#those frosted tips irked me

[justtuesdays]

love island the game: boy band hair

when I told you I laughed so hard when I snorted, i’m not kidding. ‘cos from the start (in those few days i disliked him) i said that bruno’s hair reminded me of zayn’s (yes from one direction). yes everyone thought 90s frosted tips. but we don’t have to go to far (stop making me feel old).

#litg bruno #litg #litgs4 #to everyone here is your very own boy bander #can you imagine a villa boy band #lol priya would be so about that #love island the game #those frosted tips irked me #a frosted quiff tho #that’s a little more high maintaince #but why does it take fusebox this long #to let me learn something about this man #like bruno darling I dislike your hair #but i loved learning that you have a routine #this man i bet has more hair products #than I do #and i have plenty

[adashofniallandasprinkleoflunacy]

Yn to the freshman: I’ve flicked the bean sm because of the man you will not be getting any real action before me

The freshman: 👁👄👁

“Monica, hey. You caught me just in time, I was about to leave. How can I help you?”

“Hey, Harry!” The young woman steps to the side to allow Harry to finish exiting his office, watching intently as he locks the door behind him and tucks the keys into the front pocket of his tan slacks, fixing his glasses on his nose before giving her his full undivided attention. He gives her an anticipatory glimpse, silently egging her to state her business outside of his door, and the way in which he gazes down at her over the crests of his cheekbones makes the tips of Monica’s ears burn. His cool and collective personality can be so fucking intimating. “I was actually wondering if we could maybe get together sometime soon, I could really use some help with my term paper! There’s some things I’m still unclear about and I was hoping you could shed some light on those areas.”

“Did you look at the rubric?”

“I did, but I just wanna double-check in case I misunderstood anything.”

“Fair enough. Prevention is better than damage control.” Harry slips his bag over his torso, settling it along the outer part of his thigh with an empty thud. “My office hours are posted on the portal and on my door, you can drop by any time and I’ll be happy to clarify whatever you need.”

“Oh, um, I— I was actually hoping we could maybe do it over coffee? If you’re available, of course.”

Harry raises an eyebrow skeptically, the edges of his lips quirking into an unenthusiastic grimace. “Coffee?

The freshman begins to fiddle with the notebook in her hands, struggling to keep eye contact under his scrutinizing behavior. “Yeah! Maybe on campus, or at that cute café in the outdoor mall that opened up last summer? The Avalon, I think it’s called.”

He pauses for a moment, proceeding to clear his throat softly as he adjusts the strap of his bag over his shoulder, tone blasé and logical. “Don’t see why we’d need to do all that for a tutoring session.”

The young woman’s arms tighten around her books as she tries to regulate her nerves. “Oh, I was just…I just thought—”

“I’m more comfortable in my office. That way, we can go down the hall and ask the prof any questions that I might not be able to answer.” He remarks with blunt finality, cocking his head towards the closed door of his designated room, referencing the paper taped at the center of the frosted glass window. “Again, office hours are on my door and posted on the portal. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m about to go on my lunch break, so I’ll see you in class on Friday. Don’t forget to do the online quiz, and email me if you have any more questions. Have a nice day.”

Y/N, who’d been observing the exchange from around the corner of the wall, actively bites into her tongue to keep from sputtering into laughter. A wave of twisted satisfaction surges through her chest as she watches Harry turn his back on the girl with a curt nod goodbye, pacing directly towards her with an emotionless aura about his nature, as if he’s already forgotten Monica’s existence. The student’s face pinches into a hurt expression over his shoulder, and she finally peels away towards the other end of the building, clearly dejected and irked by his cutthroat rejection. Y/N finds herself feeling a bit guilty for finding pleasure in the awkwardness of the exchange. She’s happy he’d turned her down, because indirectly, it means he’s probably not interested in pursuing anyone else except her, but she’s always been prone to empathizing with others, so she can imagine the dent the entire situation must have left on Monica’s confidence.

Y/N dismisses her thoughts as Harry finally meets her at the end of the corridor, opting for repenting later when she’s has the time to spare.

He greets her with an airy smile, his demeanor much less harsh and clinical than it’d been a few seconds prior. “Ready for lunch?”

Y/N returns his gesture with a gentle grin of her own, nodding delicately as she falls into step beside him, heading for the exit of the liberal arts building in route to the university’s cafeteria. “Gotta admit, that was kinda hot.”

Harry’s features peak with mystified curiosity at her unexpected compliment, utterly lost on what he’d done to deserve it. “What was?”

She juts her head back over her shoulder in a motion that highlights the scene that had unfolded earlier, and she can’t stop her mouth from curling smugly at the fact that she’s one of the only people who gets to enjoy Harry’s company off campus. “The way you turned her down. It was very technical and prompt. Points for professionalism.”

Recognition slowly dawns across Harry’s appearance, his dimples winking awake. “You were eavesdropping?”

“I happened to be in the area and accidentally overheard the convo.”

“Yeah, I’m sure that’s exactly what happened.” He replies playfully, absently drumming the pads of his fingers along the thick strap of the bag hanging off his body. He reverts back to her initial topic, shrugging one shoulder casually as he unconsciously matches her stride, his voice indifferent and dismissive. “It wasn’t hard, to be honest. I don’t sleep with students.”

Y/N blinks blankly at his contradictory statement. “We’re all students here, Harry.”

“Right, let me rephrase: I don’t sleep with my students.”

“Mm, smart. Prevents bias.”

“Precisely. S’not fair to score higher on an assignment just because you’re deepthroating the TA on weekends, is it?”

“Not fair at all.”

“It keeps things clean cut and simple. I don’t like drama, especially not when it comes to my degree. Don’t really feel like getting expelled.”

She gives him an understanding nod, allowing a couple of silent beats to suspend between them for a moment, the only sound being the echoing steps of their shoes. Then, she speaks up again, her words a low, curious mumble. “Is that the only reason you rejected her?”

Harry shoots her a knowing glance, mood sarcastic and jesting. “I think we both know the answer to that, Dickinson.”

“Do we?”

“Yeah. We do.”

“I don’t think I do, actually. I might need you to clarify, Socrates.”

He sighs lightly through his nose, extending his arm forward as they reach the glass door of the building, tugging it open and stepping to the side for her to pass first. “Are you really gonna make me say it?”

Y/N halts before the threshold of the exit, refusing to move even a smidge, a cocky smirk stringing across her lips as she stands there and waits for him to cave under her whims. “Absolutely.”

Harry rolls his eyes grandly, running his tongue over his top teeth and pushing it against the inside of his cheek, contemplating her with a deadpan look and an apathetic vein under his next comment. “Are you serious right now? What are you, five?”

“And a half.” She jokes arrogantly, crossing her arms over her chest as she begins tapping the toe of her converse expectantly, not intending to budge anytime soon. “So I suggest you elaborate on what you meant, or we’ll be here all day. And I suggest you hurry; I heard The Pavilion has those chicken fajita wraps you like and they always run out quick.”

The young man sighs again, the exhale rough and irritated this time around, though she can detect a faint glimmer of amusement glinting beneath the glossy surface of his glasses. He scoffs dramatically in mild disbelief, and then forfeits the validation she’s obviously seeking. “Student rule aside, I rejected her because I have no immediate interest in pursuing a relationship right now.”

“And why’s that?”

“Because I’m seeing someone. Sort of.”

“Are you, now?”

“Mmhm.”

“So you rejected her because you like someone else?”

Harry’s presses his lips into a thin line to keep them from spreading into a smitten smile. “‘Like’ is a strong word. ‘Tolerate’ is more appropriate.”

“Alright, so you said no because you tolerate someone else?”

He gives her body a swift, objectifying once-over, shrugging his brows suggestively. “Unfortunately.”

Y/N’s cheeks simmer at his thinly-veiled innuendo. “Interesting.”

“Is it?”

“It is.”

“Are we done here? Can I go get my wrap now, before I starve to death and end up as a dissection cadaver for the anatomy lab students?”

After giving him one more cheeky look, she finally caves, stepping through the opened door and regaining their path towards the food court at the center of their campus. “I suppose.”

Harry follows behind her, the irony in his voice carrying over her shoulder. “How generous of you to give me permission to go on with my life. Very ethical.”

“Don’t act like you don’t love it when I boss you around. I bet you’re hard right now, aren’t you?”

“Maybe just a bit.”

#anthropologyrry

[koishua]

→ RED LIGHTS / PARK SUNGHOON

pairings: park sunghoon x fem!reader

genre: angst

word count: 2.2k

warnings: major character death, hospitals, blood mention, traffic accident mention, food mention

synopsis: park sunghoon never expected his birthday to end up as the day he hated the most.

notes from vie: hi everyone <3 i originally had intended this to be for a large fic but my motivation has dwindled down so i am not sure if i will ever post the full thing, so i brought out a part of it that you can read as a standalone! hope you enjoy!

i really hope you can give me your thoughts about this by the end of it! feedbacks and reblogs help writers a ton<3

december 8, 2021, 10:49 pm.

“happy birthday, sunghoon.” you slip your fingers through his after he blows out the candles you had placed on the small cake for him with a shy smile. you dip a finger into the white frosting, scooping up a decent amount of it to smear it onto his chin.

“hey!” the grin on his face only widens at your lighthearted chuckles. he doesn’t mind the uncomfortable feeling on his face as long as you are right by his side. he doesn’t mind it as long as he hears your voice over and over again.

you let him smooth a spoonful of frosting on your nose, giggling at the odd heaviness of the ingredient, “that does feel very wrong.” taking a small plate and a knife to cut two slices, he snorts, “see?”

you plop on the soft couch to take a taste of the spongy cake, humming with satisfaction, “this one is better than the one we made last year.” sunghoon leans his arms on your side, nudging your shoulders playfully, “it’s because i had a hand in baking it. who knows how terribly it would have gone if you had done it alone?”

the roll of your eyes amuses him, “yeah, whatever. you are still somehow a terrible cook, though.” he sets his plate down on the coffee table before his stretched legs to wrap his arm around your shoulders, “i have never broken any utensils, though.”

he glances pointedly in the direction of the kitchen counter where a mixer stands, pathetically broken down. eyes back to stare into your mildly irked ones, he pinches your cheeks, “it’s okay, i still love you anyway.”

you huff, slapping his arms away to continue enjoying your dessert. “whatever, let’s just hurry up and get going to the rink.”

december 8th, 2021, 11:05 pm.

“you have to pull this down more.” he stops you by grabbing your hand before you can dart out of the door, excited for the young night. the beanie resting on your head hadn’t covered your ears yet, “i don’t need a sick cuddlebug.”

“fine, mom.” you adjust the collar of his jacket for him while he pulls the knitwear further down your hair, tucking a few strands behind neatly. the tips of his fingers brush your cheeks affectionately, “you’re such a kid.”

“yes, so you are obligated to never let go of my hand.”

and so he makes a promise to never, ever let go of your gloved hands that night and beyond. he makes a promise to always keep you safe and happy, to always make sure you were healthy and right by his side. he makes a promise to hold your hand never let go.

he makes a promise, breakable and fragile, easily forgotten. he makes a promise he vows to keep, one that alters the course of his life forever, a hundred times. he makes a small promise to never let go of a girl’s hands, not to ever let anything happen to her so long as he is by her side. it’s a vow he makes, so little and warm, that brings him nightmares for the rest of his nights to come.

sunghoon makes a promise. he smiles and takes your hand in his, tightly wrapping them around yours for you to swing them back and forth as you tread through the icy streets of seoul. “okay, i promise.”

december 8th, 2021, 11:29 pm.

“look at all those sweets!” your eyes are locked onto the windows of the shop across the street, glancing at the green light of the crosswalk. “do you want to check it out before we go to the skating rink?”

he purses his lips, “sure, why not?” anything for you, he thinks while looking at your glowing smile, stars flickering, twinkling behind those lashes of yours. you tug on his hand, slowly making your way to stop before the white stripes.

the light turns red.

the light is a bright and obnoxious red as a little girl slips on the ice gathered on the ground, her short legs buckling beneath her. she looks at her hands, pink from the friction and coldness, tears brimming in her eyes as she looks around for her parents that had gotten lost in the crowd from before.

the light is so painfully red as a large vehicle starts desperately honking at the pedestrians who stare as it inches closer, skidding on the ice while the little girl cries, unaware of the speeding car, the driver having lost complete control over the wheel.

the light taunts sunghoon, because it is so agonizingly red, red, red when he feels your hand slipping away from his hold. time slows down for him as he watches your fingers leave the safety of his palms, the red light you run towards giving him a sinister, cruel glint.

the light is so distractingly red while his feet stay glued on the sidewalk, as you dart onto the crosswalk and everyone in the vicinity screams. his eyes are stuck on your beanie that falls down on the wet asphalt, forgotten as you rush five steps ahead. the beat of his heart goes unnoticed by his ears that are deaf to all sounds but the screeches of tires, the little girl’s wail, and the loud ringing in his head.

the light is red when he hears one last honk, then a thud.

and the light is still red when all blood drains from his face, when he sees the dark crimson trickles of life behind the black car, his vision blocked by the panicked strangers rushing to crowd the crosswalk. sunghoon feels disoriented, world turned upside down.

his hands tremble, clenching around empty air where yours should have been securely wrapped around. a man begs for help, a woman stumbling closer towards the scene, a hand over her mouth as she wails in agony.

“my daughter! someone call for an ambulance!” ah, it registers numbly in his brain. her daughter was there, too. somehow, sunghoon can’t begin to feel sorry for the woman and her husband. somehow, he can’t help but feel so achingly cold.

it is december the eighth, the night of his birthday. it’s december eighth and he had been on his way with his lover to spend some time together at the local outdoor ice rink. it is december eighth, his birthday, and the night he had been planning to propose with a ring in a small velvet box.

it is december the eighth, the night his world loses its sunlight and the night his world crashes into the ground.

“excuse me,” his voice shakes, puffs of white hot breath escaping his mouth. he pushes through a few women whispering among themselves near the steaming car, “i have to get through. excuse me.”

nothing feels real at the moment, surreal to the point where he harshly turns his fingers into a fist, feeling the distant sting as his nails bite into his skin— it’s not one of his nightmares that you’d wake him up from, cradling his head in your chest, soothing his heavy breaths down. it’s not a nightmare, nor is it a dream, at this moment.

the light is still a bright red, the rough surface beneath his feet a deep crimson. he shivers twice, rounding the side of the car that had blocked his vision. he doesn’t even feel his hands anymore, nor does he really even feel anything else at all. he feels red, blue.

it’s red, the lights.

there you are, he stills. his heart is caught in his throat, struggling to let air through to his lungs. an older man notices the heaving of his chest and the way his eyes are locked right onto the woman laying sideways on the ground, the little girl safe in her hold, away from the direct impact.

“it’s terrible, isn’t it?” the man’s gravelly voice reaches his ears, his tone of pity clear and so, so loud. sunghoon reaches his hands, knees weak and eyes brimming with unshed tears. “she’s my,”

sunghoon heaves, feet suddenly gaining the strength to walk further down the stained road while the small number of people let him through. most grimace in understanding, it is hard not to make connections when he is so distraught. he sounds desperate, “please, let me through.”

the two parents of the little girl glancing at him with eyes as red as the light above the street. “please, move out of my way.” his world spins, vision unfocused yet clear at the same exact time he sees your fingers twitch the slightest amount.

“i,” he falls to his knees, hands trembling with such force as sobs rack throughout his body. “is no one a doctor here? please,” his head whips around, handsome features twisted in clear torment, begging for help. his hand finds yours, the one that had moved so slightly that he wonders if it was all a hallucination, a mirage of his steadily dying hope.

“are you related to her?” the man from before quips, watching the way sunghoon blankly stares at your unmoving body. “someone, help.” is his only response to anything ever said to him.

help.

his insides tear themselves apart for he can’t help you. his mind begs for his body to do something, anything, to stop the cold seeping into your skin and creeping up your limbs. every single cell in his body is in strain. voices that surround him, like the distant sound of the ambulance that carefully makes its way through the brightly lit streets of seoul, agitates him.

help.

sunghoon is not a doctor. he is not a doctor that could have helped you. he is just a mere figure skater who had dedicated his life to the ice. ice, he thinks again bitterly, feeling the distinct frozen substance melt under his knees. sunghoon is not a doctor, he can’t help you. he feels so utterly forlorn, pathetically weak and powerless.

“someone, please help.” the strength seeps out of his body as he leans forward, forehead touching the ground next to your hand as his hands clutch yours. he feels like he is underwater, everything a blur and muffled, drowing. he is drowning in the scent of the cool winter air at night, the smell of the food stands— he is, maybe even, drowning in the sight of your lifeless form, in the sight of the wound on your temple where he often adored pressing a tender kiss to.

he is suffocating and he is so, so lost. “help,” he begs, “please, help.”

december 8th, 2021, 11:57 pm.

jake is there.

jake is there.

jake is there.

jake is there in the blindingly lit hallways that reek of medicine and death. jake is there to watch as his best friend crumbles down into a mere speck of himself from before. jake is there to try and keep a steady breathing while one of his best friends is fighting for her life, while the other is barely clinging onto his sanity.

jake is right there to watch from the hallways as three different doctors raise their voices at each other, nurses rushing to try and stabilize the erratic lines that spike up and down on the screen of the monitor. he is glued to the spot behind the open door to watch as two male staff restrain sunghoon whose face, once flawless, is smeared in deep and dark red, eyes bloodshot and streaks of dried tears visible, new ones dripping down his chin at a constant pace.

jake is there to watch one of his best friends fighting for and losing her life while his other friend is breaking down into irrecoverable pieces, shattering before his eyes. there he is, feet unmoving as the doctors still, beads of sweat giving a light sheen on their foreheads.

there he is as the line goes perfectly flat.

sunghoon’s ears ring and he feels all of his strength leaving his body, all fight drained out of him when he sees, through his blurred vision, the unmistakable line of a lost life. then, jake agonizes, sunghoon crouches on the floor.

then, jake weeps, sunghoon holds his head between his hands, fingers digging into his hair and knuckles paling. jake stops breathing when he hears, for the first time, the sound of pure agony ripping through his best friend’s throat. he feels his heart stop when the image of a brightly shining sunghoon split right through the middle, webs of cracks expand throughout the image of him.

december 9th, 2021, 12:00 am.

sunghoon is completely lost.

#enhypennetwork #enhypen imagines #enhypen scenarios #enhypen x reader #enhypen x female reader #enhypen angst #enhypen fluff #enhypen sunghoon #enhypen sunghoon x reader #park sunghoon #sunghoon imagines #sunghoon x reader #sunghoon #sunghoon angst

[queenoftheworldisdead]

Cupid

Note: This is for @afriendlyblackhottie​​ Brat and Birthday challenge. Happy Bday Month 🎉🎈🎊🎂🍰! I chose Cupid by 112. Chris art work by @nix-akimbo​ she is amazing here is the original.

Summery: Ransom likes a bridesmaid.

Warning: Daddy Kink, gag, oral (reader receives), sex

Groomsman Band member Ransom x Black Reader, Knives out Alternative Universe

Leaning in the archway of the reception hall you sighed watching the newlyweds dance their first dance. You didn't want to be here. Not after all the shit he put Courtney, the bride, through.

But your bestie was the kind of girl that could not function without a man in her life. He had cheated on her five times, that you knew of. You were sure there was more, but she as well as you were tired of the berating.

It was always the same. He cheated, she cried, you picked up the pieces and then when he was ready she would go back. Pathetic.

"Aw don't pout princess your day will come" your eyes rolled at the sound of his voice. You had the misfortune to be linked with Ransom, the cousin of the groom. All the other bridesmaids drooled over him, but you weren't impressed. This rich boy was looking to add to his body count so you only interacted with him only when you needed to.

Their family had paid for this whole affair. You nearly punched one of the grooms relatives when she made a remark on Courtney's color choices. They were all on your shit list.

Just ignore him. Its almost over and you will never have to see him again.

As the song ended everyone applauded while you made your way over to the open bar. Your wrist was snagged as you crossed his path. Snatching it back you looked at him as if he grew another head.

"Look you don't want to be here I don't want to be here. Let's be miserable together." He held up his hands in surrender. You were stuck on this island and you were smart enough not to fall for dumb shit so you gave yourself permission to relax.

You both took over an empty table in the back of the massive hall. Ransom disappeared for a bit, then returned with two bottles of champagne and two glasses. The bar was an open bar, but you were sure they weren't handing out bottles left and right.

"OK let's play a game to pass the time." Ransom proposed as he approached.

"Game? What kind of game?" You waited curiously. Sitting the glasses and bottles down Ransom proceeded to pop the cork on one of the bottles of Champaign.

"We both take turns pointing out people we think the other would fuck."your mouth fell open with his boldness as he spoke. "If you guess wrong you have to take a sip. Yatta yatta you get it."

"Are you just trying to get me drunk?" You squint at him playfully suspicious.

"Nah, just bored. So come on let's play."

You watched as he poured the glasses to the brim, when he handed you the bubbling glass you thanked him. Ransom moved his chair next to you, sitting shoulder to shoulder so you both were sure to have the same view of the people on the floor.

"Ladies first" he held his glass high. You clinked your glass with his signaling ‘good game’.

"What about her?" You pointed to Courtney's great aunt. The lovely woman was at least eighty-seven, you knew this would be a 'no', but why not start off with a softball.

He gave you a look that made you snort.

"Wow was that a laugh? I seriously didn't think the ice queen was capable. You didn't even smile for the wedding photos. Achievement unlocked." Ransom was full of himself.

"No one is gonna believe I got the frost queen to crack a smile." Ransom boasted.

You took a sip from your glass so you didn't have to reply. There was nothing to smile about. You didn't approve of this wedding so you weren't going to act like you were. Courtney was lucky you even agreed to be a bridesmaid.

"OK my turn." He observed the crowded floor, before finding his mark. "Glasses two o'clock."

You searched out 'Glasses' and scoped him out. Tall, put together nicely. "Yep."

"Really?" He gave you a look, that made it hard to fight back the curl of your lip.

"Yep..I have particular taste." You say casually with a shrug.

"Well all right to each his own I guess."

"My turn" you stopped for a beat then found her. " Oh what about her?" you pointed to a tall slender blonde.

"Ugh no...That's my aunt."

"Oooops....My bad... let me see who else, umm" you looked around the room, but he only looked at you.

"Oh! Oh! Her" you pointed to Stephani, a younger cousin of Courtney's. Thick thighed, uber fit college student.

"You can't go twice. Take your sip."

"What that was your aunt that cant count" you argued back.

"A no is a no" he tutted.

"Fine" you gulped from your glass and waited your turn.

"OK my turn. Hmm...What about him" he pointed to an older man that was chatting up a bridesmaid that was way to young for him.

"Eww nah not my type, but he might have gotten a yes back in the day." You tilted your head with a smirk.

"Oh thank gawd. That's my dad."

"What the fuck? Dude gross" you slapped at his shoulder and laughed. Ransom rubbed it fanning pain.

"Hey you picked my aunt" he chuckled with you.

"Yeah but I didn't know she was your aunt!"

After finishing the first bottle you started to feel loose. Ransom's arm stretched out along the back of your chair, slyly rubbing circles on your bare arm, while you leaned snuggled into his side as you both continue to people watch.

"So what do you do?" You asked him.

Ransom was silent for a moment. Taking a long swig from the glass before looking over at you and sighing.

"I'm in a band."

"Oh really, is that your little hobby you do before you take over the board seat at your grand-papa's company?" you bit back a laugh. Ransom frowned at you, but you didn't care.

You knew of the older Thrombey, the famous author and owner of a publishing house. Through rehearsal you watched the interactions between the two and you knew that Ransom was the favorite of the acclaimed writer's brood.

"I don't want anything to do with that company believe it or not. I love music always have."

"Must be nice to play in a band bankrolled by a publishing house. What are y'all called 'Blood and Rock'" you laughed at the ridiculousness of it.

"Ha wrong again. We're called 'Coffee and Roses'. And I've been cut of financially ever since I got these bad boys" Ransom shimmed out of his blazer and rolled up his sleeves. His well toned arms were completely covered in ink. When he pulled down his collar you were able to see the massive art work that encompassed his neck, you bit into your bottom lip as he allowed you to ogle him. "This art work was not board approved " he joked. The booze mixed with Ransom's rocker bod was starting to lower your inhibitions and you needed to put a stop to it.

"Your cousin is a piece of shit." You changed the subject before taking a pull from your glass.

"Yeah well he gets that from his dad, he's always been an asshole."

"Apples don't fall far do they?" You snipped. When Ransom didn't respond you looked over, he was looking at his father who had now moved on to another pretty young thing.

"He made a mistake and he is fixing it." Ransom replied, suddenly in defense of his cousin.

The mistake in question was a child, by another woman. That baby you thought would be the final straw to break the camels back.

"Diamonds don't fix problems." You didn't come from money, but you knew that this wedding was a band-aid. And once it got wet you wondered what would be the gift for the next 'mistake'.

The groom had always bought his way out of his binds. The more he fucked up the more money he poured on it. This wedding you couldn't even fathom the cost. The wedding ring alone looked like it could choke a horse. And this destination wedding on his dime made you think on what happened in the interim leading up to this event.

"You're a really good friend. She's lucky that she has someone that cares so much." You both stared into the distance at the couple. They danced and smiled at each other so happy, but you felt sick. Ransom's sweet words made you immediately suspicious of his intent, his cousin had a habit of talking sweet, but he was a fucking snake. You weren't going to end up like Courtney.

"Look don't think that just because we got all chummy that all of a sudden I am gonna want to bang one out." You hit your glass on the table harder than you meant to, it tipped over and spilled out the rest of your drink.

When a little bit of the liquid trickled off the table and hit your dress you pushed away from the table. Just a tiny bit, nothing major to fuss about, but you had hit your limit. You'd done the wedding, you took the pictures and you stuck around for the reception. It was time to go.

You weren't about to be some random rich kids one night stand. So you stormed off. Thankfully the ball room was not far from the adjoining hotel. Marching you fumed and you cursed your friend for being this dumb, yourself for not doing more to stop this and almost falling for Ransom's charm. Mashing the buttons you thought of changing your number, wiping your hands from this friendship and looking into an overnight flight back home.

How much worse would it be now that she was legally married to that douche bag. The thought of them having kids only served to further irked you.

Before the elevator door could close a hand sliced down the middle, halting the closure.

You stood stunned as Ransom appeared out of breath and in-between the open doors.

**"Baby, I'm so tired of the way you turn my words into deception and lies"**

Ransom consumed the space between you two. Your ass hit the hand rail as the doors closed.

"I am not my father, I am not my cousin. I liked you." His confession made your heart flutter.

Don't be stupid. He is the same as the rest of his family. Don't fall for his game.

His hands rested on the bar on either side of your hips as he stood toe to toe with you. You rolled your eyes and scoffed turning away from him, unable to keep staring into those eyes.

**Don't misunderstand me when I try to speak my mind I'm only saying what's in my heart**

With one finger he brought your focus back to him. You frowned at him, you weren't weak. You weren't falling for him no matter how much your body wanted to throw in the towel.

**Cupid doesn't lie** He leaned in close and you held your breath as your heart raced.

**But you won't know unless you give it a try** Ransom whispered over your lips before kissing you gently. You broke down allowing him to invade your mouth. His lips felt soft and his firm arms a welcome feeling as they wrapped around you.

The elevator dinged loudly and you pulled back. Your lipstick smeared on his mouth made for a funny sight. Looking at the number it was your floor then back at him.

**Give it a try** Ransom pleaded.

A switch flipped inside you. Angry at yourself you pushed past him and marched to your hotel room.

He is just a spoiled rich kid trying to have fun. Don't fall for it. You try and convince yourself.

He shouted as the doors closed and you tried to ignore him.

**Cupid doesn't lie**

He shouted again. You halted, but refused to look.

