#“”wait aren’t dogs color blind.
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Part 1 “Yellow?”
this took WAY too long. But yah here’s some color blind dogman comic
Poor fella can’t help it :(
#dog man#dogman#petey fanart#comics#lil petey#artists on tumblr#petey the cat#color blindness#uhhh yeah#“”wait aren’t dogs color blind.
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Ykno I’ve been waiting on reblogging JRWI posts until I could upload my blind prime defenders fanart but fuck it they took over a WEEK to send so imma just send em in batches 😭😭😭 sorry pooks
Ermm context; my dumbass did Not know there were canonical designs for the characters, I don’t rlly engage in podcast media alot- like the only podcast series I watched was the Magnus Fartchives which, as you know, doesn’t have canon designs either so everyone has their own cool interpretation of them
So MY dumbass was like HEY. THAT HAS TO BE LIKE TRUE FOR JRWI RIGHT? THATS JUST A PODCAST THING YEAH? I MEAN ITS NOT LIKE WE GONNA SEE THE CHARACTERS ANYWAYS!!
Skip forward to me mid prime defenders where my lovely friends are like “uh, no, actually they do have designs, and yes, they are predominantly white” and im like “ah. so. the JRWI community is going to hunt me down for this aren’t they.”
So uh, here’s just the collection of drawings I made during my watch of prime defenders episodes 1-10 😭😭 I only did these for PD since when I listened to BITB, Riptide, & Apotheosis I was either walking my dogs or in the middle of like school work so I wasn’t on photoshop enough
BUT ERM YEAH ANYWAYS LOL MY BAD -
The closest idea I got to their canon designs were that Vyncent was southeast asian & tide was later retconned as black, the rest I just based off of the designs they said in the episodes
Feel like Wavelengths was the closest I got to canon accurate which is . fucked up
Fun fact I did NOT register Williams fulll wisp form as him just being like. A blue version of him until mid coloring. So that’s fucking awesome.
Got like one more posts worth and then maybe this week I’ll post the rest (I NEED A NEW FUCKING CONVERTER AUAUGHHGHH)
#🌻huevo art#jrwi#just roll with it#jrwi fanart#just roll with it fanart#william wisp#dakota cole#Vyncent sol#mark winters
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Dream Revelation - Where Goes The Others?
Recently, I've been feeling much more like a full-on singlet than the median/plurallet of usual. And that threw me off kilter. Used to the fuzzy gray blurriness of the identities and selves in nearly every aspect, this is beyond jarring, stuck in something static and concrete.
But this morning came a dream that shed some light on the situation we find ourselves in.
I’m in some sort of dark place, sneaking around. A staff member crosses the path as I silently dip into some crevices. At some point, a white dog finds me. We manage to sneak over to some toy-filled theater room, slipping by the notice of the first person. Finding a long, gentle spiral of stairs, we descend. But there is a noise and shadow of a figure coming down the stairs! We quickly dash into a door we come across, a mini auditorium slash classroom of sorts. I herd the dog to some seats down as I hide in a lower row, pressing myself to the floor and curling as tight as possible. Someone opens the door, sees that the lights are still off, mumbles something like "nobody’s here" and closes the door. As we hide some more, the dog starts speaking, and I shush it. The dog is incredulous and asks me, shouldn’t I be freaking out? I shush it again and tell it that this really isn’t the strangest thing in my mind. Something about it not being that scary, and I rectify in my mind that most things aren’t that scary, except maybe an insect infestation. We sneak out and try to go back up toward the toy room, but just as we take a couple of steps, voices! I grab the dog and dash back toward the classroom again. This time in my haste, I opt for the far back wall where there are fewer definite hiding spots. The dog goes to hide somewhere, and somehow I find a doppelgänger of mine hiding in another row. I dash behind some floor-length vertical blinds. There’s a tiny cabinet next to me. When the door opens, the blinds move a bit. I hunker down and wait. But the person who entered just closes the door and turns the lights a bit brighter. They start methodically checking row by row and end up finding the dog. As they walk around, I try to shuffle myself slowly into the blind spot provided by the cabinet. But we meet eyes for just a moment, and I know they saw me. Even still, I attempt to hide. They come over and promptly sit down on the floor next to me, putting out a simple spread of cabbage, some tomatoes, maybe meat? As well as some tiny blue dog bowls. They ask why we do this. Why bother hiding? They ask if this is what we want — to be fed like this? I counter back defiantly, asking what they are suggesting. To be treated like animals? How do they know this isn’t what we want? Or are they attempting to dehumanize us? They raise an eyebrow, calling for their coworker who just came in, telling them to tend to the dog and my other self. They turn back to me and allude to something, referring to me as “raccoon.” I have a moment of enlightenment. That other me is the bright-colored one. I'm Akumu.
After that, I suddenly wake up, perhaps by will alone, and quickly jot this down because I have my answer, and I know where Akumu is. We are here, fully melded together. Perhaps it’s because I’ve been extra stressed and more depressed these recent days. And the bright orange Ryuu (or Yume, when we try to distinguish, though Ryuu dislikes Yume as it tends to be very feminine) is not as singular/separated/individual as before. Who knows, we are One right at this moment. Not even a "wei."
This also tells me that there’s no such thing as a “host”. Both Ryuu and Akumu (and maybe Beast) together are the “host”. Although once again, there is far more independence and individuality for each of us.
#alterhuman#pluralpunk#plural#median#daemon#allude to nonhumanity#lucid dreaming#Dream Dragon Lucid Dreaming#Dream Dragon Posting
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Hello Chapter 5! Things have taken a turn! The gang has their hands pretty full now!
TW: assumed character death, panic attacks
Lupin opened his eyes slightly, tiredly scanning the room. Something felt off…light was coming through the curtains so he had definitely slept through the night, his gun was still on the nightstand so nobody had moved that…adjusting his hold on the samurai in his arms, Lupin hesitated.
He was ice cold.
Sitting up quickly, Lupin looked the other man over anxiously. His lips were blue again, dark circles present under his eyes. His body wasn’t its usual tense, Goemon was always tense, even when he slept. Now, his body was slack, and his chest..wasn’t moving.
Goemon wasn’t b r e a t h i n g.
Breathing picking up, Lupin grasped Goemon’s hand tightly as tears welled up in his eyes. He had been better…they talked last night…Goemon had talked to him and he seemed better! How could this happen if he was supposed to be better now?!
“You were supposed to be better!” Lupin shouted, hands shaking as tears ran down his face. “Goemon! Goemon, damnit, how could you-?!” He sobbed, holding the samurais hand tighter.
“Lupin-?! What the hell’s-?” Jigen came up the stairs, hesitating slightly at the scene in front of him. “Shit…”
Lupin knew Jigen knew what a body looked like. Looking toward the gunman desperately, Lupin pulled Goemon close to his chest. Logically he knew that someone this cold was beyond help but..it was Goemon!
“Jigen…Jigen, please…!” Lupin pleaded through hiccuping sobs as he held Goemon desperately. There had to be something..
Jigen frowned sadly, removing his hat silently. He had been in this game too long to know when someone was beyond help..and that was what Goemon was. He didn’t seem that bad but..maybe Goemon just treated himself like an old dog, you never know how bad it is until they slip away.
Positively wailing at Jigen’s reaction, Lupin buried his face in Goemon’s shoulder and sobbed. He had tried so hard and still failed..he never got to make it up to Goemon for causing him this much trouble..He had fucked up and got poor Goemon killed��
“…Lupin…?”
Hesitating, Lupin pulled back slightly. Crying out when he saw Goemon’s eyes open and looking at him in confusion and concern, Lupin broke down further as he pulled the other man closer and practically wrapped himself around him.
“You’re alive!!” Lupin wailed, nuzzling Goemon’s neck as he clung to him.
“What the hell?! You looked- holy fuck, what the hell happened to your eyes?!” Jigen looked at him worriedly, popping his hat back on as he walked over.
“My- what? What is going on?” Goemon frowned, hesitantly patting Lupin’s back as he looked between the two thieves.
“They’re fuckin’ blue!” Jigen swept back Goemon’s bangs, looking at the samurais eyes in confusion. “Can you see?”
“Of course I can.” Goemon frowned, nodding as he looked down at Lupin. “And my eyes are brown. Are you color blind, by chance?”
“‘Am I’-? Why, you-! Y’know what? Wait right here.” Jigen huffed, walking back downstairs.
Goemon watched before looking back at Lupin. “What happened?”
“Y-You weren’t- you w-weren’t breathing-“ Lupin bit his lip hard, looking up at Goemon anxiously. “A-And you were all limp and cold! I-I thought..”
Goemon frowned quietly, nodding a bit as he looked down at Lupin gently. “I’m alright, see? Take a breath.”
Lupin bit his lip harder, taking a couple shaky breaths as he looked Goemon over quietly. He seemed okay…still cold and he still had the dark circles under his eyes. Which…were a very piercing ice blue? They weren’t like that last night…
“Goemon, your eyes…” Lupin frowned, cupping the samurais face as he leaned in to get a closer look.
Goemon flinched slightly, blushing furiously as he leaned back. “P-Personal space, please-!”
“Sorry, sorry.” Lupin backed off, frowning. “They really are blue..” he mumbled, raising an eyebrow.
“You too? They are brown!” Goemon frowned, crossing his arms. This wasn’t very funny.
“No they aren’t! Look!” Jigen called, coming back upstairs with a handheld mirror.
~~~~~
“No they aren’t! Look!” Jigen called, coming back upstairs with a handheld mirror.
Goemon sighed, rolling his eyes as he took it. “I told you both already, they’re-“ He looked down at the mirror, hesitating. “Blue?!”
“I told you!” Jigen crossed his arms, frowning. “I’m not color blind.”
“This is not funny. It looks awful! So- so undo whatever it is you did right now!” Goemon frowned more, waving his hand in front of the mirror as he bit his lip.
“We didn’t do anything, Goemon..” Lupin frowned, watching worriedly. “They looked normal last night when we talked.”
Goemon stared into the mirror, hands shaking slightly. What had happened to him? This looked awful! If they weren’t messing with him then how did this happen? Doing his best to make sure this wasn’t some sort of illusion, Goemon grew more anxious with each attempt.
What? Don’t like it? I find it lovely. Of course, your friends seem to be pretty disgusted~
Goemon paled, frowning as he glanced between Jigen and Lupin. They didn’t seem disgusted…but was he wrong? Was he mistaking their disgust for concern?
Maybe Lupin had some colored contacts to try to cover it up. I’m sure he has enough to worry about without trying to figure out what’s wrong with his favorite tool.
Wrong.
Wrong.
W r o n g.
~~~~~~~
Lupin jumped when the mirror smashed into the wall behind him, looking from a shocked Jigen to an agitated looking Goemon. He frowned, moving to comfort the samurai before he hesitated. It…felt like the room temperature had just somehow dropped 30 degrees…? Looking around curiously, Lupin’s eyes widened when he saw the windows.
Frost. Frost was creeping across the glass on their windows.
How the fresh hell was there frost spreading across their windows in the middle of summer in Perth? Glancing at Jigen, who he could tell noticed as well, Lupin turned back to Goemon. He could see the shivering starting back up again, the way the samurais eyes swept the room anxiously before he ultimately got up and wordlessly went into the bathroom and shut the door.
“What the hell…?” Jigen frowned, rubbing his hands up and down his arms in attempt to get warm.
“No idea.” Lupin frowned, walking to the bathroom door.
~~~~~~
Goemon sat on the ground against the bathtub, gripping his chest as he tried to keep his breathing steady. Frost covered the mirror and began to trail across the floor from under him and toward the walls. What was happening to him? What was this?
It’s me, obviously. Of course, now it’s us.
“I-I don’t want this..” Goemon panted, hands shaking more when he noticed he could see his own breath in the air.
But, don’t you? Aren’t you sick of it all?
“S-Stop-“ Goemon pressed his hands over his ears, pulling his knees to his chest as he felt his breathing catch slightly.
Always so perfect. Always so controlled. Don’t you just want to watch it all f r e e z e?
“No-!” Goemon gasped, cringing as he felt the ice climb up his arms, shivering increasing as the cold ebbed deep into his skin.
Then why aren’t you stopping it? You must want it, deep down. After all, I know everything you’re thinking, samurai.
Goemon tried to scratch the ice off of his skin, closing his eyes tightly as he struggled to get a controlled breath. He felt like he was drowning again. He felt like everything was falling apart around him while simultaneously building up in a way he couldn’t control. He didn’t know what to do. Why couldn’t he stop this? Why couldn’t he control this? He was failing all over again-
“Goemon-!”
~~~~~~
Lupin nearly slipped getting into the bathroom, a firm grip on Zantetsuken as he fell onto his ass clumsily beside the samurai. He knew a panic attack when he saw one, though seeing Goemon have one was new. Frowning at the ice climbing basically every surface in the room, including Goemon, Lupin gently pressed Zantetsuken into his shaking hands.
“Breathe, Goe, breathe. Everything’s alright.” Lupin frowned, sitting beside him gently. “I’m with you. Everything’s going to be fine.”
Frowning at the lack of response, Lupin changed position so he was right in front of him. Goemon was white knuckle gripping Zantetsuken, ice spreading around the sword from under Goemon’s hands. So this was all from Goemon? It seemed physically impossible but…he knew well enough by now that nothing ever truly was.
“Breathe with me, Goemon.” Lupin frowned, taking a breath for Goemon to try to follow.
Goemon took a shaky breath, the breath catching as he doubled over coughing. Lupin grabbed Goemon’s shoulder to steady him, wincing at the freezing temperature of the samurais body. His eyes widened when he saw flurries landing on the tile, falling from the samurais lips as he whined low in this throat as he shivered more. That was terrifying frankly. Was his whole body just creating ice and snow on its own? He’d have to sort that out later when Goemon wasn’t in the middle of panicking.
“It’s alright, it’s okay. I’m going to have Jigen come help, alright? Just keep breathing.” Lupin tried to keep his tone calm, leaning back toward the door. “Jigen!”
Jigen appeared at the door moments later, hesitating at the overall icy state of the room. “Shit..”
“Shush.” Lupin gave him a look, glaring. “Help me get Goemon outside, yeah?”
Goemon shook his head quickly, cringing at the motion. Lupin frowned, gently taking his hands in his own despite the creeping frost. He looked at the samurai gently, trying his best to stay as open and reassuring as possible.
“Goemon. I promise it’ll be okay. We’ll be right there with you, we won’t let anything happen. Trust me.” Lupin squeezed his hands gently, watching him for a response.
Goemon hesitated, looking between Lupin and Jigen before finally nodding and gripping Lupin’s hand tightly. The thief smiled reassuringly, helping Goemon out of the bathroom and through the apartment. Jigen followed behind them, opening a couple windows to stave off the trail of ice following the samurai through the apartment. Lupin led them out the back door and into the back garden.
“Better?” Lupin looked at Goemon, smiling a bit when he noticed the ice ebbing away a bit with the addition of the heat from outside.
Goemon shivered, laying down in the grass as he took a few shaky breaths. Lupin carefully laid down beside him, glancing at him before looking up quietly. He could see Jigen in his peripheral vision sit down on Goemon’s other side. Looking up at the clouds, Lupin watched the sky quietly.
“That cloud looks like an elephant.” Lupin glanced at Goemon, watching the samurais eyes flick up at the sky and study it quietly.
Lupin smiled a bit when he noticed more of the ice and frost melt away as Goemon scanned the sky quietly. Deciding to keep with it, Lupin looked back up at the clouds for a distraction.
“That one looks like…actually that one really looks like Pops-“ Lupin snorted, glancing at Goemon and Jigen. “See it? Hat and everything.”
“Really? I thought it looked more like a squash…” Jigen mumbled, glancing out from under his hat as he squinted a bit.
“HA!” Lupin snorted, glancing at Goemon hopefully.
His breathing seemed more even..and he wasn’t gripping Zantetsuken like it was the only thing keeping him alive. He noticed Goemon had even taken to rubbing the hilt with his thumb, a noted self soothing technique he had seen Goemon do unconsciously for years. These were good signs!
“What’re you seeing, Goemon?” Lupin asked carefully, watching the clouds move across the sky.
“….teapot…” Goemon mumbled, glancing over at the thief.
“Oh, yeah! I see what you mean, that’s actually really shaped like one, wow..” Lupin mumbled, watching the cloud before glancing at Goemon. “Feeling better?”
Goemon glanced away, nodding faintly. Lupin could tell he felt like he had burdened them with panicking, but he disagreed. Goemon never burdened them and he could understand why he was so worked up. The ice though…was something he would have to think about when Goemon wasn’t around..or at least not around and panicked.
“It’s alright. Let’s stay out here for a bit, yeah? Just relax.” Lupin assured gently, glancing at Jigen. “Right?”
Jigen hummed, pulling out a cigarette before passing one to Lupin. “Nice day for it.” He laid back, pulling his hand over his eyes more as he quietly smoked.
“Mhm!” Lupin smiled, gently taking Goemon’s hand as he looked back at the sky. “We’ll stay here until you’re feeling 100% again.”
Goemon nodded faintly, holding onto the thief’s hand quietly as he closed his eyes. Lupin knew he just needed time to recuperate and ground himself again and we was willing to let Goemon have that no matter what else was going on. The ice gave him more questions than he had before, though…
#lupin iii#lupin the 3rd#goemon ishikawa xiii#goemon#lupin the third#jigen daisuke#fujiko mine#zenigata#jigen lupin the third#jigen#lupin polygang#lupin polycule#jiglupgoe#lupgoe#it’s mostly lupgoe ngl#TW assumed character death#tw panic attack#Snowmon AU
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Oh, Little Birdy.
Chapter 1
Dean x fem! reader, Past! Bucky x fem! reader
Story Synopsis: Being plagued by constant dreams of a man with beautiful green eyes who calls you Birdy can be very confusing if you don't remember ever meeting him. You want to understand these dreams all while trying to understand why you used to harbor feelings for a certain Winter Soldier who wants "nothing" to do with you.
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You really should’ve listened to Soldat when he told you to carry a compass because you had no idea where you were.
It was damp out, and the roads were starting to become slick from the small mist of rain. Forests surrounded both sides of the narrow road that seemed to go on for miles and miles. You had been wandering it for about 5 miles now with no clue what direction you were going. No cars had passed by in a while and nothing but eerie silence filled your ears.
None of this would have happened if you had completed your mission correctly. All you were supposed to do was shoot some politician from his second-story bedroom window. His house was in the middle of the woods in a state you couldn’t remember the name of. This was one of the easier jobs you had been given during your time with Hydra. No fighting or contact was involved.
Everything had been fine, you were programmed to your soldier form and ready to take any order Hydra wanted to give you. You never felt anything in that form. It used to bother you until Hydra made sure that it didn’t.
Your finger was on the trigger waiting for the order to execute. Next thing you know, you’re being attacked by someone. They were a good fighter, but you were better. The only person you weren’t better than, was Soldat.
Right before you shot them, they threw some weird powder in your face. It made your eyes hurt and your throat tighten, spurring a coughing fit. You dropped your gun and ripped out your com that had some random Agent screaming Russian in your ear. You dropped to your knees, rubbing your face, trying to get the powder off.
When you finally felt like you could open your eyes, you felt an immense amount of emotions run through you. You gasped as large tears slid down your cheeks. You gripped your chest where your heart hurt.
Your soldier form had been compromised.
Everything seemed more vibrant, it wasn’t all just some colorless haze anymore. You could hear the crickets and the sound of the politician's dog barking in the distance. The leaves on the trees rustled with the wind and their light green color almost hurt your eyes. For the first time in a long time, you felt so alive.
The moment you realized all this, you immediately abandoned your mission and ran as far away as you could. That brought you to the road you had currently been wandering. You kicked a pebble in frustration, shivering slightly from the breeze.
You stopped walking at the sound of a car coming up fast from behind you. It was blaring music and as you turned around to see what it looked like, it came to a screeching halt a few feet away from you. You shielded your eyes from the headlights while trying to identify the song playing.
You tilted your head and squinted your eyes as two figures got out of the car.
“You lost, sweetheart?”
The figure that spoke moved in front of the right car light, giving you a break from being temporarily blinded. His voice was deep and smooth. He was tall with broad shoulders and bowed legs that you found sort of endearing in a way. He had short brown hair sort of spiked up and green eyes that shone with mirth as he watched you size him up.
“Easy there, we aren’t going to hurt you. We just want to make sure you’re okay. What’s your name?” The second figure spoke up when he saw how tense you were. He was taller than the other one with long shaggy brown hair and a kind smile. You gave him a tentative smile and relaxed your shoulders as you thought about what he asked.
The question shouldn’t have been as hard as it was but it had completely stumped you. You had no idea what your real name was. With Hydra, you were either called by your number or by your soldier title.
You looked between the two as you spoke.
“I’m not sure what my real name is. I haven’t been called it in years. I would prefer that you didn’t call me by my other names since I am sort of escaping the people that called me that so, I guess you can just pick something.”
You watched as they gave each other a worried look, no doubt wondering why you were called something other than your given name.
You shivered as they silently communicated with each other, hoping they wouldn’t notice. The one that had called you sweetheart seemed to catch it out of the corner of his eye and immediately shrugged off his large leather jacket, carefully approaching you with it.
When he reached you, he slowly wrapped it around your frame. It engulfed you in a scent of motor oil, leather, and musky vanilla.
You couldn’t look away from his eyes. They were so green, so alive. Just like the leaves of the tall oak trees surrounding you. You felt tears coming on again.
“How about we call you…. Birdy. Since you said you’re escaping.” He gave you a wink and half smirk, proud of the new name he picked for you.
You shot a quizzical look at the other guy who looked equally confused as he gave you a shrug.
You turned back towards the man in front of you who looked eager to hear what you had to say about the new name.
