#run your fingertips through me hair!!!scratch my head softly!!!say how soft it feels!!!braid it!!!do everything

[vinylhazza]

ok but doing e’s skin care routine for him bc he already got all comfy and is in bed and ur already up so you apply everything for him 🥺 i feel like he’d be so appreciative it’d be so cute 🥺🥺

he would love that so much. he’s laying down on the bed, groaning softly from his muscles finally relaxing after such a long day of filming and bickering with grayson non stop. you would think that getting older, they would chill out on the pointless arguments, but they only seem to get worse. 

he’s so tired, drained from running around LA, not only filming but taking pictures with fans and having to keep the “face” on for the camera’s all day. it was also one of the hottest day’s he’s felt in a while and the hot shower that he just stood in for nearly an hour? un fucking matched. you had joined him, rubbing his sore muscles while the steaming water ran down the surface of his smooth, golden skin. your hands might be small, but you take his massages very seriously. when his muscles get too tense, he tends to get cranky. and you in no way shape or form want to mess with a grumpy, tired ethan. 

you worked at his shoulders, neck, and lower back in between shampooing his hair and just giving him a little extra care, loving him up for a change. you knew he appreciated it from the way his head rolled back when your nails dug deeper into the skin of his scalp as you scrubbed, or the way he hummed softly when you worked in the dimpled of his back, the vibrations tingling against your fingertips. it had you smiling in the steamy shower, appreciating where you are and how you got here with him. it was a domestic moment that meant much more to you than you thought it would. you had left delicate, feather light kisses against his shoulder blades while you turned off the water, reaching out to grab a towel and pat him dry. 

he had been standing in the same spot for the entire duration of the shower - simply enjoying the feeling of your hands and the way that you would so generously offering to help him and pamper him when it’s normally the other way around. he took the opportunity to watch as you turned him around the dry his front, grabbing your own towel and drying off before you tugged him by his wet hand from the steamy cube. 

so in this moment he was just about heartbroken that in all of his relaxation and being loved all over by you...he forgot one thing. his skincare routine. he was very adamant about it as well. he doesn't miss it for the world - he even took it on the camping trip with grayson, convinced the world would surely collapse if he didn't have that little curology bottle with him. 

you are standing at the counter after slipping on your night clothes - a tank top with some sweats you grabbed before you got in the shower. you brushed your hair and teeth, spending a little more time to braid the hairs away from your face and put it into a little bun at the back of your neck. it’s a cute, messy hairdo but it works for bedtime. but when you walk back into the room, he’s got his eyes closed, but his lip is popped out into an adorable little pout that you want to kiss away instantly. 

“what’s wrong bubba?” you soothe, scratching over his scalp once again through his thick, damp hair. 

“i’m so tired, but I forgot my skin care routine,” he sighs into the mattress, not even having the energy to roll onto his back. he had put on his black sweats, and was fully prepared to lay down and fall asleep immediately - but now he can’t think about anything else but taking care of his skin. 

“that’s alright, just lay there and i’ll be right back,” you pat his back, raising from the spot you sat on at the edge of the matress. 

“where you goin?” he whines, reaching out blindly to grab at the fabric of your shirt. 

you smile down at him before pushing his hand away with a giggle, “i’m already up so i’m just going to do it for you.” 

before he can say anything else you’re already in the bathroom, grabbing the small white bottle off the counter, and wetting a washcloth, before shuffling back over to the bed, using more strength than normal to flip his heavy limp body around so you could see his face. 

“I know you’re tired but c’mon e, a little help here?” you chuckle, trying to get the access you need to rub the formula into his face. 

“sorry,” he mumbles quietly, pushing himself up with his arms just to flip over and shimmy underneath the covers, laying his head back on the pillow with dreamy smile playing on his heart shaped lips. 

with his eyes still closed he can’t see you roll your eyes with a grin, opening the bottle and shaking it for a moment before squeezing the tiniest bit out onto the tips of your fingers. you take the rag and run it over his face gently, just to get the skin dewy. you take the white formula, and rub it into his cheekbones first, appreciating both the softness of the product and his skin, and then move directly to his forehead and chin while he continues to hum. he’s near purring at you while you continue with the task, squirting one last pump out and rubbing it near his eyebrows before you pat his cheek with a quiet, “all done.” 

“you’re too good to me, angel,” he mummers, opening his arms for you to fall into. 

you replace the cap on the bottle, making sure to it’s tightly sealed before you place in on a clear spot on the nightstand next to your phone that’s charging for the night, reaching a hand over to flick off the lamp that seems much too bright right now. you turn back and crawl into the covers beside him, finally settling into his sturdy chest while his arms pull you closer to him in the darkness. he really doesn't know how much he truly means. 

“you deserve good things,” is all you can manage to say before your mind gets hazy, eyes shut with exhaustion, and his warm arms are lulling you to sleep. 

#asks #e!concepts #ethan!concepts #felt like being mushy #so i made something 🧀y #ur 🐳💦🥛

[harrysgems]

Before Dawn - Part 1

Leah was walking down the street, frustrated and, once again, mad at her brother. The little prick took the car, again. He’d known she would need it this afternoon to pick up their grandma, and he could have perfectly walked to work.

“I’m gonna fucking kill him,” she muttered, feeling the urge to kick something rise to unexpected levels.

Then, she felt something hit her shoulder. Her eyes opened wide as she refused to look.

Please, don’t let it be a pigeon’s… she wouldn’t even dare finish that thought. She finally gathered the courage to take a look at her jacket and, to her relief, it was just a big droplet of water. Probably from one the multiple trees that adorned this street. Only then she became aware of the tapping of the raindrops against the pavement.

“Come on!” she complained, “You gotta be fucking kidding me.”

She pulled her hood over her head and walked faster as she kept her gaze to the floor. The last thing she needed was to trip over something she couldn’t see because her glasses were full of tiny raindrops.

Oh, how she missed the coast of Italy! The weather was warmer over there, and it definitely didn’t rain this much. Why, of course, this was England; the land of humidity and non-stopping rain.

Her mind was elsewhere, roaming her memories of that adorable Italian village, reason why she didn’t see the six feet tall man walking in front of her. At least, not until she collided with his broad back.

“Ouch!” the man groaned.

“Ouch!” she echoed.

“What the hell?”

She lifted her head to get a proper look of him just as he turned around.

“Harry?” she shrieked.

He narrowed his eyes, still upset about the incident, before he actually recognized her.

“Leah?” he asked.

“What are you doing here?” the question left her lips before she could even process the words.

“I could ask the same question,” he chuckled, “Long time no see.”

“Yeah, it feels like ages since we last saw each other,” she smiled sheepishly.

“Seems life’s treating you well,” he jerked his head toward her Italian boots and bag.

“I can’t complain,” she shrugged, “One of my books got published and now I live in a lovely village in the coast of Italy,” she explained, returning the smile he’d just given her, “What about you? I saw you released a new album.”