"All men lie" You stopped as you replied back at him. There wasn't a woman in your life that wasn't hurt and you didn't want to join that club. You wanted to protect yourself at all cost. You heard the elevator doors close so you let out a sigh of relief.

What if you were wrong. What if he was right? A nagging thought bubbled in your mind. He was fun, you felt at easy around him. Some part of you yearned for him to come back.

You were so lost in your own head that you hadn't heard him rush up behind you. Ransom quickly spun you around, his eyes boring into your soul. The sight of which made it hard to stay angry.

**"Oh baby, true love won't lie...But we won't know unless we give it a try"**

He kissed you again. This time more hungry than before, so much so it took your breath away as he pulled back.

**"Give it a try"** he pleaded yet again.

It was hard to get the door open with Ransom latched onto your face. Fumbling with the key you tried blindly several times to get the card in the slot with your back pressed hard against the door.

Frustrated Ransom snatched the card and opened the door for you.

"Thanks Daddy" you teased, looking up through your lashes at him.

"Daddy huh?" The grin that grew on his face was devilish indeed. "So that's it...You act all bratty to get Daddy to react. Huh?"

Scooping you off your feet he carried you across the threshold. You were so surprised that he was able to handle your weight with ease, as he walked you over to the bed, before tossing you.

"Keep the dress on and pull your tits out" he command as he furiously unbuttoned his shirt.

You marveled at the fit rocker. He revealed more tats as he opened his shirt. Pushing down your off the shoulder strap you yanked your top down. Your half bra going down with it, allowing your breast to bounce free.

"Stand up."

Without a word you rose to your feet.

"Turn around."

Again you followed his orders. The way he commanded you made your need soak through your panties.

"Gonna come deep in that pretty pussy, show you who you belong to" Ransom taunted into the shell of your ear. "Say ahh."

The neck tie that had long since come undone was now being wrapped around your open mouth, wrapping it  quickly then knotting the fabric.  

Once secure Ransom proceeded to massage your breast from behind. As he tweaked your nipples you felt his cock, hard and stiff pressed into your ass.

You pushed and rubbed against it toying with him, the hum that buzzed from his lips almost sounded primal. "Nothing but a big tease huh? Daddy's going to show you what he thinks about teases."

Pushing you over on the bed you yelped through your gag. Looking over your shoulder you watched as Ransom bunched up the fabric of your dress, tossing it over your hips to expose your ass.

Feeling cocky you twerked your ass before him, the look in his eye showed that he approved of the sight. Ransom palmed your cheeks with both his hands, kneading the soft tissue as he rubbed his erection on you.

One hand moved around your hips and on the outer-lining of your panties.

"Fuck baby girl is that all for me?" Ransom's finger pulled at the elastic that touched your bud. He felt the drenched panties and pulled them back until they snapped back in place.

"Fuck baby girl" he purred.

Ransom lowered himself onto his hunches, pulling your panties down with them. You felt his tongue lapping gently at your folds. The sensation sending shivers throughout your body.

His tongue separated your lips, you knees wanted to cave at the tantalizing feel of him. Through your gag you moaned, the slow torture of his feasting was bringing you close to the finish line.

Ransom sucked hard on your bare mound adding a finger as he rose to his feet. "You taste so sweet baby." He praised as he curled his fingers inside of you.

"Do you want to come on my cock or my fingers?" He asked as your cunt tensed around his digits. Ransom knew you were getting close and you hoped he would choose the former.

"I cant hear you" he added another digit as you begged through your gag. You wanted to feel him all of him, but there was no way to make your answer clear through the fabric.

"Well, if you are not going to answer I will pick for you."

Ransom knew what you wanted, even with your desperate mumbling. Kicking your legs father apart he then removed his fingers. You whimpered at the lack of touch, but you were also thrilled to finally get what you really wanted.

The sound of his zipper going down made you antsy. You danced on the heels of your feet with anticipation of his next move.

Ransom took his cock in one hand while he spread one of your cheeks with the other. He rubbed his cock against the deep pink within your folds.

Toying with you as you mumbled through the tie. His pre-cum mixed with your juices as he pressed his tip hard against your opening.

"Are you gonna be a good girl from me?" He teased. You furiously nodded 'yes'.

You felt the pressure of him entering you as drool seeped past your gag. "Do you belong to me?" He halted, the sudden stop drove you crazy. Again you nod and shouted 'yes' through your restraint.

"Good girl."

Ransom filled you to your core, only stopping when you sheathed him completely. You gripped the fabric of the hotel duvet, you hadn't expected him to be so big.

The slapping of flesh on flesh filled the room. His moans mixed with the sounds of your sloppy sex were enough to send you over the edge.

Ransom controlled the pace, his length undeterred by your lack of space to take him in. You cried through your gag as he sent jolts through your body. "You were made for me" he proclaimed as he snapped his hips into you.

Your mewls were muffled by the tie, but you were sure whoever was in the room next to you could still make out what was happening here.

"Fuck" he growled as he fucked you into the bed. "I'm gonna fill you up."

"Gonna make you nice and round" he slapped your ass as he thrusted. You felt your core tighten.

"Fuck Daddy I want to come on your cock!" You finally shouted as the gag finally slipped from your lips.

"Come in me Daddy!" You felt him twitch inside you at your desperate pleading.

"Oh baby girl your tempting me."

"Please!" You panted.

"Fuck" Ransom shouted as he shot his load inside you. You felt him coat you as you milked him dry.

Ransom fell on-top of you and your knees buckled, causing you both to fall forward onto the bed. Ransom moved off you, sweaty and exhausted. "Don't think that I'm done with you yet."

#Ransom x black reader #Ransom x Black!reader #Ransom x reader

[ambivalentmarvel]

happy birthday amy @thinkingisadangerouspastime!!!! i’m a day late, but i love you!! thank you for all your fic snippets, fielding my ramblings, and sending me ffwf asks even though i’m not always good at responding to them asdfasdf. enjoy some domestic sambucky (+ aj and cass) being annoying and also in love at the grocery store.

sweeter than us

“For the last time, why do we need the app when I have perfectly good coupons right here?” Sam asks in a grocery store aisle, holding up his binder clip stuffed with deals cut out of the newspaper.

“Babe, quick question.”

“Shoot,” Sam challenges, his eyebrows raised in a way that should be inquisitive but is mostly just irritated. Vaguely. Bucky is nothing if not talented at pushing Sam’s buttons, particularly when they’ve both chosen something to argue about for the hell of it, so he’s gotten familiar with the look.

“Aren’t I supposed to be the old man here?”

Sam glares. AJ and Cass stand off to the side, debating what color the frosting on the cake should be. Sam is still holding out the binder clip between them, and with the way his fingers clench it, Bucky wouldn’t be surprised if he manages to turn it into a weapon or, at the very least, a projectile; he’s seen people do more with less. “You, James Buchanan Barnes, are a major pain in the ass.”

“I’m your pain in the ass. Also, the app can price match.”

A vein in Sam’s temple throbs dangerously. Bucky, frankly, doesn’t understand why his reliance on modern technology is such an inconvenience for him. If everyone in the 21st century carries around tiny computers, shouldn’t they use them? Sam is sucking in a breath and Bucky is preparing to continue his defense of his grocery shopping app when AJ speaks up: “Uncle Sam, we’re getting stuff for chocolate cake, right?”

Sam shoots Bucky a look to say this isn’t over, but he turns to face his nephew. “Hell yeah we are.”

Cass frowns. “Mom says you’re not supposed to cuss around us.”

“Your mom is also getting a chocolate cake when everyone knows vanilla is the better flavor,” Sam points out. “Besides,” he winks, which makes both AJ and Cass grin conspiratorially, “are you guys gonna’ tell her?”

“Hell no!” they chorus, and Sam’s vein is doing that thing again.

“Now, wait a second—”

Bucky lets him chew them out. They’re up early getting ingredients for a cake and breakfast in bed for Sarah, seeing as it’s her birthday, and while he suspected bringing AJ and Cass along might not help their productivity any, it is endearing to see his boyfriend around them.

Bucky eyes their cart. Going to the grocery store with a big family—and somehow, Bucky has one of those now—inevitably means, as Bucky has learned, picking up things you didn’t plan on getting. They’re not doing too bad this time around, but lunch meat, goldfish, cantaloupe, chicken nuggets, and ice cream, among other things, are definitely not the ingredients they came for.

“—just because I say something doesn’t mean you get to say it!”

“Why not?” AJ grouses. “That’s not fair.”

“I’m an adult. You two are not.”

“But—”

“And I’m Captain America. Comes with special privileges.”

Bucky’s pleased he tuned in just in time to hear Sam pull the superhero card on his nephews. The boys glance at him, maybe to see if he’ll jump ship and side with them to irk Sam, but he prioritizes staying in Sarah’s good graces over bothering his boyfriend. Bucky shrugs. “I don’t know what you guys want me to say—I’m a super-soldier. The two of us get shared benefits.”

“Shared benefits,” Cass mocks under his breath, distorting the words into a higher pitch. Bucky chooses to let that one go, as does Sam.

“Do we have everything we need yet?” Sam asks, effectively distracting the boys. “We were down to more cocoa powder, oil, and powdered sugar for the icing, right?” 

“And sprinkles!” Cass interjects while AJ skitters to the back of their group.

Sam shakes his head. “We already have sprinkles at the house, bud.”

Cass ignores him, going to a shelf, standing on his tip-toes, and reaching for an admittedly oversized container. “But these are yellow. And sparkly. And yellow is Mom’s favorite color!”

He makes a good point. However, Bucky can see that Sam isn’t convinced, and he has to be the boys’ uncle’s cool boyfriend somehow. He leans in, pecking Sam on the lips. “Come on, babe, it’ll be a good touch. And they’re sparkly,” he reiterates.

Sam turns to look Bucky in the eye, his expression equal parts exasperated and fond. “You’re a menace, you know that?”

Bucky holds up his hands placatingly. “I live to serve. You should too, Captain Ameri—”

Sam tugs him in for a kiss by his collar to cut him off, and Bucky’s vaguely aware, through the haze of appreciating that a) he has a boyfriend b) he loves his boyfriend so fucking much and c) the cake is, honestly, going to look fun with the sprinkles, of AJ and Cass gagging in the background. 

“Gross!” AJ complains. “Grooooss!”

Sam pulls away from the tragically brief kiss rolling his eyes. “That wasn’t even that long,” he points out as he tucks an arm around Bucky’s back. “If you guys want a gross kiss—”

“No!” the boys shout together, and though Bucky and Sam keep grinning and accidentally-on-purpose bumping into each other as they grab the last few things they need, they keep the PDA to a minimum, as their audience has so clearly requested.

It’s not until they’re up to the register that Bucky clocks that his jacket pocket feels suspiciously light, and when he glances around, he finds AJ at the end of the checkout taking deliberately bad selfies on his phone. His mouth drops open because how did a ten-year-old get the drop on him, a seasoned assassin? Sam starts using the contents of his stupid, outdated binder clip. “He got you while you were convincing me about the sprinkles,” he smirks.

Bucky tosses a half-hearted glare toward AJ, but in terms of revenge, it’s nice that he has a lovely, if annoyingly smug, boyfriend to capitalize on. Distracting Sam from scanning the cantaloupe—which he’s getting a discount on, the asshole—Bucky leans in for one more kiss, and while AJ loudly protests, Bucky thinks Sarah’s birthday is off to a pretty great start.

#sam wilson #bucky barnes #sambucky #the falcon and the winter soldier #tfatws #the falcon #the winter soldier #thank u ali for the idea bc. head empty no thoughts whenever i need to think up a fluff prompt. #ILY AMY I'M SORRY I'M LATE #PLS ENJOY IDIOTS BEING IDIOTS #ambivalentmarvel #thinkingisadangerouspastime #starkravinghazelnoots

[spookybias]

ᝰ frozen ideals | park sunghoon ˎˊ˗

paring: park sunghoon x gender neutral! reader

genre: slice of life ─ fluff, slight angst

content: idol! sunghoon x figure skater! reader, more than friends but less than lovers au, i ramble a bit about what a home is.

synopsis: sunghoon revisits the ice rink, and after seeing you, begins to have doubts on what he really wants in life.

word count: 2.7k

note: this only took a couple of days, so it’s not my best work. i kind of overdid it i guess? this was supposed to be short, but i just couldn’t stop. i also cried while writing a couple of paragraphs of this lol. one more thing, i’m not the best with endings, so i’m not sure if you guys will understand it. it is happy, though.

SUNGHOON DIDN'T VISIT THE ICE RINK AS OFTEN AS HE BEFORE. During his figure skating career, he was often at the ice rink at least 3-4 times a week. Sometimes before school hours, other times after school hours, and many times during school hours. If he thought his life as a professional figure skater was busy, his belief had changed once advancing from trainee to applicant to contestant, and finally, to idol.

Sunghoon’s time was divided between training, schoolwork, competitions, and every now and then, interviews.

His schedule was now made up of all the tasks of a predebut idol. There were photoshoots, interviews, and vocal and dance practices to attend. His free time was given away, -but only out of love for his fans- to sudden vlive sessions and random social media updates. he rarely ever had time to himself nowadays, as even what was left after all of his daily routines and weekly events was often used to eat, freshen up, and rest. And none of this would compare to the schedule that was to come once him and the boys made their debut.

There were times where he thought back to his days on the ice; what would life be like if he hadn’t quit figure skating?

It had been a long time since he had visited the ice rink, and while all the other boys used their one free day off in a while to visit their family back home, or to hang out with their old friends at their favorite place, Sunghoon found himself back at the ice rink. But who’s to say that this favorite place of his that he spent many times at alone, wasn’t his home?

Home isn’t where you live. No, that was your apartment, your house, your condo or your space at the shelter, maybe even the streets. Home is the place that provides you with a sense of security, an overwhelming amount of happiness, a much more avaliable version of cloud 9. Even when you’ve been there twenty times in one week, forty times in one month, the place still feels like a new visit each time. That’s a home.

Often, it isn’t what you do at said place that makes it a home. It’s the safe space founded by the very things about that place that make you happy. The angle at which the lights hit, the background noise that boasts behind you when you’re having fun, the people inhabiting the environment. All these things still feel new, but recognizable every time you visit.

This was the case for Park Sunghoon. You were his safe space.

The ice rink was nearly empty except for you, your coach, and the advisor who kept watch to make sure there weren’t any mishaps in the rink. This wasn’t meant to be a private meeting. You almost always arrived as soon as the rink opened, and so there were never really people there.

Sunghoon had shown up out of the blue after waking up with a sudden urge to visit the rink. It wasn’t until he stood in the seating area, looking over the frost, did he realize how much he missed. He remembered the goosebumps that grazed his skin when the chilly air hit his bare arms and the numb feeling you get on your butt when you land on it after falling back.

He longed for it all, but maybe not enough to quit his new career.

You noticed the lanky boy outside the rink after landing a toe loop. You were a skater, sure, but you weren’t the most coordinated one. You had often made it to competitions with Sunghoon, but you wouldn’t ever make it as far as he did. Still, you loved ice skating, and you would only get better.

That being said, you hadn’t gotten better just yet and were easily distracted. Skidding to a halt, you cheerfully waved to Sunghoon. “Hi, Hoonie!” That meant your eyes were off the cracking ice in front of you, and you tripped, flying forward.

Sunghoon rushed out onto the ice, panic gracing his features. He was accustomed to the ice, and carefully but quickly made it to you in his converse.

“____, are you okay?” Sunghoon didn’t wait for an answer, wrapping one of your arms around his neck and hoisting you up bridal style. “I haven’t seen you in months, and when I finally do I cause an accident.” He shook his head.

You chuckled at his self-disappointment. You waited for him to put you down on the bleachers before telling him, “It wasn’t that big of a deal Sunghoon. I’ve fallen hundreds of times. Ninety out of a hundred of those times, you weren’t there to help me.”

“If it was no big deal, then why did you need me to carry you off the ice?”

You smiled mockingly, eyes shut tight and lips pressed together, a compressed smile at its finest. “I didn’t. I just wanted a free ride.”

Sunghoon shook his head, laughing. His laugh was light like a feather, quiet like a baby’s snore. “You always were lazy,” He replied jokingly.

“Hey! I’ve been practicing really hard! Someone has to take your place, remember? And you’re not here to coach me anymore.”

It was true. After word got around that the Park Sunghoon had quit his career as a professional figure skater, everyone in you guys’ age range seemed to be fighting to be known as the best. For awhile, Sunghoon offered you tips and techniques for mastering his most known tricks. You were someone dear to him, and even when you guys were competing against each other, he secretly hoped you’d do better than him.

The young boy only got busier, though, and could no longer help you train.

“____!” You were snapped out of your conversation by your coach, Eunkyung. She walked up to the two of you. The way she eyed Sunghoon -a look of disbelief mixed with digust- made you gulp. “Stop fooling around. He isn’t here to train you anymore, therefore, he’s wasting valuable time.”

You knew how Eunkyung felt towards Sunghoon. She had dreams of making it as big as him when she was the same age, but couldn’t due to financial situations. Seeing someone who had everything she wanted in a figure skating career give it all up irked her soul. She had openly voiced her opinions on Park Sunghoon to you and the other trainees.

“Please, Eunkyung.” You begged in a low voice, but Sunghoon could still hear. Something about you begging Eunkyung to let him stay made his heart flutter. “We hardly see each other anymore. I really missed him.”

That was it. Sunghoon’s ears were suddenly on fire. When had you gotten so bold?

“Fine. Thirty minutes. Don’t expect another break today because this is the only one you’ll be getting.” Eunkyung walked off muttering something about ungrateful teens and the next competition being in three weeks.

You began to move from the bench Sunghoon had dropped you off at, but immediately sat back down, a hiss escaping your lips.

“You said you were fine.” Sunghoon placed a protective hand on your shoulder, as if the pain was a person making their way towards you.

“I am fine.” You stared out onto the ice trying to wiggle out the static shooting through your leg.

“That isn’t the kind of sound people make when they’re fine, ____. I’ll get Eunkyung.”

“No.” Your voice was firm. “It’s just a cramp, Sunghoon. You know figure skaters get cramps.”

Sunghoon stood quietly, looking down at you, but you avoided eye contact. “Okay.”

“I get them a lot. Eunkyung says it’s because I don’t stretch enough beforehand. We used to stretch together, remember? But you’re not here anymore so I forget.” The statement sounded more spiteful than you intended.

Sunghoon wondered if you were mad at him, and hiding your anger with fake excitement towards seeing him again. Did you secretly wish that he had never come back?

You kept bringing up the past and reminding him that he wasn’t around anymore. It was times like these where he questioned what he really wanted.

The two of you sat in silence. Just basking in each other’s existence was enough. That’s what was so mesmerizing about your friendship. Sometimes all the two of you did was sit next to each other, and it felt like so much fun.

“It’s been awhile, huh, ice prince?” You broke the silence and smiled playfully. “Did you miss me?” Your tone was teasing when you asked, but deep down you knew that if the answer was no your heart would shatter.

Sunghoon didn’t bother to even fight back. “Yeah, I did.” He liked it when you called him ice prince. It could get him to admit anything. It could even make him admit he was in love with you, but you didn’t need to know that.

“You never text me anymore.” He couldn’t figure out if it was a normal statement or a sad one. “I know you’re busy, though.” He exhaled being grateful for that add-on. “What’s it like?”

“I love it.” Sunghoon simply stated. You hardly even finished asking the question when he had answered. “It’s a lot of work, and sometimes I can’t believe I made it, but I love it.”

“You love Jake especially too, right?” You teased.

Sunghoon rolled his eyes. “Shut up.”

“You know I’m kidding,” You shook your head, laughing. Sunghoon missed hearing your laugh. The audio recordings from old videos of you two together just weren’t enough for him anymore.

“You know you’re the only…” Sunghoon trailed off and looked away. Talking about his feelings for you was difficult for him. It was difficult for you too. You didn’t need him to finish his sentence. Of course, you often needed reassurance that you hadn’t been replaced, but just the first few words of his statement were enough. You knew what he meant.

He was the only one for you too.

“Do you think what I’m doing is right?” Sunghoon suddenly questioned. For some reason he was holding back a sob, and he wasn’t sure why.

You stared at a scrape in the ice for a moment, before finally turning to the boy of your dreams. “Yes.” You nodded your head, smiling. “I watch your vlives and read your interviews and I retweet all your photos and cheer on all your moments.”

A single tear slipped down your cheek. You were happy for Sunghoon, but it hurt that he was doubting his desires after a long time of trying to prove himself.

You continued, “Sometimes my friends tell me I’m whipped, but I’m just really happy for you, Hoonie. So please don’t doubt yourself.”

Sunghoon was glad that only one tear had escaped. He didn’t want you to cry over him. “There are days where I try to imagine what life would be like if I was still here. Skating with you and everyone else.”

You replied almost instantly. “Well stop imagining those things. You’re not here anymore. You can’t let what you thought you wanted interfere with what you really want. You didn’t leave anyone or anything behind. It’s not like you forgot about this place. We still love you, and we’re rooting for you and always have been. You spent so long trying to prove yourself to everybody. Don’t let those years be in vein. If you quit, I swear I’ll-”

“I’m not going to quit.” Sunghoon stopped you. “If you’re proud of me, then I must be doing the right thing.”

You let out a breath and smiled, turning away from the boy once again. “Ideals change, ice prince. You’re allowed to change.”

Sunghoon looked over at you, noting how you avoided eye contact. He found it really cute. “Thank you, ____.” The two of you shared a smile, and then Sunghoon looked down to your left leg. “How is it? Is the cramp gone?”

You stood up, wiggled your left foot, and hopped on your left leg for good measure. “Yep! Think we can go around the rink for a bit before my break is up?”

Sunghoon’s cheeks turned pink. “Are you asking me out?”

You tightened your laces and laughed. “I would never."

SUNGHOON SKATED BESIDE YOU. This wasn’t a date. Despite your hands clasped together tightly but comfortably and the statements shared between the two of you earlier, you and Sunghoon were not a thing. The two of you were just a couple of friends who almost had something due to your shared interest and quiet bonding. You loved each other and it wasn’t complicated, but it was uncharted territory neither of you were ready to enter.

You skidded to a stop. “I’ve been practicing really hard,” You told Sunghoon again. You skated circles around him. “Eunkyung says that with a couple more months of training, I can make it farther than you ever did.”

“Is that a threat?” Sunghoon began following after you, the two of you facing each other, skating sideways to form a small circle around the spot you guys had just been standing in.

“Yes, it is.” You stuck your tongue out at him. “But seriously. It’s so much work ‘cause you’re known for doing the most.” You rolled your eyes, remembering the countless laps Eunkyung made you skate around the ice rink. You brightened up when you remembered something else. “I’ve been getting a lot better at salchows, though, which we all know I am terrible at. Look.”

Sunghoon watched in amazement as you skated around the rink, performing salchows over and over again. Your landings were a little slopping, but you could easily fix that.

“I wanna show you something else before you go.” Suddenly Sunghoon remembered that he had to leave soon, as your break would be up, and he had to see his mother in a bit. He followed you out the ice rink.

You opened your backpack, which Sunghoon had just now noticed was left out on the bleachers. He would have to remind you not to do that. If the rink got crowded, someone could steal your stuff. You pulled out a black notebook and handed it to Sunghoon.

He opened the notebook, puzzled at the lines and numbers all over the pages along with little doodles. However, his confusion went away once he realized that the little doodles were diagrams of figure skating tricks, and the lines and numbers all matched up to physics calculations.

“After you left, I honestly forgot a lot of your tips. It was hard using your methods without you being around to coach me.” You looked down at your hands. “I take physics in school, so I’ve been using it to help me with figure skating.”

Sunghoon was in awe. In his mind, he had been selfish to keep wishing he could be back at the rink just to help you. If he had stayed, he would just be stopping you from finding your own techniques, from realizing your full potential. He now realized that he didn’t have to keep worrying about if you were okay. You were doing just fine without him, and although that thought would be negative to most, Sunghoon was proud of you.

“____, this is amazing.”

“You don’t think it’s nerdy?”

“Of course not. You’re a genius,” Sunghoon stated. The embarrassment that had just filled your senses was quickly replaced by fluster. “Um, thanks, Hoonie.”

The two of you continued to flip through the book together, you pointing out tiny notes that you wanted Sunghoon to see, and him asking questions and nodding his head in intrigue. Sunghoon flipped to the most recent diagram, and examined the page.

“What’s this?” Sunghoon pointed to a diagram of a trick he had never seen before.

“Oh! Eunkyung says that if I want to stand out I should combine a couple of moves and form my own tricks, and name them something cool. I need to show the judges how I stand out from the other contestants.” You looked over the page, and caught a small note in your handwriting. Suddenly feeling nervous, you tried to change the subject. “Uh, why don’t we skate some more.”

Sunghoon glanced at you before scanning the page once more. And then he saw it. The diagram was a mix of a salchow and a toe loop, two moves Sunghoon was very much known for perfecting. Under the diagram were two words that made Sunghoon’s heart flutter.

Ice Prince.

#enhypennetwork #park sunghoon x reader #enhypen imagines #enhypen scenarios #park sunghoon imagines #park sunghoon scenarios #park sunghoon fluff #park sunghoon angst #park sunghoon blurbs #sunghoon x reader #sunghoon imagines #sunghoon scenarios #sunghoon fluff #sunghoon blurbs #sunghoon enhypen #enhypen sunghoon #enhypen x reader #enhypen blurbs #enhypen fluff #enhypen angst #en- x reader #en- imagines #en- scenarios #en- fluff #i-land scenarios #i-land imagines #i-land x reader #i-land sunghoon

[diaco1968]

Ice Ice baby

Wanted!Shoto Todoroki x hero!reader

Basically a request from my friend :D

Don't you just want to see this powerful boy helpless?

Warning! Cuffs. Handjob, orgasm denial

You navigated your way through the dark unnaturally cold alley ways. A thin layer of frost on the ground, looking as if someone recklessly dropped white paint and the droplets freely scattered all around. Except it was droplets of glowing delicate ice. Mid summer. You smirked as you followed the trail, getting more and more certain that you were closing in on the person you've been looking for as the tempreture dropped.

Your squad back there was absolutely demolished by this guy. Every last one of the idiots frozen in place in mere seconds and he just walked away from their pitiful pleas like he just swatted a bunch of flies. The thought made you click your tongue irked. 'Useless bunch of total morons.'

"Came for more?" He had his back to you, his head slightly turned to the side as he kept you in his line of vision, without actually having his eyes on you. Not to your liking, you'd much rather he have his attention on you and nothing else.

"More? More what? Your tiny little popsicles?"

That caught his attention as he turned towards you with a raised eyebrow. Truth was he was confused how you managed to escape his initial ice attack. Unless you were not there at the time he froze those heroes to the ground. Not a problem, you'd get a taste of his 'tiny little popsicles' soon enough.

"I wish I could stay and chat, but I don't have time for this ma'am." He raised his right hand, a harsh freezing breeze shooting off his fingers and turning into sharp ice around your feet on the ground. You inspected your heavy ice boots rooting you to the ground, then your eyes moved up to his arm, and just like you expected little patches of frost had already started to appear as he used his quirk again."farewell." He started to turn and walk away but the sound of ice cracking had him snap his eyes back on you surprised.

"Not gonna even tell me that I shouldn't move, or my frozen legs are gonna break and come off?" You said as you effortlessly pulled your other leg free from the shattered ice completely unbothered. Looking up at his surprised eyes you gave him a haughty smirk "I think you do have some time to spare now, what says you?"

He narrowed his eyes as he looked down to your legs then back up at your face "somone is not bothered by ice, I see. No problem. Got just the thing for you. You have a pretty face. Pity." He lifted his left hand this time and before you could react, a burning flame flew past your cheek making you wince quietly. More so from the shock than anything. "Ouch, going straight for the face, are we? Not very polite of you." You rubbed your cheek lightly before removing your hand garing at him, secretly loving the way his smugness wavering and fading.

