#god forbid i could have been someone who wore all black and listened to pop instead of 2000s rock???? | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

vixenpen · 4 years

Note

Ooooh can we get Dabi and Hawks with numbers 78 and 107 from that prompt list pwease?? ❤️💙🙏🏾

There were worse ways to spend a Saturday night, and drinking solo at the bar of a Shibuya nightclub was one of those ways.

Oh well. At least I have a good reason for being here.

You thought as you waved off more unwanted attention, and moved further down the bar. Your target, Hawks was right in your field of vision. He was standing on the second level of the three-story night club standing solo by the railing that overlooked the dance floor below.

He was barely recognizable, however, his wings had been plucked down about as far as they could go without being gone which was how he was able to hide them beneath the red blazer jacket he wore. Dark gradient sunglasses hid his distinct eyes and his blonde hair was slicked into a bun at the top of his head.

The look made you laugh. It wasn’t a bad look on him. The guy could pull off a hefty bag and be handsome, but it was funny to see the, normally distinctive looking, hero in civilian club wear. Although it did help him blend in with the rest of the flashy, hip, young money crowd in the club.

You turned back around and ordered yourself a drink.

What the hell was Dabi thinking?

You wandered. You didn’t trust Hawks as far as you could throw him either, but you also didn’t know what you could learn about the guy observing him having a night out on the town

I mean, what am I even looking for? Hell even heroes need a day off. All the bullshit they spout and defend all day long must get tiring.

You were about ready to turn back around and check up on your target again.

“What are you drinking?”

A familiar voice asked over your shoulder.

“Oh!” You startled slightly, but quickly caught yourself. “Fancy seeing you here, stranger.”

You replied, coolly as your gaze landed on Hawks’ lazy smirk. He had tucked his sunglasses in the collar of his shirt and was leaning much closer than was necessary.

“Hmm yeah,” his brow furrowed, amused smile never leaving his face. “Funny thing that. So, what brings you out to the club on a Saturday night in Shibuya?”

“A girl can’t enjoy herself with a night out on the town?” You quipped.

“Not a girl like you.”

Hawks tossed back the rest of his drink before plopping the empty glass down on the bar with a satisfied ‘aahhh.’

“Now, I’m willing to bet one of two things is goin’ on here, beautiful. One: Mr. Hot and Crispy sent you out here to do a little espionage on me and two: he’s not too far behind.”

“Or, third option, I’m just a girl enjoying herself. No league business and no spying.”

“Fine, I’ll humor you, kid. You’re just enjoying a night out, and I’m Batman.” He chuckled.

You rolled your eyes. Normally, Hawks’ cheeky nature didn’t phase you, if anything it annoyed you. But there was something different about his energy tonight.

The man was attractive as hell, there was no doubt about it, but he did look especially good tonight. His blazer and jeans combo were cut perfectly to his fit physique. But it was the way he was looking at you. His narrow, golden eyes were drinking you in and practically screaming ‘fuck me.’

“Since we’re both clearly just enjoying our night, why don’t you dance with me?” He gestured to the floor.

Fuck. This wasn’t how the night was supposed to go. In fact, the hero wasn’t even supposed to see you. And now he was asking you to dance with him.

Your gaze flicked about the first floor of the huge three story club.

As you did, you felt Hawks’ presence over your shoulder.

“What’s wrong, kid?”

You jumped slightly. A shiver ran down your spine as Hawks’ low voice whispered the question right against your ear.

“You lookin’ for someone?”

He was so close that you could feel his warm breath fanning against your neck and see the flecks of brown in his amber eyes.

Your eyes darted to his lips quickly before flicking back up to his lust filled eyes.

“Dance?” He repeated.

“S-Sure.” You replied, hesitantly.

He slipped a hand around your waist and guided you both to the dance floor.

The two of you fell into rhythm quickly as Hawks pulled you against him, hand still low on your waist.

Hawks spin you, pressing your body to his and resting his head on your shoulder. You tried to steady your nerves. God forbid you wanted the cocky fuck to know the affect being pressed against his body was having on you.

“So,” he practically purred in your ear, “Dabi finally let you off that leash he’s got you on?”

“I ain’t on a leash for nobody, hero.”

“Oh? So that circular bruise that you’re always hiding is what? A birth mark?”

Your face burned.

“Mind your own business, Bird Brain.” You snapped back.

Hawks chuckled.

“Nah, I think you’re doing that for me. After all, how else would you have figured out my weekend plans. Dabi and I ain’t exactly buddies and I didn’t tell anyone else in the league.“

“I told you; I’m not—“

“I know, I know. You’re not spying on me. That’s a relief. Hawks’ hands slid down your waist and found a resting place on your hips. “Since we’re both off the clock, so to speak, why don’t we we enjoy tonight together, chickadee?”

