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[caramarie-art]

Ivarr The Boneless Done using colored pencils on an A4 (21 x 29,7cm) sized paper

This picture has been in my to-draw list for a very long time but I finally got around to do it and I'm so proud of it 🥺 I wasn't a huge fan of him to be quite honest but I have to admit both his costume and hairstyle were always on point so here he is!

[maldarine]

[imaginechishiya]

Breath of Love

Pairing: chishiya x f! reader

Summary: becoming sick wasn't the plan. falling in love wasn't the plan either. and chishiya having to save your life once again was most definitely not the plan

Warnings: fluff with a pinch of angst, medical emergency

Word count: ~10.2k

This is part 3 of Breath of Life and Breath of Evil

gif credits

Jealousy is a quiet poison, dressed in longing and disguised as love. It creeps like ivy through the cracks of trust, wrapping tight around the heart until it chokes the light. The jealous soul, blind to reason, crafts a snare of quiet cruelty, convinced that peace can be stolen, that happiness can be won by ruin.

In the shadowed corners of her restless mind, jealousy stirred like a serpent coiled and cold. Eyes burnt with the fire of what cannot be owned and a twisted plan began to bloom, thorned and silent. Each thought was laced with venom, sweetened by imagined triumph, as her heart drummed not with love, but vengeance.

Maiko Asahara couldn't take her eyes off you and Chishiya.

She had once imagined herself beside him. In the quiet of her own mind, she had believed she understood him. His silence, his brilliance, the way he kept people at a distance. He was unreachable, yes… but not to her. She was supposed to be the exception. Not you. Not a patient. Not someone fragile, someone temporary. And yet, there he stood, different. Changed. Human. Because of you.

Her heart felt hollow as the kiss unfolded before her eyes. The way he held you. The way you leaned into him. The kind of tenderness she had never once seen from him, not in all their shared years in sterile white hallways. Something inside her cracked wide open. And then it darkened.

If he couldn’t see what she saw, that you were a threat to his career, his future, his judgment, then she’d make him see. She’d protect him from you, no matter what it took.

Even if it meant getting rid of you.

Her eyes narrowed. Her heart no longer aching, only cold. And in the silent hum of the city night, she turned away, disappearing once more into the shadows.

Every evening, just as the sun dipped below the skyline and painted your windows in gold, Chishiya would arrive. Not with fanfare, not with flowers or grand gestures, but with a tote bag filled with groceries, a tired look in his eyes and that same small, unchanging expression that only softened when you smiled at him.

He never had to say he missed you. You saw it in the way he lingered in the doorway, refusing to enter until you greeted him with a sarcastic, “Well, if it isn’t my favourite sandwich maker,” or “Let me guess, more weird mushrooms I didn’t ask for?”

Chishiya never apologised for his cooking preferences, just raised an eyebrow as he calmly unpacked things.

“You’ll thank me when your immune system becomes superior,” he replied one night, placing shiitake on your cutting board.

You feigned a dramatic sigh. “I miss the days when you were just a broody mystery man who fed me grilled cheese.”

“Grilled cheese is overrated.”

“Grilled cheese saved my life.”

He paused. Then, the flicker of a smile crossed his face.

Sometimes, you’d cook together. Other times, you’d sit on the counter, legs swinging, watching him as he efficiently moved around your kitchen like it was his own.

Chishiya was becoming a part of your daily rhythm. A quiet, steady presence. One that brought a sense of safety without ever stifling you.

When you finally felt strong enough, he suggested dinner outside.

“You mean, in public?” you deadpanned.

He rolled his eyes. “Yes, in public. With actual chairs. With menus.”

“Sounds terrifying.”

He smiled. “I’ll protect you.”

The restaurant was small and tucked into a quieter part of town. Soft lighting, cosy booths and a menu that made you both squint and laugh at its dramatic descriptions. “‘Sun-kissed forest mushrooms on a bed of garlic-kissed soba,’” you read, grinning. “Should I leave you alone with that one?” He asked with the ghost of a smirk. “Only if the mushrooms consent.”

You teased each other between bites, tossing sarcastic remarks like a ball back and forth. But beneath it all was something else, something warm and unspoken. A tether gently pulling tighter.

You found yourself studying his expressions more often. The way he sometimes looked at you when he thought you weren’t paying attention, eyes soft, as if trying to memorise the light in your hair or the way your nose scrunched when you laughed too hard.

Chishiya never said much. But he didn’t need to. He reached for your hand at just the right time, grounding you when your lungs felt tight or the air too thin. He walked slower without comment, letting you set the pace. And when he thought you’d fallen asleep on the couch, he’d rest his hand lightly on your knee, just enough for you to feel his presence. To feel safe.

There was no drama. Just a quiet kind of love that wrapped around your life like a second skin. Safe. Constant. Unshakably his.

Chishiya was never the type to speak in grand declarations.

Words didn’t come easily to him. Not the emotional ones, not the kind that wrapped feelings in ribbon and handed them over like a gift. He didn’t know how to say I was scared when you didn’t answer your phone for two hours or even I miss you in the way most people would expect.

But you never needed him to say it. Because you learned to read him. You saw it in the way he always asked if you had enough oxygen before you left the apartment, even if he phrased it as, “I adjusted the flow. Don't mess with it.”

You felt it in how he always walked on the side of the sidewalk closest to traffic, subtle and unconscious.

You recognised it when he touched your back gently as you navigated crowded places, silent reassurance, silent protection. He wasn’t loud, but he was constant. Present. Steady. And when it came to your hospital appointments, that quiet loyalty never faltered.

The first time you had to return for an injection, you told him you’d be fine on your own. You were stronger now, breathing better and your confidence had begun to return. But when you arrived at the outpatient unit, there he was, already seated in the waiting chair by the wall.

“You said you had a meeting,” you said, blinking.

“It got cancelled,” he lied effortlessly, not even bothering to look up from the chart he was reviewing. He didn’t hover, didn’t ask unnecessary questions or force conversation. He just stayed. Silent, observant, and meticulous.

The nurse came in and began preparing your injection. You noticed how Chishiya subtly shifted in his chair, crossing one leg over the other as his eyes locked onto the label of the vial in her hand. His gaze swept over her ID badge, the dosage in the syringe and even the expiration date. It was all quick, fluid and subtle, but you saw it. He didn’t say a word. But his presence spoke louder than any reassurance ever could.

The second time, he stood beside your chair instead, arms crossed as if daring anyone to make a mistake.

The third time, he greeted the nurse by name and casually asked, “Still using the same batch from last week?” in that smooth, unreadable voice of his.

It made you laugh and it made you feel safe.

By the fifth appointment, the nurses had stopped being surprised by his presence.

You’d sometimes glance at him during your blood draws or injections, expecting to find him engrossed in something else, maybe on his phone or lost in thought. But he was always watching. Not nervously. Just… attentively. He noticed everything.

One day, as you waited for your vitals to stabilise post-injection, you caught his gaze and softly said, “You know you don’t have to do this every time.” He tilted his head, a faint quirk of his lips betraying the tiniest smile. “I know.”

That was the thing with Chishiya. He didn’t do things to be acknowledged. He didn’t want praise or validation. He simply cared in the only way he knew how: with consistency, loyalty and unspoken devotion. And you appreciated him for it.

You loved that his love wasn’t loud. It didn’t need to be. Because every time he adjusted your oxygen tubing without being asked, every time he walked with you through sterile white corridors, every time he placed your meds in the drawer alphabetically so you wouldn’t mix them up, you heard it.

I care about you.

I’m here.

I’m not going anywhere.

And sometimes, that meant more than a thousand I love yous ever could.

But what neither of you knew was that just outside that cocoon of warmth, something dangerous was waiting to unravel it all.

The moment Chishiya stepped through the door, his exhaustion was written across every inch of him. His shoulders slumped with fatigue, hair slightly mussed from repeatedly running his hand through it.

You grinned the second you saw him. “You look like you’ve just fought off a small army,” you teased gently, stepping forward to take his coat.

He gave you a tired half-smile, a ghost of his usual cool demeanor. “Trauma ward felt like it.”

Still, his eyes softened as they landed on the dinner plate already prepared for him. “You cooked?” You nodded proudly. “You’re not the only one who knows how to function in a kitchen, doctor.”

“I never said I did,” he murmured, lips quirking as he walked toward the table.

You reheated his meal, plating it again with a little flourish. He sat quietly as he ate and you let him enjoy the moment without chatter, occasionally sipping your tea while seated across from him. The silence between you was natural, comfortable. When he finished, he leaned back with a quiet sigh.

“Better?” you asked. “Much.”

You both migrated to the living room, where the dim light of a lamp cast a warm hue across the space. You curled up on one end of the couch while he dropped onto the other. His arms folded across his chest, head leaned back against the cushion, eyes already shut.

You watched him for a moment, admiring how the angles of his face softened in rest. “Rough day?” you asked, your voice gentle.

Chishiya didn’t open his eyes, but he started talking. He told you about back-to-back emergencies, a shortage of staff and an intern who nearly administered the wrong dose of medication to a child. His tone was steady, but you could hear the wear behind it.

“You should lay down,” you suggested quietly. “Just for a bit.” He didn’t argue, didn’t even pretend to resist. Instead, he shifted and lay down, resting his head gently in your lap. His breath caught for a second as if surprised by how natural it felt.

You smiled softly, brushing a few strands of hair away from his face and then slowly combing your fingers through it, again and again. The tension in his body seemed to melt with each stroke, his shoulders loosened, his breathing slowed.

There was something grounding about the way he relaxed against you. He hadn’t let many people touch him like this before. So casually, so tenderly. But with you, there was no wall left to keep up. No performance. Just Chishiya, quiet and undone in the safest way possible.

And in the darkness before your window lurked a danger dressed in pretty clothes, not believing her eyes. Her heart clenched in her chest as she watched him lay on your lap. Something so intimate. Something she knew he could have never imagined with anyone. But there you were, holding her man, touching her man. This had to end.

He drifted off before he could realise how much he needed the rest. You stayed there, still stroking his hair, your other hand finding the blanket on the side of the couch. Carefully, you pulled it over him, then reached for a pillow and slid it beneath his head without waking him. You stared down at him for a moment, your heart full and warm.

Leaning down, you whispered near his ear, not sure if he was too far gone in sleep to hear you. “If the couch gets too uncomfortable… you’re welcome to join me in bed.”

You left him there, quietly turning off the lamp and slipping into the bedroom, your heart still thrumming with the weight of everything unspoken between you. Time passed. You weren’t sure how long. You were already tucked in, curled on your side, half asleep, when you felt the mattress dip behind you. The faintest shift. A rustle of fabric. A presence.

His arm wrapped around your waist, slowly, like he wasn’t sure he was allowed to, but hoping he was. His warmth settled behind you, his breath brushing the back of your neck. Neither of you said a word.

But in that quiet, it was more than clear he had heard you. And he’d chosen to be there.

The morning light spilled through the windows in soft gold, gently warming the quiet apartment. The scent of toasted bread and chamomile tea filled the air, mingling with the faint trace of your shampoo still lingering in the bathroom. You moved about the kitchen in a loose t-shirt and sleep shorts, humming to yourself while arranging two plates with eggs, fruit and just enough butter on the toast to make it sinful.

Chishiya emerged not long after, hair still tousled, eyes drowsy but focused on you. He leaned against the doorway, arms crossed, wearing the t-shirt he’d slept in. His lips quirked as he took in the scene. “I could get used to waking up like this.”

You turned around, tea mug in hand. “Breakfast or me?” Without answering, he crossed the room in a few steps and pulled you close, one hand cradling the back of your head as he kissed you. Not lazily, not sleepily, but with the kind of kiss that made your knees forget their job. When he finally pulled back, his voice was a little hoarse. “Thank you for letting me stay.”

You blinked up at him, breathless. “Well, considering this place is closer to the hospital than yours, I’m just being practical. So, really, this is all for your benefit, not mine.”

He rolled his eyes in that signature way of his but couldn’t fight the smile forming on his lips. “Of course. How selfless of you.”

You both sat down to eat, the casual clinking of cutlery and mugs making the silence between conversations feel warm rather than empty.

You bit into a piece of toast, narrowing your eyes at him. “You eat like a crow,” you remarked, watching him pick at the yolk of his egg. Chishiya looked up, utterly unimpressed. “You cut your toast into triangles like a child.”

“It tastes better in triangles.”

“That’s scientifically false.”

“Says the man who once brought me a sandwich with processed cheese.”

He gasped in faux offense, placing a hand to his chest. “Blasphemy. That cheese was the cornerstone of our early bonding.” You laughed so hard you nearly spilled your tea.

After breakfast, you pulled open a drawer and tossed a toothbrush in his direction. “Here. Brand new. Figured it’s about time you got one here.”

He caught it mid-air, holding it up to inspect like it might be rigged. As he grabbed your toothpaste, he raised an eyebrow, “Mint explosion? Really?”

“It’s refreshing!”

He narrowed his eyes. “I prefer mild mint.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” you teased, bumping your shoulder into his as you stood beside him at the sink, brushing your teeth together. “Next time I’ll get toothpaste tailored to your emotional needs.”

