#ordinary x quake

[breadbrobin]

lavender roses

luke castellan x reader — percy jackson and the olympians

[fem!daughter of persephone reader]

summary: everyone thinks red roses are synonymous with the perfect love. you believe that lavender roses deserve more love, and luke believes that you’re worthy of all the love in the world—you’re both just bad at communicating it.

warnings: kissing, swearing, suggestive content, mentions of weapons, idiots, miscommunication trope but it’s cute dw, seriously they’re both so stupid and oblivious, besties to idiots to lovers

word count: 3.3k

(y’all i’m losing my mind i can’t stop writing but this might be one of my favourites ever)

(also i might put together a luke taglist and a clarisse taglist so lmk if you wanna be put on either of those and i’ll get to work on it 🤩)

———————————————

“i’m free february fourteenth,” you said nonchalantly.

you were sitting with luke at dinner and he’d just asked you if you ever had a day off working. as a daughter of persephone, you lived in the hermes cabin, but spent most of your time working in the strawberry fields. you spent every free moment there, soaking in the sun, helping the plants grow and picking flowers to put in vases around the cabin and infirmary.

he nodded as chris choked on his food beside him, coughing hard. “okay, we should hang out then.”

you weren’t sure if he knew what was going on. was he messing with you? playing a joke? really wanting to hang out with you on valentine’s day? or was he having a lapse of memory and he forgot that day had any significance at all?

either way, you nodded. when you spoke, your voice was slightly higher pitched than usual. “sure.”

“we can have a picnic. we haven’t done that in a while.” he was nodding still, looking into his food with a thoughtful expression.

the air nearly left your lungs. you nodded back, though he wasn’t looking at you, and exchanged a wide-eyed look with chris across the table. sure, you and luke used to go for picnics occasionally, but that was before he’d gotten unfairly attractive overnight and you’d developed the most annoying crush on him. “yeah, sure. it’s a date.”

if you could have jumped into tartarus you would have.

what the fuck. why would you say that?

chris was staring at you in shock.

your mouth was dry.

and luke was smiling like nothing was wrong. were his cheeks red? or was that your imagination? “yup! it’s a date.”

when he got up from the table to leave after dinner, he kissed your cheek. this wasn’t too far out of the ordinary, per se—it happened occasionally—but it sent a rush of adrenaline shooting down your spine and set your cheeks aflame.

chris’ eyebrows were raised. “what was that?”

“i have no idea,” you breathed.

“do you think he knows?”

your voice was even softer as you shook your head. “dude. i have no idea.”

valentine’s day couldn’t come soon enough.

you could hardly think of anything else. zoning out in the fields, losing focus while sparring, getting distracted by luke’s shoulder muscles while he was drawing back his bow, sending your arrow flying off to the side.

he laughed at you with everyone else, coming over to stand by your side. “you good there? need any help?”

you shook your head, your quaking fingers drawing the string back once more, pulling it taut. archery wasn’t your best skill, but you weren’t terrible at it.

you could feel his eyes on you, judging your form, analysing your aim. it put you off.

your arrow barely hit the target.

luke winced. “that was… better.”

you sighed and lowered the bow. “you’re distracting me!”

he laughed. “i’m distracting you?”

“yes!” you huffed, frowning at him. his eyes were lit up with amusement. “you are.”

“well, then i’m very sorry.” he raised his hands and took a step back, dipping his head too. “as you were, milady.”

you rolled your eyes with a smile and drew your arrow back, aiming and firing, but it still didn’t do well. in fact, every arrow that you shot pierced outside of the black rings. you were starting to think there was either something wrong with the bow or that you’d been cursed by one of the apollo kids, when someone’s hand lowered your elbow.

you looked over to see luke. he wasn’t watching your face. he was guiding your elbow down so it was more level with your arrow’s line and gently pulling your shoulders back so they were more even.

“pull back a bit more,” he coached quietly.

“i know what i’m doing,” you protested.

“i know, but today you look like you need a reminder. do you want my help? or do you wanna keep missing?” he finally looked you in the eye. he was sincere, you realised.

you sighed and draw the arrow back a little more.

he nodded happily and continued guiding your stance until you were perfect, his hands hot on your body and his breath on the back of your neck. he stayed behind you as you lowered the arrow and took a few deep breaths.

you were still watching him over your shoulder. his lips quirked as he reached out and gently turned your face away to look at the target. his hand was calloused and rough, but the tough was soft. you could barely breathe.

“focus,” he said softly. “eyes on the prize.”

you’re the only prize i want, was all you could think, but you didn’t say anything. you drew the arrow back, your fingers brushing against the corner of your lips. you felt better—more powerful, more confident—in this stance. and maybe luke’s presence behind you was helping with that too. you could feel the slight ghost of his hand on your waist. it kept you grounded. it stopped you from floating away.

your arrow pierced just beside the bullseye.

luke’s hand tightened on your waist, squeezing proudly. “that’s my girl.”

your heart fluttered as you smiled. “thanks, luke.”

he patted your lower back as he stepped away. “that’s what i’m here for. go kill it.”

then he was gone, and there was a fiery pit in your stomach that grew with each passing day that told you that—oh shit—you were in fully love with luke castellan.

february fourteenth arrived in a flurry of pinks, reds and whites. hearts adorned the camp, courtesy of the aphrodite cabin, and you and the demeter cabin had been tasked with growing what felt like hundreds of red roses. personally, you didn’t understand the hype surrounding red roses. after all, the lavender ones were the prettiest. they even meant love at first sight—far better than plain old love.

but with all the love in the air and the aphrodite campers swooning left and right, luke was sure to figure out his mistake and call off the picnic. it made you feel sick with anxiety, and your hands shook as you tended to the roses.

“y/n, hey!” luke’s voice came right next to you.

you flinched and the rose bush sprouted ten feet in the air with new flowers springing into existence left and right.

“whoa…” he said, looking up at it in shock. “i don’t think we need that many.”

“i don’t think anyone needs that many.” you muttered and took a deep breath, bringing the bush back down to size. “what are you doing here, luke?” your heart was in your throat. he didn’t look upset, but he’d always been good at hiding his emotions. was he about to tell you that he didn’t want to meet up later? or that he hated you for tricking him? thoughts started spinning like tops in your mind as you sunk into worse scenario after worse scenario.

“i just wanted to make sure we were still on for this afternoon? and to let you know to meet me by the lake.” were you imagining things, or did he look almost… nervous? his cheeks were red and he wasn’t meeting your eyes for more than a few seconds at a time. was he? really?

you nodded. “oh, uh, yeah. we’re still on. i’ll meet you…?”

“at two?”

“at two.” you smiled. he smiled back and you ignored the flutter in your chest. a strand of hair blew in front of your face.

his hand twitched by his side, like he wanted to push it back, but he just nodded. “okay. see you later.”

“later,” you nodded as he walked away. “can’t wait!” you called after him. he shot a grin over his shoulder, and once he was gone, you buried your face in the rose bush with an exasperated groan.

at 1:45, you still didn’t know what to wear.

your friend becky had dragged you into the aphrodite cabin and was shoving various outfits into your arms to try on, since you didn’t have many nice outfits of your own, but nothing was right.

even though you were the same size as her, nothing seemed to fit you as well as it did her—some aphrodite’s daughter bullshit, you guessed.

she sat down on her bunk next to you and sighed. “i hate to say it, but… we’re out of options.”

you groaned and flopped backwards, covering your face.

she swatted your hands away. “you’ll smudge your makeup!” she then sat back and sighed. “honestly, hun, you might just have to go naked.”

“i’m sure he’d love that!” one of her brothers called from across the room.

you threw a pillow at him, but it dropped halfway there.

then becky froze with a gasp. “oh, my gods.”

you sat up. “what?”

“wait here.” she got up and dashed away, peering into the depths of her wardrobe.

you watched absently, kind of worried she’d pull out some sexy lingerie, as she felt around at the very back, in the corner. then her face lit up. she pulled out a dress. it was white and floaty, with tiny pale pink flowers on it and the most flattering neckline you’d ever seen. she held it out to you and then dragged you to the designated changing area beside her bunk.

you changed slowly, not wanting to rip the delicate material, then looked at yourself in the mirror.

holy shit.

becky stuck her head around the corner and gasped. “perfect! ugh, i feel like a proud mother.”

you laughed, smoothing the floaty fabric over your thighs. it was kind of staticky. “yeah, thanks, mom.”

she grabbed your arm and dragged you out, showing you off. “siblings! my magnum opus.”

as whistles and cheers came from the few people in the cabin, you smiled.

“he’ll love it,” becky whispered. “you look hot.”

“it’s not even a date,” you protested. “it’s just a hang out.”

“sweet cheeks, its a picnic on valentine’s day.” she tossed her blonde hair over her shoulder. “it’s a date. now go. you’re gonna be late.”

you slipped on your white sandals and the light green jacket you always wore, let silena slip a white headband into your hair, then stepped out the door.

it wasn’t a cold day, exactly, but you were grateful for the jacket.

you rushed down the lake and got there two minutes late.

luke was no where to be found.

great, you thought. he was messing with me the whole time.

just as you were considering leaving, you heard footsteps running up to you.

“y/n! i’m so sorry, i could figure out—oh, wow...” luke stopped in his tracks as you turned around. his eyes were wide and his cheeks were red as he looked you up and down. he cleared his throat. “i didn’t know what to wear.”

he’d settled on a navy blue crew neck sweater and black jeans. his hair was messy, like he’d been running his hands through it, and he looked good. really good.

shit. that would make things more difficult.

“it’s okay,” you smiled. “neither could i.”

“well, you look… you look amazing.” his voice was soft, almost reverent.

gods, you didn’t think you’d ever be able to stop blushing. this was torture. “thanks,” you said though, pretending your heart wasn’t climbing up your throat and threatening to jump right into his hands—like suicide. “should we—“

“oh! yeah.” he nodded and stepped forward, placing a hand on your back (just low enough that it made your heart stutter, but high enough that it was innocent) and leading you towards the strawberry fields. “this way, milady.”

your heart was sinking a little as the fields came into view. everyone went to the strawberry fields. there were at least seven couples there already. it was the standard date spot. you had to remind yourself this wasn’t a date.

but he led you past the fields and into the forest.

great, so he’ll just murder me instead, you thought bitterly. it was like you were searching for a reason that it wasn’t a date now. at least i won’t have to deal with the embarrassment of everyone seeing.

you snapped out of your thoughts as his hand gently slipped into yours and you nearly fell over. he looked back at you, amused. you shot him a thumbs up as he set down a familiar path.

you knew where you were going.

there was a clearing in the woods where you went. it was you own personal secret garden, hidden deep in the forest behind a thick hedge that you’d grown yourself. it had taken weeks to get it thick enough to keep your space safe, and weeks again to regain enough strength to add any other plants to it. in the last year though, you’d been going there often, coaxing a few new plants to grow. you’d learned that forcing growth was hard and near impossible, but encouraging growth was easy.

you’d shown luke the garden one day a few months ago, just before you developed that pesky crush.

he pulled you gently in front of him to enter the garden first, through a magically shifting gap in the hedge, so that he could enter too, and stepped aside to pick up a hefty bag hidden just off the path.

you stepped through the hedge, your hand still linked with luke’s, and into your garden. it was the same as last time you were there, around a week ago; filled with flowers and bees, with a patch of clear grass in the middle, linked to the hedge by four paths, running north to south and east to west. some of the flowers growing were out of season, but as a daughter of persephone, you had a certain level of influence over things like that. bees buzzed lazily around your head as you entered, happy to see you again. everything seemed to get happier, healthier and brighter the second you stepped into the garden. it was your favourite thing and your favourite place.

you looked back at luke to see him smiling at you. “you know me too well.”

“i knew you wouldn’t like to have everyone around,” he shrugged. “and i wanted to see this place again. it’s better than last time i was here.” he looked around in wonder.

“well, last time you were here, i’d just gotten over the flu, so i was still pretty weak. all of my hydrangeas wilted.” you pouted and crossed the garden to your hydrangea bush, blooming in all ranges of colours. soil acidity and pH didn’t matter if you were the daughter of persephone.

luke laid down a plaid picnic blanket as you murmured a few words to some of your weaker looking plants, breathing life back into them. you could feel his eyes on you as he sat and waited, but you didn’t feel rushed or observed. more than anything, you felt admired.

finally, you sat next to him. he’d set out some food and water bottles for the two of you. he was prepared. that was one thing about luke castellan: he was prepared, always two steps ahead. which is why this didn’t make sense.

as you started eating, you found yourself staring at a lavender rose bush. love at first sight, you mused. if only.

you’d fallen for luke after a whole year of friendship. that made it worse. you’d loved him already, platonically, then, without warning, those feeling shifted. the way you looked at him changed in a matter of moments. when he’d gotten cherries on his plate for dessert after you were told you couldn’t have more, then he’d given them all to you, claiming he didn’t like them (even though you knew he did), you fell stupidly, irrevocably, in love. but the way he looked at you never changed: always soft, always kind and always the same.

you were drawn to look at him. you always were. the sharp lines and soft curves of his face. those dark eyes that made your heart flutter never wavered as they met yours. never shifted, never darkened, never clouded with anger. never. they were as constant as time, as reliable as the tide, as predictable as the full moon coming around again.

and he was looking at you now. “what?” he asked.

you blinked and looked away, watching as two bees clumsily bumped into each other and went on their way. “nothing.” would that be you and luke? two bees bumping into each other briefly, then going on with their lives? unlikely to cross paths again? you couldn’t let that happen.

“you know it’s valentine’s, right?” you asked before you could stop yourself.

luke lowered his apple, resting his hand on his knee. his forehead was creased in a confused frown. “yeah, why?”

“well… then why… why are we hanging out today? i mean, this isn’t a date.” you paused. “is it?”

his eyes widened. “wait, you don’t think—“

“it’s fine, luke.” you shrugged, pretending your heart wasn’t crumbling. “it’s my fault. i shouldn’t have brought up valentines. it was a silly joke, and—“

“a joke?” he frowned again. “this isn’t a joke.”

you looked at him. he looked earnest. “what?”

“it’s not a joke. why would i joke about going on a date with you?” he swallowed tightly and put his apple down. “did you… did you just think it was a joke?”

“no! well, yes. but i didn’t want it to be.” you exclaimed. “did… you want it to be?”

“no!” he exclaimed, turning to face you. “why would i want that? i thought we’ve been dating for three weeks now!”

“you, what?”

he took a deep breath. “you’re telling me that i’ve been assuming we’re dating for three weeks, and you’ve been assuming i’ve been joking for three weeks, because we’re both a little bit fucking stupid and can’t communicate our feelings properly?”

you stared at him, wiping your sweaty palms on your dress. the static crackled like the tension in the air. “i guess so.”

“huh.” he said, turning back to face the flowers. he was silent for a moment and you almost thought he’d leave, but then he started laughing.

“stop laughing,” you protested, pushing him lightly, your cheeks flaming hot. “stop it.”

he didn’t.

soon, you weren’t able to stop yourself from giggling, then you were both laughing uncontrollably. your stomach hurt and you had to lean on each other to avoid falling over. your faces were close—too close. your laughter died as you felt his breath on your face. his fingers brushed your hair behind your ear. his breath hitched as he did, like he’d been waiting to do that for months.

“i’ve liked you for months,” you whispered.

“i’ve liked you since the moment we met,” he cupped your face in his hand, his other one resting on your knee.

you could see the lavender roses behind him. love at first sight.

the two bees that had bumped into each other settled on the same flower.

fucking hell.

you kissed him before you could talk yourself out of it.

the kiss wasn’t like fireworks. it was more like the first flowers of spring: fresh, exciting and pure. his lips were soft. yours were probably rougher than his from your long hours in the fields. you figured he didn’t care, because he kissed you like you were the only air he needed to breath for the rest of his life. you could feel flowers blooming around the picnic blanket—daisies and dandelions in the grass. the plants in the gardens were going wild. he was like a drug; some kind of amplifier for your powers and your heart rate and gods, you never wanted to let him go. his hand slid to the back of your neck, pulling you closer against him. your hand rose to his cheek and static electricity jumped from your skin to his.

he pulled away with a gasp, his hand on his cheek. then he laughed, and kissed you again.

and again.

and again.

and again.

and you were infinitely glad for the privacy of your own secret garden.

[fazedlight]

Asynchronous (Rift era, pre-Crisis, not nearly as much sc angst as the gif implies)

Where am I?, Kara thought, her body shaking as she pushed herself off the floor she had apparently crashed into, trying to stand. How long was I unconscious?

Her head was killing her. Pain was a rarity under a yellow sun, and in this case the feeling was hard to shake - it was just all too reminiscent of not long ago, when she was trapped in kryptonite, fighting burning lungs and a blinding headache while fighting heartbreak at the same time.

But she needed to not think about Lena right now.

Kara searched her mind for the last thing she remembered, Brainy’s words transmitted to her ears, telling her about the capabilities of the alien creature she was fighting. The creature was generally docile enough - but in a panic, it would thrash and quake, and it had the unique ability to…

Where… When am I?, Kara thought, looking around at the building whose ceiling she had fallen into. The creature could send her anywhere in time and space - forward or back in time, across the planet or galaxy, it didn’t matter. The good news is that the effect would be temporary in nature, lasting a day at most, before she snapped back into place, something about attenuated vibrations. “Time is like a rubber band,” Brainy had said, though Kara was certain she could hear pain in his attempt to simplify the explanation.

Kara heard the buzz of a portal behind her, the quick cock of a gun. “Don’t move,” came the familiar voice. “These aren’t ordinary bullets.”

Kara turned slowly, deflating under the hard eyes of her ex-best-friend. Lena was tense and angry, her finger resting on the trigger, her other hand on a tracking device. My heat signature, Kara thought, Guess she has kryptonite bullets now.

Lena’s eyes narrowed as she reached to her belt, before tossing vibrant green cuffs in Kara’s direction. “Put those on.”

Kara lowered herself to the floor, taking the cuffs, feeling the burn in her hands. She couldn’t really fathom Lena trying to kill her. But after the disruption of Lena’s Myriad plan, and now being held at gunpoint… “Lena, what are - what are you going to do?”

“How do you know my name?” Lena growled.

Kara’s eyes widened. Anywhere in time and space… “Who do you think I am?” Kara asked.

“Is that a joke?” Lena asked, as Kara’s mind revved into overdrive. “You think you can come back, with cartoonish S on your chest, and we’ll forget the Third Reich?”

Fear sank into Kara’s stomach. Earth X. “Lena, I know this looks like-”

“Through the portal. Now.”

-----------

Kara found herself sitting in an interrogation room. 

Her mind was scrambling for what Barry had said had become of Earth X - she remembered that, in the aftermath, the Third Reich had fallen to the Resistance, which was trying to rebuild a non-fascist society. But she knew the balance had to be fragile. The Reich had its proponents.

But Kara didn’t have long to think, before another familiar face walked into the room. “Winn!” Kara said, jumping up.

“Sit down,” Winn growled back.

Kara tensed, shaking off her confusion as she slowly sank to her chair, as Winn gave Lena a skeptical look. Right, he’s not the Winn I know either…

Lena shrugged. “She knew my name, too.”

“You’re both my friends,” Kara said softly, “On my Earth.”

Winn ignored her words, stepping around the table to take a seat at its corner. “We need to know if the Führer is still alive.”

“He’s dead,” Kara said, meeting Winn’s eyes. “As is his wife.”

Winn’s eyes narrowed in suspicion.

“I was sent here by accident,” Kara answered. “At some point in the next day or so, I’ll snap back to my own Earth.” If you don’t kill me first, she thought.

“And how do I know you’re from another Earth?” Winn demanded.

“You met my sister,” Kara whispered, thinking back to Alex’s stories when they were separated on Earth X, years ago. “Alex Danvers. On my Earth, she’s your friend too.”

“You,” Winn said skeptically. “I’m friends with you.”

“I’m not from your Earth,” Kara said. “I’m not asking you to trust me. Just let me live long enough to go back to my own time.”

-----------

Kara fidgeted as she sat alone in the room again - watching, waiting, itching against the bounds of her kryptonite cuffs. 

She was certain that Winn and Lena - possibly others - were debating what to do with her. Hopefully they don't just kill me, Kara thought, searching her mind for how she might prove she’s not from their Earth.

But the door opened again.

Lena stepped in quietly, eyes on Kara. But the anger was subdued from before. She was curious. “Lena,” Kara whispered.

The wariness wasn’t gone from Lena’s stance, but she sat across from Kara. “What’s it like, on your Earth?”

Kara smiled. My Lena would be curious about the other Earths too, she thought. “The Third Reich ended in 1945. We’re… far from a perfect world. But we haven’t had the struggle that you’ve had.”

“And you and I are friends?”

Kara’s expression faltered, as she glanced down at her hands. “We used to be. We used to be best friends.”

“What happened?”

Kara bit at her lip, unable to look Lena in the eye. “I betrayed you. You hate me now.”

Lena’s brows furrowed. “That doesn’t seem to be the sort of thing that would help your cause.”

“I’m not going to lie to you again,” Kara said. “I’ve done too much of that. The other you, I mean.”

Lena frowned, and Kara could see some of the tension in her body rise again. “What happened to my Earth’s Kara? How did she die?”

“Her heart was dying from too much solar exposure,” Kara said. “I took her up into the atmosphere before her body… it started a nuclear reaction.”

“And the Führer?”

“Oliver from another Earth killed him.”

Lena’s eyebrows briefly raised. “Winn met him, apparently.”

“Yeah. My sister was there too.”

-----------

Kara itched at her bonds again, wishing there was a clock she could check. I don’t know how much time would be left anyway, she thought to herself. But at least I’d know…

She was surprised to hear the door open again. Lena walked through with a cup and some bread, placing both in front of Kara on the table. “You must be hungry,” she said.

“Thank you,” Kara murmured, leaning forward and beginning to eat.

“What did you lie to me about?” Lena asked. “On your Earth?”

Kara swallowed harshly. “I- I kept my kryptonian identity from you. Kryptonians and Luthors don’t get along.”

“Luthors?”

Kara’s brow crinkled. “Are you a Walsh, here?”

Lena nodded slowly. 

“Your mother…” Kara asked. “She’s alive?”

Lena’s eyes narrowed. “Yes.”

Kara smiled. She got to be raised by Elizabeth, she thought. “Are the Luthors alive? On this Earth?”

“No,” Lena said. “Alexander Luthor was the last Führer, before Oliver Queen. There was a power struggle.”

Kara nodded. “You were raised by the Luthors. On my Earth. So when I hid my identity, and became friends with you… you didn’t take it well when you found out.”

Lena looked on curiously. “The secret? Drove me to hate you?”

Kara shook her head. “There were other mistakes I made. In the aftermath. I… hurt you pretty badly.”

“So what did I do next?”

“You tried to brainwash the world.”

Lena’s eyes widened. “Why?”

“To make everyone kind.”

Lena’s brow raised. I guess that resonates, Kara thought. In a world full of fascists… 

“I can see the appeal,” Lena said. 

-----------

Kara was fascinated. And bored.

Her only company was Lena, on and off. She was grateful when Lena came in with food, and over the moon when Lena came in to exchange Kara’s kryptonite cuffs with far less painful power cuffs. 

But her moments with Lena were few and far between given her apparent other responsibilities, leaving Kara staring up at the ceiling for long stretches of time.

She found herself torn, thoughts of “When will I be able to go home?” warring with “I hope my Lena looks at me like that again someday.”