You were about to shoot back a snappy retort, but at the feeling of Hawks’ teeth nibbling your earlobe, all you managed was a soft groan.

In seconds, you felt your body being snatched forward.

Your eyes snapped open to see the familiar piercing turquoise irises of your boyfriend, Dabi. You gulped.

“The hell do you think you’re doing?” Dabi hissed. His stare was on Hawks’ grin, but the way he gripped your wrist, told you who that question was meant for.

“Woah! now it’s a party.” Hawks casually dug his hands into his jeans pocket. “I was just having a dance with your lady here, friend. Hope that’s no problem.”

Dabi stepped up into Hawks’ face, voice cold and eyes flashing.

“Listen Chicken Little, if I catch your hands on my girl again, I’m frying your wings and feedin’ them to you. Don’t fucking touch what’s not yours.”

Hawks said nothing as he held on to Dabi’s angry glare.

Your eyes flicked back and forth between the hero and the villain. The energy between the two men was charged with unspoken hostility.

Oh god, please don’t test him, Hawks. Please...

After what felt like eternity, Hawks let out a breezy laugh and held up his hands in a gesture of defeat. “Duly noted, man. I didn’t mean any harm. You two have a nice night.”

With that, he disappeared back into the crowd.

Dabi snatched you by the wrist once more and popped up the collar on his black jacket. He marched the both of you outside until you were in the adjacent alleyway beside the building.

“Dabi I—“

His neck closed around your throat, choking off the sentiment. He was nose to nose with you, body so close, you could feel his manhood pressing the front of your crotch.

His flashing turquoise eyes made your blood run cold.

“When we get home, your ass is gonna be fifty shades of red after that little stunt.”

#dabi hawks #bnha headcanons #bnha imagines #mha headcanons #smut prompts #writing prompts #my hero academia #black writers #bnha #hawks imagine #dabi smut #hawks simp #hotwings #my hero fanfic #bnha scenarios #bnha smut #self insert

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allthingshetalia · 5 years

Note

Hey, can I please get some headcanons or short scenarios for America, Japan, England, Germany, Russia, Lithuania and Romania reacting to their very petite (short and scrawny) s/o wearing one of their shirts? And since she's so short, it absolutely just drapes over her and it's all super fluffy and cute? Thanks so much!

💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕

America

A grin spread across his face as you came out of the bathroom. His shirt from the night before was drapped over you. It went past your knees and the sleeves were much to long. Not to mention it was one of his favorites. It was a white dress shirt that had an America flag sewn into the collar. His possessive side practically melted at the claim. It also didn’t help the fact you had some dark brusing on your collar bone and neck. Pushing his glasses further up his nose he cleared his throat to grab your attention. Your head snapped away from the drawer you were digging through to look at him.

His bare chest was on display and the sheets hung extremely low. His chest and body was covered in a layer of fat but you knew as soon as he moved his muscles would pop out. Light traces of hair ran down his chest getting thicker the further you went.

“Come back to bed baby girl.” He stated lifting the covers, making you blush. His voice was deep and raspy from just having woken up 5 minutes ago. Biting your lip you crawled back into the bed, curling yourself up against his side.

Japan

His dark brown eyes watched as you bit your lip, to engrossed into the show to notice his staring. You were wearing one of his favorite sweaters. It was a dark grey and was probably made from the softest fabric in the world. Your knee high socks make him swallow harshly.

Turning his head away he tried to focus on the anime playing infront of his eyes. But he couldn’t stop his eyes from wandering back over to you.

You groaned as one of your favorite characters made another stupid decision. Adjusting yourself you moved so your shoulder was pressed against his side and you tucked one of your legs under your butt.

“What is he thinking?” You asked rhetorically. You leaned your head against his side, the top of your head almost going into his pit.

(He’s always clean so don’t worry)

His arm was thrown over the back of the couch but he brought it down so you were pressed closer against him. You looked up at him not expecting him to do that.

He was still staring at you but flashed you a small relaxed smile making your heart flutter. Smiling broadly you snuggled against his chest as he breathed in the combination of your sent and his.

England

“Love have you seen my bl”- he cut himself off seeing your small form wrapped in the same shirt he was looking for. It was a plain black shirt that he always wore under his uniforms.

“Your what?” You asked tilting your head to the side. The action cause some stray hair to fall in your face but you quickly blew them away, making his knee buckle from cuteness.

“Nevermind.” He quickly stated, coming around the counter so he could get a better view. You just shrugged and turned back to your mixing bowl. He had a meeting to go to in a few hours so you were making him some scones.

His emerald eyes scanned up and down your form. His shirt went down past your knees and he swore when you reached up to get something he could see the very bottom of his boxers on your form.