“Yeah, I did, didn’t I?” he tried to hide how proud he was of his new project, but he just couldn’t, “Have you gotten around to listen to it yet?”

“I’m sorry,” she grimaced, “With Luca and Thor, and Christmas around the corner, I haven’t got much time to spare.”

“Oh, you’ve got a boyfriend,” Harry commented, trying to keep it causal despite feeling a stab of… what was that? Jealousy? Why would he be jealous of Luca? He should be happy for his friend. If they could even consider themselves as friends anymore.

“Oh, no, no, no!” Leah quickly denied, “I wish,” she laughed awkwardly, “Luca is my editor,” she clarified.

“Oh,” Harry mouthed, “So who’s Thor?” he frowned, remembering the name she’d just dropped a few seconds ago and now realizing there was nothing Italian about it.

“My puppy,” Leah smiled wider than she’d ever done whilst revealing that piece of information.

“You’ve got yourself a puppy?” Harry asked, genuinely surprised.

“Mm-hmm,” she confirmed, “A friend of mine found out her dog was pregnant. She couldn’t keep all the puppies, so she asked a few friends if we could keep them. I really didn’t plan to actually adopt one. You know me, I love pups but I’ve never had one at home because my mom’s not very into pets and I was afraid I’d mess up. But when he looked at me with those puppy eyes… Well, I couldn’t say no.”

“And how’s he?”

“He’s the most adorable pup ever,” she said, proudly, “Although we have to work on the biting bit, I’m running out of slippers,” she frowned before they both laughed softly at that last comment.

Harry took a second to finally observe her. She was beaming, even beneath the cold rainy English weather. Her brunet hair was tied in a loose braid, and she still had a light tan to her skin, probably from enjoying the warm sun of the Italian coast. Her face was almost make-up free, except for the light mascara she was wearing. Her cheeks were already rosy due to the cold air, just like the tip of her nose.

He noticed how shiny her lips were; he, then, remembered how obsessed she was with lip balm back in the day. Some things never change, he guessed.

Leah wondered what was going through Harry’s mind. He’d been quiet for longer than expected, but he’d always been one to speak really slowly, so she didn’t think twice about it. The beanie he wore covered most of his hair, although a few curls escaped from its grip. She’d always loved Harry’s curls, even more so when his hair was way longer than it was now.

“How old’s your pup?”

The question startled her. She’d become awestruck remembering how soft those curls felt between her fingertips.

“Four months old,” she answered, still lingering to that memory.

“He’s still such a baby,” Harry blinked twice in awe.

“Yeah, that’s why it is so hard to teach him,” she laughed softly again, “He’s so cute it’s difficult to tell him off.”

“Can I meet him?”

Leah was surprised by Harry’s question. He sure had better things to do than meeting her new baby. Even more after so long they’d spent without even sharing a word with each other.

“Yeah, sure,” she found herself answering before actually think it through.

“Did you bring him here with you?”

She nodded before she added:

“I wasn’t going to leave him alone in Italy. Or with Luca, for that matter,” she grimaced again.

“Is it that bad?” he chuckled.

“He’d have probably tried to put him in a tutu.”

“Oh, poor thing.”

“Yeah, I’m not letting Thor anywhere near Lucca. He may be Italian and have good taste in fashion, but no way is he gonna dress my dog.”

They both laughed at that and afterwards a comfortable silence fell upon the two of them.

“It was nice seeing you, Harry.”

“It was really nice to see you too, Leah.”

“Guess I’ll see you around,” she smiled at him.

“Of course, you still need to introduce me to Thor!” he smiled back at her.

And despite not seeing much due to the raindrops sliding down her glasses and the fact that she was running late to pick her grandma up, the urge to kill his brother had magically gone away. Now she only wanted to smack the back of his neck for being so irresponsible.

                                        ┅┅━━━━━━━ ۵ ━━━━━━━┅┅

Leah had been fighting the need to write down everything that crossed her mind. The memories mixed all together and threatened her to become emotionally attached to them once again, after how long it took her to get over those moments.

Hence, when she arrived back home and her grandma was finally sitting on the armchair, she sneaked into her room before anyone else saw her, with her pup right behind her.

“Hello gorgeous!” she called him.

The pup leaned his head to the side, observing her. To be fair, she couldn’t blame him if he ever thought she was crazy. She picked him up from the floor and helped him onto her bed. The pup found his way onto her lap, where he rested peacefully, snuggling his head against her tummy for attention from time to time.

“Ya really like to be pampered, don’t ya, little boy?” she whispered to him whilst scratching the fur behind his ears.

Thor merely rested his head against his paws and closed his eyes, enjoying the feeling of his human giving him the attention he deserved.

“You’re the prettiest thing to ever exist,” she whispered to him again, still scratching his black fur.

After Harry Styles, the voice in her head was loud and clear. And undoubtedly not welcome. She frowned and stopped the movement of her hand, wondering why her subconscious was playing with her like that. The pup lifted his tiny head and snuggled her hand, asking for attention.

“If you weren’t so adorable you wouldn’t get away with everything you want,” she muttered.

The tiny pup yawned and she thought her heart would melt at any given moment because he was way too endearing to be real.

“We’ll have to work on that,” she pointed her index finger at Thor, but he decided it was a good idea to smell it and lick the tip of her finger, “Stop!” she laughed as the pup licked her again, “You’re tickling me,” she kept laughing.

Thor happily barked as his tail wiggled from side to side. He was happy when his human did those strange noises.

                                        ┅┅━━━━━━━ ۵ ━━━━━━━┅┅

It was already late in the night, or early in the morning, Leah couldn’t quite tell. She knew she wouldn’t be able to sleep until she poured all of her thoughts and feelings out, but she wasn’t sure she wanted to go down that memory lane.

Despite her initial reluctance, she took her laptop and sat back in her bead. Thor was sleeping beside her and the only sound that could be heard was his even breathing. She smiled broadly. God, how she loved this pup.

She took a deep breath and opened her Notepad. That overwhelming feeling took over her again; she had so much to tell, but she didn’t even know where to begin. How do you summarize years and years and express them in words? Well, she should’ve known; it was no less than her job. But there was an added difficulty when the story to tell was hers.

She began typing the first thing that came to her mind and, after a while, her fingers flew through the keyboard with a mind of their own.

Every word carried emotion, and every sentence pulled out a new memory. Before she knew, she was going down that road again.

                                        ┅┅━━━━━━━ ۵ ━━━━━━━┅┅

Harry still couldn’t believe he’d actually seen Leah today. Of course, if he’d even tried to keep in touch, he would’ve known she’d be in town. But he’d been too busy, and she hadn’t tried to reach him either. At least, that was what he’d been telling himself all this time to make himself feel better. Truth was, he regretted every single time he would’ve liked to text her and he didn’t.