-----------

“Are you happy here?” Kara asked. “Are you- are you with anyone?” Lena smiled. “I met him a year ago,” she said. “We butted heads on technical projects. Trying to rebuild our society’s infrastructure. But something more came of it.”

Kara smiled. “Jack?”

Lena’s eyes widened, and she nodded. “Jack.”

Kara nodded too. “I’m glad you have someone.”

Lena tilted her head curiously. “Were we more than friends?”

“You and Jack? Yeah, on my Earth-”

“No,” Lena clarified. “You and I. What were we to each other?”

Oh. “No,” Kara said, shifting uncomfortably. “We were only ever friends.”

“Is that all you wanted?”

“I just- don’t think it’s relevant to you-”

“I don’t know what I’m like on your Earth,” Lena said, leaning forward on her arms. “But if someone hurt me so badly that I try to brainwash the world about it, I think that person must’ve meant something to me.”

Kara bit her lip.

Lena’s brow quirked. “If your plan is to never lie to me again, that seems like the sort of thing you should tell me. Other me.”

Kara laughed, her heart twinging with joy and pain. “If we ever get along again, I’ll tell you.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

-----------

“Why are you trusting me?” Kara asked curiously.

“What do you mean?” Lena asked, in a tone that was more coy than confused.

“You just seem less suspicious of me than before,” Kara shrugged. “In the beginning.”

Lena’s lips quirked, taking a moment to consider Kara. She then raised her hand, twisting it slightly, causing a small yellow glow to appear. Kara noted in shock that there seemed to be a glow passing over her own body, too. “What’s happen- what are you doing?”

“Just making your temporal shift visible,” Lena said. “I scanned you after our first meeting. I can’t prove you’re not from this Earth, but I can prove that you’re not where the universe expects you to be right now.”

“I’m sorry, but-” Kara sputtered. “But are you using magic?”

“Lena doesn’t have magic on your Earth?” Lena said.

“I can’t even get my Lena to believe in magic,” Kara said with a laugh. “Rao, this is amazing.”

Kara glanced up, and found Lena smiling.

-----------

“How long have I been here?” Kara asked.

“About 12 hours,” Lena said. “Honestly, I’d let you go. But Winn said it might cause a panic anyway, if too many people see you walking around.”

Kara sat back for a moment. “Yeah, that makes sense.”

-----------

It was at the 17 hour mark - just after Lena had brought in more food - that Kara’s hands began to glow. “What are you doing now?” Kara asked.

“Nothing,” Lena said, leaning forward to eye the glow. “I think you’re being pulled back.”

“Oh,” Kara said, glancing up at the alternate Lena. What should I say? “Thank you,” Kara murmured. “Thanks for being good company.”

“Give me time,” Lena said gently.

“Time?”

“I’ll come to my senses,” Lena said, thinking to herself, nodding. “I- I know there’s baggage. But at some point, I will come to my senses. I’ll come back to you.”

Kara smiled. “I hope so.”

“Good luck, Kara Zor-El.”

-----------

Kara found herself falling. No longer cuffed, no longer in a dark dusty room - but bathed in sunlight and breathing fresh air. Earth-38, she thought gratefully.

She blinked, shooting upwards in the sky again, hearing shouting in her ear. “Kara?” came Brainy’s panicked voice. “Kara, are you still there?”

“I’m here,” Kara gasped, looking over National City. 

“Must’ve lost you for a minute,” Brainy said. “The creature is by the arboretum. We’ve finished making the power net, J’onn is flying it over.”

Kara glanced to the north, but her ears were fixating somewhere southeast, locating a familiar heartbeat. We’ll figure it out, Kara thought, clinging to Earth X Lena’s words.

We’ll get there, in the end. “I’m on my way.”

[dilfhos]

TRAINRIDE

#!WHO; DABI x fem!READER

A! i hope u ignore this cus its stupid but I think dabi/touya being a total scum to huge endeavor fan reader should be a thing

+ (i added my twist to it; at the time this was sent, i was on my dc shit heavy and id already started it)

#!CW: deadoves!n0nc0n, dirty talk, degradation, humiliation, implied exhibitionism, gaslighting, touya arc if you squint real close! dabi has dick piercings bc i said so

tagging: @mostlyheinous @scariusaquarius @dabislittlemouse @nyx--knacks @the-grimm-writer @ectologia

Dabi hated taking public transportation, especially now.

It subjected him to having to conceal his identity for one, blending into the fleeting crowds with dark, long clothing. It didn’t bother him as much had it been any other time, one where he wasn’t on constant guard or easily irritated by familiar phrases and his face.

Dabi only gave a quick glance to the glass behind him, eyeing the way his big hood hung low on his head, hand deep into his trench pocket as the other supported his balance. He drew his hood lower at the glance from a man on his left.

The train eased to a stop and the doors slid open as the crowd swarmed to bring in and send out more people. When the doors closed and the train began to move again, he found himself being thrown forward. A small yelp came from the woman in front of him, turned partially.

He was about to mumble something before his eyes made contact with what she was wearing.

Seeing that you were brazenly adorned in merchandise of the number one hero, he scrunched his nose up at the sight of your complimentary accessories before finally settling on your face. Preoccupied with your phone to notice his oggling, you shifted, body moving with the force of the train as it started moving.

Dabi didnt mean to look, but the subtle quake of your chest piqued his vision and he wished he wasn’t met with those same fucking eyes. How cringe you looked with the familiar navy phone-case you had on the back of your phone to match.

In fact, if Dabi wanted to, he’d stand there and count every one of Endeavor’s paraphernalia and the number could be well over three. You really walk around like that? Parading your favorite hero on your body like a fangirl poster.

He chuckled darkly before rolling his eyes. Yeah, you probably had one or two of them in your room that you fuck yourself to at night to boot.

The train was only a little crowded but not enough to fully obscure your body from his view. You were dressed in jeans, the denim pairing with a snug t-shirt that sculpted your chest perfectly under his gaze. On the back he could see the familiar bright flames. They were disgustingly familiar, completing the stoic features of the hero on the front.

“Endeavor, huh?” You finally glanced up, a bit surprised to find barely anyone on board at this point. A few men sat adjacent, some sleep, others occupied on their own devices and papers or simply dead in gaze as they awaited their respective stops.

Then him, of course.

Turning fully around you face the source of the comment and your heart began to hammer.

Under a subtle glance or two, he didn’t look too out of the ordinary. Dark pants, shoes and a coat on his back, he could’ve as easily passed for some unremarkable human being cold and exhausted from days events. However, under the certain proximity, you had a clear view of his face, unmistakably his metal-littered, scarred face and the dangerously piercing gaze to match.

You parted your lips but he held up a finger, silencing you before you could squeak a sound. He glanced around toward the few other occupants in the car, noting them to be of no significance until his eyes returned back to yours, the silent threat of impending danger weighing heavily in the air around you.

“Are you-are you going to kill me?” You finally said, voice sickeningly timid. Wide eyes peered up at him, height clearing yours as he slowly backed you towards the side of the car.

“He your favorite hero?” Dabi ignored your question, eyes flickering to your chest before his hand followed. You squeaked in surprise as he boldly placed his hand against your breast.

Jerking away, you prepare to to defend yourself when he gripped your wrist.

“To answer the question, I’m not gonna kill you. ‘M just gonna hurt you real bad though,” You’re spun before another word is uttered, the rattling of metal against wheels loud enough to drown your protests.

“Please don’t do this,” His hands were exploring your body, running up your thighs and cruelly pinching at the skin on your sides before settling on the hem of your jeans.

“Please don’t,” You whimpered shakily, meeting the villain’s eyes in the glass.

“I just feel like ya personally insulting me y’know?” He grunted over the sound of his belt clinking. His hand was back on your side now, nails digging into the meat of the exposed skin until drawing a wince.

Dabi shuffled forward until your hands were pressed against the wall of the train, steadying yourself. His other made quick work of yanking down your jeans until they rested around your thighs, panties on display before his hungry gaze.

“D-don’t. I’ll scream.” By now, you’d been reduced to a whimpering, teary-eyed mess, your frantic gaze shifting through the other riders for a witness to what was going on.

But they were all too preoccupied to care.

“Yeah, for who?” The passengers that did notice were the wrong ones.

You met the greedy eyes of the man closest to you and the way his own dropped down to your connected bodies. Dabi was quick to notice that and chuckled before leaning down toward your ear.

“Still your idol, doll? This is his society, you know? The one on your ridiculously, ugly top,” He snickered, his fingers hooking into the side of your panties.

Before you could cry out, his scarred hand clamped over your mouth at the same time as his cock breached your cunt. You tensed, nothing escaping you but a muffled gasp as he shoved himself past your tight ring of resistance. Your eyes were wide, peering back at you in the glass, reflecting off of the pain and horror present.

“Mm, so tight.” He licked the shell of your ear and you release a shuddering sob. He began a snappy, brutal pace, the thick cock dragging heavily through your dry walls. Every time he pulled away, you felt every vein, every metallic orb scraping against gummy insides.

He slammed back into you at the same time the train screeched over rusted tracks, grunting with every stroke, his thin hip bones snapping against your ass.

His grip was bruising as he held onto your waist, his wrist only flicking to push and pull you back onto his dick. His other hand remained pressed against your mouth to muffle your cries and moans. You reached behind to at least try and push him away, alleviate the grating pain he was causing but your attempts were laughable as he only slapped away your efforts.

Dabi sped up, stumbling forward until your front was pressed against the metal interior, body squished between hot and cool. The hand over your mouth dropped to hang loosely around your neck, tilting your head back to meet his. The hood over his head only served to make him all the more menacing with the shadow that casted over his grotesque features.

“What do you think Mr. Endeavor would say if he saw his biggest fan being defiled like this? Probably be disgusted huh? I mean, allowing a complete stranger to fuck you on public transportation.” Your eyes closed as you imagined the twisted look of repulsion on your favorite hero and the image brought you to more tears.

You hiccupped as he trailed fingers down in between your legs to brush against your clit, missing the way his grin widened at the way you suddenly tense up. You released a pained moan at the way your pussy clamped down on him.

“So sensitive,” He chuckled at the way you try and bite down your orgasm. He could feel you start to relax, your cunt pulsating around him as your juices started to slick him up.

Overhead, the sound of the loudspeaker crackling at the next stop had Dabi’s eyes glancing up, as if now aware of the time. Releasing you, his hand fell to your other hip where his blunt nails dug as his pace quickened.

“Stop’s coming up,” He mumbled. You didn’t really hear him though. You were busy trying not to give in to the way his cock was filling you up, the pain parting into pleasure, your juices beginning to fall and squish around his dick.

Your head hung low; you couldn’t even look at your reflection in the glass anymore, at the way your brows furrowed over glossy, blown eyes. The way your wet lips part to release silent moans. You were despicable. You couldn’t call yourself a fan of the great Endeavor anymore, not after this.

Not after him.

Dabi’s feet planted firmly, his hips suddenly stuttering to a halt. He was quick to conceal your squeal with his hand again as his dick twitched in your cunt. Your teary eyes widened as you felt warmth flooding you, too horrified to even move save for your trembles.

He was still going, slowly rutting his nut back into you with shallow strokes. It was only until you heard a chime overhead that he pulled away with a content sigh.

Dabi eyed the way his cum was beginning to seep down your thighs, dripping into your bunched up jeans and an idea formed in his head, one that had him grinning sadistically.

A moment later your trembling legs finally gave way allowing you to sink onto the floor.

He began to fix himself, adjusting the hood on his head. He threw a cocky salute to the man eyeballing him earlier and a final disgusted look down at those eyes on your shirt. He then shook his head with a forming smile, walking away and leaving you on the floor of the cold train. The whooshing of the doors were deafening in your ears as you looked up to greedy eyes.

Back at the hero agency, Endeavor’s phone lit up and a notification from an unknown number had his brows furrowed in confusion at the link. His scowl only deepened after further investigation.

DILFOS. do not plagiarize my content—current or archival.

[denaliwrites]

The Future Ex Mrs. Malcolm

Ian Malcolm x Fem!Reader

Catch and Release Prompt: "Service"

Summary: (18+) You weren't quite sure how the chaotician became famous, but you were starting to see how he got his reputation.

Requests: Open!

Warnings: Excessive use of filler words. Oral (f receiving). Age gap (only mentioned).

You were pretty sure, from the moment you first saw him, that Ian Malcolm was famous. Did you know who he was or why he was famous? Of course not. He just had an air of superiority about him that only came from spending an extended period of time in the spotlight.

Well, a spotlight, at least.

You later found out that his claim to fame had something to do with math and chaos -- he'd been all too eager to explain it to you, but to be honest, anything to do with numbers slid right off your brain, and his pretty smile didn't really do your retention capabilities any favors.

You first met him when he brought his perfectly ordinary, if a bit "Hot Rod"-esque, car into your dad's shop to be serviced. While he waited for your dad to finish fixing up the car, the two of you talked.

Well, more accurately, you flirted shamelessly with no parent hovering menacingly over your shoulders.

You rather enjoyed the flirtatious attention of the older man, and you suspected he probably liked the equally flirtatious attention of a younger woman.

The next time you saw him, he had a different car. It was new, but only in the sense of whose hand it'd most recently fallen into. It was certainly older in every other way, maybe as old as Ian himself, though none of the previous owners had taken good care of it. The shell was rusted, parts were damaged or missing, and the seats almost certainly had blood in them.

Fixing it was going to be a multi-visit affair.

And that was how you found yourself being serviced by Ian behind your dad's car service shop.

It'd started like any of his other visits. This was his sixth, overall, and the two of you were emboldened by the idea that your father hadn't caught on yet --

Well, you were emboldened. You were pretty sure Ian didn't need a reason to be, he was just like that naturally.

He'd come to your counter, as he always did, to buy a Surge he never actually drank. He'd flirted, as he always did, and you flirted right back, as you always did.

You mentioned taking a break, and he mentioned needing some air.

His Surge was left forgotten on the counter as he made his way out the back door. You followed behind five minutes later and found him waiting for you in a shaded corner where no one would see the two of you.

His eyes feasted eagerly over your legs, bare but for your upper thighs, though they were shielded only by the loose skirt of your sundress.

"Those, uh, go on for days, don't they?" he asked as he stepped nearer. Before you could respond, he swept you into his arms, and you couldn't help but notice that you seemed to naturally fit together, like puzzle pieces.

"I, uh, always wondered... what your, uh. Legs. Looked like," he continued as you were pressed to the wall and his mouth landed hot and heavy on your bare shoulder. "Could never really, you know, see them. While you were, uh, behind the counter."

You whimpered as his lips trailed down your arm a few inches, his heated breath leaving goosebumps as it dissipated over your skin and left only a cool reminder that he'd been there. "I-Ian," you gasped, a hand reaching up to weave into his curls. You tugged down, and he easily let you pull him away from you.

The smirk he shot you had you all but melting, and the growl that accompanied it had you all but quaking.

"Hey, uh, you're the one in control here," he said, though the smirk he wore made you think maybe he was the one that was really in control, he just happened to not mind much what he ended up doing with you, so he could afford to let you have the illusion of control.

Not that you minded, much. Either way, you were getting yours.

"Do whatever you want," you told him.

His smirk grew just a touch wicked at that. "That's a, uh, dangerous invitation," he said carefully, though you could hear the arousal choking his voice even so, "be careful you don't let any, um... vampires... in."

"Are you a vampire?" you asked.

"Maybe," he answered simply, before his lips were back on you, trailing ever downward until he was on his knees before you. "Oh, this is much better."

His breath teased your inner thigh, eliciting another whimper from you. Hearing the effect he had on you only made him do it more, and soon all you could do was whine desperately.

"Pretty, uh, sensitive?" he asked. All you could do was nod in response and gasp as you felt, more than heard, the dark chuckle that emanated from his throat.

He moved on, his hands splaying over your thighs and fingers digging in as his mouth moved over the tender flesh, all but worshipping you as he delicately lifted your left leg up and over his shoulder to lay gracefully across his back.

He had nearly perfect access to you, now, though your panties obscured his view. He didn't seem bothered, though, as his face disappeared under your skirt.

A moment later, you felt a finger gently brushing the cloth aside. You whined as it inevitably made contact with your slit, hips rolling eagerly for more.

"Ah, ah," he tutted, breath dancing over your slit drawing forth a moan. His growling chuckle only made you moan again. "Good girl," he said in amusement, his hands returning to your thighs to rub them comfortingly.

He gave the thick meat of your thighs a squeeze, and then you felt his hot mouth on you -- you choked back a yelp as his tongue teased at your clit, circling it a few times and flicking against it once.

To keep yourself quiet, you bit down on a curled finger, and to keep yourself grounded, you buried your other hand in Ian's curls.

This only seemed to egg him on. His tongue swiped swiftly down your slit and plunged into your cunt. Your teeth sank into your finger and the squeal that would've otherwise sounded instead died in your throat.

A breezy chuckle rolled over your clit as Ian drew back to lave attention on it. Your hips rolled in response, which only made him chuckle more.

You could feel your insides starting to coil, could feel the desperation building. Ian seemed to sense it too, as his ministrations became quicker and more precise. Every breath, every flick of his tongue and touch of his lips, had shifted from teasing to drawing out your orgasm.

You wanted to scream as one last lap of his tongue from hole to clit finally brought you over the edge, but you bit it down, even as his tongue continued to circle your little nub to ease you through the high.

To compensate for your inability to scream your pleasure, you tightened your leg draped over Ian's back, drawing him in deeper to your core. He didn't seem to mind, even as he found his mouth fuller than he anticipated, if the grin you could feel was anything to go by.

Gradually, and with Ian's expert guidance,, you came down. You panted and sagged against the wall once the post-orgasm fog drifted in, and Ian carefully eased your leg down so that he could stand and offer you support.

You could see your slick shimmering on his lips and mindlessly pulled him into a kiss. He eagerly returned it, hands holding you tightly to keep you close.

"Would you, uh... marry me?" Ian asked in a low whisper, his eyes meeting yours.

"Bit quick, isn't it?" you replied, though you were grinning.

He returned the gesture. "I, uh. Never was one for... moderation."

You were about to answer, but then you heard your father calling for you. You shot Ian an amused glance. "Guess you'll have to come back to get my answer."

"I. I, uh. Look forward to it?"

"Maybe you should come back with a ring. Just in case."

[davi-doo]

Durgetash - RP snippet #1

Pairing: M/M, The Dark Urge (default Dragonborn) x Enver Gortash

Rating: Mature

Summary: At one point in their relationship, the Bhaalspawn's father given urge was revealed to Gortash.

Author's note: This writing came from a rp I shared with my friend. Consequently, it has no continuous narrative, as we took turn to write each character in our style. Durge's parts were written by me, and Gortash's by @mcfallen-god.

The Dark Urge:

As warm blood soaked his hand, and the body on his lap grows cold by the second, Durge watches as the human quakes, choking on his last breath. The Bhaalspawn hears himself whispers his father name, sowing the fear for the Lord of Murder in his victim's fading consciousness. Binding his soul to Bhaal's realm.

The kill must bring instant gratification to his dark urge, as it hums in his father's content silence. But sometimes is wrong. He heard the clang as his holy blade hit the cold ground, as he must have dropped it. And through his blurry vision, he recognized the face of the one in his arms.

Enver Gortash. His souless dark eyes was still staring at him in utter horror.

***

The dragonborn wakes up in cold sweat. His blood red eyes dash across the room in a familiar panic, as he tries to take in as much of his surrounds as quickly as possible.

This is not...his father's temple, with its high celling, ever echoing scream of the tortured souls. It's a regular bedroom, with creamy wall and embroidered curtains. The pale blue light from the large window tells him they still have a few hours before sunrise.

The ordinary only managed to calm his anxiety for so long. Turning aside and throwing away the cover, the Bhaalspawn discovered his bedmate buried beneath the heavy blanket. Enver Gortash. His warm skin radiates heat, snoring softly in his blissful slumber. Holding down an emotional choke, Durge shoots up from the bed and rushes to find his belongings. He must leave and seek penance. Lest their union, no, their grand design ends in the Banite's blood.

Enver Gortash:

He is delightful whenever he is lucky enough to fill his bed with the presence of his one and only.

To feel his sleep watched over like this, it allows the grand Lord of Baldur's Gate to abandon himself to the deepest and most restful slumber.

However, Enver Gortash remains a man with a light sleep, and the little changes of weight on the bed, of warmth under the blankets or from the slightest, unnatural sound in his surroundings, he would wake up.

Thus, as Durge sits up and starts to move around the room, may he be as silent as Death itself, Gortash just feels it. Growling, twitching, he moves to the side where the dragonborn was laying when they fell asleep. As he has the confirmation he is now alone between the expensive sheets, he sits up and looks with fully awake eyes at the pale silhouette.

The white scales glowing mystically under the gaze of the moon. If he was less concerned by the reason making the other man move so fast, so quietly, and so in the middle of the night… Gortash would have just admired him for a bit longer.

"What are you doing? Didn't we pass the 'leave before you wake up' stage?" He asks, teasy, his voice husky with sleep and his hair kind of messed up.

As he feels how serious the situation was - he never saw this expression on the Bhaalspawn's features - Goratsh stands up with a frown.

"Durge.. what is it? What happened?"

The Dark Urge:

The dragonborn only stops on his track for a second when he heard his lover's voice. Still determined to ignore him, Durge quickly went back to throwing on his coat. But as the same voice called his name, his sense of urgency rapidly turns into anger.

How could this ever cunning Banite allow himself to be so careless? How could he allow things between them escalated into this tangled mess? How could Durge let his touch be the rewards for defying his father's principles?

"Enver! Do you want to die?! Without accomplishing anything?!" The dragonborn lashed out "If you don't, we must end whatever this is. Right now!"

The Bhaalspawn visibly trembles with effort and labored breath after saying his bit. But despite his forceful words, he can't find the heart to hold the other's eyes. So he crooked his head and turned away, hoping Gortash will take offend with his notoriously terrible temper.

Enver Gortash:

Something is definitely off and this all looks bad.

With a firm, but still calm and careful move, the human stands and steps until he can put a hand and grabs on the other's arm.

"Hey. What happened." He asks again, less a question than a command now. "Is that … Your god?"

Gortash is far from being stupid. He knows their respective gods may appear in their dreams or whisper their commands through the night. He is also far from being naive enough and thinks that: one, Bhaal is unaware of his 'son's' situation, and two, the god is most certainly disapproving it.

No, what Gortash doesn't understand is that sudden anger, that needs to flee. Durge is not the type to flee. There is nothing that would make him run away…

A mission? He would have just said so.

Why acting like he wants to have Gortash mad?

The human mind goes full speed from one thought to another, trying to figure out.

If Bhaal had ordered to kill Gortash… Durge would have said it. He would not have run like this…

It is something bigger, scarier.

"…. Talk to me." Gortash frowns, with seriousness.

The Dark Urge:

Durge closes his eyes and grits his teeth. The voice in his head is intimidatingly silent. He can only imagine his father's watching eyes, waiting for him to define his faith.

So the Banite wants to talk. Durge let out an annoyed snicker. With the facade of pragmatism, he knows how the kind of them are always hunger for new knowledge. They will steal, bribe and kill for a piece of useful information; they must exploit all the resources to establish their control. All to gain power over their subject. Even Durge knows their alliance and partnership is no exception for The Black Hand's doctrines.

