump headfirst into the snow at the noise of a prey; precisely and deadly. 

   "Omi-kun! Where are yo-"

   But his excited and relieved greeting was cut short, and the setter felt like he received a punch in his guts from a professional boxer. The caller was from a hospital, and Sakusa just got in the emergency room. She called only to inform, but Atsumu didn't need more. He thanked her as fast as he could, and not even bothering to close the door or to dress up, he ran out into the storm, all the way to the hospital. His lungs were burning, his legs on fire, the rapid rain cutting his open skin like knives, but he couldn't care less. 

   Upon arriving, soaking wet and panting as if he’s run a marathon, a nurse guided him to the room, telling him to wait until the doctors came out. Not really having a choice, he sat down. And tried his best not to think. Especially not remembering the pained and almost broken look of Sakusa had in the last moments before he drove off. Or his own rage-filled shape in the reflection of the darkest green eyes that were almost black. How the spiker's hands shook and then came to a halt as if he had a short circuit. In just a matter of seconds, he went from a fiery volcano that demolished everything in its past to the ice caps that though cold, they're also the ones being demolished. All because of a simple sentence he said. It was all his fault. If he didn't overstep the line, Sakusa wouldn't have gone out to drive in rage and he wouldn't be fighting for his life now and-

   The doctors came out. Atsumu stood up alarmed. After a few exchanged words, they informed him of the situation and finally let him inside. He felt weak and unsure to his core, but he went inside. 

   Sakusa looked like a broken machine, laid upon a table to be repaired. Then cold, lifeless colour the lights painted on him only enhanced the ghost-like appearance as it mixed with the now pale complexion of the spiker. As Atsumu looked at him, his skin wasn't that much different in colour from the gauze they wrapped his injuries in. The huge sack that was hanging on his right, with the dim pee coloured liquid that slowly dropped into the tube that connected into his gauzed-over hand to keep the needle in place and the few more infusions that were here and there forced into him didn't make the setter feel relieved even if he should have been. According to the machine, his boyfriend was pretty much alive. And if he wouldn't have seen the state the other was in, it would have been enough for a celebration. But now, the barely visible breath and the other, more silent machine only reinforced in Atsumu what the doctors have already told him. 

   A coma. He entered a coma, and Atsumu was the sheer cause of it. No one told him that, of course, but no one needed to. He knew it deep down even if he didn't want to admit it. And now, not even his twin was there to help him snap out of this or to help him deal with it. Not even the ever-energetic team, not his own boyfriend. He was completely alone to carry the guilt and burden. 

   Atsumu couldn't bear it anymore. He basically collapsed onto the white chair beside the bed. The things he threw at the other, both physical and verbal things, came back to haunt him now. He thought his tears have all dried out, and yet, here he was, burying his face into his hands again. 

   "Fuck!" the setter sobbed through his hands before attempting to wipe his tears away. "Shit, I'm sorry, Omi" he tried again, still as weakly as before, and reached out for his hand. He couldn't really hold onto it because of the pulse oximeter but feeling his hand was enough. Even if said hands were cold, almost as if he was holding a statue. 

    Ah, maybe a statue would be more exact than a machine, Atsumu thought. The lifeless and cold grey that Sakusa's skin now had really did remind the setter of classical greek statues, all of which looked like they could start to move any second. But all he wanted now is for this statue to start moving. To hit him, to shout at him, to break up with him, to start crying, or even just to breathe more regularly. He would have even sold his soul for that if it were possible. 

   “Please, Omi” Atsumu begged again as he carefully brushed on the fragile fingers of his boyfriend, the way he always loved. “I’m sorry, I- I didn’t mean all of what I said. You can just be really annoying. Don’t get me wrong, I am, too! It just-” he took a deep breath to calm his cracking up sobs before he would continue. “It’s been a rough week for the both of us.”

   “Who am I kidding?!” the setter’s other hand gripped onto his own thigh, shaking in frustration. “I shouldn’t have been such an idiot! I should’ve given you your space and- I threw so many bad things, horrible things at you. Can you even forgive me?” he tried to put on a weak smile as his blurred vision wandered onto Sakusa’s face. “I can’t lose you. Please, I swear I’ll do better. I will do it. Just for you. Just please-” at this point, Atsumu gave up in trying to hold his tears back as he choked on his own words. He looked away from the ghost-like face of his love to wipe those annoying tears away before he rose his head back up. 