(They were clean calm down-boxers are hella comfy. I buy them for myself to waltz around the house in)

Smirking softly he came up behind you and placed his strong hands on your hips. He pressed a hard kiss against the back of your head before he rested his chin on top of it.

“You’re so beautiful.” He murmured leaning down and softly kissing your neck and down your exposed shoulder. He chuckled against your skin when he heard a sharp gasp and felt your body melt against his.

After all he did have 3 hours to kill.

Russia

All of the loneliness he had gone through had been worth it and he would gladly do it again if it meant he could always come home to this sight.

He had come home from a long and boring meeting with his boss, wanting nothing more than to escape from the cold and feel you curled up against his chest.

As soon as he came home he was greeted with the sight of your sleeping form curled up on the couch in one of his shirts. It was an old soccer jersey that had his last name on it.

He was 100% going to wear it after you.

His insides practically purred as he quickly took off all of his clothes except for his boxers. He carefully lifted you up making sure you didn’t wake up and laid down placing you on your designated spot on his chest. You instinctively buried yourself deeper into his slightly chubby body. Grabbing the faux fur blanket off the back of the couch he draped it over both of you and held you tightly against him.

Lithuania

He couldn’t contain the smile as he watched you dance around the bedroom in nothing but his shirt.

It was dark green and went all the way down to your knees. And every time you lifted up your arms he caught a small glimpse of your bare bottom.

Your dog/cat watched and even ran around you as you sung to it.

He will never get how someone like you could ever love someone as scarred and broken as him. But who is he to complain.

As the song ended your dancing slowed down and eventually halted as the closing lines became quieter and quieter.

Panting softly your turned around and looked at your boyfriend who had a lazy smile across his perfect face.

He straightened up so he wasn’t leaning on his arms and held them out to you. You took his unspoken offer and rushed into his arms, practically jumping on him. Once you were in his arms he fell back so you were on his chest and listened as the sappy lyrics of your favorite love song played through the happy room.

Romania

His eyes couldn’t focus on the pages infront of him as the kept finding their way back to you. You were laying on the bed next to him on your computer paying Poptropica :) and you silently cursed to yourself when your character catapulted themselves off a cliff on accident.

His eyes scanned themselves down your form biting the inside of his cheek when he saw his large shirt pooling around you.

It was dark red and had a few small rips in it from being so old but it was his favorite shirt- and as it turns out it was yours too.

Putting his book down he turned off his bedside lamp and leaned over and grabbed your computer away from you. He quickly pressed save and then closed the device and also place it on his night stand.

“I was just about to figure out who had been ruining all the carrots!” You declared glaring at your boyfriend.

“You can play tomorrow.” He replied smiling lightly. He reached over and turned off your light. He then softly grabbed you and pulled you so you were his little spoon. “I love you.” He murmured against your head.

Germany

He watched you protectively as you climbed up the rock trail. He always walked behind you to make sure if you ever did fall he was right there to catch you before. Reaching out he put a hand on your hip lightly guiding you up the steep climb.

He tried to focus completely on the path in front of you but he couldn’t seem to take his eyes away from you.

Well that wasn’t unusual- but this time it was different.

You had both decided to go on a hike and you just decided to throw on his shirt and a pair of workout shorts. It was a black shirt with a big German flag printed on the back. The fact you were wrapped up in his flag made his protective and clingy side shudder. It was like a warning to every person who even dared to look or god forbid touch you. It was a warning sign that screamed;

“Don’t touch what’s mine.”

And he was living for it.

Once you finally made it to the top he gave your hip a light squeeze before releasing you. He bent his arm behind him grabbing a water bottle out of the side pocket of his backpack. Handing it to you he watched as you took a few large gulps before handing it back to him. Bringing the water bottle up to his lips he quickly finished the rest of it and threw it in a nearby trash can.

“Look at how pretty it is!” You giggled grabbing his huge arm and pulling him to the edge. He instinctively wrapped an arm around your waist preventing you from getting to close.

The view was outstanding.

But he wasn’t talking about the same one you were.

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honestsycrets · 5 years

Text

Behind the Door

↳ modern au

Author’s Notes | for @lisinfleur

❛ pairing | hvitserk x reader, abusive!oc x reader

❛ word count | 4750

❛ genre | oneshot with some angst

❛ summary | the girl in the hall, he wants to know her. the only one in his way? her abusive boyfriend.

❛ warnings | emotional abuse, physical abuse, abusive relationships, some violence

Money talked.

Hvitserk knew that it did and he had gotten lucky with his father’s reputation. His job was to play and travel; kicking his soccer ball across a dewy field every day. It was something natural and freeing to him, almost like if he was flying like mother’s falcon across the field. A pop and twist of his foot and he could whizz a ball with the soaring wind into a white knit net.