“I guess it does fit my current situation, I like it. Now that you have my name, what are yours?”
You giggled a little when the jacket guy seemed to puff his chest when you said you liked the name. He smiled wider when you laughed at his antics. He then cleared his throat and gestured to himself and the other guy.
“Our names are D-
The emergency alarm and the voice of Friday woke you up in a panicked state. Something about an immediate mission meeting happening.
You had been so close. So close to understanding the meaning of all of these random dreams. So close to finding out who called you Birdy.
You slid out of bed and threw on a zip-up hoodie over your crop top and shorts. You grabbed your go bag in case the mission was going to happen right after the meeting.
Whatever was going on, you hoped it would distract you from the green eyes plaguing your mind.
#dean x reader#dean x you#dean winchester#sam winchester#bucky x you#bucky x reader#the avengers#marvel#supernatural#spn#fanfic#x reader#drama#romance#love triangle
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“Wait…aren’t dogs color blind” is deadass such a sad line because Officer Knight’s and Greg’s lives are changed forever. Knight loses his life and Greg loses his owner.
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And With What Conscious Equipped, Pray?
A brief excerpt of a TBZ Gang-type AU in the works. This is meant to be a prologue of the bigger story. Open-endness and missing details intended.
○ ○ ○
Synopsis - Sangyeon and Chanhee, leader and second of their city gang unit, have made quick work of tracking down the people who kidnapped one of their own.
Warnings - Mentions of weaponry, blood, and minor injury
○ ○ ○
Besides the drumming of the highway cars and semis that drove above, humming through the thick concrete ceilings of the underground parking space, only the clicking of Chanhee’s heels echoed down the empty lot as he briskly made his way to his car.
He opened the trunk with a sigh, tossing the heavy duffel bag of unused armery parts he’d just collected, and used a clean rag to wipe off the smudges of rust and dirt he’d gathered from the messy ordeal off his jacket, as well as the blood that had managed to spill from the open skin of a few of his knuckles towards his elbow. Usually he would be more annoyed about the stains, the mess, how unusually angry he’d gotten – but tonight he dismissed a quick patching trip to Hyunjae’s office.
He had more important matters to attend to, ones that did not involve attention to his pitiful wounds. He had a closing case, and an idiot to save.
The drive to the Center was without trouble, where the late night rain had fended off any stray from overtaking the slippery streets. When he arrived, Chanhee grabbed a folder of files from the empty seat beside him before exiting his car and making his way inside, nodding in quick greeting at the handful of recognizable but unmemorable faces of other members of the gang who littered the main floor, people outside of Chanhee’s scope of work. He climbed the backwell stairs to the higher up offices, lining a dimly lit, wide hall of dark oak wood floors and doors, with walls the color of worn, grey linen. It was quiet and it was comfortable, but it wasn’t out of invitation.
Chanhee knocked thrice on one of the furthest doors before swinging the it open without waiting for a reply.
Sangyeon looked up from his paperwork that currently scattered the small coffee table before him, the set of seats by the large glass windows apart from his larger desk. Chanhee dropped his folder in front of him with a small thud.
“I’ve cornered the leads we discussed yesterday,” Chanhee said, inviting himself to a cold glass of water from Sangyeon’s small drink cabinet. “Took a whole day of scouting but we have our guy,”
Sangyeon flipped through the pages of identification and history work of at least a dozen men, men from a small gang from the far southeast side of the city. They weren't significant or troublesome enough to garner their attention, even a memorized name, until just a few days ago.
He hummed, scanning the last file of the man Chanhee was referring to, one of the leaders that was sure to have what they were looking for.
“That was fast. Well done,” Sangyeon said as Chanhee sat across from him. “Did you find their armery? I was looking at the documents of the robbery here,”
“In my car. Those kids couldn’t leave a trail more obvious if they tried,”
“Not much trouble, I hope?”
“They’re children, Sangyeon,”
“Not what I asked,” he nodded at Chanhee’s knuckles.
Chanhee scoffed, covering his hands with his sleeve. “They pissed me off, is all. They don’t know what they’re doing, following their leaders like blind dogs. I took one down when he tried to put his hands on me, but that was all. I told the rest to go home,”
Sangyeon looked back down at the files, nodding with a sigh. “They aren’t a threat, at least, it seems. But we’ll be done with them come sundown,”
Chanhee gazed at the cityline below with a frown. Rooftops, dark alleyways, and the glitter of orange streetlights from the glass’ raindrops built the scape. Too pretty a sight for a most obnoxious night of work.
Sangyeon’s tired but light chuckle before him made Chanhee face him again.
“Get some rest,” Sangyeon told him, “This will be over soon. You know he’s okay, right?”
Chanhee clicked his teeth. “Of course I know. I’m just annoyed. How he let something like this happen to him is what I’m concerned about,”
Sangyeon thought for a moment. “I had the same thought. It’s rather unlike him,”
Chanhee gnawed at the inside of his cheek in the enveloping silence before saying quieter but with a firmness, “We can’t let it happen again, Sangyeon,”
“A lousy kidnapping?”
“You know what I mean,”
Sangyeon watched as two droplets crawled down the glass, fighting against a breeze. They twitched and grew is size when they gathered other standstill drops. Together, they slid down, down.
“Yeah,” he whispered. “I do,”
○ ○ ○
#the boyz fanfic#tbz fanfic#tbz au#chanhee fic#sangyeon fic#ty for reading :> i hope this was a worthwhile read!#not my best work but i had this lying around for a while and wanted to try putting something out there#and this type of stuff is up my alley of stories and writing so im definitely gonna do so more over the summer#so! lmk if yall liked this and would be interested in more! perhaps a part two :>#og works#mafia au
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Hiding from the Monster
summary: Amia shares her experience with the monster living in her house.
word count: 539
a/n: Not proofread! If there are any errors, point them out and I will correct them :) Thanks!
Mother, digital drawing made on June 2, 2022. Copyright Eden Flynn.
I live in a house with five other people, two dogs, and a monster. The monster is strange. It sounds aggressive, but doesn’t do much to most people. You know you’re safe if it screams and yells, circling around the house. If you get close, it mutters, “Shut up! Shut up!” And calls you names, but it usually doesn’t attack.
Like all monsters, it needs to feed. It goes hunting every now and then, and only the dogs are left alone when it does. I think it’s because they don’t get the same thrill of the hunt with them as with people.
When it comes down the hall, everyone knows to lock the door and not open it unless it passes. Once it feeds, it goes straight back to the attic. It says, “I love you, sweet girl…” Over and over and over again. The problem is that I’m the only person who lives in the basement, so I’m the last one it looks to kill in the house. If it leaves me be, it will continue its hunt outside, but if not, it stands by my door, wiggling the handle until morning. It will say, “Amia… I love you… open up!” In a sweet, tender voice, but the longer I wait to open it, the more impatient it gets. It starts saying it louder and louder, replacing words one by one in no particular order, eventually switching to, “Open… the… fucking door! Open it!” As if patching words from past meals together.
I silently cry behind the door, chairs and furniture stacked up in front of it to keep the monster out and myself in. I want to scream at it to go away, to leave me alone, I want to climb out a window and run, but I know the only escape is to listen to its horrifying cries and keep the blinds pulled and the windows locked. Talking back might embolden it, like adrenaline strengthens an athlete.
The creature sometimes reaches its fingers under the door, and I’m thankful its hand is too pudgy to do much. One time, I tip-toed over to look under the door when it was happening, and I saw dozens of glowing, puss-colored eyes, all focused on me. It sent shivers down my spine. Did it know how I was going to react before it even did that? Was it a fear tactic, to keep me from strategizing? Either way, it worked.
Some people may ask, why don’t you run away, ask for help? The truth is, the monster masquerades as my mother in the daytime, and gradually transforms with the setting sun to become the grotesquerie it is in the night. I wonder what happened to my mother, or if anything ever happened to my mother. Even when I’m far away from its madness, I still don’t feel quite human. I feel… a pull. Back to the house… back to the basement. I wonder if the awful things it says while hunting and during its daily prowls are true, or if it just mimics awful things other people have said about people — we aren’t the first inhabitants of this house, after all.
I think… there's something else in the basement.
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ੈ♡˳·˖✶ — PRINCE! OIKAWA X READER
Masquerades are about deceit. In a world built on spun sugar and gems the size of fists, very little can be trusted to be what it appears to be at first glance.
wc — 1.4k
The prince is watching you. Of course, on second thought, it’s unlikely that he would at all - you’re just a common peasant girl among the crowd, waiting for the king to deliver whatever oh-so-important speech he has today that required everyone in the realm to be packed like sardines into the tiny courtyard below his balcony. From that height, all the little bodies scattered below turn into smears of blue and red and green, reduced to scraps of colored fabric.
But he’s looking, and you can’t shake the feeling that it’s at you, even as you, flustered, turn away to hide your face. When the ceremony ends - long hours of standing on your feet just to hear the king drone on and on - you melt into the crowd and disperse. One of many.
You don’t know how you might have caught the royal eye, but you’d prefer to stay separate.
Your preferences, however, do not hold the same weight as royalty. A little side effect of being a common peasant girl.
A heavy armored hand clasps your shoulder.
“Let me go,” you snap instantly. The crowd parts around you. No one stops to check on you - instead, they avert their eyes, pull their children a little closer, and walk double time to get away. You don’t blame them. You would, too. This is how you stay out of trouble - but now trouble has come to you.
You think about running, but decide against it. It would be futile. Better to face it head on.
He’s well-trained, the knight. Tan skin, spiky black hair, an impassive face that screams ‘loyal guard dog’. Perfect posture. Uniform follows all the regulations, sword perfectly polished according to code. The worst kind.
“Don’t be afraid,” he says. “His royal highness requests an audience.”
“If it’s a request, I decline.”
The guard gives you a look that clearly says, ‘don’t be stupid.’
The palace is a near impenetrable fortress. You’ve only managed to slip in on one occasion before, during a grand party when everyone’s guard was up, but in all the wrong places. You found a weak spot and holed yourself away on one of the forgotten balconies to watch the revelry beneath you.
It’s a glamorous world. Every body twirling under the throw of light, fractured by the crystals of the chandeliers, glittered with massive jewels, circling their throat, embedded in their hair, given out as favors. Opal for House Kuroo, sapphire for House Kageyama, fire agate for House Hinata. Of course, diamonds and emeralds for the king and his royal spawn.
You’ve glutted yourself on the appearance of luxury already. Everyone is impossibly beautiful and everything is impossibly wealthy. Such is the life of royalty - to be surrounded by women in elaborate dresses made of swans feathers, men in suits of satin and gossamer, drinks in glasses made of mined crystal. It’s another world, down there, among the masked nobles.
But all of that loses its initial novelty when the prince arrived.
This time, instead of sneaking in through the servants entrance, you’re being waltzed in through the massive double doors meant for honored guests. Foreign kings and queens walked this carpet that now you stain with your muddied slippers. A maid makes a disgruntled expression at the tracks you’re making on the fine red velvet.
Massive double doors, pale birch wood carved into fairy tale scenes and painted over with white, bar your entry into the audience chamber. Two guards, equally as blank faced as the one who guided you here, pull them open. They creak slowly, leaving a gap just big enough to pass through.
It’s blinding inside. The hall is lined with massive, floor to ceiling windows, and the roof is one large skylight. The mirrored floor and the parts of the wall that aren’t entirely windows are encrusted with gold and jewels that send sparks into the air, as if inside the throne room, living stars were stolen from the skies, and dance along the paths of royal footsteps. It’s very emblematic of the Oikawa family and their taste for wealth to hold audience inside what looks like a massive diamond.
It takes a while for your eyes to adjust, but the royal family doesn’t wait.
“Thanks, Iwa! You’re dismissed, go enjoy the rest of your day. These are specific orders to take a break, so don’t even think about disobeying,” the prince magnanimously declares with a beatific smile on his face.
For the first time, you see the twitch of an expression on your escort’s face before he leaves.
“And you,” the king cuts in.
There’s only one person left in the room he could be addressing besides his son.
You shift nervously. There was only one reason you would have caught the eye of the royal family.
“Thank you,” the king says, and suddenly he’s striding down the hundreds of steps that lead to his throne. He pulls your hand to his lips in an elegant gesture. It makes your skin itch. Perhaps you’re allergic to royalty.
When he lifts his head, his eyes are misty. “Thank you for saving my son’s life. I heard from him first hand, how a peasant girl from outside the palace had snuck in. How she found him, seconds from choking to death on poison in a brief moment of respite in the gardens. You slapped the chalice from his hand. You saved the prince, the kingdom, and most importantly, my only child. We, the royal family, owe you a great deal.”
Prince Oikawa tilts his head in agreement.
You realize they’re waiting for you to say something. When you speak, your throat is too dry. You croak out the beginnings of a sentence before you have to swallow hard and start over, this time, more clearly.
You stutter out your words, nervous and unsure. “It was…It was nothing, your majesty. I didn’t mean to. It was just…reflex? I suppose?”
In the echoing silence, you add, “Long live the king,” then wince. It sounds so fake, even to your ears.
“So modest,” he says, with his booming laugh, as if he hadn’t been crying just a few moments before. “You truly are among the most loyal of my subjects, the very best. I’d like to honor you.”
“No, sir, it’s not necessary-“
“I insist. From today forth, you are to be the captain of Prince Oikawa’s royal guard, always at his side. You will be his living shelter, his sword, and his shield. You will throw yourself between him and danger, and defend him with your life.”
Doesn’t seem like much of an honor to you, to be ordered to die for the prince, but it’s not like you have a choice. It’s better than the other option.
“Thank you, your majesty,” you say, eyes cast down.
Royals always take forever for things that might be done in the span of seconds. You feel claustrophobic, even with the massive windows, the room feels like it’s closing in on you. There’s panic clawing at your throat that you’re barely tamping down. You want to go. You need to go. It doesn’t help that Prince Oikawa is watching you with devouring eyes.
“You may be dismissed-“
Hope surges up your chest-
“Once you have spoken to Prince Oikawa. May you be good friends, my dear.”
“…Thank you, your majesty.”
Then, it’s just you and the prince alone.
He looks even better than the night you met. The prince was meant for this, after all, the consequence of being the living descendants of the Sun God - if you believed the stories. His skin glows in the light, and faint shimmers of rainbow arc across his white clothes from the crystal. His gold epaulets make him seem broader and more real than he did at night. He’s by no means a small man, but the semi-translucent loose shirt he wore then, combined with the fragile look in his brown eyes, made him seem like almost a different person entirely than he appears right now.
You break the silence first. “Why did you tell the king I saved your life?”
Because you hadn’t.
You’d tried to kill him.
The poison in his glass had been your handiwork, the price of a ninety million dollar bounty placed on his head going through the underworld.
He smiles, drawing closer. Up close, he’s startlingly beautiful - and terrifying. He’s perfect to the point of intimidation, with his blindingly white teeth, his poreless skin, the raw power in the way he carries himself. He’s used to getting what he wants.
So are you.
But now, you’re defenseless in enemy territory.
“Why else, my captain?” He’s directly in front of you now, so you can see how even his white boots are perfect, without a hint of dust. “To keep a close eye on you now that you’ve been promoted to my guard.”
You feel a strange sense of anger that he’s belittling you so. That your talents, so revered among assassins, are so unfrightening to him that he would invite you into his home, even allow you to guard his back.
“I could still kill you,” you threaten.
“I do hope you manage to succeed.”
#sera writes#oikawa x reader#oikawa toru x you#oikawa x you#oikawa x y/n#oikawa toru x y/n#oikawa tooru x reader
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Obey Me Incorrect Quotes
Some ships ones here and there, mostly MC ones --- Belphegor: Dracula had it right, sleep all day, live alone in a castle, and explode into bats to get out of all social situations. - Diavolo: Knock, knock! Barbatos, sighing: Who's there? Diavolo: Boo! Barbatos: Boo who? Diavolo: Why are you crying? Barbatos: I'm not crying. Diavolo: Hello not crying, I'm Diavolo :D -
Lucifer: Someone care to explain why we have 6 dogs in our apartment? Mammon: They're golden retrievers. They retrieve gold. I did this for us. - Lucifer: Lord Diavolo, no Diavolo: Lord Diavolo, yes - Mammon: The best part of an oreo is the cookie part, not the frosting. Deal with it. Barbatos: Darkness without light is an abyss. Light without darkness is blinding. You cannot have a coin with one side. Belphegor: YO SOCRATES! IT'S A FUCKING COOKIE! - Asmodeus: *is hugging MC* Leviathan: Hey! It's my turn to hug MC!! *Grabs them* Mammon: *kicking down the door* What do you mean, "yOuR tUrN"? We agreed now it’s my time slot! Asmodeus: No, It's still my turn! MC: *suffocating* Guys, I love you, but just because I'm the human doesn't mean you can be hugging me constantly! Asmodeus: But we need the moral support! Mammon: And you're a human! Which is cute! Leviathan: If I don't hug you right now I think the depression will kick in and my body will stop functioning. - Diavolo: I wasn’t that drunk. Barbatos: You colored my face with a highlighter because you said I was important. Diavolo: BECAUSE YOU ARE! - MC: So you like cats? Satan: I love them! MC: *tries to impress him by slowly pushing a glass off the table* - Luke, trying his first ever cup of coffee: I am ENERGY! Lucifer, an avid coffee drinker, on his twelfth cup of the day: Someone slap me awake or I am literally going to fall into a coma in ten seconds. - MC: Dinosaurs aren't extinct. I mean, Lucifer is walking in this room. Belphegor: *wheeze* - Mammon: What can therapy do for me that screaming in my car for 30 minutes can’t? (Someone get this man therapy, get them all some therapy) - Lucifer: New challenge! Don't say stupid shit for 24 hours! - Leviathan: How are you still alive?! MC: Honestly, I’m just as surprised as you are. - Simeon: What is the one thing I told you not to do? Solomon: Burn the house down. Simeon: And what did you do? Solomon: I made dinner! Simeon: Solomon: Simeon: Solomon: And burnt the house down. - Satan: Ha! Don't you know the trappers trap can trap the trapper? Satan: Satan: I must be losing it, I'm quoting Lucifer. - MC: Just so everyone knows, don't ever try to climb a tree at night carrying a strobe light, owls DON'T like it. Simeon: ...What happened? MC: I made a VERY bad mistake. - Diavolo: *reading a recipe* Beat three eggs? MC: It means like in, hand-to-hand combat. Diavolo, playing along: Ohhhhh Barbatos, exasperated: Both of you get out of this kitchen. - Mammon: I'm naturally funny because my life is a joke. Mammon: *Puts on sunglasses and does finger guns* - MC: I’m going to hell. Solomon: Probably. MC: I'll pick you up? Solomon, nodding: Carpool. - *When D.D.D’s were first made in the Devildom* Diavolo,looking at a dead D.D.D: How do we bring this thing back to life? Magic? Live sacrifice? - MC: Fight me! Mammon, standing behind them in demon form: *mouths* Do not. - Mammon: We’re getting married, bitches! MC: And we're about to make it everybody else's problem. - Lucifer I hardly slept last night Satan: When you can’t sleep, it means someone is thinking about you. Someone who loves you, surprisingly Lucifer: Who would be thinking about me at 3 a.m.? Diavolo: *gay panic* - Luke: Why is everyone so obsessed with top or bottom? Honestly, I’d just be excited to have a bunk bed. Asmodeus: Asmodeus: I'm gonna tell him. Simeon: Don't you dare. Asmodeus: What? It's not like I'm telling them about secret relationship, or anything- Luke: Your secret what? Simeon: Nothing! - MC: Wait, what just happened? Mammon: I don’t know. I think Lucifer’s not used to feeling emotions. Maybe it was too much for them. Lucifer, far away: Shut up! -
#obey me shall we date#obey me! brothers#obey me! dateables#obey me! mc#obey me incorrect quotes#they all need therapy
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Sacrifice
Fandom: Teen Wolf
Pairing: Pack x Reader
Request Summary: You're Scotts twin sister and make a sacrifice for the good of the pack
Warnings: death, panic attack, angst, murder described, death described, reader death; I know for a fact I've missed some and this one is pretty fucking rough, as always read at your own risk.
A/N: This one is angsty, and just a tad longer than normal, consider it my apology to nonnie for taking so damn long on this request. I hope you guys love it, and again, this one is rough, read at your own risk.
You're able to grab one of the fucking resilient demonic ninja's off of Isaac. You could smell his pain, his blood, and you could smell Allisons determination. The second one on Isaac was shot with Allisons arrow, it's glowing green, fighting with the clear pain it's experiencing. With a split decision you're next to Allison, pushing her out of the way, a sharp pain through your chest, and then you're numb.
Allison's face is rampant with fear, her shirt holding a tiny cut that didn't grace the skin. Good, she's okay, and then you're falling.
You don't hit the ground though, your brother, Scott, holding your face with a stray tear falling down his face. You reach up and wipe it away, "It's okay Scotty, it doesn't hurt." Scott chokes back a sob, his hand gently rubbing yours, "Is everyone else okay?" Scott starts to speak, his voice betraying him, sounding mangled, "Yeah, everyone is okay Y/n, you're gonna be okay too." You shook your head, "Not in the way you think I am," Scott finally releases a sob, "no, no, big brother," he tries to laugh, trying to give you a little peace with your joke that even though he's minutes older, he's still older, "it's okay, yeah? Me and you, fighting tooth and nail. This was the best gift I could've ever gotten, I love you, and I love the pack. This is okay." You reach behind him, fingers tangled into his hair, you pull him to you and kiss his forehead. "Don't let them blame themselves, and don't blame yourself," another kiss to his cheek, "I love you big brother."
Scott's memories with you flashes before his eyes as the color in yours goes out, how did we get here?