   “Just please, give me a sign” he begged with a stifled voice. 

   At that moment, the monitor changed.

[aestheticdenki]

Butterflies- Tamaki Amajiki

You had a quirk where you could grow butterflies. It’s Tamaki’s favorite thing when you make them when your frightened.

Warnings- Tooth rotting fluff

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Tamaki Amajiki caught your attention from the moment you stepped foot into the classroom. His shy nature and sharp pointed ears were the cutest in your opinion. When you were introducing yourself, you accidentally made eye contact with him causing him to blush furiously and look away. The days following, you found yourself wanting to get to know him more than what the school tells you. You knew he was the top three and would soon be replaced by a younger promising student the moment he became a hero, be it underground or pro. Nejire was the first of the three to talk to you with Mirio following suit. They took a liking to you considering, you were like their other friend, reclusive. You were also the youngest of that class surprisingly but of course, switching from the other best school helps. Nobody even cared that you were an entire year younger.

“So were you recommended to Shiketsu Highschool? Is that why you are so young. Are you a daughter of a famous hero or two?” Well, everyone except Nejire. You knew it was her personal mission to find out everything about you and you didn’t mind. It felt nice to have someone want to know you. Setting down your pencil, you looked up at her expecting eyes. You stifled a scream when you saw Mirio popping up putting his clothes back (that Tamaki had to go get) on from using his quirk right next to you. “I was recommended to Shiketsu High when I was only ten due to my growing powers but they took me at twelve. I am not a daughter of a famous hero unfortunately. My mom and dad are both reclusive and scared of people.” While Nejire was talking, you resumed the paper you were filling out with a doodle of the Big Three in hero form. They couldn’t see it though, as you had it pulled closer to you at a weird angle.

“What are your powers?” You thought of how to explain it. Maybe you should just show them. A butterfly formed out of your wrist and flew around the classroom before landing on Tamaki’s nose and he smiled. Apparently, it was rare for him to smile so Nejire took a photo shoot. “So cute!” That startled the boy and the butterfly landed on your hand and disappeared. “So you have a butterfly quirk?” “Yes and no, I can deal with anything plant and bug related i.e growing, controlling, creating.” She smiled in delight. “I-I think I-it’s cool. I-I l-like the butterflies.” You couldn’t help but smile a little. Just the fact that he liked your butterflies made you feel a little better about your quirk. You were by far not the most confident person in your abilities. “What are you drawing? Can you show us?” Nejire pressed, not leaving any time for you to fawn over the boy with red cheeks. Slowly, you put the pad on the table and showed them the drawing of them. “I-I’m not that g-good so please d-don’t criticize me.” They offered you only good compliments and you sighed.

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Being a quiet person can be a curse and a blessing unless you were one of the big three. No one messes with you then. Since you weren’t part of the big three, you were getting picked on by the other classmates. You’ve become close with the ones everyone is pining for and that made you the easiest target. That is how you found yourself thrown on the ground with your sketches flying everywhere. “Oh look at these. These are all of the Big Three. Oh what is this?” The girl’s condescending voice made you feel small. She picked up the small stack of papers that hadn’t fallen out of your sketchbook. They were all of one person. “YOU HAVE A CRUSH ON TAMAKI?” She laughed in your face and you stuttered to come up with a response but nothing came out.

“B-B-But. But nothing. Stay away from them or else.” Tears in your eyes, you released vines out of your skin to grab the drawings. The girl pulled her hand back from the vine and cried out in pain when it wrapped around her wrist forcing her to drop the drawings. “You bi-” Her words were cut off by Mirio popping up in front of her, his smile never wavering despite being naked. It wasn’t long before she took off and he turned to you. You screamed and fell back into strong arms. Nejire handed Mirio his clothes while you were still being held by whoever had caught you. “A-Are you o-okay?” You shook your head. How could you be okay? Humiliation and embarrassment were all you felt, the tears in your eyes were long gone. Amajiki hugged you tighter and the other two joined in. You were their friend and they were going to protect you no matter how much it costs them.

