#she's decidedly not a grateful animal | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

4izawas · 5 months

Text

╰─▸ ❝ 𝐋𝐎𝐂𝐊𝐒 𝐂𝐋𝐈𝐂𝐊. ❞ ──── 𝐟𝐭. 𝐒𝐇𝐎𝐔-𝐍𝐘𝐀.

𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: how it all started.

𝐟𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐨𝐦: my hero academia | 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: shouta aizawa/reader | 𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠: nsfw ; minors dni | 𝐰/𝐜: 2.72k.

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: angst, hybrid au, hybrids, hybrid shelters being bad places bc duh, prejudice against hybrids ngl, dehuminization.

𝐚 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐜𝐚𝐬: tis the beginning bitches~

— 𝐬𝐮𝐩𝐩𝐨𝐫𝐭 𝐦𝐞 !!

The shelter is almost exactly like you expected it to be.

The front, most frequented by guests, is pristine and spotless. The receptionist is smiling and kind, and asks if you want an employee to bring any specific sort of hybrid to look at from the back to one of the meeting rooms. Her expression changes upon your request to go to the back to look at them yourself, but legally she cannot deny you, so she summons the director of the shelter and he comes to the front reception room. He looks a little nervous as he leads you through the halls and passed the meeting rooms the receptionist had mentioned ( which are decidedly less nice than the front room ), and once the two of you reach the door to the shelter kennels he pauses.

“Hmm… are you absolutely sure you want to come back here?” He asks quietly, and you sigh as he continues. “We can bring out some hybrids for you if you fill out some paperwork —“

“No, thank you,” you interrupt, and he tenses ever so slightly. “I want to see them for myself.”

“…Alright.”

The door is opened, and you find yourself disgusted. The hybrids, despite their similarities in human features and full sentience, are being kept in dog kennels like in the average animal shelter. They’re inside, at the very least, but you can’t help but find it appalling. The director notices and is quick to ease your concerns.

“These are temporary holding kennels!” he exclaims nervously, laughing a bit as he wrings his hands. “We just got these hybrids in; the semi-permanent kennels are through another door.”

Your shoulders lose some of the tension that had settled in them, but you don’t relax completely, especially when you go into the next room and find similar holding areas. Although these have metal doors, they’re nothing but unsealed concrete with a grate in the middle and a blanket or two, and you can feel your lip curling again as he leads you through, chattering about this dog hybrid and that cat hybrid, and even the bird hybrid they have that was rescued from an illegal smuggling ring. He’s mentioned the baby hybrids and you’ve quietly agreed to meet them when you pass by a dark room, the inside lit only by the light from the hallway, revealing a large lump of a black haired cat hybrid. It looks male, but you aren’t sure, so you ask.

“Who is this?”

The director pauses, “This?” He glances at the door you’re looking in and freezes, then shakes his head. “Oh, no — no, you don’t want him.” The word him is spit with such poison you almost recoil.

“What?” you ask, surprised. “Why not?”

The director sighs. “Well… because he bites.”

It’s your turn to pause. “Bites…?” you repeat quietly, looking at him through the little glass panel in the door. He makes no move to turn around, even though you know he has to be able to hear the two of you talking outside.

His hair is shoulder-blade length and looks like it would be wavy if it weren’t so clumped and matted, just like the long tail that could be thick and fluffy if it weren’t filthy. His clothes were dirty as well, and clearly thin; you worried he was cold, alone in that room with no blankets aside from one crumpled in the corner beneath where he was curled up in the corner. You can see in the reflection in the window as the director moves behind you and starts speaking again. “See, he was pulled from a fight ring where he’d been kept along with two other adults, but they’d never been put in the ring, just him. They’ve both since been adopted out, as sweet as they were, but he’s — he’s aggressive, you see.” He sounds awkward, like he doesn’t enjoy talking about this hybrid.

You can’t bring yourself to care.

“…Oh,” you say softly, gazing at his dirty shoulder blade-length hair. “And after he was brought in with two others you separated him from contact with other hybrids… why?”

“Oh, he attacked any hybrids that moved,” The director says, waving a hand in a decidedly less awkward way. “We couldn’t risk it.”

“Ah.”

His reflection nods, and he claps his hands together with a smile. “Yes. Now, you wanted to see the puppy and kitten hybrids, yes?” He asks. “The babies?”

You’d answer properly, but you can’t tear your eyes from the hunched back of the hybrid in the borderline prison cell. He just looks so sad, even though you can’t see his face. “Um…”

The director sighs, seeing the look on your face. “Don’t feel bad for him. He’s getting euthanized soon anyway; it’s a mercy at this point, now one will ever want to adopt him.”

Your stomach turns. Hybrids had human sentience and emotions, and they were putting them down like they were nothing.

“But why?” You ask, your hands shaking.

“Well… even if he wasn’t a fighting hybrid, he’s…” The director trails off.

“What?” you ask. He sighs again.

“Well, he’s ugly.”

“Ugly?!” You exclaim in barely concealed rage, but the director doesn’t seem to notice and barrels on.

“Yes — he’s missing an eye and a leg, and he’s all scarred up. He’s older, likely in his thirties now, and he’s aggressive. He isn’t like the other hybrids.” You couldn’t even tell he was missing a leg from this angle, but does that really matter? He is alive, and they’re going to throw him away as if he were nothing.

“So you’ll kill him because he’s different? Hybrids aren’t accessories,” you grit out, and he nods and sticks his hands out placatingly.

“Of course not! I was just making an observation. He bites, he’s not pretty, he’s old, and he has a bad history. It’s just easier to put him down—“

“Easier for him, or for you?” you ask coldly. You still haven’t looked away from the hybrid. His ears have flicked back and are pinned against his head in agitation, and your heart aches for him. He didn’t deserve this — it wasn’t his fault he was mistreated.

“That doesn't matter.” The director seems to be losing his patience with you now. “No one will ever want him. He came out of the fight ring wrong. He’s broken, ugly, and old.”

“…He can hear you.” Your voice is quiet and angry, and you’re choking down the way it threatens to shake. There was no way you were the first to pass by the cat hybrid’s room, which meant there was no way he’d not been hearing things like this for however long he’d been here — if not worse, considering the director of the shelter had held his tongue for quite a while before losing his patience.

“So?” is the only response you get, and once again your stomach turns as you finally turn to look at him.

All you say is. “You’re disgusting.” The director shrugs.

“They aren’t human, my friend. They don’t feel like we do,” he says, and you scoff out a disbelieving laugh.

“That’s entirely incorrect,” you argue, “They’re just as smart as we are — we

just have more privileges.”

“Think what you’d like, I’m in no position to educate you,” he says snarkily, and you narrow your eyes at him.

“I’ve decided which hybrid I want,” you say in a voice that’s calm in a way that’s the complete opposite of what you’re feeling, and the director looks confused until you jerk your head towards the sealed up room. His eyes widen as you say, “Him,” and he shakes his head.

“Surely not-!” he argues, and you cross your arms.

“He’s not some old coat for you to just throw away once you outgrow it, he is alive — and he’s coming home with me.” Your tone leaves no more space for arguments, and the director narrows his eyes at you before smiling in a way you know is mocking.

“Very well — I promise no hard feelings when you bring him back, and when he bites you we’ll even give you a discount for returning him for euthanasia.” His face is twisted into something cruel, and your eyes sting as tears threaten to start; you just couldn’t understand how these people who were so cruel and blatantly hated hybrids were always the ones in charge of places like this, or what any hybrid could have ever done to earn such treatment. After all, they were people too — even if the majority of the public disagreed.

The paperwork was long and stress-inducing, but after a few hours you made your way back out of the office room you’d been lead to fo be treated tk the sight of the cat hybrid from before muzzled and bound so he couldn’t bit or scratch, and your eye twitches slightly but you say nothing. He is indeed missing a leg, and with how his hands and remaining leg are encased in metal cuffs and mitts all he can really do is hobble behind whoever has the leash. His one eye flashes angrily behind a curtain of dirty black hair, and once again your heart aches for him.

“Here’s your new pet!” the handler says through a fake smile. “Please give us a call if you need anything.”

“I won’t,” is all you say before taking the leash attached to the thick metal collar around his neck along with the back of keys that would undo all of the heavy binds he was wearing, including the muzzle. You manage to get him to lean against you as he makes his way out of the front door and to the parking lot. You lead him out to your car before opening the door to the backseat and gesturing for him to sit with his legs hanging out of the door, and there in the parking lot you turn to him and ask, “May I take off the muzzle?” His eye twitches, and you continue, “Or I could undo the cuffs and mitts and you can do it yourself, it’s whatever you want.”

He’s quiet for a while, his matted tail whipping back and forth behind him in the backseat, and he refuses to look away from you. He eyes you suspiciously, but still tilts his chin up for you to have access to the lock under his chin that would have been just out of reach, unlike the one on the back of his skull and the two on either side of his head; this muzzle is one of the strongest on the market, and you hated it.

You know that he likely wants the muzzle off so his teeth will be at his advantage, but you still use the muzzle key on the lock under his chin anyway. It clicks open loudly in the silent parking lot, and then you move to the lock on the side with his eye, which watches you all the while. It opens, and you say, “I’m going to open the lock on your blind side now, then the one in the back… are you okay with this?”

A flash of something you don’t recognize races through his one-eyed gaze, and he tips his head again so you can get to the lock, and you take that as the permission that it is. Within another minute and a half all the locks have been disengaged, and you ease the muzzle off gently. He starts rolling his lower jaw around as soon as it’s off entirely, and you open the trunk and toss it in, intent on throwing it away as soon as you can get somewhere that the shelter staff won’t fish it out of the trash.

“Hands now?” you ask simply, and he glances at you sharply before slowly raising his wrists. Getting the second key you unlock the metal mitts, then the cuffs, and they fall away. You offer the third key to him. “Wanna get your leg yourself?” He eyes the key as if it were dangerous and glances back and forth between it and you, and for a moment you wonder why on earth he wouldn’t take it the first chance he got, then realize he probably expected a punishment should he take it. You try to smile reassuringly, making sure not to show any teeth in case it agitated him. “You can take it, I promise it’s okay.”

He glances up at you again, this time not tearing his eye from you, and the two of you stare at one another for a while in silence, the only sounds being cars speeding by on the road nearby. After a long while he hesitantly reaches a hand out, and your close-lipped smile widens ever so slightly and you offer up the key a little more blatantly. He takes it and slowly unlocks the metal shackle around his ankle, then kicks it away with his one foot. The metal screeches across the pavement shrilly, and his ears pin back instinctively; you don’t miss the way the whites of his eyes show as he glances at you as soon as he kicks it, no doubt nervous about a punishment for the noise, but you do nothing but smile at him.

“Can you get further in the backseat? It’s time to go,” you say softly, and after a moment he nods and retreats further into the backseat. After making sure that every part of him, tail and all, is out of reach of being crushed in the door, you close it and make your way to the driver’s seat. Getting in, you groan and let your head thump against the steering wheel for a moment before sighing and turning around in your seat to look at him. He gazes at you silently from behind his greasy hair, showing nothing that could be considered emotion but so clearly trying to decipher what kind of person he could believe you to be.

“Listen, about what they said about being my pet hybrid —“ You start, only to finally get a verbal reaction from him.

“I am not your pet,” he growls, and you nod without any hesitation. His voice is deep and gravelly, likely from lack of use, and you’d find it comforting if you weren’t worried he’d overexert himself when he so clearly wasn’t eating the proper amount and was mistreated.

After a moment he seems to realize what he’s done, and stiffens up at the thought of a growl you weren’t bothered by. “I know,” you say solemnly instead of bringing up the threat, “I wasn’t really in the market for one.”

He narrows his eye. “Then why go to a hybrid shelter?”

“Because those places are horrible, and I wanted to get someone out if I could,” you reply honestly, starting the car and beginning to drive. He’s silent for a long time, and you don’t force him to speak. You’ve lived alone for a while, you can afford to live with a hybrid that no doubt will avoid you at all costs. You don’t need him to like you, you just need him to have a safe home.

After stopping at a fried chicken place for lunch and giving him his own order of it ( and quietly being pleased as he tears into the fried chicken in the backseat, even offering him the rest of yours. ), you drive for a a little over a half hour more while eating before pulling into your driveway, where you park the car then turn to look at him. The movement is a little too fast, and he hisses, baring his teeth. “I’ll bite!” he snarls warningly, and you raise your hands in surrender and nod.

“And that’s okay,” you say softly. His one eye widens slightly, like he’s been slightly stunned. “If I make you feel unsafe, you can nip all you want. I don’t intend on crossing any boundaries without your consent.”

“I don’t nip,” he sneers, though his voice shakes a little. “I bite. I’ll make you bleed.” You nod again.

“Okay,” is all you say. “This is the house. You’re welcome to come inside any time you like — and in case you disappear to keep to yourself for a bit and I don’t get a chance to say it otherwise, welcome home.”

𝐜𝐨𝐩𝐲𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 © { 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟑 } 𝐛𝐲 𝟒𝐈𝐙𝐀𝐖𝐀𝐒. 𝐝𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐦𝐨𝐝𝐢𝐟𝐲, 𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐞, 𝐨𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐭.

#shou_nya.♡#shouta aizawa x reader #aizawa shouta x reader #my hero academia x reader #boku no hero academia x reader #tw hybrids

143 notes · View notes

strangelittlestories · 1 year

Text

When dad and me died*, his death resulted in a whole *production*; tears were shed, swords were thrown into rivers, and grandma hid him away in a custom-built tomb** so he could come back ‘when like, we really need him, y’know’?

(*Okay, fine, that’s maybe not the most honest phrasing. It’d probably have been more accurate to say “When I killed Dad and he killed me”. And it would have been most accurate to say “when I impaled Dad with a spear and the *absolute madman* clawed his way up the haft inch-by-painstaking-inch to stab me in the heart with his magic sword”.)

(**Like, seriously, did she just have a mystical suspended-animation tomb ready to go? That’s creepy. It’s not just me right, that’s a little weird?)

But me? I was just left to rot on Pelennor Fields with all the other riff-raff.

(Wait, SHIT - Pelennor Fields is the Tolkein one, isn’t it? The fields of *Camlan* are where I died. Sorry about that - in my defence, I died many centuries and several Lord of the Rings binges ago.)

I guess I should be grateful that they left me alone. It wasn’t so long ago (and not so long after) that traitors to the crown used to get their heads displayed on pikes or hung in gibbets. But folks were pretty busy with king dad’s big send-off and mourning the dream of chivalry (plus burying all the dead folks they actually liked), so no-one really bothered with tidying up the remains of the traitor prince.

Plus, I think most of the knights and nobles had thought I was a bit of a weirdo and didn’t want any more to do with me in death than they did in life. Probably afraid that I’d reanimate and use my last foetid breaths to tell them about a cool mushroom I’d found. Then they wouldn’t know how to respond, and it’d just be *awkward*, y’know?

So anyway, there I was, lying there with my blood soaking the dirt and my vital organs getting decidedly less vital by the second. And all around me was a whole field of other dead people that I’d gotten killed and honestly I was feeling pretty shitty about the whole thing.

How was I dead and still feeling shitty you ask? Well, first of all: I am a multi-tasker. And second of all: I guess I wasn’t maybe *all-the-way* dead*.

(*Or rather: I was very much dead, but I was *also* very much in my body and doing a big old hecking panic about that, thank you very much.)

Something you should probably know about me: I was adopted. Yeah yeah, I know you’ve heard the propaganda, that my mum and dad were brother and sister and that’s where a lot of my *fundamental weirdness* comes from. And *yes*, they were siblings, but *no* it wasn’t like that. Dear old mum and dear dead dad *found me*.

Specifically, they found me in a weird-ass cave spattered in the blood of a monster they’d just slain (it was A Whole Thing, I’ll tell you about it some other time).

