#some days i can barely walk i need crutches and my whole body feels like its going to explode what do you mean im not disabled

[disasterofastory]

Spring (Ivar x Reader)

Spring modern!Ivar x Reader Warnings: smut

We decided to deep-clean and declutter our entire apartment, can’t be too embarrassing what we find, right? - from THIS prompt list

Spring is your favorite season. The weather gets better, you can change your winter clothes, and you can buy fresh flowers to decorate the small flat you live in with your housemate, Ivar. The sun is already up when you go to work and still shines when you go home after a long day. For you, this is the season you can start with a new page and not New Year as for the others. The first thing you do when the spring comes is deep-clean the entire house. You wash down the windows, move the furniture to clean under them and declutter everything you do not need anymore. When you are done, the whole apartment is clean and smells good.

Ivar loves it.

But he hates it if he has to help you.

“Your room is the next,” you tell him, placing your hand on your hip. You look around the kitchen and living room with a satisfied but tired sigh. Everything is in order, and you love the feeling you get from it. You changed the pillowcases, vacuumed the couch and everything you could after you scrubbed down the whole kitchen. The air smells like furniture cleaner with a pine scent in it. “We don’t have to,” he tells you, standing up from the sofa. “I can do it myself.” “Don’t be silly. I can help,” you smile. “It will be faster.” “Y/N! Seriously, I don’t need your help.” “I know you don’t need it, but I’m glad to help,” you answer stubbornly, moving into his room. He follows you with an annoyed sigh. His dark hair is tied in a bun, and his green shirt and sweatpants are dusty from cleaning. You open the window to let in some fresh air and go to his wardrobe while he sits down on his bed. “Y/N…” Ivar starts again, but you don’t let him argue anymore. “Sort out the clothes you need,” you tell him, and he has no other choice but obey.

Living with Ivar is much easier than a few years ago. When you moved in, he was rude and avoided you. You had to be stubborn and shameless to accept you as his friend. Since then, you met his family, you even celebrated a few holidays with him, and you were there for him when he broke up with Freydis. You know his moodiness and his sometimes spiteful nature, and you learned to handle it.

“I can’t believe it. It’s Sunday, and I have to clean,” he grunts, moving to his bookshelf to continue the work. “You can rest the whole week next week. We don’t work, remember?” You can smell his cologne, putting down the used sheets to wash it later. “We should turn the mattress over,” you tell him, leaning down to grab it. “Y/N! Wait! No!” He yells, but it’s too late. At first, you don’t even know why he is so upset about it and what do you hold in your hands. Then you look at it better. It’s lacy and red. And it’s yours. You open your mouth to say something, but you can’t utter a word out. “Get out!” Ivar shouts at you. His face is red from anger and embarrassment. “Leave!”

You run out of his room with your panties between your hands. His door bangs loudly behind you, and you jump from the noise. You move back to your room, closing the door before you sit down on the bed. Your head is full of thoughts. You are afraid to think why it was in his room, but at the same time, it makes you… excited. With a heavy sigh, you fall back on your pillows, staring up to the ceiling.

The next week is hard. Ivar avoids you, and you avoid him too. The only way you know he is home because you hear his crutches outside your room. You imagine a million and one conversations with him, but you are not brave enough to make the first move. You know he is angry, embarrassed, and humiliated, but you are those things too! What if the only way to solve this to move out? Is your friendship over? Does he never want to talk with you again? It’s ridiculous that you are the one who feels bad when he is the pervert.

But…

You are a pervert too.

You imagined him laying on his bed with your panties in his hands, while with his other hand he… Yeah, you are in big trouble.

You spend your days in your room, till one morning you have enough of this. If it depends on Ivar, you two will never talk again. Still, in your pajamas with newfound bravery, you march over to his room without knocking. He jumps on his bed when you burst into the room and stare at him angrily. “Now what?” You ask him. “How long do you play this nonsense? You want me to move out?”

You are furious, but not because of the panties. And you feel like an idiot because of it. You are furious because you can lose Ivar. Yes, it's hard to deal with Ivar sometimes. He can be moody and angry for nothing, but at the same time, he can be attentive if he wants to. He always lets you watch your favorite series even if he wants to watch something else. He makes you coffee and breakfast if he knows you have to wake up early. Your whole relationship is about taking care of each other, even if it's hard at times.

“Y/N,” he says, you know he is suffering under your waiting gaze. “I don’t know what you are waiting for from me. I don’t know how I could make this right.” “An explanation, for example.” “I didn’t plan it,” he starts. “I helped you clean your room the other day, and before I knew it, I… stole your panties. I didn’t do anything with it, I promise! I wanted to bring it back, but you walked up and down in the house the whole day, and I couldn’t.” “But why?” You ask him, calmer this time. You sit down on his bed next to him. He still looks at you like a deer in the headlights. His hair is messy, and his face is flushed. “I…” he starts, licking his dry lips. “I love you, okay? I just didn’t know how to tell you, and I didn’t want to ruin our friendship, but I ruined it anyway, didn’t I?” “No,” you answer. “It was worst that I had to avoid you all week than… the panties.” “Please, tell me how I could make it right, and I will do it,” he begs you, placing his hand on yours, squeezing it. He can’t even look into your eyes as you stare at him, thinking.

He loves you…

“I tell you something,” you decide. “But you have to promise me whatever happens, you won’t get angry, and you won’t avoid me. You have to learn to communicate with me even if it’s hard or embarrassing.” “I promise,” he nods repeatedly. You lick your lips, before with a determined sigh, you lean closer to his ear. You support yourself on his bare chest, so you feel his heartbeat speeds up at your touch. “I imagined you several times this week,” you confess. Your voice is almost a whisper. “What?” He asks you, confused but intrigued. You feel powerful with the knowledge he loves you, and you want to enjoy this opportunity because you know Ivar. He can’t be long without control. “I imagined you, laying on this bed,” you start. “And jerking off with my panties around your cock.” You see his Adam’s apple jumping as he gulps with a quiet squeak. You almost laugh at his expression. He really looks like a deer in the headlight with his blue eyes and open mouth. “What?” He repeats it breathlessly. “Don’t say you didn’t imagine it,” you say, still smiling. “Don’t say you didn’t want to play with it while you touch yourself. You didn’t imagine me wearing it with the matching bra while I moan your name?” “Don’t play with me,” he begs. He still can’t believe it's really happening. The woman he loves is almost on top of him, telling him things to get him aroused.

He loves you for a long time now. At first, it started as a crush while he was with Freydis. He found your perfume sweet, and he always liked your laugh. His feelings grew and grew till he couldn't deny them anymore. He broke up with Freydis, but he never had enough bravery to confess his love for you. And he definitely never imagined it like this.

“I don’t,” you promise him more seriously, caressing his blushed cheek. “I can’t think of anyone else but you, since the… you know, panties-incident.” “Oh, Gods!” He closes his eyes, cringing. “Can you not tell it like this again?” “Oh, come on!” You laugh. “I want to see it.” “See what?” He asks you. “Touching yourself with my panties around you,” you confess, biting your lip. Ivar stares into your eyes for a few seconds, thinking you joke with him, but when he sees you are serious, he gulps and nods. “Give me what you wear,” he orders you, and you almost squeal from happiness. You already feel damp between your legs as you stand up to take off your clothes. You try to lengthen the process and give him a show as you take off your pajamas and finally your panties. You see his hand shaking as he reaches out for it, and you let him take it. You climb above his knees carefully. Your legs spread a little, enough for him to see your wetness while you watch him pushing down his grey pants to free himself.

His whole body shakes from excitement. You are his dream girl, and now you are here above him, naked and waiting.

He places your black laced panties around his erection, and you moan just from the sight. His breath gets heavier and heavier as he moves his hand up and down on his shaft. His muscles tense on his stomach and his arms flex from his movements. “Play with yourself,” he says huskily. His blue eyes stare at your naked form. You reach down between your legs and give him a show, circling your waist as your fingers move. With your other hand, you start to massage one of your breasts, and the only reason you don’t close your eyes from the pleasure because you can’t look away from Ivar’s member. He is hard and ready. Your panties move up and down under his touch. After a few minutes like this, you lean down to his cock and start to jerk him off yourself before you take him in your mouth. He is warm, and your eyes almost roll back to your head at the feeling. Your ears ring from his hoarse moans, and you speed up your pace to hear it again. He grabs your hair, your scalp burns as he pushes you down on him more till he hits your throat. “Gods, Y/N!” He shouts in ecstasy. You look up at him under your eyelashes. “Come here,” he orders. You move up to him, paying attention to his legs. One of his arms goes around your back to pull you closer to him while the other one grabs your breast to his mouth. He licks and bites your nipple to his heart content and moves his hand down to your pussy. You massage his scalp as you try to stay in place, but you can’t stay like this any longer, and he knows it. “Ride me,” he says, letting you go. You move above his manhood and slowly sink down on him. You both moan at the feeling, and for a few minutes, neither of you move. He enjoys your warm tightness while you try to memorize the fullness you feel in yourself. “You are beautiful,” he sighs, staring at you. His foggy eyes jump from your eyes to your moaning mouth and down on your whole body, and he stops on your joined parts.

He knows he can never forget this sight and feeling. You look beautiful above him and around him. Your hair is disheveled, and your eyes shine with pleasure. Your thighs flex as you move, and your breasts jump up and down with your rhythm. He feels your weight on his chest as you lean on him. His skin is red in the wake of your nails.

“I love you,” he says between two grunts, grabbing your hips. “I love you too,” you moan, leaning more on him to kiss his lips for the first time. The kiss is messy as you still move up and down on him but enough for him to cum. You move back up to your original position, reaching down between your legs to speed up your pleasure. Your whole body is shaking and tingling as you lay down next to Ivar with his help. “You meant it?” He asks you softly, cuddling you to his body while you caress his chest after a few minutes. “That you love me?” “Yes,” you smile at him. “I really love you.” “I love you too.”

#ivar x reader #ivar the boneless x reader #ivar lothbrok x reader #ivar the boneless imagine #ivar ragnarsson x reader #ivar smut #vikings smut #vikings x reader #vikings imagine #ivar the boneless smut

[alldayangst]

lovebug (Tom Holland)

GIF is from gaybuckybarnes here on Tumblr. You can access my masterlist here. This was written for @worldoftom’s lolbrosgetsicktoochallenge. The prompt I had was: ‘Tom self diagnoses himself as sick. He’s got all the symptoms. He’s speechless, over the edge and just breathless. He never thought he’d get hit by the ‘love-bug’ again’. Inspired by the song Lovebug by Jonas Brothers!

A/N: Y/N is an assistant director on Cherry in this fic. This has a lot of Cherry (the movie) references but most are explained if you haven’t seen the film. Such as, it was filmed in Cleveland and Morocco, directed by Joe and Anthony Russo. Some scenes in this fic borrow from the movie & I’ve linked clips from the film if you’d like to listen/watch along. WC: 4K.

“Yeah, Mum, I’ve just got like the sorest throat at the moment.” Nikki’s picture cuts in and out on a scrambled screen on the South side of London, her husband’s hand periodically reaching out for her, rubbing her shoulder, then leaving the frame almost as quickly as it came in. Even through the low quality, the pixels dashing about his screen, Tom can make out his mother’s brows knitting together and can’t remove the feeling of utter guilt when he sees her grow redder and redder out of anger, concern and confusion for her son. “But I’ve got Harry here with me.” Harry waves from behind his brother, his trusty mug swapped for a Phoenix Coffee Cup in his spare hand, just to get a taste of the States.

Tom reckons that's why he’s sick. He barely drinks coffee on the other side of the pond, and would bet good money that an at home PG Tips would beat America’s swankiest coffee joint any day. But now, he’s betrayed his usual routine and his body’s all out of whack and his throat is hoarse, he’s breathless even at times.

Harry shoots his mum a half smile to comfort her, but he doesn’t know what it's like to be a mother, and his and Tom’s mouth both form an ‘O’ when Nikki begins to type so hard her screen jolts and Tom swears she’s put a dent in it. “You know what? I’m going to give them a piece of my mind, Tom! They’re overworking you!” Nikki looks intensely to find her baby boy in drug-addled eyes and his jungle of curls on his newly shaven head. She guesses it becomes easier when Tom pushes his face halfway into the screen and pleads like the child he’ll always be to her, “Please, please Mum! I can’t have any days off. Under any circumstances, I need to finish this film!”

Tom turns to his younger brother for help. “Tell her, Harry!”

And as little brothers do best, Harry spills the beans as soon as Tom’s phone is in clutch. “Tom’s fallen in love with the first A.D., Y/N.”

Nikki immediately loses her frown, knowing how love can knock Tom off his feet and blow all the wind out of him. Tom’s father, Dom, re-enters the frame to match Nikki’s grin. He never misses an opportunity to tease. “Oo, caught a case of the love bug, have you?”

Harry has to whip the phone around to dodge Tom’s protesting arms reaching for it again. “Don’t listen to Harry. I’m not in love. I just like Y/N.”

“A lot.” Harry mutters. Tom’s family doesn’t budge any further, knowing how bad Tom was hurt after his last relationship. They weren't sure when the love bug would come back to bite him again. So after they all shared a knowing look, Harry handed Tom his phone back. “I’ll keep you updated. Bye, Mum.”

It all started five weeks ago. Tom, at 24, was beginning to feel like love was trudging up a high hill he couldn’t come down from, where every beat of heart was feeling like an ache on an open wound.  Tom had yet to meet a lover to prove distance makes the heart grow fonder, finding himself in six month long entanglements and illusions of love before things inevitably went sour.

He’d say, perhaps, you were the closest thing to the real deal. The problem was, he didn’t know if you liked him back.

“When life was beginning, I saw -”

“When life was-”

“When life was be-fuck!”

“When life was beginning, I saw you.”

Tom could make a picture book out of the day he first met you. He remembers how your hair looked that day, the speckles of genuinity in your eyes, how your ear-to-ear smile seemed to be a mirror because every time he saw you from then on, he brandished the same beam. He recalls how his eyes went low as he dropped his script to his lap and stared at your lips, so soft and kissable, as you repeated his words back to him: “When life was beginning, I saw you.” Then you chuckled softly as Tom waited patiently for his head and his heart to return to him.

“I’m sorry. I’m dyslexic. I have a bit of trouble reading.”

“It’s cool, I'm the first A.D. That’s what I’m here for.”

You rubbed your hands on the back of your trousers, your mic jostling in your back pocket as you attempted to rid yourself of your nervous, sweaty palms.

“I’m Y/N.” You reached out for a shake only for Tom to cough loudly into his own hand. 

“Fuck! I’m so sorry! That wasn’t me trying to get out of your handshake. I- I-.” Tom looked at his hand for it had failed him for the first time in his life. His hand that had helped him up during handstands, being his crutch through cartwheels and backflips, but had decidedly run out of luck to be on the receiving end of Tom’s monstrous cough impending a handshake with someone his eyes just couldn’t look away from.

You laugh again. Your laugh sounds like melody, Tom muses. Awestruck, he wishes he could play it again, repeat it like a radio hit and never wash himself of the feeling he got when he heard your laugh for the first time.

“It’s all good. I’ll see you around.” You disappear from his trailer, likely on a venture to your own, when Joe and Anthony block his view of you walking away.

Anthony and Joe take on the ghost of you in Tom’s room, “Tom! The man, the myth and the legend!” Joe comes behind him to rub his newly hairless head. “We’re so glad you agreed to do this movie!” 

“Bummed that you’re not coming to the Browns game tonight, though.” Anthony remarks, throwing a football at Joe who sets it in his lap.

“Harry and I, we’re British, mate. We play football with our feet.”

Joe doesn’t know it then, but his next words are the beginning of the end for Tom. He rubs on his football and looks Tom in his eye when he poses, “It’s a shame ‘cause the whole crew’s going. First day of filming celebrations.”

“The whole crew?”

Anthony mumbles an ‘mhm’ as he picks up a framed photo of Tom and RDJ sitting pretty on Tom’s dresser, posing like father and son.

Tom’s usually self assured when he’s on set, but he’s hesitant to say this next improvised line. His voice trails off as he speaks. “Including Y/N?”

“Y/N?” Joe queries, with a smile that’s half scary and half comforting, and the butterflies in Tom’s stomach are begging him not to fuck this up and suddenly every second a word is not spoken feels like hours have passed and he might have ruined things before they’ve even started, gosh he just met you and-

Tom tries to play it cool. “I don’t- they’re cool.” Tom coughs again. “I mean, I don’t really know them but Y/N seems cool I guess.”

Anthony and Joe smile at each other, scrambling to exit. “Whole crew’s going, baby!” Joe beams.

“Please don’t tell Y/N I asked!” Tom shouts before they’re out of earshot.

“Yeah, yeah. Anthony, go long!”

A few hours later, Tom was sitting next to an unamused Harry, you on his left, foam fingers pointing every which way. 

“Are you a big football fan?” Tom asked, imposter syndrome creeping up on him. He had the best seats in the house, but knew not a thing about this sport he’d come down to watch. Meanwhile, crew and crowd alike sat themselves around you guys, cheering leaving throats raw for days to come and a tussle for a foam finger between Joe and Anthony leading to hundreds of sugary popcorn shells scattered on the stadium floor.

“I mean, I wouldn’t ever turn down the option to look at Odell Beckham Jr. Are you?” you replied.

Tom looked over to his brother who sat with his chin in his hand, lips pulled into a thin straight line as his rusty curls were blown about from the wind of brown and orange flags flown from fans behind him. “We could learn to love it.” Tom flashed you a toothy grin, unsure of where to guide the conversation next. He knew for sure that he wanted to keep talking to you, but his ego began putting up a fight, eager to show himself off if you’d have him in any way. Tom sighed. “Truth is, we have no fucking clue what’s going on.” Tom could hear the commentary about a player reaching the end zone, but they were all just words that went into one ear then came straight out of the other.

You giggled. “I have no idea either. We could make up our own rules if you want.”

Tom likes the way you think. He also likes the way you speak. He loves the way you laugh.

“You have a beautiful laugh.” 

You covered your mouth. “Oh, fuck, I hate my laugh!”

“I’d make you laugh a thousand times if I could.”

You pointed to the jumbo screen as Mayfield made a touchdown, unable to stop laughing from sheer nerves as you felt Tom’s hot, burning haze on you. An advert for Cleveland’s Own Phoenix Coffee flashed on the screen as you spoke. “We’ll make our own rules. Every time we see the quarterback pick up the ball, we’ll cheer.”

By the end of the night, Tom is speechless, breathless and over the edge of his chair in faux excitement and anticipation of the quarterback receiving the ball once again. 

“Another coffee?” The service worker asked.

“Yes please!” You and Tom both say in unison, pumped as the quarterback began circling around to collect the ball in open arms.

The footage of the game is cut abruptly as the camera points to a confused, solo Harry; Anthony and Joe are seen at the edge of the frame whispering suggestively and pointing towards Tom, the camera eventually capturing the superstar who looks back up at his own reflection. Poorly green screened hearts flood the screen and the camera pans to include you in the frame too. Tom looks on in horror when he realises what’s going on and how it could be too late, and turns to you.

“I promise I didn’t know this was going on. We don’t have to.” Tom panics. 

You hear him loud and clear, that you don’t have to, but your heart and eleven thousand people are telling you to kiss him otherwise. “Oh well. We should just do it.” you murmur, the bright pink ‘KISSCAM’ logo flashing in and out.

It doesn’t take more than a moment for the gap between you and Tom to close, for your face to get lost behind his, his lips pressing against yours, eyes closed, trusting each other to share your air. This was probably the first thing that night worth cheering for, howls and whistles erupting around you. 

Tom doesn’t understand American football, but he thinks that the best seats in the house could be anywhere next to you.

Harry’s on the phone to his twin brother, Sam, when you and the rest of the crew make it back to the hotel later on. “-Yeah, and Tom spent half the night with the first A.D. cheering and screaming at fuck all.”

The Cleveland Browns lost that night, but Tom remains none the wiser. He stood in the doorway as Harry continued to relay his day to Sam. “Oh, and Tom, Mum said to give her a call, eavesdropper.” He flicks Tom’s reddening nose before closing the door.

A week and a half later, Tom reckons that's why he’s sick. He never has the time anymore to attend ‘real’ football games back home, and he actually understands the game back in Britain. But now, he’s cheered at almost every given opportunity to impress you stupidly, and his chest and voice is suffering as a consequence.

You and Tom walked onto set with your pinkies intertwined, growing closer and closer by the minute, but Tom doesn’t miss how Ciara’s boyfriend visits set every day for her, doesn’t miss how they rub their nose together in this lovey-dovey affection he wishes he could bestow upon you.

The scene wasn’t working.

The crew was beginning to grow restless and Tom silently became more frustrated as the minutes went by and he was unable to get his lines right. He remembers how a week ago, it felt so easy. You were there to correct him when he stumbled upon his lines and you picked him up so effortlessly, a twinkling smile on your face. But then? Then you were different. Your eyes were scrunched up behind the lens of the camera and you were mumbling something to Anthony about how the sun was due to go down in Ohio soon so you needed to hurry along.

“Alright.” you announced. “Take five!”

And Tom was thankful, Ciara perched upon a swing for the scene they were filming, Tom dwindling the rope of the swing under his finger as her boyfriend approached her once again. “Hey dude, are you okay?”

Ciara looked at Tom with the same concern, hands finding home in her boyfriend’s nest of hair. “Yeah, Tom, are you okay?”

Tom coughed into his hand. “Yeah, guys, I’m good.”

“I think you’re coming down with a nasty cough.” Ciara muttered.

“Yeah. It’s you guys. You’re too cute. You make me sick.” Tom laughed humourlessly for a short while, wanting to be that adorable with someone, maybe not anyone, maybe just with you someday. Then Tom shook his head, a bitter feeling in his throat as he yawned. “It’s the Browns game. I was yelling and screaming every time a quarterback got the ball. Of course I’m a little unwell. I’ll be good as new in a few days though.”

Ciara already knew Tom wasn’t playing a man with the healthiest of habits, but she worried that Tom was getting this bad this early. “Maybe you should talk to the first A.D. about reducing shoot days from five to three?”

Tom didn’t like the prospect of seeing you less. “Yeah.” Harry had a clapperboard between his hands, leading Tom’s eyebrows to furrow as his brother yelled something about it being take 13. “Maybe.” 

Harry resumed to a new position in your chair, with you taking Harry’s place right across from Tom, a coffee waiting for him when the scene was over like Harry always did. Ciara’s boyfriend left the frame to watch supportively on the sidelines.

“Lights. Camera. Action!” Anthony called. “Time is money, you guys! Let’s try to get this one right this time.” 

They’d been over this already twelve times today.

“Hey, I’m really happy you’re here.”

Ciara read her line back. “Why’s that?” 

Tom could hear whispers of the crew, the sound guy glaring at them in case they were picked up in the scene, and he knew it had something to do with the fact that he couldn’t for some reason get the next line out all day. And that reason, unbeknownst to everyone, was because Tom couldn’t say something he didn’t mean - feeling like his heart was locked in a cage for which only you had the key. He looked past his co-star, Ciara, and up at you; feeling so close but you were far away, leaving him all day without anything to say. And overcoming his speechlessness and breathlessness, even in just that moment, he ran his hand over the rope to say, “Cause I like you. A lot.”

Ciara and the rest of the crew broke into a wide smile once Tom finally spoke his next line, but the only person Tom was focused on was you, who wasn’t smiling, but mouthing his words back to him.

Ciara breathed, “Shut up.”

And Tom’s sure to look you in the eye when he says, “I really do.”

When the filming for the day is said and done, Tom makes a beeline for you across the greenery. You hand over his coffee to him, “It’s a little cold now, but a warm hand is holding it.”

Tom quirks an eyebrow. “Are you inviting me to hold your hand?”

“Don’t push your luck.”

“You swapped jobs with Harry, I saw.”

“Yeah, well. It’s good he gets to grips with the job now. You know, in case anything changes.” You pulled your phone out of your pocket. “I should probably give you my number. In case anything changes.”

“Oh no, yeah. Your number is?”

“216-XXX-XXX. Speaking of changes, I heard you’re trying to get your days reduced.”

“You were eavesdropping?” Tom looks at your face that bears no trace of guilt. “You’re just like me!” He pulls you close.

“Tom, if what happened today is because you’re working too much, I’m happy to reduce your time.”

“Nah, nah.” Tom sniffles, rubbing his nose on a jacket probably worth more than your life. “I’m just a bit sick, s’all. I’ll be fine.”

Two weeks pass and Tom’s no better. With the Cleveland game nearly a month ago, Tom has nothing to blame and as first A.D., you’re obligated to reduce his hours. Tom’s on the phone with his mother when you approach his trailer. 

“Don’t listen to Harry. I’m not in love. I just like Y/N.”

“A lot. I’ll keep you updated. Bye, Mum.” 

You’re so quick to skip happily back to your trailer that you miss Harry calling out to his brother, he’s his protector now that his mother was countries apart. “Tom?” Harry starts.

Tom mumbles an ‘mhm’, hoping Harry would make it quick as he sees you FaceTiming him. If only his mother could see him like this. He’d get to call her tomorrow and tell her he’d called you for the first time yesterday, he could hardly wait to utter, 'I've finally found the missing part of me’. Harry sighs as the FaceTime ringing is relentless. Tom’s eyebrows threaten to meet in the middle of his face as he clutches onto his phone.

“Tom.” Harry begins. “Y/N is giving up assistant director.”

Tom’s really not sure where Harry gets the source of his information from, but he’s sure this isn’t true. He thinks you’d tell him before his brother if you were leaving the film behind, leaving him behind.

The film is due to move filming to Morocco soon, and Tom’s well aware that not all film crew joins them when production moves abroad, but to Tom, you’re an extension of this movie universe. And Tom refuses to leave the memories of you in this filming cycle. “How’d you know?”

“I’m taking over.” Tom’s screen lights up with the glow of your call, and as bright as it is, as bright as you are, as bright as your smile surely is on the other end of the phone call, Tom’s in his deepest darkest feelings wondering how he fooled himself into thinking romance could go right for him this time. 

He’s going to Morocco. You’re not. You’re funny, smart, promising, beautiful. You’ll find someone good for you, a better pair by the time he’s back.

“That doesn’t mean it won’t work out, man.” Tom sulks in his bed, the light from your constant calls bleeding through his bed sheets. “I just wanted to warn you.” Tom nods, screaming into his pillow. Harry decides that’s his cue to leave, a glimmer of light from outside seeping through the crack of the door as Harry escorts himself. Tom musters all his might and courage to reluctantly answer your phone, the ear-to-ear grin he knows so well greeting him once again.

Suddenly, he forgot how to speak. Hopeless, breathless, couldn’t you see that?

“Tom?” You call out his name a few times before cutting straight to the point. “Do you like me?”

Tom shifts slightly but not enough to show that he’s alarmed. “Huh? Yeah, I like you.”

He sits up, but doesn’t reciprocate the outrageous smile you wear like a heart on your sleeve. Tom’s eyes are sunken, dark circles forming under his eyes where he and his disturbed character become one. You suddenly remember why you shouldn’t have run away so fast, perhaps Tom was overworking himself. He continues, “But I’m an emotionally unavailable hopeless romantic. So I wouldn’t waste your time on me.”

Tom can’t help the hurt in his heart when he sees your smile drop so suddenly, knowing it was earnest. “Tom, what are you saying?”

“I’m saying, life is unfair. And I’m gonna quit while I’m ahead. We wouldn’t work out. And I like our friendship now. We should stay that way.”

You’re not convincing when you nod rapidly, not letting Tom see your face as you play with your fingers to avoid his gaze. “Yeah, I agree.” You’re much less convincing when the last frame Tom caught of you was a shot of tears dripping down your face, as three rings followed you. Tom’s screen went black in your absence, and Tom falls asleep with eyes even redder from crying, and he wonders when he’s gonna shake this sickness.

It’d been a few days since Tom had got his shots to allow him to go to Morocco. He sat opposite the doctor on set, a coffee cup placed on the desk between him.

Tom reckons that's why he’s sick. Shots always have their side effects, and he’d taken multiple shots in one day. And now, he specifically asked for you to hold his hand during the process, Harry branded in a glinting jaw-drop, only for you to leave directly after. 

“I’m speechless, constantly feeling over the edge, breathless.” Tom explains his symptoms to the doctor. “At first I thought it was because of that stupid football game, then all the coffee I’m drinking, now I don’t know if it’s the shots. I feel like shit, doc.”

“I know exactly what you’re dealing with.”

“What?”

“Lovebug.”

Tom stares at the doctor in utter bewilderment. “You figured that out based on my symptoms?”

“I figured that out based on the puppy dog eyes you gave for your first A.D. when they left without a word.” The doctor begins to laugh softly, but Tom is unamused. How is he supposed to shake this illness after completely ruining your relationship? How is he supposed to mend your bond after talking so recklessly, so emotionally? “Tom, I’m not here to be a fairy godmother, I’m being strictly medical. At a certain point, what you feel in your mind affects your body. So I prescribe that you talk to Y/N and say everything you need to say.”

And while that seemed easy enough, Tom’s ego was at work again, and Tom was feeling far too bruised and wounded to speak to you first. Surely if you cared enough, if you liked him back, if you were willing to be distanced, you would reach out first.

It seems Tom’s pride had forgotten that you already did.

“I heard that this is the exact shit that happened in Cleveland, and he couldn’t get the line out.” Tom hears the whisperings from behind the camera, the amount of familiar faces in the crew dwindling after the change in location. He doesn’t respond. He waits for someone to take five. And when no one throws him a bone, he asks Harry to.

“Alright, everyone take five.”

“Someone get this kid a fucking coffee, he’s always on edge.” Joe instructs.

“And you think giving a kid in twenties coffee is taking him off edge?” Anthony chuckles.

Tom doesn’t care whether or not he gets the coffee, rocking side to side. He’s got all the motion for this role, but he feels nothing. All he felt was for you.

“Here.” Harry sets a Moroccan mint tea down next to Tom, hoping it would calm him down. When Tom takes a few sips, the look in his eyes is less pleading, and everyone’s ready to rumble, this being the last scene of the day.

Harry feeds Tom the line. “Baby, are you seeing bad things?” Tom is seeing bad things. A life without love, a life without you. Unable to contain it all, Tom turns his frustration into laughter. “Why are you calling me baby for, man?” Tom has this ear-to-ear grin but even he feels it's not as innocent, as genuine as yours. He never knew a smile so wide could be so full of pain.

“I have an idea.” Harry saunters off to collect his phone. “Don’t stop rolling the cameras.”

When Harry comes back, there’s sounds of shifting erupting from his phone. “Hi, Tom.” 

Tom didn’t know it would be so bittersweet to hear your voice again. He wasn’t sure if he should put walls up again or if twice was the charm. Even if you worked out in the short term, whose to say Tom wouldn’t get hurt again? And Tom wouldn’t want to hurt you.

“Are they taking good care of you out there? I don’t think I took good care of you.” Tom doesn’t say anything on the other side of the line, so you continue. “I’m not a good A.D. if you’re always sick and tired, and I didn’t want to see you any less, which was selfish of me, so I didn’t change your schedule.” You sigh as you admit why you left. “When you asked, though, I swear I was gonna do it, but then I heard you liked me, and I got carried away. I had to remove myself from the situation to do what’s best for you. Do you understand me? I did it for you.”

“I, uh, I got a diagnosis.” Tom stumbles.

“Oh my gosh, are you seriously sick?”

“I’m speechless. Over the edge, breathless.” Tom laughed dryly, finally feeling like he can choose an ending.

“What did they say it was?”

“Lovebug.” Harry smiles softly at his brother.

Your laugh is like nectar entering Tom’s ear.

“I might just love you way too much, Y/N.”

“Are you sure you’re doin’ okay?” Tom tries his best not to sound dejected that you didn’t say it back, knowing he’s already felt the brunt of this heartache already.

“I just miss you, that’s all.”

“I miss you too. I love you.” Joe stops recording, and Harry lowly whispers ‘take.fucking.five.’ as he and the crew creep away from Tom’s new found love scene. 

“Anthony, can I borrow your phone?” Harry begins to type Nikki’s number as soon as Anthony gives over the phone. “Mum, Tom just told the first A.D. he’s in love with them so guess who’s out of a job?”

Tom knows why he’s sick. He used to feel like love was trudging up a high hill he couldn’t come down from, where every beat of heart was feeling like an ache on an open wound. Tom had yet to meet a lover to prove distance makes the heart grow fonder, finding himself in six month long entanglements and illusions of love before things inevitably went sour. But now, Tom has found you.

#tom holland imagines #tom holland fanfiction #peter parker #tom holland #tom holland fluff #tom holland smut #tom holland fanfic #tom holland imagine #tom holland blurb #tom holland x reader #tom holland x y/n #tom holland x you #tom holland angst #peter parker angst #peter parker imagine #lolbrosgetsicktoo

[thepaperpanda]

♥ Dangerously Perfect Match ♥ || Part II

♥Part I♥

Summary: You’re the Earl of little settlement deep inside the forests of Norway. After Ragnar Lothbrok’s death you and your warriors travel to England to support Ragnar’s sons in the battle against Christians. Shortly after a victory, you and Ivar turned out to be a dangerously perfect match?

Warnings: explicit content - smut

Words: 8846

Authors: Cass & Rouge

It's not that you all expected plain sailing, or for winds to be kind, the waves to be gentle; it's that you trusted your ships to carry yourselves to shore no matter the weather. It was a confidence born of faith, of feeling to your bones that with such tenacity you could achieve anything at all. They said it's only impossible until it's done, that was your motto under all skies, upon all seas.

Thankfully, Gods fostered your attempts of getting back to Norway - despite the storms and heavy rain, all the longships made it back to the homeland.

A smile spread across your lips, it was good to be back home.

Dressed in your usual attire with addition of a new warm cloak gifted by Ivar, you stood at the front of your ship. Holding the ropes tightly you turned to your troops. "We made it, friends! Gods blessed us and allowed us to return home so we can fight yet another day!,” You yelled and your people's voices reared loudly.