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Your bully has been docile the past few weeks and you have been feeling better. On the other hand, your friends have just come back from their talk about hero work studies to class 1-A. Nejire and Mirio were as happy as ever but you noticed Tamaki looking glum. “What’s wrong with Tama?” Mirio explained how Amajiki couldn’t envision everyone as potatoes therefore got embarrassed and couldn’t talk the entire time. You watched silently and sympathetically as the nervous boy took a seat next to you. Feeling sad that they couldn’t cheer him up, Nejire and Mirio sat and watched him silently. No. You couldn’t watch your crush beat himself up over something he couldn’t control so you were going to do something about it. Taking his hand, you turned it over so that the back was in your palm and you hovered your other hand over it.

A butterfly formed in his hand. It had an indigo hue to it’s wings, almost the same color as his hair. You were confident in your decision until he looked up at you and just like that, you lost all your confidence. “Y-You said you l-liked butterflies s-so I wanted to c-cheer you up. I-I’m sorry, I-I shouldn’t have d-done that.” “T-Thank y-you.” He smiled and you did too. Cheering yourself up in your head, you watched as he played with the butterfly for a few minutes. Mirio nudged you, grinning. He knew your secret crush and he loved to tease you about it and push you to confess. “Mirio, no.” “______, yes.” God, you just wanted to smack him into next week. Luckily, he dropped it and moved onto something else Nejire was talking about and you went on watching Tamaki and the butterfly.

The bell rang signifying lunch. Everyone got up and raced towards the cafeteria leaving you behind in the dust. This time, you had to go alone because Principal Nezu and Aizawa wanted to talk to the Big Three. “Well. Well. Well. Look who doesn’t have her bodyguards.” Not again. “I saw that little stunt you pulled for Amajiki and it’s honestly pathetic. He doesn’t like you. Get over yourself.” She used her storm quirk to make it rain on you, drenching you from head to toe and anything you had with you which was the torn sketchbook she ripped the last time. All the pictures you drew would cease to exist anymore. You rushed to cover it to protect the pictures “Are you still drawing him!?” She grabbed the book and threw it on the floor causing it to flip open to a random page clear for everyone to see.

“Just give up and go away.” Your eyes stung with tears and you just let her hurl her insults at you. Why argue? They were all true. All of a sudden, the rain stopped and the girl didn’t move. She couldn’t. Aizawa had trapped her and canceled her quirk. At this point, your tears mixed with the water dripping from your hair. “Are you okay?” Mirio asked with seriousness in his tone. You looked up at him and saw Tamaki holding your sketchbook looking at the pictures. He wasn’t supposed to see them and your friends sure as hell weren’t supposed to see you getting bullied. “GO AWAY!” “We aren’t going to leave you alone right now.” You released vines as a shield and ran off to wherever your feet took you. “Amajiki…” Nejire’s voice was soft, far from her happy self. “I-I have to go.” They watched as the boy ran in the same direction you were knowing this was important.

He found you in an empty classroom crying, the plants around you growing at an alarming rate. Maybe it should be the Big Four, you’d make an excellent partner in battle. “________?” You looked up at him. Why is he here? “A-Are you here t-to make fun of m-my crush o-on you?” “N-No. I-I wouldn’t do t-that. I-I’m happy you h-have a crush o-on m-me.” Amajiki placed your sketchbook in your hands. “Y-You left this. I-I like your d-drawings of me.” “T-Thank you.” The two of you sat in silence. Thankfully, the plants stopped growing and returned to normal. “Y-You already know this b-but, I l-like you.” His eyes met yours and he smiled. “I-I like you t-too.” Tamaki quickly kissed your cheek. You yelped and released a butterfly. Hurriedly, you explained that because he kissed you, you got startled and created a butterfly. “W-Wait! E-Everytime I kiss you, y-you release b-butterflies?” You nodded. “I-I might have t-to kiss you m-more.”

[hollenka99]

Khenir and Minarv

Summary: When the gods choose to target you, life will never be the same.

