#yes I know I used way too many exclamation points but I was excited to answer this okay? lol | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

imagining-in-the-margins · 4 years

Text

Here to Misbehave (Pt. 19 | S.R.)

Summary: Reader and Spencer share the night together following her doctor’s appointment. Couple: Spencer Reid/Fem!Reader Category: Smut (NSFW, 18+) Content Warning: Fingering, penetrative sex, degradation, daddy kink, Adults w/ Age Gap (10yr), spitting kink, unprotected sex (creampie), vague mention of subdrop, aftercare included Word Count: 6.2k

MASTERLIST

—————————————————

There was something about the BAU bullpen that felt like another world. The open layout and the way it could shift from frantic rushing to bored silence in seconds sometimes made me feel like I was the most normal person contained within its walls. It was a rare sight, to see me there, and for good reason. I didn’t like to be there, considering most of my time there had been spent being questioned about homicide.

But it wasn’t like that, not that morning. I’d finished my doctor’s appointment early enough that I could hopefully locate the elusive Dr. Reid before he took off for lunch. And sure enough, just as I excitedly bounced over to his desk, I heard the ever-excited, yet comforting squeak of my boyfriend as he returned with a freshly poured cup of coffee.

“Hey, what are you doing here?” he practically yelled through a smile, rushing over to drop the mug on his desk. He couldn’t do it fast enough and barely made it. Once the mug was barely safe on the desk, his arms raced to wrap around me.

I giggled at the enthusiasm, considering it’d only been a couple hours since I saw him. But I was ecstatic to be with him and share the news I’d tucked away to keep safe on the way over. It was too much to bear by myself for long, and I knew he would be happy to help carry the load.

“I finished my appointment early and since I was in the neighborhood, I wanted to come see my boyfriend and give him the good news in person.” I explained. Spencer eyed me cautiously, careful not to get too far ahead of himself. I looked back with what I’d hoped was a cheeky grin, but I had a feeling it just turned into a goofy, toothy grin. Just as Spencer figured it out and his eyebrows shot up, another voice joined us.

“Mia stellina!” Rossi boomed, the bass carrying through the room like it always seemed to. It was the kind of joyful exclamation that demanded your attention, no matter how dark the circumstances surrounding you were. I knew that from personal experience.

I laughed again as he enveloped both me and Spencer in a hug that the latter only kind-of-sort-of cringed away from.

“Reid didn’t tell us that you were coming in today! I hope I’m not interrupting anything.”

I snorted at the implication, stepping back to buy back my breathing space. “You’re never a bother, Rossi.” And I meant it, even if he had just interrupted mine and Spencer’s very important conversation. I could table it for a moment, though. There hadn’t been many chances for me to talk to Rossi since the hospital. Although he'd visited less frequently than Derek or Hotch, he'd still come by often enough for me to miss him. He was, by far, the most unique member of the team. People always assumed it would be Penelope, but I stuck with my contention that it’s the quieter ones you have to keep an eye on. Not that Rossi didn’t love to talk, and especially when it granted him the ability to name-drop.

“This is why I like you,” he casually reminded, waving off a slightly offended Spencer on his side. “And I trust that Reid already told you about the plans for next weekend.”

As soon as I turned to look at Spencer, he immediately looked away.

Luckily, Rossi wasn’t obtuse and quickly recognized the display of guilt. “I stand corrected.”

“What plans?” I butted in before either of them could speak. Spencer grimaced at the monotone, as he was fully aware of the level of annoyed it signaled.

“I told him to extend you an invite to the next family dinner, but it seems like he’s selfishly planning on keeping you all to himself.” Rossi’s playful tone was his way of requesting I give Spencer a break, but I wasn’t in the mood for forgiveness just yet. After spending months trapped in my bed, I was always looking for an excuse to talk to anyone that wasn’t my roommate. And when it came to the team... I mean, they were like his family. It made sense I wanted their approval, right? Or was I really, honestly just seeking the approval of men like Hotch and Rossi because of my “daddy issues?” And oh, god, I didn’t want to delve into that psychology.

“How rude,” I deadpanned, instead, elbowing Spencer’s side just enough to elicit a pained exhale and an explanation.

“I was going to tell her. I was just waiting until we actually knew when it was going to happen.”

“He’s lying,” I told Rossi, earning a very adamant, denial from Spencer in the process that I brushed off. We both did. The pout that immediately followed was harder to ignore, but I could be strong.

Honestly, it was just funny to see him in this environment. When he was alone with me, he was usually the one in charge, but at work, Spencer was hardly that. It was the only chance I had to tease the ever living shit out of him with little chance of immediate consequences.

“Yeah, he’s lying,” Rossi easily deduced, waving a dismissive hand at Spencer before continuing, “But luckily, you were here. And whenever it happens, I hope that you’ll be there, too. It’s important for you to have a chance to socialize with us outside of the job.”

I smiled, finally looping my arm around Spencer’s to hopefully ease the pain caused by being ignored. Rossi, however, didn’t seem to be on the same wavelength, considering he gave another quick quip. “Hopefully you’ll bring the kid with you,” he teased as he turned away, pointing to the notably older and larger man at my side.

“How am I the kid in this scenario?” Spencer muttered under his breath, the pout still on his face, and still just as cute.

“Will do, Rossi,” I happily chirped.

“Thank you, stellina.” Rossi said with a wink, casually bringing both hands to his lips to blow each of us a kiss.

Once Rossi was fully out of earshot, Spencer sighed in resignation. He had complained before about the fact that the team had immediately felt comfortable with me, contrary to his own experience. But of course, it wasn’t fair to compare. I'd come into their lives piggybacking on their close relationship with him. Spencer didn’t see it that way, though.

“Why do you get a nickname?” he grumbled, dropping his head to the side to rest atop mine.

I didn’t let him rest there long, pushing him back away from me so that I could stand before him again. With my fingers under my chin, I flashed the brightest smile I could while dramatically emphasizing, “Because I’m a little star.”

Spencer looked down at me with a gentle adoration, his hand coming up to brush over my cheek. My face followed after him, desperate for any contact he could offer in the sterile environment. It didn’t really make much sense how touch starved I was; it wasn’t like he hadn’t touched me over the past couple months. Or even that he'd touched me any less-- if anything, it had been more.

But then again, how could I ever get enough? I was certain Spencer would call me spoiled, and in many ways, I was, but I didn’t care. If I could find a way to bottle up the way I felt when he held me, I would. Lord knows there were so many times when I'd needed it and he wasn’t there. I wouldn’t ever admit that to him, though. What would be the point?

He couldn’t always be there. Sometimes he would have to leave.

Unaware of the dramatic monologue in my head, my boyfriend sighed. His lips pursed again while he watched my eyes soften the longer that he held my face. “You certainly are little,” he concluded. I knew he wanted to say more but feared doing so might lead the conversation down a path less suited for work. Although, what I had planned wasn’t exactly work appropriate, either.

“You know we’re definitely going, right?” I replied, peeking my tongue out from behind my lips.

With a loud groan, he took his hand back like the question had burned him. “Fine,” he conceded before quickly shifting the conversation, “but I’m more interested in what you came here to tell me. How did your appointment go?”

“It went very well. I got wonderful news,” I beamed. There were many idiosyncrasies of Dr. Spencer Reid that I absolutely adored, but one of my favorites happened to be the one where his eyebrows jumped halfway up his forehead, his eyes going wide with a curious glint. Just like they did then.

“Does this news mean you’ll be staying at my place tonight?”

“It can…” As I spoke, I wrapped both of my arms around his arm and pulled him down to whisper in his ear, “unless you want to take a long lunch break and get a head start.”

“Someone’s eager,” he replied with a snort that didn’t sound nearly as promising as I’d hoped.

“Can you blame me?”

Before I could sulk too hard, he poked me on the forehead and chuckled at the resistance I gave to the action. “Lunch, unfortunately, would not give me enough time for what I want to do to you,” he practically purred in a barely-there whisper against my ear. “When I get home, I want to find you on my bed with nothing on. Do you understand me, little girl?”

“Yes.” I had to stop myself from making too much noise, but a pathetic whimper slipped out before I could stop it.

“Good girl,” he whispered with his retreat, “I’ll see you then.”

Suddenly, I couldn’t wait for the hours to pass me by. I couldn’t stay at the BAU for long, recognizing a sudden shift of energy as JJ began rushing them into the office right before I left. At first, I thought it was a case, but Spencer assured me it wasn’t. He promised me that he would be home that night, and that I didn’t need to worry.

But the hours did not fly by; they took their sweet fucking time. I didn’t even bother waiting in the bed for most of them. I honestly spent nearly 8 of them rifling through the shelves in his living room, looking for a book that was both from this century and actually in English.

After I’d rifled through his cupboards and realized that he didn’t have any food, I went to the grocery store and bought food, returned, unloaded the bags, cooked and ate dinner before I came to one simple conclusion:

Spencer Reid was a filthy goddamn liar.

That was my admittedly grumpy thought when I finally crawled into his still empty bed in his even lonelier apartment. His pillow smelled enough like him that I could hug it and pretend that I wasn’t waiting for someone who was probably not going to come back anytime soon. I thought about going home, but I decided being lonely in his bed was better than being alone in my own.

My temper tantrum kept my face sulkily buried in his pillow, so when my phone started to ring, I didn’t notice it. I didn’t notice much of anything, and before I knew it, I’d drifted off into a world where Spencer could keep his promises because his job didn’t suck.

Of course, even in my sadness my mind drifted to other memories spent there. I’d fallen back into the loop of memories of the last time we were together. I could almost feel his breath against my thighs and his hands raking over my hips. And like it always seemed to, reality and fantasy began to blur. Spencer’s hand on my thigh felt so hot, I was burning beneath it. My whole body tensed, my back arching in the hopes of finding him.

I wasn’t sure which woke me first, the low, gentle chuckle, or the whisper in my ear.

“Maybe I should change your nickname to Aurora.”

I sat up before I even registered the words. Reacting to his voice alone, my arms were already around him and dragging him back down before he could say anything else.

“You’re home!” I shouted, groggy but happy to not be alone. If I’d looked at the clock, I would have seen the hands pointing to the early hours of the next day, but it hardly mattered anymore. All that mattered to me was that he was there, in my arms.

“I guess it’s my fault for not specifying that you should be awake when I got home.”

Answering him with a sloppy, sleepy kiss on the lips, I relished the way he couldn’t stop himself from laughing through it. “I’m awake now,” I answered with a very poorly timed yawn. It luckily didn’t dissuade him, and his hands quickly worked up over my hips and beneath the sheer negligee I’d worn to bed hours earlier.

“What’s this? I could have sworn my instructions were to not wear anything,” he chastised with a smile.

“I don’t follow instructions. You already knew that,” I mumbled back. It wasn’t until I ran my hands through his hair that I realized that he’d already stripped down to nothing before waking me up.

How considerate.

His curls seemed so much longer than before, and the movements seemed to distract him enough to grant me some mercy. We both knew why I didn’t want to be naked yet. And it really was a ‘yet.’ I truly believed that I’d eventually be able to own my body again, but that point just seemed so far in the future. Spencer didn’t want to push it. Not that night.

“I’ll let it slide this time.” He shared the words with kisses over my jaw and neck, his hands growing hungrier by the second. They skipped straight from my hips to my chest, grabbing hold of my breasts through the thin fabric. He was almost out of breath already when he murmured, “Before we do anything, you have to promise me you’ll stop me if it hurts.”

“I know, Spencer,” I droned, but he kept going.

“I mean it. Any sign of discomfort, you have to tell me.”

“I know!” I shouted with a laugh, struggling to push him away while he continued to cling to me. Finally having managed to do it, I promptly fell back onto the pillow. As I rolled my body over to lay flat, I managed to grab hold well enough that I could pull him over top of me. “Don’t ruin the mood!”

He stopped to admire the sight before him. All I could see, though, was the way he looked at me. The rest of the world seemed to fade away, and I wondered what he saw when he looked at me like that. He looked at me like he loved me so much he wanted to break me. I wished he would.

“How could I ruin anything when you look so fucking perfect laid out in my bed for me?” He growled, his nails dragging over the sensitive skin of my chest.

I couldn’t tell if it was his intention or some kind of Freudian slip, but I was reminded of the day I marred his chest with a necklace-shaped mark in a very similar fashion. The memory made me giggle. “I’m not so innocent.” The understatement of the century.

“Maybe not, but there are still a lot of things I’ve yet to show you.”

I was waiting for the but. I knew it was coming.

“But for now, we’re going to go slow.”

And there it was. I thought to myself how ridiculously unfair it was that having a good boyfriend meant actually being able to rely on them to take care of you. Even armed with the knowledge of my masochistic tendencies, Spencer was too scared to seriously hurt me. Thankfully, though, he wasn’t scared enough to stop him from sliding his hand up my thigh and slipping his finger into my drenched heat.

“The question is how slow?” he teased, recognizing from the rocking of my hips that I was more than prepared to have him then. “How much should I torture you, little girl?”

“Please,” was the only word I could whine at first, but I still saw too much restraint in his eyes. I knew that if I didn’t convince him now, I might be there for hours before he gave me what I wanted. It wasn’t the worst idea, but judging by his already bloodshot eyes, I figured I might as well speed things along.

“Please, daddy,” I whimpered much louder, tilting my hips up to present myself to him. I could feel his erection pressed against me, his palm pressing down as he struggled to decide if he even wanted to keep me in place. I could see that desire to destroy me return to his eye with a vengeance. He knew that I was challenging him, but then again, when did I not?

“Take care of me,” I begged. That was the way I succeeded in breaking Spencer; in turn, he would break me.

He grabbed my legs so quickly and roughly that I was almost dizzy with it. Wrapping them around his own hips, he lined himself up and began dragging the head of his cock over my sex. Low and wildly shaking, Spencer’s words were only barely audible over the sound of the blood rushing in my veins.

“Are you ready?” he asked, like my answer would ever change.

“Yes!” I shouted, nodding like my words wouldn’t be enough.

Spencer had barely waited for the confirmation. Inch by inch, he slowly stretched me open like it was the very first time he touched me. His movements were so precise, so gentle and undoubtedly tender, that I thought I might actually cry.

I had almost forgotten what it felt like when he touched me like that. I would never admit it to him, but with every passing second, I could feel the love rushing back to me. That connection that had felt strained was reinforced and reasserted.

He just felt so fucking good. And apparently, Spencer had similar thoughts in mind.

“Fuck, you’re so tight,” he groaned, his head falling forward to knock our foreheads together. There was clearly so much effort going into not hurting me that I just found myself hoping he was still enjoying it. That train of thought made it more difficult when his next question came. “Does it hurt?”

“No, it feels so fucking good,” I sobbed, and it was the truth. My hips, though already growing tired thanks to the months of disuse, struggled to try and take more of him. And even when he was fully inside me, I still cried out to him. “Please, Spencer!”

“Be patient,” he said with a grunt, his hips pulling back just enough for him to slam into me with more force. “I’m going to enjoy this.”

The words made a swarm of butterflies burst through my lower half that already felt so full with him. The statement just sounded so perfectly selfish in a way I’d been dying to feel for months. I wanted him to reap the rewards he’d so obviously earned. I wanted to give them to him, really, but I just couldn’t make it too easy. It wasn’t our style.

“So it’s not about taking care of me anymore, is it?” I pouted, although my lips quickly parted again as Spencer increased his pace in response.

“Are you not satisfied, little girl?” he teased, reaching up with one hand to wrap around my hair, forcing my head back among the pillows while he started to drive into me at a reckless pace. “Do you need me to fuck you harder?”

“Yes!” I yelled, my hands reaching for him, digging into his skin and bringing him closer to me. “I want it. Give it to me.”

Whether he sensed the desperation in my voice or simply couldn’t hold it back any longer, Spencer showed an uncharacteristic level of mercy on me. He barely protested at all before giving into my demands. Holding my head back in that same craned position, he laid sloppy kisses over my throat before whispering, “My little girl gets whatever she wants.”

There were no more words on my mind besides his name, which I recited over and over like a prayer. Each time he filled me, my eyes could barely stay open and my lips were nearly bruised from my constant biting. It was easy to forget that the rest of the world existed— that it was past midnight on a weeknight and everyone in the surrounding apartments would probably fucking hate us.

But Spencer didn’t seem to care either. Well, that’s a misstatement. Spencer definitely cared about my volume, but he didn’t care about other people not being able to hear it. He made that quite clear when he gripped my lower jaw in one hand and pulled it down, forcing my mouth open for him.

He had that look in his eyes again. The one that told me there were entire worlds in his mind that I hadn’t seen. Deeply hidden desires lurking just under the rippling surface. I wondered how far they went and just how much Spencer would hurt me if I could convince him to.

“Tell me what you want,” he ordered through clenched teeth, his jaw tensed and eyes still burning. There was a hurricane happening behind those hazel rings, and I wanted him to let it out.

I didn’t know how to ask him to do that; to convince him to break me even while I lay before him already broken and barely keeping it together. I did the only thing I could think to do with his hand still holding my mouth open to him and presented my tongue to him.

Spencer tried to remain composed and stoic as ever, but his body betrayed in him the same way it always did. His eyes. From the second they flickered down to see what I was asking for, his pupils blew out and swallowed the comforting toffee color of his irises.

With an even darker tone, Spencer chuckled, “You’re a filthy, greedy bitch.”

It’s hard to explain how much the words filled every part of my body. The way goosebumps rippled over my skin and an undeniable, almost unbearable heat burned at my face. It only got worse when Spencer finally did as I asked, gathering the saliva in his mouth just to drop it into my own.

The second it hit my tongue, I felt so irrefutably his that I was high with it. My eyes rolled to the back of my head as I swallowed between hungry gasps for air. And when it was over, I presented my tongue to him again.

I did so good, sir. Please tell me that I’m good, sir.

There were no words, but Spencer praised me in his actions. He lowered his mouth to mine, his tongue sliding against mine until our mouths were connected in the basest manner. For all the destructive power he held, he kissed me so softly. He still kissed me like he loved me.

Neither of us lasted much longer. Spencer’s hand slid from my jaw to rest on my neck, and a moan tore through my chest. Even though he applied no pressure, the casual reminder of what he could do to me was all that I needed. I lost myself in the bliss of him, my hands tangled in his hair and holding his mouth against mine even when I couldn’t kiss him anymore.

His eyes watched me, still covered in the blackness of his pupils and that animalistic desire to claim me however possible. I watched those eyes the entire time I came, wanting to both grant him the submission he deserved while also selfishly wanting to see the control I had over him, too.

Spencer kept his eyes open as he followed after me, unable to resist the calling of my body, begging him to mark, use, and fill it however he pleased. I watched his eyes roll back ever so slightly, his breath hitching as he pulsed inside me in tandem with my walls that held onto him for dear life.

I was his. I'd known that before, but how easily I’d forgotten. How quickly I’d let some stranger and some lead lay claim to me and make me believe that I could be anything but Spencer’s beautiful little girl.

When all semblance of fight left our bodies, Spencer still managed not to collapse on top of me. Apparently not even me letting him spit in my mouth was enough to convince him I was alright. I wrapped my arms around him and tugged him down on top of me, feeling the comfortable weight of him holding my chest down to more manageable breaths.

That was all there was for a while; our heavy breath breezing over sweat-covered skin as we lay tangled together under the sheets. I soaked in the feeling of slightly uncomfortable bliss, enjoying the way that we didn’t care if it wasn’t perfect because it felt close enough to us.

“I missed this,” Spencer said under his breath. It was a rare showing of selfish honesty— the first time he’d admitted to me that he had been having to hold part of himself back for months. He hadn’t been able to love me like he wanted, either. He might have been worried that I would take it the wrong way, but in reality, I had never felt so relieved to hear it.

“Me too.” I returned, trying to assuage his guilt as much as I could. I knew it wouldn’t do much, but I needed him to understand how grateful I was to share the moment with him.

Then again… They do say that laughter is the best medicine. So with a bit of a giggle, I mumbled, “Not so much the next part, but this one, yeah.”

With a small, sleepy chuckle, Spencer slurred against the pillow, “You’re such a romantic.”

“Says the asshole who doesn’t have to get up,” I reminded him. I struggled to move underneath him as he seemed to drop even more dead weight on top of me.

Like I said: Asshole.

“I wish you didn’t have to get up. I don’t want to let you go yet.”

I rolled my eyes, continuing to push at his stubborn shoulders while huffing back, “It’ll only be a few minutes, Spencer. The bathroom is right there.”

Nuzzling his face into my neck, he mumbled back, “Too long.”

“I can never tell if you’re more of an old man or a big baby.”

“I don’t know, let’s stay here and talk about it for a long time,” he answered with a laugh. I hated the fact that I laughed too, my attempts to shove him off finally ceasing. He pulled his head back, looking at me with all the love in the world.

I wasn’t ready for him to look at me like that. I couldn’t explain why, but the idea of him loving me still felt so terrifying. That fear was compounded by the realization that he might see it.

“Get up, idiot,” I replied to hide that emotion. It also helped to distract me from my own thoughts, and I ended up biting on my bottom lip to stop myself from smiling. It didn’t work.

“You’re so mean to me,” Spencer whined as he slowly removed himself with a small grunt.

“Only when you deserve it.”

Normally I would have eagerly gotten up myself, but I realized then just how painful it was to move. Spencer watched me with a massive, overwhelming guilt that formed before I could even think of how to prevent it. I decided it wasn’t worth it to try. It wouldn’t work. I just let him guide my legs off the bed so that I could shakily stand and shuffle off to the bathroom.

The best part about the time alone was being able to pull myself together and massage the angry scar tissue.

It won’t always be like this, I reminded myself, we can be beautiful again without it hurting.

That was the pep talk, anyway. It was the thing that got me back into the room and under the covers. Curling up by his side was like nature’s medicine. All of my muscles relaxed against him... until he turned around and ruined the perfect comfortable position.

Groaning in the least attractive manner, I pouted the entire time we readjusted. But despite my protests, Spencer looked as happy and comfortable as ever. Plopping my head back down on the pillow, I narrowed my eyes at his contemplation.

“What?”

“L’amor che move il sole e l’altre stelle,” he answered, which really only led to my confused face shifting to confused and incredibly turned on again. But one word in particular sounded familiar, as reminded by Rossi earlier in the day. Or rather, the day before.

“I recognize that last word. What are you saying about me, Dr. Reid?”

“It’s the final line in Divina Commedia by Dante Alighieri.” He was doing that cryptic thing again, having apparently not learned his lesson that I would always beat the answer out of him eventually, one way or another

Through a yawn, I mumbled, “What is that, Dante’s Inferno?”

“Well, Inferno is the first section, but I’m quoting Paradiso, which is the third and final installment of the overall work.” And apparently, he was also doing that thing where he taught me really interesting new things when I definitely did not have the brain capacity to understand or retain the information. We both knew I would have to Google it later, so there was no point in lingering.

“Okay, so what does it mean?”

Spencer paused, his gaze sweeping back and forth across my face like he was searching for the proper translation. Like the real answer he sought was something that could only be seen by his eyes. Eventually, he settled on a simpler and equally romantic response.

“It’s the way he describes the piece of Heaven he saw.”

But that still wasn’t good enough for my constantly curious self. It might have been the brat in me, but it was almost like he was avoiding the direct translation. Like I wasn’t smart enough to come to my own conclusion about it. “I’m going to keep asking until you answer me,” I droned, more reminiscent of a nagging two year old rather than a twenty year old.

“Spoiled,” he remarked, lightly tapping on my nose before he sighed. “It means ‘the love which moves the sun and the other stars.’”

I thought about the words for a minute. Or rather, I thought about trying to think about the words. Unfortunately, my exhaustion and blissed-out brain got the better of me, and the beautiful words whispered, in English this time, went in one ear and out the other. Spencer was giving me a smug little smile, like he could see my cluelessness written on my face.

“I like the Heaven explanation better,” I sneered, trying not to let him win this one just yet. But it was obvious from the way his smile grew that he’d already won.

“Yeah, I knew you would. You just had to keep asking.”

Snaking my hand around his waist, I pulled myself flush against him. “I’m a very curious kitten, Dr. Reid,” I purred, gently rubbing our noses together in a very successful attempt to distract him from gloating.

And in a brief flash of self-awareness, I realized how utterly normal I felt. It wasn’t just average; unlike the domestic moments we’d shared over the recovery, this one felt so... natural. There was nothing foreign about his hand on the small of my back, and the rhythm his fingertips tapped felt like a lullaby I’d heard a million times before.

“I wouldn’t want you any other way,” Spencer whispered, breaking me from the brief aside and back into the present.

“I’m pretty sure you’d have me in any form.” I didn’t laugh yet, but once Spencer joined in, there was no hope left for me.

“Yeah, probably, but you don’t have to point it out!” he whined.

I watched as the color started to form on his face, first starting with his ears and nose before spreading out across his cheeks. That blush, still visible in the dim light, was still one of the most beautiful things in the world to me. I never tired of it. Paired with his embarrassed giggles mingled with my own, I felt the undeniable and overwhelming emotion that could only be described as ‘love.’

When the laughter finally ceased, it was just the two of us in silence again, although now we were so close together that we might as well have been one person. It felt that way sometimes. Not like one might think— it was not the supposedly romantic but strangely depressing idea that we aren’t whole without another. It was more like knowing that I would never be more myself than I was when I was in his arms.

Comfortable. Safe. At home.

“Spencer?” I spoke before he could fully close his eyes that he somehow kept open for me.

“What’s up?”

“Thank you.”

That seemed to wake him up, which was not at all my intention. In fact, I'd hoped he wouldn’t respond at all and let the words stand. But he must have heard the hidden message behind it, the fear that all good things must come to an end.

“For what?” he asked. His hand on my back started to make soothing strokes under the negligee, reasserting his presence with me.

I considered answering. I thought about word vomiting all of my fears of inadequacy and broken promises and a future of settling for me. But I couldn’t. I couldn’t ruin the moment with such stupid things. The feelings would pass with enough time, right? I didn’t want to bother him with it. I didn’t even know if the problems were problems at all.

“I just wanted you to know that I’m happy and I love you,” I said, instead.

Spencer still saw that I was hiding something, but we were both too tired to push it. We could always talk about it in the morning if we remembered, which I was hoping we wouldn’t.

“I wish I could help you understand how much I love you,” he murmured, removing his hand from my back to trace my jaw. “I can tell you that I want to marry you and raise a family with you but… I don’t think it’s enough.

My stomach immediately dropped. It fell so hard that I actually flinched from his hand, my face twisting into an even more obvious grimace. If my hope was for Spencer to sleep, I’d made a grave error. He immediately shot up onto his arm, cupping my face and inspecting my eyes for any persisting sign of pain.

“What’s wrong?” he pressed, his eyes bouncing back and forth between my stomach and eyes. “Are you okay?”

“Nothing is wrong!” I squeaked, my hands flying to his shoulders to pull him back down. “I’m fine. I’m just tired.”

Our eyes locked in a challenge; a silent back and forth of wills and pleas. And eventually, Spencer started to lower back on the pillow. He’d let me win this one.

“It is past your bedtime,” he said with only a whisper of defeat in his voice.

“It’s past every normal human being’s bedtime, Spencer,” I said before turning away from him in the hope that it would make that concern in his eyes hurt less. It didn’t.

“And you think I’m the old man,” he joked back, snuggling up behind me and sighing into my neck as his hand rested on my hip. “Goodnight, little girl.”

So soon after he spoke, he was already asleep. Unfortunately, it wasn’t so simple for me. Even in his sleep, Spencer’s hands found their way to my stomach. His fingers spread over the expanse of skin like the scars didn’t exist at all. Like it was just as perfect a placement for him to hold onto me as it ever was before. Spencer had a tendency to hold me with so much love that I no longer felt capable of containing it.

It was... suffocating. It took my mind back to images of his blood soaked hands in much of the same position. His hands felt foreign again, and I felt even further away. Like Spencer wasn’t actually there, and neither was I. All that he was holding onto was memory instead of me.