They’d known each other for so long, and yet he’d let her slip through his fingers. He knew she’d always considered him her best friend, reason why he didn’t even dare to begin to think how lonely she must’ve felt these past few years.

But he wouldn’t apologize to her, because that would be admitting he was sorry… And he hadn’t done anything wrong. Things just… cooled down. Besides, it was probably too late, anyway.

He turned around in his bed for the hundredth time tonight. Who was he trying to fool? He’d played with her, so many years ago. He’d been such a dick, and there was no way she could forgive him for what he did.

Finally giving up on getting to sleep, Harry took his phone from his bedside table and scrolled through his gallery. He should probably delete some of the pictures in there; there were too many of them, but he felt so attached to those pictures because of the memories they brought back to life…

He found several pictures of teenage Leah partying with his teenage self. They sure knew how to have a good time. A sad smile pulled up on his lips when he saw the picture of that night, right before he made the biggest mistake of his life.

Leah had always told him how she wanted to become a writer, and she sure had talent. Even back then, she always had this habit of thanking him whenever he helped her, no matter whether it was a big favour or just listening to her rant about something. And she did so by writing letters. Well, they weren’t actually letters, because she sent them as a text message, but they were long and emotional enough to make him tear up.

Harry smiled as he remembered that one time they were hanging out at a party, and she was hammered and so, so upset. He was upset too for some reason he’d completely forgotten, and she gave him the most emotional, beautiful, realistic speech no one had ever given him. She obviously didn’t remember anything the following day, but he did.

He believed that was the night everything changed.

He’d always walked her home but, from that night on, he’d treasured those moments when they were alone in the early morning, right before dawn; just the two of them, no rush, walking beside one another in a comfortable silence or laughing about something that had happened at some point in the night. And even after hours of dancing, sweating and drinking, she looked beautiful.

He wondered if she’d gone down this memory lane too, after running into him this morning. Would she think of the same memories he did? Would she even want to think about the moments they’d shared at all?

Another memory hit him as he kept scrolling down the pictures of his gallery. The white dress.

That was a night to remember; at least the tiny bits they could put up together. It was summer and she was wearing that flowy white dress, way too short to bring her home to mother, but damn if she didn’t look sexy in it. They were waiting for someone and he decided to sat down on the stairs, tired of standing up and not moving at all. Two other friends did the same, and no space was left to sit down, so she just clinged to his neck and sat on his lap, a smile on her face asking if it bothered him. Harry limited his answer to wrapping his arms around her waist.

He loved how she always tangled her fingers in his hair, massaging his scalp and tugging softly at his curls. All of them were probably being too loud, laughing too much, because while he was almost falling asleep beneath the touch of her fingers on his hair, he felt drops of water wetting them. Apparently, a pissed off neighbour decided it was a good idea to water the teenagers sitting under his balcony.

She squealed and jumped off of his lap, running away from the water. He followed her shortly after and joined her away from the angry neighbour. It was only then they burst into laughter and left that place.

He didn’t know why, that night he couldn’t keep his hands off her body. Maybe he was being selfish, but he’d just broken things up with Hannah, and he longed for this kind of contact. She hadn’t complained at all, though. The only thing Leah did, was smile sheepishly every time Harry brushed her hair away from her face and brought it behind her ear.

Until they went outside the club and back to the street so their friends could smoke. The night breeze was cool for summer, and he could see her shiver. He wrapped his arms around her once more, bringing her closer to his body, trying to warm her up a little bit while their friends finished their cigarette. She hugged him by the waist and rested her head on his chest. When he asked whether she was cold, the drunk, I’m-no-longer-shy version of Leah told him her ass was cold. Fuck. What was he supposed to do? He was drunk too.

Without actually thinking it twice, his hands flew to her ass and he tried to warm it up, rubbing it. It didn’t seem such a bad idea at the moment, after all, she laughed and thanked him.

Later that night, he remembered, he offered to walk her home again, just like he did every single time they hung out together. Funny story? Both of them were so wasted they ended up walking in the opposite direction until they reached a park across town. She’d tried to warn him several times throughout their walk, but she kept saying her orientation sucked so she just trusted him, because his was better. Well, when drunk, apparently not.

They sat down on the floor, laughing at the stupid situation. They would have to unwalk what they did and then keep going until they reached her house. Leah rested her head against Harry’s shoulder, her whole body shaking from laughter, and they fell back on the floor. She was on top of him, sort of, still laughing uncontrollably. He couldn’t stop laughing either and at some point, before they’d fallen down, he’d hugged her to protect her from hitting the floor.

It was in that moment she raised her head to stare into his green eyes, her face so close to his. She’d tried her best to hold her laugh back, but she couldn’t manage to do so as she told him how hungry she was. He cracked up again, joining her laughter, because he was too, hungry. And as he helped her up, he realised, not only of food.

                                         ┅┅━━━━━━━ ۵ ━━━━━━━┅┅

Tears were already streaming down Leah’s face as she typed her last words. She hadn’t allowed herself to dive deeper into those memories because she knew that, as much as she’d love to be her teenage self again, that was not going to happen. Just like things were never going to be as they were back then.

She wiped away a tear, the memory of that night they got lost to finally sat down on a park floor across town in the early morning still vivid in her mind.

They finally found a place to eat breakfast on their way back home. He’d walked her to her front door, as he’d always done, and she desperately wanted him to come inside with her. But he just said goodbye to her, with a kiss on her forehead, as he used to do, and left.

The worst memory of them all wasn’t that at all; the one that she couldn’t let go of, no matter how much it hurt every time she went back there.

They were supposed to meet with a friend who was leaving to live abroad. Same old: go to the pub, have a beer, laugh a bit, go back home. Leah had been ready for a long time now, because Alice, their friend, was always running late.

He’d texted Harry, and he’d told her he was with his mom and some other family members at a pub near his place. Next thing she knew, Anne texted her to join them. She’d always been a lovely woman and, despite Harry was still annoyed that they texted each other, he couldn’t hide it amused him.

They didn’t stay long at the pub, though. Alice called she was heading toward their meeting place, so they headed out too; one of Harry’s younger family members coming along with them. She had to admit it was a fun night.

As expected, Harry walked everyone home and, since him and Leah were the ones that lived closer from each other, they did the whole tour until it was only the two of them, as it had always been.

They barely chatted on their way home; they were both exhausted and cold. Leah’s mind, though, worked at a hundredth miles per hour. She’d been feeling this… pull, toward him, for longer than she’d like to admit and she knew she would regret it if she didn’t do something about it.

Harry was quiet too. He was lost in his own thoughts, and lots of them included Leah, but she didn’t know that in that moment; and she never would.

She tried to bring a topic out, whatever, but she needed to talk to him about something or she would go mad. She was beginning to overthink everything and she knew that never ended well for her.