You both tried not to laugh with mouths full of foam. He wiped his mouth with a towel, watching your reflection in the mirror, his expression a little more thoughtful now.

“You’ve got your antibody appointment today, right?” You nodded, voice muffled as you spat. “Mhm. Eleven.”

He sighed, raking a hand through his hair. “I’ve got a surgery today. I tried to move things around, but…” He looked genuinely annoyed by the schedule, jaw tightening slightly.

You leaned against the sink, reaching for his hand. “It’s okay. You don’t have to be there every time.”

“I want to be.” His voice was quiet. “It’s not obligation.”

“I know,” you whispered, giving his hand a light squeeze. “And that makes all the difference.”

You stood there for a moment in silence, hands linked, mint still lingering in the air, before you leaned up and kissed his cheek. “Now go save some lives, doctor. I’ll be fine.”

He gave you one last look, just long enough to promise he’d make it up to you somehow, before grabbing his coat and stepping out the door.

You smiled as it clicked shut, warmth blooming in your chest.

This, whatever it was… it was starting to feel like home.

The hospital felt familiar now. Less like a sterile fortress and more like a place where small routines had blossomed into comfort. You sat quietly in the waiting room, your oxygen tank humming faintly beside you as you flipped through a magazine. You weren’t nervous. You rarely were anymore. Especially not with Chishiya usually sitting beside you, hands tucked into the pockets of his white coat, quietly watching as if he could will away any complication just by being there.

When your name was called, you smiled up and stood, greeted by Nurse Aiko, the one who had handled nearly all of your antibody injections so far.

“Well, well, no broody doctor today?” she teased as she guided you down the familiar hallway.

You smirked. “He had a surgery scheduled this morning. I told him I could survive one injection without supervision.”

Aiko scoffed playfully. “Oh, thank god. I was beginning to think he doesn't trust my skills. Sometimes I don't even trust them with him always lurking around."

You laughed, hopping up onto the padded bench. “It’s nice having someone around. Even if he does spend most of the time brooding silently in a corner like a very handsome gargoyle.”

She chuckled, already preparing the injection. “He’s not as unreadable as he thinks. I’ve never seen him look at someone the way he looks at you.”

The warmth in your chest bloomed. You looked down, smiling. “He just… he makes it easier. All of this.” Aiko nodded, her voice softening. “I get it. The right person does that.”

The injection went smoothly, as always. Quick and painless. The two of you chatted casually as she cleaned up. About TV shows, about hospital gossip, about the food in the cafeteria which was still awful as always. When she handed you your chart to take to the front desk, you lingered a little.

“I think I’ll wait around a bit,” you said. “Chishiya’s lunch break should start soon.”

Aiko gave you a knowing smile. “Of course. I’ll pretend I didn’t see you loitering near the vending machines like a lovesick teenager.” You saluted her dramatically and headed down the hallway, leaving the door open behind you.

A few minutes later, as Aiko tidied up the small medical tray, there was a soft knock at the doorframe. She turned to see Maiko Asahara standing there, her smile as polished and artificial as ever.

“Hey,” Asahara said casually, folding her arms. “No Dr. Chishiya attached to her hip this time?” Aiko chuckled, wiping down the counter. “Surprisingly, no. He’s tied up in surgery.” Asahara made a show of grinning. “Wow. A rare moment of independence.”

Aiko laughed softly, distracted as she discarded the used syringes in the biohazard bin. “She’s doing really well. The treatment’s been working.”

“That’s good to hear.” Asahara's voice was airy. She turned to go, waving over her shoulder. “Well, see you around, Aiko-san.” “Yeah, see you!"

Aiko had already turned back to her paperwork. She didn’t see the glint in Asahara's eyes, the calculation behind her smile. She had asked so casually, so harmlessly, that Aiko never gave it a second thought.

You texted Chishiya: Waiting outside the paediatric wing. You added a little emoji for flair, something teasing and affectionate, the kind that always got a quiet huff of amusement from him.

He didn’t reply immediately and that didn’t worry you. You knew he had been in surgery all morning and that he was probably still scrubbing out or wrapping up his report. You were scrolling through your phone when his familiar voice pulled your attention up. “You waited,” he said simply, stepping into your view. His hair was slightly messy from the surgical cap, his eyes still sharp.

“Of course,” you smiled. “I said I would, didn’t I?” He opened his mouth like he was about to say something else, but you beat him to it. “Before you ask,” you said with a grin, “yes, I had my injection. All went well. My favourite nurse was happy you weren't there today to scare her.”

He tilted his head slightly, “Scare her?”

“Oh come on,” you laughed. “You just stand there silently, arms crossed, staring like you’re trying to mind-read. I’d be terrified to touch a syringe under that kind of pressure too.”

“I was making sure she didn’t mess up your dosage.”

“Yeah and now she’s afraid to make eye contact,” you grinned. “You’ve officially achieved intimidating watchdog status.”

He sighed, exasperated but clearly amused and gestured toward the elevators. “Come on. I’m starving. Let’s go get disappointed by the cafeteria together.”

“Finally, our shared favourite hobby: judging bad food.”

The two of you headed down together, your steps falling into rhythm. In the cafeteria, the offerings were... well, just as awful as expected. You both stood in front of the glass cases, brows furrowed, arms crossed, passing silent but savage judgment.

“I don’t even know what this used to be,” you muttered, poking at a dried-out tray of lasagna.

“Illegal,” Chishiya murmured. “On a molecular level.”

You held up a rubbery-looking slice of quiche. “This might actually be sentient.”

He gave it a single glance. “Put it down before it bites you.”

You settled on something vaguely edible. Rice with grilled fish and a side of miso soup and he followed your lead, though not without muttering, “This fish looks like it gave up halfway through life.”

You sat down by the window, trays in front of you. “See,” you pointed with your chopsticks, “this is why we balance each other. I bring the light and you bring the existential dread.” Chishiya didn’t even look up as he replied, “And you like me anyway.” You smiled at your bowl, heart quietly fluttering. “I do.”

His eyes flicked up to meet yours, just briefly. And there it was again, that silent warmth between you. No need for long speeches or flowery words. Just quiet, consistent presence. A steady kind of affection that wrapped around you like safety.

And for that moment, the world felt simple. You, him, a pair of tragically bland cafeteria trays and the soft glow of a bond that only seemed to grow stronger by the day.

The week had passed in a comforting blur of shared dinners, late-night conversations and quiet mornings with Chishiya’s presence becoming as natural to you as your own breath. He was there more often than not, falling asleep beside you, brushing his teeth next to you, learning your kitchen layout almost too well and sitting on your couch like it had always belonged to him. It didn’t feel like something new anymore. It felt like something right.

The following week came quickly, bringing with it a lung function test on Monday and an injection scheduled for Tuesday. You weren’t exactly anxious, at least not openly, but Chishiya had insisted on accompanying you for the test, showing up in his usual understated way.

You were sitting in the small waiting room outside the respiratory diagnostics lab when he arrived, dressed in his usual work attire.

“You didn’t need to come, you know,” you said, though your smile betrayed just how glad you were that he had.

Chishiya sat down beside you without a word and glanced at the ticking clock on the wall. “Dr. Kano always takes forever to go over results. I want to see them myself.” You chuckled softly. “You don’t trust him?”

“I trust his medicine,” Chishiya replied flatly. “Not his punctuality.” That made you laugh.

A nurse called you in and the test was fairly quick. Breathing into a machine while being coached through the process wasn’t exactly glamorous, but Chishiya stood quietly nearby, arms folded, watching the screen like a hawk. He didn’t say a word until the technician left to process the data.

You glanced over at him. “Satisfied?”

“Not until I see the report.”

“You’re such a control freak,” you teased and he gave you a faint side-eye, but you saw the faint smirk tug at the edge of his lips.

It wasn’t long before Dr. Kano walked in, clipboard in hand, smiling as he flipped through the sheets. “Well,” he said, giving you both a nod, “this is what I like to see. Improvement. Lungs are responding beautifully. I’m impressed.” You sat up straighter. “Really?”

Chishiya stepped forward, his eyes darting toward the numbers. “How’s her FEV1?” Kano glanced at him, amused. “Climbed by nearly fifteen percent since her last reading. We’re almost within normal range now. The antibody therapy is working.” Then he added with a knowing grin, “You don’t make it easy for my staff, do you, Dr. Chishiya?”

“I like accuracy,” he replied simply, but his eyes flicked to you. And you knew what he really meant: I like knowing she’s okay. Dr. Kano chuckled. “She’s in good hands. And clearly, very persistent company.”

“Tell me about it,” you said with a grin. Chishiya only hummed, but you could see the glint of relief in his gaze, even if he didn’t say the words. He slipped his hand into yours casually as you walked out of the exam room together, fingers lacing in that subtle, confident way that made your heart skip.

Another step forward. Another quiet victory. Another day with him by your side.

It was quiet. The kind of quiet that doesn’t ask to be filled. Warm, still, content. You were curled up on the couch, tucked under the blanket that smelled like laundry detergent and the last few weeks of closeness. The remains of dinner were still on the kitchen counter, forgotten in favour of the bowls of ice cream in your hands.

Chishiya sat beside you, one leg tucked beneath him, a hand lazily resting over his knee as he watched you devour your dessert with far too much enthusiasm. He had already finished his.

“You really don’t have to act like it’s the first time you’ve eaten,” he remarked dryly, eyebrow raised.

You didn’t even pause your spoon. “I finally got your favourite flavour right. I’m allowed to celebrate.”

He leaned slightly towards you, chin propped against the side of the couch. “It’s not bad,” he mused, in that flat, faux-casual tone he liked to use when he was setting you up.

You froze, spoon halfway to your mouth. “Not bad?”

“There are better brands,” he added, barely hiding the smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. You gasped, scandalised. “You said this was your favourite!”

He shrugged. “The flavour, yes. But the texture? The one with the dark packaging is smoother.” You narrowed your eyes at him. “You absolute ice cream snob.” His smirk widened. “It’s called having taste.”

You swatted him with the back of your hand, but it only earned you a smug chuckle. “You know how long I’ve searched for this? I asked three different store clerks like some crazed sugar-deprived maniac.”

“And yet you still brought home the inferior brand.”

“Sometimes I really can't stand you,” you muttered, faking irritation as you shoved another spoonful into your mouth.

He leaned in, his voice a soft tease now. “I know you like me.”

You looked up at him, lips still curved in a grin. “You can consider yourself lucky I still like you. You're insufferable."

“And you’re adorable,” he countered without hesitation, his tone dipping low, the humour still there but softening into something else.

You fell into laughter again, something light and genuine. It came easy around him, the way it always did and he just sat there, watching you, quietly mesmerised. Your head tipped back slightly, your eyes crinkling at the corners and Chishiya felt that familiar tug in his chest.

You set the empty bowl down on the coffee table and turned towards him, still smiling, noticing the look on his face. “What?” you asked.

He shook his head slowly. “Nothing. You just really are adorable."

Your smile faltered for a moment. Not in sadness, but in something more real. He wasn’t one to say things like that. Not without weight. Not without meaning.

His voice dipped to a whisper, like he didn’t want to break the moment. “I want to kiss you so badly right now.”

You scooted a little closer, heartbeat picking up. “So what’s stopping you?”

He lifted a hand slowly, his fingers grazing your collarbone before resting gently over your chest. Not in a teasing way, but with quiet hesitation. “I don’t want to make it harder for you to breathe.”

That broke your heart a little. How even in moments like this, his first instinct was to protect. Even from himself.

You placed your hand gently over his. “I feel fine. I’m okay, Shuntaro. Right now… I’m better than okay.”

He searched your eyes for a moment, reading you the way only he could. Then, finally, his hand slid up, over the curve of your neck, along your jawline, thumb brushing just beneath your lip. And then he leaned in.

The kiss wasn’t rushed. It was deliberate. Careful. His lips moved against yours with a sort of reverence, like he couldn’t believe he was allowed to touch you like this, like he wanted to memorise every second of it. But the restraint didn’t last long.

Your hand curled into his shirt, tugging him closer. His arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you into him with a possessiveness he rarely showed in words. His other hand tangled in your hair, tilting your head just right as the kiss deepened. Slow, hot, insistent.

There was nothing hasty about it. Only hunger wrapped in care. His mouth moved with precision, but you could feel it in every touch. The way he was still holding back, still scared to push too far, too fast.

Your breaths came quicker now, but not from the oxygen, not from the illness, from him.

The make out bloomed in warmth and quiet moans, in the way his thumb kept tracing your cheekbone, in the way your fingers threaded through his soft, blonde hair, anchoring him to you.

He kissed you like he’d waited his entire life to do it properly. Like every second apart had built up to this. But always, always with that Chishiya control, his passion contained behind careful movements, always alert to your body’s smallest reactions.

His lips hadn’t left yours for long. Barely a breath passed between one kiss and the next, but it was enough for him to whisper against your mouth, voice rough and almost pleading: “You’re irresistible.”

You felt the words melt straight into your chest, your heart thudding wildly in response. His hands were no longer tentative. Still gentle, still careful, but no longer hesitant. One rested at your lower back, anchoring you closer, fingers splayed wide like he needed to feel every inch of you just to believe you were really there. The other grazed along your ribs, memorising the slow, shaky rise and fall of your breath beneath your shirt.

