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seijorhi · 4 years

Note

Ohhhhh kuroos doing a good job of tutoring bokuto in school lately (bc bby owl is a dumb dumb). Bokuto decides to thank kuroo and gives him a present - the girl kuroo has been after for a while, unconscious and lying in his bed 🙊🙉🙈

You... you just get me, anon 😌

Kuroo Tetsuro x Female Reader

TW kidnapping, drugging, implied dub/non-con ~ Part II • Part III

Gift Wrapped

“Fifty six!”

Bokuto’s hand slams down a stack of papers onto the desk and sure enough, written in big loopy red handwriting, circled and underlined at the top of the first page of the exam paper is his score - fifty six out of a hundred. Barely a pass.

“I freakin’ killed it!”

Kuroo can barely suppress his sardonic grin as he looks up at his friend, “Well look at you! Amazing what a little bit of study can do, huh? You’re a shining beacon of hope for idiots everywhere.”

Normally that would get a little rise out of the Ace, but Bokuto’s beaming grin doesn’t waver, and he’s kind of rocking back and forth on his heels like a little kid about to be set loose in a candy store. “You know I can’t study for shit. You really saved my ass on this one, Kuroo!”

Kuroo knows his friend too well to buy into the flattery, much less the innocent look that’s plastered across his face. A single eyebrow cocks, “You’re acting… weird. Why?” he asks suspiciously.

Bo’s grin widens and Kuroo’s stomach sinks. Whatever this is, he knows it can’t be good. Suddenly he wishes that Akaashi were here. Between the two of them, he’s always been better at managing Bokuto’s less than well thought out impulses. Unfortunately for him, the ex-setter was out of town for the weekend, meaning that whatever hell Bokuto was no doubt about to unleash would be solely his problem.

“Don’t be a dick! I am trying to be nice here, I even got you a present to say thanks for tutoring me!” Bokuto grumbles.

Now that makes him pause. “A… present?” Somehow it doesn’t ease the weird feeling in his gut. It’s not that he thinks Bokuto’s incapable of giving a gift out of the kindness of his heart, or that it would necessarily be a bad one, but the shit eating smile on his face that has yet to shift isn’t filling him with boundless confidence. It’s also apparent that aside from his test paper, his friend is empty handed. “Why do I get the feeling that I’m not gonna like this gift very much?”

Something in Bokuto’s eyes glints. “Oh trust me, dude. You’re gonna love it!”

He doubts it, but keeps his mouth shut as Bokuto grabs his arm and pulls him (or tries to, at least) to his feet.

Kuroo’s frown only deepens when he’s led down the hallway, passing his own bedroom and stopping in front of Bokuto’s. “Why are we-”

“Just shut up and close your eyes.”

Kuroo takes a deep breath, “Bo-”

“Dude, just- just trust me okay! Shut your eyes and don’t open ‘em until I say so,” he orders.

Kuroo eyes his friend warily, but after a moment he complies, praying to god that he’s not gonna regret this. He’s not exactly the cleanest guy himself, but he’s avoided going into Bo’s room at all costs - it’s kind of a health hazard.

But he trusts Bokuto.

Mostly.

He hears the handle turn and the squeak of the hinges as the door swings open, and he tries not to snort as Bokuto grabs him by the arm and leads him inside.

“… Alriiiight, open!”

Kuroo does as he’s told. He blinks in surprise, Bokuto’s room is exactly as he remembers it. Clothes, in varying states of cleanliness, littered across the floor. Dirty plates and empty cups spread out across almost every available surface, A few textbooks with various paragraphs highlighted lying open on his desk next to his laptop (browser window open at the pornhub homepage), but Kuroo can’t focus on any of that, because he’s staring at Bokuto’s bed.

Rather, the figure lying on top of Bokuto’s bed.

His breath catches in his throat, heart pounding almost painfully in his chest. It’s like the world’s stood still. He risks a glance out of the corner of his eye at Bokuto, but his friend’s just grinning wildly at him, as if he knows that-

As if he knows that this is the only thing Kuroo Tetsuro has ever wanted.

He can’t bring himself to speak, to ask how Bokuto of all people knows his dirty little secret when he’s tried so hard to keep it to himself… but, in that moment he doesn’t even care.

Because you’re lying there in front of him, in a pretty sundress, hair flowing free and spilling across the pillows, your chest rising and falling gently in your sleep. God, you just look so beautiful and so very, very defenceless.

He starts walking towards the bed before his brain even catches up with him. There are a thousand questions running through his mind as he carefully settles himself down on the mattress beside you - least of which is how the hell Bokuto even managed to get you here, but before he can ask you let out a soft sigh that sounds almost like a moan and his thoughts disappear entirely. He reaches for you, his hand trembling, and ever so gently, as if he’s afraid you’ll fade away before him, and tucks a lock of your hair behind your ear.

He shudders out a gasp. You’re real.

You’re really here.

With him.

How many months had he been watching you in the classes you share together, following you around campus like a lost puppy dog? How many times had he thought about bringing you home, making a move to finally claim you as his?

This… this is his gift? He raises his eyes to look at Bokuto once more, only to find him practically vibrating with excitement. “Did I do good? Did I do good, huh?? Tell me I did good!” he says with a booming laugh, clapping Kuroo on the back.

And Kuroo can’t help but chuckle. Really, he should be more than a little alarmed that one of his best friends is more than comfortable essentially kidnapping a girl just to make him happy, but he’s no saint either. So he grins and nods his head. “Yeah, you did good, man.”

“Ahh, it was nothing!” he replies with a dismissive wave.

He almost rolls his eyes at that, but a sudden thought makes him pause. “Why is she here though, in your bedroom?”

Bokuto snorts, “Well I could hardly sneak her into your room this morning, now could I?”

Eh, he can’t argue with that.

His attention moves back to you, deep in whatever drugged slumber Bokuto managed to induce. It’s not the first time he’s seen you sleeping of course, but it’s the first time he’s ever been close enough to touch you.

“Bo?”

“Yeah, buddy?”

“Find somewhere else to crash tonight.”

Rather than being offended, he just laughs again, “What? Don’t think you’ll be able to keep it to your room?”

