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rafecameronssl4t · 2 months ago

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What's ours || Rafe Cameron x fem!reader

Summary: canon fic based off this scene in s4 ep6!!!!

Warnings: angst!!!

Word count: 2, 458

A/n: HAD to write abt this scene

MASTERLIST

divider by @h-aewo

"Rafey?" your voice rings out as you step out of the shared bedroom, the soft sound of your bare feet padding against the wooden floor. "'M out here on the porch," his voice calls back, low and calm, carrying just a hint of warmth. A smile spreads across your lips as you pick up your pace, excitement bubbling in your chest. Sliding the glass door, you step onto the porch, the late afternoon sunlight casting a golden glow across everything it touches.

There he is, lounging casually on the couch, his polo clinging to his broad shoulders and biceps in a way that makes your stomach flutter. "Hey, baby," Rafe greets, his smile wide and genuine, the kind that always has a way of making you feel like the most important person in the room. "Hey," you murmur, your eyes locking with his. You pause for a moment, giving him the chance to drink in the sight of you.

With a playful glint in your eye, you do a small twirl, letting the flow of your new dress spin out around you, the fabric catching the evening light. You watch Rafe’s reaction carefully, feeling a thrill at how his gaze moves down your figure. "What do you think?" You ask, the words soft but full of a quiet confidence. "It looks good," Rafe says after a beat, his eyes lingering on you for a fraction longer than you expect.

There’s a lazy grin tugging at the corners of his lips, and when he leans back against the cushions of the couch, his eyes never leave you. "You look good," he adds, his voice deeper now, like the words are heavy with more than just praise. You beam at his words, crossing the porch to close the distance between you. "Where you going lookin’ all pretty?" he teases, spreading his legs slightly as he pats his thighs, his grin turning sly.

The gesture is an open invitation, and you happily accept, settling onto his lap. Your arm slides naturally around his shoulders, and his hands find their place on your knee, the warmth of his touch grounding you. "Just shopping with the girls," you explain, playing with the collar of his shirt absentmindedly. "There's this new boutique that just opened up—" You’re cut off by the sound of the front door creaking open and a hesitant voice calling out, "Hello?"

Your brows furrow as you glance at Rafe. "Were you expecting someone?" you ask, your voice laced with curiosity. Rafe exhales a sharp breath, "Yeah," he admits nonchalantly. "Sarah." Your surprise is instant, and your voice reflects it. "Sarah? She agreed to meet up with you?" He chuckles, the sound warm and a little cynical. "Yeah, well… desperate times call for desperate measures, I guess." Before you can process his words, Sarah’s footsteps sound on the porch, slow but deliberate.

Your eyes shift to the doorway, and soon enough, her figure appears. She glances at you briefly as you move to sit beside Rafe, her gaze cool but not unfriendly, before turning her attention to Rafe. "Hey," he greets her with exaggerated enthusiasm, clapping his hands together with theatrical flair. "Thanks for showing up. Good work." Sarah doesn’t miss a beat, rolling her eyes as if she’s heard this act too many times. "Please, stop," she says flatly.

Rafe grins even wider, running a hand through his buzzed hair, clearly enjoying the reaction. You shift slightly, about to stand to give them space, but Rafe’s hand tightens gently on your waist, silently urging you to stay. "I don’t want to argue, Rafe," Sarah sighs, crossing her arms as she looks at him. Her tone is exasperated, but there’s something softer beneath it. "We already have enough people against us."

An awkward silence settles over the porch, the only sound being the occasional chirping of birds in the trees. The air grows heavy with the weight of unspoken things, a tension that seems to hum between them. You clear your throat, trying to ease the tension. "Can I get you something to drink? Iced tea, maybe?" you offer, your voice polite, even as your eyes flicker between Sarah and Rafe, sensing the undercurrent of frustration.

Sarah’s eyes meet yours, her gaze flicking over the space with an almost detached interest before she shakes her head. "No, thanks. I don’t plan on staying long." You nod, the smile on your lips soft but understanding. There’s something about the way she holds herself—tired, wary—that makes you feel a strange sense of empathy. It’s clear she’s not here for pleasantries.

"Kiara mentioned…" Sarah starts, her voice uncertain as she scans the porch, her eyes flitting from the furniture to the surroundings, clearly uncomfortable. "That you might be able to help." She directs the latter half of her sentence at Rafe, her gaze lingering on him, but there’s a hesitation in her tone, a quiet pleading buried beneath the words. Rafe pulls at the sleeve of his polo, his fingers tugging at the fabric.

He doesn’t look up immediately but instead turns his attention to the ground in front of him, gathering his thoughts. "Uh, no. No, not with the land stuff. You guys are on your own with that," he responds firmly, his gaze briefly flicking up to meet Sarah's. There's an almost apologetic edge to his words, but it's clear that he's drawing a hard line in the sand. Sarah’s expression falls, disappointment flashing across her face, her shoulders sagging slightly as if the weight of unspoken words is pulling her down.

"Right," she mutters softly, the edge of frustration in her voice barely concealed. She pauses, taking a breath before looking back at Rafe. "Sorry," Rafe adds, his voice quieter, almost regretful, but the frustration is still evident. "But…" He hesitates, his gaze dropping to the papers scattered across the table before him, the flicker of something heavier passing through his eyes.

"But there's… there's something else I wanted to talk to you about," he says, his tone shifting. It’s not just business now—there’s a vulnerability that creeps in, something raw beneath the surface. You watch him, your eyes tracing the subtle movements of his hand as he runs his fingers across his lips, trying to gather the right words. You stay silent, your own gaze fixed on his profile, your heart picking up pace as you sense the shift in the air.

This is no longer just a casual conversation—it feels more like a breaking point, something much deeper. "So when…" Rafe starts, his voice faltering slightly, the words coming out with an almost painful deliberation. He takes a moment, his eyes lingering on the papers again, then he looks down at your left hand resting on his shoulder, his gaze momentarily softening when it lands on the ring you wear—the one his mother gave him.

"Dad died," he finally says, the words coming out like a slow exhale, as if speaking them is harder than he’d like to admit. You feel the change in his tone immediately, the sadness in his voice gripping you, and you instinctively start rubbing gentle circles on his shoulder with your thumb, your mind connecting the dots, knowing how touchy the subject of Ward’s death always is for Rafe.

"...the first time," Rafe adds, his voice quiet, as though even acknowledging that death was not the final one is too painful to process fully. "um, he said I got a quarter of what he had," Rafe continues, his voice distant now, lost in the past as he leans forward, flicking through the papers with a focus that feels almost obsessive. "Yeah, he said I got a quarter too," Sarah chimes in, nodding slowly.

There’s something tired in her voice, a recognition of the weight of their father’s legacy that neither of them ever truly asked for. "But you didn’t get it, did you?" Rafe’s words are sharp, his gaze intense as it locks onto Sarah. There’s a challenge in his eyes, a quiet demand for the truth. Sarah hesitates for a moment, the silence stretching longer than it should. You can see her thinking, weighing her words carefully before answering.

"No," Sarah says finally, her voice quiet but firm. "Yeah, well, good luck trying to get that from Rose's greedy paws," Rafe scoffs, the bitterness dripping from his words. "She's got that money locked down tight." Sarah’s brows knit together, "well, I keep trying to call," she retorts, her tone sharp. "She won’t even let me talk to Wheezie." She crosses her arms, her gaze flickering away as if saying it out loud makes the situation even more real.

Rafe leans forward, his elbows digging into his knees as his expression hardens. "Yes, yes, that’s what I’m saying," he says, his voice rising slightly. He locks eyes with Sarah, a fiery determination in his blue gaze. "We’re a family, and I’m not—" He cuts himself off, inhaling deeply as he shakes his head. "I’m not even allowed to talk to my own sister? That’s not fair, Sarah. You know that."

Sarah’s jaw tightens, and she slowly nods, her lips pressed together as she looks down. "And then Rose," Rafe continues, his arm gesturing wide as his frustration boils over. "She just gets to keep all that gold for herself? What gives her the right? That’s not what Dad intended." His fist slams into the wooden coffee table with a resounding thud, causing Sarah to flinch in her seat. The tension spikes in the air, and you instinctively place your hand on his shoulder, your touch firm yet gentle, hoping to ground him.

"That’s not what Dad wanted," Rafe repeats, his voice cracking slightly as he pounds the table again. Sarah visibly recoils this time, her discomfort palpable. "And it pisses me off!" Rafe’s voice rises, his anger spilling out unchecked. But before his hand can connect with the table a third time, you reach forward and grab it, your fingers curling around his. "Rafe," you say softly, your voice calm but firm. His eyes dart to you, and for a moment, the fire in them dims.

He exhales sharply, leaning back slightly as he glances at Sarah, who keeps her gaze down, avoiding his. "That’s our money, okay?" Rafe insists, his tone quieter but still edged with frustration. Sarah lets out a shaky exhale, her hands fidgeting in her lap as Rafe sighs heavily, running a hand over his buzzed hair. The silence stretches, heavy and uncomfortable, until you place your palm on Rafe’s thigh, your thumb brushing soothingly against the fabric of his shorts.

He glances at you, and you offer him a small, reassuring smile. He manages a faint one in return before looking back at Sarah. "I don’t know about you, but I really—I need that money," Rafe admits, his voice tinged with vulnerability. Sarah’s gaze snaps to him, her expression hardening. "And what about the gold cross you stole?" she counters, her tone sharp and accusatory.

"It was gold-plated," Rafe shoots back with a shrug, rubbing his eyes as if the conversation is draining him. "It was a good score. It’s not endless. It’s not like the Merchant gold, so..." His voice trails off, exhaustion creeping in. "I’m so sorry to hear that," Sarah says, her words laced with sarcasm. Rafe exhales through his nose, standing abruptly, "I don't know. I was just thinking, um." Both you and Sarah track his movements as he walks to the porch railing, gripping it tightly before turning to face her.

"You know, you and me," he starts, gesturing between them, "we try to get Wheezie back." Sarah’s eyes narrow in disbelief. "How?" she asks, her voice flat, as if she’s waiting for him to say something ridiculous. "I don’t know, but..." Rafe admits, pacing back to the table. He moves the glass in front of him before perching on the edge, leaning closer to Sarah. His proximity makes her shift uncomfortably, but she doesn’t move away.

"And then we try to get the money back," Rafe continues, his voice steady and resolute. You can see the determination etched into his features, the way his jaw sets and his eyes gleam with a fervour you know all too well. He pauses, his gaze fixed on Sarah. "Which is why we need to work together," he says, his tone almost pleading now. "Just like Dad taught us. We align our interests." Sarah’s lips press into a thin line, her eyes fixed on the table as Rafe quietly watches.

"I just thought, you and me," Rafe begins again, his voice softer. "We can get back what’s ours." There’s a beat of silence, the weight of his words hanging between them. Sarah bites her lip, her gaze darting to Rafe, then away again. "Look, I’m trying here—" Rafe says, but Sarah cuts him off, rising to her feet abruptly. "No," she says firmly, shaking her head. "I’m sorry."

She turns and strides off the deck, the sound of the front door slamming shut echoing behind her. You stand, moving to where Rafe is still perched on the table, his shoulders hunched and his head bowed. Your hands find his shoulders, squeezing gently as he lets out a frustrated groan. "Can’t she see that I’m trying?" he mutters, his voice laced with annoyance. "Like seriously—" "Shh," you murmur, your thumbs massaging the tense muscles in his shoulders.

"I know, baby. I know you’re trying." You move to stand in front of him, slotting yourself between his legs as he rests his forehead against your stomach. Your manicured fingers run through his buzzed hair, the rhythmic motion calming him as he exhales deeply. "When will she realise that we’re on her side here?" he whispers, his voice tinged with despair.

"You just have to give her time," you reply softly, your fingers stilling for a moment. "She wants to trust you, but she can’t just yet, Rafe." He tilts his head to look up at you, his blue eyes glassy. "I’ve already lost Dad," he says quietly, his voice cracking. "I don’t want to lose her—I don’t want our family to fall apart." Your heart clenches at the raw vulnerability in his tone. You cradle his face gently, your thumbs brushing against his cheekbones as you hold his gaze.

"Listen to me, Rafe," you say, your voice steady and full of conviction. "You won’t lose Sarah, and your family won’t fall apart." His lips press into a thin line, his eyes searching yours for reassurance. "How can you be so sure?" he asks, his voice barely above a whisper. "I just know," you reply softly, leaning down to press a kiss to his forehead. "Because I believe in you."

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tiredofthehumanlife · 5 months ago

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I like our kitchen is that okay with you?

Barbie dolls: five hargreeves x gn! reader

Words: 3.6k words

Summary: you guys are just lovey dovey while getting ready for Grace's birthday party

Warnings: set in those few good minutes of s4 when everything was fun and nice, insinuated you're an early riser, Viktor doesn't get kidnapped everything is perfect, you sleep on your stomach now, five touches your butt, mention of nonsexual nudity, you lean your head of Five's shoulder, insinuated you don't want kids but five could be joking who knows, you work at the library now and are a massive music freak, Fives a thrifting GOD, pretty much just docile and sweet five and you, five is still at the CIA oops sorry, you're kinda a passenger royalty Five will not let you open a single door, mentions that you have a bag but its not specific on what kind could be a purse could be a backpack could be a fucking draw bag tbh, you are fun, okay bye

Request: dude stop snooping on me how did you know it was a request

Five was the worst to wake up next to. He snored with his mouth open, drool slipping down to his pillowcase. Somewhere during the night, he flung his hand towards your face, pushing the blanket over your eyes. His hand was still resting on your forehead, palm to the ceiling. Somehow, one of his legs was hanging off the edge of the bed while the other was thrown over your butt. You thought about not sleeping on your stomach anymore so he’d stop kicking you on the ass at 2:46 am every night, but you worried you’d miss his contact. You had one hand resting over his heart, and as gentle and regular as your position seemed Five made up for it with his 'I'm a fallen spider’ position every night. Five jerked in his sleep, knocking the back of his hand into his chin. You sat up, glancing around the room.