“I can’t seem to stop,” he murmured, his mouth brushing your jaw now, his breath hot against your skin. You were already flushed and breathless. “Then don’t.”

That simple phrase undid him more than anything else ever could.

A soft groan escaped him as he dipped in again, this time deeper, more deliberate, his lips claiming yours with a hunger that surprised even himself. You could feel the shift in him. The edge, the fire that he usually kept so tightly caged. It wasn’t rushed, but it wasn’t patient anymore either. His hands explored slowly but firmly, curving around your waist, gliding along your spine. Every movement made it clear: he wanted you.

But even as his mouth moved with growing heat, even as he pressed you back into the couch cushions, your bodies flush, there it was. That little break in his breath, the hesitation between kisses.

He pulled back just barely, pressing his forehead to yours, trying to calm his racing pulse.

“You shouldn’t be doing anything physically draining,” he breathed, still too close, his thumb tracing the soft skin just below your ribs. “You’re still healing. Your lungs…”

You reached up, threading your fingers through his hair, tugging gently until his gaze met yours again.

He sighed, but this time it sounded like surrender. A helpless, God, what are you doing to me kind of sigh. “You’re going to kill me,” he said, voice strained, his restraint paper-thin.

But his lips found yours again before the sentence even finished.

He kissed you like a man torn. Torn between the doctor who knew better and the lover who couldn’t pull away. His hands skimmed the edges of your shirt, sliding underneath just enough to feel skin, warmth, life. He was addicted to it. To you.

The soft gasps that escaped you only made it worse. They weren’t pained, just breathless, sweet, and he found himself chasing every sound, every tremble, pressing closer, holding you tighter.

You were alive. You were healing. You were his.

And for a moment, he allowed himself to forget the sterile hospital walls, the shadows of near-death, the caution in every breath you took.

For a moment, he let himself feel everything. And it was intoxicating.

When he finally managed to pull away, he rested his head on your chest, listening to your breathing and your heart beating fast.

You whispered, “I love when you lose control a little.” And he smiled. Soft, rare, real. “I should get a fucking medal for trying to resist you.” he murmured. You kissed him once more, light and slow.

And in that quiet evening it was just two hearts learning how to beat together.

This night, the evil didn't sleep. A GM-CSF antibody vial was tempered with, the substance exchanged. Exchanged for something dangerous.

The antibody injection had become part of your routine by now, nothing strange, nothing unexpected. Aiko, your favourite nurse, had greeted you warmly, joking about how the hospital felt quieter without Chishiya looming in the corner. You laughed, saying you were finally given a chance to breathe without his laser stare, though you secretly missed him.

Aiko opened the small refrigerated box she’d just received. “New batch,” she explained casually. “Dr. Chishiya would like that.”

You nodded, rolling up your sleeve, completely unaware that at the very top of that tray was a glass vial carefully tampered with, filled with something that did not belong anywhere near your body.

The injection stung more than usual, but you didn’t say anything. You didn’t want to worry Aiko. She smiled after administering it, asked if you wanted a lollipop, an ongoing joke between you two, and you both laughed as you gathered your things.

“All done,” she said cheerfully. “Dr. Chishiya really missed out.” You waited for him near the paediatrics wing like usual, sitting on the same bench by the windows. The sun was low now, casting golden lines across the polished floors. You messaged him, letting him know where you were. He was a little late, but eventually, you saw him striding toward you already out of his work attire.

He asked about your appointment before you could even open your mouth. “All went well,” you said, rising to meet him. "I even got the first vial out of a brand new batch. Now that's something you like, hm?" You teased, poking his side.

He scoffed, unamused, but you saw the corners of his lips twitch. “C’mon, genius,” you said, linking your arm through his. “Let’s get food.”

The grocery store was quiet this time of day. You both wandered through the aisles, half shopping, half joking. Chishiya made sarcastic remarks about your questionable choice in canned goods, and you fired back with a dramatic critique of his cereal brand loyalty. It felt like any other day, comfortably warm, effortlessly close.

But then, something shifted. You blinked hard. The overhead lights felt too bright, like the world was tilting slightly. “Hey,” you said softly, “do you ever get that feeling like… you’re floating?”

Chishiya turned to you instantly, watching your face pale slightly. “What do you mean?” You reached out to steady yourself on the edge of a shelf. “It’s probably nothing. I didn’t eat much today. I feel a little… lightheaded. That’s all.”

But it wasn’t just that. A tightness had started to form in your chest and your breaths were becoming shallow. You tried to cover it with a small laugh, brushing off the concern, but Chishiya had already moved closer, his hand on your arm.

He watched you intently, his gaze scanning your face, then dropping to your pulse point as he pressed his fingers there. You were cold. Clammy. Your heart rate was sluggish and irregular. “Your pulse is bradycardic,” he muttered. “Too slow.”

You opened your mouth to reply, but the dizziness was worse now. The nausea followed. You tried to breathe deeper. Your oxygen cannula was still in place, but it wasn’t enough.

“Something’s wrong,” Chishiya said, his jaw clenched. “We’re going back. Now.” You nodded faintly, but the movement was barely there.

He took your bag, guided you gently toward the doors, one arm around you again. But this was different. You weren’t getting better as you walked. You were getting worse.

Your chest hurt now. Your breaths were coming out in shallow gasps. You leaned against him more heavily. “I… can’t…”

“We’re close,” Chishiya said. His voice was firm but urgent, betraying the panic rising beneath his calm exterior. “Don’t talk. Just breathe.”

You couldn’t. The world was dimming at the edges. You felt your knees give out. Your vision tunneled.

“Hey- hey! Stay with me,” he said, voice strained, his hands cupping your cheeks. Your eyelids fluttered. You weren’t responding like you should. “Breathe. Come on, breathe.”

You were trying. He could see it. But your breaths were weak, erratic, barely more than gasps. Your fingers twitched, grasping blindly at the fabric of his cardigan. You looked terrified.

Chishiya’s own heart was pounding. He hadn’t felt this out of control in… maybe ever.

People were moving around him. Someone asked if they should get help. He shouted without looking away from you: “Page pulmonary! Tell them it’s urgent, patient crashing outside the entrance!”

Then his hand was on your chest, feeling the sluggish heartbeat beneath.

“No. No, no- hey, look at me!” he demanded, shaking you gently. You barely managed to meet his gaze. He felt like he was cracking open. This wasn’t just a medical emergency. This wasn’t some stranger. This was you.

The one person he’d let into his private world. The one who teased him every night in the kitchen. The one whose toothbrush sat next to his. The one who calmed him just by existing. And now, you were slipping away.

“I’ve got you,” he whispered harshly, as if saying it hard enough would anchor you to him. “You’re going to be okay. You have to be okay.”

The hospital doors finally burst open. Nurses and a stretcher flew towards you. Chishiya didn’t move, still holding you upright in his arms, speaking rapidly to the team about your oxygen levels, your meds, the treatment from earlier and most importantly, the sudden crash in vitals. His voice was steady but laced with urgency. They listened. They moved fast.

As they lifted you onto the stretcher and pushed you inside, he followed without hesitation, heart thudding so hard he thought it might break through his ribs.

Inside, someone asked him to step back. “I’m not leaving her,” he growled. He wasn't on call. He had no authority here. But he didn't care. Because in that moment, nothing else mattered.

Not his place.

Not the rules.

Not the hospital.

Only you.

And deep in his chest, something dark began to rise. Rage, panic and guilt. A poisonous cocktail that left him breathless. You weren’t just crashing. You’d been sabotaged. And someone had done this to you on purpose.

As he lifted you on the nearest trauma bed, the monitor was wheeled in and slapped on. Your vitals blinked on screen and his stomach dropped.

Blood pressure: 66/40.

Heart rate: 42 bpm.

O2 saturation: 84% with supplemental oxygen.

You were slipping fast.

“Get me 1 mg atropine IV push. Stat!” Chishiya snapped at a nearby nurse. “And start a dopamine drip, titrate slowly. Set up for central line access.”

His voice was clipped, sharp, every syllable cutting through the rising panic in the ER. This wasn’t just another patient. This was you.

He pressed his fingers against your neck, checking the sluggish carotid pulse. It was there, but weak, thready. He swore under his breath.

“Aiko,” he demanded suddenly, scanning the doorway. “Where the hell is nurse Aiko?!”

She was already halfway down the hall, running toward the trauma bay. She stopped short when she saw your pale face, the wires being attached, your chest barely rising beneath the oxygen mask. Her face went white. “W-What happened?” she stammered. “I- I just saw her, she was fine-"

“What did you inject her?” Chishiya’s voice snapped like a whip, furious and desperate. “The antibodies. What batch?”

“The same as always,” Aiko said, bewildered. “I- I got them from the pharmacy. It was a new tray, Maiko Asahara brought me, said they just came in, so I-"

He grabbed her by the upper arm, not harsh, but firm enough to pull her back to focus. “Did you check the vials? Were they sealed properly?” Aiko’s eyes widened. “They looked fine. Why-?”

"Where’s the empty vial?” he demanded.

“I- it should be in the disposal bin in Room 3.”

“Go. Bring the entire tray and the vial. Now. Don’t stop. Don’t talk. Just go.”

Aiko nodded frantically and bolted from the room. Chishiya turned back to you. “Hang in there,” he whispered, almost inaudible. “Don’t you dare crash on me.”

He swiftly inserted a larger gauge IV, his hands steady despite the sweat on his brow. As the meds were pushed in, he adjusted the oxygen flow, watching the monitor for any improvement.

“Heart rate’s still in the forties,” another nurse muttered. “I know,” Chishiya hissed, pressing a stethoscope to your chest. The bradycardia hadn’t improved. The atropine was barely helping.

“Let’s run an ECG. Possible AV block. Draw blood for toxicology.” He was already doing half of it himself, prepping syringes, adjusting dosages, barking orders even as his eyes flickered back to your face every few seconds.

You twitched once, barely conscious, trying to move. “I’m here,” he said quickly, one gloved hand resting briefly against your shoulder. “I’ve got you. Just stay with me.”

Moments later, Aiko returned, panting, tray in one hand, a broken glass vial in the other held inside a sterile bag. Chishiya didn’t even look at her. His eyes went straight to the vial. There was a single drop of liquid still inside, glinting faintly in the light.

Too faint.

Too clear.

His stomach sank.

“This isn’t the antibody solution,” he said, more to himself than anyone else. He turned the vial slowly, then held it up to the light.

The colour was wrong. Slightly off, but unmistakably not the pale amber hue of the standard antibody treatment. And the seal, now that he looked closely, was imperfect. Fractured, like it had been punctured.

His gut twisted. “This has been tampered with.” He locked eyes with Aiko, who stood frozen. “Take it to the lab. Now. Tell them it’s urgent, priority toxicology. Have Dr. Kano paged now.”

“Yes- yes!” she scrambled, disappearing again with the evidence.

Chishiya turned back to you. You were getting worse. The monitor let out a long, low beep. Your oxygen had dipped to 78%.

“Push another round of atropine,” he ordered sharply. “And prep an epinephrine backup.”

He leaned down close, one hand brushing the hair from your forehead, his eyes bare and frantic.

“You’re not leaving me,” he whispered. “Not now.”

And for a second, just a second, the warzone around him fell silent. The machines still beeped. The staff still moved. But he couldn’t hear any of it.

All he could focus on was your face. Your body, so still and the pounding echo of his own heartbeat, screaming at him not to lose the one person who had made him feel alive.

You stopped breathing.

Chishiya’s heart dropped as the monitor let out a flatline warning. That long, high-pitched tone that tore through the ER like a knife. Your oxygen saturation plummeted, the line on the screen now nearly flat, your pulse unresponsive under his fingers.

“Get the crash cart, now!” Chishiya bellowed, snapping out of his shock. A code blue rang through the speakers.

A flurry of motion exploded around him, nurses rushing in, equipment wheeled forward, a defibrillator powered on, gel pads ripped open.

But Chishiya was already moving. He tilted your head, clearing your airway, starting compressions with the precision of someone who had done this more times than he could count. But never like this. Never with someone he loved lying beneath his hands.

“One milligram epinephrine, IV push!” he shouted, sweat clinging to his temple as his hands pressed rhythmically into your sternum.

A nurse passed the syringe. He injected without missing a beat, counting every compression, silently willing your heart to respond.

“Charge to 200!” a nurse called. Chishiya stepped away from you.

“Clear!”

The shock jolted your body. Still nothing.

Chishiya’s pulse thundered in his ears, his thoughts racing. Why wasn’t it working? What the hell had she given you?

Then a flash of memory. The vial. The colour. The delayed symptoms. Your heart rate. Your blood pressure. Beta blockers.

His hands trembled slightly as he glanced at the ECG again. Bradycardia. Hypotension. It all lined up.

He shouted over his shoulder, “Push glucagon! Five milligrams IV. Stat! And prep an intralipid infusion!”

The nurses blinked, surprised by the call, but trusted him without hesitation.

As the medication flooded your system, Chishiya kept your airway open, eyes darting between the monitors and your face. He didn’t stop the compressions until he saw it.