Brushing of those fingers off his arm, the dragonborn turns back and face those seeking eyes at last. Should he choose to gain the Banite knowledge of his innate condition, he must be ready to slay him to the change of the wind. But perhaps, that will be the end of his agony.

"I am my father's flesh. His bloody hand carved me from his carcass. My body is his to act on. I can't die unless it's his will." the dragonborn speaks with hushed voice but no less solemnly, looking down at the smaller human with a clear intention to intimidate.

"What do you think drives us killer's blade? Hatred? Anger? Pleasure? " He steps closer with each stabbing words, "No, it's will from the Murder Lord himself. We praise it, honor it. But we have no say over it...Not without facing His wrath anyways."

Somewhere in his grim expression, or the tension across his towering frame, Gortash can sense a faint stroke of remorse. But it passes as quickly as a breath, and the Bhaalspawn speaks again before he can protest:

"If my father wants you dead." The dragonborn put his claw over the human's beating heart, "There's no stopping me from killing you. Not my reason, nor your binding oath."

Enver Gortash:

He doesn't resist and lets go of the arm, stepping a step backward to let the dragonborn turn and look at him.

He lets him speak with the greatest and most serious interest.

Though, his expression soon shows how he starts to understand what it is all about.

His frown goes deeper and something in his body just goes steadier.

"…" He feels he has no turn to speak as Durge stressed his lineage, but it feels itchy to the human.

However, he frowns deeper, giving to his eyes - already dark in the dim light - the impression of a deep, gleaming black color.

He won't step back. He won't back off in front of Bhaal - because yes, he considers the one talking is more the god than the spawn. Though, his mind still gets ready to jump and grabs the dagger he keeps by his bedside table. Just in case.

Though, the proximity with that body he knows already way too well feels too familiar and that hand on bis chest, supposedly a thread, it feels more like a plea, an apology, and a confession.

Gortash looks with a tilted head into those eyes and beyond, then he sighs. Holding the dragonborn's hand over his chest, he speaks as much to the Bhaalspawn as to the god himself.

"I can figure out your god might feel threatened by an ally as I am, but standing under the command of another patron. However.." He stares straight through Durge now. "Your god might know I am way more useful alive than dead. As I know no one is able to do as I am. You need my influence and my power, for your goal, aren't you?" It sounds like Gortash is speaking to Bhaal, in case the god does listen.

"If a little filth and pleasure frighten Him so much.." He slides his fingers between Durge's. "He might have little faith in his own spawn and choices."

He kisses the palm.

"If he insists on having me dead, he will bring prejudice to himself first, I am just saying."

The Dark Urge:

Durges stares at his lover in disbelief. He can sense no hesitation, no fear for one's own survival. And the worst of all, no disappointment nor distrust.

And when those lips tickle his palm, he feels like there's a boulder crushing on his heart. This damned affliction that ever compels him to scratch open his chest - it only grows stronger by the days. For the longer he allows himself to gaze upon this mortal. And the more often the mortal smiles back.

"You're a cat, dancing on a too narrow fence. One day you will fall, and won't land on your feet. My blade will dive in your gut in the end, and you will curse all the days you have laid too close to death."

The dragonborn whispers, and Gortash can feel, and see his muscles relax. The hand that rejected him now seeks his face, gently caressing the scar on his chin in anticipation of a kiss.

Enver Gortash:

Gortash slides his own palm up to Durge's chest with that smile he ever only gave the dragonborn.

"I was made to dance on narrow fence, darling." He chuckles cheekily, indulging in the touch on his face.

"And even if in the end it's your blade that dives into my guts, I'll never curse the days that brought me so close to this Dark Urge." His hand move up, mirroring the Bhaalspawn's one, cupping the scaly jaw. After another moment looking into those glowing red eyes, he pulls and moves on to kiss the dragonborn. His gesture is gentle, soft, his palm caressing down Durge’s chin; yet those fingers are still holding on that jaw; demanding, possessive.

"You and I," he growls to the thin lips. "We are made to do great things." Ambition and arousal are sparkling in his eyes. Power always puts this look on his face, and they both know how Durge is the only one Gortash allows to stand beside him, rather than crushed beneath his feet.

"Now, what would you think, using that Dark Urge for something as good as killing, but far less definitive?" He whispers.

His both hands trace circles on the scaly chest, sliding up to lock the dragonborn in an embrace; he leans closer, to whisper into the other’s ear. “I could even let you be on top of me for once…” He nuzzles on the softest part of Durge’s skin; under his jaw, kissing it, biting it.

(To be continued)

[writer59january13]

I lacked emotions where others concerned.

Back approximately half my life ago dissociative disorder if qualified to self diagnose mein kampf psychological state... I lacked emotions where others concerned. That refrain replayed itself,

when wife picked up (like a broken record), where parents left off before they entered another dimension

(maybe the fifth) of space and time (hosted courtesy Rod Serling),

where yours truly (me) repeated until blue in the face don't hock my chinik

to the missus lest a potential crime scene draws The Mod Squad.

Though she ceased reiterating

magnum opus of colorful epithets

towards me, daunting effort

well nigh impossible to ignore

daily USDA over dosage

stinging derogatory, heavily re: tar did psyche stunted, wrathful

verbal artillery fire remains with me to this moment in tandem,

and keep lock step company with malicious noxious obloquy pilloried,

quotidian rate sundering unsung

vitality within zealous

aspiring bookish chap.

Daily eruptions from glowering Hercules

inundated, jack-knifed, linkedin fin de sic cull nursing offal

personal quaking resentment stewing toxic watershed unleashed veritable,

red hot wrath, undermining vivacity within yawping seething, tormenting

uber vitality wreaking yours truly x screw she hating,

killing motives of papa querulously, rabidly scathing, terrorizing

sole son, who for better part of marriage underwent

lighter version of invectives cutting me down to size,

asper zero self worth, though calmer days prevailed between

 huzz-band and spouse, yet nonetheless indelible imprimatur undeniably

etched overtop palimpsest raw hide of self esteem.

Twas quite recently,

this heir indubitably coaxed sea legs, more so regarding self acceptance

felt emboldened, empowered, and emancipated from invisible shackles bounding (akin to Gulliver) a dire straightened situation.

Thru auspices of divine help (then Lower Merion counseling offices)

professional psychiatrists psychologists quelled

retaliatory spiteful treatment upon banshee hushed heads

(high school peers, parents and fiendish ghoul- lash humans) intently joyously kindled,

lamentable mean name calling (though sticks and stones

ne’er hurled venality broke lovely bones), the sheer redundancy

to remain passive internalizing verbal cut throat,

villainous wicked yik yaks zapped ambition to fight back, and desire to live.

Characteristics against cross purposes predated onset of bullies took delight

feigning Brutus Maccabeus lashing at diminutive, harried,

and introverted Capricorn incessantly lambasted, ostracized,

and repulsed from LivingSocial hermetically sealing within bubble wrap, could not thwart nor deflect

piercing poison tipped daggers puncturing outermost covalent shell,

reminiscent pock marks from yesterday.

Though cessation of banal, devilish frothing at mouth nastiness no longer prevails,

an inordinate number of bumped ugly chronologically

bereft experiences, detached, estranged, fostered knee-jerk reactions

against socialization, brought

to light this moment pregnant revelation no need

to discern what cauterized alienation.

Seeds of white lily begot ordinary individual

(now middle aged male lxv passages around black hole sun)

accepts schizoid personality disorder

born free and clear within utero bolstered

by external forces

finds me aware essential core being alive absent til death do me part.

[vaniceseasonalgiftsdecor]

BREAKING: Tsunami Horror Strikes Japan Post-Deadly 7.5 Earthquake

Thanks ; Faruk Imamovic  Published ; Jan,02 BREAKING: Tsunami Horror Strikes Japan Post-Deadly 7.5 Earthquake© X/MarioNawfal On a seemingly ordinary Monday afternoon, western Japan was struck by a catastrophic 7.5 magnitude earthquake, igniting a series of events that sent the nation into a state of emergency. The quake, occurring at 4:10 p.m. local time, was centered 42 kilometers (26 miles)…

[boysloves-stuff]

    wallpaper nine kornchid! 🔭

˒ ♥︎ or ↻ if u save

[ghxst-heart]

ᴡʜᴇɴ ɪɴ ᴍᴇᴍᴘʜɪꜱ ─ ᴇʟᴠɪꜱ ᴘʀᴇꜱʟᴇʏ

sᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: (Y/N) was a good girl.  She was always home before her curfew, she helped her father prepare for his gigs, and she stayed away from the good-for-nothin’ stagehand boys that were always trying to win her affection.  She was a good girl, her father’s obedient pride and joy, until Elvis Presley became his opening act. ᴛʀɪɢɢᴇʀ ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢs: Usual time-period sexism, mentions of race and segregation through slang, the portrayal of a toxic familial relationship, use of the word "whore" in a derogatory sense (this does not reflect how I feel about sex workers, I wholeheartedly support sex workers and applaud them). ɴᴇᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ ᴋɴᴏᴡ ɪɴғᴏ: Pronouns used are She/Her/Hers, HankSnowDaughter!Reader, kind of an Innocent!Reader, AustinButler!Elvis ɪɴᴄʟᴜᴅᴇs: Fem!Reader, Crushing!Elvis Presley X Reader ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 4.8k

ᴘᴀʀᴛ ᴛʜʀᴇᴇ ᴏғ ᴛʜᴇ ʙɪɢ sʜᴏᴛ ᴍɪssɪssɪᴘᴘɪ ʙᴏʏ sᴇʀɪᴇs

ᴘʀᴇᴠɪᴏᴜꜱ ᴘᴀʀᴛ | ɴᴇxᴛ ᴘᴀʀᴛ

‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎Jimmie had warned (Y/N) on the way back to the carnival that their father was beyond furious.  He had spent the night pacing the length of their tent, grumbling about her complete and utter disrespect and the shame she’d brought onto his name.  (Y/N) hated hearing about it, but she knew she’d hate facing him even more.  Jimmie dropped Betty off at her tent, and, after a kiss on the cheek of good luck, Betty sent the Snow siblings back to their father.

‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎(Y/N) stayed in the truck, her hands pulling on the fabric of her skirt as she stared at the tent her family had claimed as their own.  It was nicer than most of the other tents, but it was still tattered and worn from its years on the traveling carnival.  The sunlight was hitting the tent perfectly, and (Y/N) could see the silhouette of her father sitting on his cot with his head in his hands.  A wave of guilt washed over her, and she heavily sighed, her fingers bunching into the fabric of her skirt as nerves overtook her body.

‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎“(Y/N/N), ya gotta face him sooner or later,” Jimmie softly said, stretching his arm along the seat and nudging his sister’s shoulder.  (Y/N) shook her head, her eyes trailing to the side as she took a deep breath.  She could feel tears sting her eyes, the exhaustion from the night and the culpability of her actions finally catching up to her.  She didn’t understand why she acted out the way she had.  She had never done that; she had never disobeyed her father before.  (Y/N) had had so much fun tonight, but at what cost?  She’d be lucky if her father didn’t disown her.

‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎“He’s gon’ send me home, Jim.” (Y/N) sadly said, her voice small.  She cringed when her voice shook.  She hated that she was so scared of going home.  It wasn’t as if she was mistreated at home, it was just so ordinary.  Nothing ever happened in her hometown; it was the same routine every day.  As much as (Y/N) sometimes enjoyed the humdrum of her life, it was starting to become depressing.  She had just a tiny taste of freedom last night and only wanted more.  She couldn’t go home; she wouldn’t.

‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎“He ain’t gonna send ya home, (Y/N).” Jimmy tried to convince her, but his tone betrayed his words.  He wasn’t sure what their father would do; (Y/N) knew he didn’t.  Their father had always been liberal regarding punishments, but that didn’t mean that his children weren’t afraid of what he would do.  (Y/N) and Jimmie had learned to call the grim expression he wore when he told them of his disappointment ‘The Look.’ His narrowed eyes, deep frown, and the way he’d shake his head had them quaking in their boots.  (Y/N) hated that look, and she’d only been on the receiving end of it a handful of times.

‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎(Y/N) shook her head, finally meeting her brother’s eyes. "Don’t be stupid, Jim.  I’ve never done anything like this.  That’s the only thin’ he’d think to do.”

‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎Jimmie was quiet for a moment before he thoughtfully hummed. "Well, he ain’t gonna find anyone that can hem a pair of trousers like ya.  That’s a real conundrum he’s gon’ have if he sends ya home.”

‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎(Y/N) pathetically chuckled, but her fingers loosened on her skirt just slightly.  Even if she didn’t believe her brother’s words, they did help ease her mind.  She did a lot for her father during the carnival and his performances, more than many others did.  He’d be lost without her; he wouldn’t know what to do.  Maybe he’d go easy.  Perhaps he’d be willing to forgive her.

‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎“He’s helpless without me.” (Y/N) quietly jested, earning a loud laugh from her brother.  Jimmie chuckled and shook his head, nudging her shoulder with his hand again.

‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎“See?” Jimmie asked, “He ain’t gonna send ya home.  He wouldn’t dream of it.”

‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎(Y/N) shook her head, the faintest of smiles pulling on her lips, “I hope you’re right, Jim.”

‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎The Snow siblings slowly slid out of Jimmie’s truck to face their father, but before they could reach their tent, they were stopped by the Colonel, their father’s manager.  Colonel Tom Parker was a fat old man with a funny accent that (Y/N) could never place.  It seemed to be a combination of so many places that she never knew what his authentic voice sounded like.  (Y/N) never liked the Colonel.  He was crass, rude at times, and seemed to have no class despite how he carried himself.  Again, (Y/N) could never place it, but there was just something off about that man.

‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎“(Y/N), my girl, there you are!” The Colonel greeted, sounding too cheerful and upbeat for the time of the morning.  (Y/N) took a step closer to Jimmie, folding her arms behind her back and letting her fingers grab her elbow.  Her nails started to scratch her elbow, grabbing and pinching a red spot into her soft skin.  The Colonel mirrored her movements, closing the space she had put between them. "That was quite the show last night, no?”

‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎(Y/N) nodded, her teeth chewing on the inside of her cheek, “Yes, sir, it was.”

‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎“Now, I think that wiggly boy would make an excellent addition to the carnival.” The Colonel said, sounding as if he were unsure of his words.  (Y/N)’s head tilted to the side, curious about what he was implying.  Did he want Elvis to join them?  A part of (Y/N) wanted him to leap at the opportunity, she wanted to spend more time with him, and that would be the perfect way to do so.  But, the part of her that didn’t trust the Colonel told her it would be a mistake.  Nothing good could come of that man’s influence on Elvis; he was too good.  The Colonel would ruin him.

‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎(Y/N) didn’t get a chance to respond before the Colonel started speaking again. "Was that you that I saw in that diner with that boy?  That Elvis Presley?” (Y/N)’s face paled, and a lump started to form in her throat.  She couldn’t trust her voice.  She knew that it would betray her, so she simply opted to nod her head.  She didn’t know what his angle was, but she knew he had one.  He always did. "Did he show any interest in doing more shows, hmm?  Taking his career to the next level?”

‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎(Y/N) shrugged, her fingers pinching harder on her elbow.  She was sure that a large red welt was forming, but she didn’t care.  This man made her nervous, and his questions about Elvis only worsened that. "I suppose.  I’m sure a boy like him can’t stay off the stage too long.”

‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎Seemingly satisfied with her answer, the Colonel started to stalk away from the Snow siblings, mumbling incoherently to himself.  (Y/N) watched him go, limping away on his cane toward his own tent.  Her face fell into a frown as he disappeared behind the cotton of his tent, shaking her head and sighing.

‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎“I don’t like that Colonel,” (Y/N) said, her arms crossing over her stomach and gripping the fabric of her top as she looked at her brother. "How daddy ended up with a manager like him, I’ll never know.”

‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎“He knows what he’s doin’, that’s for sure,” Jimmie said, always one to play Devil’s Advocate.  (Y/N) sent him a pointed glare before looking at her family’s tent again.  She was suddenly cycling through all her emotions from before; fear, guilt, distress.  She didn’t think she’d ever be ready to face her father, but she had to.

‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎“You’ve got my back, don’t ya, Jim?” (Y/N) asked, her eyes unwavering on the spot that her father’s silhouette shone through the tent.  He was in the same stance as before, leaning on his elbows with his head between his hands.  (Y/N) had no doubt that he was praying, asking for strength and guidance on how to handle her disobedience.

‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎Jimmie placed a gentle hand on her shoulder, “I ain’t never seen ya so carefree an’ happy, (Y/N/N).  I got ya back.”

‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎(Y/N) met her brother’s eyes with a faint smile as she took in his encouraging expression.  He nodded and squeezed her shoulder, and that was all she needed.  Finally, she could face her father; she wasn’t alone.  She took a deep breath and started walking toward the tent, her strides careful yet determined.  Jimmie was a few paces behind, and she could hear his shoes scuffle in the gravel under their feet as she briefly paused at the tent’s entrance.  (Y/N)’s small hands wrapped around the dirty cotton tent, the fabric rough against her fingertips.  She knew that that was how her father’s words would feel in her heart.

‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎“If you aren’t comin’ in, you can walk away.” (Y/N)’s father’s voice sounded weak and scratchy from his lack of sleep and the lack of use of it.  (Y/N) inwardly cringed, but she couldn’t walk away.

‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎(Y/N) pushed the tent aside, revealing her dejected expression to her father.  Her eyes were wide, and her mouth was screwed into a frown.  Her shoulders slumped slightly, which only worsened when she met her father’s disappointed eyes.  It was exactly how she expected it to be, his face pulled into ‘The Look’ as he waited for her excuse.  Truthfully, (Y/N) didn’t have one.  She didn’t know what came over her to fall into such rebellion.

‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎No, she did.  It was Betty and her wild ways of living.  It was Elvis and his way of dancing and singing, pulling emotions from her that she never knew she’d had.  It was her longing for something different.  She didn’t want to be known as Hank Snow’s daughter anymore; she didn’t want to live under those expectations.  She wanted to have fun.

‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎(Y/N) nervously licked her lips, taking small steps into the tent and letting the fabric sway shut behind her.  She didn’t have to glance behind her to know that Jimmie had stayed outside; he knew that their father would have shooed him away the moment he stepped inside.  (Y/N) let her arms fall limply at her sides, almost as if her body was giving up on the impending fight before it began.

‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎“What do you have to say for yourself, young lady?” Hank asked, his tone full of scorn as he glared at his daughter.  (Y/N)’s head bowed slightly.  She hated when he used that tone with her; it made her feel awful.

‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎“I’m sorry, Daddy,” (Y/N) said.  Her eyes focused on her saddle shoes, their toes scuffed and worn.  She needed a new pair, and she remembered that that was what she was going to do before Betty convinced her to come to the Hayride with her.  Yet another tedious activity that she didn’t want to do while touring the south with a carnival. "I know I disappointed you.”

‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎Hank scoffed, shaking his head as he glanced to the side to collect his thoughts. "You disgraced me, (Y/N).  How dare you act that way?”

‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎He held up the morning paper, and plastered on the front, was (Y/N)’s face.  Her hands were tangled in her hair, her eyes were wild, and her mouth was open in a silent scream of elation.  The headline across the paper read, “Daughter of Country Star Hank Snow Loses Control At Louisiana Hayride.”

‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎(Y/N) felt a lump start forming in her throat, but she fought against the waterworks she knew would come with it.  God forbid she let her father see how hurtful his words were.  Her bottom lip quivered, but she took a deep breath and steeled herself, slowly looking up to meet her father’s eyes.

‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎“How dare I have fun?  How dare I enjoy myself at a concert?” (Y/N) challenged, surprising herself with her words.  That wasn’t what she wanted to say, what she was supposed to say.  Her face fell with realization as soon as she uttered the words, and she took a step backward as her father stood from his cot, his face rigid with anger.  Oh, no.  Now I’ve really done it, (Y/N) thought, her mouth running dry as she carefully watched her father’s reaction.

‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎Hank took slow, calculated steps toward his daughter, his hands balled into fists by his side.  He was a few paces away from her now.  (Y/N) could feel the fury radiating off of him, but he was oddly calm as he said his following words.  They struck her like the sharpest daggers, cutting fresh wounds in her heart.

‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎“How dare you act like a whore for that dirty greaser?  Screamin’ at his lewd and horrendous movements.” Hank spit, his head shaking in disappointment.  Tears stung (Y/N)’s eyes, and her throat started to close.  She felt as if she was suffocating, but she couldn’t even try to get a gasp of air.  Her father’s words had knocked the air right out of her lungs, and she didn’t know how to react. "I’d be right to send you home.”

‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎“No!” (Y/N) loudly said, sounding choked up from the dread and fear rising in her throat.  Somehow, the threat of going home was worse than her father calling her a whore.  Her hands raised from her sides, clasped together in front of her as she pleaded with her father, “Please, daddy, don’ send me home!”

‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎“Of course, he won’t send you home, dear girl!”

‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎(Y/N) whipped around to come face-to-face with the Colonel.  His face was alight with glee, both hands resting on his cane as he infiltrated the private conversation between father and daughter.  (Y/N) wasn’t sure what to feel.  On the one hand, she was angry that he forced his way into their argument, but the other side of her was grateful that he had stepped in.  He saved her from even more insults from her father.

‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎“She’s brought shame to my name, Colonel,” Hank said, venom laced through his words as he pointed a finger toward (Y/N).  The Snow girl shied away, her body closing in on itself as she watched her father and the Colonel talk.  Hank was ready for an intense argument, prepared to defend his beliefs and his decision to send (Y/N) home, but the Colonel was prepared to negotiate.  It’s what he did best.

‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎“She showed everyone that even the younger crowd can have fun at your concerts, Hank.” The Colonel said, his light eyes dancing mischievously. "It is not a bad thing for a clean-cut girl like (Y/N) to have fun.”

‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎(Y/N) stared at the Colonel in shock, and she knew her face mirrored her father’s, but for different reasons.  (Y/N) couldn’t believe that he was sticking up for her; he had never given her more than a moment of his time.  She didn’t think he would be concerned about her staying with the carnival.  But, it only took a moment for her to realize that her staying with the carnival wasn’t for her own benefit.  The Colonel didn’t care about her.  He cared about himself.  She was only a pawn in his complicated chess game to ascend to wealth and power.  Yet, she couldn’t figure out her part.  She wasn’t sure she ever would.

‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎The air in Memphis was thick with humidity.  (Y/N)’s dress clung to her skin, making her feel itchy and uncomfortable as she stood outside a diner much like the one from the night of the Hayride.  In the days it had taken for the carnival to get to Memphis, (Y/N) couldn’t figure out the Colonel’s plan.  She knew he was interested in Elvis as an act; everyone had been since the Hayride.  Every small town newspaper from Shreveport to Memphis had Elvis’ name printed across the top, raving about the new music act taking over the southern teenage music scene.  

‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎It wasn’t just her dress and hair sticking to her body and neck that made her uncomfortable, however.  It was the man beside her, droning on and on about things (Y/N) couldn’t remember.  She didn’t know what the Colonel was planning to do, but he insisted that she needed to accompany him when he met with Elvis.  Somehow, he found out that Elvis had given her his address and telephone number, and he decided to use that to his advantage.

‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎The carnival had stopped in a small town about fifty miles outside of Memphis, and the Colonel led (Y/N) to the nearest payphone.  His fidgety movements encouraging her to ring up the Presley household and ask for an audience with the young man in question made her nervous, and she couldn’t help the shake in her voice as she spoke to the man himself, Elvis Presley.

‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎“Elvis?” (Y/N) asked, her fingers twirling around the phone cord as she watched the Colonel stare at her from the other side of the street.  Finally, he motioned with his hand for her to continue talking, and she quickly averted her gaze.  She didn’t need a distraction as she spoke to Elvis.

‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎“Who’s askin’?” Elvis’ smooth voice came through the phone, and (Y/N) felt a large smile cover her face as she let her shoulder fall against the booth.  His voice didn’t sound rude or accusatory; he sounded as if he knew exactly who was calling and he had been waiting for her to call.

‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎(Y/N) grinned, her bold streak speaking for her, “Just an adorin’ fan ya met in Shreveport.”

‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎Elvis chuckled on the other end of the phone, and (Y/N)’s heart soared.  She hadn’t forgotten the effect he had on her, but she had forgotten the intensity of it.  All he’d done was laugh at her coy comment, and she felt over the moon.

‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎“Well, what can I do for my adorin’ fan?” Elvis flirted, his voice somehow dropping even deeper as he spoke quietly into the phone.  (Y/N) could have died right then.  She wasn’t unfamiliar with having crushes on boys, she’d had plenty throughout her school years, but Elvis was different.  It was so intense so quickly that she wasn’t sure how to act.

‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎“I’m on my way to Memphis, you see,” (Y/N) began, “Well, actually, the carnival is comin’ to Memphis, and my daddy’s manager wanted to meet with you.  He thinks you’ve got real talent, Elvis.”

‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎Elvis was quiet for a moment before he hummed, letting her words register. "An’ here I thought ya just wanted to see me.”

‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎“I do!” (Y/N) said, and she cringed at her eagerness.  She cleared her throat as Elvis laughed on the other end. "I was hopin’ to repay you for those milkshakes.  But, my daddy won’ let me go without an escort.  He don’t trust ya.”

‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎“I wouldn’t, either,” Elvis drawled.  (Y/N) hoped that he understood that she was flirting, but she wasn’t very talented in that field.  She was trying to channel Betty, say something that she would say.  It seemed to work for her with Scotty.  Betty spent every last nickel at the payphones, talking for hours with Scotty.  Finally, Elvis cleared his throat, his tone still dripping with allure, “Can’t trust anyone ’round a pretty darlin’ like yourself.”

‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎(Y/N) giggled, her hand covering her lips to hold in a girlish squeal.  She could feel her skin heating up with a deep blush, and she was thankful that Elvis was fifty miles away, so he couldn’t see his effect on her.

‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎Elvis had agreed to meet (Y/N) and the Colonel the next day.  Her nerves were getting the best of her.  An odd mix of discomfort and excitement, she could feel her stomach starting to churn.  She tried to convince herself that it was just the heat, that it was just because she hadn’t drunk enough water that day, but she knew better.  She wasn’t sure how the meeting was going to go.  She wanted Elvis to agree.  She wanted to spend time on the road with him, and, as selfish as she felt, she wanted him to herself.  But, she also wanted better for Elvis and his career.  The Colonel wasn’t the right manager for him; deep down, she knew that.  From their one shared night in the diner booth, (Y/N) knew that Elvis just wanted to sing and share his love for his music, but the Colonel would ruin that.  He’d capitalize on it and turn it into a money scheme.  That was all the Colonel cared about.

‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎“Now, my girl, when Mr. Presley arrives, I want you to let me do the talking.” The Colonel said, tapping her leg with his cane.  (Y/N) glanced down and stared at his cane, a look of displeasure covering her features.  Then, finally, she shuffled away from him, her hands folding behind her back as she nodded in agreement.  The Colonel hummed. "Good, good.”

‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎It wasn’t long before a gray truck with the logo of an electric company rolled into the parking lot and out stepped Elvis.  He was dressed in his work uniform, a button-down shirt, trousers, and bomber jacket, all matching the truck’s color.  His hair was slicked back off his forehead, but the volume from the night of the performance was still there, standing tall above his head.  He wasn’t wearing any eyeliner, but his eyes still shone brightly under the intense Memphis sun.  (Y/N) bit the inside of her cheek as he scoured the front of the building, looking for her.

‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎Looking for her.  (Y/N) loved that she was who he was seeking out in the crowded streets.

‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎Their eyes locked, and Elvis grinned.  (Y/N)’s heart squeezed in her chest as she returned the small greeting, her head tilting to the side slightly as she sent him a small wave.  He nodded his chin in her direction, turning to lock his work truck before making his way to (Y/N) and the Colonel.  (Y/N) could feel her heart beating against her ribs, and her stomach fluttered with hundreds of butterflies.  He was so attractive, even without the eyeliner and lace button-down.

‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎“(Y/N),” Elvis greeted, and (Y/N)’s smile widened.

‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎“Elvis.” She mimicked, matching the enticement in his tone.  They stared at each other, briefly lost in the other’s eyes until the Colonel cleared his throat beside (Y/N).  The Snow girl finally broke her gaze, glancing up at the old man in slight alarm before she recovered.  She gestured to the Colonel, introducing him to Elvis. "Uh, Elvis, this is Colonel Tom Parker, my daddy’s manager.  Colonel, this is Elvis Presley.”

‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎The Colonel loudly spoke up, holding his hand out for a handshake. "Ah, Mr. Presley, my boy!  Wonderful to meet you!”

‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎“You, too, sir,” Elvis said, his southern accent making him sound much more proper than (Y/N) had ever heard.  He grabbed the Colonel’s hand firmly, shaking it as he dropped the formalities. "It’s, uh, it’s just Elvis.”

‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎“Good, good,” the Colonel said, turning to the diner’s door. "Shall we head inside?  I’m not used to this Memphis heat.”

‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎Elvis nodded, chuckling as he said, “It takes some gettin’ used to.”

‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎The three turned to enter the diner, and Elvis held the door open for (Y/N) and the Colonel.  The Colonel entered first, not paying any mind to the gentlemanly action of letting the lady through the door first, but (Y/N) didn’t mind when she felt Elvis’ large hand gently splay across her lower back as he followed her inside.  He let his hand rest there until they were seated in a booth, and (Y/N) couldn’t help the blush that dusted over her cheeks as Elvis slid into the booth beside her.  She knew that it was so he could give the Colonel his full attention as they talked business, but she let her mind play into the idea that it was because he wanted to be near her.

‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎The Colonel jumped into business before the waitress could even greet them, but (Y/N) wasn’t paying any attention to him.  Instead, her gaze was focused on Elvis.  The way he spoke with his hands, the way his full lips curved into a smile, the way he kept running his hand over his smooth hair.  She imagined his hands carding through her hair, his long fingers smoothing the strands from her face as his full lips trailed along her skin.

‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎“Don’t you think so, my girl?” The Colonel asked, and suddenly, Elvis turned to look at (Y/N) expectantly.  She was thrown from her daydreaming, and she sat up straight and her teeth released her lip, her eyes wide like a doe caught in headlights.  Elvis smirked at her, fingers running along his sharp jaw as his eyes raked over her flustered body.  His eyes lingered on her lips before focusing on her cheeks, where a furious blush burned her skin.

‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎(Y/N) started to stutter, “I’m sorry?”

‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎“Elvis would be a fabulous addition to the carnival, no?” The Colonel asked, oblivious to the state that (Y/N) was in.  (Y/N)’s eyes darted between the Colonel and Elvis, her mouth suddenly running dry.  Of course, Elvis was better at covering up what he was feeling, but (Y/N) could see that his pupils were larger than usual, and he was hiding a smirk behind his hand.  He was amused that she had been staring at him, too caught up in her mind to help her father’s manager sign Elvis onto their carnival.

‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎“Oh!” (Y/N) exclaimed, her eyebrows raising slightly. "Yes, absolutely!”

‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎“Ya really think so, darlin’?” Elvis teased, his fingers twitching slightly.  (Y/N)’s eyes snapped to his hand on the table, and some of her just knew he wanted to reach down and playfully squeeze her knee as he poked fun at her.  Of course, she also wanted him to, but that wouldn’t go over well with the Colonel sitting directly across from them.

‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎(Y/N) met Elvis’ eyes again, and she nodded, her voice small as she quietly said, “Yeah.  I do.”

‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎Once again, the Colonel broke the little bubble they had withdrawn themselves into. "Now, it is only for the four-day stretch into Florida, but I’m sure if it is a success, we can negotiate a longer timeframe.”

‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎Elvis turned back to the Colonel, his eyes growing large with realization.  (Y/N) felt herself smile as she watched his body come alive with excitement.  This could be his big break.  Getting his music down into Florida, where more prominent record labels were always scoping out local carnivals for talent, could be huge for him.  (Y/N) suddenly didn’t feel so uneasy about the Colonel wanting Elvis on the carnival performance roster.  If he could meet bigger producers in Florida, he could connect to a better manager.  She couldn’t believe that she hadn’t thought of that sooner.

‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎(Y/N) found it humorous that she was so concerned with Elvis’ career.  She had just met him less than a week ago; she hardly knew him.  But she knew he could be great.  She knew that he could become a star.  Growing up around her father, she had learned to know talent when she saw it.  And Elvis was bursting with talent.  So maybe it was selfish of her to want to help.  But, the idea that he would keep her around just because she helped him get his big break was lingering in her mind, and it only pushed her to want to do so more.

‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎Elvis shook his head in disbelief, “That sounds amazin’, Colonel.  I mean, really.”

‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎The Colonel grinned, holding his hand over the table for a handshake. "Do we have a deal, Elvis Presley?”

‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎Elvis’ hand twitched like before, but he paused to look at (Y/N).  (Y/N) met his eyes, her own glowing with encouragement.  It warmed her heart to know that he wanted her opinion on the matter, even if it was just because the Colonel was her father’s manager, and she knew him better than Elvis did.  They hardly knew each other, but he valued her input.  (Y/N) couldn’t help but feel the same way.  There was something connecting them, and, whatever that may be, (Y/N) wanted to trust it.

‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎(Y/N) smiled, and she nodded.  She knew then that she had sealed his fate and started his path to stardom.  Elvis returned the smile, excitement for what lies ahead glittering in his crystalline eyes.  (Y/N) bit her lip as she watched Elvis again turn to the Colonel, grabbing his hand in a firm and definitive handshake.  There was no hesitation in his movements, and (Y/N) admired that.  He knew what he wanted, and he was going to get it.

ᴀᴜᴛʜᴏʀ's ɴᴏᴛᴇs: I honestly cannot thank you guys enough for the love and support you've shown me on this series so far. I have never been on the receiving end of something like this, and it blows my mind that so many people are enjoying something I've written. I love you all so, so much. Thank you, from the bottom of my heart. Who's ready for part four?

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[mostly-marvel-musings]

Adrenaline

A/N: Here we go. My first Matt Murdock fic, born out of a recent crazy, crazy car ride. Hope y’all like it! Feedback is everything :)

Pairing: Matt Murdock x F! Reader

Warnings: 18+ smut, mention of blood?

Word count: 1.5k

Marvel Masterlist

.

There was an unmistakable tinge of metal in the air, mixed with the smell of mud and rain as Matt swiftly moved through the dark lanes of Hell’s Kitchen.

All of his senses were focused on a rapid heartbeat he had picked up coming from one of the alleys, the soft cries of a little girl surrounded with a couple of steady, pulsing ones of men attempting to capture the child.

As silent as physically possible, he crept up behind the men, tapping him on his shoulder and waiting for him to turn around before knocking him in his solar plexus.

Once the man was doubled over in pain, Matt struck a heavy blow to the back of his head, enough to render him unconscious.

They weren’t even trying, Matt thought.

Rapid footsteps that splashed water came towards him, a smirk appeared on his lips as the second man drew out a weapon.

Finally.

He heard the kid scramble back into a corner, away from danger but quaking with fear, watching the fight ensue.

…

The line went dead after ringing persistently for the fourth time now.

No answer.

But it wasn’t out of the ordinary. Not when you were dating a lawyer by day, vigilante by night, Matt Murdock.

Frowning to yourself, you threw your phone and purse in the passenger seat and got in your car, driving with one inducement, to find what in the world your boyfriend was upto.

As you turned the corner to where his building was, the silence of the night was broken by a gunshot piercing through the air, a pit forming in your stomach as your wide eyes searched around for the source.

Your heart nearly leapt out of your ribcage when a body smacked against the car bonnet with a sickening thud before hitting the ground.

Slamming the brakes, with trembled fingers you were about to get out when the passenger door opened and in got Matt Murdock - eyes covered by a dark cloth, few scratches and a bloody lip.

“Drive.”

He ordered urgently, tilting his head for signs of other potential threats following him. Calling out your name he snapped you out of your reverie and asked you to start the car back up and drive out of there.

“Are we being followed?”

You whispered, trying your best to focus on the road as you sped up, your voice shaking with fear while your knuckles turned white as you gripped the steering wheel tight.

“Yes.”

“How in the—and who was that guy I nearly ran over?”

“An asshole. Don’t worry about him.”

Matt’s curt replies made you glance at him as the street lamps danced over his face as you passed, the blood from the cuts and bruises gleaming in the warm, golden yellow light.

There was a vehicle following yours but quite far behind as Matt’s ears picked up the faint sounds of the engine revving and the tyres screeching over the surface of the road, slowly becoming distant.

“And are you okay?”

Your foot pressed down on the gas as Matt’s hand found your thigh to give a reassuring squeeze, his lips upturned in a small smile or a smirk, you couldn’t tell much except the fact that he wasn’t injured as much.

He touched your hand to make you relax your iron grip on the wheel, blood rushing back to the tips of your fingers and knuckles as you loosened it and let out a shuddered breath.

Your heart was still beating a million miles a minute, Matt could hear it hammer against your ribcage as you took breaths in and out, shallower than normal as adrenaline pumped through your veins.

He could smell it, sweat, epinephrine and…arousal?

Definitely was.

Bringing his hand down to your thigh once more, Matt gave it a squeeze, this time letting it linger there.

“They’re gone.”

“Well thank fuck!”

You sighed, relaxing against the backrest for the first time that night, smiling a little as you heard Matt chuckle.

You ignored the shiver that ran down your spine when Matt’s fingers trailed up your arm, over your collarbone to the nape of your neck to caress your warmed skin.

Life threatening danger aside, there was a sense of thrill, you had to admit.

Shifting in your seat, you pressed your thighs together and did your best to focus on the road as you felt goose pimples litter across your skin reacting to Matt’s gentle but purposeful touches along your neck.

“Exciting huh?” He murmured, shifting significantly closer, enough for his hot breath to fan your cheek.

“What?”

“The chase…the adrenaline, it’s arousing for you, isn’t it?”

He could hear your pulse racing, courtesy his words,and proximity, your skin reacting pleasingly to his caresses.

Before you could deny the truth, you heard Matt lower his head and sniff, his other hand sneaking between your legs to palm your clothed core.

“I can smell you, sweetheart.”

He purred, his voice unfurling desire deep within causing you to whimper meekly.

Pleased with himself, Matt smirked as your hips moved to gain more contact against his hand.

Boldly, his hand sneaked past the top of your jeans, his cold fingers contrast against your flushed skin. The fabric of your panties felt like an unnecessary barrier as he felt the moistness of your arousal, purring in agreement.

“Matt…” you warned, your voice coming out softer than intended.

“Pull over. Now.”

Matt’s low growl only added fuel to the fire that burned deep within you, a deft finger slid your panties to one side to gather the slick between your folds.

You didn’t need to face him to know his smirk had grown deeper as his finger intruded your entrance and a little whine left your lips.

“Here.”

Matt tilted his head towards the right.

Rounding the corner in a hurry, you found a deserted alley and cut the engine there and wasted no time in climbing over Matt’s lap.

He grinned against your lips as you slanted your lips over his in a fervent kiss, tasting Matt’s familiar warmth with a tinge of blood.

In a flurry of movements, your sweater was pulled over your head and discarded, Matt’s body-hugging black henley following suit. Your fingers fumbled over unbuckling his pants and freeing his erection from its clothed restraints.

A needy moan left your lips when he palmed at your breasts, leaving open-mouthed kisses down the expanse of your neck. You pushed the seat back as best as you could, hearing Matt chuckle against your skin as the car seat jammed and stopped at one place.

“Shut up.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

You shimmied out of your pants and pushed your panties aside, grinding against his length, revelling in the grunts that echoed from his chest.

Your fingers found purchase in his hair, tugging on them roughly as you swallowed Matt’s moans, slipping your tongue past his mouth to battle against his.

He dug his fingers to still your hips, lifting you enough to lower down on his length, sighing as your familiar warmth enveloped him.

Cursing under your breath, you felt his cock stretch your channel to the fullest, the dull stinging fading away as he bottomed out.

Touching your foreheads together, you stilled for a brief moment and cupped his face, gently peeling the fabric that covered his eyes back.

Matt’s eyes really were the most expressive even though they were denied sight, you always thought they were his best feature.

Carding your fingers through his soft, tousled hair, you gripped them at the nape of his neck, watching his mouth fall open as your hips rocked back and forth.

There was a low rumble that echoed through the clouds outside before the skies opened, the raindrops cascaded violently against the car’s metal surface.

“Don’t hold back, sweetheart.”

Matt murmured, pushing his hips upwards to meet your thrusts, his pubic bone brushing against your clit deliciously.

Your hands gripped the back of the car seat to steady yourself as he brought your closer to the edge, your body coming alive as every cell burned for more.

The thunderstorm outside swallowed your desperate cries and moans as you both chased your releases, the adrenaline from before fuelled the ardor.

Your pussy clenched around his length intently as the tip of his cock brushed and teased your spot, bringing you closer to the edge.

Sensing your undulated breathing and involuntary tightening of muscles, Matt spurred you on by increasing his pace.

He teased your bundle of nerves with his fingers roughly, causing you to lurch forward and hide your face in his neck.

Crying out his name desperately, you let go, walls fluttering around his girth as you felt your heartbeat down there, erratic and spasmodic. Your climax triggered his own as he stilled inside you, letting out a moan as he came.

You felt warmth spread along your body as you slowly came down from your high, sweat lining your forehead before you rolled down the car window to let the colder night air in.

“More car rides along bad neighborhoods?”

He laughed - a sound that made your heart soar every time you heard it, pressing a kiss into your hair and holding you close while stroking your back gently.

“Deal.”

Everything Taglist – @godofplumsandthunder @ladyacrasia @agustdowney @mcugeekposts @suchababie @another-stark-sub @supraveng @kahlanmars @disappointmentofthefam @pandaxnienke @tom-hlover @just-the-hiddles @fyreball66 @imerdwarf @ladyburberry @chickensarentcheap @dontmindmyname123 @old-enough-to-know-better73 @buendiabebeta @princess-jules47 @nataliewalker93

[littlefreya]

August’s Box of Mystery

Summary: He left you all alone in his great castle by the sea and requested that you shan't touch yourself... can you keep your loyalty?

Prompted by @gotnofucks: “How do you feel August would react to knowing his girl uses sex toys when he is away? Would he feel jealous? Angry? Turned on?More importantly, what does he do? 👀”

Pairing: August Walker x Female Reader (No description of ethnicity or body type)

Words: 3k

Warning: 18+, smut + romance and fluff in the end. Female masturbation with a sex toy, voyeurism, sex-tape, cockwarming, mildly rough unprotected sex, breeding, breeding as punishment if to be exact, slight denial, MaleDom, creampie, a lot of it. Read the warnings properly, please. 

*No permission is given for reposting my work, copying it, or parts it and claiming it as your own.

A/N: I am anxious about this one and hope you’ll enjoy, i’ve been rather influenced by Angela Carter writings. Many thanks to @the-soot-sprite @wondersofdreaming for feedback and @agniavateira for her review. Added notes and credits in the end!

Please reblog and comment if you enjoyed my work. 🖤

August’s Box of Mystery 

Outside the bedroom window, the waves roared in a tempest's rage. Torrent after torrent, the sea unleashed brutal tentacles onto the salty iron rocks in a keen, vindictive urge to dismantle them to nought. 

It was your own unruly longing that the ocean sensed: forlorn and listless, lying on your bed, the blue mist cloaking your heart. 

August's sea-fort was a gilded cage. He had given you everything: diamonds brighter than the moon, sheets made of the softest golden silk, and even a ring to bind you to his unbreakable siege. 

His only demand was that you will always wait for him, not only by flesh but soul as well. Despite his dark ambitions, trust and loyalty were qualities August valued beyond anything else.   

But soon, you grew tired of watching the reflection of the tides refract upon the naked ceiling. A woman with fire for blood, you were forever tormented by your sultry nature and daydreams of that would make the devil blush.

Frustration gnawed at your bawls until—enough! You shot up from your bed—a storm of silky linen whirling around you like Venus emerging from spume on shore; and just as the goddess of love and beauty, you too yearned to be penetrated. Nibbling your nails, you glanced at the open door, your mind seeing beyond thick walls into his office where he kept a chest filled with illicit delights. 

Every now and then—when August's muse struck—he would bring one of his toys to the bedroom, but you weren’t allowed to play on your own. 

Body. 

Soul. 

‘Certainly, August won’t be able to tell if I would be careful?’ You hoped and followed the oceanic breeze hymning from the corridors.

Sand stuck to your bare feet, the wooden planks gently wept beneath your stride. Tipping on your toes, you snuck into his cavernous study, the key stolen from his nightstand already seized between shaky fingers. Though August was absent, your heart thrummed with ire upon setting foot onto the furry rug, as if he was to appear behind you at any given moment.

It was a room that reeked of debaucheries of all kinds: "borrowed" works of art depicting naked nymphs adorned the cherry-wood shelves, divine entities hung onto the wainscoting, and trophies he kept from his victims were encased in a fancy vitrine. Even the slate-blue view felt different from this spot; the rocky piers seemed like a pathway to a marine graveyard.

You paid no mind. You knew who you married and gained nothing but ethereal bliss whenever August fucked you against the window for the shark and whales to see. 

Like a girl crawling into the rabbit’s hole, you took half a twirl. There, below the large monitor plastered to the wall, stood the locked chest. Black and gold roses ornamented its exterior and a trident crest was engraved on the lock. Only a fool would overlook such blatant temptation, and though you were no foolish girl, you were feeble at the face of seduction. 

Falling to your knees, you made haste to unlock the chest, your heart drumming in your ears with the notion that you defied the words of your strenuous lover. But the same muscle that pumped you with fear, pounded wickedness into your blood. 

If only you were blessed with a shred of your husband’s patience.

All the toys inside were placed in order, sanitised, and appropriately boxed in such fashion that you knew August would notice if something was misplaced. The man had the capability of finding an eyelash on the carpet. Still, unrelenting desire strung the cunning finger you ran over the loot, carefully picking one of the familiar vibrators he used on you before. 

'Here?'  

Standing at the centre of his tidy office you contemplated, suddenly aware of how the room leaked of his entity; scented notes of old leather binding and his woodsy cologne threatened to adhere to your skin, making this mischief taste like a crime. It was best to keep all disobedient whims in an isolated location, you assumed and allowed your eyes to further drift and glide upon the large monitor and the antique desk where August kept the remote. An abrupt wicked idea swam into your mind, reminding you of his private collection. 

Catalogued alphabetically, he kept them on his streaming device. 

'It should make things quick...' you convinced yourself whilst nibbling on your bottom lip. How worse could it be, anyway? You already rummaged through his chest. Taking a gander at his not-so-secret directory was puny in comparison. 