When they reached her house, instead of leaving straight away, they chatted for a few more minutes. It was cold, but neither seem to bother. Before leaving, as he always did, Harry wrapped his arms around her body and pulled her in for a hug. She rested her head against his chest and sighed. They were completely alone in the street, and she knew she could trust him like she could trust no other. Yet, she was scared and confused and didn’t really know what to do with the bundle of emotions that lived inside her for months now.

It was only then that Leah realised she was still being held by Harry. This time, he’d lingered for longer than he used to, as if he refused to let go. She moved slightly away, their arms still around each other’s, and looked up at him, at those green eyes that trapped her every single time, and felt that pull again. Every bone in her body asked her to kiss him. But she wasn’t brave enough.

She didn’t have to, though. To her surprise, Harry lowered his lips to hers. The kiss took her completely by surprise, reason why she blinked twice before closing her eyes and kissing him back.

When he said goodbye that night, he did it with a kiss on her lips, instead of her forehead.

                                                    ┅┅━━━━━━━ ۵ ━━━━━━━┅┅

Harry had been tossing and turning for hours. He wanted to text her, but at the same time he was afraid to do so. She’d been so much braver than he’d ever be. Not just because of everything she’d been through, but because she really had the courage to do the things that matter.

He looked through their texts, looking for the one he knew by heart, but refused to delete because it was proof that she ever loved him.

He knew Leah had always had a way with words but even now he could tell how nervous and scared she was when she sent him that text message.

“I still don’t know if I’ll be brave enough to hit the send button once I finish typing this, but here it goes anyway. I don’t know the reason why you kissed me today, and I don’t want to jump to conclusions, but I can’t hide this from you anymore, Harry,” he whispered in the darkness of his room, “I really, really like you. I think I’m falling for you and it scares me to death. Above all because you know I consider you my best friend, and I don’t want to lose you. I’m scared that telling you this might affect our friendship if you don’t feel the same way, but you know I trust you like no other and… who was I supposed to tell if it weren’t you? You know that if it wasn’t you the one I like, Harry, I would’ve told you straight away.”

He paused, taking a deep breath before resuming the message.

“I’m so confused, and I’ve been so confused for a while now. You’re one of the most important people I’ve had in my life. You were there for me when you didn’t even know what was going on, because you knew something was wrong so you decided to offer your shoulder to cry on and ask no questions. I still remember that smile you gave me when you told me ‘when you’re ready’. You’ve really been a constant in my life for the past few years, my pillar, along with Alice. You two are the only people who know the shit that’s been going down in my life these past few months. And I wouldn’t have it any other way. I love you, I’ve already told you a billion times. Just, this time, it means a little bit more than all the others; but I don’t want things to change between us whatever your answer is. I can’t afford to lose you.”

Harry just needed to scroll down a little bit more to see his answer, to reread again, the way he’d rejected her. He damn sure was stupid. And he damn sure didn’t deserve her. He tried his best, he tried to have a lot of tact when he said he couldn’t feel the same way. And it was true, or so he thought in that moment. He’d offered her the space she might have needed, because he knew what it was like to fall for someone who couldn’t feel the same way about you; but he also promised her their relationship would not change. And yet, with time, it did.

#blurbs #harry styles #original writing #gemma writes #one shots #harry styles fluff #harry styles angst #harry styles one shot #harry styles blurb #harry styles fanfiction #fanfiction #harry styles fanfic #harrysgems

[zeciex]

Obsidian & Angelite Ch. 13

Oya has spend centuries bound to one single plot of land when one day a stranger with a voice of velvet and presence that can only be described as dark and outmost interesting. He comes with an offer she can’t refuse and suddenly her entire world changes, both for better and worse.

But what does Langdon need of her? And how can she use him to get what she want? Maybe they’re bound by something bigger than fate.

Warning: Dark themes, death

A/N: Since tumblr kills everything with links, I’ll reblog this post with the links to previous chapters and archive link I’ll need some extra love for these next chapters since its getting increasingly harder to find inspiration to write. We’re so close you guys!

Voodoo of New Orleans

The Louisiana air was hot and damp, it made you sweat and wish for a cool breeze. Oya had always hated when the air was damp, hated the way it made clothes stick to skin, the way it curled up her back and collected as sweat at the nape of her neck. She walked through the french quarter, black long pants ending just as her black heels began, a white airy shirt to top off the look. In hand were her old scratched up leather bag, containing what was left of her supply of candles, herbs and stones. People glanced after her as she walked through the crowd of tourists much like it did in venice.

It wasn’t before she reached a little shop called ‘sticks & stones’, its outside a faded green peeling off the wood, with big trimmed windows displaying all sorts of ‘magical’ things, most of which didn’t have any magical properties at all. Upon entering the air smelled of a mixture of dust and jasmine. The bell rang, alerting a newcomer had entered.

Oya dropped her bag at the register to wander further into the store with empty hands. She turned her nose at ‘magical potions’ and ‘holy candle lights’. The energy flowed through the room in an easy rhythm brought on by the few magical items that were.

“Can I help you with something?”

“Do you have snake oil?” She asked still turned to the table filled with stones and crystals. Her hands hovered over them to see which one emitted the most energy and stopped when it came to a sapphire, she picked it up and continuing until she held moonstones, hematite, carnelian and orange calcite, all of which would help her perform the ritual she had in mind.

“We do, is there anything else I can help you with?” the woman behind the front desk answered, turning to the many vials behind her. Her hair was beautifully braided, collected on top of her head and held together with golden pins. Around her body were various items for protection, love and stability, all in the fashion of bracelets worn all the way up her forearms, clicking together as she moved, and various necklaces around her neck. From her ears hung big golden hoops, as well a small one from her nose. They stood out against her darkened skin. If Oya didn’t know any better she’d have though her as a goddess blessed by the sun. But there was no magic in her blood, no more than all other humans.

“Your warding is off,” Oya commented rummaging through bagged herbs to find the ones she needed. The owner went silent, she could feel her eyes on her as she turned with some of the essentials she held, dropping them off at the register. “You should strengthen it, it won’t keep out evil spirits as it is.”

“What do you know about it?” Aisha, or so the necklace told, asked. The woman’s defences went up, her eyes studying Oya with interest and mild annoyance. Oya paid no mind to it and turned around to go through the aiels.

Most of the things sold were more souvenirs than anything else. Various masks with empty eyes glared at her, the crystal and stone skulls reminding of the inevitability of death, for some. A box was filled with voodoo dolls, best sellers from the look of it, from the ceiling hung dried herbs, blessings and curses with no magic bound to most of them, rosemary's and crosses. The store was a mix of cultures and mythologies but the most prominent was the voodoo aspect, as it should be for New Orleans. It is after all were witches sprung from once upon a time.

“I know a thing or two of warding. Do you have Balm of Gilead? Dragon’s blood? or maybe some pinto beans?” Oya asked, eyes running over the pendulums with various cut stones at the end. She already had one, it was old and not nearly as pretty but it was good and stayed true to what she needed it to do. Instead she picked up a bunch of candle lights, filling her arms with them before returning to the counter and the woman behind it. She gave her a soft smile.