A blip. Then another.

“Sinus rhythm,” someone muttered.

The long, flat line began to peak, slow but steady. Your oxygen saturation ticked back upward, heartbeat sluggishly returning.

Chishiya slumped forward, resting his hands on either side of your face, breathing hard, jaw clenched so tightly it hurt. His forehead pressed lightly to yours for just a second, eyes closed.

You were alive. He could feel your pulse again. Faint, but there.

“Stabilise the rhythm. Start fluids. Monitor vitals every five minutes,” he instructed hoarsely, his voice cracking for the first time.

When your vitals held steady for ten minutes, they moved you. Room 204. Private. Machines still blinking. IVs connected. Oxygen flowing. Chishiya hadn’t moved from your side.

He sat beside the bed, a hand gripping the rail as if by sheer will he could keep you tethered to the world. Your skin was still too pale. Your breathing shallow, assisted. But you were here.

That’s when Dr. Kano arrived, his face pinched, clearly rushed, confusion written all over him.

“What the hell happened?” he asked. Chishiya stood slowly, exhausted, but laser-focused. “She was poisoned,” he said grimly. “The antibody vial was tampered with. Nurse Aiko administered it. She didn’t know. She was handed a new tray by Maiko Asahara. Top vial was compromised. Hole drilled in the glass. Liquid replaced.” Dr. Kano’s expression darkened. “Are you sure?”

“I saw it with my own eyes. The colour was off. It didn’t behave like the original solution. She was overdosed on beta blockers.” His voice faltered.

Kano nodded sharply. “I’ll have security review the pharmacy footage immediately. We’ll check the timestamps and who accessed the cabinets.”

Chishiya looked back at you, lying motionless in the bed, machines blinking steadily. “She knew I wouldn’t be there today,” he muttered, barely audible. “She waited for it.”

Dr. Kano looked at him, a long pause stretching between them. “We’ll find proof. And we’ll report her.”

But Chishiya didn’t answer. He just sat back down beside you again, reaching out, gently brushing your hand with his fingers.

You were still too weak to respond. But he would stay right there, for as long as it took.

The beeping of your heart monitor was no longer urgent, but calm and rhythmic. A quiet reassurance. Chishiya hadn’t moved in hours. He sat in the same chair, his posture hunched forward, elbows on his knees, hands clasped tightly in front of him as he watched you sleep, your breathing shallow but stable.

You looked peaceful. And yet, all he could see was how close he had come to losing you.

He let out a breath he hadn’t realised he’d been holding. Then finally, he spoke. Not loudly, not sharply, but softly. His voice low, like a whisper reserved only for you.

“I’m not good at this,” he began, eyes fixed on your hand resting atop the blanket. “Talking. Feeling.”

His fingers hovered above yours for a moment before he dared to reach out, gently brushing his thumb across your skin.

“I’ve spent my whole life keeping people at a distance. It was easier that way. Safer. I didn’t have to worry about saying the wrong thing. Or hurting someone. Or losing someone.” He swallowed hard, jaw tense.

"But then you came along. And you didn’t ask for anything from me. You didn’t push. You just… stayed. You made room for me without needing anything in return.”

He glanced at you, eyes lingering on your face, at the way your lashes fluttered slightly as you drifted between sleep and waking.

“And somehow… that terrified me more than anything else ever has.” There was a pause. A long silence in which he simply watched you breathe.

“I was scared. Still am. Because you make me feel things I didn’t know I could feel. You make me want to feel them. And I don’t know how to do this. How to be this.”

His voice grew quieter, more vulnerable. “But I’m learning. Because of you.”

He leaned in slightly, forehead almost touching the edge of the bedrail, as if needing to be just a little closer, needing to bridge the space that fear had always kept between him and the world.

And then, in the smallest voice, barely a breath:

"I love you.”

The words hung there in the still air, fragile and real and unspoken for far too long.

And though your eyes remained closed, a tear slid slowly down your cheek. Chishiya saw it. And for once, he didn’t try to hold back the storm in his own chest. He gently reached forward, brushing it away with the back of his finger.

Aiko stepped in, out of her scrubs, a bag slung over her shoulder, clearly off-duty.

“I… I just wanted to check in on her,” she said, her voice quiet. Chishiya didn’t look at her.

Aiko hesitated, then stepped closer. “You’ve been here for hours. If you want, I can sit with her for a bit. You should get something to eat.”

At that, Chishiya’s eyes finally lifted, sharp and burning. “You’re the one who injected her,” he said coldly.

Aiko flinched. “I know,” she whispered. “And I’m so sorry. I didn’t know. I didn’t see the difference in the vial-"

“You should have,” he snapped.

There was a moment of silence so thick it seemed to stop the ticking of the machines.

“I know,” she said again, softer. “But she knows I’d never hurt her on purpose. And I want to help make this right.”

Chishiya exhaled through his nose, jaw still tight. He nodded stiffly before leaving.

But he didn’t go to the cafeteria.

Instead, he stormed through the corridors, his footsteps echoing like a warning bell. Anger pounded in his chest like a second heartbeat. The moment he reached Dr. Haneda’s office, he didn’t even knock. He shoved the door open.

Haneda looked up from his desk, surprised. “Dr. Chishiya?”

“This ends tonight,” Chishiya growled. “Asahara did it. She tampered with the medication. She nearly killed her.”

Haneda sighed heavily, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “Again with this? You’re letting your emotions cloud-"

“I’m not wrong,” Chishiya interrupted, his voice razor-sharp. “And I won’t let you protect her anymore.”

“There’s no proof,” Haneda countered. “You can’t just-"

“Call Dr. Kano.” Haneda blinked. “Call. Dr. Kano. Now.” Reluctantly, Haneda picked up the phone.

Minutes later, Dr. Kano entered the office, his brow furrowed as he glanced between them. “What’s going on?”

“Chishiya thinks Asahara tampered with today’s medication,” Haneda said. “He’s demanding she be terminated.”

“She almost killed her,” Chishiya snapped.

Kano didn’t dismiss him. He looked thoughtful. “Actually… I’ve been thinking the same thing." Haneda stared at him. “What?”

Kano nodded slowly. “The lung function test showed marked improvement. There was no clinical reason for her vitals to crash today, unless something else interfered. Sabotage makes sense.”

Before Haneda could reply, Kano’s phone buzzed. He answered, listening carefully, then looked up at both men. “That was security. They found something.”

They rushed to the surveillance office, tension thick in the air. The security guard rewound the footage to last night. The screen showed the pharmacy unit, quiet and sterile, until Maiko Asahara entered.

They watched her glance around nervously. Then she opened a locked cabinet, took out the small tray of vials and palmed one of them. She moved swiftly, expertly, a small tool in her hand. She pierced the vial, extracted some of its contents and injected something else.

The room was silent. Chishiya’s fists clenched. Dr. Kano’s eyes narrowed. Haneda’s expression drained of all its denial. There it was. Clear as day. Tampering. A deliberate act of attempted murder.

Haneda finally spoke, voice low and grave. “I’ll call hospital security. She’s not stepping foot in this building again.”

“No,” Chishiya said flatly. “You call the police.” And for the first time in this entire nightmare, justice was finally in motion.

The break room was unusually silent. A chill hung in the air despite the hum of the old vending machine. Maiko Asahara sat stiffly on the edge of the couch, her fingers nervously twisting the hospital ID still clipped to her scrubs. She wasn’t in handcuffs. Not yet. But her world had already started to shrink. The door behind her had been locked by security. She wasn’t allowed to leave.

The only thing that moved was the second hand on the clock. And then came the sound of the door opening. She looked up quickly, hope flashing in her eyes. Him.

Chishiya stepped in without a word, the door clicking shut behind him. He didn’t rush, didn’t glare. But the look in his eyes was colder than she’d ever seen. Precise. Final.

She stood up, smoothing down her scrub top, trying to hold on to the composure that had already begun to crack. “Shuntaro,” she said softly, as if saying his name gently might soften him.

He didn’t respond. Just studied her. A long, unblinking silence that felt like judgment itself.

“You came,” she said, voice brittle. “I thought you might… once you saw everything. Once you realised I did it for you.”

His jaw tensed.

“I never meant to hurt you,” she rushed on. “But she was, she is, a distraction."

“Careful,” Chishiya interrupted, his voice low. Controlled. Dangerous. "And it is Dr. Chishiya to you." Asahara faltered.

He walked slowly toward the center of the room, arms crossed in front of his chest, the way he always stood when he was ready to deliver a diagnosis. But this time, the case was her.

“You know,” he began, “I thought I’d want to scream when I saw the footage. Thought I’d finally let myself lose control.” He looked at her then, straight into her. “But I don’t need to scream at you, Asahara. You already lost.”

Her mouth opened, trying to shape a rebuttal, an apology, maybe, but he didn’t give her the space.

“You almost killed her,” he said simply.

“I didn't mean to hurt you."

“But you did.” He tilted his head slightly, voice steady as ice. “And now you’re exactly where you belong.”

Her eyes shone with desperation. “I still love you,” she whispered. “You’ll see. When she’s gone, when she leaves..."

Chishiya didn’t laugh. He didn’t even flinch. Instead, a soft smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, not amused, not kind. Just resolute. Final. “She’s not going anywhere,” he said, eyes sharp, voice unwavering. “I won’t let her.” It was the most honest thing he’d ever said.

Behind the glass of the vending machine, the reflection of red and blue lights began to flash faintly. The police were here.

As Chishiya reached the door, he paused, just for a breath, and glanced back over his shoulder. His eyes met hers one final time.

“You don’t get to rewrite this,” he said, voice calm but resolute. “She’s everything I never thought I needed. Everything I didn’t know I was even capable of wanting.” His gaze sharpened. “And you don’t get to touch that. You don’t get to ruin that.” He straightened. “I won’t let anyone try. Not again."

And with that, he stepped out of the room. The heavy click of the lock behind him sounding more like closure than any words ever could.

The sterile, quiet hum of machines was the first thing you registered. It wasn’t alarming. Just a soft rhythm, steady and reassuring. Your eyes fluttered open, slowly adjusting to the dim light of the hospital room. Everything felt heavy, like surfacing from a dream you weren't sure you'd survive.

Your lungs ached, but air filled them. Your limbs were weak, but they were yours. And then you saw him. Chishiya.

He was asleep on the chair next to your bed, his long legs awkwardly bent, arms crossed, head tilted slightly. Even in his sleep, there was tension in his posture, like his body refused to fully rest while you were still tethered to monitors.

You whispered his name. "...Shuntaro.”

His eyes snapped open instantly. There was no grogginess, no slow return to awareness. He was alert within a heartbeat. Before saying anything, he leaned forward, scanning the monitor beside you with practiced ease. Heart rate, oxygen, blood pressure. His eyes flicked over each line like he needed proof that you were truly okay.

Then his gaze found yours. For a long, silent second, he just stared. As if confirming that you were here, really here. Awake. Alive.

A shaky breath left him. And then he leaned in, pressing a kiss to your forehead with trembling reverence. His hand came to rest gently on your arm. His voice, when he spoke, was hoarse with the exhaustion and raw emotion he rarely let show.

“I’m so proud of you,” he whispered. “You’re so strong.”

A soft smile tugged at your lips. Your throat burned when you spoke, but the words came out anyway. “Wouldn’t have made it without you.”

He shook his head, brushing it off in typical Chishiya fashion. “I didn’t do anything.”

“You did everything,” you murmured.

He sat back slightly, eyes still on you and finally, he let a breath escape his chest, like he’d been holding it the whole night. “They arrested her,” he said quietly. “Asahara. It’s over now.”

You blinked, processing. “Arrested?”

“She tampered with your meds. Swapped the antibodies with a beta blocker overdose. You crashed because of her. But we saw the footage. There’s no more doubt. No more hiding.”

You let out a breath, shaky and laced with disbelief. “You were right all along.” He gave a one-shouldered shrug, the ghost of a smile tugging at his lips. “I usually am.”

That made you chuckle. Weak, but real. “I guess it would have been better if you had hovered during my injections."

The room fell into a warm silence, the kind that settles after a storm. The kind where two people finally breathe again.

You watched him for a moment, the way his fingers traced the edge of the blanket, the way he looked at you like you were something fragile and fierce all at once.

Then you saw it, that shift in his expression. A subtle hesitation, a vulnerability that Chishiya rarely let surface. His mouth opened slightly, then closed again. He was struggling, searching for something.

You knew what it was. You reached up, hand trembling only slightly and cupped his cheek. His breath hitched at the touch. He leaned into your palm like it was the only thing keeping him grounded.

“I heard you,” you whispered. He blinked. “Last night,” you continued. “When you thought I couldn’t hear you. I heard every word.”

His jaw tensed, a flicker of fear in his eyes. The kind that only comes when you lay your soul bare and don’t know if it’s safe.

You smiled gently. “And I love you too, Shuntaro Chishiya.”

His eyes closed, just for a second. As if the words physically moved through him. He exhaled like he hadn’t taken a full breath until now and when he opened his eyes again, they were glassy with emotion. This time, he didn’t hesitate. He leaned down, brushing his lips softly against yours. Not a desperate kiss, not a panicked one, but a quiet, soul-deep affirmation.

