#and it only works now bc the signal is so much stronger now | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

velvett-tearss · 3 years

Text

Black Tea & Blushes — L. Ackerman

summary: The two of you never got along, but there were times that even fire and ice made a perfect pair.

warnings: cursing, no spoilers for anything past early s1, Levi’s a little shit at first (surprise, surprise), mentions of blood (they’re fighting titans :-) lol) gn!reader (no pronouns mentioned)

genre: semi-canonverse, fluff, enemies to lovers (?)

word count: 3.3k

a/n: this was very self-indulgent lmao, sorry if it’s a bit messy 😭, <Hange, Connie & Sasha3 make an appearance bc I love them and you should too, hope you enjoy it <3

"Couldn't you have gotten a cadet to do this?"

You raised a sharp brow at the man, trying to keep yourself from flipping his desk over. "Would you have yelled at them like you just yelled at me?"

The man's grey eyes didn’t meet yours, but there was a scowl on his face. Despite his steely eyes, he didn't say anything back. Instead, he pursed his lips and turned back to continue his paperwork.

You huffed in an attempt to ground yourself after being yelled at for the past two minutes. You took a sip from your own cup of the tea you had prepared for him, letting yourself savor the taste.

"I don't understand." you said, tasting the earthy, black tea. "You said it was too cold last time, so I made sure it was extra warm. What's wrong with it? Is it too sour for you? I only added a few drops of lemon this time."

Levi remained silent, but you stood your ground, tapping your boot against the pavemented floor as you waited at his desk for an answer. You wouldn't let him win, not this time. Day after day, it seemed like he only grew ruder and ruder.

Your dislike for Levi Ackerman started the day you met him. He was still just a soldier when you joined the Survey Corp, and it wasn't long after that he become Captain.

He was mean, and he never seemed to care about anything, but God forbid you make a reckless move out in the field. It was as if all hell broke loose if you used a bit too much gas when slicing the nape of a Titan's neck.

"Not everyone is Humanity's Strongest." you had spat at him when he scolded you on the way back to the walls. That only earned you a glare, seeing as Hange managed to secure your safety. If it weren't for them, you were certain you would've gotten stuck with stable duty for a month's end.

You were glad he was nice to them, at least.

At some point, you got promoted to Captain as well. One would think that since you shared the same rank, he would grow warmer to you, but that was another one of your mistakes.

Everything about him rubbed you the wrong way, from his disagreeable manners to his awful way of speaking to soldiers. And, it was your disdain for him that got you stuck in this mess.

"A cadet could've done this." Levi stated again; you felt like you were being patronized. He raised a brow at you, holding the teacup in his hand. "A cadet could’ve made better tea than you.”

"Obviously not, Captain." you threw back sourly, snatching the cup from his hand. "A cadet could not have done this because if I hadn't interfered two weeks ago, who knows what you would've done to the poor man. And, all he did was make your tea wrong!”

Levi blinked at you, appearing bored with your conversation. "If you hadn't interfered, that soldier would be back with those good for nothing Military Police Officers doing what they're best at."

You gritted your teeth. "And, what are they good for, Captain Ackerman?”

His brow twitched slightly. “Absolutely nothing."

You let out a bitter laugh, placing the white ceramic teacups back on the tray you had brought in. "Now that you say it out loud, that reminds me a lot of someone I know."

"What an awful way to talk about yourself.” Levi threw back with ease.

The urge to roll your eyes at him was weighing on you, but you were stronger than the immaturity he seemed to bring out in you. "Captain, you must be growing old if you've already forgotten we're the same rank."

Your decision of keeping yourself calm in his presence payed to be of use when you noticed the slight pause in his pen strokes at your words.

But, you were well aware of how trustworthy Levi was in the sense that you knew he could always come back with something even worse than what he's told you before.

"If you were of any use, you would know what's wrong with your tea. I'm sure even King Fritz could tell good tea from awful tea, and he's the most useless of them all." Levi told you, pen moving over the papers in front of him swiftly.

"He could probably also tell a grown man from a spoiled brat," you told him, taking the tray with you as you left his office. "But, you make even that task seem impossible."

You had to stop the triumphant grin from growing on your face when you heard his faint scoff from the other side of the wooden door.

Even if you managed to snag the last word of that argument, it didn’t feel as good as it usually did. The only reason you involved yourself in Levi Ackerman’s nightly tea was because 1) you didn’t like the way he spoke to the poor soldier who got stuck with job of handling it, and 2) Erwin asked that you try and be a bit nicer to your fellow captain.

You only did it to keep your job, really, and you would never let your Commander think less of you, even if he did favor Levi. Even Hange had tried to coax you into not letting The Ackerman’s sharp tongue get to you, but that didn’t seem to work.

Levi and you would never be friends, if that’s what Erwin meant when he pulled you aside at supper a few nights before. It was a lie to say you didn’t admire the man’s impressive skills, because you did.

But, admiration and respect were two separate things.

The two of you were jagged edges of broken glass that didn’t fit together, and that was perfectly fine. You didn’t mind being Levi being a sharp piece of glass, just as long as he kept his corners to himself and far from you.

Erwin, as observant as usual, caught on to the solution to your problem, and he even made sure you and Levi would rarely ever cross paths when the Scouts were out on an expedition. The two of you worked on opposite sides of the formation.

The only time you would ever work together would be if there were no other options, but both of you were reliable in your own senses: him with his... whatever he called it, and you with your wits.

You didn't mind being farthest from him, and if it were up to you, you'd go even farther.

“Hey, you got new glasses.” you stated, noticing the new pair of brown frames that Hange wore the morning as the Scouts waited for the signal to begin the expedition.

“Oh, don’t remind me.” they said with a frown, holding the glasses in their hands. “Last night, Moblit and I were doing some research, and someone must’ve stolen my glasses because I couldn’t find them this morning.”

“Stole? Isn’t that a big accusation?”

They let out a hearty laugh. “It is! That’s why I’m saying it!” Hange replied, golden eyes widened at you in exasperation. “I’ve been stuck with these, and they’re too big for my face. All they do is fall off.”

“So maybe don’t wear them?” you wondered as you caught a glimpse of the dark head of hair you knew too well. “What’ll you do if you lose them out in the field? Better safe than sorry.”

“I wish, but I’m as blind as a bat without them.” Hange reasoned with a sigh before quickly composing themselves. “But, now that you mention it, I never did mind a challenge.”

The smirk growing on their face was one you didn’t quite like. Before you could talk some sense into them (if that were even possible) the signal went off to begin the mission.

They gave a wide smile and a thumbs up as a good luck token. "Don’t do anything crazy!” you called out when the two of you parted ways, taking your squad with you. “I mean it, Hange!”

Hange waved you off, charging in faster in their horse. It was up to poor Moblit to chase right after them.

Your squad remained close together for the majority of the mission. There wasn't much to do on your end of things, which was a relief. At some point, you decided to stop for a quick break before pushing forward.

If you were able to see five mintues into the future, you would never have let your squad talk you into taking a lunch break. Just as you were relaxing a bit, there was an Abnormal coming from the thick trees.

Your sense of smell wasn't as skilled as Miche, and if it weren't for one of the younger cadets on your squad who had a keen sense of hearing, you all would've been Titan food.

It didn't take long for you to spring into action, your squad following suit. You made sure to use the plans Erwin had issued out on previous Scout meetings.

When the Abnormal finally made it to where you and your squad stopped, the beastly creature managed to catch one of your soldiers in midair. As the young boy was raised in the air, his stomach couldn't contain his recent lunch.

Gravity works in wonders, you thought when his earlier lunch fell onto you with a splat! You couldn't blame the poor boy; it was better upstairs than downstairs. As terrible a feeling it was to have chunky vomit all over you, you knew it would be as even worse feeling if the boy died under your care.

Your squad got to him before any damage was permanent, at least physically. When the killing blow was done, you tended to your soldier. He muttered out apologies for having thrown up on you, but you were merely in the line of fire.

"It's okay, Connie." you reassured him after pulling off your green cape that had been soiled in aid to shield you. “I’d rather it be your lunch on me than your organs.”

You ordered that he ride with your other cadet, Sasha. He let out a pained laugh at your words, leaning against her on her horse. She scolded him for “wasting so much food,” to which lead to their silly banter, which you didn’t mind as long as they were safe.

As unfortunate as it was, that incident wasn't the last of it. There wasn't much time between Connie getting his ribs crushed by a Titan and the numerous amount of red flares that were being shot into the air. The amount of red powder in the sky was enough to cast a shadow of worry over you.

By the time your squad made it to where the red flares had been signaled, it was a mess. Abnormal and Pure Titans were ambushing the rest of whatever was left of the Survey Corp. Your squad wasted no time in following your orders as you made a beeline for the trees where a group of Abnormals were huddled together.

When you finally got a good look at the scene in the forest, your sight was met with Titan smoke and blood of fallen comrades. It was a disaster, as it always was. But you knew, where there was smoke, there was definitely fire.

And, that fire was Humanity’s Strongest Soldier.

He looked ablaze, nothing but a flash in the distance. Slicing Titan limbs as if they were merely flowers in his way, Levi Ackerman was kicking ass. It was in moments like this — where he looked like the answer to all the prayers of the people inside the walls — that you wondered if you truly hated him all along.

“Section Commander!” Moblit cried, chasing after Hange as they swung on the highest tree of the forest. It seemed as though they forgot all about how loose their glasses were as they did a number of twirls in the air. His voice was enough to snap you out of your trance and assist your fellow comrades.

You managed to fight off three Pure Titans and two Abnormals for what seemed like forever. It might’ve been even worse if not for Connie Springer’s lunch all over you that acted as Titan Repellant.

Perhaps you would tell Hange of your new discovery, but every time you managed to get close to them while fighting off the Titans, all they did was badger you with questions upon questions.

“Are you sure you haven’t you seen them?!” Hange cried for the fifth time, eyes squinted at you from their branch opposite you. Moblit was fighting off a creepy Abnormal with ugly teeth a few feet from you.

“No, I haven’t! And, didn’t I tell you your glasses would fall if you took them with you?!” you shouted back from your place on the tree before taking a breath to try to slice the neck of your second Pure Titan. “Go back to the wagon, Hange, before you get yourself killed!”

They huffed and puffed, but they let Moblit guide them to the wagon to wait until the rest of the Scouts could find a moment to retreat back to the walls.

After finally slicing the nape of your final Titan, you looked over to where you had last seen Levi. Only, he was nowhere to be found. A panic set in when you couldn’t find any sight of him.

“Captain?” you called out from your place on a tree branch where you were catching your breath. You squinted your eyes to get a farther look, but it didn’t help that much. “Captain Ackerman, are you there? Do you—”

But, that’s when you felt a jostle of wind hit your back. You turned quickly to see the dark-haired man swinging through the trees, holding an unconscious Oluo.

You followed him, figuring if you took his squad member off his hands that Levi would have a better chance of taking down more Titans. Maybe even with a man who weighed far more than himself in his hands, Levi could still have a better chance than you.

“Captain, I’ve got him. I’ll take—”

But, Levi wouldn’t budge. It was like he wasn’t listening to you, and you didn’t know if it was by choice or coincidence. You huffed and rushed quicker to help him in carrying Oluo.

Maybe it was just your luck, or maybe it was just his, but right before you managed to reach him, a Titan’s jaw came from below him, wide and ready for lunchtime.

There was nothing for him to do, not with his hands full. Surely he knew that from the way his grey eyes finally broke through from that awful void he’d placed you in, the one where all you ever got from him was scoldings and insults and cold stares that often made you wonder if he actually did hate you.

And, for the first time, you saw panic flash through his grey eyes, his life flash before his eyes.

“Levi!” you cried, using the rest of your ODM gear’s gas to catch up to him. You knew if he were to survive such an event, he would scold you for wasting your gas on an old lump like him.

But, for once, Levi had something to say about you that didn’t regard your incompetence to make decent tea or your recklessness that spurred you to use all your gas just to save him and the bullheaded, baboon by the name of Oluo.

It was your astonishing speed.

You got to the two men right before the great wide jaws of the Titan could snap closed and swallow the three of you for its meal, which Levi had to admit (but probably never would) was quite impressive.

“Shit!” you hissed out when the three of you landed on another tree branch. As quick as you got to the branch was as quick as Miche was to come and ensure your safety, slicing the Titan’s nape with ease.

Oluo was still unconscious and a little bloodied up and battered, but he was safe.

“What the hell were you thinking?!” Levi yelled, voice slightly hoarse from everything that had just happened. His hair was a mess, and you held back a laugh at the sight of him. “Why— why would you? I mean, what— and, why do you smell like—”

“A thank you is perfectly fine, Ackerman.” you coughed out, catching your breath from the overexertion you just forced yourself through. Carrying two grown men was tough, especially when it was between life or death. “As for the smell, one of my soldiers threw up on me.”

Levi blinked at you, his expression consisting of disgust and confusion. “What?”

“My soldier. He threw up on me earlier.”

“I heard you the first time.” he told you, blinking quickly as if it were going to grant him some clarity. You didn’t know if his confusion was from your act of saving him and his squad member or from not knowing what to say to you after.

He looked funny, with his hair that of a bird’s nest and his cheeks flushed pink.

“Did you hit your head on the way down?”

“W-what?”

“Your head? Did you hit it?”

“No, I-I’m fine.” he scrambled upright, finding purchase on the unconscious Oluo’s shin. Your eyes flickered to where his hand was placed, and he snatched it right off immediately, burning a deeper shade of pink.

“Oh.” you muttered, holding back a chuckle. There was no way Levi was without a concussion, not with the way he was acting all of a sudden: stuttering and turning pink on you. It was a wonder you caught up to him before he collapsed.

“Are you sure you’re okay, Captain?” you asked again, fixing your uniform before getting to your feet. You wobbled a bit; Levi raised a brow at you. “You look sick. Why don’t you sit in the injury wagon for a bit on the way back? Just in case.”

He waved you off, standing on his two feet as well. You didn’t want to cause a fight, not right after what had just happened and not outside the walls, so you decided to say nothing about his seeming concussion.

The two of you lifted Oluo off the ground, blood seeping from the side of the man’s mouth. “Is it his ribs? Was it an Abnormal? They were awful today.” you questioned, looking to Levi for answers.

“He bit his tongue, again, before ramming into a tree.” Levi told you, averting his gaze from you as he shifted the man against his shoulder for a better grip. “He said something f-fell from the sky.”

You nodded, letting yourself chuckle. “What could it’ve been? Bird shit?”

Levi shrugged at your words.

He was far too quiet for your liking. Maybe he did have a concussion. It wouldn’t be good if he rode back like that. Perhaps if you spoke to Erwin or Hange about it, one of them could convince Levi to get checked out once you got back to the walls.

The two of you managed to get back to the rest of the Scouts safely. You helped Levi placing Oluo in the wagon with the wounded and the fallen while everyone else was getting accounted for.

All the while, Hange was trying to persuade Erwin into letting them form a search party for their glasses that had fallen while they were swinging on the trees.

Though you were straining to listen to their conversation, you were more than certain that Erwin would never allow such a thing, but you had to admire Hange’s efforts, as fruitless as they were.

“Thank you.”

You snapped your head to Levi.

He refused to meet your gaze again, busying himself with readjusting his soldier’s cape. If not for the obvious step into uncharted territory between the two of you, you would’ve commented on the rosy blush he adorned.

Suddenly, you were overcome with a laughter, waving him off with your hand quickly. “I was just joking about that, Captain. Sorry, I don’t mean to laugh, but I’m just surprised you actually—”

He scoffed, the expression on his face shifting to one of impatience. “Don’t be a brat. Just take the compliment.” Levi huffed out, visibly annoyed with your chatter.

A look of shock overtook your face. “Oh, so you’re complimenting me? Why didn’t you just say so, then?”

“Oi, that’s not what I meant—”

“No, it’s fine. I heard you, loud and clear.” you interrupted, smiling widely at him. “You’re oh-so very welcome, Captain Ackerman, and if you ever need me to save your ass again, you know where to find me.”

Levi opted to say nothing back, merely shaking his head at you when you gave a lazy salute and started back to the other side of the formation where your horse and squad awaited you.

“Besides,” you shrugged, turning back for a moment to catch him looking at you. “Who else would teach me how to make tea?”

note: I don’t think I specified it, but Oluo was knocked unconscious bc some object (Hange’s glasses) fell from the sky lmao 🐸

#snk x reader #attack on titan x reader #aot x reader #shingeki no kyojin #snk #aot #aot x you #levi ackerman x y/n #levi ackerman #levi ackerman x you #levi ackerman x reader #levi ackerman fluff #levi ackerman scenario #levi ackerman imagine #attack on Titan #snk x y/n

171 notes · View notes

pomegranates-and-blood · 3 years

Text

Are very, very old friends

My Masterlist

Your heart and my heart (first part of this)

Pairing: Ivar/Reader

Summary: A second part to Your heart and my heart, where Ivar and Reader were childhood friends (and pretended to get married when they were children) and got separated by circumstances of life, only to meet again on a battlefield in Wessex.

Word Count: 9.8k (I am so fucking sorry, holy shit)

Warnings: My unwavering state of denial over Aslaug’s death, mentions/descriptions of injury/battle, allusions to sex (nothing graphic), and my terrible writing lol

A/N: I hope you are no longer surprised by how I seem to be able to focus only on the stuff I need to focus on the least, bc here we are. Writing has been very difficult lately, so I am not so sure this is any good, but I still hope you enjoy.

As a reminder: In this universe the brothers (minus Björn) are in Wessex with the Great Heathen Army but Aslaug isn’t dead (Lagertha never took over). This is an almost 6a in age Ivar, but of course a different canon where he has stayed raiding in England. And Princess Blaeja (who was briefly mentioned in the previous part) is engaged to be married to Sigurd.

Your eyes cannot move fast enough to take in the field ahead of you, trying to check every trap and every barricade. Even if you were to find a fault, you remind yourself, you wouldn’t be able to change anything.

Hlíf comes to you, brisk pace that you can still see the exhaustion in, and stands at your side, shield with your colors and your symbol. It looks heavy.

“They are coming, Dane.”

“I know,” A deep breath, and you signal with your head to the center of the camp, “Go back, you’ll lead them to hold the second line. The Saxons will breach the first one.”

“You are not staying here.”

You don’t meet Hlíf’s gaze, instead meeting the eye of a few shieldmaidens that stand tall ahead, waiting for the Saxons to come. They nod their heads once, they know what they are agreeing to.

“We are.”

The forward scouts sound the horns, and before long the marching feet of warriors makes the unfamiliar ground tremble under your feet. Your hands tighten on the handle of your sword, and you take a breath.

Hlíf steps closer, but her gait ins anxious, “You better retreat to us when the time comes, Dane. You are not allowed to die here.”

“Says who?”

Hlíf grunts a curse, but retreats behind the second line of spike barriers.

You’ve been hounded by this group for weeks, ever since you and your warriors departed for York back from a successful raid. You aren’t sure if they are from that city or sent to intercept you from somewhere else, but they are bloodthirsty and determined.

Making camp was a necessity, especially with the wounded and weakened you have in your group, but the years have made you ingenuous, and the months you’ve spent with the Great Army have taught you to use the surroundings in your favor.

Your warriors dug ditches and laid spikes within them, much like you remember hearing Lagertha did when she assisted Aslaug in defending Kattegat, and while you didn’t have the defenses of walls, you made sure to draw passageways with the placement of the tents, to lure the Saxons to follow a path you know by heart when they came.

And now you stand, restless in your spot, waiting for them to get close enough for your archers to thin their numbers, for the frakka’s of those closer to you to take down the stronger ones.

It is not enough, but you never expected it to be.

Once they get close enough, you shout the command to march, and your forces and theirs clash.

The sound of battle deafens you, shouts in two different tongues and death in the same language echoing around you. Still, you seem to hear the faintest of rustles, and you lift your shield as you turn, stopping the downward strike of a Saxon.

Pushing back while you bend your knees, you unbalance him, slashing at his thighs before you plunge your sword in his chest. He meets your eyes, and spits blood in your face before his strength leaves him.

So, it is personal then.

You keep moving, blunt hits of your shield and quick strikes of your sword, taking down as many as you can, worrying more for injuring them and weakening them before they reach the more vulnerable in the camp more than for killing them.

Maybe that is your mistake.

The sword slashes at your leg, the pain sharp and weakening, and your stance buckles. You turn around with a raised shield to try and defend yourself, but you are too close to the ground and the warrior puts all his strength behind his kick and forces you to the ground.

Scrambling to turn on your back and grabbing a discarded axe, you stop the advance of his sword, but your arms burn under the strain, and his snarling face reminds you of a chained dog too close to breaking free.

It isn’t enough. You have no choice.

Releasing the strain of holding him back, you are able to swing your arm back and hit the side of his neck with the hand axe, but not before his sword pierces your shoulder, drawing a scream of pain from you.

Pushing him off you, you stand on uneven ground, trying to make sense of the battle around you and keeping your defenses against the Saxons that are still very much after your blood.

Your shield once again on your hand, you stop the attack of a younger warrior, slashing his chest with a move of your arm that feels weaker and trembling even as you manage to deliver a fatal blow.

Another manages to get close enough to bit the edge of his shield against your wounded leg, and his sword slashes at your side, drawing blood and blinding pain in its wake. He is taken down by a snarling shieldmaiden that comes to stand at your side, and your eyes scan the first line of the camp’s defenses already breached.

You are outnumbered, you are not going to win. Not like this.

“Through the east!” You call out in your own tongue, not waiting for any of the few that remain able to fight to acknowledge your command before you dart for the passageways you can make use of.

You are close enough to the second line of barricades to cross it if you wish to, but your mind is made. The Saxons trailing after you and the few others that still stand, they make quick work of your shieldmaidens soon enough, and you grit your teeth at the screams of pain you can do nothing to stop.

Most of them were foolish enough to think you were retreating, and they trailed after you and the remaining warriors.

Reaching the end of the alleyway, you turn around, standing on shaky legs and lifting one hand. Breathing past the pain is proving difficult, and there’s black at the edges of your vision, but you can still make out the shapes above you, and those that stand next to you.

You close your hand into a fist, meet the eyes of the Saxons that seem to hesitate to approach. They will always fear a heathen woman that smiles while surrounded by blood and death, the fearful -faithful- will call her a monster and insist she is not human.

They fear, they hesitate. And that is enough.

And you drop your hand, the weakest of smiles on your lips as you give one last command,

“Loose.”

____

The first thing you can sense when you awaken is the pain, and the weight keeping you down. Awful, but at least you aren’t dead.

You open your eyes slowly, half expecting to see the murky forests of the Isles towering above you after having been left behind by the Saxons to bleed out slowly and painfully; half expecting something with women on winged horses and a lot of golden shades.

But all that greets you is wood.

Inconsequential, unimpressive, mediocre wood. Yet, your body is filled with such a relief you almost give in to the temptation to doze off again.

Still, you force your body to answer and you sit up on the cot, breaths ragged as the wound on your shoulder sends pain like lightning through your very veins. And slowly, painfully, and with more curses than your mother would like out of a princess, you stand up.

Just when you are considering what the plan after standing up actually was, a woman barges into the room.

“Oh, you’re standing,” She says, and you lift your eyebrows but say nothing. She tsks her tongue, and approaches, her eyes focused on your upper chest, “You shouldn’t be.”

“I would think it was a good sign.”

“Which is why you do the fighting, not the thinking,” She quips, a quirk of her mouth as she glances at you. Quite mean, for an old woman, but still you offer a smile as well. Her palm presses lightly against your shoulder, before going to your side. “You’re not too hot.”

You pout, “Aw, shame.”

“And you seem to be in good spirits.” She chuckles.

You meet her eyes and lean closer, asking quietly,

“That will change soon, though, won’t it?”

“You are the reason a lot of people are angry, yes,” She confesses, before stepping back, “You also are the reason a lot of people are alive as well. Make sure they remember that, and you may keep your head.”

With a non-committal gesture you step past her, a hand on the doorway keeping you upright as you meet the gaze of the expecting shieldmaidens. They call your name and a few expletives in greeting, some in anger, some in welcome, but all in relief.

“While I love seeing you all alive and well, I…have a feeling at least one of you is here under specific instructions.” You state, a quirk of your eyebrow when one of the younger ones stands up, and slips out of the house quietly, with a murmur of being glad you are alright.