They figured that the beast had stolen me after killing my family or something like that.

This was incorrect.

A certain bearded crap-o-mancer speculated that I was the *beastie’s* boy, but that’s wrong too.

The truth is weirder. You see … I was the cave’s kid.

Yup. Child of the earth, right here. Or to give a less flattering but more apt name … I was a dirtbag.

#a bit of arthuriana for y'all #did I accidentally start writing a young adult novel from the perspective of prince mordred #yes I did #writing #short story #flash fiction #and a bonus pun at the end there too #rad

119 notes · View notes

monkie-keebs · 3 months

Note

Hello! Can I ask/request for a Cybertronian!reader that's alt mode is like goat and the reaction for the RID2015 transformer group?

(Ignore this if you aren't okay with it👍)

I'll still write for Transformers, especially RiD! It's a big, big fav, still. <3 <3 Okay, so here's my take on the visual and a few quirks [take them as you will <3] for said "goat-like" Cybertronian insert! <3 [Will keep it to the 5 main that are usually on screen! [if there are any extras you'd like, feel free to go forth and ask again <3 I am working with what I can, I apologize if it seems brief! <3]

~~~

Bumblebee

~~~

Bumblebee would seem...off-put for a short time in regard to trust, as any animal-featured Cybertronian had seemed problematic or was a cause for concern, especially concerning Steeljaw, Thunderhoof and his other pack members. He'd come to quickly appreciate your headstrong nature once his trust is being earned. He appreciates your determination and even finds amusement from some of your quips back at Sideswipe whenever he gets to be somewhat overly boastful at times. He appreciates creative outlets as well, and no matter yours, he's always asking how your projects are going and if you'd had a moment to listen to any poetic drafts that he had to share.

~~~

Sideswipe

~~~

As snarky, sarcastic, and headstrong as Sideswipe usually is, your headbutts resulting aren't too laced with gratuitous enthusiasm. He can be a handful, and you aren't afraid to express annoyance when situation calls. It took a short while for you to warm up to his flamboyance and outward extraverted nature, but you would both find some equal ground in music tastes and even enjoy roughing up some Decepticons whenever the time called for it! Sometimes it takes a bit, but he's a genuine teammate, and you tend to give him that much of a reminder when needed, as well.

~~~

Grimlock

~~~

Grimlock finds comfort in a fellow comrade with an alt. mode that is non-vehicle, like his own. He enjoys spending what time would allow, especially considering that you both are seemingly high energy as animal-alt modes. Being a 'goat-bot' adds to a hot-headed temperament that requires running off excess energy. Grimlock require somewhat of the same if he gets too excitable or irritable. He's got a big heart though, and you both share that common trait, as well.

~~~

StrongArm

~~~

Depending on whether you're a mischievous troublemaker or a heroic vigilante, would greatly depend on whether you are a comrade or someone in need of a positive role model. She does, however, appreciate your presence on the Autobot's team, and she very much admires your hard work to maintain a headstrong, heroic narrative. She'll probably even ask you for some advice on how you manage to be so headstrong, even in the tougher times. I mean, even if it's part of the caprine/goat nature, you're still grateful that she admires that much, for sure.

~~~

Fixit

~~~

Fixit at first, would probably be a little perplexed by the choice to be heroic as an animal-alt. mode and not directly taking sides with Steeljaw and his unruly pack, and he appreciates the fact that you'd be more than willing to talk any emotional duress out with him when it may seem harder to express any difficulties with any of the other teammates. He does what he can to mediate where you may even find it tough! You also take good care and management to not destroy his things when you decidedly need to scamper about or headbutt something with a tougher hide!

[[I do hope these are of interest to your request! Either way, thank you for sending one in. It was enriching and quite fun to elaborate on!]]

#my writing #transformers ask #transformers rid #transformers rid request #transformers rid 2015 #bumblebee #grimlock #fixit #strongarm #sideswipe #qu-e1 ask #qu-e1

10 notes · View notes

contreparry · 3 months

Note

hello hello! happy friday! maybe "Arboreal Fort. Creative solutions to uncommon problems. Flatten the area? —Cullen. Of course the commander suggests hitting the hills until they forget they’re hills. —L I was joking. Meanwhile, have you threatened to cut out anyone’s tongue today? —Cullen Thinking about it right now. —L" from the dragon age lore prompts?

Here's some Josephine for @dadrunkwriting

She would not lose her temper. She dealt with far more irritable, silly, childish spats in her time, and she would not break over this petty squabble. Josephine Montilyet managed worse fights when she was a child, and she would manage this one with the same grace, wisdom, and poise with which she managed those.

But if it all descended into the hair pulling and biting she once employed against her siblings when they were all small, well... Josephine could win at those games too.

The problem was this: Leliana and Cullen were both intelligent, driven, capable people who believed (truly believed) that they knew the best way forward. They both cared about their people. They both wanted to what was good, no matter how hard doing good might be. And they both tried so, so hard to be better than their pasts. Josephine saw it every day, from the way Leliana poured over her reports to find the safest routes to the way Cullen worked until dawn revising defenses and ordering supplies. The two of them cared so much! The only problem was that the two were... well, they were... the kindest way to put it was...

Oh, Maker help her, the two were obstinate mules who seemed to delight in butting heads! Whereas the Inquisitor seemed to be frosty and formal with Commander Cullen out of Circle habit, Josephine saw that Leliana looked forward to fighting with Cullen in the way a crow delighted in toying with other animals. And though Josephine did not know Cullen the way she knew her dearest friend, she could tell that he also took some strange sort of joy in snapping back at Leliana.

Perhaps fighting with Leliana was a safer harbor than other ports, Josephine mused as Leliana and Cullen argued over logistics and landscapes and how much effort it would truly take to flatten a hill. Leliana wasn't afraid to fight dirty, after all, and she fought to win. And the Commander, by Josephine's estimation, was much the same. She sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose, and the gesture served to silence the spat as quickly as any sharp command.

"Josie, dear, whatever is the matter? Is it the cold again?" Leliana asked sweetly, her fight with Cullen all but forgotten in favor of fussing over Josephine. She grabbed the cloak she draped over a chair and wrapped it around Josephine's shoulders. Josephine may have exaggerated her shiver a slight amount, but she was truly grateful for the added warmth of the heavy wool around her shoulders.

"No, no," Josephine insisted with a wave of her hand. "It is only a minor headache, nothing more." It was a carefully crafted little lie, for she wasn't suffering from a headache at the moment. But if she had let Cullen and Leliana continue their fight, she very well might have gained one!

"Sit by the fire, Lady Montilyet," Cullen ordered before softening his voice and command. "Please. You look a little..."

"Decidedly pale," Leliana interrupted, already herding Josephine over towards the bench before the fireplace. "Dearest Josie, you ought to have told us that you were unwell!"

"It really is nothing," Josephine replied as both Leliana and Cullen fussed, their argument now forgotten. Josephine hid a smile behind her hand as Leliana hurried away to fetch a pot of chamomile tea and Cullen knelt by the fire to stoke the flames. There were many ways to solve problems. One simply had to be... creative.

#my writing #da drunk writing circle

4 notes · View notes

sweetestlamb · 2 years

Text

1+1

Summary: "No. I want to see every side of you. I want to receive all of you until I'm too full with you to think about anything else."

Author's note: Love this couple so dearly. But you know me, I gotta add hormones to everything. Dedicated to @orphiccs who is forced to listen to my thoughts all the time.

The lights are on.

He distinctly recalls flipping it down this morning as he stumbled out the door, groggy and slightly frostbitten after foregoing the heater last night. The lethargy was too heavy for him to pull himself away from his drunken stupor. So he just sat and thought of her and drank until his brain was too filled to the brim to retain any thoughts. Brain fluid replaced by his chosen poison.

But the lights were off. This much he knows to be true and his body tenses in preparation, of a fight. His knuckles are still red and raw from the last but the flames are already singing in his blood, readying him for a war if necessary. Days like this Sanpo seems like a dream induced by too much soju and fatigue, a figment of his guilt ridden imagination looking for an escape.

He grabs an umbrella, wielding it like a sword. It's ridiculous but that could be the difference between life and death so he grips it ever tighter. He had harmed others with far less before.

Quiet as the sun rolling over the hills he slips off his shiny dress shoes and enters stealthily, crouching over to not be seen or heard.

Without hesitation he turns the corner, ready to do whatever required to walk out unscathed. He just got her back and he has no intention of releasing her again, in every manner that matters they are each other's. It's this thought that drives him to ambush the foreign body on his couch, eyes unseeing as he presses the tip of the umbrella against a warm throat the moonlight barely illuminating the room.

There is a soft decidedly feminine gasp. One that makes him stiffen before he pauses. Too familiar.

Wide dark eyes stare back at him, and he returns the perplexed gaze loosening his grip before pulling away completely.

She should be terrified. He was prepared to act, resolved. She has to see it in his eyes, the animal that lurks beneath the surface.

Her cheeks are distracting in their flush.

"You used the code. You said you weren't comfortable coming here without me. I could have hurt you."

He's someone who more than capable of hurting others, she must know this by now. There's no more hiding this part of his life from her, no hole he can burrow himself into deep enough to escape from her piercing eyes that see right through him.

"I missed you. My apartment has heat but it's still too cold without you."

He lowers his head. Hiding the grin that wants to explode across his face, dimples aching to sink into his cheeks to greet her the one who brings them to life.

"You've come back a different man again."

He collapses onto his couch leaving barely any room between them, his side pressed against hers and she's right- the heat between them is sweltering.

"Does it scare you? This new man?"

Who wouldn't be frightened by his mercurial changes? Sobriety left him melancholy and deflated while drunkenness made him sporadic and unstable. He wasn't good for her, or anybody else but he knew to say so would only make her cling to him harder. She wasn't someone who wanted to be handled carefully. He was a wild dog but she still fed him all the while knowing he could bite her hand.

"No. I want to see every side of you. I want to receive all of you until I'm too full with you to think about anything else."

The smile melts to something darker, as her words wash over him. Something carnal.

He can't look away from her, eyes darting all over her face before settling on pale pink flesh. He could rip her open with one bite. Eat her in one swallow.

"You're bleeding."

He licks the metallic taste away, ignoring the sting in the corner of his lip. He knows she won't ask him what happened and for that he's equally grateful and enraged.

"We should put medicine on it."

But he won't. Because the pain is a reminder that he's alive. That this road block didn't take him out despite how feverishly it tried. Instead he takes a swig of soju that always seems to decorate his table, throwing it back with a sigh and a wince that he hides easily.

Or so he thinks.

He's unprepared for a finger to move past his defences and press into his split lip, with clear intent.

"Ah! Fuck!" He curses jolting away from her, more from the shock than actual pain.

He grabs her hand twisting it away from his injury.

"What are you doing Yeom Mi-jeong?"

"Being someone who hurts you too. That role is always given to someone else and out of my reach. Don't come home like this anymore it makes me jealous and upset."

There's are too many warring thoughts in his brain.

Home. This space has never felt that that to him but he can't deny that she has changed that, shaken his universe to its brittle core.

And her jealousy. She's never been jealous before, that cool look on her face exposing nothing before even when women flirted when they went out after seeing the bills protruding from his designer wallet. Yet this yielded her wrath, a split lip and bruised knuckles.

"You get jealous?"

"Yes. Who wouldn't with the person they like? Are you never jealous?"

He had planned intricate ways to murder the man who had taken a hold of her heart so strongly that she had thrown caution to the wind and given him everything she had to offer. He was the highest on the list. His death would be the longest. But there were others.

Men who enjoyed lunch with her. Looked at her with those eyes.

People who had seen her cry and heard her laugh before him.

Everyone she would love after him.

He hated them all. Longed to rip them apart, limb by limb.

"I'm jealous of so much."

That makes her still; just for a moment color pooling in her cheeks before a blinding smile breaks through.

"You like that?" He asks flustered.

She nods eagerly, shamelessly cradling his bruised face now in the palm of her hands.

"Yes. I like it."

He shakes his head, hardly able to move with her immobilizing him but content to rest in her warm hands if only for just a moment. He can't contain a chuckle as she presses the bottle to his mouth, imitating a mother nursing its young.

"Am I being rewarded? Are you worshiping me right now?" He grins, bitter liquid sliding down his throat with her assistance.

She doesn't respond to him, not with words. Instead she strokes his hair away from his face, smoothing the stubble on his cheeks and wiping at the dribble of soju; wet on his lip.

"I want you to keep me warm tonight." She commands with an exhale, pressing closer to him those huge eyes demanding that he obey her every order as if he has a choice.

His entire body aches as he stares at her, and all that she is offering. His ribs are still possibly cracked and his cheeks feels numb still but none of that matters, not now. The pain is bearable, it's every moment away from her that truly kills him.

He chugs the rest of the alcohol before grabbing her around the waist and hoisting her up in a one stilted motion, his knee tweaking before righting itself over.

He's getting old. Shit.

With a loud squeal, she latches onto him wrapping her arms around his shoulder and her legs around his body. He can feel her all around him.

Death could come now and he would welcome it.

"Are you crazy? We're too old to be this reckless!"

But she's giggling loudly in his arms, squirming wildly so he pretends to drop her delighted at the transparent overt fear on her pretty face. He laughs loudly in retaliation, bouncing her higher before stealing a kiss from that grinning mouth. She immediately returns the wet press of lips, then he groans at the sharp tug on his broken skin his blood filling both of their mouths.

"Everything that is yours is mine."

He slams her into a wall making sure to cradle her head, feeling feral under his human skin.

She whines at the harsh treatment, but never lets him go.

"You're not going home tonight."

He promises, then hurls the bedroom door open with a pounding bang before tossing her on the bed, she bounces once her hair dancing around her face as she accepts his challenge with a smirk on her face.

"That's not enough. I want you to do it so good that I can't go home tomorrow either. "

The minx grins at him, tossing her own shirt to the ground.

He grabs her legs, tugging her down to meet him eager to eat her up. Never remembering a time when life was this damn good, her smile is all he can see as he holds her hand tight over her head and melds their body into one.

#my liberation notes #worship couple #yeom mi jeong #gu ja gyeong #not me just adding in my kinks #I like them rough and playful #mln

22 notes · View notes

evenstargws-attic · 2 years

Text

The Fishy Tales - Chapter 3

CLICK HERE FOR CHAPTER 2

AND HERE FOR CHAPTER 1

===

In Chapter 2 Patience discovered Paka'a had left a little present and she is uncertain what to do. So she went back to the ocean to have a good night's sleep and decide how to handle the situation.

"So that night I went to the deep water and just slept there and and be one with the ocean once more."

The next morning, the sun had just peeked above the horizon and the surface waters slowly warmed a little, Emerald woke me up playfully splashing me. I played with her for a while until she pushed her nose to my belly and asked me what was wrong, and I told her I was expecting a young.

If dolphins could have facial expressions hers would be very confused at that point, she did not understand why that would make me sad. She circled me and whacked the water with her tail, creating what I call "Happy Waves" and showed me her own tummy which was also a little swollen, it seems she was expecting too and very happy about it.

But I wasn't unhappy because I was expecting, quite the opposite I told her, … I tried to explain it to her that it was the timing and the complicated situation, but animals think differently, they don't make an orca out of a goldfish. So in her own way (by squirting me with water) she told me to just put on my big girl fins and stop talking and thinking so much… then she brushed me off and swam away.

Feeling refreshed and up for the challenge I went ashore the next morning and dressed warmly. The weather had turned a bit so it was quite windy and it looked like a storm may be coming in, dark clouds threatened on the horizon. I walked onto the market-square and noticed people boarding up their houses for the weather forecast told them this was probably a good idea... A lot of people ran to and fro their houses and the market was being packed up as well... I saw a lot of people, but he was nowhere to be seen while normally he would be hanging around the market stalls and chatting to people.