Ivar kept his eyes fixed on you since the moment you left England. He wasn't truly happy with you sailing among your warriors but it's your decision, with which he couldn't argue. They needed their Earl after all. He rolled head back to rest it against the wooden edge of the boat.

"Land sighted, master!," One of his men shouted.

"Drop the canvas," Ivar ordered as he propped head on the edge of the boat to admire the beautifulness of the shoreline.

Of course, his glance also moved to look at you. Oh, how he missed your body next to his.

Hvitserk's tone pulled him out of thoughtfulness. "Are you sure it's a good idea? Harald Finehair isn't a person you can fully trust."

"I trust no one," Ivar snapped back. "I have the last say."

You walked among your people, gently touching the shoulders of your warriors. It was a simple gesture, a little bit of a comfort and small thanks for their loyalty.

For now this was all you could do, to show your gratitude toward them all.

The ship moored in Harald's docks. You heard a lot about him and his ambitions, and honestly you expected much more from his settlement.

After jumping off of your ship you let out a sigh of relief. Solid ground under your feet. "I hope you didn't miss me too much, Ivar?," You asked him with a cocky smile which was partially hidden by your mask. Since it was damaged in the battle you didn't bother to fix it or make a new you. It was enough your scars weren't fully visible.

Ivar's blue eyes glistened in the rays of the setting sun, and his long lashes casted a little shadow on his clearly defined cheeks. "You need to answer this question to yourself, dear Earl."

After these words he passed you, offering you a mischievous grin as he did.

Hvitserk, who jumped out of the boat on the pier, gave you a long glance, his brows cocked. "Why are you questioning such an obvious thing?"

The red line on his nose reminded you about your last true interaction back in York. "It's called teasing, Hvitserk. Men love it. It's time to learn it."

Humming, you quickly boarded the ship that brothers traveled in. You crouched in front of the bishop and gently caressed his cheek to see if he even survived the long trip.

Man instantly reacted to your touch; he winced and spat right into your face. "Get off me, heathen whore."

You flinched and growled, wiping the spit of your face. Getting up to your feet, you pointed at one of your men. "Bring me one of my furs." Once the fur was in your hands, you wrapped it around the man that just insulted you. "Since Ivar has big predictions when it comes to you. The last thing we want is you getting ill."

Bishop was glaring up at you, not being sure whether you were mocking him or not. Your behavior was completely out of anything he could have expected. Deep inside Heahmund appreciated the fur being wrapped around his shoulders as he was cold.

"Now. You should be all warm," you muttered, tucking the fur in all the right places to shield him completely from the bitter cold. "Now, you can say that a heathen whore helped you." After those words you simply walked away to join Ivar and Hvitserk.

Two men tugged on the ropes wrapped tightly around his neck and wrists, pulling bishop behind them. He hated his position, but it was still better than death from pagans hands.

Harald groaned annoyed, getting comfortable in his throne. Last thing he expected or really needed was Ragnarssons visiting him. He already knew that young Ivar meant troubles. King watched them walk inside the great hall.

Hvitserk was the first one in, taking a comfortable for him spot on one of the tables, while Ivar shuffled behind with his crutch.

To his surprise there was one more visitor; a young woman in a mask. Suddenly the visit became much more interesting. "Ivar and Hvitserk Lothbrok. Why did you not return to Kattegat? I can also see you brought an interesting guest," Harald said with his deep, hoarse voice, pointing his finger at you.

Ivar stopped at the podium and leaned his weight on his crutches. "She's my guest," he said, pointing his chin on you. "You know we couldn't return to Kattegat. That witch, Lagherta, is still a Queen. Me and my brother are looking for alliances that could let us overtake the throne. The throne that belongs to us."

Harald raised from his throne and walked closer to the guests, nodding his head. "Ah, yes. As I can see your need for revenge on Lagertha is burning with a flame that will never go out." King smiled and took your hands into his much bigger and warmer palms. "I know the sons of Ragnar but I have never seen you with any of them. Who are you?"

"My people call me Earl Wolf but my name is Y/N. It's an honor to meet the future king of whole Norway," you said with your voice sweet as honey.

"The pleasure is all mine, Y/N," Harald said before placing a kiss to your palm.

Ivar kept his face straight but the fact you let Harald touch you pierced his heart like a cold needle. "Can we get to the planning? I am not going to spend another hour waiting for you two to exchange pleasantries," young man growled.

Hvitserk, who observed the entire situation while standing in the back of the chamber, snorted quietly. He would never think his brother fell in love so easily.

"Ivar. You brought a beautiful woman in and don't even let me take all of her beauty in," king rolled his eyes.

"As a lady, you flatter me but as the Earl I need to agree. We came here in important matters," you said. "social talks can wait until much calmer times. I can promise you we will have a moment for ourselves."

Listening to you, Harald smiled softly and nodded. "Beautiful and smart. Let's get to planning then. Ivar, I am listening. What do you expect?"

Ivar turned head to throw you a cold glance; did you just plan to spend some time with Harald? Did you really say it aloud in his presence?

"Let's get somewhere where not many curious eyes are on us."

Hvitserk, seeing how his brother and rest are moving to another chamber, followed them.

Oh, Ivar was mad. This is exactly what you wanted, your plan was to rile him up and to see if something interesting will happen. You followed them to be present during the planning.

Talks were long and boring.

Ivar and Harald were arguing for a long time and it wasn't about troops anymore.

The youngest Ragnarson wanted to be the king of the Kattegat after chasing Lagertha, Bjørn and Ubbe away.

At the same time Harald wanted to carry on his great dream of ruling whole Norway.

Thankfully, in the end, they somehow found a way to agree on something.

"You will be a king but when you die the title is passed on me," Harald said, rubbing his forehead.

You let out a little yawn and rubbed your eyes tired. Travel and long boring planning took a toll on you.

Hvitserk didn't say anything during talks; instead, he ate at least four apples and was playing with his little dagger which he used to cut the fruits. It wasn't his thing, all the great planning. All he wanted to do was to return back to Kattegat which was his true home. He didn't really want to stand against Bjørn or Ubbe, but did he have other choice? The decision was made the day he got out of the ship to join his youngest brother.

Ivar put his chalice on the table, nodding briefly at Harald's words. "Sounds like we have it. Just don't be surprised if I'll rule for many long years." The Boneless got up from the chair he sat at and using his crutches, he slowly walked off.

"My men will take care of that Christian prisoner of yours, Ivar," Harald said. "Whatever his point is. If I were you I would just kill him."

You let a soft sigh and decided to join Hvitserk, silently asking him for a piece of an apple.

"But you're not me," Ivar smirked widely at Harald and left.

Hvitserk was highly surprised by your request, but of course, as he had a good soul, he shared one huge apple with you, cutting it in half so it would be easier for you to eat. "You're welcome," he muttered slightly.

"Thank you, Hvitserk. You are a kind soul," you gave him a sweet smile and looked at Harald. "My king? May I know where I can find our prisoner?”

When you received the seeked answer, you bowed your head and walked off.

Bishop was held in a barn, tied to a metal pole in the middle which provided the stability to the roof and construction itself.

His hands were weak as he was forced to hold them above his head for the entire time. The blood circulation faltered and he barely could feel his fingers anymore. Yet, bishop Heahmund was praying quietly. Man was saturated with the intelligent energy of countless prayers - as such being able to carry out supernatural acts. "Credo in Deum Patrem omnipotentem, Creatorem caeli et terrae; et in Iesum Christum, Filium eius unicum, Dominum nostrum...," He was whispering all the time.

You stopped in the door and watched him, praying, it was quite an interesting sight.

"Those have to be a made up babble. No one speaks like this," saying this, you stepped inside and smiled seeing your fur on him, so you dared to point it out. "They let you keep it."

"What do you want, heathen?," He asked weakly. "If you came to kill me, I'll gladly accept my faith. I'm ready, in my God.

As if nothing ever happened, you simply placed yourself on his laps. "You know... I am just a heathen to you but I do have a real name. Maybe I should call you Christian from now on? What do you say, Heahmund?” You presented him the piece of an apple you got from Hvitserk and smiled innocently. "I also brought you this."

"Get off me, woman," he tried to kick you off, but your hips pressed to his side's strongly, holding him motionless. "I don't need your mercy!"

"It's not a mercy. It's called help, you Christian don't know what it is?," You asked with a smile, purposely pressing your hand into him. "Come on, I am sure you are hungry."

He indeed was hungry. Heahmund parted his lips, waiting for you to slip a slice of apple into his mouth.

"Good boy. See? I am not so bad," you chuckled and slipped the slice into his mouth. "I'll get you more if you will want."

He chewed viciously, gagging himself with a not fully chewed piece of the fruit. Truth was he was starving for the last few days and he would give everything for a piece of bread.

"Slow down, we are not going to starve you. I'll make sure of this," you said quietly, touching his shoulder.

He almost gasped as the skin under his clothes were bruised and swollen.

"Right, they got you bad during that battle. Maybe I should undress you and take care of these injuries?," You asked in a hushed voice. "I am sure you would feel much better. You need to be in good shape since Ivar has great plans for you."

Bishop's eyes fixed on your face. He hated your touch on his body but you didn't try to kill him.

Looking him in the eyes your hand started to unbutton the upper part of his armor, not breaking the eye contact for even one second.

Little did you know a pair of incredibly blue eyes were watching your every move. Ivar leant his forehead against the wooden wall of the barn, clenching teeth and rolling palm in a fist. He offered you everything, yet you were still chasing the fucking, useless priest. What man had that he didn't? He felt a strange thing, a twinge of envy.

Slowly you pulled away the armor and hissed, seeing his injury. "Oh, you poor thing, just look at what they did to you." You hand gently touched his skin, making sure to not press the blue and purple spots.

You could hear noises outside the building.

Bishop's eyes widened as he looked past you.

Three warriors, every of them armed in axes walked out of the darkness of the room. "Earl Wolf, you're going with us. Now."

You glared over your shoulder with bored and annoyed look

"What do you want, huh? I am busy, who is even summoning me in such a terrible moment?," You almost growled.

"Now," one of the men repeated and showed the exit with his ax.

Rolling your eyes you let out a loud sigh. "Maybe we will return to that. Only Gods know."

You adjusted Bishop's clothes as much as you could before getting up from his knees. Turning to the warrior you shrugged. "Lead the way," you said and followed them.

They walked in a silence through empty paths of settlement, eventually stopping in front of a little hut almost at the edge of it.

One of them pointed at the door and they turned with their backs to the building.

There was not much you could do but follow this game but honestly you were also really excited to see what is hidden behind the door. After taking a deep breath, you stepped inside.

The hut seemed empty and the only source of light inside were candles standing on the shelves around the chamber and hanging in the metal candle holders attached to the ceiling.

The sweet scent of mead filled the room, and you could spot a chalice full of alcohol placed at the table.

On the right side of the hut there stood a bed with many furs on top of it; it looked inviting. In the end the place was cozy and warm. Next to the chalice you found a piece of paper with one word written on it: UNDRESS.

You walked around the place. It was interesting, who set it up? There were two possible options. Harald who looked really interested in you or Ivar wanted to return the favor from York. That could be fun. Taking the chalice you sat down on the bed.

After drinking a few little sips of the really tasty mead you started to undress.

This actually felt good, as much as you loved your clothes the thick leather was annoying after too many hours in it. Naked, you laid down on the bed and waited.

Suddenly, the candles standing closest to the bed faded away. Then, the candles at the table, and the last to fade were the ones in candle holders.

You sat up and frowned. "Great," muttering, you lied back down, you weren't going to light those candles again.

And then, out of sudden, you could feel a soft touch on your ankle, followed by a hum. Your body's first idea was to react and protect yourself by kicking whoever tried to sneak on you but somehow you stopped yourself. The muscles only twitched a little. Giggling you shook your head. "Ivar, love. Don't do this, I do not want to hurt you."

"Prescient, aren't you?," His voice husky as he crawled fully out of the shadows. His hand placed against your leg and moved up , to rest on your knee as he brushed his full lips against your calf.

You let out a short laugh and hummed. "No other man would do such a thing for me. I am more than sure it was you. Besides, I recognized your hand, love."

Oh, if you could only see the grimace on his face. He continued to brush his lips against your soft, delicate skin until he reached your thighs. Only then he let go of your body and focused on getting on the bed, which was easy for him after all those years of crawling and supporting his upper body part on hands.

"But to send armed guards for me. That was... Interesting idea and the whole preparation for this? I feel like a real princess, you surprised me," you hummed and removed the mask that was still placed on your face. It won't be needed anyway.

He didn't reply, just slipped one of his hands between your thighs, forcing you gently to parted legs. His skilled fingers pressed to your pussy, where he rubbed little circles. "Was it wise to tease me with King Harald?"

"For this all? Of course it was," you said with a humor in your voice and opened your legs to give him as much access as he only needed. "I loved your face, this was my goal, sweetie."

"Was it?," He whispered as his fingers slipped lower to be gently shifted inside of your pussy. "Mmm, nice and wet."

"Yes it was. Everyone can fuck but build it up? It makes stuff more fun and pleasurable," you answered his question and let out a quiet sound. "Wet for my king."

He rolled to his side and to his belly in the end, diving right between your legs. He trailed the tip of his tongue up and down your clit, offering you a few long licks, then Ivar wrapped his mouth fully around your pussy, sucking on it lightly.

You gasped and let out a quiet moan. He was learning fast, he was making you proud.

He let you put your legs on his strong shoulders as he continued to eat your pussy out, humming in appreciation of the taste you left on his tongue. Soon, his mouth was accompanied by two of his slender fingers, slipping rhythmically in and out of your slick cunt.

"You like it? Don't you? You love it after our first night," you said playfully. Your hand moved into his hair to keep him close the whole other hand traveled up your breasts to tease your nipples.

Ivar growled which sent a little vibrations to your slick pussy. He placed a kiss to it and spat on it to make you even wetter than before. His fingers in you were joined by his long, skilled tongue as he tried his best to lick your inner walls and suck in your sweet juices.

His action made you shiver and moan for him even louder. Biting your lips hard,  you nuzzled to the furs beneath your body, focusing on the pleasure he was giving you.

He fingered you until you cum hardly around his fingers. Ivar gave one last lick and sucked his fingers clean, murmuring. "Oh, sweet Y/N, you taste so fucking sweetly I could eat you all day and night long."

Ivar placed kisses to your tummy and licked his way up your body, catching one of your nipples between his teeth, as gently as possible.

The climax washed over you and you tried your best in calming down your breath.

You muttered at the feeling of his mouth and teeth around your sensitive flesh. "I would like to taste myself... Can I?”

Ivar continued with licking his way up your body and finally his lips crushed on yours, and he slipped his tongue past your lips so you could taste yourself.

You returned the kiss and moaned loudly at the sweet taste of your own juices. Dominating his kiss was no use, he was too much into it, both of your hands moved into his hair which to your own surprise were completely loose.

Suddenly, a cold, sharp blade was put to your neck. "I distinctly remember saying I don't like to be mocked," he whispered into your ear.

You gasped loudly and your lips parted. "Ivar... You could warn me that you want to add a knife to bed," swallowing heavily, you could feel the blade against your skin.

"If I would there would be no fun, sweetheart," Ivar kissed your cheek. "Did you enjoy yourself with him? Huh? Did you?," He asked and the blade was pressed more to your skin.

It hit you then. He probably saw you with the Bishop or someone told him. You laughed loudly. "Oh, so this got you going? It made you so angry you planned all of this? Just to pin me down with a knife to my neck?"

"Maybe," he whispered. "I just want to remind you that you're mine, I marked you as mine back in York, and nothing is going to change it."

Ivar hid the knife in his pocket and got off the bed.

You giggled and looked at him while biting your lips. Even if you already knew that Boneless was crazy enough to kill, it didn't frighten you at all. To be completely honest, this action brought a different reaction for you. "I know I am yours. I have never claimed the opposite. You are my lover, my future king," you voice was a soft pur that you knew he loved. Your inner thighs rubbed together in the seek of any friction.

He used his crutches to get to the table and sat on the chair. He refilled the chalice you drank from and downed it quickly.

His eyes glistened in the darkness in a dim moonlight falling onto the chamber through a little window. He was watching you. "Yet you still seemed to seek some adventures. Who is going to be next to be blessed with your body on top of them? Harald? Or maybe my sweet, crazy brother? Or maybe you'll fall for Bjørn?"

You hummed, pretending to think. Your teasing game continued. "King Harald would be a fine adventure, I can already imagine what he sounds like in bed; thanks to that voice of his. Ironside... I heard he is big as a bear, it could be a lot of fun to ride him. Hvitserk... Not really the type of a man I enjoy."

Ivar smirked to himself in the darkness. Oh, he was jealous already, that if you continue, he would simply bathe his dagger in your blood watching how the last ounces of life escape your flesh.

Suddenly, the door opened and a young thrall stepped in. Ivar didn't look at her yet gestured for her to come closer.

You sat up on the bed and watched them with your eyebrow raised.

As the girl brought another jug filled with taste mead, she put it carefully on the table and circled the chair Ivar sat on to gently place her palms on his shoulders. She started massaging him, earning a long moan from him.

"What's your name, sweetie?," Ivar asked, his tone low.

"Katia, my lord," she replied.

"How many springs have you lived?"

"17, my lord."

"The younger the better," Ivar turned his head to the young thrall and pulled her into a short kiss.

You watched them, completely taken aback by his action. Honestly, you felt proud of him in some way. Just a few weeks ago back at York he was all shy and unsure of himself, only to do this. Of course Ivar knew what he was doing because it worked. It worked too well.

The jealousy burned deep inside of you, he gave you a taste of your own action.

Ivar grabbed the woman by hand and pulled her into his lap.

Young thrall pulled her shirts up and straddled his lap. Her arms wrapped around his neck. "I never knew I'll be so close to Ivar the Boneless himself, my master."

"Because you won't be for much longer," you growled as you got up from the bed to move closer to them. Your hand moved into her hair and grabbed a handful, pulling her head away. "Listen to me now, child. If you won't get off him right now and leave, I will make sure to cut you in all of the right places to make sure now man will ever touch you."

That's what Ivar hoped for. "You heard the lady," he looked at the thrall but let himself cup one of her boobs briefly. "Leave now, but stay tuned for maybe you'll be needed to warm my alcove one day."

Young girl hissed but obeyed your words. She got off him and smoothened her dress, quickly leaving.

You chuckled watching her run off.

Humming softly you placed yourself on his lap, and immediately moved into his long, dark hair. "Look at that. Ivar the Boneless, a man who a few weeks ago was afraid to lie with a woman for the very first time. Now is making her envy. Don't you know such a woman can be unpredictable, boy?"

"Is that so sweet Y/N?," Your name rolled from his lips as he moved his head closer to your naked body, inhaling your scent as he brushed his lips against your collarbone, his hands in gloves stroked the curves of your waist.

You giggled and continued to play with his hair, scratching his scalp with your long nails. "Oh yes, just as unpredictable as men can be. I think we saw both today."

Your hands moved to his throat and your small palms wrapped around it, squeezing it a little. "I could strangle you now," you whispered as your grip got a bit stronger. "And I should do this, for a knife you pressed to my throat and that thrall but you are lucky enough that I love you."

He kept face straight, chucking darkly at your sudden outburst. "Oh, I think I need to play with thralls some more as it's keeping you going," he whispered and parted his lips, tracing the tip of his tongue along his perfectly shaped teeth.

"I need to visit our prisoner often too," you nodded with a smile. "I still wish to have him in my bed at least for once... As long as he is loyal to my man and his orders."

Ivar's hand moved to grab your hips strongly. "You're such a tease," he mumbled deeply.

You laughed and rolled your hips against him as your hands slipped to his shoulders. "But it gets you going. You love the idea of misbehaving. It makes you jealous and it leads you to anger," you leaned over to whisper against his lips. "And this, my love, leads you to your desire."

He couldn't pretend any longer; you kept him going. A short moan left his parted lips, and his eyes widened a little.

"Ah! There you go. You couldn't keep it up for too long, huh, Ivar?"

With a soft giggle you slipped off of his laps and placed yourself on the floor right between his legs. It was time to return the favor.

He looked down at you while letting a sad gasp out. His palm was placed to your cheek. "You're like no other woman I met in my short life. You make me lose my head, all for you."

You smiled at him sweetly, nuzzling to his palm. "Maybe because you didn't meet the right ones." Your hands moved down his chest and started to work on his pants so you could move them enough to free his member. "You are like no other men I met in my life. You are brave, ruthless and strong despite your flaws. Wonderful leader, lover and warrior."

He smiled. "Come to me, little one," he demanded in a husky voice.

You didn't like this exact order. All you wanted was to make him feel good but still you followed his order, placing yourself back on his laps. "Your wish is my command, my king."

He reached his hand down his body to guide his cock into your cunt. As he did, he let a loud moan and rolled head back, his hands slipped into your hips to hold you strongly.

A soft moan passed your own lips. Even when he worked you hard back in York, you still felt so fucking tight around him. "Fuck... Ivar," you gasped, grabbing the chair back.

He rested his forehead against your chest, letting out some deep gasps when you were slowly going up and down his shaft.

Your hands moved into his hair, scratching his scalp and keeping him as close to you as possible. Soon you started to move faster, moaning and pulling on his hair.

Ivar let out a long, deep grunt as you tugged on his hair. His hands moved down to rest on your ass as he squeezed the flesh hardly, moaning and brushing his lips against your chest.

When you realized he enjoys the hair pulling you let out a soft laugh and used it to pull his head back so you could kiss him deeply.

Ivar stole a kiss from your lips and parted his, gasping harder and harder as he chased his climax. Soon, he milked your pussy, grunting and groaning as he did.

You moaned his name out at the delightful feeling of his seed flooding your cunt. This triggered your own high and your walls tightened around him.

Ivar's arms wrapped tightly around your waist, his forehead rested against your collarbone, he gasped, a few drops of sweat rolled down his neck and forehead.

You smiled and wrapped your arms around him, just to keep him as close as only possible. Humming quietly, you started to play with his hair. "I love your hair, you should be called finehair," you whispered and giggled at your own joke.

He didn't reply as he was buried deep in his thoughts and he was only about to get off his peak. "Yeah," he managed to mumble softly, nuzzling to you.

You chuckled and massaged his scalp, letting him relax and calm down right in your arms after such a strong climax. "You okay there, Ivar?"

He raised his chin and looked you up right in the eyes. "Yes. Go to bed, I'll join you soon but I have one more thing to deal with."

You frowned softly, cupping his cheek. "Like what?"

"I need to speak to my brother. Nothing much. You stay here and warm bed for me."

You kissed his cheek and nodded. Slowly, you remove yourself from him, growling at the feeling of emptiness. "As you wish, love."

The bed was soft and warm thanks to all the furs. You got comfortable and nuzzled to the pillow. "Don't leave me alone for too long or I will have to go and pay our prisoner another visit."

Ivar shifted his floppy cock back into his pants, and growled playfully at your words. "Don't you be worried about that, I won't be long."

He took his crutches and slowly got up from the chair, throwing you a cocky smirk before leaving. Ivar headed to another hut, located almost at the docs. We stepped in without knocking, just like he had it in the habit of his.

Girl that was currently kissing Hvitser jumped in her place and gasped before looking right at Ivar.

It was one of your shield maidens, the one that took most interest in older Ragnarsson back at York.

Hvitserk sighed deeply, seeing his brother. "Brother, as much as I love your company. This is not the best moment," he said and the girl nuzzled to him, hiding from Ivar's eyes.

Ivar offered the girl a brief nod. "Mmm, you're fast like a lightning, brother," Ivar claimed and shifted a chair for himself, placing it right next to the bed. His blue eyes shifted to the girl. "Be a good, little thrall and leave us for a moment."

"I... I am not a thrall. I am Earl Wolf's shield maiden," girl said.

"Go, Asta. Wait outside, we won't talk for long," Hvitser said, patting her shoulder.

Soon the girl was gone and Hvitserk looked at his brother annoyed. "So! What was so important that you decided to interrupt me right now?"

"Hold your horses, brother, you'll have her pussy soon," Ivar frowned as he moved his glance to make sure the girl closed the door. "Remember our last talk? The talk about relationships and things?"

"Yes, I do but I am still not sure if we really did have this time. You are asking for advice when it comes to relationships and bed... Could be just my drunk dream," Hvitserk muttered, crossing arms over his chest. "What about it, Ivar?"

Younger brother used his crutch to poke his brother's thigh. "Can you not be a dick for once in your lifetime?," Ivar asked, frowning hardly, he ran his other hand through his messy hair. "It worked. And I need to know more of those."

"Ivar. I am glad that it worked but I really don't know what else to tell you," Hvitserk said with a shrug. "Tell me about her."

"Like, listen to this, brother," Ivar was excited at the single thought about things he performed with you. "The things you advised me in your drunken state worked, what I mean is that after eating her out she was more eager for other things. Let's not pretend, you're not only older but many women came and went through your bed, so I hate to admit it, but you're more experienced than I am."

Hvitserk laughed and nodded, rubbing his chin with pride. "Well, of course I am. Just... I can tell she likes it rough. So just go with that, Ivar. Listen to her."

Ivar tilted his head like a puppy while listening to the owner. "How can you say such a thing when you haven't seen her?"

"Then why do you ask me what to do when I haven't seen her in action?," Hvitserk asked with a roll of his eyes. "Listen. Every woman is different, you just need to observe and follow your intent or heart if you are really in love... And have heart."

Ivar didn't comment on his brother's words, he only nodded and got up from his spot. He patted Hvitserk's cheek. "Thanks. You can be useful from time to time."

Asta watched Ivar left the hut and immediately went back inside to join Hvitserk.

Ivar took some time to enjoy himself in the cold air. He walked slowly back to the hut Harald had let him stay in. Door was open so he walked in.

You were already asleep, covered with furs.

Ivar took the sight in, smiling to himself, feeling like his heart was melting for the sweetness overload. He put the crutches on the floor quietly, he got undressed and crawled to the bed. As carefully as it was possible he got on and spooned you from behind.

The following week was filled with preparations for a great battle. Everything had to be just right.

The days were filled with planning and training with your people, making sure they all are ready for the upcoming battle.

Of course whenever you found time you liked to bother the Bishop who actually was free now and somehow agreed to fight on your sides of the conflict.

You screamed out Ivar's name as you both reached your climaxes. The remarkable feeling of his seed filling you because some kind of fixation for yours. You seeked it every night and he was happy and eager to satisfy your common needs.

Humming quietly you lay down on his chest and started to trace random patterns on his chest. "It's tomorrow. I can't wait to leave this place and set a camp... And get ready for the battle," You growled playfully.

Ivar's arm was wrapped loosely around your waist, his fingertips rubbing little circles on your belly as he held you close. "Don't be scared, Y/N, the seer predicted we'll win the battle easily," Ivar assured you and kissed the top of your head. "There's no need to be worried, dear. It's just a formality."

You laughed and looked at him with a cocky smile. "Me? Scared? You're joking! I am more than ready to fight, our last battle in York was so much fun! I craved more since that day."

He looked down at you and pecked your lips briefly. "I would never say you're more bloodthirsty than I am."

You giggled against his lips before kissing that one sensitive spot on his neck. "Is that bad? Is some... Boring, dress wearing, royal lady would be better for you? You dont like me the way I am?”

He moaned at the touch of your lips on the most sensitive spot on his neck; his grasp on your waist tightened. "You're perfect just the way you are."

"Let's get some sleep, love. We need to be rested for tomorrow." You kissed his cheek and then nuzzled to his chest, closing your eyes. Soon, you drifted into slumber.

Travel was exciting.

Everyone was ready for that great fight so were you.

To be honest you couldn't wait, fighting and then ruling by Ivar's was your dream ever since you two clicked just perfectly back in York.

In the camp as well as during negotiation with Lagherta and his brothers you stood there proudly, being by his side and supporting his action.

You fought for him just like you did in York, doing your best to tip the scales of victory on your side.

The battle was long and of course there was a lot of death and suffering.

Just like Ivar assured you that one night, you won. Kattegat was yours and you couldn't be more happy.

The Great Hall opened its door for the new king.

Ivar entered the familiar chambers for the first time since months. He felt like the very important part of his childhood was restored to normality.

People weren't truly keen on the change on the throne, but they could do nothing about it.

Ivar's royal warriors took care of those who didn't want to hail the king. Ivar took a place at the throne that once belonged to his father.

You laughed loudly walking in with Hvitserk and King Harald close behind you, all of you bathed in blood of your enemies.

"You did it Ivar, you won your home back. I need to say I am jealous now!” Harald joked.

You walked around, inspecting the inside of the Great Hall. You already loved the place.

"Of course he did. How could you doubt him."

Saying this you walked closer to your lover and sat on the throne right beside him.

Ivar offered you a smirk, yet tilted his head. "Y/N, what do you think you're doing?"

"Well, I am getting comfortable in my throne, love?," You answered, returning the smirk. "Just as we talked in York. We will be the most powerful couple in the world."

He rolled a little in his place, so he leaned his forearms against armrest. "We? A couple? We were never a couple, sweetheart. I just needed your troops."

You frowned deeply, looking into those beautiful blue eyes you so loved. "Excuse me... But. Your promises, the nights we spend together. Our plans for the future."

He laughed loudly, he didn't really pay attention to the fact there were people in the chamber. "Darling, I would never say you're so silly. You wanted to be fucked so I provided that to you. I just had to make sure you won't change your mind in the day before the battle. Now, get off the throne, it's not yours. You can go back to your sweet, lovely settlement. You're my vassal from now on, I expect you to pay 500 gold pieces every year. If you won't follow, I'll have to flatten your little place to the ground."

You got up from the throne, your eyes never leaving him. How could he do this to you? You shared so much from the past to the future. Did he really lie to you... Why it hurt more than the wounds you suffered during the battle. "Is this some kind of a cruel joke? Because if it is, then better stop, Ivar."

"Do I look like I am joking?," He asked, the smile vanishing from his face, leaving a cold grimace and raised eyebrow as he glanced at you. "Get out of my face."

You couldn't believe it. All the nights you shared, sweet words, the love and dreams... It all was his way of taming you. His way of making sure you will follow him until he achieves his goals. Your heart broke like a thin ice under a pressure. "You are a terrible man, Ivar the Boneless. Ragnar is ashamed of such a son. One that can't keep a promise and can't even avenge his mother fully. I will dance the day you die!” You didn't mean any of those words, it was the pain speaking through your lips. Just like he wanted, you turned around and left the Great Hall.

Hvitserk threw his brother had a cold glance and followed you. "Stop, Y/N! Earl, stop!"

Meantime Harald stormed to the freshly announced king. "What the hell are you doing, Ivar? She is a great warrior, she brought a lot of people, you can't simply send her away and push her off our common matter."

"Our? Mine. Nothing is ours, everything is mine now," Ivar chuckled darkly. "Go on, you can take her. She's nothing but a puppet."

You stopped and pulled out your sword, pointing it right at older Ragnarsson. Your face looked serious but the tears rising in your eyes were visible. "What do you want, Ragnarsson? Came to tell me how stupid I am for trusting your brother?” You growled loudly.

"I had no idea what he was planning for all that time," Hvitserk instinctively raised hand up in the air, showing you he was unarmed. "Don't leave, I bet it can't be discussed and explained."

"Discussed? Explained?! What can be, Hvitserk?! He used my love, my feelings for him to get the troops for his plans," You said, desperately trying to hold your tears. "I wanted to stay here for him but I won't be a rug he can use and throw away as soon as he is done."

"Stop it, you can't leave! You're the only person who still keeps him on the straight and narrow!"

"HOW I DO THAT?!," You yelled as loud as your lungs let you, slowly lowering your sword as your body became too weak suddenly. All the emotions you felt and the post battle injury mixed together now.

"He threw me away as soon as my help became useless for him. I was never needed, coming to York was the biggest mistake of my life."

"Come," not being sure whether it was proper to do, Hvitserk wrapped arms around your figure, offering you his shoulder to lean on. "Take me with you then," Hvitserk asked openly. "I don't want to stay by his side, he's not a sane person. Please. I'll do whatever you order."

You nuzzled to his shoulder, wrapping your arms around him. All you needed now was some kind of closeness, of course you wished it was Ivar but he didn't care any longer. You started to cry into his shoulder, pawing at his back in an attempt to grab something in your hand.

"Now, move," he reminded you. "Let's not wait for him to change his mind and order his hellhounds to burn us alive."

Oldest Ragnarsson led you to the stable where your horse ate hay. He helped you hop on the animal. You sighed deeply, getting comfortable in the saddle. Rubbing your eyes you looked at him. "Thankfully my men are ready to go too," You said, grabbing the reins. "Let's leave him with his wonderful kingdom. Harald can deal with him."

"I don't think he is going to stay either," Hvitserk pulled his horse out of the box and got on his stallion's back.

"I have no idea who would want to stay with him now. Kattegat will burn under his lead," You muttered as your horse moved.

You quickly collected your remaining troops and then you all were on the way home. "Hvitserk?"

Hvitserk, whose horse galloped right behind yours, lined up with you. "Yes?"

"Don't you regret it? Leaving your own youngest and well... Creppled brother? For a woman who broke your nose?," You asked, looking at him.

"No," he replied hardly, being sure of his words. "I was afraid of my dear life. It was the most reasonable decision I've made in my lifetime."

"Let's hope you will feel much better in my home," you told him with a soft smile.

The trip took three day but it was worth it.

Your settlement made you feel better just because you were back home but there was still this void, somewhere inside of you. It felt even worse when you how your warriors greeted their families. Their smiles made you wish you could feel something like this.

Of course, people were happy to see their Earl and you returned to happiness but it wasn't the same.

You led Hvitserk into the Great Hall and as soon as you entered a big wolf's fur was placed on your shoulders, the hood that was made out of the wolf's head was pulled on your head. You laughed and looked at Hvitserk.