'Nothing!?' His gaze was intenese as he looked for any sign of burn on your cheek, but there was none. How can one be immune to both Ice and fire?! He had never had to face this problem before and as much as he tried to hide his anxious expression, his face was slightly off. He looked nervous. You offered him an evil grin. Too evil looking for a pro hero. "Where did your sharp wit go now?"

He clicked his tongue annoyed as he raised both hands, launching himself at you. You didn't know what he was going to throw at you, but it didn't matter. It's not like you had to block or repel anything. Truth be told, You did take damage, you were just too quick to heal for him to notice that. He did not hold back on you with both his quirks.

~

His whole body was shaking and mostly covered in now a thick layer of frost as he froze you to the ground again, raising his left hand but all that emitted from it was a puff of visualized air from the contrast of cold and hot, with a pitiful dying hiss. "Damnit..." he breathed out too cold to do more now, you had made him over exert his limits and yourself had barely broken a sweat.

"Aw, what was that?" You chuckled as the familiar sound of cracking ice echoed off the walls of the dead end signalling you were free of your icy binds once again. "Are you done yet?" You walked to him slowly and intimidatingly. He tried to step back but his body was too cold and heavy for him to move.

"Looks like you are done." You said smugly as you pulled the quirk nullifying cuffs out, making quick work of binding his arms behind his back. His jaw was clenched as he tried to stop his teeth from colliding due to the cold. "So what now? Turning me in, little lady?"

You raised an eyebrow giving him a look as if he had said the most stupid thing in the world. From close up you could see why he was known as the Todoroki masterpiece. Not only his double quirk was very outstanding, he looked like such a unique specimen. Two colored eyes, each deep, sharp and threatening enough to make you lose yorself in 2 completely different worlds. A mop of two colored hair you were sure no one else could pull off withouth looking like a clown. A burnt scar on his left eye adding to his mature expression. Peculiarly handsome.

Now, you would normally hand him over, like he had logically assumed. But, at the very moment there was no need. The crimes he was wanted for were pesky little things, no murder or anything, more like an honourable thief. It was the person who wanted him caught that was a big fish otherwise he wouldn't even have to get wanted at all. And honestly you couldn't begin to give a flying fuck about what a big fish wanted.

You smiled and much to his surprise pushed him down flat on his butt, his back hitting the wall and he hissed out annoyed, but soon was distracted as you pushed his torso forward and re-did the cuff, his hands now bound behind him to a pipe. "... you are a pro hero, right?" He looked up at you suspiciously with narrowed eyes, getting a deep chuckle in reply.

IsgoungWht You raised your foot and even though he thought you were going to kick him, he refused to flinch away. However he jumped as you brought your foot down lightly resting it on his crotch, adding more of your weight till you were bent down to his eye level resting your elbow on your knee "You bet I am."

He groaned, frowning as his eyes darted between your foot and your face, annoyed but intrigued. "Your guidelines seem to have changed quite a bit from what I remem-Ngh!" Both his knees jerked up a bit at the sudden add of pressure.

You only smiled at him, running the back of your fingers over his jaw and under his chin, raising his head a bit "now that you've found time, you're actually chatty, huh?"

He puffed out his cheeks and glared up at you.

"what do you want?"

"Now we're talking." You grinned and removed your foot, sitting in between his legs "I have no intention of turning you in to that prick that wants you."

He studied your face carefully "... that much is clear."

You gently put your hand over his mouth and rolled your eyes "shhh I'm talking." You removed your hand raising an eyebrow and daring him to talk, but he remained unfazed and quiet. "Good. You see, what you did back there to my squad doesn't sit right with me, so what we're gonna do is you endure a bit of humiliation then I let you walk free. It's a win-win scenario, trust me. Deal?"

He didn't look one bit like he trusted you as he scrunched up his nose and raised an eyebrow "I don't know, doesn't look like I have a choice."

"Exactly."

Your grin widened significantly and you nestled comfortably between his legs looking throughly at his outfit for the first time. Black skinny jeans with a loose short sleeved shirt. Casual. You ran your palm up his bare arm, brushing off some of the frost that still persistently lingered. Your other hand wandered up his shirt curiously, fingers lingering on his prominent abs a little too long.

"You're weird."

He said maintaining a very intense eye contact. You rolled your eyes "you think?" He opened his mouth to retort but snapped it shut to suppress a surprised yelp, that instead escaped his lips in a strangled grunt as you pinched his left nipple hard.

You chuckled at the glare he shot you "oh wow, perky, are we? Is it for the cold?" Your hands moved down his body, fingers nimbly undoing his jeans. Eyeing him mischievously as he tried to discretely wriggle away from you to no avail "relax, I can warm you up."

"I'm fine, I don't need-..." he trailed off, watching curiously as you palmed him through the fabric of his underwear, running your fingers up and down his length, his leg jumping lightly in reflex as you squeezed down a bit too harshly, clicking his tongue annoyed once more. "I still have no idea what you want from me..." he grumbled eyes not leaving your hand as it dived inside to fetch his hardening cock, delicate fingers wrapping around it and lazily pumping up and down. "Improvise. You'll get it eventually." Your thumb rubbed over the head, squeezing a bead of precum out of it and smearing it around the tip. He hissed out a breath, twitching in your hand.

"Shit..." he did have a vague idea about what you wanted him to do but there was something oddly arousing about being helplessly bound to a pipe in a dead end at such a intriguing character's mercy.

~

He bit his lower lip to suppress his low grunts and moans, closing his eyes as your hand sped up, your other hand joining in to cup his balls and squeeze softly. His hips were bucking in your hands, abs bulging and rippling lightly in sync with your touch, covered in a thin layer of shiny sweat droplets. If his quirks weren't cancelled, he would be smoking with heat. Just as he was seeing white from the pleasure you stopped.

Again.

He threw his head back with a quiet sigh, opening his eyes "I should've known." He said with a breathy voice as he caught his breath.

You nod laughing at him teasingly "yeah you should've. Those sounds you make are very sexy though. Almost got me going too." He raised his head and smirked at you smugly "maybe you should give it a shot then?"

You shrugged your shoulders "tell me what I want to hear and I'll consider."

He chewed the inside of his cheek before finally giving up "...please." voice barely louder than a whisper.

"We've been over this, not enough." You scolded again. He sighed loudly "pleease!"

You smiled softly at him making him even more annoyed.

"please what?"

He narrowed his eyes at you before looking at you pleadingly "please finish me off and let me cum."

You grinned "nope, see you around, pretty boy." As you stood up and turned on your heels to leave.

"Wait what!? Not gonna Finish what you started?!"

you looked over your shoulder. It was the first time he looked this distressed

"I will. Later. We will meet again."

He growled and pulled at his restraints with a loud clinking noise "you can't leave me here like this! At least take these off and let me go!" He pleaded.

"I'm sure you can get out of them on your own. You're a big strong smart boy after all." You sent him a kiss from the entry of the alleyway as you winked and disappeared chuckling.

He growled hitting his head back on the pipe sitting there in silence for a while as he thought to himself.

'Strong smart boy'

'Smart boy'

'Smart'

...

!!!

"Bloody fucking hell! I'm going to get you back for this, I swear!" He grumbled angrily as he activated his ice quirk and froze the normal metal cuffs, breaking them and freeing his hands. He was basically not restrained at all this whole time! He smiled depite feeling like an idiot as he rubbed his raw wrists. He would be enthusiastically looking forward to seeing you again.

#todoroki shoto x reader #shoto todoroki x reader #todoroki x reader #shoto todoroki #todoroki shoto #bnha #boku no hero academia #mha #my hero academia

[laventadorn]

hold this for me

A/N: It’s FINALLY done!

Read on AO3

The cold was sharp and biting, the sky craggy with dark clouds. Harriet, bundled up in her heavy winter cloak, followed the trench Snape had crushed in the snow as he walked ahead. Snow powdered on the black cloak hem, crunched beneath his boots; her breath hung cloudy in the air. The world was silent except for those breathing sounds, the breaking of snow and the settling of branches in the dark mass of the forest ahead. 

Snape turned his head a little, one black eye peering over his shoulder, past strings of his hair. She smiled, reflexively. He whipped forward again, as if pretending he hadn’t been caught looking back at her. She saw the tip of his ear turn red and grinned. 

The plan she’d formed last night was already getting a good set-up.

Jogging a little, she closed the gap. He didn’t look around, but he shifted the basket on his arm. Since he didn’t register discomfort until something like his leg was about to fall off, she knew he wasn’t moving it to find a better position. This was a fidget. 

She hummed a little tune to herself, pleased. Snape let out a breath, like it was too much work to sigh. She grinned. 

“If we were here to find anything that required stealth,” he said, his voice curling in the air like fog, “you’d be making all our work useless.”

“You wouldn’t have brought me if you needed stealth. Although I can be perfectly sneaky.”

“Sneaky is not the same thing as circumspect,” he said dryly. 

“Well, we’re just here for plants anyway.” 

“Some plants require stealth in order to approach. Which you’d know, if you paid attention in Herbology,” he said, like the swot he was. This would be the sort of snotty grown-up observation that would completely kill the mood if Hermione didn’t also say the same things all the time (only more nicely). 

She rolled her eyes. “Gosh, how will my ego survive you trashing my Herbology marks?” 

They’d come to the edge of the forest, into the shadow of the trees, the forest gloom folding over them. 

“These are Frost Blooming Drops,” said Snape, still swotty. “They grow quite a distance inside the forest. If you get cold, you know what to do; you’re a witch.”

“I’m all set.” She patted her cloak pocket, where a jar of Hermione’s little bluebell flames warmed her ribs. 

“And don’t wander off. We use the Forbidden Forest as a defense boundary for a very good reason.”

“I’ll be clingy,” she promised. 

“Hm.” Snape’s gaze slanted along his gaunt cheekbones, then swept forward again. She smiled and followed him beneath the enfolding branches of the snow-crusted trees. 

The thing with Snape was, you had to filter everything through a translator. There was normal-person speech, which would express concern by asking “Are you warm enough?” However, Snape-speech was, “If you get cold, you’re a witch.” After all, if he didn’t care, he’d have waited until she was already freezing before saying anything. 

There was also this whole outing. Yesterday Snape had actually showed up at lunch, sat next to Slughorn (who was on Harriet’s left), and made noise about going into the Forbidden Forest to collect some rare seasonal flowers. It was a very long walk; the flowers weren’t even very useful, hardly seen in any potions you would use except twice every five years; pretty much a waste of time to bother collecting them. He’d go early so he could get there and back before dark. 

This was clearly an invitation. He wasn’t even the Potions professor this year, and Slughorn’s attitude had clearly wondered why anyone would be so mental. So Harriet had bundled up this morning after breakfast and loitered near the empty Quidditch Pitch until Snape turned up with a basket over his arm. His face passed through some interlocking expressions that she couldn’t decipher, but all he said was, “Walk behind me,” and crunched a path through the snow. This, too, was Snape-concern: if he made a path, she didn’t have to. 

The snow in the forest wasn’t as deep, so she could walk next to him. He kept fidgeting with his basket. She smiled to herself. 

It might work in her favor that he was twitchy about something. She’d come on this outing with one specific goal, and she might be able to get away with it if he was too distracted to see it coming. 

“So what potions do these flowers go into?”

“What do you think Frost Blooming Drops would be used for?” he retorted, which she interpreted as a desire to have a conversation. Good; it saved her the trouble of pestering him for one. 

“Minty fresh breath?” She smirked. 

It was his turn to roll his eyes. “I should know better than to ask you Potions trivia.”

“Probably,” she said peaceably. Her middling marks seemed to genuinely irk him, although now that he was her Defense professor and she was his top student, he didn’t seem to know what to do about it. Sometimes he seemed downright helpless. 

“So, what do they do?” she asked again. 

“One of them does give you the power to expel frozen breath.”

She squinted. “You’re making that up.”

“Would I?” he asked blandly. 

Right, a double agent who never made things up; that was believable. “What would you need frozen breath for?”

“You tell me.”

“Mmm. It’s hot out, and you want a cold drink?”

“Yes, for a wizard it would be far more sensible to mix a potion to cool the breath than to simply conjure ice.”

She grinned. “Which is why I’m saying you made it up.”

“You’ll have to do better than that if you want to trap me into admitting anything,” he said, affecting boredom. She knew it was fake because he was picking at a sticking-out bit of weave on his basket with a split fingernail. 

She pointed a mittened finger at him. “So you do admit something.”

There was a glint in his eye, but his voice was still bland and his expression smooth. “I speak generally.”

“Yeah, sure. C’mon, don’t you want me to learn something about Potions for real?”

He gave her a look: I-know-what’s-in-your-head-and-it-most-certainly-isn’t-Potions. “If I thought it wouldn’t go in one ear and out the other, perhaps I’d give it a shot.”

She shrugged, smiled, and spread her hands in their mittens. He only rolled his eyes again. 

They crunched along for a bit without speaking. Harriet watched his hand fiddling with the edge of his basket and thought about her plan. She’d mapped it out last night. All she had to do was find the right moment. . . She’d say, “Here, hold this for me,” and he’d say some variation of, “Why do I have to hold something for you? Aren’t you a witch?” but he’d put his hand out anyway, and then she’d--

“Harriet!”

“Huh?” She looked around, because he wasn’t next to her anymore.

“What did I say?” He was glaring her way, one foot below the edge of the path, apparently ready to climb down something. “What did I say about wandering off?”

“Right, right, my bad.” She crunched over to him. The tops of his cheekbones were pink, for some reason. Maybe it was the cold. 

She peered down the slope, where a little side trail made of rocks descended along a narrow trench, beside a gentle stream of black water. “We’re going down there, then?”

“Watch your footing.” He stressed every word. “These rocks are icy.” 

He shot a spell at the rocks to crack the ice, but even without the ice, the rocks were still wet, and she did have to watch her step. At the bottom, where a little trail wound into the snowy gloom beside the stream, he put his wand away. 

His glare was still giving off little sparks, like a log settling in the fireplace, so she put on her best contrite air and decided she should wait till he cooled off a little before she tried. . . anything. 

She hadn’t actually been in a snowy forest before, despite living on the borders of one most of the year for the past six years. Her previous jaunts into the Forbidden Forest had been during autumn and spring, but it was. . . different now. It was almost completely silent, and the silence seemed to have a weight, almost like being underwater. She felt almost like speaking would be wrong, as if she’d entered a temple that called for silence. 

The light faded the deeper they went, the shadows gaining depth, as if they were in an old photograph. 

Sometimes she thought she heard voices in the distance, whispers or laughter or broken pieces of song. We use the Forbidden Forest as a defense boundary for a very good reason, Snape had said. She wanted to shiver for a different reason than the cold. 

She cleared her throat quietly. “I’ve been in here before, obviously.”

“Really?” Snape said with diamond-grade sarcasm, but his voice, like hers, was soft. 

She rolled her eyes, one corner of her mouth pulling up. “But it never felt like this before.”

“It’s affected by time of year. Much of what lives in the forest is either hibernating or gone, and this close to the winter solstice, there is more. . . activity among the non-living and the magical. In your first year’s detention” -- he gave her a look that said he wouldn’t forget about that little lark if he lived eight hundred years -- “you didn’t go this deep.”

She nodded and lapsed back into silence. 

In the crisp, aching silence, a voice somewhere in the murky shadows began singing again. She couldn’t decide if the song was happy or sad. She didn’t think the words were English. They lifted and fell, fading in and out of hearing. Trying to catch the tune, she hummed along. 

“What are you singing?” Snape asked, almost idly. 

“Dunno. Whatever it is they’re singing.”

Snape stopped walking. His cloak swung against her legs and his basket bumped her upper arm. “Whatever who is singing?” 

“Uh. . .” She looked around. They were the only people nearby -- she hoped? Or did she definitely not? Would it look too chicken to edge closer to him? The non-living and the magical, he’d said. “I. . . don’t really know.”

Snape’s gaze bore into her. “I repeat: do not wander off.” He even reached out and plucked at her cloak, drawing her to walk right next to him. 

Oh, this was the perfect time. All she had to do was calm down the jumping beans that had suddenly rented a trampoline in her gut. 

It’s easy, she told herself. Just pull off your mitten -- he’s not even wearing gloves, cuz he’s too cool for the cold or something -- and say, “Hey, can you hold this for me?”

She tugged at her right mitten. Her left mitten slipped on the woolly rounded edge. Why hadn’t she bloody worn gloves? 

“Hey,” she said, clearing her stupid throat, which was wanting to stick shut for some stupid reason, “would you--”

“Look,” he said, weirdly close to her ear. His arm crossed in front of her, almost brushing her nose. The black wool had a smell like woodsmoke and wintergreen. Standing almost right up against him, she could see the individual strands of his eyelashes.  

??? said her brain. 

Snape sighed through his nose. “Over there.” He tapped her shoulder and pointed -- oh, that’s what he’d been doing. 

She looked to the left and let out a soft oh. 

Floating through the air were little blue fires, in a loose formation almost like a flock of birds. Not just floating, but drifting in the same direction she and Snape had been walking, at about head height. Against the dark trunks of the trees and the snow in the foliage above and on the ground below, they were like a constellation under construction. She’d never seen anything like it, and she felt a deep urge, almost like she’d swallowed it, to step off the path and follow them. 

“What are they?” she asked in a low voice. 

“Little ghosts. Not fully formed, like the ones at Hogwarts -- more like impressions.”

This would be a really good time to grab his hand. She wanted something to hold onto. But she was afraid that if she moved, she’d go running after the little ghost fires. As if Snape would let her, but she’d look really stupid. 

She swallowed, trying to hold very still, like that could dissolve the lump of yearning that had settled into her core. “Why do I want to go after them?” 

“They’re lures.” Snape put a hand on her shoulder, as if holding her in place. “We’ll wait for them to pass.”

“Lures?” Jesus, was her back sweating? He was voluntarily touching her shoulder and she was trying so hard not to go running off after ghost fires that she couldn’t even properly appreciate it. 

“The Forbidden Forest has its share of gateways that the living should never pass through.”

Well, that wasn’t ominous at all. 

They watched the ghost fires bob through the tree trunks, fading as they passed into thicker shadows. When the light of the last one winked out, Snape dropped his hand from her shoulder. He let out a breath, as if he’d been holding it in.

“This is why I told you not to go wandering off.” He brushed a hand down the front of his cloak, another nervous gesture; the black fabric was pristine. His hand shook a little, and there was a dent between his eyebrows. “Not many people would have been able to keep from following them.”

Harriet’s jostled brain processed this. That was another compliment, wasn’t it? She clenched her hand in its mitten -- Hey, hold this for me -- just say it, dammit, and take his hand, his hand had been shaking --

“Hey, uh.” She cleared her throat, which felt two sizes too big. “Would you hold this. . . ?”

“Hm?” He bloody seemed to have been thinking about something else. 

“What?” He focused on her the hazy look in his eye fading. 

All her courage deflated. She wanted to smack herself between the eyes, or maybe even him. It turned out that having him distracted was not good for the plan. 

“Nothing,” she muttered, and tugged her mitten back on.

“Then come along.” He shooed her lightly and started walking.

Blowing out an explosive breath that ruffled her fringe, she trudged forward.

“You didn’t follow them,” she said after a bit. 

“Hmm,” Snape said again. “No.”

“You said not many would’ve been able to, but it was really hard for me. You seemed fine, though.”

“You exerted control without assistance,” he said dismissively, as if the compliment didn’t matter. “They had little effect on me. They’re more interested in. . .” His mouth twisted, the glint in his eye sardonic. “The young.”

She didn’t think he’d appreciate any commentary on that, so she asked instead, “How young is young?” 

“Past twenty, their powers considerably diminish.”

“What, are kids, like. . . Happy Meals to them?”

“Mm,” Snape said, bland again. “So you see, you had more to contend with.”

He turned his attention forward again. Harriet supposed she’d let him, since he seemed to be watching for more creepy things that could lure them away to make snacks out of them, and so she could smile like a dope without him noticing. Well, hopefully. 

“We haven’t run into any centaurs,” she said once she’d gotten her face under control. “I thought they didn’t like people coming into their territory.”

“They don’t. But this isn’t their territory. They live farther to the east. We’re headed southwest.” 

“Huh. I ran into them both times I came in here before, though.”

“In your first year, Firenze was out of bounds, deliberately. As for last year, Miss Granger knew exactly where she was going.”

Harriet had to be proud of Hermione. Trust her not only to come up with the idea to lure Umbridge into centaur territory but to actually know where to find it. Harriet had thought they just roamed the forest at will. 

“Here,” said Snape, stopping, his cloak brushing against her leg. He was pointing at a black rock that towered over them on the side of the path. 

“. . . a rock?” Harriet said. 

Snape rolled his eyes. “Follow me.”

Then he stepped down the embankment and disappeared into the bloody rock!

Harriet jumped off the path, slid on the icy ground, saw the rock rushing at her face, and threw out her hands to brace her fall. Only instead of the rock, she plowed straight into Snape. Not expecting her to suddenly hurtle at him, he was knocked off his feet; they tumbled to the ground. 

“What in God’s name was that?!” he snapped. But he was patting at her shoulders, as if checking for injuries. “Did a random ghost suddenly possess you?”

“. . . I thought the rock ate you,” she said sheepishly. There were some twigs in his hair where his head had struck the ground; wincing, she reached up and pulled one out. “Sorry, sorry.”

His face did something that was difficult to interpret even for her. She’d have called it flustered if he didn’t look so disgusted, or disgusted if his eyes hadn’t looked so wide and helpless. He snatched his hands back and twisted his face away, patting the ground for his basket, like it might have gone invisible and he could only find it by touch. She found the basket behind her and silently offered it in apology. 

“Thought the rock ate me,” he said, his voice sounding funny. When he saw her holding the basket in his periphery, he snatched it out of her hands and started turning it over a bit -- well, a bit crazily. 

“You just disappeared. What was I supposed to do?” She looked up at the rock walls rising above them, black and slick with ice, and the little path between the two. “It was an illusion?”

“Less than you’re thinking. The angle of the rocks makes the path invisible.” He got to his feet, brushing ineffectually at his cloak, leaving a muddy handprint that he didn’t even seem to notice. “This way.”

There was still forest detritus stuck in his hair. Harriet figured she’d mention it later. 

No more disasters befell them as they came out the other side of the rocks. They’d come to the edge of a slight clearing in the forest, where the ground sloped down toward a massive tree, ancient, even the lowest of its towering branches soaring above the younger trees around it. All up its trunk sprouted piercing white blossoms, glimmering in the icy air like a cascade of pearls, and broken petals lay scattered across the frost-tipped earth, shimmering in the wintry light.

“Damn,” she whispered, her breath fogging the air.

Snape gave a delicate snort. Harriet’s mouth twitched. “I see why you wanted to come here.”

“For Potions?” He gave her an ironic look, but his long fingers flexed on his basket. 

She smiled. “Obviously.” 

“We can’t use the petals on the ground,” he said, gesturing for her to follow him down the slope. “Well, you could, if you wanted to make perfumed sachets. But for potions, we need to pick the blossoms fresh.”

Harriet wasn’t the perfumed sachets type, but she thought Asteria might like some. Curious, she knelt and scooped up a handful of shimmering white blossoms. Their scent was sweet and light and somehow icy. 

“Do you have--” She stopped and caught the bag Snape had tossed over. “Thanks,” she said, smiling, and scooped a couple handfuls of flowers in. If she had to take off her mitten to achieve greater accuracy, well, that was just taking advantage of an opportunity. 

It felt sort of sacreligious to crush the fallen blossoms underfoot, but they lay in such a thick carpet that she didn’t have a choice. She crunched over to Snape’s position by the tree -- its roots were taller than he was -- where he was peeling the petals off the flowers twined in vines around the trunk. His long fingers moved delicately, without ripping the velvety blossoms. Her bare (very cold) hand wanted to reach up and fold over his. Too bad it would look so dumb right now. 

“The best ones would be those up there,” he said, tilting his head all the way back to look up at the flowers clustered beneath the tree’s lowest branches. “But neither of us is quite tall enough.”

“We could’ve brought a broom,” she said, though surely he’d have thought of that. 

“Inadvisable within the forest bounds. Don’t even think about it,” he added darkly. 

“I wouldn’t.” Honestly, she wasn’t a danger addict. Hermione called it a ‘saving-people thing.’ Maybe it was, but just going into the Forbidden Forest for some flowers, by herself, was a bit much. Not only did the place rank high on the Creep-o-Meter, but too many people would flip out if she did. 

“Good,” he said, like one would wield a knife. 

She looked up the trunk, then reached out and tugged one of the hanging vines. It was sturdy wood. “I could climb up this.”

“You’re not climbing over a hundred feet off the ground.” She could just see the ‘Why did I think it was okay to bring Harriet freaking Potter into a danger zone’ zipping through his head. 

“Not that high. Pretty sure my arms would give out. Just a bit further up.”

“No,” he said firmly. 

“C’mon, just, like, six feet.”

“No.”

“I have muscles!”

“I don’t -- from what?” He switched tracks in the middle, looking confused.  

“I do chin-ups in the Room of Requirement. And I’ve got a punching bag.” Her biceps and triceps weren’t bad, actually. She could deadlift Asteria no problem. 

Snape seemed to be thinking about something else. When she reached out to grab the vine, he came back to life and plucked it out of her hands, looking flustered. “You’re not climbing anywhere. Stay on the ground. Right there.”

“It’s just climbing a damn tree, it’s hardly more dangerous than being in the forest in the first place.”

He pressed his lips together, looking steamed because he knew she was right. Not that he ever let a little thing like a reasonable argument sway him. 

She jumped up and grabbed the tree root over her head. 

“Harriet!”

“It’s fine!” She hoisted herself up and then swung her legs around until she was straddling the root. Below, Snape was fluffed up like an angry owl; he had his wand out, as if preparing to keep her from pancaking on the ground. “C’mon, Quidditch is more dangerous than this.”

“And I’m so happy you play it!”

“Thanks, that means a lot.” She scooted over so she could reach out and pick the blossoms. “How were you doing this?”

“For starters, I was standing on the ground!” 

“And you’re really good at it, too,” she said kindly. He replied with an angry owl noise. “Taking the petals but not the stem, right?”

He chuntered under his breath while she gently extracted a petal and held it cupped it her bare hand. “Gimme the basket, ey?”

“I’ll give you a. . .” she heard him mutter, but he floated it up. He probably wanted to yank her off the branch but had realized this would defeat the purpose of protecting her from a  fall and was reduced to hovering beneath the root and puffing out little swears that floated up to her as she worked. 

“All right, that’s enough,” he said after maybe two minutes of this, which showed, for him, laudable restraint. “Come down.”

“Fine, okay.” She’d carried her point, at least. She handed the basket to him and then prepared to swing down.

She was dangling from the root for a second, gauging the distance to the ground, when something brushed at her legs. Startled, she kicked out with her foot, heard a grunt and then a light thud. 

“Ah shit--” she said as she realized what had happened, and staggered when she hit the ground, falling onto her rear.

Snape was sitting sprawled out in his cloak, knocked for a second time to the ground, a very exfoliating glare knifing past his messy hair. The petals had spilled out of his basket. 

“Sorry! Did you -- try to grab my legs?” 

There were bright spots of color on his high cheekbones; Snape did not blush prettily. She wanted to pat his face. “I thought you weren’t sure how to get down!” He tried to brush his hair out of his face, straighten his cloak, and right his basket at the same time, and just ended up worse off than before. 

Harriet found this behavior both cute and worrying, and silently helped him scoop the petals back into the basket. She hoped they weren’t ruined but didn’t dare to ask. When he got to his feet and stalked around the root to get to more petals, she followed and hovered without speaking, just watching him. 