A promise.

In the end, it wasn’t the hospital walls, the endless tests, or the shadows of danger that defined them. It was the way two hearts, fragile yet unyielding, learned to beat in sync, how tenderness grew in the quiet spaces between fear and hope.

The sickness tried to break the body. The evil tried to fracture the soul.

But love, in its steady and stubborn way, wove every fracture into something unshakable.

And so they would be able to walk forward, hand in hand, not untouched by the storm, but made stronger because they had weathered it together.

Two hearts that had found each other in the most unlikely place and now, nothing, not fear, not fate, could pull them apart.

A/N: feedback is highly appreciated, i feel like i poured my soul and my entire being into the series😭♡

[barefoot-treeperson]

His Hostage

Ivar the Boneless x Irish Warrior reader, female reader, she/her pronouns

Fluff/Smut

Warnings: attempted SA, blood/murder, oral f and m receiving

Summary: Ivar and Hvitserk are both alive after their battle at Wessex, thanks to the helping hand of King Alfred. But Alfred wants them alive to lead his army against another enemy, the Irish Kingdom of Uí Maine. The reader is the princess of this kingdom, and it’s her job to end the war before it begins.

Word count: 7.5k

After both Ivar and his brother, Hvitserk, almost lost their lives to the Saxons in Wessex they had made an alliance with King Alfred instead. To do some of his bidding, while also being able to complete Ragnar’s dream a different way.

“Ivar, Hvitserk,” King Alfred walked into the infirmary where the two viking brothers were healing and being treated by Christian sisters. “You both must be wondering why I am keeping you here in Wessex, and alive.” He sat at the foot of Ivar’s bed.

“Because you want us to convert,” Ivar said coldly, “to be the king to turn two sons of Ragnar to Christianity”

Hvitserk scoffs.

“No, no,” King Alfred waves his hand in a dismissing fashion. “I need your viking ways for a favor.”

“A favor?” Hvitserk straightens up.

“Yes. Once you and most of your surviving men are healed, I want my army to join with yours and you, Ivar, to lead them against an Irish clan.” King Alfred explains.

“The Irish?” Hvitserk raises an eyebrow.

“Yes, what is your quarrel with these irish? Aren’t both your people Christians? Believe in one loving god?” Ivar mocks.

“Yes, this is true. But the Irish are complicated. They believe in Christ, and in his father, god. But they still stick to their old pagan ways as well, celebrating the same fire festivals, same old gods and creatures. They’ve beheaded multiple of our missionaries and sent their heads back to us on pikes,” a slight shiver goes through King Alfred. “This clan is just as barbaric as you vikings.”

Ivar rolled his eyes, “What’s in it for us?”

“Half of their fertile land. Another reason the Kings of Wessex have been interested in gaining control of them.”

Ivar and Hvitserk exchanged looks. Ivar smiled slyly and turned to Alfred, “It’s a deal. What is this clan called?”

—------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Ivar and Hvitserk’s army, now a mixture of vikings and saxon warriors, landed on the east coast of Ireland and started marching west towards the great kingdom of Ui Maine. They walked through mossy green forests.

“I keep wondering about how we got here, brother,” Ivar pipes up.

“What do you mean, Ivar?” Hvitserk turns his head to him.

“We are a Christian king’s lackies,” Ivar scoffs. “And our only reward is going to be land,” he giggles.

“Half of a kingdom, Ivar” Hvitserk chuckles. “We can make you the first viking king of Ireland. We have the rest of our lives to figure things out. This is just another step.” Hvitserk pats his back.

“You’re very optimistic, brother. I’m glad to be here with you,” Ivar turned back to facing forward, trying to keep the scowl off of his face. He hated being controlled, hated being under anyone’s orders. And now he and his brothers were under the orders of the very people they were supposed to despise the most, the Christian Saxons of Wessex. He should’ve spat in King Alfred’s face when he proposed the deal. But Ivar thought, once we get rid of this threat for Wessex, we’ll gain our land and our resources and do what King Ecbert did to Ragnar’s settlement in England. Invade and slaughter.

—------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

You, your father, the king of Ui Maine, and your men have been notified of the arrival of Ivar’s army on the outskirts of the kingdom, thanks to the scouts. You and your father had just been debriefing some of the chieftains of the planned defenses against the viking army. You both were now walking through the narrow halls of the stone castle.

“I have an idea that only you can carry out, my child,” your father speaks up.

“What is it, father?”

“You have to sit out of the first few battles,” your father scrunches his face as if preparing for your furry.

You stop dead in your tracks and turn to fully face your father. You narrow your eyes, “excuse me?” You were a warrior, a fierce and legendary one at that! You had the tattoos and battle scars to prove it! How dare your father keep you from fighting against your first viking army? Especially one led by the sons of Ragnar?!

Your father put his hands on your shoulders. “These vikings don’t know who you are, my little rabid one. Without you, our armies will be evenly matched enough to exchange hostages at some point. I want to exchange you.”

“What? Why?”

“You’ve always been sneaky. I want you to use your brain on this one. Destroy their army from within. Can you do that instead of using brute force, rabid?”

You nod and your father pats you on your shoulder.

—------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The first battle was extremely bloody, there were major losses on both sides. Your father told you to stay at the camp during the battle but you couldn’t stay there to envision your men falling without you by their side. You had to at least watch. You decided to stay on the edge of the battlefield with your longbow, hunched over in the lush treetops. You shot down rarely to avoid detection, only if a chieftain was in a compromised position.

For the most part you only observed. Observed the bloodshed that you weren’t allowed to do anything about. It pained you not to fight for your people, to just sit. You looked over at the opposite side of the battlefield, and you saw them, the sons of Ragnar.

The man you assumed was Hvitserk cut through your men with his axe like a true berserker, yelling like a crazed man after every kill. The other son, Ivar the Boneless, was protected by a small shieldwall and was looking over the battle with the same fury in his eyes as you. You assumed he was the tactician, with his limp legs he had limited choices as a viking.

The battle soon ended and your men returned to camp, the wounded being tended to. You had removed your armor before anyone arrived and hoped to not be asked if you were in fact at the battlefield.

It had been multiple days since the first battle, your men were still healing and your scouts had just come to warn you that the Ragnarssons and a few flanking vikings were approaching, carrying a white flag. It was time. You rushed to your tent, changed out of your tunic and pants into a deep emerald dress. You put coal around your eyes while two of the chieftains’ wives braided knots into your hair. All your tattoos and battle scars were covered with fabric or pasty makeup, you had been made up into a fair maiden again. Still didn’t look delicate, you were too strong looking, too broad shouldered, to go back to looking delicate like you did when you were a child, but this would have to do.

You stood up and thanked the women before leaving your tent. You walked towards the edge of the camp where the white flag was staked in the ground.

“So we trade hostages?” Ivar suggests.

You roll your eyes, of course your father was right about the outcome of the Norsemen’s decision, he could read all his enemies before he ever even met them. It honestly infuriated you sometimes.

“Of course, Ivar Lothbrok. We were thinking the same thing,” the chieftain that had been placed to lead the army in your place agreed as two of your men grabbed your arms and escorted you towards the Ragnarssons. “This is Princess Y/N. She so happened to want to see some vikings up close and personal. I believe you’ll find her a worthy hostage.”

Ivar crept forward slightly on his crutch. He stayed silent for a while as he looked you up and down with his icy blue eyes. “She’s quite strong looking for a princess, isn’t she?” Ivar tilted his head.

“I assure you, she’ll behave,” the chieftain smiled.

“Of course she will,” Ivar gestured to one of his men who tied rope around your wrists. “It’s not like she, by herself, can fight her way out of a viking camp.”

Ivar had traded an English nobleman of King Alfred’s for you. He grabbed your arm and led you over to his horse. “On,” he nudged you. You pulled yourself up onto the horse, two of his men then lifted Ivar, seating him right behind you. Hvitserk mounted his horse and was then handed the reins of Ivar’s horse.

As the horses started to trot into the woods one of Ivar’s arms wrapped around your waist, “my apologies princess. But your hands are tied, I don’t want you falling off.” He held you tighter.

“Thank you,” you said through gritted teeth.

“You feel very built to be just a princess,” Ivar smiled smugly as he rested his head on your shoulder.

You stiffened, “well my father always wanted me to be able to defend myself. Just in case. He wanted me to be a bit strong, nothing insane,” you lied.

“Mhmm,” he hummed. “Your father will probably be in such disarray when he finds out his chieftains traded you.”

“I’m sure he’ll be just fine.”

“Yes, we’ll all be just fine,” Ivar smirked at you.

Eventually you all reached the camp and dismounted the horses. Ivar ordered two of his men to bring you to Hvitserk and his tent, “we’ll be the ones to watch her for the night.”

Hvitserk raised a brow and turned to his brother, “why are we the ones watching her?”

“It was something King Alfred told me, about a certain warrior this Irish kingdom had in store for us.”

—------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The month before in the infirmary, when Hvitserk had already healed and Ivar still needed a little more time, King Alfred sat on the foot of Ivar’s bed again. “Ivar there is one other thing I have to warn you about before you and your men leave for Ireland.”

“What is it?” Ivar pinched the bridge of his nose.

“There’s a warrior known as the Rabid that leads the army.”

“The Rabid you say?” Now this nickname has caught Ivar’s interest. “Why is this warrior called that?”

“They fight like a feral beast, a demon from the depths of hell some say,” Ivar smirked as Alfred continued. “The last time my father’s men approached the kingdom of Ui Maine, they ripped the throat of a nobleman out, with their teeth. My father and his army retreated right then and there.”

“Well I’m sure that old man is long gone or at least not in fighting shape anymore,” Ivar sits up and pats Alfred’s back. “It's been many years after all.”

“Child,” Alfred turned to him.

Ivar tilted his head, “what?”

“When my father’s army was there, the rabid warrior was a mere child. Would be around our age now.”

Ivar went back to pinching the bridge of his nose.

—------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“I don’t see what that has to do with the princess,” Hvitserk’s eyebrows were scrunched together.

Ivar sighed, “there was no rabid warrior during the battle. And we just happen to be handed the princess of the kingdom that is as buff as the average warrior.”

“Okay, yes, it was strange they chose the princess to be the hostage. But I believe you may be stretching it a little, Ivar,” Hvitserk pats his shoulder. “Plus a child that fights like a demon sounds like Saxon propaganda more than reality.”

Ivar paused and thought, “I suppose you could be right. A rabid child makes no sense.”

You were tossed onto the ground of the tent, the men left and stood outside the opening. There were two small beds on either side of the tent, newly made of wood and animal skin. There were leather bound chests that you assumed were full of weapons and supplies.

Now what was going to be your plan? Your father just told you to be sneaky and use your brain. No offense to you or anything, but that wasn’t exactly your forte. Sure, you were great at battle strategy and defense, an amazing fighter that struck fear into your enemies hearts. But you’ve never been good with words, and you assumed this task was going to include a lot of talking on your part.

You sighed. Or of course you could just silently kill the Ragnarssons in the dead of night. You thought. No, no, too risky, everyone is packed too close together in this camp, someone would hear you. You decided you’d just try to gain the trust of the Ragnarsons, and if all else failed you’d leave into the woods and ready your men for another battle.

Ivar entered the tent and dragged himself to one of the beds, he sat down, propping his crutch up against the chest. “So Princess, what is your name?”

“Y/N of the O’Y/L/N Clan.”

“I’ve heard that is a clan of warriors. How did you learn Norse?”

“You northmen have been on this land for decades, it would be stupid not to know some of your language.”

“That’s fair,” Ivar smirks. “Come here,” he beckons with his hand.

“Why?”

“You’re our guest, you shouldn’t be tied up the entire time,” he took a knife out of its sheath at his hip. “Now come here.”

You get up and hesitantly walk over to Ivar, keeping as much distance as you can while giving him your tied wrists. Ivar took your wrists and yanked you closer to him, “relax, dove” he said barely above a whisper. “You have no need to be scared,” he cut your wrists free.

“Why would I be scared?” You hummed, “because I’m surrounded by vikings and saxons? The people my kingdom and country have had tensions with for so long.”

Ivar chuckled. He let go of your wrists, moving his hands to his legs. He winced slightly as he rubbed them.

“They hurt,” you looked down at him, still standing at the edge of his bed.

He rolled his eyes, “yes, I’ve noticed.”

You hummed, “how do you treat the pain? If you don’t mind me asking.” You go back to your spot on the ground.

“Treat the pain? It is not like I am injured. I’m just a cripple,” Ivar scoffed.

You tilt your head, “so you just deal with it? Ignore it?”

He sighed, “yes, I am viking.”

“That is stupid,” you scoffed.

“Excuse me?!” His voice was sharp.

“Living your life in pain when you could try to ease it, is stupid,” you threw your hands up. “Just because you’re a viking doesn’t mean you have to suffer from your own body.”

“The Gods made me this way, so yes it does,” his jaw tensed.

“The Gods also made the remedies,” Ivar became silent.

There was a long pause before he spoke again, “fine. What remedies do you have in mind?”

“There’s a White Willow down by the stream, I could go gather you some of its bark.”