Hvitserk didn't think he could be greeted so warmly anywhere. Your people offered him not only furs and good words but also a roof over his head.

You sat on your throne and smiled, looking at your people. Tears will have to wait until you close the door to your room, now it was time to be Earl. "My friends, my warriors, my people. I can't describe how happy I am that God blessed me and our warriors with the chance of returning home," You said loudly and got up. "We lost many but many returned. Tomorrow there will be a feast to welcome the one that returned and honor the one that did not. I also want to introduce my special guest."

Hvitserk, as much as he was against the idea, walked closer to you, offering you a nod.

"This is Hvitserk. Son of Ragnar. Welcome him and be treated as your own because as long as he wants to stay with us. He is a part of our pack," You informed and your people cheered.

Hvitserk cleared his throat. "Thank you, dear Earl. Thank you, dear people. I assure you that I'll protect this settlement until the very last blood drop."

You gave him a sad smile. "You will stay here. There is one more room in Great Hall that wasn't used for years. I will order my thralls to prepare it."

Hvitserk bowed his head. "This is too much, my lady. I'll be fine just by staying among your people. I will stay at the edge of the city."

"I don't ask you as a Earl. I ask you as a friend, I want you to stay here. You will have days to get along with my people," You explained.

Hvitserk didn't complain anymore. "Thank you."

"No need to thank me."

Evening finally came and this one felt weird.

Most nights you shared with Ivar and you missed him and his body.

Letting out a deep sigh you get out of the bath and continue with getting ready for the bed. You put on a soft nightdress and brushed your hair. It felt different.

Since you joined Ivar back at York you didn't really have a chance to clean yourself properly. Suddenly you decided to visit Hvitserk so you got up from your bed and went to his room.

You knocked on the door, waiting for a permission to enter. Maybe he already had some girl over.

"Come in."

Hvitserk was sitting on the floor, his legs crossed and elbows propped on knees as he was meditating. He offered you a nod. "Earl Y/N. What have I done that you honor me with a visit? Do you need my help?"

You sat on the floor next to him and chuckled. "Don't start with all that Earl thing, Hvitserk. I am the same Y/N that broke your nose. No need to use my title."

"Don't need to remind me about the nose all the time," he offered you a little too cocky smirk.

"Just trying to remind you that I am no one special. Sorry" You sighed. "And well... I am here because. I felt lonely."

"Being lonely doesn't mean being sad, yet I hear sadness in your tone and see it in your manner."

You raised your eyebrow. "How being lonely doesn't mean being sad?," Shaking your head you shrugged.

"I just used to spend the night with your brother. It felt good, I felt happy... Loved," You already could feel tears in your eyes.

"Don't cry. You can't change him. He's a spoiled brat who doesn't care about people's feelings. You'll find yourself a man anytime soon, just look at you. Young, beautiful, in charge. All men are losing head for you already."

You sighed and wiped your eyes with a short laugh.

"You are losing head for me as well? Who would want a woman with a face like mine. I should cry for how stupid I was to trust Ivar's love."

"It was not stupidity, what you experienced is used to be called love," he smiled softly.

"Was... Was it too much to ask for? To be loved for once in my life?," You asked, looking at him. "Father, left me to die. Mother didn't care enough to protect you. Brother tried to kill me... Man I loved..." You couldn't finish your sentence.

"You're young, you have your entire life lying ahead. You'll fall in love not once, not twice. The pain is temporary, it will pass as soon as you'll sign a truce with yourself."

"I am young with a face eaten by a wolf," you muttered. "I... I have a stupid question."

"No question is stupid if you think about it."

"Can I stay here tonight? With you?,” you asked. "I don't think I can sleep alone... Not today at least."

"Of course. You provided me with a room with a bed for two. But you can take it full."

"I don't want to take it all. I want to share it with you... I don't want to be alone tonight, Hvitserk."

"Your wish is my command," he replied with a little smile.

You smiled and then climbed to bed. Letting out a sigh you nuzzled to the pillow and wrapped fur around yourself.

Hvitserk spent a few more moments meditating. After that he went to wash his face and neck with cold water. The he slipped into bed with you

"Thank you for that. I need to look pathetic... I am the Earl and I act like a child," you said cringing at your own action.

"Don't judge yourself. I don't mind it. I offered you that I can be a shoulder you can lean in."

"Yes, you did," you nodded and moved closer to nuzzle him. "And I am going to use it tonight."

He straightened his arm to make a room for you. As you put your head to his chest, he lightly wrapped arm around your waist.

You got comfortable and hummed quietly, closing your eyes. He was arm and soft, you just wished it was Ivar who would really hug you.

Hvitserk used his other hand to stroke your cheek. "Shhhh, you're going to get through this for you're the strongest woman I saw."

#ivar the boneless #ivar the boneless smut #ivar x reader #ivar x reader smut #ivar the boneless x reader #hvitserk x reader #hvitserk #vikings #vikings x reader #vikings smut #reader insert #writers on tumblr #ivar x hvitserk #bishop heahmund #earl!reader

[lambourngb]

a skeleton of something more [3/7]

previously here. malex wip based on the trailer for season 3, some spoilers and my own speculation. I’m failing at the daily serial because keeping to 2K is impossible, but hoping to have it finished by next week.

Warnings: NSFW content, not forrest long friendly

*** NOW **** 

Alex shut off the streaming hot water reluctantly, and shifted back on the new shower bench to lean his head against the tile. 

His fingertips were pruned from the long shower, his attempt at using the scalding water to try to wash away the dirt he felt covered in after being away from Roswell for so long. Pointless endeavour, when he knew the filth was more than skin deep at this point. It was in his bones. It was in his blood, the way the Manes name still opened the worst doors. Alex touched the corners of his smile with his hands, looking for the edge of the mask he wore around Deep Sky and finding only the bristle of his beard growing in, a very late five o’clock shadow.

The steam of the shower was slowly fading, bringing back the visual details of his naked body. His stump was slightly swollen, the marks of wearing his prosthesis for too long, but it was hard to feel safe without it on, doing the work he was doing around even more paranoid men than he was. Three years past his injury, the scars were still ugly to his eyes as he cupped his fingers over the end of his right leg, but time had faded the lines from an angry red to a wizened white. 

Alex hoped that time would do the same to his soul. 

He moved his hand from his stump, over to his thighs to stretch the lingering soreness from his legs. He ignored where his cock laid, half-full of blood from the simple pleasure of a hot shower; the desire to let himself feel good was far from his mind. Instead he focused on returning functionality to his body after the long, cramped ride on that bus. That was the physical challenge, the emotional one would be trickier. 

It helped that he knew Michael was still there, in his house, probably fixing something else that had been neglected during Alex’s time away. Finding something that was broken or damaged, and then making it whole just with his touch, that was what Michael did naturally. Alex was no exception to that.

Every muscle was loose finally, thanks to the improved water pressure beating on the knots of tension until they turned into putty. Beyond the simple improvement of the plumbing, Michael had also relocated the shower taps to the wall next to the bench, so he could sit safely and turn on the water without balancing on one foot in the front of the stall. 

New grab bars lined the bathroom walls as well. Alex had worried about the expense until he recognized the chrome and black rails from the boxes he had bought a while ago, before shuttling them off to the garage. Michael had apparently found the abandoned project and had finished it for him. The longer the trips he made away from Roswell were, the more involved the upgrades Michael made in his absence. He would need to prepare a cover story in case Forrest noticed the changes, a renovated bathroom went far beyond changing out bulbs in a light fixture.

He was getting closer to ending the sham relationship with Forrest, but he wasn’t there quite yet. His first night back in Roswell he had managed to steer Forrest away from his house and more importantly, his bed, but that was only a temporary reprieve. Tomorrow it would all begin again, playing the role of a grieving son looking to ‘understand’ his father, docilely following Forrest’s lead in ‘discovering’ the alien threat, letting the other man comfort him, but this time, that would all happen in front of Michael. 

Michael knocked on the half-open bathroom door to get his attention, before stepping inside carrying a bath towel. “Are you still alive in there?”

“I am, but I want to marry this shower,” and you, he finished silently. Michael looked pleased by the comment as he stood outside the glass doors, waiting patiently as Alex pulled himself up from the bench and carefully hopped toward him. As he drew closer, the proud expression changed to one of open hunger as Michael took in his nakedness, cataloging the changes on his body. Downtime while he had been away from Roswell had often been filled with trips to the gym, exercising to work through his frustration at the slow pace of developments regarding Deep Sky. Weight lifting and core training had kept his hands away from his phone when the desire to check in with Michael took hold.

There was only so many times he could pass off a call to Michael about his mail or paying a bill for his house.

Alex held out his hand for the towel, while Michael stared at him, his gaze almost physical as he lingered over the swells of muscle. He snapped his fingers at Michael to break the hypnosis.

At the sound, Michael blinked, but then avoided his hand to wrap the towel around Alex himself. Warmth from the soft linen enveloped Alex, a sign the towel was fresh from the drier. He closed his eyes under Michael’s safe hold, enjoying the blatant pampering as Michael gently patted Alex’s wet skin dry. “I don’t mind sharing you with the shower, especially if it means you’re not wearing clothes,” he murmured in Alex’s ear, nosing the lock of wet hair away.

Shivering under the ghost of Michael’s lips, Alex felt something start to knit and heal inside him, blanketed by more than just the towel. Love. Feeling more like himself, Alex teased Michael back, “You could have joined me.”

“It was tempting, very tempting, but then who would have made dinner if I had taken you up on that offer?” Michael tucked the towel around Alex, and then offered his arm as a support while Alex hopped toward the pile of folded sweats to wear. 

“I have a lot of appetites, Michael, food is barely in the top five. And I can eat later, after you leave,-” Alex held his clothes in his hand, not moving to get dressed just yet. 

“You can, but you won’t eat. As soon as I walk out that door, I know you’re going to park yourself in front of your computer and spend the rest of the night hacking, just like you’ve done nearly every night since this started.” Michael waited with a raised eyebrow for Alex to deny it. 

Caught by both the frustration that Michael was right and by the ticking clock in his head that counted down the end of this precious time together, Alex conceded. He pulled his sweatshirt down over his head grumpily, “I didn’t spend every night hacking.”

“Just the nights when you weren’t with Forrest Long.” Michael said it quietly, turning away to hang up the wet towel. 

Alex tucked his crutches under his arms, before reaching out to catch Michael’s shoulder. “Hey, it doesn’t mean anything, you know that, right? It’s just…friction.” He studied Michael’s face, worried that perhaps his patience with everything was wearing thin. 

Over the last year, as he moved deeper and deeper into the circle of men that made up Deep Sky, Michael had been his lifeline to his real identity. A voice on the line, late at night, warm and beloved, reminding Alex what was important and keeping him grounded. During the day, his resolve had felt less certain. He had forced himself to echo the words of Jesse Manes to curry favor, ducking his reflection in the mirror when the hateful words started to come easier and easier to him. Then there was the feeling he had, when he had to accept Forrest’s offers to visit him in Los Alamos, the way he had felt weirdly relieved to see a familiar face, even if it was someone he couldn’t trust. 

Hearing Michael’s voice led him back to himself, and then little by little, the updates were less mission-related and more personal. It had led them back to each other. By the second month, Michael had stopped dancing around things, admitting to Alex just how much he missed him and by the third month, Alex was slipping away to meet with him at half-way destinations to seal his words with actions.

It was reminiscent of his early days in the Air Force, finding Michael in out-of-the-way places where no one knew them. Back then, Alex had DADT and military physicals to dodge. Michael had to take care in leaving no marks on Alex’s body, while Alex had had no such restriction. Michael would leave those encounters, mauled with love bites and fucked thoroughly, while Alex stayed as pristine as his neatly pressed uniform. Eleven, twelve years on, the need for discretion had changed, from the military to Forrest Long. 

That was the elephant in the room. Alex was still having sex with Forrest, mostly when he couldn’t avoid it with a trip out of town, like when he accompanied Forrest to Deep Sky owned properties. It was just friction, putting his body in motion to do a job, much like he had when he had deployed abroad. He had lost any amount of shame for what he was doing to the other man after the first time, when he had found a detailed write-up about his own visit to the Long Farm that Forrest had filed and sent to the mysterious leader of Deep Sky.

“I know.” Michael replied, his smile weak but real as Alex brought him closer for a slow, thorough kiss. 

Alex inhaled the scent of rain into his nose as Michael melted in his arms and the kiss deepened between them. This was the opposite of friction, as they slid easily together in the doorway of the bathroom, until Alex’s stomach betrayed him thoroughly and growled. Michael broke away with a laugh, and Alex noted with relief that his earlier fragility had completely vanished from his eyes, as he headed toward the kitchen, “Come on, I made you your favorite for dinner, spicy tomato soup.”

“With strips of cheese toast?”

Michael looked offended at the question. “Of course.”

That was proof that Michael had been listening to him closely during their late night conversations, the way the subject migrated from business to the personal, until Alex had flat out whined over how terrible the food was at one of the Deep Sky outfits. “Forget looking for aliens, they should look for a new chef.”  And then they were off and running about comfort food, with Michael sharing his fondness for canned spaghettios, they tasted fine cold. Sharing his own fond memory from childhood of his mother making soup as a rare show of maternal care. Melted cheese dripped over cut up toast, then dipped in the tomato soup.

The clock was still ticking in his head, counting down the end of this brief interlude of happiness. Alex laid back on his couch with a tray of soup on his lap and tried to soak in every minute. The thrill of sharing a meal together, sitting side by side on his couch with the evening news droning on in the background. It was a type of domesticity that he never thought he had wanted until Michael. His thoughts turned away from the wholesome toward the carnal as he watched Michael pucker his lips together to blow on the steaming bowl. 

The food was delicious, but that was a distracting sight for anyone, let alone someone who knew just what Michael’s mouth was capable of doing. 

Michael flashed a wicked smile when he caught Alex staring, picking up his strip of toast to dip in his soup and then licked it indecently clean. The perfect bow of his mouth around his food, his tongue chasing his lips for every drop of spilled soup had Alex shifting on the couch. The production lasted until Michael hit a hot place in his bowl, squeaking in shock, sending Alex into a peal of laughter at the affronted look on his face.

“Fuck, that’s hot!”

“Yes it was.”

“Asshole, I meant the soup!”

Alex laughed long and hard, his head tipped back against the couch, and after a moment, Michael joined him. Tears came to his eyes, the laughter set off each time they looked at each other. There was a point, where Alex realized he couldn’t remember the last time he had laughed like that, at least not in the last year outside of talking to Michael on the phone. 

It was worth it. All of it. Infiltrating Deep Sky, spending half of his time around people who would cheerfully murder an alien, even using sex to get information, the price was not too steep to pay if it meant he could protect this moment, preserve it and repeat it forever. To see laugh lines around Michael’s mouth, instead of the press of fear, he would fuck the Devil himself if it meant Michael was safe.

He slowly sobered on the couch, his laughter gone at the thought of losing this. Michael placed their empty dishes in the kitchen and then drew Alex’s foot into his lap to rub. “I can practically see the gears turning now. Relax, okay? Watching the clock doesn’t help.”

“I know,” Alex agreed quietly, pressing his foot into Michael’s grip. “I’m feeling a little guilty here, with all this pampering.” 

Michael dug his thumbs into Alex’s instep, drawing a loud groan of appreciation as he worked on releasing the knots of stress. Too much time in combat boots, the calluses were thick and tough under Michael’s hands but he kept rubbing regardless. 

“If that guilt motivates you into taking better care of yourself-”

“I know, I am trying. But what about you?” Alex gestured toward Michael’s face with his own look of judgment, “are you sleeping enough? Eating enough?”

“I’m also trying. It will be better once this is over. Once you get to meet the head of Deep Sky, and hack him, we’ll both sleep better.”

“If it’s ever over. I’m starting to think the leader of Deep Sky is like the Dread Pirate Roberts.”

Instead of pulling on the threads of pessimism, Michael tugged on Alex’s ankle as he crawled closer to him on the couch. As a subject change, it was a welcome one to Alex. Why dwell on the future, it was better to enjoy the present. Michael’s hands smoothed over the soft fleece of the sweatpants, sending a thrill of excitement through Alex. He slipped down on the seat to allow Michael room. 

“Is it okay to pamper you a little more?” Michael asked, his eyes dark as his fingers slipped inside the waistband of Alex’s sweats. He teased at the taut muscles, stroking his fingers over the soft rasp of hair trailing downward. 

“What did you have in mind?” 

“When’s the last time someone’s sucked this big dick of yours?”

There was a dark hint of teasing in Michael’s voice, he was daring Alex to say a name. Forrest’s name. It was the type of playful provocation they could use with each other now, safely, the result of their late night phone calls to each other. When time was valued, what was the point of secrets between them? 

Alex licked his lips absently, giving Michael a thorough head to toe look of consideration, before answering honestly, “It was in Santa Fe. At the Silver Saddle Motel. A very hot cowboy sucked me until I was hard, and then rode my dick all night long.” 

Michael blinked, not expecting that answer, but pinked in pleasure. “Oh…well then, you’ve been deprived because that was months ago.” He pulled down on Alex’s sweats, letting the band of elastic tuck neatly under his balls and sat back to admire the view. Alex shifted under his eyes, his cock straining upward as Michael bent his head down. “I guess I shouldn’t be surprised, he’s a short guy, all of this probably doesn’t fit in his mouth,” Michael commented, wrapping his palm around Alex’s cock firmly.

“Yeah,” Alex gasped, hitching up into Michael’s grip, “small mouth, it’s hard to even kiss, impossible to fuck-” His voice gave out as Michael licked the bead of pre-cum with tip of his tongue before stretching his mouth wide. There was a way that Michael approached cock-sucking that Alex could never get over. The look of hunger and that deep breath he always took, as if he had to hold himself back to keep from gorging himself on Alex’s cock. 

Alex had been deprived. Very deprived.

Slowly Michael slid his lips down on Alex’s cock, taking him deep into his mouth. His tongue, warm and firm, dragged downward. Alex cried out in pleasure, it felt so good, his hips rocking upward imperceptibly as his iron-strong control was rocked by Michael. He kept his eyes trained on Michael’s mouth, the reddening stretch of his lips wrapped tightly around his cock. Michael looked up, catching his eye and then bobbed his mouth downward.

Reaching downward, Alex placed his hand against Michael’s jaw and traced his thumb around the edge of his mouth. “So good, you take me so well, Michael.”

The praise had Michael blinking in pleasure before he redoubled his efforts in sucking. Alex gasped again, sinking deeper into Michael’s throat until his lips were kissing the sparse hair, down to the root. Fuck. He was ready to come already. Worse than the clock sweeping toward the end of the evening, was his body ready to end it now.

“Close, I’m gonna-” Alex warned, his hands going to Michael’s shoulders. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to pull Michael off of him, or keep Michael in place to feed him his cock in case he backed away as Alex teetered on the edge of orgasm. His grip clutched uselessly on him, but Michael showed no signs of stopping his efforts. 

Kicking at the couch cushion, he lost the fight to hold back, as he felt his cock hit the back of Michael’s throat. There was a tightening around him, throat muscles working hard to swallow, and then Michael wrapped his hand back around the base of Alex’s cock to stroke him in time with his sucking. His free hand gently squeezed Alex, before rubbing a knuckle along the seam of his balls to his perineum. The outside touch against his prostate was enough to have Alex coming hard down Michael’s throat.

God it was so good. Michael knew every place to touch him. He knew to keep his mouth on Alex as he came, swallowing his release sloppily, until come and saliva leaked from his lips. It was over far too fast, but Michael held on until Alex felt the tears of overstimulation burn in his eyes. Slowly Michael softened his lips, letting Alex’s spent cock slip lazily from his messy mouth and then met Alex’s gaze with a knowing glint.

Michael knew exactly how depraved he looked. 

It was too soon to get hard again, but Alex felt the twinge of it as he stared at Michael. His hands were greedy, cupping Michael’s face between them before wiping up the spill from Michael’s lips with his thumb. Two could play at that game, he thought as he brought it to his mouth. 

“Fuck,” Michael swore softly, “Look at you, tasting yourself.”

“I’d rather taste you,” Alex patted the couch he was laying down on and straightened his disheveled sweatpants. “Take off those jeans and wrap those great thighs of yours around my head and let me suck you.”

“Actually, I’d rather take you to bed.”

Alex glanced at the clock behind Michael. It was close to midnight. He knew based on experience that Forrest would be by in the morning with coffee, before Alex was fully awake. It was a transparent way of trying to catch him off guard, to see if Alex would slip up with news about Michael, or any other alien. After every short trip back to Roswell, the other man had made sure to find an excuse to be in Alex’s house. 

“I know I can’t stay, but I don’t want to leave.”

“I never want you to leave either.” Alex chewed on his lower lip, as Michael waited. Sensing his advantage, he tilted his head seductively, spilling his curls over one eye and then made a transparent pleading face at Alex. Laughing, Alex conceded, “Okay, okay, you can stay for a little while. Help me to bed, and set an alarm.”

*** 

#malex fic #roswell new mexico #not forrest long friendly #alex goes undercover #season 3 spoilers

[lucycola]

The Lone Survivor; Spock x Fem!Reader

Premise: Fem!Reader accidentally bonds with Spock when rescued from her own starship crash. Hijinks and unbelievable plot points ensue for my own pleasure. Not sure if I’m writing mind melds right but eff it.

WARNINGS: Mentions of bodies and blood. Movie amnesia. Paternal Bones figure to reader. You get the drift. Movie sci-fi healing and medical procedures. It’s StarTrek, what do you expect.

Part 1: There Was Something In Everything About You

You still felt the cold from the tundra below enveloping your body. Your little body shivered under the thermal blanket and a calloused, albeit gentle touch sponged your forehead. Your eyes fluttered open and you half expected your vision to still be clouded with harsh whiteness.

Why? you thought. There’s no snow, Why would there be? You didn’t know where you were.

Soft, faded blue eyes smiled gravely in your blurred line of vision. “Welcome back,” said a weathered voice. “Take it easy now,” it instructed firmly as you moved to sit up right. Your whole body roared in ache, especially in your left leg.

“I’m your doctor, Doctor McCoy,” said the man in blue, his hand moving to your shoulder. A woman, donned in blue as well, hovered behind him with a curious expression. “You’re on the Enterprise.”

Your voice was scratchy at first, but found itself buried in the base of your throat, tumbling out sloppily. “Hello, my doctor, Doctor McCoy.”

He smiled gingerly, “Do you remember what happened?” It was the first of a long line of question that only rendered blank stares and subtle shakings of the head. ”You were found near the wreckage of the starship the U.S.S Calvary.”

No, you didn’t know what happened or what happened to your ship the U.S.S. Calvary.

The name felt like a knife in your chest and you could only give your doctor, Doctor McCoy, and his nurse, Christine Chapel, watery blinks.

Hell. You didn’t even know your own name.

x

A long series of tests and more questions continued. Your leg had been broken in three places (to which your doctor, Doctor McCoy, had expertly mended shortly after your arrival) and you were suffering from an awful concussion resulting in-

“-acute post traumatic amnesia, Jim,” your doctor’s voice rattled you from a sticky, uncomfortable slumber. “I don’t think you’ll be getting much from her.”

“The crew is still salvaging data from the wreckage. There’s no telling what’s been lost or if we’ll even find out the cause of the wreck,” said the other. “It’s worth a shot.”

A golden man approached you with sunshine behind his expression, and along something a little sad. Like the doctor he interrogated you with similar questions, some a little trickier than earlier. Thought provoking and pressing. Desperation. However, his voice was soft and made you feel welcome. 

“If there’s anything you can think of or if you remember something please send for me right away-” the golden man’s brow furrowed, “Still no name, Bones?”

“Not yet.”

“He’s been calling her kitty,” Christine said.

The doctor grumbled, “Well, she’s got big cat eyes. Looks a lot like my Jo.”

“Jo?” you inquired innocently.

“His daughter,” replied the golden man.

You hummed sweetly.

“If you remember anything,” the golden man said in response with his own dazzling smile, “Please. You are the only one.”

The realization hadn’t yet touched you and you only offered a dizzy smile, “Yes, Captain Kirk of the starship Enterprise. I will.”

He exchanged an amused look with his ‘bones’ and turned on his heel to leave.

You still felt cold. The palm of your right hand itched. Neither of the man, blue or gold, were the right one. You could feel a tiny pull in the back of your head. A warm place, away from the tundra or the medbay, both stark white and freezing.

Where was the right one? What an odd thought. What even was the right one? You didn’t even understand your own thoughts. Everything was foggy and heavy. You struggled to be alert, at least of all receptive to everyone’s courtesy. They wanted to know so much and you wanted to help, but you knew nothing. You were an empty cannister of what you used to be.

Except that pull, that sensation in the back of your brain. It was a palm, bigger than your own, waiting for you somewhere on the ship.

“She’s shivering again, Doctor. And crying.”

“Take it easy now, kitty cat,” he said quietly, “This will help you sleep.”

“Yes, Doctor Bones.”

x

The hypo didn’t help you sleep. You tossed and wracked in a freezing sweat, crying, still stuck in the tundra. Masses of dark, solid ice surrounded you, in bellies of red and pink snow.

You are the only one.

Funny, twisted shapes of dark ice with bulging eyes and gaping mouths.

How? How did you only survive with a broken leg and a bruised head? Luck?

A hand reached out, to you, anchoring onto your right. An angel. 

You could hear his own self, humming in the back of your mind - a explosion of foreign presence. He had moved closer and you were pulled from sleep once again.

“...a few of the logs have been retrieved, but have sustained partial damage that can be corrected. A personnel roster has yet to be obtained from the data. It is imperative that such data is retrieved before Starfleet launches an official investigation.”

A warmth enveloped your entire bodily, tingling and washing away the tundra.

“And why is that, Mister Spock?” the captain asked, suspicion lining his inquiry.

“When I came into tactile contact with the survivor I was able to acquire personal information,” the angel replied in turn, “Lieutenant Y/N L/N of the botanical division.”

“L/N,” the captain hummed in assent. The name felt shapeless and empty in your mouth. It was yours, but still didn’t feel like it.

“Anything else?”

“ I was able to retrieve memory fragments from the lieutenant as well. I read large amounts of the human emotions guilt and fear. It can be deducted the lieutenant may have had some indirect involvement with the crash.”

“Why is it crucial to launch our investigation before Starfleet?” the captain asked with a forming smirk .

There was a pregnant pause.

Mister Spock had noticed you finally, sitting up right staring widely at the both of them. The warmth intensified in your right hand. A muted sensation creeped in the back of your mind, barely tasting of curiosity and embarrassment?

You could remember it. The ship. The crew. The ship crashing into the icy tundra below, hundreds of bodies being ripped from the deck and into the sky. You had held on somehow, strapping yourself in right before contact.

You awoke to blistering cold and sharp wind, tangling your hair. You crawled.

Twisting angles of dark, icy shapes dotted the snow like landmarks. White snow. Red snow.

The crew. Four-hundred men crewmen dead.  

Your scream was silent, wrenching in anguish. How could this happen?

“...located another crewmember for corpse retrieval.”

You moved to scream again, still silent, croaking in the back of your throat. You reached out.

“I negate my last statement, Captain.”

“Why is that, Mister Spock?”

“She is alive.”

You could only see a blurred version of your savior hovering behind your outstretched limb. 

“Do not be afraid,” he had said, hand enclosing around your iced one, red and raw.

You knew him in an instant.

Do not be afraid. The Lord has great favour with thee, whispered in the back of your mind. A loose memory.

Despite the terrible memory you smiled at him now, eyes big with awe and yet still fear.

“T’hy’la,” he said in a sharp tone, almost reprimanding.

The word was foreign to you, but it felt like an insult and your brow creased.

“I must remove myself immediately,” the monotone voice of your savior said almost hastily. His statement felt like a slap in the face. 

“Doctor Bones, I want to go back to sleep now.” Your voice was broken, your face buried in your hands. Two sets of hands braces themselves on your wracking body, emitting little sobs.

“Kitty, what’s wrong? Did that hobgoblin upset you?” Bones asked.

Nurse Chapel patted your shoulder, “Now, now, Y/N take some deep breaths. Mister Spock is the one who found you. There’s no need to be scared of him.”

“I want to see Mister Spock,” you said, between each little hiccup, “I need to-”

“Jim, I don’t know what he’s done, but-” Bones began.

“I’ll go...” Kirk looked down at you, befuddled by both of your reactions,”...investigate, Bones. Hold down the fort.”

“You make it sound so easy,” Bones retorted.

x

“I want to get up now.”

“It’s only been forty-eight hours, Y/N,” Bones replied, residing as his chair across from your bed. “Your tibia, fibula, and femur were all broken. I’m a doctor, not a magician. You can start on crutches tomorrow.”

“I don’t like that.”

“Like what?”

“Y/N,” you stuck out your tongue, “It doesn’t sound right. I liked kitty better.”

He chuckled, “Like I said, we’ll get you walking tomorrow. After the investigation clears we can take you to the nearest starbase and contact your family.”

You frowned, “And leave the ship?”

“That’s the idea,” he replied, “We’ve already been contacted a recovery crew. After they salvage what they can and help us with-” He winced, “With funeral proceedings we can help you along. We’ve got a number of wonderful psychologists on the ship. You can speak to on if you’d like. Might even help you regain some of that memory.”

Anyone who even spent a day on board the Enterprise and partook in any of its zany adventures would need to speak to a therapist. Bones had meant to say ‘body retrieval’, but after seeing you cry many times he had learned to be careful with his words. Poor, poor thing. 

“What will happen to my crew? They will have a funeral?”

“I’m sure Starfleet will do something to honor them once the investigation is over.”

“Investigation?”

“Yes,” he treaded carefully, knowing you were already suspect at this point, “A crash like that so unpreceded without...any malfunction is strange. Especially with only one survivor.”

Your brow furrowed, “I know it’s strange, Doctor Bones. I wish I could remember. I remember their faces. And-”

Mister Spock. 

“I want to see him.”

It was the fifth time you pressed the issue and Bones internally sighed. “I know. Spock is busy at the moment trying to clear your name and I’ll be busy trying to clear your health. I prescribe no stressful situations or conversations-and trust me, he can be very vexing. Now, it’s time for your dinner.”

x

You had slept often during your time in the medbay and faking it wasn’t difficult. You had long noticed the nurse working your bed had long dosed at his stations and the others were few, far in-between. 

With eyes still softly closed, you in-took an even breath. 

I want to see you, you whispered inside. 

You felt the warm lull in your right palm intensify, matching the newly occupied space in your mind. 

I must know what’s going on. Mister Spock, see me, please, sir. 

The warmth grew to an unbearable itch and you figured to follow its meaning. With a gentle form you moved up, careful not to stir the nurse and reached for the crutches. 

It was hard to hobble along at first, but you found you way slowly, the warmth in your brain egging you on in the right direction-at least you hoped it was.

The end of that tunnel was waiting for you somewhere-a subside to that itch. A sleek, silver door with a doorbell of sorts. You rang it. 

It was waiting for you on the other side.

The door slid open.

He was indeed waiting for you, standing in the middle of his quarters. His his left hand was a little orange bar. Recovered.

“Lieutenant,” he greeted evenly.

“Mister Spock,” you looked at his left hand, “Are you still mad at me?”

“Negative. I believe I was never, as you humans put it, mad at you.”

You didn’t press further. You felt a trembling igniting in your ankles. The thing in back of your mind clutched at the orange tape in his hand. A look. A see. 

Guilty, guilty guilty, the thoughts tore anxiously.

“Do you have something you want to show me?” you asked.

He nodded curtly and took long strides with his long, long legs, to the computer and slipped the tape in. “This was only recoverable footage from the Calvary. Unfortunately for your case it happens to also be the most damning. I’ve been working most of the day and night cycle to piece it together.”

The screen spit static to life as it conjured up the Calvary’s bridge and you. You were in what you were found in: your blue uniform dress with long sleeved black fatigues underneath. You suddenly remembered being cold that day-even though you had no reason to be.

Something in your hand was slender and long. A large pipet and you jammed the glass into the neck of your Captain before firing your phaser at another crewmember.

Your brain felt light and frothy and you were caught by a steel grip before making friends with the floor.

“It wasn’t me,” you heard someone say groggily.

Spock steadied his grip, “Explain, Lieutenant, when it is you that the film portrays. His voice felt icy.

“I don’t know how,” you whispered.

It was silent a moment.

“I can look. But it will intensify the bond already at present and in the future that may prove unsatisfactory for you.”

You didn’t understand, offering a furrowed brow, but nodded to give him permission.

With his left arm anchored underneath you, his right hand featherily skimmed the side of your face. 

“Our minds...are now one.”

“It wasn’t me.”

“Indeed,” he whispered in a strained voice, dipping further into your conscious. “It was not.”

PART TWO

#startrek #star trek #tos #the original series #tos star trek #spock #tos spock #mister spock #mr spock #s'chn t'gai spock #spock x reader #spock x fem!reader #leonard mccoy #doctor mccoy #dr mccoy #bones #captain kirk #james t kirk #jim kirk #christine chapel #chapter title lyric is from Player's Baby Come Back

[heybeybey]

You should be killing titans Levi

Happy Smutty Saturday everyone. I actually promised angst but the plot I have in mind for that one might need a few more weeks because my mind is melting.

Anyway, have crack instead feat. Levi getting horny over a titan. Man just can't catch a break.

And no, the sex happens in Petra's human form. Please, I'm not that fucked up yet 😭

Summary: Petra somehow acquired the Cart Titan during canon events and Levi, whose sole purpose in the past few years was to kill titans, finds himself simping over one.

Rating: Explicit

Genre: Romance, Humor, Crack

Words: 2,480

---

When Petra emerged from her titan form the first time, the only thing Levi thought about was her safety. Sure, they'd seen that Eren was perfectly fine, albeit a bit knocked out of it. But the idea of humans controlling titans is still pretty new to their own little world. As Petra's captain, of course he'd do whatever he can to protect his subordinates.