"Scott! You okay?" You look over his body for injuries, he hisses at you making contact with his torso. "Scott, what's wrong? Did you get bit by something too?" Scott's eyebrows raise, "What do you mean 'too'? Did you get bit?" You roll your eyes and turn around, shirt stained with blood, "Yeah, I managed to get away from the fucker while rolling down some hill, now let me see yours." You swat him away, lifting his shirt and taking a good look at the bite mark, "Okay, not too bad, you fix me up and I'll fix you up? Not a word to mom, got it?" Scott nods, walking with you into the house to take care of the bite marks.
Scott can't feel anything, surrounded by you, your lifeless body. His anger, no, pain, soars through him as his eyes glow, a roar deep within him. The only thing anyone in his pack can hear is the scream from Lydia's lips and the roar of pain from Scott.
Isaac barely notices the sound around him, only his own heartbeat in his ears as he listened to yours fade away.
"Isaac you fucking idiot!" You slapped Isaac on the back of the head, he looks at you with lost, glowing, puppy dog eyes, "Sorry, Y/n." His eyes dull to his normal brown and you frown, "You've gotta do better honey, you can't lose control like that, you'll kill someone and I know that's not what you want." Isaac sits on the metal bench in the locker room, head in his hands, "I don't know that I'll ever be able to."
You sigh, sitting next to him with your hand rubbing his back, "You will, just give it time, until then, you've gotta find something that works for you, something that prevents you from breaking someone fucking ribs Isaac." You voice becomes elevated again towards the end, irritated at Isaac's recklessness. "Yeah," he leans his head down to your shoulder, "I know firecracker."
Scott is blind to the feeling on his bloody hand, only noticing it when Allison's tears hit it. Allison brushes a hair out of your face, you looked peaceful, she's eternally grateful for you, for what you did for her tonight and what you've done for her up until this point.
"Allison, fuck," you huff, pulling yourself up from the ground, "let's do it again, I know that this isn't you, your aim is perfect, let it all go and focus on me okay?" She sighs, shaking the bow in her hand, "Maybe the fact that I could actually hurt you isn't helping." You're eye to eye with her, both hands on her face, eyes glowing, "No, you won't hurt me, I'm invincible remember?" She laughs, shaking her head, "Alright, last time." You grin ear to ear and took off running. Allison brings the bow up, listening to you run. She sees glimpses of you, through the trees, and the arrow is gone. She sighs, she didn't hit you, she's shouting at you "I told you! I can't do it!"
You touch her back, startling her, she lets out a small yelp and turns to you. Her eyes go wide when she sees the arrow sticking out of your shoulder. "Oh, Jesus Y/n," her bow drops and she's bringing her hands up to try and get it to stop bleeding. "Oh quit being a pussy and pull it out," you rolled your eyes, grabbing her wrist and bringing it to the arrow in your shoulder. "I'm so sorry I hit you-" she pulls it out and you let out a long groan, already feeling better with the object dislodged. "Don't be sorry, you hit me, let's do it again." Allisons eyes widen, if that's even possible, and shakes her head, "No, absolutely not." You laugh, "Lighten up buttercup, I'm invincible remember? And this time I'm not going easy." She scoffs at you, "Easy? Oh I see how it is, run little wolf, run." With that, you take off running, Allison laughing at your excitement.
Kira is frozen, she feels like she died, you were her best friend. Over anyone else, you'd been the first to accept her, the first to fight for her, the first one she'd confided in.
"Kira, what the hell are you saying?" You're sitting with your arms crossed at a picnic table, nose in your homework. "I-I know that we were friends first, so I was going to tell you first, before I said any-" You slam your hand one the table, "Kira, baby, spit it out, fuck." This is the you realize that Kira's scent holds fear and anxiety. "Kira, what's wrong?" You're more serious now, waiting for the bomb to drop that there's another fight to be had. "I like Scott, like like him, Jesus please don't be mad." You burst into full laughter, tears streaming from your eyes.
When you calm down Kira is staring at you, piddling with the strings on her sleeves. "Oh, my god," you laugh again, trying to calm yourself. "You're not mad?" You laugh harder, smacking the table a few times, "Jesus Christ no, I can't believe-" you stand up still laughing, hugging her. "I don't give a shit," rubbing her back, "you had nothing to worry about, as long as you don't get mad if I fuck your dad." Kira jerks back, shock on her face, "Y/n!" You laugh harder, "I'm fucking kidding, jeez," you sit back down, "fucking sit down and gush to me about my brother."
She shakes herself out of it when she feels her mother enclose her in a hug. Tears finally falling.
Lydia's scream has finally ended, and she's inconsolable. Memories flooding through her head as she lays her head on an unconscious Stiles.
"Lydia god dammit," you truck to the pool, "did you find another one?" You stop at the strong scent of blood, rushing to Lydia, Stiles right behind you. "Are you hurt?" Lydia shakes her head, staring at you, "I already called 911." Stiles looks hurt, arguing with Lydia over why she should call him before the police, but you push him to the side. "Heya honey," you wrap your arms around her waist, "it's okay, don't listen to Stiles grumpy ass, let's me and you go sit." You're not sure why you aren't phased by the body next to you, but you let Stiles do whatever he needs to do for Scott while you try and get Lydia's head back down to Earth.
"Hey Lyds, dontcha think you're a little overdressed to come to the pool?" She lets out a small chuckle and you relax a little, "This can't be my new normal, Y/n. Finding dead bodies? I can't take this." You hold her hand, sighing, "None of us asked for this Lydia, I'm so sorry. If you want I can stay with you for a few days, follow you if you zonk out again?" Lydia just nods, and she feels for the first time that you're as much her best friend as Allison.
Lydia can't stop crying, Scott is trying to get ahold of himself, Kira is crying with her mother, Isaac is breathless and in pain, and Allison is held by her father.
"She did it for me dad," Allison sobs, her father already made sure she wasn't hurt, "she did it for me and I don't know why." Chris shushes her, running his fingers through her hair, grateful for your sacrifice so his beautiful girl could live. "She did it because she loved you," Allison sobs harder, "I know sweet girl, but listen, we have to deal with this. You can cry, scream, break things later, but now? Now we get our stories straight." Allison nods, and her dad is off to Scott to prep him.
When Stiles finds out, it's like every cell in his body failed him. Scott caught him and pulled him into a hug, tears streaming down his face. "I know. I know brother." Stiles can't breathe, it's been a long time since he's had a panic attack, but here he is, without you, panicking.
"Stiles," you sigh, throwing a ball against his ceiling and back into your hand, sprawled out on his bed, "you've gotta stop." Stiles shakes his head, "No, no there is something here!" He tosses the books to the floor, you get off the bed, wrapping your arms around him from behind, "You'll find it but you're not going to without sleep. Come on." You tug him back to his bed, "Let's nap, and then we'll come back to all," you gesture to his board covered in multicolored string, "this." Stiles sighs heavily, letting you pull him to the bed. It's not the first time, and certainly wouldn't be the last, that you've convinced him to sleep. He crawls in next to you and you throw your arm open, allowing him to lay his head over your heart. He falls asleep to the lull of the thump thump thump.
Stiles shakes himself out of the memory, remembering that he'll never hear that beautiful sound again and vows to hold onto it. He lets out a pained, choked sob, "Scott-" Scotts arms are around him still, Scott can smell the guilt coming off of the small man, "Don't - It was not your fault Stiles. It wasn't anyone's fault." Scott lets Stiles cry, mourn his best friend, the woman he's come to love like his own sister. "Have you told Derek?" Scott sighs, Stiles already knows the answer.
When they get to Derek's place, Derek opens the door, already smelling them and their horribly displaced emotions. "What is it?" Scott lets himself in, Stiles following close behind him and he's checking for his little flame, and when you're nowhere to be found, his heart sinks. "Where's Y/n?" Derek can smell the grief coming off of Scott in waves, not missing the anger that hides beneath it. "Fuck, my little flame," his voice sounds broken, barely audible to the human boy who stares sorrowful at him.
"Derek Hale!" You kick the door open to home, "Derek Hale! Get your ass out here!" Derek almost materializes behind you, but you're just as quick as he is. "Derek Hale! I oughtta kill you, you son of a bitch!" You march to him, taking him off guard by your fist that collides into his face. He's knocked back a couple feet, staring at you with glowing eyes. Your eyes match his, "I am not afraid of your eyes, wolf boy! You turned three people!" Derek shrugs, "So what if I did?" You go for a second punch, this time caught by Derek, he can't smell a single ounce of fear, only fury.
"They knew what they were getting into," Derek lets go of your hand. "Oh, fuck you, Derek," you shove him back, "you can spin that stupid story to whoever you want, but you and I know better." Derek shrugs, "So what? They're better now, stronger, and they like it." You let out a deep growl, "Did you tell them about the death?" You step forward towards him, "Did you tell them how they'd be pulled into every murder in this town?" You shove him back again, following his step backwards, "Did you tell them of the pain? Did you? Of course not." Your hand grasps his chin, squeezing painfully with your claws out, making him look at you, "Hear me Derek Hale and hear me good. If anything," you squeezed him harder, bringing a hiss from him, "and I mean anything, happens to them, I will hurt you." You back away and head out of his house, stopping at his door, "And trust me, I'm a fire you can't put out." He laughs, watching you walk away, but mumbling just where you can barely hear, "I have a feeling I don't want to be burned by your flame."
A growl explodes from his lips, pain filling his entire being. You've been the glue that holds them all together, bringing them back from the brink again and again. How could they survive without you?
Months after your death, they've settled back into the groove of things, nothing ever feels the same without you though.
They talk about you all the time, Stiles has a tendency to try and calm people down like you did. Trying to help keep everyone grounded. He's nowhere near as good at it like you were, but he's trying. Allison keeps your memory around by never changing her lock screen, a picture of everyone in the pack resting on the screen she checks every five minutes. Isaac has found a new anchor, with Scott's help, using himself to be able to control the rage that flurries inside of him after your death. Lydia lives for adopting your fire, absolutely never keeping her mouth shut much to everyone's dismay, but it's a way to keep your image around. Kira has become closer to Allison and Lydia, but she knows they'll never replace you. They don't laugh at her like you did when she talks about Scott, and it's a painful memory. Derek's become much more involved with Scott's pack, dedicated to doing what he can for not fighting by your side the right you died, a debt he'll never repay. Scott finds his peace in his pack, but the hole in his heart for his sister will never fade, like the newly placed fire tattoo on his forearm will never fade.
They are all eternally grateful.
They all know it'll never be the same.
They all hate your sacrifice.
#teen wolf fluff#teen wolf angst#teen wolf fic#teen wolf fanfic#teen wolf fanfiction#Scott x reader#Scott McCall x reader#Scott McCall x mccall!reader#Scott McCall x sister!reader#Scott x sister!reader#derek hale x reader#Derek x reader#derek angst#Derek Hale angst#Scott McCall angst#stiles x reader#stiles stilinksi x reader#Lydia x reader#Lydia Martin x reader#Isaac x reader#Isaac Lahey x reader#kira x reader#Kira Yukimura x reader#allison argent x reader#Allison x reader#pack fanfic#Stiles Stilinski angst#stiles stilinksi imagine
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Crotch Goblins
Pairing: Purpled x Reader, Ranboo x Reader, Tommy x Reader, Tubbo x Reader
Request: wait would it be cringe if i like. requested your take on the yandere kids
Word Count: 1.6K
Warning: yandere, fighting mentioned, stalking, fear of abandonment, anxiety, stealing, kidnapping, the egg
A/N: This is all platonic! Nothing romantic.
Ranboo
This poor child lives in constant fear of forgetting you. His memory issues are a big problem and it affects everybody he loves. And his anxiety definitely doesn’t help his situation; it only feeds his paranoia of losing you.
To prevent losing any precious memories of you, he’ll write down so much about you. He’d probably have books on books just dedicated to things about you he wants to remember. Another way to always remember you is to never be away from you! It’s much harder to forget somebody if you’re constantly around them!
If you allow it, he’ll fucking cling to you. He loves the attention and reassurance you give him. Aw yeah he's a poor memory boy and constantly scared of Dream and enderwalking. Please stay by him??? Pretty please??
He’ll occasionally come over to your house in search of your company. Though he won’t tell you that directly. It’ll be under the pretense that he’s very scared of something happening and wanted to stay with you for some comfort. Not all of that’s a lie though. He always goes to you when he’s anxious; you’re his safe place. You make everything right and good again. You found it rather endearing that he trusted and liked you so much. Baked treats would always be on standby for his visits.
He’ll occasionally come over to your house in search of your company. Though he won’t tell you that directly. It’ll be under the pretense that he’s very scared of something happening and wanted to stay with you for some comfort. Not all of that’s a lie though. He always goes to you when he’s anxious; you’re his safe place. You make everything right and good again. You found it rather endearing that he trusted and liked you so much. Baked treats would always be on standby for his visits.
He’ll slowly start to stay at your house for longer and come back quicker. Soon he’s practically living with you. You’re not bothered by it at first, and you don’t think about it after a while. The domesticity of the situation just feels right. Why would you disrupt something like this?? And he deserves some of this. After all, the dsmp isn’t a nice place, and especially not to Ranboo. Why don’t you just let him have this?
Tommy
Tommy lives in constant fear of you abandoning him. Or worse, having someone take you from him. He’s lost so many loved ones already, and he doesn’t know how many more he can live through. You’re one of his most prized possessions, besides Tubbo and the Disks. Above Tubbo, but a close contender with the disks.
He’s gonna be clingy af. And he’ll do anything you want him to. By that, he really means anything he thinks you’d want him to do or something that’s “necessary”. Overall it’s just bad stuff. Be prepared for some warfare to happen just for you.
No thought, only fighting. Fights will break out over the silliest things. Like he wants attention from you? Fight! Someone getting too close?? Begone thot!! This is his friend! Not theirs! Back off.
After every fight, you’ll bandage his wounds while lecturing him. Not a single thing you say will be properly heard by Tommy. Your words would slur together in his ears, turning themselves into a beautiful song. Did you know your voice sounds really good? Oh yeah, you make the pain go away so quickly too. Your medical skills are just so fucking good, can’t you see?
There will be no question that he’d steal for you; he’d do it without question or request. If he finds anything that you might like or need? Yoinked as soon as the old owner isn’t looking. Finders keepers, after all. The smp is a dog-eat-dog world. And you deserve the fucking best shit man. If you find out it’s stolen, you’d return it in a heartbeat with so many apologies. You somehow found it somewhere and you didn’t know it was theirs. Wow you must like Tommy if you’re covering for him like that!
You’d be dragged around by Tommy on some days. All a grand tour to show you his creations, and he begrudgingly shows you some of the builds by the others. He feels somewhat inadequate when he eventually shows you his stuff. Like his multiple cobblestone towers. But you’re giving such nice compliments for each one. And they’re all so unique too. No two compliments are the same. He is a really good builder, huh?
Tubbo
He’s going to be protective of you. Not overbearingly so, but definitely is watching out for your safety a ton. With him having watched the lives of those he loves fall apart around them, he doesn’t want the same fate to fall upon you. He can’t go through that cycle again, and especially so soon. You’re so nice too. You definitely don’t deserve that fate.
Micheal took a liking to you really quickly. If Micheal likes you, that means that you’re a part of the family. He doesn’t care what you have to say, it’s just facts. You have a problem with it? Try bringing that up to Micheal. Want to tell him that you aren’t a part of the family? Exactly. So that means that you are a member.
Oh and you help him so much, which he’s thankful for. And it’s not just to a specific type of task either. You help with everything. Building, cooking, caring for Micheal, the whole biz. With you doing so much and putting so much effort into everything, that must mean that you love him like he loves you, right? Nobody does this much for somebody else without loving them. So the obvious answer is that you love him back!
Will do anything in his power to convince you to move in with him, Ranboo and Micheal. Like really hard. He pulled all of the charms and stops. And there’s a very slim chance that you didn’t move in. Though you would eventually. There isn’t a chance in hell that you wouldn’t be living in that house by some point. You’d be moving in with or without your consent. Maybe one day you just woke up in the mansion. Oh hey why do you look so confused? You agreed to move in already silly, don’t you remember?
There’s no and, if, or buts about it; he’d get Ranboo in on it also if he wasn’t already. They’re platonically married after all. And the three of you are all friends. So it’s obvious that Ranboo would be in on it as well. If he isn’t, then he’d turn a blind eye to Tubbo’s behavior. Huh, yeah he didn’t notice that at all. Nope, nothing odd happening here.
Would absolutely get you to help him on every little task that he could. Especially with building and taking care of little Micheal. The builds would be little cottage core stuff. Such sweet and quaint things. Not too much or too hard, but very pleasing to the eyes and the feeling of accomplishment the two of you got at the end of the project felt incredible. Children can be such a handful too, so any help for Micheal will be much appreciated. Plus it’s so much fun to play with children, especially children in Micheal’s age group. The more time you spend with them, the less time you have to spend with anyone else. Which leads to a smaller chance of being taken from them.
Purpled
This man? Oh he’s so fucking happy that you and him don’t have many relations outside of each other. It’s so much easier for you two. Since you two are so close, it’s easy to coerce you into living with him. Yeah it may be far from the rest of the smp, but that’s okay. It’s not like you had any friends there. It’s easier to stay safer so far away from everything. And you know what’s even better? Nobody would even notice y’all disappear!
Before y’all moved away, he always conveniently showed up at random times. It was always during times when you were alone or felt alone. Really helped you there; made you feel loved that somebody noticed and was there for you. Though it was odd how often he appeared at just the right moment. You wouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth though.
He always knows what to get you. What your favorite flowers are, what food you like, what your favorite color is, your favorite gift items. He even knows your dislikes. Even the ones you don’t tell him. You know, anything a good friend would know.
If somebody even remotely offends/scares/harms you, they’re in fucking trouble. That? Yeah, that’s a valid reason to start a fight. He’ll beat them within an inch of their life and threaten to do it again if they even thought of hurting you like that. >:( Definitely got them to stop talking to you.
Since he’s working for the egg, he feels like the egg could maybe protect you?? Yeah he’s not completely under its control and he sees how crazy the other members of the eggpire are, but it can’t be that bad. The others are just praising it, talking about how it could make all of his deepest desires a reality. Not many people like going to the egg, and they wouldn’t be looking for prisoners there. So it should be safe for you. Well, safer than the outside world. And his deepest desire is your safety and love, so that should be easy to gain if he brought you to the egg, right?
There is no question: he’d kidnap you to bring you to the egg. Though it’ll be after a while of trying to persuade you to come with him for that. You heard so many horrible things about the egg, so it’d be better if you didn’t get involved with that. So if his attempts to get you to the egg fail, then some forceful measures will be used. It was for your best interest after all.
#c: purpled#c: tommy#c: tubbo#c: ranboo#tw: yandere#dodo writing#mcyt x reader#dream smp x reader#purpled x reader#ranboo x reader#tommy x reader#tubbo x reader#yandere#tw: fighting#tw: stalking#tw: anxiety#tw: stealing#tw: kidnapping
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Golden Child Pt. 1
I literally can't remember where I found it but I read a headcannon for an angsty SBI +Reader and I loved it so much that I had to write something similar to it but I think I might have forgotten to like it, so if you know what the original is please tell me so I can credit them I was partially inspired by@helliontherapscallion's "Adrenaline Junkie" series, simply for the fact that because of them i haven't stopped thinking of inventor reader. Also let's just pretend that uh my human biology degree isn't going to waste by me writing blindness incorrectly ha ha. This is a purely fictional way that blindness works.
(REMINDER YOU IDIOT, FOR THE PURPOSES OF THIS STORY: Wilbur is 26, Techno is 20, Tommy is 16, Phil is 32, SO READER IS 22, GET IT RIGHT AND STOP MESSING UP)
As soon as Y/N's wings started developing, they were instantly the favorite child. Philza still showed his love to Wilbur, but nowhere near as much as he did to his winged child. If he had to choose between spending time with them or Wilbur, he'd pick them in a heartbeat. Wilbur was usually upset when this happened, but he had gotten used to it and had learned ways to cope with it.
This was until Techno showed up. On their doorstep. Next to a freezing Philza who had sacrificed most his warmth to the young piglin. Wilbur had his thoughts on this, yhough he kept them to himself. But Y/N couldn't be happier! This meant a new friend, AND they were right when they said that Phil was just a nice person, there wasn't a favorite child! Right?
They quickly realized that Techno wasn't their friend, as the first interaction they had together was them getting a claw to the face by the piglin. Philza just simply sighed and made sure the wound would stop bleeding before tending back to the scared pig.
Y/N was only eight at the time, they didn't know what they were feeling. But whatever it was didn't feel good.
Since that day, Y/N was the new Wilbur and 'Technoblade' was the golden child. Y/N wanted the spotlight back, so they tried hard at everything. Nothing ever worked. Nothing was better than what Techno could do. Nothing was more amazing than Techno's knowledge, or his skills in fighting, or his odd way of speaking, or those stupid things that he did, or the fact that he'd always blame it on some 'voices' in his head. That he had a God complex. That he was better than Wilbur. He was better than Tommy. He was better than you...
He was always better than you. Of course. Thats what you felt when you first met. Not amazement, not the happiness of having another friend. Of course not. It was overwhelming jealousy. But he was your brother, so you had to suck it up just like Wilbur did.
But soon enough, they came to peace with this. They moved on and worked on what they actually enjoyed, not what Philza enjoyed. Mechanics. Phil would have killed you if he learned of all the dangers that you put yourself through to consider yourself an inventor. Or.... Would he?
One day your older brother approached you with his idea to create "L'manburg". At first you couldn't help but laugh. But when it was realized that Wilbur wasn't joking and that he had already recruited Tommy, they agreed to join the fight for freedom. It was a way to pay Wilbur back for being there for them, afterall.