Kuroo’s lips curl into a smirk as he brushes the back of his knuckles against your cheek, but he doesn’t reply. Doesn’t really need to - they’ve always been on the same kind of wavelength with stuff like this.

Bokuto just shrugs and shoots a wink, “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

And then he’s gone, and it’s just the two of you. Slowly, gently, he eases you up off the bed and into his arms. Your head lolls back against his shoulder and he fights off a groan. Your skin is so soft and you feel so good in his arms. He can smell the subtle perfume of your hair and he falls in love with you all over again. He wonders, not for the first time, if you’ll taste just as sweet.

You’re perfect, but he’s known that for a long, long time.

He can’t help but smile as he carries you into his room and lays you down onto his bed. So many possibilities, he can’t help but be a little excited.

God knows he��s wrapped his hand around his cock and jerked off to countless fantasies about what he’d do when he finally had you, but in those fantasies you were always awake, if not an active, eager participant.

He wants you aware the first time he fucks you, the first time he makes you cum for him. He wants to hear all your pretty sounds, feel your body tighten and writhe beneath his touch. He wants to stare at your face as you come undone for him.

It’s fine though, he thinks as he lies down on the bed beside you, pulling you into his arms. He doesn’t mind waiting, not when the two of you have the rest of your lives together to play each and every one of them out.

But surely a stolen kiss won’t hurt in the meantime, right?

~ Part 2

#yandere haikyuu #yandere kuroo #yandere kuroo x reader #yandere kuroo tetsuro x reader #yandere kuroo tetsuro #yandere haikyuu imagines #kuroo x reader #female reader #my writing #tw implied drugging #tw kidnapping #tw implied noncon #yandere fic #yandere haikyuu imagine #haikyuu fic #kuroo tetsuro x reader #kuroo tetsurō #bokuto kotaro

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watery-lane · 3 years

Text

Words into Smoke

The Night You Cared Sequel.

Pairing: Modern!Ivar Lothbrok x Reader

Summary: As a part of his therapy, Ivar writes letters to unwind and keep track of his mental health progress. He writes to his mom, he misses her. He writes to Sigurd, sometimes he regrets his departure. One night, he writes about her.

Warnings: Angst

Words: 3864

A/N: (3/5/20) I had this idea in my head that I simply could not let go.

(10/4/21) P.S: Can’t promise I’m back, but I’m definitely turning to writing as a way of winding down. I hope you guys are alright.

Part I / Part II / Epilogue

Some nights, while the city sleeps, Ivar stays awake. Like an owl looking for a prey, the Ragnarsson remains seated upright at the edge of his bed, his now heavily tattooed chest exposed to the world through the panoramic window, heaving. Beating.

Some nights were amazing. He got his drivers license, and Freydis got him an adapted Bentley as a gift. He would spend the nights driving by himself down the empty streets of Kattegat, not worrying about speeding tickets or angry neighbours.

Not so long ago, he learned his wife was finally carrying a child, her round belly reminding him that he had a legacy to keep, now that the Lothbrok dynasty seemed to be more fragmented than ever. After spending thousands of krone on in vitro fertilisation, the universe seemed to work in his favour. Their favour. If the gods were unwilling to bless them two, science would. These were the nights that were made for celebrations, champaign showers and water for the mother to be.

Some nights were alright. Ivar would come back after a long day of meetings and getting his ass kissed, to find Freydis immersed in her little personal projects. He would tell Erik to pick up some takeaway while he washed away the power and wrapped himself in mundane clothes. He would eat in silence, elbows propped on the counter and eyes on the horizon, watching the sun kiss the skyscrapers goodbye as he mindlessly put food in his mouth. Then he would take his new baby for a ride, to the bar he now owned with his brother Hvitserk.

Ivar would go there, check the inventory and the register, ask the employees how everything was going and what could he do for them. Sometimes he would also find Hvitserk at the bar, practicing the cocktail skills he had been mastering since he took over your share of the bar. Ivar would simply walk past, not entirely avoiding making contact with his sibling but prefering to keep a healthy distance from the person that substituted you. He started visiting the local more often after you left, feeling the responsibility to continue what you started. He found peace in the simplicity of managing a bar: at the office, he was a tyrannic boss, voice always booming through the walls, keeping both employees and investors in check. At the bar, he was just the young lovestruck Ivar he once was. He understood then, why you wished to escape from it all. You are just a memory now, but sometimes he still feels you around, checking on the girls, checking on him.

Some nights were... Painful. Therapy had a big presence in his life. He no longer needed a cane thanks to nurse Hansen, his physical therapist. But on some days, the stress and the weather would simply take a toll on his legs, forcing him to carry around that metal stick that reminded him that he was, in fact, human.

Before you left, Freydis figured out a question that would calm Ivar down and make him focus: “What would Dr. Nielsen tell you to do?”. That was how she got him to control himself and open up the last time he was onstage, the night she met you. They were just engaged back then. Oh, how quick did time pass. Ivar no longer organised events like that. He was too consumed by his two jobs. There were nights where Freydis would be on business trips, or out hanging out with friends until the next morning, nights where absences were felt more than presences. But he was coping now. Dr. Nielsen helped the youngest Lothbrok greatly since his great breakdown.

Ivar had thought he physically felt his heart break the night he got down the stage to find you, only to figure out you were gone after most of the guests had left the hotel ballroom. He felt compelled to call you dozens of times to ask for an explanation. After his calls went unanswered, he decided to drive around town in search of you, not knowing where to start, not knowing where to ask, anger poisoning his brain and taking over his actions. That night he stayed at Loki’s after barging in to see if you were hiding there like “the coward you were”. He hated the fact that you could make him feel that weak. It felt like he was putty and Freydis was fire, hardening him the more he was exposed to her. You were water, turning him into a pliable being, at mercy of your actions.

For five days in a row, he found himself staying at his office until late at night, observing his office telephone with attention and indecision, silently praying for you to pick up the phone, practicing the rage filled words he was about to rain down on you the moment you uttered a response. He prayed with ill intentions, but he prayed nonetheless. It was his last resort.