They tested out her abilities in the limited time they have until the next expedition. Hange, the mad bitch that they are, would be the one doing and leading the experiments while his squad oversees. Frankly, him and the three other guys think it's more to protect Petra from Hange's crazy ideas.

So, it was the same as usual. As far as usual can get when it comes to the Survey Corps, that is. Petra was still in his team and surprisingly, nothing changed in their relationship as captain and subordinate.

Everything only shifted when he'd seen her in action during her first expedition as a titan shifter.

He honestly thinks that her titan form is ugly as fuck. It was even uglier than Yeager's. However, seeing the fire in its eyes, in her amber eyes that is just so Petra had left him a little bit awestruck. Her titan has the same ginger hair and he shouldn't be thinking this, because he's looking at a titan, but is it shining when the light hits her tresses? He feels his mouth go dry as Petra's titan shields an injured scout from two abnormals, before making a move to kill them by biting off their napes.

She lands back on the ground, re-assembling herself in their usual scouting formation.

Fuck.

"Levi? Are you okay?" Erwin pipes up once they're all in the clear.

"What the fuck are you talking about, Erwin?"

Erwin, that bastard, only gives him a slow smirk in return.

"I hope that won't be much of a hindrance then," Erwin says, gesturing down. Levi glances down and only realizes now why his pants have started to tighten. The fact that he's currently riding a horse isn't doing him any favors.

---

There was this one time when Hange wanted to test how long the younger girl can retain her titan form and they found out that she can go on for months. He'd have to admit that he misses actually seeing Petra's face but even Levi found her titan's strength impressive.

Until she started crawling around in her human form.

He finds her crawling one afternoon and Levi feels that familiar heat flare up inside him as he takes in the curve of her back and ass. His eyes would sometimes stray there during trainings but he'd never expected her backside to be this round and full. The fact that she's currently in a dress that reaches just below her knee is only making this worse. He swallows when he sees a hint of exposed skin of her thigh and if he could bunch up her dress further, it would be so easy to just take her right now.

Levi's hand twitches, and he repeatedly needed to remind himself that touching his subordinate is considered harassment.

"What the fuck are you doing, Petra!?"

"Oh, hi captain!" Petra flushes in embarrassment, trying to push herself up against the wall but fails every time. She almost hit her head once, if Levi hadn't stepped in and helped her up himself.

"I'm sorry," She says, clinging to him. Levi, mortified that another inch closer would mean she'll feel the rising enthusiasm below his belt, tries to discreetly move his lower part away. "I didn't know this is a side effect of being in my titan form for too long. I'm actually on my way to tell Hange about it."

"Side effect?"

Petra only blushes deeper. "My body... might've forgotten how to walk properly since I've been on all fours for so long."

Levi can feel his brain short-circuiting when she said the words all fours. His brain started supplying him with an image of her on all fours in his own bedroom floor, of how he would bend her over and make her suck his-

"Hey Petra!" Thank fucking god. He'd never been so glad to have Hange around. "Gunther said you were coming to see me?"

Wanting to get everything over with completely (so he can run to his room and deal with his rising erection), he hoisted Petra up in his arms instead, leading to her wrapping her own arms around his neck. A blush tinges her soft round cheeks and he tries to avoid looking down at her, knowing that she's staring up at him in wonder.

He'd noticed this with Petra whenever they're physically close together, of how she'd be in a sort of trance whenever he'd subconsciously tuck a strand behind her ear or when she'd lean down to set his tea on his office table and he really shouldn't be thinking of this right now when he was just thinking of fucking her if Hange hadn't barged in.

Once she's settled in Hange's lab, Four Eyes took that moment to turn to Levi.

"Now you know how I feel whenever I see titans," Hange says.

"What." Horror starts to rise in Levi's chest when he realizes their implication, but only his disgust shines through his face.

"What?" Hange answers back, acting as if what they just said was a normal statement.

---

That same afternoon, Levi demanded from the medical team that they better provide him a crutch right fucking now or he won't be responsible for the injuries he'll be causing on the inhabitants of the room.

He hurriedly gives it to Petra, harshly ordering her that she is not to crawl around like that ever again for the sake of her dignity. Deep down, he knows it's to save his.

---

He tried to avoid being alone with Petra in her titan form in the coming months. Actually, he avoided being alone with her completely, even when she's out of her titan. But it's a Friday night and all the other scouts have been given time off, with some of them already packed up to go home for the weekend to see their family.

Petra, on the other hand, had no choice but to stay until further notice. She could barely leave the building unless either Levi, Eld, Gunther or Oluo is with her.

He sees her alone right now outside since Hange wanted to test if Petra can stay up all night in this form. The sun will rise up in a few hours, and he thinks this is more than enough time to indulge Four-Eyes in their curiosity.

"Captain?" It always catches him off guard whenever Petra speaks in her titan form. Her voice was so different from the sweet and cheerful tone he'd gotten used to greeting him in the morning.

"Couldn't sleep."

She's currently lying down, hands tucked under her titan's chin and it endearingly reminds him of a ginger cat curled up and poised to sleep. He noticed how Petra's eyes reveals just how bored she is, staring only straight ahead.

"Aren't you tired?" Levi asks, leaning his body against the side of Petra's titan form. Feeling the titan's bare skin almost made him flinch because he knows it's Petra. He shouldn't be thinking of his subordinate naked right now but her titan form isn't helping at all.

"Levi... are you actually getting attracted to a titan?" Erwin had asked him once, amusement coloring the blonde man's features, when he caught Levi staring at Petra's titan form during one of her experiments with Hange. "Maybe I shouldn't have allowed you to be around Hange too much."

"Are you on some drugs, Erwin?" Levi snaps, but can't help the thumping in his chest and the rising panic because of course Erwin would catch on eventually. "Are you getting too smart that that brain of yours actually rotted and died in a shithole?"

Petra only shakes her head. "I'm all good, captain. Besides, Hange tells me I can take the day off to rest tomorrow. Still can't leave the barracks though."

Levi tries to avoid cringing at hearing her titan's voice. He doesn't think he'll ever get used to it. "Can you not talk to me while you're using that voice? Get out of there." He orders.

Petra, always obedient and willing to please her captain, did get out of her titan. She struggled with detaching her hands as usual and Levi sighs, making a move to climb up and help her.

Before he gets the chance to do so, Petra was able to pull herself out abruptly but the force was enough to send her flying to the ground.

Levi's reflexes was fast enough to try and cushion her fall but the angle wasn't right for him to catch her properly, and Petra ends up landing on top of Levi and both of the groan at the impact.

Levi thinks that his erection must really hate him. It already betrayed him once during a fucking expedition. It's rising again now as Petra shuffles around in an attempt to stand up, muttering a string of sorry captain! and I didn't mean to, her every action brushing further against his dick.

"Stop it, Petra!" He shouts, panic almost tinging his voice. Petra freezes at his voice and Levi thinks that maybe he shouldn't have asked her to stop moving because now, his dick is directly against her thigh and she'll eventually feel everything.

He watches as confusion passes through Petra's face, before it shifts to shock when she finally realizes what was pressing against her thigh, eventually settling on a coy smile.

They stared at each other a little longer before this minx actually found the courage to intentionally press her thigh down further. Levi finally allows his pent up lust and frustration to blow over, growling as he grabs Petra's hair to pull her down for a bruising kiss.

---

When Petra mentioned that she's getting a whole Saturday off to rest, he's pretty sure this wasn't how Hange instructed the younger girl to spend her day.

He already came once after she enthusiastically sucked him off. He could only watch in a daze as Petra took him as far as she could, almost intentionally choking herself on his own cock. He's surprised at how much of an absolute freak Petra is, insisting that she's going to swallow every last drop of him even when he tried to push her away for her sake.

Now, she's settling herself on his bed, on all fours, and Levi's pretty sure he's going to die before this day ends. He palms her ass, giving a squeeze as he feels her up, before kneeling behind her to deliver hot kisses down her spine. Petra shivers when he pulls on her hips to draw her closer.

"I wanted to rail you so bad the past few weeks, Petra." He whisper against her skin, hand trailing down to start playing with her clit. "Fuck, your experiments with Four Eyes only made it worse."

"Take me like this then, captain." She says in the filthiest voice she could muster, grinding her ass up firmly against his clothed erection and opening her legs further for him. From the naughty smirk that she's giving him, Levi finally realizes that she'd already known just what has been running on his mind the past few weeks.

He can see her core glistening, half from when he'd fucked her with his tongue earlier on and half from her eagerness and anticipation to have him inside her as soon as possible.

He tears his underwear away, wasting no time in breaching her wet core. Petra moans wantonly, curving her lower back further so she can push her ass up to pull him inside of her more.

How can someone who sounds and looks and acts so sweet be such a fucking slut in bed? he thinks in a daze as he starts pounding inside her.

It was a tight fit and Petra grabs one of his hands to push his palm up against her breast. Levi was all too eager to indulge in her fantasies, thumbing down her erect nipple and squeezing as he gives a hard thrust.

When he hits the spot inside her just right, that's when they both fasten their pace. Petra braced her arms against the sheets, head falling down and forehead resting against the soft bed as she takes everything that Levi gives her.

She comes first, grabbing a pillow to catch a moan that's bordering a scream. Levi revels in the feeling of her tightening around him and after Petra says yes, I can take birth control come inside me, captain please, he didn't even think. He just lets himself go and Petra moans further as he releases hotly inside her.

Petra slacks down on the bed with him following, his bare and sweaty chest against her back. He rolls away after he'd caught his breath, and Petra giggles from contentment and ecstasy.

Her giggles shoot straight down to his cock and Levi finds himself starting to harden again. She squeaks a bit when she feels his growing erection against her ass before smirking, a challenging glint on her amber eyes as she finally turns to face him.

No words were needed to be spoken and she tempts him by throwing a toned leg over his middle, inching her skin closer to his crotch.

Needless to say, Petra found herself on her back, knees almost touching her shoulders as the captain made sure she kept her legs open for each of his thrusts.

After that round, Levi could only exhaustedly lie on his back afterwards. His mind is still swimming after orgasming for the third time in a row.

He was about to ask her if she'd like to take a shower first before they sleep, only for Petra to roll herself on top of him. She started peppering kisses along his jaw and neck, making it a point to grind her exposed nipples against the hard lines of his chest.

"Fuck, again?"

"Didn't Hange tell you that the cart titan has amazing endurance?" Petra leans in, a coy smile on her lips. "I can go on for hours, captain."

#rivetra #levi x petra #petra x levi #rivapeto #rivapet #this is the stupidest idea ive ever had #semi crack #almost crack #the sex isn't THAT freaky dont worry ahahaha

[vespertineart]

'*•.¸♡ ♡¸.•*'*ੈ✩‧₊˚'*•.¸♡ ♡¸.•*'*ੈ✩‧₊˚'*•.¸♡ ♡¸.•*'𝓫𝓪𝓭 𝔀𝓮𝓪𝓽𝓱𝓮𝓻 𝓲𝓼 𝔀𝓸𝓻𝓽𝓱 𝓲𝓽'*•.¸♡ ♡¸.•*'*ੈ✩‧₊˚'*•.¸♡ ♡¸.•*'*ੈ✩‧₊˚'*•.¸♡ ♡¸.•*'*ੈ✩‧₊˚

"𝔾𝕠𝕠𝕕 𝕘𝕣𝕚𝕖𝕗."

Jotaro kujo x Fem! reader

━━━━━━━☆☆━━━━━━━…‥・

★・・・・・・★・・・・・・★・・・・・・★・・・・・・

｡☆✼★━━━━━━━━━━━━★✼☆｡

Life moves so fast. Too fast, for your liking. Maybe it's because your childhood wasn't the nicest, so you have wallowed in the sadness it brought you too much that you weren't aware of time, or the fact that you were so wrapped up in one future, you thought your life depended on nothing but academic purpose. At least then. Or maybe it's because you never realized how much you've wanted to do in your life until three years ago. You're still young, though a young adult, and you shouldn't be worried about the consequences of things you never did. Though, maybe they would affect you later on.

It's always been overwhelmingly depressing when you realize you can't relate to that flurrery feeling every one of your classmates told you about when bungee jumping or simply touching a manta ray. Never have you had the chance to visit a very famous amusement park because of how expensive it was. All of that would make you the odd one out in any friend group, which is why you never bothered to start a close friendship with someone.

However, this year was different. Let aside the fact that you missed out on all your school year's material, you experienced something far more exciting than anyone's ever had. Your mind still finds itself boggled by the sudden event. One second you're with your classmate who you knew nothing about at the time, and the next he's in jail, and you're with his grandfather trying nag get him out.

You can't even bring yourself to comprehend how you even got a grip on the whole situation, how you managed to have yourself thrown into the formula, from going to Egypt and saving Miss Holly, to fighting Dio and even almost dying with Kakyoin and Avdol who are currently in different hospitals. It all still feels so surreal.

Unconsciously, as you reminisce, your fingers brush the large scar that lays unveiled on the surface of your forearm, reaching from your wrist to your cheek, a few scabs still blanketing random edges on it. Soon, your hands found themselves reaching your currently broken and cast ankle. Your crutches lay limp on your leg. Your skin is cold, and so is the wind hitting it. For May, this is probably the longest it has taken to become warm.

"Oi, yn." You're snapped out of your daze when a certain deep voice calls out to you, a coherent tinge of worry trailing at the end of the person's greeting.

The all-familiar, stinging scent of cologne immediately assures you of who this person is. You let out a sigh, dipping your head down, eyes closed, a delightful sense of relief washing over you.

"Hey, Jojo. Thanks," you greet as you take a weak hold of the beer can your companion bought you. After a while of shuffling, both of you got your backs comfortable on the strong walls of the school's roof, taking in the cool wind as it brushes through your hair. The sun is set, but there is still a bit of sunlight left, it mixes beautifully with the soft white streetlights and spots of yellow, red and blue in the far distance which homes and billboards emit. If you focus enough, you can see a light silhouette of hills.

Jojo. Jotaro kujo. You recite that name on your tongue every night, sometimes in fear you might forget it. Some of his admirers despise you for it. For having the advantage of calling out to him whenever you want and he'd answer you, and only you. Your classmates say you're extremely lucky, like you've won a million-dollar bet for being his first and closest female friend. He's never down to open up, but from your experience, he's desperate for any type of companionship. However, the so-called advantages were never what this was all about for you. If it was, you'd know barely anything about each other, and you're glad you could become more than just classmates after the whole Egypt thing. To you, his friendship depended and revolved more around trust and means of comfort than just mainly using him for safety and assumed attention. The fact that he's truly a hard to crack shell of a man—that you somehow managed to turn into ash the moment you told him to 'get the fuck out of the jail room, you look ridiculous' —never mattered to you more than how closer you wish to get to him. Focusing in front of you again you watch the colors of the clouds merge with the dark purple of the sky. The stars are already out, and a beautiful half-moon is shining brighter than ever. You pout, disappointed of the incoming inability to see it in full display due to the sky's current cloudy state.

"Old man called me yesterday." You turned your head to Jotaro, eyes immediately locking with his. Just the simple fact that both of you go out of your ways to fully focus on each other makes your relationship all the more mutual. Jotaro, especially, he's never felt as easy with anyone as he has with you, and kakyoin, too, but he'd never say it directly to any of you . At night, when he's lost in his thought, he finds himself thinking of you. How kind you are and how you never seem to see the bad in anything despite having a bad past. He'd never admit it let alone say it with his tongue but he tries to take advantage of that kindness, in a way to make sure nothing will happen to you. He can't afford to lose anyone else. He also doesn't know if the fact that he thinks of you is more embarrassing, or the fact that he secretly wants to let his walls down in front of you one day. The thought comforts him, but, as usual, he's too meek about it, since there were many times his 'kindness' would be misunderstood as romantic intent. Well, he's doubting that, anyways, specifically with you.

"hm?" you reply, taking a sip of the refreshing drink in your hand. Your fingers wrap around each other, holding the can in a tight and secure grip. You're prone to dropping your drinks now and then, so you found this to be the most practical way of 'protecting them'. Yes, you look stupid when you end up dropping them either way. You two always get a good laugh from it, so at least there isn't any embarrassment happening.

"He was wondering if you wanted to stay with us for a couple more weeks. Mom misses you already." Jotaro exhales, smoke filling the air around you and mixing with his musky cologne to create an unbearable scent you never wanted to forget. The mention of Mr. Joestar for the third time this month makes your eyes widen. It was all for the same reason too. You lived alone for a long time now, and you've gotten very used to the lonely and eerie feeling of your dark home at night. However, of course, after meeting the Joestars, Joseph couldn't possibly leave you without pampering you so much, especially after helping with saving his precious daughter. You were grateful. You always are for what he does for you, but just enough for him to make you basically live with him is something you can't quite afford. Not money-wise, it's just that you don't have anything to give them in return, and offering your life also meant living with them. The cycle goes on.

With a grunt, you twist your form to face Jotaro, your hands pushing hard on the floor to support your frail physique.

"Jojo...I really appreciate it, but I have things to do at my house. I need to clean it, take care of the food that's been in the fridge for almost a month now. Maybe another time, but I really don't want to trouble you guys like this. You've done way too much for me already," you excuse, trying your best to scoot closer to your friend. As a final task for the day, you set yourself up on your knees and wrap your arms around the much larger man, patting him on the back a couple of times before planting a heavy peck on his forehead. "And you can stop worrying about me so much now, Joot. I'm really fine, thanks to you." A warm smile graces your lips as you speak your soft words to Jotaro, seeing his panicked eyes slowly close as he scoffs, pushing you away and hiding his rose-tinted face with the shadow of his hat.

"I'm still walking you home."