You sigh, and though one of them offers you a seat you highly doubt you’ll be able to stand if you sit down, so you wave away her offer, and lean on the doorway.

“Did the rest make it?”

“Most of them, yes. The injured are going to be escorted back, they couldn’t make it on their o-…”

The words die in a gasp as the door to the humble home is kicked open, and a tall shieldmaiden strides in, eyes blazing and set on you.

“You mad Dane bitch!”

“I have a name,” You quip as the shieldmaiden advances towards you. “It is a very pretty one, my mother chose i-…”

She shoves you forcefully, stopping whatever it is you were going to say.

You stumble back but catch yourself before falling, and you can’t help but let out a grunt of pain as your side is pulled tight by the sudden and forceful movement. The healer quips from the room at your back something about not injuring the already injured further, but you both ignore her it seems.

Hlíf still pushes on, “Of all the hare-brained, reckless, st-…”

“Hey!”

“You don’t scare me, Dane,” She huffs back, stepping forward until the shieldmaiden towers over you. “Half dead as you are because of your stupid decisions, you aren’t a threat to anyone, least of all me.”

In the back of your mind, a voice that sounds so alike your brother’s, always calm and collected; begs you not to do this.

You were never good at listening to him, though.

Headbutting one of your oldest friends wasn’t high in the list of things you wanted to do if you ever came back from the dead but…here we are.

Hlíf stumbles back, holding her nose and setting incredulous eyes on you.

Strangely enough, the tension seems to slowly ebb away with the unexpected action.

“I like proving people wrong.” You tell her around a shrug, slowly betraying a smile that she returns, even if there’s a resentful sort of relief in the way she approaches again and presses her brow against yours.

“You are so lucky you’re injured.”

“I wouldn’t call it-…”

“I would. I’d be knocking your pretty ass to the ground if you weren’t,” She promises, and scoffs a laugh that sounds like a reprimand, “You scared me, Dane.”

You meet her eyes, study the dark circles under them, the haggardness on her face, the stubborn tremble in her voice; and realize maybe you weren’t the only one to believe you’d die in that forest.

“How long has it been?”

“A little over a week since we made it to York.” She tells you, motioning for a seat, and motioning again when you refuse it. Stubborn.

You carefully sit down before the fire, narrowing your eyes at the girl that attempts to cover your legs with a fur. You are injured, but you’re far from an old woman.

Though you do accept the awful-smelling brew of herbs the healer presses into your hand before scurrying off back to the room where you were sleeping.

Watching the herbs swirl in the cup, you mumble, “You know, I did the right thing there.”

Hlíf’s kohl-lined eyes narrow, “I don’t think that means what you think it means.”

You gesture with the arm of your good side, “I wasn’t the one leading them! For once I followed orders and we got stuck, it isn’t my fault!”

Hlíf’s eyes only grow bigger and bigger in affront and fury at your insistence, and you decide to shut your mouth.

“You defended when you could have retreated, even though you were wounded, and alone.”

“When you put it like that of cou-…”

She interrupts you, her tone cold and imposing as she repeats, “You defended when you could have retreated, even though you were wounded, and alone.”

“I heard you the first time.”

She offers a side smile, head tilted to the side, “Huh, you listen. I didn’t think you had it in you.”

“That is uncalled for, come on.”

Hlíf looks at you, blinks slowly two times, and takes a breath.

“You defended when you could ha-…” She starts again, but you interrupt her with a shove of her good shoulder and a huffed laugh. She does have a point, however insistent she is at repeating it.

“I panicked, I…I needed to give you more time to leave safely, without Saxons trailing after you. I needed to stall them.” You confess quietly, fidgeting with your fingers, elbows resting on your knees, ignoring the soreness on your side as your position strains at the healing wound.

“You agreed to retreat if you were outnumbered, but you didn’t.”

“There were still some traps that hadn’t been used, I could lure them to the east side, and it worked, the archers made work of the thick of their numbers.”

“You were half-dead by the time that happened.” She insists, biting.

“All that matters is that most made it out. It was the right call.”

“If I hadn’t insisted we go back to find you, you would be dead,” She argues, though her voice quietens as well. “You’d be alone in that damn place, we wouldn’t even be able to bury you.”

That is not something you want to think much about, and with your gaze on the flickering flames you press quietly, “Do you want me to apologize, is that it?”

“No.”

“What do you want then?”

“I don’t know, Dane. What do you want?” At your confused frown the shieldmaiden shrugs, “Coming back from the dead and all, figured I could grant you at least one thing.”

“Those Saxons that hunted us down strung up on a tree?” You ask, only half-jesting. Hlíf doesn’t laugh though, she only presses her lips together.

“Can’t do that, Dane. They have been handled already.”

You really shouldn’t have expected otherwise. Still, you ask the question to which you already know the answer,

“Ivar?”

“Poured melted crosses onto their heads, left some alive after it too. Gruesome thing,” She explains, and you nod your head with a hum, wondering how long ago that was and trying to imagine how exactly they were captured so quickly. Hlíf watches you with growing worry, “I don’t know if I should be concerned about your reaction, or…lack of it rather.”

“You get used to it after a while.”

She scoffs, shaking her head, “You do.”

After a few breaths of silence, Hlíf calls your name quietly. She usually calls you ‘Dane’, a habit that never left her since the first days you were fighting together, when you first were able to call yourself a shieldmaiden.

When your attention turns to her, she says, “I’m sorry for shoving you.”

You look into her pale eyes, offer a smile and a nod.

“You should be.” You quip, and after an incredulous breath Hlíf heaves a sigh.

“You could say you’re sorry too, Dane.” The shieldmaiden chuckles, still oddly fond in her defeat.

“I’m not, though.” You reply around a shrug, sharing a smile with her.

The conversation ebbs away as you hear a voice distantly shouting commands, a voice you know well.

“Where is she!?”

“Oh, great.”

Furious stabs of a crutch on the hard ground, and the door opens just as many shieldmaidens scurry away, making way for Ivar the Boneless. His eyes meet yours with a fury you have never seen before, a snarl on his lips and tension coiled around his body like a vine.

When he speaks, though, his voice denotes none of that. His voice is carefully even, dangerously still, reminding you of a beast stalling its breath before it strikes.

For a man as explosive as him, calmness is never a good sign.

“What. Were. You. Thinking.”

Your nose furrows, and you offer with a grimace, “I…wasn’t?”

“This isn’t a joke.”

“I know. I’m the one that almost died, remember?” You prompt, but he doesn’t answer. You nod your head, not really sure what to do, muttering to yourself, “Serious business, dying.”

Hlíf lets out a choked groan, before advising, voice low, “You should really just shut your mouth, Dane.”

Ivar turns to her, the sharp focus of his pale gaze making the shieldmaiden straighten in her seat.

“Get out.” He orders, voice low. You see it in her, the pride insisting on resisting and the instinct pleading to obey.

Instinct wins, and after sparing you a look Hlíf stands up, and motions with her head for the other shieldmaidens to follow, leaving you and Ivar alone in the small home.

It feels even smaller as his gaze returns to you, it even feels almost suffocating as Ivar takes a deep breath and squares his shoulders but says nothing.

You clear your throat, and start what you hope will be a conversation and not a screaming match.

“I am not apologizing for the choice I made.”

An angry breath leaves him through his nose, sharply. His eyes remain on you, quiet intensity that makes you feel exposed.

“Of course you’re not,” Ivar bites out, before shaking his head at himself, “I can’t believe you’d be so-…”

“It was the right call, Ivar.”

He wrenches his gaze from you, looking straight ahead. For a moment you wonder if he refuses to look at you because he thinks he can hide anything from you. Because he should know better, because he should know by now you are aware of the way his jaw tightens, of the way his breaths are intentionally -forcefully- even, of the way anger and pride are the only thing keeping his control from slipping.

“You could have died.”

“And?”

His focus returns to you, and you snap your mouth shut.

Wrong thing to say, wrong thing to say, wrong thing to say.

Ivar’s eyes widen in anger, and when he takes a breath he seems to be twice as tall.

“And!?” He repeats, voice thundering, “You almost died! You…” His nose curls in anger, but there’s something more fragile in his wide eyes, something like fear, “You spent days in that damn bed, they told me it was in the hands of the Gods whether you survived or didn’t.”

A pit of worry forms in your stomach, and you quieten your voice, trying to offer reassurance, “I pulled through, I-I am alright.”

But it falls on deaf ears.

“You were there, dying, and there was nothing I could do,” A sharp breath, but it sounds choked, “You would have gone where I can’t follow, I-…there was nothing to do, nothing I could-…I c-couldn’t-…”

“Ivar…”

He turns to you, accusing, “I was unable to do anything while you died, while you left me.”

“I didn’t die, I am alright.”

“You almost did.”

“That’s-…”

His lip curls into a snarl and your eyes are drawn to the scar on the right side of his mouth, the scar you are responsible for. The process of healing from the deep cut you left that first day you were reunited was a slow one for him, especially because of how much you insisted on finding ways to make him smile and then grumble at the sting of a reopened cut. And now your eyes are drawn to that scar, watching it follow the movement of his mouth as it curls in anger.

“No, I don’t want to hear it,” He interrupts you, a gesture of his hand. “You made the wrong choice. You put yourself in danger when you didn’t need to.”

“If I hadn’t, most of my shieldmaidens would be dead now. We couldn’t fight them directly, Ivar, we had too many wounded.”

He walks past you, the stabs of the crutch on the ground still more forceful than they need to be, and pours himself some mead in one of the unused cups, his back to you.

A deep breath, and before he drinks he offers, “You should have left them behind.”

“What?”

“You heard me.”

You move to walk forward, but putting too much weight on your injured leg makes pain shoot through you. You falter, and you try hiding it but you know Ivar notices, judging by the way his eyes narrow.

Still, you insist, slowly walking closer, “What is a few shieldmaidens against all the people we went there to aid? It is a sacrifice we all were willing t-…”

He gestures with his free arm, stopping you, “Well it isn’t a sacrifice I’m willing to make! Not if it costs me you!”

You are stunned into silence, whatever words that were to leave your mouth dying on your lips with a gasp.

Ivar glares at you as if you were somehow responsible for him saying something he hadn’t meant to, a twitch of anger that makes his furrow his nose and his lips press together in a line.

He moves to one of the chairs by the fire, taking a few breaths through his nose that you are sure are meant to be calming but sound equally as angry as before.

You still have nothing to say, no words to leave your lips.

There’s a part of you that never let go of him in all those years you spent -grew- apart, and in these months you have spent with the army, leading your own forces under Ivar and his brothers’ commands, learning from them -from him- many things and offering a few tricks of your own, conquering new lands and fighting new battles; your foolish heart has started to speak of hopes that could never be, has started to feel light like it never did before, as if it and his own heart recognize each other even after all the years and the scars.

Ivar takes a breath, discarding the crutch on the chair by his side.

“I…I never forgot you, you know. Not when you left Kattegat, not when father died and we came to England, not-…I never forgot you,” His eyes linger on yours for a moment, before Ivar turns his head and looks back ahead, clear tell of gritted teeth as he confesses, “I kept an eye on you, through the years. I had men near Ribe when you and your brother fought for it so that they could tell me the outcome of the battle.”

Your heart lurches in your chest, and you slowly take a seat by his side.

“I…I never knew.”

“You weren’t supposed to,” He retorts without missing a beat, hesitating before continuing, “I always hoped we’d meet again. With what I’ve done, with what I’ve accomplished, I hoped that maybe I’d find you again and I could give you enough reasons to stay this time.”

Quietly, you offer, “I never wanted to leave.”

“I know that now,” He assures you, the slightest of movements of his head that you think was supposed to be a nod. Ivar’s eyes lift to yours, and he says, so low you almost miss it, “I just found you again, I can’t…I can’t lose you.”

You don’t know what to say, you don’t know how to put into words what his words are doing to your foolish heart, to the heart that has always been his.

“Ivar…” You start, not certain of what you’re trying to say.

But it doesn’t matter.

Ivar leans forward surprisingly quickly, pressing his lips against yours. The touch of his lips on yours is urgent and hurried, shaky and inexperienced; leaving behind wide blue eyes that look into yours as if desperate for an answer to a question that isn’t a question at all.

You sigh shakily, but your mouth trembles into a smile, and with barely a moment of hesitation, you cross the distance between you again and kiss him, this time deeply, this time eagerly, this time ardently.

There’s the desperation of having lost too much time without this in the way his hold on you is tight and frantic, there’s the anguish of having thought lost you forever in the way your name leaves him in a choked gasp when you part for air, there’s the relief and the elation of finally having you within reach in the way he doesn’t let your lips part from his for any moment, a faint sound of protest from somewhere deep in his chest whenever you pull away.

You finally part but don’t move too far, it seems both of you unwilling to let much space come between you. Breaths labored, you whisper,

“I have wanted to do that for a long time.”

“You have?”

In any other man the question would be a blatant seeking of praise, and maybe it is in him too, but there’s something else too, something more fragile, something more vulnerable. Like some part of him never ceased to be the boy you kissed before you were to leave Kattegat, like some part of him will never truly believe how wanted he can be, how loved.

“I never forgot you either, Ivar,” You confess quietly, lifting the hand you can and tracing the side of his face, the scar on his cheekbone, the scar you claim of your own over his lip. “I could never forget you.”

His smile is awed, and softer than you ever thought it could be, and more boyish than it should be allowed to be for the sake of your foolish heart, that skips a beat in your chest.

With the crackling of fire and the feel of him under your hands, you forget the passing of time, you forget the soreness of your body, you forget everything except him.

You exchange secrets and promises in the shape of kisses that linger always in between adoration and hunger; and after a while, with your fingers trailing absently over the scar on his mouth, you offer your regret.

“I was reckless,” You tell him, resisting the urge to curl the hand on the side of his face into a fist when you notice how much it trembles. “I…I should have retreated. I am sorry.”

“I was…I was stuck here, unable to do anything. I couldn’t go fight with you, I couldn’t go search for you,” There’s the familiar resentment -at the world, at Fate-, and you say nothing, but your hand moves towards the back of his neck and tries to offer a soothing caress. Ivar continues, “I can’t will my stupid legs to work as they should, but I can…I can keep you safe. You have to let me keep you safe.”

“You cannot keep me from death, no one can,” You remind him, before acquiescing, “I promise I…I will be more careful, I will not make pointless sacrifices.”

Even if it wasn’t pointless to you at the time, it is the best way you can word it.

And, judging by the faint and almost shaky nod Ivar offers in acceptance of your words, it was the right thing to say.

____

Ivar had planned to make the journey back to York and raid from there one more time, while matters about his plans to settle in the Isles are solved, and originally you were planning on going with him.

However, he insists you need to rest and heal so he won’t let you fight, and you insist being bedridden will only make you go mad, so you reach a compromise. You and Ivar discuss the details of the agreement as the healer checks the wound on your shoulder, and when he is to leave you notice the way he hesitates before he does, eyes travelling to your lips before meeting yours.

You smile, but then his pale eyes travel to the woman that is cleaning her hands with her back turned to the both of you, and you understand the question.

Being Ivar the Boneless’ woman is not something you would ever feel shame for being, or wish to hide, and though you do have your reservations about what it would mean as a commander of your own share of forces within the Great Army to be so close to one of the sons of Ragnar, you know no fear of rumors is with making Ivar believe you are ashamed of being his.

Instead of voicing your answer to the question he doesn’t ask, you just tilt your chin up, eyes on his.

Ivar’s smile is a tad on the shy side, a tad overwhelmed, but he still dutifully leans down and captures your mouth in his, promising to meet with you again after you’ve spent time with your warriors.

He leaves, and before long, as the healer changes the bandages on your leg and shoulder, you hear the familiar sounds of your friends settling again in the small home. It makes a pang of what you refuse to call regret go through your heart, at the thought of how easily accustomed they are to spending time at this home, waiting to know if you would survive or not.

You take a breath, and walk out to meet them.

Vígdís, one of the elder shieldmaidens, doesn’t even look up from the piece of chicken she is carefully pulling apart with her fingers as she states dryly, “I was betting he would kill you.”

“I’m glad you gals are on my side, really.”

Hlíf swallows a mouthful of chicken and points the drumstick at you, “Hey, I bet you’d kill him.”

You look at her with a frown before conceding, “Actually, that’s flattering.”

She offers a toothy smile, and encourages you, “Yeah, you could take him!”

Vígdís scoffs, “Oh, she wants to,” At your glare the older woman only shrugs one shoulder, “Or the other way around. You don’t have a preference, do you, Dane?”

“Anyhow,” You drawl out, turning to the others, “I suggest you prepare your belongings and say your goodbyes. We won’t raid with Ivar and Hvitserk in these lands, our forces are needed elsewhere. We will be travelling to East Anglia in a fortnight.”

Hlíf scoffs, “One hell of a spat you two had, huh?”

“Wh-…? You know, I really don’t want to hear it. Just…do what you must.”

“I’m just saying, your love life is taking us all over England, Dane.”

“Shut your mouth already.” You grumble, but Hlíf’s brazen laughter resonates in the small home.

____

In the days that go by -way too quickly for your liking- before you are to depart to East Anglia, you find yourself drunk on the foolish happiness of having within reach what you never truly thought you’d have.

It is three nights before you leave that in the quiet of your shared room Ivar presses his lips to yours with a softness that is jarringly unlike him, and breathed over your lips the most hushed I love you.

It was that same night that you tangled your fingers in his hair and drew him back against you, not able or willing to resist the temptation to flick your tongue over the scarred side of his lip to make one of those choked little sounds leave his lips; and when he kissed you back hungrily pulled back to promise the same, just as softly even if you vowed it fiercely, I love you.

And now you are to depart. Standing in the stables and watching as your shieldmaidens and warriors finish loading their belongings and the supplies for the road.

Ivar is next to you, leaning against a wall with an arm secured around your waist and allowing you to rest slightly on his chest.

“Take some of my men with you.” He insists, for what must be the thousandth time since you made the agreement to part until the last month of the spring.

“I don’t need protection,” You remind him, leaning back a bit so you can see his face, “If I remember correctly, and I do, last time it was you who needed help from me.”

“I didn’t need help.”

“Of course not, love.”

Ivar takes a deep breath at your mocking tone, choosing instead to insist, “Just take those men with you.”

“No.” You tell him, one last pat of your hand on his chest before you turn to walk away.

Before you can pull away his free hand grasps yours, and you easily give in to the slight pull, turning back to met him and stepping closer again.

Ivar tilts his head down so he can look you in the eye, something dark and tempting shining through his expression as his mouth curves into a crooked smile.

“I thought wives are supposed to obey their husbands?”

Your heart does a foolish thing in your chest, beating out of rhythm as if trying to leave your chest and burrow into his. Still, you stare him down with your head tilted to the side, and all the answer you offer is a dry reminder,

“‘Countless sons and daughters’, Ivar. If we are holding each other accountable for those promises, we ought to start there.”

He wants to argue, you know he does. And you aren’t entirely convinced some of the warriors that join your forces because they want to aid Ubbe are there at all for him, but you have no evidence, so you shut your mouth and just make sure to keep an eye on them.

As you expected, they act as your bodyguards, no matter how much you try pushing them away.

And so time passes, and in your time on the road towards Soham you are able to heal well enough, slowly getting back to training with Hlíf and Vígdís. And by the time you reach Soham, where Ubbe awaits support to hold on to the city, you are able to fight once again.

And how you dearly missed it.

Time becomes a blur after that. Soham proves to be more difficult to hold than expected, and so your forces remain a while longer before moving to Dunwich where you manage to take over relatively easy, since the Saxon forces retreated from the coastal city.

The years made you capable, and the Gods made you arrogant.

Which is why, as the warriors from Dunwich start retreating, following their Lord’s commands, you, standing still close enough to the edges of the frontlines that Saxons scurry around you, take a knee and pretend to catch your breath.

The footsteps behind you are predictable, and you tighten your hold on the shield. When the warrior gets close enough and tries striking, you lift your shield, catching his arm on the edge of it as you stand up.

You twist your arm holding on to the shield, feeling the strain in his own and hearing his surprised scream of pain.

It snaps out of place under the strain, and satisfied, you let go of him with a push. He stumbles forward and tries grabbing onto a dropped sword with his uninjured arm, and you let him.

Readying your stance, you notice two others refuse to retreat as well now that their countryman is fighting, but make no notice of them as you stride forward, driving your sword through him, ignoring his pitiful attempt at deflecting it.

You approach the other two, shield tightly grasped, and push back against the strike of the first one against your shield, deflecting the sword of the second one with your own.

Making use of your smaller size, you quickly spin in your place and slash the neck of one of them, lifting your shield just in time to stop the attack of the second one.

But he lets out a grunt, falls down before you can kill him. The Saxon falls on his face, an axe protruding from his back.

You lift your eyes to meet those of an unfamiliar warrior, who stands proudly and offers you a nod.

“You’re welcome.”

Walking past him and not bothering to hide your distaste, you insist, “I didn’t need any help, and certainly not from you.”

He proves to be more insistent than you would have thought, and for too many nights you have to bear him sitting close by to you, trying to impress you with one tale or another. The man is unbearably persistent on either bedding you or courting you, and as the days go by after the fight for Dunwich, he proves to not be the only one.

Until, eventually, you can’t take it anymore.

____

“I’m going to need an explanation for that.” Hlíf asks, a broad smile on her lips and eyes shining with mirth.

You grit your teeth and start walking away, but of course she follows.

The winds of East Anglia are biting, and the ground under your feet is still softer and so different than that of your home, but in the time that has passed since you and your warriors joined the Great Army you have learned to be as familiar with this foreign land of England as you once were with your own.

Granted, the incessant waves at the coast and the ever-present sea salt in the air that characterize Dunwich are not something you are planning on getting used to any time soon. You really just want to get back to York.

“I shouldn’t have saved her ass at Soham.” You mutter to yourself, even if you know you don’t mean it.

“I heard that!”

“You proved you have ears, congratulations.”

She skips the few steps she was lagging behind, walking at your side and matching your stride with a wide grin that you choose to ignore.

“Thank you, but I’m married,” She quotes, the mirth coming through in her voice, and she laughs to herself, “Gods above, Dane, what kind of answer is that?”

“He was insistent, and I couldn’t exactly fist fight one of Ubbe’s trusted men,” You explain, your voice a grumble when you add, “Tis not my fault if the prick heard I was a princess and suddenly decided he needed to have me.”

“You sure it was your title? After seeing you fight when we took this city, I’m not surprised so many want you.”

“Hey, I appreciate the compliment, don’t get me wrong,” You quip, sparing a glance to her, “But if you’re trying to court me, I’m afraid it will go as well as it did for Olvir.”

On her lips grows once again the mischievous and devilish smile, and the shieldmaiden tilts her head to the side as she says, “Oh, I know that, because you’re married.”

“I’m not.”

“Then why lie?”

“It wasn’t a lie.”

“If you think you’re making sense, prepare for disappointment.”

You shrug your shoulders, “It’s…complicated.”

“Well, the whole camp will soon hear about you telling Olvir you’re married, so we might as well get the story right: are you taken, Dane?”

Blunt, and to the point, not that you expected anything different from Hlíf.

You consider your words before answer, slowly, “Yes.”

She chuckles, shoulder knocking against yours playfully, “Ah, so who is the fool that has your heart but isn’t staking a claim?”

“He has, you just haven’t noticed.”

She stops walking, and so you too stop, turning to look at her wide eyes and offering a shrug of your shoulders again.

“You mean…” You nod, and past the surprise she finds it in her to laugh, shaking her head in amazement, “Oh, you really are a mad woman, aren’t you?”

“Well, we are technically married. I can’t turn my back on a bond before the Gods, right?”

She shakes her head with a chuckle, “So that is why you have been so insufferable, you miss York. I just thought you really hated East Anglia.”

“I really hate East Anglia.”

“Of course, Dane.”

____

You return to York as dawn breaks, and you don’t have time to get off your horse before Hvitserk is standing there, arms crossed over his chest and leaning with one shoulder on the entrance to the stables.

He offers his older brother a nod of his head as greeting, but Ubbe passes him by and Hvitserk keeps his eyes on you.

He blurts out, “You are married?”

“Hello to you too. I am glad to see you alive and well, dear Hvitserk.”