“Tree bark?” He raised an eyebrow, “really?”

You nod, “it won’t get rid of your pain completely but it may dampen it.”

“Alright, two of my men will go with you.”

—------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

You walked through the woods with two of Ivar’s men until you reached the White Willow by the stream you spoke about. You took out the knife Ivar had given you and started chipping away at the bark. As you put the bark away in the satchel that Ivar had also given you for this purpose, you could feel the two men creeping closer to you.

Your grip tightened on the knife as one of the men put his hand on your shoulder and smoothed it down your bicep, “you’re a pretty thing aren’t you?” You rolled your eyes.

“I wouldn’t touch me if I were you,” you warned.

“Oh is that right?” The second man laughed and pushed you up against the tree, pinning you.

You huffed as he pressed himself against you. You put your hands against the tree and threw your head back into his nose, he stumbled backwards, blood pouring from my face. You turned to face them while rubbing the back of your head. “I warned ya.”

The first man unsheathed his sword and swung high at your head. You ducked and tackled him, quickly taking the knife to his throat and slicing it. You jumped off of the dying man and circled the other one. He gripped his axe and charged. You dodged while knocking him into a tree, causing him to fall into the shallow water of the stream. You took your opportunity and kneeled on his head until he stopped struggling.

You stood with your hands on your hips and looked down. You sighed deeply. Well there goes your no killing plan.

—------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

You walked back into camp with a satchel full of White Willow bark, carrying one dead man over your shoulder like a sack of grain, and dragging another one by the leg. When the men at the camp saw this, they pointed their weapons at you, Hvitserk approached you, holding his axe against your chest. You dropped both men and grinned, “my apologies, but they had it coming.”

Hvitserk chuckled without letting his guard down, “is that so? What did they do to deserve this, princess?”

“Tried to force themselves upon me,” you put bluntly.

Hvitserk lowered his axe, “understandable.” He turned to a few men, “bury the bodies.”

You walked back into Ivar’s tent and handed him his knife. “There’s blood on the blade. Why?” He looked up at you skeptically.

“Your men were touchy,” you opened up the satchel.

“I apologise, maybe I should’ve gone with you instead.”

“It is alright. Neither of them will be touching anyone again.”

Ivar’s eyes widened, and he grinned, “you killed both of them. With just this tiny blade?”

“No. Only one with the blade, the other in the stream,” you smiled at him.

He laughed. A genuine laugh. You hadn’t expected that from Ivar the Boneless.

You took bark out from the satchel, “here, chew on this.”

You handed him a piece, when he reached for it he grazed your fingers, “thank you, dove.”

Ivar chewed on the bark and started to take his leg braces off. He threw a few animal furs at you, “it’s getting late, we should get some sleep.”

You start to lay down the furs on the ground, when you notice he again isn’t doing anything for his legs, after he just took them out of stiff, tight looking metal braces. “Hold on,” you walk over to his bedside and try to pull off the fur blanket covering him.

“What are you doing?” He pulled the blanket back. He didn’t understand why you were trying to see his legs, why you were being aggressive about it as well.

You dropped the blanket, “your legs have been in tight braces all day. Your blood needs some help flowing.”

His eyes softened, “oh.” He let go of the blanket, “ how would you do that?” He continued to chew on the bark.

“Just a few firm touches,” he sat up and you sat down on the foot of his bed. You reached for his blanket again, he let you. You pulled it from his thin, deformed legs. You positioned yourself above them and started to gently massage his thighs.

Ivar closed his eyes and groaned, “this is nice. How are you touching them right now?” He moaned as you moved your hands lower, “How are you not disgusted by me, princess?”

You continued to move your hands firmly over his bare legs, “why would I be disgusted by you?” You smiled down at him.

By the gods that smile, he thought, it was such a beautiful and bright smile. The last person to smile at him like that was his Freydis. But this one lacked the worship in the eyes that hers had, and he noticed that. He noticed that you just saw him, not a god.

“Because they are gross and twisted,” he whispered.

You paused and your smile faded. No, no, he panicked. He didn’t want you to stop smiling so soon. You reached out and cupped his cheek, “don’t talk like that.”

“W-what?” he stuttered.

“Your legs are not gross, they’re just legs, and they are a part of you. You have to take care of them as you take care of the rest of yourself,” you caress his cheek with your thumb as he leans into your touch.

“But they make me weak,” he mumbles.

You took your hand away, returning your attention back to his legs. “You vikings are ridiculous with your views on strength,” you huffed.

He closed his eyes again, “what’s that supposed to mean?”

“You believe you’re weak, yet you still lead a great viking army. You’re a tactician, you use your brain to win battles, but can still physically defend yourself to a point,” you looked back down at his face, he was peering up at you. “I wouldn’t call you weak.”

Your hands moved back up his thighs, “you’re a sweet dove.” He grabbed your wrist and started stroking your forearm, moving the sleeve of your dress up. Ivar smirked as he revealed your blue celtic tattoos, “I knew you were a warrior.”

You pulled your hand away and pulled down your sleeve. “Tsk, tsk, don’t be shy now sweet dove. Why are you pretending to be the princess of the kingdom?” He moved his hand to your waist.

“I am the princess.”

“Is that so?” Ivar sat up, keeping his hand on you, moving it from your waist to the small of your back. “A warrior and a princess, how interesting.” He pulled you closer to his chest, “you’re strong.”

You placed your hands flat on his chest, pushing him down on his back. He huffed. You shoved another piece of bark in his mouth before hopping off of the bed. “Yes I am,” you stared down at him with your hands on your hips, “do your legs feel a bit better?”

He smiled up at you, propping his head up on his elbow, “aye, a little. I enjoyed your touches.” He continued to chew on the new piece of bark.

“Good,” you sat back down on your pile of furs. “Hopefully the bark will work its magic soon enough.”

As you pulled the fur over yourself Hvitserk entered the tent and started to take off his top layer of clothing. He laid in the bed on the opposite side of the tent of Ivar, “how are you doing, princess?”

“I am fine,” you curl up into the furs.

“So my brother hasn’t been bothering you?” He chuckled, “he enjoys trying to intimidate new people, especially ones with power.”

“Well if he’s been trying to do that, it hasn't been working. Now goodnight, Ragnarssons,” you roll over, back to Hvitserk, now facing Ivar, still staring down at you. Eventually you were able to drift off, even with his eyes on you.

—------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The next day you had woken up early and snuck out of the tent, deciding to go back down to the stream to bathe before anyone else woke. Ivar may have seen some of your tattoos, but he doesn’t know the sheer amount you have that showed your victories in battle, nor has he seen any of your battle scars. You’d like to keep it that way for as long as possible, even if he seemed to like the fact you were a warrior. You shook your head at the thought. Just more of a reason to keep them from him.

You slipped off your dress then hung it on a branch of a nearby tree. You walked into the depths of the stream so you could wash your body fully submerged. The sun had just started to rise, warming your face.

Ivar rose as Hvitserk barely stirred. Ivar’s eyes widened when he saw you weren’t sleeping on your furs. He grabbed the horn cup by his bedside and threw it at Hvitserk’s back, waking him. “The princess is gone. Somehow she left without waking either of us or anyone in the camp. Get up and round a few men up to go look for her.” Hvitserk nodded, putting on his boots quickly and went to leave, “don’t tell so many people, we can’t have everyone in a frenzy.”

“Aye, I understand, Ivar. We’ll get her,” Hvitserk left the tent.

Ivar put his leg braces on as quickly as he could and grabbed his crutch, he needed to look for you. Ivar wandered the surrounding woods of the campsite until he heard splashing in the stream. He drew closer and saw your dress hanging off the tree, then he saw you. You were floating calmly on the surface of the water. Obviously, he now saw how half your body was covered in blue ink, he didn’t think you’d have so many, won so many battles. You were also quite beautiful, he thought as he leaned against the tree. He had expected you to have the body of a warrior, yes, but he didn’t know you’d also look like such a goddess.

“Went for an early morning swim?” Ivar called out to you.

You lifted your head and submerged the rest of your body back underwater, “I wanted to get a wash in before anyone woke up and had to escort me.”

“Why?” Ivar hummed and walked closer to the edge of the stream, “would it have to do with your tattoos? Showing your high status of a warrior, princess? You don’t want us to be afraid of you?”

You shrug, “something like that.”

He smiles, “well, you should come out. A few blue symbols and images won’t scare me. Besides, I want to get a better look at you.”

“Why don’t you come in instead?” You swam to the shallows.

“I can’t swim,” Ivar scoffed.

“Use me to float.”

He smirked, “how do I know I can trust you?”

“You trusted me with the bark and the massage,” you smile up at him. “And how are your legs feeling now?”

Ivar sighed, “honestly, last night was the best night’s sleep I’ve ever had. Probably why I didn’t notice when you left.”

“So? Will you come in?” You almost plead, “a float may relax your muscles, and the water isn’t cold.”

“Alright, princess. I'll come in,” Ivar lowered himself to the ground and began to undress as you watched from the water. He stripped off his tunic, revealing his broad, muscular, and toned upper body. Your eyes wandered over his body as he continued to remove pieces of clothing. “It seems you like to stare,” Ivar teased once he was completely nude.

“I do. What’s your point?” You grin and Ivar chuckles.

Ivar dragged himself into the shallow water then reached for your hand. You pulled him to you, wrapping your arms around his waist as he wrapped his around your shoulders. Ivar’s face turned a light pink, “this actually is quite nice.” His voice was just above a whisper.

You nod, “I told you.” One of your hands travels up and down his back, sending tingles down his spine. He hummed as he nuzzled into the crook of your neck.

You start to move in the water with him, “you’re so kind to me, dove.” He mumbles into your neck.You wrap one of your arms tighter around his waist, moving the other to his long undone hair, massaging his scalp and playing with his hair. He groaned. He tightened his arms around you, digging his nails into your back. “Dove, you’re killing me. Why are you doing this?”

You shush him, “just relax, Ivar. You don’t have to question everything.” You scratch his head again, causing another moan to slip past his lips. His hands relaxed, taking his nails out of your skin.

“That’s easy for you to say. You’re not a cripple. No one has ever been this nice to me besides my mother and late wife, especially not a stranger that’s also my hostage,” he let out a sigh.

You continue to rub his back while swaying back and forth, “what about your community?”

He scoffs, “my community? I was mocked and talked down to my entire childhood. My entire life. Even though I was born a prince, I was lesser than any man.”

“Now I know why you are so confused about me showing you kindness,” you continue to stroke his back.

He chuckles, “why’s that?”

“Our cultures are different,” Ivar looks into your eyes. “People here that have physical or mental disabilities are protected under the Brehon Laws.”

Ivar raised a brow, “what are these laws?”

“Anyone who mocks someone with a disability would face severe fines. If they were a victim of a crime the people will usually rule in their favor. If family members aren’t able to care for their disabled relative they’d be cared for by the church.”

Ivar scoffs again, “the church,” he says in disgust. “Is that why you people care for the crippled and mentally slow? Because your god tells you to? That wouldn’t explain why I was treated the same way in England the way I was back home.”

You pinch his cheek and he growls. “We use the church as a resource. We help and care because the Irish still identify with the old Celtic ways. The English lost their way long ago, completely forgot where they came from before Christianity, they believe being disabled is a divine punishment.”

“And what did the ancient Celts believe the disabled were? Mhmm?” Ivar hummed.

“That they were fae from the Otherworld. Sick fairy children called Changelings.” Ivar rested his head on your shoulder as you told the myth. “The fae would kidnap a human child for their own benefit and replace them with their deformed, or usually hot tempered child.” Ivar started to relate to this. “Our ancestors treated these children with cruelty, they were confused by their differences. We are trying to make up for it now. Even now that most of us believe in the Christian god we still don’t want to anger the fae that are in either world.”

“Is that what you’re doing by being so nice to me? Trying to make up for the cruelty of your ancestors?” Ivar teased.

You chuckle, “not exactly.” You start to scratch his scalp.

He closes his eyes and practically purrs at the sensation, “then why?”

“Maybe I just think it’s a good idea to keep the enemy close,” you bump your nose against his.

“I like that idea,” he moves to nuzzle his face into the crook of your neck. You moved your head to the side, giving him more access. He took the opportunity to start kissing and nipping at your neck.

You tightened your arm around his waist. He palmed at your breast and pressed himself into your thigh. You could feel him grow hard.

He moved his calloused hands down your scarred back. “Forgive me, princess.” You hummed before he nipped harshly at your neck.

You yelped and shoved him off of you. As you grabbed the side of your neck Ivar began to sink. You acted fast and pulled him up to the surface, swimming him to shore, and dragging him back onto land. You got to your knees, moved yourself over him, put your hands together and over your head, then you brought them down hard, hitting his chest. Ivar’s body jerked as he coughed up the water he inhaled.

You sighed in relief. Ivar looked up at you with a small smile, his eyes soft, “you said I could trust you.”

You rolled your eyes, “why would you bite me?” You got up and put on your dress, throwing Ivar his own clothes.