As much as you want to, you can't complain with a broken ankle. Who knows what might happen if you're too slow with walking? Over his dead body will Jotaro Kujo let anyone lay a finger on you...

~~~~~~~~~

The slow crunching of pebble and dust under heavy boots and the repetitive melody of crickets in the grass is enough to get you woozy in the freezing weather of tonight. The wind started picking up a long while ago, and you fear it might get worse before you reach your home. Clouds are grey and dull as they sway in a quick pace in the blue-black sky. The vigorous rustling of trees makes your ears tingle. Your pores are open with sweat, the droplets slowly trickling down your face and quickly drying out. Your arms over your crutches, your stomach hurting from excessive contraction, your breath becomes heavy, and your chest begins to hurt. It's been well over 20 minutes since you guys have been walking, and you're starting to hate yourself for letting Jotaro deal with your snail-paced struggle on a day like this.

Without a word, you sigh, then slowly crouch down to reach the floor. However, from how your ankle is positioned, the momentum you pushed yourself down with was faster than you anticipated, and you gasp. Bracing yourself for impact, you let go of your crutches hastily, spreading your arms in front of you to prepare support. Your eyes close tightly and you clench your stomach, a second away from hitting the concrete before feeling a soft barrier holding you up. Slowly, you open your eyes again, to find none other than Jotaro, encasing you in his large, jacket-cushioned arms. Without a chance to react, you feel yourself getting pulled up, hoisted up a millimeter high and huddled in your friend's arms again only this time in a better position for him to be able to swing your legs over to the side.

"Good grief, woman. What the hell were you doing?!" At this position, you can clearly hear the growl in Jotaro's voice. Heck, his breath is right in your ear. Inevitably, you shiver, letting out a huff of air. You feel yourself blush out of embarrassment when he gives you a side eye and you prepare to find a good answer to his question.

"Sorry, I wanted to sit down a bit...I uh..wasnt expecting to...fall-"

"Whatever, just stop talking or you'll die. And you're freezing ," Jotaro interrupts, leaning down to grab your crutches, still holding onto you. His head rests on your shoulder as he bends down, his fingers curling with ease around the handles.

Still shocked from the sudden ordeal, you start shuffling in Jotaro's arms, earning a grunt from him.

"Stay still, yn, for fuck's sake!"

"I-I can still walk on my own, JoJo!"

Annoyingly, or rather, smugly, Jotaro ignores your comment, only dragging his disagreement further by hoisting you up further so your figure is tucked snuggly between his arms. This proves his previous comment of how cold you actually are, seeing as you immediately melt into his arms, eyes almost instantly closing as you sigh, taking in the comfortable warmth of the thick fabric of his clothes.

when you look back at him, you decide not to complain any more when he raises an eyebrow at you and lets out chuckle. You just stare at the fading stars, keeping the image of his rare smile in your head along your little journey.

As you space out, your eyes having no place to stay still as the clouds move endlessly, you shake your head, feeling the pain in the back of your head from how dizzy you've become. This world is too big for even eyes to bear. you let out a mall sigh, the incoming comfort quickly cut off as you gasp. A wet droplet found its way on your nose uninvited. You look at Jotaro, expecting to see his face dotted with a bit if sweat, but that wasn't the case. Another droplet, and a third, and soon you see one slip off from Jotaro's hat. Oh... Ooooh...

Oh shit.

You gasp once more, suddenly sitting up and causing Jotaro to retract his head with a grunt.

"What the hell?!"

"Jojo it's raining!"

"And..?! Jeez you overreact."

With a pout, you hit the top of your friend's head, earning a stutter from him.

"C-can you walk a bit faster..? I can't have you getting sick, " you complain, clutching onto the chain dangling from JoJo's collar as a way to nudge him into agreeing to your order.

"That's not happening, y/n just sit back down-" As if to mock him, the clouds let out a loud clap of thunder, The rain quickly picking up with the wind. As fast as this happened, you and Jotaro are now almost drenched in water. You cross your arms, looking up at Mcedgy with a smug expression on your face.

He sighs heavily, tugging the brim of his hat and letting out his famous

"Good grief..." before wrapping his jacket around you like a stolen package and trudging quickly. A few moments pass before he starts to run.

Surprisingly, your house isn't that far away anymore. You'd expect that from someone twice your height running. Currently, your friend is huffing, occasionally spitting excess water away from his mouth.

"We're here."

He stops running, just jogging his way around a building before setting you down on the floor, waiting until you regained balance to give you your crutches back. You hiss at how cold the air is, your body quickly shivering.

You quickly find your keys from your pocket before limping to your front door and opening it with a satisfying click, taking your single wet shoe off and stepping into your house, again, cringing because of how cold the floor has gotten. As you manage to trudge to pull a shawl you found hanging on a chair, you turn back to the door, facing Jotaro again.

"Thanks for walking me here JoJo. It was definitely a pain, I'm sorry," you apologize, a wide smile on your face, rubbing the back of your neck.

"It's fine," says Jojo, already lighting his third cigarette of the day and placing it between his lips.

There's a long silence between the two of you, the heavy sound of rain and occasional thunder being the only thing breaking it. Your breaths are heavy because of the weather, and you do nothing but stare at each other. It seems none of you want to turn away for some reason. both of you are worried for each other. It takes another while before any of you finally move, Jotaro shuffling off of the steps in front of your door and turning around with a small farewell.

You, knocked out of your trance, call out to him again, making him stop. Now in your garden, completely soaked, Jotaro turns his head to you. His cigarette is barely lit anymore.

"Umm...I just realized your house is too far away," you start, catching your friend's attention. He slowly walks back to you, shoving his hands in his pockets. He only hums in response.

"Uh...I just...don't want you walking all that way again, and further so why-"

"I'm not coming inside your house," Jotaro cuts you off, causing you to stutter and blink a couple of times. However, you've already made up your mind and there's no way you're turning back now.

"No, JoJo, you are, and I'm serious right now!," you protest, trying your best to sound strict as you walk to take a hold of Jotaro's arm with your free one and pulling him under the dry safety of your door. When he realized he stepped in with his shoes, he quickly retreats, pulling on his hat and looking away.

"JoJo...!"

Jeez, you're so naïve. Little do you know, Jotaro is only concerned about causing you any harm. He'd rather shrivel up and die from hypothermia than have you affected by him. But...refusing is never an option with you at this point. If anything, he doubts you won't end up following him until he's already at his own house, still trying to nag him further. He grunts, shaking his head then looking back to you.

"Jesus, fine."

Your face quickly lights up with a smile, and you drag Jotaro inside your house —with a limp—and make him take his jacket off. As much as he somewhat doesn't want to be here, Jotaro sighs in relief, shuddering at the warmth of your home.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

{2901 words}

This is just something to start writing here. I'm not sure how to feel about it but I hope you like it lol, you can imagine what happens next. this seems very random and messy, which it is but I promise I'll come back with better content lmfao.

--Poppie

[pomegranates-and-blood]

νοσταλγία (Chapter 30)

νοσταλγία Masterlist

Pairing: Ivar/Reader

Word Count: 5.1k

Warnings: The usual

A/N: Like eleven things happen in the course of one chapter. I’m sorry lol

Taglist: @youbloodymadgenius​ @heavenly1927​ @toe-vind-ek-jou​ @xbellaxcarolinax​ @pieces-by-me​ @angelofthorr​ @samsationalwilson​  @peachyboneless​ @1950schick​ @punkrocknpearls​ @ietss​   @itsmysticalmystery​ @revolution-starter​​ @chibisgotovalhalla​

Ivar crawls over you, cages you against the cold ground, his lips a breath away from yours, “Half a kingdom for a promise...”

When you wake up the next morning, luckily free of any dreams you can remember, you are rather surprised by how not even Ivar getting out of bed, getting dressed, or the thralls that are walking around the room were able to wake you up.

And, of course, Ivar notices.

“Are you well?”

“Of course I am,” You reply easily, going through the motions of your day and slipping into the warm blue dress. When you pick the earrings and trinkets to wear today and walk back to your husband, you are greeted with a murmur of your name. After a deep breath, you amend, “Dreams, nothing more. I promise.”

“Don’t hide things from me.” Ivar reminds you, and you accept his words, feeling strangely reprimanded.

You start putting on the blue earrings you like to believe are the ones Ubbe gifted you shortly after your wedding, you muse, “‘Half a kingdom for a promise, half a soul for a ring’. That’s what they say about my Goddess, and her…”

“Marriage?”

“Abduction,” You correct, turning your back to him and trying and failing to suppress a shiver as he moves your hair out of the way with ease, fingers skimming over the bare skin of your back. “She had only to vow to be Lord Hades’ wife to earn half a kingdom, yet she had to give up half of her soul to bear his ring.

You toy with your own wedding ring absently, a nervous gesture you have found yourself doing more than once ever since Ivar first put it on your finger.

“You think that’s a bad deal?” Ivar insists, voice low by your ear, “She was made Queen.”

“Not fully, she…she is not fully anything. Not fully his, because he gives her up each spring, not fully her mother’s, who still mourns her every winter. Not dead, not alive. Nothing.”

“Or everything,” Ivar whispers, and he tugs a little harder on the laces of your dress, a playful reminder you ought to straighten your back. “I’d think you more than anyone would understand the privilege of being fully bound to nothing.”

“It wouldn’t be a privilege. I don’t know who I’d be, if…” If Fate weren’t tearing me in two.

“You could have been happy.” Ivar offers, voice low. You have a feeling he not only speaks of you and the circumstances of your life and what they made out of you.

You close your eyes, and let silence reign, because there’s no answer you can give that doesn’t lie.

Before you take your leave, you gather your strength, what your mother called your Athenian nobility, and call out Ivar’s name.

“You said I have your trust,” You start, certain steps taking you to the dresser where the golden snake a very skilled craftsman made into a bracelet lays. Without hesitation, you grab it, and put it on, on the same wrist Ivar did when he gifted it to you. “I want to talk with some men that arrived a few days ago. They come from Greece.”

He stops by the door, turning to you with a frown, “Your home?”

“Macedonia, further North from my-...from Eleusis. I want to know what…what the Gods have made of my land, of Greece. They surely have information.”

Ivar considers you for a few moments, before sighing, and limping towards a chair, where he sits.

Crossing his arms over his chest, he narrows his eyes, “I trust you, but I am far from an idiot.”

“If I were intending to fool you, I wouldn’t be telling you this.”

His head tilts to the side as he regards you. After a few moments, Ivar frowns and turns to you, “Am I the one being tested now?”

You offer him the same words he did once, “Can you blame me for my curiosity?”

Ivar considers your words, before accepting them with a movement of his head.

“Fine. But I want to be there.”

____

“The world you left behind isn’t the one it is now, Eleusinian.” The man tells you, offering a shrug. Your eyebrows lift, and you wonder if you ought to be offended, if there’s truly an edge of accusation behind the man’s words.

“Then tell her about it, hm?” Ivar presses, eyes set on the man that spoke, making something quite close to fear cross his features.

“I-I don’t know much.” The man stammers, but you step closer.

“It’s alright, I-…just tell me what you know.”

He shrugs, “There was an invasion by the Byzantine Empire on Laconia. It was all done on the orders of the Patriarch of Constantinople. To convert the…pagans of Laconia.”

The same crusade was sent to Attica, and they razed it all. They killed, and defiled, and burned. They won.

You grit your teeth, but force yourself to keep your voice steady as you press,

“And?”

“Sparta was well aware of the army they sent, they…prepared, and they fought. Anax Lysander was victorious. They burnt the Christians alive, left their bodies high up in the walls, for everyone to see.”

You smile slightly, brokenly. Leave it to Lysander to remind the Christians of their sins, burning their defeated warriors like they once burnt you. Who would have thought the mighty Anax of Laconia was capable of sentimentality?

“Those Athenians will not let you fight,” The Anax stands, arms crossed over his broad chest. “They will never follow a woman into battle.”

“I will not fight, Lysander,” You argue, “I do not need to.”

“Ah, I’ve heard that tone before,” Lysander’s mother chuckles, weathered skin wrinkling with her smile. Even her smile, you notice, is coated in iron and blood, backed by the mettle that makes Spartan women famous as they are. “You have your mother’s ambitions, child.”

“And my father’s drive. I do not come here empty handed, expecting Sparta to accept me without giving something in exchange.”

“And what is it you offer, sweet one?”

“An army,” You turn to your cousin, “Narses, the Strategus of Attica, he has put his men at my disposal.”

“For us to…what? Retake Greece from the Empire and their God?”

You smile. You know it is madness, you know it is a lost cause, but you still smile. And Lysander returns the smile, hungry and mad.

The man nods, slightly comforted, or reassured, it seems, by your smile.

“If I may,” One of the men says, stepping forward. He bows his head in greeting when he comes to stand before you, before speaking, “The Empire retreats from Spartan land. Your cousin has bought our lands and your Gods a few decades, with this display. The caliph recognizes Laconian independence from the Empire, if only because they have a common enemy. So do the Kievan Rus, and the Rashidun.”

You simplify his words with a phrase, and yet you know as you utter the words that you are standing there, begging for them to confirm it as true, to reassure you there’s no lie, no twist, in this.

“Laconia is free of the Empire. O-Of their God.”

The Macedonian man smiles, and nods his head, “It is free.”

You over your mouth as a sob threatens to leave your lips. Free.

The man bows his head again in a sign of respect.

“We honor your fight, even if we do not share your drive. May your Gods keep you, and our home.”

You nod your head, but you can’t say anything. Free.

“You can leave.” Ivar says somewhere behind you, but it sounds like you’re underwater.

The men leave, and you cannot move. Not because you don’t want to, but because you don’t think you can control your own body right now. Free.

Ivar stands before you, eyes searching yours. You cannot stop shaking.

You think you say his name, your voice small and broken.

His hand finds the back of your head, you think he is trying to soothe you with the soft caress of his rough hand on your hair.

A murmur of your name, and you can only look at him with wide eyes, begging him to have an answer to the chaos that brews inside you.

Ivar brings you to him, quickly and roughly, and you think dazedly that you wouldn’t have been able to thaw if he hadn’t made you move. Your face is pressed against his chest and you feel you can finally breathe since you’ve heard the word free.

Your hands scramble for purchase against him, and your breaths are quick and out of your control, and you…you…

The jarring movement of Ivar’s left arm as he thrusts his crutch deep into the ground, as if to find a way to keep you both upright, makes something break within you.

The panicked breaths become sobs, and you shut your eyes tight. You cry, you cry for the grief you carried for so long, you cry for the nostalgia that chokes you, you cry for the relief of being finally free of the flames.

Ivar doesn’t say anything, or if he does, you don’t hear it.

His free hand is warm and certain at the back of your head, keeping you safe and whole as you hold on desperately to him, trying to find any semblance of certainty in the world that has turned upside down.

Or maybe it is upright, for once, for the first time since they dragged your mother out of that temple and set her alight in front of you.

Free. Laconia is free of the Empire, of the Christians and their God.

You started a war you knew was doomed from the start, a war for the freedom you deserved, for the freedom your Gods had promised you. You hoped, you dreamt, you prayed, you died for that freedom; but deep down you always knew that it wasn’t a war you could win.

You believed for a while, when the pain of the burns was not so fresh on your body but still fresh on your mind, that maybe you weren’t meant to survive this war, that maybe you wouldn’t live to see the day the Gods were rightfully honored again. That maybe you’d die defeated and afraid in some realm that belonged to no one but the Christian God.

Each soul you lost on the way…their ghosts have haunted you with the memory of your failure, taunting you that for your arrogance and your pride you started a doomed war that only brought death and chaos to your home.

And there aren’t words to speak of the weight you feel lifted of your shoulders, and you can only grasp with shaking hands at whatever you can reach of Ivar, hoping he can somehow keep you from disappearing.

For so long, to so many people, you were nothing but the symbol of their hopeless fight, nothing but the rallying call of an already-lost war. And now, the fight proves not hopeless at all, the war isn’t lost yet.

And you feel like you’ll unravel at the seams, you feel like all the hopes and expectations and titles they put over your head, around your wrists and ankles, will disappear and prove you are nothing without them.

You know Laconia isn’t Attica, you know the war against the Christians will not end for many years, if ever; but…it is a victory.

You realize as your breaths slow, that when you once would have resented not being a part of a victory in this war, now all you can feel is relief.

Because as you loosen your hold on the Viking that seems to be trying more than anything to keep you standing and realize he might as well be the reason Fate hasn’t torn you in two yet; as past the mist of panic and chaos and emotion you find the peace that comes with knowing they don’t need you to fight or to win; you cannot help but take a breath and send the Gods you’ve given everything for a single plea.

To let another be the symbol of the fight, let another be the rallying call of the free Greeks. Let another fight and die, you have done so already.

To let you live. Let you choose, let you be free, too.

“Thank you.” You whisper when all that reigns between you and Ivar is silence.

Ivar’s hand moves down from the back of your head, settles somewhere at your back. His chin rests at the top of your head, and you feel him sigh.

“Don’t. I’m not here for gratitude.” He tells you gruffly, stubbornly, giving you back the same words you told him mere days ago.

____

You watch the men train, so differently from the orderly soldiers you would ogle as a teen back in your homeland. They go after one another brutally, grunts and shoves and yells and if blood is drawn then so be it.

You try it deny the part of you that is intrigued by it all, but apparently it cannot be hidden even from the Prince that stands at your side overlooking the training as well, judging from the chuckle he lets out.

“Different from you peace-loving Greeks, isn’t it?” He boasts, looking at the warriors with something akin to pride.

You offer a smile and a nod, “Quite.”

After a few moments of silence, he turns his head towards you, eyeing you for a few moments. You turn to him as well, the question written in your eyes going unanswered. The man instead walks ahead, reaching for a shield and an axe.

“Women in your homeland aren’t allowed to fight, are they?” He questions, turning to you.

Excitement that you try to bring down courses through you as you answer with a shake of your head. He tosses you the shield. It is heavier than you thought.

“We ought to care for the home.” You offer as explanation, but he laughs.

“Can’t you do both?” The Prince taunts, testing the weight of the axe in his hand. Nodding to the shield you hold, he instructs, “Defend yourself.”

“What?” You ask, panicked, but he has already lounged. The axe swings with a lot of strength but is stopped by the shield you raise just in time. “Gods!”

Even your leg suffers the strain of holding your stance when his weapon lodges in the wood. You hear Hvitserk chuckle.

“Now, push back,” He orders, and you are about to follow his command, putting all your strength in your torso to push him back, but his foot finds your leg and brings you to the ground. You let out a groan of pain as your back collides with the hard earth, and he chuckles, again, “That was for telling them about Thora, sister.”

“Don’t call me that.”

He offers you a hand to help you up, but you refuse it. This turns his smile a little proud, you dare say, as he readies his stance again and regards you with interest in his dark eyes.

You raise the shield the way he instructed you to you offer him a smile of your own. Hvitserk goes through axes and swords, gives you a smaller and a bigger shield. His short phrases telling you how to stand, where to put your strength help you, but after a while your body, unused to this, begs for retrieve.

When the Viking knocks you off your feet for the fourth time in a short while, he puts the axe back in the rack where he took it from, and offers you a hand to stand up.

“Turns out that fighting is as hard as it looks. Thrilling.” You dead pan, licking your lips and wondering why you taste blood.

The Prince smiles your way and tugs on a lock of your hair that by now has fallen in complete disarray and no longer resembles the traditional updo you worked on this morning.

“This won’t work if you want to learn to fight,” He laughs, “Don’t you know how to braid your hair?”

“Sit.” The Varangian asks, motioning behind her.

“No.” You state back, arms crossed. Her green eyes flash with fury for a moment before she sighs, running an inked hand over her face and attempting again.

“Sit, child.”

“I do not need to learn because I will not wear war braids, Sie-…”

Her expression when she lifts her eyes again to yours silences you quickly.

“Sit.” She orders.

You do. It never hurts to learn, after all, right?

She teaches your fingers to move with voice alone, and when you tug a little too hard, when you catch a knot and end up with a tuft of hair in your brush, she says nothing. She just grunts and tells you to start from the beginning.

You learn to make war braids, learn family is what we make it. Learn the Varangian is a mother to you, by Fate if not by blood.

“I do,” You reply, trying to ignore the pang in your heart at the reminder of the gently brutish woman that spared your life and raised you. “But we wear them differently in my homeland.”

He raises his eyebrows in question, and in a moment of confidence you do not have you motion for the wooden steps at the entrance of the longhouse, offering to show him.

Hvitserk laughs, but nods his head, “Alright, show me your magic, witch.”

You sit behind him and work meticulously on disarming the braids at the sides of his head, before moving upwards and separating the last one.

“You’re fast at that.” He notes.

You hum in response, focused on your task. Your fingers make quick work of his soft hair, finding it incredibly easier to disentangle than Sieghild’s. 

You start with the small braids by the sides of his head that would fall loose like a woman’s curls to frame his face, trying to recall the hair you saw actors of Leonidas wear when you were young.

You lose track of time as you work on his hair, but judging by the way he asks for an apple to one of the passing merchants and starts eating quietly, you do not think he is in a hurry.

While you are working on the braid that makes the hair move back and away from his face, you feel a tap on one of your knees where they rest one on each side of Hvitserk’s body.

“About Ivar’s decision to give me time to avoid losses in Strepshire,” The Prince starts swiftly, “Thank you.”

“I did nothing, Hvitserk.” You mutter back, but find your work interrupted when Hvitserk tilts his head back to look you in the eyes, skepticism written all over his face.

“Why do I find that hard to believe?” He sentences dryly, almost resting the top of his head against your stomach and messing up the braids, so you roll your eyes and push him so that his head is upright again.

“Because in my experience you sons of Ragnar are incredibly odd in your relations with one another.”

He laughs at your words, and you think it is an acceptance of them. “You don’t know half of it.”

From an errant thread of your own sleeve you manage to close the loose knot of braids at the back of his head. Although these people’s hairs are straighter and thicker than the ones you worked on back home, Hvitserk still could look like one of the depictions of young King Leonidas you saw when you visited Athens.

When you release his hair and lean back, he immediately reaches up to touch the braids, scrunching up his face.

“It’s strange.”

“It’s what we peace-loving Greeks wear.” You smile, correcting your work with a few light touches.

The Prince stands up and you do the same, but he still wears that uncomfortable expression on his face.

“I hate this.” He mumbles, looking indignantly at a minuscule braid that falls to frame his face.

“I don’t blame you,” You reply, shrugging. “I can disarm it, if you like.”

His eyes stray from yours and his eyebrows lift.

“I think you do not have any more time.” Hvitserk offers with the beginning of a knowing smile on his lips.

When you look over your shoulder you catch the King’s angry gaze set on you. Ivar stands unmoving by the entrance to the training grounds, making you question how long has he been watching you interact with his brother.

“Oh.”

“You see, I have dealt with…that my whole life. It’s your turn, witch.”

You watch him take his leave, and don’t miss the way the King’s eyes follow his brother as he walks past him. You are almost certain words are said, but you cannot hear them. Even then, this only seems to make Ivar even more angry, nostrils flaring and lips pressed into a thin line, but his eyes quickly return to you, silently berating you for breaking a rule he didn’t set.

Still, you take a deep breath and walk towards the King. Before you have a chance to speak, his growled words reach your ears.

“What did he tell you?”

“Huh?” You ask, dumbfounded. He takes another step closer, the movement of his shoulders as he moves his crutch only helping remind you of that injured Lynx you stumbled into as a young girl. “He didn’t tell me anything.”

“I don’t want you spending time with my brother.”

“Well, I don’t recall asking for your permission.”

He holds your gaze for a few moments, nostrils flared and eyes cold and yet furious; but eventually just grunts for you to come with him. You do, and you bite your tongue and keep silent as you do so, even if you itch to talk.

“You and Hvitserk seemed…content,” He starts, a muffled grunt leaving his chest when he moves his braced legs. If you weren’t so weirded out by his choice of words you would ask him if he’s in pain. Either way, the King soon continues, “Must be that he’s not a monster keeping you captive, right?”

“What?” You frown, stopping when he does. Ivar turns to look at you with fury in his eyes, however held by the mask of cold and distance of the King of Kattegat.

“Is that not what you think, hm?” He asks through a smile as false as it is cruel, “You have no interest in being at a monster’s side, isn’t that right?” It feels strangely like having your own words spit back at you, but you cannot dwell on it, for Ivar steals your focus and breath as he moves. None of the usual grace in his movements and another muffled grunt leaving his lips, he crosses the distance between you. You hold your ground, even as he towers over you with the eyes of a man that would kill for less offenses than yours, “You have been wishing and praying for a way out, but you won’t get one.”

You feel your heart beating wildly in your chest, and your temper begs to rise to meet his, to argue back with just as much fire and return as much as you get.

But, you force yourself to keep your calm, looking into his eyes and trying to see what is making him say these things. Surely it was not seeing you and Hvitserk together? No, this is something else, something else entirely.

“What…what brought this on?”

“You’ve blinded me, and you know it. Did the same to that poor bastard you promised to marry. I won’t let you-…” He snarls back at you, eyes blazing and mouth curled too alike an animal baring its teeth. Even though he stops himself, you hear the words he doesn’t say: I won’t let you tell me one day that it was all a lie. With an even lower voice, he reminds you, “Give me reason to believe you’ve betrayed me, and I won’t keep any promises I made to you.”

“Don’t threaten me. That’s not-…this is not what I want, for us to fight.” You try, your hands tightening to fists to keep your anger at bay. When you look into his eyes, you know he also hears the words you don’t say, it isn’t what you want either.

A clench in his jaw, his eyes hardening, his voice low as he speaks, “What do you want, then? What will you ask for now, hm?”

“Honesty.” You reply without hesitation, voice low.

To your surprise, Ivar tilts his head to the side, and accepts your words with a gesture of his mouth. It all looks awfully performative, false, an act, and you stand your ground, ready for whatever it is that he has driven himself mad with.

“Alright, let’s be honest, wife,” His gaze pierces into yours, and his mouth curls into a snarl, “How long did you wait for someone to come save you before you lost hope?”

“What are you talking about?”

“You have kept your eyes on the people coming and going, on the ones close enough to your homeland. You have been waiting patiently for a chance to have them take you to your home, have them save you from me. But it never happened, did it?”

The edge in his voice, the bite, the tone, it all reminds you of that first dinner you had with him here in Kattegat. It reminds you of manic words, of deluded convictions.

“You sound…”

Ivar smile manages to make you feel cold and small. And you realize that is exactly what he wants, that was the game he was playing, the part he was playing. To corner you into defeat.

“Like a mad man?” His smile trembles, and for a moment you see the mask slip, for a moment you see him, and you see the fear, you see the pain, you see the desperation. But Ivar pushes, “That’s what happened, isn’t it? You waited and waited for someone to come save you, and when they didn’t you…” He gestures with his hand, the nonchalance in the gesture completely lost at the rage written in his eyes, “Caved.”

“Caved?”

He shrugs, but you see past the façade, “Agreed to play pretend, to…to keep the monster happy, to keep yourself safe.”

“I don’t cave, Ivar.”

His smile is mocking, “Oh, but you do. You like to pretend you don’t, your insufferable pride likes to pretend you don’t. But you do, and you have,” Ivar nods to himself, the cruel smile on his lips earning a manic edge you haven’t seen in a while. He presses, “Will you deny that’s what you saw in me? I thought you wouldn’t lie to me, wife.”

“I thought those things when everything was different!” You insist, gesturing with your powerless arms and not caring if someone is to hear.

Ivar moves closer again, and this time you meet his stride, also stepping the distance between you and looking into his eyes. Your Gods and his both know you may lose a battle of power with him, of strength, of courage. But not one of wills.

He will have to kill you to have you relent.

Still, he insists, and if the mask slips, if the so tightly held control vanishes through his fingers, if the armor cracks, if his questions are true and not cruel tricks, who can truly know?

“How are things different? How is any different how you see me now than before? To you I still am the monster that imprisoned you, nothing changed since the first time you saw me.”

“No. Ivar, if you’re a monster…what does that make me? I stand by your side, I trust you, I-…”

It makes you a monster too.

But the woman that lured Narses to the cliff the Varangians pushed him off of, the woman that accepted the thrill of war knowing she would lose and die, that woman was a monster already, and didn’t have anything to do with Ivar.

Maybe you both are monsters, maybe you’ve just been playing at being human.

The thought doesn’t unsettle you as much as it should.

Ivar holds your gaze, before he takes his eyes from yours with a breath that seems to shudder past parted lips. You keep your attention on his expression, on the tremble of his brows, on the conflict between vulnerability and anger.

After a few breaths you hold, Ivar lowers his head, leans closer, quietens his voice,

“Tell me things have changed. Tell me I’m not...seeing things.”

You cannot help the foolish and hopeless beating of your heart, that both soars and breaks at his despairing request. The words that that same foolish heart wants you to say back are at the tip of your tongue, held back by sheer will even as Ivar’s uncertain and unmoored blue eyes look into yours looking for…anything.

But you can’t give in. If you give words to it, if you name things you make them real, and if the flutter in your heart, if the emotion tight in your chest, if the truth even your mind accepts are real, then you are nothing, you’ve failed your legacy, your homeland, your people.

But you cannot return to fighting, to this mad chase for a freedom that never was and never could be.

Because you know the bindings keeping you tethered to Greece are as punishing and as suffocating as those Ivar first set on your wrists. Learning of Laconia’s victory wouldn’t have felt the way it did, you wouldn’t have threatened to break when the chains loosened, if you weren’t a prisoner to them as much as you are to Ivar.

And you’ve realized you are also nothing of without Sieghild, without her guidance and her Gods, without Kattegat and all the freedoms it has granted you, without…without Ivar.

So you look into his eyes, and you can’t do what your heart tells you to, but you can’t do nothing. So you step closer, you lay a hand on his chest, let your palm rest over his heart.

Your voice is hushed, “Everything changed. O-Or maybe nothing did, and I just don’t lie to myself anymore,” You take a breath, and after a moment you offer a helpless shrug, “Maybe we changed. You aren’t the man that put chains on me and forced my hand, I’m not the woman that would have ran from you at the first opportunity.”

Ivar’s eyes search yours, but it seems the fight leaves him for once, and he bites back the anger. Still, he grits his teeth, his head moves with a gesture of annoyance -that you dare think is at himself- and he huffs an angry breath.

Ivar stops leaning so close to you, and with a stab of his crutch on the wooden floor that looks more forceful than need be, he turns his back to you, and leaves you behind.

____

Two things: one, yes I probably broke the poor reader, I didn’t plan it but hey, these characters do what they want at this point, and two, I think somewhere in between I also broke Ivar, also didn’t plan it but hey, fuck it. These two wanna rush like three chapters ahead? Fine, go ahead, I suppose.

Bright side is, look at them argue and giving in/being honest instead of screaming their heads off! :P

Oh, and the Laconia stuff is just me playing loose with history, but Laconia was able to withstand the Slavic invasions of the 9th century and remained pagan till the 10th. I’d have to check, cause I decided on this plot point a long time ago and I can’t remember, but I think there was a failed attempt at christianization in the 9th.

Thank you so much for reading, I love you!!

#ivar the boneless x reader #ivar x reader #ivar the boneless imagine #ivar the boneless #ivar #νοσταλγία masterlist

[youbloodymadgenius]

Farewell (Ivar x petite!reader)

A/N: This is my contribution to @a-mess-of-fandoms​‘s 1K Writing Challenge. Congrats again, love, this is well deserved 🌻

@inforapound​, you know you’re the best, don’t you? 💋

A box of tissues could be useful, it’s kind of sad (sorry about that).

Let me know if you want to be tagged 😊

The gif belongs to @honestsycrets 💖

Summary: Ivar has some important things to tell you.

Warnings: small fluff; Ivar’s insecurities; loss of a loved one.

Words: 1812

Ivar hobbles, taking two steps forward before coming to a stop, his crutch a much needed support, his knuckles white on its hand grip. A few steps behind, Hvitserk watches him closely, afraid his brother might fall. Getting a little closer, he puts a hand on Ivar's shoulder. "Do you want me to stay?"

 Hardly waving his free hand, Ivar shakes his head, curtly dismissing his brother. "Leave us alone."

Nodding, Hvitserk pats his brother's shoulder one last time and walks away wordlessly. 

 Once he's sure he's alone, Ivar looks up at the sky. Taking in a shuddering breath, he closes his eyes, pursing his lips before eventually looking down. His gaze falls to your face and he gives you a faint smile.

 "My love…" His shaky voice is barely a whisper, his breath hitches and he tilts his head to the side, chewing on his dry lips. Running his fingers through his greying hair, he scratches the back of his neck, exhaling wearily. 

 Blinking back tears, he clenches his teeth. "I know I promised I wouldn't cry but you can't even imagine how hard it is…" Tightening his grasp on his crutch, he brings his right hand to his scrunched face, rubbing his eyes and snorting loudly. 

 "I don't even know where to start, you know?" He shrugs, a sullen look on his face. "I love you so, so much… More than I ever thought possible…" The last words come out strangled as Ivar swallows the thick lump in his throat. Blinking several times, he breathes in deeply through his nose.

 "I think I'll start with how I was before. Before you, I mean. I was so young at that time, still almost a boy. There was nothing good inside of me. There was hatred, bitterness and jealousy. I was mean, cruel, to everyone. I was selfish, vain and self-centred, and I was so fucking angry all the time… And then you showed up… and everything changed…" A slight smile returns to his lips and he lets out a chukle. 

 "You remember, right? It was snowing and you had came to bring Mother a dress that she ordered from your’s. You didn't usually do that, but your mother was busy and asked you to do it. You didn't want to leave your father, whom you helped in the smithy, yet had no choice but to agree. It doesn't take much to make a difference, if you think about it. May the gods bless your mother!" Shaking his head,  Ivar closes his eyes. 

 "As for me, I was stuck in the Great Hall because of my legs. They were hurting, my mother was in her room and my brothers nowhere to be seen. They were probably in a random barn, busy fucking Margrethe. I was bored, and pissed off, and so fucking in pain. And you came in. You were so small and petite, I thought you were a young boy, not more than ten years old. Your cloak was way too long for you, your dark pants filthy. I wanted to make fun of you, just to make myself feel better. I know that was mean. But as you know I wasn't nice, ever. However, I didn't get the chance, because you spoke. 'Prince Ivar', you told me reverently before bowing before me. I wish that I could tell you your voice enthralled me but if I'm being honest, it was quite the opposite. It was a high-pitched, irritating voice and I don't know why, but finding out you were a girl pissed me off even more.You were an easy prey and I was ready to pick on you. And then magic happened. You pushed your hood off, a warm smile on your lips. You were so beautiful. Your delicate features, the way you barely tilted your head, and your eyes… Gods, your eyes, my love. At the exact moment when you locked them with mine, I was bewitched, thoroughly  and happily helpless. It's like in that moment the whole universe existed just to bring us together. Or to bring you to me, but whatever… You were here, and to my delight, you never left."

 Wrapped up in his memories with a smile lingering on his lips, Ivar lets his mind wander.

 ***

 "Aren't you going to kiss me, Ivar?"

 Lost for words, a flabbergasted Ivar just stares at you, swallowing. Slowly wrapping your hand aroud his calloused one, you tilt forward and whisper in his ear. "Because you know, I'd like that very much."

 "Aren't… Doesn't…" Finding his voice, Ivar, at first, splutters. Pulling himself together, he bites his lower lip before taking a ragged breath. "Doesn't that bother you?"

 Raising a single brow, you look at him confused, an unspoken question in your eyes. When he gestures towards his legs, anger all over his face, his nose scrunched in disgust, you blink a few times, asking genuinely, "You mean, your legs?" 

 "Isn't that obvious?" You're not used to such a harsh tone from him, but you remain composed, aware that this is a very sensitive topic, at least for him.

 "Doesn't it bother you that I'm so tiny?" You give him a wry smile, straightening up as much as you can, which is not much. Standing in front of Ivar, who's sitting on his bed, you're not taller than he is. 

 Sighing heavily, Ivar rubs his face with both hands before shooting you a sheepish look. "Y/N, it's not the same…" Lowering his head, he clenches his fists.

 He's right, it's not. He's self-conscious about his legs, ashamed even, while you're the first to laugh about your short stature. One of your hands grazes his thigh and you place a finger beneath his chin, lifting his face to look at you. "It should be, though."

 Furrowing his brows, Ivar stiffens once more. "And why is that? How can you compare those hideous, useless legs to–" 

 Shushing him, you give him a stern look, daring him to continue. When he keeps quiet, you take a step forward, straddling him carefully. 

 "Ivar, your legs…" Your voice is soft as you place a soothing hand on his chest, "… they are just the way you are. They are not what you are. Don't let them define you…"

 ***

 The next moment, you were kissing him. Eyes still shut, Ivar shivers. If he concentrates hard enough, he can still feel your sweet lips on his. 

 ***

 "My husband!" Breaking the kiss, you giggle, beaming, a little tipsy and flooded with happiness. 

 Ivar chuckles, running his fingers through his dishevelled hair. Hovering over you, he peppers light kisses all over your face, supporting his weight on one arm. "My wife. You're my wife. I can hardly believe it." There's something so earnest in his eyes and so many emotions across his face… Your heart flutters as you kiss him lovingly. 