“Is it okay the Dragon’s blood is a oil? The rest we have in solid form,” Aisha said, scuffing over the creaking floor to get what she asked.

“What do you know of the New Orleans coven?” Oya asked, dropping off the candles and continued to venture through the small store.

“Coven? You mean Miss Robichaux’s Academy?” A deep frown settled upon her face as she returned with the herbs, neatly packed in a fine paper and a bag. The wariness electrified the air, tension settling in her shoulders. Although she was young, something told Oya she was an old soul, one that had seen loss. ���It closed down a year ago when the girls inside got massacred. The house remains closed off after that…”

“Do they know what happened?”

“...No, they never caught the ones who did it but the guess is, is that it’s a hate crime,” Aisha answered almost hesitantly. “What ritual are you planning to do with this?”

Oya shrugged and began putting the things on the counter in her bag with all her other things. The candles were by far the heaviest item but the bowls took up more space, still the bag was big enough to fit in a lot more. “It’s for scrying. I want to see what happened so that I can find the survivors.”

“You shouldn’t go there, they say the place is cursed,” she warned, pushing forth the bag with herbs, letting Oya take them with a soft smile. “They say the place is haunted by the witches who died there.”

“I’m sure that if they were ghost they’d have returned from the grave already,” Oya said, rummaging through the bag. “Witches tend to do that.”

“Who are you? Things like that you should leave alone, the darkness there you should leave alone. Spirits and necromancy you should leave alone.”

Oya looked straight at the woman in front of her. It was obvious that Aisha believed in energy, in herbal properties, in what her shop carried weather it was magical or not, but the notion of scrying into the past seemed too far fetched. Or just maybe she was worried that a client of hers would encounter whatever she believed to be at the academy. “You wouldn’t know me, my name has long been lost.”

“I’m warning you, don’t go there, don’t be white people stupid, there are spirits there, bad juju that should be left alone. My sister went there and she said the place was filled with bad energy, not even Marie Laveau would set foot in there, god rest her soul.” Aisha seemed desperate to keep Oya away, it was cute in a way, how humans can worry about another person they have just met. A smile widened on her lips trying to invoke a sort of trust with that woman, she was after all just worried on her behalf.

“Thank you for your concern,” Oya began, pushing a gold coin over the table, one of the ancient coins she acquired for her work years ago when they were used. It was the only money she had, this new from of currency in the form of a plastic card remained untouched by her, mostly because she never needed one. “but I’m far more capable than you think. I won’t be, what did you call it, ‘white people stupid’?”

“I tried to warn you,” Aisha muttered under her breath. “Don’t go blaming me when you end up dead.”

Oya took the bag and turned to walk out the door but stopped when Aisha called after her in an angry tone, her brows know knitted together in fury rather than worry. “What the hell do you think you’re doing? You gotta pay for that!”

Confused Oya nodded towards the coin on the desk. “I did. It’s worth more than these items are worth.”

“I can’t take this,” Aish yelled, picking up the coin and waving it through the air. “What the hell, lady! I don’t even know what this is!”

“It’s a gold coin from early mesopotamia,” Oya answered with a huff, dropping the bag to the ground and walking back to the register. Maybe it’d be best to remove the memory of this in case the coven doubles back and senses her energy there, they might find a way here and she did prefer to remain in the shadows. Letting out a breath, Oya unfolded her energy, letting it wrap around the woman who stilled in trance. She reached over the counter, softly placing her fingertips at the temple, her suntouched skin standing out against the smooth dark skin of Aisha’s. Small electric tethers sprung from the touch, searching through her mind to wrap around the memory. Ever so slowly Oya pulled her fingers from the temple to hold them in front of her. Small silver pedals bloomed against the skin of her fingers, only visible to the eye of those who possess excessive magical properties.

“What are you holding?” Aisha asked quietly, eyes glossed over in trance.

“I’m holding your memory of this, for your protection and mine. It’s a small thing, the memory. When pulled from the brain it’s a fully blossomed flower, silver pedals so fine you can see through them. They don't wither, instead they fold in on themselves as if it’s blooming in reverse until it’s a small fine pearl. There are many ways to do this but this by far is the most beautiful,” Oya answered with fascination of the pearl now formed between her fingertips. “You can keep the coin, it’ll bring you great fortune and though it will not save you from the future it will make your present more fun.” She turned, letting the pearl be hidden by softly cut moonstones the size of the coin she had just parted with, pushing it to the bottom. She had no use for that memory, keeping it with her would be a waste. Some things are better hidden in plain sight. Oya withdrew her energies on her way out of the store.  

Finding Miss Robichaux’s Academy would prove easier that she thought, the place famous for coming out as witches, the only school for witchcraft in the world, or rather, the only school known for it. It was famous for that and infamous for the tragedy that happened within its walls.  

The house stood tall and proud with its columns and white walls standing out against the green bushes surrounding the premise and the dark spiked fence that caged it all in. From the outside it looked like the rest of the houses on the street, expensive and upper class, with the common Louisiana air surrounding it. Behind her the taxi speed away, leaving her alone on the pavement overlooking it with an wary eye.

Sweat beaded on her neck, it made the white shirt stick to her back uncomfortably. Hair stuck to her skin, the ponytail proving to not help against the humid air. Her eyes landed on the gate in front of her, on the chains and padlock wrapped around the bars to keep people from entering. With a fick on her wrist the padlock sprung open and fell to the ground with the sound of scuffing metal following it the way down and continuing after it had stopped by the chains following in its path. The gate opened with a loud groan, the mental complaining.

With one single step over the barrier the air changed as if all the oxygen had been pulled out and replaced with a void. It seemed stale, with no mention of life, no vibrance at the presence of magic. It crept along her spine and made the hairs on the back of her neck stand in spite of being stuck to her skin.

Oya passed over the fine stone path, the grass withered and overgrown, reaching towards the sky in the hope of a drop of water. She neared the porch, the floorboards creaking beneath her feet, groaning at her weight.

In front of her were the reminands of a voodoo ritual for breaching a barrier of protection, a bowl with the contents rotting away, traces of ash and blood on the dark wood. It was a spark of magic, nothing more, a faint rippel overshadowed by the empty void that lingered in the air.

With a sigh she hitched the bag up to get a better grip of it, her palms sweaty and unable to keep a proper hold of the heavy thing. The door opened screaming to the sky for oil on it’s hinges and it screamed again as it closed behind her. Inside the house the void became more apparent and for a moment it took her breath away. The air inside was a complete contrast of the outside, it was cold and dry, small specks of dust gleaming through the rays of light that slipped in between the skotters. It smelled dusty and illventilated, and of course it would, there had been no one here since the investigation wrapped up. Everything was covered in a fine layer of white dust. With each step she took she made footprints over the hardwood floor.