Y/N never imagined the true horrors that they would have to go through so they could say a 'thank you' to Wilbur. They never even truly said it to him, L'manburg was already exploded and he was killed before they could say it to him. Not even saying it to Ghostbur was good enough.
Y/N was forced to suffer through watching her loved ones go mad. Sometimes, they would try coming up with inventions that could help her friends out, and some that could help some regular problems in the world for other people. Most of them didn't work, they were only able to produce goggles that could just barely help fully blind people see. But it was a step in the right direction.
Then doomsday came. Y/N didn't want to be part of it, they didn't want to even try hurting their father and younger brother. They aren't even sure how they came to that point.
Before they knew it, they were begging the man who once gave them anything in the world for him to stop. The whole server was one big family especially everyone in the homes he was about to destroy. But what they wanted didn't matter anymore. It's what Technoblade wanted, and he wanted blood.
At the last moment, Y/N remembered Friend. Ghostbur would be devastated if Friend died.
Falling down to the ground from the small warning of TNT, Friend flooded their mind.
If they couldn't save L'Manburg, they needed to save Friend. Ghostbur wasn't the same, but Ghostbur is Wilbur. They still never said thank you. They have to show their gratitude through the miracle of Friend surviving.
And so that's what they set off to do. With no mind to their own self-preservation, Y/N got up and flew as fast as they could to save Friend. But before they could reach the sheep, a large pile of rubble fell on one of their wings, almost snapping it right off. Y/N tried to get it off but to no avail, and their whole body wasn't safe. As they saw more rubble they crouched down while covering their head with their hands and covering the undamaged wing with their body, they prepared for impact.
The last thing they could speak out was almost incomprehensible.
"Wil..... Will...... Ghosbu.............. Tommy.......... Dad............."
And then everything went black. Y/N couldn't see or feel anything. Not even after her youngest brother, the ghost of her older brother, and the three fiances of the SMP untrapped them. There was nothing.
After what felt like years for the brothers, there was finally a glimpse of Y/N waking up. But they continued to drift in and out of consciousness and whenever someone tried communicating they were completely unresponsive.
During this amount of time, it was agreed that it was in their best interest for their wings to be removed. They were both utterly useless now after being crushed and would just be extra weight with unnecessary pain that can be avoided the sooner their wings get removed. Just in case Y/N was still aware of everything going on, they were put under amnesia to lower the chance of them feeling the agony of a wing removal surgery.
Slowly Y/N began more responsive to people, but never to the same amount. Everyone that took care of them were absolutely heartbroken when they figured out part of the rock that fell on them damaged a vital organ that allowed a person to see. Luck was in fact on their side for damaging their eyesight instead of the brain, however most people didn't see it that way.
Ghostbur took it upon himself to become Y/N's seeing-eye dog. He missed having Friend nearby and Y/N was the thing he connected to the most after Friend's death.
After a few months of trying to get used to no longer having sight or wings Y/N was finally allowed back in their lab with a large amount of supervision from Ghostbur. While carefully running their hands across some unfinished inventions, Y/N comes across the goggles that they made at least a year ago. It immediately smarked a memory deep within their brain, the closest thing they had felt to seeing something ever since doomsday.
"Ghostbur, what color are these?" "Oh, they're blue. Blue's a really nice color, it reminds me of Friend. Do you remember Frien- Why are you looking down at those like that? Would you like some blue, it takes your sadness away! Wait dont put them on, the glass has cracks!" Y/N snickers as the ghost tries to take them away from them without being super forceful, "I'm already blind, what's the worst it can do?"
"Dont say that!" Ghostbur gasps, "We will find a way to get your vision back, those goggles might make it impossible!"
"I made these around the time you first showed up. I ran multiple tests with them and I was able to help a blind person see the world again. Sure, it was very blurry, hard to distinguish a lot of colors from each other, we have a different kind of blindness, and its been more that a year since I last tested them, but they might still work." Y/N explains, then they turn their back to Ghostbur and put the goggles on. This time, Ghostbut only makes a sound in protest.
Blinking, Y/N could feel the stimulation in their brain that they lost along with their eyesight come back. They moved their hands from the position they were in to put the invention on to Y/N's line of sight, and they could see their hands again. Fuzzy, shapeless, hands with a few bandaids and many scars on them.
"So, are they working?"
The voice of your brother brings Y/N back to reality and they turn to look at him. They had completely forgotten what Ghostbur looked like, only remembering vaguely what child Wilbur looked liked and a brief description of how Ghostbur's appearance differed for Wilbur's.
Y/N wraps their arms around the Ghost, not actually hugging but just doing the motion to where they would hug a person they could actually touch, as they tried to not cry in front of him.
(WOOOOOO THIS ENDED UP A LOT LONGER THAN I EXPECTED AND I'M NOT EVEN DONE YET, SO I SEPARATED IT INTO TWO PARTS)
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Hates to, Hate you.
Word Count: 8k
Summary: Harry realizes that hurting Y/N broke him into pieces and tries to win her back with the confession of true feelings, will Y/N let him? If yes, how? How will he walk through fire for her?
Pairing: Famous!Harry x Reader!with anxiety.
AU: fake dating, slow burn, sexual tension, enemies to lover!
Warning: Mentions of violence, sexual assault, language, adult topics.
PART 1, MASTERLIST
"Please, stop." He says dolefully rubbing his eyebrows to get rid of the ache pounding in his head.
He's miserable. It hurts to not have her with him. It's been two tragic months of going through constant sleepless nights, disrestless stomach, intoxicating himself to forget her, staring at things like a hawk and missing her terribly.
He was alone before her and never felt this lonely.
He sees her everywhere. In his dreams and her shadows in his drawing room getting excited over a ceramic vase someone gifted him. Dancing in his kitchen to the beat of pink floyd and hip-checking him for a cheerful nudge, in his back garden rescuing a sparrow who broke it's neck and in his attic stressing over her assignments.
Everything reminds him of her. The fruity drinks that the barista's handing to the people, the fairy lights upon their heads and how she used to fond over them —- buying it for his bedroom too and when he refused to hang them, she just brushed off his snarky comment and did it herself.
The ring in Harris finger floods back all the bitter-sweet memories of the time he refused to have a lil fun with her, (Y/N and Harris made friendship rings and bracelets for eachother with the colorful beads to spend their boring time in his home waiting for him to write some lines before they went to a gumball shop) as they try to knock some senses in their friend's brain, "You tried to dodge a heartbreak and still ended up shattering your heart, yourself." They worry about him. That he's been bearing the pain all alone and not sharing it with anyone.
His voice croak-y and hoarse, "How's she?" The question haunts him. She blocked his phone number and even in the wee hours of night he wrecks his mind whether he should call her or not, he couldn't because she doesn't want to hear his voice.
He misses her voice. He misses her complaints and whines as if they filled the stoic parts of his life with happiness.
"How'd I know?" Harris lowers down to rest their elbows on the table, "I -- I thought . . she isn't in contact with ye'?" When Harris shakes their head with a gesture that he's being truthful it sinks his heart furthermore.
He clears his throat, twisting the jewels on his hand and sucks his bottom lip to muster some courage, "I've been seeing someone." Harris chokes on the boba they were chewing on for so long, "You what?" They are completely perturbed at his statement. Even though they've been working together and been friends before Y/N came in the picture, she's still their bezzy and we don't betray our bezzies like that.
"Yeah, someone to help me sort me feelings out." Harry frowns confusedly and then realization washes upon him so he becomes frantic in his chair, "No . . not what you're thinkin'." He runs his fingers through his hair to subside the twitch in them.
"A therapist, 'm talkin' bout a therapist . ." He sighs watching his tea waft down sympathetically.
"Oh. That's a good start, Harry!" Harris tries to bring the same dimply boyish smile that used to flutter over his lips whenever she used to tease him, unfortunately it never appears.
//
Y/N didn't handle her first ever heartbreak well. She lost her appetite, her focus on her studies and to her surprise didn't shed a single tear –-- it just kept piling in her chest and she waited for the moment it'd burst until she saw those pictures plastered all over social media. Pictures of him with some model that isn't a shorty pants like her at all, totally how those ladies described his type to be and someone with whom he wouldn't be embarrassed to hang out with.
She's everything, Y/N's jealous of. Those sparkling blue eyes compared to her boring brown ones, handsome figure and the radiance of richness.
Then she got stuck into her life responsibilities and worried about other things such that; she wasn't able to pay any bills and her flat's rent despite doing two part time jobs along with doing her class-fellows assignments in return of money and still got kicked out of it. Her close friend offered her to live in her studio and she has made it her kitchen, study, sleeping room with her stuff and clothes scattered everywhere.
She lives on noodles and toasted breads sometimes treating herself with delights of kit-kat bars in the middle of nights.
Watches her friend do her work and leave when the night comes by —- she has never felt this lonely in her entire life.
"So, was it love at first sight?" Nora her friend asks, handing her cuppa tea and a scone. Y/N let a weak sad smile slip, shaking her head and reminiscing all those moments where she was falling in love with him without even realizing, "Falling in love slowly patiently is the most beautiful . . . at some time I used to loathe his existence but staying with him and after knowing him, it was like --— an escapeless tunnel. I didn't realize it, till one day I woke up and my heart saw him in a different light, where I wanted to give him all me lovin' but he wasn't ready for it." She shrugs sipping the hot beverage and doesn't flinch from the burn that tingles at the tip of her tongue.
When she put her cup aside Nora takes her hand assuring her sweetly, "You'll have that person soon -- he's just on his way, with a big bouquet of roses and a teddy bear to give you the lovin' you deserve." Y/N giggles at that waving her off and not showing how her person is still Harry. What does she do to forget him? To fool her in thinking he isn't her first love.
"Aish, Nora aren't you gettin' late? Gooo." She had some clients to meet before she stopped here at studio to grab some things but it turned into a girlie hangout, "Take care honey and don't forget to put a bucket there." She points to the corner where water's dripping from the rooftop and Y/N exhaled an exasperated sigh of breath when the door clicks leaving her alone yet again.
//
It was past twelve and when usually she pulls an all nighter to study -- today she decided to sleep early. Her bad habit of overthinking kicks in again, this time it's not over some silly thing but she ponders over where she went wrong? She should've kept her feelings to herself and atleast would have been sleeping in her bed cuddled with her chonky cat Zippy.
She misses Zippy badly.
A noise of door unlocking loudly drags her from her reverie and her heart pounds against her ribcage ready to break it. Who could be at this hour of night? It could be Nora since she's the only one who got keys to the place.
Sitting up quickly she squints against the blinding lights and watches someone's boot stepping over her blanket that flopped onto the floor from the sofa she's sleeping on.
"Kevin? What are you doing here?" He's Nora's boyfriend and her classfellow. He just shrugs tumbling his way towards the sofa and she tries to scoot back from him as much as possible, "I'm here to see you. . ." He slurs. It knocks her breath out, filling terror in her veins as the heels of her feet rub against the leather of the couch in her effort to be away from him.
"What? This's not appropriate I -- I . . suggest you to call Nora s –- so, what're you doin —-" She squeaks in fear sinking into the couch when he towers over her and traps her under him with his hands on either side of her body aggressively, "I like you. Why don't you get it!!" She flinches when he shouts angrily with bloodshot eyes and the smell of alcohol disgusts her springing tears in her eyes.
"Please, stop . . ." She whispers with silent tears running down her throat using all her strength to push at his shoulders but he grips her hips tightly and yanks at her sleeping shirt revealing the strap of her bralette. She couldn't even cry for help. It's useless so putting some belief in herself for the last time she uses all her power and kicks him in his crotch pushing him roughly on the floor.
His nails tear at her delicate skin but she doesn't care before running out of the studio ignoring the names he's calling her from behind.
She runs away, away and away. Not thinking twice where she's going before crossing the bridges and tunnels. It feels like her ears are bleeding with the echo of loud horns of traffic and the hopelessness of her life makes her fall on her knees. She cries all the tears she was bottling up for months feeling like she's running out of time and reaching dangerously near to her end.
She's been in the same neighbourhood she's been before many times. The chilly wind doesn't prick goosebumps over her skin, the night's darkness doesn't scare her and the stray dog that's barking somewhere in far doesn't affect her at all as she stares at the door from where she has stepped into her comfort space many times.
Harry's with Scottie. His childhood friend who's here in London for some shoot. They were lounged in the living room talking their hearts out and their cringey memories from when they were small when he halted mid-talk, jaw slacking when his eyes took the sight of someone standing at his main door from the multiple security screens appearing on the telly.
He doesn't believe at first. Thinking he's hallucinating and that maybe he just saw a flicker of a ghost but when she looks up revealing her sad face and those big brown eyes he rushes to open the door.
"Fuck." He breathes out working on the heavy cold locks of the oak door with shaky hands anxiously and she was about to walk away with her back turned to him when he spurts out her name in haste, "Y/N." She listens to him. Insides breaking with the nirvana and scent of him surrounding her.
His breath hitches in his throat when she spins to meet his apprehensive gaze and she doesn't give him a chance to have a proper look at her before falling in his arms, her head hitting his chest and body shaking vigorously as she sobs sadly.
"Darlin'?" He asks worriedly, slipping his arms around her shoulders to lull her in his embrace, "Are you oka?" He feels like his stomach ate his heart as he anticipates an explanation from her and she isn't doing anything but crying.
"You're scarin' me, pet. What happened honey?" He pulls away to cradle her face in his calloused palms. His chests pangs with hurt and remorse upon seeing her tear stained cheeks, wobbly blue lips, and disheveled state.
He steps inside with her still in his arms and rubs his hand down her spine to calm her down as little sad sniffles and hiccups keep slipping out of her mouth.
He sits her on the sofa squatting down infront of her and Scottie brings her water. When she refuses to drink it because Harry strokes his thumb against the apple of her cheek, "Shh, 's okay . . you're okay. You're with me now, sweet girl." It's like the world and anything else has blurred around him and his ever priority's focusing on her only. His observant gaze dawdles from her face to her bruised shoulder emitting an afflicted gasp of trepidity from between his lips and it deepens to a growl when it fell over her hip-bone where the fabric of her pyjama's spotted with blood.
He glances up at Scottie who gives him a knowing look of horror. He gets closer to her and she doesn't retract as his thumb streaks away the blood oozing from her shoulder gently, saying nothing as he examines it.
After a brief pause Y/N's heart skips a nervous beat when he tilts her chin to have a better look at her face, taking in the evidence of someone handling his petal so brutally it left scratches at her face.
Harry looks her dead in the eyes. His anger barely restrained tippling from the pot ready to leave burns, his voice is tense and quite, ears heating with wrath.
"Who did this to you?"
"Kevin." The tears are back at her waterline more concerned that he's panicking because of her and Scottie sits beside her massaging her shoulders.
"Kevin, who?" Harry's question is curt controlling himself from finding this mother fucker himself and beat the shit out of him, "H -- he's my friend's boyfriend, I though --– was sleeping in her studio 'n 'n --- when he . . . he —-- " She hides her face in her palms unable to speak but Harry quickly pulls her down in a comforting hug whispering sweet things to stop her crying.
She parts from him with puffy eyes and swollen lips shaking her head at her stupidity, "I … I'm sorry. I shouldn't have come here, 'm gonna leave — ' " She's a weeping blubbering mess trying to stand up on her jello legs with the help of the couch's armrest.
He catches her wrist crying out, "No! Don't! please, please stay . . . . fo' me?" Scottie has never seen him like this. Bended out of shape for a person, begging them on his knees to protect them as he rambles loudly.
"Are you sure? I don't want to be a burden on you, I -- I'll go in the morning." Since she has nowhere to go it's better she sleeps here for a night instead of on the streets.
Harry finds it ironic. That once he didn't want her overnights now he wants her all days and weeks, perhaps till the end of his life.
He's gonna win her back.
He hands her his tattered comfy sleeping clothes and the spare toothbrush leaving her to it. When he comes back downstairs Scottie's waiting for him at the main door.
"You should report a file against that bastard the first thing in the morning." Scottie tells him seriously and he nods. His head snaps when she spoke softly, smiling at him, "You're in love."
"What?"
"I haven't seen you like that with anyone, Harry. Make it to her foolish boi -- tell her what you feel." She laughs, jolting him with his shoulders and he smiles timidly bidding her a good-bye.
The door to her room's ajar opened as he peeks inside to make sure she's okay and sighs deeply when finds her staring blankly at the ceiling. The floorboard creaks when he pads inside quietly and her stare diverts to him while he stands on the foot of bed, "I read somewhere that cuddlin' helps ye'sleep better, you w'na try?" She hums in return, fisting the duvet under her chin and slip shuts her eyes remaining stiff in her spot when he slides under the duvet closer to her.
She turns into a puddle when his long arms wrap around her tummy, "Is this okay?" His voice a mere whisper of care earning an honest nod from her -- his thigh strings over her legs to cocoon her in his warmth completely, ". . and this?" She again nod at him so,
He smushes his cheek into the crook of her neck and she could feel something moist on her skin while his lips puckered to speak, "Y/N?" He murmures broken and sad snuggling more into her.
"Hmm?" She hums, the exhaustion from walking and crying this much forcing her to sleep, "I've missed you, terribly." Her heart leaps and she wants to exchange the familiarity of emotions but her tongue remains heavy in her mouth.
//
Her toes curls and fingers clutches the wrinkly fabric of the pillow case she had her head rested on but now it's slipping down from over it due to her body shaking vigorously as she tries to escape those filthy, gruesome hands like a terrifying shadows of evil choking her throat and sucking the life out of her.
Harry's head snaps down to where she was snuggled to his side moments ago when she murmur-yells no,no,no,no'. He feels like someone placed a heavy brick over his chest at the sight of his lovie writhing like a leaf petrified of whatever she's dreaming of and his shoulders rolls back while he perches on his elbow to shake her gently out of it.
"Y/N . . ." He remains dulcet. Chewing onto his already swollen bottom lip since he didn't even close his eyes the entire night manipulating the plush flesh, he doesn't know what kept him awake —- but it sure was this sense of responsibility to make her feel protected under his wings. She smacks his arm away pushing at his chest with her all might to skid away to the edge of the bed in her sleepy state, so he quickly hunches on wobbly knees to catch her before she falls.
"It's just me, Angel, Harry –- wake up darlin'," His heart beating ominously frantic and head jumbling with horrible thoughts of what she's going through as her warmed up cheeks soak with tears, he has never seen her like this, he never wanted to see her for the first time after months like this --- shattered to pieces and drained of her energy.
He smooths his thumb to caress her cheek slightly and swipe those sad tears away. She wakes up with a gasp making him jerk his chin back, blinking rapidly to confirm her surroundings and her fearful vision zeros to his panicked features. She places her palms against his pectorals to make sure he's real and there and that ugly nightmare just ended, "Harry?" He gulps the thick web of tears down his throat and bobs his head.
"Yes, sweet girl, Harry . . ." The very streaks of golden rays sneak through the curtains and dances between their faces as she fists the hem of his shirt, "It was just a nightmare." He assures her running his hand up and down her arms to calm her down.
"Don't be afraid, dovie' won't let anybody hurt ya from now on, g'na protect you —--" It was the last straw for her before she flipped him over and climbed out of his bed to get out from his room.
"Shit." He drives into a state of frenzy following her down the stairs like a puppy almost missing a step or two as she wears the slippers she came in last night, "Where ye' goin'?" His muscles twitch in a hurry to make his next move and save whatever's between them that's keeping him sane, " Dunno, away from you." She shrugs, lost in her own fog and the sting in his heart's unbearable with the inflammation of hurt.
"Why?" He tumbles through the last step and infront of her, eyes bloodshot and heart how from the squeezing agony of loosing her for second time for the same cause.
"Because, I w'na forget about you!!" The scream she had in her lungs to convey her anger gets stuck in her throat. His shoulders slump from the burden of guilt and regret.
"Why?" He feels like throwing up with the unbearable anguish of him hurting to a point he wants to wash his memories out of her mind.
"Because you make me so confused, Harry…" Her face pinches into an exasperated expression of hopelessness while she nudges him aside to pass by him and to the main door but he catches her wrist before she could step outside and never come back to him, "I wouldn't confuse you from now on …. 've been better fo' you y/n, 'cos I want you to know that I'm yours." His confession springes her off guard by pure stupefaction and when she looks at him -- he's already gazing at her as if she's the moon surrounded by singing stars.
"Please, let me fight for you baby." Tears springs at his waterline ready to welcome a sob out of his lungs. Because he knows he'll be unable to live his life without her, his love will rot in the cage of his heart because he'd never be able to express it for anyone except her.
He continues not holding back anything from her instead unlocking another love language and that's being vulnerable and completely defenceless to her, "While being with you I still thought a part of me was in love with my ex and I didn't want ya to be me second priority, could neve', was so so wrong 'cos even though you're not my firsts you're gonna be my lasts. I'll make sure that you're." He gulps down the tears blocking his wind pipes and making it difficult to speak.
"I want you to give us another chance, to forgive me and give me a proper chance to love you 'cos that's what you deserve . .." The sincerity and genuineness in his stained smaragdine irises turns her pudgy in his hold, ". . . you deserve all the lovin' in this world, honey."
"Work for it then." She tells him and his pretty eyes widen adorably as of some golden fish, a vivacious smile adorns his features and he doesn't take a moment before swiping her off her feet and into his arms to hug her tightly.
His insides feels like nourishing after a time with contentment and satisfaction.
To have his loved one in his arms.
In his life.
"Thank you, Thank you, Thank youuu." He rambles into the crook of her neck, elated and joyful. Swaying their bodies together and making her smile softly after a prolonged time of suffering.
She'll heal.
He'll make sure to put ointment of affection and love on her wounds to help her heal, for herself but nobody else.
//
"You've got to be kidding me!" She mutters putting the alcohol swab on his torn bleeding knuckles and he squeaks locking his calf around her ankle, "Ouch! Ye' mad woman."