 "That I am. And you know, I'd suggest you get used to it, because I'm not going anywhere." Reaching out, you gently run your fingers across his broad chest and his bare sweaty skin.

 "I won't let you go anywhere anyway. Not after what just happened. Was it magic?" He shivers, his big blue eyes scrutinizing you. 

 "Of course not." Giving him a quick peck on the tip of his nose, you cup his face with your hands, shaking your head. "We don't need magic, Ivar."

 Slightly flustered, Ivar stutters. "I… I don't understand… How… I thought…" His averted gaze gives away how embarrassed he feels and he clenches his teeth. "You know… I… I couldn't have sex with Margrethe…" 

 There's a dull ache in your chest as you listen to his words – you wish so badly you could have saved him from that humiliation – but you chase it quickly away. 

 "You and I, my husband, we didn't have sex. We made love, which makes all the difference." Your fingers trail down his spine and then you squeeze playfully his butt cheeks. He bursts out laughing, wiggling slightly, but gets serious as soon as you stop. 

 "Do you think we'll have children?" His eyelids fluttering closed for a moment, Ivar lets out a huff of frustration. "I mean… You know… Do you think I'll be able to… despite my… condition?"

 Drawing him against you, you wrap your arms around his shoulders. "I have no doubt. No doubt at all."

 ***

 Opening his eyes, Ivar can feel his heart pounding in his chest. "You were right, of course you were right…" What a blessing.

  ***

 "She's just like you, you know?" Beaming with pride, Ivar shifts in the bed, scooting closer to you. You're still amazed at how comfortable he is around you now. 

 Making sure you don't disturb the sleeping, sated baby in your arms, you lean slightly forward, your free hand brushing Ivar's naked thighs. You will gladly work on their deepest knots later, but right now, looking at your marvelous daughter, wrapped in your husband's embrace, is your single aim. 

 "She has your eyes, though." Feeling like your heart is blossoming, you grab Ivar's hand, bringing it to your–

 ***

 "Ivar, it's time." Hvitserk's voice pulls Ivar out of his thoughts. Without looking up, he nods. "I know. Just give me a moment. I'll be quick."

 As soon as Hvitserk retreats, Ivar looks at your peaceful face, his stomach clenching and rolling inside him. "My love, you gave me everything. You made me whole. You made me feel wanted, loved. You made me feel normal. You made me a man. For all of that, I'll be forever grateful." His breathing starts to shake and panic floods his body. "I… I don't want you to go… I… I don't know how I'm supposed to do that… I'm not sure I can… live without you…" His words catch in his throat, he swallows, wincing. "I'll try. I promise, I'll try. And one day, hopefully sooner rather than later, I'll join you. I'll find you and we'll be together again. I love you, Y/N. With all my heart, with all my soul."

  A hand slips into his and Ivar looks around, a weary smile crossing his face as he recognizes his daughter. "Father." Intertwining their fingers, Ivar rubs her knuckles with his thumb. Her huge, blue, swollen eyes pricking with tears, she presses her head against his chest. Wrapping protectively his arm around her, he cradles his beautiful daughter, resting his head on hers. "Min skat." He wishes he could tell her it's going to be okay, but he can't. He can't.

 Nodding to the archers, Ivar squeezes his daughter's hand tight as a withering sigh escapes his lips. The tightness in his chest is almost unbearable, he can't think or breathe. And when the first arrow reaches the boat, setting it on fire, a single tear runs down his cheek.

 "Farewell, my love."

🛡⚔️🛡

@honestsycrets​ @lisinfleur​ @waiting4inspiration​ @saldelys​ @gearhead66​ @readsalot73​ @milkkygirls​ @xbellaxcarolinax​ @shannygoatgruff​ @zuxiezendler​ @a-mess-of-fandoms​ @hecohansen31​ @lonewolf471​ @ivarthebloodyking​ @fuckindiva​ @tgrrose​ @didiintheblog​

#ivar #ivar x reader #ivar x petite!reader #ivar fanfic #ivar imagine #ivar fanfiction #ivar the boneless #ivar ragnarsson #ivar vikings #vikings #vikings imagine #vikings ivar

[rose7420]

Broken Crutches

A request from @laurenandloki! Enjoy!

Thor decides to take Peter and Y/n to Asgard for a visit, but they’re are tiny compared to the Asgardians. To add some fluff to this hahaa, Y/n could be on crunches to due a sprained ankle, so she had to stay in Thor’s room on a desk or something (they don’t want her to hurt her injury more). Loki knows that Thor brought some of the Avengers to Asgard with him, he just doesn’t know who he brought. Some of the servants tell Loki that Thor is with Peter, but hears talk that another human is in Thor’s room. So, Loki goes to check it ”introduce” himself. He walks in the room and sees a tiny girl holding two crutches to hold herself up. He startles her and says little remarks to make her scared. He walks closer to her. Y/n backs up and trips over her feet, causing her to fall and drop her crutches (the one breaks). Guilt breaks Loki’s heart as he watches this small mortal whimper in pain, not only cause of her ankle but because of the fear Loki has caused. He fixes her one crutch to show her that he means no harm. After she calms down, the two become really close and Loki becomes extremely attached to her. When Thor comes to tell Loki that she needs to go home, he refuses to let her go and legit runs away from Thor with Y/n cupped in his hands so that he doesn’t have to say goodbye😭😂🥺

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Loki was bored out of his mind. Immortality gives one leisure and free time to spend however they like, yet, he could find nothing of his interest. That is until he overheard his servant’s speaking with the usual daily gossip that normally never held his interest. But today the mindless chatter did catch his attention.

“Have you seen the two mortals?” The shorter, dark-haired lady asked.

“Oh yes, they are absolutely adorable.” The taller, leaner lady replies.

Loki knew mortals were very small compared to the Asgardians. About two to three inches to be exact.

“I do believe that the boy is with Thor today, but I’m not sure of the girl’s whereabouts.”

Now, this information really catches his attention. A mortal girl who is all alone, and himself who searches for something to occupy his endless time.

Well then, it looks like he’s found himself some entertainment after all.

Loki walks at a brisk pace to Thor’s door, not very far from his own quarters. He opens the door slowly, making sure it doesn’t creak. He never viewed Thor’s room as big, but as he searches for the small girl it has never seemed as large in his life.

A small squeak perks his senses.

He glances to the spot it came from and his heart catches in his throat.

The girl is absolutely tiny. She struggles to stand up, leaning heavily onto one leg. He sneaks closer with her still unaware of his presence. He sees her bend down to pick up two wooden sticks, sticking them under her armpits to support herself. Crutches. They’re so short and tiny he wonders how such a weak gadget could hold someone up. Loki approaches the nightstand where she stands and looms over her.

“That looks rather uncomfortable,” Loki says drily. The small mortal snaps her head up to look at him. He reaches forward to pinch one of the crutches in his fingertips. The girl tries to tug it out of his grasp but even his fingers are too strong for her entire body’s strength. She gives up pulling and let’s go, falling down with a yelp of pain.

A pang of guilt shoots through Loki. Perhaps he went too far, he didn’t want to harm the little thing. He releases the one crutch and leans away, allowing light to fall upon her form. She crawls forward, dragging the other crutch behind her, and latches onto the one he’d just released. She hastily sticks it under her arm and moves to stand, but her hurt ankle gives out. She leans heavily on her right side causing the crutch to snap in half. With a cry of pain, she falls to the floor with a barely audible thump. Now heavy guilt rushes through Loki like a river. Even though she must be in immense pain the small girl backs away fearfully from his imposing form. Discernible whimpers escape her lips as she retreats. His attention is drawn away momentarily from the girl herself and onto the path she takes. Which is very close to the edge of the table. The drop is nothing to him, but to her, it would seem like jumping off a three-story building. Right as her hand finds no support to brace on she slips off the edge. Thankfully Loki’s quick reflexes save her with cupped palms catching her falling form.

Her form is oddly still on his palms when he brings her up to his eyes. He can tell by the rise and fall of her chest that she is still breathing, and he can sense her hummingbird-like pulse racing through the skin of his palm. He speaks gently so as not to startle her: “Little one, are you alright. I mean to cause you no harm.“

She slowly pushes herself up to a sitting position in his palms, whimpering with pain as she tenderly holds her swollen ankle.

“Oh yes, I forgot you are hurt, may I get a closer look?” Loki asks. She nods shyly, her form stilling as his palms rise higher to hold her directly in front of his eyes. She backs away as best she can but Loki stops her movements with a gentle but firm finger upon her back; he does not want her to harm herself anymore on his watch.

“Little one be still, I promise I will not harm you. I only need to see your ankle better, could you extend your leg out a bit more for me?” He says very softly.

She does as he asks. As he supports her tiny leg with the pad of his index finger she gasps.

“Am I hurting you little one?” He questions with worry.

She shakes her head no, and to his surprise speaks.

“It j-just feels g-good to get some weight off of i-it.”

Loki smiles, happy he can relieve some of her pain.

“Let’s wrap that ankle up, shall we?” He waits for no reply and lowers her down to the table where she previously was, nudging her off his hand using the opposite. He kneels as asks her to stick her leg out once again. Obliging the girl sits very patiently as he wraps her ankle.

Y/N was astonished by the man’s kindness. She had been absolutely terrified at first when he approached her, especially when his long, massive fingers gripped her crutch dwarfing it in their hold. But now as those massive fingers brush her ankle briefly as he wraps it for her, she fears them no longer and wants to be closer to him on this gigantic planet of giants. He finishes, tucking the last of the fabric into the wrap itself. She goes to push herself to stand but stops when she realizes she only has one working crutch. Loki realizes this too and without a word, he ducks down to search for it where it had fallen on the floor. A few moments later he presents it to her on a flattened palm. She reaches for it and tucks it under her arm with the other one finally standing to her full height.

“My my, you really are small.” The giant says as if he amazed by her lack of height. Y/N blushes at the comment and ducks her head.

“What is your name little one? Mine is Loki.”

“Y/N.” She says as loudly as she can.

“Well Y/N, would you like to go on a walk instead of staying in this dreaded room?” Y/N giggles and nods her head. Seeing as it would be a challenge for her to board his palm he asks if it is alright if he picks her up. She nods and stiffens at the immediate contact of his fingertips. Her body is weightless as he lifts her up, air rushing by her face blowing her hair around. He sets her gently in his palm waiting for her to situate herself comfortably before he begins to walk.

Later on….

Y/N and Loki lay on his bed, Y/N on his chest, and Loki’s long-form sprawled out comfortably. He reads to her and she finds the vibration of his voice very soothing. Her eyelids droop closed, on the brink of sleep. That is until Thor barges in with Peter held in his hand.

“Loki, it is time for Y/N to go home.” Y/N clings tighter to Loki’s shirt not willing to go back home just yet. She has found a liking to Loki as he has with her. Loki must feel her plea for security as his hand comes to cup protectively around her.

“Brother, give us just a few more days. There is no need for Y/N to leave now.”

Thor shakes his head in disagreement and steps closer to Loki.

“I am not in the mood for your antics, hand her here now,” Thor says sternly, his voice uncomfortably deep to Y/N. And loud.

Her world is thrown around as Loki rises from his relaxed position on the bed to standing defensively. Her world turns dark as Loki covers his cupped hand with the other, and then a very bumpy ride begins. And that’s when she realizes Loki is running. After what feels like a lifetime of bad roller coaster rides, Loki opens his hands bringing her directly in front of his green eyes. She watches his black pupil flick back and forth checking her over, occasionally glancing at her hurt ankle.

“Are you alright little Y/N?”

“It was a little bumpy, but I’m okay.” Loki smiles and breathes a sigh of relief.

‘Well then, we only need to wait out here a little longer before Thor cools down then we can continue our reading, does that sound okay?” She nods, but shivers from the damp cold air.

“Are you chilled?” Loki asks, not waiting for a response as he holds her firmly to his smooth, warm cheek.

Y/N melts with happiness into it, forgetting about the whole day and just relishing Loki’s protective warmth all to herself.

#giant/tiny #tiny reader #tiny #shrunk #Loki #giant loki #loki x borrower

[crazy4dragons]

Braids

Astrid continues to spend time with Hiccup after his injury and he asks to braid her hair. Takes place sometime after Just Friends. Like Heaven AU. Rating: PG (lust mention, but mainly fluff).

“Why don’t we go in the hot tub?” Astrid suggested as she watched the movie credits roll down the screen. “Didn’t your doctor say water would be good for your leg?”

Hiccup sighed. “I don’t know.”

“Come on,” urged the blonde, tugging his hand. “You can’t just sit in bed and watch TV all day.”

“There’s not much else I can do,” he argued.

Astrid slid off the mattress and walked into Hiccup’s closet. Rummaging through his summer clothes, she found a pair of swimming trunks and tossed them into his lap. “Change,” she ordered.

“But —”

“Change,” Astrid repeated, pulling a modest swimsuit from her backpack and shutting herself in the bathroom. While she finally had a bikini, she wasn’t sure about parading around in it with Hiccup’s parents around. They already thought he was sleeping with her; wearing cheeky bottoms and a top that showed cleavage wouldn’t help the situation. So instead, she’d brought over a pale pink longline top and matching high-waisted bottoms that collectively left only a sliver of tummy showing.

Clad in the swimsuit, she searched for sunscreen and two beach towels before opening the door to see that Hiccup had put on his swimming trunks and a t-shirt. “Good. You’re ready,” she smiled, grabbing a pair of workout shorts from his dresser. With his injury, Astrid had been staying over so often that one of Hiccup’s drawers was now stuffed with her clothes.

“I’m telling you now, Astrid, I’m going out for half an hour. That’s all.”

“Mmm-hmm.” She pulled on the shorts, then handed Hiccup his crutches. “Let’s go.”

As the two friends descended the stairs, Astrid helping Hiccup to ensure he didn’t fall, they were greeted by Stoick. “Well, look who finally came out of his room.”

“Not cool, Dad.” Hiccup rolled his eyes.

“I’m just glad to see yer up and about,” Stoick defended. “Where are yer two headed, the pool?”

“Hot tub. Astrid’s making me.”

“You have to get out of bed once in a while,” insisted the blonde.

“Astrid’s right,” agreed Stoick. “Yer leg will only get worse if ye never move it.”

Hiccup sighed. “Yeah, yeah, I get it. Well, let’s go outside and get this over with.”

“It’ll be fun,” assured Astrid, stepping in front of him and opening the back door. Once he hobbled out, she closed it behind them and set the towels on a chair before opening the sunscreen and rubbing it onto her nose. She then pulled off her shorts, slathered the rest of her skin, then passed the bottle to Hiccup, who’d taken a seat beside the towels. “Here. Let me know if you need help getting your back.”

Discarding his t-shirt, Hiccup took the sunscreen. “Yeah,” he decided, smearing it onto his freckled cheeks. “Some help would be great.”

“On it.” Astrid knelt behind him and worked the lotion into his skin while subconsciously taking note of all his freckles. He had at least a hundred on his shoulders alone, and even more were sprinkled across his back. He didn’t like them, but she thought they were sort of cute.

“You done?” Hiccup asked as she backed away.

Nodding, Astrid climbed into the hot tub, letting out a contented sigh as the warm, frothy water lapped at her neck. When Hiccup joined, she slid over to sit beside him, her fingers curling around his hand in a comforting squeeze. “You will get better,” she assured. “I know it.”

“I wish I could be as sure as you are,” he mumbled.

Silence fell between them and for a while, they soaked together without saying a word.

“Hey, could I braid your hair?” Hiccup asked eventually, nodding towards Astrid’s messy bun. When she hesitated, he added, “I won’t if it’s not okay with you. It’s just…it’ll give me something to do.”

“Alright,” she shrugged, shifting in front of him. “I don’t see why not.”

“Thanks.” With a small smile, Hiccup carefully took down Astrid’s hair and ran his fingers through it, working out a few small knots. “Is a Dutch braid okay?”

“That’s fine,” she replied, relaxing at the feeling of his hands on her scalp.

“You have a date tonight, right?” Hiccup asked cautiously. Even though he knew Astrid had a boyfriend, and he knew he was just her friend, he always felt the need to check himself when mentioning her relationship to make sure he didn’t come across as jealous.

“Yeah, why?”

“I was going to ask if you wanted to stay for dinner, but if you already have plans, don’t worry about it.”

“Well, I have my date tonight and I’m going over to my dad’s tomorrow, but I could do dinner with you on Monday,” offered Astrid. She knew Hiccup didn’t expect her to spend every spare moment with him, but she couldn’t help feeling guilty that he was stuck at home awaiting a second surgery on his leg while she was going to a carnival with her new boyfriend, with whom she’d just become official. “And I promise I’ll spend the whole day with you on Wednesday before you go to the hospital.”

Hiccup paused in his braiding. “Astrid, you know you don’t have to do that.”

“But I want to.” She wouldn’t admit it out loud, but the thought of him going into surgery again terrified  her. When he’d first gotten into the car accident, she skipped school, instead spending the day crying in her room and waiting for Stoick or Valka to call saying the doctors would allow her to come see him. And now, knowing that he’d be in the hospital all over again, and that this next surgery would determine whether he’d ever be able to walk without his crutches or a wheelchair, she felt sick to her stomach.

“Then I’d like that.” Hiccup resumed his task. When he reached the end of the braid, he tied it off and draped it over her shoulder. “There. Take a look.”

Astrid grabbed her phone from the outside ledge of the hot tub and studied her reflection in the camera. “It looks great,” she smiled. “Mind if I keep it in for my date?”

“Do whatever you’d like,” he said with a shrug.

“I’m definitely keeping it,” she decided, snapping a selfie before putting her phone down and settling in beside him.

Hiccup cast her a lopsided grin.

After spending a bit more time soaking, the two friends decided to get out and head back inside. It was two o’ clock, neither of them had eaten lunch, and Astrid needed to be home for her date by four-thirty.

“Do you want to eat first or wash up first?” Hiccup asked.

“Eat,” Astrid replied quickly as she felt her stomach grumble. “What do you have?”

“We could do sandwiches and chips,” he shrugged.

“Sounds good to me.” She pulled two plates from a cabinet, holding a hand up as Hiccup tried to help her. “No, you sit down. I’ll get it ready.”

He reluctantly took a seat while Astrid quickly put together ham and cheese sandwiches. Grabbing a bag of chips, she carried the food over to the table before sitting across from her friend.

“These are good,” Hiccup remarked, taking a bite.

“Don’t look so surprised. I might not be able to cook, but I’m perfectly capable of putting together a sandwich.”

He laughed.

Once they finished eating, Astrid cleared away the dishes. The two then returned to Hiccup’s room, where they rinsed off — separately, of course — and changed into clean clothes.

“My braid is all messy now,” the blonde frowned, catching sight of herself in the mirror as she tugged a blue crop top over her white bralette. A pair of ripped, high-waited denim shorts completed her look. All she’d need was her white Converse and a bit of makeup and she’d be ready for her date that evening.

“I can redo it for you if you’d like,” Hiccup offered, quickly picking up his phone to disguise the fact that he’d been struggling not to stare at Astrid while she dressed. They weren’t shy about being in their underwear around each other. For Hiccup, it really wasn’t too much different than being in a swimsuit. And Astrid, being used to changing in the locker room before volleyball games, didn’t see why she should feel okay in just underclothes in front of her teammates but not her best friend — even if her best friend was a guy.

But although the situation was platonic, Hiccup had to admit to himself that she had a nice body, and he’d be lying if he said he didn’t fantasize about what she looked like completely naked. Of course, she had a boyfriend, so he knew those privileges would be reserved for his eyes when Astrid felt ready to take things to the next step.

Lucky guy, he thought, shaking his head in attempt to ignore the lust burning in his brain. Being a teenager was the worst.

“Yes, please.” Grabbing her hairbrush, she sat down in front of Hiccup, allowing him to undo her disheveled braid and work the tangles from her locks.

Hiccup quickly wove a new braid, Astrid enjoying the feeling of his hands in her hair as he did so. When he was finished, she took her hairbrush and zipped it into her backpack.

“We have another hour,” she announced as she checked her phone. “What do you wanna do?”

“Nap,” chuckled Hiccup.

“Come on. I won’t see you again until Monday night and all you want to do is take a nap?”

“I guess we could play on the Wii,” he suggested.

“That’s better.”

The hour flew by as Hiccup and Astrid played games together, just like they’d done before the accident. After two rounds of Mario Kart and a session of Wii bowling, he was feeling almost normal.

Until it came time to say goodbye to Astrid.

“Alright,” he  began, suppressing a sigh. “Let me how your date goes. And have fun with your dad tomorrow.”

“I will.” The blonde stuffed a few things into her backpack and tucked her pillow under her arm.

“No hug?” frowned Hiccup.

Smiling, Astrid set down her belongings and enveloped her friend in a tight embrace, an inexplicable shiver running down her spine at the sensation of his arms brushing her bare midriff. She didn’t like him like that. And she certainly wasn’t lusting after him. No, she had a boyfriend. But the feeling of his hands on her skin, however innocent, was enough to excite her just a little bit.

“Bye, Astrid.” Hiccup’s voice broke into her thoughts.

“Oh, uh…bye, Hiccup,” Astrid replied, breaking the hug. “See you Monday.”

“Yeah. See you Monday.”

#hiccstrid #fanfic #my writing #like heaven au #like heaven universe #hiccstrid fluff #teenage hiccstrid #modern au #modern au hiccstrid

[thetomorrowshow]

unless you take your army back ch. 4

First  -  Previous  -  Next  -  Read on AO3!

okay so I’m moving to college this week!!! My updates will probably be delayed or sporadic until I figure out my schedule, but I will definitely not stop writing :)

cw: temporary paralysis, blood, injuries

~

Crutchie twitched into wakefulness when he heard noise, and was almost instantly annoyed. Had he slept right through the whole day? He’d wanted to practice walking some more before anyone got back, had only been planning on napping for a few minutes. With the commotion around him, it sounded like everyone was already returning.

Crutchie cracked open his eyes to see Jack, sitting in that chair that he’d taken over for the past week. He was drawing something, the tip of his tongue sticking out the corner of his mouth.

Around the room were a few of the guys--Mush, Blink, Buttons, Henry, Romeo. Romeo had been returning home earlier than normal, falling right into bed and lying there until Jack made him leave so Crutchie could redress his wounds. In moments of quiet, when Jack was dozing in his chair, Romeo would creep over to Crutchie’s side and whisper about how badly his head was pounding, how he felt dizzy and tired. His head had been hit pretty hard in the riot, so it wasn’t exactly surprising. The others were all still nursing various bruises and scrapes.

Jack looked up now, dropping his art as he saw Crutchie was awake. He looked bad, to be honest--his hair was sticking up awkwardly under his cap, eyes swollen and face grimy. Crutchie didn’t ask about it, just nodded to him.

“Hey, Crutchie,” Jack sighed, rubbing at his eyes. “How ya feelin’?”

Crutchie shoved away the irritation at being asked that again. Did Jack expect his answer to change just because he took a nap? He ignored the question, stretching out a little bit, relieved to find that stretching almost felt good.

“Romeo,” Crutchie called past Jack. A hand lifted from Romeo’s bunk. “How’s ya head?”

“Better ‘n better,” Romeo called back. “Think I’s just about good as new!”

Crutchie wished he could say the same. He felt like he was going to fall apart every moment he was awake, and even some of those when he was asleep. He hadn’t been having nightmares, exactly--just a vague sense of fear, death around the corner. Exactly like how the Refuge had felt. Maybe that did count as a nightmare, even if he never saw anything.

“Crutchie, I gotta have a meetin’ with the boys,” Jack interrupted his thoughts. “I didn’t wanna leave afore you woke, or wake you up. I brought ya a sandwich, here.” Jack handed him a small bundle of paper, presumably wrapping a sandwich. Then he left the room, beckoning for the other boys to follow without even letting Crutchie thank him. Romeo groaned, but rolled out of bed and followed.

They were going to have a newsies meeting . . . without him?

Crutchie frowned as he unwrapped the sandwich. He really wasn’t all that hungry, despite the only thing he’d ingested being the coffee from this morning. He was still a newsie, even if he couldn’t do the job lately. Wasn’t he?

This . . . this hurt, more than the stinging lashes on his back, more than the sharp pain in his chest when he breathed, more than the sickly aching of his bad leg. He’d been present for every newsie meeting ever since he started living here, and they were just going to have one without him?

Jack had always made sure to include him in everything. Even when some of the other guys didn’t make the effort, Jack did. And now Jack was purposefully excluding him. Just because--because, what, he couldn’t walk? That had never changed anything.

He really had to get back to work. Soon. They had to be leaving him out of it because he wasn’t technically a newsie, right? He felt bad even thinking that. Of course he was a newsie, he always would be. Newsie meant more than a career--at least, it did to him. Maybe none of the others thought of it the same way.

Crutchie morosely picked at his sandwich, putting tiny, manageable pieces into his mouth. The swelling of his face had almost completely gone down, but that didn’t mean it didn’t hurt to move his jaw. Nor did it mean he wanted to eat at all.

Maybe they just didn’t want to disturb him? That was decent of them, he supposed, but not at all what he wanted. He wanted to be involved, prove he was getting better, see the guys and laugh with them again.

Unbidden, an image of the Refuge on that calm day popped into his head. All those boys, worked to death for no purpose, celebrating in what ways they possibly could while Snyder was out of the building. They included the sick, the hurt, the broken.

Now Crutchie was actually getting a bit annoyed. They weren’t even going to try to hide their meeting, or ask if he wanted to participate? He wasn’t a child. He could assess his own limits and make good choices. In fact, if Jack had just told him straight out that they were going to have a meeting and what it was about, and invited Crutchie to join them, he probably would have turned him down in favor of rest.

Jack hadn’t said that, though. Jack had left, taken everyone else with him, had mentioned it offhand like it wasn’t important at all. What kind of friend--brother--did that?

Crutchie rewrapped the sandwich as well as he could manage, his fingers trembling as usual. He was so sick of this. Sick of barely being capable of any fine motor skills, sick of not wanting to eat, sick of sleeping the day away. He hated feeling so weak. He hated the others seeing him so weak.

Mind made up, Crutchie sat up the rest of the way from his reclining position. His entire body ached, and for the first time in a long time, Crutchie wished he had a drink to numb it. He shook the thought away after contemplating it for a moment. He didn’t need another problem to deal with, another expense to owe. Not to mention, there was no way he’d get it past Jack.

His crutch was still within easy reach, but placing it under his arm reminded him uncomfortably of the cut there that was now stiff with dried blood. He probably shouldn’t irritate it anymore, should probably take the empty room as a chance to clean the wound and rewrap it.

Crutchie didn’t do that. Instead, he stood up.

He almost doubled over immediately. How was the pain that much worse than it was this morning? He hadn’t been doing anything, just sleeping. Wasn’t he supposed to be feeling at least a bit better?

He didn’t back down, though. Crutchie straightened his back, breathed in and out for a few moments, then swung forward.

His bad leg dragging against the floorboards shot needles of pain up through his body, but his knee trembled and gave out when he tried to lift it up. Dragged on the floor it was.

Just the one step had made his entire body break out in a light sweat, but still he hobbled forward. This step was easier than the last. His back stung with the stretch of his shoulder, fingers trembled around the grip of his crutch. He could do this. He hadn’t survived the Refuge just to not be able to cross a room. The next step was going to be easier still.

It wasn’t, but it wasn’t necessarily worse. Crutchie’s good leg wobbled from lack of use and fatigue, his breathing so heavy that he imagined he could feel his ribs scraping together. That would explain the pain, right?

The door seemed to be forever away. Crutchie took another hop toward it, then another, then a third in quick succession, almost trying to outrun the exhaustion that was beginning to fill his bones. He dimly registered that under his right arm, up against where his crutch chafed, was sticky. That was probably not very good.

Crutchie paused for a moment, his head pounding in time with his pulse. He could do this. He looked around, trying to distract himself from what felt like his body failing. The room wasn’t all that dark, even though the sun had completely set outside. Only one of the windows was still open, the one that led out to the fire escape right next to the bed that Crutchie had been spending the week in. A few candles or lanterns were scattered around, giving the room a familiar nighttime ambience.

Crutchie took another step, breathing in short gasps--the smooth wood felt like spikes underneath his bum leg, his chest was tearing apart from the inside out, his back had to be on fire, every single part of his body was aching and trembling.

One more step sent his legs collapsing from under him, his body slamming into the floor. Crutchie cried out quietly, shoving his fist into his mouth to muffle the sound. Not that it really mattered. There was no way that fall went unheard. The bedframe closest to him was still shaking from the impact.

He wasn’t sure that he was going to be awake in time for anyone to find him, though. Black was encroaching on the edge of his vision, increasing with every agonizing thrum of his injuries. Something sticky was dripping down his back, sticking it to his shirt, but Crutchie didn’t have the time to consider it before the world was completely black.

He wasn’t quite . . . asleep, though. He couldn’t surrender to the darkness yet, some hidden reserve of energy fighting for any thread of consciousness. The pain of his body was distant, something separated from his current state.

There was a crashing sound--the door?--then a sea of gasps and shouts and bangs and so, so much noise. Crutchie couldn’t move a muscle--not that he’d really want to, that would hurt. Still, he wished he could’ve given some sign to Jack that he wasn’t asleep. Jack, who was now brushing his hair away from his eyes.

“Crutchie,” came Jack’s frantic voice, “Crutch, can you hear me? C’mon, bud. It’s okay.”

“What happened?”

“Whaddya think?”

“Well I dunno, or I wouldn’ta asked!”

“Shuddup, Jack’s tryna focus!”

“Crutchie, please wake up. What were ya tryna do?”

I am awake, Jack, Crutchie desperately wanted to say. I’m fine. But his mouth wouldn’t respond to anything he tried. He was limp, yet frozen in place.

“Should I get a doctor?”

“See anyone here what can afford one?”

“He’s breathin’,” Jack said, so close that Crutchie could feel his breath on his cheek. A fist wrapped around Crutchie’s wrist and he panicked, tried to wriggle away from whoever it was about to drag him to his next torture session. He didn’t move at all, though, and the hand was gentle and pressed against one spot of his arm for several seconds before pulling away.

“Pulse is sorta quick I think, but his skin’s too warm. Albert, he--” Jack’s voice broke-- “help me get ‘im ta bed?”

Strong arms scooped him up, and once again Crutchie tried to throw himself away from them, his heart racing with fear. Once again, he could not move. He was half aware of who was touching him, and why, but the other half of his brain was too far in the shadow to realize that it was safe, that they were helping him.

Soon enough, he was laying on something soft and Crutchie almost let it overtake him, almost gave in to the darkness pulling at him. A feeling of--shame?--rose up, though, making it impossible to let go.

He hadn’t even made it across the room. Maybe not even halfway. He’d wanted to go to their stupid meeting, surprise them by being functional, insist that he could go out and sell at least for a little while tomorrow. Jack would never let him now, not after this stunt. Not after this failure.

“He’s bleedin’ through ‘is shirt, Jack, see?”

“I see, Blink, no need to call it to the world.”

“I’ll get the bandages, where they at?”

Crutchie’s heart seized. He couldn’t let them fix him up, they’d see! They’d see everything, all the lashes and cuts and marks from beatings. He’d seen how upset and uncomfortable just his visible ones made them, he couldn’t--he didn’t want--

Jack’s voice cut through his thoughts. “No, he wouldn’t want that. He’d be real mad if he woke up ta see we’d done exactly what he said not to.”

“So what we gonna do, Jack?”

“Jackie, somebody’s got to help Crutchie. If none of us can afford a doctor, somebody will have to do it. Who do you think Crutchie would want to do it?”

“No one, he ain’t wantin’ no one! He ain’t even let me do it, Davey, he don’t want us seein’!”

Jack sounded unbearably upset. Crutchie tried for what felt like the thousandth time to open his eyes, but his lids were just so heavy. Why was Davey here? Wait, Les was here too, he’d heard his voice earlier. They were included in the newsies meeting, when Crutchie himself wasn’t?

“Isn’t there anyone--”

“Katherine. But she’s--wait--Race--”

“Yeah?”

“Head down ta Medda’s, see if Kath’s there for a show. Bring ‘er back if she is, got that?”

“No problem, Jack!”

A door slammed distantly. Crutchie took a break from trying to force his body to move. It would hurt a lot if he succeeded, anyway. Maybe he should just sleep.

Someone was holding his hand, gently, rubbing his knuckles, and Crutchie wished he could squeeze their hand. Anything to show he was okay.

He wasn’t okay, though, was he? As he thought about it, the pain that had been distant and disconnected mere moments ago was becoming clearer and sharper. Why? Couldn’t he have a moment’s reprieve? Couldn’t he just get better already?

“Crutchie, can you hear me? Can you open your eyes for me?”

He wanted to, couldn’t Jack see that?

“Did he move?”

“Yeah, a little. His face, y’know?”

His face had moved? How had he managed that? Nothing had seemed to change--maybe his eyelids had twitched from his ceaseless attempts to open them.

The pain was spreading, bringing back every memory of how it came. Crutchie didn’t want to cope with it right now. He didn’t want to feel. He didn’t want to hear Jack pleading with him to wake up. He just wanted darkness.

Finally, Crutchie surrendered to the sleep pulling on his bones. He could rest for a minute, before trying to open his eyes again. Jack would understand.

-

It felt like forever until Crutchie could hear their voices again, but he still couldn’t move. In his mind it felt like he was drowning, thrashing about just under the surface. Each time he struggled to move, he just sank lower and lower, until he was full-on panicking, freaking out entirely while never outwardly moving a muscle.

It was mentally exhausting, and after some time, Crutchie had to take a moment to rest or risk losing this little taste of consciousness. He wasn’t quitting, he told himself, trying to placate his mind. He just needed a rest. As he did, though, it felt as if he rose, just a tiny bit, closer to the surface.

It took a few tries, but Crutchie forced himself to stop struggling. He relaxed as much as he could, and the longer he waited, the faster he rose--until--

With a release of air that almost sounded like a groan, Crutchie opened his eyes. Immediately the talking ceased, and Crutchie registered that there were several faces crowding around him. He blinked a few times: Jack, closest. Then Albert, Davey, and Henry, a little further down. Crutchie opened his mouth a few times, swallowing away the dry feeling as well as he could, then spoke.

“Hey?”

There were sighs; Jack’s head dropped to his hands, Albert rolled his eyes, Davey stepped away.

When Jack looked back up, there were tears in his eyes. Crutchie shifted uncomfortably, then gritted his teeth when his injuries all reminded him of their existence. Davey returned with two glasses of water, one of which he handed to Jack, the other he pushed against Crutchie’s mouth. Crutchie accepted it without complaint--he wasn’t sure that he could make his fingers grip the glass right now.

After he finished drinking and Davey had placed the glass somewhere on the floor, Crutchie met Jack’s red-rimmed eyes. Jack stared at him for a moment.

“What in Manhattan was you thinkin’?”

Crutchie cringed. What had he been thinking? Well, he’d wanted to be a part of the meeting, but now he wished he’d gotten over his anger. How was Jack ever going to believe that he was good enough to be a newsie now? Shame rose, bile-like, in his throat, as he opened his mouth to speak.

Jack cut him off before he could even say anything. “D’you know how much you scared the guys? What made ya think you could walk, ‘specially without help? How did ya get the idea into your pointy little head that it was somehow okay? Tell me what you was thinkin’. Tell me ‘xactly what thoughts led to ya doin’ somethin’ so stupid.”

Maybe he would, Crutchie thought with a prickle of irritation, if Jack would shut up. Jack kept on talking, though.

“Ya know ya made Elmer cry, right? You coulda been dead, for all we knew. We was so scared and you wouldn’t even wake up!”

“Jack--” Davey started, placing a hand on Jack’s shoulder, but Jack shrugged him off. Other than the three of them, the room was empty. Albert and Henry must have left at some point.

“It ain’t been a week since you was in the Refuge--” Crutchie flinched, Jack didn’t seem to notice, too caught up in his gesticulating hands and beginning to pace in the small space beside the bed-- “and here you is, tryin’ ta walk like it ain’t happened. Ya can’t even walk normally, how the he--”

“I was tryin’ ta go to the meeting,” Crutchie burst out, face red. Yes, he was ashamed of it. No, he did not need Jack jumping down his throat like that. “I-I miss seein’ everyone,” he added. It wasn't a lie, not exactly. He did miss the guys, a lot.

Jack paused in his short pacings, looking down at Crutchie with his mouth wide open. “Why didn’t ya say nothin’?” he asked loudly, as if Crutchie was slow. “I coulda brought everyone up for a few.”

Crutchie snorted, his face still burning. “Not like you gave me any time ta say anythin’. And I don’t want everyone up here, I wanted ta go to the meeting.”

Jack waved him off. “You don’t really wanna go to it, y’ain’t even workin’ right now, it woulda put ya ta sleep.”

Who was Jack to tell him what he did and didn’t want to do? And yes, Crutchie wasn’t working right now--he was still a newsie, he still got to go to newsies meetings! Right? Did Jack not see him as a newsie anymore?

“I still wanted ta be there,” Crutchie said stubbornly, trying not to show that anger was steadily overtaking his embarrassment. “I wanna know how the sellin’s been goin’ after the strike, wanna know if they’s seen any o’ my regulars, wanna know how the Delanceys are treatin’ everyone--”

Jack’s face went white. “Yeah, well, ya don’t need ta know,” he said brusquely. “You’s in bed all day. There’s nothin’ you can do about it.”

Crutchie’s fingers twisted in the blanket laying over him. The aches were vanishing as anger pumped through his body. What was Jack’s problem? Everything he was saying was just confirming Crutchie’s fears, that they no longer wanted him to be a newsie, only saw him as a burden. It couldn’t be true, right? Clearly Jack was thinking it.

“Ain’t everyone you, Jack,” Crutchie argued, shifting so that he was sitting up more. “I can decide for myself what I want, I don’t need you to tell me--”

“Oh, so you don’t need my help?” Jack cut in, disbelief written all over his face. “Ya’d be a-okay if I just stopped bringin’ ya food? Stopped payin’ rent for ya? Kicked you outta my bed?”

“Well, since you clearly don’t want me here--”

“Okay, can we maybe--” Davey tried to interject.

“This don’t concern you, Davey,” Jack spat. “Brothers only.”

Davey looked a little hurt, but instead took the glass from Jack’s hand, which he had been waving around for emphasis.

“One’d think you was tired of everything I sacrifice ta keep ya safe,” Jack continued. “Maybe you should try doin’ it all yourself--”

“Maybe I want to,” Crutchie interrupted, his face going red as his anger grew. “Didja ever think about that?”

“Yeah, well, ya can’t, so get over yourself and--”

“Yes I can! I’s perfectly capable of--”

“No ya ain’t, ya just--ya just collapsed while tryin’ ta cross the fu--”

“I’m not a child, Jack--”

“Yes you are!” Jack yelled, his face redder than ever. “You’s just a kid! You don’t deserve none o’ this, you oughtta be in school and with parents, and no bum leg and no Snyder, and someone who can actually take care of ya, someone who can stop freaks from attackin’ ya--”

Jack broke down, his knees buckling as he fell into the chair beside the bed. Loud sobs tore from his throat as he hid his face in his hands.