She followed her instinct that lead her to what would have been the dining hall, with a long table placed in the middle of the room, a white ghosty cover thrown on top of it in an attempt to keep the dust from settling on its surface. Though by the look of it, the surface would already have been ruined. Around the floor chairs was scattered, some tipped over while others were forced to the corners furthest from the table.

Traces of blood lingered on the wood speaking of the tragedy that happened within its blood splattered walls, with white chalk lines were drawn around where the body would have been.

She took a step into the room and felt something beneath her shoe. It was an old nail, it’s tip bloodied. Not far from it were the remains of aquamarine and shell casings. There should have been energy knitting in the air, magic reminands remaining in a place like this, there should have been something. But the void hollowed it out, carved into the seams of energy and killing them before they formed. Where there had been life there should be embers left of it, fragments of it, especially with so many witches.

Oya dumped the bag on top of the table, opening it up and placing the content in the open. Everything was placed neatly and in order, the black candles standing out against the white, the dark ceramic bowl a circle and the herbs and stones placed neatly and ready for usage.

Instead of beginning the ritual something drew her attention. She followed it up the stairs, past the blood stain on the floor and through the ghostly halls. A mixture of her own herbs burned as sage in her hand, the white smoke dancing in ever changing patterns in front of her. She passed through a door and into one of many bedrooms. It was faint, the fragment of magic, but it was there.

Upon entering further into the room she noticed the burns in the floor. It wasn’t the fragment she was looking for but it did speak of powerful magic. Her incense filled the room with a varied smell of burning herbs, it continued to fill the room with smoke when she put it down on the bedside table, she caught onto remnant.

“Papa Legba,” she mused in thought.

A shadow passed over the walls, followed by a dark laugh. Magic filled the air, electrified it and tickled over her skin. One moment she had been alone the next she was joined by a powerful presence.

“It is not every a goddess speaks my name,” a dark voice with heavy accent spoke, each word formed a particular way she could not place. Oya turned and watched the dark shadow’s owner, a black man who wore white warpaint that framed in his red eyes. Dreads draped over the shoulders of his tux jacket, underneath a white shirt ruffled up. Power emminated off of him in surges. She raised a brow at him, eyes watching with caution as he took a seat, placing both hands on top of his cane.

“Papa Legba?” She asked, taking a seat on the bed. Whatever he came here for it was not to harm her. Though his power was dominant and mighty, her own reached just as wide as his, if not more.

“That is my name,” he smile an alligator smile. A demigod like him didn’t fit into the frame of the Robichaux witches, none of the practiced voodoo or any variation of that. It was more likely that any voodoo practitioner in the french quarter would call for him than these witches and still, somehow, they knew of him, had called him.

“Why are you here?”

“I could ask you the same thing, mon cheri,” he answered. Something about him made her heart speed up, not that she’d let it show. “I was down in hell when I heard your voice speak my name and I just had to see if the rumors were true.”

“Rumors?”

“The goddess of the underworld is back,” he answered and offered another smile, red eyes gleaming. “What is you doing here, child?”

“I wanted to see if I could find the witches,” she said, folding her hands in her lap. Papa Legba laughed, the sound carrying itself up the walls, booming through the room with a dark base. “You’ve had dealings with them, why else would your reminands be here?”

Papa remained silent, watching her with eyes of a predator. He reminded her of an alligator, its eyes shining through the dark of night, revealing the presence of strong jaws and endless teeth. But he also felt strangely familiar, not in the way that they knew each other but in the way they stood equal, a goddess of a forgotten religion that gave birth to the one that would overshadow it and the other a demigod of a religion just as forgotten, with myth being the only thing to carry the tales of him.

“Do you know where the witches are?”

“An answer like that demands a steep price,” he spoke.

“Tell me the price and I’ll pay,” she exclaimed quickly, cutting Papa Legba off from continuing. He grinned at her, not minding her sudden outburst but rather finding it entertaining.

“An answer like that demands a steep price,” he repeated, “If only I knew the answer. I do not know where the witches has gone, they have hidden themselves and are beyond my reach.”

She wrinkled her nose, letting out a sigh at the setback. She should have known, in a way she did, the expectations to find something not even the devil himself could were highly unlikely. Michael had told her they were gone, finding them were unlikely but when he had told her he were to attend a meeting, she took the opportunity to travel to Louisiana to see for herself.  

And maybe it was just not for seeking the witches, but to see what she was up against.

“It can’t only be out of curiosity you come here,” Oya said with suspicion laced in her voice.

“Why not?” He questioned, tilting his head a little. The necklaces he wore sounded off, bones clicking into each other. If he were an alligator she was a serpent.

“You said there were rumors of me,” she continued, dismissing his question for one of her own. “What rumors?”

“The queen of the underworld walks upon the earth once more, no longer bound,” he answered her. His accent turned most ‘t’s into ‘d’s, shaped off the words into something softer and yet clear. “You kingdom awaits you. It may be smaller than what the previous queen had but it is still there.”

“My kingdom can wait, I still have much to do here.”

“Mmm, with the antichrist,” Papa hummed at her, leaning back in the chair that groaned beneath his weight. “Your kingdom will not grow if he is the one to end this world.”

A frown formed on her face, brows knitted together in question. “What do you mean?”

“You do not know?” Now it was his turn to be surprised, or rather act like it. Something about him told her that he knew things she’d never know, a keeper of secrets, one who saw the strings and knew where they lead. She supposed he should, being who he was. “Every life you take, child, brings their soul to your kingdom.”

It took a moment of confusion until it dawned on her. “If the world is whipped out by the bombs the souls would either go to heaven or hell and my kingdom, the underworld, will never grow.”

“For it was not you who took their life,” Papa finished. Oya mused over it, biting her lip in thought.

“What of you? Do you have a kingdom?”

“I am but a demigod. I stand between this world and hell. No, I do not have a kingdom…” he answered her. He did not have a kingdom but he had many souls beneath him, many helpers, soldiers, whatever he needed. Satan gave him orders, he was the boss of hell, but that didn’t mean Papa didn’t have any power down there. Not at all.

She suppose that’s what would happen if she didn’t claim her throne, if her kingdom dwindled in to nothing, that she’d take up as a part of hell, be a glorified crossroad demon. As other religions fell, so did their worlds. If Oya hadn’t been born with the blood of Ereshkigal, if she hadn’t been reborn with her soul, her underworld would have succumb to hell.

Maybe that was why her powers lashed out, to make a mark, however little it was, that it should still remain. She killed thousands and now their souls were hers.

She killed her mother.

“My kingdom may not grow in the underworld, Papa, but it will grow in this world,” She voiced with confidence. Papa smirked at her, no more and no less.

“The antichrist would give you a crown?” He questioned and lifted his cane only to immediately drop it to the floor with a click. “Would call you his queen?” Click. “Will see you as equal?” Click.

“Yes,” Oya said and stood. “If he give less than I deserve he will pay.”