With sleep clouding your vision, you gently move Five into a slightly less strange position. You pulled both his hands to his stomach, letting them rest there. You moved his one leg away from your behind, letting the other stay where it was halfway off the bed. You got out of bed, tucking the blankets back in on Five’s sides so he wouldn’t feel the difference in warmth. You still weren’t entirely sure if Five knew he slept so weirdly, you woke up before him every day.

You watched Five from the doorway. He smiled in his sleep, something fun must be happening in his dream. He snuggled further into his pillow, letting out a sigh. You headed towards the kitchen, playing your music very quietly as you started breakfast.

This was a pretty regular routine. By the time you were setting the plates down on the breakfast table, Five was stumbling through the doorway. You glanced up at him. Five squinted at the light peeking through the curtains from over the kitchen sink. He looked around the room, his shoulders sinking when he found you. Five headed straight for you, reaching his hands out for your face. He greeted you with a kiss. You pulled back from the kiss with a smile.

“You know, I never move. I don’t know why you look around the room like you’ve never been here before.” You said, pulling his hands away from your face to hold them. Five shrugged.

“Maybe I like looking at our kitchen.” You hummed at him, pulling away to settle into your chair. As you both ate breakfast, you studied the kitchen more than usual.

It wasn’t anything crazy. A strange part of your brain, that you didn’t like to talk about much, assigned colors to lots of things. For example, the number seven was orange however eight was green. If you had to pick a color for your kitchen you’d pick that weird middle ground between yellow and orange that sounded like swings squeaking when you tried to fly as a kid and staring up at the trees and watching the sunlight shine through the leaves.

Your kitchen was in a small rectangle shape. The cabinets were brown and a small rounded dining table was shoved into the back right corner. On the one long side of the rectangle were the sink, oven, refrigerator, and many cabinets top and bottom. It had a window over the sink, so you could peer into the backyard as you did the dishes. The other long side of the room was the open, welcoming the sight of your living room. A small line of bottom cabinets jutted out on that side along the line where a wall would be. You never added barstools on the side in the living room but you could’ve.

As of right now, it was that time in the morning when it had the calming feeling of the night but the warming sun of the morning. The light was peeking through the kitchen window, shining through the floral curtains Five found at some estate sale. The light caught in the beaded curtain you made and hung behind the small floral curtains and made colors dance on the kitchen counter and couch arm.

There were pictures of you and Five hung on the refrigerator with tiny magnets that had different foods on them. Once again Five found them at some estate sale. You looked down at your plate, remembering the tablecloth Five brought home from a thrift store because it was your favorite color with the tiniest embroidery of your favorite animal.

You leaned forward over the table, knocking Five’s chin up, and capturing his lips in a kiss. It was kind of gross. He had a bit of syrup on the side of his mouth and he tasted faintly of bacon. You settled back into your chair, continuing your breakfast as if nothing happened. Five squinted at you, wiping at the corner of his mouth and sticking his thumb in his mouth. You grimaced.

“What was that for?” Five asked. You shrugged.

“I don't know, I like looking at our kitchen.” Five stared at you for a moment like he was trying to read your mind. He hummed, paying his attention back to his food.

A few thirty minutes later, Five was rushing out the door while fixing his tie. You followed after him, half-ready yourself, your shift didn’t start for another thirty minutes.

“Briefcase?”

“Hand.”

“Brushed your teeth?”

“New toothpaste and everything.”

”Lunch?”

“Other hand.”

“Coffee?”

“They have some at work.”

“You hate that coffee.”

“I can’t hear you over me about to be late.” You glared at Five’s sass. He made a frown at your look. “Sorry.”

“Socks?” Five stuck his foot out at you, showing off his lovely charcoal grey socks. ”Summer colors, beautiful.” You said sarcastically.

“It's the CIA, my love, not a Betsy Johnson fashion show.” Five said, slipping his shoes on as fast as he could. He glanced up at you through his mop of hair.

“Did you do your hair?” Five glared at you. You dropped it, moving on to the next thing.

“Wallet? Keys? ID card?” You asked. Five pulled his other shoe on, standing up straight. He faced you again, smiling as he leaned down to grab his suitcase.

“It’s fine, baby. Just like literally every other morning. I’m not going to forget anything. It’s basically impossible.” Five said. You followed him to the door, holding it open as you waved him down the hallway. Once he turned the corner, you returned inside. You furrowed your eyebrows when you felt like you were missing something. Chalking it up to you still not being dressed for work, you headed back for your bedroom. You stopped in the living room when you heard the front door open. You walked back to the front door, bumping into FIve halfway there.

“Turns out I can forget things.” Five muttered.

“It was your keys wasn’t it?” Five shook his head. He leaned down and gently pulled you into a kiss. He pulled you closer by the front of your pajama shirt. You would’ve returned the ferocity, but you knew better than to wrinkle his suit. You held your hands up in the air next to your head but still leaned forward towards him. Five pulled back, still keeping small contact.

“I have to go.” He said, muffled by your lips. You wouldn’t have understood him if you hadn’t had this problem multiple times before.

“You have to go.” You repeated, and yet still leaning forward. FIve hummed.

“I have to go.” He said again, although there he was still keeping his eyes closed and lips pressed to yours. He pulled back, finally breaking whatever spell you two were under.

“I have to go.” He said for a third time, walking backward towards the door. You followed after him, nodding along. Five stopped in the doorway, staring at you. You motioned for him to go. He sighed.

“I love you.”

“Go.” Five nodded, slipping outside and down towards the driveway. You stood by the door again, watching him walk towards the car. You are startled when you realize you didn’t say it back.

“I love you!” You yelled after him, watching him spin around and blow you a kiss before settling into his car.

Hours and hours later, you were shelving books, as your average librarian does. You had one of your headphones in and playing your music. It was quiet, as many libraries are. You pushed another book into the right spot, before turning back to the cart. You pushed it down the aisle between the shelves. You heard the bell over the door ring. You abandoned your cart and moved through the shelves to get to the front door. When you got close enough you knew they could hear you, though not see you yet, you spoke up.

“Welcome, Let me know if you need anything.” You said before turning the corner. Lovely Five was waiting by the door with a bouquet. He was still in his work suit, though his briefcase must still be in the car. He smiled when he saw you. You walked the rest of the way to the front door, greeting him by wrapping your arms around his neck.

“Whatcha doing here?” You asked, smiling at him. You hoped most of the patrons were in the back searching for a book. Five moved the flowers away you two so you wouldn't crush them. He leaned towards you, pecking your lips.

“I came to pick you up. Thought my car would be better than the bus.” Five said. You hummed. You sighed and pretended like you weren't giddy just being around him.

“Yeah, I guess. My shift ends in 15 so start reading.” You gestured towards the shelves. Five nodded and headed off for the nonfiction section. You finished shelving and were riding home in Five’s car in no time. He brought the flowers for you, so they rested in your lap on the ride back.

By the time you were pulling into the driveway, you had two hours to get ready. Five ran as fast he could to get your side of the car. You stared at him confused as you opened your door. Five slapped your hand away from the door, shooing your head back in the car. He shut your door before pulling it open again and holding his hand out to you. You glared at him before giving him your hand. Five walked with you into the house before you split up after taking your shoes off.

You headed off to the living room to replace the dying flowers in the reading nook. Five headed off to change out of his Work Suit. You both got ready, moving at your own pace. You shared a shower in which Five watched you with a loving smile as you danced ridiculously to your music. Also where Five remembered how much he missed you shampooing his hair.

Then you were pacing around the house as you got into the outfit you planned your head for the party. Five skittered past you when you were working on transferring everything you needed from your work bag to your ‘I'm going to hand this to Five once we get there so it's no longer my problem and I can play in the ball pit’ bag. He slid into the bathroom with his socked feet and when you heard the hair dryer turn on, you focused back on what you were doing.

You talked yourself out of taking a book. (Very hard) Then you were being rushed towards the door by Five as if he wasn't the one stuck in the bathroom for 45 minutes with the blow dryer going. You pulled your shoes on as you stumbled out the door. Five locked the door behind you as you both jogged down the steps.

“Do you think Grace will like her present?” You asked, now worried she might hate what was inside the wrapped box in your arms. Five snorted, pulling his car keys from his pocket.

“Well if she doesn’t, I know Diego will like it.” Five said, taking the box from your hands to set it in the trunk. You hummed. It did make you feel a little bit better. You thought about Diego gasping with joy louder than Grace and stealing the box from her hands. You doubted he would do that but it was fun to imagine his dramatics. You settled into the passenger side. Five handed you the aux cord as he pulled out of the driveway. You took it from him, imeditally plugging it into your phone and playing your music. Five bobbed his head along while you sang along. He’d even throw in a hand movement sometimes.

When you reached the party you were just barely 15 minutes late. Shocking. You took he box inside from the trunk, letting Five hold the doors open for you. Five lead you through the building by your elbow. You smiled when you saw familiar faces. Diego came over to you two first. He took the box out of your hands, staring down at it in confusion.

“What did you guys get her? An entire litter of puppies and a bike?” Diego joked. You waved him off.

“No that’s ridiculous, the bike is in a different box.” You joked making Diego grimace.

“Oh, Ha-ha,” Diego said sarcastically taking the box towards the already growing gift table. Five stood next to you, shoving his hands into his pockets. Your shoulders slumped.

“I thought it was funny.” You muttered. Five rubbed your upper arm, cooing.

“It was hilarious, I almost pissed my pants.” Five said, pecking your cheek. You gave him a small smile before patting his side. He slipped his arm around your shoulder as you wrapped your arms around his waist, giving him a weird-sided hug. You pulled away, gripping onto his hand and leading him to the next family member you had to say hi to.

You approached the group of Luther, Klaus, Ben, and Claire. They were all facing each other, making a circle. You stood behind Luther.

“Excuse me, Sir. You can't be unattended without a child.” You said, raising your pitch so you sounded squeaky and, quite frankly, annoying. Luther turned his head around with a confused face. Once he spotted you, he smiled brightly and wrapped you in a hug. You dropped Five’s hand to hug him back.

“Oh it's so good to see you,” Luther said, pulling away from you. He moved out of the way, letting the rest of the group see you. Klaus cheered and clapped his hands. Claire immediately pulled you into a hug while Ben let out a groan. You stood back next to Luther.

“I’m here, too.” Five said, moving to squeeze into the circle between Luther and Klaus. Luther patted him on the shoulder. Klaus reached over and shooed Five away with his gloved hands without touching him. Five glared at Klaus. Luther pulled the conversation back to the center.

“So what are you two up to now?” Luther asked, looking between you and Five. You shrugged.

“Domestic things. Decorating our house, going to work, and trying new recipes on the weekends. It’s actually quite nice being a human and not in the center of an apocalypse.” you said. It actually felt really fucking nice that your biggest problem was what color to paint the bathroom. Five hummed.

“Right, so when are you two going to make me an uncle?” Klaus asked. You weren't entirely sure if he was being sarcastic or not. Five scoffed.

“Please, we’re too old for kids.” Five said, glaring at Klaus.

“Not to mention you're already an uncle.” You added. Klaus pouted at you two and hovered his hand over Claire's shoulder to simulate a pat. Five moved away from Luther's side and stood next to you instead.

“You know he's coming up on three years of sobriety?” you gasped at Claire. Five leaned forward as Luther smiled.

“Really? Klaus, that's amazing. I'm so proud of you. You should throw a party or something.” You said. Klaus shrugged. He shook his head.

“It's really no big deal,” Klaus muttered.

“Yes, it is. You should be proud of yourself Klaus, sobriety is hard work.” Five said. Five reached around the back of your arm and hugged your arm to his chest. Luther nodded.

“I'm very proud of you, I know that must've been a struggle,” Luther said. Klaus shrugged again. You hummed.

“Right well me and Claire are going to plan a celebration for your three years whether you like it or not.” You said. Klaus turned to Claire and shook his head no with a grimace. Claire started nodding back at him with an evil smile.

“Yes. Yep, uh-huh. It's happening.” Claire said. You tugged on Five's elbow.

“Right well, we have to go say hi to the others.” Five said, following after you as you walked away. You and Five split up. You went around to his siblings and had long talks with each of them over their current jobs, hobbies, and problems. Five went to find someone to complain to and find a beverage. The party flew by as you two went around to say hello to everyone. As soon as you were wrapping up your conversation with Viktor, it was present time.

Everyone circled the present table and more importantly Grace. Grace stared at the large pile of gifts and turned back to Diego and Lila.

“I don’t know which one to open first,” Grace said.

“Oo ours, Grace. Open the one from us.” You said. Five moved closer to you, holding your hand again. Grace nodded and pulled down the box covered in wrapping paper that Five picked out. Grace tore through the paper like it was butter and handed the scraps to Diego. The box was blank and held together with tape she could tear through. Grace pulled the box open and gasped when she could see inside.

She reached inside, pulled out two of the laser tag toy guns, and pointed them to the sky pulling the triggers over and over again. She laughed maniacally at the sky. Diego and Lila laughed. Grace spun around and pointed the guns at her parents, pretending to fire again.

“We got enough for the twins, Grace, and you guys so fun for the whole family!” Five shouted over the chaos. You smiled at Diego and Lila fighting back against Grace, turning her attention back to the presents. You leaned your head on Five’s shoulder. He hummed, his thumb brushing over the back of your hand. Presents flew by after that, everyone else gave her lame presents and you’re definitely not biased in saying that at all.

“Okay kids, this is your last chance to play. The parents are going to clean up and then we’re going to leave so play now.” Diego shouted over the short heads of children running around him. You gasped and pulled yourself away from Five. You handed him your bag, which he swung over his shoulder. You leaned down and slipped your shoes off, handing them to Five as well. He kissed you goodbye as you sprinted off towards the ball pit.

You played with Grace in the ball pit as the lame adults were cleaning up. You pulled Grace up into the air. making her squeal before dropping her back into the ball pit.

Grace quite enjoyed playing with you and about thirty minutes later, you were out of breath and even Grace was tired. Five walked over to the ball pit, standing next to the edge. He held his hand out, helping you out of the pit. You pulled Grace over the edge. She ran off to Lila, who spun her around in a circle.