A life of salads, long practice days and a flight from Copenhagen out half way across the world led up to this moment carrying up suitcases to his new apartment. Luckily, the furniture was all moved in a few days before but-- fuck, he was preparing to be here for the long haul. That meant lots and lots of clothes being brought up this metal box of an elevator.

Ding! Fourteenth floor. The doors whizz open.

“--Really? You don’t think that’s too short?”

“I-- I thought it would look nice. I made it myself.”

Couple scuffles-- it wouldn’t be the first time he walked in on one. Usually, no one had the balls to do them in the open. Especially not in a well to do area like this. Hvitserk turns his huge suitcase in a circle and throws the dark duffel bag over his shoulder. As he passes the plasticy tags with black numbers of each door, he realizes that he’s getting painfully close to the couple-- and painfully close to his own apartment.

The man leans over into his girl’s face, tugging the hem of her mid-thigh length dress made of some comfortable sweater fabric. Hvitserk wore sweaters just like the one she had made into a dress-- complete with buttons down to her belly button. The richness of her choice in green made his mouth salivate with a burst of energy.

His synaesthesia was acting up today.

“Hey man, would you let your girl go out looking like this?” The man says harmlessly enough and true, Hvitserk thinks-- he might have been jealous too. Not because something was too short but because the girl looks too good. Dressed to the nines, manicured fingers flirtatiously in her hair and a pair of heels with a strap across cute toes painted black. Edgy. A hint of kinky past her preppy appearance. She must have been a hell of a fuck.

She stares straight ahead, over his shoulder and the nape length blonde hair that tickled the sides of her face. The man stands upright, several inches taller than her. Every once in a while, she would glance to Hvitserk’s jawline, running over the curling hairs of his jaw and then back to her blond haired, sea-eyed boyfriend. Or husband, god forbid. This guy was a complete ass.

“Uh.” He runs his tongue over his tooth. With a vapid smile, he shrugs his shoulders. “I can’t help you, man. Women like what they like.”

It’s the safest bet. The wheels of his suitcases clack as he stops in front of his plain door, draping the duffel bag on his suitcase. If he wasn’t being stupid, he could have sworn she flashed him an adorably belligerent smile, a bit of tooth peeking out from her lips. He shuffles in the pocket of his joggers, knocking away his leather wallet until he found the ring of his new keys.

“Yeah, yeah guess that’s the truth.” The man says looking to Hvitserk who opens the door, balancing with his foot. “You need help, dude?”

“Weren’t you going out?” Hvitserk asks. The woman shifts, a light shake in her head. She opens the door to their apartment and slides out of sight into the ill-lighted apartment.

“Na, I don’t think so.” The man jogs forward and takes ahold of his suitcase. He wheels it in. “I’m Jesper Sørensen.”

“Uh, Hvitserk.” He mutters.

“Number 10! Hvitserk Ragnarsson?”

Shit.

“I knew I recognized you from somewhere, man.” He comes into his crisp apartment. It’s white-- dusty on his tongue as he walks in. He appreciates the calmness of the grey walls and matching dark hardwood floors. Had it been more than that, he might actually get triggered.

“You’re fucking lucky to do work like that. I do pharmaceuticals. Let you in on a secret brother, it’s some boring shit!”

I’m not your brother, Hvitserk thinks. He lets it go, stretching his back out and looking out toward the bright beach outside his window. He catalogues the bend of the beach in his eye knowing that he would most likely spend a lot of time here in the future. Then as to not ignore his new visitor, he turns back toward the column of stacked boxes.

“What can I say? I’m a lucky man.” Hvitserk beams a tall tale fake smile, pulling open a box. One of many, many boxes. Jesper takes a step toward the door— then stops.

“Hey uh, you need some help around here?”

Hvitserk looks toward him, dusting off a picture of his mother modeling.

“I mean you’ll be here forever man unless you got yourself a lady to do this.” Jesper scratches his head. Hvitserk finds it almost cute-- any of the women that he had in the past would only do it for sake of doing it so that they could rub it in his face that, ha! She got it done!

Hvitserk laughs. “Nah, my picker is broke. I get chicks that want me for my money.”

“Beats wanting attention all the time, right?” Jesper picks up a box and settles it on the ragged leather of his couch. “Shit, (Y/N) will be pissed at me all day.”

“She always like that?” Hvitserk makes small talk. He pulls a picture of Björn and he backpacking through Spain— his brother’s idea.

“Yeah. She needs attention all the time man. That’s why she wants to be a model even though her legs are short as shit.” Hvitserk remains quiet for some time debating whether to continue on that or not.

“She’s pretty.”

Jesper looks up, a small shake in his head even with his newfound friend’s words. Pretty, he can see the man think. It’s almost as if he feels threatened by those words. Hvitserk knew how men thought-- he had to. Ivar had a temper worse than this sack of shit.