He said he loved me, but he didn’t say why. The only answers my mind would consider were things that had already died months ago. Things that his hands and kisses couldn't fix.

I couldn’t ask him why. I was too afraid of the answer.

—————————————————

| Part 20 |

#h2m #spencer reid #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid smut #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid series #spencer x reader #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x you #spencer reid self insert #criminal minds self insert #smut

985 notes · View notes

madamewriterofwrongs · 3 years

Note

Sending you all my hugs 🥰🥰🥰😍 How about...Buddie having the time of their lives being absolute shit at arcade games.

I remember I asked for fluffy prompts the night my boss passed away. That was months ago but I did not forget. Thank you everyone who sent me prompts while I was processing some tough emotions.

911/Buddie

1v1 Co-op Matchmaking

Read on Ao3

“Are you sure this is the place?” Eddie tried to peer through one of the windows with the scratched off signage but the tinted glass made it impossible to see anything beyond vague shapes in evenly marked spaces.

“Absolutely.” Buck joined him in looking through the glass but seemed to be satisfied with what he saw there. “I found this place my first year in L.A.” He went on to explain as Eddie followed him to the blacked out double doors. “I promise you’re going to love it.”

As with most things in Eddie’s life, he had no choice but to follow his partner. He entered first, a blast of cool air hitting his face, bringing with it the scent of French fries and old pennies. Beyond the sound of whirs and buzzes was quiet chatter and the occasional exclamation of excitement or disappointment (usually accompanied by a string of barely recognizable curses – no doubt, due to the ‘No Swearing’ sign hanging on the cash register in the corner). All around him were a collection of game machines in nearly straight aisles reaching several rows down and across. Interspersed between the machines were tables and chairs with folded signs informing guests that food and drinks were not to be taken to the game machines.

“It’s an arcade.” Eddie dumbly informed his friend.

Buck stood beside him, chest puffed with pride as he examined the terrain. “One of the last in the city that hasn’t been overrun by hipsters.”

“So you’re saying you found this place before it was cool?” Eddie strolled towards the register knowing Buck would be glaring at him all the way. As predicted, Buck paid for both of them and converted twenty dollars into quarters for the two of them two split.

“Oh, this place is old school.” Eddie, once again, exclaimed the obvious while pocketing his share of the coins. “How did you find this place?” he asked as they wandered the aisles looking for their first game. “I didn’t think you would be old enough to remember ‘Ms. Pacman’.”

Buck bumped his shoulder with a playful gasp. “You are being so mean to me today.” He chided before falling more somber. “When I first moved here and started training, I needed a place to study. I had, like, six roommates so there was no way I could concentrate there. So, I wandered around looking for something a little less chaotic and I found this place.”

“And this place was quieter than your house?” Eddie hadn’t lived with roommates in a few years – not since his army days – but he couldn’t imagine one house being that overwhelming.

“No.” Buck rolled his eyes at Eddie’s internal monologue. “I ended up at the library a few blocks away. But I came here once or twice when I needed to get out of the house. Obviously, work keeps me pretty busy, but I like coming here from time to time.”

All of it made sense, but Eddie heard the softness in his friend’s tone, the way he spoke about this place as though it were something precious. He was being handed a gift and he would not turn it down.

“Thank you for sharing it with me.” When Buck looked up at his partner through long eyelashes (when did he start noticing Buck’s eyelashes?), Eddie felt goosebumps rise and wash down his body. Like awakening from a long nap, his limbs tingled and he felt every step as they continued their journey to find the perfect game.

It wasn’t the first time he felt that flash of lightning through his veins at the sight of his friend – he was a single man and his partner was very attractive – but it had been happening more often than he cared to admit. Noticing the little details of Buck’s appearance (his eyelashes, for example) was new. Feeling his heart beat faster and his skin burn with a desire he hadn’t felt in a long time…was less new. In fact, Eddie was nearly ready to put a label on the feelings stirring in his chest.

Last winter, when his sisters were visiting and the three siblings got to have a big family dinner with all the cousins and aunts and uncles, he’d spent a little too long talking about Buck. Or, maybe, Christopher had. Either way, Sophia managed to corner him in the kitchen after dessert had knocked out the majority of the children, and asked Eddie how long he’d been with Buck. Romantically. It was sometime after midnight (and a bottle of wine between the three of them) that Eddie finally admitted to both of his sisters that he had feelings for his best friend. Adriana had cooed and asked if Buck felt the same and, on some tipsy instinct, he’d answered “Yes.”

Of course, he didn’t know for certain – he’d never come out and said “Hey, Buck, I want to bend you over the railing and then grow old with you. What do you say?” – but he knew Buck. He knew Buck better than anyone (Maddie might give him a run for his money, but he’s fairly certain there’s a few stories Buck hasn’t told his sister about his time travelling the country). When that man loved, he loved with all his heart, and Eddie figured out a long time ago that Buck had given at least part of himself to the Diaz boys. Why not his heart?

So, yes, Eddie had a pretty good idea of how he felt, and was nearly certain that Buck felt the same way. And now, they were standing in an arcade – the location of which Buck hadn’t shared with anyone else in his life – occasionally making extended eye contact through the aisles. It wasn’t a matter of ‘if’. It was a matter of ‘when’.

So now, when not staring longingly into his friend’s eyes, Eddie scanned the names listed above each game. Some of the names were ones he recognized (‘Frogger’, ‘Pacman’, the aforementioned ‘Ms. Pacman’, ‘Centipede’). Others, were less familiar (‘Inferno’, ‘Dig Dug’, ‘1942’) and looked…confusing. His eye caught on a ‘Space Invaders’-looking game and he called his partner to his side.

“Want to be a member of the ‘Moon Patrol’?” He bumped Buck’s shoulder with the smile he reserved just for his friend, and dug for a quarter.

“Nope!” Buck declared as he retrieved his own quarter and inserted it into the appropriate slot, bumping Eddie out of the way so he could stand centered at the controls. “I call first game!”

Though he rolled his eyes in annoyance, Eddie took the loss as an opportunity to watch his partner work. He loved watching Buck work (nearly as much as he enjoyed working beside him). There were times when the man’s focus was hypnotizing. The firm set of his jaw, the piercing eyes that seemed unblinking, the way every part of his body tensed in concentration. He’d seen Buck excited, anxious, worried, panicked, even numb – when it came to the uncontrollable dangers of their job, they had been through a lot together. Every emotion showed Eddie how much his friend cared about his work.

This expression, however, was one he doubted many other members of the Los Angeles Fire Department had seen on the young firefighter. It was one Eddie had been privy to on more than one occasion when Christopher had brought over a particularly difficult puzzle or science question. He wasn’t sure he was ever meant to see it but he happened to be standing in the doorway after putting away leftovers from dinner and he’d seen it: the desire to win, the earnest focus, the eagerness and seriousness of his intent. The first time he saw, it was an accident. Every other time he rushed to finish his chores whenever he thought that face might emerge… that was less of an accident.

He was pulled from his fond musings by a minor key jingle and light-hearted groan of disappointment.

“Only got to Point Q on the Champion Course.” Buck exclaimed, throwing his hands in defeat.

Eddie couldn’t help himself – or at least, that’s what he told himself. His partner was too genuine. But that was one of his favourite things about the man. Where Eddie could usually keep his outward appearance neutral in the face of adversity (a skill he’d used nearly every day since joining the LAFD), Buck never shied away from letting his face show just exactly what was on his mind – even if he never said anything.

And so, Eddie laughed. Only a small chuckle, but his heart never felt so light as when he was with Buck. It was easy to see, however, that his laugh could be misconstrued as mocking. Perhaps it was both.

“Think you can do better?” The newly-defeated champion bowed and offered the center position to his friend and Eddie stepped into place with another fond eyeroll (he made a mental note to ask his optometrist if too many eyerolls could cause nerve damage).

All right, Eddie thought as he tried to get a handle on the controls, so it wasn’t as easy as he thought. The joystick was rigid and the control pad was sticky and the graphics were definitely from an era long-passed. If he hadn’t been raised with an infinite amount of patience (according to his aunt), he might have given up. As it was, he died before reaching the first checkpoint.

Buck’s laughter could not be interpreted as anything other than mocking, and he didn’t bother to hide it. “You are truly terrible.” He informed Eddie with a slap on the shoulder.

Though he knew he didn’t need an excuse, it was too easy to play when Buck was around. “I’m used to the console at home. Unlike some people, I don’t spend my time playing with technology from the Reagan-era.”

“Well then let me show you.” Before Eddie could properly interpret Buck’s offer, the man had come to stand behind him, chin hovering over his shoulder, arms palming his elbows and guiding him back towards the console. “One more round.” Buck declared, enthusiastically. At his prompting, Eddie gripped the joystick and placed his hands just above the cluster of buttons on his left side. The now-familiar starting music began and Eddie focused all of his energy into game before him. Every few moments, he heard Buck mutter a command or offer advice and he took it without question. The joystick was still rigid and the buttons were still sticky but together, they made it to the second checkpoint. And then the third. By the fourth, Eddie had all but forgotten the world around them. The only things that existed were Eddie, the game, and Buck’s voice in his ear. It was soothing, almost, to fall into that rhythm. So long as he navigated the bumpy terrain and dodged the alien invasion, nothing else mattered.

Until he missed jumping over a landmine and was blown to smithereens.

“Damn!” Buck’s voice was suddenly too close. The air around him electrified on an exhale and the heat of his chest warmed Eddie to his core. As quickly as the world had fallen away in Buck’s arms, it came rushing back, more vibrant and alive than before. Every sound of electronics whirring, Buck’s steady breathing, and people shouting – even the rumble of the cars outside the arcade – was amplified. Every smell of old metal, sweat, and smoke hidden under Buck’s aftershave was overwhelming. Every touch of his scratchy jeans, the clammy plastic in his hand, and the warm presence at his back, made Eddie close his eyes to shut out one of his senses. The only one left was taste.

Buck and Eddie had held each other plenty of times over the years. They were partners and friends who worked in close contact with one another. At the end of a hard day, in the middle of a daring rescue, at the beginning of a heated glance as they stood in front of a game machine. They had shaken hands, hugged tightly, gripped for dear life at the edge of a cliff, even bumped shoulders often enough that he had a Buck-shaped indent near his heart. But standing in this loose hold – the other man’s arms barely brushing his, his back pressed against the other’s front – Eddie had never felt the overwhelming urge to taste more fervently than he did in that moment.

He knew that Buck was an attractive man – he was repressed, he wasn’t dead – and though he’d been contemplating thinking about maybe working up to taking some next step, he hadn’t counted on standing in Buck’s arms and feeling his heart flutter like a school girl with a crush.

Upon slowly dragging his eyes to meet his friend’s Eddie found himself breathlessly overtaken by the sensation of hope. Buck’s eyes were bright and round (earnest, just as he’d known them to be) His eyelashes closed and opened slowly, seemingly disbelieving of his circumstance. If Eddie knew Buck as well as he hoped he did, then there was a question in his friend’s eyes that was begging to be asked. A question Eddie was more than happy to answer.

“We make a pretty good team.” He felt his own breath reverberate off of Buck’s cheek and it stuttered in time with his heart.

“I’ve always thought so.” Buck’s lips twitched with suppressing a smile.

Then, came the moment of truth. Eddie felt a brief flicker of panic as he took one last breath before diving in.

“What should we do about it?”

In reality, Buck only contemplated his response for a few seconds but for Eddie, the silence stretched for years – three years, in fact. He felt the world move in slow motion and within it, he watched as Buck’s face flicked with a thousand emotions: fear, anxiety, excitement, contentment, desire, hope, doubt; finally, he settled on quiet happiness.

“I think we need to find a game we can play together. As partners. What do you say?”

As if there were any other response, Eddie smiled at Buck. “Partners.”

The rest of their time at the arcade was locked away, inaccessible to even Eddie, who recalled nothing more than laughter and flirtatious eye contact as they made their way through the aisles of games. At the end of the night, Eddie would get down the block before turning back to Buck’s door. He would run a nervous hand through his hair while he knocked with the other, and waited for the answer. And then, he would blush as he asked if Buck wanted to go on a date with him tomorrow. Buck would blush harder and assure Eddie that he would happily attend, but warn that he no longer kissed on the first date.

But maybe on their second date tomorrow, he’d get lucky.

#911 on fox #911 fox #buddie #eddie diaz #evan buckley #buddie fic #911 fic #getting together #dorks in love #mutual pining #flirting over games #cj writes things #cj answers things #zeethebooknerd #love zee

57 notes · View notes

stanknotstark · 3 years

Text

Easy Aim (Is Only Exciting Once or Twice) Pt. 5 (Loki x Reader)

Loki’s turn to be a woman in every sense. Guys normally react pretty badly to our level of cramping but I don’t make Loki react too badly because he’s a warrior and probably has felt worse pain. If anything it’s more uncomfortable for him but not enough to warrant much reaction!

Finally.

It’s Loki’s turn to suffer.

You hadn’t come up with a way to get back at the god but karma was a bitch.

Loki walked into the kitchen and because of his obvious mood the team became quiet. You’re pretty sure the temperature dropped like five degrees too.

“Who pushed you out the wrong side of bed, seeing as you haven’t had your cereal yet?” Tony asked.

You snorted into your bite of eggs.

Loki scathingly looked at you and Tony.

“I will piss on your mother’s grave, Stark.” Loki bites at the man.

“Loki!” You yelled at the man. Going for Tony’s mother was off limits. Kind of like how the team didn’t ask questions about Loki’s true parentage.

Tony waved you off with a smile.

“Oh, you didn’t get pushed out of bed. You woke up with a big red spot on the sheets, didn’t you?” Tony says with a light voice.

Realization dawns on you. Loki drops the bagel he had picked up and looks to you with squinted eyes.

Loki had obviously never dealt with this when he shapeshifted.

You quickly stand, gather Loki’s breakfast and push him out of the kitchen, with little resistance, and towards the direction of your room. Ignoring the Avengers questions and concerns. You were so worried you left your own breakfast.

When you both reach your floor. You make him set his breakfast down in the living room, then push Loki to your bathroom and have him sit on the toilet.

It’s too silent so you start talking to fill it.

“Usually when I’m about to start I get extremely horny the week before. Then when the actual day hits I’m cramping like crazy, mostly in my lower back.” You explain as you pull out a bunch of pads from under your sink.

Loki looks at you with something akin to fear but it’s not quite fear, when you glance at him.

“That explains the pain...” Loki whispers with realization.

“The second day is the heaviest so you’ll need to check your pad more so than usual and keep a bottle of Midol nearby because the cramping is terrible. Wait, do Earth medicines even work on you?” You ask the god, freezing your looking to look at him but continue when he shrugs at you.

“The second day you’re also going to deal with mood swings, like, bad so maybe stay away from people?” You tell Loki as you realize you didn’t give him night pads so you search under your sink again.

“The third day it lightens up and usually my hormones balance out. The fourth day you’ll still need to wear a pad, it’ll only be spotting but it’ll spot enough to bleed through your clothes. If you feel like randomly crying at the smallest things, or even something as random as someone sneezing that is normal.” You explain to Loki.

“Wait, I have read about periods, to an extent, but why am I having one exactly?” Loki asks.

You leave the room to find a plastic bag for all the stuff you’re giving Loki, when you come back you explain to Loki who sits there patiently. “Your uterus is shedding it’s walls because you’re not pregnant.”

Loki squints at you.

“How many times does this occur in your lifetime?”

“Once a month till you hit menopause.” You tell him flippantly.

You smile as Loki looks bewildered.

“When do you experience menopause and when do periods generally begin?”

“Usually around fifty and they start around twelve but can start as early as eight years old.” You shrug down at him.

Loki closes his eyes, rubs a hand over his face with a sigh. When his hand drops he shakes his head. “And males have the gall to call presenting females weak.”

You actually laugh at that causing Loki to softly smile up at you.

“I uh, suggest buying some panties that you don’t care about, comfortable too, because you’re going to get blood on them whether you like it or not. I would offer you my panties but that is...gross, for some reason, even if you are in my body.” You babble out to Loki who nods at you as he stands.

You throw the pads he holds into the plastic bag you hold, throw the nightly pads in, throw in a new bottle of Midol then hand it to him.

“Eat with me, I’ll answer all your questions after you put a pad on of course.” You tell Loki, leaving the bathroom. You’re pretty sure he can figure out the pad.

You sit waiting in the living room on the big couch.

Loki comes out of your room not long after and sits next to you, pulling his plate from the coffee table and getting comfy.

You’re shocked but Loki decided to sit pushed up against you. You wrap an arm around his shoulders which causes him make a happy noise while he chews and leans into your arm.

“I guess this explains last night.” You say randomly thinking about the way Loki reacted to you yesterday.

Loki chews through his honey bagel and nods.

“It also explains why I’ve been getting wet for the past few days.” He admits without thought.

You look down at him with a raised brow. “Oh?”

“Yes. There was a time where Steve was lifting something heavy and seeing his muscles bulge made me wet.” Loki explains, eating away, not looking at you but speaking as if he has no care about what he’s sharing. Another milestone you figure.

“There was a moment where you were laughing at something Tony said and that made me wet, I could not fathom why.”

You laugh a little shocked Loki is sharing this with you.

“Also, when you were hard that made me wet.” Loki finishes starting to pick at some grapes you had grabbed for him.

“You’ll tell me you got wet but refuse to tell me you have feelings?” You ask teasingly.

Loki glares at you.

You smile.

Loki goes back to his food and you settle further into the couch causing Loki to further settle into your arm.

“I thought periods last for seven days, did I read false information? Why do yours only last four?” Loki asks after he’s chewed through some of his food.

You hum. “Well everyone is different. Some people last three days, some last the usual seven, some people don’t have them monthly, some do.” You explain. “However if they don’t have them monthly that’s because of a disorder or because they’re young and haven’t balanced out yet.” You thoughtlessly explain better.

Loki is quiet for a bit but then asks. “And you did not know this period was coming?”

You laugh lightly as your hand around Loki’s shoulders plays with your hair. It’s soft and silky. “Well, I don’t take birth control, I had a bad reaction to the one’s they gave me so I can’t really predict when they’re going to hit me. I can generalize between a few weeks but that’s it.”

Loki hums, licking honey off his fingers. It’s just as cute as it sounds.

It’s only four hours later when Loki starts.

You had both moved back into the general public of the tower. You had needed to eat more since you didn’t finish your breakfast then settled in the common area.

You were sitting on the couch with Natasha wrapped in your arms and Clint trying to burrow into your side when Loki made an exclamation crossed with a groan, an arm wrapping along his stomach from across the room where he was reading.

You perk up and look at him as he looks at you with wide eyes.

Natasha knowing what’s going on says, “It’s normal if you feel like you’re pissing yourself, you’re fine.”

Loki relaxes and nods.

“That’s nasty, Nat.” Clint huffs.

“It is a natural event for a woman’s body, something they cannot control and you dare call it nasty?” Loki hisses at Clint.

“There’s blood man!”

“You see more blood on missions, is there a difference?” Loki points out.

You’re smiling with Natasha, looking between Loki and Clint like it’s a tennis match.

“Well, it comes out of their vagina.” Clint weakly argues back.

“I have no doubt you’ve put your mouth on a vagina and that failed to gross you out, your arguments are irrelevant.” Loki says going back to his book.

Clint lets a pitiful noise out of his mouth and looks to you and Nat.

“Don’t look at us, we’re on his side.” Nat says with a shrug, settling back into you. You laugh as Clint rolls his eyes.

You watch Loki out of the corner of your eye as you converse with Nat and Clint. Loki has an uncomfortable look on his face and his arm is still wrapped around his stomach.

You tell Nat you need to get up and she groans but allows you to. Then, she climbs onto Clint.

Out of everyone in the tower you did not expect Natasha to be the most affectionate.

You grab Loki’s attention and get him to follow you back to your floor, again. When you have him laying on your bed you search in your bathroom for what you seek.

Coming out of the bathroom a few minutes later you show Loki what you have by holding it up in both hands with a satisfied smile. It’s old fashioned, you probably should just buy a heating pad, but this was given to you by your mother and you can’t let go of it because of sentiment.

“What is that?” Loki asks with confusion etching his face, propped up on his elbow. He stares at the orange, rubber bag you hold. It’s the size of a decorative pillow.

“A water bottle.”

“Are you expecting me to drink it?” He asks slowly.

“No.” You laugh and make your way over to him.

When you’ve climbed into the bed and cuddled up to Loki you place the warm bottle on his lower stomach and Loki actually groans.

“I understand the intended use now.” He says in a grateful voice as the heat of the bottle penetrates his aching stomach.

You smile at him but turn your attention to putting on a movie so Loki may rest here for awhile.

See, thing is, it doesn’t stop. The cuddling, that is.

The next day Loki comes to you and asks if he may use your water bottle. When you tell him yes and go to give it to him he holds it, looking at it like it’s the most interesting thing in the world.

“Would you mind.....holding me as I use this?” Loki says in a soft voice, as if afraid he’s going to be rejected.

You can see tears welling up in his eyes when he looks up at you, which you blame on the period. You smile at Loki and nod.

“Of course.”

As you lay there with Loki wrapped in your arms, a movie playing in the background, he says, “While I am trying to keep an open mind about this whole situation, the blood clots are disgusting.”

You laugh, causing Loki to smile up at you.

“Have you bled through yet?” You ask him after awhile, curious.

Loki scoffs. “Yes. I was wearing a nice pair of pants at the time. Natasha promised to get the blood out though.” He says with a frown.

“If anyone here knows how to get blood out of clothes, Natasha would be the expert.” You chuckle out.

“I must apologize to her. I was a bit snappy at the time because of the frustration of ruining a perfectly good pair of pants. She was close and received the brunt of my frustration.” Loki says, his fingers trailing down the side of your chest as he spoke, his eyes trained on the movie though.

Loki must not be ticklish, you absently think as his fingers drag over your sides and you don’t react.

It happens again the next day. The day after that too, you both cuddle with the bottle and watch movies.

When the period ends Loki still comes to your room and cuddles with you. It’s a routine now. Every evening, if there is nothing going on, Loki comes and you both relax into each other and watch movies and tv shows, casually talking or teasing the people in the movies. You refrain from teasing Loki personally until after the period has passed because you’d feel bad if you made him cry.

It’s nice, to say the least.

What you don’t expect is Loki almost kissing you one day.

It was a normal day, you were cuddling and watching Die Hard, teasing the actor when things were way exaggerated. You had been rambling on about how some of the action scenes could have ended had Bruce’s character did something else. You had noticed Loki looking at you with a twinkle in his eye but said nothing about it. You really looked down at him when he grabbed your chin and angled it just enough to where he could reach your lips.

Loki pushes and crawls up, you laying beneath him, frozen. Your eyes roam his face, it’s a little weird looking at your face but you’re too invested in the moment, to invested in the switching bodies thing. His lips come to hover over yours, close enough you could close the distance in a blink but you stay rooted to the bed. You both breath each other in, eyes memorizing everything about this moment.

Then the moment passes and Loki pulls from you. You let out a deep breath and blink.

Surprisingly, Loki did not run, instead he cuddled back into you and continued conversation as if nothing had happened. You replied back casually, if not a little shaky from the anticipation you had just experienced.

Tag list: @a-laufeyson

#loki x reader #easy aim #easy aim pt.5 #loki gif #loki laufeyson #loki odinson #reader insert #my writing #i read over this like 8 times or more because i wanted to put more situations in it where we experience loki and the period #but i couldnt find a way to add them in without disrupting the flow of the sotry #story*#idk imma let this sit in my drafts for a bit and see if i come up with a way to put a new part in it #we'll see #body switching au #i couldnt come up with anything more to add sorry like i just dont find periods that eventful cuz i only experience mood swings and cramps #other than that everything is calm #and i dont want to write something wrong if i did make it to where he gets sick and stuff cuz i dont have anyone i can talk to about this #all my friends are male 😅#and i dont want to message people on here and be like hey what kind of periods do you have?! XDDDD

92 notes · View notes

sportyclown · 3 years

Text

how sawamura, miyuki, yuki, and kuramochi text (friends + s/os)

will most likely do a part 2 with more boys at a later date! these got freakishly long because i am, at my core, a very mad. also might revisit as i get re-familiar with the characters, i just had this idea floating around in my head. also the way these got pro

sawamura eijun

no matter who he texts, it’s always extremely extra. not only does he always give more information than you asked for – ex. if you text him wya? he will give you a play by play of his entire route or something

he also uses tons of emoticons. and yes I do mean emoticons, baby boy has a flip phone. ifhe does eventually get a smart phone, then this boy overuses tf out of emojis. he’s the sort of person that sees someone use a combination of emojis he likes and then tries to copy them, but uses it completely incorrectly, but its v cute.

if you send him a meme, he will respond with an unnecessary amount of hahas.

when he’s texting his lil bae, they’re always on his mind so he ofc texts them every thought that comes to his mind! when he sees something that reminds him of you, he won’t hesitate to share it with you.

if you have been together for a long time, then we will definitely text you words of affirmation and be very honest/blunt about how he feels about you. he’s also always sure to ask you about your day - and he seriously cares. but i still i feel like with a s/o he would prefer facetime to texting just because he likes to see you :)

overall, a very adorable texter and his enthusiasm is just as contagious when texting as it is in person. he’s kind of clueless so he doesn’t pick up on subtext. so be blunt, just like he will be with you~

kuromochi youichi

my bias might be showing here, but I feel like he is one of the most well-adjusted boys in terms of being ready for a serious relationship tbh (at least post-high school). i mean we all saw that he regularly corresponded with wakana wish that were me lmao

i think he would most often use proper capitalization, but not to the point where he uses a period after every text

would send his friends news articles about his favorite fighting games where u like gaming or not

a meme fiend in general. the sort of person who uses reaction images of people he knows. (if you’re dating, he would still have a stash of funny pics/screenshots of you on ft, but he’d ofc only use them with you <3). his convos with his friends are rarely serious

i don’t think he’d be the type to text haha out loud, but he does use LOL on occasion. with close friends/his lil bae he might send a voice memo of him laughing hysterically if you send him something REALLY funny. ugh my annoying king <3

unlike eijun he’s the king of being perceptive / picking up subtext.

similarly, i do think he’s pretty reliable, but for friends i feel like he might make a lil bit of a stink lmao. like lets say a friend wants him to pick something up for them, he might play like he won’t do it then miraculously shows up with the requested item. its giving tsundere vibes on the low.

with his partner: i feel like he would use emojis when he’s trying to be ~cute~. i think with a established partner he’d be pretty flirty still but he’s v much whipped for his partner so its way more mushy than it would be early in the relationship.

yes your name has hearts/stars in his phone. mans is a SAP for you

his love language is more quality time imo, so I think he values time spent with you over texting time. so a lot of your texts might be asking you to come over to hang out / get a meal or vice versa

like eijun he wants to hear about YOU, and is very supportive and good at advice when he wants to be. he can be goofy but this is how he shows you he cares/sees you as more than a friend

he’s a blushy/shy boy with his s/o esp early in the relationship, so he might be hesitant or nervous to say “i love you” or anything like that outright, but you know anyway, which just makes the times when he does outright say it that much sweeter.

miyuki kazuya

i mean it goes without saying that this man is snarky. he’s not a meme king himself but he enjoys when people send them to him and will usually play off the meme to make his own jokes.

i feel like he also likes deep-fried memes or the very abstract, post-modern memes. miyuki is good at making other people laugh, but he has a generally very-off brand humor and the things that make him cackle hardest are either at someone else’s expense (very similar to kuramochi, so they bond a lot over that) or just indiscernible without access to a huge layer of context/background

saves the reaction photos kuramochi sends him, but doesn’t usually use them. but seeing an ugly pic of eijun yelling never fails to make him grin LMAO

i think he also texts A LOT about baseball, even more so than these other baseball dummies. texts his teammates a lot of articles he reads or clips from games/cool plays. this is mostly about texts, but in terms of social media I think miyuki uses twitter/instagram the most especially for baseball related reasons, while kuramochi uses snapchat the most.