It occurred to her, finally, that if Snape was distracted, there must be a reason. He wasn’t a spacey person, and around her, his focus was normally laser-searing. And suddenly, the strangeness of him inviting her into the deadly Forbidden Forest, when he regularly fretted at her even getting up on a broom, begged to be noted. 

She’d almost think he was an imposter, if it weren’t impossible for anyone to act as precisely peculiar as he did. 

“What’s wrong?” she asked quietly. 

He stilled, staring at the tree, nothing of him moving. Strands of hair hung around his ear, which was bare to the cold and a little red. His profile, always forbidding, was harsh and remote, but she thought for a moment that something like sadness flickered in his eye before he turned his face away. 

“What about our lives right now is easy?” he asked after a long moment. He extracted another flower from the vine, delicately, as if maneuvering fine glass. 

“Something’s bothering you,” she said, as slowly as he was picking the white petals off the tree. “Is that why you asked me out -- here?”

She’d almost said asked me out but realized just in time that this would make him clam up from embarrassment. If Hermione ever found out about this strange limbo of affection between them, she’d have a stroke and then report Snape to Dumbledore; but the truth was that Snape was more skittish than a cloistered maiden. There was a reason Harriet had spent all of last night and today plotting just to hold his hand for two seconds.  

Snape paused with a petal in his fingers on the way to the basket, and then dropped it and lifted his hand to the next one. 

“I merely thought. . .” he said, still delicate, and Harriet was almost amused that they were having this conversation in slow motion. “That time. . . doesn’t wait. For any of us.”

She frowned. “What’s that mean? Wait.” She took a step closer, trying to peer up into his face, but he turned away as if very interested in a patch of petals to his left. “Is something going to happen soon? What’s going to happen?”

“It’s merely a general observation,” Snape said tightly, picking up his flower-picking pace, his shoulders tight like a shield. 

Bullshit. “Is this about you taking the Defense position? Is something going to happen to you?”

“Who knows what will happen?” he asked stiffly. “I’m done.” 

He spun, a little clumsily, having retreated quite close to another root to hide, and ducked underneath it to stride off. “Come along,” he threw over his shoulder, and picked up his pace when she jogged after him. She broke into a run, knowing he wouldn’t do the same even to get away, and caught up. 

“Then why are you acting weird?” 

“I am a weird person,” he said waspishly, walking faster with his damn long legs. Well, she didn’t have a lot of dignity, so she skipped to keep up. His face flickered with something that may have been amusement or dismay. 

“Tell me what’s going on.”

“You’re being a pest, that’s what’s going on.”

“If you told me,” she said, unperturbed, “I wouldn’t have to pester you.”

They were about to get to the rock path, which wouldn’t be wide enough for her to follow beside him. He was about to speed up --

Fine. 

She reached out and grabbed his hand.

“Severus,” she said.

He froze at the touch of her hand, and then calcified at the sound of his name. The clearing was silent, the forest dormant and indifferent. 

“If you’re in danger,” she said quietly, “I want to know.”

Snape’s hair fell in his face, and he stood as if any movement was too much to bear.

“Who is safe right now?” His voice was barely louder than the silence. “The two of us. . . are in possibly the most dangerous positions in our world. I’m a double agent, and you’re. . .”

“Public enemy number one?”

His hand shifted slightly in hers as he inhaled, as if he was taking a fortifying breath, or sighing. 

“My tasks. . . are my burden to bear. Literally. It’s -- ” She imagined his mouth twisting, though his face was still turned away. “My job.” 

She was quiet, processing this. She knew better than to think she could force him to tell her what was really going on. Getting any admission out of him, even one as simple as There’s something going on but you’re not going to know what it is, was a lot. “I hate your job,” she said at last.

“Really? I love it. It’s almost as enjoyable as grading.”

She smiled, though she didn’t feel like laughing. 

“Come.” Snape took a tiny step forward, as if testing that he wasn’t going to break apart if he moved. “We’ve been out in this cold long enough.”

Gently, Harriet pressed on his hand, keeping hold of it. He could easily pull free if he wanted, but she tried to convey that she didn’t want him to. 

At the pressure of her hand, he went still again, but only for a moment. When he started walking, he left his hand in hers, his fingers slightly curled around her palm

For now, that was enough.

#tner tag

[darlingrutherford]

Okay so this is a very specific request. I don't blame you if you don't wanna do it. I have Disney plus, and see the Pixar short called la la Luna all the time. So every time I see Lana's name, I combine them. If you haven't seen it, would you be willing to watch it and combine them in some way for me? I think it would work beautifully together if you so choose. 🙂

I had never seen that before, and it was adorable! I love how those Pixar shorts always have a very clear moral behind them without saying much. Thank you so much for suggesting it, and for giving me such an interesting thing to interpret into a story with Lana! What I wrote is very short, but hopefully it’s what you were looking for! :) 

-

“Grey Wardens have to be cunning, we have to rely on tact. There's more to it than just waving a staff and burning the target to the ground.”

“How much tact does one find in brute force, hmmm? She would do better learning to hone her skill, rather than wasting time on the hand to hand sessions you think she requires.”

Lana kept her mouth shut as Alistair and Morrigan argued ahead of her. She couldn’t quite recall how the argument had started. Alistair had mentioned how relieved he would be to get out of the Deep Roads, how the pathways were too narrow and the chasms too deep to continue the combat training he had been providing her. Lana had no idea it was such a touchy subject with Morrigan - perhaps it had to do with the fact that they hadn't seen daylight in three days. Whatever the reason, the two had been at each other's throats all morning - evening? Lana couldn't tell in this place any more - and she had no intention of getting involved.

“She asked me to teach her,” Alistair was grumbling. “And why shouldn't she know how to wield a sword? How helpful will you be if someone suppresses and takes your magic from you? Maybe your terrifying scowl will be good enough to chase a templar away?”

“Oh, I have seen lesser men flee from no more than a mere scowl,” Morrigan scoffed. 

“If you're talking about the time I -”

Alistair's voice trailed away to a groan. Merely twenty feet from them stood a large boulder blocking their path. He looked around it, finding no way to pass as it covered their narrow walkway and gave way to a chasm too deep to see the bottom. With a deep breath, Alistair placed his hands at the middle of the boulder and began pushing. A few grunts from him as his feet slid along the dirt covered path, and he stopped, his face looking defeated as it refused to budge.

“One cannot simply will it out of the way,” Morrigan sighed. She waved Alistair out of the way, and as he stepped to the side with an irked face she pointed her staff at the boulder. A gust of wind rushed towards the boulder, bouncing off the thing and making Lana's braid whip in the air from behind them. But, still, nothing.

Alistair's cackling was the first thing to echo towards Lana, followed by the seething of Morrigan's scoff as she tried again. Still, nothing.

“One cannot simply will it out of the way,” Alistair mocked Morrigan, imitating her shrill voice in a way only he could. Morrigan spun on her foot, rounding on Alistair as she pointed an accusing finger at him. The two of them began bickering, inches from the other's face, now focused on everything but the task at hand. Lana sighed, rubbing her temple as they fought. It had been three days of this, and she could not wait to be able to put more than a few yards between them again. 

Lana paused amongst their bickering, walking up to the boulder and observing it. Neither of them seemed to notice her, too wrapped up in their argument to see her flattening her palm against the rock. Lana sent a wave of energy through the boulder, feeling how it echoed back. Smirking, she stepped back and took her staff from her back. She pointed it at the boulder, sending out a cone of frost until the boulder was covered in ice.

“I'll have you know, my nose is pleasantly proportionate to the features of my face! And as for my feet -” Alistair stopped mid sentence as he felt Lana grabbing onto his bicep for support. A sly grin began growing on his face as she strained on her tip-toes to reach behind him, only for his brow to furrow as she grabbed his sword from the sheath on his back. He and Morrigan watched silently as Lana carried the sword over to the frozen boulder and slammed the hilt against the center of it. The two of them were near mirror images of each other, eyes widened slightly in shock as the boulder cracked before falling into pieces in front of Lana. 

“There we go,” Lana sighed triumphantly. She handed the sword back to Alistair before using her staff to blow a strong wind towards the rubble and knock it into the abyss below before continuing on the path

“Well, then.” Alistair stood there for a moment, staring after Lana as he rubbed the back of his head sheepishly for arguing for so long when there had been such a simple solution. He looked to Morrigan, as if considering an apology, before knocking her out of the way so he could catch up to Lana first. Lana simply smiled as Alistair took her hand, thankful to have ended the squabble between the two for now. Soon, they would be out, and everyone would be in a better mood.

#jeepgirl173 #lana surana #alistair theirin #lanistair #morrigan #dragon age #dragon age origins #my ocs #my work #fanfiction #prompts

[scribeofmorpheus]

Himmeløyne [5/?]

Pairing: Loki Odinson x Reader

Words: 5k | Catch Up Here | Masterlist

Warnings: Mild violence, bone snapping, Ummm... politics?

A/N: All about restitution. Despite my best efforts, this may turn into a slow burn... Things settle down in the next chapter, or amp up, depending on your viewpoint.

Taglist is open! Reblog, comment or leave a like please ☺

SOMEWHERE ON NIFLHEIM

 ~THOR

Thor had taken up position behind the cover of an alcove carved into a mountainside. He and the Warriors Three had been tracking a small group of Jotun spies. Odin led his own group of men to the south, in the hopes they would find more tracks, more spies.

Thor's cape rustled about from the strong winds, his arms gripping his biceps to stop them from shivering. Hogun had started a fire while Fandral drummed his fingers dolefully against his chest, a complaint escaping his mouth every few minutes. Volstagg, who was sat upright, let out rumbling snores that echoed against the close cave walls.

"We're wasting time out here," Thor grumbled.

Hogun sighed, tired of hearing the same thing over the last few days.

"Agreed," Fandral said monotonously. "That doesn't change our orders though."

"We do as Odin commands," Hogan probed the fire with a stick, his tone detached.

Thor looked out, scanning the white landscape, "And how does tracking spies help us? We've been freezing our asses off for weeks while my father refuses to take action. This is a fool’s errand. Our concern should be avenging those Midgardians, not following mindless giants to a frozen, arid, barren land."

The two men collectively exhaled, Hogun shaking his head at his friend.

Thor turned around, his rant far from over, "I know you all have your doubts about our orders too. And I know you all want to make sure what happened in Trønsberg never happens again."

Frandal sat up to look at Thor, "Yes, we all want to keep the mortals safe and all, but our king told us to survey the spies and that is what we're doing."

"Why do all this sneaking and surveying when fighting is more efficient?" Thor’s voice rang through the cramped space. His forehead marked by lines of irritation.

"Maybe Odin knows something we don't. Maybe that's why he doesn't want us attacking first. You can't ask a corpse questions you know," Fandral remarked sarcastically.

A deep rumbling, booming and seismic, almost like thunder slapped across the wailing winds.

"Again with the thunder," Fandral ran his hands over his face in frustration, twiddling his moustache to hide his irked state. "We get it, you aren't happy with the mission."

Thor's eyebrows shot up, "That wasn't me! And that still doesn't m--"

A line of blue light flashed into the cave.

"Shut up," Hogun stood from the fire, a gust of wind sweeping into the alcove and showering the fire with specks of snow, putting it out.

Thor narrowed his eyes and let out a huff of air, "If you didn't want to hear what I had to say--"

This time Fandral stood too, his eyes widening as he moved closer to the entrance of the cave, kicking Volstagg's leg along the way. He grumbled awake.

"I think Hogun was referring to that," Fandral pointed towards the skyline and Thor turned.

A beam of blue light shot up into the sky, breaking through a ceiling of grey clouds. Rested snow now cascading down the side of the mountains cliff-face like an avalanche while snow-flakes spiralled around the light like moths to a flame.

Hogun stepped out, the blue light shining onto his black hair, skin bathed in its hue. Volstagg muttered curses under his breath as he got off the floor with the help of his axe, face mesmerised by the beam.

"A beacon?" Fandral asked.

"Perhaps," Hogun replied, face blank in thought. "Or a signal."

Thor's face lit up, a childish grin taking over as he began to anticipate for a fight, hand outstretched waiting for Mjolnir, "You know what this means?"

The rumbling stopped and the light cut out.

"What what means?" Volstagg leaned against the cave wall.

Fandral hummed lowly, his hands falling on his hips, "It means we have to check out whatever that big blue light was."

Mjolnir in hand, Thor swung his hammer is circular turns, the choppy sound reverberating like a frantic heartbeat

 ~LOKI

Sif's sword sliced through the air leaving behind a metallic whistling noise, her jaw clenching as her eyes were set on her foe. A few feet away, another frost giant was thrown high up into the air, a face of fear when he was brought hurtling into the ground with bone-crunching intensity. The blue wisps of magic leaving his body and racing to form a magical barrier against several spears that were thrown their way.

Loki smirked as he used his own magic to ricochet the spears suspended in the air back at their owners, frosted tips embedding themselves into blue skin. One spear got through, and even though Sif deflected it, her balance was knocked off and she slid down from her position, tumbling close to the edge. Loki manifested a wall of snow and Sif's momentum was deferred. A grunt left her lips as she picked herself back up, nodding a thank you before she charged at the spearmen.

Loki lodged a dagger into one of the giant's neck just as he threw his sword. The sword flew towards Y/N right when a giant jumped from higher up, trying to get Sif from the top. Loki pushed the airborne giant into a jagged rock and dove after Y/N, the sword missing her by a hairsbreadth.

They tumbled through the snow before stopping a few feet away from a ledge. Y/N let out a sigh in relief, her breath blowing her hair from her eyelash. Loki used his hand to tuck the rest of it behind her ear.

If we weren't in the middle of a battle, he thought.

Loki helped Y/N stand before continuing their advancements.

He shimmered from his position behind a Jotun that was about to attack from behind some rocks, his dagger slipping between breast bones straight to the heart. The giant very nearly got a hold of Loki’s exposed wrist, but he managed to spin away in time.

A breathy grunt slipped out into the cold air.

Loki looked to Y/N, even though the anger was still very much present in her glowing eyes, her stance was faltering, foot slipping against the icy floor. The rage and inner-turmoil were causing her to burn out faster than usual. Suddenly, her face hardened as her eyes focused in on something. Despite the beads of sweat trailing down her face and her shallow rapid breathing, she gritted her teeth and with a wave of her hand a small section of the mountain broke off, a frost giant still standing on it.

Loki had never seen such raw power before. As he and Sif stared up at the flat piece of broken off mountain hovering above-head, dumbfounded expressions on their faces, Y/N's feet began to pick up off the floor, her body no longer tethered to the ground.  She was flying.

A sharp ice implement shot through Sif's arm and with a painful howl Loki was shaken back to the fight that was still at hand.

 ~Y/N

You had been fighting for so long that your vision started to blur. Air too thick at your current altitude to feed your hungry lungs. Your stance was slipping, feet inching further away as you used your abilities to fling back, block off and raise up several enemy advancements. Just when you thought you'd used the last remnants of your energy, you saw him.

The same cold and detached red eyes that haunted your dreams. The same sneer that he wore when he plunged an icy sword into your chest. He saw you staring at him, a shift in his features telling you he remembered you- even though he couldn’t believe it.

Your body burned just as hot as the flames that once devoured your home and a new wave of power burst through you; potent, intoxicating and out for blood.

Simply by willing it, you broke off a piece of mountain rock that the giant stood on and rose him above the others, your body lifting to join him on your own private battlefield. The skies started shifting, swirling around you like a rotating curtain that separated you and the giant from everyone below. A whirlwind coming to fruition, with the two of you at the apex.

The giant cocked his head to the side, his sharp teeth sending chills down your back.

"You," he whispered.

"Me," you acknowledged as you used your magic to bring him to his knees.

He grunted in pain as your blue magical tethers wrapped around him and forced him still, "Impossible! No mortal can withstand a Jotun blade!"

"You destroyed my village," you rose a finger and broke several of his bones. He cried out again. "You burnt down my home," you rose your other hand, head shaking. The giant howled in pain again as he spat out blood from a new internal wound. "And you killed my mother!"

Your arms flung apart, separating the magical bonds that kept him bound, breaking his arm in the process. Bone sticking out of flesh at an unnatural angle. You hovered closer, placing your hand on his exposed chest, "But you failed to kill me..."

A glimmer of light escaped between the cracks of your fingers, magic tearing through his body like a hot knife through butter, leaving a palm-sized incision running through his body. You suppressed the reflex to gag, biting down to steel your conviction, to commit.  But how he reacted after surprised you.

"We're always the enemy in your stories..." The giant looked up at you, a sickening grin plastered on his face, red eyes boring holes in you. With a shaky voice, he said, "Did you ever ask yourself, why?"

"Why what?" You said through gritted teeth.

He laughed, a strange sensation growing in your side, "Why… your… village...?"

"What do you mean!" You inched closer and a deep stinging burnt at your side. You gripped it and felt the slick wetness of blood. Blood smeared on your fingertips and the edge of a small dagger held in the giant's hand. A gasp leaving your body as you and the giant tumbled towards the ground, your magic dying out.

The last thing you heard before you blacked out was the sound of Loki shouting your name fighting through the sound of howling winds.

 ~LOKI

The first thing he noticed was a drop of blood crystalising as it fell through the cold air, then the grey clouds that swam whirled in the sky trickled off, clearing the sky and then finally, the sight of Y/N's body falling.

"Y/N!" He shouted. Panic and fear moving like venom through his adrenaline-soaked tissue. He felt shaky, it wasn't an emotion he was comfortable with.

Loki shimmered to a ledge higher up the mountain, he waited to see Y/N's body so he could dive after her and break her fall, but instead, it was the frost giants body, and only the frost giants body, that crashed onto the cliff's edge- dead. A blur of red flew past, the familiar choppy sound of Mjolnir being propelled through the air following after it.

Below, Hogun, Fandral and Volstagg shouted battle cries as their blades, maces and axes met the icy weapons of the giants. Feeling outnumbered and at a rope's end, the remaining stragglers made a break for it, jumping off the sides.

Loki let out a huff in relief, shimmering down to where the group of Asgardians had collected.

"Brother?" Thor’s voice called out as he landed. "Brother!" He said again with more certainty and a jolly tone. Y/N unconscious in one of his arms.

"Thor," Loki greeted back with a bit of bite.

Fandral drew a golden sword from a dead giant, "This is the most beautiful sword I've ever seen. Can I keep it?"

"Sure, if you're willing to pay Brokkr's prices," Sif replied, keeping pressure on her arm.

Fandral winced handing the sword back to Sif, "No one can afford that dwarfs prices."

"What are you doing here?" Hogun asked as he wiped the blood from his mace.

"Ask her," Sif nudged her head in Y/N's direction, her hand bracing against the cut.

"Something tells me she's not in a very chatty mood," Fandral deadpanned.

"Isn't that the mortal woman?" Volstagg squinted his eyes at her.

“I believe you’re right,” Thor looked down at the woman’s body held against in his large frame, she almost looked peaceful, at sleep. Her eyes didn’t skitter under her lids as one would in a deep sleep, they rested still, like the dead.  “This is definitely the mortal girl.”

Hogun turned to the group, "The weather is treacherous up here. Perhaps we ought to go back to camp seeing as how we killed the giants we were supposed to be tailing."

Everyone nodded in agreement.

Thor dropped Mjolnir and strode towards Loki, a happy smile on his face, "I cannot tell you how happy I am to see you, brother."

Loki smiled with pressed lips just as Thor's hand passed right through him. The mirage deteriorated into a green shimmer. Thor's smile disappeared and was replaced by a look of perplexity. Sif, Hogun and Fandral rolled their eyes at the parlour trick. Volstagg helped Sif stand steady, his face was equally unimpressed.

"We should head down from here, this path seems the clearest," the real Loki waved them down from across the cliff.

 ~Y/N

For the first time in a long time, you slept without dreaming. But even though you had finally been allowed your pound of flesh, a hollow feeling now replaced the spot where rage once made its home. In the absence of nightmares, you were left with a void and it felt more alone than ever. It was as though your anger had been the one thing that linked you to your life from before. Now that you had burned it out and enacted vengeance against the frost giant who darkened your memories, you felt like a husk of your former self.

When your eyes fluttered open, you were almost disappointed.

Almost.

"Ahhh," you croaked out as you held your head, the room swaying as you stood up.

Loki, who had been half asleep on a chair nearby, shot up, a book falling from his lap. A drawing of your brand etched onto a page. He rushed to your side, expression softening.

"Where…?" You had a hard time talking. Loki's hands steadied you upwards.

He smiled, "We're back in Asgard."

Your eyes refused to adjust themselves, "H- how?"

"Not without difficulty. My mother managed to contact me when we were down on Niflheim. Heimdall eventually managed to open a portal after some gruelling co-ordinating. You've been asleep for nearly two days. Your wound has healed but you'll still feel sore for a while."

Your hand instinctively fell to your side, eyes growing wider.

"The frost giant!"

Loki placed a reassuring hand above yours, "He's dead."

Somehow those words didn't comfort you as much as you'd imagined they would, eyelids growing heavy.

"Oh..."

Loki sat on the edge of the bed, his face unreadable, "I hate to admit it, but… you scared me for a moment."

You looked up at Loki's face, "I scared you?"

Noticing your despondent tone, Loki rushed to explain, "No, not in that way. While your potential for magic is frightening, that isn't what scared me. Well, perhaps it did a little..." Loki's eyes trailed off, looking everywhere but yours. "Ugh, I usually don't struggle with words as much."

This was a rare sight to behold.

You chuckled, finding his dilemma amusing.

"Oh, you find this amusing do you?" He cocked his head to the side, nose scrunching up disapprovingly.

"A little," you smiled.

Loki guffawed, "What I meant is that you're good company… And before you came along, things were pretty boring. I'd hate for things to go back to the way they were."

Loki's eyes stared into yours for a long pause, your heart beginning to hammer against your ribs. No one had ever looked at you like that before. An odd warmth spread from your lower spine to your stomach.

When he noticed he'd been quiet for too long, Loki removed his hand from yours and sat up from the bed, a pleasant look on his face- if not a bit detached. He bent down to pick up the book and bowed lazily, "I'm glad you're well. It'd be a shame if those eyes of yours closed for too long. They're too mesmerising to stay hidden beneath closed eyelids."

You blushed at his silver-tongued words and he noticed. He was more than pleased about that.

"If it's any consolation, I'm glad you were the first face I saw when I woke up. You've made being away from home a little bit easier to bear. Thank you for that."

Loki's smirk faded before he laughed to himself, prompting you to raise a brow.

"Oh, you find this amusing do you?" You reiterated back at him with a hint of sarcasm.

"Not in the slightest," he reassured you before he turned to leave.

"Where are you going?"

"To speak with my father," Loki revealed. "It seems my mother was right about something."

When your eyes had finally course-corrected and your body no longer felt worn out from long hours of sleep, you hopped out of bed and changed into the gown and shoes that were left on a stand.

 ~HEIMDALL

Heimall' eyes were closed shut, even though he stood upright guarding the bi-frost, he needed a rest from the endless watching. He couldn't always be the watchful sentinel. He was looking forward to the day ending so he could finally rest- and perhaps he would go check on his daughter.

Daughter, he repeated in his mind. Such a strange word.

The sound of light footsteps alerted him to another presence. Without moving or opening his eyes, he spoke welcomingly, "Not many can sneak up on me."

The footsteps faltered before continuing towards him, "I didn't know I had."

Heimdall recognised her voice instantly. It was his daughter. Suddenly his armour felt heavier and his mind begun to tunnel into a spiral. He held onto the hilt of his sword in an effort to stay present and fight the thrumming of shame in his chest. He had barely known her for long and somehow he managed to fail her twice.

"Shouldn't you be resting?" his voice was strangled from the inside by hidden grief and worry, making his words to sound harsh. "From what I heard, you had quite the scare."

She gulped, hand bracing against her side. Heimdall regretted his tone.

"Curious mind, I suppose."

Heimdall opened his eyes, his brow's refusing to loosen from their knot.

"Curiosity, eh?" He cleared his throat so he wouldn't sound as forceful as before, "That sounds like the influence of a certain god of mischief I know."

She hummed in amusement, a slight blush dusting her cheeks. The thought of someone as conniving as Loki getting close enough to his daughter to elicit such a reaction from her just by mentioning him made Heimdall's blood boil.

There you go again with the daughter business, his mind chastised. Old fool, he reprimanded himself. You can't be the overprotective father if you were never her father in the first place.

"Is something the matter?" her sweet voice resembled Sigrid's at this pitch.

He could almost picture Sigrid in his mind. She had been young then, but he tried to add years to her mortal face. A few wrinkles, lines around her wisened eyes and stretch marks around her belly and mid-section from the pregnancy. Greying hairs impeding upon lively streaks of silken hair.

No matter how hard he tried, her aged face would always become unfamiliar to him, reverting back to the last memory he had of her. A memory of Sigrid being young and beautiful and defiant.

"Yes," Heimdall replied earnestly. "It's about you."

Heimdall turned to look his daughter in the eye, she looked back at him with the openness of a stranger. It pained his heart to know she was physically so close and yet...

"Me?" She asked.

"I-" Heimdall tried to call forth any reserves of strength he had left. "I wanted to tell you…"

His head slowly craned to glance at his hands straining against the hilt of his sword like his life depended on it.

Heimdall gave in, sighing deeply, the sting of cowardice pushing against his stomach, "I wanted to tell you how sorry I am. I wanted to apologize for… for not being able to stop them."

She looked at him oddly, at that angle he could see the gold of his own eyes form a ring around her irises. Apart from that ring, her eyes were just like her mother's.

He ground his teeth as he blinked hard and slow, "It is my duty to watch over Midgard, to protect its people and see the danger before it--"

Heimdall trailed off when he felt his daughter's hand on his shoulder. It wasn't as heavy as Odin's sympathetic touch. It felt almost uplifting. He could feel a fraction of the weight lift from his body. The muscles in his face relaxed as he looked at her with gratitude. He felt his mouth go dry as his tear ducts began to accumulate water.

"I don't blame you," she said with a weak smile.

"You should."

She looked at him with misguide sympathy, "You shouldn't blame yourself."

"I… Thank you."

Her hand dropped away and the weight returned, drying out the tears that would have been. Heimdall inhaled deeply but noticed his grip on his sword wasn't as strong as before.

"Sif told me you fought bravely. She said you killed the frost giant that..." He couldn't bear to say the next words.

"It's strange," she began. "I have wanted nothing more than to return to a time when my life wasn't nothing more than bursts of anger and loss and pain- to a time when my life was simpler. And today, when I woke up, I realised I no longer felt angry…  I thought getting vengeance would make the world make sense again, but..."

"Instead it left you feeling worse than you were?"

"Yes. It was like this great big absence of feeling. You speak as though you know of what I mean. Have you lost people too?"

Heimdall let go of his sword, one hand secretly holding onto the lock of hair in his pocket, "We all lose people… with time."

"I suppose… but time isn't what destroyed my village."

Heimdall shut his eyes through another deep breath.  

She looked out to the stars, "You know, from this spot, the universe seems a little bit less darker."

Heimdall memorised the curve of Y/N's nose and each freckle and spot, "One could almost say it's beautiful."

"My mother loved the stars. They brought her comfort during trying times." She chuckled before turning to face him completely, "It's only occurred to me that we haven't been properly introduced. My name is Y/N by the way."

Sigrid named her well, he thought approvingly.

A smile crept over his face, "A pleasure, Y/N."

Y/N headed out after a low curtsey.

Heimdall called out, "Y/N."

She turned slowly, "Yes?"

Heimdall noticed how surreal it felt to say her name.

"For whatever weight this holds, I'm glad you survived. I'm glad you're here."

She smiled and Heimdall pictured Sigrid smiling beside her too.

 ~ODIN

Odin had convened a council in his war room to strategize. Hours had passed and nothing close to a verdict of agreed-upon action had been reached.

"If what we saw on Niflheim is any indication of the limitations of this mortal’s ability, we should all be a little more cautious around her," Fandral pitched.