Harry and her went to file a report against Kevin, along with Nora who became her witness because she despises that disgusting of a man to be even around her and her studio let alone her boyfriend.
Harry was her biggest support through the whole process and dropped her off assuring her he'll pick all her stuff from Nora's place. There he was, Kevin. Stumbling at the footpath after Nora kicked him and his luggage out.
Harry's very patient and optimistic but not when his loved ones get hurt. He didn't know what was happening around him before he sprinted towards Kevin and punched him square in his face, breaking his nose and busting his own knuckles with a fierce shout of "y'son of a bastard!"
"If I ever . . . ever see ya near her, I promise that you wouldn't be able to see the living daylight." He grunted, resisting to hit him in the shin with his boots and walked past him to the studio to collect her stuff.
He was grief stricken seeing the way she had to live and not finding her pet cat anywhere. His heart could be heard cracking into tinytinytiny pieces when Nora told him that Y/N gave it to the vet since she was unable to afford it.
When she catches him staring up at her like a love-stricken puppy she huffs wrapping a band-aid around his knuckles, "'M mad at you." He seems unfazed making her gasp when brings her closer with his legs wrapped around her's, "Why . . . you're always mad at me." He whines jutting out his bottom lip and she shakes her head at his silly dotiness.
"You -– you can't go hurtin' yourself fo' me, H." She's very unaware, because certainly he'd do it as many times.
She narrows down her eyes to squint him in offense when he brushes her comment off with nonchalance and raises his bandaged wrist up to her face, "Will you kiss it better' fo' me, pet?" Her insides crumbles like dry rose petals falling from a beloved book of her favourite romances.
"Hmm?" He nudges it in a questioning suppressing a smirk. She wipes her clammy and antiseptic hands down her trousers not meeting his gaze while taking his hand awkwardly but delicately closer to where her soft mouth is located; she halts glowering at him, "Only if you ask nicely."
"That wasn't nice? Thought I was being a good boy there." He mumbles diligently pulling at the hem of her shirt and she bites down a smile, fingers still wrapped round his wrist.
"Pretty please…?" He wheezes his words out begging-ly -- upper lip curving, pupils dilating and she shrugs, "..if you insist so.." His grin was immaculate that of golden sun when she pressed her lips to his knuckles carefully giving it a gentle pat afterward.
"Not doing that again." She breathes out the air she was winding up inside her for so long. Spinning on her heels to turn her back towards him and put the first aid back under the sink, "We'll see 'bout that, let's do some grocery." He stands up patting his thighs loudly, "Wouldn't be surprised if we'll find bugs in me cabinet instead of goodies."
//
They've been roaming isles for an hour now and they always end up fighting who will push it. Harry doesn't let her because she keeps on filling it with instant noodles, chocolate bars and sakurai oreos.
"How about we try to live till our fifties wouldn't be that beautiful?" He follows behind her closely. His chest brushes against her shoulders everytime she makes a stop to cooes over some brightly coloured food and candies, "'M trying to make it till next year, dunno 'bout you." She mutters grumpy-ly tossing another packet of cherry lollipop inside the trolley.
He puts it back.
With a strict warning glare to her way.
"I want you to stay healthy." He says sternly glaring up at her from his ducked position. She tosses the lollipop back from the shelf, "'M paying for my things." She dismisses him off panning deadly.
"Fo' fucks sake, 's not 'bout money!" He grits annoyed at her stubbornness and she arches her brow leaning against the trolley, "Harry…'m not an actress or some high-paid model. Lemme enjoy real things, okay? Or just say you'd look too outta my league standing next to me." Her brows pints down into a frown and her shoulder slumps with her body further relaxing against the trolley.
She's up for a debate with him right in the middle of the junk food aisle if that's the case.
"See. That's why I don't want to be married!" A couple from far banters off in astonishment catching Y/N completely off guard.
"Uh-ah!" She yelps getting startled from the boom of interruption and a high-pitch squeaks leaves out of her petite lungs when the trolley rolls from under her perched elbow making her stumble for a nice trip but the bang never came as Harry coiled his arm around her waist to pull her on stable feet with a firm hand over her smallest of back.
His gentle pupils flicker between her frenzied one's, noses tickling and teasing each other with each spurt of breath that rushes out of her parted soft mouth and against his cheek.
"Maybe it's not that bad after all." The couple who were planning their future based on another couple, who's not even a couple yet but trying to work on it with their shared amount of affection; sighs in awement leaving Harry and Y/N in their own bubble.
He takes her by the elbow and helps her with his lips thinned, "Careful there." His mumble is deep and coherent husk.
She didn't whine about his green vegetables, boring low fat cheese and planned meals, celery or whatever that shit is, after that. Walking by his side like a kid who just got relief from his time out punishment.
While on the counter she asked him politely rather than biting his head of, "Lemme pay please. I'm already imposing on you by staying at your place." She knows that he wouldn't let her. Harry wants to take care of her -- in every way. He just hopes she warms up to him slowly that there will be a day she thinks of his home as hers too, oh how the table turns!
T'not make her think that his love for her is only restrictive to materialistic things he lets her pay --- but for half of it.
"D'ya got a change, miss?" The cashier asks her and she cranes her neck up to him. He denies waving his credit card with a disappointed expression so she quickly takes a chewing gum from the racks beside in return for the change.
He stops in his tracks. Watching her with glinting eyes more like fawning at her when she sways on her feet happily swinging the bag in her hold side by side.
"C'mon Harry!" She grins twiddling her fingers in a gesture to usher him where she's standing beside his car, "Yup. On your command, darlin'." He shakes his head. To fetch himself from the fond-land he always enters with anything she does.
//
There's a low hum of telly buzzing in the room as they sit crossed legs on the coffee rug with their knees brushing if any of them moves their bum a tad, while they slurp onto the remaining soup in the noodles cup.
This whole time he wanted to say something, to talk to her, his heart out and make it a domestic routine of sharing stuff while they eat comfy in eachother's presence but seems like his tongue betrays him everytime and his needy eyes always want to admire her and the little things she does.
He licks his lips, nodding profusely when she asks for his cup and chopsticks to take to the kitchen. A huge sigh of relief vanishes out from his chest when she disappears inside giving him time to re-collect himself, he rummages through the bag to take out the chewing gum they bought at the last moment.
He rips the packet with his teeth but it remains pressed there between his morals when he senses the familiarity of the foil --- she bought a fucking condom out of accident!
At the same moment she pads outside halting in her tracks infront of him with a horrendous expression as her peepers wouldn't stop blinking. He doesn't not know what got into him but he throws it her way as if he's utterly disgusted by it.
Sinks into the couch and refuses to meet her gaze. She throws it back at him, "I don't want it, keep it you might need it." There he goes. The smugness fuels back as he outstretches his arm over the back of the couch and man-spreads scrutinizing the way her eyes linger at his meaty thighs before flicking them away with a nervous gulp.
"You've already planned it all out, hun?" He smirks rubbing the belly of his nose with his pinky's knuckle and she folds her elbows under her breasts shaking her head at his teasing, "Yeah planning to . . . murder you t'night." She laughs out evilly when his eyes widen comically.
"Hmm. I see. Didn't know ye' were this kinky 'n naughty." She rolls her eyes at his edgy nip. She wouldn't admit it but him testing her patience turns her hot and flustered.
"Night, H." She yawns and his heart grows ten times bigger at the softness of her appearance. She cranes her head against her shoulder to look at him from the spot she's standing at when his voice calls for her, "Y/N!? Ye'really into knives? In the bed I mean." His grin mischievous knowing fully well what he's doing to her as he waits for her answer propped on his knees.
She slams the door at his face and he plops back into the sofa with a pouty victorious smile.
//
Harry didn't realise that in the middle of watching Gilmore Girls on the telly he fell asleep straining his neck from keeping it in a weird angle, his arms hugging the pillow and feet dangling adorably nowhere. He groans knuckling away the sleep and tries to wake up when he heard a feeble noise of someone taking his name until he looks up and finds Y/N towering him with her fluffy cream blanket pinched around her head darlingly.
"What happened, pet? Y'okay!?" He gasps trying to sit up and take her precious face to inspect her properly but she shakes her head and lays him back gently.
Her nose runny and cheeks rosied as she asks for a favour from him, "Can I -- um," She wipes her nose with the sleeve of her sweater paw. He doesn't question her further and opens his long arms to welcome her for a warm embrace.
"C'mere, pet." His whisper delicate to her.
She lies down pressed to his front resting her head on his sprawled arm and scooches herself closer to him smiling shyly against his hoodie where a Harry is embroidered in pink thread. It's like a gust of fresh spring and dew of nighty mountains as Harry takes a relaxing breather snuggling her impossibly affectionately close to himself, petting down her sweet smelling hair.
"Y'can talk to me 'bout anythin'." Their heart-beats in sync as he keeps his palm spread at her back to protect her from falling, "Ye' know that right?" He pulls back to cradle her chin between his fingers and look her in eyes sincerely.
"I know that button. Sleep for now, hmm?" He smiles softly, shutting his eyes from giving out how much a mere love name's enough to fuse him into a cloud of giddiness.
//
In the morning though, Harry's a small spoon and Y/N a big one. Her limbs trying to latch to his body in every way possible with her cheek smashed against his shoulder blade.
His lips quirks up into a lazy loopy smile full of contentment and peacefulness as he weaves his each finger into her's to bring her knuckles to his mouth and smother it in kisses, "Rise n' shine you furball." He rasps. chin doubling adorably as he tries to look at his squirmy girl.
He turns to face her side, temples touching and lips hovering over eachother's skin. He feels her smiling against his chin as she cuddles up into him, "I'd like to make you a brekkie…." She murmurs playing with baby curls on the nape of his neck.
"Dunno 'bout that. What if you poison me, t'death?" He giggles and she smacks his belly pouting grumpy-ly.
"Offer, expired. no more brekkie for you." She tells him wiggling out of his grip and walks towards kitchen but burst into gleeful laugh when he wraps around her calves like a koala bear, "Was jokinnnn', babe." He emphasizes his words with a twinge of whine and she meanders her hand in his ruffled curls.
"Kay! Kay! But, I could only make you omelette and sour bread." He jumps back on his feet enthusiastically looping his arm around her clavicles, "No problem. Glad t'eat anythin' made from your lovely hands."
She made him brekkie and he made fabulous peach tea for them. She blabbered off and he listened with careful ears. He praised her with glinting proud eyes and she treasured these praises in her heart.
While she chewed slowly he messaged his manager that he couldn't come to any working place for a week or so. He wants to make it special and memorable for them, their honeymoon phase.
"D'ya have any class today?" He asks her leaning towards her atop the counter, "Nope 's Saturday dummy." She chuckles flicking her thumb against his forehead and he gives a dimpled grin with bolted shut eyes.
"Yeah … silly me."
"Why?"
"So that I could take ye' ona date." His inners bouncing desperate to know her answer, "Me?" She points at herself surprised with parted lips.
"Yes you, is there somebody else sitting with us? Hello?" He calls for that non-existent person and she suckles her bottom lip to subside her squeals down. She breathes out, "Some ghostie? Evil spirit? Jesus himself —-" She cuts his banter of. With a light slap to the back of his hand.
"Okay." She says with an excited shake of head happiness bare in her words and Harry literally slips from his seat padding towards her in haste, "I'd love to." She confirms with a sweet smile and he hooks his nimble finger around her jeans loop to pull her closer to him for a fervid emotional hug.
//
She was a frolic mess in her room trying out her outfits and fitting into her skirts, trousers anything that could match perfectly. Deciding to terminate any ideas to wear cotton floral sun-dresses instead ends up tucking a baby pink sweater into her chequered white and black plaid trouser along with a pair of Mary Janes booties.
She took huge puffs of breath to calm her wild heart down when the knock on her door appeared. He decided to be a full on romantic today doing all the date rituals without any shame dressing up in a silk shirt three shades lighter than her's, with a pussy bow around his neck and she thinks she couldn't be more in love with him as he has a bunch of sunflowers and jasmines in the cracks of his jewels adorned fingers.
"Well, well, well, Look who came to their enemy's door holding presents." She smirks and he scowls, "Oh cut it. 'M here to pick y'up fo' our date."
What makes her lose her mind's Zippy on his shoulder.
"Oh my goodness! Harry!" She leaps towards him and takes her fluffy beast in her arms and showers Zippy's crown with many many kisses, "Thank you!" She cries out joyfully wrapping her free arm around his waist and cuddles him for dear life.
"I lo —-- " She thinks it'd be embarrassing to say it on the first date and Harry almost had a mini heart-attack but she changed her words, "I can't be more grateful to you, thank you so much."
"Now, stop thankin' me hunny." He gives her the flowers he plucked himself from his backyard and kisses the apple of her cheek turning her into a gooey mesh.
"Where is it?" She avoids checking him out.
"Why should I tell ya?" He nudges her to lock her elbow around his and she gazes up at him with loving eyes, "'cos 'm your date that's why."
"Bribe me then." He grins bashfully.
"Harry!!" She gasps and huffs tipy-toeing timidly to plant a soft kiss to his chin but it lands against his throat making him thin his lips to give out a noise that could embarrass both of them.
"Not telling you." He squeaks dragging her outside into the porch and she whines, "You leech!"
//
"You did not!" She snaps her neck in utter exhilaration from the view in front of her and towards Harry who's watching her with puffed cheeks to not to give out his bunny smile as her face turns guppy. The sunshine dawdles around them and she pulls him down to her level with the tug of their intertwined hands, "You're somethin' else, Styles." It warms his blood. Bursting sentiments of pure love and amiability through each orifice that leads to his heart.
"Only fo' you." He whispers stroking the plush of her cheek -- restraining to place his needy lips on her alluring pillow one's inviting him to have a good taste of their sweetness before they could taste the ripeness of strawberries growing at the farm he just took her.
"Uhm. Let's see who could collect more!" She grins pushing herself three steps away from him with support of his pecs, "What's the prize?" He asks pawing at her hips to keep her in intimate distance and she giggles tapping his chin.
"A feeling of saccharine-ss and sweetness when we'll eat those strawberries out." She tries not to step on heavy branches that are still growing and makes her way to the fresh patch, "Perhaps, that could be acquired from eatin' somethin' else out too." His wet lips brushes against her earlobe as he speaks, sending a shiver down her spine.
"You're being very loud and lewd." She pokes him in ribs. Squatting down to pluck a juicy perfectly sized strawberry and hovering it against his mouth to give him a taste, "Hmm what could I say 'm a man of dirty words." His eyes darken to an intoxicating shade of emerald as his heart-shaped magenta lips wrap around the strawberry to split it in two with his teeth.
He still remembers. How her mouth tasted that night, how her lips came molding around his's like a stamp of a lover's letter and her body fitted against his's like a lost piece of puzzle.
Just made for him.
"Harry …" She's out of words. Maybe, breath.
"Yes dovie?" He hooks his finger into her belt's loop to saturate the thread like distance between them and makes tight hold at the nape of her neck to crane her head up to meet his honey eyed gaze, "D'ya know how to make strawberry mochi?" His shoulder slumps at her question and he rests his cheek atop her temple cutely.
"Noo." His voice sort of whine-y.
"No, problem. We'll make it together." She chuckles turning back to collect the strawberries into her basket.
She never had this fun. Messing around with him. Feeding eachother the sweet fruit. Him scaring her that some rat sprinted by her feet and enjoying the way she jumps at him, only wheezing comically when she throws a blow at him.
Her giggles bounces off each and every ivory flower and leafy plant as he pins her to the viridescent grass, with his thighs and tickles her non-stop. What started as raspberries turns into sloppy smothers of kisses all over her face.
"Harry!!" She bursts into another fit of laughter, "Stop." She warns him squeezing her thighs around his waist and he giggles challenging her.
"O'what? Huhh?" She closes her eyes nuzzling into his arm that's trapping her down, "Or I'll kiss you…" Her voice gentle and dulcet making his grip loosen and heartbeat fastens like a thunderbolt.
"'M not afraid of that." He gives a toothy grin sneaking a glance at her hand which's gliding up his throat to cup his cheek, eyelids fluttering like petals from breeze as she smudges her sweet mesh coated lips against his's in a tenderly ardent, and yearningly amiable kiss feeling her pulse ring in her ears with so much force.
His fingers make their home down her smooth hair to cup the nape of her neck, elbows digging into mud when he lifts her up to deepen the kiss sloppily. Just her. Only her. Swirling inside of him as his very thought.
Their noses crooking perfectly, skins kissing and bodies hitched to eachother with the knot of souls.
She whimpers into his mouth squishing the poor strawberry she was holding in her free hand from the intensity of fierce sentiments she's spiraling in; to have him all and swallow him all because he's that damn gorgeous. His tongue pokes and tickles the plush insides of her small mouth tasting the strawberry straight from where he loves the most. His belly burning with the fire of desire feeling the way her body's reacting with puriency to his subtle touches of affection.
He was dying to have a kiss from her the day she gave him her lips that night and he couldn't resist but to think about it regularly.
A wet filthy sound bubbles around them when they part away with the remnants of spit in the form of intricate strings connecting them; that breaks when he relaxes his forehead against her's taking a good breather of mossy air.
"S' messy." He tuts when his eyes fall at her palm covered in strawberry pulp.
She gasps giddy-ly when he pokes his pink tongue out and takes a huge swipe up her palm with an erotic hum that rattled her insides.
"H -- arry." She nibbles at her bottom lip to filter noises she's unable to hold meanwhile he sucks her fingers one by one to clean them, her panties twisting with an ache of want.
"Hmm. All nice 'n clean, now we should go." He says flipping her wrist to act as if he's inspecting it. Brushes the dirt of his trousers leaving her baffled and grumpy. When she doesn't stand up he squats down at her level arching a brow at her and before she could know what's happening she's thrown over his broad shoulder like a rag doll.
Her squeals hearty and giggly as she tries to punch his back but her breath gets caught in her throat when his large hand comes spanking her butt-cheek. He waits for her reaction —- grinning cheekily when she sucks in her weak mewls and grabs the back of his neck blabbering his name off.
He puts her back on the ground once out on the gravel path and hands her the basket piled with strawberries. Ducks down to sponge a kiss to her cheek telling her to stay glued to her spot as he leaves to pay.
She smiles down at her feet then at the sky revinding all the moments and their lovely kiss that makes her feel all warm and stupidly gooey.
While boarding the train he wiggles his finger behind himself to get a hold on her and keep her close to him, craning his neck with a lopsided sly smile, "Hold me hand."
"If you insist." She nods with a grin slipping her fingers over his palm and he wovens them with his own with a firm grip stepping inside the train and helps her to do so with his free hand behind her head.
She sighs. Sitting with her back pressed against the window of the train. One leg folded and other dangling from the seat as she stares at Harry with a pouty smile.
"Don't ya think you're sittin' too far away from me?" He says, grabbing her knee, "Come here." And slides her towards himself now their thighs overlapping. He doesn't like even the mere distance between them —-- might sound sappy but he wants to be like her scent.
"Happy?" She pinches his cheek and he winces dramatically ruffling her already loose tresses of hair making her look as if she was on a roller coaster minutes ago, "aren't you a one clingy bunny!" She huffs trying to blow away the hair falling in her eyes. He bobs his head in agreement and slings his elbow around her shoulders to tuck her under his chin protectively.
//
"Okie, now add some sugar in it —- aish slow down …" She coughs waving away the sugar dust tickling her nostrils as Harry poured so much sugar all at once. He has his chin rested on her head and her hips crooned against his thighs as they make the strawberry and vanilla mochi together.
His puffer jacket on her shoulders (To the time they went to buy grocery stuff it started being cold and Harry being a mommy he took out his jacket and bundled her up in it) —- She sneezes and he quips pecking her hair, "Bless your heart." Fetches her a tissue too.
"Thank you, bubs." She giggles grabbing his jaw bringing him down to smooch a kiss to his lips. She pulls back but he persists snaking his palm around the nape of her neck to keep her put —- she gives in with her heart fluttering like candle flame in a destructive storm.
Turns in his embrace and hooks her elbows behind his head patching tiny, tiny, tiny pecks on his pillowy lips until he gets desperate to kiss her mouth and tongue pushing her to his front by gliding his hand into the back-pocket of her jeans.
Her head lulls. Feeling as if the kitchen got filled with candy clouds floating around her when he cradles her cheeks in his both palms lapping at her bottom lip and nips at it with every whimper of desire that falls, "Mine." He breathes out rubbing the bridge of his nose up and down her cheek like a puppy nuzzling into his favourite plushie.
"Yours." She says without any hesitation.
He smashes his wet lips back on hers. Swirls of gleeful colours surrounding them as he feels like he could kiss her forever.
She gasps gazing down lustfully at his wine cherried lips when he holds her from waist and sits her on the wooden counter, "I want you to take me." She murmurs nailing at the silk of his top and he paws at her hip-bones cravingly, it makes her feel like one the most desired women alive.
"I'm all yours to pleasure you lovie'," He looks her in the eyes with so much love and affection it melts her whole, "Just ask me and I'll give me girl what she wants …. " He says trailing sloppy kisses down her throat. Her head falls against the tiled wall giving him more access to her skin --- so he could mark her as he wishes.
The heat from his mouth to her bare skin arouses her to an extent she feels wetness sticking to the insides of her thighs with each grind of his crotch against her's.
She tugs at the roots of his curls, mouth parted around a moan when he grazes his touch over her plump breasts, "Is this okay?" He asks breathlessly and she bobs her head vigorously latching onto him.
"Yes, please, more … " He blinks to let reality sink in when she raises her arms in the air for him to get rid of her clothes.
He smiles. Hard. Crinkles forming by his eyes and cheery lines around his mouth as she looks up at him with those doe eyes glinting with his own reflection.