Procrastinating once again I didn't look for him to thoroughly, I walked slowly (or would you call it waddled by now?) to the beach where I stood for a while, trying to come up with words on how to explain this to him. It wasn't needed, the explanation, it seems. His arms went around my body and he nuzzled my ear, he whispered "You have something to tell me?"

"We are pregnant" I blurted out, and I gasped at my own words.

"So you're gonna make me a papa then ?" he knelt before me and started humming very familiar nursery-song, one that my mother used to hum to me too, at my belly.

That made me tear up real fast and when he looked up in confusion at my sniffles I tried to hide my tears but … He stood up and gently wiped my tears after which he softly kissed my lips while there was such gratefulness in his eyes. He didn't ask why there were tears, and I didn't tell… It seems communication was not our strongest trait, but he seemed to know me so well already, it was amazing.

"I'm glad I've given you your first baby, that way you'll never forget me" he said "Does that make me sound selfish? Maybe,… but I'm just a fool in love…"

He sat down in the sand, and looked out over the ocean. Sitting down in the sand with some decorum was decidedly less easy for me now that my tummy was so swollen, so I sat behind him and leaned on his shoulders. Together we sat there for what seemed like hours but was probably more like a few minutes. So I figured to just bite the bullet and ask him.

"What have you decided…?"

He started talking at exactly the same moment

"It's gonna be difficult to stay away from you both at certain times, but I hope you'll allow me to be there for you when you need a helping hand in the future"

I couldn't believe my ears .... I had assumed this would be the moment we said goodbye, or maybe he'd swim off in anger after I told him I was expecting. But so it seems you can never really know up front what someone else will do in a certain situation.

"Does that mean you'll stick around even though... "

"Yeh , I will, but don't be telling me all that happens to make your babies, it's difficult enough as it is."

I was stunned, and relieved at once,... Once again this man proves you can never assume just what's gonna happen. I was still afraid one day he would wake up and tell me he didn't want to be with me anymore, our relationship was so new at this point and we knew hardly anything about each-other.

We sat there for a few hours more, just..., not talking but enjoying each-other presence nearby, both of us deep in thought, until suddenly thunder boomed and the lightning flashed up in the sky and we were soaked through in minutes.

===

And that's another chapter finished.

How will this tale continue? I can imagine this is gonna be very very difficult for Paka'a, having to see the love of his life being pregnant with babies by other men. And Patience, let's not forget about her… can you imagine the hell she is going through having to be with others while she knows her soulmate and love is relatively nearby? Hopefully their connection is strong enough it can withstand and survive all this turmoil.

Chapter 2 / Chapter 1

#mermaiden #sims 4 story #the sims 4 #ts4 #ts4 gameplay #ts4 mermaids #sims4 challenge #100 babies #patiencepaka'a #fishytales

2 notes · View notes

enchantedquill-40 · 3 months

Text

In the lively confines of Zuko's home, Sokka's chattiness found an unexpected companion in his uncle, Iroh. The seasoned Fire Nation general, known for his wisdom and love of tea, welcomed Sokka's animated conversations with open arms. Their interactions often echoed through the halls, resonating with laughter and the exchange of tales.

Iroh, appreciating Sokka's exuberance, became a willing audience to his anecdotes, jokes, and musings. The duo, an unlikely pairing given their differing backgrounds, discovered common ground in humor and shared experiences. Sokka's vibrant personality added a new dimension to the usually serene atmosphere of Iroh's tea sessions, injecting a sense of camaraderie that transcended cultural boundaries.

As for Sokka's relationship with his sister, Katara, the dynamic was decidedly different. Katara, despite the familial ties, harbored an unmistakable disdain for Sokka. Her distaste for his easygoing nature and constant chatter was palpable. The Fire Nation was not a place she had ever imagined herself living, and Sokka's seemingly carefree attitude grated against her own sense of responsibility and duty.

Sokka, however, remained unfazed by Katara's animosity. His resilience and easygoing nature shielded him from the impact of her disapproval. Instead of engaging in conflicts or attempting to win her over, Sokka chose a path of understanding. He recognized that their differing perspectives and backgrounds fueled her resentment, and he respected her right to feel that way.

Despite Katara's occasional outbursts and attempts to distance herself from Sokka, he continued to extend gestures of kindness and inclusivity. His carefree spirit seemed to persistently chip away at the walls of resentment, leaving room for the possibility of a more amicable relationship.

Zuko, observing the dynamics between Sokka and Katara, recognized the tension and tried to mediate when necessary. He encouraged open communication, hoping that understanding could bridge the gap between the Water Tribe siblings and foster a sense of unity within their newfound family in the Fire Nation.

In the rare moments when the three of them found themselves sharing a space, Zuko's home became a microcosm of diverse backgrounds and conflicting emotions. Sokka's chatter resonated against Katara's silent frustration, and Iroh's calming presence served as a buffer, diffusing potential conflicts.

Sokka's unwavering positivity and resilience became a source of intrigue for Katara. She couldn't understand how he could remain so unaffected by her coldness. In an attempt to decipher his seemingly unshakable spirit, Katara reluctantly engaged in sporadic conversations with Sokka.

As their exchanges continued, Katara began to catch glimpses of the brother she knew—the protective, caring, and occasionally goofy Sokka. Slowly, the walls she had built around herself started to crumble. Sokka's authenticity and genuine nature gradually eroded the barriers of resentment, paving the way for a more nuanced understanding between the siblings.

In time, Katara's attitude softened, and she found herself reluctantly appreciating Sokka's presence. The Fire Nation, once a place of resentment, began to transform into a shared home where understanding and acceptance coexisted.

Sokka's ability to weather Katara's initial animosity and remain true to himself showcased a remarkable strength—a strength born not from confrontation, but from a steadfast belief in the power of compassion and connection. The Water Tribe warrior, who thrived on camaraderie and lighthearted banter, ultimately became a catalyst for change within the dynamics of Zuko's eclectic household.

As the days unfolded, the Fire Nation home became a testament to the transformative power of acceptance and the resilience of familial bonds. Sokka, with his chatter, laughter, and unwavering spirit, had woven himself into the fabric of their lives, creating a tapestry that reflected the beauty of diversity and the strength that emerged from understanding, even in the face of initial resistance.

0 notes

nowplayingblog · 3 years

Text

STIRRING

Summary: Remus is enjoying a quiet off season with his husband and newborn son - well, quiet may not be the right word.

SW credit to @lumosinlove

Remus-being-a-good-singer headcanon credit to @fruitcoops

Song: All the Animals by Jewel

Remus had been told - by his parents, by Lily and James, by Pascal and Celeste - to get his rest while he could. But with the new baby on the way, Remus found himself staring at their bedroom ceiling at night, his stomach churning with his many worries over how good of a parent he would be. And over how little sleep he was getting in the months and weeks leading up to their son's birth.

After their son came home, Remus found himself somewhat grateful for his sleepless nights. The amount of sleep he was getting hadn't really changed. Now he just had a purpose when he was awake.

It was late July now, Remus and Sirius savoring the last few weeks of their off-season, silently dreading when training and practices would pick back up, and their ability to stay with their son for every second of every day stolen away from them.

It wasn't as though they would never see their son again, but after the near constant contact they had with him Remus suspected they would all three be suffering from the growing pains that came with life's inability to slowdown.

Theodore Rigel Lupin-Black was crying. It was 2:37 AM, and Remus groggily woke up from a shockingly restful 3 hours of sleep.

That was another thing Remus had noticed. He wasn't getting a lot of sleep - but the little time he did get he fell asleep more quickly, and slept more deeply.

"Er-ugh," Sirius groaned from where he was curled up beside Remus, his arm thrown across Remus's waist. "Teddy?"

"I got it baby," Remus said softly, turning in Sirius's arms and kissing his forehead "you got him last time."

"He's probably hungry." Sirius muttered, before promptly falling back asleep. Remus sat up in the bed and throwing his legs over the side.

Theodore, little Teddy, slept in a bassinet in the corner of their bedroom. It calmed their nerves, it was easier to hear him when he needed them, and he wasn't a long walk away. They had a nursery for him down the hall, full decorated in a fantasy forest theme, complete with a mural of knights and dragons Regulus had so thoughtfully painted for them. Teddy took his naps in there, and he would move in full time once pre-season started up. For now, they had him all to themselves.

Teddy was kicking his legs inside his swaddle sack, his face scrunched up in his perceived misery. Remus cooed as he lifted the baby into his arms.

"Oh, my poor baby," he said, "Are you so hungry? Are Papa and Dada so mean and never feed you anything."

Teddy's cries softened slightly, as if knowing this wasn't true and feeling guilty for implying such a thing. His eyes were open and tracking Remus's face.

"I know, I know," Remus cooed, tucking Teddy safely into his arms and making his way out of the bedroom and downstairs to the kitchen.

He took a pre-made bottle from the fridge and placed it in the bottle warmer, and started to bounce Teddy in his arms while they waited. Teddy was decidedly unhappy at the prospect of having to wait any longer, and had picked up his cries. Remus combated this humming nonsensically and giving Teddy firm pats on the back to the beat.

The humming morphed into singing. A song Remus recognized from when he was a little kid.

all the animals

agree, you and me

should be a team

Teddy's cries were soothed slightly, going from wailing to soft whimpers and coos as he listened to Remus's voice, letting himself be soothed.

Remus let himself linger at the calm, aware look of his son's face. Teddy's hair was currently a dark brown color. They had tried to pick a surrogate that looked as much like Sirius as possible, so they had been debating if Teddy's hair would lighten to Remus's lighter, honey-brown hair, or stay dark like Sirius's. Based on the baby pictures Hope Lupin had brought when she had last visited, of a dark-haired baby, Remus had his hopes. But the full head of curls was all to similar to the likes of Sirius.

Teddy was getting chubby in his second month. He was so adorable, covered in rolls of baby fat, his cheeks full and his face round. he had long eyelashes too, now clumped together with the remains of his tears.

and they walk on parade

say that we were made

to be a team

The timer on the bottle warmer went off, and Remus reached for the bottle, carefully maneuvering Teddy in his arms to test the temperature against his wrist, continuing to sing.

and my heart

flutters when you're near

Deeming the bottle safe for Teddy, Remus took the bottle, and placing the nipple against his son's lips, and Teddy sucked eagerly. With his son satisfied, Remus made his way to sit down at the couch in the living room, continuing to sing and rock to Teddy, hoping to get him to fall asleep as soon as he was done with his bottle.

Remus looked down at his son, who's tired eyes dropped as he took his bottle, and his heart swelled with a familiar happiness. His son - his sweet baby boy, in his arms. His husband getting some well-deserved rest in the other room. Remus remembered when not to long ago his current reality was nothing more than a fever dream.

And Teddy was perfect.

and all the rainbows

say that they know

we're a perfect pair

#now playing: sweater weather #sweater weather drabbles #sweater weather #sweater weather: lumosinlove #sweather weather by lumosinlove #sweater weather fic #fanfic #fanfiction #my works #remus (loops)#trope: sirius and remus raise teddy #sirius (cap)#remus lupin #sirius black #wolfstar #coops #teddy lupin #genre: fluff

226 notes · View notes

homoose · 3 years

Text

Love Has a Learning Curve: Part III (x reader)

Summary: Spencer has to face Anita and Sam— and learns a little about reader’s past. Reader and Spencer babysit for Michael and Henry.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader

Category: fluff, a tiny smidge of hurt/comfort

Warnings/Includes: implied smut, drinking/alcohol, vague mentions of previous emotional/mental abuse (Owen)

Word count: 4.2k

a/n: This picks up right after the end of the tmsidk epilogue! I also worked two requests in here.

Series Masterlist

———

Spencer stacked the last of the tiny chairs in the center of the room, stepping back and dusting his palms on his trousers. He looked over to see Y/N playing a sort of container tetris with the bins of supplies in her closet. He smiled a little to himself, his head still in the metaphorical clouds with her confession of love.

She maneuvered the bins to her satisfaction and shut the closet doors, pushing against them to squeeze everything in until the latch clicked. She turned to see him watching her and wiped imaginary sweat from her brow. She gave him a wink and a grin, and he was falling all over again.

She perched on the corner of her desk with a tired sigh, and he made his way across the room to her. She reached for him as soon as he was within arms length, wrapping her arms around his middle. She snuggled into his chest, and he pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “Let’s go to dinner to celebrate.”

She laughed and looked up at him. “Celebrate what?”

He shrugged. “You. Summer.” He brought his arms around her shoulders. “Love.”

She smiled and scrunched her nose at him. “You just want me to say it again.”

His lips twitched. “Maybe.”

Her hands came to rest on his hips, her fingers squeezing lightly. “I love you.”

“I love you,” he answered immediately and rather dreamily.

“Yo, Y/L/N!”

The call of her name from the hallway startled them both. Anita began to step over the threshold, continuing, “You ready to get absolutely crunk tonight or— oh.” She stopped dead in her tracks, eyes tracking Spencer’s frame. “Dr. Reid.”

Spencer stepped back from Y/N, smiling a little awkwardly at the formality and giving a wave. “Mrs. Lopez. It’s, um— it’s nice to see you again.”

Anita hummed noncommittally, and Spencer shoved his hands in his pockets. She turned her attention back to Y/N. “So, are we going out or what?”

Y/N groaned. “Anita, I’m exhausted. Can we keep it low key? Oh!” Her eyes lit up with an idea, and Spencer could already see where this was going. “Spence and I were gonna get dinner to celebrate, um— summer. Call Sam; we’ll all just go together.”

Anita spared a glance in Spencer’s direction before sighing heavily. “Fine. But I’m drinking.” With that, she turned on her heel and disappeared back into the hallway.

Y/N chuckled. “I swear she’s not actually an alcoholic.” Her eyes landed on Spencer’s face, and she smiled gently. “I know you weren’t expecting a Meet the Friends night, but it’ll be fun.”

“She hates me,” Spencer surmised.

“She does not hate you.” Y/N stood from the desk, pressed a reassuring peck to his lips. “She’s just… protective. That’s all.”

…

Y/N was entirely wrong. Anita Lopez hated him. That was the only explanation for her absolutely icy demeanor.

They’d met up with her and Sam at a Mexican restaurant in Tenleytown. Sam was wonderfully kind and funny, even apologizing for having “flipped him the bird” the last time she saw him. And it was a good thing Sam was being friendly, because Anita was decidedly… less so.

Spencer understood completely of course. He’d broken Y/N’s heart. Penelope had been ready to hunt her down at the mere thought of him being hurt. As Y/N’s best friend, Anita had every right to be wary of him. She had every right to hate him. He’d just... hoped that she wouldn’t.

Thankfully, Y/N and Sam were more than happy to carry the conversation— he and Anita chiming in here and there. He learned that Sam worked as an attorney at a firm specializing in family law. She and Anita had two kids, Riley and Sidney— one in 2nd grade and the other in preschool.

“Y/N is still Riley’s favorite teacher ever,” Sam told him. “I mean, it helps when she’s also your aunt, I guess.”

“He didn’t get any special treatment,” Y/N insisted. At Sam’s raised eyebrow, she laughed. “Okay, maybe a little special treatment. But you raised a good kid! And I can’t help it that he was the most trustworthy of the bunch.”

“Oh my god, the field trip,” Sam groaned, rubbing a hand over her face.

“The field trip!” Y/N turned to Spencer. “My group of kiddos from two years ago— they were kind of a tough group.”

“Kind of?” Anita squeaked. “Let me just tell you, I can hear them through the floor. The entire middle school is literally dreading the day they make it upstairs.”

Sam piped in, “I chaperoned on said field trip to the zoo. And I vowed that I will never, ever go on another field trip. Ever.”

“What happened?” Spencer asked incredulously.