he probably texts a lot about baseball as well, both seriously and playfully

i can see him using hahas and LOLs in equal measure, but he would also utilize the haha reaction if he had an iphone. this boy does value his wit so he would definitely have commentary about any memes or jokes he’s sent

you won’t win a joke war against him, he will definitely one-up whatever you send him with either a one-liner or another joke. how tf does he do it?

definitely ignores people/conversations if he really wants to - but ofc he never does that to his BAE

if miyuki give you a dry one-line response...he’s not interested at all or he’s feeling frustrated about something else. but when he’s really happy? he will text his friends all the time and spam them! i see him as someone who enjoys texting when he has the attention span/state of mind for it. and when he’s texting his s/o his texting gets even more ~flavorful~

wit his lil bae: i don’t think miyuki would switch it up much w his s/o. is probably even more teasing with you over text than he is with his friends, which is saying something.

like talking with you just by nature of you being his partner. prob prefers texts to facetime because text kinda allows for maximum snark

he LIVES for you guys’ witty back and forth

if he’s traveling for work or something, will definitely relish in you guys binge texting a tv show or something but just making funny commentary (or he’ll just send you funny commentary to get a reaction)

he can dish it and he’s also not a super sensitive guy so he can take it tenfold from you as well. nothing y’all wouldn’t be used to when talking in person!

sometimes when texting him you’ll want to beat his a*s because he can be so cheeky but its endearing in a way. he definitely adds emojis to the end of his more annoying messages to give it that loveable vibe (and it works ofc, we love u miyuki)

he’s kinda clingy on the low so i think he’d prefer a partner that’s more open with their affection via text than he is. he would live for your random ilys or whatver throughout the day. also would not mind at all if you updated him on your actions throughout the day or sent him snaps - might not be able to respond to everything, but will react and appreciate it. very likely to make jokes about whatever you’re doing.

would also apologize over text. he’s not always used to apologizing can be awkward about it, so text makes it easier for him.

he would use emojis w you in a joking/ironic way. would absolute use those dumb but genius emoji combinations

yuki tetsuya

i’m literally cracking up thinking about texting him. he is one of my ultimate baes but im sorry i just know he texts dry asf. but its part of his charm!

has a flip phone. either never upgrades or gets the chunkiest most basic android if he is forced to

the thing is this man thinks that he is infusing all his texts with, like, tajin level seasoning, when in reality its pepper

uses punctuation. always. exclamation marks are used sparingly to express excitement.

but i can’t get the image out of my head of an upset tetsuya texting you a simple angry emoji (or the angry emoticon >:( LOL) if he’s reeeeeeally mad. but its v cute i can’t take him seriously. i just want to give him a hug <3

but you know what he is so PASSIONATE about whatever he’s talking about that his passion bleeds into his text through sheer quantity of words and depth of thought. ultimately, all his conversations end up being extremely flavorful in terms of content. he is surprisingly good at having deep conversations over text.

he’s better at holding conversations with more extroverted personalities, truthfully.

he’s another one who sends random things to people when he thinks about them. miyuki of course gets so many texts/thoughts about shogi. if you get a random haiku, poem, or quote from testu, that means you’re blessed enough to be in his inner circle! he definitely thought of you when he read it and and wants you to respond!

with bae: he doesn’t really change up his texting style tbh, but he has a stronger outward reaction to what YOU text in response.

definitely the type to smile almost imperceptibly at his phone as he texts you, even if you send him something like “hey i’m at the store, want anything?”

he’s not great as verbal affection early in the relationship, so you’ll have to discern his love/affection. however baby boy is NOT afraid to just straight up say he loves you, he does it all the time and early.

he’s KNOWN for being reliable and responsible, so he will be at your beck and call when he’s able to for anything you need, but his heart is also warmed by the thought of you reciprocating that care. if your texts show him you’re thinking of him just like he does too. he’s very gentle and sweet, and checks up on you when he’s able to see if you need anything at all.

he might be reliable, but that doesn’t mean that he’s the quickest guy to respond to texts. he’s a busy guy, and he doesn’t think about his phone all the time, but he will always get back to you (bae does not play when it comes to completing things).

if they came up with a shogi game for gamepidgeon and tetsu had an iphone, your phone probably would be spammed with requests for games lol.

this is my first time doing headcanons like this so please let me know what you think or give me tips on how to improve! I really enjoying thinking about it so I hope to do more in the future <3

#daiya no ace #daiya no ace headcanons #sawamura eijun #miyuki kazuya #kuramochi youichi #yuki tetsuya #sawamura eijun x reader #miyuki kazuya x reader #kuramochi youichi x reader #yuki tetsuya x reader #dna headcanons #miyuki x reader #kuramochi x reader #ace of diamond #headcanons #texting headcanons #my writing #diamond no ace

133 notes · View notes

okay-j-hannah · 3 years

Text

That’s My Wife

Harry Potter : Fic

Charlie x Reader

Word Count: 3049

Warnings: SEXY TALK! Charlie is just all over you and your quidditch uniform 😂 Also I know I keep using different gifs for Charlie fics... I just look up ‘hot ginger man’ and pick one I like 🥰

Request: “Hey could I have a story where you are Charlie Weasleys wife and a professional quidditch player? In goblet of fire when they go to the world cup instead of Ireland vs Krum it's your team versus Krum and Charlie is so proud to have Weasley on your uniform and is showing you off to everyone and idk I really just think of Charlie as a very proud guy but humble. Thanks so much!” - Anon

A/N: There’s nothing quite like having your husband be your biggest supporter, especially with the Quidditch World Cup fast approaching

Shifting beneath the covers, (Y/N) sighed as her brain began to wake up. There were a number of thumps happening outside their bedroom and she groaned.

“Charlie?”

Thankfully, a hand came sneakily around her waist, pulling her to him, “What’s the point of apparating if we don’t even get to sleep in?”

“They’re excited,” (Y/N) replied in a quiet voice, keeping her eyes closed as she turned towards her husband, “And people are a bit careless when they’re tired.”

Footsteps could be heard going down the creaky stairs and (Y/N) peered behind Charlie to see that the moon was still basking their window. It had to have been nearly daybreak for the others to be up and about.

“I’ll have to get ready anyway,” she mumbled, resting back into Charlie’s embrace, “The team wants to do warmups and standard procedure before the majority of the crowds…”

Charlie suddenly held her tighter, silencing her with a grin, “Later, sweetheart – I won’t be able to see you all day. I want to hold you for a little while before you fly off.”

She couldn’t help the giggle that escape her with him cradling her against his chest. Though the World Cup was hours away, she knew her captain wouldn’t let her out of his sight until the game started. With the narrow win England made to be entered into the cup, there was immense pressure to deliver a swift and skillful victory for the team.

Being the rising star of “Quidditch Weekly,” there was a lot on (Y/N)’s shoulders to carry the team. It was that thought that began to swell within her when a sudden shout came from downstairs.

“George! What is that in your pocket?”

Charlie laughed low in his throat, his grisly morning voice doing it justice, “Looks like mum found those joke shop toffees.”

“Nothing!”

“Don’t you lie to me!”

(Y/N) took a deep breath, allowing Charlie’s natural scents relax her; worn leather, old newspaper, rain-soaked grass. She wasn’t quite sure what she was going to do without him giving her pep talks between penalty shots and time outs.

More than anything she wished he could be on the grounds with the referees instead of up in the stands.

With the anxiety filling her up as it usually did before a big game, she reached for his hand wrapped around her. Lacing their fingers together, she could feel him lean into her neck and plant a kiss behind her ear.

“You’re going to be incredible, sweetheart.”

She sighed into a smile, closing her eyes once more and allowing a few more moments of peace.

“Accio! Accio! Accio!” Came from downstairs, and she laughed out loud that time.

~~~

The sun crept higher and higher as the team lay on the pitch, doing stretches. Their captain Edric Vosper was pacing along the team benches.

“England hasn’t been a part of the Quidditch World Cup since 1981,” he intertwined his fingers in front of him, “And with us scraping that win against Transylvania last month… there’s too much at stake.”

“We know, Vosper,” came the voices of some of (Y/N)’s best friends – the beaters of the team, Dawn and Indira.

“We’ve had this same speech at every practice since that win,” (Y/N) added, smirking and straightening her arm braces, “I’m not sure there’s much else you can say to prepare us.” Her fellow chasers Avery and Keaton snickered behind their hands.

Vosper seemed at a loss of a comeback, finally sitting on one of the benches, “You’re right, of course. I just had a talk with Ludo Bagman and have basically every coin in my account betted for England being the winning team.”

“Why would you do that?” Dawn cried, slumping onto the grassy ground, “I’m worried enough about the game without knowing you’ll be broke if we lose.”

“And will probably have to crash at my place for the rest of the year,” Avery rolled his eyes.

Vosper put his face in his hands and took a deep breath, making the team all refrain from smiling sarcastically. (Y/N) stood and folded her arms, leaning forward slightly to speak.

“I say we take a break before the match starts – go enjoy some time with our families until the whistle blows.”

Keaton flexed his fingers, “Yeah, if I have to practice another quaffle pass I pretty sure my fingertips will snap.”

The team all laughed, evidently trying to make it as lighthearted as possible with the amount of pressure all nestled on their shoulders. (Y/N) secretly believed that a pep talk from all their close friends and family would motivate and improve the teams morale.

But she also knew that if she voiced that much of her opinion, then the players would just tease her about becoming the next great captain for the team. And she was too good of friends with Edric to make him doubt the authority of his position.

“Hey, guys, we’ve been practicing every day for weeks,” Indira stated, pulling a knee to her chest for a stretch. “Maybe enjoying our last meal with our families would relieve some stress.”

“Why are you saying it like we’ve all got death sentences? Our last meal?” Avery laughed, leaning over to push her away playfully.

She shrugged her shoulders, “Way to improve the mood, Hawksworth.”

The rest of the team laughed again, waiting for Vosper to lift his head from his hands. When he did he focused his attention to the opposing team across the quidditch pitch. The brutal Bulgarian team was conducting a number of routines with quaffle passes and snitch spotting.

They donned scarlet robes with black and gold lettering, which reminded (Y/N) of her Gryffindor house back at Hogwarts. It made her frown to see them arrogantly flashing those colors as they sped on their similarly tinted Firebolts.

Peering down at her own uniform, she relished in the bright white and complementary cherry red accents. The proud emblem of golden dragons blazoned the front and brought a fiery desire to beat Bulgaria with every bit of will power she had.

“I think we are over exhausting ourselves,” Vosper concluded, resting his elbows on his knees. “How about this – you all are free to do whatever you please until the match, as long as you deliver the Rowntree Counter.” He stared pointedly at (Y/N), saying, “If we can execute that as perfectly as you did with Transylvania, we’ll have this game in the bag.”

With slight hesitation, she gulped and nodded. She knew there were scouts in the crowd, recruiters that were looking for talent. If she could make a spotlight of their team, they could go far in quidditch history.

It was this thought that dwelled with her as she left the pitch and made her way through the crowds to find the tent grounds the Weasley’s had rented.

She quickly found herself distracted by numerous fans; now, with the sun newly risen and the mist lifting, she could see the city of tents that stretched in every direction. She made her way slowly through the rows, staring eagerly around.

Many of the campers were starting to wake up. First to stir were the families with small children; a tiny boy no older than two was crouched outside a large pyramid-shaped tent, holding a wand and poking happily at a slug in the grass, which was swelling slowly to the size of a salami.

“Excuse me, miss,” came a timid voice nearby, “Are you (Y/N) Weasley?”

She turned her shoulder and saw a young girl and boy standing on their tip toes and wringing their hands excitedly.

“Yes, ma’am, that’s me.”

“The chaser for England’s National team?” the boy added on, somewhat disregarding her previous response.

(Y/N) peered down at her uniform and shrugged her shoulders, “I’m pretty sure that’s what my robes say.”

There was a squeal behind her, and then another and another. Whispers, then shouts, began appearing all around her as exclamations said:

“Is that…?”

“Mum! It’s the England chaser!”

“She was on the cover of Quidditch Weekly yesterday.”

“Do you think I could get a signature?”

“Wait… (Y/N) Weasley?”

“I don’t have a quill… would she mind using my body paint?”

And it was twenty minutes before she was able to extract herself from the growing crowd. She had signed robes, arms, books, tents, and English flags with everything from paint to lipstick. There was even a little girl that bought a miniature figurine of (Y/N) that padded along her palm, even laughing the same full body laugh that (Y/N) usually did, which she signed the back of.

She had to apologize to everyone as she pushed through, saying she’d like to get to her family before the day was through. It didn’t stop the stares, gasps, and waves, but she was grateful for not being followed as closely anymore.

A short way farther on, she saw two little witches, who were riding toy broomsticks that rose only high enough for the girls’ toes to skim the dewy grass. Here and there adult wizards and witches were emerging from their tents to claim a breakfast. Some, with furtive looks around them, conjured fires with their wands; others were striking matches with dubious looks on their faces, as though sure this couldn’t work.

As she neared the other side of the fields, she noticed the colors changing drastically from black and scarlet to white and cherry. This new patch of tents were all covered with thick clusters of dragon themed décor; blue, red, and white flags flew all around the campers. Dragon kites, dragon statues, dragon emblems, dragon puppets, and even dragon hide was covering most other surfaces.

It really showed the loyalty, as well as the increase of more fans trying to get her attention. One began waving a moving poster of herself crossing her arms and smiling broadly. But just beyond she noticed the exact family she was looking for.

“Charlie!”

One of the redheads sitting around the morning fire stood and whipped around to see who was calling for him. When he spotted his beloved, he called out, urging her forward.

The nearer she got, she noticed that it wasn’t just the Weasley’s, Harry, and Hermione – Ludo Bagman and Mr. Barty Crouch were there too.

“I thought you were going to be on the pitch all day!” Charlie cried, reaching her and pulling her into a bone-crushing hug. “I wasn’t expecting to see you until after the game.”

She giggled happily as he lifted her enough that she was on her toes, “We convinced Vosper that we could use a break to gather our senses.” She nuzzled into his shoulder as they continued to hold each other close – that calming smell of rainfall and old, weathered book pages whelmed her again.

Charlie moved a hand to the side of her face where he could direct her attention to his eyes, “God, you’re so beautiful.”

She smiled, her eyes suspicious, “Even in this sweaty updo?”

“What can I say? I can’t resist a woman in uniform.” He gave her a seductive gaze and bit his lip, leaning his forehead against hers.

She moved her hands up his torso and around his neck, sighing deep in her chest, “Not until I knock Bulgaria on their ass.”

Charlie closed his eyes and breathed deeply, “You just got a whole lot sexier.” And he practically growled as he dipped for a kiss, a hungry kiss. The intensity took (Y/N) slightly off guard, accidentally pulling a moan out of her.

“Okay, woah, woah!” came the boisterous voices of Fred and George, “Lock it up, this isn’t your honeymoon.”

They could hear Ginny laughing with Bill, and Percy was muttering things like, “Right in front of Mr. Crouch,” under his breath.

“Now, Charlie,” Mr. Weasley stated in a nervously loud tone, “We’ve got guests.”

(Y/N) had to be the one to pull away, finding her breath was taken away by the moment. Charlie grinned and waved a hand over his shoulder.

“Paparazzi,” she muttered, “We’re surrounded by witnesses.”

“It would be ridiculous to hide my feelings for you, (Y/N). Why shouldn’t the public know we have a perfectly wonderful marriage.” He held her by her shoulders, “I’m proud to have you by my side, so what if the Daily Prophet knows we kiss… guess what? We’re married!”

She couldn’t help but laugh, “Still I’d like to keep a few things… hello!” Behind Charlie’s shoulder she could see the entire Weasley family, and guests, watching them closely.

Charlie twirled around and put an arm around (Y/N), “Mr. Crouch, Ludo – may I introduce my wife, (Y/N) Weasley. THE best chaser that England has known these last few years.”

Ludo Bagman, a jolly man with rosy cheeks and a boyish charm, stood immediately and came to shake hands, “An introduction long overdue I’m sure you feel as well. You know I’ve got a pretty penny on your head to get England the win tonight.”

“Us too,” Fred yelled over the many heads, “So don’t fall off your broom.”

“Oh, you’ve seen nothing until you’ve seen (Y/N) play on the pitch,” Charlie stated, leaning towards the group, “She’s like a snitch herself, whipping through the air.”

“Yes,” agreed Ludo, “The biggest hope England has had in over a decade.”

Charlie beamed, moving his loving gaze to his wife. He simply stood there admiring the praise and talent, silently wondering how it was possible she had chosen him to be her husband.

“Thank you, Mr. Bagman,” (Y/N) replied, “Though you should look at England as the team it is – I’m just one person; it takes all of us to win the cup.”

Charlie grinned even wider if it was possible. Admiration wasn’t enough to describe how in awe he was of her. It was like she was in total denial that she was plainly the one carrying the national team. Though it was incredibly endearing and only made him more in love with the fact that she was with him.

“Oh, please, don’t neglect your talents,” Ludo exclaimed, “We all know you were the one that got the qualification from the Transylvania win!”

“Even with that illegal shot by the bludger,” Ron interjected, sneaking the rest of Hermione’s breakfast sausages, “Those scheming, biased referees.”

Bill clapped his hands together, “This is exactly the problem, if we can’t find the right people to observe the field, then what’s the point of having good players? They’ll be disregarded completely with a biased referee!”

And the family continued the conversation of the prospects of the upcoming game. Percy and Mr. Weasley tried to continue remarks with Mr. Crouch before he left and shortly followed by Bagman.

And all Charlie could do was stare at his wife and wonder… wonder how he got so lucky.

~~~

She could hear the sounds of thousands of people moving around them, shouts and laughter, snatches of singing. The atmosphere of feverish excitement was highly infectious; Dawn and Avery couldn’t stop grinning.

The roaring voice of Ludo Bagman could be heard magically magnified across the sea of people.

“Ladies and gentlemen… welcome! Welcome to the final of the four hundred and twenty-second Quidditch World Cup!”

The spectators screamed and clapped. Thousands of flags waved, adding their discordant national anthems to the racket. A huge blackboard opposite them showed BULGARIA: 0, ENGLAND: 0.

After a presentation of entrancing Veela and a few soaring dragon fireworks, Ludo began to announce the Bulgarian quidditch team members; next came England.

“Presenting – Vosper, Frisby, Choudry, Withey, Flitney, Hawksworth, and Weasley!”

Seven gleaming robed players came whizzing out of the stands on white golden Firebolts. The Weasley family cheered and shook their top box voraciously.

“That’s her, that’s her!” yelled Charlie, waving his English flag and pushing into Bill and Ron. His brother followed her with his Omnioculars.

“Theeeeeeeey’re OFF!” screamed Bagman. “And it’s Weasley! Hawksworth! Flitney! Dimitrov! Back to Weasley! Hawksworth! Levski! Flitney!”

The speed of the players was incredible – the chasers were throwing the quaffle to one another so fast that Bagman only had time to say their names. Charlie reached over to fight Ron’s Omnioculars off him but failed as he heard the name Weasley again.

The chasers had fallen into their Rowntree Counter, their signature move. They flew into a straight dive as red, white, and blue colors came streaming out of the back of their brooms – signifying the flag of the United Kingdom.

They knocked two of the opposing Bulgarian players teetering on their brooms and distracted the beaters. Flitney passed the quaffle to Hawksworth, who kicked it around before passing it back to Weasley.

(Y/N) did a magnificent overhead kick into the hoop on the far left.

“WEASLEY SCORES!” roared Bagman, and the stadium shuddered with a roar of applause and cheers. “Ten zero to England!”

Charlie jumped and waved his arms, screaming himself hoarse, “THAT’S MY WIFE! WEASLEY IS MY WIFE!”

Bill reached over and stuffed his UK flag over Charlie’s face to shut him up, and Ginny laughed, giving him her white and red rosette.

(Y/N) did a lap of honor around the field and threw a kiss towards the top box where Charlie waved his hands toward her, “I love you, baby!”

The England chasers were superb. They worked as a seamless team, their movements so well coordinated that they appeared to be reading one another’s minds as they positioned themselves, and the rosette now on Charlie’s chest kept squeaking their names: “Flitney – Weasley – Hawksworth!” And within ten minutes, England had scored twice more, bringing their lead to thirty-zero and causing a thunderous tide of roars and applause from the white-clad supporters.

Charlie watched as (Y/N) performed miraculous moves toward the goal posts. The continuous overhead kicks, the usage of the butt-end of her broom like a beater bat, and the intense throw of her arm was mesmerizing.

Charlie yelled and screamed until his face turned red, shouting his praise for his wife. The other members in the top box had to accept the fact that Charlie wasn’t going to shut up about his incredible player on the field.

It was just a continuous strain of, “THAT’S MY WIFE!” with a splendid look of pride and admiration on his cheery face.