Crutchie ran a hand across his own face, shocked to discover tears of his own. He was fuming, madder at Jack than he had ever been. Even looking at him made him want to scream in frustration. The only other option was Davey, though, and Davey looked so uncomfortable Crutchie thought he might die from it. So Crutchie stared at Jack, wishing his eyes could set fire to Jack’s newsboy cap through the heat of his glare alone.

Crutchie swallowed repeatedly, trying to get his voice to a place where he wouldn’t yell at Jack. Finally he spoke, voice shaking. “You’s always said I’m just as capable as anyone else. Why is that suddenly not true?”

Jack drew in a shuddering breath, but didn’t say anything. Crutchie waited for a moment, before huffing and turning his head to look out the window. It was too dark to really see anything, what with the candle on the post of the bed shining right against the glass. Still, though, he stared at the glass. The adrenaline from the shouting match had begun to exit his system, leaving him very sore all over.

“I jus’--I don’ want you gettin’ hurt,” Jack choked out. Crutchie remained resolute in not looking at him. He hated it when Jack got protective like this, but usually it only lasted for two days or so after Crutchie had been sick or pushed around by one of the Delanceys. And sure, maybe the Refuge was on a bit of a larger scale than either of those, but that didn’t give Jack any right to treat him like--like a kid, like Les, or Elmer, or Boots, or any of the other littles. Come to think of it, actually, Jack would probably treat them just normal-like. Jack was still letting them sell, even after the riot. It was only Crutchie, only the kid with the crippled leg. When was that stupid leg going to stop defining his capabilities in Jack’s eyes?

Crutchie decided to try a different angle. “Why didn’tcha even ask me if I wanted to go ta the meeting?”

“Crutchie, I couldn’t--”

“No, Jack,” Crutchie interrupted. “I’s been doin’ nothing but lie in bed all day. I can handle a newsies meeting!”

“It ain’t that I think you can’t--”

“News ta me, it certainly sounds like--”

“You couldn’t come because the meeting was about you,” Davey burst in. He gave Jack an apologetic glance before turning his focus on Crutchie. “Jack didn’t want ta hurt your feelings by talking about you in front of you.”

Crutchie’s heart felt like it stopped. So this was it, wasn’t it? The decision on whether or not he was going to be able to work. Whether or not they would need to kick him out. Crutchie couldn’t decide what was worse--being thrown out onto the street in his condition, or knowing that he was just so pitiful that they couldn’t bear to do anything but keep him inside all the time. “Oh, so you was gonna save my feelings by talkin’ about me behind my back?” said Crutchie dumbly, his mouth moving of its own accord. “Real smart, Jack Kelly. Makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside, you bein’ so considerate-like.”

“Ya don’t understand,” Jack managed, running a hand under his nose. “It ain’t like that, it ain’t--”

“Oh, well feel free to jus’ tell me what it was like,” Crutchie said, gesturing with a wince as he noticed that under his arm was sticky and pulled painfully. “Go ahead.”

“I can’t--”

“Oh, I’m too weak ta know, huh? Just a kid, like you said--”

“Crutchie, I don’t--”

“Which makes it so much better, huh, makes it all--”

“It was the Delanceys!” Jack shouted, spit flying. He took a deep breath and pulled at his hair, knocking his cap to the floor, tension in every line of his body. “They was--they was bein’ rude.”

Crutchie scoffed. “The Delanceys? I can handle them. I can take them any day.” He didn’t mention the sick feeling that lined his stomach at the mention of them. The last time he’d seen them, they’d practically bashed his head in and dragged him off to the Refuge. Still, he’d never known the Delanceys to be particularly kind. He could deal with their insults.

“They . . . were bein’ a bit worse than rude, Crutchie,” Davey said quietly. Davey glanced at Jack, whose face was in his hands again. Jack shook so badly that Crutchie thought he was crying again for a moment. When his face reappeared, though, it was clear that it was barely-restrained anger.

“They said they was gonna kill you,” Jack growled. A tear rolled down his cheek, unnoticed. “They--they was gonna hunt you down, and get you, and--” Again, Jack couldn’t seem to go on. Davey laid a comforting hand on his shoulder.

“Crutchie, we’re scared for you, that’s all,” Davey said placatingly. “At the meeting, we were trying to work out a way for you to keep selling papes but stay safe. We should’ve invited you, that’s for sure, Jack just thought you’d be too tired.”

Crutchie didn’t speak. The sick feeling in his stomach had spread to his head, making it feel gross and backwards and like he was going to throw up. He was fine, he was alive, but for the first time in a very long time, the Delanceys actually struck fear into his heart.

Luckily, he was spared from having to say anything by a knock at the door. Race poked his head around the corner, an apologetic look on his face.

“No sign of her,” Race called to Jack. “Need anythin’ else?”

Davey walked away to talk to Race, leaving Jack and Crutchie alone. Crutchie tried to swallow away the bad feeling, but Jack took his hand, completely distracting him. For a moment, Crutchie considered shaking him off, the embers of anger that had been left when the mention of the Delanceys had doused his chest flaming up, but it was clearly an olive branch of sorts. Jack wanted to forget the argument for now. Crutchie could at least do that.

“I-I’m sorry,” Jack muttered. “For goin’ all--y’know. A minute ago. You don’t deserve that. It was just . . . so, so--hard, and wrong, ta--ta come in here and find ya out, and on the floor--” Jack turned away, his voice choking up.

“I was awake,” Crutchie said, gripping Jack’s hand as hard as he could. Jack looked back at him, confused. Crutchie wasn’t entirely sure why he’d said it--had he been awake? He hadn’t been able to move or open his eyes. And yet, he was certain that he could remember almost everything that happened before he slipped away. Maybe he was just trying to make Jack feel a bit better. “Yeah,” he added self-consciously. “I sorta . . . heard everything? I jus’ couldn’t move, right? I’m better now, just . . . felt a bit like I was all wrapped up in a blanket an’ couldn’t escape,” he finished, blushing a bit. That was a stupid comparison.

Jack watched him carefully for a few moments, his thumb running along Crutchie’s knuckles. “Heard o’ that, didn’t know it was real. Sorry about that. That’s--real bad. Terrible, that feeling. I’ve heard, I mean. I haven’t--yeah.”

Crutchie nodded. He could guess where Jack might have seen or heard about that. He tried to swallow past the sick feeling in his throat, only succeeding in making it drier than ever.

“How d’ya feel about finishing that sandwich, huh?”

Crutchie blanched, shaking his head with jerky movements. Literally anything would be better. Jack frowned at him, but nodded.

“All right, I trust you,” Jack said. Crutchie looked him in the eyes, trying to forget about the apple he’d tossed out the window just this morning. “But Katherine ain’t around, so either I or you is gonna have ta fix you up.”

Maybe literally anything wouldn’t be better. Crutchie sighed. “I got it,” he replied, feeling weariness settle into his bones right alongside the pain. “I’ll let ya know when you can come back in.”

He was still mad at Jack, though not nearly as mad as he was at himself. What kind of idiot went and got himself all bloodied up trying to cross a room when he knows he’s hurt? Crutchie just took a shallow breath and allowed Jack to help him into a sitting position. Whatever kind of idiot that was, Crutchie was stuck with him for a while.

#newsies #livesies #newsies live #newsies fanfic #newsies fanfiction #crutchie morris #jack kelly #mas writes #< i'll try to tag every chapter with that #i love writing arguments #i'm terrible at having them but they're just so easy to write #all of my characters have rage just beneath their incredibly polite facade #every character i have ever written is ready to throw hands at the slightest provocation #but otherwise they are very kind and do good recklessly!! #just wait until you see chapter ten lol #anyway see you whenever! #love you guys

[king-finnigan]

5 - Home after the hospital (oh or still at the hospital.... O.O) with 18 - “I promise I’ll always be there for you. No matter what. You’re not alone anymore.” for angsty angst goodgood plox?

The first thing Geralt notices when he walked into the room, is stricking blue eyes, looking at him. The second thing he notices, is the man’s face, still a bit boyish, framed by brown hair, but handsome nonetheless. Thirdly, he notices that the nightstand is empty, save for a bottle of water, and so is the wall behind the patient’s bed. No flowers, no cards, no ‘get well soon’-balloons. Nothing to indicate that this room is occupied, except for the man lying in bed.

Geralt nods his goodmorning to the patient, and walks over to the foot of the bed, taking a quick look at the file. Jaskier Pankratz, the man is called, severe car accident, spent a month in the ICU, two weeks in an artificial coma. He’s got a long road ahead of him. 

Geralt looks up at the man in the bed, who smiles at him weakly. “So, when can I go home?” His voice is thin and slightly raspy, and Geralt has to strain his ears to understand him.

He smiles softly. “It’s going to be a while.” The patient pulls an eyebrow up at him. “A long while,” he clarifies. The man nods, then looks away, something sad and hollow creeping into his expression.

“Got nowhere else to be, anyways,” the patient mutters. Geralt notices he’s a bit slumped, has clearly slid down a bit on the soft sheets from where he was sitting upright before. 

He wanders to the side of the bed. “May I touch you, Mr. Pankratz?”

The patient nods, and Geralt helps him sit up straighter again, propping a pillow behind his back. “Call me Jaskier.”

Geralt smiles. “Alright, Jaskier. I’m Geralt.”

“Nice to meet you, Geralt,” Jaskier rasps, his impossibly blue eyes darting to the bottle of water on the nightstand, and Geralt pours him a glass before he has to say anything, holding it for Jaskier as he sips through the straw. “Thank you,” Jaskier says, giving him a weak grin that lights up the whole room all the same. 

“You’re welcome,” Geralt replies, setting the glass back on the nightstand. “If you need anything, press the red button. I’ll be here as quickly as possible.”

Jaskier smiles, then nods, his eyes drifting closed. “Alright, thank you.”

“I’ll be back for dinner.” He gets up, and walks to the door. He turns back one last time, sees that Jaskier is asleep - he’ll probably see him asleep a lot the next few weeks. After all, he’ll need his rest to heal. He turns around, closes the door behind him softly, and sets out to the next patient.

---

That evening, right after visiting hours, he goes back to Jaskier’s room, tray with a bowl of soup in his hand. He knocks, waits a few seconds, then opens the door. Jaskier is still sitting in the bed, but he’s awake again, and smiles at Geralt as he enters.

“Got your dinner,” Geralt says, though it’s kind of obvious. “What do you reckon? Think we can get you into a chair?”

Jaskier grins at him, his head lolling back against the pillow, neck muscles still a bit too weak. “We can try.”

Geralt nods, before setting the tray down on the table in the corner. He grabs the wheelchair next to the bed, making sure it’s close enough and the brakes are on. “Alright, ready?” he asks, and Jaskier nods. 

Geralt holds Jaskier upright with a hand on his back, as he helps him swing his legs over the side of the bed. He lets Jaskier sling an arm around his neck, frail hand clutching at Geralt’s shoulder as Jaskier slowly pushes himself onto his feet. Geralt helps him turn around, slowly lowering him in the chair, making sure Jaskier won’t fall forward the second he lets go.

“There, you did it. Well done,” he mutters, as he grabs a spare blanket from the windowsill, and drapes it over Jaskier’s legs. Jaskier smiles at him weakly, and lets himself be carted to the table.

Jaskier reaches out a thin arm, grabbing the spoon in the bowl of soup. Geralt sits next to him, watching him strain his deteriorated muscles for a few minutes, barely managing to eat three spoonfuls of soup. Eventually, Geralt sighs. “May I help?”

Jaskier sighs, lets go of the spoon, and leans back, slightly curling in on himself. “This is embarrassing,” he mutters, a pained glint in those blue eyes. “Can’t even fucking eat by myself.”

Geralt frowns, but takes the spoon, lifting it to Jaskier’s mouth, who lets himself be fed, nonetheless. “You were in a coma for weeks. Just because your body is weakened, doesn’t mean you’re not strong.” 

Jaskier smiles, but doesn’t really seem to be feeling all that better.

Geralt sighs softly, feeding Jaskier more soup, wipes some of it away at the corner of his mouth. “True strength isn’t about your body, it’s about not giving up.”

Jaskier grins at that. “That’s incredibly cheesy, my dearest nurse.”

He shrugs, pushing the now empty bowl to the side. “Well, it’s true.” He looks back at Jaskier. “How about we get you back into that bed?”

---

Over the next few weeks, Jaskier seems to improve physically - he can sit upright, walk for a short distance with crutches, and get in the chair on his own. Hell, he even asked Geralt if they could take a short walk through the hospital garden, which is what they’re doing right now.

Yet, even after all this improvement, Jaskier still seems sad, a bit hollow, every time Geralt sees him. He stops walking for a second, lets Jaskier catch his breath for a short while, before Jaskier starts moving again, clutching to Geralt’s arm as they make their way around the garden. The sun hits Jaskier’s face just right, and Geralt can’t help but smile when he sees the rosiness of his cheeks, the fullness of his face - he looks a lot healthier than he did a few weeks ago.

Jaskier catches him staring, and smiles at him. “What?”

Geralt shakes his head, looks at the path in front of him. “Nothing. You just look good- better, I mean. Than you did before.”

Jaskier chuckles, softly nudging Geralt’s shoulder. “Well, you don’t look too bad, yourself.”

It’s quiet for a while, and when Geralt looks up at Jaskier again, he’s staring at a family on the other side of the garden, his blue eyes a bit glassy. He had his supicions as to why Jaskier always seems so sad, the first time they met, and those suspicions seem to be confirmed, when all those weeks have passed and Jaskier’s room has stayed empty - still no flowers, no cards, no ‘get well soon’-balloons. No one but Jaskier there whenever Geralt checks up on him during visiting hours.

He knows better than to pry, knows some people just happen to be alone in this world - but a charming, young man like Jaskier? Surely, even if he doesn’t have family, he must have friends, right? 

Jaskier catches him staring again. “What are you thinking about?”

Geralt blinks, looks away. “Nothing.”

“Come on, I recognize that ‘deep in thought’-look, Geralt. Indulge me, what are you thinking about?”

He sighs softly. “Just... You never get visitors. Or any cards.”

Jaskier stops walking, has to catch his breath again.

“Want to sit down?” Geralt asks, motioning at the bench next to them, helping Jaskier sit when the younger man nods.

It’s quiet for a few minutes, and Geralt starts to think that he won’t get a response, when Jaskier speaks: “I don’t have a family.” He looks at Geralt, then looks away again. “Well, technically I do, but I ran away at eighteen. Haven’t heard from them since, thank God.”

“Well, what about friends?” Geralt asks softly.

Jaskier shrugs. “Thought I had them, but...” He bites his bottom lip, blue eyes glazing over, rain on a summer’s day. “But turns out getting into a car crash will make people lose interest in you really quickly.”

Geralt sits there as Jaskier softly sniffles, wiping at his cheeks furiously. He wants to reach out, wants to pull him close and hold him and tell him that those people can go to hell for all he cares - Jaskier deserves to be loved, deserves to be happy, deserves to have people that care about him.

But he can’t do that. After all, he’s still a nurse and Jaskier is still his patient, and it would be unprofessional and wrong. Hell, he’s already been toeing the line for the past few weeks, taking care of Jaskier even as he felt himself falling for him. He needs to keep himself in check. Just a little while longer, until Jaskier gets discharged and gets to go home and they never see each other again.

The thought shouldn’t hurt so much, but it does.

It hurts to think about Jaskier going back to an empty home, being all alone again, abandoned by the people he thought would be there for him, having to recover on his own.

“I’m sorry,” Jaskier mutters, still wiping away tears, body shaking with the effort to unsuccessfully hold in his soft sobs. “You’ve probably got better things to do than listen to me whine about how alone I am.”

“I don’t,” Geralt says, softly laying his hand on Jaskier’s shoulder. “There is nothing more important to me than being here with you. And you’re not alone, Jaskier. I promise I’ll always be there for you. No matter what. You’re not alone.”

Jaskier sniffles, looks up at him with reddened eyes. “Pinkie promise?” he whispers, the corners of his mouth tugging up slightly.

Geralt can’t help but roll his eyes, soft fondness spreading through his chest, as he lets Jaskier hook a pinkie around his. “Pinkie promise,” he whispers.

He startles slightly when Jaskier lunges forward, wrapping his still-a-bit-too-thin arms around Geralt, burying his face in his chest. Geralt sighs softly, but after a few seconds of hesitation, he hugs Jaskier back, pulling him a bit closer, ignoring the warm fluttering in his stomach. Yes, what he’s feeling is in no way appropriate or right, and soon, Jaskier will be gone and they’ll never see each other again, but for now, he lets himself have this.

---

Jaskier smiles at him, and Geralt can’t help but smile back, as he grasps Jaskier’s upper arms, one last time, helping him remain upright until he’s slid his forearms into the crutches. When Jaskier’s steady on his feet, Geralt lets go, ignoring the aching of his treacherous heart.

“So,” he mutters.

“So,” Jaskier says, smiling broadly. 

“I-” He swallows thickly, wills the tears that are threatening to gather in his eyes away. “I’m proud of you. You’ve come so far, and just... well done.”

“Couldn’t have done it without my amazing nurse,” Jaskier says, reaching out to slightly push at Geralt’s shoulder. His smile falters for a second. “I mean it, Geralt. I wouldn’t be here today if it wasn’t for you.”

Geralt smiles, pulling Jaskier into a quick, last hug, taking a step back afterwards, trying to create the distance he isn’t feeling. “So, this is goodbye, then, I suppose.”

Jaskier looks at him for a couple of seconds. “Doesn’t have to be,” he whispers.

He sighs, pushing away the hope that flares up in his chest. “It’s not right. It’s not professional.”

“Damn professionalism,” Jaskier spits out, impossible blue eyes suddenly furious. “I like you and I’m pretty sure you like me.” The fight leaves him as quickly and suddenly as it came, and his shoulders slump a bit. “Please. Give us a chance?”

Geralt hesitates, still. 

“Come on.” Jaskier grins at him. “I’m just a poor, crippled little boy, you can’t say no to me.”

Geralt can’t help but grin. “You’re not crippled. And you’re certainly not a little boy.” He sighs. “But alright, fine, I’ll... I’ll think about it.” He doesn’t need to, he knows, every fiber in his body screaming ‘yes’ a million times a second, but he’ll need some time to make sure there’s a distance between ‘Jaskier, the patient’ and ‘Jaskier, the man he loves’, and that he leaves the first Jaskier behind him. 

“Alright,” Jaskier, the man he loves, whispers, before stepping a bit closer, pressing a note into Geralt’s palm. “Call me when you’re ready, love.” 

Geralt smiles. “I will.” He closes his fingers around the note, resists the urge to hold it against his wildly beating heart.

Jaskier leans up and forward, pressing a sot kiss against Geralt’s cheek, before stepping back. “Hopefully until soon.” He smiles at Geralt one last time, before turning around, heading for the door, bag over his shoulder, crutches in hand, Geralt’s heart in his palms. 

Geralt watches the man he loves leave, but he knows this isn’t the end, knows he can’t deny his love for Jaskier enough for it to be. He reaches his hand up, note with Jaskier’s number still clutched in his palm, pressing it against his chest. 

“Until soon”, he whispers.

#Anonymous #squish answers #geraskier #geralt of rivia #jaskier #the witcher #drabble #modern AU #nurse!geralt #i had so so much fun writing this #i hope y'all enjoy!

[spaceskam]

warning: depression, other mental health wonkiness

Michael tapped his foot against the pavement until Kyle stepped on it to make him stop.

"You need to either calm down or go home," Kyle said sternly. Michael looked up at him, entirely drained and slightly terrified Kyle would actually make him go home. "When Alex comes out, he needs everyone to be calm. Don't fake being overly happy, but don't get him anxiety to feed off of. So just... be calm."

Michael took deep, controlled breaths in response.

For the first few weeks after the whole kidnapping and Crashcon incidents, Alex had been thriving. He was riding a high that Michael watched from the sidelines, but that most people got a view up close. He was more active, he was more friendly, he was (according to stories that made Michael was to vomit) hypersexual, he was so high energy that it was almost jarring. Michael had seen him kiss Forrest in public and hold hands with him and tell him stories with animated hand motions. He looked so goddamn happy.

But then he broke.

Kyle had said it was pretty common for people to just pretend like things were more than fine after a tragedy. And, considering it was Alex, he had a lot of tragedy that he was ignoring. Then it just all hit him at once. He couldn't get out of bed, he was crying all the moments that he was just entirely emotionless, and he was falling into old self-destructive habits that Michael chose not to think about.

With a little persuasion, they'd gotten Alex to agree to be admitted. He needed help that they couldn't provide. They had group calls every week, all eager to see how he was doing. He always sounded so tired, but he was getting there. He was making progress to be back to normal. Or, whatever normal could possibly be for him. Normal with regularly psych evaluations to adjust medications for the rest of his life.

"He's gonna be okay," Forrest said from the other side of Michael, giving him a reassuring smile, "We just need to be there for him."

To Michael, that seemed to be the biggest problem. Before all of this, the only person who was actively there for Alex was Forrest. His friends were shit. Michael was shit. They were all shit. They were all the reason Alex got so bad in the first place. None of them were there to notice when his three weeks of bliss got suspicious, to catch it before he plummeted, to talk through what happened. Forrest was too new to his life to know.

And yet Forrest was the one who cooked for him when he started to struggle getting out of bed. Forrest was the one who helped him clean his room whenever he let it go. Forrest was the one who came to them in the first place to say there was something going on. No wonder Alex wanted him. He was better to him than anyone else.

Surprisingly, though, Forrest didn't blame them for being bad friends. Alex didn't even blame them. But they blamed themselves that seemed to be enough weight on their shoulders. Guilt was already painful, but when it was guilt about Alex, it made Michael feel like he was in his own personal hell.

But he was trying. He was trying to be better, to do better, because that's how he could be good to Alex. He was going to be a good friend at the very least.

"There he is," Kyle said softly, taking a deep breath before throwing on an award winning smile. The agreement was only a couple of them them would go to meet Alex at the hospital as to not overwhelm him, but they would have a more adequate welcome home lunch the next day as long as Alex was feeling up to it.

So it was just Michael, Forrest, and Kyle there to witness as a nurse held the door open for him and Alex slowly walked out, using two crutches heavily. Michael wasn't sure if he was allowed to have his crutches or his prosthetic while he was in there. He wasn't about to ask about it now.

Forrest pushed off the bench and met Alex halfway, instantly pulling him into a welcoming hug. Michael watched as Alex melted into him, letting himself be hugged even though he couldn't really hug him back without risking hitting him with his crutches. But his face smushed against Forrest's shoulder and he looked safe there, so Michael refused to be jealous. Alex was number one priority.

Kyle and Michael stayed where they were as Forrest and Alex shared a couple words. Forrest kissed his forehead at the end of it and took ahold of the bag holding the clothes he'd gone there with. Then Alex started coming closer and Michael could hear his blood pumping in his ears.

He was wearing baggy clothes from head to toe, but he still seemed more thin than when he last saw him. His hair had grown out a little more, shaggy and toussled and not at all neatly combed like he had it before he got taken by his own brother. He had dark circles around his pretty eyes and he moved slow, but he managed a smile for them as he got close.

"Hey," Kyle said, pulling him into a hug. Alex again leaned into him and smushed his face into his shoulder, keeping his crutches in his hands. "How was it?"

"Mandated therapy and med regulation was good, but everything else sucked," Alex admitted. His voice was soft and underused and Michael held his breath to keep himself in check. He said he could do that. "Was like being back in basic. Always being told what to do, always being watched. It was the worst."

"So, sounds like you're happy to be out," Kyle said, laughing softly as he let go of him.

"Yeah," Alex breathed, eyes drifting over to Michael finally, "I'm happy to be out."

Michael didn't step closer, too scared to fuck up or push any buttons. He didn't know if he was allowed to hug him or get the same smushed face kind of affection like the other two got. Michael was different. He was the one who was most at fault. He was the only one who knew exactly what happened to Alex and he didn't do shit to make sure he was okay afterwards.

Maybe he really shouldn't be there.

But then Alex came towards him and wrapped his arms around his waist, leaning into him as his sole form of balance. Michael didn't even mind when the crutches slammed into his calves. Alex pressed his face into Michael's neck and breathed in deep. Michael hugged him as tight as his body would allow, bowing his head towards his shoulder.

"I missed you," Alex whispered against his skin, so soft Michael barely heard it. But he felt the words, specifically for him and reverberating through his skull. Michael squeezed him.

"I missed you too."

Tears sprung to his eyes, but he held them back. He refused to have any bad vibes for Alex to feed off of. And Alex clung to him for what felt like longer than he hugged the other two combined, just holding him and breathing him in. It didn't make sense. He didn't deserve it.

Michael walked away. He left him when he needed him most. He didn't deserve this.

"Don't cry," Alex said, just as soft as before, his fingers gently gliding up and down his spine.

"I'm trying," he admitted, blinking rapidly to try and make it stop. Alex squirmed just a little in response to his eyelashes against his skin and it made him smile. Michael gave him one last squeeze before he let him go. He had to let him go. If he held on longer, he wouldn't be able to keep from crying.

Alex regained his balance and then looked behind him at Kyle and Forrest, both of whom seemed unphased by the length of the hug.

"Please tell me you guys are going to feed me something unhealthy and greasy because I need it," Alex said, voice still soft and so sweet that it stirred laughter in them all.

"Yeah, I'll stop anywhere you want, let's go," Kyle agreed.

They made their way to the car and Forrest helped Alex into the passenger seat before he and Michael slipped into the backseat of Kyle's car. Forrest sat behind Alex and draped his arm over the side, letting Alex grab onto his hand.

The whole ride, Alex made small talk and joined in on the jokes. He seemed happy to be out and back to normal already, facade in full force. Michael wondered if he did it on purpose or if he subconsciously was too scared too look weak.

Then Michael wondered if he was the only one who noticed.

Alex ate the fast food Kyle got for him happily and they all headed towards his house. When they got there, they helped Alex inside and offered to stay with him, but he declined.

"I'll be okay," Alex said with a smile, "I'm just gonna go to bed."

Kyle and Forrest left in their respective cars and Michael got in his truck to do the same, but he couldn't even turn the engine. He got back out and knocked on the door. Alex answered it a few seconds later.

"Did you forget something?" he asked. Michael stared at him and then was once again reminded that he was supposed to be sending good vibes. He had none of those to give.

"You don't have to pretend to be fine," Michael told him, "You can be honest."

Alex stared at him for a few seconds as if reading him entirely. He probably was. Michael wouldn't be surprised.

"You can be honest too," Alex said. Michael swallowed and looked away before looking back at him, clenching and unclenching his fists.

"Why did you hug me? It was all my fault you were in there," Michael said. Alex shook his head.

"No, it wasn't. Maybe you didn't help, but you have your own problem. I'm not yours to fix and you're not mine. I learned that," Alex said, smiling and then letting it fade, "But I hugged you because I miss you and I love you and my therapist agreed that I should give you a hug. I know you can't say it back and I know... I know it's easier for you to say it to other people for some reason, but I can say it to you and that's my progress."

Michael stared at him, feeling more lost than he was before. How did he explain his reasoning? How did he fix it? How did he fix himself?

"Don't cry," Alex said again, still soft and sweet and not a trace of pity. But hot tears of frustration and anger and months of feeling worthless poured down his cheeks before he could stop them.

"God, I'm so shitty. I'm horrible. I don't deserve your love."

"I know you don't mean it, but that's a manipulation tactic."

Michael laughed through his tears, sniffling before a whine involuntarily emitted from his throat and he felt like crumpling. He needed to go home. He needed to get away from Alex. He was only going to make things worse.

But Alex's crutch hit his shin to get his attention.

"You can sit out here 'til you feel better than you can come lay with me. The way you smell helps me sleep, so it's for selfish reasons, don't get it confused," Alex said. Michael huffed another laugh.

"Okay," he agreed.

"I have to help myself and you have to help yourself. We're always gonna be toxic for each other if we don't. I got help and I'm working on it. Now it's your turn," Alex said. Michael nodded. "Okay, I'll see you in a little bit."

The door closed and Michael went and sat on one of the chairs Alex had outside. He brought his legs to his chest and bowed his head into his knees, clasping his fingers around the back of his neck.

And he let himself cry.

#malex #malex fic #michael guerin #alex manes #roswell new mexico #my fic #im sad so that means so are they

[slytherinbarnes]

Sub Rosa [32]

iii. ye who enter here

Pairing: Bellamy Blake x reader

Word Count: 5.6k 

Warnings: language, mentions of injuries, death, mentions of anxiety, angst, blood, stabbing, violence, explosions, mentions of getting drugged.

Summary: after months of trying to avoid it, you return to Mount Weather, and you’re reminded of why you hate it so much.

a/n: the taglist for this series is open! I hope you enjoy, please let me know what you think!!!

previous chapter // season masterlist // series masterlist

You wake up in the hospital ward a few hours after returning to Arkadia. 

You’re unsurprised to find both Bellamy and your mother asleep on either side of you, your hands intertwined with each of theirs. You smile down at their sleeping forms, before squeezing Bellamy’s hand slightly, waking him. 

He takes in a deep breath as he wakes, turning and blinking up at you sleepily. When he realizes that you’re awake, he wakes up much faster, smiling at you and whispering, “Hey.”

“Hi.”

“How are you feeling?”

You flip your hand over, revealing your IV. “I feel nothing, which means mom slipped me something.”

“She was worried about you.”

You roll your eyes slightly. “It’s just a little knife wound. We’ve had worse.”

Another voice answers before he can, her tone scolding. “A deep knife wound that you sloppily patched up before running on it.”

You turn and face your mother, giving her a smile and hoping that it eases her disappointment. “I promise I’m fine. Besides, aren’t you the one who’s been mad at me for letting Clarke go in the first place?”

Bellamy senses a fight coming and he stands and quickly presses a kiss to your forehead, mumbling something about “incoming explosions” as he scurries out the door. Your mother’s voice drops to a whisper when she answers, “I haven’t been mad at you in weeks, you know that.”

“I know, I’m sorry. But I've been mad at myself. And I was so close, mom, I nearly brought her back.”

She reaches up and pushes your hair off your face. “She knows where Arkadia is, she’ll come back when she’s ready.”

You shake your head, “Didn’t they tell you?”

“Tell me what?”

“About the bounty?”

She freezes and all the color drains from her face. “What bounty?”

“There’s a bounty on Clarke’s head, and she was being held captive when I found her.” You can tell from the expression on her face that this is all news to her. “Shit, was I not supposed to tell you?”

She tries to give you a reassuring smile, but it barely masks her anger. “I’m glad you did, honey.”

She reaches up to fiddle with your IV. “Get some rest. I’ll send Bellamy in to keep an eye on you.”

The sleepiness overtakes you as the sedative flows through the IV and into your bloodstream, knocking you out and taking you back into the land of dreams before Bellamy has even entered the room. 

-

Four days after getting stabbed 

You shift on your stool and let your eyes rake over the guns once more, double checking your count, before scribbling down the number and moving to the next group. 

Okay, shock batons. One, two, three-

“Hey!”

You almost fall off the stool in surprise, and you turn to Bellamy with a glare. “You nearly gave me a heart attack!”

“I’m sorry.” He steps inside, and grabs the notebook from your hand, setting it to the side. He presses an apologetic kiss to your forehead before he pulls you to your feet. “Kane says he has news and he needs to see us.”

“Good news?”

“Seems like it.”

“What are we waiting for then?”

You head to the Chancellor’s office as fast as you can, still limping a little from the pain in your leg, despite your best efforts not to. Bellamy knocks on the door as you reach it, and Kane waves you inside, cutting off the conversation he was having with your mother. She glares as she watches you limp inside. “Where are your crutches?”

You roll your eyes, “I’m not using those.”

“Clearly.”

Kane cuts a look between the two of you, and you both cut the argument off before it can continue any further. “We just got word from Lexa.”

“Lexa as in, betrayed us at Mount Weather Lexa?”

Kane gives you a disapproving look. “Commander Lexa, yes. She has Clarke.”

“How? Is she okay? When can we get her?”

“Lexa put the bounty on Clarke’s head when she found out the Ice Nation’s Queen wanted Wanheda’s power. The bounty ensured that Clarke was brought to Polis, their capitol, unharmed.”

You open your mouth to ask another question, but he holds up a hand to stop you. “She’s fine. We’ve been asked to meet with the Commander, and that’s when we’ll get Clarke.”

“Great, when do we leave?”

“We’ll leave in three days. You’re not going.” 

“What?”

“Your leg is still healing, and your mother and I agree that-”

“My leg is fine! This is just about what I-”

“...further proven by the fact that you refuse to use the crutches-”

“...just upset that I didn’t obey your stupid-”

“Enough!” You and Kane quiet immediately, tuning to look at your mother in surprise. She locks eyes with you. “You and Bellamy will be delivering supplies to the Farm Station survivors at Mount Weather in three days. Kane and I will go to Polis, meet with Lexa, and bring Clarke home. End of discussion.”

“Did you just say people are staying in Mount Weather?”

She turns to look at Bellamy, who’s been quiet up until this moment. “Yes. The only space we could offer the Farm Station survivors was tent space, and when they heard about Mount Weather being empty, they asked to stay there. We sent a small group ahead first, and if all is well with the Grounders, we’ll send the rest.”

“Won’t that look bad to the Grounders? The Mountain Slayers moving into the enemy’s house?” You turn and look at Kane, “What was it you said to me months ago? We’d look like a new set of conquerors?”

“Yes, well, the decision has been made. Gather a team, you leave in three days.”

Bellamy mutters, “Yes sir.”

“Yes sir.”

“Good. Dismissed.”

-

One week after getting stabbed

You’re silent the whole way back to Mount Weather, lost in your head. 

As soon as Raven parks the rover outside the ground entrance to the mountain, you freeze in place, ignoring everything around you as Gina, Raven, and Octavia all jump out and start to unload the rover. Bellamy reaches out and grabs your hand. “They’ll be fine at the delegation.”

“We should be there, Bellamy.”

“Maybe if someone used their crutches…”

You ignore his playful tone and glare at him. “My leg’s fine and you know it. Kane is just pissed that I disobeyed him and he’s trying to teach me a lesson.”

“Probably. But that doesn’t change the fact that they’re in Polis and we’re here.”

He stands and tugs on your hand, getting you to follow suit, before helping you out of the rover and onto the ground. You both stand staring at the entrance, remembering the last time you were here, and you whisper, “I hate this fucking mountain.”

“Kane says we don’t have to stay long. He gave Gina a list of things to take care of, and then we can leave.”

You nod. “Let’s make it quick then.”

You both turn and grab the last few bags from the rover, you and Bellamy each taking a handle on the heaviest one, sharing the weight as you walk side by side behind the others. You can hear Raven telling Gina a story from the Ark, and Octavia drops back to walk on your other side. She notices your silence and asks, “You okay?”

You give her a reassuring smile. “Yeah, I’ll be back to my usual charming self as soon as we’re out of here.”

She laughs but it dies in her throat as you come around the final corner, the hallway opening up into the mess hall, loud with music and laughter. You all stand at the entrance, frozen and in shock at the comfort of Farm Station as they sit at the tables eating and smiling. You fight back the image of the hundreds of irradiated bodies that littered the floor the last time you were here. 

Pike sees you all at the entrance and yells, “Welcome! Join us.”

You mutter, “Someone's made themselves at home.”

Octavia sounds horrified when she counters, “There must be 30 of them in here.”

Pike reaches you and hears this, clarifying, “36, but the more, the merrier.”

You and Bellamy lower the bag to the ground so he can reach out to shake Pike’s hand, and he nods at you in greeting. Octavia looks around the room before glaring at Pike. “36? Wow. The Grounders are gonna think we moved in.”

“Well, there was no room at the inn.”

“And this is your option?”

Bellamy glances at his sister, his voice a warning. “O.”

“I'm out of here.”

She turns and storms off, and you and Bellamy exchange a look as Pike muses, “Spirited.”

You glance around the room again and a chill passes over you, before you turn back to Bellamy. “I’ll check on her.”

“Thank you.”

He presses a quick kiss to your cheek before following Pike into the room, and you turn and head back down the hall and up to the ground. Each passing second you spend in the mountain leaves you feeling more and more anxious, and by the time you reach the top level, you’re practically running to the door, fighting off the images of what you’ve done. As soon as you push open the door to the ground level and step into the sunshine, your anxiety starts to fade, leaving you calmer than before. You hear a whistle and you look over your shoulder to see Octavia on top of the entrance, looking down at you. 

You move to the side and find the ladder, ignoring the slight pain in your leg as you climb to the top and plop down beside her. “So that’s Pike.”

It’s not a question, but you answer like it is. “Yup.”

“Seems great.”

You snort at the sarcasm in her voice. “Very pleasant. You should have heard his anti Grounder stuff when we first met him. He yelled at Indra when she spoke Trigedasleng and kept making snide remarks about how all Grounders are the same.”

“Great.”

You hum in response and she turns to watch you. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Yes. No.” You shake your head, “I don’t know. It’s this mountain, O. I’ve done nothing but avoid thinking about it for the last 3 months, and being back here just...doesn’t feel right.”

“You, Bell, and Clarke did what you had to to save our people.”

“Everyone keeps saying that, but it doesn’t make it any easier. I wish it did.”

She reaches over and puts her hand on top of yours. “You’ll get through this. You and Belllamy both.”

You turn and smile at her, both of you sinking into comfortable silence as you enjoy the quietness of the ground. Bellamy comes out a few minutes later, unsurprised to find you both sitting on top of the entrance, and you scoot over as he reaches the top, allowing him to sit between you and Octavia. His gaze is focused on her. “You okay?”

“The Grounders will never accept this.”

“We're not the Mountain Men, O. Nyko and Lincoln will make them see that.”

Octavia glares at him. “How? Lincoln has a kill order on him. He can't even leave camp without risking his life.”

“The summit will take care of that.”

Octavia turns away from him and looks out at the trees. “Then we can finally get out of here.”

You both turn to look at her, surprised, and she meets your gazes. “I'm sorry. I don't fit in here.”

Bellamy takes a deep breath, and reaches for her hand. “If you need to leave, I get that, but you'll always fit in with me.”

“And me.”

She starts to reply, but stops when you hear arguing beyond the trees, and you all turn just in time to watch two guards dragging a Grounder towards the front door. “What the hell?”

You all leap up and descend the ladder, jogging over to the trio. As soon as you see the Grounder’s face, you recognize her. “Echo?”

You and Bellamy exchange a look, and Octavia asks, “You know her?”

“Yeah, she's Ice Nation. She was in the cage next to mine.”

When Echo sees you walking towards her, she yells your names, relieved. Bellamy yells, “Let her go.”

One of the guards glares at you. “She threatened the summit.”

“I was trying to help!”

“Shut up.” He kicks her legs out from under her, knocking her to the ground. 

Bellamy yells, “I said, get your hands off her.”

Octavia moves behind the guards and glances at Echo’s restraints before looking up and meeting your eyes. “Knife?”