With your lungs in fists, you slipped your panties to your ankles and settled on the cosy leather chair in front of his desk. Ignoring the red flag waved by your anxiety, you reached for the remote and clicked the button. 

August made no effort to hide his recordings, simply naming the directory as "Films," as if it contained ordinary Hollywood blockbusters. Impatient, you scrolled down the list, trying to keep the jealousy from simmering in your bawls. August wedded you in this fort, but he never captured you on film like he did his girls. All lovers from the past, of course, but still it almost irked you; yet you brushed these concerns away and picked a file with the name you liked most and pressed “play”.

The ocean's lament was instantly swallowed by guttural howls and grunts that took every empty space within the chamber. Before your flaring eyes appeared the most forbidden of spectacles— your husband taking a different woman. It was odd to hear the familiar timbre of his groans laced with the voice of another. It was even stranger to sense the unmistakable spark of desire jittering in your cove.

Poseidon himself could not compete with the glory of the man, naked and drenched, all muscles and might. Furious, he took her on her knees, his fingers cradling her skull, pushing her head to the pillows while restraining her wrists above the small of her back. She wasn't you and still you clenched, aroused by the sight of the sweat glistening the fur of his torso and by the lack of mercy in the violent motion that ended with the dutiful grind of his sac against her swollen lips. 

You hadn't even realised how shamefully you dripped upon the oxen leather of the seat, your thoughts focused on the odd mixture of envy and lust that penetrated your blood. 

Desperate to unleash the monstrosity building within your core, you spread your legs over the desk and pressed the toy between your slippery petals. A shuddering whine rode your breath at the brush of the buzzing device, the pleasure so unimaginable it nearly drowned your senses. Gasping, you fought to maintain a hooded gaze upon your lover and his ‘whore,’ and imagined that the rosy silicon phallus that entered your anticipating hole was his swollen cock.

Your walls quickly clenched around the toy in true longing while the window trembled under the muffled rumbling of thunder. Perhaps your passions thickened the clouds. Or maybe it was the immoral streak of ecstasy laced by danger. Whichever it was, it urged you faster toward imminent bliss.

The other woman’s moans entwined with yours while your wayward hand mimicked the rhythm of bodies slamming together in the same frantic chaos that swept you.

Sweat-riddled, your ankles lost way across the smooth surface of the desk, leaving oily markings in a frenzy as climax drew close.  

‘Almost…’

‘Almost…’

‘So close…’  

‘August!’

"Enjoying yourself, my little princess?" 

Lightning painted the room bright purple, announcing the thunder that tore through the ocean. It wasn’t half as frightening as the low timbre of his voice, which cruelly withheld your ecstasy. The fervour in your veins turned glacial; one moment you ascended to the heavens and the next, got rejected at its golden gates. All the while the growls of his reflection on the monitor echoed through the chamber along with the buzzing toy still buried inside you.

It granted no pleasure now, but further stretched the guilt.

Calm and forebodingly stoic, August reached a curious hand between your quaking thighs, seizing the toy and flicking the switch off. Unable to lift your gaze to meet his severe face, you struggled to swallow and kept your eyes glued to the monitor. Yet, there was no escape from his reflection—the “real” him present in the room peered back at you through the glassy screen. Standing behind you, he etched his fingers around the headrest of the chair and tutted. 

“Do you like watching me with others, sweetling? Did this video make you wet?” he asked curiously.

Before any words formed on your quivering lips, his hand fell to your mound. An intrigued “hmm,” flowed from his throat as he found you overflowing with arousal. Like a whore, you couldn’t help but squirm into his touch, your body still enraged of being denied pleasure, and so was the sky that now threatened to turn the ocean upside down. 

You nearly gasped at the heavy patter of rain that began to hit the window. 

“I…”

“Disobeyed me,” he completed the sentence, his voice mellow and pleasant though the caress of his breath on your face burned.

“...missed you.”

Your attempt to pacify him did not go unnoticed. Lips stretching to a slanted grin, he dared to replace the toy with two fingers that drove inside your gaping hole—sensing how you wrapped and suckled around his long digits like a carnivore plant.

“Such a sweet gesture,” he retorted, “and still, my love, my dear wife who I’ve given everything to, has defied me like a lawless brat��unable to wait for her husband to return from his very important meetings.” His dainty fingers pumped crudely deeper, not to please you but remind you who you belonged to. 

Writhing in your seat, you fluttered your eyes shut. “Where were you?”

Ignoring your question, he leaned down, his lips mere inches from your ear and whispered, “I think it’s time I’ll tame my bratty woman for good, don’t you?” 

You shuddered to think what punishment he had in mind, your heart sinking to a dark pit at the deadly kiss he offered next to your ear; but then, he took your wrist and in a surprising tenderness guided you from the chair to bend over the desk. 

Predictably, the movie had run its course and started again from the beginning, her promiscuous moans and the pounding of their flesh stealing your attention for a split second. 

Having you at a disadvantage, August drew an invisible line from your spine to the curve of your behind, his fingers mimicking lines drawn on soaked sand. “All this sea salt in the air around us and your skin is still so tender,” he murmured lovingly and secured a hand around your nape, holding your head forward. 

It excited you to watch them before and now with his groin hot and hard against your bare crease you were nothing but craving his cock. 

“Is this going to hurt? Will you spank me? Treat me like that whore on your film?” you asked naively, smoothing your sweaty palms across the antique wood with dark anticipation. 

“No, my beautiful angel.” his belt clicked and dangled like a set of heavy keys of a warden toying with his captive, “You are not my whore, but my wife. Which is why I’m going to put my child in your reckless womb to end your wicked ways once and for all.”

A gasp of shock left your throat, dazed by his threat you turned to protest. But the air drowned in your chest and your entire body stiffened as August’s ‘leviathan’ split your succulent flesh. Vulgarly you were penetrated, his size stuffing you so deeply, you felt the aching pressure in the pit of your belly. 

August stilled for a moment, lingering at the sensation of your hot cove fitting around him in both a strenuous protest and the pathetic defeat in which your body seized the beast, milking it in an attempt to rope him into your womb forever. 

“Oh, my sweet wife, I will stretch your little cunt to sheath me that not even these toys will please you. You see, everything here belongs to me, even your defiant womb. And I will leave a piece in me there to teach you a lesson.”

“I don’t think I am ready!” You whined, but the thought of being bred and carrying his child made your cunt unwittingly twitch. Your canal sucked him even deeper if it was even possible.

August sensed your convulsion and growled, his hips pressed unfathomably tight against your rear, making your cheeks ache from the press of his bones. It was torture with the film playing right in front of you; falling into a lucid delirium, your mind replaced her with yourself, yet your August refused to move, withholding your pleasure, owning it, owning you. 

His cock anchored hot and thick inside you, its throb as powerful as the thunder hammering the ocean.

You wanted to cry.

“August, please! I need you! I missed you!” 

With a harsh pull, he drew back and bludgeoned your crease, his might so vulgar the tip of your toes levitated from the ground. Again, and then again… he grunted at the choke of your flesh around him. Paying you no courtesy, he shook and pounded you almost terrifyingly as meticulously as he did this woman. 

His fingers burnt around your waist, so harshly you thought you’d never be able to sense anything but his grip under your skin. 

“Oh!” fat tears rolled down your cheeks, your breath a wheeze. Piteously you crumbled onto the desk. Thunders, cries, sounds of rutting flesh, and grunts surrounded you in this cavern of sin; you didn’t know which were yours and which were from the recording. All you knew was that he never took you so zealously before, you were at the brink of either rapture or falling to the abyss.

“You’re too deep! Too rough!” you wailed, unable to adjust to his pace but truthfully you didn’t want him to slow down. Currents of bliss submerged your loins the rougher he fucked you. The hot tingle in your core stormed with every collision of his cock with your cervix.

August reached from your neck to your jaw then and held your face to the screen.

“You wanted to watch her while touching yourself. Do you want to be her?” he growled and increased the pace, splitting through your body the way Dagon ripped open the waves. 

Even if you had words, you couldn’t bring yourself to speak. 

“You can never be her my darling,” August said and removed his hand from your hip. There was a quick drag of his drawer behind you and a rummaging sound. “Here, I’ll make us a short film; memorise this moment when you conceive me an heir.”

Struck by his words, you turned to stare. The sight of him behind you, inside you, was far more worthy than any film: sweat trickled down his messy curls and arduously strained face, his cerulean shirt damp and his mouth open as his fingers clutched the camera that was directed to the point where you were joint. 

Unrelenting, your orgasm flooded through every muscle like a wave of destruction that wrecked every organ within you until you felt nothing but bliss. You felt August’s heart beating in yours. 

There it was. Euphoria. 

You drowned in it. The maelstrom inside you swallowed and sank his ship as well. With a loud shout of surprise, he broke apart and erupted inside you, his creamy gift ploughing your womb until it overflowed and dripped down your quaking thighs. 

The rumbling from outside eased now, the clouded sky groaned with a release, their tears melding into the ocean never to be seen again.

August remained inside you, his breath thick, his hips gingerly grinding into yours to make sure his seed will take. 

“There you go, my special girl.” his voice came huskily. “Now you will never be alone, unlike these women I can’t even remember.”

Your hand instinctively snapped to your lower belly, soothingly caressing it in a reverie. You felt battered, full, and disgustingly and arousingly dirty as he swam inside you.

Yet the thought that he impregnated you made your heart flutter. 

Was there a more eternal symbolism of love than a legacy?

“August…” you whispered. Beneath you, the desk slightly shook, little tremors vibrated against the delicate pads of your fingers. Turning your head back, you offered him an enamoured glance and reached a hand in plea to lace fingers with his. 

His storm-kissed eyes softened and he broke into a sigh at the sight of his wife at her best submissive behaviour. The greatest of all delights was to refine a crude rock into a fine delicate diamond. Proudly, he took your hand in his, entangling your fingers together, yet he kept the video-camera aimed at your joint bodies. 

“Don’t move,” he breathed behind you and carefully pulled out his shaft from your flooded hole. A velvety chuckle played on his tongue, impressed by the wet plop and thickness of the cream that leaked off your entrance. Your cheeks burnt as you realised what he has done; your lips parted open to complain but then, with his cock already fully rigid and thick, he plugged you once more, shoving his seed back inside you.

“What are you doing?” 

“Waste not, my angel,” he tutted and remained still, brushing his knuckles up and down the curve of your rump.

“Oh, how long?” you whined, uncertain if you are capable of staying this way with him throbbing between your taut walls.

“Until the sky clear up?...” he suggested, voice haunted by lingering satisfaction. 

The waves of your previous orgasm were yet to ebb, and now stronger tides began to emerge. Frustration grew within once again and sadly, August’s will had the mettle of an anchor.  

“At least tell me where you were!” you yelped.

August scoffed, and wrapped his hands around your waist, only slightly guiding you back into his hips. “No, no, my love. Every marriage needs a little bit of mystery, as you’ve already learned. But now do me a favour,” he uttered and placed the remote next to your hand. 

“Play us another one? We might be here a while.”

Credits: Dividers by @firefly-graphics. Themes Inspired by Angela Carter’s Bloody Chamber. Leviathan inspired by @sillyrabbit81​!!

Disclaimer: I don’t own August Walker or Mission Impossible.

[emma-ofnormandy]

@vikingsevents Day 4 Prompt: Harvest Moon

Pairing: Canute x Emma

Rating: Teen

A/N: One day I will branch out and write something besides soft domestic moments but today is not that day.

He watched, gaze transfixed on the other side of the river, just beyond his moored boats where the moon sat low and large on the horizon and by all accounts seemed unaware of her as she lingered in the shadow of the guard tower, watching.

The hour was late, but when he did not come to her as he always did, Emma had set about the castle in search of the missing king. When she did not find him buried in communications and ledgers in his own chambers or in the stables, she had set off to the wall in hopes of being able to spot him somewhere by the river. Lost in thought, watching the night from the spot where she normally took refuge had been the last place she had expected to find him.

Though she stood a fair distance away, in the light of the moon it was easy to see the relaxed set of his features. The tension that so often settled in his shoulders was absent from his slackened stance and there was no trace of the deepened the lines that so often marred his handsome face. His hands were clasped loosely in front of him as he leaned his forearms against the stone wall and Emma knew that if she were to look into his eyes, they would be absent of the steely look that sent men scrambling and would, instead, hold the warmth she was accustomed too.

She hated to impede his solace, but the desire to be close to him tugged at her and she found herself incapable of returning to her bed.

“The wall was not where I expected you to be at this hour,” Emma said as she withdrew from the shadows and made her way towards Canute.

He turned to watch her approach and her skin warmed at the affection that danced in his gaze. Though an on looker would not feel the earth quake beneath their feet or be aware of what such a look meant, between them it was one that sent a heart racing.   

The corners of his lips turned up when she stopped beside him. “The moon drew me out.”

Above them, it glowed a brilliant gold and seemed to fill the entire night sky. So often, Emma was used to seeing a small, eerie white object far off and never had found herself in awe of such a thing until tonight. She could understand why such a display would catch his attention and pull at him.

“It is quite something to behold,” she agreed.

“Those in the old religion call it Haustmánuður.”

Emma turned the word around in her mind, searching for a similarity with her own native language. “Harvest?” She ventured, tentatively.

“It marks the time when crops are to be harvested and the start of the long darkness,” Canute confirmed. He gazed at the large orb for a moment more and Emma saw an indiscernible emotion flash in his eyes, but he continued as if he was discussing the revenues. “To us, it is just another moon.”  

She could not say what he was thinking or feeling as he watched the sky, whether he thought of the past or perhaps the future, but the pensive air around him needled her. A moon that was just ordinary did not drag a man from the warmth of a fire or the comfort of a woman.

“It must be more than that to you if it was able to keep you from my bed,” Emma teased.

Illuminated with the help of the moon, she could see a flush work its way up his neck and into the depths of his beard. So often, it was she who was made to blush, and it satisfied her to know she could trigger the same reaction in him.

Beyond the castle walls, the wind rustled through the trees, the crisp bite in the air a sure sign that summer had left them, and winter was not far from their doors. Emma pulled her cape closer to ward off the chill that threatened to send a shiver through her.

“You are going to catch the cough standing out here,” Canute chided, rather than rise to her ribbing.

Emma scoffed. “I am a Norman, it will take more than an autumn breeze to do such things.” Despite her words, she shifted closer to him for the warmth he radiated before pressing him for more information. “I am familiar enough with Vikings to know an event such as a harvest must have some sort of celebration along with it, yes?”

Canute gave a wry smile. “It is called Vetraenatr. It is a way to thank the gods for the bounty and to ask for good favor through the cold.”

Though he was a Christian, Emma knew her husband had a familiarity with the old religion, one that was stronger than most of the other Christian Vikings and she thought that it was this understanding that secured his success in uniting the Vikings. A leader who knew the differences in his warriors and embraced them had a better chance of leading them into battle than one who refused to accept it.

A silence settled between them, both waiting for the other to ask but Emma did not dare. Whatever Canute sought for in the solace of the moon, he did not care to share it with her and she respected him enough to give him the peace he needed.

She turned to excuse herself, but Canute reached out and thwarted her escape, clasping her hand in his. His lips lingered against her cool knuckles. “While the tradition is not ours, I do not see any harm in celebrating the moon in our own way.”

In the warm glow of Haustmánuður Emma could see the mischief dance in his eyes and a familiar heat pooled low in her stomach. “I imagine you have thought on such a way?”

The king gave a predatory grin. Dislodging his hand from hers, he wrapped his arm around her trim waist and pulled her flush against him. “Let’s retire to your chamber and find out.”

[ichorai]

frozen hearts, flaming arrows ; p.sh

parts ; one. masterlist. two coming soon.

pairing ; fire!seonghwa x ice!reader

summary ; two enemy clans. one icer healer, one flamer soldier, one brewing war. love was never meant to be a part of this. but then again, when is love ever supposed to be a part of anything?

words ; 7.3k

warnings / includes ; cursing, violence, a make-out scene !!, future suggestive / mature content, hwa being sexy as always, ANGST okay this is a lot of ANGST and hURT, enemies to friends to enemies to lovers trope lol

a/n ; bet yall didn’t see this one coming lol but yea pls enjoy !!! im rlly excited for this series omg !!! im sorry this part was rlly short and kinda bad kkdfjdf but this is just the beginning and i swear part two will be much better !!

A snowflake glowing a luminescent blue lazily floated above your palm, multiplying into several others until you held a mini-flurry in your hand. You walked past all the frosted-over trees, huffing in deep breaths of cold air as your boots stepped over piles of unblemished snow and crispy dead leaves. 

Being a healer was exhausting. Though you were still fairly new to the job, you couldn’t help but lay all the blame on yourself for being incapable of saving a life today. You just… hadn’t expected there to be that much blood. Icers had thicker blood for a reason; it wasn’t usually a problem. The head healer tried to reassure you that you did everything you could, but you couldn’t stand to be in the medbay for much longer. You needed air. 

And that’s how you ended up here, head spinning dizzily as you stomped through the wintry grey forest, releasing out a frustrated groan from the bottom of your lungs.

“You’re dangerously close to our territory, Icer.” The sudden deep-timbered voice had you flinching so harshly you hit your head on an icy tree branch. “I’d watch my step if I was you.”

Breath caught in your throat, you watched with wide eyes as the Flamer stepped out of the shadow of a tree. He was undeniably handsome; his irises were dark, flecked with a fierce gold the same hue as the edge of a fire, his slicked-back hair a nightly black, and a curl of his carmine lips that was nowhere near friendly. An obvious insignia of a red flame was embedded into his unwrinkled jacket, a clear sign of this man being from the Fire Tribe.

“I’m sorry. I hadn’t realized I was so close to the border.” You murmured, backing away slowly. The small snowflakes that you had accumulated in your palm quickly dissipated into the air, but miniscule particles of snow still floated around you, no doubt a result of your quaking nerves.

Noticing this, the man watched curiously as a snowflake drifted by him. He raised a finger towards the ice crystal, a small orange flame bursting out of the tip. The snowflake melted into a droplet of water, falling to his feet. You noticed the snow had melted away from him in a large circle around his shoes, now standing in a patch of wet grass. Even from the great distance between the two of you, you could still feel the wavering heat pulsating from this strange man.

“What are you doing so far away from your people?”

You knew you shouldn’t be talking to a Flamer stranger. They were dangerous, and it was common knowledge that Icers and Flamers weren’t on the best terms as of late.

“I couldn’t be there anymore,” You whispered, just loud enough for him to pick up. At his raised eyebrows, you continued on. “I’m a healer. It was a lot of pressure not to mess up.”

He nodded, his curiosity getting the best of him. He stepped closer and asked, “Then why are you a healer?”

“Because I’m good at it.” The words came off far too snobbish for your liking, so you quickly added in a sheepish tone, “Also because I like helping people.”

The two of you fell into a queer silence, before he nodded, somewhat satisfied with your answer. The Flamer turned his back to you, “I best get going now. The lands aren’t going to patrol themselves. Run back to the rest of your people, Icer.”

You could feel his heat retract as he walked away. More snow fell to cover his tracks, as if the strange man with flaming eyes was never there.

It wasn’t until the same time the next day that you found yourself strolling towards the forest, back to the same spot last night, feet acting to their own accord. You paused in your steps when you realized where you were heading. 

Would you really risk getting a Flamer angry at you for getting too close to their borders again? With not another thought, you pushed back the doubts and walked onwards… it wasn’t like you actually crossed the border. There was a large grey strip of forest land that belonged to neither tribe; it was far too costly to maintain and the forest gave them nothing but bugs and piles of dead leaves.

Much to your surprise, the man was already there, watching you with those glowing eyes of his. “What are you doing here?” He hissed.

“I can ask you the same thing,” You retaliated, arching an eyebrow.

The cold wind whistled as it blew past you, but you were planted firmly to the ground. He, on the other hand, grimaced quite obviously as the breeze tousled his neat hair about, sending dark strands careening into his eyes.

“I’m Y/N,” You said with a small smile. Although he pulsated with heat, that only made him feel the frigid sting of the cold wind all the more. At the sight of his shivering form, you wondered just how bad a Flamer can be.

He eyed you suspiciously before stepping forward quite boldly, sticking out a hand, “I’m Seonghwa.”

There was a strange arrhythmic thump in your chest. Now that he was so close to you, the lilith-hued snow around your feet started to wilt away as well, your cheeks flushing at the sudden rise in temperature. Icers weren’t very good with heat, that was obvious.

And when you took his hand, it was as if he was the coldest thing you’ve ever touched. But that couldn’t be it… you couldn’t really feel the cold much. Nonetheless, you gripped his palm unflinchingly, staring him dead in the eye. It became like some sort of challenge, but the both of you knew that you had obviously won. Seonghwa winced at how freezing your fingers against his were.

“Do you come here everyday?” The Flamer asked once he retracted his hand from yours to shove into the warmth of his pocket.

“Yesterday was my first time. I wasn’t planning on coming back today, but I just ended up here on instinct.” Your boot scuffed the pristine snow, avoiding the way his gaze seemed to quite literally burn holes into you.

Seonghwa frowned slightly. Funnily enough, the same exact thing had happened to him. He wasn’t on patrolling duty today, so really, he had no cause to be out here. He could be curled up with a book in front of a nice, warm fire, instead of standing in the snow with an Icer, of all people. Gods, he must be crazy.

“So… what are you doing here?” Your seemingly innocent question had Seonghwa struggling for words. 

In all honesty, he had been curious whether or not you’d come back. An Icer healer in the Grey Forest was more than enough to pique his interest. Nothing remotely gripping ever happened in the Fire Tribe (other than the various men and women who threw themselves at him whenever they got the chance). He hadn’t actually expected you to come back. 

“I’m… hunting.”

“It’s illegal to hunt outside of your tribe lands, everybody knows that.”

“Who said I was hunting for an animal?” Seonghwa crossed his arms over his chest to try and look somewhat menacing, but you just grinned. “I was looking for a book I lost.”

You hummed slightly, “Right.” As you waved your arm about, little snowflakes seemed to trail after you, and Seonghwa watched in masked fascination. “Can’t you just admit that you came to see me again?”

“Who’s to say that it’s not you coming to see me?”

“Hmm, let’s just say we both came to see each other. I’ve never seen a Flamer up this close before.”

Seonghwa blinked down at you with wide eyes, as if realizing just how small the distance between the two of you was. His cheeks reddened quickly as he cleared his throat into a fist, stepping backwards and almost slipping on more snow. When he attempted to sidestep the large wet puddle he’d created because of his rippling heat, his foot caught onto a tree root and he tumbled backwards. Snowflakes clung onto his dark hair and he shivered yet again. You tried to conceal your sniggers behind a palm, but Seonghwa still seemed to notice, his blazing eyes narrowing in mock-offense.

“You’re enjoying this,” He stated with an accusatory tone.

“Of course I am,” You replied through muted laughs. “I’m sorry. I would help, but I’m afraid I’d only make it worse.” To emphasize your point, you shook your hands slightly, blue crystals of snow whirling about.

Seonghwa’s fiery eyes seemed to soften at this. He pushed himself up to his feet, now shivering so harshly that you could hear his teeth chatter. You’d only known this Flamer for less than two days and yet he’d already managed to tug at your heartstrings.

“You should go back and get warm. I’ve read about Flamers and their immune systems… you guys are absolute babies when it comes to the cold.” Out of instinct, you reached out to touch his arm, like you did to most sick patients. But of course, you paused just before the tips of your fingers brushed against his jacket, curled your hand into a palm and forced it back down to your side. “I wouldn’t want you getting a fever just to see an ordinary Icer.”