He started to dress himself, “I don’t know why I did. I just felt a strong need to.” He looks down at himself. Why did I do that? He thought. She’s just another woman. I’ve been with women before. But they were delicate, soft. One made me think I was a god, the other never loved me, and they had the same face. This woman is completely different. She makes me feel completely different.

“That’s not a good reason,” you scoff. “And it didn’t have to be so hard. You almost drowned because you startled me.”

Ivar came out of his thoughts and finished dressing. “Are you scolding me right now?” Ivar chuckles.

You kneel down infront of him and start putting his leg braces back on, “seems like someone has to.”

He watched you put on his braces, he gave you a cheeky smile, “are you taking care of me, dove?”

“Again, so many questions,” he wraps his arms around your shoulders, you help him to his feet and hand him his crutch.

Ivar warmly smiled at you once he was standing on his own. She cares for me.

—------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

You and Ivar walked back into camp where Hvitserk and his search party had already returned. Hvitserk jogged up to you two, “you found the princess!” He said with a bright smile, then his face scrunched, “why are you both wet?” He pointed a finger between you two.

“She was bathing in the stream, I had to get her out,” Ivar walked past Hvitserk, grabbing your wrist, dragging you behind him.

“But you can’t swim!” Hvitserk called out behind him.

You and Ivar returned to the tent, he guided you to his bed and sat you down. “Let me see the bite,” he stands over you, moving your hair away from your neck. “Some skin has broken, but there’s no blood. You may end up with a bruise though,” he grazed the teeth marks with his thumb. “I apologize, sweet dove,” his nose nudged at your jawline.

“You’re forgiven, it was just startling. That’s all,” you cupped his cheek.

Ivar kissed the teeth marks on your neck. He pulled away to look you in the eyes, “I don’t want to give you back.”

You held his face in your hands, “I can’t betray my kingdom. I will have to go back.” You leaned in and kissed his nose.

Ivar smiled warmly, “careful, you’ll make me go soft.”

You patted the bed, “let me braid your hair for the day.” He nodded and sat in front of you. As you started to braid his hair you got lost in your thoughts. He wants to keep me? Want does he want to keep me as though? I won’t be a thrall to anyone. But if he wants me another way, I could use that to end the war before it even really begins. I could turn Ivar Ragnarsson against the King of Wessex. No need to kill such a pretty man that’s so sweet on me.

“You sound beautiful, dove,” Ivar’s voice brings you out of your thoughts. You had been singing softly in Irish.

“Thank you, Ivar,” you lean forward and kiss the back of his neck.

“Sweet dove, every action of yours just makes me want to keep you even more,” he leans back as you finish off his braid. He lays down, putting his head in your lap.

You stroke the sides of his face. “You can’t,” he huffs. “You’re leading the Wessex army against my kingdom. I will not leave or go against my people.”

He nuzzled into one of your hands, holding it tightly with his. He kissed your palm, “I know. You just have to be a good leader, don’t you?” He chuckles.

“Why would you want to keep me anyway?”

Ivar plays with your fingers, “for many reasons. You had just met me, you were supposed to be my enemy and you still wanted to alleviate my pain. You aren’t disgusted by me. And you’re able to hold your own, it impresses me.” He kissed your fingers, “I want to see you fight one day. I believe you’re the legendary rabid warrior.”

“You heard that legend, did you?”

Ivar nods, “and I know it's you. A goddess covered in blue ink telling her tales of victory.”

“A goddess?” You grinned.

“You have so many scars on your body. Some are pronounced. There’s no way you could’ve survived so many wounds unless you were truly a goddess,” Ivar reached up and caressed your jaw. “Plus it would also explain your beauty.”

You leaned down, letting your lips hover above Ivar’s for a few seconds, your breath fanning over his face. You grinned wider again before gently connecting your lips with his. Ivar closed his eyes and moved his hand into your hair, grabbing at it. His lips were chapped but he kissed you soft and slow, no urgency. He pulled away, removing himself from your lap. He pushed you down flat on your back while crawling on top of you. Ivar reconnected his lips with yours, this time a little rougher. You put your arms around his shoulders, he put one hand back in your hair and his other arm around the small of your back. Leaving no space between the two of you.

Ivar broke the kiss, he started to trail kisses and love bites down your jaw and throat. His hands moved to grab at your dress down at your thighs, bunching it up. You helped him, pulling your dress up and over your hips. Ivar chuckles, “seems I’m not the only eager one.”

You rolled your eyes and brought him into another searing kiss. Ivar smirked at you as he squeezed your upper thigh. He brought two of his fingers up to his mouth and sucked on them, wetting them. When he took them out he brought them to your core, running them through your folds. As you gasped he laid on top of you, kissing and nipping at your throat.

His fingers teased your slit before his thick middle finger pumped into you. He curled his finger inside you. You clawed at his shoulders, “Ivar-” you moaned his name. It was like music to his ears.

He hummed, “what is it, sweet dove? Tell me what you need.” He kissed your cheek and continued to pump his finger into you.

“More,” you raised your hips up to him.

“More what?” He teased.

“Fingers,” you glared at him.

Ivar smiled down at you before kissing you again and adding another finger to work on you. His thumb started to circle your clit. You moaned into his mouth. “I love hearing your noises,” he pumped his fingers faster and deeper, stretching out your walls as they began to flutter.

You could tell by his dumb smile that he was going to enjoy seeing you come undone far too much. You couldn’t have that, but you didn’t want him to stop anytime soon. So you thought quickly, as Ivar kept his focus on your facial expression, you reached down and palmed the bulge in his pants. His breath stuttered, “you’re going to be making noises with me.”

You pushed down the front of his pants, his long, thick length sprung up, hitting his stomach. You grabbed him carefully, using your thumb to spread the precum from his slit around the rest of his tip. Ivar let out a deep and low moan as you continued to stroke him. His own fingers froze inside of your velvety walls. You saw his eyes roll back when you moved your hand faster. But he gripped your wrist, stopping you. “No, you need to go first,” he removed your hand from him and lowered himself until he was breathing on your core.

Ivar put your thighs over his shoulders, nuzzled his nose against your bud of nerves, and licked through your folds. He moved his mouth to suck at your clit, pushing his two fingers back inside you, he pumped them at an unrelenting pace. He flattened his tongue against your bud, licking you up and down. Your hand flew into his hair, he groaned into you. The vibration of his noise and the last curl of his fingers is what brought you over the edge. Your hips stuttered, Ivar removed his fingers so he could tightly hold your hips to his face as he continued to lick up your juices.

You pushed his head away, “Ivar, too much.”

He pulled away from you, his lips and chin glistening. “Sorry, princess.”

You sat up, grabbed Ivar under his arms and pulled him to you, placing him underneath you. He grabbed your chin to bring you into a long tender kiss. You moved your hand under his tunic and up his abdomen. Once you felt his shivers you moved further down the bed and in between his legs. You kissed both of his hips, then his tip. “Dove, you can’t tease me,” he softly stroked your cheek. You nodded. Then licked a stripe up his length before taking him fully in your mouth. You hollowed your cheeks and start to bob your head, allowing his tip to hit the back of your throat. You released him from your mouth with a pop. You then teased him again by swirling your tongue around his tip. He moaned loudly but cut it short by clasping his hand over his mouth.

You went back to stroking him as he continued to moan into his hand. Your mouth was back on him in a matter of seconds, his free hand grabbed your hair. His body jerked and his warm, salty liquid shot up into the back of your throat. You released him. Ivar let out a long, low groan.

You crawled up into his arms, laying down facing him. Ivar nuzzled into your chest, wrapping his arms tightly around you, “I will find a way to keep you, my sweet dove.”

—------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It was time to give back hostages, to discuss if the war was going to commence or if the leaders could come to an agreement. If King Alfred was there to decide he would go ahead with the war, to conquer all of Ui Maine for Wessex. King Alfred wouldn’t have even considered trading hostages. But he was back in England, and Ivar was in charge. And Ivar had met and fallen for you.

The chieftains and your father had gathered in the middle of a small clearing. They had sent word to Ivar and Hvitserk to meet them there days before.

You, Ivar, and Hvitserk rode your horses over a hill into the clearing, the army stayed behind. You dismount Ivar’s horse and join your father. Ivar dismounts, then takes a seat in the chair they set up for him, Hvitserk stands behind him. The English nobleman Ivar had traded for you stands with Hvitserk.

“Hello, sons of Ragnar,” your father greeted. “I assume you’ve gathered more forces from Wessex?”

Ivar licks his teeth and smiles, “you’d be wrong, your majesty. Although I’m supposed to be taking orders from King Alfred, someone here has changed my mind.”

Your father smiles widely, sparing a look in your direction before turning back to Ivar. “Is that right? So what are your new conditions?”

“You let my men settle here, and I mean my men. I don’t care what you do with the Saxons in the army.” Ivar looks over at you and smiles warmly, “And you’ll give me your blessing to ask for your daughter’s hand in marriage.”

Your eyes widened and your breath caught. Your father looked between the two of you, “you do know who she really is, don’t you?”

“She’s The Rabid, I know. I figured it out. But I want her and I’ll have her if she’ll have me,” Ivar said with complete seriousness.

Your father nodded, “then I have no disagreements. My daughter's marriage will be up to her.”

Everyone starts to disband, your father pulls you aside, “you did great my little rabid. Although I did not expect you to get Ivar the Boneless to fall in love with you.” He then patted your cheek, “I’m fine with you following your heart, just be careful.”

You nod, “I will.”

You walk towards Ivar, he holds out his arms for you, Hvitserk had already left to inform everyone of the outcome. Ivar grabbed you, pulling you into his lap. He grabbed your chin and brought your lips to his. He kissed you passionately, holding you tightly. After a while he broke the kiss so you both could catch your breath, “so what do you say, sweet dove? Will you be mine forever?”

“Yes, Ivar, I’d love to,” you hold his face in your hands. He grabs the back of your neck and brings you into another kiss.

[only-cat-memes]

[impuls1ve]

i listened to my body and it's asking for substances

[ivarthebadbitch]

live/laugh/love/celebrate the destruction of your enemies with ivar & hvitserk, requested by anonymous

[wuntrum]

i am nooooot locked the fuck in. im locked the fuck out. call the locksmith

[sauronns]

chishiya in his hoodie psychologically scaring the fuck outta a poor stupid fool in a corner the minute a game begins

[chasekip]

[bangchansfairywings]

Stranger Danger....Or Not? (Part 1)

Word Count: 1.3k

Genre: Mystery/Rom-Com

(Minho X Fem!Reader + Han?)

Summary: After a frustrating day, Y/N meets Minho, a stranger who feels oddly familiar. Their connection moves quickly, but things take a mysterious turn when Han, a cryptic newcomer, inserts himself into their conversation with unsettling ease. As deja vu lingers, Y/N begins to wonder if their meeting was really just coincidence.

Y/N had always dismissed the idea of fate. It always sounded much too convenient, too much like an excuse that people gave themselves when life didn't go quite according to plan. Coincidences? Sure. Random chance? Absolutely. But destiny? Fate? The notion that the universe had some grand, intricate plan weaving everyone's lives together felt like nothing but wishful thinking.

At least, until today.

Her morning had been cursed from the moment she opened her eyes. She had overslept, thanks to her cat, Phoenix, knocking her phone charger unplugged and her phone dying in the middle of the night. And the stubbed toe on the corner of her dresser edge was practically a personal attack from the universe itself. Toothpaste had found its way onto her favorite cream colored sweater, an offense she couldn't even be mad about because of how absurdly typical it felt at this point.

And thennnn came the rain.

Not a gentle drizzle, but a heavy, unrelenting downpour that started the moment she set foot outside without her umbrella. She sprinted for the public bus, clutching her powder blue tote bag tightly to her body to keep her sketchbook safe, only to watch in horror as the bus rolled away from the stop just as she arrived out of breath.

By the time she finally stumbled into her favorite cafe, soaked to the bone and seething, she was convinced that if fate was real, it had a particularly cruel sense of humor.

The sharp chime of the cafe's doorbell greeted her, along with the comforting scent of freshly ground coffee. The warmth of the space seeped into her chilled wet skin, wrapping her in its familiar soothing embrace. The low murmur of conversations and the soft hum of indie music offered a reprieve from the chaos of the outside world.

Y/N ordered her usual; a hot latte with extra foam, and retreated to her typical booth tucked in the corner by a rain speckled window. She sighed as she wrapped her cold fingers around the warm coffee cup, letting the heat sink into her palms. Her eyes traced patterns in the swirling cream, trying to shake off the creeping sense that today was just off somehow.

The door chimed once more.

At first, she didn't look up. But something about the shift in energy, a subtle tension in the air, made her glance toward the entrance.

He walked in like any other customer, shaking droplets of rain from his dark leather coat. His black hair was damp, sticking slightly to his forehead, and he looked like he had just stepped out of a melancholy indie film. His sharp features were softened by the dim light of the cafe, but what caught her attention wasn't necessarily his appearence.

It was the strange, unsettling pull in her chest.

There was something about him. Something familiar.

His gaze swept over the cafe with casual indifference until his eyes landed on her. For the briefest of moments, time seemed to stutter. His eyes were a deep brown, warm and inviting, but behind the seemingly calm exterior was something unspoken; an echo of recognition that neither of them could place.