“Did you have fun in the ball pit?” Five asked. You knew he was probably being sarcastic. He leaned down towards the floor with your shoes. You leaned back against the ball pit wall as he gently lifted your leg to pull your shoe on.

“Yes! It was amazing, you should’ve joined us.” Five glanced up at you, shaking his head. He finished with the other shoe and stood up straight.

“Not really my style.” He muttered. You rolled your eyes. You rudely mimicked his voice. Five latched onto your hand and dragged you towards the door.

When you finally made it home, you both undressed into your pajamas in a speedy fashion. You faceplanted into your shared bed, groaning. You rubbed your arms around in the blankets.

“I missed you.” You whispered to the sheets. You felt Five settle on top of you, using you as a full-body pillow. It was a little difficult to breathe with a full-grown person on your back but you’d let it slide.

“I was only gone for three minutes. And you say I’m the clingy one.” Five muttered, pulling his head over your shoulder and kissing your cheek. You hummed.

“Still think you are.” FIve groanded at you. “Not that it’s bad, I love you being clingy. At least you’re not being a dickhead. Well, more than usual.” You said, leaning over to kiss the side of his mouth. Five tried to hide his smile, knocking his nose into the side of your neck.

A few moments went by where you and Five just sat together. You nudged him off your back. He slid off your back, laying next to you instead. He scooted closer, throwing his arm over your back. You pulled your arm over his side, squeezing him even closer. Five sighed, his weight sinking into you in relaxation. You were so glad it was a Friday because tomorrow you could wake up and stay in bed with Five for hours. You ran your fingers through his hair, making him squeeze you closer.

#five hargreeves x reader #number five #five x reader #five hargreeves #max hargreeves #max hargreeves x reader #the umbrella academy #tua #tua season 4 #tua s4 #tua season four

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queenie-ofthe-void · 5 months ago

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Hear Me Out, Keep Me Guessing

Steddie || wc: 2.5k || rating: T || tags: alternate first meeting, pre-S4, Eddie is a rollercoaster of emotions, Steve is over it, fluff and flirting || ao3

Inspired by my own post

☆☆☆

“Okay, Munson. What’s your fucking problem?”

Eddie hops on top of the wooden picnic bench to gain a slight height advantage over whoever’s decided to fuck up his day, when he spots none other than Steve Harrington headed towards him through the trees, fighting his way through brush and bramble.

“Well, well, well. How the mighty have fallen. Crawling through the dirt just to visit his former court jester.” Eddie smirks, hears Harrington mutter something under his breath that sounds a lot like jesus christ before he finally makes his way over.

Harrington’s looking up at him, squinting into the sunlight, and Eddie’s slightly repelled by his sudden desire to run a hand through King Steve’s hair. It shines in the sunlight, matching the flecks of gold in his brown eyes.

Eddie takes a step to the left, casting him back into shadow again where he’s just his normal, asshole self and not the angelic image Eddie conjured from his horny, queer little brain.

He can’t remember if it’s his turn to talk or Harrington’s, but it seems the King’s lost the plot as well. Completely zoned out, he’s just standing there staring up at Eddie, mouth dropped open and eyes wide in a way Eddie will certainly not be thinking about later tonight. Absolutely not.

Eddie coughs. Loud and obnoxious enough to break whatever trance they’ve found themselves in. Harrington awkwardly chuckles, running a hand through his hair. An image of Steve leaning against lockers, towering over a girl with heat in his eyes and a hand in his hair floods Eddie’s brain before he can shake it out like an Etch A Sketch. What the fuck is even happening to him?

“Yeah, Munson. Like, what the hell is your problem?” It lacks punch and drama the second time around, but it gets them back on track. Harrington props his hands on his hips, his lip juts out into a tiny pout, and Eddie wonders if he thinks standing like a disappointed mom is effective in getting what he wants, or if being adorable just comes naturally to the former King.

“You’ll have to be more specific, my liege.” He watches as Harrington brings a hand up to pinch the bridge of his nose in frustration and he makes a mental note to develop a better, more refined taste in men.

“The kids, man. Why aren’t you friends with the kids?”

“Kids? What the hell– what kids?” He hops down from the table. If this is going to be a legitimate conversation and not a shake down, he figures it’ll be easier on even footing. Harrington takes the seat opposite him, his shoe accidentally knocking Eddie’s ankle.

Steve doesn’t move his foot. Neither does Eddie.

“My kids, man. They said they tried talking to you all week and you wouldn’t even hear them out!”

Eddie watches his fingers tap absently on the table top. He’s biting the inside of his cheek, and it’s shocking that Eddie is just now realizing that Steve’s actually anxious. Normally Eddie considers himself better at reading people, when he’s not distracted with puffy, pink lips and a confusing line of conversation.

He looks down, rewinding the past week. He’d made it through his first week of his third senior year without anyone getting in his face. Maybe he’s old enough now that even asshole seniors like Jason Carver have decided to leave him alone. Thankfully it seems the offer also extends to Gareth, Kenny, and Jeff, who’ve only reported minor name calling and a light shove.

That’s where he spots them, stops the tape midway through lunch on Wednesday when a group of three freshmen approached the table. He’d spotted the curly-haired kid earlier in the week, bravely decked out in a Weird Al shirt and a hat from some science camp. The kid was enough of a freak to earn free admission to Hellfire, but the other two required a bit more thought.

Eddie clocked Little Wheeler through the station wagon window Monday morning when he’d cut Nancy off in the parking lot. The kid seemed alright, but with a priss like Nancy as a sister, it was a tough call. The other kid seemed a bit too sporty, and a little too interested in basketball tryouts.

When the three amigos started talking DnD, the guys invited them with open arms. It was a relatively peaceful lunch. Exciting even, at the prospect of adding new members to their campaign. They’d mentioned trying to convince a few of their friends to play. A girl named Max Mayfield, who turns out lives a few trailers down from Eddie.

But when the curly-haired kid mentioned Steve Harrington, the Hellfire boys clammed up tighter than nun’s ass. His named dripped from their mouths like it was covered in gold, the hero-worship rotting them from the inside and Eddie wouldn’t stand for it. No true freaks would stand to be friends with an asshole bully like King Steve.

Of course the freshies tried to argue, saying he’d changed. It didn’t matter to the Hellfire boys. Clearly the freshmen were corrupted, and they couldn’t be trusted. So he’d sent them on their way, and the three of them posted up in the corner of the lunchroom every day since. Far away from jocks and freaks alike.

Now, Eddie looks across the table and sees false bravado slathered over the anxiety etched into the former King’s face. He doesn’t know how three freshmen freaks found themselves under the wing of Steve Harrington, but it seems the feeling is mutual. Steve cares about these kids.

“Yeah,” Eddie says, “I remember them. What’s it to you, Harrington? Aren’t they a little too old for a babysitter.” The joke falls flat when Steve sighs, heavy and exhausted, like somehow a rich boy from the Loch carries the entire world on his shoulders.

But he plays it off, trying to meet Eddie’s quip halfway. “Babysitters get paid, dude. I do it from the goodness of my heart or some shit.” Steve leans back, scrubs his hands over his face like he can erase whatever’s behind his eyes.

Eddie stares at him, hoping to catch a glimpse. The only consolation is Steve puts his other foot on the opposite side of Eddie’s, his ankle now fully cradled between Steve’s.

“They’re nerds, man.” Harrington states it like it’s a fact and not an insult he’s hurled at Eddie a hundred times over the years. “They’re freaks, you know– like you.”

Moment officially broken, Eddie scoffs, pushing away from the table wondering why he ever entertained talking with Harrington in the first place. As he grabs his lunchbox off the forest floor, he hears shuffling behind him.

“Wait,” Harrington shouts. “Just, fuck man, can you just let me finish?”

“Finish what, exactly?” Eddie snaps, whirling around to crowd into his space. He wears big and scary like how the King wears his crown and how assassins wield their blades. With enough power and confidence to scare off any enemy. “Finish listening to you shit on the little guy? Listen to you harp on the freaks of the world, or how you corrupted your little pions?”

“What?” Steve asks, lips pursed and eyebrows scrunched. Eddie’s not surprised his jock-rattled brain couldn’t find that word in its very limited dictionary, but what does surprise him is that Steve doesn’t back down. They’re practically nose to nose, so close Eddie can spot a small freckle on his lash-line, and Steve’s standing here like he doesn't have a care in the world while Eddie screams in his face.

It’s quiet again. He can hear the rustle of tall grass and birds overhead. He can feel Steve’s breath on his lips and Eddie can’t remember what they were talking about. Again.

Steve grabs his shoulders, and in his daze, Eddie lets himself be maneuvered back to sitting at the picnic table, while Steve stands in front of him.

“Are you always big and loud and obnoxious? Can you just cut the shit for like, five minutes so we can have a normal fucking conversation. Jesus christ, you’re practically perfect for them.” The last part is quieter, seems more like an unfiltered afterthought.

“Ok,” Eddie says. If Steve’s willing to take the crown off long enough to talk with Eddie, then maybe he can shed his own metaphorical battle vest. “Say what you have to say, then.”

Steve clears his throat, shuffles slightly as he gains his footing. He looks at Eddie with a determined set to his shoulders.

“Henderson, Sinclair, and even Wheeler– they’re my kids. I’ve spent the last nine months watching out for those little shits because all they’re good at is getting into the worst kinds of trouble.” Eddie tracks him as Steve paces the forest floor, rambling and raking a hand through his hair like it helps him think. “But I remembered you didn’t graduate, right? And you run that Dungeons and Dragons club–”

“Whoa, whoa,” Eddie interrupts. Steve stops, turns to face him, and shoots him the bitchiest glare Eddie’s ever seen, but before he can say anything, Eddie pushes on. “You, Steve Harrington, King of Hawkins High, leader of meatheads and bimbos alike, know what Dungeons and Dragons is?”

Steve sighs, hands back on his hips as he rolls his eyes. “Ha ha, Munson. Don’t worry it’s all against my will, okay? I’m not coming to steal your freaks and weirdos so I can lead them too.” He smirks, and it pulls a laugh out of Eddie, shocked that Steve’s willing to joke around with Eddie at all, let alone when it’s at his own expense.

“Now, quit interrupting me, you’re as bad as Henderson.”

Eddie mimes zipping his lips closed, only to open his mouth to swallow the imaginary key. Butterflies explode in his chest at the sound of Steve laughter, and Eddie wonders if bashing his head into a tree would be a decent excuse to explain the red flush erupting on his face.

“Anyways,” Steve chuckles. “They’re smart as shit but don’t know when to give something up just to get out of a fight. I’m surprised they haven’t gotten their asses handed to them already, and everyday I pick them up all I'm thinking about is which one of them I’m gonna have to stitch up. Sure, some of the guys in the grade below were alright, like Andy. But guys like Hargrove, like Carver.” Eddie can practically see the dark cloud form over Steve’s brow.

He remembers as well as anyone the fallout of Harrington v Hargrove, Fall 1985. There’d been endless rumors about what happened, each one more ridiculous than the last. Now he’s left wondering if it’s not really about Nancy, or drugs, or Billy fucking Steve’s mom, but about these kids. The timing checks out, nine months on babysitting duties lines up pretty well with when Steve showed up to school beaten and broken.

Maybe Steve isn’t all he seems to be.

“Guys like Carver won’t mess with you. They’re too scared you’re using DnD to worship the devil and get kids into sodomy and drugs and shit like that. I told them that you’d be cool. That you’re big and loud, that you play DnD like them. You're smart and you read the same nerdy books. I told them they’d be safe with you, man.” Steve rubs his face again, until his hands fall to the sides and he tilts his head up towards the sky. “I just need to know someone’s looking out for them. Please, Eddie, just–”

“Okay.”

Steve’s attention snaps back to him, relief written plain as day in the wide set of his smile. “You’re serious?”

Eddie can’t help but smile back. He’s not sure he’s ever seen Steve smile so unguarded, and never aimed his way. The sheer brightness of it fills him with warmth he wants to wrap himself up in.

All on top of the fact Eddie's never gotten this many compliments from anyone before, let alone from a guy as gorgeous as Steve Harrington. His ears are practically on fire.

“Yeah, Harrington. I’ll share custody of your little nuggets.” Before he knows what’s coming, Steve sweeps him up into a hug, lifts him fully off the ground and can feel the tinkling of his laughter on the shell of his ear.

“Thanks, Munson. Damn, you have no idea how freaked out I’ve–”

“What about the other stuff?” Eddie can’t stop himself from asking. He has to know, deep in his bones, that Steve is thinking this through. That Steve won’t change his mind in a few days or months and decide it’s time for Eddie Munson to eat dirt.

He lets Eddie go, but holds his shoulders at arms length to look him in the eye. Any lingering mirth has been replaced with intent curiosity. “What stuff, Munson?”

He can tell by Steve’s tone they’re both talking about the same thing. Rumors that’ve haunted Eddie since eighth grade after Davey Richardson beat him up under the bleachers. It didn’t matter that Davey kissed him first, all that mattered was he was popular and Eddie was weird.

He’d grown numb to the slurs over the years, but how could he forget hearing the reason why Byers beat the shit out of King Steve. The only surprise from that fight was it sounded like he never even tried to fight back.

“Harrington, if I don’t get to act loud and obnoxious, then you don’t get to play dumb.” The intensity of Steve’s stare reminds him of the few conversations he’d had with Chief Hopper before he’d died. The man could tear Eddie down to the bones with one glare, and he’s sure it’s the only reason the Chief brought him back to the trailer instead of a jail cell.

“Eddie,” Steve says, tone firm, “I’m not that guy anymore. I don’t care about the shit people say, especially self-righteous assholes like Carver. The only thing I give a shit about is you watching over the little gremlins and not selling them drugs, so I can breathe easier when I don't have eyes on them.”

Steve shakes him lightly, like it’ll sift this world-changing view into his brain, then pats his shoulder as he passes by him.

“Wait,” Eddie shouts, always a glutton for punishment. He spins around to catch Steve walking backwards away from him, hands in his pockets, effortlessly cool. The sun’s catching his hair again and there’s a smirk on his lips. “You really don’t care?”