“WEASLEY IS MY WIFE!”

~~~

Tag List:

@caswinchester2000 @aria253264 @bippity-boppity-boopa @andreasworlsboring101 @oncemorewithfeelingg

Remember to check out my tag list so you’re updated when a fic you like is posted on my blog! Tag List

#charlie weasley #harry potter charlie #harry potter charlie weasley #charlie weasley x you #charlie #charlie weasley x reader #charlie weasley x #weasley #harry potter fandom #harry potter #wizarding world #charlie x reader #charlie weasley angst #charlie weasley fluff #charlie weasley love #harry potter and the goblet of fire #goblet of fire #quidditch #quidditch world cup

322 notes · View notes

a-small-batch-of-dragons · 3 years

Text

Gödel’s Incompleteness Theorem and Wittgenstein II

Prompt: Thinks about Logan breaking his clean streak on self-harm

Thank you for the prompt, babe! I’m a massive nerd so here you go!

Read on Ao3

Warnings: Self-harm, self-doubt (kinda), our boi Logan not having a good time. Please be careful guys I messed myself up writing and editing this so PLEASE PLEASE be careful

Pairings: LAMP, DLAMP, DLAMPR, can be platonic or romantic you decide

Word Count: 6908

Gödel's Incompleteness Theorem: For any consistent formal system, there will always be statements that are true, but that are unprovable within the system. The second incompleteness theorem, an extension of the first, shows that the system cannot demonstrate its own consistency.

Wittgenstein II: For a large class of cases of the employment of the word ‘meaning’—though not for all—this word can be explained in this way: the meaning of a word is its use in the language.

* * *

Despite what you think it is, it’s not a cry for help. It’s not a desperate attempt at anything. It’s not out of control.

It’s just an option.

Logan is Logic. That is his job, that is what he does, that is what the others rely on him to be. Thus, he is not an accurate facsimile of a human person. He does not experience certain things that a human does, and as such, he should not be held to the same standards and expectations as a human, as he is not one.

He is not a human. He should not be treated as such.

Logan is Logic and thus he must be. He has work to do. Anything that risks interfering with the work must be avoided at all costs. Thomas relies on him to sort through the noise and arrive at the clear, simple, clean solution. Oh, yes, those solutions might not always be as clean or clear as perhaps everyone would like, but it is Logan’s job to ensure that they are as close to that projected ideal as possible. Even if they all acknowledge that such an ideal is impossible to truly achieve, that does not render it irrelevant for use.

An unfortunate side effect of being a metaphysical humanoid is that there are certain things projected onto him that have no strong basis. It is one of the many unfortunate aspects of living in a world that is so—sometimes frustratingly—anthropocentric. The inability to extricate the human bias from any given set of observations is an issue that has plagued many disciplines for centuries, from science to philosophy. Because of the influence of sensory perception on any piece of information, there will always be things that are either assumed that should not be, or things that are taken for granted when they must be considered. There will always be things that humans cannot prove. It is impossible to prove certain things within a given set while existing within the set.

Gödel’s Incompleteness Theorem.

Logan is not human, and yet he is assumed to bear more similarities to a human than he truly possesses because Thomas is human. Thomas perceives him in a specific way that is in direct opposition to the function that Logan needs to fulfill in order to be useful to Thomas.

Thomas, as a human, assumes that Logan possesses human traits such as emotion, irrationality, and the inability to behave logically separate from the two aforementioned traits.

Thomas, as a human, requires Logan to be a being of pure Logic, in order to assist in scenarios that arise from the three aforementioned traits.

Logan is what Thomas requires him to be, but he cannot exist as something that Thomas does not see.

There is a small grey area in which Logan can therefore find a solution. Thomas has an abstract awareness of the existence of Logan, but he is not directly interacting or seeing Logan when Logan is not actively working with Thomas or talking with him face to face. If Logan is not being seen at that particular moment, the bounds of his existence are allowed to modify themselves in order to be the most productive. The meaning of the word is its use in the language.

Wittgenstein II.

Logan requires himself to be a being of Logic, and thus when he is not directly seen by Thomas, he must strive as close as he can to that point in order to be the most useful. If he can perform the logic and derive the solution before Thomas sees him again, then the fact that he will once again be altered is inconsequential. All he must do is remember.

Of course, the process of getting as close to that ideal as possible is difficult. Particularly when the switch must occur directly after filming. The process is not typically one that allows for the human traits Logan bears to be kept aside. No; between Roman’s stubbornness, Patton’s exclamations, and Virgil’s interjections, the three of them combined with Thomas’s inability to keep control of them for more than approximately ten seconds ensures that Logan’s capacity to control his emotions is a moot point.

The good news is he has learned how to curtail these emotional outbursts to exclamations of excitement over Thomas’s choice to pursue something or slight judgment towards the attitude the others possess. Or sass.

Mostly sass.

And it is not as if he never allows himself to retain the more human traits when he is away from Thomas. Socializing with the others is an important aspect of his existence. If they are all to work together for Thomas’s betterment, isolation would be counterproductive. And to say that their presence was merely an obligation or necessity would be a falsehood. When he has the capacity to enjoy things, he most certainly enjoys spending time with them. And when the emotions are simpler to handle—contentment, for example, or fondness, derivatives of happiness—they are simpler to put aside when he must work.

When they are not, the process is not nearly as…clean.

Frustration. Anger. Confusion. Other derivatives of sadness. These ones are troublesome. Mainly because they do not remain static—their meanings change as often as Logan looks to see what they are. They do not always stay the same word. They switch and flip and it is quite vexing. Which, of course, only serves to exacerbate the issue. The only commonality is that they all produce and/or derive from a sense of hurt.

Therein lies the solution.

There is a—quite clever, if Logan has to admit—loophole that Logan has devised in order to get to work. Emotional pain is something that he does not—can not—understand within himself. Physical pain, on the other hand, is a survival mechanism. Processing physical pain is much simpler, more distanced, and much easier to put aside than the complicated human emotional pain.

A loophole.

One that Logan has jumped through over

and over

and over again.

Just as Logan can adjust himself based on the meaning of ‘see,’ so too can he adjust what it means to feel ‘pain.’

The loophole works, and thus it is true.

Logic.

Of course, Logan is aware that this particular loophole is not one that would be approved by many people, let alone the other Sides. They, however, can afford to retain the emotional human traits that enable them to perceive it that way.

Hurting them would be…counterproductive.

But if they do not see it…

“What you don’t know can’t hurt you.”

That is not the same thing. They have no risk of feeling the same type of pain. Nor will Logan take any measure that will endanger anyone other than himself.

Not that this is endangering himself.

It is simple. Logan needs to work. This allows him to work. There is no risk posed to anyone else, including Thomas.

Therefore it is true.

And it’s not as though Logan does this often. It’s not every day, it’s not even every other day. And it’s not much. Never that much.

Just…a quick one, two, three, four, five.

Then he can go to work.

The pain fades, as it always does, and his mind is clear, ready to be filled with the logic of what needs to be done and the quiet assurance that whatever it is will be untainted by human emotion. Occasionally the loophole will not stay open as long as he requires, but that is easy enough to remedy.

The others do not notice—and if they have, though he doubts it, they have never let on—and as such he makes an effort to conceal the loophole to the furthest extent he can. After all, it would not be ideal for the loophole to close, preventing him from using it to work.

It’s always small. It’s always hidden. It’s always private.

And if it isn’t executed as…precisely as he anticipates, well.

The others have never question why he keeps the first aid kit in his room.

There is a brief moment, early on when they are figuring out the dynamic between the four of them, that there is a name put to the loophole that gives Logan pause.

Fortunately, it was not him they were paying attention to.

“Virgil,” Patton says quietly, sitting next to the shaking Virgil on the couch, “can you take a deep breath for me?”

Virgil shudders. Roman makes eye contact with Logan as he comes down the stairs and quickly moves them to the kitchen.

“Is everything alright?” Logan asks as they move past the counter.

“Yeah, Specs, I think so,” Roman mutters, glancing over his shoulder, “I think it’s just a panic attack.”

“‘Just,’” Logan murmurs, “does this—has this been happening more often?”

“I think so, but I haven’t—we—“

“We have not been around Virgil long enough to ascertain a pattern.” Logan glances over to Patton, still mumbling softly to Virgil. He catches his eyes and shakes his head minutely. “What do we do afterward? Do we need to grab some food, water, anything?”

“Can you go get his headphones?”

“Are they in his room?”

“…I would presume so.”

Logan sighs. “I don’t want to violate Virgil’s trust by entering his room while he’s not there.”

“I’ll just go stick my head in.”

Roman vanishes and Logan turns, purposely paying attention to his hands on the glass, on the tap, on the counter, not looking over to the living room. When Roman reappears with the headphones and a quiet ‘they were on the doorknob,’ he risks a glance back over his shoulder.

Virgil’s leaning fully into Patton’s arms now, Patton murmuring softly into his ear. His breathing seems to have slowed considerably. Patton glances up again and nods.

“That’s us,” Roman murmurs, taking the headphones as Logan grabs the glass of water and walking over to the couch.

“Hey, Stormcloud.” He sets the headphones on the couch behind Virgil and carefully takes his hand. “You doing a little better?”

“Mm.” Virgil rubs his cheek against Patton’s shirt. “Sorry.”

“There’s no need to apologize,” Logan assures, setting the glass of water down on the coffee table. “You’ve done nothing wrong.”

Virgil shifts in Patton’s arms. “It’s annoying.”

“What is,” Logan asks, “taking care of you? Of course it isn’t.”

“Logan’s right, as usual,” Roman adds with a wink.

“You’re alright, kiddo.” Patton plants a kiss on his forehead. ��And you’ll never be annoying to take care of.”

“…never?”

“Never.”

“Here,” Logan says when Virgil still looks unsure, “why don’t you name everything that you think will be annoying, and we’ll tell you how it won’t be?”

“Oh, great idea, Specs.”

“…panic attacks?”

“Not at all, kiddo.”

“Insomnia?”

“You know my sleep schedule’s as off as yours,” Roman says, “what with time in the Imagination being different.”

“Nightmares?”

“Dreams are difficult,” Logan says, “even when you are awake.”

“Self-harm?”

“Never,” Patton says, Roman not far behind. Logan, however…

Logan sits quietly for a moment. He is, of course, familiar with the term, however, it is not one he’s heard in…

A while.

He offers his assurances that of course, he would be more than happy to help Virgil with any issue he may have, including self-harm, but the conversation lingers in his mind long after Virgil giggles at Roman’s antics and falls asleep on Patton’s lap. And certainly long after everyone has bid each other goodnight and Logan has retreated to his room.

Perhaps…

No. Logan is not human, and thus he cannot be held to the same standards and definitions. If this self-h—if this loophole is required in order for him to function, then it is not the same thing.

If he thinks he hears a soft hiss in the darkness as that conclusion crosses his mind, he dismisses it quickly.

…it still may be best to…attempt to refrain from using the loophole.

The loophole has not been necessary for a long time. Whether it is because Logan has gotten adept at reaching his necessary headspace without it, or there has not been sufficient ‘pain’ for the loophole to be required, there sits a shelf in his bathroom that has remained untouched for a significant period of time.

Surprisingly enough, this is one of the only things for which Logan’s impeccable sense of time does not seem to work. Neither does the possibility cross his mind that the two could be related.

Regardless, it is something of a shock when he reaches up to grab something and his fingers find the wrong shelf.

He pulls his hand back quickly, surprised to see the dull shine of blood on his finger. He glances back up.

Ah. Yes.

Well, it is always good to be aware of one’s options.

He turns the water on and runs his finger under the tap, watching the red dilute and fade, feeling the sharp little sting as the water hits the cut. After a few moments, when the water runs clear, he removes his finger and goes to dry it off when he puts pressure on the cut again.

His fingers part and there it is again. Dull, wet, and a little shiny.

He squeezes.

The blood fills the cut again.

He runs it under the tap.

Clean.

There is something strangely satisfying, he has discovered, about watching simple repetitive things. Watching the waves go out and roll back in. Watching the soft tick, tick, tick of a metronome hand going back and forth. Watching the gentle breathing of a sleeping animal.

Squeeze. Blood. Wash. Clean. Squeeze, blood, wash, clean. Squeeze blood wash clean. Squeezebloodwashclean.

There’s a knock on his bedroom door.

“Logan? You in there?”

Logan blinks. “Yes, I’m in here.”

“You coming down for dinner?”

“Yes, I’ll be down momentarily.”

“Great.”

Virgil’s footsteps trail away as Logan washes his hands. He turns off the bathroom light and locks his door behind him.

“Oh, Logan!” Patton reaches for his hand when he passes the plate back. “You’re bleeding! What happened?”

“Simply an accident,” Logan says smoothly, brushing Patton’s concerned look aside in favor of a smile, “I reached for the wrong thing in the bathroom.”

“Oh, well, alright.” Patton gives his hand a gentle squeeze. “Just be careful, alright?”

“Always.”

Janus gives him a strange look but says nothing.

Life is…good.

Thomas has been paying more attention to them recently. All of them. Virgil is talking more, Patton is explaining things, Remus is being listened to, Janus is being included, Roman is being cared for…and Logan is being seen.

It’s good. Things are…good.

And something niggles in the back of Logan’s mind, even as he smiles, talks, is with the others.

Something that tells him he has to work.

He tries. He honestly does.

He talks with the others, and they help, truly, but there are some things they cannot give him. And he cannot help them the way he needs to if he isn’t working himself.

He cannot help Patton if he is not distanced enough from the emotional turmoil.

He cannot help Virgil if he is not able to embody the logical reassurance.

He cannot help Roman if he does not offer firm, rigid guidelines.

He cannot help Remus if he is not able to critically examine his ideas.

He cannot help Janus if he can’t think.

He cannot help Thomas if he continues to be like this.

And the knowledge that he can’t help…hurts.

Well. He knows what to do.

He stands up from their dinner one evening and accepts the hug Patton gives him. Even as Patton’s arms curl around his waist, the contradictions in his head make his eyes close. It is warm but it shouldn’t be. It is safe but it shouldn’t be.

It feels good but it shouldn’t.

That’s not what Logan is for.

Roman offers him a hug too but he declines, saying he has some work to take care of. Roman pouts.

“But I haven’t had a chance to see you lately,” he says quietly, reaching out to lay a burning hand—it’s not burning, it shouldn’t feel like it’s burning, this is wrong—on Logan’s arm, “won’t you come on a walk with me? We can go to the garden you like, I’ll see if I can have the herb section all ready, too.”

It shouldn’t feel like Roman’s smile is melting Logan. It shouldn’t feel like Roman’s hand is holding him together. It shouldn’t feel like this.

“Not tonight, I’m afraid,” Logan’s mouth says, “perhaps tomorrow?”

“That’s a promise.”

Roman lets him go and turns to Patton. Logan moves to leave but finds his way blocked by Virgil.

“Oh, my apologies, I didn’t mean to run into you.”

“I did that on purpose, L, don’t worry.”

“May I ask why?”

Virgil shrugs. “Wanted to talk to you.”

It shouldn’t feel like the hairs on Logan’s neck are rising. It shouldn’t feel like his chest is getting hot. It shouldn’t feel like this.

“About…?”

He shrugs again. “Haven’t had a chance to see you a lot.”

“I can assure you that I have been present,” Logan says, “and I can distinctly remember spending time with you over the last three and a half weeks.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know, I just—“ Virgil scuffs his shoe along the carpet— “just feel like I haven’t seen you.”

Logan blinks. “I’m afraid I don’t understand.”

“Just—never mind.” Virgil waves him off. “Good luck with your work tonight.”

“Thank…you…”

Logan starts up the stairs. He gets to his room, unlocks the door, and steps inside.

It shouldn’t feel like a weight being lifted off his shoulders.

It shouldn’t feel like that weight resettles onto his chest.

It shouldn’t feel like his hands are tingling.

Logan bites back a curse and goes to the bathroom.

It’s gone too far. He—he can’t make it to his work headspace on his own. They’re too loud. There are too many of them. He can’t focus. He has to stop this. He has to remove himself from this set.

He can’t fail Thomas like this.

No one can see him.

He has to change what it means to feel pain.

Gödel’s Incompleteness Theorem and Wittgenstien II.

Logan takes a deep, slow breath.

In.

Out.

He knows how to do this.

Get to the bathroom, close the door. Now there are more walls between him and everyone else.

Turn on the shower. It’ll be easier to clean up.

Put the blade right next to the razor. If necessary, blame the razor.

In.

Out.

In.

Out.

Always in the same place.

Ignore the other scars.

Pull the skin taut.

Make it precise.

Step a little more out of the water.

Remain in control.

Don’t grip the blade so hard it trembles.

Where no one can see.

In.

Out.

In.

Out.

In…

Out…

One.

Two.

Three.

Four.

Five.

In.

Out.

Now the other side.

Reach over.

Step so the water doesn’t run over either thigh.

Ignore the blood running down the other leg.

Pull the skin taut.

Make it symmetrical.

Adjust the grip on the blade.

Don’t bite the lip until it bleeds either.

Ignore the shine on the blade.

If the lines aren’t right they will have to be fixed to match.

Don’t be sloppy.

Do this right.

In.

Out.

One.

Two.

Three.

Four.

Five.

Logan leans his head back and closes his eyes. The blade is set down onto the smooth side of the shower. Water runs over his hair, down his back. The temperature is warm.

The water beats down over his head, his neck, his shoulders, his back. Unbidden, his shoulders relax and slump, his head bowing forward under the guidance of the water.

He cups his arms over his chest and turns. The water pools in the cavity of his arms, overflowing until it laps gently as his collarbones and down the creases of his elbows, landing with soft smacks on the shower floor. He watches it land, watches the little ripples and distortions from the falling water refract little artifacts of light onto his arms through the surface. Watches the water slowly start to run a faint red as he lets the water begin to run down his legs.

It hurts.

It stings and sticks and it isn’t clean, not by any means. It hurts and it feels and it’s the perfect loophole for Logan to jump through.

Now, if he closes his eyes, he should see—

Roman’s soft voice asking if he wants to go on a walk.

Patton’s hug, wrapping him up perfectly.

Virgil’s quiet remark that he hasn’t seen Logan recently.

No.

No, no, no!

Logan’s eyes fly open and he looks down. He—this should’ve worked. He jumped, he jumped, he used the loophole, this should be—

The blood is gone. It’s all gone. The tile isn’t stained, the water isn’t stained, everything is clean. But it—it hasn’t worked, did he—

The cuts are uneven. They’re too short on one side, too tilted on the other. They’re too faint. They’ve already stopped bleeding. They already blend in with the other scars.

No!

No, no, no, he has to—

This has to work.

He has to work.

Okay, okay he can do it—do it again. Do it properly.

Grab the blade.

Don’t worry about the grip.

One,

Two,

Three,

Four,

Five,

Six.

Okay. Now to the other side.

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six.

Patton’s laugh. Roman’s touch. Virgil’s gaze.

One two three four five six seven.

No, no, no, no, why isn’t this working? This should be working, he shouldn’t be feeling this anymore, has he—has he forgotten how to do it right?

It’s been too long, he doesn’t remember, this isn’t how this is supposed to work, the loophole should’ve stayed open, he needs it to stay open, he has to—he has to work, he isn’t useful if he can’t work!

Don’t worry about the numbers.

Overload the system.

Drown it out.

Ignore the dull red shine all over the tile, the blade, the legs, the fingers.

Drown it out.

Make it stop, make everything go away.

Ignore the sting, if the feeling is still there it hasn’t worked.

Drown it out.

Ignore the knocking on the door, it’s not there.

Drown it out, drown it out.

“Logan?”

“Logan, are you in there?”

Drown it out drown it out.

“Logan! Logan!”

“Logan I swear I’m gonna break your door down!”

Drown it out drown it out

“Logan! Logan, can you hear us?”

“Damnit, Logan, answer!”

Drown it out drown it out drown it out drown it out drown it out drown it out drownitoutdrownitoutdrownitoutdrownitoutdrownitoutdrownitoutdrownitoutdrownitoutdrownitoutdrownitoutdrownitoutdrownitoutdrownitoutdrownitoutdrownitoutdrownitoutdrownitoutdrownitoutdrownitoutdrownitoutdrownitoutdrownitoutdrownitoutdrownitoutdrownitoutdrownitoutdrownitoutdrownitoutdrownitoutdrownitoutdrownitoutdrownitoutdrownitoutdrownitoutdrownitoutdrownitoutdrownitoutdrownitoutdrownitoutdrownitoutdrownitoutdrownitout

drown

out

…

Logan blinks.

The shower is covered in a dull, red, wet, shine.

His thighs burn.

His hands carefully set the blade down on the tiled edge.

The water runs over him, running and running and running.

Slowly, slowly, slowly, it runs from red to pink to clear.

Logan stands and shuts off the water.

The towel is black.

He dries.

He dresses.

His clothes are black.

His hair is wet.

He puts his glasses on.

Mutterings are coming from the other side of his door when he exits the bathroom, shutting the door behind him. He tilts his head.

“I don’t know what’s going on!”

“He seemed alright at dinner, what’s—“

“He was not alright at dinner, in fact I don’t know how long it’s been since he’s been alright—“

“I swear to unholy fuck I’m gonna break this fucking door down.”

“Please do not break my door down,” Logan says.

The voices stop.

“…Logan? Logan, is that you?”

“It’s me.”

“Oh thank god—“

“Are you alright?”

“Why didn’t you answer?”

“If you don’t open this fucking door—“

“Alright, alright, I’ll open the door, one moment.”

Logan opens the door and takes a step aside as the others spill into his room, Patton and Roman looking around, Virgil taking up residence on the desk. Remus walks in slowly, followed by Janus. Janus shuts the door and stares at Logan.

“Why didn’t you answer at first,” Patton asks quickly, “we were worried, did you—where were you?”

Logan indicates his wet hair. “In the shower, I’m afraid. It is both quite difficult and quite…impractical to come to the door while occupied.”

“Oh…okay.”

He adjusts his glasses. “May I ask why you were all outside my door to begin with? It has only been…a little while since I’ve last seen you.”

“A little while,” Janus muses, still staring at Logan. “How long exactly?”

Logan tilts his head, eying the clock over Janus’s shoulder. “Thirty-five minutes and forty-six seconds.”

“And why would you need to look at the clock?”

“…surely all of you are no stranger to losing track of time in the shower.”

He gets a round of vague agreements from Virgil, Patton, and Roman. Remus remains silent, prowling around the room.

“We are not,” Janus murmurs, “but you…”

Logan swallows. “You have not answered my question.”

“We,” Patton says, gesturing to himself and to Roman, “followed Virgil.”

Virgil hunkers on Logan’s desk. “I came because I heard Remus and Janus shouting.”

“…and why were you shouting?”

Janus just stares at him.

Logan’s throat begins to run dry.

“…Janus?”

“I believe you know the answer, Logan.”

He swallows. “You must be mistaken.”

“Please,” Janus says, almost too quiet for the others to hear, “don’t make me do this.”

Logan swallows heavily.

“Do what?”

Something flickers across Janus’s face as he looks at Logan.

He looks at Remus.

He nods.

No.

No, no no.

Logan was so careful.

He can’t—

Remus reels back and kicks Logan’s bathroom door open.

“Remus!”

Remus pays Patton no mind, striding in and away from Logan, even as Roman rushes after him.

Logan is frozen.

“Remus, what’re you—hey!” Roman makes an indignant noise as Remus shoves him back out through the door. “Remus!”

Logan can feel Janus’s eyes on him as he scans Remus’s hands. He’s not holding it. Did he—did he miss it? Is something—

He knows when his gaze flicks up to catch Remus’s that he’s been well and truly caught.

“You do know what my job is,” Remus hisses, “don’t you?”

Logan raises his chin. “And you know what mine is.”

“If you think that even begins to explain this—“

“Explain what?” Roman looks frantically back and forth between the three of them. “What the hell is going on here?”

No.

No, no, no, no, no, Logan was so—he was—he’s been—it can’t—why didn’t it just work? He could’ve been fine, this would’ve worked, he could’ve worked, he wasn’t—how did they see?

“Logan?”

“Logan, look at me.”

“Lo, you’re panicking—“

“Way to go, you two, look what you’ve done.”

“We’re trying to help him!”

“You’ve messed up a perfectly good Logan, that’s what you did. Look at him, he’s having a panic attack!”

“Logan,” comes a soft voice in front of him, blocking out the others into a distant murmur, “Logan, look at me.”

Logan blinks.

Remus’s face swims into view, concerned. He reaches out to cup Logan’s face in his hands.

“You’re panicking, Lolo,” he says quietly, “you gotta calm down.”

“I’m not panicking,” Logan tries to say, only his throat won’t work.

“Why are you doing this,” he tries again, but nothing’s happening.

“What’s happening to me,” he tries desperately, only for nothing, nothing to work.

It isn’t until Remus’s thumbs come away damp that he realizes he’s crying.

“Lo—a little help here!”

“Logan!”

Logan collapses into Remus, who quickly wraps his arms around his waist and pulls him into a seated position, cradling the limp form in his lap. Roman, who rushed forward when Remus cried out, pulls him closer, laying his legs across his lap, not caring that his trousers started to soak.

“Easy there, Specs,” Roman hushes, hand drawing little patterns on Logan’s damp knee, “shh, shh, you’re okay.”

Then he looks down.

Logan can pinpoint the moment Roman sees the patterns of wetness through his jeans.

Roman’s eyes widen.

“Oh, Logan…”

“Can someone please tell me what the fuck is going on?”

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Janus turn toward Patton and Virgil. He can’t move. He can’t—it hurts, it hurts—

“Oh, sweetheart,” Roman murmurs, cupping the backs of Logan’s legs, “oh, sweetheart, I’m so sorry.”

“Fuck!”

“Oh my gosh—“

“Logan—“

“Oh, kiddo—“

Oh. Virgil and Patton are here now. Great. Is it great? What is—how does this—Logan hurts.

Janus crouches down by his face, gently cupping his cheek and leaning forward to rest their foreheads together.

“Come on, sweetie,” he whispers, “I know it hurts, but you have to breathe.”

Is he—has he been quiet this whole time?

“At the very least you’ve got to breathe. In an out, come on.”

In.

Out.

In.

Out.

No…

That didn’t work last time…it didn’t work…it didn’t…

“…didn’t work,” Logan mumbles, “it didn’t work.”

“We’re not trying that, sweetie,” Janus says easily, “we’re trying something else. I still need you to breathe for me.”

Logan breathes.

“Shh, shh, there you go, just like that…” Someone rubs his knee gently. “Just like that.”

They’re all here. They can all see. They can—does that mean Thomas can see? IS that why Logan—is that why it’s been so hard?

“None of that now, sweetie,” Janus chides, lightly chucking Logan under the chin, “stay here, stay with me…no drifting off just yet.”

They’re all here.

Virgil frowns. Then he glances at Patton. “Pat, let’s go get L something to drink.”

“But—I—“

“It’s too much for him, Pat,” Virgil says softly, “with all of us here, he’s getting overwhelmed. Let’s go and then we’ll come back, yeah?”

“O-okay.”

As they leave, Roman shifts to let them by, and the fabric rubs right over the cuts, making Logan hiss through his teeth. Even though it’s quickly shushed by Janus, he doesn’t miss Roman’s wince.

“Yeah, denim over the fresh ones is rough, isn’t it?”

Logan goes absolutely still.

Judging by the way Remus growls and Janus turns, that’s news to them too.

Roman just looks at them all and raises an eyebrow.

“Oh, please. It’s not all long sleeves and pants all summer for no reason.”

“R-Roman, you—you—?”

“Yeah, Specs,” Roman murmurs when Logan can’t find his words, “me too.”

“Oh, we are not done with this conversation,” Remus mutters, softening slightly as he turns his attention back to Logan, “but c’mon, Lolo, you gotta—you gotta believe we’re as shocked about you, too.”

“But—“ Logan stammers— “but you—Roman you—you’re—“

“What, Logan,” Roman prompts gently, “what am I?”

“You’re—you can feel, and—and—“

“I can feel, Specs, that’s true.” A rueful smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. “And I’m sure that the…idea that it’s not always ideal isn’t that foreign to you, huh?”

“But you have to feel to work, I—I can’t, the loophole—“

“What loophole,” Remus asks sharply, “Logan, what are you talking about?”

“I—“

Janus cups his head again, easing himself down, mindful of Logan’s legs. “Why don’t you explain that to us, sweetie,” he says softly, “help us understand?”

“You—I—“ Logan tries to breathe. “I…I have to be useful. I have to—I have to be Logic. You—you all…Thomas needs Logic.”

“So...?”

“So I—Thomas still sees us as people, or—or at least Sides of people which means he end—endows us with certain human traits and—and qualities.”

Janus nods.

“I can’t—in order to be useful I can’t feel, I have to be Logic.” Logan swallows. “But if Thomas can see me then I have to be what he sees.”

He swallows again.

“So if I take myself out, then I can—then I can be Logic.”

“But that doesn’t necessarily mean you aren’t what Thomas thinks you are anymore,” Roman asks gently, “so you…aren’t you still in the…aren’t you still in?”

“The meaning of words is dependent—“ Logan swallows— “dependent on the context, so if I can change the—the context then I can take myself—myself out.”

Roman squints. “I’m afraid I don’t understand.”

“Oh, Logan,” Janus murmurs, “are you telling us that you’ve determined that this is the correct course of action through logical principles?”

“Excuse me he’s done what?”

“You cannot prove certain things about a set while using the language of the set,” Janus says softly, his gaze locked on Logan’s, “and the meaning of a word is dependent on its use within the language. Does that sound familiar?”

Logan nods. “Gödel’s Incompleteness Theorem and Wittgenstein II.”

“You’re operating under the assumption that your role as Logic is the determining factor,” Janus continues, “and that in order to fulfill that role to its greatest potential, you must remove yourself from the set of emotional beings, including a re-contextualization of what it means to feel.”

He nods.

“But if the language has become re-contextualized, then attempting to operate under all the other assumptions the previous language affords is illogical, let alone the fact that it renders the act of removing oneself from the set redundant. Another language is required to derive a solution ytt it would be impossible to translate the solution into the language of the original set.”

Janus cocks his head.

“And haven’t you yourself created an assumption about the nature of the original set? The role you play within it and its very existence prevents your leaving of it in its entirety.”

And Logan’s poor, tired, illogical brain is so, so lost.

In the distance, Roman huffs. “Okay, so I’ve got no idea what the fuck we’re currently talking about.”