Warnings: implied gore, blood, mentions of death

I'm sure you've heard the tale of Khenir and Minarv. I find it is a popular story that you enjoy passing on to the generations succeeding yours. You humans always did take a liking to tragedies with silver linings. If it is one of love and godly intervention, you consume it all the more enthusiastically. Let us clarify something first. There has always been one detail you seem to insist on getting wrong. Birds have existed as long as there have been nuts, berries and the like to sustain them. Khenir never created birds and other winged creatures. In fact, he often admired the birds that visited outside his home. Took a fancy to capturing their likeness of paper too. The only avian species which owe their existence to him are loons and horned owls. Being the god of birds does not necessarily imply you are the creator of all birds. With that irk of mine expressed, I believe I should begin. These were the days before the human population was to reach a million. We gods were acknowledged with a fierce intensity. You feared us. More than that, you feared what we could do to you or your loved ones when displeased. Don't worry. I should assure you it took effort to anger me back then. To this day, I continue to see no use in introducing you to my brother sooner than is required. It was also the time of great animosity between Keajic and Scyta. The skies and sea respectively. You got a lot more storms out at sea back then. Once, she sent a great tidal wave to devastate a town Keajic had deep admiration for. To spite her back, he had directed a gale to steer a fleet lead by one of her sons into rocks. That was the least of it. Suffice to say, anything could set them off. And the results would be disastrous for all those involved. Which is where Khenir and Minarv come in. As you may know, whenever one of you is born, it is my job to determine how long it is before you meet Tain. I have no real say in when you will die, you understand. All I do is find the likeliest timeline of your life and note it in my records. You don't call me the Chronicler for nothing, after all. But you see, if there is one thing I've always admired about humanity, it's the flexibility of your lives. All it takes is one occasion to cause your life's course to completely diverge. Khenir was going to be a farmer like his ancestors before him and potential descendants after him. He'd likely find a woman to marry and raise children with. A rather insignificant and mundane life spanning 72 years. As for Minarv, he'd be raised to be a fisherman by his father and the rest of the community. There was no conventional settling down in his most probable future. Waves stretching past the horizon would be a common backdrop of his adult life until he had the misfortune of being the victim of a poorly treated wound at the age of 38. Oh, stop pitying him. What is it with you humans and your belief the only type of life that will bring happiness and satisfaction is one ending in old age? He would have been perfectly happy doing what he loved for a living. Honestly, you come across as obsessed with watching loved ones slowly decay before you while they still breathe. You call that desirable? Either way, those were the most likely outcomes of their life. With how easily paths can branch off, nothing is guaranteed. The easiest way for your life's course to be altered is divine intervention. Should I detect a child has the chance to be someone whose life future generations will regale the story of, I pay them a visit. To tell you the truth, your reactions to my presence have always intrigued me. Some parents are ecstatic to know their child may have notoriety one day. It isn't uncommon for parents to weep or becoming protective as the gravity of their child's potential future dawns on them. Were I mortal, I would likely be amongst the horrified too. You, of course, ruined it slightly by transforming it into a tradition. You pick any elderly male neighbour and have him be part of the child's 1st birthday celebrations. No man can ever truly replicate my visitations. Your efforts are but a cheap imitation. What is all this about having them blessed over a sundial or clock? Believe me, if I wanted to bestow anything upon your child, I would do so in person. Nevertheless, I appeared in the countryside and spoke to Khenir's mother under the alias of a travelling merchant. Still an infant, Khenir was nonplussed by my being there. I doubt his mother realised the truth of my identity when I gently touched her son's head. The young Minarv I met, on the other hand, was a charming little boy when I made my way to the coast. With great excitement, he gestured to his father's ship which had been approaching the docks. Said father was none too pleased to have me be the disguised god blessing his firstborn. Apparently, he had hoped it would be Scyta, if any of us at all. Oh, if only he'd known. The years passed and the boys grew to be young men. They learned the respective trades of their families while also developing hobbies involving the flute and sketching. Their individual paths carried on leading them towards a life unaware of the other. The thing with Scyta is that she enjoys acquainting herself with mortal men. Fishermen and sailors in particular. If I had to name her favourite type of mortal, it was one who frequented her domain and respected her authority over it. You can probably see where this is going. Yes, she is the one who instigated this whole mess. Although, I doubt she was expecting the result it got. Even I can't accurately anticipate the whims of my kin all the time. Not for lack of effort, I assure you. Scyta subtly pursuing Minarv? That I could have foreseen without trying. Predicting her spouse's reaction took no effort either. Schea had always been jealous of their wife. It's understandable when your significant other has a habit of using the very thing you control to entice mortals. What better to prevent a relationship than ensure the target of the affections was unavailable. The main flaw in Schea's plan was that they naturally appear as the most attractive person in the eyes of whomever sees them. Therefore, the two men would be enamoured by the stranger attempting to unite them. The result is always achieved regardless. All Schea needs to do is ensure the pair meet eyes while they maintain physical contact with both members of the couple. A hand on each back, one look and that was that. By the docks, with a crisp ocean breeze blowing, Khenir and Minarv met. As the months progressed, they spent as much of Minarv's time on land together as they were able. The fisherman would play music while the farmer would sketch him. They were in love and deeply so. No amount of conversation with the mysterious woman supposedly living near the shore could reverse that. Naturally, Scyta refused to admit defeat and move on to her next target. More so than that, events were beginning to unfold. Minarv frequently prayed to her for the sake of safe trips. Being intrigued by birds and their ability to fly is what attracted Keajic's attention towards Khenir. Each had a mortal on their 'side'. And these mortals were lovers? No, that wouldn't do. Whether the two gods had been looking to trigger a fight between themselves or not, they'd still found a suitable