"She isn't as dangerous as you all believe," Sif chimed in. "After everything she's been through, it's impressive she hasn't lost control before."

"I don't know about you, but I've never encountered a witch with such unparalleled abilities before," Hogun said, his chin resting on his fist held up from the elbow.

"She needs guidance," Frigga was next to speak. "Control isn't an easy thing to master."

"Can someone that powerful be controlled?" Volstagg posited.

Frigga exchanged a look of secrecy with Odin before saying, "It isn't unheard of."

"Forget the witch," Thor burst out. "We need to focus our efforts on the frost giants."

Sif and the Warrior's Three collectively heaved sighs.

"This again," Fandral shook his head. "What happened on Midgard was a tragedy, but sometimes there are no logical explanations. Don't use this as an excuse to feed your lust for battle."

"They were the ones who drew first blood! I don't understand why we don't just go to Jotenheim and quash this rebellion before it grows!" Thor's fist pounded on the round table.

"Rebellion? The frost giants are rebelling?" Volstagg kicked his chair from under him when he stood abruptly. "If what Thor says is true, we can't risk waiting until this escalates in a war!"

"The only ones speaking of war here are the two of you!" Sif's tone was serious.

Odin banged his stave, demanding silence.

"Do you want to know why I ordered you to tail those spies?" Odin eyed Thor. "It was because I needed to know who sent them. The group that attacked the village in Trønsberg was small, elite and savage. Why? If this was an act of aggression or a proclamation of war, why send such a small party? Why not an army? Why go after an entire people when it could simply be the actions of a renegade few?"

The room grew quiet, troubled glances shared from one person to the next.

"For once," Loki's voice emanated from a hidden corner, his body teleporting close to the table. "I agree with Thor."

"What?" Sif and Frigga said in surprise.

Loki smirked, "I believe we should put more efforts into understanding why the Jotuns attacked Y/N's village, not just tracking the whereabouts of the giants who were responsible for the carnage." Thor's chest puffed up when he heard Loki's declaration, rarely did the two brothers see eye to eye. Loki, noticing Thor's shift in stance, held up a finger. "But I don't think we'll get the answers by attacking them. I believe the reason is linked to Y/N's power and why Heimdall is blinded to her presence."

Thor's stance returned to its intimidating default.

"Have you figured out why that is?" Hogun asked.

Loki materialised an old, yellow paged book into his hands. "I may have an inkling..." he looked up at Odin's eye in pride.

Odin banged his stave twice, "Leave us."

The room grew tense before people filed out begrudgingly one after the other.

Once alone, Loki used his magic to flip the pages to a drawing of the Ægishjalmar.

"The Helm of Awe," Loki pointed. "You gifted this symbol to humans as a form of protection, but it's more than that isn't it?"

Odin stared wordlessly as he watched his son gleefully prance about.

"It's a spell of concealment. It protects everything and anything from the prying eyes of a certain watchful someone. And if I'm not mistaken, it probably conceals the presence of magic from those skilled in rooting out sources of power, like sages and seers and… gods."

Loki pulled up a chair and sat with crossed legs, his presentation of knowledge far from over.

"So then I thought to myself, why would a simple earth witch and her daughter be the only ones to bear the symbol and not the entire village?"

The book thumped onto the tale as the pages skittered to a new page, this time it had a portrait of several women, crushed blue chalk colouring in their eyes. Two words signed at the bottom: Himmel Kvinner.

Loki continued, "Because they aren't witches at all. They're guardians, humans with a sacred duty given unto them by you. A duty that began as a mistake because their power isn't natural at all." Loki was savouring each moment of being the man with all the powerhouse cards in the deck. The pages flipped yet again to a sketch of a box with the same eight pronged symbol carved into it.

"Their powers are garnered from the residual effect of living close to this-" his finger fell onto the drawing. "An ancient power source that went missing after the war with the Jotun's over two hundred years ago. That's why the giants attacked, isn't it? They were looking for whatever is in this box."

Odin set his stave aside, arms folding behind his straightened spine, "And I suppose you're going to tell me how a Jotun sage detected this magical power source while the mark was still active?"

Loki held up a finger about to explain when Odin's words sunk in and he realised he hadn't accounted for that particular loophole, "I- I haven't figured that out yet."

"You should leave this be, son." Odin turned to look at Loki, a sincere look that was almost mournful took over his weary face. "Knowledge, for all its promise, is only a noble pursuit when it doesn't affect the one seeking it out. If you continue down this path, all you will find is dissonance."

Inching further in his seat, Loki stared at his father in defiance, "What are you so afraid of, Father? Why won’t you just tell us all why the giants massacred that village? Why Y/N survived a frost blade? Why Heimdall's brooding disposition has only worsened since?"

"Sins of the father," Odin replied.

Raising his nose in the air, Loki asked the right question, "Whose father?"

Odin smiled thinly before changing the subject, "From what disturbing news Thor told me of this human's powers, I am inclined to believe your training has done nothing to tame her spirit. She's dangerous. And yet, despite my efforts, your mother has talked me into letting you continue her training. As long as she stays under my roof, you may continue with her training."

The dark prince's scowl dropped, a tweak working against his cheek muscles. Loki was pleased by this.

"I assume you have better things to do than sit and gloat in front of your father?"

Loki shook his expression away, standing from his chair, "I'm sure I can find something to bide my time." He picked up the book.

"Loki… I know you have a knack for going against what I tell you, but please son, for your sake, let this be. You'll be happier for it in the long run, I'll handle the girl and the frost giants."

Without saying a word, Odin felt Loki's presence leave him as a green shimmer glowed atop the white pillars in his peripheral.  

 ~A Few Days Later

You dodged several of Loki's attacks, using your magic defensively rather than offensively.

You were still weakened from you battle on Niflheim, your power nowhere near where it used to be.

When Loki charged at you and you held your hand out to push him away telekinetically, the body rippled away into a thousand pieces of glowing green flakes.

"You and your tricks."

Suddenly a leg swept under you, sending your body falling backwards. You motioned to counter-attack and sweep Loki's legs too, but he simply gripped onto your locked legs and heaved. Soon the two of you rolled through the grass, Loki's lips curling upwards when he had you pinned to the ground. Arms held down by his, magic twining and tingling around your wrists.

He leaned close, his breath so close. Your heart did that thing again and you found it increasingly hard to swallow or move.

"I told you your victory wouldn't last..." his voice was seductively ominous.

The flush returned to your cheeks as you became aware of how dry your lips felt. You licked them slowly and his pupils dilated at the simple gesture. Hunger present in his face, his grip tightening on your wrists as he leaned further in, his scent intoxicating.

Heat flooded your system and you were a finding it hard to concentrate on anything but the distance between his lips and yours.

You could feel the muscles in his thighs contracting around your hips and then...

"Brother, there you are!" Thor bellowed out as he stalked over.

Loki rolled his eyes, as was the usual response he gave to Thor's presence, his head falling away from your face. Somehow, you felt deprived.

You let out a shaky breath when Loki released his grip from you, mumbling an annoyed, "Why?" to himself.

Loki helped you off the ground and looked up at his tall brother with a hooked brow.

"Thor," he greeted coldly. "What can I do for you?"

"I was looking for Y/N."

"You were?" You sounded baffled.

Loki's jaw set and his eyes narrowed, "Why?"

"Sif has a surprise for you," Thor smiled at you charmingly.

"Oh?" You emoted with surprise.

Chapter Six

Tags: @mejohanssonwrites @tarynkauai @wanderlust-travler @ladybugsfanfics @electroma89 @texmexdarling @fire-in-her-veinz @whosaidididthat  

Permatags: @gruffle1 @thechickvic @notawarriorjustyet @savethehoneeybees  

#loki #loki laufeyson imagine #loki odinson imagine #loki x reader #loki imagine #Himmeløyne fic #magic mcu #thor #odin #sif #heimdall #warriors three #marvel imagine #loki x you

[sylphidine]

[ROTG] Missed It By That Much, Part One

The start of a new BenneFrost piece for @nose-nippin-fun.

Edited to add:  Set in the same ‘verse/timeline as “Realize”.

A hat tip to Professor Robert Garland and The Great Courses.

==============================

The living room was dark except for the flickering light of the television.  This was becoming a familiar scene to Jack Frost, as he hung upside down outside the French doors and made faces at the odd pair inside.

Lying on his back on the floor, with his feet propped up on a hassock, was his thoroughly exasperating and utterly adorable boyfriend Jamie Bennett.  Exasperating because of how far he could carry his enthusiasms; adorable for precisely the same reason.

Perched atop the back of the sofa and hunched forward, long legs draped over cushions, looking like a cross between an irritable bespectacled raven and an irked gargoyle with goggles, was Pitch Black, sometimes frenemy to Jack and the other Guardians, always pain in the ass as the Boogeyman.  The half-moon glasses were a recent affectation, at least in Jack’s experience, but he had to admit that a spirit as old as Pitch probably went through as many fashion cycles as David Bowie.

Neither Jamie and Pitch turned to the sound of Jack lightly tapping on the glass. Without even a glance, Pitch shot out a shadow-tendril to open the door, while Jamie hit “pause” on the DVD remote.

A nagging jealous thought went through Jack’s mind.  You’d think those two were the old marrieds, instead of Jamie and me.

He was reassured by Jamie opening up his arms for a cuddle, although his boyfriend didn’t move from his prone position.  Jack flew over, staff dropping to the floor, and divebombed in to snuggle on Jamie’s chest, heedless of what Pitch might think.

The Boogeyman had the grace not to make a verbal stink over the delay in his televisual treat, but Jack caught a glimpse of those spatula feet of Pitch’s waggling restlessly on the sofa cushions, for all the world like a person impatiently waiting for a bus. The frost spirit laughed and said, “Okay, guys, you can turn your research show back on now.”   Jamie pressed a kiss into Jack’s hair and tightened his arms around him, then untangled one hand to hit “play”.

The voice on the DVD resumed, “Try to picture yourself as a Neanderthal, living in conditions of perpetual and extreme deprivation. You’re stalked by death in multiple forms every single day of your life, fearful not only of animals but also of every human being outside your own limited circle.  You’re entirely exposed to the elements.  You lack most creature comforts.  You understand virtually nothing about the natural world. Your life is dominated by the environment and by the climate. You experience prolonged, perhaps agonizing pain at times, which you can do nothing, absolutely nothing to relieve.  You live life very close to the bone on more ways than one… “

Talking over the onscreen professor, Jamie snarked, “Some of us still do, pal.  But we achieved a lot when we put our minds to it, even back then.  Look at the cave drawings in France and Spain!”

Pitch gave a savage, sarcastic bark of laughter.  “Your lot needed to have minds first, not just instincts, and your minds took their own sweet time in developing… a goodly slew of millennia.  Finally being able to live IMAGINATIVELY in both the past and the future is what caught my interest in you apes.  And once you cottoned on to structuring your language and expressing yourself in art, well, well…”

The two of them went on arguing about anthropology and human development over Jack’s head while the DVD continued to play, and Jack tried to ignore his sinking heart.  This had been his idea in the first place…

#rotg fanfiction #sylph writes #bennefrost #jack frost #jamie bennett #pitch black #nosenippinfun

[2dsheep]

A Long Way From Home

The sound of a drip hitting the kitchen tiles snatches Levi’s attention from his task. His eyes snap to the floor, scanning for the culprit.  He stands from his seat at the kitchen table and places his boots back on the shelf by the back door. While twisting the lid of the polish shut, he hears another drip. It is a small kitchen, an easy decision he made while building this small house; small means easier to clean after all, so it shouldn’t take long to discover the source of the leak.

It has been raining for days now, and today it falls particularly heavy.  Even so, in the four years he has been here, the house has coped with storms that have wrenched other buildings to the ground. It irks him that this has happened. He pads around the kitchen, the tiles cool even through his two pairs of socks, but not as cold as the drop of water that falls on his neck, sliding beneath his collar. With a curse he wipes it away with his hand and looks up to see on the ceiling just above him a damp spot forming. There must be a hole in the roof through which water is coming in. Levi sighs, grabs a bowl from the cupboard and, after mopping up the small splash of water with a cloth, places it on the ground, ready to catch any more unwelcome drips. Until the rain stops there isn’t much more he can do, apart from hope that the hole isn’t too big or that water isn’t building up, waiting to fall in on him.

The smell of polish still lingers in the air and he wonders whether he should return to what he was doing, even though those boots haven’t been worn in months and he has no plans to do so any time soon. But it had given him something to do, something he more than welcomed. Continuous days of rain interfere with his plans, interrupting scheduled chores, making him feel more restless with each passing hour.

In times like these, Levi finds that a cup of tea can only ever be a good thing.

He throws another log onto the fire, making a note to chop some more the first dry day that comes, washes his hands with a lavender soap he discovered at the market a few weeks back, and fills a pot to boil.

It is a different life he leads now. Some may consider it a boring existence if compared to the days of supposed feats of glory which were in reality anything but. Life as the man with the strength of a thousand, one of the soldiers who brought about the end of the Titans and released humanity from their stony prison, seems but a distant dream, an echo in the back of Levi’s thoughts as he goes about his days in his little house.

Levi tells himself that this life he has built, the never changing routine that weaves his mornings and nights together seamlessly, is something that he would never trade, purged of any desire for even a taste of his time in the Survey Corps. But every now and again, more often than he’d ever admit, a certain shade of blue appears as clear as day in his memories, and this peace seems just a little less golden.

Chasing away his thoughts with a long sigh, he takes a cup from the cupboard and holds it in his hands, perusing the tins of tea lining the top shelf. A knock on the door has him tense, the cup creaking beneath his fingertips. Was he hearing things? That can’t have been the door, surely. Levi can count on one hand the number of times that door has been knocked on. But knocking sounds again, harder this time. He places his cup down on the side, removes the still cold water from the fire, places the fireguard in front of the burning hearth and treads towards the door, taking a quick look at his drawers as he considers pulling out a knife. A world away from his younger years in the underground, they are used for nothing more than slicing vegetables or slabs of meat, but he is still wholly confident in his skill to apply one for self-defence. He decides not to, knowing he could take out anyone wishing to cause trouble with only his bare hands.

Stepping into the hall, he bristles. This autumn has been unexpectedly cool, the first touches of winter descending weeks earlier than usual. Levi opens the door just as a fist strikes it once more.

A gust of wind throws a small spray of rain at him, but Levi can’t bring himself to react, nor move himself backwards from the entrance to avoid it. He stands still, eyes wide, an iron grip on the door handle. In only a few seconds his knuckles begin to throb, but it is nothing to the ache that torments his chest like an old wound.

“Levi. Oh, thank the Walls this is the right place.”

“Erwin?”

It is only a short pause, but for Levi it seems the world around him comes to a stop, as if for a few fragile seconds nothing else exists but the two of them. He can count the inches between their bodies, yet they stand a world apart either side of the door frame.

“I’m sorry to turn up all of a sudden,” Erwin says, a raindrop running from the tip of his nose, “But I received your letter.”

Always so patient, Erwin simply waits as Levi continues to stare, at a complete loss for words. He can’t think of another time in his life when he has been so unsure of how to react. It’s a rumble of thunder in the distance that snaps his attention back to the here and now, realising that Erwin is soaked through and shivering.

“Shit. Erwin, come in,” Levi blurts, grabbing the man by the front of his coat and dragging him through the door, “You’ll catch your death of cold.

And don’t even think about walking through my house like that!” Levi snaps, hurrying to stop Erwin from moving too far forward, “Take your clothes off there and leave them by the door. I’ll go run a bath or something.”

“It’s good to see you, Levi.”

The words serve as an embrace that halts Levi in his steps. It hasn’t sunk in yet, or rather he refuses to allow himself to fully acknowledge Erwin’s presence. It isn’t as if he was sure he’d never see the man again, at least it wasn’t so at first, but as the months turned to years it became easier to believe. Hope is a flame that is quick to dim when there is nothing with which to keep it burning. This is just all too sudden.

“I’ll get you something to dry yourself with,” he says instead, not turning round. It has never been this awkward between them, and never has Levi felt as if he walks across glass at breaking point. “You got any dry clothes with you?”

Erwin says nothing for some seconds and Levi wonders if he has noticed the frayed threads between them. He doubts that he doesn’t, Erwin has always been so good at reading the air, reading him.  

“I don’t think anything in this bag of mine will ever be dry again,” he finally replies, tacking on a small smile at the end.

“I’ll figure something out. Just…give me a minute. I’ll get that bath running.”

Once in the bathroom Levi wants to allow himself time to mull this all over in his head, plan what he should do, what he should say, but he can hardly waste time thinking; Erwin is stood in his hall white as a sheet and drenched. He turns the tap, leaves the warm water running, and grabs several towels from the shelf. He leaves his favourite just in case he can heat enough water again to have his own bath later.  

He rushes back to the hall to discover that Erwin’s teeth are now chattering, his breaths heavy as he tries to battle against the cold air.

“Your underwear too,” Levi commands, holding the towels away from Erwin’s reach. “Come on,” he continues, ignoring the quick flash of surprise on his face, “It’s nothing I haven’t seen before and I’m not letting you get my armchair wet.”

Erwin does as he is told, and Levi rewards him by handing him a towel. As Erwin leans down to dry his feet, Levi throws a smaller tower on his head and scrubs at his hair. Erwin doesn’t protest, and Levi thinks that he spends more time than needed to dry his legs.

Once satisfied, Levi grabs Erwin by his wrist and pulls him into the kitchen. Erwin is pliant as he allows Levi to sit him in the armchair in front of the fire, his face softening with a small grin as Levi throws a blanket over him. A wave of heat rolls over them both as Levi removes the fireguard, and Erwin inches closer, a pleased hum sounding along his lips.

“I apologise for imposing.”

“Just try to get warm, or you’ll get sick.”

Erwin doesn’t say anything, just offers a small nod and leans closer to the fire, for which Levi is grateful.

“I’ll check if the bath is ready.”

He leaves the room, feeling Erwin’s eyes on him as he closes the door.

The air of the bathroom is already warm and humid, steam furling against the windows, painting them in warm frost. He leaves the door ajar to allow the thick heat to escape somewhat and runs his hands through the bathwater, soapy bubbles swirling in the current.

The level of the water is only half of what Levi would usually fill the tub to, but he decides that getting Erwin warmed right away is more important. He calls his name and twists the tap shut.

It is a sight the like of which he has never seen, Erwin walking down the hall, the thick blanket wrapped around his shoulders as he clutches it to his chest, the ends of it dragging across the floor. Levi has to tut to stop himself from smiling, has to turn away to stop that deep ache from painting his misery clear on his face.

Muttering a small scolding about dirtying the ends, though he doesn’t all mean it, Levi takes the blanket from Erwin and leaves him to get into the water. The tub isn’t big enough for him at all, forcing him to bend his knees awkwardly, but Erwin’s face only speaks of sheer bliss.

“You have a water heating system?” He asks before Levi has a chance to leave.

“Do you really think I’d settle for anything less after hearing about them?”

Erwin lets out a soft chuckle, and oh how many years it has been since Levi has heard anything like it. It is like a pool of water after days of trekking an unforgiving desert. He savours the sound.

Levi grabs a spare towel, considers for a moment and then swaps it for the largest towel he owns, his favourite, and places it on the stool beside the tub.

“Take as long as you need,” he says and steps out, closing the door behind him.

While Erwin soaks in the bath, Levi gathers his belongings, wrings his clothes out over the sink and hangs them about the kitchen. Fortunately, apart from the stone tiles beneath his feet, this room is relatively easy to keep warm. Much of the winter is spent in here, still as able to sleep in an armchair as he was for all those years in the Survey Corps. He works automatically, counting his steps as he moves about, checking a list under his breath until he can think of something else to do, something to occupy him in this time that dwindles like an awkward pause.

The bag Erwin had been carrying still drips water but Levi is hesitant to open it, unwilling to breach his privacy, no matter how unfamiliar a concept it once was with the two of them. He places it in the sink, soaked as it is, leaving for Erwin to see to it later.

Levi notices the forgotten pot of water and decides to return it to the fire, the tea now more necessary than ever, though he almost wishes he kept something stronger in the house. Just as he reaches to pick it up however, Erwin shuffles through the door muttering about the cold air outside the warm tub. Levi turns to answer but stops, his eyebrows raising as he looks at the man. With an almost sheepish expression on his face, Erwin holds the towel in front of him, covering what he can of himself.

“Even after all this time,” he starts, with a light chuckle, “The skill of wrapping a towel around me with only one hand still eludes me.”

The years have changed him. Levi doesn’t recall Erwin so free with humour, smiles forming so easily on his face. Now that he has warmed up, Levi can see that his skin is more sun-kissed than he remembers and the blues of his eyes are the brightest he has ever seen them. His body has lost the sharp definition sculpted through strict daily training, but he is still toned, an obvious strength in his broad shoulders and thick thighs. A water droplet rolls down the side of his throat, and Levi can only hope that Erwin doesn’t notice his eyes following it as it makes its way down his chest and perhaps further. The pleasing twist in his gut brings back certain memories, and it is only the strength of practice and shame that has him turn away and blanch his thoughts.

“It doesn’t matter. If you’re dry sit on the armchair and wrap the blanket around yourself and-”

“-You have a leak.”

Levi follows Erwin’s gaze to the bowl on the floor, rainwater now mostly covering the bottom. If the weather doesn’t let up, there is no doubt that he will have to empty the bowl before the evening is over.

“Yeah, I noticed it a few minutes before you turned up. That’ll have to do until this rain stops.”

“It’s a lovely house, Levi. Did you build it yourself?”

“I did, with a bit of help, obviously. I had no experience in building houses.”

“It’s utterly charming.” Erwin looks about the small room as if stood instead in a palace of wonders, calm fascination on his face, “I think it suits you.”

The way he says it, Levi knows he means it entirely as a compliment, and he says it with every ounce of truth. Erwin was gifted with a golden tongue, honey-soaked words glide from it delivering undeserved flatteries and praise, an art he refined over his years as Commander. It is something he has never used with Levi, and it seems he isn’t starting now. Levi can read him well enough to know when he is lying.

Levi supposes he should offer a word of thanks. Instead he nods, and he knows that Erwin understands.

“Your clothes probably won’t dry before the end of the night. I’ll see if I have something that’ll fit you.

“Go sit by the fire and dry yourself,” Levi adds, sounding more like a scold than intended, but Erwin simply smiles and does what he is told.

It takes Levi only five minutes or so to rummage through his drawers and pull out the only two items of clothing that have a chance of fitting Erwin: A knitted jumper gifted from an older lady in town from whom Levi purchases his tea, never worn as it swamps him, reaching almost his knees, and a pair of trousers which, as they are now, are unlikely to fit, but if Levi snips and removes the elastic there may be a chance they will go round Erwin’s hips. He also grabs the largest, thickest, pair of socks he owns before heading back to the kitchen.

In the time that Levi was in his bedroom, Erwin seems to have emptied his rucksack, evident of all the extra clothes hanging from the rack by the fireplace.

“I thought I told you to stay by the fire,” Levi chides, dumping the clothes on Erwin’s lap.

“Well, yes. But I thought it best to have them drying as soon as possible.”

Erwin dresses, and though neither the jumper nor trousers are a perfect fit, riding just a little too short, it is better than nothing. Without a word from either of them, Levi ties a knot in the empty sleeve.

“What’s that?” Levi says, nodding his head to a small bag at Erwin’s feet.

“The one thing in my bag that I did manage to keep dry,” he answers, reaching down and picking it up from the floor. The bag, made with a waxy material no doubt designed for keeping water out, is held shut with two clasps.

Levi finds himself wishing he had another armchair as he stands awkwardly waiting for Erwin to reveal the bag’s contents. He considers pulling over a chair from the dining table but Erwin is already holding something out for him. Levi takes it.

“What’s this?”

It’s a small tin, an intricate pattern of soft blues and deep greens detailing it. As it catches the light of the fire, Levi sees there are small flecks of gold paint glistening atop the design. It is beautiful. Throwing a quick look at Erwin as if seeking permission, he lifts the lid from the tin and takes a deep inhale. The sweet, earthy aroma wraps around his senses and he almost feels intoxicated, a pleasing rush swirling in his head as he chases a floral fragrance he doesn’t recognise. Inside the tin delicate blue petals lay among smoky black leaves which twist and curl, tipped with gold.

“You didn’t have to bring me anything.”

“No, but I wanted to. I’m just relieved I managed to spare it from that downpour.”

“You couldn’t have picked a worse time to come. It hasn’t rained this bad since I came here.”

“And how long have you been here?”

Levi walks to the kitchen side, swaps the tea tin for the pot of water and returns to hang it above the fire. Erwin doesn’t insist for an answer, of course. He would keep waiting, even if it never came.

“I left the barracks the day after you did. When I read your note -”

Even to this day, Levi remembers how the paper sat upon the bedside table, a piece of parchment he recognised from Erwin’s own desk, folded in half but curling open, as if desperate to be read. If only he hadn’t given in, left the note where it lay and forgotten about it, he could have then imagined any number of scenarios, a different, easier reason as to why he woke to the other side of the bed empty and cold.

“Well, there was nothing left for me there,” he says with a shrug of his shoulders. “Not in those barracks, not in that city. Within a month or two I found myself here.”

As Levi talks he moves a chair from the table, places it across from the armchair and sits himself down, all the while refusing to look at Erwin. Even so, he can feel the guilt Erwin wears on his face, almost as palpable as the warmth from the fire to his left.  

“I shouldn’t have left the way I did. And as for what I wrote-“

“-Erwin-”

“-I’ve never thought it a mistake. Not for a second-”

“-Erwin, please.”

And just like that they both still, eyes falling down, away, anywhere but at each other. The burning of the fire swallows the silence, flames licking at what is left of the log, crisping it black. Sitting together, just the two of them, should be such a familiar scene, but instead it feels like a memory, a favoured moment in time, cloaked in a mirky smog, tarnishing it unrecognisable.

Minutes pass, the howl of wind and rain a symphony in the silence until Erwin sits up a little straighter, a small cough in his throat as if he wishes to interrupt. It hints of a vulnerability, a rare sight which Levi has never took pleasure in witnessing.

Erwin still has the bag in his lap, his fingers fiddling with the open clasp. Levi has the feeling there is still something in that bag, and he is desperate to not find out.

“Like I said at the door,” Erwin finally says, purpose and resolution in each syllable, “I received your letter.”

Before he can even think to respond, Erwin has opened the bag and taken something from it, holding it up for Levi to see.

It is a letter, undeniably the one he sent several years ago. He recognises the sandy envelope, the crease in the corner evidence of his last minute hesitation. He remembers the tightness of his fingers as the letter left his grasp, and how it had felt as if he’d handed over a part of himself as well as those papers. He doesn’t take the letter from Erwin’s hands.

“I sent that more than two years ago.”

“Believe me, had I received this two years ago I would have been here much sooner,” Erwin replies, a pained smile on his lips as if speaking a cruel joke, one he didn’t wish to tell.

“It was a long time ago, Erwin.” Levi says, standing up from the chair, “I don’t want to talk-”

“You wrote that you missed me.”

Levi stops and sighs in exasperation, arms crossed against his chest, “You never did listen did you?”

“I’ve always listened to what you had to say”.

“Yeah, but you’re a stubborn fool and you don’t do as I say.”

Everything between them, the looks, the words, the air they share is becoming more familiar, little by little. Levi feels it igniting a sense of nostalgia, like a scent long since forgotten. It terrifies him.

“I’ve missed you too, Levi.”

The ease in which he admits so comes as a surprise to Levi. He has heard this man express a countless number of sentiments to a countless number of people, and Levi had come to recognise the majority as mere platitudes, golden-plated words on false threads only to serve everyone or no-one. But never has he heard something so simple yet so raw, so clearly from a place of truth, yet spoken as if an undeniable fact.