“Same here,” comes Remus’s voice.

Janus smiles gently. “You’ve overlooked something, sweetie,” he says, stroking Logan’s cheek, “about you and how much we care.”

“What…what did I miss?”

“You said that you need to be useful.”

Roman makes an ‘ah’ sound. “You could’ve just led with that instead of showing off.”

“I most certainly was not.”

“Yeah, you were, Janny, shut up.”

Roman shakes his head fondly and leans closer. “You don’t have to be useful, Logan, nor do you have to worry about not being exactly what you think you do.”

“B-but—“

“Shh,” Roman murmurs, gently stroking Logan’s leg, “can I talk for a minute, sweetheart?”

Logan nods.

“Thank you…you think that you’re not being you because you’re getting emotional, yeah?”

“Yes.”

“Okay…well, have you considered that you’ve got a warped perspective of yourself because it’s being affected by your own perception?”

Janus turns to Roman. “My, my, Roman, discussing the limits of sensory perception?”

“I do listen to my dear darling nerd,” Roman hums, lightly showing Janus’s shoulder, “but anyway, Logan, you have to realize then, that means that you can’t objectively say you do or you don’t have these traits because you’re being affected by them.”

“Gödel,” comes Janus’s voice.

“Yeah,” Remus says, “and also that just because you think you’re only wanted because you’re useful doesn’t mean that we think that.”

“And there’s Wittgenstein II.”

Oh.

“Isn’t that what you told us,” Remus continues, “that you can’t logic your way out of everything? You’re no exception to that, Lolo.”

“Logic can be used in a lot of ways to justify all sort of things,” Janus agrees, lightly tapping Logan’s cheek, “and just because something may be logically valid doesn’t make it true.”

“That’s why we have you.”

Logan balks at Roman’s words. “M-me?”

“Yeah, sweetheart,” Roman smiles, “you. You with your feelings and your care and your you-ness. You’re a part of this set and you’re not going anywhere.”

“And we don’t want you to.”

Logan’s thighs burn.

“Shh, shh, sweetie,” Janus hushes as tears start to well up in Logan’s eyes again, “it’s okay, we’ll help you—oh, sweetie, it hurts, doesn’t it?”

“Yes.”

“Will you let us help you clean them?”

Unbidden, Logan’s face flares bright red.

“You don’t have to be embarrassed, sweetie…”

Roman gently nudges Remus’s arm. “Let me. You two go check on Patton and Virgil.”

“What?”

“Roman—“

“Come on,” Roman coaxes, “it’s not like I don’t have the practice.”

“We are so not done with this conversation,” Remus mutters as he squeezes Logan’s waist, “but is that okay, Lolo?”

Logan nods. Better just one than all.

“We’ll be back,” Janus promises, giving his cheek one last pat as he leaves.

“Easy does it,” Roman murmurs as he starts to lean Logan back against the wall, “do you have a long shirt?”

Logan motions wordlessly toward the closet. Roman finds the softest shirt Logan owns—how Roman knows is beyond him—and lays it gently in Logan’s lap.

“Change,” he says softly, letting their foreheads rest together for a moment, “I won’t look.”

The cuts have dried to the jeans and they burn, Logan biting his lip to keep from crying out as he gets them off. He’s panting by the time he’s done. Roman turns back with the first aid kit in his hands and kneels down. Logan stares at a spot on the floor, far away.

“Alright,” he says, pulling out the wipes and bandages, “Logan?”

“Mm?”

“You tell me to stop, I stop dead,” Roman promises, “but you must tell me, alright?”

“I will.”

“Thank you, sweetheart. This may sting a bit.”

It does, but Roman is careful and thorough and far too good at this.

“How do you think it was for us,” Roman whispers when Logan voices that last part, “when we realized?”

“My apologies.”

“Oh, no, sweetheart, that’s not what I meant. I just meant that you’re so important to us, Logan, you, that this…this hurts. And I don’t ever want you to think that this is necessary for us to love you.”

Love.

The word stutters in Logan’s throat.

“Too much?” Oh. Roman must think it’s his legs. “Here…”

Roman reaches out and gently rests Logan’s hands on his shoulders.

“There…Keep your hands on my shoulders. Then if something hurts too much, you give me a squeeze and let me know, hmmm?”

“…okay.”

Love…

One of the larger cuts stings horribly as Roman begins to clean it and Logan tenses, his hands gripping Roman’s shoulders.

“Hurt?”

“A little.”

“Here…” Roman leans down and blows a stream of cool air over the cut. “…better?”

“Yeah.”

“Good. I’m almost done.” He carefully applies the bandages, smoothing his hand across them as he finishes. “There…all better.”

He packs away the first aid kit, only to pause and look up when Logan’s still staring at the same spot on the floor. He stops, setting the kit aside and taking a seat near his hips, reaching and twisting to cup Logan’s face in his hands.

“Hey,” he calls gently, “talk to me, sweetheart.”

Logan wets his suddenly-dry lips. “I don’t think I’ve…processed this yet.”

“That’s okay, Lo, it’s not gonna be a quick thing.” Roman glances back. “And certainly not if it’s been happening for a long time. Though, if it’s any consolation, I don’t think any of us have fully processed it either.”

“I…”

Logan gets interrupted by a gentle knock on the door.

“Can we let them in, sweetheart?” Logan nods. “Come in.”

Patton appears first, holding a glass of water out to him. Virgil comes in next, holding a massive pile of blankets, helped by Janus. He can hear Remus take the kit and put it away.

“Hey, there, kiddo,” Patton whispers as Logan starts to drink, “there you go…thank you.”

“How’re you doing, L?” Virgil tilts his head a little. “All things considered?”

All things considered…

Logan takes a deep breath and turns, trying to look at his legs.

Before he can, Remus has his hands over his eyes.

“Ah!”

“Sorry, Lolo,” Remus mutters, “but even I don’t think that’s a good idea right now.”

“…if I don’t look, it—I…”

Did it happen? Did I—did it work, did I not—did I do it wrong? It has to be done right, I need to—dull, red, wet, shine, one, two, three, four—

“…alright,” Remus whispers, removing his hands.

The bandages cover most of it.

His hands tremble.

It hurts.

“H-help me.”

“I’m here,” Roman says instantly, rushing forward to pull Logan into a tender hug, “I’m right here, sweetheart, I’m right here.”

He tries to hug him back but his arms are shaking too much so he can’t.

And this, more than anything, is what makes him finally start to fall apart.

“Oh, sweetheart…”

Roman adjusts his grip, settling Logan’s arms over his shoulders. He cradles Logan like he’s something precious, something true.

“Can we help,” comes Patton’s strangled whisper, “can we help too, Logan?”

“Please?”

Patton is behind him in an instant. Remus clings onto him from the side. Virgil wraps them all in one of the weighted blankets as Janus pulls Logan’s legs into his lap.

“Don’t worry about figuring anything out right now,” Patton murmurs, “or jumping through any loopholes. Just…just be for a little bit, yeah?”

Logic disappears in a soft puff as Logan buries his head in Roman’s shoulder and cries.

Set complete.

General Taglist: @frxgprince @potereregina @reddstardust @gattonero17 @iamhereforthegayshit @thefingergunsgirl @awkwardandanxiousfander @creative-lampd-liberties @djpurple3 @winterswrandomness @sanders-sides-uncorrect-quotes @iminyourfandom @bullet-tothefeels @full-of-roman-angst-trash @ask-elsalvador @ramdomthingsfrommymind @demoniccheese83 @pattonsandershugs @el-does-photography @princeanxious @firefinch-ember @fandomssaremysoul @im-an-anxious-wreck @crazy-multifandomfangirl @punk-academian-witch @enby-ralsei @unicornssunflowersandstuff @wildhorsewolf @thetruthaboutthesun @stubbornness-and-spite @princedarkandstormv @your-local-fookin-deadmeme @angels-and-dreams @averykedavra @a-ghostlight-for-roman @private-snippers @treasurechestininterweb @cricketanne @aularei @queerly-fluid-fan @compactdiscdraws @cecil-but-gayer @i-am-overly-complicated @annytheseal @alias290 @tranquil-space-ninja @arxticandy @mychemically-imbalanced-romance @whyiask @theaceofcrows @such-a-dumbass

If you want to be added/taken off the taglist let me know!

#self harm #tw: self harm #tw self harm #dragonbabbles #fic #sanders sides #logan sanders #patton sanders #virgil sanders #roman sanders #janus sanders #deceit sanders #remus sanders #sympathetic deceit #sympathetic remus #logan angst

162 notes · View notes

hxlyhead-harpies · 4 years

Text

The Last Dream of My Soul part 1. (R.L.)

hello everyone! This is the first part of the Remus Lupin series that i’m starting and i am soooo excited. i am still new at this so any feedback is appreciated!! i hope you enjoy!!

Pairing: Young!Remus Lupin x Reader

Summary: The very bookish (Y/n) has spent most of her life alone, aside from her best friends Lily and her beloved books. But when the infamous Marauders get thrust into her life, how could she resist the beautiful and unattainable Remus.

Warnings: Cursing

Word Count: 3.1k

The yellowing and rough pages of old books had always felt like home to you. The smell of the aging parchment and the worn and weathered covers had always offered you more comfort than any real person ever had. On a bad day, you’d be able to curl up in your bed, lulled to sleep by your favorite characters, and adventures more exciting than your own life. As the years pushed forward this was how your life was. You didn’t have many friends but that was okay because you had your books. Who needed a best friend when you could spend your afternoons in Narnia with the Pevensie siblings or tumble through rabbit holes with Alice? For the early years of your childhood, you were content with the reality that you wished you could be in any world than your own. Your boring, magicless, and unmysterious world.

But that all changed the year you turned eleven. You remember the day as if it were yesterday. You were laying on your bed, your legs tangled in the quilt your mother had made. A Nancy Drew book sat in front of you, the plot of which now escapes you but at this point, you had already solved the mystery yourself. It was a perfect summer afternoon. The sun was out and you could hear the other neighborhood kids shouting from outside your window. They never invited you out to play but you were okay with that; you had far more exciting things to read. You were turning a page, nearly halfway through the book, when you heard tapping from your window. Your head shot up- your reading induced trance was now broken- only to be met with the sight of a snowy owl. You furrowed your eyebrows in confusion. You had never seen that type of bird around here. And you had certainly never seen one clutching a letter between its talons. You carefully marked your page in your book and quickly hopped out of bed. You made your way to the window and attempted to open it, a task that proved difficult for your small eleven-year-old body. After a few moments of a struggle, you finally pried it open. The owl dropped the letter inside your room and flew off. You bent down to pick up the parchment from the floor to see that the letter was addressed to you, and was from someplace called Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry.

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

From that moment on your world had been flipped upsidedown, at least in the sense that everything now had to change. But to you, if anything, the world had finally been made right. Magic was real- and you had the pleasure of possessing it. It was like some part of you had always known that magic existed beyond the pages of your favorite books. It was as if everything finally made sense.

You dragged your family down the streets of Diagon Alley, absorbing every bit of magic culture that you could. You reveled in the lights and the feeling of warmth that coursed through your veins when you finally picked up the right wand at Ollivanders. You squealed with delight when your parents purchased you an owl and you nearly died of excitement when you realized that pictures plastered on posters in the alleys moved. And when you ran through the seemingly solid barrier at Kingscross station you thought you would pass out from the thrill. And when you got on the train you curled up by yourself in a compartment, hurriedly reading through your History of Magic textbook, attempting to soak up every bit of knowledge that you could.

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

During your first year at Hogwarts, you came to the slow realization that you might actually need friends. Now that you knew that magic was real you wanted to experience as much of it as you could, and it felt rather lonely to experience it all on your own. The characters in your books had always had sidekicks and best friends on their grand adventures, and being accepted into Hogwarts marked the beginning of yours. Now you just needed someone to share it with. Luckily, the pretty girl with brilliant green eyes and glowing red hair that shared your dorm had the same idea.

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

By your fourth year, you and Lily Evans were attached at the hip. You spent nearly all your time together, inside and outside of class, and told each other absolutely everything. She knew everything about you, every detail and every secret, and you knew the same about her. Sure you had other friends, Marlene and Alice were nice and you hung around them quite often, but it was nothing like your relationship with Lily. She was the Elizabeth Bennet to your Charlotte Collins. Nobody understood you as she did, and you didn’t think you’d ever find anyone else who did.

But despite your closeness, you always felt a tinge of jealousy towards her. She was everything you weren’t: she was strong and outgoing, she felt no fear when talking to strangers, and it seemed that everyone instantly took a liking to her. Everyone loved her. She had flocks of friends, granted she wasn’t as close to any of them as she was to you, but it occasionally made you feel unimportant. It also seemed as if half of the year was in love with her. James Potter was evidence of that, constantly making a fool of himself to impress her. Lily always scoffed at him, not finding any of his antics even slightly attractive. And out loud you agreed with her that he was just a silly boy, but deep down you wished someone would give you at least a fraction of the attention that he gave her. But that was how it always went. Lily was the type of girl that boys would fall in love with. You, on the other hand, her quiet and shy sidekick, went largely unnoticed. But everything was fine. Because in moments when you felt lonely or inadequate you could turn to your books just as you did when you were young. Fingers tracing over the words of Mr. Darcy’s declaration of love or Romeo and Juliet’s final moments. And at the time, it was enough.

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

It was your seventh year when things really started to change. After years of begging, Lily finally said yes to James. You were happy for her of course, she seemed to really like him. And he obviously really liked her. The way that James looked at her could only be described in the words of your favorite novels. But with her new relationship came uncharted territory: Lily now sat with him at most meals, though every few breakfasts she’d make a point to sit with you, and the spot you usually occupied next to her in the common room was now occupied by James. And the worst part was that you were now alone on Hogsmeade weekends, a time that was usually reserved for you and Lily to walk arm and arm around the small village. But despite all of this you couldn’t be mad at her. You saw how happy she was- and her happiness made you happy as well. But you couldn’t help but feel a tad jealous that she got to feel an emotion that you yearned to feel with your entire being. Love.

“(Y/n) come on!” Lily exclaimed, throwing up her hands in exasperation. You groaned, looking up at her from the book in front of you. You were currently rereading A Tale of Two Cities, a favorite of yours that was littered with dogeared pages and underlined phrases. You made eye contact with your best friends, noticing the frustration in her eyes.

“Can you please just come eat breakfast with us?” she asked, rubbing her temple with her fingertips.

“Lils you know I want to eat breakfast with you but I don’t want to interrupt your time with James,” you replied, starting to look back down at your book.

“You’re not interrupting anything! All of his friends sit with us too!” she said desperately. When you didn’t respond to her exclamation she reached down and snatched the book from your hands.

“Lily!” you cried, sitting up and attempting to steal back your book.

“No (Y/n) I’m not giving this back until you come eat with me! I feel like I never see you anymore,” she said.

“Yeah, that’s because you’re always with James,” you responded while making another sad attempt to reclaim your novel. Lily’s face fell.

“Do you think I’m spending too much time with him? I swear I don’t mean to ignore you, I’ll stop eating meals with him and we can go to Hogsm-” she rambled, practically shoving the old book back into your hands.

“No Lily!” you shouted, cutting her off. “You’re not spending to much time with him! It seems like a perfectly acceptable time to spend around your boyfriend. I just miss you that’s all,” you said quietly. Lily’s face softened.

“Then come eat breakfast with me. I want you to get to know James better. You two are my favorite people I want you to get along,” she once again urged.

“Lily I’m not sure… I don’t really know anyone else there and you don’t have to worry I already like James plenty,” you replied.

“Just come, please! I promise that you’ll like his friends!” she practically begged. You sighed in defeat, finally giving in.

“Fine Lily,” you grumbled, standing up to gather your things.

“Yay!” Lily exclaimed, clapping her hands together.

“But, I can only promise today. If his friends suck I won’t come back,” you exclaimed sternly. Lily nodded solemnly.

“Understood.”

The two of you made your way down to the Great Hall for breakfast as Lily attempted to give you a rundown on the group of boys that you were about to meet.

“Ok so obviously you know James, he plays quidditch and is studying to become an Auror. His best friend is Sirius who, I know, has a reputation but I swear he’s no that ba-”

“Lily I know who they all are! We’ve been in the same house for the last seven years,” you said, interrupting her with a laugh. Lily rolled her eyes at you.

“Yes I know you know them but you don’t know them,” Lily replied.

“Fine fine,” you said, throwing your hands up in surrender. “Continue.”

“Thank you,” Lily smiled. “As I was saying, Sirius is not as bad as everyone makes him out to seem. Yes, he hooks up with quite a few girls but he’s actually very funny and is secretly a sweetheart. Then there’s Peter, who I’ll admit is a little odd, but he’s harmless. And finally, there’s Remus. He honestly reminds me of you: he’s quiet and he reads a lot like you do. But he’s kind of a smartass sometimes so watch out for that,” she said, finished with her rundown. By this point, the two of you had reached the great hall. Breakfast was already in full swing and the room was swarming with students. Lily grabbed your arm and led you to a spot about midway down the table. She plopped down next to James, kissing him quickly on the cheek, causing Sirius to make a fake gagging face, before pulling you down to sit next to her.

“Boys,” she said, attempting to catch the attention of all four boys.

“This is (Y/n), my best mate in the entire world, so you all better be nice to her,” Lily stated matter-o-factly. You looked up to give a meek smile to all the boys. James greeted you warmly, Sirius gave you a small nod, Peter waved excitedly, and Remus didn’t even look up at you. You frowned for a moment before Sirius smacked Remus’s arm from his spot next to him.

“Hey Moony, pay attention we have a guest,” he said jokingly before shooting you a smile. Remus’s head shot up quickly, looking from Sirius to you, locking his eyes with yours. Once he seemingly realized what was happening he shot you a quick smile. You smiled back, attempting to hide the blush that the momentary eye contact had caused. You had always found Remus attractive, but you had never been so near him before. Something about the proximity made you jittery and made your palms sweat.

“Sorry about that,” he said, lifting a book from underneath the table. He flashed the cover of the book towards you. The title, Crime and Punishment, was sprawled across the worn cover. You felt your nose crinkle, reminded of how much you disliked the book. Remus’s eyebrows furrowed.

“What? Not a fan of Dostoevsky?” he asked. You shook your head.

“I guess the plot was interesting enough but oh my Godric was it dense,” you replied with a groan. You heard Remus chuckle from his spot across from you.

“Yeah, I suppose I can see where you’re coming from. I am enjoying it so far though,” he replied. You hummed in understanding before reaching for a piece of toast.

“Oh come on Lily,” Sirius said with a grin. “I can’t believe you would bring another nerd along. We already have Remus, we don’t need another one,” he continued. You felt your face heat up, ducking your head as you bit into the piece of toast. Lily narrowed her eyes at Sirius.

“Sirius I told you to be nice,” she said before throwing a piece of her roll at him. He laughed before throwing his hands up in surrender.

“Sorry (Y/n),” he apologized. You sent him a quick nod to let him know that it was okay, before pulling out your own book. As you stared down at the pages in front of you, you missed Remus perking up in interest.

“What are you reading?” he asked, setting his book down. You looked up quickly, showing him the cover.

“A Tale of Two Cities. It’s one of my favorites,” you answered shyly. You felt Lily shift beside you before speaking.

“She’s read that book probably a million times,” she said. You rolled your eyes.

“I wouldn’t say a million times, but yes I’ve read it quite a few times,” you replied before shifting your eyes back to Remus. He let out a soft laugh.

“I’ve never read it before. I’ll have to pick a copy up when we go to Hogsmeade. One of the shops sells muggle books,” he said with a small smile.

“You can borrow mine!” you said too quickly, causing yourself to blush. He looked at you, surprised.

“Oh, uh sure. I’ll borrow it when I’m done with this,” he replied, once again holding up Crime and Punishment. You heard Lily snicker from beside you.

“Good luck trying to read one of her books,” Lily said. “There’s so much writing in the margins it’s nearly impossible to get through.” You turned to her and smacked her lightly on the shoulder.

“Hey! It’s not that bad,” you said with a slight pout.

“I don’t mind,” Remus said, causing your eyes to turn back to him. “I’ll be interested in reading your thoughts as well as the book,” he said earnestly. You felt yourself smile involuntarily. You were about to reply when James stood up suddenly.

“Damnit we’re going to be late to potions,” he exclaimed. And with that, you all gathered your things and left.

Potions was generally a subject that you were good at. You often found yourself shooting your hand up during class to answer questions and Professor Slughorn had taken a liking to you. However, you found yourself unable to pay attention to the lesson. From your seat on the far side of the room, you had caught yourself staring at Remus. He was joking around with Peter, his potions partner, and had a wide smile spread across his face. He had scars running down his face, though they didn’t make him less attractive. In fact, they only seemed to add to the allure. His hair was messy and fell into his eyes. You felt yourself sigh when he ran his finger through his hair to get it out of his face.

“(Y/n)? Are you all right?” Lily asked, startling you. You nearly jumped from your seat, hand pressed to your chest.

“Merlin Lils! You scared me,” you replied. She squinted her eyes at you.

“(Y/n)? What’s going on with you?” she asked, scanning your face.

“Nothing!” you swore, stealing another quick glance at Remus. That was when the realization hit her. A teasing smile quickly spread it’s way across Lily’s face.

“Oh my goodness you fancy Remus don’t you?” she inquired, making your eyes widen and face flush. You pushed her shoulder lightly.

“Lily hush! And no I don’t!” you exclaimed as you glanced around the room to make sure that no one had heard her.

“Oh, you totally do! All that book talk this morning must’ve really got to you huh,” she said, waggling her eyebrows at you. You put your head in your hands and groaned.

“Shut up Lily!”

“Only when you admit it,” she responded.

“Fine! But you can’t tell anybody! Not even James,” you warned. Lily grinned from beside you.

“Oh, this is perfect! The two of you are perfect for each other!” she exclaimed.

“Lily! Just be quiet. It’s not like it’s ever going to happen,” you said. Lily looked at you, confusion was written all over her face.

“What do you mean it’s never going to happen?” she asked. You sighed, glancing at Remus once again. He was stirring the potion in front of him, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows.

“Lily why would he ever like me?”

“Why wouldn’t he?” she replied, clearly exasperated. You turned to her, giving her an incredulous look.

“We have seven years of evidence that boys don’t like me,” you respond. Lily rolled her eyes beside you.

“Well, this is different trust me,” Lily responded. You stare at her.

“How could this possibly be any different?”

“Because you could actually talk to Remus, get to know him He’ll obviously fancy you once he learns more about you.” Then it was your turn to roll your eyes.

“Lily, it’s never going to happen so just drop it,” you responded. You picked up the recipe for the potion that you were assigned to make that day.

“Now, can you please hand me the adder’s fork,” you said, listing off the first ingredient. Lily sighed.

“Fine. But we’ll be talking about this later.”

390 notes · View notes

criticallyacclaimedstranger · 3 years

Text

Fic: The Talk

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences (I honestly don't know how to draw a line, there's mention of fucking, but no actual fucking)

Fandom: Triple Frontier (2019)

Ship: Francisco "Catfish" Morales/You

Summary: You initiate THE TALK with Frankie about wanting kids, which you don't. But does he?

Notes: This is for all of you who don't want kids. Not those who can't have them, but those who just don't want them. There's a lot of fluffy married-with-kids Frankie fic out there, and that's fine. Kids are a wonderful thing for many people, but not for all. I like reading those fics because I like reading about responsible, soft fathers. But sometimes it gets to me how having kids is written as the only way to fulfillment, to making the perfect family. We still live in a society where a Good Life features certain stops along the way - college, a steady job, marriage, a house, kids - and twosomeness is often seen as not enough. (I realize of course that the idea of twosomeness also is problematic, but one thing at a time.) Again, nothing wrong with getting married, having a house, and having kids. Do your thing. Be happy. But there are people who find happiness in other things. And those people are just as happy.

”We kickin’ Friday date night off already, mi alma?”

Your gaze, up until now fixed on your bare stomach in the full length mirror, moves to Frankie, who’s coming up behind you and pressing a kiss to your shoulder, never letting his eyes off the image of you in the reflective surface in front of you. You’re in your underwear, fresh out of the shower, and you are about to get dressed to go out to dinner when something had caused you to linger at the sight of yourself. Critically, you had pinched a chunk of belly fat between your thumb and forefinger, frowning at the mass of it. You had never been a petite girl but it was clear that for every year, your body gained another pound. You were comfortable enough in your body, but it sometimes threw you, just how the years changed it.

”We’re not missing our reservation,” you tell Frankie with a small smile as his hands move to cup your breasts. ”I’m hungry, and patience is a virt – hue!” The last syllable comes in the form of a small squeak when he pinches your nipples, both of them at the same time.

”Sorry,” he apologizes with his lips moving up your neck. ”I know they’re tender ’round this time of month.”

You murmur something and Frankie rests his chin to your shoulder.

”Penny for your thoughts.”

”I was just thinking about how fat I thought I was ten years ago,” you confess ruefully. ”And in ten years I will be looking back at pictures from now and wonder how I ever thought I was fat now, because it’s going to be so much worse ten years on.”

”You know you’re not fat, right?” Frankie’s voice is matter-of-factly but his eyes are filled with emotion. You two have been over this before.

”I know, Frankie,” you tell him softly, then, a hint of teasing in your voice as you obediantly repeat the lesson you’ve learned from him: ”And even if I were, it wouldn’t matter to you.”

”You better believe it.” He presses another kiss to your shoulder and his hands move to your hips, where the waistband of your panties cut into the flesh, creating the curves you had been so conflicted about just now.

”More for me to love,” he murmurs, now at your ear. Hands moving over your belly, he tickles the dip of your navel before settling his large hands, fingers splayed open, over your lower belly. You meet his brown eyes in the mirror.

Oh, damn.

He’s got that look you’ve seen on your friends’ faces when they talk about babies. That inward, dreamy, secret smile they display when they touch their growing bellies. That radiant, loving pride their significant others have when touching their pregnant women, making you want to tell them to get a room. It’s too private, it’s too intimate to show in front of you. And then, the brief look of pity in their eyes when they finally realize that you’re in the room. Poor soul, she doesn’t have anyone, she will never know this happiness. When Frankie entered your life, it got a little better, but it didn’t take long for you to notice how the language around you changed. You’ll know when you and Frankie have kids of your own.

Thing is, you don’t want kids. You never did, not really. You figured you’d maybe change your mind, but the older you get, the more certain you are. And although the topic had been touched with Frankie – who was okay with not having kids – you never really had The Talk.

And now he’s holding his hands over your lower belly as if there was something growing in there, something he himself put there with a deep, hard thrust, one of those plunges right into your core, the ones that almost make you weep with the sheer force and pleasure of it. Is that hope in his eyes?

”Frankie,” you say, realizing that this is going to be painful, and loath to bring it up today, on date night, when you’re about to go out and have fun. ”You know I don’t want kids, right?”

You gauge his reaction carefully. Is this the face of someone whose dreams were crushed in the blink of an eye? No, you mostly just read surprise.

”I know, mi corazón,” he replies slowly. ”We’ve talked about it before. You know my position in this.”

”We haven’t, though,” you insist, and now you take his hands from you and turn around so you can face him, see him directly and not just his reflection. His hands stay in yours and you like the way he grips your hands, as well: not too tightly, but enough for you to know that if you’d let go, he’d still have you.

”We’ve never really discussed it,” you explain. ”I’ve said I don’t want kids, and you said that’s fine, but that’s not a discussion.”

”I didn’t realize there’s something to discuss,” he confesses, a little perplexed. ”If you don’t want them –”

”That’s the point exactly!” You raise your voice a little, as you always do when you’re passionate about something. It took a long time for you and Frankie to learn each other’s way of communication: when you’re excited or earnest, your voice goes up and you talk with a lot of exclamation marks. Frankie used to read that as anger, on account of his own emotions always being expressed in a voice lower than usual, but with extra heat.

”It was not a discussion because you just agreed with me, but you never expressed what you actually wanted! If there’s some part of you that wants kids, you need to really think this one through, because I won’t be able to give you this. And one day, sooner or later, you might resent me for it!”

”I would never –”

”No, listen to me, I’m serious,” you interrupt him, another one of your bad habits when you’re engaged in something. ”You don’t know that. Really, you don’t know that. And I can’t expect you to know it because nobody can tell what’s going to happen in the future. But you know the answer to this question: did you ever see yourself as a dad?”

You stare, unwavering, into his eyes, unafraid whatever his answer might be. You have an inkling, anyway. Frankie, however, is clearly uncomfortable. He wets his lips and there’s a small frown between his eyebrows. A long moment passes while he thinks.

”Yes,” he eventually answers, his voice hesitant. ”I did figure I’d have kids some day.”

”Thank you for being honest,” you tell him softly, raising one hand to his cheek, drawing a finger over his patchy beard. He smiles weakly.