The earth seemed to crack open and swallow him whole the moment he gathered all his courage and dialed your number, only to hear an automated voice telling him that the number no longer existed. He sat there, phone on his hand as a white noise took over the voice message, thinking about the different possibilities that could have happened for you to cancel your line. Maybe, he thought. Maybe I really asked for too much this time.

“Fuck no,” Ivar reflected out loud as he tossed his phone away, “In no fucking way this is my fault.”

“Ivar?” A distant voice reverberated through the glass corridors. It sounded familiar. The youngest Ragnarsson frowned, weirded out by the fact that one of his brothers was still in the office this late.

It wasn’t just one of his brothers, but the three of them.

“Freydis called us asking where you were. You’ve been out late at night for many days in a row, she literally just confronted each one of us asking whether you were having an affair.” Hvitserk said, arms crossed as he leaned on the door frame. “That woman nearly dragged each one of us out to look for you.” Ivar pursed his lips, outraged by such accusations from his then fiancée.

“Well, tell her I’d never do such thing.” He answered, swatting his hand in annoyance. “I am surprised she came to that conclusion, knowing how busy I always am as the bloody CEO!” He exclaimed, letting the following silence fill the room as he flashed a disdainful look towards his brothers.

“Why are you here, brother?” Ubbe finally dared to ask, observing his youngest sibling sway in his chair from side to side.

Ivar looked up for a brief moment, like a puppy who lost his favourite toy, and decided to tell them the whole story. That the had the hunch you were back from a strange event where someone knocked on his penthouse door. To that, Ubbe awkwardly shifted in his place, still listening intently. Ivar explained that he sent you an invite to his inaguration gala and how he asked you to stay for his speech so you could have a dance afterwards, unaware of the utterly personal turn his speech would take just because an old man decided to drink a bit more than usual that night. How he waited for you, called you and looked for you tirelessly, frustration filling his voice as he talked about how you had been avoiding him for a week now, changing your phone number in the process.

“If she thinks she can avoid me by changing numbers she’s dead wrong. We’re business partners, for fucks sake!” He complained, registering the situation as a burden. “I’ll find her new phone sooner or later.”

Unbeknownst Ivar, tension had been gradually building up as he spoke, his three brothers standing still in their places, not knowing how to break the news. Sure they knew this day would come, but none of the three expected to be trapped with the ticking bomb. It was way too soon. Too recent.

Hell, it was about you. It was most likely no amount of time would soften the blow.

Ubbe took a step forward, leaning on the hardwood desk. With a resigned tone, he mumbled:

“She’s gone, Ivar.” He swallowed. “(Y/n) left Kattegat.”

Already motionless before, Ivar remained still. He darted his eyes to look at his brother, confusion and fear brewing within him, fueling a fire he thought it was extinguished the day he made Sigurd leave. With trembling lips but a determined voice, he asked how did he know. How did Ubbe Ragnarsson, the brother who would stab his youngest sibling in the back at the slightest opportunity, know the whereabouts of his woman, while he sat there completely lost, disoriented.

With an attempt of a soothing voice, Ubbe confessed that months ago he offered you a job position to work on a humanitarian project he had running in Haiti. Aslaug had stated in her will that she wished to expand the non-profit organisation she created to other countries and Ubbe decided to make his deceased mother’s wish come true. He told Ivar that while you rejected the offer at first, you ended up accepting it the night of his gala. That you made him promise to make the process fast and discreet, and that, while you insisted on paying for the plane tickets, Lothbrok Inc. paid for your travel expenses and necessities. You left three days ago, unnanounced, with only Ubbe at the airport to bid you farewell.

Hvitserk, who remained silent all this time, let him know that you were no longer the owner of the bar you opened together. At that, Ivar panicked, his eyes wide open as he snapped his head towards his older brother. You simply signed a transfer contract, with Ubbe as the witness and five krone as the contingency, stating that you were returning the property to Lothbrok Inc., thus paying your debt to the family and releasing yourself from any ties to Ivar. He tried to soften the blow, letting him know that he didn’t know you gave him your share because you were leaving. He thought it was a rash decision that stemmed from seeing Ivar with a fiancée, that you’d come back and take back the business when you were ready. He promised he’d take care of the bar as well as you took care of it, that nothing would change under his management.

Ivar listened intently, motionless. His breathing was deep, yet steady. He never moved a muscle voluntarily, but his nostrils flared with every breath and his hand, hidden under the desk, shook incontrollably as he processed their words. His piercing gaze was focused on the oldest Aslaugsson, who was now relaxing and straightening his back as he regained his composure.

It felt like every action happened in slow motion, yet the blow came fast. In mere seconds, Ivar had propped himself forward from the chair, one of his hands grabbing the jacket Ubbe was wearing while the other, contracted in a fist, made contact with his right cheek. That is when Bjorn, who had been silent during the whole exchange, stepped in, grabbing the torso of his youngest brother as he struggled to keep himself standing, making sure he didn’t hurt himself.

Sometimes, Ivar still hears his own screams.

“YOU TOOK HER FROM ME!” Ivar accused, eyes absent of tears but voice cracking at the end of the sentence. “SHEWAS GOING TO STAY,” He roared, fists swinging towards his brother’s face. “AND YOU FUCKING TOOK HER FROM ME!”

He lost it that night. The screams he released came from the depths of his sorrow, his eyes only registering red while all his nerves could only feel the desperation taking over his soul. Ivar kept trying to reach Ubbe, unaware of how he repeatedly banged his legs against the desk as Bjorn tried to pin him down.

But what started as a justified outburst gradually led to nonsensical, rage-filled accusations.

“You wanted to fuck her, didn’t you? You wanted her and you couldn’t stand the fact that she chose ME!” Ivar recriminated, grabbing a sharp glass ornament and throwing it to his brother. Ubbe pursed his lips, dodging the improvised weapon. “You did this to get back at me, hmm? YOU WANT ALL I HAVE, DON’T YOU?” He seethed, eyes and mouth wide open, exposing his teeth like a menacing predator as he let out a guttural laugh.

Bjorn was having a difficult time restraining him. Years relying on his upper body strength gave Ivar the advantage of resilience amongst his biggest sibling, while Bjorn struggled to keep him in place. Ivar managed to grab the second glass ornament, throwing it as he shrieked.