“Yeah. Yeah, she’s pretty.”

Most days Hvitserk thought nothing of it.

He sat on his metal balcony looking out toward the beachside front. Fluffy clouds blocked most of the hot sun. There was a light breeze carrying on the wind. The people here are strange flying their thin kites on tangled strings or chasing each other on the sandy beach. Sometimes some dumbasses would explode fireworks by accident and other times, he might see something as outrageous as a scarved pug on a beach blue skateboard.

His favourite sight, when he was home, was her.

Jesper’s girl who would go out in a strappy bikini, a sheer midnight blue wrap on her round hips and an adorable straw hat complete with a matching bow. For hours she would walk the moist shoreline of the beach, bend down and go on her way.

Seashells, he theorized.

Then she would come up the stairs before Jesper would get home, slapping black flip flops with wet cracks up the stairs. Sometimes he made it a point to go to the front door where she was, just like today.

“I see you have some sea-- seashells there sweetheart.” The older ladies there made it a point to talk to her. She stood with one, holding the back of her hat while drops of water trembled down sunbaked skin. Her hair would crust with the salty hair time after time.

“Oh, yes.” She says sweetly. “I am making a new dress.”

“A dress of shells?” The old lady croons curiously.

“My niece loves shells.” Her lips purse together, fresh with a perfect cherry chapstick. Hvitserk peeks his head out enough that the older women knew he was there listening. “I was thinking of making her a dress. I don’t see her often.”

“I’m so sorry dear.”

At the end of the conversation, Hvitserk made it a point to gather his ring of jingling keys and jam his phone, a little too fat, in his pocket. He could pick up dinner-- and have an excuse to talk to her more than with Jesper’s presence over her. For a girl walking the beach, he had to wonder what more there was to her when Jesper wasn’t looking.

“H-- Hey (Y/N).” He steps out just as she jangles with a ring of keys. She glances over her freckled shoulder, fluttering long lashes at him. His favourite part are the sun freckles that are baked onto her skin.

“Mr. Ragnarsson.” She says, turning around after popping the door open. Her foot keeps the door ajar while she stands there, now fiddling with a piece of hair. A small flirt-- women always fiddle with their hair when flirting.

“It’s Hvitserk.” He locks the door behind him, hands now in his pockets.

“Hvitserk. I should be going now. I’m not really… free today.”

It always lasts far too little. She slips into her door to go on about sewing her beautiful things. He gathers that by the fabric she totes up the stairs on occasion. Then, just as always, he goes on about his way down the stairs. It was lunch… and Hvitserk? Hvitserk had another salad on his mind.

If only he waited a while longer, he might have heard her sewing machine hit the floor.

Something was different.

He couldn’t place it but… she no longer spent time on the beach. Every night he had available he would look out expecting to see her in her cute bikini, plucking sand crusted shells and rushing home with flopping flipflops before the sun broke past the horizon.

Number 10, Hvitserk Ragnarsson does it again! Another stunning shot!

He flicks the buzzing television off. It was nothing but them pumping him up all the time. It would have been nice-- but he in no way wanted to be ostracized by the rest of his teammates. Perhaps that’s why him being sick, hacking and coughing up some mucky yellowish crap up his throat was for the best.

This way someone else could have the spotlight.

Ding-Dong!

Hm? Hvitserk’s feet shift between the leather and the soft white throw covering his feet. The hardwood floors are cool to the touch, so he hops the whole way into the door. One look on the peep hole revealed her. She stood barefoot against the dull blue carpet in the hall, looking down. He draws the heavy door apart.

“(Y/N)?” He asks, eyes looking down to a lime coloured bowl covered in sticky plastic wrap. Her long hair tumbles around half of her face-- obscuring one eye. She shifts in her jaunty yellow sundress.

“You didn’t go to practice.” She states. “I thought maybe you weren’t feeling well.”

He didn’t know she noticed-- he practiced most days, went to games when he needed to and flew out the country on a regular schedule. It was almost as good as having Ubbe to notice when he was home and when he wasn’t.

“Yeah, stomach flu or something.” He comments, stepping aside. “You wanna come in?”

“Oh no I-- I shouldn’t.” She says so abruptly that he thinks that she might have a conniption. He looks around the vanilla walls of the hall.

“I don’t think he’s out there.” Hvitserk says almost knowingly. He didn’t know the intimate details of their relationship. Yet when it was game day, not for soccer, he had noticed how harshly Jesper spoke of her.

The amount of time she spent sewing-- when in his words, she should have been cleaning and cooking. She should have been on her knees waiting to suck him off. If he were honest, not even he would spend his time degrading himself on the ground for a sack of shit like him.