”You need to think about this, Frankie,” you tell him, the volume of your voice lowered. ”You need to be absolutely sure. Because I love you, and I don’t want this to break us up when, one day, you realize that you want kids more than you want to be with me. Not if you could make that decision now, and go start anew with a woman who wants the same future as you. I don’t want to take those years from you.”

He inhales to protest, but your forefinger is quickly at his lips, shushing him.

”I know.”

He looks at you for a long while, conflict in his warm eyes. You can only imagine what’s going on in that head of his.

”Okay,” he says at long last. ”I’ll think about it.”

”Thank you.” You lean in for a kiss, and his lips meet yours, in that way only he can kiss: first his lips are only slightly separated and he brushes them against yours, delicately, tasting you. Then he applies a little more pressure, closes his full lower lip around your upper or lower one, tastes a little more, releasing and doing it again at a slightly different angle, like he’s testing every approach he can think of. Then, finally, he slips his tongue between your lips, your teeth, to meet your tongue, and by that time you’re already a hot mess. He takes his time, savours you, arms sneaking around your waist to pull you in, pressing all of you against all of him.

You’re reluctant to put an end to the kissing, but you know where you’re both headed and however nice a good fuck would be, you’re still hungry, and you’ve been looking forward to going to this restaurant.

”Mmmfrankie…”

”I know…”

He traces his lips to your ear and whispers I love you in that low, intense manner of his, and you know that he’s really going to think about the matter just discussed, and you think you know what his answer will be.

And you’re right: a couple of weeks after, he brings up the subject again, and tells you that he’d rather be with you for the rest of his life and not have kids than have kids but not have you.

That’s enough for you.

#my fic #triple frontier #triple frontier fanfic #francisco catfish morales #francisco frankie morales #pedro pascal characters #frankie morales x you

60 notes · View notes

blu-joons · 3 years

Text

Early Christmas Present ~ Kim Taehyung

Your eyes widened as you met Taehyung, his fell to the ground at the incident going on around you, reaching his hand out to move you away from it all. His arm moved around your waist as you came close to him, feeling your heart pound in your chest.

“Tae,” you whispered, feeling his eyes look across to you, “it’s happening.”

He grabbed the snowflake patterned blanket from over the back of the sofa and wrapped it around your body tightly, tucking the material into your hands to hold.

“Stay nice and calm,” he smiled, resting his hands against your cheek, “it seems like someone couldn’t wait for Christmas!”

You still had a week of pregnancy left to go before you reached forty weeks, you were quite prepared to spend Christmas sat around at home and then give birth a few days later. You had it all planned out, prepared to spend New Years with your new baby at home.

Taehyung was terrified too, seeing the panic in your eyes was heart breaking, but he had to remain strong for you, and your child. It wasn’t what he saw coming either, he was all prepared to spend Christmas, tomorrow.

“What do we do?” You whimpered, leaning closely into his chest to try and mask the pain.

There was a moment of silence from Taehyung before he responded, “it’s probably too soon for you to go to the hospital just yet, maybe we should stay here for a while.”

Slowly, and carefully he sat you down on the sofa, placing cushions all around you to make sure that you were comfortable. Your body collapsed back as soon as you rested, placing both your hands around your growing baby bump.

Whilst Tae frantically ran around you to ensure you were relaxed, you allowed your eyes to close for a few moments, for the last time you probably would be able to for a good couple of days.

“Where’s the baby bag?”

You opened your eyes and looked across at him, pointing to the bag that you’d had by your front door for a good couple of weeks as a just in case. “You’re going to burst a nerve or something if you don’t calm down.”

“I just want you to be alright?”

You reached your hand out for him to take, encouraging him to sit down beside him, placing his hand over your bump. “I’m fine, we just need to relax, and things will be alright. We know where the baby bag is, we’ve practiced the route to the hospital several times, what else could go wrong?”

He couldn’t help but smile at how calm you were, especially with what was to come. Everything that the two of you had organised felt like it had fallen apart, his brain had forgotten every single thing that the two of you had talked about.

“Can you believe our baby will be here on Christmas?” You asked, continuing to try and distract his mind. “Neither of us saw this coming.”

Ever since you found out you were having a winter baby you were both thrilled, your week would be filled with celebration, Christmas, a new baby, and Taehyung’s birthday, all in a few days. Taehyung especially was incredibly excited to share a birthday so close to his child.

“It feels really cliché,” he chuckled, “it’s like what you see in the movies, the night before Christmas suddenly the mum goes into labour.”

“I guess it does,” you smiled, leaning against his shoulder.

As his hands rested over your bump, he couldn’t help but feel a twang of sadness. He’d grown quite accustomed to your bump, falling asleep beside it and resting into it, his eyes were always on your bump too, he loved to watch you as you carried his child and watch as over time your body went through so many changes.

“I was thinking about maybe if they’re born on Christmas, we should find a Christmassy related name,” he mused, glancing across at you, “if it’s a girl, maybe Holly, or Ivy would be quite a good name to incorporate for her.”

“And what about if it is a boy?” You queried, interested by the discussion. Taehyung thought for a moment before the corners of his mouth turned up into a smile.

You glanced at him questionably, “maybe we could name him Rudolph? It certainly would make him unique,” he sniggered, as your eyes rolled, he realised maybe that wouldn’t quite be an option for the two of you.

As he spoke, you felt the beginnings of yet another contract, holding onto his arm as you leant forwards, following the breaths he took beside you until it came to an end.

Once you began to relax again, you turned to face him, “I think that’s the baby’s way of saying they don’t want to be named Rudolph.”

“It’s a good job the baby doesn’t get a say then,” he smiled, watching as you relaxed back after the few moments of pain. “It’s scary watching you right now,” he suddenly confessed, before he even had a chance to think about what he was saying.

“You don’t need to be scared, it’s not like you’re the one about to give birth to the baby,” you joked, resting your hand over his gently. “Just think about how it will be once the baby is here and we get to spend Christmas all together as a family.”

His head nodded, but that couldn’t stop his guilt. Throughout your whole pregnancy Taehyung had struggled often, first your morning sickness, and then your tiredness, and now the pains that labour bought you.

As another contraction came, his fingers intertwined with yours. “I might not get a better chance today to tell you that I’m so thankful that I’m doing this with you. I can already tell you’re going to be the best mum in the world.”

“You can’t get all soppy on me now,” you teased, “I’m already hormonal as it is.”

“I’m not, I promise. It’s just that it’s really beginning to hit me that this is actually happening.”

The festive season always bought out the best and worst in him, he’d been excited for his birthday since the end of the last, and as always, Christmas was always his favourite time of year, and now his little one was coming too. “It’s been happening for the past nine months Tae; we’ve known it was happening for quite a while.”

“I know but it always felt so far away, but now it’s so close now.”

Your head shook as he stood up, glancing around the house once more to make sure everything was fine. You watched him closely, as much as he tried to hide it, you could see easily just how nervous he was about the whole situation.

“It’ll be alright Tae, it’s Christmas, it’s like we were destined to have this baby today.”

His eyes lit up at your words, this baby really was a little miracle for you both. “You’re right, and I know this definitely will be a Christmas that we won’t forget. But that doesn’t mean I won’t be glad when it’s over too,” he smiled, pressing a soft kiss to your cheek.

“That definitely makes two of us, but I’ve got you with me, so I know that nothing can go wrong,” you reminded him, resting your hand back over your bump as you felt yet another contraction near.

“I’ve never met someone as strong as you,” Taehyung encouraged, holding your hand through it all. “Once all this is over I’m going to never let you do anything again, I’ll owe you an endless amount of favours for the rest of our lives.

After a few more contractions, more painful and longer, the two of you finally decided that it was time to take the trip to the hospital.

Taehyung was nervous throughout it all, taking everything to the car and tidying the house to make sure it was clean for your new arrival to come home to. Once all of that was done, with an arm wrapped around your waist he helped you out to the car.

The drive was fairly silent with the exception of your exclamations of pain, every time just the smallest noise came from you, Taehyung was glancing over. As you drove, looking out at all the houses decorated for Christmas, you couldn’t help but smile. Perhaps it wasn’t going to quite be the Christmas you had expected together, but it was certainly always going to be your most memorable Christmas together, because nothing could ever top this.

As you pulled up to the hospital, you stopped for a moment, staring across at Taehyung. “This is really happening,” you whispered, taking a hold of his hand, “do you think you’re ready to have a baby?”

“I don’t think I can say anything else but yes now.”

---

Masterlist

175 notes · View notes

jobean12-blog · 4 years

Text

The Perfect Pumpkin

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader (Dad!bucky AU)

Word Count: 1,069

Summary: You and Bucky take your daughter to pick the perfect pumpkin for carving.

Author’s Note: This is for the HBC’s @the-ss-horniest-book-club continuation of drunk drabbles and the fun prompt below by @buckstaybucky and the Fall in Love drabble challenge theme-pumpkin patch- hope you enjoy this, thank you all for reading! Much love always! ❤❤❤

Warnings: fluffy sweet fun, soft fluff, domestic fluff, Dad!bucky being the best :)

“Daddy! Dadddddyyy!” Bucky kneels down next to Sam, “yes baby, what has you so excited.” She hops up and down before grabbing hold of the stem of a large pumpkin, “look! I found the perfect pumpkin for us to carve!” She continues pulling on it, her little grunts and grumbles making Bucky chuckle. “Want some help baby?” Letting her hands fall to her sides she pushes her little bottom lip out in a pout, “yes please.”

Bucky grabs the stem with his metal hand, lifting it up in one swift motion while taking her small hand in his other. “Come on, let’s go find mommy.” She skips next to him, regularly checking on her pumpkin as it swings at his side. “What do you want to carve into it?” Sam stops in her tracks, “I don’t know yet. Maybe Uncle Sam’s Redwing!!!”

With an eye roll, Bucky starts walking again, laughing when she launches into a long list of all the ideas she now has. “I see mommy! Look how many pumpkins are in the wagon!” The two of them smile wide as you approach pulling the red wagon filled to the top with a variety of pumpkins and gourds. Sam climbs up the side and sits herself on top of one of the large fruits.

“Pull me fast daddy!” Bucky closes his hand around yours, walking quickly much to Sam’s giggling delight. “Weeeeeee, this is so bumpy!” Bucky laughs and gives you a quick kiss, “looks like you picked some nice one’s doll, the house is gonna look great.” Looking back at Sam’s happy face you agree, “definitely! And we will have plenty to use for pumpkin bread, muffins, pie! All of it!”

“I’m so ready to eat everything!” You rub his stomach and raise your brows, “I know, me too!” Sam’s small voice chimes in from behind you, “and me too!” The three of you check out at the farm store and pack up the car, getting home just in time for a late lunch and some pumpkin carving.

As Sam finishes up her last bite of grilled cheese, she hops off her chair and rushes to Bucky, crawling up into his lap, “I’m ready daddy!” He stands, holding her in his arms and gathering the carving tools, “ok we just need to clear off the table and put down some newspaper.” Sam’s feet dangle excitedly until Bucky puts her down, “ok, I’ll get the newspaper!”

You help Bucky clear off the table, hugging him around the waist and resting your head on his chest while you wait for Sam to return, “this should be fun.” She runs in with a squeal, wedging herself between the two of you, “come on! Time to carve!” You reluctantly let him go and get the necessary tools, putting them down on the table, “all set!”

“The first thing we have to do is clean out the pumpkin.” Sam looks up at Bucky with a confused face, “but it doesn’t look dirty, it’s so perfect and orange!” she exclaims. “You’re right, the outside is clean but watch this.” Bucky starts to cut off the top of the pumpkin and when he pulls it out, he points to all the strings and seeds still attached. “See all that? Now look inside.”

Sam stands on her chair and peers into the pumpkin, her whole head almost fitting in the opening, “woah, that’s a lot of stringy stuff and seeds! How will we get it out?” You hand Sam and Bucky a scoop and drag over the garbage pail. “Start scooping kid,” Bucky says playfully, shoving his inside and pulling out a bunch of stuff. Sam follows right along, enjoying the feel of the slippery seeds and slimy strings.

Once you have all the pumpkins cleaned out you give Sam some paint, paintbrushes, stickers and any other goodies that might work for decorating. “Ok, daddy. I’m going to decorate this pumpkin and you can carve that one so I can decorate it after! Remember I want Redwing first.” Bucky gives you a look that says he has no idea how he’s going to pull this off. “Maybe draw it first babe?” He brightens at your suggestion and searches for a pencil. You hand him one with a smirk and watch him get to work.

It’s not coming out right and he huffs in frustration. “Here,” you say softly, motioning for him to make room. He pushes back from the table and you sit on his thigh, taking the pencil and fixing what he started. It’s looking really good and once you’re done the two of you admire your work, “wow, that came so great doll.” He leans close and whispers against your ear, “thanks for saving my ass.”

Sam shoots out of her seat and rushes around to look, sitting on Bucky’s other leg. “That came perfect mommy! Thank you!” She picks up one of the carving tools and Bucky quickly takes it from her hand, much to her disappointment. “I’m sorry baby, but you have to wait for me to help you ok?” She nods, her big blue eyes round with emotion. “Let me get a chair Buck, this way you have more space.” You stand and pull out the other chair, sitting and smiling at the two of them. Bucky’s foot hooks onto the bottom of your chair and drags it close, the three of you now sitting in a row at one end of the table.

“Ok Sam,” Bucky says, picking up the carving tool, “I’m going to hold it and then you can hold my hand so we can do it together.” Sam nods, placing her small hand over Bucky’s metal one and giggles when he stabs through the pumpkin and starts cutting. “This is so easy daddy!” You comb your fingers through Bucky’s hair and laugh at Sam’s comments, her excitement contagious.

When he finally has it cut out, he shows her how to push the pieces out and Redwing slowly comes to life. “I can’t wait to show Uncle Sam!!! Daddy, can we please face time him now. He’s going to be so excited!” Bucky happily agrees, taking his phone and dialing Sam. Her small hand shoots out and grabs it from him, “Uncle Sam, Uncle Sam! Look what we made!” She turns the camera around to show him, his happiness clear from his loud exclamations of praise.

@aesthetical-bucky @auro-ora @addikted-2-dopamine @bugsbucky @book-dragon-13 @buckys-broody-muffin @buckys-minty-breath @bucky-on-my-mind @buckosawrus @breezy1415 @buckys-henley @buckstaybucky @chuuulip @eurynome827 @hiddles-rose @hailmary-yramliah @hawksmagnolia @imgaril-lindru @ikaris-whore @itsunclebucky @jhangelface0523 @jewels2876 @lookiamtrying @loricameback @lorilane33 @lokilvrr @littledarlinhavefaithinme @littleredstarfish @mushyjellybeans @marvelandotherfandomimagines @marvelgirl7 @nano--raptor @pinkdiamond1016 @randomfandompenguin @sallycanwait68 @tuiccim @this-kitten-is-smitten @the-wayward-robot @softpeachbarnes @yansi1923 @hopefuldreamers-world @survivor-reborn @tales-of-spring

366 notes · View notes

rose-blooms-red · 3 years

Note

Significant Others/troopers under their command react to Edee's latest volley of obnoxious gifts :D

Did I start this 3 months ago? Yes. Did I also write over 2k of it Today? Also yes. Productivity is a Relative Term.

[read on ao3]

Fox twitches as he reads the clearly handmade voucher. Says, pleasant as anything, “I’m going to fucking murder him.”

Ponds hums, looking over Fox’s shoulder, “It’s sweet. Probably.”

Fox makes a noise in the back of his throat that isn’t entirely describable by any known language.

Does he still have that clock he found during that one shopping trip? The one with that awful fucking peach, mustard, and grey-blue combination that spat out an eeopie’s mating call every half hour? He’d been planning on saving it he remembers but—

“Telling you to take a break like that,” Ponds continues, like he can’t hear the way Fox’s higher reasoning is currently dying a slow painful death, “very considerate.”

Fox grits his teeth. Needs must, and Fox needs to crush the little fucker’s spirit thoroughly under heel. He’ll have to take it out of storage tomorrow.

“No.”

Ponds giggles, “I’m sure it’ll be entertaining at least.”

“Hondo,” Fox reiterates, digging his elbow back into Ponds’ stomach.

Ponds drapes himself over Fox’s back, knocks the side of his head against Fox’s, “As I said,” he simpers, “entertaining.”

Fox makes a disgusted sound, sneers down at the offending…. Gift.

‘All expense-paid cruise on the Hondo Ohkana ‘Sights of The Galaxy’ tour!!!!!!’ It proclaims in neon colours and excessive exclamation marks, ‘Very Romantic and Exciting!’

“When’s it say it’s good for?” Ponds asks, like he’s actually contemplating it.

“No.”

Ponds snatches the voucher out of his hands anyway, “Oh good! We aren’t busy that ten-day.”

Fox’s hand twitches, “I am not getting on a fucking ship with fucking Hondo Ohkana, Ponds.”

“Mhm, ‘course not Fox.” Ponds responds absentmindedly, pats his arm lightly in the way that means they are definitely getting on the fucking ship with fucking Hondo Ohkana, “We’ve got a ten-day to pack and get everything in order, that should be enough.” He nods to himself, breezes out of the room with a vague sense of purpose as he flits around the house, presumably for things to take on a ‘very romantic and exciting’ trip.

Fox is going to murder somebody, preferably Hondo, or Neyo.

He hears the sound of Ponds grabbing the DC-15A’s and he grimaces, ugh, time to find the fucking holdout blasters, those things haven’t been serviced in at least a ten-day, and he needs to check on the blaster packs for the DC-17’s. He can’t remember if he restocked the things after the last time he used them.

If they’re going on the fucking trip, they’re gonna be well fucking stocked.

(Fox manages not to murder Hondo, but it’s a very near fucking thing.

He does come back from the trip in a much better mood though, other than the twitch he’s developed from listening to Hondo all day. Ponds is annoyingly amused and smug about it. Fox ignores it, like he does every other fucking annoyance in his life.

He shuts down the talk of another trip like it happening any time in this fucking century before Ponds even opens his mouth to respond. Once was fucking enough thank you.)

__________

Colt closes his eyes, casts a net about his mind for a sliver of patience and finds his supply has dwindled something awful.

When he opens his eyes again both nuisance and potted plant are still there. Gree smiles winningly and Colt smells danger.

Or maybe he just smells the plant, because that is the thing overwhelming everything else right now. He glares down at it, it looks harmless, mostly, in it’s large pot but already Colt can hear the sounds of flies swarming around.

“That is not a houseplant,” Colt says, relatively tamely in his opinion, given that the overwhelming smell it emits is decay, “that is the type of plant one shoots and hopes doesn't survive the encounter.”

“It’s a very rare and endangered plant,” Gree lies, grin earnest and eyes bright with humour.

“It’s a pile of banthashit dressed up in vegitive form.”

“It’s an Amorphophallus titanum,” Gree corrects, “and it’s very rare, it’s one of the largest unbranched inflorescence in the galaxy that isn’t also carnivorous in any shape or form.”

Colt gives the plant a dubious look, “I’ll believe that when it doesn’t smell like it just ate and digested something.”

Gree shrugs, “It’s possible it’s a type of carrion flower…. but in the name of protecting it from extinction there’s no one I’d trust more than you.”

Colt twitches, he has no clue what a carrion flower is or how that accounts for the way it smells like Colt has a pile of corpses rotting away on his front step, but he does not like it at all.

The worst part is that he can’t actually tell whether this is Gree being serious or him pulling a shithead move. Because this is exactly the type of thing Gree would genuinely do and also the type of thing Gree would do just to fuck with him.

Behind him someone gags and Colt twitches.

“Fine,” he grits out, and Gree’s smile tries for sunshine and comes up partly cloudy and fully shiteating.

“Wonderful, thanks Colt.”

“Please leave.”

Gree laughs as he leaves and Colt closes the door with a sigh.

“It smells like someone died over there,” Blitz calls out and Colt groans.

“Really? I hadn’t noticed.”

Havoc sniggers, “It really does sir, we might have to keep the Little’s away for a few days, wouldn’t want one of ‘em puking.”

Colt winces, that image does enough to convince him of the necessity, the only thing that could be worse right now is over a dozen Little’s sicking up from the smell. “Might be for the best.”

Blitz hums, looking at the now closed door in interest, “How likely is it that he was pulling your leg?”

Colt slumps into his chair, “50/50” he admits and Blitz raises his eyebrows.

“That is almost more concerning. What the kriff did they put in your batch.”

“Mistakes,” Colt grumbles back. This is why he’s the oldest, he’s the only one in the entire batch who managed to wrangle any sense out of his tube and keep it all the way through.

Havoc laughs and Blitz snorts, then looks like he immediately regrets it, “Ugh, Colt your batch is full of sadists I’m not gonna get the smell out of my nose for weeks.”

“It’s probably seeped into the clothes at this point,” Havoc agrees and Colt groans.

(When Shaak comes home she takes one look at the plant and can’t seem to decide whether to grimace or smile.

“Apparently,” he drawls, “it’s a very endangered plant that’s been entrusted to my care.”

A burst of laughter ripples out into the room and Shaak smiles, hand covering her lips as her shoulders shake minutely, Colt forgets about the death plant for a second as he looks up at her, heart stopping for a moment in the split second it takes her to swallow her laughter back down and he wants nothing more than to pull that sound out from her again.

It takes him a minute to realize that at some point he’d started smiling. He can’t seem to stop it, but there are worse things to find himself unable to stop doing.

“It’s commonly known as a type of carrion flower,” she tells him finally, laughter lacing her tone, “otherwise known as a corpse flower for the smells they produce. It is not endangered, though there are those who agree that it might not be too much of a loss if it was.”

Colt groans. Shaak giggles and Colt finds himself forgetting for a second to plot his revenge.

Maybe Gree will get off a bit lighter this time, if only because Colt got to hear that bright laughter.

He hums, “Plant it far, far, far away from the house?” Shaak smiles, presses a kiss to his forehead.

“That, my dear Colt, sounds like a brilliant plan.”)

__________

Gree gives the box a look of suspicious distrust that makes Barriss giggle and Decker snicker.

It’s a big box, about the size of his torso and Gree has seen that bland, even smile too many times before to trust the contents of the box.

“Fox,” he warns and Fox’s grin goes sickeningly sweet.

“Gree, Baby Brother Dearest,” he drawls and Gree can hear the capital letters what the fuck, “I put my heart and soul into this you know, I’m hurt, really I am.”

That, Gree thinks sourly, is the worst load of banthashit he’s ever heard, and he’s had to listen to ‘scientific lectures’ given by people who read maybe one Edupad and then promptly forgot all of the information in the Edupad and decided whatever half-remembered thing left was Fact and Truth and refused to listen to Reason…. or sources and cited works.

Gree was very annoyed about that one, he’d put Effort into that paper thank you very much and he’d taken the class to learn things, not whatever that had been.

Fox wiggles the box in his hands around, expression pleasant and smile sharp.

Gree sighs. At least, he assures himself as he takes the box, it won’t be as bad as whatever happened after Fox and Ponds had come back from Neyo’s…… Gift.

Maybe.

The box is squishy. Boxes are not supposed to be squishy.

Gree has a Bad Feeling about this. He raises an eyebrow, Fox doesn’t even twitch.

Behind him Barriss is watching the exchange with wide, mirth filled eyes and a hand covering her mouth. Decker has long since lost the battle of keeping his snickering quiet and the rest of Gree’s so called loyal troopers of Green company watch with rapt attention.

He sighs again, loud and long-suffering, Fox’s smile never shrinks a shade less than serial killer pleased.

Gree unwraps the wrapping flimsi with ease, and then stares with distant horror at the plasti-cling underneath it. Not a box, no, plasti-cling.

It’s layered.

Gree twitches and reaches for one of his vibroblades.

“It’s very delicate,” Fox informs him, just as he gets the vibroblade out of it’s holder.

“Oh?” Gree asks, really quite pleasantly given the plasti-cling is so layered he can’t see a damn thing through it.

“Extremely,” Fox confirms, deadpan. Behind him Barriss giggles uncontrollably and Decker is flushed with laughter and gasping for air and the others aren’t much better.

“Do they always do this?” one of them whispers incredibly poorly, Gree twitches, Fox eyes him with that malicious amusement that cements his place as youngest forever in Gree’s head.

“Always,” Barriss whispers back, giggling still and Gree’s heart warms for a second before his impending humiliation via gift settles in again.

“I knew the Commander wasn’t only, you know, learny, but I always thought he was sane.”

“Oh he’s sane,” Cooker reassures, “far as we can tell their entire batch is just, Like That.”

“But this is Torrent lev—” Fox’s face gives an unpleasant twitch that Gree sympathizes with.

Torrent, ugh.

“Shhhh,” the rest of Green hisses and Barriss hides her head in her hands as she laughs.

“We don’t compare them to Torrent, makes them touchy,” Draa mutters, as if he isn't half the reason Gree goes into interactions with Torrent prepared to have engineering go on another crazed building spree. He has a hunch that they feed on each other, the engineers, and it's their own special kind of crazy that Gree is half fascinated by and half resigned to.

“My point stands.”

Gree grits his teeth, narrows his eyes at Green Company as a whole to no avail, turns a raised eyebrow to Barriss in a last attempt at gaining control of a situation he’d lost all hold over the moment Fox had walked up to him with a ‘gift from the bottom of my heart, Gree’.

His cold dead heart maybe. Gree is plotting his revenge already.

He puts the blade back with mechanical motions, feels around for the beginning of the despised plasti-cling, seriously who made it Gree has complaints for them, and begins the arduous task of unwrapping it all.

Who let Fox have this much plasti-cling.

(Over 10 hours of nonstop focus later the last of the plasti-cling has finally been ripped away and Gree stares at the new puzzle cube. Ugly and about the size of his palm. Much, much smaller than the wrapping he’d been given, nearly the size of his torso.

Gree makes a strangled sound that he will forever deny, Draa.

The plasti-cling sits around him tauntingly, viciously victorious in all it’s piled glory.

It takes 3 days for Green Company to stop laughing about it. It does not take 3 days for them to stop sharing the holopics and vids they took, that takes much longer.

Barriss is Gree’s favourite now, everyone else is awful and everything they say is lies, and Fox has been demoted to all the way to being the baby.)

__________

Neyo tilts his head, grin bordering manic, “That, is the ugliest piece of garbage I’ve ever seen.”

Colt smiles, “It’s high class art.”

“It looks like someone took cans of paint and dumped them on the nearest patch of dirt they found.”

“The texture adds value.”

“It’s chunks of dirt and grass.” Neyo hisses in delighted outrage.

Colt waves a hand, voice disinterested and all ‘above all this nonsense’ like, “Very classy. Made with only the best of intentions.”

Neyo giggles, “It looks like actual manure, I hate it.”

“I got it just for you,” Colt simpers, like the little shit no one ever believes he is, “I saw it and just knew you’d connect to it.”

Neyo cackles, “This is awful, you’re awful, I’m hanging it on the wall and telling everyone you painted it.”

Colt raises an eyebrow, “No one will believe you.”

He’s right, it’s awful. Neyo pouts, “I could convince them.”

No he can’t, but that’s besides the point.

Colt hums, “mhm, I’m sure you could kih’vod.”

Neyo flicks at Colt’s wrist and wilts, “This is harassment.”

“Whatever you say Ney’ika.”

“You’re a bully.”

“Mhm.”

“I can’t believe anyone thinks you’re responsible.”

“That is because I am.” Colt says, putting Neyo in a headlock, they both ignore the way Neyo tenses up for a fraction of a second before he relaxes, sulks, digging his elbow into Colt’s side.

It’s the first time Colt has given him such a blatantly awful gift. Neyo cackles and something shakes loose in his chest. His throat feels grossly tight and the stupid shitty canvas covered in dirt and paint sits leaning against the wall innocently.

Colt makes the same even face he uses on the Little’s when they’re being hilarious and he can’t afford to tell them or when he’s about to say something completely karking stupid because no matter how much he likes to tell everyone he’s the oldest he totally isn’t.

Neyo slips out of the headlock, giggles through the knot in his throat and rolls his eyes.

“You’re deluding yourself and everyone around you.” he tells Colt. Colt has only ever been responsible by necessity, and never once in all of Neyo’s memories of him, has he been anything less than an absolute shithead just like the rest of them when there was no necessity.

“Am not.”

“Are too.”

“I’m not arguing with you like a first-cycle.”

“Are too.”

“Neyo.”

“You’re the one who gave me the shitty painting.”

“It’s high class art you bastard.”

Neyo preens, “Thank you, still the worst thing I’ve ever seen though. Might hang it up in the front room, just to really bring it all together.”

Colt sighs, aggrieved. Neyo has no sympathy for him, really if you’re gonna play the game you gotta be in it to win it. It’s not Neyo’s fault that the trashy, awful, horrible dirt, grass, paint mixture splattered onto canvas happens to be horrifyingly tasteless. Neyo loves it. It’s gonna make Fox so mad.

(“Neyo,” Vaughn asks, staring at the wall, “why is there a, what even is that, dirt? On canvas?”

Neyo straightens up, grins wide, “Colt painted it. Out of the love in his heart and the limited talents he was decanted with.”

Vaughn raises an eyebrow, “That’s lovely and everything, why is it hanging in our front room.”

“It is horrifically awful and I love it and Fox and Ponds are coming over tomorrow.”

Vaughn laughs.

The next day, Ponds takes one look at it and giggles, “Fox, Fox come here, you’re gonna hate it.”

Fox takes one look at it and walks right back out of the house, Neyo cackles the entire time.)

45 notes · View notes

nhlandotherimagines · 3 years

Text

Family isn’t Always Blood-Part 3

Masterlist | Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 4 |

Summary: will it be a boy? A girl? Will Kinsey and Elias be able to plan a wedding while expecting? Guess you’ll have to find out.

Author’s Notes: This took me WAY too long I’m sorry! Let me know what you think though? Was it what you expected? Was it bad? Good? I’d love to hear from you :)

Word Count: approx. 4.5k

Warnings: The usual really. Lots of crying (both happy and sad tears), pregnancy, absent parents, strong language, nothing too crazy though. Let me know if there is anything I should add here please