“DON’T YOU KNOW WHO I AM?” his voice boomed in the room, palm pounding his chest as his free hand signaled the whole place. “YOU CAN’T TAKE THIS AWAY FROM ME, I AM IVAR LOTHBROK! YOU CAN’T TAKE THIS AWAY FROM ME!” Ivar kept shouting, cursing as he spat towards Ubbe.

Hvitserk stepped forward, having seen enough, ready to take on his little brother. To his surprise, Ubbe halted him, his arm creating a barrier between Hvitserk and Ivar as he observed with intent and horror etched on his face.

That night, Ivar lost the little progress he made. He broke his femur, dignity left behind as an ambulance carried him to the emergency room.

As if that wasn’t enough, he lost another family member to Lagertha that night.

With a reedy voice as he laid down in the hospital bed, he asked Ubbe one thing:

“Bring her back.” He whispered, his eyes stuck in the ceiling, pretty certain that if he laid his eyes on his brother, he would kill him. “She is working for Lothbrok Inc. now. Bring her back.” His request was met with silence. “That’s an order.” He swallowed, nostrils flaring with each ticking second.

“I’m sorry, Ivar.” Ubbe mumbled. “The Sigurðdóttir Trust is out of your reach.” He reminded him, reopening a wound that Ivar closed not so long ago. “That’s what mother wished.” Ivar snapped his head at the mention of his beloved mother. The brim of his eyes were red like his sclera, a menacing gaze stabbing his brother as Ivar grabbed his wrist.

“You have three days to gather your stuff and leave Lothbrok Inc.” Ivar seethed as he moved his face closer to his brother. “If you’re not gone after that, I will make sure you’ll leave the premises crawling like I crawled as a child.” Ivar swore, releasing his wrist as he let his head drop back to the sterile pillow.

Up to this day, Ivar still saw Ubbe’s action as a huge betrayal. He knew his older brother would return to his life as the new addition of Lagertha’s legal team, Bjorn granted his little brother this little backup plan.

Tonight, his thoughts weighted a little heavier. His eyes scanned the city before focusing on his bedroom, where he finds the clothes he wore today discarded on the leather chair. Behind him, his wife slept peacefully, her baby bumb protuding more and more each passing day. His legs were alright, but with the absence of physical pain he could sense his yearning looming over his head.

Ivar sighs and stands up silently, his bare feet and metallic support dragging on the tiles as he moved to his home office.

Dr. Nielsen taught him the importance of adapted emotional releases. She actively discouraged Ivar from indulging in his impulses and told him to write them down instead. For business meetings, Ivar was told to count until 10, 20 or even 30 if he was encountered with bad news. When it came to personal affairs, Dr. Nielsen told him to write letters addressed to the pertinent subject. Ivar could write them and discard them, write them and take them to therapy or he could write them and send them to the addressee.

It wasn’t the most effective exercise, but it kept his flame at bay. He needed to learn to do that, now that he knew he had a little one coming soon.

Sometimes he wrote to his mother, asking her questions about ruling an empire he wished he had the answer to. Those he kept, as a tool to reflect later on when his ambition peaked. The more emotional ones he’d take to Dr. Nielsen, a proof of his progress on his journey to... normalcy. The ones he wrote to Sigurd, those he threw away. In those pages filled with guilt and rage, he found himself cornered in a bleak past that seemed to refuse to let him go.

Tonight, he thought about you.

It wasn’t like you weren’t a constant presence in his mind, like an annoying tenant in his brain that refused to leave or pay rent. Ivar just chose to remember the best parts of you, those who could be found at the bar you owned, or on his bed when Freydis left him for the night. If he kept you alive that way, he would also keep alive that part of him he thought he lost. You were inevitable, like the pain after a blow or the kiss after a reencounter.

He wishes he could blame you. For leaving, for stepping outside the gala without waiting for your dance. For silently giving away your shares to Hvitserk, who the only thing he knew about bars was how to empty the alcohol pantry. But there is a part of him that cannot physically repulse you.

Ivar sits down and turns on the desk lamp in front of him. He finds his precious pen and puts a piece of paper on the desk. Before starting, he hesitates.

Dear (Y/n),

He groans, crossing the two words with disdain.

Hello.

“Hello?” Ivar shakes his head, crossing the word again.

Hi, princess.

Ivar cringes. No.

Frustrated, he discards the paper. He had done it before. Why was it so hard to do it all over again now?

Just... Jump right in. Start from the beginning, start from the middle, start from the end if you prefer. He recalls the advice of his therapist. Sometimes, formalities are overrated. It may help when you have nothing to say, but it becomes a burden when you got too much to say. Ivar reflected.

And so he did.

Every night I drive through the streets of Kattegat I find myself looking for you wandering around, looking for me to give you a lift, for the memory of our first reencounters were the ones that helped us find redemption.

It is weird, but I still have the need to find you even though I know you are no longer here. The idea of you lives in my head, that I am sure of. The feel of you, that is what I miss.

I guess part of me feels like I still need to apologise for something that I’ve done.

At the sight of his words written on paper, Ivar blinks. He never consciously thought much more ahead of his negations, his feelings dictating the perspectives he kept imposing to his reality.

He sacrificed so much for you. He tried to change for you. He went to therapy, he learned to walk. Ivar tried to become the right man for you, he really tried.

He wished you were there to see it.

Ivar doesn’t really know what he did wrong. All he knows is...

And now that you’re gone for good,

He shakes his head, crossing the last two words.

all I wish for is to be in the wrong this time.

Ivar huffs in frustration.

I wish I had been selfish, I wish I was the old Ivar. I wish I had begged you to stay, to manage this empire I never chos- by my side.

I know you would have never wanted this.

But I know you would have never said no to us.

Mindlessly, Ivar puts his pen in his mouth, a subconscious tick he developped not-so recently. Passing his hands through his hair, he sighed.

I started to smoke. He confessed. I know you never liked the smell, how it clings to my clothes, my mouth, how it lingered around the house when my brothers decided to have one one in their rooms. Ivar snorts at the memory. Not that you’re here to tell me off.