Steve laughs, taking a step back. He chews on his bottom lip, and he smiles when he catches Eddie looking. Because he knows. Steve knows now, before Jeff or Wayne or anyone else.

“Eddie, whoever you decide to love or fuck– or not– is none of my business.” He turns to leave, and as Eddie relaxes he hears Steve call out, “unless you want it to be.”

Steve’s light laughter follows him out of the woods, and Eddie plops himself down in the same spot on the same wooden bench in the exact same forest as he always does every Friday after school. Except a twenty minute conversation with Steve Harrington leaves Eddie feeling like his world's been turned upside down.

Maybe ‘86 will be his year, after all.

#and then eddie follows him to the bimmer and they bang it out #steve's bad with words except when he's flirting with a pretty boy #good babysitter steve harrington #eddie munson has a crush on steve harrington #even though he kind of hates himself for it #alternate meeting #excessive flirting #pre season four #eddie munson #steve harrington #steddie fic #stranger things au #steddie #steddie ficlet #queeniewritesstories #stranger things

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thisapplepielife · 1 month ago

Text

Written for @steddieholidaydrabbles.

It's the Stripes, Man

Prompt Day 7: Candy Cane | Word Count: 909 | Rating: T | CW: Language, Mild Sexual Innuendo | Tags: Post S4, Eddie Munson Lives, Bantering Their Way Into Each Other's Hearts, Dinguses²

"You look like a candy cane."

Steve turns his head, looking over at Eddie.

"I look like - a what?" Steve asks, even if he heard Eddie just fine the first time. He just wants to hear him say it again to his face.

"A candy cane," Eddie repeats, and Steve shouldn't have expected anything else. "Or Where's Waldo."

"Waldo, who?"

Eddie rolls his eyes, throwing up his hands.

"It's a book, Harrington. Henderson had it. You find the guy…nevermind," Eddie says, "It's the stripes, man."

Steve looks down at the chunky, red and white striped sweater that he stole from Robin's closet. It doesn't look like a candy cane, but it might be a women's sweater. That he isn't exactly sure about.

Doesn't matter.

It's warm, he looks good in it, and he likes it. That's all that counts.

Eddie's just being annoying.

"Fine, I'm a candy cane. Give me a lick," Steve banters, and turns back to the tree that he's trying to string with lights.

Eddie makes a spluttering, coughing, hacking noise that makes Steve turn back around, "You dying again, or what?"

"Nope. Nope, I'm good," Eddie says, his cheeks tinged with pink, like the coughing really took it out of him.

"Good. I don't have time to save you again today. Help me string these lights," Steve demands and Eddie does move towards the tree to help him.

They can work together in unison now. Their uneasy alliance in the Upside Down has turned into a very easy friendship topside. Steve never could have predicted it, but he truly likes having Eddie Munson around.

They got the tree decorated, right down to the candy canes that Eddie kept fidgeting with, and now Steve's standing at the sink, doing dishes, when he hears Eddie stomp into the room. Eddie's never walked quietly a day that Steve's known him, which means he can't sneak up on anyone.

Especially not Steve.

Steve's bent over, scrubbing a plate, and he's about to say, "Yes?" in a mocking tone, but instead he drops the slick dish from his wet hands, sending it skittering all around the sink, when he feels Eddie's tongue swipe across the back of his neck.

It takes him a second to process, and another to confirm that's what actually happened.

"Jesus Christ! Did you lick me?"

"You told me to!" Eddie accuses, "And then I just had to do it. You put it in my brain! This is on you, Harrington!"

Steve is absolutely certain he didn't suggest Eddie lick the back of his neck like a big weirdo.

"When on earth did I tell you to do that?" Steve asks, hands finding his hips as he looks at Eddie, annoyed.

"You said, lick me then," Eddie stresses, and Steve tries to play back the information that he has rattling around in his brain to see if he actually said that or not. He's sure it's possible, it does sound like him, even if he doesn't remember saying it.

If he did, it was nothing. Definitely not an invitation for Eddie to actually lick him.

"Are you sure I said that?" Steve asks, staring him down.

Eddie wilts, just a little, and Steve softens the bitchy out of his face. He doesn't actually care that Eddie licked him. Whatever. He's a weird dude. And they've kind of got a weirdly almost sexually charged friendship going on, even Steve can feel it. They've never acted on it, but it's there, just under the surface.

And maybe this was an impulse built off that, one that Eddie just couldn't shake.

So, fine.

He licked him.

It doesn't have to mean anything.

Steve picks back up the plate he had been washing before it rudely slipped from his grasp and bounced all around the sink.

"Well, is it out of your system now?" Steve asks and Eddie tilts his head back and laughs.

"Fuck you, Harrington," Eddie answers, picking up the hand towel to dry the dish that Steve has in his hands.

"Now, now. Don't be sarcastic. You never know when someone will take what you say seriously," Steve banters back.

Eddie stops, and then throws his head back, laughing.

"Well, I mean, if you wanna hold me to it," Eddie says.

Steve giggles, "You're too much."

He hands the now clean plate to Eddie, and they keep washing and drying together until the sink is totally empty.

And now, just like Eddie had, Steve has a one-track mind over a joke.

A throwaway bit of ribbing.

But, he definitely gets it now.

Steve turns and leans against the counter, crossing his legs at the ankle, catching Eddie's eyes, then asking, "So. About the fucking. We gonna?"

Eddie's eyes go wide, rounder and bigger than they usually are, and Steve laughs. He's serious, or not. Whatever Eddie wants, he's game.

Eddie takes a step closer, grazing the shoulder of Steve's stolen sweater with his fingertips, and Steve smiles. Eddie's so fucking weird, but in the best way possible. He's glad their paths crossed. It's been fun. Well. Spring Break wasn't fun. But the time after that sure has been. Eddie's interesting, and never predictable.

"You ever fucked a man, Harrington?" Eddie asks, those big eyes holding Steve's stare and not letting go.

Steve shakes his head, "No. First time for everything, I guess."

Eddie laughs, and presses closer, "And you say I'm the one that's too much."

If you want to write your own, or see more entries for this challenge, pop on over to @steddieholidaydrabbles and follow along with the fun! 🍬

Fun fact: Where's Waldo seems to have first came out in September of 1987. I'm not 100% sure it was released at the same time as Where's Wally? in the UK, but I didn't see anything that contradicted that. So, I'm saying this was probably Christmas of '87.

#steddieholidaydrabbles #prompt: candy cane #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie #steddie ficlet #steddie fic #steve x eddie #steddie fanfic #stranger things #thisapplepielife: short fic #thisapplepielife: steddieholidaydrabbles

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sundropflowerr · 20 days ago

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You, Me, and Our Tree | Steve Harrington

★ Warnings: no use of y/n, post s4 where there’s a happy ending, fluff, sweet domestic vibes, established relationship, holiday cheer, cozy moments, cute banter and playful teasing (especially about christmas trees), soft kisses, mutual affection, gentle kisses, light humor, with a dash of sarcasm, comforting moments, deep connection, and a touch of nostalgia, lots of christmas decorating chaos and mismatched ornaments, cuddling, the warmth of being in love, snowstorm, cozy apartment setting.

★ Summary: On a snowy December day, you and Steve curl up together to decorate a lopsided tree, laughter filling the air as you argue over the perfect placement for each ornament. It’s warm, it’s simple, and it feels like everything you wanted. 1.7k

★ Pairings: steve harrington x gn!reader

★ Fic Inspiration: “Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas” - Frank Sinatra

★ Dividers: thank you to @strangergraphics for the adorable divider, it’s greatly appreciated!

★ Author’s Note: i love christmas and i love steve so two and two together brought this love child. though short, i had a blast writing this. i need to set up a christmas tree with steve asap.

The first snowstorm of the season had rolled in sometime during the early hours of the morning, soft and steady, a blanket of white slowly swallowing Hawkins.

You hadn’t realized how bad it had gotten until a snowplow rattled by just before dawn, shaking the windows and dragging you out of sleep. By the time you got up for coffee, the street outside had disappeared beneath a foot of snow, the world outside pale and silent.

It was the kind of day you’d both hoped for—one where you could stay home, tangled in blankets, too lazy to do anything but exist together. Steve, being Steve, had insisted you stay inside, warm and cozy, while he braved the cold to get a Christmas tree for the two of you. He didn’t want you dealing with the snow or the chill, though you argued you’d be fine. But Steve was relentless, refusing to let you leave the comfort of your apartment.

That’s how you ended up here, curled up on the couch, waiting for him to return with the tree.

“Don’t slip and break your neck,” you’d said, still half-asleep, as Steve grabbed his coat that morning.

He turned to you, his usual overconfident grin spreading across his face. “I’ll be fine. It’s just snow. You think it’s gonna stop me?”

You weren’t sure whether to roll your eyes or smile. Three years together and you still couldn’t decide if Steve was brave or just plain stubborn.

Probably both.

When the buzzer crackled through the quiet of your apartment, you weren’t at all surprised—it was exactly what you’d been waiting for.

“Can you let me in? I’m freezing out here.”

Steve’s voice cut through the receiver, muffled and shivering, and you buzzed him in without a word. By the time you opened the door, he was halfway up the stairs, carrying a thin, lopsided Christmas tree under one arm like it weighed nothing at all.

“Ta-da,” he said, breathless and grinning, as he kicked the door shut behind him. Snowflakes dotted his hair and shoulders, melting into tiny drops. His nose and cheeks were pink from the cold, a scarf you knitted two years ago wound haphazardly around his neck. “Look at this beauty.”

“That’s what you call a beauty?” you asked, raising an eyebrow as you stepped aside to let him in.

Steve shot you a look as he leaned the tree against the wall, shaking snow out of his hair with one hand. “Don’t start. This guy’s perfect.”

“It’s leaning.”

“It’s got character,” he argued, already shedding his wet coat and boots by the door. His socks were damp, his jeans dusted with snow, and he looked entirely too proud of himself.

“Three years of this and you still pick the saddest-looking tree every time,” you teased, crossing your arms as he toed off his boots.

“Consistency’s important,” he said, straightening up and flashing you that grin that made your heart flip like it was ‘85 all over again. The grin you first fell for when you were both crammed into those stupid Scoops Ahoy uniforms, trading banter and ice cream scoops while monsters lurked under Hawkins.

Steve looked at the tree again, hands on his hips like a dad surveying a new lawn. “It’ll look better once we decorate it. Trust me.”

“Your track record isn’t great, Harrington.”

He ignored you, instead stepping closer, brushing his cold hands against your arms with a soft, teasing smile. “Missed me?”

“You’re freezing,” you muttered, but you didn’t step away. You never did. His hands were cold, his hair was wet, and he still managed to feel like home.

Before you could say anything else, Steve leaned down, his lips brushing softly against yours, a sweet, familiar kiss that felt like everything. His cold lips melted against yours, and for a moment, it was just the two of you—no snowstorm, no responsibilities, just him and you, wrapped up in the warmth of each other.

The tree didn’t take long to set up—mostly because Steve insisted on doing all the heavy lifting while you watched with an amused smile. By the time it was finally in the stand and mostly upright, he was on the floor, legs sprawled out, glaring up at the crooked branches like they’d personally wronged him.

“You think it leans more to the left or the right?” he asked.

“It’s pretty balanced,” you lied, trying to bite back a laugh.

Steve turned to you, his expression dry. “You’re lying. I can tell.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you replied, sinking onto the couch with a mug of hot chocolate in hand. “It’s perfect. Really.”

He squinted at you for another second before shaking his head with a chuckle. “Unbelievable.” But he stood anyway, brushing snow-dampened palms against his jeans as he moved toward you. “You’re lucky I’m in love with you, y’know.”

“You tell me that like it’s news,” you teased, and Steve dropped onto the couch beside you, letting out an exaggerated groan as he stretched his legs.

The two of you sat in comfortable silence for a while, mugs warm in your hands, the soft hum of the radiator filling the quiet. Outside, snow continued to fall, casting a pale glow through the window that made the room feel softer somehow, almost golden.

It was strange, you thought, how this had become your normal—Steve Harrington, tangled up on your couch, feet brushing yours under a blanket that barely covered the both of you. You remembered when all of this was still new: the way he’d knocked on your door that first Christmas after Starcourt, holding a scrappy little tree he’d picked out himself because, in his words, “Someone’s gotta keep the tradition going.”

That was three years ago. Back when you’d both been bruised, uncertain, and still trying to find something steady after everything you’d been through.

But now, as Steve leaned closer, stealing your blanket and grinning when you protested, you realized how far you’d come. How easy it was to love him after all these years.

“You know,” Steve murmured, his voice quieter now, “I think this might be the best tree yet.”

You tilted your head to look at him. “You say that every year.”

“Yeah, but I mean it this time.” He was still looking at the tree, his expression softer now, like he wasn’t really talking about the tree at all. “Just feels… right, y’know?”

You did know.

Decorating the tree turned into a whole production. Steve pulled the box of ornaments out of the hall closet, insisting on playing Christmas music from the cassette player on the bookshelf—old, crackly tunes that filled the apartment with warmth.

You handed him the lights first, watching as he tried (and failed) to untangle the string from the knot he’d stuffed it into last year.

“Why do you do this to yourself?” you asked, biting back a laugh as he scowled at the mess of wires.

“Because I’m an idiot,” Steve replied, deadpan.

“You said it, not me.”

Eventually, you took pity on him and helped untangle the mess. The two of you strung the lights together, Steve holding the tree steady while you wrapped the glowing strand around its crooked branches. By the time you plugged them in, the entire room felt warmer, the golden light spilling across the walls.

Steve grinned, hands on his hips as he admired your work. “Not bad.”

“You mean my work,” you corrected, bumping his shoulder as you reached for the ornaments.

The box was full of mismatched decorations you’d collected over the last few years: a little snowman you’d found at the flea market, a glittery star that Steve insisted on buying last year, even a couple of hand-painted ones from Dustin and Max. You handed them to Steve one at a time, watching as he placed them carefully on the branches, sticking his tongue out in concentration.