“I am sure he will,” Papa said, watching her movements. Oya passed through the room, towards the door. There was nothing left to be said, Papa had planted his words and seen them cropped when they set root. Oya was confident in her stance with Michael, confident in his words.

“Goodbye, Papa Legba,” She said, turning to look over her shoulder as she had reached the door. Legba remained seated, sending her an alligator smile, eyes red and gleaming.

“It was a pleasure meeting you, Cheri,” His voice were soft. Papa drew in a breath as she stood, his shadow passing over the walls in an unnatural way, a faint sound of hissing seemingly coming out of nowhere. “I hope to see you again soon and with crown this time.”

Papa disappeared in front of her eyes, taking his shadow and the hissing with him. It was in the moment of farewell Oya realised everything had been spoken in korean, in her native tongue, it left a strange knot where her heart was.

In the air lingered his presence, the touch of his magic, ancient and otherworldly. Oya closed the door after her, passing through the halls as silently she could with her heels clicking against the floor.

As she came into the dining hall all the candles lit up, casting a warm glow through the empty house, lights and shadows dancing on the white walls. In the chermetic bowl she placed the herbs she had purchased, pouting snake oil over the dried up content. In the bowl she crushed bone of a goat, then added an oil she herself had made, one to open up the mind. Oya ran two finger through the sticky content, lifting them to her eyes and drawing circles around her eyes.The mixture was then crushed together into a liquid, one that’d make a person's stomach turn by the smell of it, even more so when she put it to flame.

Blue flames licked the air, slowly dissipating into heavy smoke than poured over the sides of the bowl, fell thickly onto the table to its edge and then to the floor. Soon the entire room was covered in white smog so thick the dark hardwood floor was gone. Oya spoke in tongues, words long forgotten forming on her lips to be send out into the room. She held her hands over the bowl, swaying back and forth to tempt the past to come forth. Her magic filled the room, every cavity that had been left. A sudden jitter went through her and when she opened her eyes once more, they had gone completely white.

The room became fully lit, no longer were the light withheld by shutters, the white covers gone so that she could fully see the antique table. Nails and stones were scattered over the wood, scratching up its surface in an unholy way. At the end of the table opposite her were a woman, hair grey and pinned up, her skin wrinkles and covered in wounds. A girl cried to her side, clawing her way over the floor only to be stopped by a bullet coming from a black cladded woman, a woman whose face she didn't recognize nor did she care to look properly. Instead her eyes turned to Michael, passing through the room with his hands folded behind his back, hair a shorter halo that what she was used to. He stepped over the bodies of the witches as if they were nothing more than mere obstacles. Michael turned towards her, his tongue behind his lip as he inspected the death around him.

She watched as a girl ran through the opened doors and up the stairs, a bullet painting her white shirt red, then another to bring her down. Oya’s heart raced, death clung to the air, filled it with a cold touch, skellet fingers trailing up her spine. Death was something, it was of substance while the void she had felt were nothing. Death clawed at the wooden floors, painting the world in red, life snuffed from a full fire ablaze to embers. Embers were still something.

One moment the room was full of light, of red, of death and then the next it was dark, the moon casting a ghostly light into the room. Oya watched as a blond woman, cheeks stained with sorrow, lips quivering with pain, walk through the room. Her hands shook. When she saw one of the witches on the floor she fell to her knees with a cry that cut through the air.

Oya neared her, feeling how death had left the room, replaced with the vast void of nothing. All embers of life were gone, snuffed out. It was as if Michael had poured water over life's fire until even the embers, the smallest traces of life, were gone completely. There were nothing in these bodies, no tether for the soul to find its way back to, no fragments of life or traces of the soul. There were nothing.

It clung to her, strained Oya’s breath as fear flared up in her chest. She gripped one of the chairs to hold herself  up, but found her hand went through it. Oya fell to her knees beside the only life within the house. The woman leaned down trying to breathe life back into the younger witch, to no avail. Her breath were mere air, no magic could bring back what no longer existed. She tried desperately, choking out cries when nothing happened.

Whatever Michael had done it was permanent. He had taken their life and extinguished their souls. There were nothing left of them, nothing for heaven and nothing for hell. Just nothing. It reminded her of the Inbetween, the vast empty but there was a difference, the Inbetween was something.

Oya found herself kneeling on the floor, hands gripping at the wood but hidden by the white smog. Slowly it began to lift, what was hidden beneath revealed. White floors stained by blood. It took a while to compose herself enough to stand and when she did, she gripped the table and used it as clutch while her mind spun.

The vision had told her nothing of where the witches were but it did reveal a fearsome truth. Michael had the ability to erase someone completely. What she feared wasn’t Michael nor really his intent with the ability but rather the erasement itself. The trust she held him didn’t waver.

But she did feel a twig of sympathy for the mourning witch. To see her loved ones gone, erased from every world. It was nothing but a mere afterthought, the witches had caused far greater pain, to her they were no allie nor anything resembling a friend. Witches were the ones that bound her, they were the one who conspired so much pain and agony, they saw themselves as inherently good, just like they thought their magic were. But magic were neither good or bad, it was not light or dark, magic was neutral in every way, it was the intent behind them that painted them one way or another.

With a sigh she pushed away the bowl and found another one, placing the same herbs and ingredients as the one she had done at home. If the witches were to come back she’d know.

It was the last thing she did before leaving, now with a lighter bag.

#michael langdon #michael langdon fic #michael langdon imagine #ahs apocalypse #ahs fic #obsidian & angelite

[lordavanti]

Imagine Ubbe comforting you over his scars

ONESHOT Request: Hiya, Could you write a reader x Ubbe where she is helping him tend his wounds after a raid and discovers his scars from previous battles and doesn't like thinking about the pain he's been through because she loves him. Reader reassures him about his scars and that she still loves him? Thank you 😉 Note: Here you go! Loved writing it, putted a lot of emotions in it by my feeling. Hope you like it, you can always let me know. Enjoy!! Words: 1783