reason to. Things were about to get problematic. Minarv became caught in the crossfire when his ship sunk, causing him to be the only survivor. The crops in Khenir's region failed after Sugan was to persuaded to become momentarily involved. Their livelihoods were being threatened purely because Minarv refused to concede. I recall Schea was pleased with themself, thrilled to see a match they'd created cause such conflict. Casquej had inevitably grown fond of them, given his specialty is the creative arts. I was witnessing paths be rapidly redirected as the two men's lives were thrown into turmoil. Even Tain became agitated by this mess. More humans had died than was necessary and the increasing work on his part to stay up to date with it all was enough to get him to join our cause. I know, I know, I never imagined involving myself in ridiculous spats either. Regardless, enough was enough. My brother and I were mostly ambivalent about their fate. Casquej, however, wished for there to be a happy ending to the whole ordeal. Whatever worked. We promised to co-operate in an effort to stop the madness before all our kin were dragged into it. The plan, as you may recall, was to offer them a secret paradise. A world detached from time as they had known it. Somewhere they could be safe from their torment. Khenir could admire the wildlife to his heart's content while there were enough bodies of water to satisfy Minarv. More importantly, there was no threat of death or misery. I appeared to them as a child. Claiming to be one of my own half-mortal offspring, I convinced the lovers to follow me to a mountain pass. Once we arrived, I showed them how to activate the entrance. A set of instructions later and I left them to it. I made it explicitly clear, they were not to spend longer than a month over there in one go. Those instructions were simple enough. If I were mortal, I would have disappeared for a month, returned to the regular world for two or three months then come back to the haven I knew had been made for me. Humans will be humans, I suppose. These types of stories usually have at least one moment that could have been easily avoided if the protagonist had thought things through in the moment. A month there was approximately a week outside of it. I made it so in an attempt to aid them. They followed my precautions in the beginning. A month became 6 weeks sometimes or they'd return slightly sooner than they should have. Gradually, they strayed further from my warnings. With all this deviation, it was inevitable really. Scyta and Keajic discovered why their pawns were absent. I admit it did not help that they revelled in their paradise for three months straight by regular standards. To make it worse, they had the intelligent idea to go their separate ways by the shore. Which was where the gods were waiting for them. We gods have a habit of being ridiculously petty. I have no need to tell you that which you are already aware. If a mortal stands in the way of what we hope to achieve, and we are bitter enough, we will discard of a life. What is one or two amongst thousands, millions or even billions? Both Keajic and Scyta were more than bitter enough. Even Tain showed up to witness it, albeit from a notable distance. There are very few mortals who have been personally reaped by him. Being in the company of four gods must be overwhelming enough for mortals. Even more so when Death and Time act as onlookers to your demise. Perhaps that is why they gripped each other's hands as if it would prevent their permanent separation. Being favoured by me will only buy you seconds on your deathbed. I'll make those seconds seem longer than they are, providing a chance to say your goodbyes if desired, but they are still only seconds. That amount of time sounds short to you? Imagine how trivial that duration is to me, a being who has lived for millennia and knows infinity. Keajic denied Minarv the very air he took for granted. In retaliation, Scyta commanded the ocean to make its home in Khenir's lungs. As they both asphyxiated, their fingers defiantly remained intertwined. Why it took me until this point to put my foot down, I am not sure. Possibly because I believed it was not my place to directly intervene. What was more important was that I was inserting myself in the midst of the conflict. Time stopped. I berated Keajic and Scyta for using the men for their games. Minarv had respected Scyta. The same could be said about Khenir and Keajic. Now however? It would be a miracle if either of them respected us at all. They were not made to be tormented relentlessly. Leave your opponent's favoured be and continue your squabbling somewhere more mortals wouldn't be endangered nor risk having the courses of their lives skewed. Could we agree to end this now? The rulers of sky and sea exchanged a glare. As much as they were enemies, they seemed to share the same unspoken idea in that moment. At the time, I was under the impression they were silently agreeing my pleas were rational. I had expected to continue time once more, them to walk away and the human lovers to carry on living until their appointments with Tain were scheduled. My mistake was trusting them to not slight me. I will spare you the goriest details. No doubt you've already come across versions of this story that don't shy away from it. As wings forced their way out from underneath Khenir's shoulder blades, his muscles formation shifted too in an attempt to accommodate them. Everything Minarv wouldn't need any longer became lost to him. His lungs ceased to be just in time for Scyta to drag him under the waves. You may have found the red traces mixing with the ocean in the aftermath of his legs fusing disturbing but I've seen worse. In most depictions of them, I'm sure you'll find Minarv with a black tail littered with white spots or Khenir with wings of yellow, red and a particularly light blue. That's all linked to the whole creation of loons and flagfin shiners ordeal. A bird which dives into the water to feed and a fish to keep it fed. I suppose you may find it sweet with your notions of romance. Know that they change forms as often as the rest of us gods so these visual depictions are not always accurate. All immortality has given them is more time to spend with each other. Neither is capable of human speech any longer but they seem to have developed their own method of communication. With all the chirping, whistling and whatever else they have at their disposal, I can vaguely understand them. Minarv is responsible for your stories of sirens as well. Despite having their anatomy transformed in an effort to permanently separate them, the pair still resisted their limitations. As such, they had to determine if the other happened to be nearby. Once a singer, always a singer. Humans would hear Minarv attempting to attract his beloved's attention and created tales of a creature that lured you into the water. You know, I never enquired what either of them thought about those myths. Perhaps I should, the next chance I get. Ah, speaking of which... Look at that. There is only one great horned owl whom I know would stray so far from its native homeland. Hello Khenir! Just returning from a visit, I presume? I dare say I should see him myself. Care to share with me how it went? After all, I have all the time in the world.