He watches and he waits, as if there is something more to come because he feels there has to be. When all that he receives is a gentle look, there is nothing more he can do other than look away.

“I’ll make us that tea now.”

Turning away from the warmth of the fire, Levi selects another cup from his cupboard and places it beside the one he’d taken out for himself earlier. It feels like days have passed since he tried to make himself that cup of tea. His only clock sits in another room and with the sun setting in the late afternoon it is difficult to navigate the hours. The pot over the fire is simmering, very close to boiling point, and Erwin’s eyes follow him as he wraps a cloth around the handle and moves it away from the heat.

The whole time that Levi spends making the tea, Erwin doesn’t say a word. Levi would think him asleep if it weren’t for the tell-tale tapping of his forefinger against the arm of the chair. He is clearly thinking, analysing, torturing himself in his mind in ways that Levi regrettably knows all too well. His hand stills as Levi comes back to where they sit, giving thanks as he receives the cup of hot tea. Erwin’s eyes fix on his, the look intent, as if attempting to peer at his very soul, a habit that no longer troubles Levi. It is clear that he wants to speak, but he remains quiet, waiting for Levi to choose where they go from here.

Levi chooses for now to not say anything, instead blowing cool air into his tea and taking a small sip. It has a very smooth, almost silky, texture, the taste light and refreshing, with a delicate honey-like sweetness. It is absolutely wonderful. He wants to say so, but Erwin is sat still, as if the fragility between them is bone china, and he fears breaking it.

“Erwin, it doesn’t matter anymore.”

Without Erwin saying so, Levi can see he doesn’t think the same, and more disturbingly, it is clear that he knows it is the same for Levi.

“Levi, that night we spent together-”

“-Erwin-”

“-I thought about it. Often. And I thought about you even more so.”

Levi doesn’t know quite what he feels when he hears that. He realises it may be guilt when he feels the need to turn his eyes away. He can’t deny that he is surprised to hear Erwin say that, especially when Levi has done all that he could to put any significant memories of the two of them behind him, striving to banish that night in particular to the back of his mind, swatting away at it as if it were an angered hornet, feverish in its attempts to get at him, to puncture his flesh. Levi has fought with unbounded determination to avoid that sting.

“But it took getting that letter for you to come find me.”

Levi doesn’t know why he says it, but there are a lot of feelings he has spent years ignoring, tucked away under false contentment, all of a sudden eager to break through, and in times like these, pushing away at the oncoming tide is the best defence he has against drowning.

The look in Erwin’s eyes when he says that, however, makes him wish he’d held his breath just a little longer. His own guilt is tasteless, but to see Erwin wear his own, Levi feels his spoken words rotting atop his tongue.

“Despite what many think,” Erwin says lifting his eyes from the floor to look at him directly, “I’m not a brave man, Levi. It was cowardly to have left the way I did. I was terribly selfish. And for that, I apologise.”

“There’s nothing to apologise for, Erwin.”

“I could say sorry over and over until the day I die, and I still wouldn’t have apologised enough.”

He’s as stubborn as ever. It is a quality of his that Levi had both loved and despised, but he feels a slight relief that it seems as much a part of his character as ever. It appears that, no matter the years that pass, some things simply don’t change. He hadn’t realised how much he longed for a touch of familiarity.

“Well don’t go doing that,” Levi scoffs, “That would just be a quick way of getting a kick in the shins.”

Erwin doesn’t react, and Levi can read him as clear as he ever could, which isn’t to say that he could do it perfectly, but he knows him enough to know that Erwin isn’t finished.

“I’ve spent these last few years thinking I’d used you, taken advantage of your loyalty. And then I received your letter.

“I can’t tell you the relief I felt,” Erwin says with a small smile, though it twists downwards, losing any of its light as he grasps the blanket so tight Levi hears the fabric creak, “Nor the regret.”

All the years I have wasted, asking myself over and over ‘what if’. I have to know, Levi, what you wrote in this letter, did you mean it?”

“Erwin-”

“Levi, please.”

“Of course I meant it.” He takes a breath. “Every word.”

“And now?”

Levi doesn’t need to consider for even a moment to know that what he wrote was truthful then, and still is now. He has missed Erwin, and in a way he still misses him. Misses him for the years spent apart, and misses him for the space this time has put between them. Putting it in writing all that time ago had been a challenge in itself, but Erwin seems insistent on hearing it from his lips, and Levi is sure he can feel his chest seizing. Words have never come easy to him, a craft he has never quite mastered, and he fears starting, lest he stumbles and is unable to ever get back up. But he looks over at Erwin and sees something he thinks he has never seen before; Erwin needs this. Erwin needs to hear Levi speak, as if he doesn’t fully believe the words he’d read.

“I’ve missed you, Erwin.” Levi admits, hands tight around his cup, palms stinging from the heat. “And, though I didn’t put it like this in the letter, I was devastated when you suddenly weren’t there. Whenever you’ve asked, I’ve followed without hesitation. Without question. Always. And always without any regret.

But when you left, you didn’t ask me to follow.”

The stare they hold is both fire and ice, and though it threatens to overwhelm him, Levi bears through it.

“I didn’t realise my leaving would have -”

“-What? You didn’t expect me to care?” Levi counters, his voice rising with each word.

Erwin starts and stops his sentence a few times before he replies, “I greatly misjudged the situation. I’d long imagined myself as your shackles, and I thought by my leaving, I was finally setting you free.”

It is almost painful, how sharply the realisation of the stupidity of it all strikes him, like a blunt object swinging into his gut. Levi feels like he could laugh, or perhaps even cry though he fails to remember the last time he did so. A drop of water splashing into the bowl has Levi imagining ripples skimming along the surface, a small something expanding and growing until it reaches the edge of its confines, its journey halted, constant movement without ever able to go beyond the border. Levi had only ever felt free with Erwin by his side. It was he who gave him wings, granted him purpose, the wind upon which he flew.

“You’re a damn idiot, Erwin,” Levi says, barely over his breath, “But so am I. I’d spent years thinking things over and over, and then even more years doing all I could to not think about it. About you. About us. But I never did anything. I was as cowardly as you.”

There is a small, delicate pause before Erwin hums, clicks his tongue and says, “It seems we have both made choices we have come to regret.”

“I definitely regretted sending that letter. The day I sent it, actually. I probably had a hundred reasons. I didn’t even know if it’d get to you. I thought maybe you no longer had the house.”

“No, I don’t think I will ever my able to part from my father’s house. Something I appreciate now. Even if years go by without me returning.”

“That’s the thing about home; it’s still yours no matter how much time passes.”

Erwin gives Levi a look of such fondness, that he almost feels stunned, but it fades, and Levi does his best to soften his own expression. One may even consider it gentle smile.

“Do you still regret writing to me?”

“Of course not. You’re here.”

For the first time since this unexpected evening began, the silence between them is comfortable, the looks they share mutual in their softness. Levi allows himself a moment to close his eyes, take a breath, and simply accept what he thinks he recognises as peace.

Levi drinks the last of his tea, long since cold but the taste is still pleasant, and places the empty cup atop the fireplace. Erwin then does the same; most likely he has been holding his for a while, simply waiting to see what Levi does with his, a thought which humours him.

The hours until the log gives off only a small beat of warmth are spent trading tales they have both managed to gather over the last few years. Erwin does most of the talking, which is strange but Levi welcomes it, surrendering himself to his fascination. When Levi talks, he feels that his time over the past few years is beige in comparison, but Erwin listens just as keenly, asking countless questions as if eager to paint each and every one of the days they had spent apart in vivid colour.

The conversation slows after some time and they both settle into an easy comfort. The storm that hits the windows may as well be a world away. As Levi leans forward to throw a fresh log onto the fire, he catches Erwin attempt to stifle a yawn. It must be the early hours of the morning and Levi doesn’t doubt that Erwin had quite the journey coming here.

“Well, I guess you’ll have to stay the night at least.”

“I’m so sorry, I’m just so tired,” Erwin admits as he finally surrenders to his need to yawn, all wide-mouthed and watery eyes.

“You can have my bed.”

“No, Levi, I couldn’t.”

“Don’t worry, it��s a shitty deal for you. It’s freezing in the bedroom; I spend most of winter sleeping on the armchair.”

By how Erwin scans the armchair on which he sits and how he looks back at Levi, it is clear that he disapproves, but he doesn’t say a thing, only nods. Levi stands and makes to move towards the bedroom to get it set up, but he stops himself. A nervousness runs riot in his chest, making his fingers tingle and his heart race, but he clenches his fists and turns back to look at Erwin.

“The rain might last a few more days.”

“Is that so?”

“And that leak in my roof, I could probably use some help.”

“I wouldn’t want you struggling by yourself.”

“I don’t know how long it’ll take.”

Erwin stands, his tiredness clear in the heaviness of his movements, the dragging of his steps as he walks towards Levi, but his eyes are so bright, so brilliant, that Levi can barely look at them.

“I’ll stay as long you’ll have me.”

Levi has to hold his breath to stop himself blurting something stupid, something he would mean entirely, but could never take back. Seconds pass and he wonders whether it would be all that disastrous to allow every thought of his to tumble free, but the air finally seems so still and calm, he daren’t disturb it.

“Come on, the bedroom’s this way.”

It takes less than a minute to show Erwin where everything is kept and where he can put his things, even though Levi tries to stretch it as much as possible. He can only hope that Erwin doesn’t notice, and trying to save himself from thinking too much on it, Levi says a goodnight and closes the bedroom door, fingertips lingering a little too long on the brass knob, cool to the touch.

When he returns to the kitchen the air is warmer than the hall, but not by much, the freshly placed log having not quite yet caught. Tomorrow he will light the fire in the living room, Levi decides, there being much easier to keep warm. Though there is still the problem of only one armchair in front of the fireplace. Levi has to stop his thoughts in his tracks when he starts considering rearranging his furniture and the layout of the rooms to accommodate Erwin. Surely, it’s still too early to think about that, if there will ever be a time to think about that. On that thought, tomorrow suddenly seems such a long time away.

The log eventually surrenders to the flames that curl around it, and Levi watches it glow and splinter from where he is curled on his chair. The water falls into the emptied bowl in an uneven beat, a senseless, out of time rhythm that Levi can’t make sense of, though he is drawn to focus on it. He is tired, exhaustion weighing heavily on his limbs but sleep seems to have abandoned him. In between the infuriating drips his thoughts drift to Erwin, and he can’t help but wonder if it was all a dream, but he can see the man’s clothes on the drying rack, the two cups on the fireplace that Levi was just too tired to put away. The room is nowhere near Levi’s usual standard, and he can only smirk and shake his head when he thinks of what effect Erwin can have on him.

Before he can stop himself, before he even realises what he is doing, Levi is up from the armchair and padding down the hall, feet ever so light against the floor. Every move is made with a determination that Levi doesn’t recognise but as he stops in front of the bedroom door and raises his fist, it seems to dissipate, gone in an instant as if it were never there. Crippling uncertainty trickles in to take its place.  

What is he doing? This isn't him. This isn't them. Does he never learn from his mistakes?

That last question has a sickening ball forming in his stomach. Does he really think what happened between them was a mistake? That question has been like a parasite born from that damned note, feeding on an ugly self-doubt, an idea that didn’t exist until his eyes fell onto those words so beautiful in their form, yet so cutting in their substance.

Or is the mistake the way he feels about Erwin, even after all this time? As he ponders some more, he comes to realise that the unpleasant churning is because he doesn't think any of it was a mistake at all, but it could become one, all too easily.

Levi uncurls his hand and rests his fingertips against the door with a gentleness he didn’t think he had. With a defeated sigh he withdraws his hand and takes a step back, ready to tread back down the hall to his armchair, but just as he starts to turn, the door in front of him opens, hinges creaking. Erwin is stood there with his hair mussed and dark shadows beneath his eyes, and Levi thinks he looks as beautiful as he always did.

“You’re awake,” Levi says, unsure himself whether it comes out as a question or an accusation.

“I haven’t had this much trouble sleeping in a long time.”

“Me neither.”

The air they breathe turns to mist, dancing as it swirls from their lips, and Levi wishes he were closer so he could watch it collide.

“Levi, it’s awfully cold tonight.”

It is cold. It is the kind of cold that that is usually reserved for the very depths of winter when the days are at their shortest, the sun barely peeking over the hills in the distance. Levi can feel icy pins prickling at his skin, a deep ache in his joints, but being this close to Erwin, there is a warmth he hasn’t felt in years.

“Won’t you join me?”

Again they stand either side of a doorway, but it is as if there were never any distance between them at all. For a time, which could be seconds or it could be hours, the world outside is muted, the air around them hangs still, and in the silence all of Levi’s fears lay to rest, a peace unlike any other found in tranquil blue.

There are no words shared between them as Levi passes through the doorway; they only seem meaningless in this moment. With only a touch of hesitation, Levi takes Erwin’s hand, warm despite the frosty air, and holds tight, unsure if he’ll ever be able to let go.

The rain seems to fall softer, a mere whisper as it rolls down the windows.

Without realising that he’d been so long without air, Levi forgets what it is to drown.

#fanfic #eruri #Erwin Smith #Levi Ackerman #SNK #Hey! It has been a super long time without me posting anything #I am sorry that the first thing I post is soooooo long but if you read it I am super happy #all the best to everyone who has ever read a fic of mine you are literally the best <3

[allofthisnonsenseplease]

Ficlet: Leave a Light Burning

slightly nsfw r76 post fall

There is a light in a window, dandelion yellow and nearly steady. Neither light bulb nor candle, it pulses faintly, broadcasting a message deep into the night-drowned city.

I'm here.

I'm hurt.

And, because the biotic field is the closest thing he has to a candle to place in a window to be a guide and a sign of welcome:

Truce.

The old soldier doesn't know if the message will be received, if his makeshift candle will light the way. It's more hope than anything, hope as weak and as pure as the glow of a single candle flame. It's the hope that carried his prayers years ago when duty bound him in his pressed dress blues while his heart went out into danger and death, carried by his second, his sword arm, his comrade, companion, and husband. Jack Morrison never slept in a darkened room when Gabriel Reyes was away. Always there was a candle burning, a flashlight left on, a guiding light to lead his love home. The path Gabriel had agreed to walk was a dark one. Jack wouldn't have darkness greet him on his return.

They've both taken a fall from grace. Wounded and exhausted, Soldier: 76 is feeling the loss of his heart, the gaping wound where it was torn out of him years ago. He's tired. Jack wants his husband, and a moment to breathe.

He doesn't believe he's going to get what he wants.

The yellow glow from the biotic field is the only light in the room, a bubble of light without warmth, a space of overclocked healing and all the pain of recovery condensed into a more temporary agony. Muscle fibers twitch sporadically as they knit slowly back together where bullets grazed him. It hurts like a sonovabitch, and he chokes off a cry of pain. His breath hisses in between gritted teeth. One hand is clenched around the ratty sheet covering the creaky twin bed he's sitting on. The other is clamped high up on his thigh, leaving bruises. The way his traitorous thoughts have been flocking to the past tonight, it's no surprise that he remembers a time when any bruises dappling his thighs had been left by Gabriel, sucked into his skin and dotted with the indents of teeth: marks made to drive him wild with wanting, marks created to claim him.

Those marks of passion, those love letters inscribed in his skin, had never lasted nearly long enough. The permanent markers, the messages that describe the life he's led, are the scars. His body is littered with them, with rough welts of thick, deadened flesh, with shiny, pink gouges. The SEP healing factor has kept him alive time and again by sealing wounds with an almost cancerous growth of scar tissue. He's learned over the years not to keep too still while he's healing for fear of losing mobility.

He slumps against the wall with a sigh and the feeling that he is getting old. Bottle it up and soldier on, he tells himself. There's still work to be done.

Across from him, the room's single window frames a view of the city as it stretches out below in constellations of artificial light and tangles of streets, power lines, antennas. He's looking without really seeing, which is why it takes a moment for him to notice the darkness clouding like frost around the lower edges of the window panes. It spreads, boiling upwards and blotting out the city behind a shifting veil of half-glimpsed forms writhing in its shadowy depths, blinking in and out, no more substantial than a nightmare upon waking. Jack watches, enthralled, as the darkness roils against the window. Then, nearly hidden by the yellow gleam reflecting on the glass, a shape starts to become clear, pale against the darkness it forms out of, all harsh lines and shadow, bone pale, birdlike. A skull.

He's so caught up staring into the empty sockets, wondering if he's only imagining the baleful pinpricks of red light burning in their depths, that the tap of a claw against the window takes him by surprise. The steel-tipped finger slides down, dragging a screech from the glass, and then fades away into the darkness. Jack's eyes had instinctively followed the movement, and when he looks back up, the mask is gone. The windowpanes creak ominously beneath the pressure bearing down on them. It's the only sound in the room for several long moments.

Then, in a voice both familiar and strange:

“Just like old times.”

Jack stares as the darkness shrouding the window billows into thick smoke which trickles in around the edges. This time, when darkness blots out the city, it's because Reaper stands fully formed before him inside the room, looking down on Jack and his wounds and the suddenly feeble-seeming light of the biotic field. Realizing too late how foolish he's been, Jack tenses, his grimace of pain hidden behind his mask. His hand creeps closer to the pulse rifle laying within arm's reach beside him.

“It never did fail to surprise me how someone as goddamn dramatic as you could run such a successful black ops division.”

“You hypocrite.” There's amusement in his voice, the suggestion of a laugh, and it's enough to give Jack pause. He doesn't think Reaper is here to kill him. “I saw what you did to that Los Muertos bunch and their base. And you have the nerve to call me dramatic.”

“I was sending a message.”

“Were you?”

There isn't much inflection in the question, but it's enough to recall the savageness of his attack, the sheer brutality of it, the fact that he'd willingly let himself fall into that red-tinged world where coming out on top was all that mattered and inflicting pain was the surest method for victory. It's enough to remind him that he'll do it again without hesitation. That he isn't the man he once was. That he's no hero, not even a shield. He is a weapon, and his purpose is violence. He feels somewhat shamed by it, but pushes those feelings aside. He has become what he needs to be. This is no world for heroes.

He shakes his head, shakes off the uncertainty that introspection brings. It's a sign that he's getting too old. He wants to rest, wants to let his weary bones and aching wounds and thick, ugly scars lie. Another sign.

“What are you doing here?” There's not even any challenge in Jack's voice, only exhaustion, and Reaper studies him from behind his mask, arms crossed and head cocked to one side.

“I saw your invitation. Thought I'd pop in to say hello.” He laughs, and the sound is thin, dusty air in boarded up rooms, not the rich, full laughter Jack remembers. “You look like shit.”

“Don't let appearances fool you. I feel like kicking some heads in.” Truth is, he feels like shit. No need to tell that to Reaper, though. Jack still isn't entirely sure why he's come.

“Still so reckless. You haven't aged well, Jack.” As he crosses the room, that sinister glide falters out into heavy footsteps that carry him the last two paces from the bed. He stops and goes down on his knees between Jack's legs. His bone white mask is expressionless. The tilt of his chin is mocking. “Need something to take your mind off the pain?”

“What are you offering?”

He laughs again. Jack hates the sound, and yearns for what it used to be.

“Memory going? There aren't too many ways this can go, from where I'm sitting.”

Jack can barely believe it. He knows he was an idiot to let the light shine like a beacon from the parted curtains. Drunk off pain and exhaustion and the hope that comes when he's too tired to temper it with logic, he damned the consequences and did it anyway. This isn't one of the possibilities that had run through his mind, even addled as it was. He leans back against the wall, studying that mask that gives nothing away, searching for hints in Reaper's posture, something to tell him if this is a cruel joke or a trap or something else entirely.

Jack feels old. He's tired and in pain and he's only human. Maybe that's why he makes the choice he does.

“I'm not getting any younger,” he says. He isn't sure why that makes Reaper chuckle.

The light from the biotic field holds them close, as if the moment is trapped in amber. The pain of his injuries becomes little more than an afterthought, white noise along Jack's nerves as Reaper lifts one clawed hand and tips back his mask. The shadows that hide his face are just a shade too thick, their edges just a bit too smoky. Jack doesn't try to push back his hood or toss his mask aside. He closes his eyes as Reaper pushes his jacket up and pops the button on his fly. He isn't hard yet, but a forgotten anticipation swirls low in his stomach and Jack knows it won't take much to excite him. Even the brush of Reaper's clawed gauntlets over his exposed skin sends pleasant shivers up his spine.

Suddenly, the chin of that death's head mask is digging into his stomach as Reaper surges forward and bites him. His teeth close over a small roll of pudge. As active as Jack is, time and his lifestyle have left their mark. He's no longer the perfectly trim soldier he once was.

“Letting yourself go?”

Jack swats the side of his head, but not before feeling what might have been a playful nuzzle. He wonders if there's more of his husband left in Reaper than he'd thought. Obviously, there must be, otherwise he'd be dead. The belated realization leaves him staring down at the wraith between his legs, searching for a piece of his past. He wonders...but doesn't quite dare to find out...what would happen if he called Gabriel's name.

He's still contemplating when one of Reaper's wandering hands finds the place a bullet grazed his side, and claws pierce his skin around the wound. Jack's spine bows, hips jerking up as he chokes back a scream. Reaper bites him through his pants. The thick material means it's nothing but a bit of pressure, there and gone as he drops back onto the mattress. He glares his displeasure, irked that the expression is hidden behind his mask and visor.

“Eager?” As Reaper tilts his head, shadows run off the side of his face to expose a dark tangle of beard, part of a wicked smile, a scarred and sunken cheek.

“You know I always did like it rough.”

Reaper hums agreement. “I remember.” He manages to knock his mask completely off and resettle his hood over his head before Jack has a chance to get a better look at him, and then he's nipping across Jack's stomach, sharp, quick pinches of teeth. His claws are no longer set in Jack's flesh, but he kneads the area around the gash just firmly enough to wring whimpers from his throat. He pauses to hike Jack's leg—his uninjured leg—over his shoulder, and then he's back at it again as Jack squirms.

It isn't entirely the bites or the touches that have him responding so eagerly as he leans forward. It's the memories, the thought that his estranged husband is here with him, garbed in the new life that keeps them apart, but still tied close enough to the past to have seen the light and known it was for him. Still willing to push aside everything that divides them, if only for a short time.

Everything feels unreal, like a fever dream. Jack's breathing is too loud, thunderous as the crashing of surf over rocks. The sound is practically a physical thing, surrounding them, filling in all the dark corners of the room, compressing them down, down, down into the sphere of light and soft-edged shadows. His pulse beats counterpoint, crowding out his thoughts. He groans, hands slipping onto his husband's shoulders as Gabriel tugs down the zipper on his pants and nuzzles him.

Jack is hard for him in no time, swallowing back Gabriel's name even as he grabs the leather of his coat, seeking a better grip, a surer way of holding on. He's desperate for Gabe, and even the warmth of his mouth—

not as hot as Jack remembers

—the graze of his teeth—

are they sharper than before?

—the feel of his thumb kneading the flesh of Jack's inner thigh—

pinprick pain of claws an unfamiliar sensation not unwelcome

—isn't enough. He isn't sure it will ever be enough. What he wants is what they had, but everyone knows there's no bringing back the past, and Jack can't predict what the future holds for them.

He tries to lie to himself. He tries to pretend that it's Gabe come back to him from a Blackwatch mission, that he left the light on in welcome just like always, that the haste and scratches are just Gabe's way of loving him when he's exhausted and relieved and begrudging the time they spent apart. He tries to pretend that, within that warm light, things are as they should have been. Head bowed over a black hood, he closes his eyes against the constant input from his visor and tries to shake the feeling that never quite leaves him these days that he's living in the wrong timeline, that it was never meant to be this way, him on one side and Gabriel on the other. He remembers the admiration, the devotion, the love they'd shared far easier than he remembers how he allowed it all to slip away.

The pain is what keeps him grounded in reality. Too many aches, too many places where thick scars pull his skin tight. Gabriel is still kneading around the graze in his side, the claws of his other hand are still digging into Jack's thigh. His tongue does not caress or tease, but tastes and puts Jack in mind of something voracious, something here to feed off of him rather than join with him in a sharing of themselves. His hips rock reflexively up into the warm, wet pull of Gabriel's mouth. His foot arches, toes digging hard into the floor as he strains for leverage, but it's his injured leg and agony lights up his nerves, forcing a strangled cry from his throat. Every twitch, every quiver is a fresh shiver of pain, but it isn't as if he can sit still when Gabriel is doing his best to make him scream.

Jack doesn't last long. Gabriel wasn't trying to draw it out, and with every little twinge of pain feeding into the stimulation and fracturing his focus, Jack can't hold back. He comes with a strangled gasp, an ugly sound made worse by the knowledge that he's choking back Gabriel's name. He sinks back against the wall, riding the short high of orgasm, feeling Gabriel swallow around him and lick him clean. He shivers and clenches his fists around the sheets as Gabriel pulls away. The room is dark and silent, waiting for him to open his eyes. It's upsetting how easy it is to think what just happened was no more than a vivid dream he's waking from.

He hears a faint shuffling noise, an uncertain sound. Gabriel hasn't vanished. Jack peeks and sees him standing at the very edge of the light, mask in one hand, expression carefully neutral. Nanites seep like smoke from his nostrils, from the corners of his mouth and eyes, from his ears. They bleed out of him into the air, and Jack can swear he sees them crawling in Gabriel's skin. His eyes glint from within the shadow of his hood.

“Not that I'd expect you to repay the favor, but a 'thank you' would be nice.”

There's enough of Gabe in his voice to make Jack feel like the same fuck up he was just before everything went down in flames in Zurich. Suddenly he knows he should have done something different, should have taken off his own mask, should have called Gabe's name, should have shown him somehow....

“Stay.” Jack blurts out the plea before he can stop himself.

Gabriel studies him. His voice, when he speaks, is almost reluctant. “You know I can't.”

He wants to tell Gabriel to stay until the marks clawed into his skin fade, until Gabriel's claim on him is once more something carried beneath the surface, locked away in his memories.

“Stay until the light burns out,” he murmurs, words tumbling together like bits of gravel.

The biotic field has half an hour left in it, max. It isn't anywhere near enough time. Jack closes his eyes, feeling heavy and exhausted and lost. He half expects Gabriel to disappear while he's not looking, and feels for just a moment like he might cry when Gabriel's forehead presses against his.

Jack can sense what's coming. Gabriel's fingers curl around the sides of his face. His hands settle on the visor, and there's a question in his stillness. Jack nods. It's only the tiniest hint of movement, but it's enough. Gabriel finds the catches that hold the mask on and undoes them by touch. He bares Jack's face to the light, sees all his scars and wrinkles revealed, sees Jack's eyes locked unwavering on his own.

“Until the light burns out,” Gabriel murmurs, and leans in to kiss him.

Jack savors the taste of the past, of what might have been, of what might still be if they're lucky enough, if they're willing to suffer for it, to work for it. He knows he'll leave a light on for Gabriel wherever he goes. He's been carrying a torch for him for most of his life, after all, and the hope he's found tonight will be fuel enough to keep it burning for a long time to come.

That knowledge coils tightly around his heart and squeezes, but Jack is no stranger to pain. It's better by far than feeling hollow.

#cornfuck and the reaper #fanfiction #hi fair warning this is p much pointless :D #i just had that image stuck in my head of them in the glow together #it's another one of those 'i can't draw so here's some written nonsense' ficlets

[funkymeihem-fiction]

Fantasy Meihem

A silly story with Frost Mage Mei and Demon Junkrat on a quest to find a missing friend, investigate a cabal, and get on each other's nerves nonstop.