She squirms grumpily and he cackles loudly when she hooks his fingers into the hem of her jeans as a sign that "just undress me right now and fuck me hard over this counter." But, the romantic sap he's just keeps on being a tease.
"Fuck me already." She huffs locking her ankles behind his back.
"Trust me, I want it as bad as y'do but are you sure —-- "
"I'm --- just fuck …. " She cuts him off, cupping his cheeks and kisses his mouth. He groans when she sucks his swollen lip in between his teeth and lifts her pelvis grinned against his swell lining in his trouser to elaborate her neediness through actions,
He undresses her finally folding them and putting them away nicely while she stays a breathless mess just in her undies, her sheer panties soaked in her juices and profanities of moans fuses into air from both of them as Harry places his hands on her knees. Irises darkening with lust when he looks at the delicate lines of her drippy pussy lips forming from underneath the material.
"Spread your legs, I want to feel how turned on I made you feel." His voice an obscene grunt and it tingles her core making her feel she should obey him, "Fuckin' hell." His moan is dirty as he rubs the pad of his long digits against her soaked centre. His piercing gaze flitting between her thighs crumbled her in the best way possible.
She fists the hem of his top, tugging at it with the blabbering of his name.
A series of pornographic whines leaves her through her nose when he demands her to raise her bum so he could get rid of the last thing being a bother to them.
"Oh my — " She arches her spine when his fingers withered in her stickiness, between her glistening pussy lips to her mound pinching her clitoris in the way and listens to the soapy noises he's creating while lathering his hand with her juices he'd love more to coat his tongue with.
"This is what you want, hmm? For me to bend you over this counter right fucking now and pump me thick cock inside your sweet cunt from behind till you're screaming for me to ram harder inside you, so deep that you feel me in your little tummy and I keep it there for hours making you cum on it again and again — many time that you're milky and cramped around my prick like a filthy girl you're." He dips his impossibly sweet pink tongue inside her mouth and makes her sip down his dirty words through her throat not letting her mewls slip out as his lengthy finger slicks inside her causing her melt against his chest with a turmoil of emotions and heat she never felt before.
Her brain whirles with the mantra of fuckfuckfuck but her guppy lips says otherwise, she coils her arms around his shoulders scratching her nails down his neck — eyes rolling back as she shakes with the build of ecstasy.
"You're so snug and warm, sweets. Can't wait to be inside you." He husks curling his digit to give her upper wall a good rub, "Harry!" Her scream comes out gruff vibrating with a sexy octave.
"Yes, baby." He pinches her chin between his thumb and forefinger staining soft wet kisses from the corner of her lips, to her rosy cheeks and down her throat sewing love bites along her veins.
"Does it feel good, hmm? 'M g'na stuff you full of my prick bet it'll make you feel like heavens --" Her brows tenses up as he forces her to keep her eyes locked with his's and groans with the throb in his cock bound to implode with each whimper of his name she lets out hiking up her knees on the counter — the heels of her feet sticking firmly against the edge of the counter giving a carnally pleasing view for him to enjoy and ooze with sticky precum.
He huffs out breathily, fingers sliding in and out at a fast pace while he moves down to take her perky nipple between his teeth teasing it with nip of his tongue, "Fuck. Mhmm baby I've so many dirty things to d'to you, would you be an atta girl and be naughty with me?" He nuzzles his curls against her skin grinding his knuckles up and down against her swollen clit.
"Yes, yes, yes." She moans trying to sink impossibly deep on his fingers. He admires her in amusement as her belly twists into ripples and she thrashes in his tight hold —- broken into pieces of vulnerability foxily.
He withers his gaze to where he's driving his fingers roughly inside her and a cold shiver runs down his spine, eyelashes fluttering and he sucks his bottom lip brutally praising her softly, "yes just like that darling taking my fingers so good —- they'll look pretty down your throat too while I'll fill your other holes with me, all me." He wraps a hand around her throat giving it a light squeeze and it was enough to spread warmth and the saccharine feeling of fullness in her every tissue gushing over his fingers.
"You're mine." He growls nipping at her sweet spot –-- wearing her out with his continuous different motions inside her. His wrist glistening with her come and her head lulls on his tanned shoulder, eyes slip shut, chest levitating with shallow breaths.
She cups his cheeks wrapping her trembling legs around his waist and kisses his smile, it's sloppy and barely a kiss with their lazy effort to keep their mouths on each other to soak into intimacy.
Next they're a moaning and crying mess on the kitchen floor with her knee hooked around his hip to keep him close as he stretches her out leaving a pleasurable burn against her squishy inviting walls.
His cock sits warm inside her pussy and his balls snug against her bum. It's torturous waiting for her to give a signal that he might move because he couldn't resist but to be rock hard inside her and fuck her for hours but his knees are laughing at him for being unable to bear the sting of cold tiles.
"You can move, 'm okay." She whispers hugging him for dear life and he nods grinding his hips slowly, the bulbous head of his dick hitting all the right spots —- he's so good at fucking.
He takes her fleshy tits in his palms caressing them with each lewd stroke of his cock inside her and treats her glistening lips from his spit back to his mouth, pecking it generously.
"Pull me hair." He groans pushing hard and guides her hand into his swirl of sweaty curls — hips stuttering, eyes rolling back into his skull erotically when she does so peppering loving kisses under his earlobe, "You're g'na ruin me lovie … fuck me please." He whines grabbing her ass and lifts her pelvis to slide inside her dripping pussy with much more roughness.
She has never seen him like this. Shredded to seams for her, sweat beading down his gorgeous face like glimmer of pearls and eyes mossed with so much lust and desperation it knocks air out of her lungs.
He rolls them over gently and her squeal turns into a shameless yawp when he feels much more bigger than before inside her with her being on top of him —- he was right she could feel him in her tummy.
She's clueless what to do. Not that she's gonna show it –- she doesn't want to give him an impression that she knows barely anything about riding but the way she begins with zealous back and forth movement digging the heels of her palms against his pecks wrecks him havoc.
"You're doin' so good pet, yes, yes, yes. Use me baby. Use me like your little fuck toy 'm c'mon." He grabs the nape of her neck and brings her down to skim his tongue over her lips, manipulating the plushiness of them with his teeth. His balls slapping against her skin as she bounces on his cock diligently and he fists the soft flesh of her bum with both of his hands to help her ride him knows she's labouring herself out, "I'm all yours." He says caressing her sides to make sure she's okay and brushes the wisp of sticky hair behind her ear.
"You're looking so sexy sitting on my dick like that -- how about I don't allow you to cum so you could keep me warm with your pussy like that fo' hours?" His pants out gripping at her thighs as his prick spills with wetness inside her and she cries out shaking, "No!" He smirks crinkled forming by his eyes and takes this chance to drive hard up inside her making her flop onto his chest.
She gasps moistly, pulsating around him feeling every ridge and vein of his cock stroking against her walls creating obscene noises of skin meeting skin and their moistures mixing soapily like gooe.
"Cum fo' me baby -- squeezing me s' tight. I know you're there." His pants laboured and heavy as he sucks his own digits coating them with his spit nicely and glides them down pressing them to her weeping bud, then flickers it in prolong circles. Toes curling. His thrusts consistent and fast. She crooks her nose against his's murmuring to him with a wavering voice.
"I'm gonna cum, fuck."
"You're gonna make me come."
Her eyes widen in surprise but her body reacts otherwise albeit she has never experienced it —- but her moans were uncontrollable when he spanked her butt cheek and she crampied down at him jolting tremendously with the wave of insanity spreading to her bones.
"I'm a naughty boy, give it to me." He kisses his teeth together man spreading and throwing his knees up to ram up inside her perfectly.
His eyes shuts till he could see white spotting behind them -- he spills inside her in form of thick ribbons and milks her cunt with it riding her out of her high. She clings to his body and snuggles into him to tone down the shivers running down her spine with each tiny orgasm she feels rushing out with his lazy thrusts.
"I'm jello." She tells him and he looks down at her with a mishevious grin, "Does that give me a reason to eat you whole?" She rolls her eyes poking at his cheek with a grossed out expression.
"I'm still inside ye', remember?" He stirs his hips to make her realise and she yelps not know if it's making her feel hot or utterly sensitive, "You're insatiable." She mumbles pouting her lips to indicate him she's dying for his lips to smooch kisses to her.
"No kidding I love the noises you make when you come undone." She confesses timidly drawing stars at his chest and he giggles kissing her temple gently, "Stop before you wake me buddy up again –- he quite fond of you." He blushes hiding his face into the crook of her neck with tiny voice.
//
They're canoodling under the fluffy blanket on the sofa watching telly after they just took a bath together, shampooing eachother with peach scents and drying eachother off with warm towels. She's nuzzled into his side wearing one of his baby yellow robes, his arm stays around her shoulder thumb addicted to caressing her silky cheek, sometimes spreading his fingers down her throat to tip her chin up to smooch sweet kisses on her lips.
"You're cute when you're not a pest." She giggles and he frowns comically pretending to munch her alive, "That's very rude -- you should be thankful that I lov — " Her heart almost stops functioning.
They were sipping onto their green teas and nibbling onto the strawberry mochi they made and refrigerated before when the doorbell rang making them groan in laziness.
She stood up going to see what took Harry so long on the door and got revealed to him talking instinctively to whoever rang the bell.
"Hi, Y/N." Scottie smiles at him. Carrying her luggage and Y/N looks down at her attire for a second then forwards her hand shyly. She was so scared that day –- it's a blur to her but now she watches Scottie properly she realizes …. She's the same girl from all the paparazzi photos.
Something switches off inside her. The rainbows and confettis, the moonlight and stars and the nebula of the whole galaxy she had consumed in her little body from making love to Harry just shuts down into a white noise.
Her bottom lip plumps into a pout. Eyebrows trembling from this confused feeling of some invisible thing squeezing the life out of her.
She's jealous.
"I just came here to say bye." Scottie's voice makes her focus back into reality.
"Oh…" She just nods. She doesn't return the hug even though her brain guilt trips her for that and when Scottie leaves with the air thick and tense, Harry corners her in between a wall and piece of furniture cradling her grumpy face in his careful palms speaking gently to her.
"You don't 'ave to worry 'bout her, she's just a friend …. Infact you don't have to worry 'bout anyone because I love you so so much baby that I don't see myself spending me life with anyone else." She glances up at him twice, jaw falling slack from shock and he chuckles smothering her in kind-hearted kisses when she stares at him like a hawk.
"You what!?"
"I love you, Y/N." Her eyes closing like a moth flapping nearer to fire and finding peace in burning inside it.
"I love you too so much." She whispers and welcomes his lips melting against her ardently. With the passion only lovers hold. Amiability she couldn't find anyone else but in his embrace, in his kisses and his lovemaking.
"Can we go back to cuddlin'? Me feet gettin' cold baby." He whines treading fastly into the living room while carrying her like a kitten from behind and makes squeaky noises once snoozed under the warmth of the blanket.
He touches their foreheads. Kissing the tip of her nose adorably.
"I love you." Then burst into giggles. When she returns the passion coyly.
"I love you too."
#Harry Styles#harry styles fanfiction#harry styles smut#harry styles one shots#harry styles fanfic#harry styles angst#harry styles fluff#Harry Styles fluffy duffy
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BUNGA (FLOWER) | FUSHIGURO MEGUMI
gender neutral.
summary; you’re megumi’s dream person.
note; i wrote this bcs my birth name is actually a type of flower ugh the self indulgence also i like butterflies. also inspired by a song called bunga by masdo. i recommend listening to the song while reading. bunga means flower in malay!! also pls open the gif for better quality.
YOU REMIND MEGUMI OF A FLOWER. white orchids; they symbolize purity. and that’s exactly what you are to him.
fushiguro megumi remembers this one day when he and tsumiki had went to a flower garden together. he didn’t know why tsumiki suddenly felt like visiting a garden, but he followed anyway. he observed as his sister looked at the flowers around them, a smile never leaving her face and her eyes were practically sparkling. it felt nice to see his sister actually enjoy herself, especially after their parents got up and abandoned them, leaving tsumiki with all the house chores.
“look at all these flowers!”, tsumiki caressed the petals with her fingers, thumb gently gliding over the flowers, “they look so nice, don’t you think so megumi?”
megumi didn’t reply, he opted to stand beside his older sister. tsumiki explained the symbolisms of the flowers she knew of. the raven head looked stoic, as if he wasn’t listening to any of her words but the truth is, he was. he found the symbolism behind the white orchids particularly interesting. it suited the orchids’ physical appearance. white and innocence just made sense.
as the siblings chatted (though it technically was one sided on tsumiki’s part), a cat walked towards the duo. the ball of orange fur purred and nudged it’s head on tsumiki’s legs, immediately getting the teenage girl’s attention. she kneeled down, her previous smile growing wider.
petting the cat, she looked up at her younger brother, “aren’t cats so adorable?”.
“yeah,” megumi uttered. a lie. he wasn’t a big fan of cats, he found them annoying. dogs are better, that’s what he believed in but he didn’t have the heart to say that to his sister. not when she looks the happiest she had been in a while.
“and the weather’s really nice today!”, she added, eyes glancing up at the sky. the sun was glaring right into her eyes, so her pupils shrunk. she didn’t mind however, she had always loved sunny days. the sunlight shone right above their heads, and megumi didn’t like it. he could feel drops of sweat trickling down his back, causing his shirt to cling onto his skin. megumi much prefers when it’s cloudy, shades of grey in the sky, the perfect weather for staying at home and reading books.
even so, he just nodded, “mhm.”
shortly the sun started to set, spreading orange hues throughout the sky. flocks of birds returned to their nests, and so the fushiguro siblings made their way back to their abode. on their way tsumiki stole glances at her brother, letting out a dry chuckle everytime she notices the lack of expression on his face.
“you should smile more you know, megumi”, she ruffled his erratic hair, “you won’t get much friends if you keep on frowning like that”, she teased.
he grumbled, “i don’t care if i don’t have friends.”
megumi thought it was ridiculous. why would it matter, anyway? he’s fine being alone. people are bothersome; they’re too loud and they stress him out. especially the stupid punks in school who thinks they could do whatever they want. megumi simply shrugged and pushed his sister’s words out of his mind. scratch smiling and being likeable.
yet here he is, smiling at you. over no particular reason too.
currently, he’s walking along a beach with you. you; dressed up in a white sundress, a pair of sandals in your right hand. the sand burns under fushiguro’s feet but he couldn’t feel it over the fast thumping of his heart, he couldn’t feel the heat when his whole skin is tingling. he trolls behind you, walking over the footsteps you made. your sundress flows to the rhythm of your walk, flying slightly up when the wind blows your way, exposing the plush skin of your thighs. fushiguro looks away from your figure, his fair complexion tinted with blush.
you’re his best friend, he’s not supposed to look at you like that.
“it’s so nice here, megumi!”, you call out to him as you stand at the edge of the sea. waves crash, they trickle up to your toes. with a smile you hold up your hand for megumi to hold.
bashfully, megumi walks up to you and takes your hand in his. he’s reluctant, for he dislikes his hands. they’re cold and filled with callouses. so when you grip his hand as though you didn’t intend to let go, when your thumb rubs against his, he feels less insecure of his hands. the sensation of your hand in his is hot, it burns; however it feels nice.
megumi fushiguro hates warmth, but if it’s your warmth, he’d enjoy burning in heat.
the sand by the sea doesn’t feel hot on your feet. the waves get bigger and bigger; till they reach up to your ankles. you giggle because it tickled, the sound of your laughs reaching megumi’s ears. he turns to his side to see you crouching down, collecting the water in your hands.
that’s when megumi concluded, your whole existence screams purity.
a week later megumi meets you again. sometime at 11pm, by an oak tree—your usual meeting spot. the oak tree is large, it’s impossible to miss it. you stand under the oak tree, allowing dried leaves to fall onto your head, getting stuck in your hair. you know megumi would get all the leaves out of your hair. he does it everytime. he’ll pick out all the leaves out of your hair while lecturing you, though his words enter one ear then out from another. no matter how many times he says “i can’t do this all the time”, even he himself knows he would.
from afar megumi watches his best friend run around the flower field, chasing butterflies. your hair gets swept away by the wind as your hands stretch up to the sky, desperately trying to get a butterfly to land on your hand. you’re wearing a jumpsuit, the white color of the material truly brought out your skin tone. your complexion is glistening, and it makes megumi’s heart throb.
“they’re scared of you, y/n,” he finally says, putting both your hands down. the butterflies fly away from your sight, and you pout.
“but they’re so pretty,” you sigh, watching as the butterflies choose to fly anywhere but on your fingers. and then one lands on top of megumi’s shoulder.
your eyes widen, holding the sides of megumi’s figure to make him stay still. megumi could see sparks in your eyes when you admire the blue butterfly. soft is the expression you wear on your face. he likes it on you. that cute expression of yours makes megumi fall five times harder for you even when he knows he shouldn’t.
“you’re like a flower ‘gumi. it likes you.”
ridiculous, he thinks. you’re the flower. it’s obvious by the way your body moves under the moonlight, and how insanely beautiful you are.
fushiguro megumi doesn’t say anything in return, as always. he rarely does. if possible, he wants to avoid you from finding out just how in love he is with you.
after that day, you never show up under the oak tree, a few minutes distance from jujutsu high. he’ll wait for hours long only to be disappointed.
--at least not until his birthday comes, about a few months later. his face turns pale once he spotted you. you wait by the jujutsu high gate with a wide smile on his face, as if you didn’t ghost him for three months.
"glad to see you doing okay," the apple of your cheeks seem more prominent when you smile, megumi feels an urge to kiss them.
"i haven't seen you in so long," megumi mumbles, "happy to see you here today."
you grin and hold up your hand for him to take per usual, and didn’t mutter anymore words until the two of you reach a café in the outskirts of tokyo.
“nice café,” the raven comments , glancing at you. you’re wearing a puffy sleeved white blouse now—honestly, do you only own white clothes?
“found it on instagram”, you mutter, “i thought you’d like it. happy birthday, megumi.”
megumi smiles for the first time today. as a jazz song plays, he eats the birthday cake you purchased for him quietly. the cake tastes delicious (to be fair, anything you buy him is perfect) because it’s not too sweet. the fact that you remember his preference makes his smile grow a little wider.
you hum to the song and rest your head on his shoulder. it seems like the two of you are the only ones in the café—a much needed privacy. you’re usually touchy with him, and he prefers affection to be private. typically they make megumi blush, and he doesn’t want people to witness him all flustered.
“did you miss me, megumi?”, he replies to your question by nodding and placing his hand on top of yours.
serenity is this feeling, megumi thinks.
at the corner of the café stands an antique grandfather clock. it’s sounds are so loud, they resonate the whole environment. megumi suddenly becomes hyper aware of the sound, there’s a pounding in his head. the sound becomes louder and louder, to the point where megumi couldn’t feel your skin under his. he shuts his eyes close, an impossibly bright light glares his eyes.
“fushiguroooo!”, an annoying voice yells. itadori’s voice, megumi is certain.
the pounding in his head slows down. his sapphire eyes flutter open, and he realizes the light he saw was sunlight rays peeking through his blinds.
“seriously fushiguro, we’ve been calling you for an hour now. hurry up, we’re going out to eat in five. to celebrate your birthday”, megumi looks up to see nobara standing behind itadori.
they’re both leaning against his door frame. itadori is dressed in a yellow hoodie, while nobara rocks a coat over a turtleneck. the female sorcerer holds her toy hammer tight in her grip, her eyes boring through megumi’s figure. by her posture, megumi guesses she was about to hit him with the squeaky hammer if only he didn’t wake up sooner.
fucking menaces, they could’ve left him to sleep for a little more. he hasn’t seen you in so long, he wanted to sleep in to spend time with you.
finally rubbing his eyes awake, the boy looks at the vase of orchids sitting on his nightstand. he sighs before standing up.
megumi will find you someday, he promises. if you’re a flower, he’ll gladly be the butterfly.
✉ taglist: @aliteama @dearsukuna @cybergoo @hanniemilk @ariasann @soulasdarkascoffee @okusetomura @eidotheiapriv @maat-the-prescriptive @etoilezone @elipres @scarednekozz @iridescentkitsune @crapimahuman @nectar0sw33t @hq149 @bluedelphinium @bokutos-babyowl @behan @tdntu0 @sunaluvs @guardianangelswings @fairywriter-oracle @inu-makki @erinisbadger
tagging; @candleohappiness , @haru-senji <333
#fushiguro#fushiguro megumi#megumi x reader#fushiguro megumi x reader#jjkmag#megumi fluff#fushiguro megumi fluff#megumi imagines#megumi x gn reader#fushiguro megumi imagines#jjk x reader#jujutsu kaisen x reader
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Are very, very old friends
My Masterlist
Your heart and my heart (first part of this)
Pairing: Ivar/Reader
Summary: A second part to Your heart and my heart, where Ivar and Reader were childhood friends (and pretended to get married when they were children) and got separated by circumstances of life, only to meet again on a battlefield in Wessex.
Word Count: 9.8k (I am so fucking sorry, holy shit)
Warnings: My unwavering state of denial over Aslaug’s death, mentions/descriptions of injury/battle, allusions to sex (nothing graphic), and my terrible writing lol
A/N: I hope you are no longer surprised by how I seem to be able to focus only on the stuff I need to focus on the least, bc here we are. Writing has been very difficult lately, so I am not so sure this is any good, but I still hope you enjoy.
As a reminder: In this universe the brothers (minus Björn) are in Wessex with the Great Heathen Army but Aslaug isn’t dead (Lagertha never took over). This is an almost 6a in age Ivar, but of course a different canon where he has stayed raiding in England. And Princess Blaeja (who was briefly mentioned in the previous part) is engaged to be married to Sigurd.