3…

2…

Elias’ fingers find the zipper on the garment bag, and I place my hand gently over his. His hand shakes under mine, and although I know it’s mostly excitement, I can tell he's nervous as we slowly pull down the zipper together.

As the garment bag falls away, my heart stops. There is no way this is happening, not right now! Elias’ hand drops from mine as he steps back slightly, as the people around me seem to let out a collective gasp. Tears burn my eyes, and before I can stop them, they’re falling down my face. This is NOT what I expected.

“Kinsey?” Elias’ voice is nervous, likely because I’ve yet to react to the scene in front of me. The jersey was not pink, or blue. In fact it wasn’t even a jersey at all. In place of the jersey we had all been anticipating, was a white onesie with red lettering across the front.

My hands at some point made their way to my face as I’m now using them to hold in the ugly sobs wracking my body. The tears in my eyes blurring the words in front of me, but it doesn’t matter, because I’ll never forget them. I’ll never unsee them. The five words that changed my life.

WILL YOU MARRY MY DADDY?

“Baby, turn around. Please?” Elias' voice is gentle when he speaks, but it sounds loud in the intense silence that has settled over everyone.

I slowly turn around, my knees feel weak, my vision is blurred, and my entire body is trembling. It’s a miracle I’m still standing, and even breathing for that matter. When I’ve finally turned around completely, my whole world stops. Elias slowly drops down on one knee, and as he looks up at me with those beautiful blue eyes no one else is here. It’s just him and I at this moment. A nervous smile on his face as he slowly pulls open the velvet box I hadn’t even noticed until now, I lose it. I collapse to my knees in front of him, arms wrapping tightly around his neck and as I cry into his shoulder.

“Last time I checked I’m the only one supposed to be on their knee for this.” Elias chuckles, and the room around us does the same, reminding me we aren’t alone. I lean back to look at him, but don’t let go. His face is blotchy, and his eyes are bloodshot as tears stream silently down his face. “Kins, you amaze me more and more each day. You’re an amazing woman, girlfriend, mother, and there is absolutely no question that you’d make the best wife. So, if you don’t mind, I’d like to make you mine. Kinsey Waters, will you marry me?”

“R-really?” The word is choked out in between breaths, as I search his face for hesitation.

“Yes!” He chuckles, lifting the ring up in front of my face. He shakes it teasingly, eyebrows raising as if to say ‘would I be lying?’.

“Yes.” The word tumbles past my lips, and I can’t stop it. Not that I want to. “Oh my god! Yes!” The squeal that escapes me is quickly drowned out by the cheers surrounding me, as I gather Elias’ face in my hands and crash my lips to his.

I cling to Elias like I don’t want to let go, grasping at his shirt, his hair, anything to ground myself. The kiss, the moment, this man; it’s all so overwhelming. I never want it to end.

As it turns out, not everyone is on board with that. “Okay! Okay! That’s enough, can we please find out about the baby. There will be time to fornicate after we’re all gone!” Brock yells from behind the camera, as more laughter fills the apartment.

Elias groans in response, but pulls away. I smile brightly as he slips the ring onto my finger, and for the first time I actually look at the ring. It’s simple, not too flashy, and yet I know if I saw the receipt I’d likely vomit at the price tag. It’s elegant. It’s everything I’ve ever dreamed of and so much more. “It’s perfect.” I breathe out, and Elias chuckles. Bringing my hand to his lips he places a gentle kiss to my knuckles before rising to his feet, helping me off the floor in the process.

“Please tell me you have the actual jersey somewhere.” I giggle, catching Brock tapping his foot impatiently out of the corner of my eye.

“I do, one sec!” Elias quickly leaves the room, and I’m immediately swarmed by the other WAGs and Brock. Brock is quick to zoom in on the ring with the camera, as he makes commentary that is definitely not needed, but something Elias and I will both enjoy when we watch the recording back later.

“Okay! ” Elias announces, as he makes his way back into the room. “Are you ready for the real thing?” He’s now holding an identical garment bag to the one we had unzipped minutes prior, and I can’t help but wonder just how difficult this whole surprise was to pull off.

Elias removes the first hanger from the stall, and replaces it with the new garment bag. He motions me over, a large grin on his face, as everyone goes back to where they had previously been standing.

Elias’ hand finds mine again, as we both grip the tiny zipper. It feels different this time. Maybe it’s the ring sitting on my finger, or maybe it’s just the adrenaline coursing through my veins. As the countdown begins around us for the second time today, I become more and more impatient.

3…

2…

My stomach flutters, and I can’t bring myself to look as Elias’ hand moves with my own to pull down the zipper. Instead I watch him. His eyes bright as they seemingly shimmer with excitement. He’s so beautiful, and he’s mine. My fiancé, and the father of my child. The new weight on my ring finger, and my round stomach physical proof of just that.

Almost instantaneously, I feel his hand fall from mine and it finds his face, along with the other. He falls again to one knee, but this time he cries into his hands as everyone around us erupts into cheers. The moment feels absolutely surreal, and overwhelming, and I have yet to even look at the tiny jersey in the garment bag. It doesn’t feel like it matters, not in this moment anyway. The only things that matter are that we are happy, life is good, it’s pink, and we are a family. It’s pink.

Immediately my eyes snap back to the now open garment bag that my eyes had previously skipped over. The tiny jersey hanging before me was a tiny replica of the one I was wearing. It’s pink alright. It’s a girl.

As I turn back to Elias, his arms wrap around my waist as he begins whispering against my stomach. Again, all of his words muttered in Swedish. All I can make out is ‘I love you”, and ‘my girls’, and even without understanding any of the other words, my heart swells and tears wet my cheeks again.

I card my fingers through his hair, the beautiful ring standing out even more against the blonde. Cameras and flashes, along with many cheers and exclamations of ‘I knew it!’, fill both the room and my heart. This is it, the family I’ve always craved. Although it may not be conventional, it’s mine.

———

The movie Elias is playing on the tv does little to hold my attention. Not even because it’s bad, in fact it’s one of my favourites, but my head is all over the place today.

“Everything okay love?” Elias asks, eyebrows furrowed in worry when I look at him. I nod, but it’s evidently not enough for him to believe me. “Talk to me Kins.” He continues, pressing pause on the movie, removing my only form of distraction.

“She doesn’t have a name.” I’m deflecting, and Elias knows it. Instead of pressing the issue further though, he smiles sweetly over at me. I’m stretched out comfortably across the majority of the couch, my legs draping across his lap. His hand lightly rubs my thigh in comfort.

“Well did you have any in mind?” I shake my head stretching my hands over my growing bump, my ring on full display. Elias clears his throat, and I can tell he wants to say something, but he looks nervous. “What about your mom?”

“What about her?” My response is unnecessarily rude, but his question caught me completely off guard. He’s been trying for months to get me to talk about her, and I’ve successfully shut him down every time.

“Did you maybe want to incorporate her name?” His eyes refuse to meet my own, instead they stay fixed on his fingers that are busying themselves with the hem of my sweats. The scoff that leaves my mouth is dramatic, sure, but I’m beyond pissed he’d even make that suggestion.

“Why would I? She’s done nothing for me.”

Elias’ face falls, and his eyes meet mine. The look of pity he sends me would normally make me feel better, but today it makes me even more angry. “I’m sorry, I just thought-“

“Yeah well you thought wrong didn’t you!” I snap, cutting him off as I rise to my feet. I stand up too quickly, and immediately I feel light headed. My knees buckle a bit, and my vision goes fuzzy momentarily. Elias is quick to his feet, hands finding my waist to steady me.

Once my vision is back, and I feel steady again, I push away from Elias. He calls after me, but I just keep walking.

It’s not his fault, and I’m being dramatic. As soon as I step into our shared room, I know I’m out of line. It’s embarrassing, my whole life is. How can I tell someone, like Elias, who loves their mom dearly, that when I think of the woman who gave birth to me, the thoughts aren’t pleasant. Very little about my childhood was. Yes, I sound ungrateful, and to a degree I am. There were always good times, always. However it’s hard to look back fondly on those times, when almost all of them are plagued with heartbreak or disappointment in some form or another.

As I close the bedroom door behind me angrily, I pull off my sweats and crawl into the empty bed. Though I’ve slept without Elias many nights given his schedule, the bed has never felt so lonely. Tears soak my pillowcase, but my body barely even reacts. No dramatic sobbing, or trembling. I just lay here, numb, tears flowing steadily.

After what felt like forever, but was likely only a few minutes, the bedroom door creaks open. I don’t dare to acknowledge Elias as he closes the door behind him quietly. I lay silently, my back to him, as he removes his shirt. The covers pull back, and I feel the bed dip as he climbs in behind me.

We both lay there silently for a moment, neither of us moving. Only a few inches separate us, but they feel like miles. I can’t take the silence, or the fact that I can practically hear the gears turning in my fiancé’s head.

“I’m sorry.” I mumble, sniffling slightly. Elias lets out a breath, before wrapping himself around me. He places a gentle kiss to my head, letting his hand travel under my shirt to rest on my bare stomach.

“Me too.” He whispers into my hair. “I should’ve known, I just thought because it was a tradition, that maybe you’d want to. I didn’t mean to upset you Kins. I’m really sorry.” His voice shakes a little, but he takes a breath again to steady himself before adding, “I love you.”

Before I can even respond to him, it hits me. I sit up quickly, and Elias’ arm falls into my lap. He pushes himself up on his elbows, eyes widening with concern. “Adeline.”

“What?” He is obviously confused, and I can’t blame him. I just ignored his entire apology to blurt out some random name.

“Adeline Irene Pettersson. Addy for short.” I pause, suddenly feeling embarrassed by my wave of excitement. “I don’t know. What do you think?” I pray the nerves aren’t apparent in my voice. Picking a name for a person is a big deal, it has to be perfect.

“Adeline.” Elias repeats the name out loud thoughtfully. The name rolls off of his tongue beautifully, and I can’t fight the smile growing on my face. “Kinsey, I think it’s perfect.”

Elias rolls onto my legs, his face resting just in front of my stomach. I lean back, and run a hand through his hair.

Placing soft kisses to my stomach, Elias once again whispers to the baby. “Adeline, you have the most amazing momma. She loves you so much. Probably more than she loves me, and that’s a lot.” I can’t help but giggle softly at his words, despite the tears in my eyes. “You’re so loved, and we cannot wait to meet you.”

I smile down at Elias, a single tear slipping down my face. He returns the smile, but it quickly falls as my eyes widen in shock. “She’s kicking!” I practically scream, grabbing Elias’ wrist, bringing his hand over to where I had just felt our daughter kick. He waits hopefully for more movement.

Moments pass, and still nothing. “C’mon Addy, do it for daddy.” I plead, my heart breaking at the disappointment on Elias’ face.

As if she had actually understood the task she’d been given, the baby kicks even harder than before. Her foot jams hard into my stomach, right against her father’s waiting palm. The feeling, although still relatively new for me, was an entirely new experience for him. His eyes nearly pop out of his head, jaw practically hitting the floor.

“A daddy’s girl already?” I giggle, another tear slipping down my cheek. “There is no hope for me now.”

Elias shakes his head, and glances up at me briefly. His eyes find mine for just a second, with a smile on his face he looks back at my stomach. “You’re not going to be a daddy’s girl or a momma’s girl are you Addy?” He whispers, as the baby kicks again as if in response to his question. “You’re gonna be your own girl. Strong and independent, just like your momma.”

Elias fell asleep like that a while later. Head resting on my hip, a hand on my stomach, while my hands threaded through his soft hair. Life is good. I have a family now, and I would do anything for either of them. “I will make sure you never question my love for you both. No one deserves that.” I whisper before drifting to sleep myself.

———

“Shit!” Something hitting the floor loudly, followed immediately by Elias cursing wakes me. I’m quickly on my feet and rushing down the hall. I had been asleep on the couch, having passed out while reading some parenting book. So, when I round the corner into our bedroom, I’m confused to find it lacking my fiancé’s presence.

“Elias? Where are you?” I call out, fear lacing my words.

“I’m in here sweetheart.” He calls back. I follow his voice further down the hall to the guest room.

As I reach the doorway of the guest room, the scene in front of me has a giggle bubbling up my throat. Elias is on the floor, surrounded by various tools and wooden pieces, a frustrated, and thoroughly exhausted look painting his face. “Everything okay in here?”

“Wha- oh yeah.” He huffs, tucking a pencil behind his ear. He’s holding two identical pieces of wood in either hand, letting out another noise of frustration.

“Whatcha doing?” I place the back of my hand over my mouth trying to suppress my laughter, though my smile is audible in my words.

“Well.” He groans, placing both pieces down before pulling himself to his feet. “The plan was to have the crib together before you woke up from your nap.” He walks to me placing his hands softly on my hips. “Though, as you can see, that hasn’t happened.”

“Well the instructions can’t be that confusing are they?” I smile, and his face falls slightly. “You did use the instructions. Right?” Elias’ cheeks darken, and his eyes fall to his feet.

“I thought I could do it on my own.” He mumbles, and there is no stopping my laugh now. He frowns in embarrassment, as I do my best to catch my breath.

“Babe! The instructions don’t do it for you, they are a guideline for you to do it. On your own.” I explain shaking my head with a giggle, and pushing past him into the room. I quickly find the instructions crumpled into a ball on the floor. I unfold it, and read through it quickly.

“Well?” His voice hopeful, as he watches me inspect the now crinkled paper.

“Yeah I have no idea.” I sigh, leaning against the wall. “Time to call in the boys I think.”

———

“Who thought it was wise to let the three of you do this?” I giggle, placing three beer down on the dresser.

“You?” Quinn answers, eyebrows furrowed in confusion while Elias sends me a glare.

“Oh right. Well I’ll just blame my poor judgement on the pregnancy.”

Elias is obviously getting quite flustered about the whole process. He curses in Swedish, while poor Quinn sits beside him looking scared for his life. Brock finally finishes screwing two pieces together, and beams over at me before grabbing a beer. “Thanks Kins!”

“You’re very welcome Brock.” I place a hand on my stomach and make a point of talking dramatically. “See Addy? That’s why uncle Brock is our favourite.”

“Addy?” Quinn and Brock both ask in unison.

“Adeline. Addy for short.” Elias explains, with a smile bright enough to blind someone.

“What do you guys think?” I ask, pulling my lip between my teeth. Sure, we don’t need anyone’s approval, but their opinions are very important to both Elias and myself.

“It’s cute!” Quinn smiles at me.

“Cute?” Brock sends Quinn a look I could only describe as a mix between shock and disappointment. My heart rate increases. Great Brock hates it! “It's absolutely beautiful!”

The sigh of relief that leaves my body has all three men laughing. I can’t help but join in, as the three of them begin bickering over the next step in the crib building process. They are always so chaotic, and yet I love every second of the chaos. This baby will likely learn all kinds of trouble from Brock and Quinn, but I certainly wouldn’t want it any other way.

———

As my pregnancy progresses, Elias becomes more and more doting almost daily. Not letting me lift anything bigger than a book, tying my shoes, helping me get dressed, you name it and he’s done it. Honestly, it’s become slightly annoying. On nights like this though, I truly appreciate it.

Elias sits on one end of the couch, as I lay across its length, my feet in his lap. He rubs the balls of my feet, as I write in the wedding planner he’d purchased not long after our engagement. He smiles softly at me, as I chew the end of my pen deep in thought as I stare at the guest list.

“How many groomsmen do you want?” The question falls past my lips as he reaches over to pull the pen from between my teeth.

“Well, definitely I’d want my brother as my best man, and probably three more guys. To keep it even just how you like it.” Elias winks, nudging my leg with a chuckle. I roll my eyes, but smile anyway, because he’s absolutely right. Even numbers are always nice.

“Okay.” Four people is reasonable, but now I have to find a maid of honour and three bridesmaids. That shouldn’t be hard, but I have no idea who to ask. Holly for sure was a given, but beyond her I wouldn’t even know where to start.

“Are we inviting your parents?” Elias’ question comes entirely out of left field, and it feels like someone punched me in the throat. Were we? Do I want to? Should I? They only know about Elias from a singular instagram post. They don’t even know about the baby.

Elias must see the gears in my head turning, because he sends me a soft smile. “Why don’t we make invitations for them, and you can decide later if you want to send them or not? No need to let it stress you out too much babe.”

Reluctantly I agree. Would I regret not inviting them? Would I regret inviting them?

———

I’ve spent the last week making the invitations, painting each by hand. Was it crazy to do? Yes absolutely. I know that, but I want them to be personal.

“Have you even moved since I left?” Elias’ voice startles me. He left some time ago for his morning practice, at that point I had already been up working on them for an hour. He chuckles as I shrug, and places a kiss to my temple. “You’re crazy.”

“And yet, you’re going to marry me.” I tease, sticking my tongue out at him.

He places a sweet kiss to my lips, pulling away with a smirk. “Who told you that?”

Rolling my eyes, I shove a hand playfully into his chest. “Well you don’t have to, but if I just spent a whole week making these invitations and there isn’t going to be a wedding,” I pause sending him a ‘threatening’ glare. “You better run Pettersson.”

Throwing his head back, Elias laughs heartily. Hand clutching his stomach, as he struggles to catch his breath. “You’re adorable.” He manages to get out between laughs.

“Great, so you’ll drop these off at the post office on your way to the rink later.” Punctuating my request with a wink.

A groan leaves my body as I pull myself from the chair at the kitchen table. Elias is quickly by my side in aid, no longer laughing. His face twists in concern, hands finding my hips. “Don’t worry babe, I’ll drop them off. Now come nap with me?” He doesn’t wait for an answer. Instead he wraps a hand softly around my wrist, pulling me gently in the direction of our bedroom.

I can’t argue. Instead I follow him, body aching from how I’d been sitting at the table all morning. Elias carefully pulls back the covers, rearranging my pillows, and strips down to just his sweats. I quietly thank him as I attempt to get comfortable, something that’s become increasingly more difficult as of late.

Climbing in behind me, Elias pulls me into his side and places a hand gently across my growing bump. “You going to let Momma rest Addy?” He asks softly, eyes already closing. I watch him closely, and a small smile forms on his face as he rubs gentle circles on my stomach.

“You know watching someone sleep is kind of weird.” His voice is gravely and my face flushes in embarrassment.

“I wasn’t-“

“Mhm.” His lips quirk up into a smirk, eyes not opening once. “Get some rest babe.”

“Fine.” I grumble, placing my head on his chest. His breathing evens out, and his heart beat is steady in my ear. I place a hand on his chest, curling into his side the best I can given the fact my stomach is in the way. My fingers lazily trace patterns across his bare chest, eyes beginning to feel heavy.

“Love you Kins.” Elias’ voice is low, and I can hear how tired he is.

“Love you too Lias.”

It’s not long before Elias is snoring quietly beneath me. Everything feels so right, here in his arms. Like nothing bad could happen. With the feeling of ease settling into my bones, it isn’t long before I’m falling asleep too.

———

Somehow I managed to sleep through Elias getting up and getting ready. When I finally wake up, he is long gone.

Picking up my phone, my face lights up at the message displayed on my screen.

Elias❤️: I let you sleep. You needed it. Don’t worry though, the invitations were mailed. There is some pizza in the fridge for you if you want it. See you tonight xx

I respond with a quick thank you text, making sure to wish him luck with his game. Grabbing some pizza I settle into the sofa, and turn the game on.

Watching Elias play hockey always manages to put a smile on my face. He’s so incredibly talented, and extremely humble. It’s one of the many things I love about him.

No matter how important hockey is to him though, he always makes sure I know that our family is more important. Always. It’s the reassurance I never knew I needed, but Elias has always made sure it’s there without being asked.

———

Lazy Sundays have become somewhat routine for Elias and I. We wake up, Elias works out while I write, we eat breakfast together, and we spend the rest of the day working on our own things. Today has gone a lot like that.

Currently I’m editing some of my writings while Elias scrolls through Instagram from his spot beside me. Aside from the clicking of my keyboard as I type, and an occasional chuckle from Elias, the room is peaceful. That is until there is a knock on the door. “Babe can you answer that please?”

Elias hums in response, pulling himself from the couch. We aren’t expecting anyone, but it’s not uncommon for one of the boys to drop in, or to have someone trying to sell us something on a Sunday. So much to my surprise it’s a woman’s voice at the door, asking for me specifically. “Is Kinsey here?”

Elias walks back into the living room, a look of confusion on his face. “There is someone at the door for you babe?” His statement sounds more like a question, and has my heart rate increasing. Who could be at the door looking for me? What happened?

Setting my laptop on the coffee table, I pull myself awkwardly from the couch. I take a moment to adjust my tshirt and fix my hair before rounding the corner. The figure standing in the doorway, has me stopping dead in my tracks. My face pales, as my body goes rigid. This must be some sick joke.

Grasped in her hand is an envelope. One I recognize well, because I had sealed it weeks ago. I knew making that invite was a bad idea.

“Mom?”

———

Another cliff hanger? Why not? Let me know what you think! Part 4 is going to take some time, but I will get it out eventually I promise!

Tagging: @anastasiyaigorevnadobrodevskaya @heatherawoowoo @dripkingpetey @ya-pucking-nerd @jonnytoews19

#FiAB #elias pettersson #elias pettersson fanfiction #nhl fan fiction #nhl fanfic #nhl fanfiction #hockey fanfic #hockey fan fiction #hockey fanfiction #nhl #hockey

53 notes · View notes

giveemhales · 3 years

Text

Moodboards for Sterek AUs: 20/?

For @averysterekwinter day 3 (Theme: snow/ice)

Snow Day

(Plus here’s a fluffy ficlet, the rest under the cut because it got a bit long)

The first thing Stiles noticed when he woke up was that outside was white.

It was snowing, and not the drizzle of snowflakes that would melt upon hitting ground that was more usual for the area. No, there was a thick layer of white over everything in sight.

The second thing he noticed was the thing that woke him up: a text on his phone. He didn’t want to call it hypervigilance, because that implied a whole host of other issues he didn’t want to address, but even just the vibration of his phone from a single text was enough to rouse him.

It was an inconvenient habit (it was winter break and he wanted to sleep in, dammit), but he was grateful he had been roused when he read the text.

The text was from Derek and simply said Come to pack house ASAP.

Rest of fic under the cut!

He considered calling or texting to ask what was wrong, but he had gotten enough texts like that to know he wouldn’t get a response. If he wanted any answers, he would have to go to the pack house.

Stiles and Derek had been dating for around a year now, but they rarely texted. Well, Derek rarely texted. Stiles texted and Derek sometimes reluctantly replied. He wasn’t a big fan of technology. Kind of annoying considering Stiles was usually away at his campus, but Derek’s almost weekly visits more than made up for it.

So seeing this text immediately concerned Stiles. Pair that with the unusual snow, and he assumed the worst.

His mind whirred with different possibilities. Did a witch cast a spell? Was Jack Frost making a visit? Was some new dark Druid coming to fuck with nature?

He knew he was being a bit irrational, but he had learned to assume the worst when it came to Beacon Hills, and he could count on one hand the number of times he’d seen actual snow at home in his lifetime. His past experiences didn’t allow him the luxury of excitement about novelties.

Overall, the combination of the unusual weather and the text from Derek calling for an emergency meeting had Stiles on edge and falling out of his bed in his haste to head out.

He didn’t have a good snow jacket so he just put on as many layers as was comfortable and a coat. He grabbed some gloves, and mourned for his converse which would surely not do well in the snow.

Stiles rushed out to his car, noting his dad had already left for the station. He was grateful to note the roads had already been cleared, as he wasn’t sure if his jeep could handle snow and ice.

He parked when he reached the edge of the preserve. They had cleared a dirt road so that they would be able to drive to the pack house, but it wasn’t an official street so the city had no reason to clear it of snow.

Stiles understood why it wasn’t cleared of snow, but he was still annoyed. Fortunately, the snow wasn’t slushy, so at least his feet weren’t soaked. Still, his converse and jeans did little to protect him from the cold, and he walked as quickly as he could, while also watching out for any possible ice patches.

By the time the pack house was in sight, Stiles was shivering, and ready to yell at Derek for making him come all this way when phones were a thing.

Derek was standing in front of the pack house, and Stiles had no qualms about yelling and walking at the same time.

“Hey, jerk, there better be a good reason you called me out here, like dead bodies good reason. I am just a human without all the werewolf heat mojo, and I’m on break, so there are not a whole lot of reasons I should be anywhere except in bed sleeping right now.”

Stiles couldn’t really make out Derek’s face, but he knew it wasn’t as remorseful as it should have been.

Stiles sighed loudly and continued marching toward the house, looking down again to make sure he didn’t step in anything which would make him even more uncomfortable.

It was as soon as he looked down that he felt it, the cold becoming even colder, ice running through his veins.

He was under attack!

He looked up with a gasp, eyes searching for the assailant, for what cruel monster had thrown a snowball right at him.

He was surprised to see that all of the pack had appeared in front of the house (damn werewolf speed), all wearing smirks of varying deviousness.

Derek had his arm still raised, and Stiles knew he was the perpetrator (he wasn’t even wearing gloves but already had another snowball in his other hand, he clearly had an unfair advantage).

In fact, everyone had a snowball prepared, and they were all staring right at Stiles with an evil gleam.

“Whoa! Who decided everyone would team up against me? This seems totally unfair.”

“It’s not everyone against you,” Scott said.

“It’s every man for himself,” Isaac finished for him, and threw a snowball right at Derek’s face.

And then it was chaos.

Stiles made as many snowballs as he could while the werewolves were distracted amongst themselves, thanking god he had thought to put on gloves.

When Stiles was pretty sure he had a good amount of ammo stockpiled, he called to Scott. “Scotty, it’s snow time!”

Ever since they were young, when they had any sort of battle, whether it be nerf guns or water balloons, “It’s show time,” was their codeword to create an alliance. They would join forces and blindside their opposite.

(Stiles may or may not have been waiting his whole life to get to use that snow time pun).

Stiles began constructing a kick ass fortress as Scott ran over and began throwing Stiles’ snowballs at a pace only werewolves were capable of.

When he popped up to check how Scott was doing, he was blindsided by three rapid succession snowballs right to the face.

All from his boyfriend.

“Rude! And totally unwarranted!” Stiles shouted.

Derek glared at him. “It was revenge for that awful pun.”

Stiles gaped. “Oh you have snow idea what you’ve just started.”

He ducked before Derek had even thrown the next snowball.

The battle lasted close to another hour (Stiles cursed werewolf endurance), hundreds of snowballs and a handful of puns thrown.

It was at the time that his gloves were soaked through and he thought his fingers might fall off if he made one more snowball that he decided to call it quits.

He turned to look at Scott who was hiding with him behind the fortress and gave one nod. They stood up in unison, shouting their surrender with their hands up.

They were immediately pelted with a flurry of balls.

Stiles’ arms fell to his side. “Really? When we were surrendering? Do you snow snow bounds?”

The rest of the pack stared at him with blank stares.

“Fine, whatever, clearly nobody appreciates me nor understands my genius. Sorry my puns are too advanced for you all.” Stiles shook his head in disappointment and began to head to the house.

And promptly fell on his ass.

The rest of the pack burst into laughter (including Scott, the traitor, who was quick to abandon him), and Stiles glared at the sky from where he lay, cursing the world for this injustice.

Derek walked over, a smirk clear on his face while he looked down at Stiles. “You good?”

Stiles grumbled. “Yes. I meant to do that.”

Derek looked even more amused. “Oh really? And why is that?” Derek asked even as he offered a hand to help Stiles up.

“So I could do this!” Stiles shouted as he pulled down Derek with all his might with the offered hand. He knew Derek must not have been expecting it, because he actually managed to pull him down with an exclamation.

His victory was short lived, as he realized the consequences of his actions. He groaned. “God, you’re so heavy.”

“And you’re so dumb.” Derek got up on his elbows so he was slightly above Stiles.

Stiles stared dreamily up at his boyfriend, deciding to ignore the insult. “Hey, did it hurt?”

Derek raised an eyebrow. “You mean when you pulled me down? Not really, I had a squishy human to cushion my fall.”

Stiles rolled his eyes. “No, when you fell from heaven,” Stiles smiled widely, “Because you’re a snow angel.” He rolled them so he was above Derek.

Derek sighed heavily but remained limp as Stiles grabbed his arms, sliding them up and down through the snow in the classic snow angel motion.

Stiles rolled away from Derek when he got as close to an angel as he could and made his own, laughing the whole time.

Derek sat up from where he had been manhandled. “Why do I put up with you?”

“It’s because you glove me!” Stiles shouted, removing one of his gloves (which at this point had become so soaked from snow that it was just making him more cold) and tossing it at Derek.

“Don’t take off your gloves, you dumbass!” Derek said, looking scandalized. Stiles couldn’t really blame him for his concern. Stiles was a human, and therefore susceptible to pesky things like hypothermia, but Derek should have thought of that before he started a snowball battle.

Derek stood up and lifted Stiles up, hauling him over his shoulder.

Stiles didn’t really mind, since it got him out of the snow and gave him a great view of Derek’s ass.

“Just admit you’re s-mitten!” He took off his other glove and slapped Derek’s ass with it.