Mei had arrived at the spot where the demon was last seen some hours ago. Like most demons, it preferred a hot, dusty environment, just like this awful canyon she’d been tromping around in, where a river might have flowed a millennium ago before drying up and never seeing water ever again. The rocky red walls rose up high on either side of her, but the sun was directly overhead and they provided her no shadow and no shelter. And worse was that she couldn’t risk removing her full frost mage regalia, no matter how stifling it all was. Her fluffy robes and pointed hat were much more suited to withstand howling winds and blowing snow, rather than this awful heat that made the very ground steam beneath her boots. Why did her robes have to have so many layers? And why had she tailored it with so many pom-poms and silly bows? Everything felt so heavy and hot. It was going to make her tired if she stayed here too long, and she would need all her strength if she was going to find and defeat it, this evil entity birthed of fire and flame… The village nearby had been desperate for help, and she had answered. Sheep and goats had vanished from the peasants’ herds, plants had turned to charred ash wherever its hoofprints were found, and there were reports of high, cackling laughter in the night. They hadn’t been able to pay her much at all, but their plight had moved her and she’d volunteered to come and put this villain on ice. There was a soft crunching noise by her foot and she looked down, seeing the charred skeleton of some animal- a lizard, maybe- with the marks of sharp teeth all over its bones. She wrinkled her nose in disgust, kicking the remains away before removing her hat and wiping at the sweat rolling down her forehead. Sitting down on a nearby boulder, she reached for her canteen, tapping her staff against it twice as ice crystallized against the metal, cooling the liquid inside as she tilted her head back and drank. “Oi.”

A voice came from behind her, and she inhaled sharply- a poor thing to do whilst drinking. A moment later, cold liquid was expelled from both her mouth and nose and she coughed wildly, gracelessly wiping at her face and trying not to choke as she turned to face it. “Is that sweet candy tea? Is it cold?” it asked. The demon just stood there in the middle of the canyon like he didn’t have good sense, staring her down with glowing yellow eyes. He wasn’t the largest one she’d ever seen, but he still towered over someone like her, even with his lanky form hunched over. The skin of his torso was vividly blood red, with a gaunt build and hungry, bony ribs, and his arms laced with lean muscle. Like most demons of his kind, he had angular features, with pointed ears, a pointed chin, and even a long, pointed nose below his curled pointed black horns. The tips of his dirty blond hair glowed red, trailing faint gray smoke. He was also missing two of his limbs, replaced with glowing red-black metal. He looked dangerous. He sniffled noisily, his nostril flaring up on one side, before asking again. “Sweet tea? Can ya share?” Mei launched upright, her staff at the ready as the shimmering azure crystal at its tip glowed violent blue, motes of ice shimmering around it. “You! Stay back!” He lifted both pointed claws in a placating motion, taking a step back with his limping gait. “Whoa! L-let’s not be hasty here, darl. I mean, you’ve already spit half it out on the ground there, how much you even got left?” His glowing eyes moved to the rapidly drying puddle of tea beneath her as he smacked its toothy maw unhappily, and she set her jaws and narrowed her gaze behind her glasses. She was onto his wily tricks, trying to distract her with the tea, no doubt so he could move in and try to attack her unawares. “I’m going to give you one warning, demon! You can return peacefully to your realm and be sealed within, or I’ll be forced to- I’ll have to destroy you! You’ve been a scourge on that poor village for too long!” He blinked owlishly, before a rather terrifying grin spread across his face, revealing a mouth brimming with razor-sharp white teeth. “Really? I’m a scourge? Is that the word they used, scourge? Heh! Blimey, that’ll impress the boys back home, that will. World-famous scourge! And they said I’d never amount to anything! Are the villagers real scared of me, then? Do they tell stories?” “Well, you’ve been eating their goats! That’s horrible!” She jabbed her staff forward a little more. “Wait, is this about the goats? Of course I’m going to eat a perfectly good free goat that wanders on in here, you see much else to eat around here?” He beckoned around at the desolate rocky outcroppings around them. “Really? That’s what they’re worried about, is the goats?” “You can’t just eat someone’s goats, that’s illegal,” she insisted, aware that the conversation with the demon was starting to seem a bit silly. Why was she even trying to argue with it, anyway? “Now…you have those two choices, demon! Banishment or being destroyed, that’s it!” He still didn’t seem particularly afraid of her, more disappointed than anything. His bony shoulders drooped a little as he glanced up and down her, glowing eyes alighting on her staff. “So, they’re just mad about the goat thing. And you’re here to try and fight me, then?” “Of course! They hired me to get rid of you.” He drooped a little bit more. “Oh. I kinda thought…you know. I mean, I’ve been such a scourge to them, and then they send this adorable lady wandering in here by herself, with a sweet tea. Like, I was putting two and two together, there…I thought you were…ya know?” “What?” Now he seemed a little uncomfortable, flexing his talons and looking away, and she could have sworn the flesh on his cheeks turned a little darker. He brought his false metal hand up to its mouth, and gave a sharp little cough. “…Virginsacrifice?” Her mouth dropped open in utter disbelief. For a moment she wasn’t sure how to respond, her own cheeks burning and her voice full of clear offense. “What!? Of course not! Why would you- How would- How dare you! Where would you even get such a ludicrous notion!” The demon took another step back, swallowing down the lump in his throat, waving both hands. “N-now no need to be offended! I was flattered! Thought you were super cute and all, and being a virgin sacrifice has a long, proud history of- AAAUUUUGH!” There was a whirl of red and black, flames trailing his form as he threw himself behind the nearest boulder, tumbling flat onto the ground as a whirling ball of blue slammed into the rock where he’d just been, crystallizing into long, jagged columns of sharp blue ice. The little woman in the elaborate get-up stood huffing and puffing in clear indignation, feet planted wide apart and her staff still lifted. A pair of curled black horns and lit blond hair slowly lifted up from behind the boulder until his yellow eyes were just barely peeking above it, gaping with wary fright. “Okay…I think we got off on the wrong foot here, why don’t we try again?” he offered in a small voice. “Look, there’s nothing wrong if you’re not a virgin and all. Hey, who am I to judge? Let’s just talk this out. We could make a deal?” “My virginity is none of your concern! And I would never make a deal with a demon,” she snapped, still clearly irked about the whole situation. “Look, darl, this whole thing is just a misunderstanding. I’m just an innocent bloke what happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. You don’t think I like being stuck in this here canyon, do you? There’s nothing to do, nothing to see, nothing to eat but an occasional goat, and they took my friend! You want me out of here, I want me out of here, maybe we can work out some sort of thing?” He waved a gaunt hand above the rock as if motioning with an imaginary white flag. “I don’t want to have to fight a cutie like you. I just want out of here to find my pal.” Mei only halfway lowered her staff, still wary. “What do you mean, your friend? Do you honestly expect me to believe a story like that?” “S’truth, love! You haven’t seen him by chance, have you? Big boar-lookin’ type, about twice my height and five times as wide?” He crept a little closer from behind the outcropping, hands raised. “He got summoned somewhere nearby and I tried to follow, but the gate closed and now I’m stuck in this literal pit and can’t leave!” “A…boar demon? Someone summoned two of you?” she echoed. Her staff lowered just a little more, the tension in her shoulders relaxing very slightly. “Oh yeah, they’ve been summoning lots of us lately!” The lanky demon answered cheerfully. “Gotta be some high-quality stuff going on, if they can bind a big nasty fucker like my pal. Trust me, you don’t wanna try low-level spells on someone like him. Was afraid they were going to do the same to me, but they took one look at me and left me behind. Can you even believe it, love? Summoning us for a demon army and I didn’t make the cut? That one stung a little.” “That can’t be right. Nobody practices that anymore, it’s been illegal for ages. Really, a demon army? Is this some sort of silly story to distract me?” The mage woman scowled a bit but seemed a little more unsure, adjusting her bow-clad pointed hat. He gave her an amused look, uttering a shrill little giggle. “You really think something being illegal will stop folks, don’t you? Lookit, I don’t know what mortal politics you’re all bickering over this time, but I just want my pal back and for us to get back home. You seem like a fine, upstanding sort. Maybe a little too much, really, but…Come on, how about you help get me away from the gate, I’ll find my friend, and we’ll be out of your hair in no time. Eh?” “You just told me that someone is summoning an army of demonkind, and you don’t seem like you’re…” She frowned again. “Um…You don’t really seem smart enough to lie, like I thought.” He bared his teeth a little, looking put out. “I beg your pardon!” “Sorry!” she said quickly, then shook her head. Why would she apologize to someone like him? She relaxed her grip on her staff, resting its butt on the ground once she was sure the creature wasn’t going to attack her, and eyed him up and down. “Okay. You’re going to take me to where this summoning took place, first. I want to see if there’s any truth to your story. We can decide what happens to you after that. And you’d better not try anything…funny.” “Cross my cold, black heart,” the demon proclaimed loudly, running its pointer claw across its scrawny chest. A trail of smoking black was left across its skin with the motion, fading away slowly. “I mean, I’m a funny sort. Real winning personality, not bad in the looks department either, but you can rest assured I won’t try anything uh…ya know, untoward and all. After the whole virgin sacrifice thing. But I mean, if you ask, I won’t say no or anything. So if you get in the mood, just say the word and I-” Her staff started glowing blue again and her eyes narrowed. “All right, shutting my gob. You got it.” he said quickly. “That wasn’t what I was talking about at all. Ugh, would you just turn around and start walking, and show me where this happened? We’ll decide what to do after I can take a look around. This needs to be investigated right away. And then afterward we can look into unbinding you from here and seeing about your friend, all right?” The demon stared her down for a moment, head tilting in an almost dog-like way as he regarded her, but after a moment he merely nodded and turned about on his good leg, falling back into his limping gait as he started further down the canyon. She waited until he was a safe distance ahead before wiping more sweat from her brow with her fuzzy sleeve, starting after him. She expected a tense walk, what with the demon himself basically being held hostage before her. But to her chagrin, he waited for her to catch up a little, then tried to linger back until he was almost walking alongside her, arms folded behind him entirely too casually. “Sooooo! Tell me about yourself?” he suggested eagerly. “You got a name? Something I can call you, at least? Where you from? What’s your sign? Come here often? You uh…you like demons, then?” Mei sighed.

#meihem #junkmei #meirat #junkrat #mei-ling zhou #roadhog #demon #fantasy #demonrat #demon junkrat #ice mage mei #I just wanted to write for his new skin #I'm sorry #It got dumb #it always does

[nanaswhispers]

Loyalty.

Day 6 KLAROLINEAUWEEK : Canon-ish.

Dark Caroline. Violence. Language. Mystic Falls gang lovers this may not be for you. Steroline-rs not really your cup of tea either I guess.

Please, enjoy!

Loyalty drove her. Pushed her to give everything of herself to help the people in her life. It also made her forgive many small and great betrayals, pushed to the back of her mind every misdeed those same people she gave everything to, committed against her. She endured every time they used her and belittled her. She swallowed back so many harsh remarks and hurtful words because her loyalty and caring immured her in silence.

And yet, they betrayed again and again. And each time she forgave, but never truly forgot.

One too many times.

Every moment of anger, hurt and rage she had pushed down for years invaded her like an unstopping tsunami of darkness. The darkness of her monster she had repressed into the deepest parts of her came to light by itself. Everything that made her the good human-like Caroline was put down by the true vampire nature awakened in her.

Rage and numbness danced in her mind, switching on and off, dancing to a music nobody heard.

When she first learned about this last slight against her, Caroline hadn't believed it.

How could they use her like this? How could they think they had omnipotence over her body? How did they come to the conclusion that she would simply bear smilingly the fact that they chose for her, instead of her, to be the host to those witchy babies?

Had she been too kind, too dumb all those years for letting them think that her loyalty equals to weakness? Did she not deserve to at least be asked her opinion? Was she not a person with her own mind capable of thoughts? Would it not be her body that would carry someone else's progeny?

Sitting in front of Alaric, his lecherous eyes observing her triumphantly, and Stefan, painting a false sense of remorse on his eternally contrite face, she felt ire rising, and climbing up her throat until she had to bite back the scream she felt like releasing. But she would not show any other ounce of fragility in front of them, they did not deserve that privilege anymore.

So she did something she had hoped to never have to do, Caroline gathered every feeling and emotion she had and shut them down. They watched her face get unconstrained, her posture dangerously relax and heard a frost they had never witnessed seize her voice.

“I don't care what you have to do, but you will find a solution to this. You have exactly 24 hours to get those leaches out of my womb, if you don't, you won't like the consequences. Consider yourselves warned.”

For the first time she saw doubt creep into their eyes, fear too, when the last thing they saw before she flashed away was a smirk so cruel, they were reminded of the ancient magic that changed her nature so many years ago. That transformed her from a puny, weak and insecure girl into a bloodthirsty creature of the night.

And yet, they hadn’t heeded her advice. (She should not have been surprised really, how many times has that happened?) A full day and a half an hour later Caroline stood in the middle of a pool of blood, hers, theirs, she didn't really know anymore, nor did she really care. 

There were definitively some perks to getting rid of those pesky little things they called emotions.

Bonnie was unconscious, only a small inconvenience. She had tried to hug her thinking it would mollify her, that she was the simpleton they all thought of her, and she was hit on the head for her stupidity. Objectively, a rather small punishment considering the offense.

Alaric would soon die if they didn't give him some vampire blood, having a missing kidney and perforated lung were not good omens to his potential survival. His whimpers and the sound of his labored breathing were music to her ears, too many times has he slighted her without any repercussion. (Hello! High school? Torture, anybody?)

Stefan was bound in vervain soaked ropes she had prepared beforehand. A sort of filet she threw at him with magically weighted stones keeping him on the ground, groaning helplessly under the gag tied around his head, watching his brother laying down next to him, a few fingers missing, his neck and spine broken and feet crushed. Caroline had to admit, for such a newbie in terms of torture, she did pretty good.

“I warned you, Stefan, that you wouldn't like what I had planned, and yet you didn't believe me, did you? You thought I wouldn't know that not any one of you took me seriously? That you could just do nothing and voilà! The problem would solve itself? That I, Caroline Forbes, would give up? Shouldn’t you have known better? I thought you were a little smarter than that… what a disappointment.” she tutted.

“Mhmmm mm mmmh!” came out of his mouth and Caroline grinned satisfied with his frustration.

“Little Stefie wanna talkie?” she mocked. “Sure thing, Care-bear will come to the rescue. As usual.”

She took the gag off, and immediately wished she hadn't, it was so much more peaceful without his whining.

“What the fuck Caroline?! Why would you do all this?!” she could only roll her eyes to the back of her skull when faced with such idiocy.

“Why, Stefan? As I have already said, I warned you. I told you to find a solution, you deliberately didn't even try to search for one. Now, you reap what you sow.”

“But why would you even wish to punish us?! Shouldn't you be happy to help? That's what you enjoy the most on this world!”

“Really?” her brow arched sarcastically by itself.

“Yes!” He seemed quite convinced of his words. “I know you Care, you live to help others! Help us with this situation too! Aren't you glad to have what every vampire mourns the most after turning: the possibility to have children? Think of all the possibilities! The things you will teach them! You would have someone to dote on, someone to dress, or even put make-up on if they’re girls... Aren’t you excited by the prospect of finding names, holding them to your breast, nurturing little persons?! You should feel thankful, honored to be the mother of two miracles Caroline, not make a scene!”

She almost puked right there.

“Had I even been capable of feeling anything right now, honor and gratitude certainly would not be at the top of the list Salvatore. And your attempts at manipulation are neither smart nor welcome.” she countered back matter-of-factly.

Her words irritated him. Her stoicism irked him up further.

“You ungrateful bitch! Why don't you just shut the fuck up like every other fucking time and be “good vampire Caroline” huh? Isn’t that your greatest pride? Don’t you have a speech about doing the good thing in this particular situation?” He paused a moment, and then carried on,his tone cocky and mocking. “Anyway, you have to bear it and carry the pregnancy to full term since you have neither a witch, nor the spell to transfer the babies to someone else, so quit with the tantrum while you still can, Caroline!”

“Or what Stefan? You'll punish me? You seem to forget the situation you are in, dear. “Good vampire Caroline” as you say, was a choice. I chose to be human, good, and loyal. And you never showed the tiniest bit of gratefulness. You never gave back your kindness in return. This is just the last straw. The last pebble causing the landslide. You brought the true Caroline out, Stefan, so now you have to bear the consequences… Still, you should be grateful, I'm going to let you live, I know that if I don't, when I get my emotions back I'll feel guilty for a bit of time, and I don't want to waste any of my time on you anymore.”

He tried to interrupt her, but she didn’t let him.

“Plus, it will give you a chance to stew a little bit. Shouldn’t you wonder how Klaus, you know, my last love, the Original Hybrid, will react when he learns about this little plan you had for me? And please, don’t act even dumber than you are, he has spies everywhere.”

He blanched. She grinned.

Caroline turned her back on him and walked to the small side table where she deposited earlier her handbag. She opened it and took the glinting serrated knife her father had gifted her for her fifteenth birthday. She almost felt guilty for not using this baby as much as it deserved.

Going back towards Stefan, she saw for the first time realization sink into his eyes.

She crouched down next to him and slowly brushed his skin with her weapon, painting with oozing appealing red. Quite fitting for a vampire. Klaus would be proud.

“Now, Stefan, I want you to remember what will happen very soon until the end of your days. Every action has consequences. Every betrayal repercussions. Today you lost a best, and most loyal, friend with your dumb actions. Oh, and Stefan, quick tip, it's not the 19th century anymore, you don't have any right on a woman's body without her consent... Actually, maybe it's just a Salvatore problem, which reminds me…”

Still on her knees, she just turned a few degrees right, and her hands took hold of Damon's jeans and tore them down. Stefan stared at her, winded, sputtering without any clear words getting out of his mouth, as she grabbed with her bare hands his brother's balls and tore them out of their original place on his body.

Caroline stood up and carelessly threw them down next to her rapist's head. The little sack bounced a little, like a dog's chew toy, and the image made her chuckle sadistically.

“He had it coming for a long time, didn't he?” she smiled down evilly at the other Salvatore.

She picked up her Dad's present she had previously put on the ground, and without any warning impaled herself with it in the lower part of the stomach. Deeply. Almost entirely through her width. She went left to right slowly but surely.

“CAROLINE! NO, DON'T! STOP! STOP!!!”

And as Stefan screeched and vainly tried to get out of his woven poisoned prison, Caroline plunged her hand in her bowels, taunted him by playing, jiggling her organs and finally grabbed the upper part of the uterus where the parasites were put against her will in her body, tore it out of her and smacked it forcefully down on the ground. 

She reveled in watching it explode in bloody fragments right in between Stefan and Alaric, putting to an eternal end the development of the future Gemini witches and the illusions the gang had about her.

Tears were silently coursing down her ex-best friend’s face as she calmly took Damon's discarded jeans to clean her red painted hands up.

She was only glad that she was smart and switched her emotions off, the physical pain would have been quite horrible she mused passingly.

“Adieu, Stefan. May we never meet again. For your sake.”

Klaus grumbled as he heard for the umpteenth time some idiot knocking on his front door.  He hoped for their sakes that the guards had a good reason for letting a stranger onto his domain. Or their heads will roll along with the unwanted visitor's.

He reached the door just as the smell of vampire blood reached his nose.

The Original opened the door abruptly and stood gobsmacked for a few instants, admiring the welcome surprise of Caroline standing on his porch, bloodied from head to toe, face composed and luggage at her feet.

Before he even had the time to say anything, she cut him off.

“Glad to see you're alive, I could have guessed otherwise with the amount of time it took you to get to the fucking door. Just so you know, I'm currently switched off, but I'll take a long bubble-filled oil bath and switch it back. FYI, be prepared, you'll have quite the mess to deal with for a few days.”

Even through the worry as to what led her to his door bloodied and without humanity, Klaus couldn't suppress a small smile from etching itself onto his lips. Only his sweet Caroline…

“Love…”

Again, she cut him off. He would have killed anyone else for that, but, well, she was Caroline Forbes, so she could do anything.

“Oh and if you have a current flavor of the month I suggest you get rid of it quickly, or else I will, and as you see, I can be a ruthless Queen, so it won’t be pretty. Tell them to go fuck themselves from now on, 'cause forever has just knocked on your fucking door.”

And she barged in, taking possession of the place, and Klaus could only feel satisfaction (dare he say happiness?) and excitement to see her take what has always been hers.

#Klaroline #klarolineauweek #klaroline drabbles #dark caroline #fanfic #however long it takes #day6 #canon-ish

[paperbackcat]

Hues (Sasodei fanfic)

Set in an alternate universe where the characters are college students, Deidara finds himself stuck in a rut, having to team up with the most infuriating piece of work, in the entire universe. (Okay, maybe he’s over-exaggerating but) Of all people, he had to partner up with the least liked student in the entire class. (A/N: Was supposed to be a one-shot but welp)

Chapter 1: First quarter

Words:  7,199k

Saturday

From the looks of it, he knew he was in deep hot soup.

Or it could probably be because he was literally staring at the steaming warm tomato soup in front of him. Recoiling from the thought, he stabbed his wooden spoon into the bowl, splattering droplets of scarlet onto the table. Burgundy cherry red that sounded daintily beautiful, but was definitely not a picture-perfect combination to a bed of scraggly hair. Picture perfect, huh? What an irony. He speared his thickening broth once more, frowning in abhorrence.

“Why are you taking out your wrath on the soup?” Came the snort of disbelief, “What’s it done to you?”

Gunmetal pools darted ahead, glaring directly at what was in front of him. Russet brown stared back challengingly, tawny-coloured eyebrows raised in a jeering sort of way. Biting back a crude remark, the slate eyed individual stuck out his tongue and continued his massacre of his soup. It had been his dreadful luck anyway to get stuck with none other than the most infuriating piece of work in the class. Running his hand down his face, Deidara took a deep breath, trying to calm himself down, ignoring the weird scowl coming from his art project - partner.

It’s not like he desperately wanted to pair with the bored ashy looking teenager in the first place, it was of unfortunate circumstances – of which included his best friend completely dumping him for another. In Hidan’s defence, Deidara swaggered into the classroom almost two hours late for class and had been forcefully paired up with the only other person in class who didn’t have a partner. Of course it had to be him. Of all the people in the world, it had to be Sasori.

Letting out a sigh of annoyance – possibly defeat – Deidara shoved his bowl away, losing his appetite at the bothersome scowl on Sasori’s pale face. The other male’s lips were pursed thinly as if he was no more exasperated than the flaxen haired artist. Fluttering his gaze else, Deidara glance pointedly out at the window behind the ruby haired male, wanting more to be anywhere else but sitting sedentarily on his dormitory room chair.

Tall chilled windows gave way to the snowy wasteland, hypnotizing snowflakes cascading down and covering up the empty street. After all – everyone’s left for the weekends, the blonde thought solemnly, the lord only knows if Sasori’s some insane sociopath, just waiting to prance and kill me. It did look as if the red-hair individual had a bone to pick with him by the way that the glare was fixated menacingly. Sighing again, Deidara glazed out from the frosted window still. The street looked like an almost unfinished painting – the snowy white ground was like a giant canvas, waiting to be painted. Aside from the brown of the denuded trees, the only other colour was from the warm ginger glow of sunset, staining the grey tinted skies.

“Earth to Deidara,” Sasori’s frosty bite broke his thoughts, “Aren’t we supposed to be planning our project out?”

Part of the blonde cursed himself for deciding to stay during the weekends. He thought that no one else would be around, he could rock out to loud music, maybe even blast it down the hallway and just dance wildly to it – or just laze his Saturday and Sundays away, just doing absolutely nothing. Little did he know, Sasori had decided to take that opportune moment to discuss their art project plans, tipping Deidara’s weekend plans over like an iceberg to the titanic. The irony that the red-haired pest was just as icy cold too.

What was there to plan anyway? Deidara scoffed internally, it was just a simple project. They just needed to paint something. Something – anything, it really didn’t need much thought. Deidara never put much though in his projects anyway. It was more of an instinct, he thought to himself, like how a bird knows how to fly north for the winter.

And he relayed those exact thoughts to his perpetual bored looking partner.

“Instinct?” Came the sneer of disbelief.

“Yes.” Deidara nodded self-assuredly, folding his arms and shooting a proud smirk at the other male.

“Ridiculous.” Sasori seemed to be fond of his one-liners as he folded his arms as well, blatantly unsatisfied with Deidara’s ideology of art.

Huffing, the flaxen haired boy clenched his fists.

“It’s not ridiculous,” He snapped, “I’m clearly doing it right since I’ve never once failed any of my classes. It’s – it’s,” Deidara fumbled around searching for a better word, wildly flinging his arms around, “Intuition. Just like how birds fly north for the winter, I know what I’m doing.”

“Birds fly south.”

“It really doesn’t matter where they fly now, does it? All that matters is that they fly off during the winter.”

“Some birds don’t.”

“How would you know, you’re not some sort of bird whisperer.”

“It’s called an Ornithologist.”

“That’s a dentist.”

“Were you knocked on the head as a child?”

Deidara sent a death glare over to the other male, but before he could open his mouth to spill out a couple of curses that would probably sent his own mother off crying, Sasori cut him off.

“I’ve concluded that you are a simpleton. ("Oi.” Deidara sulked at that darkly.)“ The red-head boy lifted a bony finger and pointed it ominously at Deidara, "So I suggest you listen to me, that way we’ll both finish this project faster and end the horror our teacher calls ‘project work’. I’ll be on my way and we’ll never cross paths again provided you get more loyal friends – or come to school on time for once.”

“It was just that one time.” Deidara hissed frigidly and Sasori interrupted him once more.

“I’ll take the reins for this project.” He fumbled at his haversack and pulled out a few pieces of paper. “And ironically enough, your stupid attempt at explaining yourself gave me an idea.” Those doe shaped russet eyes seated upon his face twinkled in a strange almost alluring way, as he picked up a pen at his side and scribbled hurriedly on a piece of paper.

He lifted it up to show Deidara what he had scrawled. The words 'sky’, 'birds’ and 'clouds’ were virtually incomprehensible but the blonde had managed to decipher them. Even though he was partially still affronted that the other male had been viciously rude to him, he couldn’t help but favour the idea.

Still, he didn’t want to show his delight at the fact that he actually liked the notion of painting the sky.

“Isn’t painting just the sky too easy?” Deidara tilted his head up arrogantly at Sasori, narrowing his lambent melt-water eyes.

“No it’s not.” The red-haired male snorted back, scribbling some more on the piece of paper, “It might seem unassumingly easy, but to capture the essence of the sky, it is close to impossible.”

“I’ve done it a million times before, it’s plain sailing.”

“Discussion over, Deidara.” At that, Sasori grabbed his bag and left.

Once more, the blonde was left in the dormitory room, faced with his double bunk-bed of cheap stripped pine with their rough canvas mattresses, jammed end to end on both sides of the long drafty room. It seemed strangely empty now that the other male had left, the evening dim light shining dimly through the frost tinted glass. It was slowly bleeding into grey, just like how the dormitory was coloured, and the boy wondered about the abundance of diverse colours the sky had, flowing from a bright warm auburn glow to a bitter ancient grey.

Deidara found himself flopping onto the bottom bunk of his shared bed. It was an exhausting day, he pondered as he reverently rubbed his fingers along the tattered ragged mattress. Pressing his cheek to the cool clothed pillows, he let out an blissful groan at the datum that he was finally alone. Sitting at the table with Sasori’s lunar shaped eyes constantly on him was about to make him foam at the mouth. With his ruminant personality, the other male always left his ruby hair tussled, in a casual jumble and it irked Deidara that he seemed effortlessly stoic even though he obviously did not look the part. Kinda like the sky, he thought, wiggling his toes into the comforter. Fiery warm red and cold silver bitter.

Deidara flipped over to lie on his belly, placing his hands on his chin, propped up with his elbows. Justly, the red-head had never really talked to him before. Once, at the cafeteria, he recalled, whilst he was daydreaming in line for the food and Sasori had unceremoniously kicked him in the shin, telling him to get his head out of the clouds. It wasn’t a wonder why he was infamously disliked in the class.