[boozycow]

Sparks Fly

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Warnings: Angsty as hell, fighting, swearing, fluff. Typos galore. (Sorry)

Word Count: ~2.3k

Summary: You and Dean were constantly fighting and this day was no different from the rest. Or so you thought. You soon realise that diamonds are only created under pressure.

A/N: So, I got a bit addicted to Taylor Swift. Sue me. Inspired by Sparks fly as the title suggests. Enjoy!! Please follow, leave a like and maybe reblog? X

It was raining outside again. The drops were falling sideways down the outside of the Impala’s windows, leaving watery trails in their wake. You watched them from the passenger seat, tracing them with your finger, barely touching the cold glass. You’d done it for hours as a kid on long car journeys, mainly out of boredom. But today was different.

Dean sat in the driver’s seat, only a mere foot away, his knuckles white on the steering wheel, jaw clenched. You were used to Dean getting angry, it was more or less his default setting. Yet you’d never seen his green eyes burn so dark, in all the time you’d known him. They were wild but sharp, piercing, like he could look straight into your soul. It was this that kept you quiet.

It was a stupid fight. You’d been hunting together, just your average salt and burn. But you’d screwed up. You’d wound up kidnapped, tied to a rusty chair in some psycho’s basement. He’d been deliberately keeping ghosts from passing on, and wasn’t keen on you and Dean messing with his plans. He’d barely managed to lay a hand on you before Dean had showed up and killed him. You were shaken but you were okay.

Dean hadn’t taken things so lightly. He was enraged when he arrived but even after the case was solved, the anger didn’t die. “What the fuck happened?” He’d shouted at you over and over. You’d explained and apologised but it didn’t seem to matter. “D'you know how much fucking danger you were in? That guy was a complete psycho…” He went on and on, as if you didn’t get it.

But you did. You understood why he was pissed. Every victim so far was similar to you, young pretty girls with y/h/c. You knew you were in danger, but you were a hunter and you’d been fighting monsters for well over a decade. What was stupid was going out to a bar at night, completely alone and unarmed. You’d just wanted to blow off steam. You needed some space and a different setting than the shitty motel room you were staying in. You hadn’t exactly planned on getting kidnapped.