“So many things,” Sam baited.

Y/N covered her mouth to stifle a cackle, leaning a bit into Spencer’s shoulder. He couldn’t help but smile, looking around at the three women. Even Anita was chuckling, and she’d barely cracked a smile all evening.

“Okay, so many things happened,” Y/N started, “but the worst was—”

“The poop!” Sam wheezed. “The poop was the worst part of that day. The smell alone, oh my god.”

Y/N composed herself as best she could, gesturing over the table. “So after this nightmare of a day, we get on the bus, and there’s this— smell.”

“The absolute worst smell you’ve ever smelled, Spencer,” Sam assured.

“It’s awful. It’s so bad,” Y/N agreed. “And I’m literally going seat to seat, checking to make sure no one has shit themselves.”

“You could not pay me enough,” Anita chimed in.

“And I get to the seat that is very clearly where the smell is coming from. And I can’t, like— hold my nose, right? I don’t want to embarrass him!” Y/N turned to Spencer with flushed cheeks. “So I ask, ‘Sweetheart, did you have a bathroom accident?’”

Spencer let out a nervous laugh. “Oh no.”

“But oh, it wasn’t a bathroom accident,” Y/N clarified, waving her hand. “No, no— that would be too easy. This child had somehow managed to obtain copious amounts of poop from one of the zoo animals and packed it into his lunchbox to take home.”

Spencer could feel his jaw drop. “Oh my god.”

“So, he unzips his lunchbox and it’s just— overflowing with shit.” Y/N dropped her head into her hands, overcome with giggles.

“And don’t forget the worst part: his mom was on the field trip!” Sam lamented, throwing her hands up. “I will never understand.”

Y/N lifted her head with an exasperated grin, and he wasn’t sure if it was the story or the fact that she loved him, but Spencer felt like he could float away into outer space.

“I told you I had a lot of poop stories,” Y/N reminded him, drawing another round of laughs. As they composed themselves, the waiter came by their table to clear some of their plates and refill their water.

“God, I said we were keeping it low key, and then I drank half a pitcher,” Y/N complained, pushing back from the table. “I’m just gonna go to the bathroom. I’ll be right back.”

She gave Spencer a reassuring smile, and he tried not to panic as she stood and left him with Sam and Anita. And because the universe was toying with him, at that exact moment, Sam’s phone began to ring. She pulled it from her pocket with a sigh.

“Shit— I’ve been waiting on this call all day.” She kissed Anita’s cheek and stood from the table. “So sorry; I’ll just be five minutes, I promise.”

With that, it was just the two of them, staring intently at their water glasses. Spencer was certain he should say something, but he wasn’t sure what. Anita broke the silence first.

“You know what’s annoying?”

Spencer wasn’t sure he wanted to know. “Considering that the issues one might classify as an annoyance vary for each individual person, there are over seven billion potential answers to that question.”

Anita tilted her head with an unimpressed purse of her lips. Spencer hedged, “And I understand now that it was probably rhetorical.”

“I actually kind of like you.” She leaned across the table with an irritated sigh. “I wanted to hate you, but I don’t.”

He cleared his throat. “Well, I’m, um— I’m glad to hear that.”

“You’re good for her. Smart, humble, kind. Enamored with her, as you should be,” she deadpanned. She dropped her chin into her hand. “Almost as hot as she is.”

He laughed a little at that. “Thank you?”

“You’re welcome.” She dropped her hand back to the table. She still didn’t crack a smile, and her gaze bore into him. “I don’t know how much you know about Owen, and she’d probably kill me for saying anything. But he was a real piece of shit.”

This was not the direction he thought this conversation would take. He didn’t know anything about Owen; he’d tried not to think too much about anyone Y/N might have been with before him.

“It didn’t start out that way.” She drew her brows together. “Well, I don’t know— maybe he was always an asshole, and he was just good at hiding it.”

She shook her head and leaned back in her chair. “The point is, I didn’t know he was treating her like garbage until it was too late. He was already all…” She gestured wildly around her head. “In her head, telling her lies about herself, fucking her up, isolating her. For years he did that. And then it took her years to get him out of her head. To— unlearn all the lies. To build herself back up.”

He could see her grinding her teeth, trying to calm down. He was intensely grateful to not be on the receiving end of Anita’s wrath. He was also immensely glad that Y/N had a friend like that. And his blood absolutely boiled at the thought of her ever feeling anything less than adored.

“You’re a fed or whatever, so I shouldn’t be telling you this,” she continued, “but I would love nothing more than to put that fucker six feet under.” She ran her hand through her hair, and when she continued her voice was the quietest he’d ever heard it. “All that to say, I… I wasn’t there for her when Owen was destroying her from the inside out. And I will never let that happen again.”

Anita locked eyes with him and her voice was resolved. “I like you, Spencer. And I want to keep it that way. So, just— don’t give me a reason not to.”

She didn’t drop her gaze, and he couldn’t quite think of the appropriate response. He opened his mouth, and then closed it again. His brain was still fixated on the idea that anyone had ever hurt the loveliest and kindest woman he’d ever met.

“Where’s Sam?” Spencer turned just as Y/N slid back into the chair beside him, a comforting hand coming to rest on his knee.

“Some bullshit from the office that her idiot partner can’t handle.” Anita raised her eyebrows at Spencer, and he nodded minutely. She shifted her gaze back to Y/N with a grin. “Don’t worry. I didn’t scare him too much.”

…

“Easy.” Spencer steadied Y/N with a hand on her waist as they made the way up the stairs to his apartment.

“Jesus, I’m so sorry. I just— really can’t drink like I used to.” She clutched a little at the railing, and he held his breath until they were at the top of the stairs.

He slipped an arm back around her waist as they crossed to his apartment door, fumbling with his keys and fighting back a shiver as she snuggled close and ran her hand low over his tummy.

“Can’t believe I’m tipsy from a couple margaritas.”

“To be fair, you had four,” he chuckled, turning the key and pushing open the door.

“Okay, okay,” she relented. “But I used to be able to have a whole pitcher and be totally fine.”

“A pitcher?” Spencer laughed as he locked the door and turned to face her. “I can’t even have one without being completely incapacitated.”

She ran her hands up from his waistband, over his chest, and wrapped them around his neck. “Mmm, so you’re a lightweight.”

“Very much so,” he confirmed, bringing his hands to her hips.

“Just one more sweet thing to love about you, sugar.”

He couldn’t stop the smile from stretching across his face at the endearment, the way that North Carolina dripped syrupy and thick over every syllable. She pulled him down to meet her in a sweet kiss, quickly deepening it as he dug his fingers into the softness of her hips. Her hands wound into his hair, tugging lightly and holding him close.

He broke away to rest his forehead against hers and catch his breath. She laced their fingers together and leaned on him while she kicked off her shoes. He toed his own off and then allowed her to lead him toward his bedroom.

She sat him down on the edge of the bed and straddled his lap, bringing her hands up to tangle in his curls once again.

Before she could lean in for another kiss, he murmured, “I’ve been thinking.”

“Sounds dangerous,” she teased, ghosting her lips over his.

“Ha, ha.” Part of him wanted to bring up Owen, but she was so happy and warm and comfortable in this moment. He didn’t want to ruin this night of celebration. He didn’t want to ruin this day that had been so full of love. They had plenty of time to discuss Owen.

He wrapped his arms around her middle. “You’ve met Penelope. I’ve met Anita. Now that the school year is over… we could tell Michael.”

She pulled back, and the smile she gave him could only be described as radiant, and he knew he made the right decision. “He’s gonna lose his mind.”

…

A week later, the pair of them were strolling up the sidewalk to the LaMontagne house. Will and JJ were long overdue for a date night, and Spencer had jumped at the opportunity for the two of them to babysit. When they reached the door, Spencer rang the bell and Y/N waited slightly behind him.

They could hear the joy from behind the door before it even opened, Michael’s high pitched giggle and Will’s booming laugh. Spencer was already leaning down in preparation, and Michael absolutely launched into his arms as soon as the door swung open. Spencer clocked the moment that Michael spotted her, purely because he practically squealed and squirmed right out of Spencer’s grip.

“I knew it!” Michael cried.

He wrapped himself around Y/N’s legs and squeezed tightly, and she rubbed a hand over his hair with a bewildered smile. Michael broke away to turn back to Will with a grin. “I told you.”

“You did, buddy.” Will gave Spencer a lopsided smile as Michael tugged Y/N forward by the hand. “Michael had an… inklin’ that uncle Spencer might be friends with Ms. Y/L/N.”

“Not friends, Daddy,” Michael said exasperatedly. “He’s her boyfriend.”

“Oh, excuse me, sorry.” Will held his hands up in apology as he stepped aside to let them all in the door. “Michael had a feelin’ that uncle Spencer might be Ms. Y/L/N’s boyfriend.”

Y/N’s cheeks had turned a very pretty shade of pink. “What— um, what made you think that?”

Michael waited patiently for her to take off her shoes. “Well firstly, he started picking me up all the time, which was nice but weird. And then he wouldn’t stop asking about you. It was kind of annoying.” Spencer made a choking sound, and Will stifled a laugh.

“You guys wear the same shoes, and you both love Halloween and tea and reading. I knew you’d like him if he could be a guest reader.” As he led her into the living room, Michael continued, “Oh, and you wore his purple scarf. He doesn’t let anyone wear the purple scarf.”

Spencer vividly remembered that morning— she’d slept over after a midweek date night in April. The temperatures in DC had plummeted overnight, and the outfit she’d brought left her woefully under-dressed for the chilly spring day. He’d wrapped her up in the soft, purple scarf without a second thought.

She caught his eye with a shrug, and Will tried not to look too smug. Spencer watched her be dragged further into the house, turning to Will with a sheepish smile.

“Well, guess I can’t take all the credit,” Will decided. “Who knew we had a mini matchmaker this whole time?”

Spencer huffed out a laugh as Michael pulled Y/N into the playroom. “This is the best,” Michael sighed. “Now we can play restaurant forever.”

…

Spencer pulled his legs up in the tiny chair, resting his elbows on his knees and taking a moment to watch the scene in front of him unfold. Usually on nights like this, Michael ran him ragged with demands for magic tricks, story time, and playing pretend. Tonight, he’d actually been able to catch up with middle school (middle school!) Henry, because Michael was totally and completely enthralled by Y/N.

She was helping with the last of the setup for the “restaurant,” organizing Michael’s menus and straightening his clip-on tie. Of course he’d seen her with kids before. But something about being in this playroom— one that he’d spent so many hours in, watching two of his favorite kids grow up— had him feeling warm from head to toe.

Henry had bounded down the stairs at the news that uncle Spencer was dating his former kindergarten teacher. He hadn’t realized that she’d taught Henry, too, although with the timeline of her teaching career he should have put two and two together. The generally reserved middle schooler had positively beamed when she gasped out, “Gosh, I always forget how tall you’ve gotten!”

And now three of his absolute favorite humans were in one room, and he couldn’t stop smiling.

“Hen!” Michael called.

Henry turned from his spot in the chair across from Spencer. “What?”

“You’re the chef,” Michael informed him.

Y/N tilted her head. “I thought I was the chef?”

“No, no, no.” Michael pushed her toward the kid-sized table. “You and uncle Spencer are on a fancy date.”

Henry rolled his eyes playfully and stood from the chair, pulling it out for her like a perfect gentleman. She beamed at him and gave him a wink. “Thank you, sir.”

She dropped lightly into the chair across from Spencer and laughed a little at his folded limbs. “You look very comfortable.”

He laughed and stretched his legs out straight. “The picture of comfort, really. These chairs were clearly designed with six foot men in mind.”

“I’m sorry I’m so under-dressed for our fancy dinner date,” she teased, dropping her chin into her hand.

“You look stunning, as always.” He gestured to the messy braid Michael had folded her hair into. “I especially love what you’re doing with your hair.”

She sucked in a dramatic breath, bringing up her hand to pat lightly at her hair. “You’re making me blush, doctor.” She peeked behind her and then lowered her voice. “I’m probably going to cry when I try to brush the rats out.”

He looked at her sympathetically. “I know the feeling. I think I’ve got a wide tooth comb, and I can help. I’ve gotten pretty good at detangling Michael’s handiwork.”

Before she could respond, Michael made his way to the table, holding a dish towel over his arm. “Good evening, sir, madam.”

“Good evening,” they chorused, with barely suppressed grins.

“Compliments of the chef.” Michael held out his hand to reveal two slightly smushed strawberries.

“Oh, wow,” Y/N said, eyes wide and gesturing to Spencer. “Honey, do you want to—”

Spencer waved his hand, eyeing the berries warily. “No, no, please, help yourself.”

Y/N held back a smile and accepted the strawberries, holding them carefully in her hand and turning her attention back to Michael. “Thank you so much. What a wonderful appetizer. Could we hear the specials?”

That helped Michael remember the menus, and he pulled them from his pocket and cleared his throat. He handed them the construction paper menus. “Our specials tonight are roasted octopus and a steak tartar.”

From the kitchen, Henry mumbled, “Tartare.”

“Tartare. Steak tartare is our special,” Michael corrected.

“Hmm, I don’t know if I’m that adventurous. Maybe my boyfriend is though,” Y/N told a grinning Michael. “What do you recommend for a picky eater?”

“My favorite is the chicken nuggets.”

“Well then, sign me up. One order of chicken nuggets.” Y/N handed him the menu.

Spencer was still perusing the menu for Le Chateau LaMontagne. He smiled at Michael’s handwriting, but particularly at the places where he could tell Y/N had helped. “Everything looks delicious,” he finally decided, “but, you know... I think I’m also going to have the nuggets.”

…

When the boys were finally in bed, Spencer and Y/N settled down in the living room to untangle the mess of her hair. She sat on the floor in between his legs as he gently pulled each braid strand free. He smiled at the way she arched up into his touch, shivering when his fingers brushed over her neck.

“You’re lucky,” he remarked, laying the last braid strand back into its original place. “Michael seems to have gotten a little better at braiding.”

She leaned her head back into his hands. “You detangled the whole thing?”

“Mmhm.” He leaned forward to press a kiss to her forehead, then her nose, then her mouth. She brought her hands up to hold him against her, trying to deepen the kiss before laughing at the awkward angle and giving up.

He sat up as she stood and moved to the couch, snuggling up close to him and tucking herself under his arm. “I’m very lucky,” she agreed. “For many reasons.”

Her hand drifted to rest on his tummy, her fingers immediately tracing little shapes over the fabric of his shirt. He pressed a kiss into her hair. “And tired, too.”

“Hmm?”

He leaned his cheek against her head. “When you get tired, you, um— you start drawing on my stomach.”

Her finger paused. “Do I?”

“Yeah.” She shifted to raise her head to look at him, and he shrugged. “I don’t mind. I’ve just— noticed.”

She smiled a little sleepily. “You know I love all of you. But I— well, I don’t know, really. I just like your tummy.” She gave it a quick squeeze. “It’s just— nice and comfy and perfect for resting on.”

He covered her hand with his own and leaned forward to press their mouths together. She drew his bottom lip in between her own, sucking a little and then giving it a quick peck before pulling back and stifling a yawn into his chest. “Man, I am tired.” She snuggled back into him and resumed her tummy tracing. “What, um— what else have you noticed?”

He rubbed his hand down her arm and pulled her impossibly closer. “You like to play with my hair.”

“Mmmm, guilty as charged.”

He smiled at the sleep creeping into her voice. “I like it, too.” He ran his fingers up to her shoulder, and then back down to the crook of her arm, soothing her closer to sleep. “Hmmmm. You always have at least one point of contact on my body at all times. It’s usually your hands, but sometimes it’s your head or even your toes— like when you tuck them under my leg.”

“Ugh— I’m sorry. Clingy and putting my feet on you,” she mumbled.