Your eyes cannot move fast enough to take in the field ahead of you, trying to check every trap and every barricade. Even if you were to find a fault, you remind yourself, you wouldn’t be able to change anything.
Hlíf comes to you, brisk pace that you can still see the exhaustion in, and stands at your side, shield with your colors and your symbol. It looks heavy.
“They are coming, Dane.”
“I know,” A deep breath, and you signal with your head to the center of the camp, “Go back, you’ll lead them to hold the second line. The Saxons will breach the first one.”
“You are not staying here.”
You don’t meet Hlíf’s gaze, instead meeting the eye of a few shieldmaidens that stand tall ahead, waiting for the Saxons to come. They nod their heads once, they know what they are agreeing to.
“We are.”
The forward scouts sound the horns, and before long the marching feet of warriors makes the unfamiliar ground tremble under your feet. Your hands tighten on the handle of your sword, and you take a breath.
Hlíf steps closer, but her gait ins anxious, “You better retreat to us when the time comes, Dane. You are not allowed to die here.”
“Says who?”
Hlíf grunts a curse, but retreats behind the second line of spike barriers.
You’ve been hounded by this group for weeks, ever since you and your warriors departed for York back from a successful raid. You aren’t sure if they are from that city or sent to intercept you from somewhere else, but they are bloodthirsty and determined.
Making camp was a necessity, especially with the wounded and weakened you have in your group, but the years have made you ingenuous, and the months you’ve spent with the Great Army have taught you to use the surroundings in your favor.
Your warriors dug ditches and laid spikes within them, much like you remember hearing Lagertha did when she assisted Aslaug in defending Kattegat, and while you didn’t have the defenses of walls, you made sure to draw passageways with the placement of the tents, to lure the Saxons to follow a path you know by heart when they came.
And now you stand, restless in your spot, waiting for them to get close enough for your archers to thin their numbers, for the frakka’s of those closer to you to take down the stronger ones.
It is not enough, but you never expected it to be.
Once they get close enough, you shout the command to march, and your forces and theirs clash.
The sound of battle deafens you, shouts in two different tongues and death in the same language echoing around you. Still, you seem to hear the faintest of rustles, and you lift your shield as you turn, stopping the downward strike of a Saxon.
Pushing back while you bend your knees, you unbalance him, slashing at his thighs before you plunge your sword in his chest. He meets your eyes, and spits blood in your face before his strength leaves him.
So, it is personal then.
You keep moving, blunt hits of your shield and quick strikes of your sword, taking down as many as you can, worrying more for injuring them and weakening them before they reach the more vulnerable in the camp more than for killing them.
Maybe that is your mistake.
The sword slashes at your leg, the pain sharp and weakening, and your stance buckles. You turn around with a raised shield to try and defend yourself, but you are too close to the ground and the warrior puts all his strength behind his kick and forces you to the ground.
Scrambling to turn on your back and grabbing a discarded axe, you stop the advance of his sword, but your arms burn under the strain, and his snarling face reminds you of a chained dog too close to breaking free.
It isn’t enough. You have no choice.
Releasing the strain of holding him back, you are able to swing your arm back and hit the side of his neck with the hand axe, but not before his sword pierces your shoulder, drawing a scream of pain from you.
Pushing him off you, you stand on uneven ground, trying to make sense of the battle around you and keeping your defenses against the Saxons that are still very much after your blood.
Your shield once again on your hand, you stop the attack of a younger warrior, slashing his chest with a move of your arm that feels weaker and trembling even as you manage to deliver a fatal blow.
Another manages to get close enough to bit the edge of his shield against your wounded leg, and his sword slashes at your side, drawing blood and blinding pain in its wake. He is taken down by a snarling shieldmaiden that comes to stand at your side, and your eyes scan the first line of the camp’s defenses already breached.
You are outnumbered, you are not going to win. Not like this.
“Through the east!” You call out in your own tongue, not waiting for any of the few that remain able to fight to acknowledge your command before you dart for the passageways you can make use of.
You are close enough to the second line of barricades to cross it if you wish to, but your mind is made. The Saxons trailing after you and the few others that still stand, they make quick work of your shieldmaidens soon enough, and you grit your teeth at the screams of pain you can do nothing to stop.
Most of them were foolish enough to think you were retreating, and they trailed after you and the remaining warriors.
Reaching the end of the alleyway, you turn around, standing on shaky legs and lifting one hand. Breathing past the pain is proving difficult, and there’s black at the edges of your vision, but you can still make out the shapes above you, and those that stand next to you.
You close your hand into a fist, meet the eyes of the Saxons that seem to hesitate to approach. They will always fear a heathen woman that smiles while surrounded by blood and death, the fearful -faithful- will call her a monster and insist she is not human.
They fear, they hesitate. And that is enough.
And you drop your hand, the weakest of smiles on your lips as you give one last command,
“Loose.”
____
The first thing you can sense when you awaken is the pain, and the weight keeping you down. Awful, but at least you aren’t dead.
You open your eyes slowly, half expecting to see the murky forests of the Isles towering above you after having been left behind by the Saxons to bleed out slowly and painfully; half expecting something with women on winged horses and a lot of golden shades.
But all that greets you is wood.
Inconsequential, unimpressive, mediocre wood. Yet, your body is filled with such a relief you almost give in to the temptation to doze off again.
Still, you force your body to answer and you sit up on the cot, breaths ragged as the wound on your shoulder sends pain like lightning through your very veins. And slowly, painfully, and with more curses than your mother would like out of a princess, you stand up.
Just when you are considering what the plan after standing up actually was, a woman barges into the room.
“Oh, you’re standing,” She says, and you lift your eyebrows but say nothing. She tsks her tongue, and approaches, her eyes focused on your upper chest, “You shouldn’t be.”
“I would think it was a good sign.”
“Which is why you do the fighting, not the thinking,” She quips, a quirk of her mouth as she glances at you. Quite mean, for an old woman, but still you offer a smile as well. Her palm presses lightly against your shoulder, before going to your side. “You’re not too hot.”
You pout, “Aw, shame.”
“And you seem to be in good spirits.” She chuckles.
You meet her eyes and lean closer, asking quietly,
“That will change soon, though, won’t it?”
“You are the reason a lot of people are angry, yes,” She confesses, before stepping back, “You also are the reason a lot of people are alive as well. Make sure they remember that, and you may keep your head.”
With a non-committal gesture you step past her, a hand on the doorway keeping you upright as you meet the gaze of the expecting shieldmaidens. They call your name and a few expletives in greeting, some in anger, some in welcome, but all in relief.
“While I love seeing you all alive and well, I…have a feeling at least one of you is here under specific instructions.” You state, a quirk of your eyebrow when one of the younger ones stands up, and slips out of the house quietly, with a murmur of being glad you are alright.
You sigh, and though one of them offers you a seat you highly doubt you’ll be able to stand if you sit down, so you wave away her offer, and lean on the doorway.
“Did the rest make it?”
“Most of them, yes. The injured are going to be escorted back, they couldn’t make it on their o-…”
The words die in a gasp as the door to the humble home is kicked open, and a tall shieldmaiden strides in, eyes blazing and set on you.
“You mad Dane bitch!”
“I have a name,” You quip as the shieldmaiden advances towards you. “It is a very pretty one, my mother chose i-…”
She shoves you forcefully, stopping whatever it is you were going to say.
You stumble back but catch yourself before falling, and you can’t help but let out a grunt of pain as your side is pulled tight by the sudden and forceful movement. The healer quips from the room at your back something about not injuring the already injured further, but you both ignore her it seems.
Hlíf still pushes on, “Of all the hare-brained, reckless, st-…”
“Hey!”
“You don’t scare me, Dane,” She huffs back, stepping forward until the shieldmaiden towers over you. “Half dead as you are because of your stupid decisions, you aren’t a threat to anyone, least of all me.”
In the back of your mind, a voice that sounds so alike your brother’s, always calm and collected; begs you not to do this.
You were never good at listening to him, though.
Headbutting one of your oldest friends wasn’t high in the list of things you wanted to do if you ever came back from the dead but…here we are.
Hlíf stumbles back, holding her nose and setting incredulous eyes on you.
Strangely enough, the tension seems to slowly ebb away with the unexpected action.
“I like proving people wrong.” You tell her around a shrug, slowly betraying a smile that she returns, even if there’s a resentful sort of relief in the way she approaches again and presses her brow against yours.
“You are so lucky you’re injured.”
“I wouldn’t call it-…”
“I would. I’d be knocking your pretty ass to the ground if you weren’t,” She promises, and scoffs a laugh that sounds like a reprimand, “You scared me, Dane.”
You meet her eyes, study the dark circles under them, the haggardness on her face, the stubborn tremble in her voice; and realize maybe you weren’t the only one to believe you’d die in that forest.
“How long has it been?”
“A little over a week since we made it to York.” She tells you, motioning for a seat, and motioning again when you refuse it. Stubborn.
You carefully sit down before the fire, narrowing your eyes at the girl that attempts to cover your legs with a fur. You are injured, but you’re far from an old woman.
Though you do accept the awful-smelling brew of herbs the healer presses into your hand before scurrying off back to the room where you were sleeping.
Watching the herbs swirl in the cup, you mumble, “You know, I did the right thing there.”
Hlíf’s kohl-lined eyes narrow, “I don’t think that means what you think it means.”
You gesture with the arm of your good side, “I wasn’t the one leading them! For once I followed orders and we got stuck, it isn’t my fault!”
Hlíf’s eyes only grow bigger and bigger in affront and fury at your insistence, and you decide to shut your mouth.
“You defended when you could have retreated, even though you were wounded, and alone.”
“When you put it like that of cou-…”
She interrupts you, her tone cold and imposing as she repeats, “You defended when you could have retreated, even though you were wounded, and alone.”
“I heard you the first time.”
She offers a side smile, head tilted to the side, “Huh, you listen. I didn’t think you had it in you.”
“That is uncalled for, come on.”
Hlíf looks at you, blinks slowly two times, and takes a breath.
“You defended when you could ha-…” She starts again, but you interrupt her with a shove of her good shoulder and a huffed laugh. She does have a point, however insistent she is at repeating it.
“I panicked, I…I needed to give you more time to leave safely, without Saxons trailing after you. I needed to stall them.” You confess quietly, fidgeting with your fingers, elbows resting on your knees, ignoring the soreness on your side as your position strains at the healing wound.
“You agreed to retreat if you were outnumbered, but you didn’t.”
“There were still some traps that hadn’t been used, I could lure them to the east side, and it worked, the archers made work of the thick of their numbers.”
“You were half-dead by the time that happened.” She insists, biting.
“All that matters is that most made it out. It was the right call.”
“If I hadn’t insisted we go back to find you, you would be dead,” She argues, though her voice quietens as well. “You’d be alone in that damn place, we wouldn’t even be able to bury you.”
That is not something you want to think much about, and with your gaze on the flickering flames you press quietly, “Do you want me to apologize, is that it?”
“No.”
“What do you want then?”
“I don’t know, Dane. What do you want?” At your confused frown the shieldmaiden shrugs, “Coming back from the dead and all, figured I could grant you at least one thing.”
“Those Saxons that hunted us down strung up on a tree?” You ask, only half-jesting. Hlíf doesn’t laugh though, she only presses her lips together.
“Can’t do that, Dane. They have been handled already.”
You really shouldn’t have expected otherwise. Still, you ask the question to which you already know the answer,
“Ivar?”
“Poured melted crosses onto their heads, left some alive after it too. Gruesome thing,” She explains, and you nod your head with a hum, wondering how long ago that was and trying to imagine how exactly they were captured so quickly. Hlíf watches you with growing worry, “I don’t know if I should be concerned about your reaction, or…lack of it rather.”
“You get used to it after a while.”
She scoffs, shaking her head, “You do.”
After a few breaths of silence, Hlíf calls your name quietly. She usually calls you ‘Dane’, a habit that never left her since the first days you were fighting together, when you first were able to call yourself a shieldmaiden.
When your attention turns to her, she says, “I’m sorry for shoving you.”
You look into her pale eyes, offer a smile and a nod.
“You should be.” You quip, and after an incredulous breath Hlíf heaves a sigh.
“You could say you’re sorry too, Dane.” The shieldmaiden chuckles, still oddly fond in her defeat.
“I’m not, though.” You reply around a shrug, sharing a smile with her.
The conversation ebbs away as you hear a voice distantly shouting commands, a voice you know well.
“Where is she!?”
“Oh, great.”
Furious stabs of a crutch on the hard ground, and the door opens just as many shieldmaidens scurry away, making way for Ivar the Boneless. His eyes meet yours with a fury you have never seen before, a snarl on his lips and tension coiled around his body like a vine.
When he speaks, though, his voice denotes none of that. His voice is carefully even, dangerously still, reminding you of a beast stalling its breath before it strikes.
For a man as explosive as him, calmness is never a good sign.
“What. Were. You. Thinking.”
Your nose furrows, and you offer with a grimace, “I…wasn’t?”
“This isn’t a joke.”
“I know. I’m the one that almost died, remember?” You prompt, but he doesn’t answer. You nod your head, not really sure what to do, muttering to yourself, “Serious business, dying.”
Hlíf lets out a choked groan, before advising, voice low, “You should really just shut your mouth, Dane.”
Ivar turns to her, the sharp focus of his pale gaze making the shieldmaiden straighten in her seat.
“Get out.” He orders, voice low. You see it in her, the pride insisting on resisting and the instinct pleading to obey.
Instinct wins, and after sparing you a look Hlíf stands up, and motions with her head for the other shieldmaidens to follow, leaving you and Ivar alone in the small home.
It feels even smaller as his gaze returns to you, it even feels almost suffocating as Ivar takes a deep breath and squares his shoulders but says nothing.
You clear your throat, and start what you hope will be a conversation and not a screaming match.
“I am not apologizing for the choice I made.”
An angry breath leaves him through his nose, sharply. His eyes remain on you, quiet intensity that makes you feel exposed.
“Of course you’re not,” Ivar bites out, before shaking his head at himself, “I can’t believe you’d be so-…”
“It was the right call, Ivar.”
He wrenches his gaze from you, looking straight ahead. For a moment you wonder if he refuses to look at you because he thinks he can hide anything from you. Because he should know better, because he should know by now you are aware of the way his jaw tightens, of the way his breaths are intentionally -forcefully- even, of the way anger and pride are the only thing keeping his control from slipping.
“You could have died.”
“And?”
His focus returns to you, and you snap your mouth shut.
Wrong thing to say, wrong thing to say, wrong thing to say.
Ivar’s eyes widen in anger, and when he takes a breath he seems to be twice as tall.
“And!?” He repeats, voice thundering, “You almost died! You…” His nose curls in anger, but there’s something more fragile in his wide eyes, something like fear, “You spent days in that damn bed, they told me it was in the hands of the Gods whether you survived or didn’t.”
A pit of worry forms in your stomach, and you quieten your voice, trying to offer reassurance, “I pulled through, I-I am alright.”
But it falls on deaf ears.
“You were there, dying, and there was nothing I could do,” A sharp breath, but it sounds choked, “You would have gone where I can’t follow, I-…there was nothing to do, nothing I could-…I c-couldn’t-…”
“Ivar…”
He turns to you, accusing, “I was unable to do anything while you died, while you left me.”
“I didn’t die, I am alright.”
“You almost did.”
“That’s-…”
His lip curls into a snarl and your eyes are drawn to the scar on the right side of his mouth, the scar you are responsible for. The process of healing from the deep cut you left that first day you were reunited was a slow one for him, especially because of how much you insisted on finding ways to make him smile and then grumble at the sting of a reopened cut. And now your eyes are drawn to that scar, watching it follow the movement of his mouth as it curls in anger.
“No, I don’t want to hear it,” He interrupts you, a gesture of his hand. “You made the wrong choice. You put yourself in danger when you didn’t need to.”
“If I hadn’t, most of my shieldmaidens would be dead now. We couldn’t fight them directly, Ivar, we had too many wounded.”
He walks past you, the stabs of the crutch on the ground still more forceful than they need to be, and pours himself some mead in one of the unused cups, his back to you.
A deep breath, and before he drinks he offers, “You should have left them behind.”
“What?”
“You heard me.”
You move to walk forward, but putting too much weight on your injured leg makes pain shoot through you. You falter, and you try hiding it but you know Ivar notices, judging by the way his eyes narrow.
Still, you insist, slowly walking closer, “What is a few shieldmaidens against all the people we went there to aid? It is a sacrifice we all were willing t-…”
He gestures with his free arm, stopping you, “Well it isn’t a sacrifice I’m willing to make! Not if it costs me you!”
You are stunned into silence, whatever words that were to leave your mouth dying on your lips with a gasp.
Ivar glares at you as if you were somehow responsible for him saying something he hadn’t meant to, a twitch of anger that makes his furrow his nose and his lips press together in a line.
He moves to one of the chairs by the fire, taking a few breaths through his nose that you are sure are meant to be calming but sound equally as angry as before.
You still have nothing to say, no words to leave your lips.
There’s a part of you that never let go of him in all those years you spent -grew- apart, and in these months you have spent with the army, leading your own forces under Ivar and his brothers’ commands, learning from them -from him- many things and offering a few tricks of your own, conquering new lands and fighting new battles; your foolish heart has started to speak of hopes that could never be, has started to feel light like it never did before, as if it and his own heart recognize each other even after all the years and the scars.
Ivar takes a breath, discarding the crutch on the chair by his side.
“I…I never forgot you, you know. Not when you left Kattegat, not when father died and we came to England, not-…I never forgot you,” His eyes linger on yours for a moment, before Ivar turns his head and looks back ahead, clear tell of gritted teeth as he confesses, “I kept an eye on you, through the years. I had men near Ribe when you and your brother fought for it so that they could tell me the outcome of the battle.”
Your heart lurches in your chest, and you slowly take a seat by his side.
“I…I never knew.”
“You weren’t supposed to,” He retorts without missing a beat, hesitating before continuing, “I always hoped we’d meet again. With what I’ve done, with what I’ve accomplished, I hoped that maybe I’d find you again and I could give you enough reasons to stay this time.”
Quietly, you offer, “I never wanted to leave.”
“I know that now,” He assures you, the slightest of movements of his head that you think was supposed to be a nod. Ivar’s eyes lift to yours, and he says, so low you almost miss it, “I just found you again, I can’t…I can’t lose you.”
You don’t know what to say, you don’t know how to put into words what his words are doing to your foolish heart, to the heart that has always been his.
“Ivar…” You start, not certain of what you’re trying to say.
But it doesn’t matter.
Ivar leans forward surprisingly quickly, pressing his lips against yours. The touch of his lips on yours is urgent and hurried, shaky and inexperienced; leaving behind wide blue eyes that look into yours as if desperate for an answer to a question that isn’t a question at all.
You sigh shakily, but your mouth trembles into a smile, and with barely a moment of hesitation, you cross the distance between you again and kiss him, this time deeply, this time eagerly, this time ardently.
There’s the desperation of having lost too much time without this in the way his hold on you is tight and frantic, there’s the anguish of having thought lost you forever in the way your name leaves him in a choked gasp when you part for air, there’s the relief and the elation of finally having you within reach in the way he doesn’t let your lips part from his for any moment, a faint sound of protest from somewhere deep in his chest whenever you pull away.
You finally part but don’t move too far, it seems both of you unwilling to let much space come between you. Breaths labored, you whisper,
“I have wanted to do that for a long time.”
“You have?”
In any other man the question would be a blatant seeking of praise, and maybe it is in him too, but there’s something else too, something more fragile, something more vulnerable. Like some part of him never ceased to be the boy you kissed before you were to leave Kattegat, like some part of him will never truly believe how wanted he can be, how loved.
“I never forgot you either, Ivar,” You confess quietly, lifting the hand you can and tracing the side of his face, the scar on his cheekbone, the scar you claim of your own over his lip. “I could never forget you.”
His smile is awed, and softer than you ever thought it could be, and more boyish than it should be allowed to be for the sake of your foolish heart, that skips a beat in your chest.
With the crackling of fire and the feel of him under your hands, you forget the passing of time, you forget the soreness of your body, you forget everything except him.
You exchange secrets and promises in the shape of kisses that linger always in between adoration and hunger; and after a while, with your fingers trailing absently over the scar on his mouth, you offer your regret.
“I was reckless,” You tell him, resisting the urge to curl the hand on the side of his face into a fist when you notice how much it trembles. “I…I should have retreated. I am sorry.”
“I was…I was stuck here, unable to do anything. I couldn’t go fight with you, I couldn’t go search for you,” There’s the familiar resentment -at the world, at Fate-, and you say nothing, but your hand moves towards the back of his neck and tries to offer a soothing caress. Ivar continues, “I can’t will my stupid legs to work as they should, but I can…I can keep you safe. You have to let me keep you safe.”
“You cannot keep me from death, no one can,” You remind him, before acquiescing, “I promise I…I will be more careful, I will not make pointless sacrifices.”
Even if it wasn’t pointless to you at the time, it is the best way you can word it.
And, judging by the faint and almost shaky nod Ivar offers in acceptance of your words, it was the right thing to say.
____
Ivar had planned to make the journey back to York and raid from there one more time, while matters about his plans to settle in the Isles are solved, and originally you were planning on going with him.
However, he insists you need to rest and heal so he won’t let you fight, and you insist being bedridden will only make you go mad, so you reach a compromise. You and Ivar discuss the details of the agreement as the healer checks the wound on your shoulder, and when he is to leave you notice the way he hesitates before he does, eyes travelling to your lips before meeting yours.
You smile, but then his pale eyes travel to the woman that is cleaning her hands with her back turned to the both of you, and you understand the question.
Being Ivar the Boneless’ woman is not something you would ever feel shame for being, or wish to hide, and though you do have your reservations about what it would mean as a commander of your own share of forces within the Great Army to be so close to one of the sons of Ragnar, you know no fear of rumors is with making Ivar believe you are ashamed of being his.