So now you were sat in the Impala, radio silence, the pouring rain and the hum of the engine the only sounds filling the space between you. It was awkward and uncomfortable and you just wanted it to end, but you didn’t know how to get to him. You didn’t know how to fix this.

Even after knowing Dean nearly all of yoir life, after all of the hunts you’d been on, after all of the late night whiskies and even the fucking apocalyose, you still couldn’t figure him out. Even though you were closer to him than anyone you’d ever known, you were always at odds, like fire and ice, or night and day. You were like two opposing foreces, always fighting for dominance. You’d win one fight, he’d win the next. You couldn’t understand why you just couldn’t get along.

And yet, opposites attract.

Dean was a bad idea. He was reckless and he would never settle down and he should have sent you running. He was like a full on rainstorm, wild, untamed and unstoppable. He was stubborn and ruthless. You knew it would end in tears.

But Dean was also kind and loyal. He cared fiercely and he’d always been there for you, no matter what, and he’d never let you down. He could enchant you with a single glance. And for all you fought, for all of the times you’d wanted to scream and shout at him, for all the times you’d wanted to strangle the man, you always came back to him and he always came back to you.

You were utterly and irrevocably in love with him, whether you wanted to be or not. Most of the time, it was the latter. You hated getting lost in him. You hated the way his green eyed stare made you squirm. You hated the fluttering feeling in your stomach when he’d accidently brush past you. You hated the way he could make you blush furiously with only a few simple words. Amd his smile, that was the worst. It was so perfect it made your knees weak. You hated the way you reacted to him, because you knew it was impossible and stupid.

And then there was the fact that you couldn’t go a day withoit a screaming match. Maybe you were just too oposite.

A lump gathered in your throat as your thoughts ran away with you. You didn’t have a chance. And even if you had, in some miraculous turn of events, that was gone now. You didn’t know how to fix this.

You took a slow shaky breath and drew your eyes from the window. You had to try to talk to him. “Dean?” Your voice cracked.

“Don’t.”

Here we go, you thought. You’d just wanted to talk but you knew this would turn into a battle. “Don’t what?” You were barely audible as your throat tightened.

“Don’t fucking talk to me! Don’t tell me you’re sorry. Don’t make fucking excuses!” He roared and for a moment, you were scared of him. He looked dangerous, his eyes almost black in thr impala’s dim light. But it didn’t last long. Fighting with Dean was your greatest talent and his anger sparked yours.

Pushing your tears aside you let yourself feel the full weight of your rage. “Don’t make excuses for what, Dean?” You retorted. “Getting kidnapped? How the fuck was that my fault? Enlighten me please!”

“I said, Don’t!”

“And I said do.”

The car swirved suddenly and came to an abrupt stop at the side of the road. Your hand had landed on the dash to steady yourself and your wore a look of surprise. Dean still had a death grip on the wheel as he turned his deadly gaze on you.

When he spoke his voice wasn’t loud lile you’d been expecting. It was menacing and measured “You went out, unarmed, to a bar, by yourself-”

“What, so I need a baby sitter now?” You snapped, recovered from the shock. “You can’t be fucking serious.”

“You made yourself a target!” His voice had risen again.

“Oh, yes, of course!” Your voice dripped with venom and sarcasm. “It is completely,” you spat the word out, “my fault that that fucking psycho happened to love young women with y/h/c hair.”

Dean almost couldn’t belive how blind you were being. “Can you be serious for one fucking second?” He spat back at you, his eyes meeting your stubborn glare.

“I am being serious! Do not give me that "you were basically asking for it” bullshit!“ You couldn’t fathom how he was holding you responsible for this. You were not responsible for the actions of some deranged serial killer who happened to take a liking to you. And you were furious with him for it. Your face was hot amd your body was tense. You probably looked psychotic yourself but you didn’t care. You couldn’t contain yoirself anymore. Your filter was gone.

"You fucking knew, Y/N! You made yourself the easiest fucking target in town!”

“So?”

He rolled his eyes, exasperated. “So, you could have gotten yourself killed!”

“Why do you always have to blame me?” You were frantic. “What about the guy that kidnapped me?”

Dean scoffed. You were so fucking dense. “You didn’t have to make his life easier, Y/n!” Jesus, he wanted to kill you. You were too headstrong to even consider what he was saying.