Freydis has been buying candles, they’re all around the house now. The smell of the cigarettes blends with the essences and I technically get to have fire dispensers in every single room.

“Maybe I’m waiting for you to magically show up and tell me to fuck off.” He whispers.

Suddenly, Ivar shakes his head, as if the physical gesture cleared his mind.

I guess I’ll have to stop soon, I have a baby on the way. He releases an airy laugh as he re-reads what he just wrote. Who would have thought, (Y/n)? A baby. Me. Your Ivar.

The young Ragnarsson lets out a tired sigh, strenghening his grip on the metalling pen as he mindlessly tapped on the crystal desk. With resigned resolution, he decides to write his last lines, telling himself that he is finally starting to accept reality.

I know you’re not going to come back. Not to the place we grew up at, at least.

If you ever do, I just want to let you know, as sappy as it may sound, that my heart will always be open for you, even when my arms are not.

I miss you.

I miss us.

Take care,

Ivar.

Dropping the pen, Ivar stares at his letter. His hands blindly search for an envelope, a frown etched on his face until his fingertips brush against the soft surface of the letter. You don’t know, but he found your new address. He searched around Ubbe’s old files.

With a careful manner, Ivar writes down your address on the envelope.

He stands up, walks to his living room and grabs a jacket as he makes his way to the exit.

All of the sudden he stops right on his tracks, his free hand almost reaching to the door handle. Freydis seemed to have forgotten to put out a lone candle, a tiny fragrance dispenser resting on the entrance drawer.

Ivar may not be aware of a lot of things in life, but one thing he was certain of: smoke traveled faster than mail.

His hand was trembling slightly, but it managed to follow his instructions. With a swift move, Ivar positioned the ephemeral piece of paper on the fire, watching intently how the flames consumed his words and took them to you. Discreetly, he threw the burning letter in the empty bin, the lid cutting short the trail of smoke escaping from the container.

He makes sure ashes are all what it remains from his indecent confession and makes his way back to the bedroom. Slowly but steadily, Ivar returns to bed, nesting himself between the sheets before holding his beloved wife in his embrace.

Tonight, he was human. Tomorrow, he’ll have to be a God.

The end.

Taglist:

Note: This is the old taglist I have noted from my past Ivar ficts. Please let me know if you want to be removed or added by sending an ask here.

@aesstheticallypleasing @captstefanbrandt @unicornbaby741 @fuckthatfeeling @huffelpuffers @yannii04 @collecting-stories @timber3 @darkwolfpeanutskeleton @vampsclassiffied @lenafarn @yourpurplequeen@youbloodymadgenius @lettersofwrittencollective

#ivar x reader #ivar the boneless x reader #ivar lothbrok x reader #ivar ragnarsson x reader #ivar/reader #ivar the boneless/reader #ivar ragnarsson/reader #ivar imagine #ivar the boneless imagine #ivar lothbrok imagine #ivar lothbrok/reader #Ivar One shot #ivar the boneless one shot #ivar lothbrok one shot #ivar ragnarsson one shot #ivar ragnarsson imagine

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heli0s-writes · 4 years

Text

Fuckin’ Legit

Pairings: Reader x Bucky Barnes Summary: Follow up to Fuckin’ Teamwork, based off this ask. A/N: More silly shenanigans. Dumbass reader :) 2.1k words

Bag of Tricks Masterlist

Bucky watches from a distance as you hurl through the air and land right heel-first on the training dummy, knocking its head off and making it bounce off the floor with enough force to lodge itself into the ceiling. The room of SHIELD recruits clap and cheer, and when the dummy’s head flops back down you kick it like a hacky-sack at Maria Hill.

“Great demonstration,” Hill catches the head and tucks it under her arm. “Are you interested in teaching a course in hand-to-hand combat with a focus on aerial recovery? Legitimately?”

“Only if you promise not to fall in love with me.” You send a wink at her and then, as soon as you see Bucky’s bewildered face through the other side of the glass, you leap after him. He’s convinced you’re dumber than a bag of rocks, but you’re not deterred by it—especially not after Maria Hill’s validation. Puffing your chest, you skip forward, “Hey, Buck! I’m legit!”

Immediately, you trip and face plant into the nearest surface. The room collectively hisses in discomfort.

“I take that back.” Maria hurriedly ushers the recruits out before they can witness anything else.

Bucky slips through the door and roughly yanks you up by your elbow, wincing when your nose reveals a line of blood dripping into your mouth. “Legit, my ass. Come on. Stark called for us.”

The air in the conference room is stagnant and overwrought with a million unsaid—unscreamed—expressions. Tony pivots on his lifted heels, finger jabbing toward the big screen where a dark and grainy image is projected.

“Care to explain this? Friday pulled it from a broadcast coming from the cell.” He narrows his eyes at you as you slump down into the swivel chair until only the top of your head shows. “How about you?” Tony gestures to Bucky.

Tony has a laser pointer in his other hand, and he shines the red spotlight on the picture where Bucky’s knees are bent and planted to the ground. The dot trails over his thigh and then over the smaller frame beneath him.

You’re there, arched upward into his torso, legs hooked around his tapered waist, heels digging into his spine. Four of his thick flesh fingers are shoved inside your mouth, pulling your cheek open, and the dim light catches a sliver of your wet tongue. His other forearm is pushed onto your sternum, holding you down.

It looks bad.

It looks like Bucky is dry humping the daylights out of you in an abandoned Hydra facility.

Sam erupts into a screeching laugh when he finally pieces it together, pitching forward until he’s flattened against the wood table. “Ho-Homygod--- This is the best day of my life. Is this the cyanide incident?”

Bucky is red from head to toe.

Natasha rolls her eyes and slides away from the table. “Tony, she ate two cyanide capsules. Barnes was wrestling them out of her mouth.”

Tony stiffens for a moment as he ponders the truth behind her statement. Then, he quirks his head like an owl, flares his nostrils, and stoops beneath the table to find you resembling a boneless pile of flesh.

“Everyone is dismissed.” He sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose in irritation. “I wish I could fire you.”

A quiet whimper escapes your lips, the most pathetic noise to ever come from a human being. “But…” You whine pathetically, “I’m legit.”