Ubbe looked like hell when he came back from that raid. It brought you always so much fear, them coming back. You gazed between the people hoping to see his face and his face only. Always afraid that he maybe was dead, always afraid that he maybe was so badly wounded you couldn’t help him anymore. But seeing him walking was the best gift from that day. The relief went so fast through your body that you felt shaky on your legs, that you felt tears burning in the back of your eyes. You didn’t protest when he left every time again but it was the hardest thing to do. He was a young man, it was his destiny to do those things, certainly because he was a son of Ragnar. And you were his girl cheering for his comeback. How much he hated it to let you behind, it was his encouragement to come back. So when your eyes locked with his you saw the same relief getting through his body. His shoulders lowered, while he relaxed his face to hold that tenderness above all his pain … but he couldn’t. He pressed his arm against his body, you saw blood on his leather armor, his skin and you hoped that it wasn’t his. So much emotions runned through you, not only the fear but even more the concern, the love, the hate for whoever did that to him. And when he finally got to you, you broke down a little on the inside. He wrapped his good arm around you and pulled you against his chest. You felt as much relief on his side than it did on your side, what could only mean one thing … it was a heavy raid. You got him home after that his mother needed to say a thing or two about her brave boys. All the time you stood their axcious to tend his wounds and give him some comfort. You hated that woman, you hated the queen of Kattegat and she didn’t care about you. Because you where just some girl who hang around her son, always talking about how he would marry a princess whe you were around to hear it. But it was more than that between you and Ubbe, you weren’t just a girl, you were his and there wasn’t a place you rather wanted to be than right by his side. ‘Sit down.’ You pulled a chair closer and he sat down with a painfull look in his eyes. ‘How bad is it?’ You asked, starting with collecting water and fabrics, some herbs you always had around while he tried to get his armor of by himself. ‘Ubbe don’t.’ You stopped his movements by laying your hand over his. He looked up and smiled. ‘Missed you.’ He confessed. You lowered a little, placing a kiss on his dirty sweaty forehead. ‘Glad to have you back in one piece.’ You smilled comforting. You carefully started to get his layers of clothes off. The more you removed, the more blood you found and the more you got concerned about him. ‘I live.’ He answered the concern that laid in your eyes. You sighned softly, pushing away the last part of fabrics until he sat there bare chested. It was a massive wound on his upper arm, it still bleeded. Other than that it where scratches and bruises and the scars from previous raids. ‘Hardly.’ You whispered on his earlier words. You got the bucket with water and pulled a chair in front of him. You tried not to look to his face while you started cleaning the wound. It took so much from you, to see how much he endured in this raid. ‘Did you win?’ You asked after a little while, slowly looking up to his face again. He seemed tired, pale even and you looked back to the wound, saddened about his current situation. ‘Yes. We got a hold of their leader, he didn’t surrender so he attacked me.’ ‘And you got hurt.’ ‘Y/n, I’m alright. I just need some rest.’ He tried to comfort you. You smiled, looking fastly down to his wound again. You maked a ointment and smeared it on the wound, he tensed a little by the cold touth of the ointment. Never before he came back this badly hurted. ‘I thought of you, when he wounded me and I thought it would be the end. You were the last thing I was thinking of before Hvitserk saved me.’ He whispered. A single tear rolled down your cheeck. You looked up to him but he was looking in the distant, re-living that moment. ‘I can’t bare the thought of losing you.’ ‘The gods granted me mercy.’ He tried to sound positive but the pain and the exhaustion from this raid didn’t supported that. ‘I’m glad they did. I hope they always will.’ You replied, stroking his cheek with your hand. His eyes, a mix from some bleu and green showed all the love he possesed for you. He brought his face closer and placed a kiss on your lips. You closed your eyes, enjoying every bit of his tast, the softness, the love he shared in that one moment. He didn’t pulled back, his head rested against yours and you opened your eyes. ‘You need to rest Ubbe.’ You adviced him tenderly. Your hand followed his jawline before you pulled back and took the bandages from the table. He just looked at you, the whole time he studied your face while you concentrated yourself on bandaging the wound he had. It would heal, by time. He would grow stronger again, ready to fight again. That wound would be only a scar over years, a scar that would help him remember about the times he fought and almost lost. When you were ready you looked back to him. He laid his hand on your upper leg, giving a little squeeze to thank you before he got up. You only looked to the scars on his back, their weren’t much but they were there, while he walked out to fresh himself up before he got to bed. He had to live to his father image and you always feared that it would be his dead some day. The warmth give you some consolation while you laid there aside him on your stomach, in the curve of his good arm. You looked over the scars he had on his chest, the little one cause by the arrow he got hit with when he was raiding a farmersvillage. The large scar from a knifefight. You knew every story after every scar and it pulled you under water, like you couldn’t breath by the idea that every one of those scars could meant his dead somewhere along the way. Every fight left a mark and every mark on his body maked your only loving him more. ‘Y/n.’ You startled out of the gazing to his scars. You looked up to his face, glad to see the energy sparkle in his eyes. He didn’t looked so pale anymore and the exhaustion was nothing more that a faded hint in the corner of his eyes. A smile spreaded over your lips before you lowered your head, kissing him goodmorning. The kiss felt in so many ways different. You felt his regained passion through it, his reaction, bringing his hands up, weaving it through your hair while his thumb slowly follewed your skin under your ear. The joy … you pulled a little back, trying to supress your smile by bitting your lower lip while you snuggled your head against his neck, placing a kiss there. ‘How do you feel?’ You asked him softly, pulling your head back to look at him again. He carresed your face and nodded satisfied. ‘Good, better than before I fell asleep.’ He answered you honestly. ‘You look better to.’ You agreed, playing with the tip of his braid while you looked down to the scar on his shoulder. ‘You look to much to them.’ He noticed. You didn’t react immidiatly on the words, you only looked down to his braid that you started to remove. ‘It’s hard to not look at them. It always reminds me how many time I could lost you.’ You reacted after a while. He shifted his weight but pulled a painfull face and just laid still, his good arm laid under you, fingertips resting on the small of your back. ‘It only reminds me about how many times I got back home to you.’ He reacted on a loving voice. You smiled, rested your head on his bare chest while your finger followed the little hardly visiable scars on his stomach. Only the thought of the pain he most enjured in those battles was enough to hold him even a little tighter. ‘I’m always saying goodbye to you like it’s the last time. Not begging you to stay but neither cheering you farewell. I’m glad to have you back Ubbe.’ You turned your face and looked at him. ‘You are my own kind of goddess, the one who’s protecting me from dying, I always pray to that goddess, knowing she will bring me safe back to you.’ ‘You have a nice way of saying that.’ You smile grew bigger and he stroked his hand through your hair. ‘Had a long time to think about it.’ He winked, more playfull. And that was the Ubbe you wanted so badly back, the one who played you with all his charm, would die for you, would bare a hundered scars if it only meant saving you. ‘Will my goddess bring me something to drink?’ He asked a little amused. You chuckled and placed a kiss on his chest. ‘For you everything, don’t run off.’ You said that last one a little more warning. ‘I’m a little broken down so don’t worry.’ He shouted after you. You ran for a cup, your inner body trilling with the desire to be with him again. That was everything you needed, him healty around you, with the scars if nessesary. You heared him approacing from behind, sneaking an arm around your waist, pulling you with your back against his chest. He placed his lips against your nack and you willingly gave him more space by tilting your head. ‘I thought you wouldn’t ran off.’ You whispered with closed eyes. ‘For you I would ran everywhere. I missed you, come back to bed.’ He said, hardly pulling back for your neck. You nodded, still in the lingering trance of what he did and you followed him without a doubt, leaving the cup empty on the table …

#vikings imagine #ubbe imagine #ubbe ragnarsson #ubbe #vikings #vikings x reader