You hated that he had a point. And that made you even angrier, if that was possible. “Why the fuck do you even care, Dean?” There it was. The thought that had been running rampant in your head for the past few hours, was finally out in the open.

The ringing of your voice was followed by silence. It was just the downpour of rain on the car and your heavy breathing filling the empty space. Dean’s gaze was fixed firmly forward, his jaw tight. He refused to acknowledge you.

He couldn’t get the words out. He tried to force them past his lips but they stuck firmly in his throat. He’d wanted to tell you for years about how much he really fucking cared about you, but it always ended like this, with empty silence. And even though he knew you’d given him an ultimatum, he knew how angry you were, he couldn’t tell you. He couldn’t.

Your heart broke. Of course. Of course he didn’t care. You had almost been expecting it, but that didn’t make it any easier to bare. When you spoke, your voice was small and shaky. “That’s what I thought.”

You wrenched the door of the Impala open, climbing out into the storm, and slamming it violently behind you. Your shoes soaked through in seconds, but you barely noticed, too numb with anger and hurt to care about your clothes or your hair. You began walking through the puddles. You weren’t sure where you were going, you only knew you needed to get away. Away from Dean, away from this stupid fucking fight, away from everything. Your tears mingled with the raindrops on your face.

Dean watched you walk away, his eyes never leaving yoir back. His heart was racing and he struggled for breath, waves of anger ebbing away, giving way to regret and pain. Of all of the mistakes he’d ever made, he regretted not telling you how he felt the most. And now he would lose you. But he could try to fix this. Even if you hated him, and could never forgive him, he had to try. You were all he had left to lose.

He swung out of the car not even bothering to close the door behind him. You could hear his footsteps splashing through the rain behind you and his pained voice calling your name. You quickened your pace.

“Y/n! Stop.” He’d caught uo to you, and walked by your side. You tried to ignore him, block every part of him from your mind but this was Dean Winchester, and the asshole wasn’t going to let that happen.

“Y/n!” He shouted, seizing your shoulders and spinning you around to face him. His grip was tight on your arms.

“What the hell do you want, Dean?” You couldn’t stop the strangled sound in your voice as you shouted over the rain.

“You.”

Your heart stopped. The world went silent. You couldn’t hear the rain, or see the road and the car. All you saw was Dean.

He was still angry, but not at you. He was angry at himself that he hadn’t told you this before. He looked you dead in the eye, his hands never leaving you, his gaze boring into you.

“Why do I care? Because you’re my best friend in this whole fucking mess of a world. Because every time you aren’t around, I can’t get you out of my head.” The words that had been trapped for so long had finally come undone and were tumbling from his lips. “Because you drive me fucking insane and sometimes I want to kill you, but hell, I can’t seem to get enough of you. You’re completely stupid and you’re the smartest person I’ve ever met and you know me better than I know myself and you scare the shit out of me.” His hands moved to your face and he took a step towards you. “I love you, and I won’t lose you.”

Your rage melted like ice under his gaze. And you couldn’t hold back anymore. Your lips crashed against his, the salt of your tears mingled with the rain. He relaxed into you and kissed you fiercely, his hands tangling in your hair as yours gripped his shirt, holding on for dear life. It was passionate, and filled with anger and relief, sadness and elation. It was more than you’d ever imagined.

You drew apart, breathless, your foreheads pressed togehter, your lips almost touching. “I love you too.” You breathed against his lips. “And I’m sorry. I didn’t mean-”

“Don’t.” He whispered. He dragged you into his chest, his chin resting on your hair, his arms capturing you in a tight, almlost desperate, hold. “You were right. It wasn’t your fault. I was just… I could have lost you. I was scared.”

You looked into his spring green eyes, framed by long lashes, drenched with rain. The sadness in them was haunting. “I’m sorry, Dean.” He went to stop you, but you continued. “I should have been more careful. I wasn’t thinking. I was just amgry and I needed alcohol.” You grinned ryly.

“A woman after my own heart.” He matched your smile.

“Turce?” You teased, extending your hand to him.

He shook it gently before dragging you back into him and placing his lips on yours in another playful kiss. “Truce.” He whispered when he let your lips go, before capturing them again.

The rain was coming down hard. You were a mess and so was Dean, your hair plastered to your forehead, your clothes completely soacked and your shoes probably ruined. But you didn’t care. You had Dean and he was all you’d ever need.