A few nights later, you find yourself sneaking through yet another dusty old hideout. Surprise, surprise, Hydra is bad with maintenance and loves asbestos.

Steve made you an outline of all your tasks on his mission, written in all caps, folded neatly, and shoved it into your back pocket before departure. You skimmed over it on the plane before crumbling it up. The first bullet point had glared: NO CANDY.

Tightass.

You easily clear the wing and dispatch your status to Sam who is waiting patiently in the jet, fingers on the console. Bucky is patrolling the perimeter and you are taking the east side while Redwing zooms through the west.

There have been trip wires (newbie shit) and also surprisingly advanced attempts at entrapment so far (motion sensors, temperature regulated alarms). They’ve all been expertly pulled apart and rewired and you are taking a short break fucking around in the hallway, peering at dusty paintings of – some old dead bald guys. You take a picture of one and send it to Tony, labelled it’s like looking into the future.

Chortling, you continue down the corridor aimlessly until you hear a creak.

The knife in your hand is blade-first and coming down hard on the body sneaking up until— “Oh Barnes!” You cry happily, tucking it back into the strap on your wrist. “Good. You’re here! There’s only one more room—I’ve been crushing it.”

Literally two seconds after you say that, you turn the corner and run face-first into the door. Bucky pauses as if he doesn’t quite register what just happened before slowly reaching forward and gently applying pressure to the handle.

It’s written all over his face: you’re an idiot. You are seriously lacking some brain cells.

He leads the way carefully, swatting cobwebs hanging from the ceiling and taking stock of each corner, rifle pointed forward and alert. Behind him, your boots thump noisily against the floor and a chair is tipped over when your arm crashes into it.

Bucky spins on his heels and catches the chair before it can fall on top of what looks like a very obviously placed … box.

It’s a box.

A giant red box is on the floor, outlined with a square of white tape. Two abnormally unsoiled items in a room made almost entirely out of forty-year old dandruff. Your hands are already on both sides of it before Bucky can knock you out of the way.

“Don’t!” He screams because fucking anything could be under there!

A wild animal! A toxic chemical! A bomb! Snakes, for fuck’s sake! His eyes widen at the fading shadow cast on the floor as you lift the top away. Then, his heart stops beating.

It’s a slice of cake. And a cup of tea. A single slice of vanilla sheet cake neatly decorated with a blush-pink rose and two perfectly piped green leaves. The faint smell of jasmine wafts into the air.

Bucky barrels into you before you get the chance to lick your lips.

“Wilson!” He calls into the comm as you push his face away with an offended yelp, “They’re in the east side—set a trap for us! Get over here and bring your stupid bird too! I swear to God—NO! DO NOT!”

In the hovering Quinjet, Sam Wilson leaps to his feet and swoops out of the cabin, wings folded as he dives. “Come again?!” He taps on the comm wedged inside his left ear, “Barnes!?”

“-- fuck-- gonna—fucking--- stop BITING ME!”

A furious row of explosions blare in Sam’s ear as he banks a sharp left and lands on two feet, tearing his way inside the facility, checking on his wrist all the while. Redwing’s camera is glitching, but he can make out flashes of gunfire and what looks like at least five bodies, not including his two teammates. Bursts of white erupt on the screen and Sam’s heart picks up a tremendous pace before he kicks the door down, pistols out and aimed.

A silence smothers the room before grunting and screaming erupts again over Sam’s shout of, “What is going on in here?!”

“And this, ladies and gentlemen, is the exact moment I came upon my fellow Avengers,” Sam pauses, waving his hand with a bow at the image projected on the conference room screen.

Friday pulled another image from the broadcast before Sam shot out all the cameras in the facility.

It seems that the previous video of you eating cyanide had been intercepted through a bounced signal from the original recording’s output and those on the other end decided you were enough of a proper imbecile to be tricked by something as simple as a slice of cake.

They weren’t wrong.

Tony’s laser is in Sam’s hand and he points the dot in flashes five times, “Dead dudes. Check.” The dot moves on, landing on two splayed out legs before it runs up the side of Bucky’s body pressed to the concrete. “Barnes. Check.” Bucky shuts his eyes and slams his head into the table. “And… here we have this.”

Sam points to you, bottom lip clenched tightly between your teeth as you lurch forward, one hand outstretched and smeared with frosting while the other holds your torso barely an inch from the ground, paying no mind to the two elbows digging into your stomach. Sam points again to where your crotch is pushed right into Bucky’s face.

“Jesus Christ.” Steve mutters, flushing red, “I wrote you directions for a reason…”

“Excuse me,” You huff, “Cake is not candy.”

“Really?!” Bucky snaps, “That’s the hill you’re going to die on!? You ran into the door! You knocked over a chair! You looked at the one thing that did not belong in the room and you picked it up even after I told you not to!”

Steve jumps back into the grilling, “And if you would have read the rest of the list—NO FOOD AT ALL was number two!”

“Oh yeah!?” You’re near hysterical now, shrieking at the top of your lungs. Stupid men ganging up on you. “What was number three? No fun!? I’m Captain America and I’m such a tightass--”

Bucky cuts you off, throwing his hands up into the air, “Number three was get the blueprints!”

“Oh.”

The room falls silent as you tuck your hand into the pocket of your pants. “Why didn’t you just say so? I nabbed ‘em as soon as I got in there. Marked off the locations of all the cameras and security alarms—not like that matters since Wilson shot them and I disarmed the rest in the east wing. Also, there were corridors and secret entryways not in the file. It’s on here now.”

Carelessly, you chuck the flash drive from your pocket at Steve and it smacks him in the chest. Sam crosses his arms and cocks his head at you, “Shit. Didn’t know you were all that.”

You frolic to the door, “See ya later!”

Three men watch on in shocked silence as you prance down the hallway, banking a sharp right towards your room. Steve stares from Sam to Bucky and then to the flash drive in his hand.

Sam clucks, “You know what… All things considered… the girl is legit.”

He calls your name, bangs on the door with a hard fist and when it cracks open, you peek your head out with tired eyes. “Sup, buttercup?”

“Why are you like this? The cyanide? The cake? You had the flash drive the whole time!”