Hvitserk brings the bowl to the milky countertop of his kitchen just around the corner. She shyly ambles around, stopping short of the breakfast bar. He unwraps the bowl, looking at her warm chicken soup with doughy noodles.

“Is that another of (Y/N)’s creations?” He looks back to her.

“Oh I worked in a Chinese restaurant once--”

“No.” Hvitserk laughs, motioning his finger in a twirl. “The dress.”

She glances down and slaps her hands against the beautiful a-line skirt. Her hands slip down from covering the v-neckline to gently pull out the flowy skirt. Then playfully she twirls around in a quick spin, her skirt becoming nice and full. When she stops, she doesn’t realize that her hair sways away from her normally perfectly made up face. If he wasn’t mistaken, that was a blotch on her cheekbone.

“It is!” She says all at once with a cute little laugh. “Jesper said it was too short.”

“Shorter the better for me.” Hvitserk reaches for a black ladle inside the milky drawer. “It looks like something mor would like.”

“Aslaug?” She leans over the countertop with one hand propping up her cheek. He has to force himself to look away from the fingerprint bruises and cigarette burns littering her arms.

“No other!” Hvitserk spoons a bowl for her and then one for him. “Your designs-- they’re exactly the sort of thing she’d like. Uh, this way.” He sets the ladle into the stainless steel stink and motions her out toward his favourite place in the entire apartment-- the balcony.

She daintily sits upon the ottoman that usually he sets his sneakers upon. Almost like a doll-- because she sits there effortlessly. He notices the fine detail of her skirt, glimmering with crushed shells. Or what he thinks might be the crushed shells. She takes a sip of the salty soup she’s made, looking out toward the lapsing waves on the grainy shore.

“Maybe you could give me your portfolio.” Hvitserk says. “I know you have one with all the pieces you make. She might be interested.”

“You think so?!”

“Yeah, of course.” He says, sniffling. “Plus when you model them, it makes it that much better.”

“Oh I don’t know about that.”

“You’re gorgeous.” Hvitserk blurts out, then realizes his words promptly. He runs his tongue up over the honey coloured hairs of his moustache, trying to decide why exactly he said what he said. She doesn’t seem exactly off put, gazing out at the sun setting behind the line of the horizon.

“I haven’t heard that in a long time.”

“If you had someone who was worth a shit, maybe they would tell you. I know I would.” He glances up from his doughy noodles off to her, she brightens into a smile-- a lying smile when she promptly loses it to the tune of her phone vibrating intensely. He wonders if that dress has pockets when she swipes it out from her bra, eradicating that thought the second he had it.

“Jesper?” He asks.

“Yeah I-- he’s probably hungry. He doesn’t like it when I leave his food out.” She murmurs, silencing the phone with a click of the button on the side.

Hvitserk clears his throat. “Yeah, listen (Y/N), the mark across your cheek--”

“I fell in the bathroom.”

This must have happened a million times with her because she had an answer before he could even formulate a complete answer for him. He recalls what his mother said over the phone about women in abuse. Fighting them, it would just make it that much easier to stay. If she left him, it would be endlessly better than seeing her body littered in bruises.

“Right.” He says. “Just uh… make sure to watch out for yourself. Sharp corners, right?”

Although she doesn’t say anything as she gets up, she gleams a sweet, apologetic look in her eye. She straightens out her beautiful dress and takes the bowl to the kitchen. Somewhere behind him, he hears:

“Thank you, Hvitserk.”

Then, like usual-- she’s out the door.

In Hvitserk’s life, he was never exactly sure of anything. He wasn’t sure if Ivar really loved him. He wasn’t sure if moving across the world was the right choice-- but he was sure of one thing. Those weren’t lovemaking screams.

“Where were you!” It’s muffled. “You were with that fuckin’ Ragnarsson again!”

He wasn’t dumb. He knew when a duck was a duck and that frantic screaming-- her intermittent “please” was definitely not something anyone should be ignoring. The apartment complex is eerily silent other than the crashing of objects within her apartment.

“Let go!”

Brinnng. Brinnng.

“Hvit?” It’s like six in the morning there-- he knows. His brother’s voice is weighed down heavy on the other line. Heavier than his usual husk and groan that he always teased Ubbe about growing up. “It’s--”

“Six, I know.” He whispers. His voice almost sotto voce it has gone so low. “Listen I--”

“FUCKING WHORE!”

“Hvit?”

“Yeah, no I’m here, sorry.” Hvitserk considers his brother once again, tearing his eyes from the heavy door that separates him from the hallway. “My neighbors are fighting.”

“Are you scared?” Ubbe says from across the line. He feels almost six again, holding onto the tails of Ubbe’s shirt while they sought out cold waters to escape the endless pain mother put them through… together.

“No, I uh-- It might be my fault.”