“You’re taking this very seriously,” you said, smirking.

“I’m a professional,” he replied without missing a beat.

You didn’t realize how close he’d gotten until you turned to hand him the last ornament, and he was already looking at you, that soft, lopsided smile on his face.

“What?” you asked, heart skipping.

“Nothing.” He shook his head slightly, still smiling. “Just happy.”

You paused, fingers brushing his as you handed him the ornament—an old glass bauble you’d found at Scoops one summer, forgotten in a box in the stockroom. You’d kept it ever since.

“Me too,” you said quietly.

Steve turned to hang the ornament, his movements gentle, almost reverent. When he stepped back, the tree glowed softly in the corner of the room, its crooked branches dripping with lights and mismatched baubles.

It was far from perfect, but it was yours.

Later, after dinner, the two of you ended up back on the couch, wrapped up in the same too-small blanket, watching the tree flicker in the dark. The apartment smelled like pine and leftover takeout, the kind of cozy warmth that made your eyelids heavy.

Steve’s arm was around you, his thumb tracing slow circles against your shoulder. You could feel him breathing, slow and steady, his cheek resting against the top of your head.

“You know what I was thinking?” he murmured after a while.

“Hm?”

“We should get a bigger place next year. Like, with a fireplace or something. I feel like we need one of those.”

You smiled, tilting your head up to look at him. “For what? Stockings?”

“And hot chocolate,” Steve replied, smirking. “And to impress everyone when they come over.”

“You mean the kids.”

“Yeah. And Robin.”

You laughed softly, curling closer into his side. “We’ll think about it.”

Steve hummed, his hand still moving gently against your arm. “Good. ‘Cause I was already looking at—”

“Steve.”

“Right, right.” He grinned, pressing a kiss against your forehead. “We’ll think about it.”

Outside, snow tapped faintly against the windows, the streetlights casting long shadows across the floor. And as you sat there, wrapped up in Steve and the quiet of your shared apartment, you realized there was nothing else you needed.

The tree might be crooked, the lights uneven, but everything about this felt perfect.

It always did, with him.

thank you so much for reading! please like/reblog or comment if you did, it would be greatly appreciated. have a great day!

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an0nymousmessenger · 5 months ago

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When the Sun Rises Again

Five Hargreeves x Reader Synopsis: In which you see a familiar boy with a mannequin at a park after saving the world. Word Count: 2.7k tags. Fluff, Comfort, s4 epilogue continued, more than friends less than lovers A/n: A little continuation of the epilogue of when you see Delores in the end credits with an unidentified person ao3 link

On August 8, 2024, nothing out of the ordinary occurred. It would be no exaggeration to say that this day was completely normal. The sun was shining, and the weather was the best it had been in a long time.

The wind blew gently, rustling the nearby trees and bushes in this small sanctuary.

It was a nice afternoon in August, perfect for people enjoying their outings at a small, lesser-known park. Picnics dotted the grassy areas, and people strolled together, enjoying each other's company.

Laughter filled the air as children chased each other in a harmless game of tag. A couple walked their dog, deep in conversation. Nearby, a man led a meditation session among a group, while a woman sat with her daughter, braiding her hair.

The moment seemed fragile and almost unreal, at least to the eyes of the newcomer. It was a tranquility you weren’t quite used to, and you found yourself struggling to take it all in. Still, you continued forward, focused on one main objective.

You passed the meditating group, the mother and daughter, and many other familiar faces you didn't dare acknowledge. Everything seemed to slow, as if memories from a past time were beginning to overlap.

In the midst of all this, by a rather old but beautiful tree, a few gentle marigolds grew from within the ground, sprouting out enchantingly, showing off their petals to the world. They shined golden, and perhaps with a little magic too.

You took your hands in the pockets of your light jacket as you walked casually with your new sneakers through the grass.

Eventually, you stopped in your tracks, and stared at a specific pair, glowing in the summer’s light. You hesitated, your breath caught up in your throat as some unfamiliar feeling began to bubble in your chest, threatening to overspill.

You wondered if it would be okay to disturb them, questioning whether you should just stay still and take in the scene a little longer. Just for a while. After all, time was on your side this time.

You squinted, fighting against the bright summer glare.

You looked onward, afraid that if you closed your eyes even for a second, the scene in front of you would disappear—that the feeling of the wind and sun had been just your imagination. That the boy sitting there with a gentle expression, one you’d only seen a few times in your life, would vanish with the wind. Fleeting, and brief.

As if he were never there.

A sweet but deceiving dream.

Even if it were a dream, you would be satisfied because, to you, everything was fine. Everything was as it should be.

But alas, the tangy summer scent was real, and the reality you were currently walking through was undeniably real.

So incredibly real.

It was terrifying.

The sun’s warmth shone generously on the pair—a boy who seemed to be in his teens, accompanied by a rather unique mannequin that only had its upper body. They sat at a plain table, enjoying each other’s company.

The boy held a newspaper in one hand and a cup of black coffee in the other. Another cup sat by an empty seat, while the mannequin rested by a nearby tree.

At first glance, it almost seemed as if the two were having a pleasant conversation. The boy looked relieved, his shoulders relaxed, legs crossed in comfort as his dark eyes browsed the weekly news.

It seemed as if he had no worries on his mind, no stress or problems weighing on him. Although his eyes still carried that tired look. It was a look not commonly found in the kids his age. Some would even go on to suggest his eyes give off the feeling the boy was much older than he let on.

But even if that were true, they had nothing to prove such a statement.

You took in this sight with a little sigh, a mental click, as if forcing yourself to capture this moment and lock it away in your heart, hiding it carefully from the world before anything else tried to take it away.

Just in case.

Just for safe measure.

You looked around again before making your way toward the empty seat opposite the newspaper-reading boy. He wore a plain white collared shirt, the top buttons undone, paired with simple dark shorts, giving him a youthful yet old-fashioned look.

As you approached, the boy noticed you and looked up, raising a questioning brow, which greatly amused you.

You gave a small smile before asking in a rather level voice, “Is anyone sitting here?”

“Well, it’s not exactly occupied, now is it?”

A familiar tone of dryness, tinted with a grain of sarcasm, dripped from the boy’s reply.

Your smile grew as you pulled your hands out of your pockets and gestured toward the seat. “Then do you mind?”

The boy, usually armed with harsh and sharp remarks, shook his head.

You sat down and picked up the cup, noticing that it contained your favorite drink, as if the boy in front of you knew something you didn’t. As if he had almost expected you to come and find him.

You brought the cup to your mouth, took a sip, then another, before gingerly setting it down back upon the table, a warm feeling spreading in your chest. Then, you took another look around.

This time, your attention was mainly on the boy in front of you, who seemed a little out of place in such a peaceful setting. The wind gently tousled his hair and rustled his shirt, causing him to clutch the newspaper a little tighter, pretending to be uninterested.

You decided to also pretend you didn’t notice his occasional glances toward you. You pretended you didn’t notice the searching look in his eyes, a habit he tended to have when he hadn’t seen you in a while. A habit of his that you would keep to yourself, hidden away from the dangers of the world.

“It’s a nice day, isn’t it?”

The boy sighed, looking away while taking a sip of his black coffee. “If you say so.”

You leaned against the table, one arm supporting one side of your face as you put on what he dubbed your ‘shit-eating grin’. “Why don’t you play with the kids over there? You know, kids your age.”

With a sharp, unamused glare, he responded, "I'd rather chew on concrete," his voice flat and unamused.

You huffed in your seat. “Somehow, even on such a nice day, you still manage to make it old and boring.”

"Maybe if you raised your standards, you’d actually appreciate reading the newspaper and having a simple drink while at it. But I won’t hold my breath."

“Prick.”

“Amateur.”

You sat up, narrowing your eyes. “Hey, says the one who looks like a–”

“One more word and I’ll have you up in that tree over there.”

“...”

You smirked, leaning in. “As if you could stand being apart from my charming company.”

He rolled his eyes, but a smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Aren’t we full of ourselves today?”

“What? Can’t I enjoy myself on such a lovely morning?”

He scoffed, glancing away from your teasing expression, and mumbled under his breath, “I suppose some people have to.”

You look at the boy, the way he was looking away from you as the tips of his ears turn a slight red. You twirl the cup in your hands that contains your preferred drink, the one you usually order when out and about, and can’t help but think to yourself:

What a liar.

Though, you guess you’ll cut the boy some slack, he after all has worked quite hard for way too many years to count. You’ll let him have this one, just this one.

And so, instead of teasing him anymore, you rest your hand on your elbows and stare at the scenery of the park, soaking in his presence and the fact that he is finally here with you.

He was here safe and sound.

Ah. You suppose you were both liars.

“You're doing it again,” spoke the boy out of the blue.

You turned towards him with a cheeky smile, “What exactly am I doing?”

“That ridiculous face.”

You rolled your eyes and stuck out your tongue, “Bleh,”

He gave you a disgusted look as if he couldn’t believe you’d done something so childish, but you couldn’t care less. After everything you’d both been through, you deserved to indulge in such small matters.

Certainly, it was not the end of the world, was it?

He sighed heavily, pinching the bridge of his nose before muttering, “I can’t believe I somehow have to put up with you…”

And yet, he made no attempt to move. Instead, he seemed to settle even more comfortably into his park chair.

You paused for a moment, taking in his ‘I’m seriously done with you’ expression before adding, “Yeah, and I’m a grumpy teenager who’s emotionally constipated in apparently every timeline.”

The boy shot you an unamused glare. “I'm not.”

"Yeah, you are."

"Idiot."

His retort was lacking in bite, something you’d come to recognize as his way of showing that he couldn’t find anything harsher to say.

“Fine! Then ask her,” you said, pointing at the mannequin beside him.

The boy let out an exasperated sigh, clearly used to your antics, before turning toward the object of your pointing.

“Delores doesn’t think so.”

"Oh yeah? Is that what she really said?"

He put on a sly grin. "Why don't you ask her yourself and find out?"

You turned toward the mannequin, playing along. "Has he been mistreating you while I've been away?"

He took a sharp breath, his voice dripping with mock indignation. "How dare you insinuate such an outrageous—"

“Oh, you’ll live,” you muttered as you took another sip from the cup.

“Prick.”

“Ass.”

“Annoying.”

“...”

You and he shared a small staring contest before you broke into a fit of laughter. The childish insults hadn’t been lost on either of you despite the years. Even with his usual sharp and witty remarks, it seemed that your banter had devolved into a playful exchange, bringing you both back to simpler times.

He looked at you with an exasperated expression, but couldn’t hide the corners of his mouth from twitching upwards.

But of course, you were unable to see this, too caught up in your own little laugh. This also caused you to miss the way he had briefly looked at you, as if he too were saving this moment in his mind, causing his usually sharp persona to soften, if only slightly. He’d never admit it, not in a hundred years.

The laughter died down, and you noticed the silence that settled over you. You looked up at the boy, finding him already looking at you. A comfortable silence enveloped the three of you, including the mannequin, and you couldn’t help but let out a soft smile.

And he looked at your smile, one that he would never tell you that it made him want to look away as a burning feeling crept up his ears. He’ll never tell you he noticed the light in your eyes as you did so, the way your eyes looked at him made him feel some sort of way. He’ll never tell you it was that smile, along with everything else, that had him crawling through time to get back to you, to see it again.

To see you and his family again, alive and well.

He’ll never tell you that he missed that smile, and he often wondered when he would see it again. He would never tell you that he had gone to your favorite coffee shop and bought two drinks instead of one, he’ll never tell you he had been sitting here all morning, waiting.

Instead, you two simply shared the silence in the distance.

Perhaps at another time, you would do something about this silence, you would reach out, and touch upon all the things you two were too afraid to say.

Perhaps one day, this silence would allow the two of you to be vulnerable without hesitation and caution. And perhaps one day, you’ll be able to reach over to take and take his hand in yours, to invite him to dance with you in the late of night or rain. You’ll both wear a smile, perhaps a tired smile, but a smile nonetheless, and you’ll both be listening to the best 90s bangers of the ages on an old record player.

But at least for today, the two of you will take your time.

Because today, you’d enjoy each other’s presence and the trivial banter. After all, you had all the time in the world.

It had been a while since you last bickered with the boy, much less joked and laughed. It was nice.

Really nice.

Was it sad to say that this was all you ever wanted? To sit down, share a drink, and talk about useless and stupid things? That you wouldn’t trade this for the world, that you would fight to keep this moment in your hands.

The boy looked back at you before straightening his newspaper, effectively regaining your attention.

“Stop zoning out.”

“My bad.”

He rolled his eyes, muttering something along the lines of how he didn’t go through all that shit just for you to start staring into space and feeling sad or whatnot.

Your foot brushed against his for a brief moment. At first, you meant to pull it back, but instead, you left it there to gauge his reaction. He didn’t move his foot away, and you couldn’t tell if he was ignoring it or deliberately letting it stay there.

You stare at him, silently, before a question tumbles its way from your mind and to your lips, “Are you happy?”

The question lingered in the air between the two of you, like an untouched subject that none of you had dared to ask in the past. It was out of reach back then, and there had been much more pressing things to be worrying about.

And maybe, just maybe, that between you and him, one of these days you can truly rest. It’ll be a day just like today, and the distance between the two of you will be like a distant memory, and you can once again lean on him, as you had always done, and he can melt into you, as he had once done before.

The boy looked away from you and into the distance, observing the lively park as the sun enveloped him in the warmth he hadn’t felt in a long time.

Nothing was out of the ordinary—if you didn’t count the teenage-looking boy drinking coffee with his mannequin and the newspaper he was reading in the middle of a park.

He looked down and smiled, the sun gently caressing his features as a genuine smile graced his face, but of course, it wouldn’t be him if he didn’t try to hide it as he answered in a soft uncharacteristic voice, “Yeah…yeah I am.”

You looked at him, seeing the way he was trying to hide his emotions, and rolled your eyes. It seemed no matter the time or place, he was still the same, and for that, you couldn’t have asked for more.