You shrug off what sounds like an accusation, “I dunno. I’m good at my job.” Bucky crosses his arms. “Barnes!” You scold with a growing grin, “I’m legit! I just… you know. Why put all the pressure on myself when you’re around?”

You snort a little, scratch your tummy underneath an oversized shirt absently, and shrug your shoulders repeatedly like you’re dancing. Bucky narrows his eyes. “Are you telling me you’re an idiot because of me?”

“Yeah, Buck. I know you’ll take care of me.”

He freezes. Feels a sudden swell of heat rush from his chest to the top of his head. Bucky opens his mouth to retort, but nothing comes out. He closes it. You give him a sleepy grin, leaning on the door and swinging it wide, faltering against the knob with a yelp.

Swiftly, and true to his character, Bucky catches you with one arm.

Hanging from his hold, body twisted around, you look up into his blue eyes. They’re strangely tender, dancing over your face with an inquisitive glimmer.

The moment shatters when Bucky’s gaze stops at your neckline. “Is that—" he frowns, “Is your shirt on backwards?”

You nod. “Uh huh. Inside out too.”

His eyes slip shut. With a sigh, he drops you flat on your back and turns around. “You’re an idiot. I hate you.”

Down the hallway as he stomps off, cursing the moment the thought you were cute or something… he hears your voice calling.

“I’m an idiot— but I’m legit, right? And I’m your idiot, right? Bucky? Bucky!”

Bucky holds back a grin. Flicks you off behind his back. Legit or not, he would never give you the satisfaction of knowing.

perm taglist @whothehellisbucky @serpentbaby @badassbaker @alagalaska @cake-writes @crist1216 @star-spangled-man-with-a-plan @infinity-saga @jamesbarnesthighs @pinknerdpanda @xoxabs88xox @imsoft-barnes @momc95 @typicalangel @wretchedgoddess @readeity @iwannasail

#marvel #mcu #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #fanfiction #reader insert #crackfic #bucky barnes x you #bucky x you #humor

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iam-constant · 7 years

Text

Better Ends

#5 (Extreme WIP)

When is the exact moment, when it is decided that a person is dead? Is it when the heart stops, or when brain has had last of its waves? Or perhaps when the beautiful soul of ours leaves our bodies? I’ve died a lot lately. I think you’ve died as well, probably it’s from boredom. That’s probably the mark of an unfortunate life. We all die at some point, some more than others. I heard somewhere, that when you sneeze your entire body stops, isn’t that a way to explain death? When every part of your body refuses the controller? Refuses to move the way you want them to? When they refuse to listen to the reason and ignore everything? I wonder, am I not dead enough for your taste? The question is rhetorical of course, because you swinging that full metal bar, as hard as you are, gives all the answers a guy can ask for.

- Look at me! Look at me! Look at me! - You keep screaming as you swing the bar down on me and I have no other way but to get hit with it. - Is this what you wanted?

- What is going on? Why are you doing this? - I am so confused right now, but there is always a chance that it’s a mild concussion.

- Is this what you wanted? Look at me! - I can’t look at you, I don’t want to look at you. I’ll die for sure if I look at you.

- Talk to me woman, what did I do? We can sort it out. – I’m trying to cover my face and that’s when one of your swings hit the watch Margo gave. The watch breaks as does the connection between my soul and body, I feel a sudden shift, push out of body, it’s like my body says I’ve had enough of your shit, get the fuck out. I blank out.

*BLANK*

I fucking told you, didn't I? I told you it would end in something horrible. Well guess what? It fucking did. That miserable sack of shit is laying on his back, while you beat down on him. I can almost feel bad for the sod, but I can't. All I can think is hit harder, hit him in his skull, pour his brains out, make it rain blood. Wait, wait a second, wait for fuck sake, that miserable sack of shit is me, you are killing me! What is going on? What's happening? I'm out of my body again. Why the fuck, am I dead? I fucking did it again; I did something very wrong. I got my hopes up high again and you are crushing them with your bloodied iron bar, right along with my scull. The squirrel mask has blood spatters all over it and I think a bit of brains. Blood dripping down from crow bar has soaked the your clothes. What did I even do this time? I don't fucking remember a thing. Last thing I remember is being in statis, with you in a pub. Looking away and looking at you at the same time. I remember Mike bringing drink, but I don't remember anything after that. Why am I seeing a body? If I was statis, shouldn’t I be dead a long time ago. Jesus did I do something after I was dead? What could it be that deserves you smashing my head open with a crowbar? My body is long dead, but you're still swinging. I'm looking at you, I didn't think you had that in you, I didn’t want you to have it at all. I'm waiting for you to calm down. But you just swing as the squishy sound of what used to be my brain matter dissolves into the ground. You're not stopping, I think you're in shock. What the fuck did I do? I have to cross the statis again. Ah fuck, it hurts.

- I think he's dead princess. – I cross, but you're still not stopping. I hold your hand. - It's done, I'm dead you can stop. - You stop and turn your face towards me. - What the fuck did I do this time? - You fall on your knees. I don't hear you crying, you just look up. It seems like it’s going to rain. - I'm sorry princess; I'm really a horrible person. I'm sorry for whatever I did. - I must have deserved this right? I must deserve it for whatever I did. You wouldn't just do it for nothing. I must have done something really horrible. That's the kind of person I am right? - You don't have to be sad. It's over now. - Hah... I'm calming my own murderer, now that's a story to write about. I feel the tug on my soul, someone is pulling and calling. It's Nether, but I can't leave now. I fall face down in my own blood and goo. This is it I guess, I'm falling into the widening gyre. I wish I looked at your face before I was dragged down, man that will really tear me up.

I disappear. I A M N O T H I N G. Are you wondering how it feels? It's something similar to sleeping without dreams and wake up call, it's like what we all felt right before we were forced into this world, before all the crying starts. It's peaceful, it's calming and it’s relaxing. That's when I hear something. I think it's a song, is that Elliott Smith?

First the mic, then a half cigarette

Singing "Cathy's Clown"

That's the man that she's married to now

That's the girl that he takes around town

She appears composed, so she is, I suppose

Who can really tell?