Instead of voicing your answer to the question he doesn’t ask, you just tilt your chin up, eyes on his.
Ivar’s smile is a tad on the shy side, a tad overwhelmed, but he still dutifully leans down and captures your mouth in his, promising to meet with you again after you’ve spent time with your warriors.
He leaves, and before long, as the healer changes the bandages on your leg and shoulder, you hear the familiar sounds of your friends settling again in the small home. It makes a pang of what you refuse to call regret go through your heart, at the thought of how easily accustomed they are to spending time at this home, waiting to know if you would survive or not.
You take a breath, and walk out to meet them.
Vígdís, one of the elder shieldmaidens, doesn’t even look up from the piece of chicken she is carefully pulling apart with her fingers as she states dryly, “I was betting he would kill you.”
“I’m glad you gals are on my side, really.”
Hlíf swallows a mouthful of chicken and points the drumstick at you, “Hey, I bet you’d kill him.”
You look at her with a frown before conceding, “Actually, that’s flattering.”
She offers a toothy smile, and encourages you, “Yeah, you could take him!”
Vígdís scoffs, “Oh, she wants to,” At your glare the older woman only shrugs one shoulder, “Or the other way around. You don’t have a preference, do you, Dane?”
“Anyhow,” You drawl out, turning to the others, “I suggest you prepare your belongings and say your goodbyes. We won’t raid with Ivar and Hvitserk in these lands, our forces are needed elsewhere. We will be travelling to East Anglia in a fortnight.”
Hlíf scoffs, “One hell of a spat you two had, huh?”
“Wh-…? You know, I really don’t want to hear it. Just…do what you must.”
“I’m just saying, your love life is taking us all over England, Dane.”
“Shut your mouth already.” You grumble, but Hlíf’s brazen laughter resonates in the small home.
____
In the days that go by -way too quickly for your liking- before you are to depart to East Anglia, you find yourself drunk on the foolish happiness of having within reach what you never truly thought you’d have.
It is three nights before you leave that in the quiet of your shared room Ivar presses his lips to yours with a softness that is jarringly unlike him, and breathed over your lips the most hushed I love you.
It was that same night that you tangled your fingers in his hair and drew him back against you, not able or willing to resist the temptation to flick your tongue over the scarred side of his lip to make one of those choked little sounds leave his lips; and when he kissed you back hungrily pulled back to promise the same, just as softly even if you vowed it fiercely, I love you.
And now you are to depart. Standing in the stables and watching as your shieldmaidens and warriors finish loading their belongings and the supplies for the road.
Ivar is next to you, leaning against a wall with an arm secured around your waist and allowing you to rest slightly on his chest.
“Take some of my men with you.” He insists, for what must be the thousandth time since you made the agreement to part until the last month of the spring.
“I don’t need protection,” You remind him, leaning back a bit so you can see his face, “If I remember correctly, and I do, last time it was you who needed help from me.”
“I didn’t need help.”
“Of course not, love.”
Ivar takes a deep breath at your mocking tone, choosing instead to insist, “Just take those men with you.”
“No.” You tell him, one last pat of your hand on his chest before you turn to walk away.
Before you can pull away his free hand grasps yours, and you easily give in to the slight pull, turning back to met him and stepping closer again.
Ivar tilts his head down so he can look you in the eye, something dark and tempting shining through his expression as his mouth curves into a crooked smile.
“I thought wives are supposed to obey their husbands?”
Your heart does a foolish thing in your chest, beating out of rhythm as if trying to leave your chest and burrow into his. Still, you stare him down with your head tilted to the side, and all the answer you offer is a dry reminder,
“‘Countless sons and daughters’, Ivar. If we are holding each other accountable for those promises, we ought to start there.”
He wants to argue, you know he does. And you aren’t entirely convinced some of the warriors that join your forces because they want to aid Ubbe are there at all for him, but you have no evidence, so you shut your mouth and just make sure to keep an eye on them.
As you expected, they act as your bodyguards, no matter how much you try pushing them away.
And so time passes, and in your time on the road towards Soham you are able to heal well enough, slowly getting back to training with Hlíf and Vígdís. And by the time you reach Soham, where Ubbe awaits support to hold on to the city, you are able to fight once again.
And how you dearly missed it.
Time becomes a blur after that. Soham proves to be more difficult to hold than expected, and so your forces remain a while longer before moving to Dunwich where you manage to take over relatively easy, since the Saxon forces retreated from the coastal city.
The years made you capable, and the Gods made you arrogant.
Which is why, as the warriors from Dunwich start retreating, following their Lord’s commands, you, standing still close enough to the edges of the frontlines that Saxons scurry around you, take a knee and pretend to catch your breath.
The footsteps behind you are predictable, and you tighten your hold on the shield. When the warrior gets close enough and tries striking, you lift your shield, catching his arm on the edge of it as you stand up.
You twist your arm holding on to the shield, feeling the strain in his own and hearing his surprised scream of pain.
It snaps out of place under the strain, and satisfied, you let go of him with a push. He stumbles forward and tries grabbing onto a dropped sword with his uninjured arm, and you let him.
Readying your stance, you notice two others refuse to retreat as well now that their countryman is fighting, but make no notice of them as you stride forward, driving your sword through him, ignoring his pitiful attempt at deflecting it.
You approach the other two, shield tightly grasped, and push back against the strike of the first one against your shield, deflecting the sword of the second one with your own.
Making use of your smaller size, you quickly spin in your place and slash the neck of one of them, lifting your shield just in time to stop the attack of the second one.
But he lets out a grunt, falls down before you can kill him. The Saxon falls on his face, an axe protruding from his back.
You lift your eyes to meet those of an unfamiliar warrior, who stands proudly and offers you a nod.
“You’re welcome.”
Walking past him and not bothering to hide your distaste, you insist, “I didn’t need any help, and certainly not from you.”
He proves to be more insistent than you would have thought, and for too many nights you have to bear him sitting close by to you, trying to impress you with one tale or another. The man is unbearably persistent on either bedding you or courting you, and as the days go by after the fight for Dunwich, he proves to not be the only one.
Until, eventually, you can’t take it anymore.
____
“I’m going to need an explanation for that.” Hlíf asks, a broad smile on her lips and eyes shining with mirth.
You grit your teeth and start walking away, but of course she follows.
The winds of East Anglia are biting, and the ground under your feet is still softer and so different than that of your home, but in the time that has passed since you and your warriors joined the Great Army you have learned to be as familiar with this foreign land of England as you once were with your own.
Granted, the incessant waves at the coast and the ever-present sea salt in the air that characterize Dunwich are not something you are planning on getting used to any time soon. You really just want to get back to York.
“I shouldn’t have saved her ass at Soham.” You mutter to yourself, even if you know you don’t mean it.
“I heard that!”
“You proved you have ears, congratulations.”
She skips the few steps she was lagging behind, walking at your side and matching your stride with a wide grin that you choose to ignore.
“Thank you, but I’m married,” She quotes, the mirth coming through in her voice, and she laughs to herself, “Gods above, Dane, what kind of answer is that?”
“He was insistent, and I couldn’t exactly fist fight one of Ubbe’s trusted men,” You explain, your voice a grumble when you add, “Tis not my fault if the prick heard I was a princess and suddenly decided he needed to have me.”
“You sure it was your title? After seeing you fight when we took this city, I’m not surprised so many want you.”
“Hey, I appreciate the compliment, don’t get me wrong,” You quip, sparing a glance to her, “But if you’re trying to court me, I’m afraid it will go as well as it did for Olvir.”
On her lips grows once again the mischievous and devilish smile, and the shieldmaiden tilts her head to the side as she says, “Oh, I know that, because you’re married.”
“I’m not.”
“Then why lie?”
“It wasn’t a lie.”
“If you think you’re making sense, prepare for disappointment.”
You shrug your shoulders, “It’s…complicated.”
“Well, the whole camp will soon hear about you telling Olvir you’re married, so we might as well get the story right: are you taken, Dane?”
Blunt, and to the point, not that you expected anything different from Hlíf.
You consider your words before answer, slowly, “Yes.”
She chuckles, shoulder knocking against yours playfully, “Ah, so who is the fool that has your heart but isn’t staking a claim?”
“He has, you just haven’t noticed.”
She stops walking, and so you too stop, turning to look at her wide eyes and offering a shrug of your shoulders again.
“You mean…” You nod, and past the surprise she finds it in her to laugh, shaking her head in amazement, “Oh, you really are a mad woman, aren’t you?”
“Well, we are technically married. I can’t turn my back on a bond before the Gods, right?”
She shakes her head with a chuckle, “So that is why you have been so insufferable, you miss York. I just thought you really hated East Anglia.”
“I really hate East Anglia.”
“Of course, Dane.”
____
You return to York as dawn breaks, and you don’t have time to get off your horse before Hvitserk is standing there, arms crossed over his chest and leaning with one shoulder on the entrance to the stables.
He offers his older brother a nod of his head as greeting, but Ubbe passes him by and Hvitserk keeps his eyes on you.
He blurts out, “You are married?”
“Hello to you too. I am glad to see you alive and well, dear Hvitserk.”
“You are married.”
You look at him, at his smug little smile and his warm eyes shining with mirth, and take a deep breath.
“You should know, you were there at the wedding.”
His sniggering laughter follows you as you walk away, but you forget your irritation quite quickly as you find Ivar in the rustle of movement, determined and uneven steps carrying him towards you.
Your smile is wide and lovesick and foolish, but you do not care for hiding it. His is quieter, more secret, but it doesn’t fail to make your heart skip a beat in your chest.
Ivar’s free hand grasps at the back of your neck once you are close enough, bringing your mouth to his with urgency, quickly letting the kiss become passionate as he slips his tongue into your mouth. Your hands find purchase on his hips, and more than ever you hate the armor that doesn’t let you feel him his warmth, his strength- under your fingers.
“I missed you.” You whisper quietly when you part, your brow pressed against his.
He blinks his eyes open, more than a little dazed, and the look in his eyes -the need, the adoration, the everything- makes a pang of heat go through you, threaten to set you alight with only a look.
“And I you.” He finally tells you, quiet voice rough.
You barely have time to be alone with Ivar before obligations pull you apart, a feast to welcome back the forces Ubbe and the Princess of Ribe, a reunion to exchange tales of victory and be together with those that were missed in the months apart.
Granted, that means that they don’t let you be together with the one you missed the most in those months apart, but you don’t have it in you to complain. Except you do, but that is not the point.
The night dies down and you roll your eyes at a few pointed toasts in congratulations for your marriage, but remain sitting at your place beside Ivar, pretending not to notice his hand on your knee or his arm around the back of your chair.
You grab his hand when it starts trailing up your leg and making you feel the effects of his touch like lightning crawling over your skin, and you could swear the smug bastard chuckles at the way you have to stop him.
“Eh, sister!” Hvitserk calls out, and with gritted teeth you turn to look at him, sitting by Sigurd’s side with an arm over his brother’s shoulders, “I am glad you are back, truly.”
“Thank you, Hvitserk.” You tell him, immediately feeling like you are about to regret accepting he doesn’t mean to tease you any longer.
“If only because I cannot stand my brother’s moping any longer. Who would have thought a son of Ragnar would be so loyal to his wife?”
You dismiss him with a gesture, but you cannot help but chuckle alongside the others.
Ivar turns his head towards you, nose almost nuzzling at your hair as he moves closer to speak by your ear,
“Why did you tell people you’re married?”
You don’t lift your gaze from your joined hands, following the trace of your fingers as they trace over the back of Ivar’s hand, “So that they would leave me alone.”
“No one is leaving you alone now that they think you are my wife.”
You spare him a look, glancing up, “The men that insist on either bedding me or courting me will, and that is enough for me.”
Ivar, of course, clings only to part of the words you speak, and his voice lowers, expression hardened with what you would swear is jealousy -pointless, unfounded, stupid jealousy- as he asks,
“Who are these men?”
Your eyes narrow, you honestly cannot believe this man.
“Are you serious right now?”
“I just want to know who they are.”
“I-…” Running your free hand through over your face, you bite back a groan, “Everyone thinks we are married now, shouldn’t you be worrying about that?”
He shrugs, “You were the one that told them you are married.”
“You are the one that I told them I’m married to!” You tell him, exasperated. He says nothing, and in the two blinks that he offers you somehow find it in you to be even more offended, “You truly are not worried?”
“Why should I be?”
Slowly, you remind him, “We are not actually married, Ivar.”
He shrugs, “We could be.”
“But we aren’t.”
“But we could be.” He insists easily.
Deep breaths, you tell yourself, taking a moment to bite back irritation, you love him, even when he is being intentionally insufferable.
“Is this your way of asking me to marry you?”
“You seem to have done that for me already,” He replies instead, raised eyebrows and another shrug of his shoulders that only makes you angrier. “You seem to have done more than that.”
You sigh, and shake your head at his mocking, only to make him chuckle at your reaction. Gods, he is infuriating.
Ivar’s smile loses the mocking edge as he leans even close, pressing a soft kiss by the side of your mouth in an attempt to make you stop pretending to be angry.
“What’s the harm in that, hm?” He asks, eyes falling from yours to your lips when you finally turn your head to face him, “They know you’re mine now.”
You almost want to argue there’s no way they wouldn’t know judging by the way the two of you have been joined at the hip since you returned from Dunwick, but you won’t deny a part of you grows darkly proud at knowing everyone knows he is yours and yours alone.
“And you are mine.” You remind him lowly, the beginning of a smile on your lips. His eyes linger on the curve of your mouth, lids growing a little heavier at your words and tone, and you have never felt more powerful.
Ivar nods his head,
“I am, wife.”
____
As you come down from both of your highs you find out Ivar is as unwilling to relinquish the closeness as you are, and in between soft touches and breathed presses of lips on heated skin, you find a kind of peace you never realized how much you missed.
“I was thinking,” He starts, and you cannot stop yourself from teasing him, so you let out a soft, uh-oh, and he scoffs, biting down on the side of your neck in retaliation, “We will be settled in the Isles by next winter.”
Ivar pulls back to look at you, holding himself up on one of his arms. At the strange expression in his pale eyes, you reach up with one hand and caress the side of his face under the guise of moving his hair back.
“We will.”
“Let’s go back to Kattegat,” He tells you, a tad rushed, “For this winter. Let’s spend one last winter in Kattegat.”
“Are you homesick, love?” You drawl, a side smile that he rolls his eyes at.
“What do you say?”
You search his gaze, because something tells you there’s more to the question, more to the action of spending your winter in Kattegat.
You won’t lie and pretend you haven’t missed the town, you won’t lie and pretend the memories you made there aren’t still with you, kept safe by some nostalgic and soft part of your heart.
Fate has a funny way of working, you’ve learned, and time brought you back to the side of the boys you made so many of those memories alongside of. Time brought back to you the cadence of Sigurd’s voice as he hums in par with his oud, time brought back to you Ubbe’s easy companionship as you train together, time brought back to you the secret smiles you share with Hvitserk over a joke only the two of you know of. Time brought back to you the one you’ve loved since before you even knew what love was, brought back to you the heart that your own finds itself familiar with.
But there is a part of you that misses Kattegat and always will, the sinuous streets of your childhood, the foreign scents and sounds of the bubbling market.
Instead of giving your answer outright -you always did like making things harder than they have to be-, you muse aloud,
“Having married you when we were children should keep me safe from your mother’s wrath, shouldn’t it?”
“Wrath?”
You let your fingers trace over the scar over his lip, the one you are very much responsible for. In these last few months, you’ve grown quite fascinated with it, with how it stretches when he smiles one of those big and crooked smiles, and especially with how Ivar trembles when you run your tongue over it before kissing him.
But that is not the point.
The point is you are very much responsible for at least one of the new scars Aslaug’s youngest son bears, and she will know, and she will look at you in that way you remember from your younger years. It is enough to make a grown woman shiver.
Ivar chuckles as he understands your hesitation, “You don’t need to fear her.”
“Easy for you to say.” You scoff.
“And if I tell you she still remembers fondly that childish wedding? Will you agree to come then, hm?”
“No,” At his frustrated sigh you tighten your fingers on his hair in silent reprimand, “Now I know you’re just saying that to appease me.”
“I would never.” Ivar mocks, earning another tug of his hair that he breathes a laugh at. You don’t fail to notice the way the laugh stutters a bit past his lips, you are very much aware of your effect of your hands on him.
Said effect is very much evidenced in the way he doesn’t resist the temptation to lean down and steal your breath with the slowest of kisses, his nose nudging against yours softly before he speaks again, voice low,
“What if it wasn’t just that wedding?”
“W-What?”
His eyes open to look into yours, an edge of anxiety, of hesitation, that he -of course- pushes past anyways, clearing his throat and asking, “What if there were something more…permanent than that wedding from our childhood?”
“Are you asking me to marry you?”
“A second and last time.” He vows, a quirk of his mouth that speaks of jest but does nothing to hide the apprehension that shines in his eyes.
There was never anyone else, not for you and not for him.
Your answer leaves your lips in a breath that Ivar doesn’t hesitate to taste against your lips, with a gentleness that speaks of adoration and desperation, stealing your breath much in the same way he stole your heart.
____
Aslaug almost wants to laugh at the irony that it was the youngest of her boys that was the first one the be married, not once, but two times. And, surprising only those that don’t know him well enough, to the same woman both times.
Older but still holding that arrogant pride at the announcement -the same pride she saw in him when you walked Kattegat’s streets with your hand in Ivar’s- Ivar sat down in front of her and told her he had found a woman he wanted to marry.
And her heart felt a surge of a warmth she had long since missed with all her sons fighting their wars and their father’s across the sea; not willing or capable to hold back the wide smile that blossomed in her face.
Her hands cupped her son’s face, and the small, almost shy smile he offered her reminded her so much of the boy he once was. She promised her blessing and vowed how proud she was, and in silence, as she looked into her youngest son’s eyes, she thanked the Gods for being allowed to live to see this, to see him happy.
She knows there are so many twists of Fate that have let this happen. She knows -like she knows the streets of her kingdom- of the paths their son’s life could have taken, almost took. She knows of yours, and what could have been.
Even if she hadn’t heard of your close encounter with death in England, she would have the moment she was forced to see in her dreams what had happened across the sea, she would have the moment she saw the way it still haunted Ivar today.
For almost two weeks she dreamt of her son’s voice, the same repeated pleas to the Gods -to whatever would listen- said so many times his voice grew ragged and broke. Still, he did the one thing he could, and pleaded with the Gods for more time, for anything other than this.
He needn’t know she went to the Volür and they all made a sacrifice praying with the Gods to give a Dane shieldmaiden strength and health. He needn’t know, and he won’t.
Because it is past now, and you have healed and learned, and he has healed too. And there is no use in resurfacing pain in an occasion such as this.
Kattegat is lively even as winter approaches fast and cruel, the flurry of motion increased even more now that a Prince is to get married.
Your smile is the same mad little smile she remembers from your younger years in Kattegat, and Helga’s hands are more worn and her smile is a tad dimmer, but her fingers are still nimble and gentle as they braid the wedding crown of winter flowers.
Aslaug feels the pull of emotion when Ivar cups your face between trembling hands and kisses his wife for the first time, she feels the tears prickling at her eyes at the lovesick smiles on your faces as you remain in that moment after a kiss for a few breaths, eyes locked together and futures intertwined.
Ubbe stands tall as he watches his younger brother get married, and Aslaug’s heart grows warm at the easy smile that curves her son’s lips. She still cannot help herself, and finds herself hoping before winter is over and her sons are to depart from her side again, that she can see him with a woman by his side as well. For too long Ubbe carried a burden he shouldn’t have, shouldering the brunt of the world for the sake of his brothers, a boy trying to stand as tall as the man that left an absence in his place after Paris. Even if she once argued she cares not if they find love as long as they find a good woman to breed and form a family with, she holds the secret hope that she can see Ubbe happily settled with someone that he can love.
She hopes the same for Hvitserk, who watches the ceremony with a smile that makes his eyes crinkle at the corners, but she knows better than to expect him to settle anytime soon. Before the celebratory feast is halfway over, he has teasingly held a young girl to his side and exclaimed, mother, I am getting married as well, three times, with three different women. She doesn’t hold much hope he will settle soon, and has to bite her tongue and tell herself she is happy for him even if he insists on sleeping his way through Kattegat.
Reluctantly, she admits it is Sigurd who might follow in Ivar’s footsteps and marry next. He and that Christian girl have been promised to one another for years now, and the excuse of war and distance has kept them safe from their obligations to marry. But Aslaug knows it is a matter of time. For all her demure and shy nature, Blaeja’s eyes shine with something like amazement as she takes in the wedding ceremony even if a faint blush covers her face at yours and Ivar’s displays of affection. And she won’t pretend she doesn’t notice the way Sigurd lingers close to the princess, irradiating that gentleness of him that Aslaug is still regretful for having made so fragile in her carelessness.
Winter lets her have all her sons with her, though she knows it is probably the last time. Ivar has plans to settle in the Isles, the title of king and the promise of advantageous positions for his war against Alfred enough of a lure to keep her son across the sea; Ubbe has intentions to settle and take families with him to England even if he has to wade through blood to do so, Sigurd won’t stay too long away from his princess anymore, and Hvitserk will nevr bear to stay apart from his brothers.
But she has this winter, and it is enough. She will sit with her sons and have dinner while they talk and argue and laugh, and she will hear Ivar and Sigurd go for each other’s throats as if they haven’t spent these years fighting side by side, and she will watch you and Ivar get drunk on nothing but each other, and she will thank the Gods for all of it.
____ ____ ____
Thank you for reading, I apologize if this isn’t very good, I tried my best. Love ya!
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