“You are married.”

You look at him, at his smug little smile and his warm eyes shining with mirth, and take a deep breath.

“You should know, you were there at the wedding.”

His sniggering laughter follows you as you walk away, but you forget your irritation quite quickly as you find Ivar in the rustle of movement, determined and uneven steps carrying him towards you.

Your smile is wide and lovesick and foolish, but you do not care for hiding it. His is quieter, more secret, but it doesn’t fail to make your heart skip a beat in your chest.

Ivar’s free hand grasps at the back of your neck once you are close enough, bringing your mouth to his with urgency, quickly letting the kiss become passionate as he slips his tongue into your mouth. Your hands find purchase on his hips, and more than ever you hate the armor that doesn’t let you feel him his warmth, his strength- under your fingers.

“I missed you.” You whisper quietly when you part, your brow pressed against his.

He blinks his eyes open, more than a little dazed, and the look in his eyes -the need, the adoration, the everything- makes a pang of heat go through you, threaten to set you alight with only a look.

“And I you.” He finally tells you, quiet voice rough.

You barely have time to be alone with Ivar before obligations pull you apart, a feast to welcome back the forces Ubbe and the Princess of Ribe, a reunion to exchange tales of victory and be together with those that were missed in the months apart.

Granted, that means that they don’t let you be together with the one you missed the most in those months apart, but you don’t have it in you to complain. Except you do, but that is not the point.

The night dies down and you roll your eyes at a few pointed toasts in congratulations for your marriage, but remain sitting at your place beside Ivar, pretending not to notice his hand on your knee or his arm around the back of your chair.

You grab his hand when it starts trailing up your leg and making you feel the effects of his touch like lightning crawling over your skin, and you could swear the smug bastard chuckles at the way you have to stop him.

“Eh, sister!” Hvitserk calls out, and with gritted teeth you turn to look at him, sitting by Sigurd’s side with an arm over his brother’s shoulders, “I am glad you are back, truly.”

“Thank you, Hvitserk.” You tell him, immediately feeling like you are about to regret accepting he doesn’t mean to tease you any longer.

“If only because I cannot stand my brother’s moping any longer. Who would have thought a son of Ragnar would be so loyal to his wife?”

You dismiss him with a gesture, but you cannot help but chuckle alongside the others.

Ivar turns his head towards you, nose almost nuzzling at your hair as he moves closer to speak by your ear,

“Why did you tell people you’re married?”

You don’t lift your gaze from your joined hands, following the trace of your fingers as they trace over the back of Ivar’s hand, “So that they would leave me alone.”

“No one is leaving you alone now that they think you are my wife.”

You spare him a look, glancing up, “The men that insist on either bedding me or courting me will, and that is enough for me.”

Ivar, of course, clings only to part of the words you speak, and his voice lowers, expression hardened with what you would swear is jealousy -pointless, unfounded, stupid jealousy- as he asks,

“Who are these men?”

Your eyes narrow, you honestly cannot believe this man.

“Are you serious right now?”

“I just want to know who they are.”

“I-…” Running your free hand through over your face, you bite back a groan, “Everyone thinks we are married now, shouldn’t you be worrying about that?”

He shrugs, “You were the one that told them you are married.”

“You are the one that I told them I’m married to!” You tell him, exasperated. He says nothing, and in the two blinks that he offers you somehow find it in you to be even more offended, “You truly are not worried?”

“Why should I be?”

Slowly, you remind him, “We are not actually married, Ivar.”

He shrugs, “We could be.”

“But we aren’t.”

“But we could be.” He insists easily.

Deep breaths, you tell yourself, taking a moment to bite back irritation, you love him, even when he is being intentionally insufferable.

“Is this your way of asking me to marry you?”

“You seem to have done that for me already,” He replies instead, raised eyebrows and another shrug of his shoulders that only makes you angrier. “You seem to have done more than that.”

You sigh, and shake your head at his mocking, only to make him chuckle at your reaction. Gods, he is infuriating.

Ivar’s smile loses the mocking edge as he leans even close, pressing a soft kiss by the side of your mouth in an attempt to make you stop pretending to be angry.

“What’s the harm in that, hm?” He asks, eyes falling from yours to your lips when you finally turn your head to face him, “They know you’re mine now.”

You almost want to argue there’s no way they wouldn’t know judging by the way the two of you have been joined at the hip since you returned from Dunwick, but you won’t deny a part of you grows darkly proud at knowing everyone knows he is yours and yours alone.

“And you are mine.” You remind him lowly, the beginning of a smile on your lips. His eyes linger on the curve of your mouth, lids growing a little heavier at your words and tone, and you have never felt more powerful.

Ivar nods his head,

“I am, wife.”

____

As you come down from both of your highs you find out Ivar is as unwilling to relinquish the closeness as you are, and in between soft touches and breathed presses of lips on heated skin, you find a kind of peace you never realized how much you missed.

“I was thinking,” He starts, and you cannot stop yourself from teasing him, so you let out a soft, uh-oh, and he scoffs, biting down on the side of your neck in retaliation, “We will be settled in the Isles by next winter.”

Ivar pulls back to look at you, holding himself up on one of his arms. At the strange expression in his pale eyes, you reach up with one hand and caress the side of his face under the guise of moving his hair back.

“We will.”

“Let’s go back to Kattegat,” He tells you, a tad rushed, “For this winter. Let’s spend one last winter in Kattegat.”

“Are you homesick, love?” You drawl, a side smile that he rolls his eyes at.

“What do you say?”

You search his gaze, because something tells you there’s more to the question, more to the action of spending your winter in Kattegat.

You won’t lie and pretend you haven’t missed the town, you won’t lie and pretend the memories you made there aren’t still with you, kept safe by some nostalgic and soft part of your heart.

Fate has a funny way of working, you’ve learned, and time brought you back to the side of the boys you made so many of those memories alongside of. Time brought back to you the cadence of Sigurd’s voice as he hums in par with his oud, time brought back to you Ubbe’s easy companionship as you train together, time brought back to you the secret smiles you share with Hvitserk over a joke only the two of you know of. Time brought back to you the one you’ve loved since before you even knew what love was, brought back to you the heart that your own finds itself familiar with.

But there is a part of you that misses Kattegat and always will, the sinuous streets of your childhood, the foreign scents and sounds of the bubbling market.

Instead of giving your answer outright -you always did like making things harder than they have to be-, you muse aloud,

“Having married you when we were children should keep me safe from your mother’s wrath, shouldn’t it?”

“Wrath?”

You let your fingers trace over the scar over his lip, the one you are very much responsible for. In these last few months, you’ve grown quite fascinated with it, with how it stretches when he smiles one of those big and crooked smiles, and especially with how Ivar trembles when you run your tongue over it before kissing him.

But that is not the point.

The point is you are very much responsible for at least one of the new scars Aslaug’s youngest son bears, and she will know, and she will look at you in that way you remember from your younger years. It is enough to make a grown woman shiver.

Ivar chuckles as he understands your hesitation, “You don’t need to fear her.”

“Easy for you to say.” You scoff.

“And if I tell you she still remembers fondly that childish wedding? Will you agree to come then, hm?”

“No,” At his frustrated sigh you tighten your fingers on his hair in silent reprimand, “Now I know you’re just saying that to appease me.”

“I would never.” Ivar mocks, earning another tug of his hair that he breathes a laugh at. You don’t fail to notice the way the laugh stutters a bit past his lips, you are very much aware of your effect of your hands on him.

Said effect is very much evidenced in the way he doesn’t resist the temptation to lean down and steal your breath with the slowest of kisses, his nose nudging against yours softly before he speaks again, voice low,

“What if it wasn’t just that wedding?”

“W-What?”

His eyes open to look into yours, an edge of anxiety, of hesitation, that he -of course- pushes past anyways, clearing his throat and asking, “What if there were something more…permanent than that wedding from our childhood?”

“Are you asking me to marry you?”

“A second and last time.” He vows, a quirk of his mouth that speaks of jest but does nothing to hide the apprehension that shines in his eyes.

There was never anyone else, not for you and not for him.

Your answer leaves your lips in a breath that Ivar doesn’t hesitate to taste against your lips, with a gentleness that speaks of adoration and desperation, stealing your breath much in the same way he stole your heart.

____

Aslaug almost wants to laugh at the irony that it was the youngest of her boys that was the first one the be married, not once, but two times. And, surprising only those that don’t know him well enough, to the same woman both times.

Older but still holding that arrogant pride at the announcement -the same pride she saw in him when you walked Kattegat’s streets with your hand in Ivar’s- Ivar sat down in front of her and told her he had found a woman he wanted to marry.

And her heart felt a surge of a warmth she had long since missed with all her sons fighting their wars and their father’s across the sea; not willing or capable to hold back the wide smile that blossomed in her face.

Her hands cupped her son’s face, and the small, almost shy smile he offered her reminded her so much of the boy he once was. She promised her blessing and vowed how proud she was, and in silence, as she looked into her youngest son’s eyes, she thanked the Gods for being allowed to live to see this, to see him happy.

She knows there are so many twists of Fate that have let this happen. She knows -like she knows the streets of her kingdom- of the paths their son’s life could have taken, almost took. She knows of yours, and what could have been.

Even if she hadn’t heard of your close encounter with death in England, she would have the moment she was forced to see in her dreams what had happened across the sea, she would have the moment she saw the way it still haunted Ivar today.

For almost two weeks she dreamt of her son’s voice, the same repeated pleas to the Gods -to whatever would listen- said so many times his voice grew ragged and broke. Still, he did the one thing he could, and pleaded with the Gods for more time, for anything other than this.

He needn’t know she went to the Volür and they all made a sacrifice praying with the Gods to give a Dane shieldmaiden strength and health. He needn’t know, and he won’t.

Because it is past now, and you have healed and learned, and he has healed too. And there is no use in resurfacing pain in an occasion such as this.

Kattegat is lively even as winter approaches fast and cruel, the flurry of motion increased even more now that a Prince is to get married.

Your smile is the same mad little smile she remembers from your younger years in Kattegat, and Helga’s hands are more worn and her smile is a tad dimmer, but her fingers are still nimble and gentle as they braid the wedding crown of winter flowers.

Aslaug feels the pull of emotion when Ivar cups your face between trembling hands and kisses his wife for the first time, she feels the tears prickling at her eyes at the lovesick smiles on your faces as you remain in that moment after a kiss for a few breaths, eyes locked together and futures intertwined.

Ubbe stands tall as he watches his younger brother get married, and Aslaug’s heart grows warm at the easy smile that curves her son’s lips. She still cannot help herself, and finds herself hoping before winter is over and her sons are to depart from her side again, that she can see him with a woman by his side as well. For too long Ubbe carried a burden he shouldn’t have, shouldering the brunt of the world for the sake of his brothers, a boy trying to stand as tall as the man that left an absence in his place after Paris. Even if she once argued she cares not if they find love as long as they find a good woman to breed and form a family with, she holds the secret hope that she can see Ubbe happily settled with someone that he can love.

She hopes the same for Hvitserk, who watches the ceremony with a smile that makes his eyes crinkle at the corners, but she knows better than to expect him to settle anytime soon. Before the celebratory feast is halfway over, he has teasingly held a young girl to his side and exclaimed, mother, I am getting married as well, three times, with three different women. She doesn’t hold much hope he will settle soon, and has to bite her tongue and tell herself she is happy for him even if he insists on sleeping his way through Kattegat.

Reluctantly, she admits it is Sigurd who might follow in Ivar’s footsteps and marry next. He and that Christian girl have been promised to one another for years now, and the excuse of war and distance has kept them safe from their obligations to marry. But Aslaug knows it is a matter of time. For all her demure and shy nature, Blaeja’s eyes shine with something like amazement as she takes in the wedding ceremony even if a faint blush covers her face at yours and Ivar’s displays of affection. And she won’t pretend she doesn’t notice the way Sigurd lingers close to the princess, irradiating that gentleness of him that Aslaug is still regretful for having made so fragile in her carelessness.

Winter lets her have all her sons with her, though she knows it is probably the last time. Ivar has plans to settle in the Isles, the title of king and the promise of advantageous positions for his war against Alfred enough of a lure to keep her son across the sea; Ubbe has intentions to settle and take families with him to England even if he has to wade through blood to do so, Sigurd won’t stay too long away from his princess anymore, and Hvitserk will nevr bear to stay apart from his brothers.

But she has this winter, and it is enough. She will sit with her sons and have dinner while they talk and argue and laugh, and she will hear Ivar and Sigurd go for each other’s throats as if they haven’t spent these years fighting side by side, and she will watch you and Ivar get drunk on nothing but each other, and she will thank the Gods for all of it.

____ ____ ____

Thank you for reading, I apologize if this isn’t very good, I tried my best. Love ya!

Taglist: @youbloodymadgenius @xbellaxcarolinax @1950schick @ietss @peachyboneless @encounterthepast @maggiescarborough @chibisgotovalhalla @fae-sedai @zuxiezendler @crazybunnyladysworld @stupiddarkkside @northumbria @aprilivar

#ivar the boneless x reader #ivar x reader #ivar the boneless imagine #ivar the boneless #ivar

254 notes · View notes

ddaenggtan · 3 years

Text

say you want passion (i think you found it) | M

you’re a tease. he’s tired of it.

pairing | shownu x fem!reader

wc | 6.5k

genre/warning | Covid doesnt exist sorry, big dick shownu, sweetheart shownu, dom shownu, sub reader, shownu is called hyunwoo in this, he also likes to be called daddy dont judge, sloppy blowjobs, but still, blowjobs, Shownu eats pussy like a CHAMP, Strength Kink, praise, degradation, degrading praise, this is HIGHLY specialized, you've been warned, deepthroating, DEEP deepthroating at that, nsfw pictures, aka shownu likes to remember it when he does a good job so he takes a picture bc it lasts longer uwu, talking with your mouth full (ill let u guess), doggystyle, teasing, brief nipple play, hickeys, begging, dumbification, rough sex, multiple orgasms, unprotected sex, coming inside, gspot shenanigans, this is genuinely so unrealistic please do not think sex is like this ever in real life, i mean literally ever if you ever fuck someone and it's like this then they aren't real they're a fae or a god or some shit okay, aftercare, shownu uses 3-in-1 because He Does, Barely Edited by the grace of @personawife‘s beta that she fit in when she could ilu,

a/n | first n last shownu smut specifically bc its leilas birthday (@honiboyyoon). u better enjoy this. (side note for anyone who isn’t into shownu smut, but is curious: there’s a namjoon version on ao3 that i’ll link here), but this took entirely too much effort and i did my damndest to fit as many things that ur into in this one fic as i possibly could. i hope this makes up for u probably never getting the vampire maknae line foursome i kept promising you sdfkldjsfasdf

The front door opens as you step out of the car, and you grin as your boyfriend appears in the frame. He grins at you and your best friend and you search his expression for a sign of anything other than his usual sweetness, but find none. You resist the urge to pout - you won’t give him the satisfaction.

“Good luck!” Your best friend teases. You roll your eyes at her - she knows precisely what you envisioned upon arriving back to the quaint little house you call home with Hyunwoo. It’s the reason you wore this outfit, and tried on the clothes you did whilst shopping, and sent him selfies in the poses you did.

You’re on a mission, dammit. It’s been weeks - literal weeks, not even an exaggeration - since you were properly fucked, and you’re fairly tired of prancing around the house in your shortest shorts and deepest v-necks so that when you bend over just right to water your fern, he gets the perfect eyeful. It’s exhausting to try to send all these signals all day every day - but you know how flustered he gets when you ask him directly, so you tried a different tactic. You were being nice!

And it hasn’t worked. At all. He’s offered to help you water your plants, to let you borrow his flannel pajamas in case you’re cold, and even to buy you a sweater, at one point.

In August.

So suffice to say, you’re getting a little tired of him being oblivious. So you’d called up your best friend and invited her to go shopping with you, and yes, it was also very fun to hang out with her and get boba, but she’s also the master of hyping you up and making you feel sexy and desirable, so it was truly a win-win.

Plus, she color-coordinated her own houndstooth pantsuit with your pink houndstooth skirt/blazer combo, so really, you should send her a fruit basket or something. Maybe cookies.

The point remains that your boyfriend hasn’t responded to any of your borderline pornographic selfies or the very pointed videos of you holding various sex toys and asking if it would fit. You’re at your wit’s end, and you were really hoping that it would truly get through to him this time that you want nothing more than to be railed against the mattress so hard that you cry.

You’re a simple girl, after all.

But no! He’s got that sweet smile on his face as you carry your shopping bags in one hand and your purse in the other, carefully sidestepping the cosmos he’d just planted the other day so you wouldn’t step all over his hard work. His smile widens when you reach the door, and he presses a sweet, gentle kiss against your forehead that has you on the verge of tears.

He waves again to your best friend as she drives off, and as usual snags your shopping bags out of your hand so he can place them beside the door. You’ve already pulled your blazer off to hang in the entryway closet by the time he’s shut the door, and you gasp as you’re jerked back. His hands are on either side of your head, braced against the front door like it’s the only thing keeping him up, and you struggle to focus on anything that isn’t the way his muscles flex.

“Do you have any idea what today was like for me?” He growls. The sound of it brings heat between your thighs, and you resist the urge to cheer.

“Sorry, should I not have sent you any selfies today?” You ask, keeping your voice as light and innocent as you can. He makes eye contact with you; there’s a fire in his eyes you haven’t seen in what feels like forever. “Did you not like them?”

“You know damn well what I thought of them,” he mutters, one hand coming down to rest on your hip. “I’ve tried so hard lately, y’know? The tiny shorts with your ass hanging out, the shirts that show everything when you bend over. God, the bending.”

“Really?” You breathe. It’s always exhilarating to know that you’re desired, but this is nearly heady. He fixes his gaze on you, eyes burning, and your smile softens slightly.

“I was trying,” he says, clearly holding himself back, “To be a good boyfriend. To make sure that you know that I want more from you than just sex, and that I value you as more than just someone attractive. I was trying so hard to prove that you– that we have more between us than that. That I respect you more than that.”

“So don’t respect me.” You say it like it’s obvious, because it is. You’ve been laying down signals galore the past few weeks, and clearly he did not get the memo.

“I’m always going to respect you,” he says instead, sighing slightly as he leans in to press his forehead against yours. “I don’t want to disrespect you, you’re worth more than that. But fuck, all I wanna do is fuck you stupid right now.”

“Please,” you whisper, biting your lip. It’s all you’ve wanted for weeks and now you might finally - finally - get it. “Disrespect me, daddy.”

The hand on your hip tightens, no doubt bruising the skin, and you gasp at the feeling. Hyunwoo makes eye contact - just long enough to make sure that you’re on board for whatever it is he’s about to do.

He could probably suggest a number of things that you’ve never considered and you’d say yes, at this point - you’re not ashamed to admit that you’re desperate.

The hand on your hips lowers - he traces all the way down your thigh and to the back of your knee before travelling back up, this time under your skirt. He kisses you as he does it - long, heated kisses that make your head spin so perfectly that you don’t know what he’s doing until he glides a finger across your clothed core.

You gasp into the kiss, but it doesn’t deter him. He pulls down, kissing and biting down your jaw to your neck as his fingers trace over you once more. You can feel him smile against your skin.

“You’re already soaked,” he tuts. “You’ve ruined this pair, princess. How naughty of you. Would you like daddy to take them off?”

“Yes!” You moan as his fingers ghost over your folds once more.

“Yes what?” He asks, and you could cry with how much you want him.

“Yes, daddy,” you tell him, and he smiles once more. It’s blinding, how bright he is when he smiles like that, and for a second you’re breathless. Then you feel them - his hands, burning a trail along your thigh to tug at the band of your underwear. It only takes him a few seconds to pull them down as he bends, and he kisses your thigh as he brings one of your legs up so he can slide them off completely.

He was right - they are ruined, the evidence of your arousal immediately apparent by the large wet spot in the center. He doesn’t bother to slide them off your other leg, though - just lets them hang from your ankle, no doubt as a reminder of how strongly he affects you.

He presses kisses to every bit of skin he can as he stands fully upright once more, suckling a mark into your collarbone that you’ll absolutely cherish when you have to cover it up before work tomorrow.

His hands don’t leave your thighs - warm and strong and utterly distracting, you can’t take your mind off them as he kisses you again, heady and intoxicating. You feel it as one hand travels back underneath your skirt again, gliding between your thighs.

A moan sticks in your throat as his fingers slide in between your folds - the feeling of them teasing against your hole before they move to rub light circles into your clit is nearly too much to handle.

“Hyunwoo, please–”

“Patience,” he interrupts. You can hear the smile in his voice as he slides over your hole once more, spreading your arousal across your lips before teasing your clit again. “Good girls have patience, right, princess?”

You whimper, hips arching off the door to try to guide his finger inside of you. It’s a futile attempt - he just returns to the slow, infuriating circles on your clit, and you would cry if it didn’t feel as good as it does.

It could be hours or it could be seconds that he continues this pattern - slow, maddening circles on your clit, then the slightest bit of a tease at your hole, just enough to make you think that maybe he’ll fuck you with his fingers, before he returns to the circles. It’s enough to make a stronger woman cry, and you can’t help the whines that you let out when he once again deprives you of the fuck you so desperately want.

“Please just fuck me,” you finally break, hands moving from where they’re wrapped around his neck to circle his waist and do your best to pull him in closer. You can feel him against your thigh, warm and thick and big, and you want him.

He hisses when you grind against him, and the one hand that remains on your hip tightens ever so slightly. “You’re being very bad, princess,” he chastises, but you couldn’t care less. Your mind is focused on the memory of what he felt like inside you, and you’re ready to burst with need.

“I don’t care,” you tell him firmly, hands sliding up under his shirt to run your nails against his muscled torso. “I don’t care, I need you, please, I just want–”

“I know,” he cuts you off. His hands disappear from you entirely, but only for a moment - before you know it, two large hands wrap around your wrists, guiding yours out of his shirt. You can't stop whimpering, caught between the memory of the last time he was between your thighs and the reality of his lips against your skin.

Hyunwoo drops - he hits the wooden floor with a muffled thud, and before you can even react, his hands are underneath your skirt. He pushes it upwards, muttering something almost reverent about thighs as he does, and then he’s pressing soft kisses to the inside of your thighs. His hands don’t stop, though - they keep going, shoving your skirt up until it pools around your waist.

“H-Hyunwoo—”

“Ssh,” he whispers, giving your thigh a light bite. A heartbeat later and you can feel his warm breath against your folds. “You wanted to feel good, right?”

“Yes, please,” you breathe, hands instinctively tangling in his soft brown hair.

“Then be a good slut for me, and stay still while I make you feel good."

You stifle a whimper - he knows what his words do to you, and you jolt as his tongue gently nudges against your folds. There's no stopping the soft sigh that falls from your lips as he delves deeper, ghosting across your swollen clit to nudge against your hole. He's tentative, teasing with his movements - he likes to make you wait, tease you until you're grinding against his mouth.

You doubt this will be an exception.

A moan is thrust out of you as you feel your hole stretch slightly. Not much, not far - just enough to accommodate him as he fucks your hole with his tongue. It's just the right side of unsatisfying - you're aching, absolutely dripping for him, and this is just enough to whet your appetite and make you hungry for more.

You can feel his smile against you, and you already know what's coming - still, it's disappointing when he pulls his tongue out. You whine, unashamed of how you must sound or how loud you may be, and he chuckles.

"Patience, baby girl," he breathes. Warm air flows over you, and your hands move to tangle in his hair. His tongue shifts again, lapping at your clit for long enough that you think you may cum before he stops to draw mind-numbing circles around it instead.

Time bends around the two of you - it always does when he's between your thighs like this, when he's teasing and deliberate with every swipe of his tongue against you, every press of him against your hole. He edges you for so long; slow circles around your clit turn to quick thrusts inside of you that shift into laps against your hole that drag upward, just barely catching your clit before they stop.

You're sure there would be a puddle on the floor were it not for his dedication. The entire house is filled with the sounds of his mouth against you, only drowned out by the sound of your cries as he begins to suck on your clit.

Your knees quake on either side of his head, and he doesn't hesitate to bring his hands up behind your thighs. Without a second thought, he lifts - not even pausing in his mission, tongue still thrusting into you at an almost absurd rate - and then your thighs are resting atop his shoulders. You gasp, both in shock and in pleasure as he lets his teeth graze ever so lightly against that bundle of nerves.