Perhaps, in a way, this meant the future was bright. That a time would come when this tranquility, so unfamiliar now, would become all you know. Even if today was just the beginning.

You took another sip from the cup and smiled.

“I’m glad.”

Extra.

"Hey, you should tell me where you got these drinks."

"What now?"

He rolled his eyes, feigning uninterest.

"Seriously! I know you bought these for me."

He continued flipping through the pages of the newspapers.

"Oh, did I? And what if I said they’re for Delores?"

You held up the drink.

"Delores prefers lattes, not this."

"Does she? How fascinating."

"Prick!"

He set the newspaper aside and gave you an amused look.

“Fine. I’ll take you there next time. Happy now?”

You don’t point out that this was his way of admitting he did buy the drinks with you in mind, but you’re too content to press the issue. You decided to let him off the hook... again.

#five hargreeves #number five #five hargreaves x reader #five hargreaves x you #umbrella acedmy #number five x reader #number five x you #tua #tua five #tua season 4 #fluff #epilogue #comfort #the umbrella academy #umbrella academy x reader #healing from that ending

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simmillercc · 1 year ago

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SIMS 4 - HOLIDAY TREE DARK RECOLOURS - HOLIDAY CELEBRATION PACK

The traditional red and green holiday theme is pretty, and classic, but sometimes we want something updated, something a little darker perhaps.

This set consists of 33 new dark colours that each come with a yellow and a white star, for a total of 66 recolours.

Now, they come with LED lights for much less power consumption!

COST: 460

LOCATION: Lighting>Misc, Decor>Sculpture and >Misc

POWER CONSUMER: 3

AMBIENCE: Happy +2

DOWNLOAD FREE HERE

I couldn't find a download link for EA or TheSims4.com, but here are some alternate links for downloading the FREE Holiday Celebration Pack required for this project to work in game:

STEAM

EPIC GAMES

#ts4 tree #sims 4 tree #s4 tree #ts4 lighting #sims 4 lighting #s4 lighting #ts4 holiday #ts4 winter #sims 4 holiday #sims 4 winter #s4 holiday #s4 winter #curseforge #simblr

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volklana · 1 month ago

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I've Always Been Yours. Only Yours.

Title Comes From This Song:

Idea comes from the ever beautiful mind of @whitedarkmoonflower

and I am only hoping I did your idea justice my love:

I had and idea of a fic about Sihtric rescuing a young girl when he's still a boy at Dunholm and then meeting her again in S3 or S4 setting and finding out she's noble and out of his reach, but then by some whim of fortune he has to rescue her again and finds out she hasn't forgotten him either.

Warnings: Mentions of torture, domestic abuse and slavery- if you don't feel up to reading any of those things please put your own peace first and you can always catch another of my fics soon xx

*Not proof read. Mistakes will be corrected*

The sound of the hounds baying and barking caused you to run faster and faster through the trees.

Your dress was ripped and your feet were bloodied but you ran with all your might.

You were half blinded by tears and you could barely breathe for crying but still you ran.

You were lost in the unfamiliar woodland terrain of the Dunholm surrounds and you truly feared that you would die here.

Hurtling down a thorny bank and splashing into an icy stream, you waded through the ankle deep water, passing under the roots of an upturned oak tree and clambered up onto its trunk to see if you could fit inside.

You could hear your tormentor's laughter from afar but you knew his hounds would find you long before he ever did.

“I will find you,” he shouted through the trees and you couldn’t help the sob that wracked from your bruised body.

And then the glowing eyes of one of the beasts that had been pursuing you shone under the light of the moon as it bore its teeth and began to try to lunge for you, your screams echoed into the night as two more appeared and began to bite at the bare skin of your legs.

You were pleading and scrambling, trying to pull yourself higher up the trunk of the fallen tree when a pair of strong arms suddenly grasped you and hauled you down, you were flailing in his arms trying to free yourself, but he hushed you with a gentle shake “It's okay, I’ve got you.” He took your hand and began to push you behind him as the beasts began to circle around you both, gnarling and frothing at the mouth.

He was armed with an axe and each time one of the creatures lunged he would strike out, he killed one and the others were wounded, but relentless.

One took a hold of your arm in its great teeth, biting down and tearing at the flesh and only released you once he slashed at it with his axe.

“Sihtric!” a voice suddenly emerged and you clung to the arm of your rescuer, “Hand over the girl,” he commanded and you begged him not to let you go, “Please, please please…” it rolled off your tongue like a desperate prayer and the small group of men gathered behind Sven the One-Eyed began to laugh, but Sihtric did not release his hold on you, despite how you could feel him tremble.

“You killed my best hound,” Sven tutted, “That will not go unpunished. Do not make it worse for yourself- hand over the girl. Now!” he was shouting. Furious that Sihtric had thwarted his little game for the evening, and Sihtric knew that Kjartan would indeed have him tortured for the death of the hound.

The standoff however was interrupted by the approaching sound of hooves and little glimmers of torch light and eventually Kjartan the Cruel appeared before you.

He took in the sight of you, dress torn and bloodied, great tear tracks down your face and Sihtric stood before you defensively, the dead hound lay out before his feet.

He swung his legs over the saddle and landed on the ground with a mighty thump, before he rounded on Sven, grasping him by the furs of his cloak.

“The girl was not yours to torment,” he fumed, shaking his son in his arms.

“I would not have harmed her,” Sven defended, arms instantly flying up in defence.

“She is harmed!” Kjartan roared and forced his son to look at the state you were in, shivering greatly as the adrenaline was beginning to wear off, and he backhanded his son with a force that had him stumbling back and blood rushing to his mouth.

“And you!” he spat turning on Sihtric “You killed one of my finest hounds,”

“Yes Lord,” Sihtric shivered in defeat and acceptance of what was to come and you shrieked as he was ripped from your arms and set upon by Kjartan who beat him mercilessly and bloody.

“Please, please,” you begged mustering all your strength to throw yourself forward, “The beast would have killed me.”

Kjartan swung around and for a moment you thought he was going to strike you, but the fury on his face dwindled for a moment before he spat “Better that it had. Nevertheless, you are under my protection and I will see you back to the keep.”

He bundled you onto his horse with force before quickly climbing on behind you.

“My children continue to disappoint me,” he huffed, before he turned his horse to face one of his waiting men, “Tekil, the runt is yours to punish, see to it he never lays hands on any of my property ever again,” he spat, before kicking his horse into a gallop and you craned your neck to try and get one more glance at Sihtric, but you wished you hadn’t as Tekil and the other rider were taking turns at kicking his crumpled form on the ground.

That night his bloodied body was tossed into the out building you were kept in and you nursed him all through the night, despite your own injuries you held him all night long, terrified to let him go for fear he would not make it to the morning light. Once he woke in the night and mumbled your name and you held him tight, urging him to make it, urging him to just hang on and when he reached for your hand you allowed him to take your hand in his weak grip, brushing his soft curls out of his eyes and praying to the gods that he would make it. When you awoke the next day he was gone and your heart sank a little for it seemed you had finally found a friend in this hell on earth.

For the remainder of your time as a hostage in Dunholm, Sven watched you from the shadows, tormenting you from afar, or following you down to the stream to watch you while you bathed but he never made another attempt on you after that night, but he wasn’t the only one who seemed to be keeping watch over you. Every night Sihtric would appear like a spectre watching you from the edges, his eyes were nearly swollen shut and each time you thought he would try to speak to you, he scarpered away before you could reach him. Your physical wounds healed in time but you woke every night screaming and sweating and the fear Sven had instilled in you on that fateful night would remain with you for years.

When negotiations were finally completed and the ransom was paid, you watched in anticipation as the hostages your father had taken were returned to Kjartan and then the great gates opened and you were instructed to follow your Eldermen out to freedom.

It was only after you had ridden for what felt like a lifetime that you glanced over your shoulder to the looming keep of Dunholm rising up like a spectre in the background and prayed to the Gods that you would never see that place again, but you would never forget the pair of mismatched eyes that had shown you the only real bit of kindness you had experienced there and in some ways you had left a little bit of your heart with him.

Your husband was a Jarl with small holdings of land in Northumbria, he had been loyal to Kjartan in the past in the sense that he had agreed not to infringe on any of his lands and pay him taxes, and to swear his bannermen to aid Dunholm if ever it was attacked but that had all changed when Guthred was made King and took control of Eoferwic.

Your husband swore fealty to Guthred and so the events that played out over the course of the next few years meant that your house was allied to that of Guhtred’s and in time you would come to live in Eoforwic where your husband served as an adviser until the time of the his own death.

Your husband was killed in a Scottish incursion a few years into Guthred’s reign and you wept when his lands were simply given to another Jarl who had served Guhtred faithfully, you were bartered off like livestock to marry him and no matter how you pleaded with Guhtred to free you from the agreement he would not budge.

Your new husband was a cruel man, he relished in the capturing of nearby Saxon villagers to sell to the slavers, it was an endeavour that had made him an incredibly wealthy man but one that forced the bile to rise in your stomach when you would hear the women and children cry at night. Bringing back old, unhealed wounds of a young girl running terrified through the trees at the foot of Dunholm.

One night you fought him as he tried to take you and he beat you so bloody you could not walk for days, and you had made up your mind to flee at the very first chance you were able to ride again and so after a week of only being able to move from bed to relieve yourself you bribed the stable boy to ready your horse and you rode away into the night, taking only your dowry’s worth of silver with you.

You made it precisely to the door of the great hall in Coccham before you collapsed upon its steps and the next time you awoke it was in a small cot with the lady Gisela sat by your side wiping sweat from your brow.

“Who did this to you old friend?” she asked softly, and you were spilling the entirety of what you had endured in the past few months.

You and Gisela had been friends since you were girls, your fathers, both Jarls had been great friends and distant kinsmen, so when you decided to escape the clutches of your husband you knew you would be welcomed by her. She too had known betrayal at the hands of her brother and you had hoped she would have sympathy for your plight now.

“He will come for me,” you cried, “The people are loyal to me, as they were to my late husband but they have no fealty for him, they will revolt. He needs me if he intends to rule there.”

“Let him come,” she said with a defiant squeeze of your hand, “If he dares to come he will be met with the justice of Uhtred’s sword and nothing more.”

You squeezed her hand affectionately, “You always were the better sibling,” you joked and she sighed , “I agree they should have crowned me.”

When you were finally well enough to leave your room, you began to eat in the Great Hall with the rest of Uhtred and Gisela’s household, sitting with her handmaidens and usually with the toddler Stiorra in your arms.

“Will you stop gawking,” Finan swiped at Sihtric who was once again more focused on you, bouncing a giggling Stiorra on your lap, than whatever it was Finan was saying.

“She’s a married woman,” Osferth interjected, “And according to Uhtred she is of nobility to the Danes.”

“So very far out of your league then,” Finan teased.

“I am the son of a Lord actually,” Sihtric swiped back in a jovial manner.

“A bastard son,” Finan cut and Osferth joined, “Aye, if that’s the case I’m next in line to the throne of Wessex.”

“Shut up you idiots,” Sihtric swiped as Finan guffawed with laughter and ruffled the baby monk’s hair in affection.

Sihtric watched you for days with a longing in his chest that he had never known before. It was as though he had dreamed you into life, or he had known you in some past life.

You were gentle and kind and he could not imagine what kind of man could have inflicted upon you the injuries you had shown up with a few weeks ago.

It was he who had found you on the steps of the Great Hall, he who had carried you in his arms and watched as the Lady Gisela shrieked at the recognition of her friend in his arms, urging Sihtric to place you on the bed and run to fetch the healer.

He watched you picking herbs at the edges of the village while he trained Uhtred’s household troops, he watched you as you walked hand in hand with Uhtred’s children through the wildflower meadows singing songs and telling stories, and he could not shake you from his head at night when he closed his eyes.

He wished that he could be lucky enough to run his fingers through your beautiful hair and have you sing those soothing songs to him, he wished to look after you after all you had endured, but you were forever out of his reach and he thought it was cruel of the Gods to place you within arms reach of him but never let him touch you. Very cruel indeed.

He had fetched a bowl of soup for himself and sat down on one of the long benches, eating at a pace unholy to man when he felt the wood dip as someone sat down beside him.

You smiled at him and he thought you were made from sunlight itself the way you warmed him.

“Gisela tells me you are the one who found me. I wanted to thank you for bringing me to safety,” you smiled again and he couldn’t help the shy smile that spread out across his own face.

“It was my pleasure Lady,” he replied and then his face dropped.

“I mean it wasn’t a pleasure to find you like that.” he deadpanned, rubbing his face harshly with his hand “I just mean it was a pleasure to help.”

You laughed out loud and all of his embarrassment melted away and he laughed too, “I knew what you meant,” you giggled and he thought your laugh was like music bottled by the Gods.

But the moment was interrupted when one of Uhtred’s hounds bounded into the great hall barking, while the old kennel master rushed around trying to usher it out to no avail, everyone else in the hall burst into laughter but you had clambered up onto the bench, clinging to Sihtric’s arm for dear life.

“It’s alright,” he soothed “He is friendly and he will not bite. I will not let him harm you.”

You were trembling like a leaf, but Sihtric finally coaxed you down from the bench when the offending hound was grasped by the scruff of his neck and marched outside, but you did not relent your grip upon his arm.

“Lady, it is gone. It cannot hurt you,” he whispered gently “You are okay, I’ve got you.”

You bristled at the phrase, it was one someone had told you years ago, while great ferocious hounds tore at your skin.

You turned your arm in his grasp, running your fingers across the faint white scar with slightly jagged edges, the unmistakable shape of a dog bite on your forearm.

You watched as his eyes were also drawn to the scar and realisation hit you both at the same time.

“You might not remember,” you began, voice shaking.

“I remember,” he cut in, chest rising and falling rapidly “That night in the woods-”

-”You saved me.” you cried, looking up into Sihtric’s huge mismatched eyes.

“Yes,” he nodded, and for a moment you were lost in each other's eyes, your pained expressions conveying so much but neither able to speak, “And you nursed me all through that night.”

You had moved closer and closer until your bodies were touching and you unconsciously ran your hand up to cup his scarred face.