She might have been joking, but Anita’s words were replaying in his head. He couldn’t change what had happened in the past. He couldn’t go back and prevent her from being hurt by someone else. But he could be different in every way. He could be open and honest and vulnerable with her like he’d promised.

“I’m not sorry. I love all of you,” he murmured, pulling her in closer and repeating her words back to her.

“Even my feet?”

He could also show her that there was absolutely nothing that he didn’t love about her. “Especially your feet.”

She huffed a sigh into his chest. “Y’got a foot thing I don’t know about?”

He laughed a little at that. “Only for yours. They’re very cute feet.”

“You’re weird,” she muttered, but she hugged him tighter when she said it.

“You love it.”

Her fingers on his tummy had come to rest comfortably just above his waistband, and he knew she was on the very edge of sleep. “Mmhm. Love you.”

He thought of all the little moments over the past few months.

Doesn’t live up to expectations? Sorry for overstepping. Are we dating? Sorry for being clingy. Sorry for taking so long to tell you. Sorry. Sorry. Sorry.

“I love you, too,” he murmured. “So much.”

———

Permanent tags: @spacedikut @andiebeaword @averyhotchner @pinkdiamond1016 @shadyladyperfection @coffeeandendlesswords @justanothetfangirl @no-honey-no @ajeff855 @sapphic-prentiss @rexorangecouny @rainsong01 @blameitonthenight21 @moviequeen51 @90spumkin @reniescarlett @ncsls0515 @daybabyx @sturmmhond @takeyourleap-of-faith @calm-and-doctor @reidtheprettyboy @atabigail @ayo-cowbelly @muffin-cup @ssa-natalya-reid @wheelsup @reidingmelodies @this-is-gublerween @s1utformgg @reidemandweep @sonnydoesrandomshit @rigatonireid @luwheezey @joalsglasses @je-suis-prest-rachel @dr-omalley @spencie-adams @honestimanormalfan @blurryreid @elldell1204 @babyhoneystvles

Permanent (sfw) tags: @mrs-dr-reid @eevee0722 @goldentournesol

Broken tags: @radtwinkie

Series tags: @uhuhuh @itsametaphorbriansblog @magenta145 @annesauriol @watermelongubler @ampal98 @mggsprettygirl @ceeellewrites @joalsglasses @chevyimpala00067 @misshale21 @ilzieah @froggybagels @gublersbooblers @matthcwgraygubler @andromedasstarship @reidspurplescarfs @hanniebee33 @nazdaniels @irisisonline @nazifa94 @rotinireid @outer-spacious @stupidcrazylittlething @princesssmooshie @luvspence @samanthareid06 @maddievevo @saspencereid

#spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid #spencer reid x you #spencer reid imagine #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds self insert #homoose writes

320 notes · View notes

hb-writes · 3 years

Text

The Walk-In Appointment

Summary: From the Little Lady Blinder universe. Clara learns to walk a bit later than her twin, but once she does there’s no stopping her from following her big brother around wherever he goes. Set in May 1909.

Characters: Tommy Shelby, Ada Shelby, Arthur Shelby, Polly Gray, and Clara Shelby

Warnings: Swearing

Hope you enjoy this little piece since the next chapter isn’t coming yet. This was inspired by the lovely @cecii22me’s ask and I’m so absolutely softened by the idea of Clara learning to walk and chasing around her ‘Ta’ / ‘TaTa’ as that’s what I’ve decided she’d call Tommy before she could get the whole name out properly.

-----

Ada stood her little sister up on her feet, holding her small hands as she encouraged a bit of walking. Clara humored Ada for a few steps, always did so, but lowered herself to the ground as soon as Ada tried to pull her hands away.

Finn took his first steps a few months before his twin sister, toddling around on the first floor and out into the shop if they left the doors open with little care for his own safety. He’d taken the first steps while walking towards his mother’s outstretched arms, the baby’s smiling face as he moved towards her a bright spot in what had come to be some tiring and difficult days for the woman.

But five months later, Clara still hadn’t shown an interest. Since their mother’s passing, the baby had become more clingy, more likely to request a sibling’s or her aunt’s arms, searching every adult face around her for that of her missing mother. She’d crawl, when necessary, but more often stayed put, playing quietly by herself while Finn made a mess of things around her.

Polly told her niece and nephews to not worry about Clara’s lack of steps. One toddling Shelby was more than enough to handle and each of them had walked at different times. Clara was the latest of the six Shelby children though, now three months past her first birthday.

“Let her be, Ada,” Polly chided as Ada tried to force her younger sister up again, the toddler putting up a great protest and pulling against Ada’s hold as she tried to get back to the ground.

Ada stopped fighting with Clara, instead pulling the girl up to rest on her skinny hip. “Finny walked ages ago, Clara. Don’t you want to walk?”

“Your sister will walk when she’s ready,” Polly answered. “I can’t imagine why you’re surprised she’s just as stubborn as the rest of you.”

Ada kissed her sister’s cheek and Clara settled against Ada’s chest for a moment, her little version of a hug.

“You’re not stubborn, are you, lovey? You’re just a sweet little thing.” Ada rubbed her sister’s back. “A sweet little lovey who wants to try walking for sissy one last time.”

Ada set Clara on her feet at the moment Tommy walked through the front door, disturbing the peace of the front room as he let it slam behind him.

Tommy passed his aunt and sisters without a word on his way to the shop, ignoring the baby’s incessant repeating of his name, a continuous stream of ‘Ta Ta Ta Ta’ growing louder as he disappeared from her view.

Ada released her sister’s hands to cover her ears, anticipating the unrelenting shriek that had become commonplace when the baby didn’t get what she wanted, but it didn’t come. Clara continued chanting after Tommy, taking her first steps as she shouted after her brother.

Polly glanced up from the paper at Ada’s excited squeal.

“I told you she’d walk when ready,” she offered, setting the paper aside and standing up.

Clara tumbled at the threshold to the shop, falling back on her bottom. Ada stepped forward to help her sister only to be stopped by Polly’s hand on her wrist.

Clara’s face scrunched up as she tugged on the thick curtains using them to stand up and gripping them until she was safely over the threshold.

Clara’s shouting for Tommy grew louder as she stepped into the shop, her little voice trying to overcome the volume of the scattered conversations taking place. Despite not clearly seeing Tommy, she took no deviations in her route as she headed towards Arthur’s office, the only place she’d ever come in the shop, always carried there on someone’s hip to visit the oldest Shelby brother.

Tommy caught sight of her steps only because a lull in the noise of the shop caused him to back out of Arthur’s doorway and look around, his sister’s shout perfectly timed to the sudden silence of the room.

He’d come home annoyed about some decision made about the horses, about to tell Arthur off, but he felt that anger leave him as he registered what was happening, the baby toddling towards him, her fair curls bouncing with each determined step. There was something new in her little gap-toothed smile, something in her serious uttering of the name she’d bestowed upon him months ago, the sound interspersed with her self-satisfied giggles, and it all made Tommy forget what he’d come in for in the first place because it was the most animated he’d seen the baby in months, the closest to happy he’d felt in months.

Arthur, Ada, and Polly were all watching by now, too, an almost foreign feeling which felt decidedly close to bliss swelling in them as Clara reached Tommy’s side. The baby gripped the fabric of her brother’s trousers in her small hands, tugging as she looked up to him.

“Up, Ta, up!”

Tommy leaned down to pull the girl into his arms, kissing her head. “Hello there, Clara girl.”

“Of course her first steps would be following after you,” Ada said, her arms crossed over her chest as she leaned against one of the tables.

“Oh, don’t be jealous, Ada,” Arthur said, rubbing his finger along the baby’s cheek. “I had your first steps. It’s only fair Tommy gets Clara’s.”

Clara put her palm to Tommy’s cheek, turning him towards her when his eyes moved to follow the conversation of their siblings.

“No, TaTa, no,” she said, her little voice sharp. “No. No. No.”

She grasped Tommy’s hand and swatted it. “No, Ta!”

Ada snorted, giggles escaping her lips as she watched the baby, her brow still furrowed despite appearing to be finished with her chastising.

“You’re in fucking trouble now, Tommy,” Arthur said, chuckling.

The handful of times the twins had picked up something they weren’t supposed to, done some little bit wrong, or put themselves in some unsafe predicament, they’d gotten a little warning tap on the hand.

“What’s that for, my girl?” Tommy asked, trying to keep a straight face.

“You’ve been bad, Thomas, ignored her when you came through just now,” Polly answered. “And Arthur, find better words, please. I don’t want the baby repeating that one.”

Tommy shifted the toddler in his arms. “Is that it, my girl? Ta didn’t say hello so you decided to walk in here to let me have it?” He kissed her head. “I’m very sorry, sweet girl. I should’ve said hello.”

Clara was already cuddling into his chest, giving a hug, her little hands gripping his shirt and Tommy waited, resting his chin on her head and letting her cuddle a bit before placing her on the floor beside him.

“Alright, you go off to Ada now or she’ll pout the rest of the evening,” Tommy encouraged, wishing he hadn’t yet started the conversation with Arthur. He’d much rather pass the hour before supper with Clara, but he had little choice in it now.

“C’mon. Show us those big girl steps and I’ll see you for supper.”

Clara took two steps towards her sister’s outstretched hands, turning back when Tommy stepped into Arthur’s office.

“Ta!” she said, holding a hand out to him.

Tommy took a deep breath, unable to hide his smile as he looked down at her.

“TATA!” she yelled, walking back to him.

“Give me a minute, Arthur,” Tommy said, taking one of Clara’s hands, stooping a bit to one side as she led him from the shop and back to the sitting room with Ada and Polly. Tommy settled her on the floor and played with his sisters for a few moments before standing up.

“I’ll be back,” he promised. “You stay with Ada.”

Tommy was grateful for Ada’s distraction, grateful that they didn’t have to suffer a tantrum because he wasn’t sure he’d be able to not give in to her on it.

Tommy and Arthur were just settling in to talk when there was a banging at the office door, a firm repetition of knocks.

“Christ, can’t even have a fucking conversation in this place. Get that, Tommy, won’t you?”

Tommy stood up and pulled his brother’s door open, glancing down at the threshold to see their visitor.

“We have a walk-in appointment, Arthur.”

“A what?” Arthur asked, unable to see a thing beyond his desk.

“A walk-in. Our Clara’s here demanding an audience.” Tommy lifted the girl into his arms.

“Well, best let her in, then,” Arthur answered. “No hope in her staying where’s she’s told now. We really are fucked.”

“Fuck!” Clara said, the same self-satisfied grin on her face as when she’d walked towards Tommy, her giggles filling the room as Tommy and Arthur both started laughing.

“I won’t tell Aunt Polly if you don’t,” Arthur said.

“I don’t think it’s me you have to bargain with to keep the secret, Arthur,” Tommy answered as he settled the giggling girl on his lap.

“Fuck,” Arthur said again, covering his mouth as the three siblings dissolved into laughter once again, Tommy and Arthur finding themselves entirely incapable of returning to their previous discussion with the little girl shouting out her new favorite word every time their laughter subsided.

———

Little Lady Blinder Masterlist.

------

🏷: @midnight-dreams-23 @cecii22me @pollyrepents @mo-onstarrs

#peaky blinders #peaky blinder fanfic #shelby!sister #shelby sister #tommy shelby #arthur shelby #ada shelby #polly gray #clara shelby #little lady blinder

568 notes · View notes

nugnthopkns · 3 years

Text

dance me to the end of love (i)

word count: 4.3k

warnings: fem!oc, cursing, potential spoilers for the west wing if you've never seen the show

series masterpost: here

a/n: hi!! i am so incredibly happy to finally be putting this fic out into the world. it means an awful lot to me and i can't wait to share the little world i've created :)) x

Magdalene is content with where she’s ended up.

Denver is wonderful. Her friends are there, her cat is there, and it’s the perfect place for a fresh start. She arrived in the city nearly six years ago – a wide-eyed University of Denver freshman and has stayed put ever since. Her hometown of Aspen holds a few too many bad memories, but is close enough that she can return if an emergency calls for it. So far she hasn’t left, too engrossed in finishing her degree and moving on. There’s a job offer lined up with the university’s library upon graduation that Magdalene is ecstatic about. It means she gets to stay right where she is – where she’s comfortable.

☼☼☼☼

The sun might be shining as she exits her apartment building, but it’s cold for March. Magdalene pulls the thick scarf her best friend Bette got her for Christmas higher up her face and walks as quickly as possible to campus. There’s a brief meeting to attend with her advisor before grabbing lunch with Bette, and then her plan is to spend the rest of the day holed up in the library working on her thesis. It’s due in two weeks, with the defence in just over a month, and Magdalene is incredibly nervous. Though she’d gone through submitting her undergraduate thesis two years ago, presenting her master’s research was going to be a lot harder. She’s heard through the grapevine that the committees are being tough this year and she doesn’t want to fail.

Dr. Williams is waiting for her in his office with a smile on his face. He’s a tall man, with thin facial features and wire glasses that box him perfectly into the intimidating professor stereotype. “Miss Stevenson, please sit,” he gestures to the chair across from him.

“Gerald,” she sighs, “You can call me Magdalene, I don’t mind. Besides, it makes you quite the hypocrite if you insist I call you by your first name but you won’t use mine.” There’s no malice in her voice, just a decent amount of teasing.

The older man scoffs but concedes. “I suppose you’re right. Well then Magdalene, tell me, how are your final edits coming along?”

Magdalene spends nearly twenty minutes detailing all the elements she has tweaked since their last meeting, from the title to the citation style. She’s out of breath by the time she’s done, rambling at an impressive speed, and takes a big gasp of air while the professor mulls over her words. Dr. Williams doesn’t say anything, causing Magdalene to shift anxiously in her seat. “Sir, is there something wrong?”

He shakes his head. “Absolutely nothing,” he beams, “Everything is perfect. It’s a shame you don’t want to continue researching. You’d make a fabulous academic.”

The compliment makes Magdalene’s heart soar. It means a lot, especially coming from the person who has seen her cry over the oxford comma. “Thank you sir, but I belong in the practical realm. Someone has to file all the documents you obsessively scan.”

She leaves the building soon after, promising to stop by after she drops off the final draft in a few weeks. It’s a bit later than she expected and hopes Bette won’t be mad. There’s nothing the blonde hates more than poor time management, but Magdalene prays she’ll understand. It wasn’t that long ago and Bette was scheduling her own appointments with advisors on how to graduate. Barn Owl Book Company is located halfway between the school and her apartment, making it the perfect spot to meet. In addition to being a used book store, Barn Owl sports one of the best cafés in downtown Denver. Bette is perched delicately at her friend’s favourite seat, a bay window converted into a small nook, and typing furiously on her phone.

“Sorry I’m late,” Magdalene apologizes, “Williams talked a lot more than I expected him to.”

Bette looks up and smiles, shoving a cup in the other girl’s direction. “As always. How is he?”

Sliding into the booth, Magdalene fills her friend in on what’s been going on in their former professor’s life. Bette graduated with a minor in Classics, and it was Magdalene's major, but the former decided not to further her education and is instead doing full time charity work for the Colorado Avalanche. Her boyfriend Tyson is one of their star players, and the two of them are so smitten it makes Magdalene sick. Conversation quickly turns from school to life, which she’s grateful for.

“So,” Bette says, “Are you in for the trip this summer? I’ve got to confirm the reservation in a week or something.”

“I don’t know Bee, I'm going to be the new girl. Asking for time off like two months into the job would be rude.”

“Linny,” the blonde whines, “Please? I want you to come.”

Magdalene scowls. Bette knows just how much the nickname sours her mood but she chose to use it anyway. “Don’t call me that,” she snaps with quite a bite. “Can someone else take my spot if I decide not to go a little closer to the date?”