You pull your knife from the holder on your thigh and flip it in your hand until the handle is out, facing Octavia, and then you hold it out to her. She takes it and cuts Echo loose as the guards protest. “What are you doing? She's a Grounder.”

You help Echo to her feet and Bellamy asks, “What are you talking about?”

“The summit's a trap. The assassin is already there. By sundown, your people will die.”

Your stomach drops, and you turn to Bellamy with a horrified look, “Clarke. My mother. Kane.”

Bellamy looks at Echo. “We need you to tell us everything.”

She nods and you all lead her inside the mountain, straight into the mess hall and over to Pike. He looks up at all of you in shock, a Grounder between you, before clearing out the room of children and leaving only his guards. “What is this?”

“Echo is Ice Nation, and she has something to tell us.”

You see Pike’s eyes widen and he nods at two guards over your shoulder, who push you, Bellamy, and Octavia out of the way to grab Echo. They yank her towards a chair and push her into it before restraining her. “What are you doing? She’s with us!”

Pike glances between you and Bellamy. “We’ll see.”

He walks over to Echo and glares down at her. “Bellamy says you have something to tell us?”

“The summit’s a trap.”

“How do you know?”

“I was with the Queen's army heading toward Polis. The war chief talks too loud.”

Pike looks at her in disbelief. “You're one of them, so why are you telling us this?”

Echo looks over at you and Bellamy, sadness in her eyes. “We abandoned Skaikru in the Battle for the Mountain. It was wrong.”

Bellamy turns to Pike, voice earnest. “Pike, we saved her life, this is her saving ours. We can trust her.”

Pike considers this, as Sinclair, Raven, and Gina run into the room and join the group. Bellamy addresses all of them. “Listen up. If we want to get to Polis before the attack, we have to move.”

Sinclair shakes his head, confused. “Attack? Do we have confirmation of that?” 

Octavia walks over to you, radio in hand. “I’ve been trying to radio, but no answer.”

Pike sighs, “They may already be dead, for all we know. If they are, we need to be ready to respond.”

Sinclair turns to him. “Don't make this about the missiles.”

You and Bellamy exchange a worried glance, both of you thinking about Tondc, and you turn to Pike in shock. “Missiles?”

“This is about survival. We don't have the numbers, but the missiles in this mountain even the playing field, and you know I'm right.”

Sinclair steps closer to him, “Even if I did agree with you, we still don't have the launch codes.”

Raven smirks, walking over to the two men. “No, but we have me.”

Pike nods his approval at Raven, before turning and grabbing Echo, pulling her out of the chair and out of the room. Octavia follows to keep an eye on them, leaving you and Bellamy mostly alone. You smile at him and turn to grab a gun from the crate behind you, but he reaches out to stop you. “You’re not going.”

You spin towards him, incredulous. “Like hell I’m not! My twin and my mother are at that summit!”

“Which is why you shouldn’t be there. Plus, your leg-”

“Damn it, Bellamy, my leg is fine!”

“Your mother asked me to look out for you, and-”

You reach for the guns again, ignoring him. “I don’t care, I’m going.”

“No, you’re not.”

You spin towards him, growing angrier. “Yes, I am!”

“Kane said-”

“I don’t care what Kane said, Bellamy! I’m going to that summit, and you can’t stop me.”

You start to brush past him, but he grabs you and spins you towards him, pulling you in for a kiss. You start to resist him at first, but kiss him back when you realize that this is his apology, and he’s changed his mind. As you lose yourself in the feel of him, you almost miss the prick in your neck. 

You open your eyes in surprise and pull away from him, shocked to find his hand held in the air, a syringe tight in his grip. Your eyes lift to his, your face full of betrayal. “What did you-”

You cut yourself off when you feel yourself sway on your feet, and Bellamy reaches out and catches you right as you start to fall. He pulls you up into his arms, looking down at you with regret, and the last thing you hear before passing out, is a soft, “I’m sorry.”

-

You wake up slowly, feeling heavy and groggy as you come out of sleep.

And then you remember why you were asleep.

Anger pulses through you, intertwined with betrayal, and it wakes you quickly. You jump up, realizing you're in a bed in the 6th floor dorms, and you run out of the room and into the hall, making a beeline for the elevator. Once you reach the first floor, you run down the hall, ignoring the limp and the pain in your leg, pushing yourself as fast as you can as you head straight for the door.

When you burst out of it and into the open air, you feel your stomach sink to your feet at the now empty spot where the rover was parked. You let out an angry yell before turning and running back into the building and straight for the mess hall. Once there, you push past the people milling about, chatting aimlessly about nothing, and grab a radio off one of the nearby tables, tuning in to the agreed upon channel. “Bellamy, come in.”

You let your finger off the button and stand glaring at the radio, waiting for a response. When you get nothing, you repeat, “Bellamy, do you read me?”

After another silent minute, you grind out, “Bellamy Blake, you better answer the goddamn radio.”

But again, you’re met with nothing. You let out a frustrated huff and clip the radio to your belt, before deciding to find Raven. After asking around, you find out that she, Gina, and Sinclair are down in the control room, so you head there. As soon as you burst through the door, you meet Raven’s gaze with a glare, and she lets out a snort of laughter. “Yeah, that’s the exact face I told Bellamy you’d make when you found out.”

“Did you know he was going to do it?”

“No.”

You let out another frustrated huff and plop down into a chair. After a moment of silence, you ask, “What are we doing then?”

“Trying to figure out the launch codes for this stupid missile.” You see her furiously punch the keys on the keyboard before yelling, “Damn it!”

“What happened to that Raven Reyes confidence?”

Raven turns to glare at Sinclar. “It's a 12-digit code, and there are a trillion combinations. It's gonna take me a minute.”

Sinclair turns to Gina. “Gina, what do you got?”

She helplessly lifts her hands, “Don't look at me. I'm just a grunt.”

You smirk at her and she smiles back at you as Sinclair sighs, “Oh come on, guys, it's gonna be dark soon. We're working analog, we're working digital. What are we missing?”

You think about Dante, remembering his age, before asking, “How is the president gonna remember a number that long?”

“Not well.”

Gina looks over at you, catching on, and asks, “Want to bet he wrote it down somewhere?”

“Oh, come on. That's like setting the launch code to all zeros.”

“And yet it's better than anything we've come up with.”

Gina smiles, “I'll check the president's office.”

You stand, “I’ll go with her.”

Sinclair tosses Gina a radio. “We'll keep working the tech angle. Hopefully, one of us will get lucky.”

You follow Gina out of the Control Room and to the other side of the level where the President’s office is located. Once inside, Gina heads for the desk, and you start scanning the books on the bookshelf, taking them down and shaking them out, looking for any sign of hidden papers. You work in silence for a few minutes until Gina glances over at you. “Don’t be mad at Bellamy.”

You glance over at her, confused, and she adds, “For the sedative thing.”

“He took my choice away, Gina. Didn’t even give me the chance to go.”

“It wasn’t his idea. It was the Chancellor’s.”

You turn to her fully, brows lifted in surprise. “My mother?”

“I overheard her talking to Bellamy when she gave it to him, and she said she couldn’t risk losing you again. She told him to inject you if it seemed like you were going to put yourself at risk again.” She stops rummaging through the desk, lifting her eyes to look at you. “He fought her on it, for a while actually. I had to finish loading the rover, so I didn’t hear the rest. I wasn’t even sure he took it until Raven told me what he did.”

You nod, taking this all in, trying to process it. Then you suddenly remember something from the last time you were in Mount Weather. “Dante’s quarters are around the corner, I should go check it out.”

She nods, and you add, “Channel 4 on the radio if you need me.”

“Okay.”

You turn and head towards the door, but right before you step out, you turn back to her. “Hey, Gina?”

She looks up again, already back to searching. “Yeah?”

“Thanks.”

She smiles. “What you have is too good to throw away on a misunderstanding. Sometimes people do crazy things for love.”

You think about nearly hanging to death, and following Bellamy into Mount Weather, too worried to let him go alone, and you smile back. “Yeah, I guess they do.”

And then you turn and head out of the office, jogging around the corner and up to the only other door on this hall. The door is cracked, so you push it open, half expecting Dante or Cage to jump out and yell at you. But it’s empty, full of nothing except ghosts and a few modest belongings. You rummage through all the drawers on the bedside table before checking the small desk area. After finding nothing, you move to the bookshelf and check the books again, shaking them quickly and tossing them to the side when you find nothing. 

You smile when your eyes land on the next title, a yellow book with a blue spine.

The Iliad.

Bellamy rolls off you, both of you panting as you come down from your high. When he hears your breathing slow, he turns towards you, a smile on his face. “Have I ever told you about the Iliad?”

Your nose scrunches when you ask, “Were you thinking about a book while we were having sex?”

“No.” He sees your disbelief and laughs. “Okay, maybe a little. But only because I was thinking of our first time, and when you asked me to tell you about the gods. Which made me think of the Iliad, and how my mom used to read it to me and O when we were kids.”

He smiles as he tells you the memory, his grin boyish and bright. You can’t help but smile in return. “I wish you could read it to me.”

His smile drops a little. “Me too. I bet the only copy left was on the Ark. Who knows where it ended up when they came down.”

The memory makes your heart ache for Bellamy, your anger already starting to dissipate. You turn the book upside down, but you don’t see the piece of paper that falls out and flutters to the floor, too distracted by Gina’s voice calling your name on the radio. You lift the radio to your lips. “Did you find something?”

You’re answered by silence and you tuck the book into the waistband of your pants and ask, “Gina, are you there?”

You hear your name come through again, this time carried on the sound of a gurgle. You feel the hairs on the back of your neck lift, as suspicion takes over you. “I’m coming to you.”

You turn and run out the door, jogging back down the hall towards the office. Just as you round the corner and step into the room, you run right into a knife blade, which sinks into your side. You look up in surprise at the Grounder staring back at you, pure hatred on his face, and he pulls his knife out of your side. You see his hand move towards you to stab you again, and you feel your adrenaline take over as you quickly reach down and grab your knife, before lifting your arms to protect your middle. 

His knife slashes and cuts your arm, and you feel warm blood run down and drip to the floor, but you ignore it and focus on all the training you received from Octavia and Lincoln. When he tries to slash you again, you duck down, and send your arm forward, plunging your knife into his exposed side. You pull away quickly and jump back as he lunges towards you, taking another cut from him, this time to your shoulder. You bite back your cry of pain before swinging a punch towards him, and he blocks it before kicking you in the stomach and knocking you onto your back.

As he stands over you and brings the knife down towards your chest, you roll away and lean forward, stabbing him in the thigh. He lets out a grunt of pain before punching you and knocking you backwards again. He glances over at the desk and then back to you, before he takes off running down the hall. You’re about to follow him when you hear a small sound of pain, and you look over to the desk to find Gina slumped onto it. “Gina!”

You run over to her, horrified to find her surrounded by a pool of blood, her shirt soaked with it. You can see the minuscule rise and fall of her chest and you know she’s alive, but barely. You grab your radio and call out to Raven. “Raven, Sinclair, SOS!”

“What’s going on?”

“A Grounder just attacked me and Gina, and he ran off. The exit is near you, don’t let him leave!”

“Are you okay? Is Gina?”

You don’t answer as you lift her shirt to find at least three stab wounds, and you start to reach forward to help her, but she weakly pushes your hand away and whispers, “Code.”

“What?”

“He set off the self-destruct.” Her eyes flit toward it, and you see it counting down, with 45 seconds left. “Code on his arm.”

You hesitate, stuck between wanting to help her and wanting to chase after him. “Go, get the code. You can help me after.”

You reach out and squeeze her arm. “I’ll come back for you.”

You take off running down the hall, following the trail of blood from the Grounder, and you call Raven as you do. “Raven, he set off the self-destruct. The code is on his arm.”

“How much time do we have?”

You reach the elevator and your anxiety grows as it slowly brings you to the surface. “Less than 45 seconds!”

The doors slide open and you look down, spotting the trail again. You follow it down the hall and towards the exit. Up ahead you can see the door open, the sound of fighting coming from outside. You push yourself faster, lifting the radio to ask, “Gina, how much time?”

You’re met with silence, but you don’t have time to process what that means, because you run outside to find Raven knocked to the side, bleeding from her head, and Sinclair on the ground beneath the Grounder, knife to his throat. You run towards them, gripping your knife tight in your fist as you sneak up behind them and plunge the knife into the Grounder’s neck, killing him. He drops onto Sinclair, and you help roll his body to the side as Raven comes over and grabs his left arm while you grab his right.

You yank up his sleeve to find it blank, but Raven lets out a gasp as she lifts his sleeve to reveal the twelve digit code. You lift your radio and call Gina. “Gina, we got the code.”

You’re met with silence, and you start to panic. You glance at Raven as you call again, worry written all over her face. “Gina, do you copy? Gina! We got the code, do you copy?”

Raven jumps to her feet and starts to walk back towards the building, “We’ve got to go back in there.”

You and Sinclair jump up and run after her. “Raven, no!”

“We can't just let them die!”

You think of the countdown, already at 45 seconds before you even realized, and how long it took you to reach the surface. You feel your stomach sink because you know that you’re out of time. “Raven, no one can reach the office in time!”

You and Sinclair grab her arms and tug her backwards as she fights against you, knocking the book out of your waistband in the process, leaving you feet from the door when the explosion hits. The force of it sends all three of you flying through the air, tossed to the side like you weigh nothing. You hit the ground with a thud, the wind temporarily knocked out of you, and you gasp for breath. It takes a second for the ringing in your ears to stop, and you roll to your side, looking for Raven and Sinclair.

They are both slumped on the ground nearby, and you struggle onto your hands and knees as you crawl over to them, calling their names. Raven sits up first, coughing the ash and dust from her lungs as you reach her and force her to look at you. “Raven, are you okay?”

She nods weakly, tears already starting to fall as you look over her, checking for injuries, but finding none other than her earlier head wound. You turn and check Sinclair, who’s unconscious now, but alive. You pull off your guard jacket and tuck it under his head, checking him over for any other injuries and relieved to find nothing. 

Raven’s sobs pull you back to the reality of what’s happening, and you feel fear constrict your throat as you think of the summit. Was it a two front attack? Three? You scramble over to your fallen radio and push the button, calling frantically, “Bellamy? Bellamy, come in! Are you okay?”

His voice crackles through the radio, calling your name, and you let out a sob of relief before lifting the radio again. “The Grounders attacked Mount Weather. White war paint, Azgeda.”

You hear concern in his voice, and your mother calling out for you somewhere near him. “What are you talking about?”

You stand and walk towards the smoking wreckage, dropping to your knees in front of it, nothing left but a pile of rubble, and you think of the 30 something people that were inside before the explosion hit. You think of Gina, and the tears overtake you, heavy sobs wracking your body as you think of the death left behind because of this mountain. This goddamn mountain. You fight through your sobs, “It's gone. They're all gone. Sinclair, Raven, and I are the only ones left.”

“Are you okay?”

“Just hurry, Bellamy. Please. Sinclair’s knocked out, Raven probably has a concussion, and I got stabbed when we were fighting him off.”

You feel yourself start to grow weaker as Bellamy continues to ask you questions. You drop the radio at your side, and turn back to see Raven slumped over onto Sinclair, sobbing. You hear Bellamy calling your name, sounding more and more worried with each passing second, but with the adrenaline wearing off, you don’t have the energy to reassure him. 

You lay back onto the ground, rolling over to see the smoking remains of Mount Weather, coming face to face with a small yellow book with a blue spine. 

The Iliad.

The bottom right corner is singed and the book is covered in a thick layer of dust and rocks. You reach out for it with blood smeared hands, from which wound, you aren’t sure, and you pull it towards you, tucking it to your chest. Your eyes slide closed as the rest of your energy leaves you, and the last thing you think of before the world fades out, is Bellamy.

-

next chapter

#bellamy blake #bellamy blake x reader #bellamy blake fanfiction #the 100 #the 100 rewrite #the 100 fanfiction

[songsformonkeys]

Digging Up Bones (whiskey x reader) - chapter 6

[Banner by the lovely @yespolkadotkitty ]

pairing: whiskey x reader

warnings: none

notes: Special thanks to @yespolkadotkitty for the beta <3

masterlist

Chapter 6 - AO3

You woke up the next morning with the scent of agent Whiskey tickling your nose and it made you smile even before you opened your eyes. You were still wearing his t-shirt, which was also the source of the scent, and you grabbed more of the fabric and pulled it up to your nose.

The memory of last night's goodbye played vividly in your mind and you could feel your pulse quickening just at the thought of that kiss. Whiskey liked you, properly liked you. You thought maybe you liked him too, knew that you liked the idea of him liking you, at least. Maybe you could ask Tonic about it - or would that be considered wildly unprofessional? You might have to ask him about that first.

Whiskey had said he wanted to kiss you again. But when? Was it your turn to make him dinner now? You were a lousy cook but maybe you could find something simple to make? You frowned.

The pleasant feeling you had woken up with was slowly but surely simmering away as the what now s came creeping in. The nervous feeling that replaced it stayed with you for the better part of the day and you felt a bit off-kilter, in a way you weren't used to.

When someone knocked at your door later that afternoon you jumped from your seat and stared wide-eyed at the door for a couple of seconds before calling out for whoever was on the other side of the door to come inside.

The door opened and your shoulders slumped in both disappointment and relief when it wasn't Whiskey that entered, but Agent Sherry's considerably larger frame.

“Hiya, Doc,” he said in his dark and rumbly voice. When he spoke you always half-expected the deep bass of his voice to make the water in the glass on your desk to ripple. Glancing at the glass in question you noted that it hadn't quite, this time either.

Agent Sherry was a tall and sizeable gentleman whose calm was infectious. Ginger had told you that he'd been a horse wrangler before joining the Statesmen and if there was anyone you believed capable of calming down those giant animals, it was Agent Sherry.

“Are office hours still open?” he asked and you nodded, motioning for him to step inside and take a seat.

“Are you hurt?” you asked, as your eyes began scanning him for any apparent injuries. He seemed to be walking just fine, didn't look particularly sick either.

“Just a minor incident with a car door,” he explained and held up his hand. You immediately noticed the swelling and when you stepped closer to gently take his hand you also saw that three of his fingers had ugly-looking bruises on them. You turned his hand over and saw the bruises bloomed on the underside of his fingers as well.

“Can you bend them?” you asked and flexed your own fingers in demonstration. Sherry nodded.

“I can, but it hurts... like a word I'd rather not say in front of a lady.” Slowly he bent his fingers and you saw the slight twitch of pain on his face.

“Let's give them an x-ray, just to be on the safe side,” you told him and motioned for him to follow you, “From experience, I know that it's easier to get you agents to take it a bit easier if there's an actual fracture I can point out to you.”

Sherry chuckled and this time you swore you could feel the sound vibrate in your chest.

You made quick work of x-raying agent Sherry's hand and studied the images closely for any damage. Fortunately, none of the bones were fractured but you still requested that agent Sherry take it a little bit easy until the bruising had faded.

He smiled, thanked you, and assured you that he would follow the doctor's orders. Then he tipped his hat in your direction before stepping out of the office. You had barely put the x-ray images away before he knocked on the door again.

“Did you forget something?” you asked, looking around the room, as you walked over to open the door.

Instead of Agent Sherry, you suddenly found yourself face to face with Whiskey, and your heart did some sort of skip-beat that could hardly be healthy for it.

“Whiskey...” you breathed.

“Moonshine,” he countered, flashing his teeth in a smile, “May I come in?”

You nodded and took a step to the side so he could hop past you further into the office. However, Whiskey stopped just inside the office and leaned his crutches against the wall as you closed the door around you. Then he stepped close, almost caging you in against the flat metal surface.

“Hello, gorgeous,” he said, low enough that it was almost a whisper, and reached up to touch your face. You thought that, if the look Whiskey was currently giving you was anything to go by, then you probably didn't need to cook him a meal to get to kiss him again. In fact, he was watching you like you were the meal.

“Hello,” you said, smiling back and tentatively reached up to touch the button of his breast pocket, mostly to have something to do with your hands. You wanted to touch him but you were unsure how or where would be appropriate after a first kiss.

Whiskey seemed to read the intent behind your awkward touch just fine, though, and he leaned in so that your noses bumped together gently. He waited for you to bridge the final inch, which you did, tilting your head so that your mouths could slot together.

It was just as soft as it had been yesterday when Whiskey's lips moved against yours this time. You wondered if all kissing was like this and, if so, why on Earth you had waited so long to experience it?

Your lips turned slick with your mixed saliva and you briefly wondered if Whiskey had laced his lips with morphine because you couldn't get enough of kissing him. You didn't even care about the possible health hazard of exchanging bodily fluids like this.

Every time it felt like Whiskey was about to pull away, you leaned forward to chase his mouth with yours, and before his lips could even part from yours, he leaned back in, and you swore that you could hear him chuckle into the kiss. His hand was splayed across your hip, whether to steady you or him, you weren't sure. Your hands were pressed hard against the metal of the door on either side of you. You didn't quite dare to touch him. With the way his kisses made you feel, it was like you didn't quite have control over your body. Your mind was screaming for you to grab him and pull him impossibly close, but Whiskey was still hurt, and you couldn't do that.

Whiskey reached up and gently pinched your chin between his thumb and index finger. Slowly and carefully he pulled down, making your mouth open just a fraction. Just as you wondered what he was doing, you suddenly felt the tip of his tongue glide between your lips and into your mouth, coaxing your tongue to meet his. Tentatively, you copied his movement, licking into his mouth. He tasted faintly of mint and something that you thought was purely Whiskey. It should have been strange, having your tongue in someone else's mouth, but somehow it wasn't, and much like with the close-mouthed kissing, Whiskey was an excellent teacher and you quickly figured out how to do it.

The two of you kissed until it felt like all the oxygen had run out in the room and your lips almost felt sore. It was Whiskey that pulled away first, but he was smiling so you weren't too worried that you'd done something wrong.

“I really liked that,” you commented when he didn't immediately say something. His smile widened and he stroked his thumb across your bottom lip.

“I could tell. I really did too, darlin'.”

Your stomach did a pleasant flip at his words and you found yourself returning his smile, feeling almost a bit giddy.

Whiskey took a small and slightly unsteady step back and you helped him reach for his crutches.

“I went home last night, fearing that I'd just passed out and dreamt the whole thing,” Whiskey confessed as he adjusted his grip on the crutches, “But if these kisses weren't real then surely I'd have skipped past unconsciousness and gone straight to Heaven.”

“Are you insinuating that I would actually let you die in my care?” you asked, crossing your arms across your chest but keeping the smile on your face so he would know you were joking.

“I'm not sure if let is the word I'd use, but there are many dangerous things in this world. If dying was the only way to experience having you in my arms...” Whiskey said with a shrug.

“Don't be ridiculous, Whiskey!” you protested, rolling your eyes at his dramatics, “Besides, I am a very good doctor, and as long as I'm around, I'm not gonna let you die. Okay?”

Whiskey looked at you for a second before a mischievous grin tugged at his lips.

“Seal that promise with a kiss?” he asked and even though you knew you shouldn't encourage his antics, you were hopeless to resist when he reached for you again.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Kissing Whiskey was quickly becoming your favorite past time. He showed up at your office every day, sometimes just for a few minutes but other times he stayed long enough that it was you that had to break the kiss and kick him out of the office in order for you to get any work done.

It was just kissing. Logically, you knew there were probably other things on Whiskey's mind too – you were both adults after all – but he seemed perfectly content with just kissing you and never pushed for more. It was very nice of him and part of you really appreciated that he wasn't rushing you, but there was also a part of you that found it a little bit frustrating. Primarily because you were pretty sure that you wanted more, but didn't quite know how to go about asking. Every time Whiskey kissed you, there was a burning in your gut that had nothing to do with any bodily malfunctions. It felt hot and warm and pleasant and unpleasant at the same time. It made you want...something more. Made you want him closer even when his arms were already wrapped tightly around you and his mouth already on yours.

You thought about how to go about asking for that something more , as you made your way to the cell where Harry was being held. Maybe you could just outright ask for it? Whiskey would probably understand what you meant.

You opened the door to the office next to Harry's cell and found Tequila snoring softly in the chair by the desk. You cleared your throat and he started awake, looking around in confusion.

“Mornin' Moonshine,” he greeted you, before his eyes quickly darted to the one-way mirror, through which you both could see Harry lying on his bed, reading a book.

“Have you been here all night?” you asked, taking in Tequila’s rumpled shirt and the empty dinner plate next to him on the desk. A slight flush stained the agent's cheeks and he mumbled something about dozing off. You didn't listen too closely to the excuses. Whatever Tequila chose to do with his own time, really wasn't any of your business.

“Would you mind coming with us for the EEG?” you asked, interrupting his string of explanations.

Even though Harry had been with you for quite some time now, and had shown no signs of being anything besides a very sweet man, you still weren't allowed to be alone with him. It would have been endlessly annoying if it weren't for the fact that Tequila had taken it upon himself to act as some sort of guardian for the Brit and therefore was almost always close by for whenever you needed to see Harry. Like today. You weren't completely convinced that Whiskey didn't have something to do with it as well, considering how he always made sure to ask about Tequila whenever Harry's name was mentioned.

Tequila got up from the chair, adjusted his hat, and smoothed out the wrinkles of his shirt.

“Alright, let's get this E...G...something over with.”

“EEG,” you corrected him, as you went to fetch Harry.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Those things, they ain't gonna hurt him, right?” Tequila was sitting on the edge of the desk and watched with slight apprehension as you fastened the little electrodes on Harry's scalp. There was a slight note of worry to the agent's voice, which in turn made Harry look up at you as if it was only now that the thought had struck him. You shook your head to assure them both and fastened another electrode.

“It won't hurt,” you said when Tequila didn't look convinced.

“Moonshine, I'm sorry but it's just...when they show this on TV it looks like it would hurt.”

“I would rather avoid pain, if it is in any way possible,” Harry chipped in, a slight tremor to his normally eerily calm voice.

“Yeah,” Tequila agreed, “Isn't there something you could give him to, y'know make it hurt less?”

“They show this on TV?” you asked, having gotten stuck on that detail in particular. Surely there must be more exciting medical procedures to show to the masses for entertainment. You frowned and attached the last electrode to Harry's temple. Then it suddenly dawned on you.

“Tequila, you're thinking of electroshock therapy! Which is occasionally also wildly inaccurately portrayed in the movies, but that's not what we're gonna do, okay?” you explained and looked down at Harry to calm him too. “This isn't the same thing.”

They didn't look convinced. So you pulled up a chair and sat down where you could see them both.

“Harry, when you first came here, there was severe damage to parts of your brain. Now, we fixed that but you still haven't regained any of your memories and so what I wanna do is check and make sure everything is alright in there. These little electrodes measure brain activity and yes, it sorta has to do with electricity but it's because we measure the electrical impulses already in the brain. There will be no shocking and you won't feel any pain, I promise.”

Harry nodded slowly and his shoulders visibly relaxed as you finished your explanation. Tequila also looked reassured. And Tonic said you didn't have good bedside manners. You had to try hard not to look too smug.

“Alright, great,” you said, standing back up again. “Let's get started. Tequila, I'm gonna need for you to leave the room for this.”

“What?” he asked, immediately tensing up again.

“I want you out of the room,” you repeated as if the problem was that he hadn't heard you.

“But we have our instructions...” he said, but the worried look was aimed at Harry, which made you wonder whether it was really your well-being he was trying to insure.

“And I have my job to do,” you argued, walking towards him with a shooing motion, “ I need as few distractions as possible for this. You are a distraction. You can stand outside the door and wait. Everyone's gonna be fine.”

“We'll be okay, Tequila. I promise. I don't want to hurt anyone,” Harry told him and his soft comment proved more effective than your brash assurances in calming the agent down.

“Fine. But if any of y'all make a noise that sounds suspicious, I'm comin' right back in!”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It turned out that, just as you had suspected, there had been no reason for a bodyguard in the room. For either of you. Harry was being the most cooperative patient, as usual, and you even tried to make some polite small-talk in order to make him feel even more at ease. Most of the time was spent in silence, though, as Harry had his eyes closed and just breathed slowly, as you scanned the output data from the electrodes on your screen. You were nearing the end of the session. Just had a couple of more things to check left.

Suddenly the door burst open and both you and Harry screamed loud. The data on the screen went bananas and your initial fear was instantly replaced by anger. Spinning your chair around to demand Tequila explained just what the fuck he was playing at, you were instead met with the scowling face of agent Whiskey. His eyes were red-rimmed like they had been running and his jaw was clenched so tight that you wouldn't be surprised if you heard teeth cracking. His right hand was resting firmly on the gun in its holster.

“Whiskey?” you said, surprised and slightly worried by his appearance, “What are you...”

“What the hell do you think you're doing?” Whiskey interrupted in a harsh tone, “Champ gave us all very specific orders regarding the guest. Always an agent present!”

You stared back at him, feeling heat of a different kind than the usual one churn in your belly. Kissing him was the last thing you wanted to do when Whiskey was talking to you like a disobedient child.

“And if you hadn't barged in here like a...gorilla, you might have noticed Tequila just outside the door!” You pointed aggressively at the door, “Agent present! The regulations said nothing about the agent having to sit on my stupid lap while I worked!”

Whiskey took a deep breath, his nostrils flared.

“Come on, let's go,” he said, waving you over. You crossed your arms over your chest and jutted your chin out.

“No,” you told him.

“Moonshine, just...”

“I said No . You've just ruined my work and scared my patient. Get out of my office, Whiskey!”

Whiskey looked like he was about to continue arguing but before he could say anything, Tequila cleared his throat from the doorway.

“Doc's right, Jack. We had it all under control. She's a sharp one and I wouldn't have let anything happen.”

Whiskey looked between the two of you, something like sadness flashing across his expression before he nodded sharply.

“Fine,” was all he said before angrily walking out of the room.

You turned back to the computer and busied yourself with shutting down the monitoring program. In actuality, you didn't want Tequila or Harry to see your face as your lip trembled and you blinked back the unwelcome tears that had begun welling up. You felt confused and hurt but what had just happened. Whiskey's anger had been uncalled for, for so many reasons. The lack of faith in your abilities to look out for yourself was also insulting. And, even though that wasn't highest on the list of priorities, you were genuinely upset that the monitoring data had been ruined.

As if reading your mind, Harry spoke from behind you.

“I'm sorry, Moonshine. If it helps, we can start over again.”

Collecting yourself, you nodded and turned.

“Thank you. Let's get some lunch first, though.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You had a difficult time completely focusing on your work for the rest of the day. Part of you wanted Whiskey to come back and explain himself, but when he called you as you and Tequila had just escorted Harry back to his cell after the second session with the EEG, you just stared at the screen until the call went to voicemail. Tequila saw it but didn't say anything.

“I'm heading back to my room,” you told him and he nodded.

“Imma...stick around here for a bit,” he replied.

“Say goodnight to Harry from me,” you told him, with a small smile, and he averted his gaze. You hung the lab coat on a hook on the wall and waved at Tequila before heading out into the corridor.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You were on your way up the stairs when someone called your name from behind. You turned and saw Tonic heading towards you. His long legs made taking the stairs two steps at the time look unfairly easy.

“On your way home for the night?” he asked cheerfully, shaking a strand of hair from his face. You nodded and continued walking, with him falling into step beside you.

“Have you had a good day?” you asked, knowing how Tonic was partial to small-talk. He gave you a knowing smile as if he knew exactly what you were doing but he still answered your question.

“I have, thank you. I'm sorry I couldn't come with you for Harry's EEG but Ginger and I were working on the trauma folders all day. Got Jack's done today, by the way. Thought you might want to know.”

You halted in your step and swiveled your head around to face him.

“Whiskey had his trauma interview today?” you asked. Whiskey hadn't told you that was today. You had thought he would, considering you had been pestering him about getting it done ever since he was well enough after the accident. “Did...did it go okay?” you asked.

“As well as can be expected when we ask people to bring up painful memories,” Tonic replied, “We got through the interview and gave him the day off after that.”

You didn't immediately reply and Tonic, of course, noticed.

“Is something the matter?” he asked.

“He showed up when we were doing the EEG...Whiskey, I mean. He was angry and he yelled,” you explained and started walking again.

“Oh,” Tonic replied, “Sounds like you think the reaction was uncalled for.”

“It was,” you told him, “And I didn't get why he would yell at me like that but...

“But maybe it was my fault?” Tonic supplied, with a small smile.

“No, it's still his fault,” you protested, “He's a grown man. You don't treat people like that. But maybe he was extra sensitive or something because of the interview. He always worries that I'll get injured or that Harry will somehow end up hurting me, he just doesn't usually yell at me about it.”

“Ah...,” Tonic said, chewing his lip, “You know, after the afternoon he's had, I think a slightly over-protective streak is to be expected. I'm not saying that you should let him get away with behaving badly but...let's just say there's a bit of a reason for it that has nothing to do with you.”

“Are you saying I should talk to him?” you asked.

“Well, I am a bit partial to the talking,” Tonic joked, and opened the door to your corridor, “But I'm not telling you to do anything. Both Whiskey and you are adults and I am off the clock.”

You gave him a skeptical look.

“Neither of us is ever off the clock,” you said. He shrugged.

“Alright, fine! But I don't want to meddle in other people's relationships if I can avoid it. It tends to come back and bite me in the ass. And now I'm heading back to my apartment. Goodnight, Moonshine!“

“See you tomorrow, Tonic!” you said with a small wave. It was only after he'd left and the door behind him had closed when you realized that he'd insinuated that you and Whiskey were in a relationship. Were you?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You'd already gone to bed when the phone rang again. It was Whiskey's name on the display. Tonic's words echoed in your head and on the next ring, you decided to pick up.

“Hello?” you said, a little hesitantly. You heard a loud sigh on the other end.

“Moonshine,” Whiskey said, relief evident in his voice.

“Hey...”

“Darlin', I'm a fool!” Whiskey stated and the softness with which he called you darlin' made your lip tremble slightly again. You closed your eyes and pressed the phone closer to your ear. “I shouldn't have yelled like that. Not at you.”

“No, you shouldn't have,” you agreed, speaking slowly to keep your voice steady.

Whiskey was silent for a couple of seconds before he spoke.

“Moonshine, I'm sorry.”

“I knew what I was doing...”

“I know you did.” You could hear the pleading in his voice. “You're the best damn doctor there is!”

“And I wasn't in any danger.”

“I know. I just...” You heard him swallow and let out a shaky breath. You sighed, feeling your annoyance drain away slightly.

“Tonic told me that you had your trauma interview today.

There was silence again before he slowly answered.

“I did.”

You cupped the phone with both your hands, suddenly wishing that he was here so you could see him and touch him.

“And are you okay?” you asked softly.

There was no reply. You pressed the phone closer to your ear and you could hear Whiskey's breathing. His breaths were sharp, uneven intakes of air. It was like a stab to your chest as well when you realized that Whiskey was crying.

“Whiskey...” you whispered, unsure what else to say.

“I'm okay, sweetheart,” he tried to assure you but you didn't feel very convinced. “Today's just been a day and a half as far as emotions go. Please ignore this, sugar. I was fixin' to apologize to you properly for bein' a shit earlier.”

“Well, you already called me the best damn doctor there is. I mean, I don't see how you're gonna top that, as far as apologies go,” you said, only half-joking. You heard Whiskey chuckle a little.

“I was thinkin’ dinner and dessert. Maybe a massage.”

“I've never gotten a massage,” you said, thoughtfully.

“Well, I'm quite good at them...” Whiskey drawled, nose sounding a little stuffed still but you could practically hear the smirk too.

“I could come over tomorrow,” you suggested.

“That would be perfect,” Whiskey agreed, “And Moonshine...I really am sorry.”

“I know.”

“And I realize that I'm in no position to bargain here but... you think I can ask you for a favor?”

“What favor?” you asked, but you were pretty sure you were gonna say yes, regardless.

“I think, as soon as I lay down, I'm gonna be minutes away from sleeping. Would you stay with me on the phone?” he asked and you almost suggested that you just come over instead, but Whiskey actually sounded as tired as he told you he was, and even if you left your room now, he'd probably be sleeping before you got there.

“Okay, I'll stay with you.”

“Tell me about your day,” he requested, “What did you do before I barged in?”

And so you did. You told him about breakfast and finding Tequila asleep in the office. Then you told him about Harry's EEG, explaining what it was and what you might find out from the data. Slowly but surely, you heard Whiskey's breathing even out as he drifted off to sleep.

“Goodnight, Whiskey,” you whispered quietly when you were sure he wouldn't miss you if you hung up. On impulse, you lifted the phone to your lips and pressed a kiss to the screen before you hung up.

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