“You risked your life for mine,” you whispered and he nodded in your hand.

“And I would do it again. I will never allow you to be harmed again, not while I have breath.”

Your lips were but a hair’s width away from his and his eyes dipped down to look at them, one gentle move and his lips would be on yours.

“My husband,” you cried softly, “He will come for me,” you admitted sadly.

“And he will die before he ever lays a finger on you again,” Sihtric rushed, pushing forward to capture your lips in his and you melted into his kiss, hand firmly cupping the sharp edges of his jaw, and only breaking apart when there was a commotion in the hall, thankfully your moment of bliss seemed to have gone unnoticed.

It suddenly made sense to Sihtric the sense of longing he had felt since you turned up at Coccham, because he had longed for you all those years ago as a boy.

He had felt it ever since you had arrived at Dunholm in chains, the only living child of the Jarl, your Father, you were taken as hostage to ensure peace and cooperation from his behalf.

He had watched you for weeks fearing that someday Kjartan would take you into the Great Hall and welp a child on you, it was however Sven who had taken an unfortunate liking to you, talking a great amount about the things he would like to do to you. You had inadvertently become his new favourite plaything and Sihtric, though he could not protect himself, had made it his mission to protect you.

He knew the moment he left the walls of Dunholm on that fateful night that he would be severely punished for attempting to thwart Sven’s tormenting of you, and he made peace with the idea long before he even entered those woods.

“I prayed to the Gods every night for you for years,” you admitted and his face crumpled “I never forgot what you did for me that night and what you endured on my behalf, although I fear I do not even know the half of it.”

“It does not matter,” he told you honestly “I would have endured it a thousand times over to prevent the things Sven would have had you endure.”

You took Sihtric’s hand in yours and smiled at him so purely he almost melted “They are both in Hel and we are here. We won.”

Sihtric wanted to kiss you again but he refrained, especially because Uhtred caught his attention from the corner of his eye and he knew he was needed back outside.

Sheepishly he rose from his seat, and you watched him rise.

“Might we talk again Lady, I would like to know you,” he admitted shyly, his cheeks tinged pink and you nodded earnestly.

“You will know me, Sihtric Kjartansson.”

It was dusk and the sky was painted pink and true to his word, Sihtric was waiting at the edge of the wildflower meadow when you made your way down, and you walked in a comfortable silence along the river for a while.

Being with Sihtric felt as natural as breathing, there was no need to fill silence with meaningless words, and you felt you communicated everything that needed to be said through your eyes alone. You had both suffered immensely and why shouldn’t you be allowed to find comfort in each other.

The first time you had made love to Sihtric right here on the river bank under the Summer stars you could not help but think as though the Gods had placed you in his reach twice so that you may know each other in this way, destiny is all and perhaps Sihtric Kjartansson had been your destiny all along.

“In another life I would have made you my wife,” he said brushing his fingers through your hair and you leaned into his gentle touch.

“In another life I would be proud to be your wife.”

And so it had begun the great love affair of your life with the boy who had saved you all those years ago.

But just as all good things must come to an end, the end arrived in the form of Guthred, his household guard and the man you had hoped to never see again, your husband.

“So it is King’s business to come fetch women fleeing a brutal husband now is it?” Gisela spat and Guhtred shrank a little under her venomous glare.

“She belongs in Eoferwic, she cannot stay here,” he answered as matter of factly as he could under his sister’s disdainful stance.

“You would have me send her back to a man who brutalises and beats her bloody?” she all but hissed “A friend you have known since she was a girl.”

“Venomous lies,” your husband spat and Gisela rounded on him.

“She was blackened and blue all over, she did not wake for nearly a week after her journey here, what man inflicts those injuries upon his wife?”

“I will not return, you said definitely, “In front of the Gods, in front of my King I am divorcing this man. This man has struck me more than three times. By our laws I should be demanding his life, instead I say before you and my witnesses that I want a divorce.”

“I bear witness,” Gisela urged.

“And I,” Uhtred seconded.

“And I,” Finan chimed, followed by Osferth and when your eyes landed on Sihtric he nodded at you, “And I.”

“I want my silver back whore,” your husband spat. “Have your divorce by all means, but I want my silver.”

“That silver belonged to my father,” you spat “You can have no claim to it.”

Guhtred remained silent for a moment and your husband rounded on him, “My King, if you wish me to accept this farce of a divorce that is my price.”

“She keeps her silver,” Uhtred threatened rising from his seat, sword hand placed upon serpent breath’s hilt, “She keeps her silver and you keep your life.”

“There will be no threats made,” Guthred warned, his household guard moving forward, although they had been forced to leave their weapons at the door, their advance was menacing enough.

“You are in my hall now brother,” Gisela warned, “You are not King in this country, and you have overstayed your welcome.”

“The Lady Gisela has kindly asked you to leave,” Uhtred confirmed “And there will be no second asking.”

Guhtred had to concede defeat and to your ex-husband’s horror, he nodded at his guards to begin their exit.

“This is not over,” your ex-husband hissed as he passed you by, but you did not have heart to listen because you only had eyes for the Danish warrier with mismatched eyes that you had freely given your heart to.

“When will you ask Uhtred?” you asked softly, walking among the trees with Sihtric.

“Tonight Lady,” he promised, “He cannot mistake my regard for you,” he reasoned.

“Nor mine for you,” you smiled softly, as Sihtric took you into his arms.

“I have nothing to offer you my love,” Sihtric smiled sadly, cupping your face in his strong hands.

“No great wealth, no Great Hall to preside over and be the Lady of. Nothing but my love.”

“Then you are giving me everything,” you whispered, “Everything that matters.”

“I’ve always been yours,” he confessed, voice soft “Only yours, and I always will be.”

“They wish to speak to you my love,” he announced, but his head was downturned, “I do not believe they deem me a worthy match of you,” he said sadly, and your heart sank as you began the climb up to the great table they were sat at.

“You would refuse us this chance at happiness?” you cried and Gisela’s face softened.

“You are the daughter of a Jarl,” Uhtred offered softly, “Sihtric is a warrier, of no wealth, no land and he must travel with me wherever the need takes us, does this seem like the type of life that would make you happy?”

“Yes,” you said without missing a beat. “Any life with Sihtric is one I would choose over any life without him.”

They were both silent for a moment and you decided to test the water further, “Have you no other objection except his lack of wealth and status?”

“None,” Uhtred answered honestly.

“Gisela, you were prepared to risk it all to be with Uhtred, with Sihtric I have never known such peace. I have had wealth and status but none of them can measure an ounce in silver to the price of peace and love that I feel when I am with him. I beg you, do not separate us for the sake of silver.”

“You love him?” she asked you honestly and your eyes began to tear up.

“With all my heart,” you answered, your expression pleading and they shared a look, before nodding in unison.

“You may be married upon our return from Winchester next week,” Uhtred decided and you were rushing forward to grip him in an embrace that you repeated on Gisela, your tears freely falling.

Sihtric too cried when you told him their decision and that night as you lay together he called you his wife, when you reminded him you were not yet his wife, he told you honestly that in everything but name, you were to him.

They came in the middle of the night on the third day that Sihtric was away with Uhtred, the hooves outside your door were your first alert to danger, but before you could even attempt to flee, they were inside Sihtric’s hut and you were hoisted outside and flung onto the back of a horse that sped away into the night.

You were thrust onto the stony ground of a makeshift camp, your hands quickly locked in chains and you gazed up at the hard faced expression of your former husband.

“It didn’t have to be this way,” he hissed, “You should have returned my silver.”

You spat at his feet and he advanced on you “Do you know how much highborn ladies like you go for?” he teased, grasping your face hard and you tried to wriggle away from the stench of ale on his breath “I will make back all my silver, and more on you.”

“Sihtric will come for me,” you said defiantly, and he laughed in your face.

“By the time he even realises you are gone you will be on a ship far away from these shores never to be seen again, and your name like any bitter taste will wear away.”

You tried to retain your resolve but your stomach sank with the realisation that he was right.

“Hold her down.” he ordered his men and before you could process it you were flipped over onto your stomach in the dirt, arms pulled high above your head. The wind was temporarily knocked from your lungs and you felt the unmistakable weight of a foot on the back of your neck to keep you down and then the soaring pain of a red hot iron pressed into the skin at the top of your arm, you screamed out into the dirt below you as he pressed the iron further into your skin, your mouth filling with dirt, and when it was over and you were hoisted back up, your head lolled to the side, and you had to be held up in place as the weight of your body sagged against the men holding you up.

“Please,” you cried, “I will give you your silver.”

“Your rat boy will give me silver in ransom, the slaver will give me silver in the morn, you have nothing left to offer me whore. The S seared onto your skin is the only value you have left in this world now. Put her with the rest of them,” he ordered and you were dragged across the pebbles to a pen with other weeping women and flung carelessly onto your back. Sihtric was the last thing you thought of before the blackness of unconsciousness took over.

The slaver did come in the morning and your former husband seemed pleased with the price he had fetched for you, and as you were hauled on board and placed near the hull of the ship you could not help but begin to weep as the coastline of England became smaller and smaller until all that remained was a dot on the horizon, your former husband’s face of cruelty and delight as you had set sail burned into your mind.

Over the next few months you tried to adapt to your new life of servitude in the Hall of a Norse Lord called Arne, whose wife took great joy in doling out punishment on you.

She seemed to be intent on destroying your face and you knew it was because her husband looked on you with desire in his great icy eyes.

You thought about Sihtric every moment of every day. Those two mismatched eyes, one blue like icy winter mornings and one brown like the warmest honey amber, his tender touch and the way he loved you with his whole body and soul.

You never lost faith that Sihtric would come for you, and as much as Arne’s wife tried to beat you into submission, you still watched the horizon for the man you loved more than anything, with hope in your heart that he would come and find you.

But as the months began to creep into a year, and the leaves began to turn orange and fall, a great depression took over and you stopped eating and began to be too weak to do the most arduous tasks and your Lord’s wife had taken to beating you when you could not complete a job.

After enduring another beating at her hands she said the words that caused white hot terror right down to your very core.

“A weak slave is a useless slave, perhaps you would be of better use as food for the hounds.” Death by hounds was truly your worst fear and your screams of terror and protest caused her husband to storm into the Great Hall, where he reprimanded his wife and hauled you, though you were still howling in terror outside to where a great fire was burning as people worked on the great longboat, nestled into the harbour of the lake his home was built around, he placed you gently down and thrust a bowl of soup into your hands.

“Eat,” he commanded and you began to shake your head in protest but the look on his face told you he was not to be argued with.

“I am leaving to winter in Irland,” he said after a long silence, and your eyes rose to meet his.

“If I leave you behind, my wife will have you killed,” he said it so matter of factly, it made the blood in your veins feel icy, “And I make no secret of the fact that I desire you. But I will not take you with me if you are too weak to make the crossing and so I am commanding you to eat, every day until the boat is ready to leave in a few weeks.”

“You want me to come?” you finally spoke aloud and he nodded as though it were obvious.

“As my woman. That is your choice, come as my woman or die here.”

Your heart was thumping in your chest, these past few weeks you had made peace with the thought that you would die here in Norway, but if you could make it to Irland, perhaps there was a way you could make it home to Sihtric, even if he had moved on and married another, he would know that you didn’t abandon him and then you could die in the peace of that knowledge.

“So what will it be?” he mused, running his hands through the length of his beard and you considered him for a moment.

“I will eat,” you confirmed because that was all you could promise him in that moment.

The crossing to Irland was rough.

Two of the crew perished in a storm near great rocky islands Arne referred to as Føroyar.

You were sick overboard more times than you cared to count and most days you were wet to your skin, and at night you lay huddled into Arne for warmth, but on the ninth day the Ravens took to flight and the great boat chased after until the unmistakable sight of great rocky cliffs rose up in the distance.

“Irland,” Arne confirmed, his arm affectionately around your shoulder, “The people here are ferocious fighters like none you’ve ever seen.”

“I knew an Irish man once,” you told him wistfully.

“And what was he like?” Arne chuckled and despite yourself you smiled too, “A ferocious fighter.” you confirmed.

Arne’s cousin was the leader of Viking Dyflin, and the months you spent wintering there were spent in relative peace and prosperity.

Sometimes Arne would take his ship and crew raiding up the rivers, but you would remain in the confines of the city. Arne had not forced you to lay with him but he did not hide his affections for you, ravishing you in gifts and silver after every successful return, although you were under no illusion that he very much believed you belonged to him, and the S branded on the back of your arm was a constant reminder of that.

“Is he the man your heart belongs to, the Irishman?” he spoke into the darkness one night, as you lay awake staring up at the wattled ceiling.

“No,” you answered, voice barely above a whisper, “He was a Dane, and we were betrothed, before I was stolen away.”

“You will never be my woman,” he spoke after a while.

“Many would have forced you by now but that is not my nature. I had hoped in time you would give yourself to me willingly, but I can see now that you never will, because your very being belongs to another.”

There was a sadness to his words that you did not quite understand but you were afraid to say the wrong thing in case it angered him and so you said nothing and after moments that felt like hours he finally sighed and turned his back to you, and soon after his gentle snores filled the room.

While Arne had spent the winter raiding and feasting, you had used your relative freedom in the city to plot your escape. You spent days down at the Port, overhearing conversations amongst those tending to the Longships and you learned enough to know that no trader or Norseman would take you willingly on their Longship, and if they did there would be no guarantee of your safety or promise that you would not once again be sold into slavery once it reached its destination.

You had long abandoned hopes of escaping on the Longships when a small Knarr with a small fat captain named Skagi arrived transporting goods from Frankia and your heart nearly launched through your chest when you realised he was restocking in Dyflin and heading next to Wessex. Only two things mattered to Skagi, his ship and silver, and you had plenty of silver, and after you had promised him all of it, he agreed to smuggle you on board.

“We leave at dawn,” he hissed, “And if you are not here we leave without you.”