Seonghwa cracked a half of a smile, shaking his head in disbelief.

But when he spun on his heel to leave, you called out before you could stop yourself, “Will I ever see you again, Seonghwa?” He stopped in his tracks without turning to looking at you. Stomach coiling into a tight knot of tension, you awaited in the palpable silence, a heavy lump forming in your throat.

“Next time, let’s go somewhere a bit warmer, yeah? Meet me closer to Flamer territory, by the river next to the largest tree in the Grey Forest. If you get to see me shiver, I get to see you sweat, Icer.” And then he continued on his way, until his lithe form disappeared behind the misty haze and the frosted shrubbery.

Oh, fuck. Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck. Just what were you thinking, agreeing to meet with a Flamer? Were you always this stupid or had you just realized now? You couldn’t believe you were spending your free time with some random Flamer from the Fire Tribe. 

Thoughts of doubt swirled about in your head as you wove your way through the Grey Forest. The low rumbling of the river had you gulping down a large lump in your throat. It was already far too warm for you liking, the little snowflakes that buzzed around your head slowly melting away in water droplets. You didn’t think you’ve ever been this nervous before; not even back when you performed your first major surgery. There was just something about Seonghwa that you couldn’t stay away from… like when your Nan used to tell you no sugar candies before bed, it only made you crave for them all the more.

By the time you spotted Seonghwa leaning against the large tree, you were panting heavily, perspiration marring your skin. 

“Fancy seeing you here,” The Flamer chimed, seeming to be in a much better mood now that the tables have turned. He seemed quite at ease, not a bead of sweat to be seen. “Already worked up quite a sweat, have we?”

Pathetically, you lifted your arm to conjure a small snowball, proceeding to press it against your head for cool relief. It quickly melted into a slushy of ice and water, dripping down your hair. You frowned, while Seonghwa grinned in return.

“Not so fun, is it?” He teased while you kicked off your boots and dipped your feet into the river, moaning in relief at the slightly cooler temperature of the water. You wished to make it colder, but much to your disappointment, the water wouldn’t crystalize because of how quickly it was rushing by. 

Seonghwa crouched next to you, but still kept a decent length away, picking up rocks to skip across the river. For that, you were grateful, because if he made you any warmer than you were at that moment, you would’ve gotten up and stormed back to Icer lands. 

“The first time we met,” You started after flicking water onto your face to cool down, making Seonghwa glance at you with curious eyes. “You were telling me to go back to my territory. But now, you made me come closer to Flamer lands. What’s up with that?”

“I don’t know,” He answered honestly. “You’re just… not what I thought an Icer would be like. It made me curious.”

“And what did you think we’d be like?”

A small shrug lifted his shoulder, “Cold. I mean, not that you aren’t, but cold as in… your hearts would be frozen over as well. I grew up with stories of Icers freezing Flamers to death and placing them in their gardens as statues. But you don’t seem like you’d do that kind of stuff. Especially when you told me that you were a healer.”

“For me, everybody knew the story of how the Fire Tribe would lock the Icers they captured in a sealed room, and the snow they made would melt and they’d slowly watch as the room filled with water, unable to turn it into ice because it was too damn hot. And eventually… they’d drown.” At the last few words, you frosted over your fingers and dunked them beneath the waters’ surface.

Seonghwa’s horrified expression made you chuckle slightly.

“Well, for the record, we don’t do that. We aren’t barbarians.” His words were said huffily as he crossed his arms and turned fully to fix his rapt gaze on you.

“I know. It was merely a silly childhood legend.”

The hours dribbled away fairly quickly, you and Seonghwa exchanging tales of your childhood that only increased in absurdity the farther you recounted. He told you about his friend, San, and how they once snuck into Wind Tribe territory to steal rare Gustberries that only grew in the harsh fields of the Breezers. You told him of Hongjoong and Wooyoung, the former being your closest friend and the latter constantly getting himself hurt. Laughs and giggles and the quiet hum of the river filled the silences in between the gaps of your vivid conversations. The more time you spent talking with him, the more you found yourself growing fond of the fiery-eyed man. Who would’ve thought?

By the time the sun had already set, you and Seonghwa were sitting much closer than when you had first sat down, his heat pulsating through the air in waves. To be honest, you didn’t quite mind the subtle warmth after you got used to the initial shock, but you knew you were pushing your limits. An Icer shouldn’t be out in high temperatures for this long. 

You pushed yourself up to your feet, head swimming dizzily as you sucked in lungfuls of air. Slightly concerned, Seonghwa reached out to help you find your feet, but he pulled away at the last moment, just as you had last night. The tables really have turned, you thought in mild amusement.

“Are you okay?”

“I’m… fine…” You swayed on your feet slightly, pressing your cooler palm against your warmer-than-usual forehead.

“Come on, let’s get you back to the cold. You guys are absolute babies when it comes to the heat.” He said, mimicking the same exact words you told him yesterday. A weak laugh slipped past your lips, as you leaned against a tree branch.

Oh, everything was just too hot. You’ve been out of the snow for too long…

All of a sudden, the world was flipped onto its side, damp grass pressing against your face. You could barely register Seonghwa startled yelp before everything went dark.

“Hey. Icer, are you okay? Icer! Y/N, come on, I put you back in the snow, I don’t know what else to do.”

Though your head pounded as though someone had whacked you with a tree branch, you could just barely make out Seonghwa’s concerned tone. When your eyelids fluttered open, you were met with the sight of the Flamer’s handsome, yet alarmed face.

“You okay?” His words came gentle and soothing.

Puffing out a small sigh, you nodded tiredly. Being back in the snow felt much better, “Yeah. Thank you,” You croaked out sheepishly.

Seonghwa beamed down at you, before shuffling away so as the snow around you wouldn’t melt. But just as soon as the smile graced his features, it quickly dissipated into a frown, “Don’t scare me like that,” He practically scolded. “You win, okay? Next time we can stay in the snow.”

Breath caught in your throat, a heavy blush laid over your cheeks, “Next time? You just can’t get enough of me, can you?”

“No, I suppose not,” Seonghwa said somewhat nonchalantly, shocking you.

“I… well, thank you for the, well… uhm, getting me back,” You stumbled over your words the longer Seonghwa stared. Oh, what was this man doing to you? “I have some… healer things I need to do… so, I best get going… erm -” Without another thought, you pushed yourself onto your knees, snow crunching underneath your breeches as you leaned over towards him.

He was so warm. His face, especially, once you brushed your far-cooler lips against his cheekbone. The Flamer reared back with a ridiculous, startled expression, eyes comically wide. One of his hands came up to clamp against the cheek you kissed, mouth opening and closing but no words coming out. 

“It was really nice talking to you. Thank you again,” You murmured while hiding a grin behind your palm. With that, you turned on your heel and left the blushing Flamer alone in the snow.

From then on, you saw Seonghwa practically every day. Oftentimes, you’d meet in the snow and stroll through the Grey Forest until it got far too warm and the both of you would have to turn back. The moment he’d see your skin dampen with sweat, he’d have the two of you abruptly changing course, steering away from the heat of the Fire Tribe. You thought that was incredibly thoughtful of him. 

Once, Seonghwa discovered a more shallower part of the river that you could actually crystalize to keep yourself cool. That day was a good day. You had gently taken his scorching hand and tried to help him run across the ice before his heat could melt it away. The two of you left soaking wet, boisterous grins painted across your lips.

Hongjoong, being your closest friend and all, was constantly questioning and badgering on about where you went every afternoon. After all, you were a healer and your tribe needed you. But, however selfish it was, you didn’t want to stop seeing Seonghwa… he made you feel things no person from the Ice Tribe had ever made you feel.

The more you saw him, the more you had the urge to yank his stupidly sharp jawline towards you and shove your lips onto his. You’d imagine the way the warmth radiating off his skin would feel underneath your frigid palms and lips. You thought back to the second-long cheek kiss you gave him a couple months back, a fond smile tickling at the corner of your mouth.

“What’re you thinking about?” Seonghwa asked from beside you, nudging you slightly. Over a long course of time, the pair of you grew more and more comfortable with one another, inching closer and closer with each meet-up. At this point, you were practically sitting on top of him, one of his legs intertwined with yours and your head laying on his shoulder, the both of you leaning against a frosted tree trunk. Seonghwa smelled of sweet, burning sugar with a heavier scent of roasted coffee beans. He also often complained about how cold you were, although his tone was always fairly light and lacked any true bite. 

“Nothing,” You were quick to say, pulling your head away from his shoulder to peer up at him.

Shrugging off your strange attitude, Seonghwa glanced down at you with excited eyes, “You wanna see a new trick I learned?”

Without awaiting your answer (because he knew you’d say yes anyway), Seonghwa cupped his hands together and pulled them away to produce a thin orange flame morphed into the shape of a shooting arrow. You watched in rapt fascination as the fire-arrow spun in the air when Seonghwa whistled sharply. Then, he pushed it away to embed itself into the tree across from you. The tree’s dry bark was quick to catch aflame, but you flicked your hands and caged in the fire with frost, the orange dying out into the blackened wood. 

“Learned that during archery,” Seonghwa beamed down at your bemused expression. “You know, only the best Flamers can morph their fires into shapes. It takes a lot of concentration.”

With no effort at all, you twirled your fingers to make an intricate rabbit out of ice, whiskers and fur and all, holding it out to Seonghwa with a minuscule smile. The Flamer scowled slightly, and touched the tip of his finger to the clear crystal, watching it dribble into liquid through the gaps of your palms.

You rolled your eyes to the side before leaning your head back onto his shoulder with a content sigh, “Don’t you compete with me, Park Seonghwa. You’ll never win.”

Much to your surprise, he didn’t bother to argue, and instead pressed his warm nose into your frosty hair, humming, “Yeah, yeah. And who was the one that fainted in the heat again?”

“If I recall correctly, you’ve caught more than three colds just this year! And it’s only the fifth moon, too!”

His hands suddenly darted out to tickle your midriff, to which you squirmed away with a smothered laugh. 

“Hm, wanna put it to the test? I promise I’ll go easy,” You said teasingly once you managed to capture his wrists. You could feel his pulse rapidly thumping against the pad of your thumb. 

“I don’t know… I wouldn’t want to hurt you.”

“Trust me, you’re not the one that’ll be hurting.”

“Oh, you’re on, Icer.”

The two of you stumbled onto your feet and you held yourself up in a defensive stance. With a faint smile, Seonghwa mimicked your position. Admittedly, it wasn’t a very fair fight; you were a healer and he was a well-trained fighter.

But nonetheless, you were the first to throw, a frozen ball of ice the size of your fist hurtled towards him at top speed. Seonghwa was quick to react, blasting the ice with orange flames until it melted mid-air. You frowned and lithely dodged behind a tree when he reconjured his fire arrows and sent them after you. In retaliation, you quickly brought up a thick ice barrier with a laugh, smothering the thin lines of fire away with the sole of your boots. 

The air was chock-full of his crackling flames muted by your snow, crystalline icicles dripping from nearby tree branches, and lame taunts tossed back and forth by the both of you as you play-fought for another couple of minutes.

Seonghwa might’ve had the upper hand in combat, but you knew how to play dirty. Just as he was stepping forward, you sent a sheet of slippery ice to slide underneath his boots. With a bewildered expression, Seonghwa flailed about for a moment, the small fire he prepared in his palm dying down to glowing embers, before tumbling down into the snow. 

“That was low, Y/N,” The Flamer huffed out whilst trying to catch his breath against the pale white mound of snowflakes, glaring at you with playfully narrowed eyes. You were glad to see that he wasn’t actually angry at you.

“Do you call defeat, Seonghwa? There’s no shame in admitting it, you know!” Your jaunts were light-hearted as you walked closer to him and Seonghwa found himself grinning despite the cold stinging his skin. 

Sticking your hand out to help him up, Seonghwa eyed you for a moment with an indiscernible expression, his playful nature fading away into something you couldn’t quite decipher.

Instead of pushing himself up, he suddenly pulled you down with him, a startled shriek leaving your lips and echoing across the Grey Forest. You fell on top of him with a grunt of pain, meeting his glowing amber eyes with your confused ones. During your hazy moment of puzzlement, Seonghwa tugged you closer, his warm palms curled around your forearms gently. 

And then, without further warning, he kissed you. This one was nothing like the first kiss you gave him. That one was merely an innocent peck on the cheek. But this one… this one held passion and furtive desire and yearning. The both of you most definitely wanted this, it was quite clear by now.

Your senses were overwhelmed in the best way possible. All you could smell was him, the heavy undertone of roasted coffee beans sending your head into a cloudy daze. Your lips were slanted against his hot ones, noses of starkly opposite temperatures bumping against one another in your moment of desperation. You weren’t sure where to place your hands, so you balled them up against his jacket, just close enough to feel the hardness of his chest underneath.

For you, everything was hot, searing with a need for more as his plump, warm lips laid over yours. For him, however, everything was cold. The snow beneath was a mild annoyance, and yet he was willing to bear through it for you. You were equally freezing, but Seonghwa welcomed the cold for once, a dangerous ache that would grow to be lethal if neither of you were careful.

A small, frosty sigh left you when he pulled away for a second to stare at you with those intense eyes of his. You stared back with part-confusion and part-longing, lips agape. That apparently set something off in him, because he sat up with you straddling his hips, hands now encircled around your midriff as he kissed you more passionately, leaning forward so your back arched into him.

This wasn’t supposed to be happening. Why were you feeling these emotions for a Flamer of all people? Why couldn’t you have just stayed within your own tribe? Turmoil churned about in you as you kissed him in somewhat of a frantic manner. You hated yourself for loving it so much.

The second time he pulled away, you were both gasping for breath, lips swollen and clothes rumpled and askew. You could tell he wanted to kiss you again, and probably a thousand times after that. To be frank, that was all you wanted as well.

But you knew this had to stop. And so, when he leaned forward to capture your lips with his again, you flinched none-too-subtly and slid off his lap. An expression of genuine hurt flickered across his handsome, reddened features. A twinge of guilt gnawed away at your stomach as you got up onto your shaky feet.

“Go home, Seonghwa,” Was all you could find yourself saying with a hoarse voice. “You’re going to catch a cold again.”

You couldn’t look at him anymore. And so, you left him laying crestfallen in the snow, hurriedly making your way back to Icer lands, small blue snowflakes trailing behind you and cold tears pricking the corners of your eyes.

The next day, Seonghwa didn’t show up. You waited by your usual meet-up place, gnawing on your lip anxiously, glancing every which way in hopes of seeing the raven-headed Flamer. In the midst of your worrying turmoil, more and more snowflakes emanated from your skin and it didn’t take long for them to accumulate by your feet, completely covering your boots in a pristilline white blanket. You stepped out of the feather-soft pile, opting to impatiently trudge about in an attempt to steel your nerves.

You hadn’t been able to sleep that night. Seonghwa’s heartbroken expression was imprinted into your mind, leaving you in a mess of guilt and regret and anger. 

Why did you have to push him away? Seonghwa, your first non-Icer friend, shoved away as if he meant nothing. You released a frustrated groan, smacking your palm into your forehead.

It made sense that he didn’t want to see you. If you were in his shoes, you probably wouldn’t leave your room and have the light of day touch your face for a whole moon. The idea of Seonghwa upset just didn’t sit right with you. Nonetheless, you could do little else than bide your time for him, however much you hated waiting.

He didn’t show up the next day either. Nor the one after that. 

By the fourth day of waiting, you started to feel twinges of discouragement, but you never gave up, determined to set things right with Seonghwa. The niggling thought of him never showing up was one that often pestered you while you patiently awaited his return, although always quickly shoved down into the corner of your mind. You didn’t want to think about what you would do if you never saw him again.

It took just over a week of waiting for him to come back. At that point, you hadn’t thought he’d come back at all, reluctantly accepting that you’ve ultimately ruined your friendship with Seonghwa.

And so, imagine your surprise when his voice rang out through the trees, your name rolling off his tongue smoothly, “Y/N.”

Startled, you flinched so hard that your head hit a branch that hung lowly on the icy tree you were sitting beneath. It reminded you so much of the first time you met him that you couldn’t help but crack a smile after your initial pained grimace.

“Seonghwa,” You gasped, eyes round with shock and mouth agape. “You’re… you’re back!” 

The excitement in your voice didn’t go undetected by either of you, but his features were set in stone, unmoving and neutral. Those blazing eyes of his seemed to bore holes into you, and you felt strangely naked underneath his gaze. You noticed that his appearance was more disheveled than ever, eyebags dark and hair not neatly slicked back like usual. He looked broken, but far too proud to admit so.

“Seonghwa…?” You stepped closer, the frosted leafy foliage crumbling under the pressure. This man was someone you deeply cared about, and you knew he felt the same about you.

So why was he staring at you like you meant nothing to him?

A shiver ran down your spine, a sensation that only Seonghwa could bestow upon you. Which was ironic, because the cold feeling that tickled down your spine was ignited by a man with powers of fire and heat. 

You and him didn’t belong together. That was clear as day by now.

��Seonghwa,” You mumbled again, reaching out to him once close enough.

He shut his eyes as if looking at you were torture. It stung more than you liked to admit, so you retracted your fingers, clenching them into a fist and dropping them back by your side awkwardly. The air was so tense, so utterly uncomfortable, you could feel the crack in your heart splinter into more branches.

“Stop saying that.”

“Saying what?” Your bottom lip trembled. This wasn’t the Seonghwa you’ve grown to be so fond of. This man scared you. You had half a mind to grab him by the shoulders and shake some sense back into him. Where did your Seonghwa go?

An angry huff escaped his lips, misting visibly out of his carmine lips. The very ones you kissed a little over a week ago.

“You can’t… just… don’t say my name. Please. We can’t be like that anymore. We can’t do this. We can’t keep seeing each other.” Seonghwa’s stoic mask disintegrated into raw emotion. He looked to be on the verge of tears, and you wouldn’t be surprised if you mirrored the same exact expression.

There was a part of you that wanted to yell and scream and throw sharp icicles at him until he had no choice but to run back to Flamer territory. Anywhere, as long as it was far away from you. The other, more rational part of you, whispered that he was right. After all, you were the one that pushed him away first. It was only fair.

A broken bone won’t heal if you keep putting pressure on the wound. Being a healer, you couldn’t just ignore your own teachings.

But for just once in your life, you wanted to be selfish. You wanted to hold Seonghwa tightly in your grasp, no matter how dangerous it was. You wanted to call him yours, and you wanted to be his. You wanted to kiss him again, despite the small action being the ultimate downfall for the both of you.

And so you found yourself croaking out, making sure to emphasize his name, “Seonghwa, you know just as much as I do that there’s something here between us. You can’t just ignore it and toss that all out the window!”

His face screwed up in an effort to keep the onslaught of tears at bay. Perhaps what he felt for you wasn’t yet as strong as what he’d call love, but he wasn’t very far from it. He cared too much for you, so much more than anybody else in his life.

He needed you. And because of that, he had to let you go. Fraternizing with the enemy wasn’t something to be taken lightly. If his tribe knew about this little escapade of his, they’d have his head and would finally have a good enough reason to declare war. Regardless, it was only a matter of time. The Fire Tribe has hated Icers for centuries and centuries, teetering on the brink between neutrality and complete bloodshed. 

“We have no choice,” The words were said in a low tone, rumbling deep down in his chest. Seonghwa shuffled closer, so close that you could feel his familiar heat wavering against the ice once again. You longed to reach out and place your hand on his chest, feel his heart thumping against his ribcage frantically, just as yours was. “Do you know what they’d do to you - to us - if our tribes found us together? It’s too risky, Y/N. I don’t know what I’d do if you got hurt.”

“I’m a healer. I can take care of myself! And we can just stay careful like we always have. Besides, people rarely come into the Grey Forest anymore!” Your words came out fast and jittery and panicked. You thought that you had already come to terms with losing the man that stood in front of you, but you were far from acceptance, you knew that now.

Seonghwa carded a pale hand through dark strands of hair, “I’m sorry, were you not the one that told me to go back home? You started this. You wanted this!” He was so agitated that when he swung his arm back to his side, small crackles of fire lit up his fingers.

Something inside you snapped, “I most definitely did not! It was just… all too sudden and I needed time to think. Now that I’ve already thought, there’s no need for us to run away and never see each other again! You’re overexaggerating, Seonghwa.”

“No, you don’t get it. Don’t you know, Y/N? Our tribes are verging on war. We’re supposed to be enemies, you and I. Don’t be daft!” His voice raised a notch or two louder, and you found yourself shrinking into yourself.

Tears pricked your eyes and you looked away from his fierce gaze, “We don’t have to be a part of that. We can just -”

“Just what? Pretend? We can’t play picnic in the forest and act like our people aren’t planning to slaughter each other!”

“You know what?” You shouted so loudly that the birds nesting on treetops fluttered away, a mass of dark wings and agitated squawks. “If you want to walk away from this relationship, from me, then go ahead! I won’t stop you. Fuck you, Seonghwa. Fuck you for throwing this away the moment it became something more.”

“You were the first to push away!” He protested, pointing an accusatory finger at you.

“Well, I’m sorry!” You cried out, furiously swiping away the tears that dribbled down your cheeks. “I’m sorry I was scared! I’m willing to try again, but you’re not giving me the chance. I waited for you every day, you know.”

“I know. I saw,” He said, suddenly quiet. “I’m sorry for making you wait.”

The two of you stared at each other defiantly, heavy breaths misting the air in front of you. His nose was tinted a deep pink, no doubt because of the cold.

“I’m leaving,” Seonghwa said after a long while. “And you shouldn’t come back here. Ever. I need you to know, Y/N. I’m doing this because I care about you. I expect you to do the same for me.”

Then, after casting you a forlorn expression, he tore his blazing eyes away and stiffly swiveled around in the snow. A gust of wind tousled his hair and he blew out a sigh of pale white mist. The cold made his nose red, and you subconsciously noticed the way he shivered slightly, brushing snowflakes off his sleeve. You’d miss that.

You’d miss him.

His heat grew fainter as his long strides took him further away from you. Your tears had crystallized on your cheeks uncomfortably, a frozen reminder of what you’d lost. You had half the mind to storm right up to Seonghwa and force him to stay here, by your side. That was the child speaking within you, however, and you were no longer a child. 

Flicking the solidified salt water on your cheeks away, you did just the same as Seonghwa had minutes ago, trudging your way back to Icer lands. Little did either of you know, the two of you cried fresh tears along the whole journey back. 

The last time you ever stepped foot in the Grey Forest was just the day after. Your eyes were puffy and aching, hair a terrible mess, and a wax-sealed envelope was tightly clutched in your hand.

There was a chance that Seonghwa would never come back. In fact, it was most probable that he’d never get the precariously written letter you left by the usual meeting place, considering what he told you yesterday.

Fond memories sunk its sharpened claws into you, stealing away your breath as you cupped both hands over your mouth, overwhelmed in every way possible. You were far too drained to cry, having emptied away all your tears the day before.

And so, you brushed stray snowflakes off the periwinkle-hued wax stamp, placing it down by the tree stump where Seonghwa usually sat. 

Then you muttered a quiet, broken goodbye, stomping back to Icer lands. You were never going to see Seonghwa again. 

Dear Seonghwa,

I know you told me to never come back. I won’t, I promise. I just wanted to leave the letter because… we never properly got to say goodbye, did we?