“Of course! Gravy said he’d fill an extra spot if one comes up so we don’t lose the deposit,” Bette blabs before trying to switch gears entirely. Magdalene cuts her off.

“Who’s Gravy?”

If her friend is exasperated by Magdalene’s lack of knowledge surrounding hockey, she doesn’t show it. Bette calmly explains that Gravy, who’s real name is Ryan, is a defenceman with the Avalanche and a good friend of Tyson’s. She also makes a point of mentioning that he’s single, to which Magdalene rolls her eyes. Bette has a masterplan for her life – which includes her best friend becoming romantically involved with an Avalanche player so the two of them can live the better half life together. As the best friend, Magdalene is constantly barraged with potential players who are looking to date. Once she went on a few dates with Mikko, but that ended fairly quickly when the two realized they were better as friends. Every time since she’s turned Bette down as gently as possible, not wanting to get involved with anyone. Her life is just starting, and Magdalene wants to be secure before settling down.

The conversation eventually shifts to what Magdalene plans to wear for both her thesis defence and graduation. Bette is fashion savvy, while Magdalene is decidedly not. Her everyday wardrobe consists of collared button-downs and sweater vests, which is supposedly never going to back a comeback, according to Bette at least. The blonde eventually wears Magdalene down, and secures a position as stylist for the graduation ceremony. There was an attempt at the thesis defence, but the other girl insists she needs to be as comfortable as possible on such a stressful occasion.

A glance to the clock on the opposite wall has Magdalene stretching her arms and giving an apologetic glance to her friend on the other side of the table. “I should go,” she says. “I’ve got to put in some serious work on my citations today, and you know Caligula doesn’t like it when I’m gone all day.”

Bette rolls her eyes, but there isn’t any frustration behind the gesture. “I swear to god Mags, your cat has more separation anxiety than I do. Speaking of, I’m supposed to pick Tyson up at the airport and I’m running behind.”

“Tell him I say hi,” Magdalene says as she wraps her arms around Bette for a quick hug.

The two girls part ways on the sidewalk, with Magdalene heading back to campus and Bette sliding into the sleek Audi she shares with her boyfriend. Headphones find their way into her ears, and Magdalene listens to a random comedy podcast. Once tucked safely inside the library she’ll put on her favourite lo-fi playlist and concentrate, but for now she just enjoys the funny anecdotes of stories past.

It’s quiet in the library for a Tuesday, though Magdalene isn’t complaining. Her favourite table, the one she swears up and down is the only reason she ever gets anything done, is open, and she all but sprints to place her bag on the worn leather chair. While setting up her work station a few of the librarians come over to offer their congratulations for her upcoming job. News certainly travels fast around here, Magdalene thinks, but accepts their generosity with a smile on her face. They leave her alone soon enough and the tedious work of double checking the formatting of every single citation in the sixty-five page paper begins.

Hours pass, and Magdalene stays working in the library until as late as she possibly can. Caligula is going to start to worry about the length of her absence soon and his anxiety response of knocking over plants is not a mess she feels like cleaning up. She packs up her laptop and walks the short distance home as fast as possible.

“Little boots, I’m home,” Magdalene parrots in a sing-song voice as she slips her jacket off her shoulders and onto the hanger. At the sound of his nickname, the small cat bounds into the entryway. “Hi darling, did you miss me?” Magdalene gets an obnoxiously loud purr in response that she takes it as a yes. She reaches down to pick up the tiny animal before continuing further into the apartment, scratching behind his ears as she does so. The two of them settle into the respectably sized couch, where they stay for the rest of the night watching reruns of The West Wing before Magdalene falls asleep.

☼☼☼☼

“You fucking did it!” Bette shrieks as she bounds towards her best friend. Magdalene braces herself for the oncoming assault, and manages to keep them both upright after Bette jumps into her arms.

Her thesis defence had just finished, and the committee found Magdalene a worthy candidate for the Master of Information Science qualification. The presentation itself was open to the public, so Bette and Tyson sat in the front row to support Magdalene, but were escorted out for the conversation that followed. The two girls had developed a code so the news could be shared in a subtle way, though Bette threw the original plan out the window as soon as she saw her friend give a sneaky thumbs up when the conference room door opened.

“Congrats Mags,” Tyson says sincerely, doing his best not to add to the growing spectacle, but Magdalene can tell he wants to give her a bone crushing hug.

“Thank you,” she smiles softly, “And thank you guys for coming. It means a lot.” As two of her closest friends, both Bette and Tyson know that her family situation is rocky at best, and having them act as her support system means more than she’ll ever be able to articulate.

The couple shares a knowing look before engulfing their friend in a hug. “We’re always going to be here for you,” Bette whispers, “No matter what.”

Magdalene’s smile is so genuine it crinkles her eyes as she wraps her arms around Bette and Tyson’s shoulders and leads them out the door and into the sunshine. The group continues to the parking lot, where they climb into Tyson’s car and drive off campus in the direction of Magdalene’s favourite restaurant. Though she had tried to convince her friends they didn’t need to celebrate, she failed, and Magdalene soon finds herself laughing hysterically over a plate of carbonara as Tyson tells a story about the shenanigans the team got up to on their last road trip.

There’s a game tonight, and Bette has somehow convinced her into attending. Magdalene knows she should go, expand her social horizons a little, but all she wants to do is curl up in bed and sleep for three weeks. Her one condition is that she can go home straight after the game without being guilted into following the group to whatever nightclub they’ll celebrate the win or drink away the loss in. Tyson has to get ready so he drops the two girls off at Magdalene's apartment complex. She’s in charge of getting Bette to the rink, and she’ll leave with her boyfriend after the game.

Once inside the confines of her home, Magdalene promptly lies on the floor. “Holy shit,” she sighs, “I did it. I fucking did it.”

“You did!” Bette says as she lies down beside her best friend. “I’m so fucking proud of you, and Tyson is too. Even if he won’t tackle you in public to prove it.”

The comment garners a laugh from Magdalene, which alerts Caligula to the presence of others in the apartment. He pads over the rug currently being occupied by two adults, and snuggles into the small space between them. Bette and Magdalene continue to lay there, petting the cat and looking back fondly on all the times Magdalene called her friend in tears because she didn’t think she could push herself any farther. Bette was always there to pick up the slack, editing whatever section Magdalene was working on or to bring over a hot meal. Her support earned her the top spot in the acknowledgements section of the thesis.

Ball Arena is already crawling with people when Magdalene pulls into the small lot for player’s and their families. Normally she parks with the general public, but Bette insists they watch this game from the better halves box, and these spaces are closer to that entrance.

“Stop dragging your feet,” the blonde chastises as Magdalene takes her time cutting the engine. “I want to get a glass of rosé before they sell out.”

Sighing, Magdalene follows her orders. “Don’t you have a special bar in the box?” she asks while locking the car.

“Yeah, but the other girls are absolute fiends. They’ll drink it all before we get there with no remorse.”

The girls climb the stairs to the better halves box, Bette chatting excitedly about the game, but Magdalene stops just before the entrance. She’s met most of the others on multiple occasions and has nothing to worry about, but she can’t help but feel anxious. Her life is so different than everyone else’s in the space, and it feels like cheating when she’s there because she isn’t romantically involved with anyone on the roster. Bette likes to joke that she’s her better half, but Magdalene knows it’s said just to calm her nerves.

“It’ll be fine,” Bette whispers while squeezing her hand, “And if you get too uncomfortable we can find some seats in the nosebleeds.”

Once inside Magdalene’s nerves dissipate. Most of the other wives and girlfriends pay her no mind, but the ones that are especially close to Bette congratulate her on passing her defence. It warms her heart a little, and the small group Magdalene finds herself in settles down to watch the game unfold.

It’s a fairly intense one between Colorado’s division rival St. Louis. Both teams are fighting for first place in the conference, and a win for the Avalanche would put them three points ahead of the Blues instead of one. Players from both sides are amped up, and more than once a scrum at the net has turned into a dog-pile. Colorado is outplaying the other team, but have still managed to find themselves a goal short heading into the final period. At the buzzer Tyson takes the face-off and is immediately shoved by a member of the opposite team. He goes down hard, and Bette squeezes Magdalene’s hand so tightly she fears it will lose blood flow. Silence falls over the arena as Tyson doesn’t immediately get up. The inside of lip finds its way between her teeth and Magdalene bites down hard, worried about her friend. She’s so focussed on Tyson that she doesn’t notice a fight breaking out.

“Holy shit, Gravy is going to town!”

The remark is made by someone Magdalene recognizes as Gabe Landeskog’s wife, and it makes her peel her eyes off of Bette’s worried features and scan the ice for some action. Sure enough, a very tall man is laying right hooks to someone who looks significantly smaller than him on the Avalanche blue line. The referees let the fight continue until Tyson drags himself off the ice and onto the bench before separating the men and throwing them in the penalty box. Magdalene can tell words are still being exchanged from both sides of the glass, but she’s more focussed on the fact Tyson doesn’t make his way to the dressing room – a good sign that allows Bette to drop her hand and let out a shaky breath.

Nothing of great importance happens until MacKinnon ties the game with seven minutes left. It happens while the Avalanche are short handed, and the goal seems to light a fire beneath the team. Magdalene may not know much about hockey, but she’s smart enough to notice the insane amount of energy all the players suddenly have. Time ticks by slowly and before she realizes it, the final face-off is taking place. Luckily it’s in the St. Louis zone and won by Colorado. The puck is tipped back to the same player who got in the fight for Tyson, Gravy, and he one times it right into the back of the net. The buzzer goes off not a second later, and the entire team piles on top of the player who just won them the game.

Bette and Magdalene join in the shrieks of the other partners, jumping from their seats in excitement. Eventually they make their way down to the hallway outside the locker room and lean against the brick while they wait for Tyson.

“You don’t have to stay,” Bette insists, “I can wait by myself.”

Magdalene shakes her head. “No way. I want to make sure he’s okay too. What good is a friend with a black eye?”

The other girl laughs at her friend’s stubbornness but doesn’t shoo her away. Once Magdalene has made a decision it’s hard to get her to sway from it, and Bette knows better than to push. Besides, who is she to deny her friend a bit more social interaction? Magdalene has spent the past six years practically holed up in the library and deserves to stand in a crowded hallway.

The friends chat idly while they wait, with Magdalene sharing some of the most ridiculous questions she got asked in her defence interview that morning. She’s mid story when Tyson exits the dressing flanked by a man dressed sharply in all black.

“Hey guys,” Tyson greets, dipping his head to place a kiss to Bette’s cheek before doing an elaborately goofy handshake with Magdalene.

“Good game baby,” Bette compliments sweetly. She then turns her attention to the boy standing awkwardly on the fringes. “You too Graves.”

He smiles shyly, muttering out a small thanks. It’s then he seems to notice the final member of the group, and offers his hand in greeting. “Hi, I’m Ryan.”

“Nice to meet you. I’m Magdalene.”

She puts two and two together on the walk to her car. The Ryan Magdalene just met is the same who will take her spot on the trip, fought someone in Tyson’s defence, and scored the game winning goal. Though they’ve only said a few words, she likes him. He seems genuine, and those people are the rarest to find.

☼☼☼☼

Magdalene is walking across a graduation stage for the final time in two days. However, she can’t find anyone to take the third ticket. The University of Denver has a stupid rule where all graduates must have three guests attend the ceremony. Bette and Tyson are obviously occupying two of Magdalene’s seats, but she’s having trouble filling the third.

“I can ask Tys if one of the guys is free,” Bette shrugs. The two girls are sitting in the window of Barn Owl drinking iced lattes and discussing what Magdalene should wear to the ceremony.

“It’s okay,” Magdalene says, “I don’t want to bother anyone. Maybe I’ll just ask June.”

Her friend’s eye roll so far back into her head Magdalene isn’t sure they won’t stay there. “You can’t ask your boss to watch you graduate Mags! Besides, Gravy owes Tyson a favour and was already looking for something to do. I’m sure he won’t mind wasting a few hours as long as he gets drinks out of it.”

There isn’t a better option, so even though she barely knows the guy, Magdalene agrees. “Make sure he gets this?" she sighs, handing her friend an envelope with a single ticket in it. "I have to go. Caligula should be done at the vet soon.”

“Say hello to little boots for me,” Bette giggles as she waves goodbye.

Hours later, tucked into her couch with a glass of wine in one hand and Caligula playing with the fingers on the other, Magdalene realizes she invited a complete stranger to her graduation and how that could be a terrible idea. Sure, Ryan sounds like a great guy from the way Bette and Tyson talk about him, but he’s only ever spoken three words to her. Since that game she’s gone out with the team a few times, but the man with the piercing stare is yet to make an appearance. Magdalene considers that perhaps he’s more like her than his profession gives him credit for, and she feels a twinge of guilt about being worried he’d cause a scene at the ceremony.

There isn’t any more time for her to fret over the third and final guest on the list. At the last minute Bette decides there’s nothing in Magdalene’s closet that’s suitable for her to wear, so a trip to a local second-hand store ensues. While it’s nice that her friend has taken their carbon footprints into consideration, Magdalene wishes it didn’t have to happen an hour and a half before the ceremony is supposed to start.

“We have to be there in twenty minutes Bette,” she frets, tapping her foot nervously against the tile flooring.

If they can’t find whatever it is Bette’s looking for, Magdalene will have to walk across the stage in denim cutoffs and a faded t-shirt with Neil Young’s face on it, which is something she’s hoping to avoid at all costs.

“Have no fear, Mags,” she says with a knowing glint in her eye, “For I have found it.” Bette holds up a hanger that is holding a beautiful long sleeve dress adorned with a whimsical floral print.

Magdalene can’t help the gasp that escapes from her. “It’s beautiful,” she breathes, “But let’s hope it fits.”

The dress does in fact fit, and the workers are kind enough to let her wear it out of the store. Bette drives at a speed that might not be the safest to travel at in downtown Denver, but she gets to the school with minutes to spare. She shoos her friends out of the car so she can go pick up Tyson and Ryan, and Magdalene checks in with little hassle. The pool of graduates is fairly small, so she chats with a few classmates while they wait for the call to put their gowns on. Time passes quicker than expected, and soon Magdalene is being directed to her seat. She zones out while the dean gives a congratulatory speech and they go through the first few names. At one point she looks backwards into the crowd to find Bette, Tyson, and Ryan all giving her a thumbs up. The nerves she didn’t even know she had settle.

A faculty member signals for Magdalene’s row to stand up, and she smoothes her dress before dutifully following the person in front of her. Giddiness bubbles in her stomach at the thought of being done school forever. A hand from the stage crew give a cue, and Magdalene appears on the stage as her accomplishment is broadcast through the microphone.

“Magdalene Stevenson is being awarded a Masters in Information Science in Archival Studies and Records Management.” It feels so good to finally be finished that she lets a tear slip as she shakes the hand of the staff member handing her the package with her diploma in it.

The rest of the ceremony passes in a blur, and before Magdalene knows it her friends are approaching to congratulate her. Bette and Tyson wrap her in a tight hug, murmuring praise in her ears. Ryan stands awkwardly to the side before Bette drags him into the celebration. The four of them stand in the courtyard where the ceremony was for much longer than needed. Bette is crying enough to refill Sloan Lake if there is ever a drought and is yet to let go of Magdalene’s figure.

It’s only when the event staff ask them to leave so they can tear down the stage does Magdalene turn to leave campus for the last time as a student. She’ll be back in a few weeks as an employee, but deep down she knows this is the last time she’ll ever feel such a deep connection to the place.

“Victory is mine, victory is mine! Great day in the morning people, victory is mine!” Magdalene yells, quoting Josh Lyman as she skips down the path towards Bette’s car.