And then he walked towards her.

Her pulse quickened as he approached, though she couldn't pin point why. He stopped beside her booth, hesitating just long enough for her to wonder if he was just going to turn and walk away from her after all.

"Mind if I sit here?" His voice was low and smooth with a thread of hesitation beneath his suddenly confident exterior.

Y/N blinked. "Uh, sure?"

The stranger slid into the seat across from her without another word, then resting his hands on the table. The almost guaranteed awkwardness she expected never actually arrived. Instead, an unusual calmness settled over her, as if it hadn't been the first time they'd shared a table in a quiet cafe on a rainy day.

"I'm Minho." He said simply.

The name tugged at something deep inside of her mind, but the connection slipped away before she had the chance to grab hold of it.

"Y/N." She replied, her voice quieter than she intended.

A beat of silence stretched between them. It wasn't exactly uncomfortable, but it was heavy, like there was more to be said but neither of them knew where to start.

Minho's gaze lingered on her, studying her with a curious intensity that sent a shiver down her spine. "Have we met before?"

The question wasn't accusatory, it was gentle, almost thoughtful, as if he genuinely wasn't sure of the answer.

Y/N's throat felt suddenly dry. "I don't think so. I feel like I'd remember." She wasn't entirely sure what she meant by that.

He let out a small, humorless chuckle. "Yeah, me too."

Their conversation stumbled into neutral topics--how long they'd lived in the city, other favorite cafe's and restaurants, the inexplicable magic of rainy days. Underneath every word, there was an unspoken undercurrent. Every smile felt too familiar, every glance lasted a second too long. Y/N couldn't shake the feeling that they weren't strangers at all. They were....something else.

Just as she was about to ask Minho another question, the door chimed again.

Another stranger walked in, shaking off the cold with the same ease as Minho had. His messy black hair and oversized blood red hoodie gave him an effortless, casual coolness vibe. His eyes scanned the cafe with sharp precision until they landed on Y/N and Minho.

Then he smiled, wide and knowing, and just a little too pleased.

Without any hesitation, he made his way toward them and slid into the booth next to Minho like he belonged there.

"Fancy seeing you two here." The newcomer said with a grin that felt almost practiced.

Minho's posture tensed slightly. "Han."

Y/N blinked, the tension between the two men suddenly palpable. "You guys know each other?"

Han's grin widened. "You could say that. We cross paths more often than we should."

Minho's jaw tightened. "Or you're just good at showing up uninvited. What do they call that word? Stalking?"

Han chuckled, leaning back into his seat. "Coincidence? Fate? Who's to say?"

Y/N frowned, feeling like she stumbled into a conversation that had already been in progress. "Okay, seriously, what's going on?"

Han's gaze settled on her, and for a moment, the playful sparkle in his eyes dimmed. "I think you'll figure it out soon enough."

Minho cleared his throat, trying to redirect the tension off of her. "So, Y/N, what do you do?"

She blinked at the sudden shift. "I'm a freelance illustrator. I do commissions and some comic projects."

His eyes lit up with genuine interest. "That's amazing! It takes real skill to bring stories to life through art."

Before she could even respond, Han leaned forward in his seat, hands in his pockets. "Artists are always the ones who notice patterns first. You should pay attention to them."

Minho shot him a glare. "Can you not be so damn cryptic for once?"

Han smirked but said nothing more.

The rest of the conversation flowed naturally--too naturally, with the exception of a few of Han's odd additions that seemed almost like riddles. Every laugh shared, every moment of connection felt like layers of an unfinished puzzle slowly sliding into place.

Yet, under it all, there was a question that no one voiced aloud:

Why did it feel like they already knew each other?

Just as Y/N tried to shake the feeling, something bizarre happened, even compared to Han's presence. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught the reflection in the rain streaked window beside them--an image of Minho's face, but somehow different. Older, perhaps, pr cast in a light that didn't exist within the cozy cafe. Her stomach twisted uncomfortably as she blinked, and the image vanished just as swiftly as it had appeared.

"Are you okay?" Minho's voice pulled her back into the present.

Y/N forced a smile, but the unease lingered and was hard to hide. "Yeah, just....I thought I saw something. Must've just been the rain."

Han's gaze lingered on her longer than she would have liked, the playful spark in his eyes dulled by something heaver, seemingly knowing. "Rain has a funny way of showing you things you're not ready to see."

[bangchansfairywings]

The Last Chapter of Us

Word Count: 1.9k

Genre: Angst (Seungmin X Fem Reader)

Summary: Seungmin and Y/N's seemingly unbreakable relationship begins to fade.

A frigid winter wind swept through the city streets, sending brisk chills down Seungmin's spine as he zipped up his puffer jacket and walked quickly through a busy alley. The night was dark, but the city street lights painted the night sky with a faded orange yellow glow, hinting at the promise of a new day. His mind, however, was anything but glowing and clear.

A few hours ago, he had just left the recording studio, feeling an overwhelming sense of exhaustion and fatigue from the continuous sessions. But there was something else fogging his mind--something that had been weighing him down for days. It was a heavy weight he couldn't shake off, no matter how much he tried to focus and dive into his work.

As he approached the all too familiar front door to his apartment, he hesitated for a moment, glancing back at the street corner. Across the road, there was a small cafe where he and Y/N had spent so many mornings together. The thought of her made his chest tighten, a feeling that only intensified as he unlocked the door.

Inside, his place was quiet. Too quiet. He dropped his keys on the nearby end table and kicked off his shoes, stopping to sigh heavily and lean back against the closed door. He could hear his own deafening heartbeat in the stillness of the living room. It felt like a deafening reminder what he knew was very close to changing. His phone buzzed in his pocket at that moment, but he didn't have to look at it first before he knew who texted him.

Y/N.

His stomach churned as he slowly pulled out his phone from his pants pocket. The message was short but heavy.

"We need to talk."

It wasn't necessarily the first time he had seen a message like that, but this one felt incredibly different. It wasn't just a simple disagreement or misunderstanding. He could feel it in his bones--this was the very moment when everything was about to change.

With a shaky sigh, Seungmin opened the message, fingers trembling trying to think of a reply. Before he could muster up the courage to type, another message came through.

"I think it's time for us to let go."

Seungmin's heart sank lower than it ever had before and for a split second, the world seemed to stop spinning. The warmth that had enveloped him in his memories of their time together seemed to fade. It wasn't the first time they had faced challenges in their relationship but the depth of her words cut through him more than anything else possibly could have.

"I'm sorry, Seungmin. It's time for us to move on."

His throat tightened as he reread her texts over and over again. His mind raced, trying desperately to come up with something, anything, that would fix this. But deep down, he knew there was nothing that could be said that could change her mind at this point.

Seungmin sank down into the living room couch, his fingers gripping the phone so tightly that it almost popped out of his hands. The room was even more still and quiet now, yet it felt like a violent storm was raging inside of his soul. All of the memories they had shared--the laughter, the late-night talks, the way she would smile whenever he brought her her favorite coffee from the cafe on days she didn't feel like going out, were suddenly just echoes of a past he could no longer reach.

Seungmin closed his eyes and he could immediately see her face in his mind. Her eyes, always full of a loving warmth and understanding. The way she would listen to him, no matter how tired or distracted his rambling was. And that smile--god, that smile. It lit up his darkest days.

Now, that smile in the dark felt like distant memory, a fleeting moment he would never get back.

He opened his eyes and blankly stared at the ceiling. It's time to move on.

The texts she sent played over and over in his mind. He had always known that relationships weren't easy, especially with his busy schedule as an idol, but he never would have imagined that it would come to this. They had been together for just over three years, and within that time, he had come to realize just how much he needed her. She had been his anchor, his safe place in a world that often felt like it was spinning out of control. Now, he could quickly feel the distance growing between them, even though she was still just a text message away.

The ache in his chest grew, and before he could stop it and calm down, a tear slid down his cheek. He quickly wiped it away, standing up and walking over to the living room window. Outside, the world continued on like nothing happened, indifferent to the pain and suffering that was suddenly consuming him. The neon lit shop signs blinked and cars drove by, but none of it mattered. All he could think about was Y/N and how his world just came crashing down.

Her future absence was already beginning to feel like an unbearable crushing sensation. He had tried his best to push it to the back of his mind and tough it out but as he stared out into the night thinking about how many of those passing cars could possibly have couples returning from date night, or celebrating an anniversary, he couldn't even slightly push past the anguish of it all. There was no going back.

There's no going back.

He had told himself that before, after every argument, every time things seemed just too complicated to fix. On this night, those words felt different. They felt real. This time, it wasn't just an argument that they'd have to work past. It was the end of something genuine and the end of his beautiful life. The realization hit him like a hard punch in the gut.

Why now? He though, his hands gripping the edge of the window. What really just happened?

The questions gnawed at him, but deep down, he knew the answer. He had been so focused on his own career, so wrapped up in his own complicated world, that he had neglected her. Y/N had always been extremely patient with him and understanding when he had to cancel plans, miss dates, or suddenly have to catch a flight to another country. Even the most patient person has their limits. Y/N seemed to have reached hers.

Seungmin knew he was anything but blameless. He had taken her for granted, assuming she would always be there no matter what waiting for him. But love isn't something you can take for granted. It's fragile, and requires effort from both sides to thrive and survive.

As he stood there, lost in the endless vast ocean of his thoughts, his phone buzzed again. This time, the message was different. It was a voice memo. His heart skipped a beat as he tapped on it to listen.

"Seungmin."

Y/N's voice came through the speaker, soft and hiding a tremble.

"I don't want to hurt you but I can't keep pretending that everything is okay when it's not. We've drifted apart, you can't deny that, and I've tried to ignore it, but the truth is....we're just not the same anymore."

Seungmin closed his eyes again, her words hitting like a tsunami wave crashing against a city. He could hear the sadness in her voice, the pain that she had now so clearly been hiding from him. He had never wanted to be the cause of that pain, but now it was inevitable.

"I don't know where we went wrong, but I think I've lost myself somewhere along the way too. I don't want to keep holding on to something that just isn't working anymore."

She continued.

"I think it's time to let go, Seungmin. I really do care about you and love you but....it's too late."

The last few words of her voice lingered in the air, a final nail in the coffin of their relationship. It was final. It was over.

Seungmin sat back down on the couch, his head cradled in his hands. The tears came rushing down then, falling freely, the weight of everything crashing down on him all at once. He had always prided himself on being strong, on being able to handle whatever came his way. This was different. This wasn't something he could control. This wasn't something he could fix this time.

It was over.

After a while, the tears slowed down and stopped for the time being and Seungmin was left with nothing but emptiness. He had loved her with all his heart and soul, and now, she was gone. There was no going back to the way things had been before.

A FEW WEEKS LATER

The days that followed were some of the hardest of Seungmin's life. He threw himself into work, focusing on the music, the performances, the interviews. No matter how hard he tried to immerse himself in his career life, he couldn't escape the emptiness that lingered in his mind wherever he went.

He missed her. He missed the way she made him feel. Most of all, he missed the person he had been when they were together. She had been his balance, his reminder of the simple things in life. Without her, everything felt more difficult and chaotic.

One evening, Seungmin found himself at the same cafe where they had shared so many fond memories. He sat at a small table by the window, staring out into the street. The world outside seemed unchanged, but he was completely different. The person he had been before was gone, and in his place, there was an empty shell of a man who was still learning to face the reality of moving on.

The bell above the cafe door rang and Seungmin glanced up. A familiar figure stood in the doorway--Y/N.

Their eyes met for a brief moment, and for a second, Seungmin's breath stopped. His heart skipped a beat, and he stood up without thinking.

"Y/N." He spoke softly, his voice rough from emotions he had been holding back.

She looked at him, her expression unreadable. For a moment, neither of them spoke. Then, Y/N took a deep breath and walked over to his table.

"I didn't expect to see you here," she said quietly, sitting down across from him.

"I didn't expect to be here either," Seungmin replied, forcing a small smile. "But....I guess, this is where we ended up."

They both sat in silence for a long time, the weight of their shared history hanging in the air between them.

Finally, Y/N spoke again. "I've been thinking a lot about everything. I know we can't go back to the way things were and I just wanted to tell you....I think....I think I'm ready to move on fully."

Seungmin nodded, feeling a lump in his throat. "It's not easy, but I understand. I've been trying to figure out how to do this."

She gave him a sad smile, her eyes filling with a quiet understanding that the break up was still not mutual. "There really is no going back, Seungmin but that doesn't mean we can't find our peace with it."

He nodded again, unable to stop a tear from slipping down his cheek. This time, it wasn't out of regret, it was out of acceptance. There was no changing things and returning to his old life, but maybe he would be okay.

They sat there together for a few minutes longer, not needing to say anything else. It wasn't the closure either of them had expected, but it was enough. It was time to move on.

[xec]

SKYRIM SCENERY Player Homes | Honeyside (mod by HyliosSykes)

[iloveabortions]

Nintendogs (Nintendo DS, 2005)

[retrogamingblog2]

[mayleeillustration]

Witch’s bevarage

[toapoet]

i know geralt is like token grumpy guy but what if he was also like…the “free dad hugs” guy at pride. ??