Well, congrats, you big dummy. You’re right. You always were, and you always are. We were never supposed to be friends. I mean, I suppose we’re enemies now, aren’t we? It was quite the foolish fantasy we had going on there, huh? I get it, we have to stay loyal to our respective tribes, we can’t risk getting caught, so on so forth. I just hope that when war is declared (which doesn’t seem to be long from now, to be quite honest), I won’t see you on the battlefield. I don’t think I’d be able to handle that. 

So, I guess this is goodbye. It’s a little hard to believe that I won’t ever get to see your stupid face again. Remember when I threw a snowball at you so hard that it broke your nose? You panicked and blood went splattering everywhere and it didn’t stop until I got you to calm down. For a highly-ranked Flamer soldier, I’d expect you to be less squeamish at the sight of your own blood. It’s alright, though. As a healer myself, blood still freaks me out just a bit.

I thought I ruined your pretty face for all the poor ladies and gents who were mad in love with you back at the Flame Tribe, and I felt so guilty. And then you smiled! I remember feeling envy and astonishment at the same time because how the hell could one look pretty while smiling through a broken, bloody nose? 

I’m glad I didn’t ruin your face, though. You’d probably get really mad at me if I did. But you would’ve forgiven me eventually, right?

Frankly, I don’t know if I deserve your forgiveness for what I did. And no, I’m not talking about hurting your precious face (they say a once-broken nose makes a man more attractive!). I’m sorry for pushing you away, Seonghwa. Really, I don’t know what I was thinking. I was scared and I needed time to think. I hope you understand that. If you don’t, that’s okay as well.

If I could rewind time, I wouldn’t have stopped kissing you. I could’ve carried on for days and days and days on end. Did you know that you’re the second person I’ve ever kissed? Don’t ask about the first, drunk Wooyoung isn’t really something to brag about. Well, for the record, you were the first kiss I actually enjoyed. Congrats.

Of course, all this doesn’t mean that it was entirely my fault. I waited for you for a week, and you did nothing but hide behind trees and watch. That was real shitty of you, to put it plainly.

I’ll miss you, though. I’ve never felt this way about any Icer and I doubt I ever will. Of all people to set my sights on, it just had to be a Flamer. What rotten luck we have.

Goodbye forever, Seonghwa. Stay safe, alright? For my sake.

With much love,

Y/N.

Seonghwa read the letter through so quickly that his pupils seemed to be moving at lightning speed. Then, with a numbed heart, he read it a second time, this time much slower.

By the third time he reread each of your carefully handwritten words, warm tears of salt water were running over his cheeks. His face had grown considerably hotter, the salty liquid steaming misty tendrils against his skin. He was angry. So, so ridiculously angry. At himself, at this stupid rivalry between the tribes, at you for being so goddamn perfect. Of course you’d managed to squeeze in jaunts and jokes in a farewell note.

There was a part of him that wished he’d never come back to the Grey Forest and found the letter. Fat droplets of his tears trickled down his jaw and soaked through the parchment, marring the intricate ink characters. With a gentle sigh, Seonghwa brushed the dampness away and stiffly flicked his wrist.

The letter burst into glowing orange flames. And Seonghwa watched on, stifling down the urge to break down into a fit of chest-wracking sobs, until your goodbye was nothing but a measly pile of blackened ashes on his palm.

[sad-boy-hank]

𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐮𝐜𝐤 𝐚𝐦 𝐢?