Both Bette and Tyson are confused at the sudden outburst, not knowing what she’s talking about, but Ryan responds without missing a beat. “Should I bring you all the muffins and bagels in the land?” His response doesn’t clear anything up, but it elicits a giant smile from Magdalene, who laughs and nods in confirmation.

Sitting in the back of Bette’s Audi, on the way to a graduation party she’s supposed to know nothing about, Magdalene decides that she wants to get to know Ryan Graves better. From what she’s garnered from Bette and Tyson he’s a class act, standing up for friends and giving good advice. He likes The West Wing and showed up to a stranger’s graduation, so how bad can he be?

☼☼☼☼

additional notes: see what magdalene's graduation dress looks like here // the quote from the west wing is from 1.02 if you were curious!

☼☼☼☼

taglist: @scrunchmakar @marcoscandellas @toplinetommy (add yourself to the taglist!)

#ryan graves imagine #ryan graves x oc #ryan graves fic #colorado avalanche imagine #nhl imagine #nhl fic #hockey imagine #hockey fic #cwrites #dmtteol

113 notes · View notes

mmvalentine · 3 years

Text

The Bargain pt 11 | Feysand

Modern AU. Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10. Just a little more smut, yeah?

Rhys woke up early and traced patterns lightly on Feyre’s skin as she slept.

They had just one more day together before he flew home to New York, but in the pale dawn light and with Feyre’s even breaths beneath his fingers, he couldn’t for the life of him think of why he needed to go back.

After a moment, Feyre stirred.

“Making me more tattoos, are you?” she mumbled, without opening her eyes. Rhys chuckled. “Sorry,” he said, “I didn’t mean to wake you.” “Why?” Feyre asked muzzily. She rolled around to face him, all smudged mascara and sleep-swollen lips. Beneath the sheets, Rhys was hard in an instant.

"Because I wanted to let you sleep." “But we only have one more day,” she said, and looked so cute when she frowned that it broke Rhys’ heart a little. He pulled her body over his, loving how soft she was all over, and kissed her nose.

"And what would you like to do with this one more day?" he asked her. Had not meant to add any suggestions of his own, but the way she was nuzzling into his chest, still waking slowly, had his hips sliding under her. Feyre's eyes widened a little, and colour bloomed on her cheeks.

"I could think of one thing," she breathed. "We don't have to-" Rhys started to say, but got cut off as Feyre put her lips on his throat. His words broke off into a stifled moan as the heat of her hovered just below his navel.

Her hands slid over his collar bones and around the back of his neck, and she was so marvelously warm on top of him. Next thing he knew, her tongue had made a blazing trail down his sternum, over his stomach, and around the head of his cock. Rhys gasped, and gripped the bars of the headboard hard enough for them to creak in protest.

When Feyre slid her mouth down over the length of him, Rhys's hips jerked forward reflexively.

"Sorry," he muttered, trying to hold still. But Feyre just moved her lips lower, letting him hit the back of her throat and sucking hard on the way back up. Rhys groaned, and the sound seemed to encourage her. She moved her head back and forth and the world shifted in and out of focus.

"That... feels amazing," Rhys told her, watching her move over his body. Feyre didn't reply, just kept up a steady rhythm until Rhys could barely stand it.

"You're going to have to slow down," he managed to get out. Feyre shook her head 'no,' and decidedly did not slow down. "Seriously," Rhys said between gritted teeth. "I'm not going to be much use you you in a second."

Feyre lifted her head long enough to say, "we don't have anymore condoms anyway," and then resumed her motion. Used her hand at the same time to cover the length of him. Rhys's hips arced up off the bed to meet her touch, and one hand moved through her hair before he realised he had reached out.

"Feyre stop I'm gonna come," he said, jaw clenched. But she showed no intention of doing any such thing. "Feyre." His control crumbled, and he started fucking hard into her mouth. She didn't pull back. "Feyre I'm gonna..." And then he was coming and she was swallowing him down and the sight of it was so unbearably sexy that his climax stretched on even after he was empty.

Feyre crawled back up his chest, kissed him with his own cum still on her tongue, and then promptly took a snooze right there on top of him like a cat. Rhys just watched her in wonder, and stroked her bare back while she slept.

Fifteen minutes later, she woke, they kissed lazily in bed and then in the shower, and then they strolled down the road to the bakery. And to the chemist.

On the way, Feyre chatted about Berlin sights she thought Rhys needed to see, iconic street art she could show him, and the best food in town. Rhys nodded along, saying very little and being content to watch Feyre animated and enthusiastic.

And he did want to do all of those things, wanted to go anywhere Feyre took him. Really, he did.

But then they got back to the hotel room, and did not manage to leave it again that day.

Did make love on the edge of the bed, fall off the side and fuck on the floor, get messy and have sex in the shower with their hands pressed up to the glass. Did cover each other's bodies in swirling patterns with black markers and ball point pens found in the hotel drawers. Did take breaks for pretzels and hot chocolate, before beginning again in the tangled white sheets with the 'do not disturb' tag hanging on the door handle outside.

They were just dozing off on the rug, Feyre in nothing but a pair of white cotton panties and black ink, Rhys completely naked, when Tarquin rang, and the sharp intrusion of the outside world in their little bubble was about as welcome to Rhys as a kick in the guts.

Feyre groaned. "Don't answer," she said, her head pillowed on Rhys' stomach. His fingers traced around her navel.

"Hello?" "Rhys! It's Tarquin. How are things over there?" "Fantastic," Rhys said. "We've finished painting and are tidying up now. I was just about to call you and tell you the good news."

Feyre took his fingers and guided them lower. She moaned softly as he pushed light circles onto her clit, over her underwear.

"You have? Wie schöne, that's wonderful news," Tarquin said. "I'll come meet you both up there."

Feyre reached out and stroked his cock while he dipped his fingers under her waistband.

"Actually," Rhys said, forcing his voice to come out evenly, "we're just leaving now. But I would still encourage you to go have a look." "Oh but I want to see it with you," Tarquin argued. "Give my thanks to you both. Shake your hands."

Rhys bit back a laugh. "Don't think you could shake out hands right now." Feyre giggled silently. "They're... covered in paint."

"Ah fair enough, but even figuratively speaking, it'd be good to see you both off." "Love to, Tarquin," Rhys said, eyeing Feyre. She was starting to arch off the floor, and little whimpers were escaping as his fingers sped up. He held a finger to his lips. "Unfortunately we actually have an engagement to get to. We're leaving the site now, and I'm going to eat something but I'll put Feyre on."

He handed the phone to Feyre, and at the same time rolled over her. Slid her underwear down and put his mouth on her pussy. She lifted her hips to him, and then mouthed Naughty, while her eyes sparkled above him.

"Hello?" she said. Breathlessly. "Oh, yes Tarquin do come have a look. It's-" here here breath hitched, "well I'm quite without words, Rhys is ve-ery skilled hmmmm I've been so glad to work with him on this project."

Rhys grinned, and reached his tongue deep inside her. Feyre clamped a hand down on the phone's speaker and bit down hard on her lip.

"No, we won't be there but I would love to... ah... to.. mm, to catch up with you later in the week. Sorry, yes I am a bit... uh... out of breath. We're carrying all the supplies back to my... umm.. my car."

Feyre swatted Rhys' head, but he just sped up his tongue on her clit.

"Doyouknowwhat, ah, Tarquin you head up there now, text me what you think and I... I'll speak to you later. Yep. Okay. Yesokaybye."

Feyre hung up the phone, threw it to one side and then moaned so loudly and deeply Rhys felt the vibration in her stomach. She wrapped her legs around his head, put her hands in her hair and pushed herself closer to him. She was hotter than anything, and then Rhys was palming his own cock while he watched writhe on the floor. It wasn't long before she was coming undone on his lips.

When she finally came, Rhys was struck with the desire to draw her, just like this, in gorgeous ecstasy and with the exact colour of the blush across her chest.

The next morning, Rhys was due to get on a plane.

They sat in Feyre's car, with Rhys' bag on the back seat, and sat outside the airport without saying a word. Eventually, Feyre said, "Do you know, I came a long way to get away from my ex, and now all I feel is homesick." "Do you now?" Rhys murmured. "I've honestly thought about moving back to New York. But I packed everything up and left. I have nothing there, I have nowhere to live."

Rhys leaned back in his seat, and grinned lazily at Feyre.

"I'll make you a bargain, Feyre darling," he said. "I'm listening," Feyre replied. "You move back to New York and you can stay with me while you look for somewhere, and then you just move out when you find a place." Feyre considered it. "That would make things easier," she agreed.

"And hey," Rhys continued. "Maybe you like living with me and you never move out." Feyre grinned right back. "Maybe you like me and we live happily ever after."

Rhys shrugged. "Anything could happen," he said. Feyre stuck her hand out.

"It's a deal," she said, and they shook on it. Rhys pulled her in by the hand and kissed her, committing to memory the exact way she tasted.

"Come home soon, then," he whispered. **** Theeeeee end! That's all lovers, thank you so, so much to everyone who has been with me on this super lovely ride. Your comments, reblogs and general love have been deeply appreciated and I am forever grateful. I am a bit sad this one is over.

MASTERLIST

TAGLIST: @ghostlyrose2 @highladysith @stardelia @feysand-loml @tillyrubes10 @ratabrasileira @live-the-fangirl-life @maybekindasortaace @annejulianneh111 @thebonecarver @rowaelinismyotp @loosingdreams @whythefuckdoiexist @inejsarrow @swankii-art-teacher @sjmships @courtofjurdan @teddytdr @positivewitch @thalia-2-rose @darling-archeron @rapunzel1523 @fairchildjace @philosophorumaurum02 @story-scribbler @allthecolorsneverseen @asteria-of-mars

#feysand #feysand fic #acotar #fluff #smut #mine

84 notes · View notes

slapshot-to-the-heart · 4 years

Text

baby, kiss it better - m. tkachuk

I saw a 13-minute video last night just called “the Tkachuk brothers annoying people” and immediately got an idea. Two and a half hours later, this was the result. Title is from cardigan off of Taylor Swift’s masterful new album folklore. Listen if you haven’t, and let me know what you think of this (and the album!)

——

You glanced up at the arena clock. 4:12 left in the first intermission. Taryn rubbed your shoulder lightly, catching your attention. “You good? You’re looking a little on edge.”

You blinked a few times, shooting her a tight smile. “Yeah. It’s good, I’m good. Just a little tired, nervous since the team’s down.” The score was 0-2, Vancouver having gotten in two early goals that the Flames hadn’t been able to catch up to.

“There’s still 40 minutes of play,” she said, shrugging, “so don’t get too worked up. Weirder things have happened.”

This smile was a genuine one. “Fair.”

Chantal shuffled back into her seat, precariously balancing two trays of food in her left hand while trying to hold her phone in her right. “Hot dog for Taryn, and nachos for you, love,” she said, passing the chips over.

“Thanks, mom,” you said. You and Matthew had been married for just under two years, but it still never ceased to amaze you how welcoming his family had been, straight from the start. It had never been a question of if you’d “fit in” or not with them; you were treated like a second daughter from the moment Matty brought you home to St. Louis. His mom was beyond grateful her son had finally found someone to tamp down his attitude, Brady loved having another person on his side when he’d chirp his brother, and Taryn was excited to finally have another girl around the house. You loved your own parents, but being grafted so easily onto the Tkachuk family tree was something unexpected but so, so welcome nonetheless.

It had become something of an annual tradition to have them fly in for a week or so at least once during the season, usually at some point between Matthew’s birthday in December and your own in March. Keith was tied up with something back in Missouri, so he had sent his regrets and his wife and daughter on a plane to Calgary in his stead. They stayed in one of the spare rooms in the house you and Matthew had bought just before the wedding, a gorgeous slate gray four-bedroom on the edge of the city. It had an enormous yard that was practically begging for a dog, so you had dragged Matty to the animal shelter right after returning from your honeymoon in the Seychelles. Cocoa was the other love of your life, an exceedingly friendly lab mix whose chocolate brown eyes had captured you the moment you saw her.

But Chantal really had turned into your second mom, even outside of your relationship with Matthew. You hung out with her and Taryn on your own accord during the off-season, and on more than one occasion Matty had walked into your bedroom only to see you on FaceTime with his mom.

“It’s nothing,” she said, waving you off. “I know how you feel about cheese.” It’s true, you had an ongoing love affair with cheese.

You bent down, taking a sip of water before replying to a text, slipping your phone back into your jeans pocket. You had never been the type of person to check your phone during games, even when Matty wasn’t on a shift. You were his wife, sure, but you were a hockey fan before you ever met and would rather step on a Lego barefoot than miss a single second of the action. The referee dropped the puck at center ice and the second period began.

Midway through the period, they had cut the Canucks lead by half, Lindholm sneaking a wrap-around goal in the fourth minute, but were still trailing by one. The frustration was beginning to show. Chirps were being thrown more freely, hits got a little dirtier, and more than a few sticks had been banged against the wall in frustration on the home bench. Which is why it wasn’t particularly surprising when Matty dropped the gloves after a decidedly nasty cross-check on one of their rookies.

Matty got into fights. It’s what he did, he was an enforcer; you knew that when you met him, starry-eyed and 21 and about to finish college. Even with the league’s increasingly restrictive rules on fighting, he always found a way around them. And if he couldn’t find a way around them, he just broke them. There was a reason he led the team by a mile in penalty minutes. You had long since accepted that some nights your husband would come home bruised and battered, a little worse for wear. It was the part he played on the team, and since he had been named captain after Giordano’s retirement, he felt a newfound responsibility to look after his team even more than before. Especially the new players, and especially the rookies. He remembered the feeling of being lost in a new city, in a country that wasn’t his own, with next to nobody that he actually knew. Nobody fucked with his boys, not on his watch.

Like the rest of the thousands of fans, you watched the fight. You were invested. You played with the hem of your jersey, the same one Matty had given you for your first anniversary when you were dating. You were as proud as anyone wearing it to games back then, and the sentiment hadn’t changed after more than three years. All that was different was that you were wearing a jersey that had your last name on it too.

Fights rarely made you nervous anymore. Hockey was a rough game, and fighting was a part of it. Everyone knew Matty could hold his own, and despite his devil-may-care attitude, he was usually good about not picking fights he didn’t think he could win. But all of the bets were off as soon as the gloves were thrown and the fists went flying.

For the first few seconds, it seemed like Matty had the upper hand; he had grabbed a hold of the other player’s collar and had managed to land a few well-placed punches, but his lead was short-lived. He lost his footing for just a moment, but the Canucks player saw an opening and moved in, landing hooks and uppercuts and jabs that Matthew barely missed. The linesmen tried to move in, break up the pair, but they shook them off. Matty tried to land a punch with his left hand, but he missed his face and hit the helmet. The close-up on the screen broadcast his wince for the whole crowd to see. You felt a pang in your heart. As much as you understood that this was his job, this is what he was meant to be doing, it never got any easier. He tried to take a jab with his bad hand, an ill-advised decision that led to him cursing not-so-under-his-breath. The Canucks player missed one, harmlessly hitting the air above his head as Matty ducked. Then he just barely grazed his neck.

And then he didn’t miss one, his fist leveling with Matty’s cheek. He lost balance, his skates coming out from under him as he fell to the ice, first his shoulder, then his head. You thanked God that he hadn’t been so stupid as to take off his helmet, but you didn’t like how he landed on his hand and how slowly he was getting up. The athletic trainer jogged out on the ice, kneeling next to your husband as your hand shot out to the chair on your left, fingers interlacing with Taryn’s as you held your breath, waiting for him to get up. And he got up a minute or two later, but there was blood and gauze and he had to be supported on both sides, gingerly skating off the ice and going straight to the dressing room.

You tried to steady your breathing, reminding yourself that injuries happened all the time in sports, that half the time they weren’t nearly as bad as they looked, and that Matthew was one of the toughest people you knew and he would fight tooth and nail to get back out onto the ice barring anything extreme.