~~~

An hour later, Stiles was wearing multiple layers of Derek’s (dry) clothes, wrapped in a blanket, cuddling against his furnace boyfriend, surrounded by the pack.

“Well, I don’t know about you guys, but even if some people were needlessly cruel to me today, I had an ice time.”

The pack groaned, except Scott, who added, “Icy what you did there!”

Stiles leaned over to high five Scott.

“I will kick out the next person to make a pun,” Derek interjected.

Stiles rolled his eyes, even as he cuddled back into Derek’s side. “Ugh, whatever you say, Frosty.”

Derek glared down at Stiles, looking prepared to retaliate.

Stiles put his hands up in mock surrender. “That wasn’t a pun, that was a reference.”

“Well it wasn’t a very good one, since Frosty was a holly jolly soul.”

Stiles beamed. “Oh my god, my boyfriend knows his Christmas classics. I think I’m in love.”

“We know,” the rest of the pack responded in unison, but Stiles was too busy staring up at his boyfriend in adoration to care.

~~~

Later that night, when they laid together in bed, Stiles looked up at Derek, and his fondness shined bright. “I love you.”

Derek looked back at him, equally fond, and smirked and said, “I know.”

Stiles wasn’t sure if he wanted to hit him for ruining the moment, or kiss him senseless for quoting Star Wars. He did neither, because he couldn’t let this opportunity pass.

“You mean, you snow?”

The ensuing slap on the back of his head was well worth it.

130 notes · View notes

darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 4 years

Text

Duplicitous

Warnings: noncon/dubcon elements (rough sex, oral, cuckolding), deception.

This is dark!Loki and ft. some Steve and explicit. 18+ only.

Summary: Loki is new to the team but receives a cool welcome from those at the Avengers compound. Assigned to complete his orientation, you try to start anew with the former villain of New York.

Note: Still working on Omerta and From Eden. Tbh, the last week has been a tough one mentally but I’m working on that. I’ve also been all over the place helping my mother get settled after moving to town. Whatever, life is life. Thanks to all your wonderful people.

Leave some feedback, like and reblog if you can <3

It was a long morning. Much of it had been spent with Tony and as any other meeting with the man, it swung between amiability and antagonism. It was easy to guess why he was agitated as he was determined to thrust the crux of his displeasure upon you. Tony was never one to just roll over and he held a grudge well, but he wasn’t heartless and Thor was one of his best.

It was only unfortunate that the Asgardian had deemed himself a package deal. If his home was to be Earth, it wouldn’t be his brother’s too. Loki was different now, he sought redemption, to right his wrongs. It was a hard sell but the god was relentless and as usual, he prevailed.

“I want you to make this hell,” Tony’s words echoed in your head as you flipped through the workplace standards binder. “You are going to go through this with a fine tooth comb until that jackass can’t take anymore.”

These things were never easy. Going over protocol, safety regulations, workplace behaviour and etiquette. Usually you did your best to condense it all to make it more palatable; as much for you as the new hires. Now Tony wanted you to torture this man via dry ordinances as he wasn’t allowed to do so physically. The boss wouldn’t sign off until he was sure Loki suffered, though you were just as certain Tony had no plans to sign off on anything.

You checked the clock, it was almost noon already. You’d set up the conference room for your first session. The binders and files stacked neatly on one end as you sat in the middle.

You rose and looked through the transparent wall. Pepper’s heels raced by as she hurried to Tony’s office with her phone at her ear. The usual chaos of the tower.

You stepped out into the hall and made your way to the kitchen and popped a capsule in the machine before you found a mug. You added water to the machine and listened to the whir as it spat orange pekoe from its nozzle. You hated the little pods of leaves but you didn’t have time to wait on the kettle. You added a touch of milk and checked your watch before you stole one of the scones left in the box Pepper had strolled in with that morning.

You cradled the crummy scone in a paper towel and as you neared the conference room, you found a broad pair of shoulders awaiting you. You had still not grown used to Thor’s lack of hair. Loki’s dark head appeared just on the other side of him and your dread sank into your stomach.

“Hey,” You approached. “Just in time.”

“My lady!” Thor boomed as he turned to greet you. “How are you?”

“Well, and you?” You couldn’t help but smile. “How is the city treating you so far?”

“We have seen many things,” He announced. “Many delicious foods.”

Loki was silent, his eyes dull as he resisted rolling them at his brother.

“And are you doing more exploring today?” You wondered.

“Eh, I gotta see Tony but I figured I’d see Loki in for his first day,” He lowered his voice. “I told him to behave.”

“I can hear you,” Loki grumbled.

“Yes, well you already know I told you to behave,” Thor said. “So… behave.”

“Yes, mother,” Loki replied snidely.

Thor huffed and shook his head.

“I fear I’ve set him into a mood already,” Thor said. “I apologize.”

Loki blinked in exasperation but said nothing.

“Well, I guess we should begin and you should see Tony sooner than later,” You offered. “He called for the jet so he might not be here much longer.”

“Thank you,” Thor clapped your shoulder. “I promise, he has changed.”

You nodded and gave a weak smile. Thor left you and you turned to Loki. He stared at you a moment then his eyes drifted to the transparent door.

“Allow me,” He pushed the door inward and stepped inside to let you past.

You looked down at your full hands and thanked him as you entered. You set your mug and scone down but didn’t touch them. You had hoped to enjoy them before his arrival but for once, Thor was timely. Or perhaps that was Loki’s doing. He seemed the more stringent of the two.

“Loki,” You waved to the chair across from you. “Nice to meet you.”

“Again,” He neared slowly and grabbed the back of the chair. “Did you forget?”

“A brief meeting, yes,” You said. “But I’ve been told you weren’t yourself.”

He sat carefully and leaned an elbow on the arm of the chair.

“I remember it though,” He assured you.

“I tend to remember other events that day a little more clearly,” You countered.

“Mmm,” His brow twitched. “Yes, you Midgardians do cling to the more extreme details of my last visit.”

You wanted to scoff. Your last meeting had very nearly killed you. As creatures flew upon strange machines outside the windows of Stark Tower and buildings were decimated, you had caught a piece of shrapnel as one of the invaders crashed through the windows. You still wore the scar across your side; still remembered the god behind Tony’s bar, lecturing you upon your inferiority.

“This is a new start,” You slid a binder over to him. “Though not an exciting one.”

His fingers tapped on the blue cover as you opened your own and took a sip of your tea.

“What is this?” He opened his slowly.

“The rules,” You answered. “Combat regulations, mission protocol, office standards… the fun stuff.”

“And did my brother have to sit through this tripe?” He asked.

“Your brother didn’t try to invade New York,” You said sharply. “And Tony likes him.”

“Ah, Stark,” He smirked. “Of course.”

“Did you want a tea? Anything to drink?” You asked.

His eyes flicked up and he considered you. “Very kind, but I’d rather we just begin.”

“Right,” You looked down and took a breath. “Probably best.”

🐍

The clock at the end of the room read past six. You yawned and rubbed your eyes. All the little quizzes and evaluations Tony had tacked on were taking a lot longer than you expected. Loki looked just as uninterested though he read along all the same and had yet to falter.

You sniffed and leaned back in your chair.

“Ready to call it a day?” You asked.

“Up to you,” He said coolly. “To be honest, it has been slightly preferable to my brother’s grating presence. Slightly.”

“He’s not that bad,” You chuckled.

“He’s not your brother,” Loki countered. “Have you ever had the pleasure of eating with him? It’s disgusting.”

You held back another laugh and shook your head. Your eyes caught a figure on the other side of the clear wall. Steve squinted through and pointed at Loki with a tilt of his head. You blinked and shrugged. Loki noticed and glanced over his shoulder.

“Ah,” He slowly turned back. “The golden avenger has returned.”

“Well…” You tapped your fingers on the table. “I am, uh, late.”

“Late?” He raised his brows.

Steve went to the door and opened it carefully.

“Sorry to interrupt,” He poked his head in. But I’ve been, uh…” He looked at Loki warily. “Texting you.”

“We were just finishing up,” You assured him.

“Hello, Captain,” Loki pivoted his chair.

“Steve,” The other man corrected. “Thanks.”

“Ah,” Loki’s mouth twitched and he looked between the two of you. He stood up and turned back to you. “I didn’t realise. I shall see myself out.”

“We’ll pick this up tomorrow. Same time,” You said.

“I look forward to it,” He said dryly.

Loki took the black jacket he’d slung over the back of his chair halfway through your session and nodded at Steve as he slipped past him. He strode along the wall and offered a two finger wave before he disappeared. Steve watched him with hands on his hips.

“What--”

“You haven’t talked to Tony?”

“I didn’t think he was serious,” Steve turned to you. “He didn’t--”

“Oh, you guys need to calm down,” You rolled your eyes. “He was perfectly… tame.”

You pulled out your phone and saw several notifications from Steve, along with a few emails. One was marked with a red exclamation which deemed it urgent and you opened it up. You glossed through it quickly.

“Steve,” You looked up. “You didn’t?--”

“It was Bucky too,” He said evasively. “We were just doing our job.”

“You collapsed a bridge,” You frowned. “Why is it always you?”

“No casualties,” He pleaded.

“Only me,” You scowled. “I’ll be buried in the paperwork.”

He lowered his chin guiltily. He neared shyly as you packed up your bag.

“How can I ever make it up to you?” He touched your arm.

You narrowed your eyes at him as you collected your mug and half-eaten scone.

“Cheesecake?” He smiled.

“You can’t buy me with dessert,” You brushed past him and he followed you out into the hall.

“Really?” He said. “I know you like a little whip cream on top.” You entered the kitchen and rinsed out the cup and placed it in the rack. “But… we could try it on something else.”

You faced him and fought not to smirk. You shook your head.

“So the cheesecake is… foreplay?”

“Part of it,” He got closer and his hand settled on your hip.

“Hmm,” You hummed as his lips hovered over yours. “Strawberry cheesecake?”

“My favourite,” He purred and kissed you.

🐍

The next day, you found Loki waiting in the conference room. You had spent your morning trying to clean up after the super soldiers. You pushed through the clear door and rounded the table as you greeted Loki.

“You’re early,” You said as you took your seat. The binders were as they had been the day before.

“All the better to get this over with,” He said as you sat and rolled your chair closer to the table.

“You know, I am starting to think it would be a lot easier if you and Tony just had it out,” You opened the binder. “Well, easier for me.”

Loki snickered and flipped through his own binder.

“You and the golden boy,” He ventured as you found the right page. “Adorable.”

You glanced up at him and furrowed your brow. You cleared your throat and looked back to the pages.

“So, we were going over required training.” You said.

“Is that allowed in your little Midgardian handbook?” He prodded.

“We will cover that,” You assured him. “Not that I think you need to worry about it.”

“Hmm, no,” He mused. “I wouldn’t.”

You sat back and sighed.

“It might be easier if you at least tried to make friends here,” You said.

“Friends?” He lifted a brow. “Who should I start with? Stark? Oh, I’m sure he’d be open to a little reconciliation. Or maybe Rogers? Hmm? He really seems the forgiving type. Or that little redhead thing? She seems peaceable.”

“You could begin with me,” You offered. “I’m not here to provoke you.”

He blinked and shifted in his chair.

“Have I been unkind?” He wondered.

“Not exactly,” You answered. “But not everything needs to be a… snipe.”

He considered you and his hand spread over the binder.

“It wasn’t meant to be,” He said evenly. “I bear you no hostility, though perhaps I do owe you an apology.”

“Apology?” You echoed.

“Regardless of the circumstance, I said what I said that day, it was cruel and there is no excuse,” He said. “You were wounded and I would have watched you die. It might have been a different version of me, but it was me. I apologise.”

“You don’t have to--” You touched your side without thinking. “Thank you.”

“And I will do my best to withhold my contempt. You do not deserve it.”

You were a bit shocked by his candour. You pressed your lips together and straightened the binder in front of you.

“That’s a good start,” You said. “So, now that’s cleared up…”

“What page was it?” He nodded and looked to his binder. He leaned it against the edge of the table as his eyes roved over the tight font.

🐍

The rest of the week went much the same. However, Tony’s plan to chip away at Loki seemed not to be working as your patience wore away and the Asgardian remained ever stoic. He was almost amused as he humoured your Midgardian codes.

Your weekend was well earned but didn’t allow for much rest. Steve was due to leave again that week so you had to squeeze what time you could out of him. It could be a couple days, or a week, or two. He could never really say and you never expected him to. You knew how it was when you got into the relationship.

All the while, you tried to catch up on the work delayed by Tony’s pointless ploy to drive Loki out. You hated that he had chosen you for this though you doubted he’d trust any other to do so.

On Monday, Loki was late. You were surprised. He had always been annoyingly early. You texted Steve and he replied with a heart emoji. The door whisked open and had your phone face down on the table. Loki sat heavily across from you, a scrape across his forehead and a split in his lip. His cheek was slightly swollen beneath his eye but he seemed barely fazed by his injuries.

“Oh my god,” You said. “What happened to you?”

“Training,” He smiled and hissed as the gesture pulled at the cut. “My brother… got a bit carried away.”

“And how does he look?”

“To the detriment of my pride, better than I do,” He said. “I did try to restrain myself, though my tongue does not obey me as well as my body.”

“Let me get you some ice,” You stood.

“Really, I’m fine.” He insisted.

“You’re bleeding.” You said as blood began to trickle from the split in his lip.

“I thought I’d stemmed it,” He reached up. “Forgive my lateness.”

“That’s the last thing I’m worried about,” You scoffed. “One second.”

You went to the kitchen and grabbed an ice pack from the freezer and the first aid kit from beneath the counter. You returned to Loki and set your wares down. You flipped open the metal box and grabbed an alcohol wipe.

“Did you clean the cuts at least?” You asked.

“I can handle it,” He assured you.

“Sorry, sorry,” You flicked the packet. “I sound just like my mother right now.”

“I do appreciate it though.”

He took the little paper packet and tore it open. He blindly wiped the cut along his hairline and that on his lip. You offered him some gauze and he thanked you before he pressed it to his lip. When the blood slowed, he grabbed the ice pack and held it to his cheek.

He stood and you quickly backed away as he tossed his mess in the bin. You packed up the kit as he sat again.

“Thank you,” He said again and you pushed aside the metal box.

“You know, it’s not too uncommon to have a bloody lip here,” You rounded the table and sat across from him. “You good though?”

“Very,” He said with a slight smirk. “I have been anticipating this section most fervently.” He opened the file before him. “Office etiquette. I suppose I am sorely lacking in that.”

You almost laughed at his quip. He wasn’t so cold as that first day and you no longer saw the villainous invader before you. You saw someone wildly out of place. For a moment, you felt bad for him. The glimmer in his eyes quickly smothered it and you wondered for a moment. This was Loki; he could more than handle himself.

🐍

Steve showed up only a couple hours later and waved at you through the glass. He had his bag. He was leaving. You tried not to stutter as you continued reading through the clauses before you and Loki seemed barely bothered by your momentary lapse. You swept a paper out of another folder.

“So, another pop quiz,” You said sourly. “While you fill that out, I’ll just excuse myself for a moment.”

“Very well,” He accepted and played with the pen.

“Ten minutes.” You promised as you stood and slid the paper to him.

He nodded and looked dully at the sheet. You hurried around the table and out into the hall. Steve retreated and you followed so you could not be seen through the transparent wall.

“Going?” You asked glumly.

“I shouldn’t be long. It’s an easy in and out.” He rubbed your arm.

“Oh? And who’s going with you?” You asked.

“Um, Sam,” He said.

“Ha, sure, easy,” You kidded.

“And what about him?” Steve nodded to the conference room. “How long’s this gonna take?”

“Well, with all Tony’s bookmarks, probably the rest of my life,” You grumbled.

“Gee,” He frowned. “I don’t envy you.”

“Rub it in,” You huffed. “I’ll miss you.”

“You too,” He leaned in to kiss you.

Your lips met and you grabbed onto his shoulder. You wanted to kiss him forever just to make him stay. But he had to go and you had to get back to work.

“While interoffice relationships are permitted so long as the proper legal protocol is followed, open displays of affection are prohibited as they are unprofessional and unseemly in the workplace and may lead to discomfort of others.” Loki’s voice cut through the air.

You pulled away from Steve and looked to him aghast. You heard Steve sigh and he hitched his duffle up on his arm. Loki held up the paper and grinned.

“Sorry to interrupt but I finished and… well, I think I’ve learned a lot,” He taunted.

“Apparently,” You turned back to Steve as he glared at Loki. “Sorry, I gotta go but… let me know when you can that you’re safe.”

“Of course,” He tore his eyes from Loki. “I love you.”

“You too,” You patted his chest. “See ya.”

“Yeah,” He shook his head and shot Loki one last sneer. “Bye.”

You watched Steve go and turned back to Loki. You hid your irritation and neared to take his paper.

“Thanks,” You said as you swept back into the conference room.

You sat and checked his work. Perfect, as ever. You were certain he didn’t care about any of this but he never wavered. You added it to the pile and looked up at him. He leaned back in his chair coolly.

“Did I pass, teacher?” He teased.

“Why did you do that?” You asked.

“Just practicing my learning,” He smirked.

You shook your head at him and flipped the page.

“Moving on,” You said.

“Must be difficult. Being apart so much.”

“We don’t have to talk about it,” You said. “It’s personal.”

“Apologies,” He said. “I was only attempting small talk.”

“It’s okay,” You said. “I just… to be quite honest, I’m cursing Tony as much as you probably are.”

🐍

Another week of tedium and you were ready to tap out. And you were further irritated that Loki showed no sign of distress. He was just as cool as ever as you went through the ridiculous mandates. Just as irksome as you glanced at your phone between sections. His curious, almost taunting eyes, lit up along with your screen.

But you kept on and on Friday, you let him leave a full twenty minutes early. You stayed another hour as you caught up on the rest of your workload. You barely made a dent but you just wanted to go home and hide in bed. Your empty bed. You hoped Steve would return soon.

You yawned as you drove to your building. Your fatigue mounted as you rode the elevator to your floor and neared the door of your condo. It was unlocked. You hesitated and pushed inside. You blinked as you looked around. The lamp in the living room was on but no other light shone and nothing seemed out of place.

You stepped further inside as you dug your hand into your purse and clutched the can hidden in its depths. Another light came from your bedroom door and you carefully crept down the hall in your heels to peek inside. You pulled out the can and screamed as a shadow appeared in the doorway.

You didn’t have a chance to spray the mace as it was batted out of your hand and the surprised chuckle eased your fears. Steve grabbed your arms as he steadied you. He was freshly showered and smelled of his sandalwood soap. He wore only the pair of old grey sweats with the hole in the knee. You shook your head at yourself and smiled.

“When did you get back?” You asked.

“About an hour ago. Didn’t think I’d beat you home but I had to try,” His hands slipped from your arms and he embraced you. “You miss me?”

“Did you miss me?” You countered.

“Of course,” He bent and kissed your lips, rocking you slightly. He pulled away and lifted a brow. “You look tired. Too tired?”

You giggled and hit his chest. He released you and slid your purse from your arm.

“Don’t worry, I can do all the work,” He offered. “You just get… comfortable.”

He backed away and set your bag on his dresser. You glanced at the chair where you usually put it and shrugged. You stepped out of your shoes and tucked them down beside the dresser. You stood and removed your blazer. Steve moved slowly to the bed and dropped down on his stomach as he watched you, his head cradled in his hand.

You felt like blushing. He hadn’t been like this in a while. The last few times he returned, he’d been tired; quiet. You gave him his space and he came to you after a while. You knew he needed the chance to decompress but sometimes it felt like he thought your time without him was easier. That your job was easier.

You unbuttoned your blouse and tossed it over the chair, shimmied out of your trousers and let them wrinkle on the seat. Your back ached from sitting all day in the chair and your muscles were tense from weeks sitting across from Loki. He was easier to deal with but that little glimmer of paranoia remained.

You unhooked your bra and swung it around before you let it fly across the room. You laughed as Steve hummed and you teasing pushed your fingers under the elastic of your panties. You paused and gave him a cheeky look. He groaned and perked up.

“You need help?” He asked.

“Well, not with these,” You shoved the panties down your thighs and they fell to your feet. “But I wouldn’t mind a nice massage. My back is killing me.”

“Hmm,” He sat up. His pants did little to hide his impatience. “I could do a massage.”

He patted the bed as he shuffled back to the edge. You went to the bed and climbed up. You eased yourself down onto the mattress, your face nestled between the pillows as you sighed. His hand brushed your leg and ran up to squeeze your ass. He urged your legs apart and moved between them.

“You’re tense,” He said as he pushed his hands over your ass and up your back. His fingers traced the scar along your side and lingered there. It was always so sensitive and made you shiver.

“It’s been a long week,” You turned your head to speak.

“Oh yeah?” He wondered. “He… giving you a hard time?”

“Not really but… I don’t wanna think about work.”

“Then don’t,” He ran his thumbs along your shoulder blades and drew a groan from you.

You turned back to the pillows and stretched your arms up around your head. His hands kept moving, firm, attentive, magic. Your voice got louder and louder as he found the knots and the little aches perfectly. It was rare for him to be so thorough. Often he was thinking so much about what came next, he barely glossed across your flesh.

He gripped your hips and you felt his breath on your skin. He laid a trail of kisses along your back; lower, lower, lower. He dragged his lips over your ass and nibbled your thigh, then your other. He urged your pelvis up and you obliged. You bent your legs just a little to support yourself, your head buried in the pillows.

He got down on his elbows as he pushed his head between your legs and slid his tongue along your folds. He gently began to lap and your thighs began to tingle. The flick of his tongue grew more deliberate as he brought his hand up to tease your clit. He poked your entrance with his tongue and hummed.

Your fingers closed around the duvet and you lifted your head. You whined as you felt the pressure building. You breathed through your teeth and your entire body shook. You were surprised by your orgasm, how quickly it swelled and crashed. Your thighs quivered and you bit down on the corner of the pillow as you came.

He kept on and you whimpered. Your voice floated around you as your entire being buzzed. His purrs sent a shiver along your spine as his tongue kept on. Then you heard your name. A hollow tone. Confused, familiar.

The warmth of Steve’s mouth left your cunt and you turned. Frantic you stared at the man in the doorway of your bedroom. You looked between him and the identical figure kneeling on the end of the bed. What the fuck?

The Steve in the doorway stormed the other. They met at the end of the bed and you were almost crushed beneath them as you backed up against the headboard. Scared, you watched them tussle until they rolled onto the floor with a crash. The grunts were startlingly similar.

You crawled across the bed and looked down at the struggle. The panic brewed in your chest. You hopped off and grabbed the naked Steve’s shoulder.

“Get off! What’s going on?!” You pulled and found yourself flung back.

You tried to grab him again and found yourself drawn back by an invisible force around your neck. You were dragged back to the bed, almost choking as the blankets wrinkled beneath you as you tried to latch onto them. You stopped at the headboard and felt along your throat, a searing pain in your palm as the unearthly bound tightened.

You kicked out and the sounds of struggle seemed to fade. You heard Steve groan and watched the naked one stand. He went to the chair and dumped your clothes from it. He carried it to the end of the bed and lifted the other onto the seat. Eerie green lights wrapped around his wrists and ankles, a thicker one snaked around his throat and his lashes fluttered as he tried to blink away his daze.

“What--”

As the naked Steve turned to you, his blond hair darkened to black and his broad shoulders shrunk, a slightly slimmer and taller figure before you. You wriggled and tried to pull at the restraint at your throat once more. You hissed as your hands burned terribly and rescinded them.

“Why?” You kicked your legs and they were stilled by the same odd green glow. “Loki! Stop.”

“Stop? Why, dear…” He turned and slapped Steve’s cheek. Steve shook his head and his blue eyes seemed to focus. “...you were just starting to have fun.”

“Leave him alone,” You tried to get up but were drawn back even more. Your arms were forced out and your ankles tugged further apart. “Loki!”

“Oh, I love to hear my name on your lips,” He purred as he came closer.

He drew a slow circle in the air and your body turned so your head was at the foot of the bed. He knelt and turned your head as he pressed his lips to yours. He devoured you as he pushed his tongue into your mouth.

“Loki!” Steve barked and you heard the chair creak slightly before he cried out. “Lo-ki!” His voice was strained. “Don’t touch--”

Steve’s shouts fizzled out as Loki drew away. You were flipped sharply onto your stomach and you squealed as your head spun. Loki climbed up swiftly and straddled your ass. He ran his hands over your back and squeezed your shoulders.

He leaned over you and grabbed a handful of your hair. He lifted your head so your eyes met Steve’s.

“You want to hate me, Rogers, but you haven’t any reason,” He taunted. “So let me give you one.”

“What do you think Thor will do when he finds out? Tony will--”

“You can tell my brother but he’s forgiven me worse and Tony, well, he could have an unfortunate accident in that lab of his,” Loki slithered. “Or maybe this darling little toy might break before I’m done with her. Pity.”

“You--”

“Would.” Loki insisted as he dropped your head and sat back. He hit the back of your head roughly. “This isn’t love, Rogers. It’s not even a crush. This is just… fun.” His fingers crept down your back as he slid back. “Oh, wouldn’t it be a scandal; the golden avenger murders his own lover. Even if it was an accident, well, that serum of yours… dangerous stuff.”

“No one would believe--” Steve choked before he could finish.

“You think I couldn’t make them? What reason do I have to frame you? And it would be easy enough to stage it all.” Loki preened as he poked between your legs. He rubbed your folds as he spoke. “What they believe hardly matters if she’s gone, eh, Rogers?”

You croaked as the force squeezed your neck and you flailed as you gulped for breath.

“Stop! Stop!” Steve pleaded. The pressure relented and you coughed and gasped. “Loki, please… don’t hurt her.”

“Oh, I never intended to hurt her,” Loki shoved his fingers inside you and you whimpered. “In fact, quite the opposite. Weren’t you having fun, darling?” You closed your eyes and he pinched your thigh. “Darling?”

“Y-yes,” You murmured into the mattress. “Please--”

“Shhh, you don’t have to beg,” He keened. “But I do love to hear it.”

He pushed his legs between yours as he continued to finger you. You could hear Steve’s heavy, angry breaths. Your own were shallow and frantic. Loki spread his fingers and you felt another prod at your entrance. He held you open as he slipped in; two fingers still in you as his cock stretched your walls.

He impaled you and pulled his fingers out. He sighed as he wiggled his pelvis and lifted your ass. He got even deep as his hands grasped your hips. You sniffled as you fought the heat behind your eyes.

“I’m sorry,” Steve uttered. You heard the chair wobble but still again as he let out an agonized growl.

“No,” You gulped. “I’m sorry. I didn’t--”

Loki pulled back and slammed into you. You squeaked and he did it again.

“You can have your little reunion when I’m done,” He thrust so hard the bed jolted with each tilt of his hips. “Oh, look at her. She’s shaking again.”

He sped up, a little at a time, until he was hammering into you. You ached from his relentless rhythm and tugged against the bonds. He bent over you and hooked his arms under your shoulders and pulled you up. He bounced you against him, your thighs draped over his as he worked your body.

You bit your lips and turned your head. You couldn’t look at Steve.

“He can’t look away,” Loki whispered in your ear. “I made sure of it.”

You whined as he continued to use you. His hand slid down to your clit as his other arm wrapped around your chest. He pounded into you from below as he began to rub. You felt the same sudden rise. The same irresistible tickle. You gritted your teeth and moaned.

You let out a pathetic sob as you came. Your entire body convulsed and you pushed your head back against Loki’s shoulder. His breath glossed over your cheek and he bent to press his lips to your flesh. He nuzzled further down and bit into your neck. He snarled as he thrust into you hard and deep.

He shuddered as his hips spasmed and he rocked through his orgasm. He came inside you, a sickly flood of warmth. Your arms were kept suspended to either side of you as you struggled to get away from him. You hung your head and squeezed your eyes shut.

He pulled out and let you fall forward. You caught your breath and slowly moved your hand to your throat. You raised yourself shakily and looked to Steve. His eyes were glassy, his lips parted, his face pale.

“Steve,” You reached out to him.

As you made to climb off the bed, you flew back to the mattress, flat on your back. Loki strode around the bed as he snickered. He pushed his long hair away from his face.

“Now, now, you don’t think that’s it, darling.” He licked his lips as he came to the end of the bed and stood between you and Steve. “We have two weeks to make up for. Two. Grueling. Weeks.”

#loki #Steve Rogers #dark loki #dark!loki #loki x reader #steve rogers x reader #dark loki x reader #dark!loki x reader #fic #one shot #marvel #mcu #dark fic #dark!fic #oneshot

560 notes · View notes