AHAHHAHAHAHAH READER WHY U SO FUCKIN SHORT

irl! madlads x grunt! reader

take a shot everytime reader squeaks

@shyflameweasel spspsppspspsps

~~~~~~~~~~~~

“This is fine, this is good, everything is normal, nothing is out of the ordinary.”

It wasn’t fine, good, or normal, and it most certainly was out of the ordinary.

God, why didn’t you just get in the car with your friends? Oh, that’s right. “Cause I said, ‘oh, don’t worry about me, I know exactly where I’m going!’” You huffed, frustrated and nervous. “Yeah right.”

The puddles made your sneakers squelch, a very uncomfortable feeling especially since you weren’t sure if it was even water you were stepping in. You flinched as you picked up the sounds of squeaking, terrified that it might be an agent sent to kill you.

You shook your head and patted your face Alright, calm down. I’m not that important. But, then again, it’s not like it was a rat.

Importations of those things were illegal, right?

You let out a loud squeak, sounding like a dog toy if a dog toy could get surprised. Oh god, something just ran over my foot, oh god. Terrified at the slim chance that it was a rat, you dove to the side, pressing yourself against a brick wall. Brick? Where the hell am I? Whatever turns you took were way wrong because this was not Nevada.

Taking small, shallow breaths, you decided to actually look around (which for some reason you hadn’t done in an hour).

This was an alleyway. Okay. We got that down.

You glanced to your left and right. A bin with a door next to it on the right. How did I not see that? With cautious fright, you padded towards the strangely massive door. Who the hell lives here? You paused before the door. You’d asked yourself a good question: Who lived behind this door? Was it dangerous? Could- would it kill you?

You turned around hastily, trying to find a weapon. Aha! A convieniently-placed metal pipe. Perfect. Grabbing it and swiveling it around in your fists, you let out a sigh. Please be empty. Please be empty. Breathing deeply, you tried to hype yourself up. “Okay, one, two, THREE!” With a yell, you threw yourself against the door, squeaking as it hardly moved and the pipe you were holding clattered to the ground.

“HEY! WHO’S OUT THERE?”

Ah, shit.

Okay, okay, quick, where do you hide? Fuck, the bin’s too tall! Maybe if I-

You let out a loud and frightened SQUEAK As a hand grabbed you by the middle. “What kinda fuckin’ cat-- HANK! GET OVER HERE I FOUND SOMETHING FUCKED-UP!”

Panicking, you only just noticed the silhouette of the thing holding you as your brain went into attack mode. Arms. As fucked-up as it was for anything to have those, you could bite ‘em.

The person holding you shrieked as your face split in two to chomp down on its arm, shaking it violently in a futile attempt to get you the fuck away. “HANK HURRY UP!”

You let go as soon as you heard pounding footsteps clanking against the floor, and raced towards the huge door (which, thankfully, was still open) only to squeal as you were picked up yet again, this time by the scruff. Instinctively, you went limp, letting your jaw go slack and allowing your hands to swing beside you. Please don’t kill me, please don’t kill me, please don’t kill me.

You tried in vain to tense your muscles, unable to with a hand pinching your scruff. Terror filled you as you felt hot breath grazing the side of your face. “Huh. This is fucked-up,” a gruff voice rumbled. You screamed as it shook you. Is this motherfucker toying around? “So, it’s alive.”

“OW!” You shrieked, your back hitting the ground hard, a massive pain spreading across your body. You curled into yourself when you heard something chuckle.

“Jesus, what’s up with its hands?”

THERE’S THREE OF THEM? You jerked your hand back when you felt a warm hand touch it and scooted back, hissing. “G-get the FUCK away from me! EEP-”

For the third fucking time strong hands grabbed you and lifted you up, causing you to flail wildly. “You talk?” There’s the first voice.

Beating its arms with your comparatively tiny fists, you started crying. “LET ME FUCKING GO!” You squealed, angry and scared. “WHAT THE HELL DO YOU FREAKS WANT?”

You yelped as you were grabbed by ANOTHER motherfucking hand and started quaking, tears brimming at the corners of your facial cross. “D’aww, you’re so tiny!”

Is this bitch trying to baby you? “I- I’M 27!” You shouted, now a bit more pissed than frightened. “Put me the fuck down!”

You snapped your head around at the sound of a huff. “You heard the lil’ dude. Set ‘em down.”

The person holding you frowned, disappointed that they couldn’t hold you longer. “FINE, Sanford.” They gently placed you down on the cold, concrete floor. You couldn’t really shoot a proper “thank you” (your head was spinning), so you just held out your hand in an exhausted, grateful gesture.

The owner of the first voice (maybe it was Sanford?) crouched down and grabbed your hand with a smile, but recoiled instantly with a worried expression when you shrieked. “WHAT are you doing?” you squealed.

“Th- that’s what people do when they wanna shake hands,” the man (yeah, probaby Sanford) explained, confused at your reaction.

The midpoint of your facial cross scrunched up. “Huh? No, I’m saying thank you! It’s basic sign language!”

A hand was placed on your shoulder, making you squeak. “That’s not sign language for ‘thank you’.” Ah, that was the dude with the rough voice. You turned to face him shakily, watching with frightened curiosity as he gently placed his hand on his chin, then straightened his arm to move it away. “That’s sign language for thank you.”

Your face kept its confused expression as you looked down at your shoes. For a moment, you stood and tried to regain your composure. “W… where the hell am I, anyway?”

[lov3nerdstuff]

Voluptas Noctis Aeternae {Part 7.28}

*Severus Snape x OC*

Summary: It is the year 1983 when the ordinary life of Robin Mitchell takes a drastic turn: she is accepted into Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Despite the struggles of being a muggle-born in Slytherin, she soon discovers her passion for Potions, and even manages the impossible: gaining the favor of Severus Snape. Throughout the years, Robin finds that the not quite so ordinary Potions Professor goes from being a brooding stranger to being more than she had ever deemed possible. An ally, a mentor, a friend... and eventually, the person she loves the most. Through adventure, prophecies and the little struggles of daily life in a castle full of mysteries, Robin chooses a path for herself, an unlikely friendship blossoms into something more, and two people abandoned by the world can finally find a home.

General warnings: professor x student, blood, violence, trauma, neglectful families, bullying, cursing

Words: 5.7k

Read Part 1.1 here! All Parts can be found on the Masterlist!

______________________________

It was the middle of March when a simple trip to Hogsmeade turned into the beginning of the very end.

Robin had let Cas and Jorien talk her into coming along to town this Hogsmeade Saturday, and she had used the opportunity to sell another batch of rare ingredients in the small dingy shop she had actually come to appreciate for just that at this point. After dropping the girls off at Honeydukes, she'd gone on to the potions shop by herself, scared the shop owner beyond reason yet again just for her own amusement, and left a little while later with an even larger sum of galleons in her bag than the previous time she had been there. Really, it was incredible for just how much some of the stuff she possessed sold even around here. Thus, content and smiling to herself for the well accomplished mission, she made her slow way back from the shady part of the village to where she was supposed to meet the girls on high street in twenty minutes. Hopefully time would pass quickly… it was terribly cold outside, even for March, and Robin couldn't wait for a nice hot cup of coffee in whatever cafe the girls would surely drag her into next.

When she crossed from one mud covered street into an even narrower alley of much the same sodden ground, her smile was wiped off her face however, in the very instant a repelling spell hit her square in the chest and sent her flying backwards into the half frozen dirt of the larger road before she even had the time to register what was happening to her. Suddenly void of every air in her lungs, Robin gasped, then yelped when her back hit the hard ground and unruly stone, sending a hot searing pain up her spine that made her eyes water. Adrenaline rushed into her veins, as flooring as it was exhilarating, and while her mind was spinning as it tried to grasp for a sense of what was happening, she already had her wand in her hand only for it to be knocked straight out of there again by an Expelliarmus spoken by a very much familiar voice. Oh no…

"A path of shadows isn't a good place for my little songbird to dwell in… It isn't safe out here. The cats might come to prey on you." Damion Morgan sighed exaggeratedly, while he picked Robin's wand off the ground before she ever had the chance to reach for it. "Get up now dear, before you become as sodden as the ground."

Robin's mind spun in hazy circles of panic as she scrambled to her feet without taking her eyes off the man in front of her. Really, it was her bad luck that it was his turn to supervise this particular Hogsmeade weekend. And away from the school, away from anyone who would witness the incident, she was as good as doomed alone with him in this bloody back alley. For a second, her mind sped through her options. Apparating away? No, not without her wand. Wandless magic, perhaps? In the matter of a few seconds she tried every defensive spell she knew she could do without her wand, running a string of words through her mind with as much focus as she could fathom, but they all proved ineffective against the smug man in front of her. Fuck… he certainly wouldn't make it as easy for her as the last few times, he had already shown her glimpses of that back on new year's. Perhaps he wasn't quite as untalented in the dark arts as she had always tried to convince herself of.

"You needn't try, darling. After the little stunt you pulled on me on the night of the welcoming feast, I have seen to it that my own resistance to your admirable spellwork was fit to counter. And after years of studying you in my class, I know just what spells you have up your sleeve." He told her just in that moment with a disgustingly sweet smile. Dropping his arm with his wand to his side then, he took a step closer to Robin to be right in front of her now. "I had so hoped we could do this in another way. I had hoped it would never have to come this far, if only you had chosen me as I have chosen you. Now, all there is left for either of us is pain."

"Indeed." Robin replied in a breathless huff, and while she didn't understand a single thing of what he was saying with his many words, she knew that she wouldn't get a better chance than this. Without wasting any time overthinking for once, she curled her hand into a fist and punched Morgan straight in the face as strongly as she could. Magic was nice and all, but sometimes the muggle way to do things did work just as well. The blazing pain, the sting and burn that spread from her knuckles up into her entire arm in an instant was well worth it as she discovered, for Morgan dropped both Robin's wand and his own when he instinctively clutched his hands to his hurting face.

What followed then definitely followed too fast. Robin went to claw for her wand immediately, but so did Morgan with his own. Both reached theirs in a striking simultaneity, and in the very same they directed at each other their respectively chosen spells. It wasn't a matter of thought, of conscious action or strategy, but rather an adrenaline driven instinctive defense that made Robin send yet another stunning spell at Morgan. And it seemed no less instinctive for him to send a curse to her in return. Both spells hit their target, both too quick and intricate to deflect. Morgan once more landed on his behind in the offgoing alley, groaning but unfortunately still very much in consciousness. Robin on the other hand let out a bone chilling scream, then crippled into a heap on the very ground she had stood upon, ridden by such a sudden explosion of pain in every cell of her body that it replaced both sense of self and thought. She couldn't breathe, couldn't speak, couldn't move… Her wand lay only inches from her hand, but she found the distance impossible to cross, impossible to think of fighting back at all. All she could do was to keep her eyes wide open as she lay curled up on her side in repeated shivers of pain that drowned out even the cold around her, beneath her, and to watch how Morgan came approaching her once again. His wand raised and pointed at her with a sneer on his face.

"You will have to be better than that, my dear…" He sighed in a raspy voice, then finally crouched down right in front of her and almost affectionately brushed a strand of hair out of her face. "You will never succeed if you do not even try. The time has almost come, I'm afraid, and I can no longer hold it off. Neither can I resist you anymore. Oh, how I wish you just could've been mine."

All Robin could do in return was to whimper, as pathetic as it was, but she had no capacity left within her being to care about anything but the pain that was eating her up from the inside. Only in blurred lines above her in her quaking field of vision, Morgan's face twisted in as much agony as she felt, and yet he wore an expression of the utmost sympathy. Robin suddenly felt sick and terribly exposed, and she turned her face downward in a vain attempt to shield herself from the sight of him. Pressing herself into the mud and stone beneath her even if the rash pebbles cut into her skin like a million shards of cruel fate.

"I could end it right here, you know… I should end it here and in this instant." He spoke again, through a layer of sincere remorse. "But I cannot do it if you do not resist. I… I can't, Robin. Not like this. Please don't make me do it like this."

The pain in her body surged to new heights with every word he said, and she let out a strangled sob, a cry of sheer agony even, and perhaps an equal amount of fear. Every atom of her body was torn apart, stabbed with a million knives over and over again while her soul was split into a state between life and death. So much for fighting back… so much for doing anything to protect herself. There was nothing she could do now. She's had her chance, and she'd waisted it on the mildest repelling spell she knew. A bloody idiot, that she was, and nothing more. Perhaps, for that, she did deserve death after all.

No. She was better than that. Robin couldn't give in, not now, not like this, not ever. She had made a mistake by choosing the wrong spell, yes, but she had to work with the consequences now. She would not give up. Never. She couldn't do that to Snape… after all he had been through in his life, he deserved happiness that lasted longer than bloody two and a half months before the next tragedy came haunting him. So did she. They deserved better, and no bloody Damion Morgan could get in the way of that. With the most miserably shaking hand, she tried reaching for her wand, fingertips brushing against the dark wood after what seemed like eternities of pain. Do it do it do it do it do it… Her instincts begged her to finally make use of one of the thousands of horrible curses she had come across over the years, or even to just apparate away for good. But when her sight fell onto Morgan's highly expectant, almost begging expression, her reason won over the instinct. He wanted her to fight. Wanted her to try running. And she would not play this game by his rules anymore.

With another pained whine, Robin clasped her wand in her hand, holding both tightly pressed against her chest, then she rolled onto her back to look up at Morgan's twisted face above her, and even further up at the blindingly white sky. A new wave of maddening pain, she could hardly breathe. Hardly think.

"You really are quite beautiful, you know… Even now, like this." Morgan sighed sadly while his eyes traced the paths Robin's angry tears had painted on her muddied skin. "And while I look at your lovely being every morning and every night of every day, you I hardly ever get to see. I must say though that the earrings are a nice addition. Very… modern."

His words still made no sense to Robin's mind, not now, not when the pain took away most of her thoughts in the first place. But she knew that she wanted him to stop playing with her. Think, idiot, through the bloody haze of pain! She'd done it before, pushing the pain away behind the walls in her mind… just enough to make room for reason. Just to focus, just for a moment.

He expected her to fight, or to run, to act in any way they had been taught in his very own class. Therefore he must be looking out for those spells, ready to stop her, ready to attack in return. He wanted her to resist, to fight back, that much had been clear for a long while now… and if she attacked him like that indeed, she very likely wouldn't survive the backlash he had probably been preparing for months now. At least not in her current state of painforced weakness. A state she had brought upon herself when she had let him put that curse on her. A curse of the kind he could only uphold if he put his entire focus on it. Gods! That was the flaw in his actions she had been looking for.

Still very much trembling, she lifted her hand to point her wand up at the sky, then closed her eyes when Morgan started to smile at her doings. He was still waiting for her to make the move that would finally allow him to murder her after all… but she wouldn't do him that favor. She had learned long ago to follow her reason, not her fight or flight instincts. This had to work, she had to be better. For herself, for Snape, for her friends. A faint Lux Obscurius left her lips in even less than a breath as her eyes flew open again, and a broken second later she could feel the earth beneath her vibrating when black lightnings hit the ground around her like a relentless hailstorm of her own fury.

It was enough. Enough to catch Morgan by surprise, to make him lose touch with his spellwork, his focus on Robin, and when the echo of soundless thunder overtook the air around them, the curse's pain was gone from Robin's mind, pushed out of her body by enough adrenaline that forced her onto her feet in an instant. Her wand gripped tightly in her hand, she pointed it at Morgan who staggered to his feet a second later when sound returned to the world.

He tried throwing another curse at her, but Robin had no problem deflecting it even without a word now that she knew what to expect. He tried again and again, growing in desperation and anger while losing in focus and determination, which made it all the easier for Robin to counter while her body and mind slowly recovered from the horrible pain. Luckily the curse had only been on her for a mere few minutes. She was still hurting now… but more so from her hard landing on the ground and a few scratches than from any kind of magic. So far so good.

"Haven't you learned anything throughout the years?!" Morgan cried out at her after a moment, and the string of spells thrown at Robin stopped for the moment as he caught his breath. "You are supposed to fight me! I'm trying to kill you and you just stand there like it's none of your goddamn business! Defend yourself properly, for heaven's sake!!! Try at least! Please!"

"No." Robin got out more or less calmly, but she knew better than to let his talking distract her again. She had made the mistake of letting him catch her off guard once, of underestimating what he would do to her if he got the chance. She wouldn't do it a second time. Neither would she attack him though, even if she had in past times almost hoped for a situation like this. An opportunity to get rid of him. But now that it was here, right in front of her, she found that she couldn't even curse him. Leave alone kill him, like she had always thought she would want to if it came this far. But she simply couldn't bring herself to do either.

"You are just like her, you know that?!" He yelled across the short distance between them, half in laughter, half in despair. "You're too bloody perfect, too much of everything I need to live. I have never been one for irony, but you, love, you are perhaps fate's cruelest twist of bloody irony in existence!"

Robin didn't respond to that. She wouldn't have known what to say anyway, not when he clearly was having a conversation with someone that wasn't her. Not really, anyway. He was just insane; only a madman talking nonsense who was trying to kill her for fun or his own delusional reasons whenever they met outside of class. That was all there was to it, all there could to be. Deep down however, Robin was starting to doubt just that more and more. He didn't seem insane… only caught up in a different reality than her. She was merely clinging onto her version of things for her own good at this point, and she would continue to do so until there was a more reasonable explanation. But for now, she stayed silent either way.

"You know that I will not stop trying, don't you? I cannot stop!" Morgan went on instead, loudly and unbothered in his desperation as if they weren't still in the middle of Hogsmeade. "And unless you kill me first, there is nothing you can do to change your fate!"

The loud banging of a wooden door to Robin's left suddenly caught both her and Morgan's attention then, as it flew open harshly before a bulky barrel of a man came stomping out with a deep frown on his face. Must be the backdoor to one of the taverns, Robin remembered just then. A truly lucky coincidence.

"What's all that shouting and yelling about now again?! Y'all be scaring my customers away!" The burly man bellowed in an instant, and his small angry eyes scanned Robin at first, then Morgan, and finally both their battered and dirty appearances. His anger turned into weariness in an instant, and he addressed Robin with an almost reluctant gaze and a motion towards Morgan. "Need any help dealing with that fellow?"

"Thank you…" Robin replied with a polite but very much feigned smile, then didn't even take her eyes off the barman while she sent a silent Stupefy at the still distracted Morgan, who registered her sudden attack only way too late. Out of the corner of her eye, Robin saw how the professor was thrown back and down the road by the spell, then stayed lying on the ground in a motionless heap. Truly unconscious, at long last. And yet, Robin's eyes did not once leave the flabbergasted bar owner who stared at her in return as she went on with her statement after a breath. "But I believe I am just fine."

"I, uh… Sorry, for… for interrupting." The man finally stammered out after a moment of taking in Robin's perfectly feigned calm and Morgan's unconscious body. "I'm just… gonna get back to my bar and leave you to your own business."

"Actually," Robin was quick to stop him from vanishing through the door, as she took a determined step towards him, "I would very much appreciate it if I could shortcut to high street through your… establishment."

… … …

Ten minutes later, Robin had almost reached the shop where she was supposed to meet Cas and Jorien. She'd gotten rid of the mud and water that had clung onto her in chunks before setting foot onto high street, which then had left her only with messy hair, a bleeding scratch over her eyebrow and too many thoughts yet to be dealt with. A look into one of the shop windows confirmed that she still looked quite as terrible as she felt; cold, confused, exhausted and anxious enough to burst. Putting her hair up into a bun and a stasis charm onto the scratch to provisionally keep it from bleeding did a good enough job at fixing the outside flaws, but her mind remained troubled as it could be when she finally went to seek out the girls. She was 10 minutes late anyway, no need to let them wait even longer than that.

But even when she slowly approached their meeting spot, she couldn't quite move past what had just happened. Sure, Morgan had hurt her before, had said things along the same lines of her belonging to him, but this just surpassed it all. She didn't doubt that he truly wanted to kill her, even if her refusal to fight back seemed to have hindered him in that today. He certainly wouldn't allow himself to make such a mistake another time, wouldn't hold back nor let his twisted emotions overcome him. His intention was more than clear at this point; his reasons were not. Because as much as Robin wanted to blame it all on insanity, the things he'd said and done, the sincere desperation and agony displayed on his face when he had begged her to fight back just didn't add up anymore. There was a reason to the things he did, a very much sane one, but it was yet veiled in darkness. He said he would try to end her again… So she would have to find out what the hell was going on before then. Why he had said those weird things that still kept nagging at her mind in the strangest way, ringing some distant bells she couldn't quite put her finger to. Gods, she felt exhausted enough for her hands to shake even beyond the cold… it was a miracle that her legs hadn't given out yet.

"Finally you grace us with your presence, Robin!!! Jorien and I have been freezing to death out here for the last ten minutes!" Cas' relieved and reproachful voice pulled Robin out of her thoughts, but it also made her jump in an instant. Visibly, for once. Great…

"Are you alright?" Jorien asked immediately with a big frown on her face, just when Robin came to stand in front of them. "You look-… There's really no nice way to say it. Tired and battered is the mildest one, probably."

"Oh, you know me… always running into one thing or another." She replied with a sigh and a half smile that was more feigned than sincere. "But yeah, I'm quite exhausted, and way too cold. I'm sorry I made you wait, I was held up and couldn't get away from the situation for the longest time."

"It's fine…" Cas sighed as well, a lot milder in her expression already. "We were late anyway, so we really only waited a couple minutes out here."

That finally brought a sincere smile to Robin's lips, even if a small one. Of course they'd been late as well… they always were. Well, thank Morgan for holding her up long enough to spare her the waiting time. Robin snorted at her own thought, and couldn't quite understand why almost dying was suddenly so amusing. Then again, Snape had always been saying that her humour could be quite morbid at times. He was right, as always. Gods, she just wanted to be back with him already, wrapped up in a tight hug, telling him all about what happened… but he was still stuck with the dunderheads who had earned themselves detention this week, and wouldn't be free until after dinnertime. Which was one of the main reasons why Robin had agreed to go to Hogsmeade today in the first place.

"If you're exhausted, we perhaps better skip the next part of our grandiose plans for the day…" Jorien said, thereby regaining Robin's attention in time for her to see the sheer disappointment on both girls' faces. "It probably was a stupid idea anyway. Let's just go to a cafe instead."

"No, it's alright! Don't worry about me." Robin replied in an instant, when her inability to bear seeing the girls sad got the better of her. Damn her empathy, a cozy cafe sounded nice right now… and whatever plans they had made surely wouldn't be nearly as relaxing. But as much as she annoyed herself by doing so, she couldn't help putting them and their happiness first. "We can do whatever you guys originally planned. It's fine!"

The smiles were back on their faces in an instant, as was the excitement and mischief, and while Robin didn't know what she had just gotten herself into, she was prone to find out when they immediately started dragging her off down the street. Two minutes later, they stepped through the door to one of the surprisingly many clothes shops in the small village, and this one obviously seemed to cater more to the younger generations. That was the only thing Robin could tell from the look around she had immediately upon their entrance. A nervous habit, really, that had only intensified now after getting so stupidly taken by surprise earlier.

"So…" Cas started with a grin while she walked ahead in obvious certainty where she wanted to go. "You know how in a week I'm going home with Simon for the easter holidays, right?"

"You mentioned it a couple million times, yes." Robin sassed in feigned annoyance, but her small smile was a sincere one yet again. How could she forget, when both Cas and Simon had been speaking of little else over the last few days. It was rather adorable, really, how excited both of them were to spend time together outside of school for once, at last, after over a year of dating. Robin had the utmost understanding for that, and for them in general.

"Funny." Cas rolled her eyes at Robin, but then went on while she slalomed around shelves and tables of clothes with the others in tow. "Anyway, I wanted to get some nicer things for the occasion. You know, like some pajamas and underwear and stuff… Everything I have is terribly childish or boring and just meh."

Oh dear… Robin could relate more to that than she wanted to admit, and that level of subtle embarrassment wasn't something she currently wanted to deal with. Nor did she want to discuss these matters with her roommates, even if they seemed to have no reluctance to do so the other way round. To her luck, they at least weren't here because of her. Or so she sincerely hoped.

"To shortcut Cas' elaborations, we picked out some stuff for her, but we couldn't really decide and weren't too sure if it was too much or too little, so we were hoping you could give your usual overly-rational evaluation." Jorien concluded factually, and Robin only nodded her agreement with a silent sigh.

This really was the most horrible timing; she had no room in her mind for insignificant matters like clothing! There was only fear and anxiety and concern… and Morgan's words still nagging at her. 'You are just like her', he'd said. Like who? Did Robin remind him of someone who all of his anger and affection likewise were actually directed at? 'While I look at your lovely being every morning and every night of every day, you I hardly ever get to see.'... What the hell was that supposed to mean? Robin always made a conscious effort to avoid Morgan as much as possible, to the extent of almost hiding from him during mealtimes. They only really met in defense classes these days. So he really hardly got to see her indeed… but he looked at her being every day? One of the photos of her that had been in the paper, perhaps? But then he would see her as well, not her being. Ugh, this was just-...

"Earth to Robin!" Cas snapped her fingers in front of Robin's face with raised eyebrows. They were standing in front of a line of changing cubicles now, or rather Jorien and Robin were, while Cas stood in the door of one and moved back towards the mirror inside where she looked at herself. Robin had to frown when her attention returned to the current moment. Cas was still wearing her own clothes, but in the mirror, her reflection wore the piece she was trying to show to her friends.

"Interesting spellwork with the mirrors…" Robin mused before she could help it. "Is that a common thing in clothes shops around here?"

"...yes?!" Cas scoffed incredulously at the –to her– obviously inane question. "You really don't go shopping often enough. The mirrors are charmed to show you what the pieces would look like on you. Then you only have to try on the things you actually like on yourself for the right size. We've done that already, so it's just deciding between the looks now. What do you think?"

With an almost impressed expression, Robin studied both the mirror and Cas' reflection for a moment to actually make an effort at last. Perhaps this wasn't quite as terrible as she'd thought… Sure, it seemed kind of ridiculous to be here shopping now after she'd had to fight for her life half an hour ago. But perhaps that was why it was a good idea after all; a remedy for all the ghosts in her head, the fear and anxiety in her body. It might do her good to get some distance to the events before trying to understand them.

Thus for the next forty minutes Robin did her best to actually focus on the girls and on helping Cas with her shopping. They really had picked some nice things that weren't too over the top, and after Robin had given her commentary and evaluation as well, the selection Cas was left with was well worth their efforts. Robin was almost led to believe that allowing them to drag her here hadn't been quite such a terrible idea as she'd originally thought.

That was until Jorien and Cas were fooled enough by Robin's desperate efforts to push through this endeavor with the very last of her energy and enthusiasm to try to make her try things on as well. And that Robin really didn't have the mindset for today. Being alive was currently a higher priority to her than being well dressed, which the two younger girls of course had no understanding for. They couldn't, really, and Robin wouldn't burden them with it either. Thus she agreed to let them pick whatever while she would patiently stand in front of the mirror to let them gawk at the reflection, as long as she wouldn't have to actually physically change. Or make an effort to show sincere interest in any of the pieces any longer.

For a while the girls picked all kinds of both horrendous and actually quite nice pieces just to giggle and fawn over and Robin simply let them. As long as they were having fun, she couldn't care less if they made her reflection look like a clown or a magazine model. And while her reflection's garments changed from t-shirts to dresses to pajamas to lingerie, she resumed her pondering of Morgan's words and actions as well as her own. Ignoring the outside world as successfully as ever for a good twenty minutes at least.

"How strange…" Cas' half humoured and half confused huff was what pulled Robin back into the reality around her at last, and she followed the girl's line of sight to her underwear-clad reflection. Good gods… she looked like the closest thing to a piece of pastry she'd ever seen. Or an 18th century mistress. Or both.

"What's so strange?" Jorien asked a short moment later, and frowned at Robin's ridiculous reflection as well.

"I haven't really noticed before either, because I was admittedly distracted by the fun pieces of clothing, but it's really quite obvious now." Cas replied and crossed her arms over her chest with an almost smug expression. "Tell me, what do you see?"

Jorien scoffed, then rolled her eyes, but went to answer nonetheless. "Well, I see Robin, looking like an ancient painting of some royal hooker. Don't tell me you see any more than that in the mirror…"

The words sent a surge of immediate anxiety and adrenaline through Robin, and while she thought that it was due to the discomfort upon looking like a tart at first, the impression soon was replaced by the nagging in the back of her mind that picked up stronger than ever. Her mind started spinning too fast, thoughts tumbling over each other in both panic and reason. Gods, she could almost grasp the thought, the words that were haunting her now.

"Well duh…" Cas rolled her eyes, then tapped against the glass on the height of Robin's ribs. "There's no scar, idiots! As far as I remember, Robin has a rather visible scar on her rib cage, while the reflection doesn't. Isn't that odd? As if the reflection isn't even you."

A wall inside Robin's mind collapsed in that instant, and buried her under the impossible weight of its ashes. Its implications. She could hardly breathe. Paintings… Reflections… Scars… Earrings. A wild rush of adrenaline. Panic. She felt sick as soon as she finally understood.

"Robin, are you alright? You look terrible again… Did we say something wrong?" Jorien inquired instead of reacting to Cas' explanation, and half a second later both girls were gazing at her in concern. Robin had no capacity left to care that she worried them. She had no capacity for anything outside of her own mind.

"I need to get back to the castle. Now." She said in a quiet voice, staring at her own eyes in the mirror for just a moment longer before spinning on her heels and making for the shop's exit. Every cell in her body stood on edge, every emotion locked away behind the thickest walls she could muster up to cope with reality. Right now, she only needed reason, as much of it as she could get. And in a spurt of just that she looked over her shoulder at the two confused girls once more before she reached the door. "I'm sorry, I just remembered something very important that I have forgotten about for far too long. Do go on shopping without me though, and be sure to tell me all about it at dinner, yes?"

Then, without waiting for an answer, she was out of the door and on her way back to the castle. Her lungs hurt, heart racing, head spinning, and her eyes stung terribly from both the wind and unshed tears of raw anxiety. Perhaps it was only the shock of realisation hitting her, or perhaps she was really quite so scared. She didn't know if she hoped to be right or wrong in the unnerving suspicion that had fallen upon her like the darkest of night. Because frankly, either way would end in a nightmare.

______________________________

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[random-imagines-blog]

Horror Show {Tate Langdon x Reader}

Requested by: Anonymous Wordcount: 2991 Summary: You didn’t anticipate that the new house would come with a new roommate.

The first thing that you thought of when you saw the house was that it was definitely not normal. You’d taken the tour around LA a couple of times, due to your morbid fascination with crime, and had seen it from the street. But now that you were approaching it, taking step by step, the feeling grew stronger. This was not an ordinary house. Your parents, both busy and insane, didn’t even seem to notice. Or if they did, they said nothing to you about it. Instead, they talked about how they wanted to freshen it up with a new coat of paint. Because that was going to cover the stains of the sins that had occurred inside. Your eyes darted to the window of the room that was certain to be yours, and thought you saw a movement, a sway of the curtains. You stopped, and raised your hand to your forehead to shield your eyes from the bright California sun. Must have just been a bending of light. No one was in your house - right?

“Come on honey,” Your mother said, in her sugary sweet voice. She smiled nervously at the old woman who was standing across the street, smoking dramatically. You could have guessed that she was being kind to protect her reputation rather than care about you.

“What, you don’t want a dramatic entrance?” You asked, brushing her off and walked inside after your father. You didn’t care about the flooring, the wall color, the stairs, the paneling, and all the other things that your parents would want to rework. Your mother quickly stepped inside, closing the door behind her, tutting at your behavior.

“You can start on your room then,” She sniffled.

“Great! I was just waiting for your permission,” You said with a sarcastic grin. Your father didn’t even bother with responding to you, staying out of it like he always had. He probably said about ten words to you so far this year, and you were well into September.

You picked up a box of your clothing which was sitting near the stairs, and started your way up the stairs. As you took each step, you thought you could hear music. It was very faint. So very much so that you weren’t sure if it was coming from your imagination or if you were really hearing it. Either way, you followed where you thought it was coming from, right to the room that was going to be yours.

Nirvana.

Heart Shaped Box? Or was it Smells Like Teen Spirit?

It wasn’t often that you listened to them, though you knew a couple of the more popular songs from rock-themed radio stations. You hummed along and set the box on top of your bed. At least the movers had done their job right, and set up your bed against one of the walls. You looked around and approved of where the dresser was, and your desk. It was perfect - but you just had to make the rest of the room to your taste. Time to bring a bit of Halloween fun to the blue-grey colored walls. Some orange and black paint. Some of your dolls and plushies, that were your weakness. Hey, it was hard to resist things that were so damn cute.

You started to hang your clothes in the closet and put others into your dresser, when you came across a very odd feeling that someone was watching you. You quickly put your underwear into the drawer, keeping your eyes on the mirror that was on your vanity, waiting to see if something was going to move in it. The curtains shifted behind your back. You knew it.

“Come out, come out, wherever you are,” You said, going to your door and closing it. The last thing you needed was your mother thinking you were talking to yourself, and trying to put you on some designer drugs. “Come on, it’s called the Murder House. There has to be something in here. A ghost, a phantom, a banshee? Bueller?”

“Not quite,” A voice said from behind you. You saw something out of the corner of your eye again. But this time, you were able to follow it until you came across a boy standing in front of your window. Shaggy blonde hair, dark eyes, striped sweater. Not exactly what you were thinking of when you thought about contacting spirits.

“Well, hello,” You said, folding your arms in front of yourself. You had always had an interest in the Supernatural, and thought that you had a few experiences. But nothing like full blown seeing someone in front of you. It had been things like lights flickering, raps on tables, cups moving on their own. This was something else, and you had to admit, you were pleased. “You’re not what I had expected,” You told him.

He walked around your room, taking in the sight of your furnishings. “What were you expecting? Someone in a stupid sheet?”

“That’s not an unjust expectation,” You said with a shrug, feeling a little attacked by this boy. But he couldn’t have been much older than you, if he was at all. Good face for a welcoming committee. “I can’t remember you from the murder tour, though there were a lot of names thrown around. Which one are you?”

“Tate Langdon,” He walked right up to you, not afraid of you in the slightest. You didn’t shrug away or back down from his approach, but rather eyed him cautiously. He put his hand out to you, looking at you with a studying look.

“Would I even be able to touch you? Or would my hand go straight through yours?” You asked, cautiously.

“There’s only one way you’re going to find out,” He challenged you. And you being you, you went for it. His hand was cool to the touch, but it felt human enough. You didn’t go through him like you thought that you would. If he hadn’t appeared out of nowhere, you wouldn’t have been able to tell that he was a spirit. You let go of his hand and let your own drop to the side. But then out of nowhere - “BOO.”

You blinked in surprise at his yelling, but you didn’t flinch beyond that. “Excuse me?” You asked, raising an eyebrow. “Now you’re going into ghost-under-the-sheet territory.”

“You’re not scared?” He asked, intrigued.

“Of ghosts? No. I think they’re the most natural thing in the world. A bit strange and unusual to some people, I guess. But they consider me that too.”

“Strange and unusual,” Tate said with a laugh. He shook his head, and then right in front of your eyes, he seemed to disappear. It was a very odd thing to witness, and it did put a chill up your spine at how easy it seemed to be for them.

You went about the rest of your unpacking, but when you found some more of your underwear at the bottom of the box, you looked around suspiciously.

“No peeking in my drawers, ghosties. I’ll know,” You said aloud to yourself, tucking them into the drawer. You closed it up sturdily, thinking that perhaps you heard some laughter. You couldn’t be certain.

-

“It can’t be Halloween every day dear,” Your mother said, looking at your outfit as you got home from your first day of school. No motherly chit-chat about what it’s like to start at a new school, no ‘how did it go’. Just an instant critique on your mainly black outfit.

“It is for me,” You said, blowing past her to head up the stairs to your room. You slammed the door closed behind you, because as anyone could clearly see, you did not have a very good day. You threw yourself upon the bed, landing face down right on your most comfortable pillow.

“Why?” A disembodied voice came from your room. You were getting adjusted to it. Tate came and went every so often, though you could feel him watching you when he wasn’t there. It was unsettling, especially when you were getting ready for the day, or dressing down before bed.

“High school,” You grumbled into the pillow, not lifting your head. There came a chuckle from the corner of your room, but you didn’t look over.

“Come to the dead side. We don’t need school,” Tate said, popping up beside you, all messy blonde curls and a wide grin. You turned your head over to the other side, death being an uncomfortable topic for you. “I think we went to the same school,” He said, a little quieter this time.

“Oh yeah? Maybe I should ask to see the old yearbooks,” You teased.

“They wouldn’t have put me in there.” He said, stiffly. That got your attention. You pushed yourself up, then sat cross legged on the bed, staring at the seemingly shy boy.

“Why not?” You asked. “I’ve asked not to be put in mine, but they’re forcing me into it. So whatever you did must be-”

“Evil.” He finished the sentence. “I’m sure you can find it all on your laptop. They have everything on there.”

“So that was you that’s been using it while I’ve been busy,” You said, having found it open on more than one occasion. “I thought perhaps it was one of the other ghosties that you claim are around here.”

“There are twenty-four of us,” Tate said, sounding quite bitter about it. “And I’m the only one that you’re ever going to want to talk to.”

“Is there a girl? Because sometimes I feel like I smell perfume. If that’s you, I’m not judging but-”

“It’s me,” A female said, appearing behind Tate.

“Violet,” Tate said, turning around, a look of pure malice on his face. You hadn’t been expecting that. It was more than a little terrifying to see the change in his usually innocent-looking face. “Get out of here.”

“Or what, you’re going to kill me?” The girl said, sarcastically. She looked you over, and her face turned to one of concern. “You’re going to want to be careful in this house, if you’re staying.”

“I’m careful in every house,” You said, looking back at Tate, who still looked furious.

“Really?” Violet said, appearing behind you now, leaning over so her long curtain of hair was on your shoulder. “Then you should know something about your roommate.”

“Shut up!” Tate screamed so hard that you could feel his breath on your face. Your heartbeat was quickening. Something was happening, and it wasn’t going to be good.

“He’s a murderer,” Violet whispered in your ear. “A school shooter. A liar.”

“SHUT UP!” Tate screamed loud enough that it felt like the whole room was quaking. There was a sound of pounding at the door, and then it opened up to reveal your parents, both standing there with red faces, looking about.

“What’s going on?” Your father looked worried, and your mother looked just pissed off. Tate and Violet have entirely disappeared, leaving you here on your own, sitting on your bed, probably looking suspicious as hell.

“What do you mean?” You asked, not facing either of them, but rather right in front of you.

“The yelling? The whole house shaking?” Your father asked. “Did you blow your speakers out or something?”

You were still dealing with the mess of information that you had just gotten from Violet. A murderer. School shooter - that would be a reason why they wouldn’t put him in the yearbook.

“Y/N, Answer your father!” Your mother screeched. You winced at the sound of her voice. God, she was annoying as hell. You’d do anything to make her leave you alone. Even -

Even try to ask a ghost for assistance in scaring them away from you? Scaring the away from the house? You probably should leave, considering that the ghost who seemed the nicest happened to be a school shooter. And who nows what else he had done?

“Stereo system broke,” You lied quickly. “I got it under control, obviously. Do you hear anything anymore? Because I don’t. So bugger off.”

Almost as if by will itself, the door slammed closed in their faces of their own volition. You felt like Matilda for a moment, but then realized that Tate was standing behind the door, looking more sheepish and shy than he had before. “Don’t really want to talk to you right now, either.” You told him, making him look more downcast.

“You have to tell me to go away, those are the rules,” He said, pouting.

“Go away, Tate.”

-

And he had.

It had been three weeks, and your parents were back up to their old shit. Bugging you endlessly. It seemed like everytime you were actually trying to be productive with school work, they were being noisy right outside of your door.

You’ve finally had it. You snapped your laptop shut and glared at the door, feeling your mood grow blacker and blacker by the second. Your so called family was driving you insane. They were hammering new paneling or something in the wall of the hallway, the banging doing your head in.

You fell onto your back in the bed, eyes rolling up into your head. Madness needed madness. You didn’t want to do this but - “Tate?”

There wasn’t any noise, but the sun that was coming through your windows was suddenly blocked. You opened one eye to see that you were in the shadow of the teenage ghost. “I think I need your help,” You whispered. “Not a shooting obviously but... something to scare them?”

“Why?” He asked, head slightly tilted. “Why would I do you a favor when you just want me to go away?”

“Because you might have fun?” You suggested. “And - and I’m sorry. You can’t really blame me for being a bit surprised and afraid that I’m sharing a room with a murderer. And his former girlfriend.”

“Don’t even mention her, it’s bad enough that we’re stuck here together,” Tate said, folding his arms behind his head.

“Sorry,” You said. You turned your head to look at the closed door again. Your dad was being so loud, it sounded as if he was actually inside of your head rather than outside the door. “How do you guys put up with that? People coming in, changing things around, making a bunch of noise. Doesn’t it drive you crazy?”

“Yes,” Tate said, with a laugh.

“So maybe you’ll help me, then? Just something to scare them off of doing work for a bit. I don’t think-” You bit down on your lip as you prepared to say something that only a crazy person would say. “-I don’t want it to be bad enough that we leave here, you know? I kind of like the spookiness around here. It’s ... charming.”

“No one here is charming,” Tate said, his smile dropping. “Do you want to watch the show?”

“I - no, I think I’ll stay in here. I trust you.”

That was something that evidently wasn’t said to Tate often. He smiled at you, waved his fingers and then disappeared. You stayed in your bedroom, eyes closed to try to avoid the late afternoon sunlight, and waited for chaos to happen.

Sudden screaming came from your mother, shrill and loud, filling the entire house with it’s echoes. And then there was your father’s yell, something that you had never heard before, since he usually let your mother do the yelling. It sounded like pure fear. It made even your blood run cold when you thought about what they were seeing. And just when you thought about going down the stairs, Tate appeared in your room once more, sitting beside you on the bed.

“What did you do?” You breathed, still too afraid to open your eyes. You felt his weight on the bed, especially as he lied back with you. “I asked you not to scare them too much.”

“The vacuum cleaner wanted to suck your moms face off, I couldn’t help it,” He said laughing. You pictured that and giggled a little as well. You finally opened your eyes and moved so that you were facing the laying down Tate, eye to eye. He had a glimmer in those dark eyes of his, and his grin was infectious.

“What are you grinning about?” You asked, reaching up to poke his nose.  It wasn’t something that you planned to do, it just kind of happened. A dark look went across his eyes for a second, then went right back to being happy-go-lucky.

“It’s nice not to be alone here anymore,” Tate said. You opened your mouth to point out that he wasn’t alone, there were plenty of ghosts around here, but he stopped you. “I don’t usually talk to anyone else. They’re mostly assholes.”

“Maybe I’m an asshole,” You suggested.

“You’re strange. And unusual. But not an asshole.”  With one hand, he moved a piece of hair out of your face, smoothing it back, then lightly grazed your cheek.

“Am I really flirting with a ghost right now?” You asked yourself aloud.

“I can still feel like flesh and blood,” He smirked, making you slap his chest. He was right - he did feel sturdy.

“We’ll see how it goes, day by day, how about that?” You asked, closing your eyes as he caressed your cheek once more.