Play continued for a few minutes. You broke your “no-phone” vow and pulled it out, flipping it over and over in your hands as you glanced down at the home screen, waiting for a text to come through. He knew to call you if it was something serious, or to get someone else to contact you, but leaving you hanging wasn’t something he was known for. At the next break in the action, an icing call against Vancouver, the PA system crackled to life. “Number 19, forward Matthew Tkachuk, will not be returning to the game following an assessment by the team’s medical and athletic training staff.” A nervous ripple of whispers chorused through the crowd. You gripped Taryn’s hand so hard you thought you’d break it. Your knuckles were so tight you feared they’d split. He’d never been pulled from a game after a fight; five minute majors here and there, once or twice a season he’d get a game misconduct and be thrown out for ten, but never in your entire relationship had it been his injuries that kept him from playing.

You turned to Taryn and Chantal, your eyes wide-open in fear and your heart racing. Fuck it, you weren’t going to wait for someone to give you permission to see your own husband when he was probably in the worst shape you’d ever seen him. Chantal’s expression mirrored your own; she knew this feeling, she’d dealt with it for the twenty years her sons had played hockey. She looked over at you, mouthing three words. Go to him. You frantically nodded, squeezing Taryn’s hand before shooting up from your seat, grabbing your bag and shoving the strap over your head. One way or another, you didn’t think you’d be back.

The heels of your boots clicked underfoot as you made your way out onto the concourse, following the familiar signs of the Saddledome to the private elevators on the far side of the arena. The attendant on call was an usher you knew, thank God, who opened the elevator doors immediately as you walked up. You tapped your foot nervously as the elevator descended down, down, down until it hit the lowest level, the underground corridors that were usually crowded with players, families, and media after games. It was eerily silent as you jogged through, the only sounds being your boots against the floor and the distant roar of fans as play continued. One left and two rights later, you were standing outside of the door to the dressing room, pausing for exactly two seconds to steel yourself to see whatever condition Matthew was in. Once you hand calmed your still-shaking hands as much as your body would allow you, you pushed the door open.

You were greeted by the team doctor and the head athletic trainer, crowded around your husband, who was propped up on what looked like a massage table. His jersey and pads had been stripped off, all that remained was his sweat-soaked t-shirt. He caught your eye. “It’s worse than it looks, I promise, babe.” You gingerly took a few steps forward. Matty’s good arm, the one that wasn’t being worked on, wrapped around your waist. He kissed you on the shoulder.

“What’s the damage?” You asked timidly, tucking a piece of hair behind your ear and looking at the doctor. He finished splinting Matty’s third finger.

“Couple minor cuts, mild concussion, sprained wrist, one broken finger,” he listed off. You sucked in a breath. He must have sensed the worry radiating off your body, because he smiled kindly at you. “I won’t lie, it’s not good, but I’ve seen worse. He should be back in a few weeks at the longest.” He turned to Matthew. “We’re done here, but you’ve got to promise me to take it easy.” He looked pointedly at you. “Listen to your wife when she tells you to slow down.” Matthew nodded, a hint of his old smile returning. “It really shouldn’t hurt much, but if it’s bothering you you can take some Tylenol. Let me know if it gets significantly worse.” The doctor zipped his bag shut, leaving with the trainer out the door and your husband with a finger splint and wrist brace.

You carefully hopped up onto the table, carding your hands through his curls, your foreheads just barely touching. He was sweaty, but you couldn’t have cared less. “You really scared me out there, you know,” your voice said, cracking.

Matty felt a pang race through his body, one that had absolutely nothing to do with his physical injuries. This was his wife, and he had scared her, even though it wasn’t entirely in his own hands and even though that was something he swore on their wedding day he’d never do to her. His heart broke like he broke his promise. “I’m sorry. He was about to beat up on the rookie, and I felt like I had to do something. I couldn’t just stand by and watch it when I could do something. But I worried you, and I shouldn’t have.”

You pulled away slightly, gently grabbing his good hand and running yout thumb over his knuckles. “I know, and how much you care about the boys, how deeply you care for the people in your life, is one of my favorite things about you. It’s one of the first things that made me fall in love with you.” The corner of his lip twitched up in a half-smile. “But I’ve never been scared for you in a fight before, Matty. And this scared the shit out of me, babe.”

His fingers skated up your arm to brush away the lone tear rolling down your cheek. You hadn’t even realized you were crying. “I promised when we got married that I’d always take care of you, put your needs before my own. I didn’t do that today.”

“I get that it’s what you do, I get that you’re an enforcer,” you said, shaking your head. “And I don’t want you to ever feel like you have to give that up for me. I married you for you, all parts of you. And like it or not, that includes the parts of you that beat people up on occasion.” You gave a watery laugh. “I’m not asking you to stop fighting altogether. The boys need someone to back them up, and I’m proud that you’re that person. I’m just asking you to maybe think a little more before you go to drop the gloves, you know?” His blue eyes pierced into your own, his expression softening. “This was fine when you were 21, and I knew what I was getting into back then. I know what I’m getting into now. But,” you took a shaky breath, “there’s someone else you’ve got to worry about.”

His brows furrowed, not quite able to piece it together. You took a hard swallow. This wasn’t how I wanted to tell him. “I want to bring our baby to games. There’s nothing more that I want than for them to get to see you doing what you love. But I don’t want our son or daughter to have to see their father laid out on the ice because he couldn’t keep his temper in check for once in his life.” The tears were coming more freely now, and you reached up one hand in a futile effort to try and wipe them away, while the hand that was holding yours tightened almost imperceptibly.

Matthew’s eyes searched your face, looking for any trace of a joke, but he should have known better. This wasn’t something you’d joke about. His breath hitched in his throat. “You’re pregnant?” His heart lifted. While the two of you hadn’t been actively trying, you had gone off birth control a few months ago, having agreed that you were both open to the idea of a baby now, choosing to let whatever happened, happen.

You nodded, a real smile emerging on your face for the first time all night. Almost on its own accord, his hand moved to your stomach, hovering over it as if he was expecting you to already be showing. You looked down at his awestruck face, silent permission for his hand to creep under your jersey, pressing flush against your stomach. “How long have you known?”

You tilted your head. “I found out two days ago, just before I left to go pick up Taryn and Mom from the airport.”

“Do they know?”

“No,” you said, shaking your head. “I wanted you to be the first. I was going to tell you this weekend, but…”

“Plans change.” You nodded.

“How far along are you?”

You met his eyes. “Eight weeks.” Matty silently cursed himself. He wished you had been able to do it how you wanted. He leaned into you, ghosting a kiss over your lips that enchanted you and comforted you and took your breath away all at the same time. He pulled away. “I promise I’ll take a step back from the fighting. You’re right that it’s my job, but this, you, will always be more important.” He took a deep breath. “Being your husband is the best thing I’ve ever done in my life. But this,” he breathed, running his thumb over your skin under his jersey, just above where your son or daughter the size of a raspberry was, “being a dad?” His voice cracked. “I’m never going to do anything better. I don’t care if we win the Cup, or I get into the Hall of Fame, or sign the biggest contract the league’s ever seen. You and this baby are the most important people in my life. And I swear I’ll never do anything again that could make you question that.”

He kissed you again, but this one was different. This one grounded you, somehow communicating all of the guilt, and confusion, and happiness he was experiencing without saying a single word. “And I’m so, so happy about this, babe. Do you know how happy I am?”

It was a little bit of a rhetorical question, but you smiled anyway. “Really happy?”

A full-blown grin burst out onto his face. “I’m fucking ecstatic, babe. We’re having a baby. You’re gonna be a mom. I’m gonna be a dad.”

Tears welled up in your eyes, but just like the kiss, these were different. Happy tears. “You’re gonna be a dad.”

#matthew tkachuk #hockey imagine #hockey smut #nhl imagine #nhl smut #hockey imagines #hockey writing #nhl imagines #nhl writing #nhl #rat king #hockey #matty tkachuk

890 notes · View notes

alecmagnuslwb · 3 years

Text

You’ve Changed Man - @doubleredweek Day 4

Read on AO3

Jason doesn’t mind stakeouts generally. He likes the peace and quiet of being alone, of stalking his prey and figuring out their ins and outs so he can take them out. It’s probably a bit of the Selina Kyle training he got in his youth slipping in and he absolutely loves it.

A stakeout with Roy isn’t even too bad, because he loves Roy and even though Roy loves to talk sometimes, he gets the need for quiet when on a stakeout. He understands Jason’s desire for silence, for focus. Plus if things get really boring they can just make out. It’s a win-win situation no matter what really.

Jason however decidedly hates stakeouts with his brothers, except for maybe Duke who at least knows the value of silence even if he thinks quote on quote ‘stakeouts are stupid, that’s what the internet is for’. Damian’s impulse control makes Jason look like a patient saint, Dick treats it like he’s a still a cop and Tim might be worst of all.

Tim Drake is incredibly smart, though Jason doesn’t like to tell him that. He’s hardwired like a better detective than Batman himself, which he also doesn’t like to tell him. He’s focused, determined and sharp as a tack at most times. Except evidently on a stakeout when he’s on his tenth black eye with three extra shots of the night. Jason has no idea when Tim last slept, but he’s starting to feel like it was a worrying amount of time ago.

Tim’s gone from focusing his attention solely on the target across the street to looking in the living rooms of any place he can find and seeing what’s on tv. He’s quoted a range of television shows and movies verbatim and he’s spouted out so many facts about things only barely related to what he’s catching on people’s televisions that Jason can’t keep track.

He’s basically driving Jason insane as he tries to keep his own focus on Sophia Falcone in her luxury penthouse apartment that she’s rumored to have not left in pushing three months now. She’s up to no good, that much they know, just what kind of family business no good they’re not sure. Which is why they’re staked out on a rooftop in 70-degree nighttime heat in form fitting leather. Not to watch people’s tv’s.

Tim’s leg is bouncing up and down the jitters of the coffees keeping him in constant motion. Frankly between the heat, the deeply uneven ratio of coffee to water and the constant movement Jason’s not quite sure how Tim hasn’t passed out from dehydration yet.

Scientists should probably study Tim for inhuman ability related to coffee which is coming from a guy who should probably be studied for the whole coming back from the dead thing.

Tim’s been quite for a while now, finally, but the silence is broken when he starts muttering under his breath. Jason looks over from where Sofia has been barking orders at a maid to see Tim swaying back and forth and gives him a judgmental look.

Soon enough the muttering gets a little louder and Jason can clearly tell he’s singing, poorly so but singing nonetheless.

“And the line where sky beats the sea, it calls me!” he sings a little too loud for their position. Jason smacks him on the shoulder gaining his attention.

“Keep it down,” he says before turning his attention back to Sofia, but he can only see the poor haggard maid now. “Also, that’s not the lyrics.”

Tim doesn’t say a thing which he knows he should be grateful for, but he really needs to know if Tim’s coffee addled brain understands that he has to keep it down so he pulls his focus back to Tim.

He expects him to be once again watching Moana through some poor person’s window, but instead Tim is looking directly at him eyes bright, wide and positively delighted under his domino mask sporting the dorkiest fucking smile Jason has ever seen on a human being.

“What?” he asks confused, feeling like he’s clearly missing something.

“You know the lyrics to Moana,” Tim says with absolute glee.

Jason just shrugs. “So? Lian loves it and Roy does this whole thing where he sings it to her when she’s in the tub. There’s a whole production with plastic boats and a water-logged Barbie involved and everything,” he says trying to play it off as nothing to think about, but knowing he sounds exceedingly fond. It’s one of the cutest things he’s ever seen and Roy’s voice is actually pretty nice, in another life he might have been a low rent rockstar. He has the hair for it.

“You’re so domestic now,” Tim giggles taking another sip of his latest cold brew. Jason thinks Alfred and magic must be involved in how he fit so many into his little cooler. “It’s adorable.”

“I’m not domestic now,” Jason balks at Tim his gut instinct to instantly deny. He’s the Red Hood, the nightmare that criminals tell their lackeys about. He’s a badass raised on the streets who’s spent time in the tutelage of some of the greatest criminal masterminds alive. He can take any gun you sit in front of him apart and put it back together in under fifteen seconds. He was raised on the streets dammit, he’s the broken son of the Bat. He’s not domestic, he’s a badass.

“I’m the fucking Red Hood,” he says instead of all that, it seems like he’d be reaching too far and being a bit too defensive if he went on the rant he just had in his head.

“Yeah you are,” Tim says with that goofy smile just getting goofier. “And the fucking Red Hood is a big ol’ domestic softie now who’s in love,” Tim singsongs the word love. “And makes casseroles and knows all the words to Moana,” he finishes off in explanation with playful poke to Jason’s shoulder

Jason shoves his hand away and bristles at the implication he’s gone soft. So what if he spends more time at home than he ever has before and he puts a little more effort into his cooking now that he’s cooking for three instead of quick meals for one in empty safehouses. So what if he makes his choices based entirely on whether it will cut into his time with Roy and Lian. And yeah, maybe he knows more about Disney animation now than he ever did even when he was a child himself, but he’s a sort of stepfather and sort of husband these days and it all comes with the territory.

It doesn’t mean he can’t still kick ass and demolish the criminal underbelly of Gotham.

“Am not,” he replies like the mature adult he is. “You are.”

Tim just scoffs at him, actually says the word scoff. The coffee has to be making him delusional by now.

“Don’t live in denial brother o’ mine, you’ve changed man,” Tim giggles again swirling his coffee around the ice clinking loudly in the rare quiet of a Gotham city night.

“No I haven’t,” Jason says even though he knows that’s not true. He’s better than he used to be. It’s not a thing to get defensive about, but he feels like his brother’s should still think of him as tough for some reason. His sister never has, so he’s not too worried that Cassandra has definitely caught him making unicorn shaped pancakes in the kitchen one morning and caught him obsessing over rings in a jewelry store window for a reason he hasn’t quite admitted to yet that one time. She’s a great secret keeper too, since Tim definitely would be bringing up those events right now if she had blabbed.

“It’s not a bad thing,” Tim says between big slurps of his coffee. “You’re still the spooky boogeyman that criminals fear, but you’re also the guy whose ringtone is from the Little Mermaid. It’s a cool balance, pretty sure it’s the balance we’re all trying find.”

“Lian changed my ringtone and every time I switch it back she just does it again, so I left it,” Jason says feeling a little less defensive now. Maybe Tim’s right, maybe it’s not necessarily a bad thing. He is the happiest he’s been since he crawled out of his own grave, happier than he was even in those vague rare memories of joy he has from his own childhood.

“Sweet,” Tim says warmly picking his binoculars back up and going back to the house where the movie is playing instead of the criminal kingpin’s daughter. Jason just rolls his eyes focusing his own attention back on the task at hand.

They sit quietly after that Jason watching as Falcone Jr. paces in front of her fireplace clearly agitated about something while Tim quietly enjoys his movie.

“So what are the lyrics?” Tim asks breaking the quiet. It seems he’s run out of coffee now and has resorted to just chewing on the straw.

“It’s where the sky meets the sea not beats,” he emphasizes.

“Cool,” Tim says finally shifting his binoculars back to the same place Jason has been looking for the past four hours. Another few beats of quiet pass and Jason thinks maybe finally they’re back in business, until Tim ruins it.

“Will you sing it for me? You know to make sure I get it right?” he asks and Jason looks over at him his eyes still trained on the penthouse, but with that goofy smile on his lips again.

Why did Bruce have to adopt so many damn kids? Jason could have been an only child, that would have been nice.

Jason squares his shoulders and puts on his best Red Hood voice. “Absolutely fucking not.”

He only sings for Lian dammit.

#my fic #jayroy #jayroyweek2021 #jason todd #roy harper #writersmonth2021

22 notes · View notes