Disreputably, the blonde boy wasn’t as well liked himself, but it didn’t matter to him either way. Hidan, his particularly psychotic best friend had his back most of the time – excluding now, he thought darkly, in which the albino haired teen had not apologised for his timely ditch-fest. In fact, he left the classroom, smiling meekly with his new art project partner and promising he’d make up for the mess he made.

They were given a week and a half to finish their project. An A0 sized painting of either acrylic, oil paint or water colour and because of Deidara’s tardiness to class, Sasori had decided for the both of them that they would be using paper instead of canvas, watercolour instead of oils. The blonde wasn’t a fan of watercolour but had to stiffly agree to it, since at that time, he was completely fraught at the fact that Hidan ditched him. Watercolour was flowing, delicate and intricate with smooth elongated strokes that did not play well with Deidara’s rough stubby fingertips. He preferred bold, course dramatic strokes with sketchy glazes across canvas and dramatic thick acrylic – with splashes of tawny brown, pastel and vibrant blues.

It was too late anyway. He couldn’t opt out and he couldn’t change partners. Then again, it wasn’t as if Sasori was causing a lot of distress as of the moment. In fact, they seemed to be going in the right – same direction. Maybe it wouldn’t end up as badly as he thought. Flipping back to lay on his back, Deidara smirked to himself. Maybe they can actually do this together.

He was wrong.

Oh so very wrong.

Sunday

Deidara stabbed his spoon viciously into his soup bowl. Today it was minestrone, a clear mix of cantaloupe orange and burnt sienna. Sipping thinly from his wooden spoon, he swung it wildly at Sasori, who reeled in disgust at the splattering liquid. Sneering, the red-head brushed at his sleeves, giving Deidara a menacing stink eye. He had no right to mock Deidara, after all, Sasori was the imbecile who agreed to the daunting task to pairing up with the blonde. He could’ve opted to work solo, perhaps even switched partners with someone else in the class with similar artistic ideologies. Deidara glowered at the other with livid infuriation. Now, he was stuck with a stubborn artist who thought that rulers were needed in abstract painting.

“It’s not abstract.” Sasori hissed.

“Yes it is.” Deidara snarled back scornfully, returning his spoon into the bowl and splashing the carmine coloured soup on his table. “I have a say in my ("our” sasori added grumpily) work.“ The blonde his fingers onto the table furiously, irate with the sullen boy.

"We are painting it my way. It’ll get done easier.”

“I don’t like 'your way’,” Deidara mimicked the other boy’s morose voice, “You picked the materials, so now, I get to pick the style.”

Sasori folded his arms indignantly.

“I say we paint it like an abstract painting. We’ll use different colours, like pastels, cupcake pinks, teals and a dash of creamy beige.” The blonde declared, sipping his soup once again, tilting his chin at the red-head, smirking proudly at his explanation.

“The sky isn’t made out of candy, brat.” Sasori derided, “It’s granite. Hues of overcast azure and pewter.”

“I am not painting a graveyard.” Deidara retorted back, shaking his head eagerly. “I want something wild,” his bright eyes gleamed with mad zealousness, “Like an explosion of colours.”

“I don’t know what sort of world you live in, but it’s certainly not what normal people see.” The red-head pointed intentionally at the window glass still. “Look outside, does it look as if the sky is covered in a variegated hue?”

Deidara ignored his finger and shook his head.

“I’m not painting some granny grey sky.” He grumbled, “It so boring. The point of art is to uncover and explore – to see beyond what you don’t normally see.”

Sasori pinched his nose bridge seemingly in frustration.

“No, it’s not. It’s to create the beauty of what you see, so that it lasts for eternity on paper. It’s exquisiteness translated into parchment, representing the subject matter truthfully, avoiding implausible elements.”

They exchanged cold glares.

“It works better with watercolour.” Sasori continued briskly, turning away from Deidara’s frigid gaze. “I’m the one with seniority here. You should listen to me.”

The baby blue eyed blonde clenched his fists in frustration. The red-head was the complete opposite of what he was – their ideologies, their personalities – it was almost impossible to come to a decision with the other constantly on his tail. They were principally like night and day. A harmonious discord, or a deafening sort of silence. They were contradictory and Deidara did not like that. He did not pleasure from the relentless arguments they had – in fact it was just slowing their progress down.

“We need to start today,” Sasori concluded casually, running his hands through his messy locks. “I don’t like waiting.”

Deidara’s right eye twitched in annoyance.

“Well we can’t start today can we?” He snapped, stabbing his soup once more, watching the ginger liquid frolic and ripple. “I’m not going painting some dull ass piece of work. Until we reach some sort of agreement, we won’t start painting.”

“Then agree with my terms so we can begin.” Sasori sounded relatively bored now, his fingers tapping on the table, another hand cupping his cheek as he stared grimly out the window.

“No.” Deidara hissed harshly.

There was a sigh.

“Fine. We’ll compete for it then.” The red-head stood up, slamming his hands onto the table. “We’ll each paint a sample on a piece of A4 paper and we’ll decide, tomorrow, whose is better.”

The mesmerising deep set russet brown eyes stared pointedly at Deidara, who managed a small 'hmph’ of agreement.

“May the bloody better artist win.” The blonde waved his hand, motioning it for Sasori to leave the room.

“It is already decided.” With that Sasori fled the scene, taking his bag of art supplies with him.

After the dormitory door slammed shut, the blonde let out an infuriated shriek of rage. What was he even thinking? That they would’ve happily decided on working on the same sort of art style? No wonder people hate the guy, Deidara snorted inwardly as he flung himself onto his bed, burying his face into his pillow.

Now he’d had to do extra work.

“Ugh.” He murmured into his pillow.

It was evening when he finally dabbed the last piece of pink coat onto his sample size painting.

The sky was darkening and the winter chill entered the dorms, swirling snowflakes creating patterns on his window pane. Deidara sighed, rubbing his temple with his paint soaked fingers, unintentionally painting his own face. It didn’t matter away, the only people left in the dorms were just Sasori and himself. Swiftly, the blonde gently placed paperweights over his masterpiece, hoping for it to dry overnight. Silently, he wondered how the red-head was doing. Was he already done as well or was he still painting?

Shaking those thoughts out of his head, he decided to take a shower instead.

With everything that happened today, he just wanted to sleep and get over with it. Obviously, he’s going to win the competition – right? Whatever it was, he would have it his way. Sasori’s greyscale painting would be nothing compared to his work of genius. Grabbing the soft cloth from his shared cupboard, he flung the towel over his neck and worked on getting to the door, to the hallway toilets, when the lights went out.

Frozen in place, Deidara let out a slow hiss of surprise.

Oh god. Don’t tell me – the electricity’s gone out? He let out a groan of despair. That meant that the heater would be out as well. It wouldn’t be the first time, he frowned to himself, hastily flicking his light switch on and off. The last time the electricity went bust, it was summer and the fans died out – Hidan was rambunctiously loud about how much it was killing him and they both decided to sleep out at a nearby 24 hour coffee stall instead.

Since school’s starting up tomorrow, at least it’ll be fixed up by then. Deidara frowned, slouching down near his door, sighing into his towel. He just wanted a hot bath but no, hell have no fury. To be stuck with an infuriating red-head and to be stuck without a heater. At any rate, he had Hidan’s spare comforter.

Before he could get up again, there was a loud knock on his door.

Blinking, the blonde sat in place, unmoving. Who was that? The only people left in the dormitory were just him and Sasori – why would the red-head even want to come over to his room? Could it be something else – something supernatural? He bit his lip in anxiousness and remained still. Maybe if he didn’t move, the knocking would go away.

It didn’t.

In effect, it became a more violent sort of slam.

The sudden frantic knocking made Deidara gasp in surprise, terrified by the unexpectedness of it all. Struggling to stand back up, he fumbled for his phone in his slacks and shone the dim phone’s glare onto the doorknob of his room. Was he going to open it? He hurriedly backed away to the counter top where Hidan had placed a bottle of salt and grabbed it. Well, apparently being paranoid came to good use – Deidara gulped as he approached the door, one hand clutching desperately on his phone’s dim light and another on the opened bottled of salt.

Heaving in a deep breath, he flung open the door and threw the whole bottle onto the figure in the dark hallway.

“BE GONE DEMON!” He shrieked, frantically shining his phone at the annoyed looking pair of brown eyes – wait. Wait.

“Brilliant.” Sasori’s dead voice sounded hilariously comical at the moment.

“The electricity is out.” Deidara explained weakly, shrugging. Sasori pushed his phone away, barging into the room with a backpack. “You could’ve just said it was you instead of knocking violently at the door like some sort of maniac.”

Under the dim glow of the purple evening sky, the red-head settled down begrudgingly on Deidara’s bed, brushing his salt-covered hair.

“I can’t paint without lights. I can’t see.” He groused. “You need to hold my flashlight up so I can paint.”

At that, Deidara let out a maniacal laugh. Oh the irony of it all. He wasn’t going to just let his enemy waltz into his territory and order him around.

“Oh contra!” Deidara clapped his hands gleefully, “What makes you think I’m going to do that?” A wicked smirk was plastered on his face as he shone his phone’s light onto his face, presenting his diabolical sneer to the other man.

Sasori narrowed his eyes, even in the dim lighting of Deidara’s dorm room, he could tell that the other male was beyond irate.

“Aww, is lil Sasori mad?” The blonde savoured the sulk on the red-head’s face. “Too bad. If you had just listened to me instead, you wouldn’t be stranded here in my room or trying to paint blindly!” He grinned triumphantly, sticking out his tongue.

“I win!” He pointed keenly at his own painting on the table, “I win, I win, I win!”

Sasori peered over Deidara’s finger, eyeing the lopsided painting.

“What,” He began, “On earth,” He recoiled as if the painting had stung him, “Is that?”

The blonde shot the other with a knowing glare.

“It’s the sky.” He concurred.

“It’s disgusting.”

“You’re disgusting.”

“Stellar comeback.”

Sasori frowned deeply and pulled out a piece of paper from his backpack.

“If you help me hold the flashlight,” He unravelled an unfinished piece of work, and looked up at the blonde, hesitantly sighing, “I’ll show you what I can do.”

“I don’t want to.” Deidara turned away and waltzed to the door, flinging it open. “Get out.”

Sasori rubbed his temples.

“Stop being such a brat. We’re still partners nonetheless and I need your help.”

The blonde was caught in a dilemma. He didn’t like Sasori, no not at the least, but it intrigued him to no end to find out how Sasori was going to paint his sample. For a favour, Deidara smirked darkly, shutting the door once more. Maybe.

“Alright. An eye for an eye then.” The blonde twirled his phone around his fingers, grinning. “I’ll help you but only I get to pick the winner for the competition.”

There was a long pause.

Sasori let out resigned exhalation.

“Fine.”

Internally shrieking in victory, Deidara skulked over to where Sasori had planted himself onto, curling up near with a small little wiggle of glory.

There was a vehement press of plastic on his hand as the red-head passed a rather large torchlight. The blonde flicked it on and the bright burst of luminescent cream-coloured light showered the dark room with a glow. It was only then that the blonde had a good clear look of how Sasori’s unfinished painting looked like.

Struggling to keep his gasp of astonishment in, he stared fixedly at the greyscale work of art.

Painted with flat smooth lines, graduating from a woollen grey tone to a misty concrete colour, and even with muted colours, it looked quietly intense. A mix of unvarying subdued colour tones, Deidara never thought grey could be so uncannily bright. Illuminated by the glow of the torch, he watched, fixatedly at the way Sasori spent little time digging out his supplies and began to paint over the white sheet of paper, the way his wrist curved smoothly alongside the paint brush – it was alluring.

The clouds were as white as a moonlit sail, buffeting through the slate blue washed sky. It was insipid, almost hypnotizing. If anything, the red-head artist was precise as his strokes, quick, regular systematic movements, creating the lush landscape with nothing but grey.

Backed up with only a thick wooden block, the paper was glowing with wet watercolours, slowly seeping into the piece of painted canvas.

“I need to let it dry.” Sasori’s voice broke Deidara’s thoughts.

Nodding, the blonde moved aside and let the other boy place his own art work next to Deidara’s own, weighing it down with his brushes.

“You’ve been awfully quiet.” The red-head remarked, settling himself beside the boy once again, tapping the blonde’s shoulder.

Still in a trance like state, the blonde shook his head, passing the torchlight over to his partner. The painting had such a sense of depth, so sharp and detailed – he had never thought the other artist would be so capable of such work. On the other hand, he never thought anyone was better than himself.

There was a click as Sasori turned off his torchlight, the illumined room dimming away into pitch black darkness, the moon as the only source of light, seeping into the room. It’s to save the battery, Sasori mentioned casually, tucking the torch under his arm. Deidara felt somehow relieved that his expressive face was now shielded in the dark, he didn’t want the other boy to see him entranced by the other’s painting. It was disconcerting.

“So,” The red-head began, “I can conclude that you like it?”

Deidara let out a snort.

“No.” It didn’t even sound convincing to himself.

“I’ve not heard you say you dislike it.” He could literally hear that other boy’s sly smirk.

“I don’t,” Deidara paused for a moment, weighing his options, he could say he didn’t like it – it was ultimately a stab to the other’s pride, but it wasn’t the truth. He liked it but it wasn’t worth losing his egotism over. “I don’t –”

But he wanted to know how the latter managed to pull off such a stunning work of art.

“It’s average.” He finished lamely.

“It’s average.” Sasori mimicked coolly.

Deidara could feel the smugness radiantly off the other male.

“To be fair, I’ve never seen anyone paint like that before.” He elucidated quickly, grabbing his pillow and hugging it to his chest. “I think it’s average but mine’s obviously better.”

There was a light scoff.

They sat side by side in silence for a long moment.

“Where did you learn how to paint like that?” Deidara broke the stillness, pulling his comforter around his shoulders and sighing in bliss. The winter night air was getting cold, and the heater was still malfunctioning, thank goodness for warm blankets.

Sasori was still, probably deep in thought.

“Instinct.” He spoke up after a while, sounding self-satisfied.

Deidara let out a scoff.

“Like birds?” He let himself chuckle a little.

“Yeah.” The red-head’s voice seemed kinder now. “Like birds.”

Deidara found himself pressed shoulder to shoulder with the other boy, relishing the company. It was nice, to say the least, to have someone around. It was strange, having yesterday’s appreciation for solitude and today’s obligation for company. Today, it felt like fiery warmth, sinking in and eloping him with its gentle caress and it was stranger – having the warmth come from iron grey.

“Hey.” Sasori’s voice roused him from his daydreaming, “I’ll bunk up top okay?”

Deidara nodded, whining inwardly when the red-head moved away from him, feet clanking on dusty wooden stairs up to the top bunk bed. There was a tired creak from the top and a whisper of a goodnight before the blonde drifted off to sleep.

Monday

“Don’t you ever get tired of soup?”

Sasori’s half hidden brown eyes peered from the top bunk bed, an eyebrow raised in perplexity.

Deidara rolled his eyes, hands cupped onto a small bowl of soup. Today’s menu included a blend of mulberry red and vermillion, one of his favourites: the rouge-ish coloured chunky red pepper potato soup. He sipped onto it, ignoring the snort thrown his way.

“Want some?” He asked, raising his soup spoon at Sasori’s direction.

“No.” Came the scoff.

Smirking to himself, the blonde traversed to his table, where the two paintings sat side by side. Completely different, yet contrastingly the same sky. Deidara’s own lopsided abstract painting seemed amateurish compared the realistic grey sky that Sasori had created. He frowned, running his fingers through his textured art piece, obscured colours overlapping each other like the waves of the sea. Glazes and hatchings of splattered cerise pink and olive greens, uneven hues of butterscotch and blue. It seemed like Sasori had the better painting, but Deidara wasn’t about to admit that just yet.

“Now then I see it in broad daylight,” Sasori murmured from the top bunk, still sounding sleepy, “It’s not what I thought it was from yesterday.”

Deidara’s heart skipped a beat as he glanced up at the sorrel brown eyes.

Is he praising it?

“It’s uglier than what I thought it was.”

Frowning darkly, Deidara found his ego deflate almost immediately as he hastily turned away from the red-head’s low chuckle. Well so much for being sympathetic yesterday. He found himself stabbing his soup, - why is he always stabbing his soup whenever Sasori’s around, and glowering fervently at the paintings in front of him.

“I win.” He snorted grumpily, pushing Sasori’s painting aside, earning an incensed 'hey’ from the bed.

“Very mature, brat.”

There’s that annoying nickname again. Deidara huffed thinly and sat himself down on his chair.

“There’s a clear winner and that’s me.” The bored voice concluded, “Now we can start on our painting.”

Before the blonde could curse at the latter, he heard a loud slam of his dorm door opening and a loud proclamation of “Eh blondie, did you miss me–”. Deidara turned around to greet his friend, but before the indigo eyed being could say anything else, his eyes darted over to the figure lazing calmly on the top bunk.

“What the fuck is he doing on my bed?” Hidan’s mouth formed into a lopsided frown as he glared harshly at the red-head, who was surprisingly unfazed by all the shouting.

“You ditched me so I’m replacing you.” Deidara snorted briskly, sticking his tongue out. The snow-white haired individual shot him a dagger glare, knitting his eyebrows in frustration. The blonde was still sore that the jashinist had completely dumped him because he was late for class, and he wasn’t just going to forgive Hidan simply.

“Hey.” Sasori greeted coolly.

“Don’t hey me, asshole.” The albino haired teen growled, flicking his middle finger out and gritting his teeth.

Instead of getting irate, the red-head simply ignored the gesture, rolling his eyes. Still, he stepped down from the top bunk and grabbed his backpack from the floor. Side-stepping the fuming Hidan, he waved a hand at the blonde.

“I’ll see you in class, brat.”

With that he slinked out the door.

“Did you two fuck?” It was an exclamation, not a question.

“No.” Deidara grunted back, surprisingly composed. “We were discussing about our art project.”

“Art project huh.” Hidan winked sickeningly at him.

The blonde rolled his eyes.

“The art project we were all supposed to do?” He emphasised on the word all, narrowing his eyes at his bunk mate.

Hidan blinked, stunned for a moment.

“Oh fuck.”

Deidara dumped his sketches and colour compositions sheets on his bed, frowning darkly at the immense amount of work he had to put in for some silly painting of the sky. Behind, Hidan trudged back into their shared room, groaning in despair.

And behind the white-haired male, was the ever annoying red-head.

They had finished up the last class for the day and Sasori, being the obvious aggressive one in their partnership, wanted to at least start working on the sky-scape of their painting. Deidara was still unsure about how they were going to do it, noting the fact that the latter wanted his 'magnificent’ style to dominate their project work.

The blonde sighed and walked up to the table where his painting sat, before eyeing Sasori’s one on the floor. It was a tiring day and he really didn’t want to deal with the brown-eyed boy’s constant nagging about how his art was more superior as compared to the blonde’s – but they needed to figure a fair way to find how to paint their masterpiece.

Something clicked in his head as he watched Hidan climb up to his bunk, letting out a blissful moan of content when he laid his body down to rest.

“Oi, Hidan.” Deidara called out, picking up Sasori’s painting and placing it side by side with his own, on the table. “Pick your favourite.”

“Anything.” Came the noncommittal reply.

Sasori scoffed, taking a seat next to the blonde.

“Hidaaaaan.” Deidara whined, slamming his fist on the poles of the bunk-bed. “Just pick one, please.”

There was a long tired sigh before Hidan peeked out from a nest of pillows, his white-hair in an adorable mess, eyes wide as he observed the two paintings on the table.

“Can I have one of that for my project?” he enquired sweetly, grinning and baring his teeth.

Infuriated, Deidara rolled his eyes and ran a hand down his messy locks.

“No.” Sasori answered for them, frowning.

“Then don’t ask me to pick.” The jashinist went back into his stack of pillows.

“But we need to figure out what we should paint!” Deidara growled, exasperatedly pulling his hair now, “I say we do it my way!”

“We’ve been through this, brat. My art work is much better than yours.”

“No, you owe me one and I get to pick the winner of the competition – and it’s me. We are doing it my way, end of story.”

“You call that a piece of art? It’s amateurish. The sloppy brush strokes and contrasting colours, it’s all over the place. It looks like a train-wreck.”

“I concur.” Hidan’s voice came from under the stack of pillows.

“Whose side are you on, asshole?” Deidara snarled, rapping the bed-bunk poles once more.

“The Satanist has spoken.” There was that smug grin plastered on Sasori’s face again, as he folded his arms triumphantly, eyebrows raised. “We do it my way.”

Pulling out a piece of paper, the red-head scribbled a number on it and passed the note over to the blonde.

“I don’t have a shared room so I have space to put my easel. We’ll work there instead, I don’t want to disturb your good friend there.” He waved a hand over to the direction where the white-haired teen seemed to be dead asleep. “I’ll see you tonight, 8pm sharp.”

“Tonight?” Deidara’s jaw dropped. “Are you crazy? I need to sleep.”

“We need to get work done. We’ve wasted a weekend deciding what to do. I’ll see you later, don’t forget to bring your paint supplies.” Sasori grabbed his sample painting and waltzed out hurriedly, disregarding Hidan’s sudden declaration “I’m not a Satanist, it’s jashinist.”

Deidara laid his head on the table, cursing his fate. Why was the red-head so implausible to read? One moment he’s nice and sympathetic, another moment he’s like the devil. Sighing, he glanced sideways at his painting. Not looking up, he murmured, “Is my painting really that bad?”

“Not really.” Hidan’s voice was muffled by blankets. “I just wanted you to suffer.”

“What a lovely friend you truly are.”

“But really,” His bunk mate’s voice sounded clearly now, as if he had moved away from his nest of pillows, “You’ve been doing that same old abstract oil painting for years, it’s time you tried something different.”

Deidara sighed tactfully. He had a point, but to be painting beside that infuriating piece of work, it was going to be tough – especially since now they had to do it Sasori’s way. He could foretell that the week wasn’t going to go well.

“Where’s my salt bottle gone to?”

Exactly.

It was 8.15pm when Deidara found himself standing outside room 303, arms draped with his backpack of art supplies and a light scowl on his face. Sasori’s dorm room was a floor above his and the blonde had to make his way up the stairs with his heavy equipment and all. Groaning, he kicked on the oak wood door irately, grunting his disapproval at the situation he was in.

There was a click and a creak as the door opened, revealing the sleepy looking male. Deidara blinked, realising it was the first time he noticed the red-head up this close. Expressionless deep set eyes stared back, eyelashes framing his eyes like black lace, as the blonde marvelled at his unnaturally pale porcelain skin, defined cheekbones and an earthy scent swirled around him. Up this close, Deidara realised that Sasori’s doe shaped eyes were blend of gunmetal and coffee.

“You are late.” His aggravated sneer crashed the moment.

“I was busy.” Deidara snapped back, annoyed.

“I’ve started without you. I hate waiting.” Sasori turned away, beckoning the blonde to follow.

Wide-eyed, the flaxen haired boy observed the single dormitory room and at once, wished that he had picked that instead of a shared bunk. With the same greying walls, Sasori’s room contained only a small bed, neatly made up with two straight backed chairs and a small table. His window was shut tight and covered by dreary looking curtains. In the middle of it all stood the boy’s easel, holding up their A0 sized sheet of paper, covered in a light tint of cream beige.

“I’m going to cover it with eggshell white – the paper is too blaringly silvery white, so I need to dull the colour to achieve that muted grey tone.” Sasori clarified, lifting his brush from the pocket of the easel. “You can start mixing some colours.”

“Mixing?” Deidara blinked, placing down his backpack in curiosity. “Can’t we just splatter it then mix it?”

“It’s watercolour, you idiot.” The vermillion haired boy barked, turning his back from the blonde. “You can’t just mix it on the canvas itself, it’ll melt the paper.”

The blonde sulked.

He knew that.

Grabbing his paint set and palette from his backpack, he skulked over to the lone chair and sat on it grumpily, sighing at his fate. Painting was supposed to be fun, not dull and mixing colours on a palette – where’s the spontaneity in that? He never used his palette before, half the time, Deidara found himself just mixing colours on the canvas as he pleased, feeling before thinking. Perhaps it was part of his downfall too, he pondered, dabbing black and white on wood, he had been known to come up with the strangest of paintings after all.

Grey. He dabbed.

Grey again.

He sighed.

Granite, dusty, charcoal, metal, pewter, soot, storm. After a while, they all looked the same to him.

Hastily, he glanced at Sasori, who seemed fixated at his painting. Deidara inspected the piece of paper, perplexed to see it just a shade of merely nude beige. He spent thirty minutes doing that? The blonde’s eyes widened in surprise. Why would he even waste so much time painting just the backdrop?

“Are you done?” The steely voice echoed through the dimly light dorm room.

“Yeah.” Deidara turned away hesitantly, looking at the odd blend of colours on his palette. If he remembered correctly, these were the colours that Sasori used in his sample painting. Dragging his chair over to his partner, the blonde gestured at him with the wooden palette filled with a fusion of different hues of greys. Not even glancing back at Deidara and his palette of dull colours, the red-head waved a hand dismissively, shaking his head.

“That’s not enough.” He remarked dully, “Mix some more.”

The blonde clenched his teeth, glowering darkly at his so-called partner before retreating back to his spot, where he heatedly started piling different whites and blacks, stabbing his paintbrush ruthlessly on the palette. As he did so, he examined the way the other painted, with skill and precision, the red-head’s hand moved, gliding across the paper and letting the wet water paint dry from time to time. It was entrancing but the man himself wasn’t. Even so, there wasn’t anything brilliantly unique about Sasori’s painting, even as a backdrop it was dull – likewise, Deidara felt awfully dulled.

“How much soup do you have to taste to know it’s bad?” The red-head broke the silence, halting his movements and turning to the blonde, who blinked back in surprise.

He didn’t expect the other to neglect his work to ask a senseless question.

“That question’s very subjective isn’t it?” Deidara chose his words wisely, enunciating each word carefully as he observed the dispassionate look on the other’s face.

“I’m asking you, specifically.” Sasori grunted, folding his arms.

Deidara frowned but kept silent, thinking for a moment. Surely the red-head didn’t make such an imprudent enquiry for nothing.

“I don’t know, maybe one spoonful. What’s with the question?”

“It’s an analogy.” Sasori’s eyes were fixated intently onto Deidara’s. “For human behaviourism.”

The blonde eyed the red-head with complete confusion.

“What does that have to do with me?” He inquired coolly. “I like my soup.”

“The power of a 'first impression’,” his partner pointed at his painting, “You think this is ugly, don’t you?”

Deidara scrunched his nose.

“No.” He lied through his teeth.

“I can tell by the way you look at the paper, brat.”

Sasori sighed, rubbing his temples as if he was dealing with a difficult child.

“Akin to how you assess your soup: if it’s not happening in the first few seconds, your instinct tells you it probably won’t get better. You barely sample before deciding to assimilate the whole thing – just like this painting. You assume it’s not good just because I’m taking my time to do it.” He gestured to Deidara’s palette.

“You have a lack of endurance. Look at that, you aren’t even focused.”

“I do better in the spur-of-the-moment.”

Deidara stabbed his palette forcefully, frowning deeply.

A heartbeat passed.

They remained in silence.

Sasori let out another sigh before turning back to his painting.

“Leave it,” He grunted, waving his hand glibly, “You are dismissed.”

Huffing, Deidara set his palette down, eyeing the other suspiciously.

“Just because I do things differently from you, doesn’t mean I’m wrong.” The blonde gritted out, grabbing his phone and essentials, leaving his supplies on the chair.

“Same goes for you, Deidara.”

Letting out a groan of frustration, the blonde stormed out but before he reached the door, he halted, brain forming a good comeback.

“Hey Sasori,” He turned around to glare at his partner, who levelled his scowl back.

“How much of you do I have to taste before I know it’s bad? One spoonful.”

And he whipped around, grinning wildly, slapped the door and left.

#sasodei