This isn't the first time he's done this - put you on his shoulders and left you there while he eats you out within an inch of your life - but it's the first time in a long time, and it has you seeing stars as one of your hands stays tangled in his hair and the other is braced against the wall beside you.

"Hyunwoo, please–" You beg, but you can't catch your breath long enough between moans to say anything more. He sucks again, the flat of his tongue gliding over your clit as it's pulled into his mouth once more, and your vision goes white. Your knees quake, and you're sure that if you had been standing, you wouldn't be anymore.

"That's my girl," Hyunwoo praises after he's done cleaning up your cum. When you can see again, you realize he's set you down on the floor and is slowly massaging your thighs.

"Hyun, I....please....can you–"

"You want me to fuck you stupid, baby?" He asks. His tone is a little patronizing, but that's okay, because it only serves to turn you on more. "Does my sweet little whore need my cock in her?"

"Yes, please," you whimper, hips tilting upwards against nothing of their own accord.

Hyunwoo stands and hooks his thumbs into the waistband of his grey sweats. A few moments later he's pulled them down just enough to free himself. Your mouth drops open slightly when you finally lay eyes on him - you know he's big. You know that he is big, you've had his entire length inside of you several times now and you've felt it for days after each time, but it still never fails to shock you.

Because he is big. Thick, so thick you can hardly wrap your entire fist around him, and long, with the perfect curve that hits that spot inside of you that makes your toes curl. His dick is nearly as perfect as he is, and that is a very high bar.

It's also so hard that you can see it throbbing, jumping every so often as his muscles tense.

"You want me to make you come with my cock, right, baby?" He asks, once again using that patronizing tone that makes heat creep across your cheeks.

You nod.

"Then you're going to have to ask nicely, aren't you?" He prods.

"Please, daddy," you say without hesitation, "Please fuck me, I want you to make me cum so hard that I cry, I want to be a good slut for you."

"Very good, baby," he praises. "Now I want you to prove that you mean it. Can you be a good little whore and suck my cock?"

You lean forward, not even bothering to use your hands because your bones still feel like jelly. You run your tongue across the tip of him, giving small kitten licks to the slit just how he likes. A groan rumbles through him, and he lets out a soft gasp as you slip your tongue down to wet the shaft as well.

"Fuck, princess," he moans, "I think you've gotten even better at this."

Encouraged, you let your mouth hang open– just barely wide enough to get your lips around the shaft– and let your tongue rest on your spit-slick lips. You glance up long enough to see that Hyunwoo's eyes are blown wide with his desire before you mouth sloppily down his dick. It's messy and would probably be disgusting if it were anyone but the two of you and Hyunwoo didn't have that look in his eyes that promises you'll remember tonight for several weeks.

His hands move, one adjusting his grip on the doorframe as you suck the head of his cock between your lips while the other comes down to grip one of the two buns you put your hair in that morning. He tugs - not hard, not yet, but firmly enough that it stings slightly and makes you keen.

"If you're going to make a mess, don't you think you should clean it up?" He asks. You lift a brow and he grins. "Clearly you're not that tired if you still have an attitude."

"No," you whine, "I am tired, my bones are basically nonexistent right now thanks to you."

The hand in your hair loosens slightly, and Hyunwoo tuts. "I have to do all the work, huh? Then get on your knees for me, baby girl, so I can use you like a good toy."

You rush to comply, and only wince a bit at the feeling of the cold floor against your knees. His hand stays where it is the entire time you're moving, but he waits until you're sitting still, legs folded under you and giving you that extra bit of height you'll need.

"Let me know if it's too much," Hyunwoo commands, and you nod. His eyes darken, slightly, and he runs his thumb along your jaw. "What's the signal?"

"Two taps on your thigh," You tell him, not for the first time. He's always so careful beforehand, and while you appreciate just how much he cares about you, you also are sick of just staring at his cock, and your mouth is beginning to water.

Hyunwoo coos slightly, and the hand in your hair shifts to guide rather than just anchor. "You're always so good for me," he mutters as he slides the tip past your lips. "Always such a good little slut."

You don't stop the whimper that escapes your throat – he loves them, and you know it. Your mouth is lax, nothing more than a hole for him to fill as he sees fit, and there's the slightest twinge of complaint as your jaw begins to stretch.

You ignore it, determined to get as much of him as possible this time. You've practiced for this, nearly every day, since the last time and you're not stopping until you beat your record.

Hyunwoo sighs as he hits the back of your throat. "God, you're perfect," he mutters as he begins to slide back out. You let your jaw relax a bit as he does, and when just the tip rests on your tongue, you give it a small kiss, just because you can.

Hyunwoo smiles, gaze softening for a split second. "Hands in position, baby girl," he reminds you, and you do as he says – one hand on back of each of his thighs, so you can tap out if you need to.

Also so you can feel those incredible muscles flex as he starts shallow thrusts, rippling and tensing under your fingers. If your mouth weren't otherwise occupied, you'd bite them.

Hyunwoo continues carefully, testing just how much of himself can fit before you start to gag on his length….and just how long you can choke before you really start to need air.

He pulls back before you even need to tap out, always careful to keep an eye on you for any warning signs. He slides back in and waits until he hits the back of your throat again, pushing slightly further, and just as he's about to begin pulling back out, you look up at him with wide eyes.

You know you look like a mess; drool gathering on your lips because your mouth is too full to hold it, tears streaming down your cheeks from your attempts to stop gagging. Hyunwoo loves it when you look ruined like this, adores taking your perfectly crafted image and crumbling it to pieces in his hands.

So it's no surprise when he lets out a low moan, or when he lets himself slip a little further down your throat. This is as far as he's ever gotten and you want him to know how good you are, how hard you've been practicing with the toys underneath your bed. He slides out, precum dripping onto your tongue as he does, and you bat your lashes at him.

"Use me," you tell him. "Use me like the toy that I am for you, Daddy." Something darkens in his eyes and he doesn't hesitate to thrust back in.

Your eyes water with the force of it and you don't stop the moan that escapes you as he slides deeper down your throat than he's ever been before. There's still a couple inches left before he'd be fully sheathed, but Hyunwoo doesn't even seem to notice as he pulls out just to thrust back in.

Neither of you are quiet — you can barely hear the wet squelch of your mouth. It's drowned out by the moans he draws from you, which in turn pull moans from him between the words he growls out.

"God, you're so perfect," he mutters as he fucks your throat with abandon. "The perfect angel slut, so good at getting throatfucked, just made for my cock no matter where it goes, huh? You're such a good whore, you're probably fucking soaked just from my dick in your mouth, aren't you?"

You whimper around him and he speeds up, relentless; he's not wrong either — you are soaked, can feel it between your thighs as your hips rock fruitlessly against empty air.

"Oh, look at you," Hyunwoo coos, "So desperate to be fucked while sucking me off. Maybe one day I'll get one of your buddies over here to fuck your throat while you ride my cock, since you're so desperate to get used like a good slut. But I don't even think that'll be enough, will it? Because they won't be me." He thrusts a little deeper, a little rougher, and you aren't sure if the noises you're making are as loud as they seem to you but either way, they only serve to egg him on.

"No," Hyunwoo continues, "They won't be Daddy, will they? They won't be able to get this deep in your throat, won't be able to fuck you like this. And you know why? Because this is my hole." He punctuates the sentence with a sharp thrust and you squeeze the backs of his thighs to show your agreement. "You're my perfect slut. My good little whore. Isn't that right, baby girl?"

You squeeze the backs of his thighs again, but it isn't enough. He stills, still buried nearly to the hilt inside you, and cocks a brow.

"Well? Aren't you my perfect whore?" Your face flames, heat burning in your cheeks. Your jaw aches from being stretched for so long, there spit and precum dripping down your chin and you can feel him throbbing in your throat.

And Hyunwoo looks expectant. He wants to hear you agree with him, wants you to remind yourself of this fact.

You don't even blink when he pulls his phone out of the pocket of his sweats. You can't see what he does, but based on how he angles it and the shallow thrusts he gives without looking away from the screen, you can guess.

"Aw, is my baby girl getting shy now?" He teases as you make eye contact with the lens and feel your face heat up. "Don't even worry about it, baby. I just wanna remember how fucking perfect you look right now forever. My perfect cocksucking slut."

You whimper, pussy clenching around nothing and you're overcome with a sudden need to feel him inside you.

"Are you gonna be a good slut now?" Hyunwoo continues, still recording. "Are you daddy's good slut?" You nod and can't stop the reflexive swallow as he goes even deeper. Hyunwoo groans at the feeling and you can see his grip on his phone tighten for a moment.

"Say it," he commands when his eyes open once more. "I want to hear you say it."

" 'm 'a'y's 'er'ec' 'ore," you moan. It doesn't even sound like words, at this point, but when you look back up at him with wide eyes. Hyunwoo looks proud.

"You absolutely are," he whispers. He hits a button and then pockets his phone again. He slides carefully out of your mouth and casually strokes his cock with one hand as he wipes spit from your face with the other. "I think you've been a perfect angel, baby girl, so you've earned your reward. Where would you like it?"

"Bed, please, Daddy." Your voice is hoarse and scratchy, but you don't care, and Hyunwoo doesn't seem to either as he pulls his sweats up and then bends. The world spins for a moment and then steadies, and you realize he's got you in his arms. Hyunwoo carries you like a princess towards the room you share, and tosses you on the bed without hesitation.

Your eyes widen as he starts to strip out of his clothes, and you can't deny that you enjoy the show. The torso of muscles all rippling, the golden skin all shining, the desire in his eyes. Then the sweats — they hit the ground with a thud and you idly hope his phone is alright before you remember there are more important things right now.

He is, unsurprisingly, still hard — almost painfully so, a deep swollen pink at the head and jumping every so often. The vein running up the underside is throbbing, and you can actually feel yourself get wetter with anticipation.

One knee rests on the mattress, then the other, and Hyunwoo is crawling towards you on his hands and knees, and you can see every muscle as it shifts and fuck you love this man.

"I love you," you tell him, not for the first time. He breaks for a second, a bright smile taking over his face.

"I love you," he replies, pressing a kiss to your thigh. "Can we take those clothes off now, baby, because as great as you look, you're even better naked."

Breath catches in your throat and you nod. Hyunwoo is almost reverent as his hands glide up your thighs and is exceedingly gentle as he slides down the zipper and then the skirt itself. He smiles again, almost shy, and you can't help but marvel at the fact that this is the same man who bad you gagging on his dick not five minutes ago.

He leans in and gently nudges your nose with his, but when you lean forward to kiss him, he backs away with a playful grin. His warm hand rests on your waist and he leans in again only to dart back when you try to kiss him — not far, though. He's still close enough that you can feel the heat of his breath mix with yours, but it's still infuriating.

You pout at him, and his smile just grows. "What is it?" He asks, teasing. "What do you want?" His lips ghost over yours as he speaks and it nearly breaks you.

"You," You whine. "I want you."

"You have me." He leans forward then, capturing your lips with an intensity you haven't seen in a long time. His mouth moves against yours and it's firm, commanding, and absolutely intoxicating as he pulls back just to lightly bite your lips. It's not rough, not really, but it's fiery and exciting and everything you've wanted.

He presses closer, nimble fingers undoing the buttons of your blouse in what seems like an instant. Warm hands cross your spine and then your bra is gone, too. His skin seems to meld to yours, hands moving everywhere as he lays you back.

Your breath hitches when you feel him against your entrance and he smiles into the bruise he's sucking into your throat.

"You're so fucking wet, baby," he breathes as his tip teases against your entrance. "You're always so wet for me, so ready to be fucked. Just a perfect fucking whore, huh?" He slides in then, but only a bit. Just like before, it's just barely enough for you to feel him stretching you out. Just a tease of what's to come.

"Hyunwoo," you whine. You can see the amusement in his eyes as he chuckles.

"What is it? You want more?" He slides in further, but just a centimeter. You whine again, pushing your hips up against his to try to push him deeper. You can feel yourself throbbing, aching, for him, and you're tired of being teased. You want to be full.

You tell him as much, watching his pupils dilate with every word until there's hardly any iris left to be seen.

"Is that so?" He mutters, almost to himself. "Well, your wish is my command." He slides in, slowly, but this time he doesn't stop. He just keeps going and going and going, until you can feel him at your cervix. It stings – you're stretched so far, and he's so deep inside – but you relish it.

"Beautiful," Hyunwoo mutters as he begins to slide back out, inch by agonizing inch. You whimper as the tip nearly slides out, too, and your hips lift of their own accord. Hyunwoo takes the hint and pushes back in; he creates a rhythm, one so slow, so maddening, that you're on the verge of tears as you whine and whimper underneath him.

He notices your frustration, pulls himself away from lazily mouthing at your nipples, and hums.

"What's wrong, baby? You aren't satisfied yet?" He gives you that Boy-Next-Door grin that you know hides a demon behind it. "Are you going to ask nicely again? Tell me no one fills you up like I do and beg me to fuck you the way you want? You look so pretty when you beg."

Any other time, you wouldn't. You would at least hesitate, make him work a little harder for your pleas. But you're desperate and frustrated and have no shame, so you don't hesitate.

"Please, Daddy," you beg, letting your legs fall open and arching your back so his eyes drop lower and lower. "Please, Daddy, no one can fill this pussy like you do, no one can fuck my holes like you. Pl–please," you moan as he slides entirely inside once more, "Please fuck me right, make me come on your cock, I wan– wanna be fucked stupid, want you to– to fuck me stupid, please, wanna be Daddy's perfect slut, pl– Ah!"

You can't help your surprised gasp as Hyunwoo flips you onto your stomach with a low growl.

Warmth drapes along your back as you rise up, palms splayed across the sheets and elbows locked to keep you upright; his skin is sweat-slick and heated against your own, and a shiver runs down your spine when he pauses to runs his teeth along the lobe of your ear.

"You are the best part of my life," he announces.

Butterflies explode in your belly a split second before he slides out of you.

"And I'm gonna make you cum so hard that you'll never forget that fact."

"Hyunwo— Oh!"

He thrusts into you with enough force to toss you into the headboard, had he not planted one hand firmly on your hip and had the other curled around your breast to tease your nipple.

"You like that?" Hyunwoo asks with a smile in his voice. He repeats the movement and you clench around him as you gasp out a moan. It's all you can do to nod and he flicks your nipple in response. "Good."

He lifts up, both hands now holding you steady by an iron grip on your hips, and readjusts his legs so yours are spread slightly wider. Your arms are trembling but you pay them no mind.

Until Hyunwoo thrusts forward, pulling back just as quickly only to bury himself again, a heartbeat later. His pace is absolutely merciless; the sound of skin hitting skin fills the room, mixing beautifully with the wet slide as he shoves back in and the rough, throat moans that he pulls from you. Your vision swims, and you can't concentrate on anything else as he gives you the fucking that's been haunting your dreams every night.

He adjusts his grip, one hand moving to sit firmly on the small of your back and press you down just a bit. The angle shifts – not much, but enough that the next time he pounds into you, he thrusts right up against that spot that makes your toes curl.

You cry out, vision going white as he hits it again, and again, and again, absolutely ruthless in his mission. Your muscles go weak, biceps twitching as they give out, and then you're face down in the mattress. Hyunwoo doesn't hesitate, just ghosts his palm down to rest between your shoulders and keep you in place.

He might be talking – you certainly think you hear the low tones of his voice as he speaks to you, but you can't make out words. It's too much work, too many syllables, too much effort to try to work past the haze that blankets your mind. You can still feel him, pumping in and out of your gushing pussy — the stretch barely stings anymore, and he throbs inside of you. Each thrust is still perfectly angled to hit that mind-numbing place that keeps you from doing anything more than screeching his name.

He slows, immediately switching from speed to power as he manages to put even more force behind his hips. The hand in your back moves, as does the one on your hip and then you're rising.

A warm palm across your throat – not choking, just keeping you in place while the other traces along your spread thigh.

There are words – something your brain is too fried to make out, and then a rumble that vibrates through you. A laugh. His thrusts get a little faster as he fucks up into you, and you're dimly aware of his fingers slipping between your folds.

Someone screams — no, not someone. You. You scream, something so loud and provocative that it can't even be called a moan anymore, as he begins to rub circles around your clit. Orgasms rock through you, every part of your body going boneless even as you shake from the force of it. It's impossible to tell when it stops, if it stops – the aftershocks are strong and he still hasn't stopped fucking you, though he's slower and gentler now, letting you ride it out on his cock.

"……perfect for me, " you hear him whisper as you're senses come back. "Absolutely perfect, an amazing fucking— just divine, you are."

"Hyun," you manage, and it's no shock that you sound absolutely wrecked. "D– Daddy."

"I'm here, baby girl," he mutters, "What do you need?"

"You," You respond instantly. "Want you, wanna fee– feel it, want you to fill me, please, in– ah, inside, want you dripping ou–" You're cut off once more as your body heaves with yet another aftershock, clenching around his hard length again.

"Whatever you want, baby," he promises. "Can you come once more for me, baby girl? Just one more time so we can come together?"

"Mm…." You pause, taking the best inventory you can as your muscles jolt again. You consider lying to him, or just omitting this, because you know he'll never stop reminding you of it, but decide against it. Instead, you quietly admit, "I don't think I ever stopped."

"Oh, fuck," he breathes. Within moments, you can feel his thrusts turn more erratic, more frenzied, and then you're impossibly fuller even as something warm drips down the inside of your thigh.

He's gentle as he lays you down on the bedspread, exceedingly so as he pulls his softening cock out of you. His weight disappears from the bed for a few minutes that seem to stretch into hours, and then the mattress dips, and his soft smile appears once more.

"Here sweetheart, drink this." He hands you a familiar cup and when you take a sip, the water is cool and refreshing. Wet warmth, surprising but pleasant, glides along your inner thigh and you look down to see him cleaning you up.

"Mm, this is quite possibly the perfect view," you tease, wagging your brows as you make a show of checking out his muscular arms. It makes him laugh, the soft one that's just for when you're being ridiculous.

"Drunk your water, you menace," he commands as he continues to wipe. "You're gonna need to replenish your fluids, after all that." He looks pointedly towards the bed and you follow his gaze, face heating when your eyes land on the rather sizable wet spot staining the sheets.

"Whoops?" You offer. When you look back at him, he only looks fond.

"Don't even start, it was hot. Besides, they needed to be put in the wash anyway. I'll start them after you get into the bath." He gives over you, taking kisses along every piece of skin he can until he reaches your lips. You can't help the way your breath catches – even after all this time, he manages to make you breathless over the smallest things.

He peppers kisses along your cheeks, and nose, and everywhere else until you're giggling and trying to turn away from him. Unfortunately, with his arms on either side of you, you're fairly well trapped, so you settle for fucking your head into his neck instead.

You pause. Sniff again. Back up. He looks sheepish, like he already knows what you're going to say.

"We were out of the fancy stuff—" He tries, but you don't let him.

"You used that 3-in-1 shit again?" You demand. "Actual body wash isn't even fancy, it's what normal people use! That's it, you're coming into the bath with me after you start the laundry so that I can make sure you didn't use it in your hair, too."

He smiles again, though you have a sneaking suspicion that he's just humoring you when he nods and says, "Whatever you want."

#shownu smut #shownu x reader #reader insert #dddaenggtan

146 notes · View notes

ickle-ronniekins · 4 years

Text

silent confessions

request from nonnie! “Hey erica! I have a request for you, it's a bit challenging i think but I'm sure you'll do perfectly. Imagine like, the fake dating trope with fred, BUT at the end it's a george x reader? Like, imagine george feeling uncomfortable and jealous seeing the reader and fred acting like a couple even though he knows its not real and stuff anyway im obsessed with your writing love you bye”

pairing: fred x reader, george x reader

word count: 3.8k

A/N: wait, i loved this request. so different from the normal fake dating tropes! i hope this lived up to expectations.. idk why i just feel like my writing sort of sucks in this?? wah, idk, sad, feedback pls? also we’ve got some POV changes in this but they’re pointed out ayyyee, thanks for enduring the fluffiest fluff ever bc that’s all i have to give you hooligans

tag list: @mintlibri @georgeweasleyx @seppys-return-to-madness @fopdoodledane @fredd-weasley @iprobablyshipit91 @darling-details @laneygthememequeen @lupinsx @keoghans @helloallthethingsilove @bobduncanlover @dreamer821 @feffffffy @the-hufflepuff-of-221b @62442-am @wtfweasleyy @obsessedwithrandomthings @thoseofgreatambition @sleep-i-ness @shadowsinger11 @shadychaoticcollection @haphazardhufflepuff @afriendlyneighborhoodhufflepuff @hood-and-horan

You

You could practically hear the smirk that grew on his face — he wasn’t exactly being subtle. He took his place next to you in the Great Hall, ignored the fact that you were removing spellbooks and quills from your bag to begin your work, and didn’t bother to heed Snape’s warning glance.

“Hey, Y/N?”

Fred’s voice was a little too sweet for your liking; sweet as sugar, in fact. You knew this voice. It’s the voice he always put on whenever he needed a favor — whenever he wanted something from you. You didn’t look up from the table.

“Whatever it is, I think I’m going to pass.”

He scoffed and closed your spellbook. You grunted in annoyance; you were positive he wasn’t going down without a fight, but you supposed you still needed to try, even though you knew in your heart that this was a fight you wouldn’t win. You turned toward him and he batted his eyelashes at you.

“Dear, dear Y/N — you won’t pass when I tell you what’s in it for you.”

“What type of chaotic mischief that you have planned could possibly be beneficial to me?”

He digested this; you were right, and he knew it. He just shrugged, though, took in your rejection and tried to use it to his advantage.

He nodded across to the other end of the Gryffindor table; there sat Angelina Johnson — fellow Gryffindor, member of the DA, Quidditch captain and, to your most recent knowledge, Fred Weasley’s crush. Again. Boy was crazy about her.

“Thought we already tried this, Freddie?” you sighed, stealing your spellbook back from his very tight grasp and opening it to your desired page. He huffed a bit, and you were quite sure he was remembering the disaster that was the Yule Ball, just a year ago.

You noticed a small grin lift his cheeks; he looked rather smug now, which made you worried. What was it, exactly, that he had planned? “I know last year didn’t go exactly as I’d hoped.” Right. Fred had gotten a little too sloppy on his date with Angelina. She’d been a bit turned off. The night ended and she never pursued anything else; he was so embarrassed, neither did he. Fred Weasley? Embarrassed? The word wasn’t even in his day to day vernacular. But boy, was he shook.

“But it was a long time ago — besides, she’s been sending me all types of signals.”

“I don’t think her eye rolls mean she fancies you, Fred.”

He jabbed you playfully in the ribs. “Don’t be rude, Y/N. I know she fancies me. I just know it. You don’t go on just one date with Fred Weasley.”

You scoffed at his air of egotistical confidence; you shut your eyes at the prospect of him maybe going to someone else for help. Much to your dismay, it didn’t happen. He just stayed where he was, resting his chin on his hand, peering at you longingly as if his staring alone would convince you to say yes to whatever he had up his sleeve. After a few minutes, you said, “If I agree to help you, you prat, will you leave me alone?”

“Can’t say leaving you alone would exactly work with what I’ve got planned,” he replied, relaxing now, tapping his foot underneath the table and not taking his eyes off of Angelina. “I need you to pretend to date me.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Relax, Y/N, I’m not going to pin you against the wall and snog you, if that’s what you’re so worried about,” he laughed, running a hand through his hair. You felt as though your throat was closing up at the mere thought of it. “Just some hand holding, things of the like. Need to make her jealous. Need to make her realize what she’s missing.”

You groaned in frustration. “Can I take back what I said?”

“Nope,” he answered brightly. “You can’t. Thanks for coming along for the ride. Don’t get in too deep, though. No falling in love with me, alright?”

You felt a pang in your chest; you weren’t in love with him and you never would be. He was your best friend and nothing would change that. You knew it and so did he. You felt worried, though. What would others think? What if Angelina did get jealous — but in a bad way? Or worse — what would George say?

His was the only opinion that mattered to you, truthfully.