“Your fault?” Ubbe shuffles on the other line. He can tell that his brother is sitting upright now. “What do you mean?”

“I should’ve put a goddamn bullet in your head the first time, fat fucking skank ass bitch!”

Hvitserk’s hand is at his mouth now that he stands in the hall closest to the door. The closer he got, the more audible her screams became. The door almost seems to vibrate underneath them. Or perhaps, in a way, that’s his chest that is buzzing with every moment of uncertainty sinking under his skin like the pricks of pins.

“I invited her in.”

For any ordinary man, harmless. Truly harmless. For a man that was considered more successful than Jesper, treason. He should have never said that he did not see Jesper down the hall. The man had ears in the walls and eyes constantly following her every little move.

Then, there’s silence. Nothing but the smoothness of a cello quartet that she typically would play when she was creating late at night with her hair up in a gorgeous midnight blue ribbon. He only knew as much because on occasions that she took her art book upon the beach, she drew. She would draw her hair up in a ribbon. Salty drawings of sexy, cute and even hopeful pieces would be in her hands when she came up the stairs.

It was supposed to be a soothing place for her. He ruined that too, as he quickly comes to the conclusion that Jesper caught onto Hvitserk’s haplessly excited expression every time she came up the stairs. Hvitserk shifts the waistband of his joggers, mind foggy and heavy with the headache that had been beating his head all day.

“Hvit you know better than that.” Ubbe says. “I told you not to let her in.”

He couldn’t help it. There was no way that he could have known the mood that Jesper would be and staring accusingly to the door, he paces to it. Then, popping the door open, he steps out into the soft, dimly lit hall.

“I know.” Hvitserk says wearily to even his own ears. His heart rate quickens, he can feel it beating against his skin, leaping like his mother’s stupid teacup pomeranian nipping at his ankles when he came home from high school with his brothers. “I’m sorry.”

His knuckles rasp at the last door, reaching to whoever is behind it. The susurration behind the door fills Hvitserk with premature anxiety, bubbling under his skin. Hvitserk slips his phone in his pocket and replaces a bud in his ear.

“Hvitr?” Ubbe shifts. “What are you doing?”

“Don’t say anything.” He says. “Just stay with me.”

The door opens.

“Hvitserk! Hvitserk!”

It smelled like bleach. The kind that his mother threw upon the carport floor after Ivar took a baseball bat to that kid’s head. So bad that he remembers his skin prickling with the sear of chemicals, his whole respiratory system bursting into hacks that he couldn’t control. He thought that he might not recover, wheezing for his mother.

It’s just a little burn, she said. You’ll recover. Do it for him.

The little boy and his parents were gone now. If he waited much longer, something told him that she would be too. The door opens-- but only slightly. Enough that Hvitserk catches Jesper’s cloudy blue eyes in the crack of the door. His lips pull into a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Hvitserrrrkkk.” He slurs in one long, jittery breath.

Hvitserk’s hand curls in the space between the door and the metal frame, yanking the door of his fingers to crack it back against Jesper’s forehead. This was crazy-- having Ubbe on the line, barking at him.

Got damn it Hvitserk!

He dips into the house, kicking the door shut behind him. With a scraping, rough voice he darts from Jesper’s lurch toward him, drawing out the gun from his waistband. Jesper jerks back, holding up his hands.

“Don’t fuck with me.” Hvitserk says, his chest tightening. He’s not breathing-- or so, he thinks he isn’t breathing. Jesper’s motions slow to a stop, dropping the heavy blade from his fat fingertips. It falls with a clatter on the hardwood floors.

“Where is she?” He says.

“It wasn’t my fault.” Jesper says again. This time, his words made his skin prickle. It only serves to aggravate him-- pushing his anger to bubble over the surface so quickly that he can feel himself gnashing his teeth already.

“You wouldn’t shoot me.” Jesper asks, his eye narrowing upon him. It’s the last he can take, turning his hand up from the outstretched position. The whole time he had been calling a bluff, and there it was, Jesper would have thought. Moments later, Hvitserk brought the butt of his gun down upon Jesper’s cheek, knocking him off balance and onto the ground.

“Where the fuck is she?!” He demands. He loses the control over his voice, raising in his tone when Ubbe reminds him. Check yourself, Hvitserk. He never wanted this life-- but he’s as much a Ragnarsson as any of his brothers sporting a blinding intense rage and in case of fight versus flight, well, they would always fight.

“The bathroom!”

Hvitserk makes a grunt of approval somewhere deep in the back of his throat, and then, his pistol comes upon him again. It’s a blur of slams, knocking him across the face with force until he drops to his satisfaction. In all his promises of what he wouldn’t be, he never thought that this would be him.