She shows no emotion at all

Stares into space like a dead china doll

I'm never going to know you now

But I'm going to love you anyhow.

- Little boy, with a little heart got a little hurt. - I hear the voice from the darkness, hissing into my ears. - Do you like it? I threw some welcoming party just for you. Oh open your eyes already, you can sleep later. – I open my eyes.

- Hello Nether, it’s been a while. – I sit up, I’m in the casket. I look around, seems like I’m in her room.

- I’ve been calling you bad boy, why haven’t you been picking up?

- Oh, you know this and that. I’ve been busy you know.

- I can tell. You died twice just today; someone’s been having too much fun.

- Trust me fun is the thing I’ve been missing. – I got out of the coffin and sat on the bed, she sat right beside me.

- That’s not scary, we can have fun together. – She moved closer to me and put her hand on my face.

- Nether, I know you’re not going to like it, but can you please let me go back? – I stood up again.

- Back? Why would you have to go back there? You died twice today, rest here with me. You won’t be hurt; I’ll take care of you.

- You know I care about you Nether. I just have unfinished business to attend to.

- But... But I thought you wanted to stay? Isn’t that why you brought it here? Why won’t you not stay with me? – Nether started to get sad, that’s never good. I have to change her focus.

- Brought it here? What did I bring here? – She looked at me.

- You don’t remember? Oh that’s right, statis. Mortals forget things when they cross. – She held her tears. – Your house, it’s here. You asked me to bring it here.

- I did? - I have no recollection of that, why did I ask her to do that? Did I know I’d die? - When did I do that?

- Well, just before you were killed, the first time. Our conversation was cut off, because of it, but you asked me to bring your house here and I did it. I thought you got tired up there and decided to stay with me.

- I’m sorry Nether. I don’t remember why I asked you that. Where is my house now?

- Why should I tell you anything? You’re just going to leave me again for her.

- Nether please, something really weird is going down. Can you please tell me, where my house is? – She didn’t see like she wanted to say. - You know that it doesn’t matter how many times I go back up there, I’m destined to come back to you anyways. What’s couple of hundred years to you anyway? You’re immortal. – She smiled a bit.

- It’s just gets so boring around here. – She’s like a pampered princess. - I got excited when I receive your call. Can’t you just stay a bit longer?

- Sorry, I’m in a hurry right now. You know I’d stay if I could.

- I know, I know. I was watching your whole episode. That girl has some issues with you, you know that right?

- I didn’t notice. Look I have to get through this, can I go.

- Unless you forgot, there is no one can that can hold you here, your house is next room. – She pointed at the door. - But I will not be taking you into the living. Daddy will get mad.

- It’s OK. Thanks for the help, I’ll manage get out part somehow. – I opened the door and entered my house.

- See you soon. – I heard Nether call.

The house reeks like it used to, I guess there is no way of fixing that. I look around, everything seems normal. Now, what am I supposed to do? Then I suddenly remember, the key, you were looking for it. I go towards my bedroom. It’s still as messy as I left it this morning. I walk to the bad, and take the pillow out. Then I shake it, until a golden key falls down from it. I take it up and I’m uncertain for the next move. I lie down on the bad, remembering the way you were swinging that iron bar, it seemed so cold, so unlike you. Fuck, I can’t be thinking about this now. I need to focus. The key, it’s somehow all about the key. Maybe I left something inside the “worldmaker”, I should go in. I stand up and go towards the door that connects living room and my bedroom, I close it. I fit the key and turn it twice. I hear a click, it’s unlocked now. I open the door, the smell of Mexican potatoes hits me, ah I could eat now. I enter the world, it’s too bright for a second and then I look around. I see the view from the top of the mountain, everything looks so beautiful form here. I see galloping unicorns, flying octopus, gentleman lions with top hats and normal neck giraffe. I see all the creatures we brought to life here. I hope nobody was expecting for more? These are our old creation after all. I mean we were just kids when we were given “worldmaker”, what would we make, a city? We made a great playground and I never had the heart to destroy it. Also I lied, I come here almost every time I am drunk, I come here and have some existential conversation with intelligent owl. There is no time here, so I can talk and feel bad all I want. He’s been a good shoulder to cry on. Oh, that’s right my psychologist is a talking owl, deal with it. Actually I should find him. If I left something here, he will know for sure.

- Owl. – I screamed my lungs out. – Owl, it’s me, I gotta talk to you. – I heard the wings flapping from behind. – Hey Olli, how are you? - Owl looks at me with his wide eyes. They always make me think he doesn’t even see me.

- Hello there young man. You don’t look so good. Have you not been listening to my advises?

- I listen to all of them, I just don’t follow.

- Well, how can I be of help? Is it anything existential again?

- Not really Olli, this time I was just wondering if I left something here.

- Left something? Like a car keys? I don’t remember something like this.

- Are you sure Olli? I didn’t leave anything here when I left last time?

- I’m sure sir, that’s why I was created after all. – I started scratching my head. - I don’t know if this will help. You just said - the last time you left, But you never left sir.

- We’ve talked about this Olli, I know I have to move on. I don’t have time for this now.

- I’m not talking about your problems sir. I’m saying that you haven’t left this place, you are near the rivertea. I flew over you as I was coming to you.

- Wait what? How is that possible, there is another me here?

- I don’t think it’s another you, I think it is you.

- OK, this is getting out of hands already, what the fuck did I do? – I’m so confused, what does it mean I never left? I was just outside and died twice. – Take me to rivertea, where I am, I guess.

- Of course, just a second. - Olli flew up and I followed him. I probably walked 5 kilometer, but I got there in 5 second. It’s the design that we made to get around faster. I got to the rivertea and then walked down the banks. I saw where Olli was flying from far away. I also saw something like a body laying near the tree, it wasn’t moving. As I got closer and closer to it, I started recognizing it, it was really me. Well, at least, this me didn’t look dead. I mean I was holding a beating heart torn out of my chest, but it was still beating. And the rules of death in “worldmaker” is pretty sketchy. It’s really hard to die in here. I looked at myself, I was sleeping or in something similar to coma. My mouth was all bloodied, it seemed like I bit my own heart, why the fuck did I do that? What the hell is wrong with me?

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