So that’s how you came to be Fred Weasley’s “girlfriend”, and when you both finally told George what Fred had strategically planned, you were relieved and also a bit upset at how nonchalant he seemed; a small grin tugged at the edges of his lips which sent you into a tizzy. You tried your very hardest to hide your disappointment; you didn’t want to let on how absolutely mad you were for him. So, you supposed, when you thought about this ridiculous stunt one night in your four poster, fake dating Fred would certainly squash any and all suspicions George had (if he did) about you fancying him.

“How’s my favorite couple?” he’d asked teasingly one day in the middle of the common room, sinking into the couch on the other side of you. Angelina then popped in through the portrait hole, and Fred placed his hand on your knee, stroking it absentmindedly. You felt a dull ache in your heart when you saw George’s eyes dart toward Fred’s hand.

Angelina had done the exact same thing; you were able to see a very faint shade of pink flush her cheeks before she stormed upstairs to her dormitory without a word to any of you. Fred immediately dropped his hand and you felt your muscles relax, but not without a quick squeeze to your knee and a cheeky grin. “Brilliant, Y/N,” he said, earning himself a dull grunt from you. Not that you’d done much, or anything, for that matter. But still, your heart felt sore at the thought: you wanted, more than anything, for George to reach over and gently graze your knee, pull you into him, kiss your temple as Fred had been doing the last few weeks.

The dull ache in your heart just seemed to grow stronger.

George

“Help me!”

You frowned. “I’m already in the middle of the other favor your lovely brother asked me to do,” you told him with a slight twinge of annoyance to your voice; however, it wasn’t difficult for him to detect a bit of cheekiness, too — especially when he saw the slight grin that spread itself across your lips.

“I just need some help with this stupid Potions essay.”

George noticed you soften at his request; he supposed it wasn’t as time-consuming as pretending to be someone’s girlfriend, and was rather elated when you agreed. You pulled out your desired books from the shelves in front of you and pointed at an empty table in one of the rows. “Let’s get started then, Georgie.”

But the truth was, he didn’t really need help. He was actually doing surprisingly well in Potions, for the first time since he began at Hogwarts. He didn’t want to let it get to his head, though. He figured there wasn’t anything wrong with getting some extra assistance.

It wasn’t assistance that he yearned for, though — it was you. More importantly, time spent with you. Any time — which he found himself getting hardly any now that you were “dating” his brother. He was first impressed at the idea that you’d decided to help Fred with his ridiculous request, and spent most of the time hanging around you teasing you and taunting you mercilessly for it, earning himself adorable laughs and flustered looks in return. But now, as he watched Fred press featherlight kisses to your temple and snake his arm around your waist at every given moment, all he felt was resentment. Jealousy. Hurt.

He felt himself feeling guilty; he shouldn’t be allowed to feel any of those things, because Fred didn’t know. Nobody knew. Nobody knew how he felt about you. Also, this whole stupid thing was just a ploy, anyway. So he suppressed those feelings everyday until he ended up alone in his dorm room, where he’d kick his trunk and scream into a muffled pillow while he let his brain unwind and digest the day's events.

“Ah — work here is finished,” he said after a few hours in the library. Much needed hours, in fact. He watched as you slowly placed your spellbooks back into your bag. “Thanks for your help.”

And in between those bouts of jealousy and resentment came moments of clarity, moments of affection, overwhelming feelings of admiration toward you. “For you?” you started, a gentle smile on your lips as you placed a hand to his knee, “Anything.”

You

You woke up before the sun and groaned; it was Saturday. Four Saturdays, in fact, since Fred had asked you to embark on this silly endeavor with him. Three Saturdays since you’d begun wondering when this would finally be over. Two Saturdays since Fred had told you sooner rather than later. One Saturday since George had noticeably become off balance.

You felt a pull at your heart when you popped through the portrait hole with Fred and Ginny later that evening after a much needed trip into Hogsmeade; you chewed nervously on the sugar quill you’d purchased as you placed yourself next to the roaring fire, Fred taking a seat next to you on the couch when Ginny made her way to the girls dormitory.

You didn’t know where George was; he hadn’t come to Hogsmeade. Or maybe he did, and he’d just very successfully avoided you both as you ended up, hand-in-hand, wherever Angelina was. With the exception of a few measly youngins on the other end of the common room, you and Fred were alone.

“Freddie?”

“Hm?”

“I really need to talk with you.”

He looked up from his copy of the Daily Prophet he had clutched in his hands. He furrowed his brow and placed the paper on the table in front of him, criss-crossing his legs and peering at you longingly. Then he turned cheeky and wiggled his eyebrows at you. “Must be important,”

You cleared your throat and felt your heart thundering against your ribcage.

You opened your mouth to speak and closed it just the same. You didn’t really know how to ask what you wanted to — to tell him what you wanted to. So instead, you opted for, “How much longer d’you think this is going to last?”

“I dunno — a few days, or so. Why?” He raised his eyebrows. “Sick of me already?”

“Ha-ha,” you replied sarcastically, jabbing him in the chest. “I just — I’m a bit worried —” you broke off and let your mind wander for a moment. You thought about truthfully telling Fred how you felt. Guilty. Upset. Lonely. In love with someone who didn’t seem to notice. Worried he’d find someone else. “I just hope Angelina isn’t getting the wrong idea.”

Fred digested this. “How d’you mean?”

“Well, you want her to run to you in a fit of jealous fury, right?” he nodded curtly, taking this in. “I just hope she doesn’t see us together and instead, turns the other cheek. Looks the other way. Finds somebody else. You know?” But it wasn’t Angelina you were worried about.

Fred thought about this for a moment. You watched as his cheeky expression turned rather stoic, and then a bit grim. “I never thought of it that way.”

Suddenly, you felt extremely worried. You started, “No, no, you know what? I’m being silly — she wouldn’t, because she’s absolutely mad for you, too. Just forget I said anything, okay? I reckon she’ll be round to snatch you right out of my hands this week.” You laughed, but it felt foreign in your mouth. Fred noticed.

“Y/N,” his voice suddenly sounded a lot less like his own — more concerned. “What’s going on?”

Just then, George popped through the portrait hole with Ron, Harry, and Neville. You met his gaze and let it linger for a few long moments. He then smiled brightly, as if he hadn’t been acting strange this entire past week. With a quick wave to you both, ignoring Fred’s motion to come and sit down, he made his way straight up to the boys dormitory. Fred shot you a glance, and you answered his previous question.

“Nothing, Fred,” you sighed, silencing him before he could ask you if you knew what was up with his twin. You hated how painfully true your next words were. “There’s absolutely nothing going on.”

George

George was outside in the courtyard with Ron, Harry, and Ginny. He’d been doing his best to avoid you and Fred at all costs, which was pretty hard when you were his best friend and Fred was his twin. But he tried.

He found himself growing incredibly uncomfortable around you both; the sheer sight of Fred slinging an arm around your waist, intertwining his fingers with yours, calling you his “love” — it sent George spiraling. He didn’t want Fred doing those things. In fact, he didn’t want anyone doing those things. Only him. He wanted you to be his love.

“Georgie?”

You took him by surprise in the courtyard; the others were immersed in a conversation about bets, or something. He, though, was peering up at you, doing his very best to not look as bloody nervous as he felt.

“Can we talk?”

You didn’t give him a chance to answer; you pulled him to his feet and immediately brought him back into the castle. You found an empty classroom and sat yourself down on a desk across from him. He had to resist the urge to spill his guts, tell you everything, grab your face in his hands and confess his unwavering love for you.

So instead, he opted for a generic, “What’s up?”

“I’m not sure..” you started timidly. He could see the shyness in your eyes and he didn’t like it one bit. You? Shy around him? You’d never been. He hated that this is where it had gotten too. “Are you mad at me?”

He was very much taken aback at your forward question; way to cushion the blow. He swallowed a few times, trying very desperately to dislodge the lump that appeared in his throat and hoped to Merlin that he could fool you. “Mad? Of course not. Why would I be?”

You crossed your arms, now looking a bit angered. George felt his insides constrict. “We haven’t spoken in days.”

“I’ve just — been busy,” George lied. His jaw tightened. “Assignments, and things. Detention. You know,” he winked, trying to lighten the mood, “the usual.”

You smiled back, though it was a broken sort of smile. Lonely. It took everything in him not to lean over and kiss it right off of your mouth. “Are you sure? You’d tell me if anything was wrong, right?” He swore he heard more than yearning in your voice; he scolded himself silently for being dishonest. Was your voice breaking? “You’re my best friend.”

Inside his pockets, he clenched his fists. He was going to go for it. Who cared about Angelina? Fred could get her without this ridiculous bloody stunt of his. And George needed to tell you before you fell for his twin, for real, and the both of you ended up heartbroken. He stepped forward, but before he could do or say anything, you slung your arms around his shoulders and squeezed him tight. He felt revitalized at your embrace, like he was reentering his body after having been off balance for months. His fingertips found your hips and he focused solely on the smell of your shampoo, the feeling of your body pressed tightly against him. When you both parted, he took your hands in his. He wet his lips and took a steady deep breath. “Honestly?”

“Darling!”

Fred’s voice, much to George’s dismay, came from the classroom door. Damnit. How had he found you both? The door was closed! Frustration, anger, and gloom raced through George’s body; he was about two bloody seconds away from decking his brother for interrupting. But he couldn’t. Of course he couldn’t. Fred didn’t know. George sighed through gritted teeth, let your hands fall out of his, and backed away slowly.

“”C’mon, love, we’ve got dinner,” Fred called, sounding much happier than George would’ve liked. To him, Fred said, “you coming, mate?”

“Be there in a minute, Freddie.”

Fred grinned brightly and left you both standing in the middle of the classroom, the tension still hanging in the air. You turned back from the door, a solemn sort of look on your face, and asked him, “What were you going to say?”

“Oh,” George’s voice got caught in his throat, “just — been a little stressed. Knackered from class more often than not. Reckon I’ve just got a lot on my mind.”

You frowned. He knew that you were aware not to press on; that was all the information he was going to give. You took a deep breath. “As long as we’re okay?”

“Of course we are.”

“Okay,” you said. You grabbed his hand and squeezed it. “I’m famished. Let’s go eat.”

You

“Did I do something wrong?”

Fred was standing across from you in the common room, arms crossed, shoulders back, and a smirk growing on his face. He laughed at your nervousness. He’d just told you that things were over between you both. You’d asked, of course, just to be courteous. But you were actually pretty bloody excited. “Of course not, Y/N. You’ve done quite the opposite, actually.”

“Meaning?”

Fred walked over to you and placed his hands on both of your shoulders. He wet his lips before a huge, cheeky grin swept itself across his face. He squeezed you. “Angelina cornered me this morning.”

You raised your eyebrows. You were suddenly feeling much more invigorated. You grabbed his face out of pure excitement and shook him. “And? Keep bloody on, would you?!”

He threw his head back and laughed haughtily now. “Haven’t seen you this excited since before we began this,”

“Sorry,” you calmed down and frowned a bit. “Reckon I haven’t been the greatest “girlfriend”...”

A soft smile found its way across Fred’s cheeks. You furrowed your brows in confusion, hoping that he was going to tell you that he and Angelina were finally, wonderfully, officially together, which meant that you and Fred didn’t need to be. But he caught you completely off guard and said, “Don’t blame yourself too much. I reckon it’d be difficult to pretend to date me, especially when you’re in love with someone else.”

You were certain that your heart had jumped directly into your throat; your entire body went rigid at his words. He knew? Who else knew? Did George? Did everyone? “I don’t.. know what you’re on about, Freddie.”

“Merlin, you are being thick today,” he teased, pulling at your hair and shaking his head. “C’mon. You think I didn’t notice? Each time I’d drop your hand, or unwind my arm from your waist, I saw you steal glances at him.” Fred leaned in to get closer to you and you noticed a light shade of pink wash over his cheeks. Had you been silently confessing your love for George this entire time? “He was stealing them right back, you know.”

You swallowed thickly. Did Fred know more than he was letting on? Where was George? “He was?”

“He’s in the Great Hall.” It was evident to you that Angelina was watching from the other end of the common room, and she was smiling brightly. No doubt, Fred had told her everything. You turned back toward Fred and grinned nervously. He took your hands in his and squeezed them. He simply said, “Go get him already, would you?”

And as quickly as your feet could carry you, you ran swiftly down the staircases, through the corridors, into the Great Hall and all the way to the front, where George was sitting, pouring over a bit of parchment, looking positively ghastly. Adrenaline was coursing through your veins like fire; your cheeks felt hot and flushed and each and every muscle in your body ached from running so bloody fast. “Ah,” he said brightly at the sight of you. “Come here to help me, have you? This assignment is a right load —”

You cut him off, ignored this completely and pulled him to his feet; he peered down at you with a confused expression and opened his mouth to speak, but you cupped his face in your hands, pulled him forward, and kissed him. The muffled moan that escaped his lips gave you your answer — he was certainly shocked. However, it didn’t take him long to melt into it; he was kissing you as though he’d never kissed anyone in his life, like the pure feeling of your lips moulding together with his was the very oxygen pumping through his lungs at that very moment. His hands were tangled in your robes, but he eventually found himself stroking your spine delicately with his fingers, earning himself slight whines from you as he laughed cheekily against your lips. From behind you somewhere, someone said, “Hey Y/N, you do know that’s the wrong twin you’re snogging, right?”

“Oi, shove off, Finnegan!” you called, parting from George only for a moment. “I know which twin it is!”

You turned back toward George and the two of you let out a bit of relieved laughter, limbs still entangled together. “I’ve got a confession to make,” he began, biting down on his bottom lip to keep himself from pouncing on you, “I’ve been wanting to do that for a while.”

“Yeah?” you asked, wiggling your eyebrows at him.

“Pretty difficult to do anything about it when you’ve been dating my brother the last month or so,”

“You’re right,” you told him, pulling a bit on his tie, “but I’m pretty sure he broke down and told Angelina everything.”

George raised his eyebrows at you in surprise. You continued, “Pretty sure he got sick of me being a mopey “girlfriend” because all I wanted to do was be with you instead.”

His sweet smile turned rather sensual. “Is that so?”

“Yeah, that’s so,” you told him straightforwardly, running your hands through his very messy red hair.

Somewhere in the distance, over the sea of people watching you both, Seamus Finnegan shouted, “Wait, has it always been George?”

George actually snorted a bit at this; then he bit down on his lip again, wiggled his eyebrows at you, and asked, “Well — has it?”

You didn’t break your gaze, though; instead, you let your eyes linger on George’s for much longer than you normally would. You were pretty sure that you could hear the steady thumping of his heart against his ribcage, and his eyes washing over you like a cool tide completely sent you into overdrive. Suddenly, you were feeling much more confident than normal. Perhaps it was the way he was looking at you. “Yeah,” you said to George, pressing your lips to his once more, “it’s always been you.”

reblogs, comments, feedback, and all of the above are always appreciated!

#george weasley #fred weasley #fred and george weasley #weasley twins #weasley twins imagine #george weasley x reader #fred weasley x reader #george weasley imagine #fred weasley imagine #george weasley fanfiction #george weasley fanfic #fred weasley fanfiction #fred weasley fanfic #hp imagine #hp fanfic #hp fanfiction #my writing

725 notes · View notes

h2bakugou · 4 years

Note

Hi can I get a todoroki x reader where her quirk is pretty much venom (from marvel). Like venom talks to her and sometimes its hard to concentrate on what she's doing and when it comes to fighting and training everyone is amazed at what she can do. She feels self conscious about it tho bc she thinks she's scary (esp mid transformation) but todoroki sympathizes and makes her feel better then some love confession??

a/n: hiya!! of course! there’s another request similar to this one which i’ll get to soon, but i love venom! the new movie was so good, and tom hardy- he’s hot lmfao. thank you for the request hun!

summary: your quirk is something different. it’s brutal and dark but it’s powerful. you’re self-conscious about using your quirk because you think it seems scary, but todoroki is by your side helping you out.

listen to venom by eminem!

key: (y/n) - your name / (f/n) - first name / (l/n) - last name / (e/c) - eye color / (h/c) - hair color / venom - your quirk

warnings: swearing, fluff

wordcount: 868

»»————-　★　————-««

Venom. Your quirk and symbiote companion. Your quirk is kind of a weird one, getting into explanations and such. Much like Tokoyami’s Dark Shadow, your quirk is sentient.

It takes over your body and can even talk to you. Its voice is deep and when you transform, you become covered in this black tar-like substance. It’s stupidly powerful and badass.

Ever since your quirk manifested, you’d been self-conscious of it. while you were growing up, it would only take on the shape of your body, but now, it’s transformation is huge, and can even grow up to be seven feet tall.

- - -

It’s just like any other day. Sitting in class, staring out the window, worried about having to do training among your peers. It’s not the first time they’ve seen you use your quirk, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t feel any less scary.

What are you looking at?

It’s Venom. He’s talking again. You try your hardest to ignore him, he makes things hard to focus on sometimes, like during tests when you’re hungry or you’re doing homework and he’s bored.

“Nothing.” You mumble quietly as to not disrupt the class.

Todoroki’s been keeping his eye on you lately. He finds you fascinating, and your quirk is no short of amazing. He enjoys working with you. It’s not only your skill that he’s impressed with. He finds you pretty damn cute.

He’s got a crush.

Training was about to begin and Todoroki could see that you were anxious. He made his way over to you.

“Hey.” He spoke softly and curtly. You were talking to Todoroki, no Todoroki was talking to you.

You’d had a crush on him for a while, probably since his two-toned eyes looked your direction.

“Hey.” You speak back, twiddling your fingers. You were fixing to go up against Bakugou, a training match you were honestly looking forward too despite feeling like he was going to blast you to shreds.

“Bakugou’s pretty good, but he’s human too. I know you can match him pretty well.” The corner of Todoroki’s lips perked upward, like they were trying to form a smile.

Your cheeks were burning, and it felt like they were a blaring red signal showing your fluster.

“Thank you.” You smile, feeling a little bit of confidence build up inside you. Todoroki was right, Bakugou was just another classmate, you could take him down. He was strong, but based on some diagnostic tests, you were almost as strong, if not the tiniest bit stronger. You just had to outsmart the brash porcupine.

When it was your turn to fight, you were nervous. Feeling better slightly, you were still scared to transform. Todoroki was watching you. What if he hated what he saw, when you used all of your quirk?

Letting Venom seep out of your pores, you became encased in the dark slimy-goo that was Venom.

“I already beat one of you mud freaks before!” Bakugou shouted, charging at you.

“Eyes, lungs, pancreas-”

“We can’t eat Bakugou!” You shout at him from inside. Venom groans and swings an arm out, encasing Bakugou’s exploding fist. Blasting bits of Venom off with his explosions, Bakugou keeps firing.

You’re quick to flex and swing him off of you, flinging him back. He gets up rather easily and charges at you again. You’ve got to tire him out before you can even begin hitting him or he’ll just blast Venom out of you. You can’t have that.

Todoroki and the rest of your classmates watch, amazement written on their expressions.

You were winning now. Dodging Bakugou’s blasts and landings some good hits on him. He was angry. He didn’t want to be beaten by you. But it was too late.

When the fight was finished, you loomed over Bakugou, Venom smiling down over him, large white eyes staring at him, drool falling from venom’s mouth.

Venom’s face pulled away like magnet putty retracting against an opposing force of magnetism, and your face showed. You extended an arm out to help him us as Venom sank back into your pores.

“You were the first fight that really felt real. Thank you.” You smile, thanking Bakugou for giving it his all.

“Whatever.” Bakugou groaned, ignoring your hand and hopping up.

Todoroki was quick to rush to your side and congratulate you on your win.

“That was pretty impressive.” He nodded. You smiled and hugged him.

“Thank you. I was really nervous but now I feel fucking amazing. That was so exhilarating.”

Todoroki’s cheeks turned pink as your arms hugged him closer to you. You were so warm. His left side felt so nice compared to how warm you were.

“Would you maybe want to train with me, sometime?” Todoorki asks, hugging you back.

“Really? You’d want to train together?’ You question, pulling away.

“Yeah.” Todoroki scratches the back of his neck nervously. He wanted to train with you. He wanted to get closer to you too. This could be good.

“I’d like that a lot.” You smiled.

“Tomorrow? And we could get lunch after if you’d like.” Todoroki proposed. You nodded and linked your pinky with his.

“It’s a date then.” You winked.

“Y-yeah. A date.”

»»————-　★　————-««

masterlist

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

415 notes · View notes

untilweyeetagain · 4 years

Text

and i’ll be okay admiring from afar (max mayfield x fem! reader)

Pairing: Max Mayfield/Fem! Harrington! Reader

Word Count: 3337

Warnings: One swear at the end, period-typical homophobia

Notes: This is so self-indulgent lmao,, I hope some of yall like it but even if you don't it doesn't matter bc I really just wrote this for me haha. title is from she by dodie

“Hey, Max, pass me the popcorn,” you whispered, aware that other people in the cinema were still trying to watch whatever movie was playing. You didn’t particularly care what the film was - you had let Max choose it because you knew that you’d spend your time staring at something other than the big screen.

The redhead grabbed the popcorn from where it rested on her lap and wordlessly passed it to you, smiling at you when you whispered your thanks before returning her attention to the movie.

You had spent the last hour of the movie stealing surreptitious glances at the girl next to you, hoping that she was absorbed enough in the action that she didn’t notice. She was beautiful, but you already knew that. The dim lighting in the movie theatre seemed to reveal another type of beauty in her though - the way the lights from the screen danced across her features was mesmerising, and the way her eyes lit up in wonder at the screen in front of you caused your heart to skip a beat more than once.

Having lost yourself in your thoughts once more, you didn’t realise that the film had ended until you heard Max shifting next to you, grabbing her bag from where it lay at her feet. You quickly jumped into doing the same, not wanting her to know that your mind was elsewhere.

“So, how’d you like the film?” She asked as you made your way out of the cinema. You scolded yourself in your head - you should have at least paid attention to some part of the movie because she always asked the same question whenever you two went to the cinema together.

“Um, it was great! You know I prefer comedies to action films, but it was still entertaining. What was your favourite part?” You deflected, knowing that asking that question would send her into a (very cute) ramble about all the best parts of the movie.

As predicted, she immediately launched into a speech about her favourite moments and characters in the film, gesturing wildly in her hands to explain her thoughts about a particular scene. You could honestly listen to her for hours, just to hear her sound so enthusiastic about a topic.

You both made your way through the newly-constructed mall and out towards where your brother was going to pick you up, Max still talking about the movie and you still listening intently, hanging on to every word she said.

Sometimes it worried you, how deeply your feelings towards Max ran, but at other times, such as now, you were just content to be in her presence, ignoring the way your heart stuttered whenever she glanced up at your face.

When you reached the doors of the mall, you and Max made your way towards Steve’s car, finding both he and his friend/coworker Robin occupying the front seats. You pulled open the trunk of the car, grabbing Max’s skateboard and passing it to her before throwing your bag in and slamming it shut.

Turning around, you opened your mouth to say goodbye before pale arms wrapped themselves around your torso and a mess of curly red hair was pushed into your face. You blushed heavily as you returned the tight hug, willing the redness in your cheeks to retreat before Max pulled away.

Eventually, Max broke the hug, but before you could see her face, she spun around and skated off, shouting a goodbye into the air as she gained speed. You called out a quick goodbye too, but it was likely she didn’t hear it, as she was already quite far away.

Deciding to not question why she just ran off like that right now, you clambered into the backseat of your brother’s crappy car and he started the engine, and as he pulled out of the parking lot, Robin turned to you and asked how the movie was. You mumbled something about how it was very intense, repeating some of the things Max had said earlier, hoping that Robin would be satisfied with that answer.

After a few minutes with no reply from Robin (or any input from Steve), you sighed and rested your head on the window, wistfully watching the houses as you passed them as your thoughts turned towards Max again. You knew how you felt about her - you’d known for quite a while, and though it was hard, at first, to feel okay with having a crush on your very female best friend, you were now comfortable enough in your sexuality to admit it to yourself, even if not to others.

The only people who knew you liked girls were, coincidentally, the other two occupants of the car, and while they both knew you liked someone, neither of them knew who (but you had a sneaking suspicion that Robin was beginning to work it out, being the observant person she was).