Rushing to clear the apartment on the way to the bathroom. Like Bjorn as a police officer showed him how to clear out his own home. In case anyone was ever snooping. Which… this was obviously not his case today.

Ssshhh…

It sounds like the ocean. The water coming in with great, swelling force. But instead of crashing and pulling back into the endless depths, Hvitserk’s bare feet squish. It’s… water. He cuts the corner into the master bathroom. Blood streaks with thin water over the bathroom floor, filling his tongue with the taste of iron before anything else. The red, red blood throws his heart into a pulsing overdrive. He follows the blood to her slashed calve. Her body draped over the edge of the tub. Not moving-- not… not…. Nothing.

“Hvitserk talk to me.” Ubbe calls out to him.

“Help me, Ubbe.”

Ten more minutes.

That was all Ubbe and she had left before he would be back. A litany of the counting down of seconds falls from her lips as she stands there, waiting warily for him to arrive. No guests were allowed at the plane gates and so they waited just outside the baggage claim for him.

Flight number 135, arrival from Los Angeles.

“He’s almost here.” Ubbe whispers from behind her. She stands there on a full stomach, knowing just that Hvitserk is going to want to eat anyway! Excitedly she refreshes her phone not just once-- but a hundred times.

Hvitserk I’m finally here! My numb ass isn’t yet, tho.

She looks over the calendar again, a barrel of excitement. It had been months since she last saw him. When she finally sees him darting down the stairs, ignoring the escalator-- she rushes to grasp her crutches at either side of her arms, standing up with a great amount of force.

“There’s my baby!” Hvitserk yells through the great open space of the baggage claim. Everyone had to have heard that. She hobbles forward, a beautiful deep blue dress hugging down to her knees. Hvitserk sweeps her off the ground, twirling her around while enjoying her brilliant laughter.

“Hvitserk!”

When he puts her down again, she sways, narrowly falling if not for her sweet Hvitserk dipping down to pick up her crutch. He supports her while she takes into her hand, limping in time with him.

“How was the flight?” She asks sweetly.

“It was good.” He responds in turn, looking down to her before over to Ubbe. The three slowly amble over to the metal baggage claim. The bags don’t come down the metal slide just yet. Hvitserk glances to the shifting plates and then finally chooses to say something.

“I heard that Mor approved your clothing line.” He says, slurring a little with loss of sleep on the plane. He couldn’t sleep an inch since he got on there. “The press seems to like your pieces in the line for uh, “adaptive” needs. Did you have to tell them about what happened?”

“Of course I had to.” She says. “My leg wasn’t like this when I met you, right? Modeling pretty bikinis and sundresses all day...”

Hvitserk shifts uncomfortably-- looking over to Ubbe who stands with his hands folded one over another. Her relationship wasn’t the only thing that ended that day. The dream of being some big supermodel like the Aslaug, queen of the supermodels, also died. Whether anyone said it or not-- no one wanted a model with a limp.

“(Y/N).” Ubbe prompts, thick and slurry. It's laughable to her now but for a congested airport where passengers are tightly clustered around their baggage claim, she knows that more than one has turned to look at her. The metal plates shift around the machine. Ubbe moves forward to go find Hvitserk’s bags.

“It wasn’t your fault okay?” She says. “Who knew a silly achilles tendon could make such a fuss.” She almost makes a joke of it. Maybe its to bite back the pain she was in on a constant basis. Just like his brother Ivar told him once.

“So you’re doing this for you, then?”

“I’m doing it because all women deserve to be sexy. All of them. My clothes will bring them that.” She leans against his arm. “Ivar understands.”

Ivar was also, oh, Hvitserk didn’t know-- born like that. Hvitserk worries what might happen from this new narrative of abuse. Not for his sake but for hers. His mother promised this would be done carefully to keep her safe.

“Yeah, you know, I do too.” Hvitserk swallows. “It’s good. It’s just--”

“You’re worried about me.” She shifts around, looking outside of large arching windows that bring in bright light. A radiant light that fills the airport with hope, and for her, as Hvitserk discovers… a new chance at life. Outside, Ivar reclines against the car with his hand upon his own crutch. It was only a loading zone but hey, being a cripple did have its benefits!

“Yeah.” Hvitserk swallows.

“You don’t have to be.”

Then as he opens his mouth again, she leans up to his lips. She places a closed lipped kiss upon his lips. Then as she turns, shouting at Ubbe to hurry up, Hvitserk smiles. This... this girl, the loud one with beautiful dresses and vibrant makeup, this was the real her.

“Because Hvitserk-- I’m finally free.”

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#Hvitserk x Reader #Hvitserk/Reader #Vikings x Reader #Vikings/Reader #hvitserk imagine #hvitserk's heathen feast #hvitserk ragnarsson x reader #hvitserk ragnarsson imagine #Hvitty imagines

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