As soon as Arne fell asleep that night, you gently rose and dressed and took as much of the silver as you could carry, you felt a slight pang of guilt as you made your way outside. Had you been sold to any other slaver you genuinely believed you would have lived and died in his service for the rest of your life, but Arne had been kind, he had fallen for you without forcing himself on you, he had taken you away from a life of servitude and offered you a second chance and if you had been any other girl this would have been more than enough, but you had a pair of mismatched eyes and a gentle soul were awaiting you the other side of the Irish Sea and that was all your heart desired.

As you clambered aboard Skagi threw a cloak your way and ordered you to put it on and to keep your head down.

Crossing the Irish sea was treacherous and from your small hiding space you prayed to every god you could think of to get you there safely, you even briefly considered praying to the nailed God the Christians prayed to but changed your mind when the shout cried out from the crew: “Longship! Longship ahead,” and the men began to row with all their might to try and outrun the advancing ship.

You trembled like a leaf amidst the chaos of roars to row faster and the shouts that they were catching up to your boat.

Skagi thrust a blade into your hand “Take it girl, if they come aboard they will take you.”

You cried pointless tears, how cruel to have made it this close to Sihtric, only to die at the final push.

There was an almighty crash as the front of the Longship crashed into the hull of your Knarr, and you were thrust forward, crashing forward and splitting your lip on the wooden slot before you, and you thought it must be Arne coming to retrieve you, it had to be.

The clashing of swords around you told you their crew was now onboard your ship and you heard Skagi shouting like a traitor that there was a girl onboard to take her “Take her, take her!” he was shouting before his throat was slit and you gasped trying to push yourself further into your hiding space before you were mercilessly grabbed and the hood of your cloak yanked clean off, regaining your senses you brought your own sword down, attempting to slice down the man holding you however with a dry laugh the blade was knocked from your hand and you were grasped again before you realised that the man holding you was none other than Finan.

“It’s her,” he shouted over his shoulder “Sihtric, I have her,” and he picked you up effortlessly and passed you across into the stern of the other ship which you now recognised as Fyrdraca and into the waiting arms of the man you had been dreaming of every single night since you had been taken.

“I knew you would come!” was all you could think to say in that moment as Sihtric grasped you like his life depended on it.

He held you in his arms the entirety of the journey back to Coccham, repeating almost like a mantra to himself, “It’s alright love, I’ve got you. I’ve got you.”

That night sitting around the hearth of Uhtred’s Great Hall you relayed your ordeal from start to finish, and Sihtric never once released his hold on you.

“We tortured it out of that goat turd of a husband of yours who he had sold you to,” Finan told you proudly, “We sailed the whole way to Arne’s homestead in Norway where his toad faced wife told us he had taken you to Dyflin. We've been patrolling the Irish Sea every day since.”

“I killed him,” Sihtric said softly behind you, “Your former Husband, for what he had done to you, I put my blade through his chest.”

Gisela reached forward and took your hand in hers, “He will never hurt you again.”

You could not believe that they had never stopped searching for you and you had no idea how you could ever repay them, perhaps you never could, but that night when Sihtric closed the door of his cabin he burst into unexpected tears and pulled you to him.

“I thought I had lost you,” he cried and bunched you to him tighter and tighter until his grasp nearly hurt, “I had only just found you again, and I lost you.”

You gripped onto his back ferociously “I will never let you go again.” he whispered into your hair before his lips were on yours and all that mattered in that moment was him.

“Sihtric,” you cried looking up into his huge sad eyes “I never gave up. I always knew you would come for me, as you have done every single time my life was in danger, you told me once that you had always been mine, but I will always be yours. Only Yours.”

Marital bliss was the only way you could describe life with Sihtric. He provided for you in every way he possibly could and he loved you with the ferocity and tenderness that you could only describe as Sihtric, for he was a ferocious warrior but he was a passionate and tender lover.

Pretty soon, your stomach swoll and the healer confirmed that you were with child and you could not have imagined a greater happiness if you tried.

And soon followed another babe and another and another until you joked that you were raising your own Danish horde and in time when Sihtric reclaimed his birthright on the stronghold of Dunholm, you looked out upon the woodlands where you had first laid eyes upon Sihtric and thanked the Gods for sending you the man who would save you time and time again and for a pair of mismatched eyes that looked at you even all these years later as if you were the only thing that mattered on this earth to him.

Tagging:

@canyonmoon-2 @sihtricfedaraaahvicius @whitedarkmoonflower @thenameswinter99 @foxyanon

@acdassenza @thatawkwardlittlefangirl @gemini-mama

@troyottonick @alexagirlie

a-beaverhausen nebulamorada izzydlb knight-of-flowerss

justcuriousandbored

#sihtric x reader #sihtric kjartansson x reader #sihtric smut #sihtric kjartansson #sihtric fic #sihtric x you #tlk fanfic #volklanawrites

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carigm · 11 months ago

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SPOILERS FOR ST5 FILMING THIS WEEK+ A THEORY

Okay, I’m going to try and break down all the filming leaks we got this week and put them together into a theory.

In case you don’t know yet, ST’s production has moved back to Stone Mountain, GA this week. This is a woodsy area that’s been used before in the show to film all the UD forest scenes as well as just the regular forest scenes in the show.

On Monday of this week, someone who lives close to the area came upon a set. And it was the Castle Byers pictures we got. I’ll add them here too.

Some observations. To me this version of castle Byers doesn’t look like the original one we first saw. That one was much fuller and looked more stable. It also doesn’t look like the version Will left behind after destroying it in S3. We know the UD is stuck on the time Will was there, so imo the version of castle Byers we are seeing here is the one that was damaged by the demogorgon when it grabbed Will, back in S1.

Based on this pic and a little video of the set, we all speculated they could be filming something related to Will, perhaps even a flashback. Here’s where it gets interesting.

I was looking at the castingtaylormade insta page (they post all the casting for extras and photo doubles needed for the show) and I came across this.

Production was looking for a minor photo double and “adult” one to work on the 20th (aka Tuesday of this week) as well as some other dates in February and March.

Now, we know they were filming at the castle Byers set the same day that this minor photo double was needed. I don’t think I need to spell it out here. They were looking for a child, so younger Will scenes are basically a guarantee to have been filmed this week. As for the adult photo double filming the same date, well there’s quite a few options. If it’s a little Will flashback/vision we’re gonna see, perhaps the adult photo double is gonna be older Will himself. Maybe we’ll get current Will having visions of his younger self and his time in the UD, and we’ll see both versions of him. Let’s not forget he was able to shift to the UD in S2 without physically being there.

Another option for the adult photo double could be Vecna. Will and Vecna are bound to share scenes this season, so perhaps we’ll see whether Vecna was involved from the get go in Will’s disappearance.

Now it gets even more interesting, because today we got new pics of the “UD” set from this week. There’s a lot of fog, and a very poignant blue and red lighting mix.

We know the UD usually has a blue tint, but there’s been instances where it has looked red, especially in S4. However, the most red we’ve ever seen in the UD was when Will was having his S2 visions of the MF, remember how he would appear in a cloud of hellish red and lights would flash? Yeah. Another big use of red in this show has been for visions, like Will’s UD ones but also El in Billy’s mind in S3. And ofc more notably Max’s Vecna vision in S4.

I want to specifically focus on one picture.

As you can see, there appears to be a figure walking along the tree path, with perhaps a taller figure on the left but that is hard to tell because it could just be part of the tree. Stranger Things Spoilers was the account that got these set photos and look at the comment they just liked on Insta.

I think it’s safe to say they’re hinting that the figure walking is Will.

Which basically ties this whole week of filming together and seems to be pointing at the fact that Will is gonna be exploring his UD connection and that’s a major component of this season (duh).

I personally think we’re gonna see Will have visions of his time there as a child, but also he will be able to go there mentally like he did in S2, perhaps this time being taunted and brainwashed by Vecna. “He spies back”.

So there you go folks, it seems like our beloved Will Byers is gonna be greatly suffering from supernatural horrors beyond our comprehension, once again.

I wonder what will be able to pull him back from all this mental deterioration he’s surely gonna face again.

Could it be the power of family love and perhaps…gay love?

The Duffers did say to rewatch S2 🤷‍♀️

#byler #byler theory #stranger things #st5 leaks #st5 spoilers #st spoilers

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another-lost-mc · 1 year ago

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candy prompts: michael + sweet (with a dash of spice)

michael struggles with doubt when you visit the celestial realm.

pairing: michael x gn!reader

content: sfw-ish. some kissing but nothing explicit. insecurity and unhealthy coping mechanisms (michael). hurt/comfort. takes place sometime after s4.

word count: 1.2k+ (oops)

Michael spends most of his free time in his private garden. He tells the other angels he meditates there in the solace of sun and shade under his favourite willow tree, but it's only an excuse disguise the ugly truth: he goes there to run away.

He runs away when his endless responsibilities make his head spin and his jaw clench in frustration. Sometimes he runs away with a third helping of dessert so he can enjoy some semblance of sugary comfort when he feels empty inside. The sweet distraction he craves dissolves to ash on his tongue, tainted by whatever dark thoughts haunt him.

Today, he runs away to his garden and hides from you.

When you came to visit the Celestial Realm, Michael thought he was prepared. In a strange sort of way, it felt like he knew you already despite your limited conversations before. Luke adored you like a sibling and talked about you often. Simeon was obviously very fond of you too, but some of his messages were laced with lustful implications that Michael tried to ignore.

It was suspicious when Michael first realized how close you were with his fallen brothers. You somehow charmed the likes of Lucifer into creating a pact with you when so many others had failed. Not only that, but The Morningstar cared about you enough that he was willing to sacrifice his own life to save yours. It bothered Michael immensely at the time, but the jealousy he used to feel gradually lost its sharp edge and reluctant admiration took its place.

Michael knew he should meet you properly to understand what made you so captivating, so special. He couldn’t underestimate you the way all the others did—he wouldn’t be made a fool of. He steadied his resolve and braced his heart to meet you. You were the only human he respected and feared in equal measure.

He was right to fear you, of course. The moment he laid eyes on you, hesitantly stepping out from that portal and smiling in the realm’s eternal light, he was utterly charmed by you. From that first introduction with your hand grasped gently in his own, you murmured his name like a prayer and he felt the first stirrings of temptation. You were so pretty and so human and he finally understood why so many others fell for you.

He was determined not to succumb to you that easily. At first, he successfully avoided spending too much time alone with you. He made excuses while one of the other willing angels kept you company. If you knew he was avoiding you, you didn't seem to mind.

Every angel within the realm has their true calling and spends their days working or learning or teaching or training. You were eager to learn alongside them and most of them were glad to have your company in return. Even the most stubborn angels fell victim to your easy smiles and contagious laughter. Many were already lamenting the day when you would leave them.

It startled Michael when your interest eventually shifted back to him. He couldn’t make excuses to avoid you forever and you trailed after him as he carried out his duties in the Celestial Halls. He spent hours in his office completing the most mundane tasks but it wasn't enough to bore you or drive you away. You brought books with you to read and told him about Devildom gossip as you scrolled through your D.D.D. and you offered to fetch more tea from the kitchen when your cups ran dry.

He told himself that it was easier to tolerate you than to ignore you. You became a familiar presence at his side and it bothered him how much he liked it. In fleeting moments he found himself wanting even more.

Now he sits in his garden in the shade of his favorite willow tree, head tipped back against the rough bark and his legs are stretched out in front of him. Lately he spends his time consumed by thoughts of you. Tonight he tries not to think about the way you brushed your thigh against his under the table at dinner, or the way your face brightened when you told him you helped bake tonight’s dessert—one of his favourites, of course.

He ate his dessert slowly, slicing into the delicate cake and complimenting your efforts between bites. He enjoyed the fluffy whipped cream and sweet berry filling, but his eyes lingered on your lips when you hummed happily as you finished your own serving. He wondered what you would taste like if he kissed that flirty smile and cleaned that little smear of cream from the corner of your mouth with his tongue.

A quiet rustling nearby catches his attention. Michael’s not surprised to hear the soft shuffle of sandals against the grass as you approach him. He keeps his eyes stubbornly closed even when he feels you bump his leg as you kneel at his feet. He finally opens his eyes and watches with curious reservation as you crawl forward on your hands and knees until you’re practically sitting in his lap. Your hands tremble against his chest and after a moment, he carefully settles his on your waist to steady you. You melt into the touch and lean against him, warmed by his body against your own.

He gives you his silent acceptance of whatever this is and hopes he won't live to regret it. If he were a better angel, he would send you away so both of you can pretend this never happened. But he’s not that angel, not anymore, and he’s always been a little selfish.

Michael wonders what you see when you look at him because your gaze is so affectionate with the slightest hint of desire. It flickers in your irises like the first hesitant flames before the fire burns into a roaring inferno. He can’t remember the last time he felt so wanted; he feels overheated despite the cool breeze that jostles the tree branches above.

Still, he hesitates. What does an old angel like him have to offer someone like you? He bears the weight of so many burdens on his shoulders. His heart is heavy from impossible choices and regrets that keep him awake at night. Years of indulgence have left his belly bigger and softer than it used to be. He doesn’t understand why someone like you would ever want him.

He groans when your lips press against his. Your first hesitant kiss shatters his stubborn resolve and he gently rolls both of you over, laying you on the grass underneath him. Your chest heaves with panted breaths but you look completely satisfied. His brave little lamb. He props himself up on his forearms so he doesn’t hurt you with his weight but you pout like you want to feel more of him. He obliges and lifts your thigh up so it rests against the curve of his hip. He swallows your gasp when he lowers himself and grinds down against you, experimentally at first and harder when you dig your fingers into his back and urge him to give you more. You beckon him with sinful prayers and he feels compelled to obey.

He shudders with each soft noise that tumbles from your lips and each flick of your tongue against his own. His hands find their way beneath the intricately-woven clothes he had made for you while he seeks out all your sensitive places. He drags his mouth over the curve of your jaw while his deep voice murmurs praise into your skin, leaving a trail of biting kisses in his wake.

He satiates his ravenous hunger while he takes you apart with all the skill and patience he can muster. After all, there’s no need to rush—no one will come looking for you in his garden.

read more: halloween 2023 masterlist || obey me masterlist

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