It had been a great relief to be able to come out to someone you knew would be okay with it, and Robin had been the first of the pair to know, for obvious reasons. She was like the older sister you had never had, and she had comforted you when you had cried to her, still trying to figure out your sexuality - she had reassured you that she didn’t hate you and that Steve wouldn’t either. She had been there when you told Steve too, and, true to her word, Steve took it very well, and had even joked about you two being able to talk about girls together now.

“It’s Max, isn’t it?” Robin whispered, pulling you out of your reverie. Her statement shocked your thoughts into disarray, but at the same time, it wasn’t surprising that your latest parting with Max had solved the puzzle for her.

You nodded, unable to find your voice as tears began to gather in your eyes. Your throat felt full, clogged with words you couldn't say, and your eyes started to burn with unshed tears that you refused to let go. You’d known for so long about your feelings for Max, but hearing them spoken aloud was difficult.

Robin reached around behind her to pat your knee in a comforting gesture, and Steve met your eyes in the mirror, a soft look on his face. Just having the pair of them be so nice about it is enough for the tears to start rolling down your face, all the pent-up worry you had about telling anyone that you were crushing on your best friend evaporating as your brother and the girl who is basically your sister are both so understanding and kind about it.

After sharing a glance with Robin, Steve turns his gaze back to the road as he breaks the silencing, stating: “You should tell her - even if she doesn’t feel the same way, it’s pretty damn clear that she cares about you enough to not ostracize you because of it.”

You snort despite yourself at the words he uses - he’s clearly been hanging out with Dustin and Robin way too much if he knows what ‘to ostracize’ means. You can tell that it was intentional, that he knew the response it would garner, and you are thankful to him for easing the tension you felt.

“It’s not that easy though, Steve. I know that she’s my best friend, but what if she decides that she doesn’t want to be my friend anymore when she finds out I like girls, let alone if she found out I liked her. I couldn’t risk our friendship by telling her. She means too much to me.”

Sighing, you turned to face the window again, trying to signal to the other two that the conversation was over. You couldn’t bear the thought of losing Max’s friendship, especially over something you could quite easily keep from her, although hiding it was becoming increasingly harder as the days passed and your feelings became stronger.

Luckily for you, neither Robin nor Steve pushed you any further, and the three of you spent the remainder of the drive to Robin’s house in silence. Once Robin was safely inside, Steve drove back to your home, which you already knew would be empty. Your parents were never home, always out on business trips or vacations, leaving the house to just you and Steve. This had made it ideal for sleepovers with the Party when you were younger, but now that you were in high school, it was more lonely than anything else.

When you got home, you went upstairs and lay on your bed, grabbing your Rubik’s cube from your bedside table and fiddling with it as your mind drifted elsewhere. It was silent except for the clicking of the cube as you played with it until a tapping on your window interrupted the peace.

Feeling slightly confused, you got up and walked towards the window, opening the blinds to see what was making that noise. Below stood Max, a couple of pebbles in hand, just getting ready to throw another one when she noticed that you had seen her. You raced down the stairs to let her into the house, wondering what she was doing here.

“You could’ve just rung the doorbell like everyone else does. My parents are never home and Steve doesn’t care about who comes over.” She stepped around you to come in as you spoke, and once she’d propped her skateboard against the wall, she turned around to face you.

This close, you could see the tiny freckles that covered the bridge of her nose and her cheeks, and you also thought you could see a pinkness beginning to tinge her cheeks, but that must’ve been your imagination. Before you could ask her why she was here, she began to speak.

“I- when I got home earlier, my dad, he asked where I’d been, and I said out with you, and then he said that while I was out, he’d been through my things in my room and found my old diary, and- and- and he saw what I’d written in there, and then he- he said some really, really mean stuff, Y/N, and t-then he… he kicked me out because of what I’d written in there,” she was sobbing as she spoke, choking on her words as she tried to get them out, and you immediately wrapped her in her arms, trying to tell her that it was going to be okay, even though you had no way of guaranteeing that.

She took a moment to try and catch her breath as she continued to cry, and then she began to speak again. “I had nowhere else to go, Y/N, I- I’ve got no money or clothes or anything, I just grabbed my skateboard to get out of there before he physically threw- threw me out. Please, can I stay here for tonight? I just need to let him calm down, and-” You cut her off before she could finish her sentence, pulling back from the tight hug you had wrapped her in so that you could look her in the eye as you spoke.

“Max, you can stay here for as long as you need, okay? Don’t worry, it’ll all be okay. You can borrow some of my clothes, we’re basically the same size, and you can take one of the guest rooms,” you said, trying to reassure her that it was going to be fine.

As you were talking, you heard your brother come down the stairs to see what had happened, evidently having heard the door open and then the sounds of conversation. You briefly explained what had happened as you held Max close to you again, the redhead in question trying to calm her breathing. At your request, Steve disappeared upstairs once more, off to make sure the room Max would stay in was ready.

“Hey, Maxie, let’s go upstairs, shall we? We can go to my room while Steve sorts out yours, and if you’re okay with it, we can talk some about what you wrote that made your dad do what he did, alright?” You coaxed her up and into your bedroom, sitting down on your bed with her. Her arms were still wrapped around you tightly as if you were her lifeline, and she hadn’t said a word since you’d started talking.

You heard her sigh as she loosened her grip on your torso, flopping bonelessly back against your pillows and reaching for your hand, wanting to maintain some sort of physical connection while she tried to explain what had caused this situation.

“First, before I tell you anything, I need you to swear to me, truthfully, that you won’t stop being my friend when I tell you this. I need you to promise me that things will stay the same between us, no matter how you feel about what I’m about to say.”

“I.. I promise, Max, but I don’t understand why this is really necessary - nothing could make me hate you or stop being your friend! You’re my best friend, Max, and nothing will change that.” It worried you slightly, how serious Max had become about this, but then again, you reasoned, she did get kicked out for this.

“Okay. So, uh, I don’t really know how to say this… um, okay. I’ll just spit it out. Here we go. Y/N, I like girls. Not.. not boys.” Never in a million years could you have guessed that she would say that. But she had said it, and it was causing your brain to short-circuit. Max took your silence as you hated her for it though and immediately began rambling, tears forming in her eyes and falling down her cheeks.

“I- I’m sorry, I know it’s not okay or anything but I can’t help it, and-” you cut her off, tightening the grip you had on her hand as she tried to pull away.

“Hey, hey, stop crying, alright? I was just… shocked, which is why I didn’t say anything. But I don’t hate you and I’m not gonna stop being your friend, okay? So please, please don’t worry about that. It would be quite hypocritical of me to not support you liking girls, after all.”

You maintained eye contact with her until your own confession, when you tore your gaze down to your lap, blushing heavily. She picked up on what you had meant quite quickly, and when you glanced up at you, she was grinning widely.

“You- you mean…?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I, um, I like girls too.”

It was a relief and a half to finally get that off your chest to someone whom you didn’t view as a sibling. There was silence between the two of you for a while, both of you trying to process what the other had just revealed.

All you could think about was that Max likes girls, Max likes girls, she actually likes girls! and although you knew better than to get your hopes up, you did secretly wish that because she liked girls, she’d like you, but you knew it didn’t work like that.

Still, a whisper of hope remained in your heart as you spent the rest of the evening trying to distract Max from her worries with more light-hearted conversation. Steve ordered pizza when it was time for dinner, and the three of you watched some dumb game shows while eating it, laughing over the ridiculous answers some of the contestants gave.

By the time you felt tired enough to sleep, Max was already half-way dead to the world, so you supported her weight back up the stairs and then grabbed her some pyjamas to sleep in. After you were both changed, Max dragged you into her room for cuddles, still needing comfort and reassurance from you.

It didn’t take long for Max to fall asleep, but sleep seemed to be evading you - your heart was hammering too hard from your proximity to your crush for you to feel even a semblance of tiredness.

Eventually, you began extricating yourself from Max’s grip (the girl was surprisingly strong, even in her sleep) so you could get back to your own room. When you were free of the sleeping redhead’s hold, you looked back down at her, taking in the peaceful look on her face.

She was beautiful all the time, but now, she was… breathtaking. The thin light of the moon, unobscured by unclosed curtains, danced across her features, making her seem to glow. She was an angel, then, with an aura of serenity and a halo of hair surrounding her head.

Seeing her like that, all of your control flew out of the window and you acted on impulse, leaning down from your perch beside her to lay a small, feather-light kiss upon her forehead. It lasted only a second, but that second was enough for you to feel how soft her skin was under your lips, and you wished you could kiss her all the time just to feel it again.

Your heart was racing as you forced yourself to move away from her, making your way towards the door, but you stopped dead in your tracks when you heard Max’s soft, sleepy voice from across the room.

“Did you just… kiss me?” She asked. Fuck. Clearly, she hadn’t been as asleep as you had thought. You had no idea how to respond, your mind drawing up blank as you tried to think of something, anything to say.

“... Yes,” you whispered hesitantly, still not turning to look at her even as you heard her shuffling around to be able to see you better. You knew what was about to happen - she would tell you that she didn’t like that, and would either stop being your friend, or your friendship would just be really weird from here on out.

“Come here,” she said, holding out her hand to you, and you never could say no to her, could you? You slowly made your way back to her bed, taking the extended hand and going to sit down on the bed before you found yourself being tugged to lay back down next to Max, who nuzzled her head into the crook of your neck as soon as you were close enough.

“Why?” she asked, the word coming out slightly slurred due to her sleepy state. It was the question you had known was coming but had hoped wouldn’t be voiced.

“Because I,” you started, getting choked up on the words you had suppressed for so long. “I like you, Max. As more than a friend.” There. You said it. There was no taking it back now, but you had some reassurance in the fact that she may not remember it come morning.

You had expected Max to say something after that, so you were fairly surprised when she lifted her head and pressed a chaste kiss to your lips. It wasn’t like how first kisses were always described in fiction - there were no fireworks or anything extreme like that, just a warm feeling of affection flowing between the two of you.

“I like you too,” Max murmured, pulling away from your lips and snuggling back into you. She fell asleep quickly, leaving you with your thoughts, the memory of her kiss playing on repeat in your head. Feeling tired yourself, though, you pushed your analysis of today’s events from your head to be dealt with tomorrow and cuddled into Max, finally falling asleep in the warmth and safety of her arms.

Much later in the evening, a tired Steve Harrington is making his way towards his bedroom when he sees the guest room door ajar and, feeling curious, peeks inside to see his sister and her friend tangled together in their sleep. He smiles softly, closing the door behind him as he moves away, thinking about where he’ll get the twenty bucks he now owes Robin.

#max mayfield #stranger things #post-season 3 #robin buckley #steve harrington #max mayfield x reader #max mayfield x fem reader #stranger things oneshot #oneshot

314 notes · View notes

writingtoforgetreality · 4 years

Text

I thought he could help us (Dean Winchester x Reader)

[Supernatural-Masterlist]

Summary: You were sure that you guys will never be able to beat Chuck, or better said, God. After literally trying everything, an idea popped into your head. Of course you would not tell anyone, knowing the guys, especially Dean, would freak out. So you did what you thought was right: sneaking out one night to go & talk to Chuck.

Words: 2,872

Warnings: angst, language, Chuck being Chuck, protective Dean, mentions of cheating, fluffy ending bc I can´t write a heartbreaking story

If you like my work & wanna support me: a coffee would be highly appreciated ❤

You should all be happy right now. Everything you had ever wanted was right in front of you. Dean, the best boyfriend you could have ever imagined. Sam, who was like a big brother to you. Cas, the awkward friend you had never wanted but also somehow craved. Last but not least, Jack, who you would die for in a heartbeat. Being hunters had never been easy. The supernatural beings that lived in the dark corners always haunting you but you learned to fight them. They were scared of your badass team, not the other way round. So why, why the hell did Chuck have to make life so much harder for you? A few years ago, you all got together to fight Amara only to find out now that he had everything planned out for you guys. How fucked up could one being be? And how fucked up was it that this being was the God out of everyone?

“This is useless!” you breathed out.

The entire team was seated in the library, desperate to find something, anything slightly helpful. This was how your days looked like if you did not have a case. Just sitting around the big ass table, reading lore & hoping you would find a clue how to defeat God. Defeat God...was that even possible? Right now, you were not so sure but you could not stop now. Not after everything you had been through. This should be easy, right?

“(Y/N)…“ Sam sighed. “We´ve been through this, haven´t we?“ he tried reasoning.

“Well, apparently this entire thing doesn´t help one bit. I don´t understand how you guys can just sit there & do the same shit over & over again. We´re fucked, okay? The sooner we realize this, the better.“ you started growing frustrated.

“Sweetheart…” Dean started speaking up.

“No, Dean! I´m tired. Clearly, reading books for days is not the answer. We need to start thinking outta the box, y´know?” you were hinting your idea but not daring to speak it out loud. They would kill you, for sure. Or ask if you were insane. How could you not in this situation.

“Out of the box...Means what exactly?” Dean looked at you in confusion, obviously not knowing what you were truly saying.

“Look, (Y/N), we have three hunters, a nephilim who is stronger than everything I´ve ever seen & an angel.” this was Cas´ voice that made you look up to him.

“We can do this together, (Y/N), I´m sure!” the confidence in Jack´s voice made you smile slightly. He sure was a little naive but he just wanted to keep the team positive which was cute, really.

“You know what, guys? I need a little break. You do, too. Let´s just stop for today, clear our heads & start again tomorrow. Now, how does that sound?” you faked a smile, unaware to the others. You had become quite trained in faking emotions. That came with being a hunter, you guessed.

The others nodded at you, closed their books & made their way out of the library.

It was 10 pm when you checked the time. As far as you could tell, the entire bunker was asleep, which was good considering the thing you were about to do. Looking over your shoulder, you saw Dean sleeping soundly. Ever since the two of you had started sleeping in one bed, the nightmares were not as frequent anymore. You silently made your way out of your shared room, only taking your phone with you. A few hours prior, you had already prepared an outfit & placed it in the garage. This way, you would not wake anybody. Still, while walking down the halls, you tried to be as quiet as possible, making sure nobody was up & wandering in the bunker. Arriving at the garage, you let out a breath you did not know you were holding. You started thinking now. Was this really the right decision? Everyone else would have said that you were about to commit suicide. On the other hand, you did not really have a choice. If you did not do this, you would die anyway. There was nothing left to lose. Stripping out of your oversized t-shirt you once stole from Dean, you imagined to conversation you were about to have. Then you stopped for a second. What if he decided not to show up at all? He was not able to track you guys, thanks to Cas who burned some sort of marks into your ribs. Throwing on your outfit, you knew you had to give it a try. Just telling him your coordinates, in a prayer, of course. He had to show up. Before the overthinking got the best of you, you tucked your phone in one of your pockets & made your way outside in the chilly air. Due to the adrenaline you felt, you could barely feel the coldness hitting your skin.

After a while of walking, a park bench came into your view. Right at a crossroad. You had never been there but that was what you wanted to achieve. Being as far away from your family as possible. There was not a single car which somehow comforted & scared you at the same time. Seating yourself onto one side of the bench, you fiddled with your hands in your lap. A few deep breaths steadied you & after a couple of minutes, you were sure that you were ready. It was now or never.

“Um...hi, God...Chuck, I mean. Here´s (Y/N), you know, the one who´s with the Winchesters & stuff. I know you can hear me & you´re probably asking yourself why the hell I decided to pray to you. Funny enough, I´m sorta lost. We are, actually. I know you could kill me if I give you my location now but honestly, I don´t really care right now. Look, I just wanna talk, okay? I´m alone here, it´s just me & I hope you are open to talk to me here, Collar Road 16. I´ll be here until the sun starts to rise. If you don´t show up, okay, that´s fine but I would really appreciate it if you decide to come. I´ll be here.” your voice was low, scared that someone would hear you even though you were completely alone. Checking your phone, you had no new notifications. Perfect, you managed to sneak out. It was Chuck´s turn now. The sunrise was hours away so you hoped he would come & talk to you (& not kill you, that would be nice).

Seconds turned into minutes & minutes into hours. You started losing hope. How dumb were you to think God wanted to talk to you when you were literally trying to find a way to kill him?

“Kinda dangerous for you to be here alone, without your boyfriend to protect you, don´t you think?” Chuck´s voice startled you & you looked at him in surprise. Not wanting him to sense your nervousness, you cleared your throat & straightened your posture.

“I can handle myself, thanks for your concern.” smirking at him, his eyes bored into you which sent a shiver down your spine. You felt so uncomfortable under his presence that you almost forgot the reason you two were here.

“Attitude, I see.” he chuckled.

“You were busy, huh? Letting me wait for so long.”

“Actually, no. Just wanted to test your patience.” Chuck had so much fun & your anger started to rise. You knew though, that one wrong word could have you killed so you took a deep breath.

“I wanna talk to you.” you stated the obvious.

“I figured that much. So? Go ahead.” Chuck turned so his body was facing you, signaling you that he was paying attention to what you wanted to get off your chest.

“I´m pretty sure you know about our little...plan to, well, you know...stop you?” the last part came more out as a question, not wanting to cross any lines. He was God after all. He raised his eyebrows, motioning for you to continue.

“I´m not gonna lie, we didn´t find shit, okay? Like, we´re stuck. And I hate the fact that we´re at a point where almost everyone thinks the only solution is to fight each other. Yeah, I don´t agree with everything you did but that doesn´t mean that I´d like to kill you. You´re God, after all, you created this beautiful place which does have flaws, I´m not gonna deny that.” Chuck let out a laugh at that & you kept going.

“I´m tired of keeping this fight up. Hunting the supernatural, I´m fine with, I can deal with that but fighting against you? That´s something I really don´t wanna do.” you rambled. Even tears started forming, you did not want to cry in front of him but you could not hold back any longer.

“Who knows you´re here, talking to me?” he completely ignored everything you just said & earned a confused look from you.

“Really? That´s what matters? Nobody, okay? I didn´t tell anyone because I knew they would try to stop me somehow. Could you, like, give me any reaction to what I told you?” the frustration was audible & the tears now were forming because of his ignorance.

“(Y/N).” he started. “I hope you know that, out of all of them, I like you the most. That´s why I came here, that´s why I let you talk. Would Sam or Dean sit here, I´d kill them, well, obviously making it look like an accident, I´m not dumb. You´re special, (Y/N), you should be grateful you´re still alive. I´ll give you a choice. Either, you start working with me & you´ll see why I act that way or...you´re going back to your boys & we´re officially at war. Just know, if you walk away now, I won´t be as kind. Your decision, darling.” he shot you a smile but stopped when he saw the rage inside your eyes. He thought you would join him, he really did. You knew your answer, though.

“Fuck. You. You. Asshole.” your voice sounded monotone. You could not look at him anymore, all you did was getting up & running away as fast as possible, scared that he might follow you. Obviously, he did not. You made your choice & even though he was mad at you, he knew preparing for the fight was a better idea.

While you were running, the tears streamed down your face. Why were you so upset with Chuck´s answer? It was not like you did not know him & his intentions. You just truly thought you could change him. The sun had already started rising & you just hoped you were not too late. You were not in the mood to come up with a lie when someone of the guys asked you where you were. Forgetting you should enter through the garage because it was way more quiet, you opened the main door, flinching when it squeaked. But before you could even process that, you could hear a rather mad voice from downstairs.

“Look who decided to show up.” Dean sounded so cold, you could barely recognize his voice. Looking down, you saw Sam, Dean, Cas & Jack all seated around the big table in the main room. Shit, you were gone too long. Of course, your day could get worse, amazing.

“Guys, I can explain, I swear.” honestly, you just wanted to win time to think of a lie to tell them.

“Cut the crap, (Y/N)!” Dean almost screamed. “Get down. Now.” his voice was demanding. To be honest, you were never scared of Dean but right now, you could feel yourself shaking.

“Dean, calm down, okay? Let´s talk about it like matures.” Sam always made sure you felt comfortable & right now, he could tell you were frightened.

“Calm down?! Sure, everyone would be completely calm if their girlfriend sneaks out at night & screws another man.”

“Dean? Are you saying I´m cheating on you? Are you serious? After everything you still don´t trust me?” you were full on sobbing, trying to keep yourself together but failing miserably.

“I wish I could say I trust you but it makes sense, really. You being so distant lately & now, sneaking out in the middle of the night, hoping none of us realizes. You´ve got to be a bit smarter, though.” Dean was hurting but he did not dare to show it, wanting you to feel bad.

“(Y/N)? You do owe us an explanation.” Cas´ voice was calm & made you feel a bit more at ease.

“Maybe she should just go back to whoever she was fucking, that´s better for all of us.” Dean said these hurtful words without even looking at you. He hated seeing you break down like that. You were taken aback. Dean, your Dean, wanted you to leave. This was all a big misunderstanding. As much as you hated it, you knew you had to clear things up. If you were about to leave, then at least with making sure Dean knew you were not cheating on him.

“Please...let me explain, please.” pleading, you looked over to Jack but he would not meet your gaze. Your eyes wandered off to Sam´s & he was the most understanding in this situation which you were thankful for.

“Sit down, yeah?” Sam pulled a chair out for you to sit. The others took the chairs opposite of you so you were facing them all. Well, not all, Dean´s eyes were glued to the floor & you could not even be mad at him. You were aware of his trust issues, of course.

“I´ve been distant because we were continuing a work that brought us nowhere. I tried figuring out what we could do to...to keep this upcoming fight away. I knew the only way was to talk to…um, you know, to talk to God.” that made Dean snap his eyes towards you. No, you did not. You looked into his eyes, seeing the disappointment & that hurt you like crazy.

“Um, anyway, I waited until you guys were asleep to go out & talk to him. Obviously far, far away from the bunker, I didn´t wanna bring you guys in danger.” while you said that you made sure to look rigt at Dean so he knew you were mainly talking about him.

“He showed up after I prayed to him. We talked, well, more like I tried to convince him to stop this stupid fight. All he said was that I could join him & work with him or I go back to you guys & the next time he sees us...he´ll kill me, us. Then I started running back home, he didn´t follow me if you´re concerned about that.” you hated how your voice shook trough your words. You were met with a silence but not a bad silence, the faces of Sam, Cas & Jack were full of relief. Mainly because you were alright but also because they knew you just wanted to help. Dean´s expression, on the other hand, you could not quite read.

“We´ll leave you two alone for now.” & with that Sam got up & rubbed your back. He motioned for Cas & Jack to follow him. Now, you were left with Dean only. Not knowing what to do, you decided to speak up.

“I´m sorry, De-.” but you were cut off by his voice, now much softer as earlier.

“He could´ve killed you, sweetheart. He could´ve killed you & I wouldn´t even have had a chance to say goodbye. The thought of losing you scares the shit out of me, okay?” Dean´s eyes were glistening & you felt bad that you were the reason why he felt that way.

“I´m so so sorry. I shouldn´t have done this, I know. I just...I didn´t know another way. I thought we had a chance if I go talk to him. I was wrong & I´m sorry I scared you. And I´m even more sorry that you thought I´d be cheating on you. I love you, Dean. Only you. Forever, I promise.” a few tears rolled down your cheeks & Dean got up, walked over to you & took you in for a long hug. You cried into his shirt, just glad he was with you.

“I know why you did it, I do. You always want to make it easier for us & I appreciate it. Just, next time you have such an idea, promise me you tell us, me at least. Then we can work something out, together, something way safer, okay? Just promise me.” he whispered into your ear, his words carefully chosen, wanting to make sure you knew how much he felt for you.

“I promise, Dean.” you looked up at him only to find his eyes already focused on you.

“I love you, (Y/N).” & with that, he pulled you in for a kiss that showed you how much he cared for you. Maybe you could not convince God but you had the best people & you were sure you would figure something out sooner or later.

Published (06/24/2020) by Cathy

84 notes · View notes

ribinapan · 3 years

Text

meteorgazing

hello everybody here is an original piece of writing i was kinda proud of bc im trying to post on social media more.

prompt - aliens receive signals from Us (as in the US)

they are from proxima b and i will give more worldbuilding info if yall interested ok here we go :’)

one - meteorgazing

---------------------------------------------

notes -

opi - (two earth days)

rings - (eleven earth days)

---------------------------------------------

We get a lot of meteors.

Reason 50678 the surface isn’t safe-- no atmosphere means no pushback. Rocks hurtling from the sky aren’t quite uncommon. There’s not much damage to anything but what they hit. Of course, while it’s scary to watch, it doesn’t do much but cause a roofquake-- a rumbling beginning from the Seeing Dome to the rest of the tunnels. There’s been some incidents, some injuries and some deaths- like everything, it’s something swept away as a horrible- but normal- natural disaster, and most of the time it’s not much more than a little shiver. Really. People in the city at the time tend to gather just to watch. There’s something memorizing about watching a hurtling ball of rock slam into the face of our planet at high speeds while completely ablaze.

Even with the commonplace activity of gathering in the center of the city to watch space rocks fall dangerously close to our Seeing Dome, however, I never thought we would go so far as to make a surface dome just to watch one of the biggest showers yet to date. It was dangerous enough as is-- really, it was-- so I wasn’t particularly interested to watch in any case- yes, a little bit curious about it, but the feeling was quickly stomped out by fear and replaced with a sense of resignation. There was always Holowatch-- a projected hologram from your home holodevice to show you the news-- mostly surface stuff, or from City Twenty, where the biggest political station we had throughout the cluster of cities was placed.

But then there was Ama. Ama, with his bright eyes and his huge grin, practically shivering with excitement as he rushed me in line to get a ticket. We didn’t have enough money for the usual, so he entered us into contests basically any chance he got-- I wasn’t worried, and no way by all the gods would they curse me so much by--

“Elli! I got it-- look, I got two!” Tickets waved in the air for the first ever surface dome built specifically for watching meteor showers in our tunnel, I felt my heart sink as I made eye contact with Ama, beaming more than I had ever seen before.

There was something about Ama and his excitement that just pulled you in and shoved away your rationality. The way he smiled made you feel like you had to do anything to preserve it-- maybe because it was so hard to get him like this, maybe because love blinds you to even the stupidest of ideas. I flattened my sweatshirt against my chest nervously and grinned back, taking my ticket out of his hand. Three rings until disaster and we had free tickets to watch.

For the next three rings, every opi I woke up to a message about strange noises coming from a sector we call Terra, holding a planet that astronomers deemed safest and most habitable for intelligent life like us. Or about giant meteor showers. Or about how rare we are to get huge rocks falling from the sky hurtling at the surface in a desperate attempt to show us the way to our doom and them staying the size they do. And it was adorable, really. Usually it was me, and usually it was seventy messages about something boring from me, and so with a sense of duty I read everything Ama sent and poured as much excitement into a response as I could.

We’re going to die! Screamed my brain, but by the sun god was I dumb enough to be happy to go along with it.

We weren’t the only tunnel with a surface dome ready for the watching, either. City Twenty had the biggest, and far on the other side of the Habitation Line was 9296- the longest lasting surface dome with even a small bit of surface travellers living on it. Of course, they had underground homes to sleep in, but they spent most of their waking hours up on the surface. Everyone knew about it, and Ama swore he wanted to be one of them one day. I wondered how it’d feel to be watching this from there-- normal? Did they see meteor showers all the time? Were they afraid it might hit the dome every time they saw one screeching towards them faster than an Aquatrain? Not for the first time and definitely not for the last, I closed my eyes to sleep before we went up to our tunnel’s first surface dome with only one thought, an absolute certainty: oh my gods, we’re going to die.

When I woke up, I found myself wandering to Ama’s home with an even stronger sense of resignation and a desire to not be alone with it. Immediately upon arrival, I was met with the most excited four-eyed gaze I’ve ever been locked in-- and there it went again, I knew I was going to do this and be just fine with it.

His chatter continued, rising as the time got closer to head up to the surface dome, and often I found myself opening my mouth to share a fact just to keep him going.

“Did you know space tastes like rubusberries?” I heard myself saying, “Do you think the rocks taste like that, too?” He stopped for a moment, frozen on the sidewalk on our way to the train to the surface dome just to stare at me. Bubbling up with laughter, he tossed his head forward in a snort,

“Are you planning to taste the meteor, Elli?” My face heated up in embarrassment, but I bit my tongue and then shot back a response. “Maybe! I mean, it’s good research! A lot of things can be identified through taste!” “Local child just up and dies because they went outside to taste a space-rock.” “At least I’d know if it tasted like rubusberries!”

Rubusberries stayed the topic for a bit longer, the topic clinging to our tongues until it faded away into excited shivering as we stepped in line for the train. It hit me like a solar flare, making me bubble with anticipation that I really was excited, too- I wanted to see it, and I wanted to see Ama see it. The voice screaming ‘we’re going to die!’ finally dulled down to a whisper in the back of my mind.

Hey, at least it’ll be interesting.

Once on the aquatrain, I watched the train-tunnel fill with water as Ama listened to the rest of the train’s quiet, excited chatter. My hands gripped the edges of my seat as I watched it slowly bubble up above my window, bracing myself for the kickback of the train shooting through the water. It was interesting technology, really, but the amount of malfunctions I’d read about had me uneasy every time I was on one. One glance at Ama told me he didn’t as much as I did- if at all- so I bit my tongue and watched as the train suddenly lurched forward, shooting through the water and up towards the surface.

Here we go.

Suddenly, there was a chaotic ball of energy at my shoulder, pressing his hand against the window as we watched ourselves shoot up towards the danger, up towards new experiences and life on the surface yet to come.

“It’s funny we’re going full circle. Surface to underground to surface.” I murmured.

“Now we know what we’re doing. We hadn’t evolved enough before. The sun god knew we’d kill ourselves up there.” He replied simply, and the casual tone of his voice made me choke on laughter.

“Then why are we going up there now?” “To prove him wrong out of spite!” Cheered Ama, leaning over me to press both hands against the window. “Look, there it is!”

Look I did, and like he said, there it was. A giant, metallic door that looked unopenable by any number of Centaurians, and yet it slid open and let the water slosh to the side as the train pressed forward and through it, coming to land and slide against the top of the tunnel as we made our way to the surface dome entrance.

I won’t lie. I screamed.

“Elli. Elli, we’re fine! This is how trains work! Elli!” Climbing the rest of the way to the entrance was much less scary, as there were stairs and stairs are solid and won’t explode under too much water pressure, certainly since there’s no water. A muffled voice boomed over speakers we couldn’t see, giving us directions we couldn’t hear-- and then the crowd started moving, so we followed. Metallic doors that looked a little more manageable by Centaurian hands slid open with a slow, painful screech in front of us- and there it was, above the slope we were climbing: another Seeing Dome. This one above the tunnels.

Ama basically squealed-- and as I was jerked away from the line by excited hands, we pushed our way to the front as Ama stared at the stars above us. Closer than ever now, our feet hit red dust and we looked up to see the sky now only separated by a dome and not red rock all around us. It felt scarily empty-- up here, there were no tall walls or caves all around us. From every angle, there was sky.

“This is literally amazing.” He breathed beside me. “Yeah.” I said back with much less air, absolutely slammed by a feeling of sheer surrealism. You could see so far-- the dark line and the light line, where the heat and cold gods warred from afar. The horizon was much more beautiful in person than in pictures.

“Elli, look!” We were now the only people standing by the entrance, the others wandering to the edges of the Seeing Dome to get a better look. To my absolute dismay, however, what should’ve been the safest spot to stand-- right beside the exit-- was where a small meteor was heading, sending itself straight at us.

Ama watched it with wide eyes. I watched it with a wince. It was beautiful-- it really was, watching them streak the sky, and the surface, and our Safety Dome, but watching it hit with a Clank! still gave me a shiver.

Wait.

Wrinkling my nose as I squinted up at it, I tugged Ama’s hand as my feet began to move on their own. Following it as the burning ball of-- well, whatever it was, slid towards an unoccupied side of the Dome, Ama stumbled behind me. “Elli, where are we going? We’re going to miss the rest of it!” “It shouldn’t have made that noise.” I said back, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“Elli, you’re nuts.” “It was metallic. It clanked. Ama, it clanked. That’s not a meteor. That’s something someone made.”

And suddenly we were both speeding towards it, Ama whooping and me with my head spinning, stumbling and hitting the side of the dome as we stared down at a mess of melted metal and a white substance bearing a strange, rectangular logo-- red stripes and a blue corner, with what looked like misshapen stars decorating the blue bit. Strange text in bold letters sat above it, smeared and burnt as the capsule remained aflame.

“ALIENS!” Ama shrieked, jumping up and down. He punched my shoulder. “Take that, everybody! ALIENS!!!”

We weren’t the only ones who found something.

Holowatch was projected all over the city as capsules popped up all over the planet. 9296 got two. City Twenty got one. Another surface dome found half of one. Cities were rushing to build more or get Centaurians on the surface to find more. They came with garbled audio-- messages we couldn’t understand. But what sent everyone reeling was the one we found-- it was the sound of another animal, not the intelligent life that kept trying to talk to us. Something big-- something that sounded like our own creatures, a series of clicks, whistles and pulsed calls. Biologists rushed to identify it-- but it was soon determined not to be one of our own, just something close. It was big, most likely lived underwater, but used the same noises ours did to get around-- they used sound for navigation.

There was no doubt about it, there was life on Terran.

“We discovered aliens.” Ama wouldn’t stop saying. “Not us.” “We found it first!” “9296 found theirs thirty-two blinks before we found ours.”

“Second! We discovered aliens second!” “...Fine. Second.” “Aliens, Elli!”

“I hear you, Ama.” I said with fake exasperation, watching him pace around his room.

“We found it. We should get to see what they do with it.” “We are literally children, they weren’t going to let us help.” I said slowly, eyeing him suspiciously as he stopped walking across the room. He looked up at me and grinned.

“Am-- no. No, absolutely not. Whatever you’re thinking is a big, fat, nope.”

He continued grinning, taking a step towards me as his expression melted into something akin to affection mixed with excitement. The mischief was there-- I could see it. Feel it. But rationality slipped away as he grabbed my shoulder. “Let’s just try to sneak around. It’s not like we’ll even get anywhere with it!”

I let out a heavy sigh as I quietly threw my life into ruin. I unleash the sun god upon you, aliens. Why do you do this to me?

“...Fine.”

7 notes · View notes

yikesharringrove · 4 years

Note

so i just read Flowers for Yikes and i really love what you guys are doing! If you're taking requests, I'd love to see a college/university au with lines 4. “I… think I love you.” + 17. “I’ve gone through some real shit in my life, but… you make my present and future seem so much more brighter.” you know i love you!

@xgardensinspace we’re famous omg.

Thank you for your request! I am always taking requests, I love doing them so much. You’re so sweet! ily!

4. “I… think I love you.”

7. “I’ve gone through some real shit in my life, but… you make my present and future seem so much more brighter.”

I love a good college/university au. This is also modern au 😊 (feat. dyslexic Steve bc of course it does, it’s me)

Read on AO3

Prompts!

Flowers for Yikes can be found here! Written for me by @xgardensinspace

Steve was gnawing on a pen.

He was sitting in the chair outside of the tutoring rooms in the library. He had a standing appointment with Billy, easily the smartest undergraduate tutor in the joint, but also easily the most gorgeous man Steve had ever seen.

He was totally jacked, thick in the most delicious way with long curly blonde hair he made a show of sweeping into a bun with one of the many different colored scrunchies he owned. He had these eyes that made Steve melt, blue and kind and sharp in a way that made Steve go hot every time they were trained on him.

Billy also had a reputation, horror stories of people going to him for help and winding up in tears as he told them their papers were shitty, that they were idiots for doing their math homework incorrectly, that they should drop out now, save their parents the money.

But he was always so gentle with Steve, softly explaining where he went wrong, how he good make his arguments stronger, giving him tools like an online citation generator when Steve was too confused and down on himself for not remembering how to create an MLA 8 citation.

Maybe it was because Steve had cried and called himself stupid the first time they met. Steve hoped it had something to do with the tightness in his gut whenever Billy’s eyes met his and his face lit up with a smile.

The door to their regular room swept open and a freshman came out, face beet red, clutching papers covered in Billy’s red scrawl. Steve shot up, gathering himself and heading into the room.

“Jesus Christ, Pretty Boy, it’s good to fuckin’ see you. Some people on this campus are idiots.” Billy was leaning back in his chair, rubbing his hands down his face in a long-suffering way. “So what have you got for me today?”

“Well, I, um. This one is kinda, kinda different. It’s for that stupid seminar I have to take for my core credits, and its-we had to write about what makes us the most insecure, so I need you, I mean, just read it and don’t focus on, on what it says.” Steve hadn’t wanted to show Billy this work, but they met up at 8:30 every Tuesday, and this paper had been so emotionally draining on Steve, he needed to see Billy and for once in his life, didn’t have any confusing assignments to try and work out.

“Okay, I’ll be real gentle with ya.” Billy smiled at him, the softest one Steve had ever seen from him.

Steve handed over the stack of papers and plopped into the chair adjacent to Billy’s, each sitting on either side of one corner.

Billy scanned through the document quickly, his eyes sliding from side to side.

“Shit, Stevie. This is really good.” He looked up at him. “I’m not blowin’ sunshine up your ass, this is genuinely really good.” Steve was beaming. Billy was definitely nicer to him than anyone else he tutored, but he had never actually called Steve’s work good before. “Why didn’t you tell me you’re dyslexic?” Steve’s face fell.

“It’s fucking embarrassing, man. I can’t read for shit.”

“It’s not embarrassing. It’s something that makes you really fucking strong. I see the way you bust your ass in school. I feel like I coulda helped you better if I had known.”

“My dad was always, really pissed off about it. He never let me get tested for it, just said I was lazy, or said I was just stupid. I only got tested when I came to college and could do it without him knowing.”

Billy’s brow was furrowed.

“FUCK your dad. Fuck him. You’re not stupid. You literally have a learning disability. You are not stupid. Do you understand me?” Billy was looking into Steve’s eyes like he could crawl inside his brain and MAKE him understand.

“I-yeah. I understand. Thanks, Billy.” Steve smiled at him, just a little one.

“Okay, so, let’s make this paper really kick ass. So you begin by explaining what it’s like in your brain when you read or write. I think for this introduction, leave any typos there are, really solidify what it is like for you before things like me or spellcheck get in there to fix it. It’ll really send the point home. And I think you should add what you told me about your dad. It’ll make a better transition from that into how stupid you have always felt you are, even though THAT’S not fuckin’ true.”

Billy continued on, making a few marks on the paper, explaining his ideas to Steve and making comments debunking anything Steve had said about himself in the paper.

“Okay, I think that’s all I got for ya. When’s she due?”

“Friday.” BIlly’s left eyebrow went up. “I know, I’m usually such a procrastinator. This one was really easy. Probably because I have a lot I’m insecure about. Hardest part was to pick one.” Billy’s face scrunched up again. The timer on Billy’s watch went off, signaling the end of their hour. “Thank you for your help though, man. I really appreciate it.” Steve packed up his documents, touching Billy’s arm before he turned to leave.

“Steve, you’re not stupid. It’s really important to me that you know that.”

Steve turned.

“Thank you, Billy. I’ll see you next week.”

Steve got an A and a smiley face that read “Great Work!” on the paper. He was ECSTATIC to show Billy his good work, what he had helped Steve achieve. At 8:30 the following Tuesday Steve bounded into the room and flopped his smiley essay down.

“I got an A! Billy this is the first time I’ve gotten an A on a writing assignment! The professor said showing how hard my dyslexia makes it for me was really smart! That was your idea! Thank you!” Billy stood up with STeve, bringing him into a bearhug.

“Fuck, Stevie. I’m so proud of you.” H released him and they both sat. “This really was all you though, I gave very little input into this piece for you. You got this A for us.” Steve beamed.

“Billy, I really wanna thank you for all your help this semester. I’ve gone through some real shit in my life, but… you make my present and future seem so much more brighter.”

Billy gawked at him.

“I… think I love you.”

“Sorry, what?”

Billy’s face went bright red.

“I’m sorry, this is probably really fuckin’ weird, but I’ve had a stupid huge crush on you since we started tutoring, like, six months ago, and after I read this paper last week, and you let me in more, I just. I’m pretty sure I’m in love with you, and I would like to, if it’s okay, maybe like, take you on a date?”

This is the first time Steve has ever seen Billy look unsure of himself.

“I, sorry. You want to go on a date? With me?”

“Yeah. Sorry, did I just make it weird? You’re just so happy and it was really cute, and I’m sorry if I misread or if you’re not into guys or-”

“I WANNA GO ON A DATE WITH YOU.” Steve had never been the most articulate. He felt like he was gonna explode from his skin. “I’ve actually had a crush on you too. I wanna, I wanna go out with you.” Billy lit up. It was beautiful.

“Okay! Okay, you uh, you have my phone number. I’ll call you this week? Maybe we can, what are you doing on Saturday?”

“I’m free all day! Whatever you have in mind is, I’m down for whatever.”

“Okay! I’ll give you a call. It’s, um, it’s a date.” They smiled at each other. “Can I kiss you, or is that like, is that too forward.” Steve melted at Billy asking permission.

“No, that’s-fuckin’ kiss me.” Billy launched across space, connecting them together. His hands cupped Steve’s face as he smiled into their kiss. Steve’s hands trailed u Billy’s muscular back to his neck. Both boys were grinning as they pulled back for air.

“If you don’t get outta here, Pretty Boy, I’m gonna jump your bones right here, right now.”

“Is that such a bad thing?” Billy rolled his eyes.

“Here I am, tryna be a gentleman and shit, and here you are, making me want to throw all that right out the window.”

“Well, maybe if Saturday goes alright, you’ll get to. I am a classy broad though, you gotta wine and dine me first.” Steve winked, pulling his backpack onto one shoulder. “I’ll see you Saturday then, Bill.”

“See you then, Sweet Thing.” Steve melted at the nickname.

It was gonna be the beginning of something, real nice.

#yikes writes #harringrove #harringrove au #harringrove college au #harringrove modern au #steve harrington #steve harrington x billy hargrove #billy hargrove x steve harrington #billy hargrove #harringrove prompt fill #harringrove prompt list #harringrove prompts #prompt fill #prompt fic #harringrove prompt fic

74 notes · View notes

musicallisto · 4 years

Text

♬ Pour Your Heart Out (Ashton Irwin)

( I PROMISED I had stopped writing about real people, because, in hindsight, it’s kind of weird to them (esp. bc 5sos used to say they feel sorta uncomfortable with fanfic, I don’t know what their stance is now), and I had done a pretty good job of it for a few years. but then this idea came and as much as I tried to repress it, it wouldn’t go away. I blame @softeninglooks and our walk down memory lane for prompting me to write this eventually. I think it’s supposed to give me some kind of closure with the rabid 5sos stan I was in 2015-2018, a parting gift to that teenage girl, a reconciliation of sorts, if you will. In a way, this is all a metaphor for my own state of mind regarding Ashton, whom I adored so very dearly during those years and that I think I’ll always like, deep down. Anyway, y’all don’t care about my Freudian portrait and with good reason, so like, enjoy. )

word count: 4.0k words

summary: In which you cross paths at the hotel bar with a handsome face you prayed to God you would never see again.

warnings: angst, alcohol, foul language, gets a bit steamy, implied sex (but no smut!). we’re gonna be antagonizing Ashton a lot in this one so if you can’t bear insulting him (which I wouldn’t lmfao) I guess don’t read?

soundtrack: ♬

FOR A PLACE so upscale and brimming with obscene luxury, New York City’s Fifth Avenue Hotel’s bourbon was horrendous.

Or maybe it was merely because you’d never been an avid drinker anyway. All alcohols merged in your throat in some bubbling fire, until you couldn’t distinguish anything inside you.

Which was exactly why you were leaning your elbows on the bar, mindlessly playing with a finger of whiskey in your glass, the hem of your slit dress hugging the cold feet of the bar stool, and a completely absent look in your tired eyes. Because you wanted to drown all that stirred inside of you - a chaos in your chest, an incomprehensible riot in your stomach. All because the universe and its sickening sense of humor had thrust in your mind memories you’d rather forget, like a knife to the chest.

All because your work had sent you to a gala in New York City on the exact same night he would be there as well, playing in Brooklyn to a crowd of adoring admirers.

Not that it mattered anyway. The day you left, you had accused him of only adoring himself. You were a revolted fury, and you had spat out every single word you could before your mind would go numb and your throat would constrict forever.

You regretted all of it. The fighting, the accusations, the way you had slammed the door when you had left. Something in your chest, however, growled that you still resented him for never reaching out to you.

And just like that you both had returned to your respective nights - he in the spotlight and the unconditional love, you in the business and the casual dates. It was a crash like no other, coming down from the high of being his goddess every day and every night, but you managed. You always did. You were strong, resilient. Stronger than a sudden pang of nostalgia and certainly stronger than the foolish hope that you’d somehow run into him in New York...

And even if you did, he wouldn’t recognize you, anyway. Your hair was different, your face more tired despite the golden hues that the ceiling lights cast on your cheeks. He was different, too - and in all likelihood you would see him on the arm of a young and beautiful starlet. Not that it would matter to you, or that it would break your heart to see someone in your spot, or that it was any of your business who he shared his nights and secrets and tears and laughs with - no, you were stronger than that. You downed your bourbon. Disgusting, and you were still too acutely aware of your emotional confusion for your liking.

A light breeze suddenly breathed on your neck, slightly lifting your dress around your ankles, and the rustling sound of a door opening barely made its way to your ears before you drowned it out. Maybe the alcohol was having an effect after a —

You turned your head around. Your beath hitched. Your vision was suddenly restricted to a single tunnel right in front of you - a tunnel one single silhouette occupied entirely, making his way to the reception with nonchalance, his hair tousled from the autumn wind of the city. Your eyes traveled to his face of their own accord. Before you could make out the outline of his eyes - Gosh, his eyes, you remembered them so vividly, the spark that inhabited them whenever he would play music to you -, you had frantically turned around.

“Bartender, please. Another,” you signaled.

Maybe it wasn’t the best choice to get another drink when you were already starting to hallucinate, but a sudden urge had overpowered you, almost to the point of nausea. The bartender’s empathetic shake of the head did nothing to alleviate the shrill alert that had suddenly overcome you.

“Sorry, miss. The bar is closing for the night.”

“Deliver it to my room then,” you pleaded, and you thought for a moment that your sincerely distraught expression would be enough to convince him. But he shook his head once again as he turned to wipe a plate, his voice dropping.

“I don’t mean to pry, miss, but I don’t think it would be good for you. It’s getting late. Maybe catch some sleep?”

Heavens, you wished nothing more than to go to your room and sleep it all off - to wake up to an empty room and an empty heart, devoid of fear, hurt, and passion, but you were certain now that you wouldn’t catch any sleep that night if you chased it for hours. Not when closing your eyes meant seeing him again, striding towards the reception with his natural ease and focused gaze, that same one he had when he walked up to you for the first time... Almost unvoluntarily, you had turned around once more on your stool. He was leaning on the reception desk and chatting with the receptionist - judging by the bright smile lighting up her tired features, he still had all of his charm and humor. You found yourself observing his back, his relaxed shoulders, then his neck, the ink where you used to leave bruises... his hazel eyes, familiar and stunned... his eyes? He had turned around, mindlessly playing with his keycard, and was now looking straight at you, a glimmer of astonishment pulsing through his pupils. A cold shiver washed over you. You returned to your drink. Empty. Dammit.

You hated them, all the steps that had let you to that moment. You hated your firm for sending you to a gala in New York of all places, on that night of all nights, booking you a ridiculously expensive room in that hotel of all hotels. You hated the bartender for not refilling your glass, and yourself for thinking that running into Ashton would make for a sweet reunion like in the movies. You hated him for walking up to you, footsteps all but timid, bathed in the assurance you knew so well - the one he had after playing a show, when he perspired confidence and enthusiasm, when the blood in his veins pounded against your skin in the dressing room backstage — Godammit, why couldn’t he be in a groupie’s bed, and why couldn’t you actually hate him...

And yet, when he spoke, his voice was soft and warm.

“Y/N?”

You couldn’t have turned to face him, even if you had wanted. The voice that called out your name was that of a stranger. The last time you had heard it in his mouth, it was but a strangled cry, a crack that shrouded what little of his Australian accent remained, enough to remind you of home. There was no space for a home in his voice anymore; he could’ve blended with the locals perfectly if he had wanted.

Somehow, yet... you would have picked him in a crowd of billions. Something about his radiance.

“What are you doing here?”

“Same as you.”

“Oh, you’ve started a band?”

You rolled your eyes. You hated him. Always joking. Always fun. Always affable...

“Work.”

“Of course.”

He had mumbled, his gaze dropping to the empty drink in your hands and its pitiful foamy stains. You almost clicked your tongue in annoyance. He was bitter, unusually so; you much preferred the upfront and unwavering Ashton, the one who had told you without blinking that you might as well leave him, since you hated him so much.

Still, for a reason incomprehensible to you, he hoisted himself up on the barstool immediately next to yours. You could've sworn you heard the vibrations of his heart, though you couldn't tell if they were caused by his post-concert adrenaline, or your warm breath on his tense hand.

“What?”

“It was always work.”

“On your side too, Ashton.”

You almost shivered when pronouncing his name. The chant that used to paint your lips, like a prayer you would whimper in the crook of his neck.

“I know.”

You would've expected an apology, and obviously there was none. There never was any with Ashton, no matter how profoundly he wounded you. Why would he need to? He was so unapologetically himself, so radiant and imperial, like a solar king... and you but a common girl in his wake.

You refused to go over all the reasons that had caused your constant fighting and eventual breakup - you had thought them over time and time again, tossing and turning in a bed too cold. And if you let your mind wander astray, it would inevitably come back to his hand on the small of your back, the devilish grin you heard in his voice when he whispered in your ear, and the pulsing between your legs only he could vainquish... it was the last thing you wanted to think about when you were alone with him, with a luxury suite all to yourselves...

With a stir, you finally looked up to him. The fire in your throat, from all the glasses of whisky, instantly descended to your chest, your stomach, then lower, as your eyes trailed down his figure. He looked tired, but blissfully so; the same disheveled hair, tanned and slightly clammy skin you woke up to in the morning. His eyes - Gosh, his eyes - detailed you with this amused attentiveness he always had. And the top buttons of his shirt, untied, revealed the beginning of a strong torso you had cried and laughed and moaned into until the ungodly hours of the night... a few more tattoos, a face older, eyes and jaw sharper, and yet you recognized the stranger in front of you. You had been everywhere inside of him, seen everything; your body ached suddenly for his touch, his warmth, his burn.

Biting back an expletive and squeezing your legs together to calm the throbbing, you grabbed your glass and... Still empty. Dammit!

You hated him.

And yet the sound of him murmuring your name, soft and tender, like a sunray on your eyelids, was an abominable indicator that you didn't really.

“Come on, I'll walk you to your room.”

He extended an arm towards your shoulder; instinctively you bolted up from your stool. Your hand grabbed your handbag; his, hesitant, fell by his side.

“You're the last person I'd want with me right now.”

You're the last person I'd want with me in front of my room.

“Y/N, come on. You can't stay here and drink all your problems away.”

“Yeah, you'd know about that.”

Low. So abjectly low, even in your slightly ebriated state, even in the irascible torpor clouding your mind. Did you regret it, when his gaze darkened, when his lips - Gosh, his lips - twitched in a scowl?

“Fuck you, Y/N.”

“No, fuck you, Ashton.”

Your voice had raised as he stood up from his barstool; his somber figure, now entirely devoid of its post-concert enthusiasm, facing you like an angered god, reminded you all too well of all the nights spent arguing and making up. This time, however, you would utter your parting words. Or so you promised.

“Fuck you, Ashton, you want to know why? Because you're a self-absorbed asshole who doesn't care about anyone but himself. Everything in our relationship was about you. You, you, you, always you, like you were the goddamn center of the universe, and I swear to God, for me before anyone else, you fucking were. All my friends, all my family, everyone in the whole damn world only ever cared about Ashton Irwin. Everything was catered to Ashton Irwin's best interest. Everything calculated to please Ashton Irwin. Everything to prioritize Ashton Irwin's career, Ashton Irwin's comfort, Ashton Irwin's fun. And you know what? Fuck that.”

Your words weren't slurred, you hadn't drunk that much, even. Why, then, was the world suddenly spinning around you? Why were your tears brimming to the surface of your eyes? Why did you get the urge to fall in Ashton's strong arms and close your eyes forever in his embrace?

You opened your mouth to resume, breathless, but your train of thought derailed for a second when your eyes fell on his dark gaze, piercing through you with the intensity of a titan, and every inch of your skin combusted simultaneously. You swallowed, hard. Where were you? Right, fucking him. No! Absolutely not! Not fucking him! Only fuck him!

“All I wanted was you to see a person when you looked at me... not a freaking satellite. And the worst thing is I didn't even see myself when I looked in the mirror, didn't even hear myself in my thoughts. I was you, entirely you, I had you everywhere on me, in me.”

You inhaled deeply, but still, the tears were threatening to spill. To hide them and simulate assurance, you grabbed your handbag, raised your chin, puffed out your chest. A chest your dress did its best to showcase in the most sensual and classiest way, obviously.

“I would've liked our story to work out, truly.”

Oh, how I wish our story had worked out.

“But we're better off on our own, I guess.”

You were about to turn around when a hand grabbed your wrist, and your heart stopped beating for a second. Heavens, it was the first time in years you felt his skin on yours, and your nerves were seconds away from combustion.

When he lightly tugged on your arm to make you face him, however, you swore something in your core exploded.

“You say that as if you hadn't hurt me too,” he stated coldly.

His eyes, dark golden under the lights, eyeing you up and down, stopping imperceptibly longer than decent on your cleavage... his now harsh features, so alluringly enticing... an interdiction you would be willing to die just to taste.

“You'd never talk to me. I'd never know what was wrong, what you wanted, what you needed. I couldn't guess, Y/N, I can't read your mind! You never told me anything - don't you think I suffered from your silence? I loved you and I never knew if you loved me back or if you resented me!”

“You shut me up. You're so important, why would you bother with my input? Better keep my mouth shut, and save everyone the trouble.”

Without realizing, you had both started striding towards the elevator. Too focused on the argument, on your raising, raspy voices, on the brush of his shaky fingers against your skin, you didn't tell him to leave you alone.

Maybe you didn't want to.

“That's bullshit, Y/N, you know it. I always cared about you, more than anyone else.”

“Oh, really, now?”

“Yes, really! Remember how I'd fly all the way from L.A. on each of your birthdays if I wasn't there, no matter what we were doing the day after? Remember all the songs I wrote you and never sold, because they were gifts to you? Remember all the journalists I told off because they disrespected you? God, Y/N, if you weren't so focused on your self-loathing, you'd see that I sacrificed so much of my career, all for you.”

You pressed the button to call the elevator.

“You're one to talk about self-loathing! And is that supposed to make me feel better about feeling like a burden?”

“Stop twisting everything I say, you know very well you never were--”

“Well that's the thing with you, Ashton! I never know! I never know anything! I wasn't your girlfriend, I was just a you in a song!”

The doors opened. You both stepped in. You furiously hit the forty-ninth floor button. Twenty-five excruciatingly long seconds ahead of you.

“You created this idealized version of me in your head, and because I wasn't as perfect as you thought--”

“I wouldn't call being a self-obsessed prick not being perfect--”

“Will you let me talk? Jesus, I can't believe - this is ridiculous - I fucking hate you!”

“Good, because I fucking hate you too!”

And with that the screaming match died as suddenly as it had started, with two panting hearts suspended in the air, facing each other mere centimeters away.

All you could focus on was the boiling fury pulsing under your humid skin, Ashton's face, contorted with exasperation and yet still as handsome as ever, his breath fanning over your mouth... the unquenchable burn in the pit of your stomach and between your legs, the unshakable pull toward him.

Your mouth and throat, all your soul had spat out all the7y had. Now they desperately needed something to fill them back up.

You took a step forward; he did too. Your lips came together immediately after.

Instead of stepping back, he pressed you closer to his body, as if he had wanted to consume you whole, his embrace erratic and furious. With a swift motion, he had pinned you to the back wall; when he lifted a hand to cup your cheek, you swatted it away and deepened the raging kiss instead; you were two pyres desperately clinging onto each other, kissing and biting and grunting. Your head filled with a flurry of touches and colors, the warmth of his lips under yours and the throbbing of your blood desperate to mix with this, and your unforgettable hate for him and how fucking putty in your hands you were, and as you bit his lower lip and he let out the rawest of moans in your mouth and your entire body trembled, you were not sure if you wanted to devour him or be devoured.

“I still hate you--” he murmured against your parted lips, but you shut him up with your tongue.

When his hands tentatively settled on the small of your back, though, sliding under your dress, you let them in. Maybe you did hate him, but you needed him, you needed him filling every angle and inch of your body, every crack of your soul, every side of your senses, just as much as he needed you.

Like someting out of a frenzied dream, the elevator doors opened, and he broke the kiss abruptly, so much so that you barely bit back a whimper. The somber, sinful look he gave you for a split second, though, was enough to make you shiver in anticipation. You grabbed his arm, making sure not to look at him - he didn't deserve it just yet -, and strode towards your suite.

You had barely turned on the light and closed the door behind you when Ashton swooped down on you like a starved man. His lips found yours like they had so many times before, his grip so mean on your back, his other hand tugging at your hair lightly to keep you in place. Your mind pleaded you to push him away; instead your body grinded against his, and a hundred flares roared everywhere he kissed you and everywhere you wanted him. Would you regret this in the morning? Undoubtedly, but his lips were biting your neck and you were sighing and moaning and praying to God he wouldn't let you go, so you couldn't care less about the shame and guilt you'd feel waking up.

Your dizzy head didn't register he had unlaced your dress until it fell to the floor. Still savoring the ever familiar taste of his tongue, you made work of his shirt - your burning skin couldn't stand the agony of being far from his anymore -, but he pushed you back on the bed instead.

Almost bare on your bed, your hair fanned out like a halo around your disdainful face, your breath erratic, you were traversed by a shiver when Ashton took off his shirt and crawled over to you. Your breath hitched. You swallowed. His face hovered just above yours. He bit his lip, and something growled in your belly.

“Can I--”

“Do it,” you spat, your eyes stern steel.

If you let him see how desperately you needed him, nothing would cure the guilt and hatred you'd wake up to. Better to pretend you were still the mistress of your soul... not to give him the satisfaction of owning you whole.

Though as soon as his lips scraped your collarbone and his hands cupped your breasts, then lower, lower, tantalizingly lower, you forgot every good intention and every strong facade. All that remained were the delicious ache at the tip of his fingers, and his name, like a prayer to a demon.

New York City was always a hundred times more beautiful in the dead of the night. Faraway lights pulsed like a thousand stars in the ink sky, and a distant buzzing climbed up along the buildings, slithering into the windows. The light breeze from outside, skimming your bare skin, was enough to kept you awake. So were your thoughts, and the heavy, steady breathing in the bed behind you.

For this night, and for this night alone, you had belonged to him and to him alone, like you had countless nights before. For this night, and for this night alone, you had slipped back into his arms, his strong and comforting embrace, the familiar caress of his skin, and his voice lulling you to sleep.

And the worst of it all was that you had enjoyed it. Sincerely, not as an expiatory, but rather a delicacy.

You couldn't promise that this was a one-time thing. You couldn't promise you would turn your head and never look back. If you could've, you would've up and left in the night for him to wake up alone. It was a worthless pact. You already knew you would break it.

You already knew a part of you, so detestable and therefore humane, would always run back to him in a world of billions.

You exhaled heavily. The flow of air from the street was a welcome reminder that a fresh and beautiful world existed outside of this bedroom where you had abandoned everything.

You didn't hate him. Not really. But you ached whenever someone uttered his name in your presence.

He had been your first love. The hollow in your chest when you thought of him was simply the part of your heart you had given him, all those years ago.

You turned around. His chest rose and dipped peacefully in your bed. As always, he remained unbothered, unatteignable, and maybe it was for the best. You shook your head.

Then your eyes fell on the door instead. Nothing kept you in this city anymore. You could walk away with only your lingering smell and the trace of your nails in his back to keep him company. But running away would be weak, unhonorable, and most importantly an incomplete goodbye that would precipitate you back in his arms the next time you'd see him.

The skyline called out to you once again. The air was getting chillier by the minute, but you remained by the window, quiet. Up above the horizon, the blinking light of an airplane crossed, indolent as a swan, the navy blanket of the sky, and your chest filled with a bittersweet wistfulness.

You would wait for the sunrise.

You were certain, after all, that dawn would break.

#5sos #5 seconds of summer #5sos imagine #5sos one shot #ashton irwin #ashton irwin x reader #ashton irwin imagine #ashton irwin one shot #5sos x reader #mywriting

14 notes · View notes

aticklishtem · 4 years

Text

Weakness of Doom

((oh boy here I go bringing my bullshit into a new decade again~ this is dedicated to @ticklishjevil bc she is 100% to blame for my descent into ZADR hell and generally inspiring/encouraging the creation of this...thing!! I hope you’re proud of yourself darling 💖

ALSO I’m very sorry if the spacing/formatting is borked tumblr mobile is terrible but I am doing my best to fix as we speak ;w; ))

***

“Give it up, Zim! You’ll never get away with this!”

Dib had lost count of how many times he’d said that by now. Eight years, countless crazy schemes, a couple near total obliterations of the galaxy as they knew it and an almost equal tally of humiliating defeats and triumphant (if temporary) victories for both sides - somehow, it always seemed to come back to the two of them. Dib, Zim, the doomsday device of the day and this seemingly endless chase that remained as frustrating yet exhilarating as it was the day the green kid first rocked up to class. Would it ever end? That almost didn’t seem to matter at this point - this was the life Dib had chosen. As long as Zim was around, he had a purpose, a reason to get up in the morning, a duty to the rest of humankind to keep protecting his planet from impending extraterrestrial invasion...even if most of them remained too dumb to appreciate his efforts.

“You’re too late, Dib-stink!” cried the bug-eyed bane of his existence, waving around some kind of remote with a red button. “Just one press of this button, and every single whiffy signal -“

“...do you mean wi-fi?”

“Zim knows what Zim means!” he barked, an antenna twitching with irritation. “As I was saying, every signal will be scrambled, and without their mind-numbing entertainment, your fellow earthworms will inevitably turn on each other! Leaving the planet defenceless for when I, Zim...figure out how to do whatever it is I need to do to destroy you all!”

“Noooo! That’s…” Dib paused mid-dramatic wail. “Actually a pretty solid plan? I mean, I can see your logic. It’s definitely an improvement on some of your others, like that one with the rubber chickens -“

“Silence!” Zim pointed an accusing claw at him, though Dib could’ve sworn he preened a little at the almost-compliment, puffing up his chest and planting his free hand on his hip. “Of course it is foolproof! And if you imagine for a second that the amazing Zim could ever become so distracted by his own ingeniousness that he could be lured into monologuing until a hypothetical opportunity might arise for someone to take - hey gimme that back!”

Fortunately, some things had changed in all those years; puberty had been at least kind enough to Dib so he could now dangle his superior height - literally and metaphorically - over Zim’s head. “Sorry, what’d you say?” he taunted, holding his prize high out of his enemy’s reach after snatching it from his claws. “I couldn’t hear because of how much taller I am!”

His moment of glory was cut short, however, as Zim launched himself at him with a hiss like a feral cat, sending them both crashing to the floor in a tangle of limbs and antennae. They were still surprisingly evenly matched; Zim was a lot stronger than his size would suggest, but Dib now had the advantage of longer arms and legs to attempt to hold him off as they wrestled for the device. He might even have been winning - right up until Zim grabbed his side, claws digging into the sensitive spot just below his ribs.

Dib yelped, reflexively slamming his arm down to protect himself; before either could do anything, the remote flew out of his hand and across the room until it disappeared under one of Zim’s experiment tanks. Instead of running after it, Zim took advantage of the distraction to seize Dib’s wrist, pinning him to the floor.

“Ha!” Zim loomed over him, now straddling Dib’s waist so his maniacal grin filled his whole vision. “You flesh-bags really are pitiful, cowering in pain from the slightest touch!”

“That’s not what that - was…” Dib froze, heat rising to his cheeks as his nemesis bore down on him, now painfully aware of his compromising position. Zim couldn’t - did he even know what tickling was? Because this would be a really bad time for him to find out.

“...Eh?” Zim narrowed his eyes, curiosity flickering across his face alongside the usual suspicion and irritation. “What are you smiling about? Why is your grotesquely ginormous head so red?!”

“My head’s not bihihig!” Dib bit down on his lip, but he couldn’t stop a few embarrassing giggles from slipping out when Zim jabbed at his ribs again. He struggled to bat his hand away, but with only one arm free and Zim basically sitting on top of him, he wasn’t having much success. “Quihihit ihit!”

A shiver ran down his spine as he could practically see his doom unfold along with Zim’s smile, sadistic delight sparkling in his eyes, and oh god no Dib thought he was prepared for anything but please not this, anything but this, he’ll never live it down…

“Well, well - you really thought you could conceal such a glaring weakness from me?” he demanded, mercilessly prodding and pinching his way up Dib’s side. “I’d...sort of imagined more writhing in excruciating agony, but this is rather amusing too, watching you squirm like the wretched worm you are!”

“Thihis isn’t fahahahair!” Dib spluttered between peals of laughter; he hadn’t been tickled since he was a little kid, but this was so much worse because it was Zim and he hated giving him the satisfaction but was equally powerless to stop his body from reacting as those probing claws dug right into his horribly exposed armpit. “Zihihihim!”

“Yes, yes, I am Zim!” his foe cackled, releasing Dib’s wrist to attack with both hands, one even scuttling under his shirt - which was so far beyond fair - and scratching at the tender skin almost hard enough to hurt, but his gloves dulled the sensation so it just tickled even more. “If I had known you were this easily incapacitated, I could’ve built a device to take care of you long ago! Now, laugh, pathetic Dib-thing - admit your annihilation, or perish in helpless hysteria at the merciless claws of Zim!”

“Nehehehever - !” Dib had not foiled so many of Zim’s plans to let him win this one by tickling him, of all the cruel and unusual methods. There was only one way to fight back, and he had no idea if it’d even work on an alien, but what else did he have to lose, more of his dignity? Arms flailing as he tried desperately to suck in his stomach before those treacherous claws could get to his bellybutton, he eventually managed to grab a handful of Zim’s side and squeeze it repeatedly.

Zim let out a squawk like a bird having its feathers pulled out, letting go of Dib as he scrabbled to slap his hands away. “D-do not touch Zim with your fihilthy meat-sticks!”

Huh - that sounded like a game-changer, and now it was Dib’s turn to grin like a mad scientist as he kneaded Zim’s sides like his life depended on it - which it might - until he had an armful of squirming Irken trapped in an almost-hug, one arm around Zim’s waist with his PAK pressing against Dib’s chest.

“What’s the matter, does it tickle?” he asked, smirking from ear to ear as he savoured the sweetness of revenge - and possibly the most important discovery of his career as a paranormal investigator. “Is the mighty Invader Zim ticklish?”

“Lies! Cease! Ihihi’m gonna destrohohoy yooooou…!”

It wasn’t like he’d never heard Zim laugh before - only like every day since they were at skool - but this was different; less controlled and mocking, more free and almost joyful, even if it was a joy forced upon him as he writhed, kicked and cackled under Dib’s skittering fingers, exploring the surprisingly soft and smooth skin under his shirt. It wasn’t exactly an autopsy, but the thought that he might be the first to hear - the first to make Zim almost squeal when he wiggled his fingers under his arms - that was more deeply, weirdly, sadistically satisfying than anything he’d imagined. “Wow, I think you’re worse than I am! So are all Irkens this ticklish, or is it just you?”

“Zihim is telling you nohothihihihing!” Zim’s laughter seemed to jump an octave when Dib felt around his back; the skin around his PAK was slightly raised where it was embedded, which was interesting, mainly for the way he bucked and squirmed frantically as Dib traced it with his fingers. “GIR! Where are you?! Do something to make this stohohop!”

“Yes, master!”

Dib looked up just in time to see Zim’s robot assistant propelling towards him at alarming speed, his eyes blazing red. Before he could move to shield himself, however, GIR came to an abrupt stop, eyes flickering back to cyan and his metallic mouth stretching into its familiar hyperactive smile. “Ooooh! Tickle fight! I wanna plaaaay!”

“Now, GIR! Fire the - wait, no, what are you doing?! Put that back!” Both Zim’s and Dib’s eyes widened - in horror and intrigue respectively - as GIR plonked himself down on one of Zim’s legs, picked up the other and pulled his boot off. Dib had never actually seen his feet before, he realised; he had three toes, clawed like his fingers but a little shorter. Judging by how he scrunched them up when GIR prodded them, they were also pretty sensitive.

“This li’l piggy went to Foodcourtia,” GIR chirped, wiggling a toe; Zim made a strangled noise of protest and attempted to pull away, but Dib was still holding onto him. “This li’l piggy went home - aw, we outta piggies! And thiiis li’l piggy…”

“GIR - nooo!” Zim begged, and Dib could actually feel him tremble in his arms as his toes curled in anticipation of what was to come. “Don’t do this! You’re supposed to attack the intruder, not -“

“...went weeweeweeweeeeeeeee…!” GIR hugged Zim’s foot and scribbled furiously all over it, his tiny metal hands a blur as his master shrieked with laughter, helpless to escape his ticklish doom.

“How’s it feel, Zim, betrayed by your own minion?” Dib snickered along with him as it occurred to him he should probably be recording or taking photos of possibly the greatest moment of his life to date, but holding Zim captive and laughing helplessly was way too satisfying, tickling under his arms while GIR happily went to town on his foot. “Maybe I’ll just keep you like this - you’re not much of a threat to the Earth when you’re just a cute little giggly alien puddle…”

“Wh-whahahahahaaaaa?!”

The sheer incredulous outrage in Zim’s voice tore through the air, and Dib couldn’t help but wince, recoiling as the ear-splitting screech assaulted his eardrums. As his grip loosened, Zim wriggled free and kicked GIR off of him, scrambling back to his feet, and the chaos was replaced by an unusual and equally uncomfortable silence. (Apart from GIR eating popcorn out of his head as he watched them, and that was the most normal thing about this situation.)

“I - uh...“

“He thinks you cuuuute!” GIR giggled, grabbing Zim’s cheeks and squishing them together comically.

“No I don’t!” Dib felt his face flush under the spotlight of both GIR’s carefree smile and Zim’s laser-beam glare, the protest coming out just a little too quickly. “I was teasing you - it’s just a thing people say when they…”

He trailed off, because man, things had gotten weird, even by their standards. But this was still Zim, and he was still a jerk and evil and the total opposite of cute, even a little breathless with his clothes all rumpled and one foot still bare, antennae lowered and quivering and what looked suspiciously like an olive-coloured blush staining his cheeks. That warm feeling was just Dib enjoying the sight of his enemy humiliated in defeat, like anyone would. Right? That made sense.

“Give me my boot, GIR.”

“Go long!”

Zim caught the offending item without looking, but instead of putting it back on he hurled it at Dib, who dodged just before it smacked him in the face, bouncing off his shoulder instead.

“Ow - hey, that’s sharp!”

“Good! Suffer! That’s what you get for trying to taint the mighty name of Zim with your disgusting lies like…” He screwed up his face as if he could barely bring himself to spit out the word, making dramatic finger-quotes, “cute!”

“Okay, geez! It’s not like I meant it…” Dib rubbed his shoulder, shifting awkwardly - he wished they’d stop repeating the word like that. But even this momentary weirdness couldn’t change the fact that he’d just uncovered a significant weakness in his nemesis, even if he inconveniently shared it. He’d be an idiot not to exploit this for all it was worth, a smug grin tugging at his lips again as he picked up Zim’s boot. “But thanks for this. I bet I can get all kinds of useful evidence from a genuine article of alien clothing…”

“You…!” Zim’s eyes almost bugged out of his head as he let out an indignant splutter - only to break into a dangerously familiar smile before activating his PAK legs, towering over Dib with a renewed gleam of vengeance in his eye. “Enjoy your last few seconds of freedom, Dib-worm - we shall soon settle who is cute!”

“I’d like to see you - wait, what?!”

Dib didn’t have time to figure out what Zim meant by that as he darted for an escape route, still clutching Zim’s boot - but when he was quickly seized and hoisted into the air by a pair of metal spider legs, he was pretty sure things were only about to get a whole lot weirder.

But this was the life he’d chosen - and would he really want it any other way?

87 notes · View notes