#Or Soap realizes he doesn’t need a ring to show his love because just his presence is enough for Ghost | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

duskier · 5 months ago

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I am a big family Soap truther but I feel like Gaz would have one too - SoapGaz fluff I just barfed out - 1.8k words!!!

One of the first things that bonds the two together- beyond being brothers in arms of the same rank, and living through actual hell on earth together saving each other's lives again and again- is that they are the only ones who will listen to each other yap about their families.

…

When Soap tries to boast about his twin nieces winning double horse riding awards to Ghost, Ghost politely stands still like he's listening. Soap knows Ghost well enough to see that he's mentally checked out, can see that his eyes are fixed somewhere far off. Soap knows how touchy of a subject family is for Ghost, so he learns quickly to give up any mention of it.

…

When Gaz tries to show Price a video of his oldest sister finding out she's gotten a full ride to her choice of grad school, his captain is a bit more blunt but still evasive. Just tells Gaz that he's busy, that he should show him later. But Soap hears delighted squeals and joyful yelling coming from Gaz's phone and suddenly he's beelining over.

"She graduated super high in her class, did a bunch of extra curricula, applied everywhere like mad but this- this one has been her dream since we were little."

Soap looms over Gaz's shoulder, a smile blooming on his face as Gaz restarts the video. It feels amazing to be listened to, but it makes Gaz's heart soar seeing Soap near in tears, misty eyed while he’s sharing in the joy. His eyes are... really pretty. Weird that Gaz was only noticing it then.

"She deserves it, I bet yer so proud... we ought to celebrate!"

And they do. Soap buys Gaz and himself a few rounds at their usual bar just off base that very night, and over the next few hours they detail everything about their families to each other. Soap pulled out his sketchbook and drew a little family tree then passed it over so Gaz could do the same thing, too.

“Your sister sounds just like my uncle-”

“She looks just like my cousin’s ex girlfriend-”

“D’you think your mom would be able to stand my mom?”

“My sister is taller than your brother.”

“How many kids does that one have? …Five!?”

Pouring over instagram pages, pulling up texts, Gaz even messaged his mom to send him a specific photo of him and his siblings at his 6th birthday party. He can hardly get through telling Soap the story behind the photo without laughing so hard his ribs hurt, and Soap is suddenly feeling breathless when he realizes how lovely a sound it is to hear Gaz laugh.

…

…Then when Gaz needs a date to his cousin’s wedding- he can’t just not go, he’s part of the groomsmen- he asks Soap to come.

“Don’t make me go alone mate, besides there will be plenty of dancing and-and drinking and that pretty cousin of mine you liked! You already know all their names, so it makes sense I’d bring you over anyone else.” He’s serving the biggest, shiniest brown-eyed-puppy dog look of the century, and it works immediately.

That’s how they end up on a flight together to a gorgeous beach resort. Soap doesn’t have a chance with that pretty cousin Gaz mentioned (unbeknownst to either of them it's because just about everyone in Gaz’s family is convinced the two Sergeants are dating.)

Gaz’s four sisters nearly knocking him on his ass as they all tackle him when he’s spotted in the hotel lobby, fighting to be the one to hug Gaz first. It is clear how much they all love each other, warm embraces and laughter ringing out in the lobby without a care.

Them all welcoming Soap immediately with open arms, now fighting to be the first one to share the most embarrassing story about Gaz. (“Did he tell you about the time when he--” “I HAVE A LICENSE TO KILL, ZIP IT!!”) He’s immediately treated like a bonus-sibling, the youngest one (only 7 years old) wrinkling her nose at Soap’s mohawk from her spot in Gaz’s arms. His other two sisters grilling Soap on their brother’s job, hoping Soap had embarrassing stories about Gaz to tell them in turn.

(Later the sisters gather together in their own hotel room to debrief- it was painfully obvious the two guys were crushing on each other- they knew what Gaz looked like when he was like that. They made a deal with one another to be nice to Gaz about it. Despite how easy it’d be. They then praised themselves for being such kind sisters to their brother, and shared sparkling apple cider over a Barbie movie.)

Soap watching Gaz walk down the sandy beach aisle as a groomsman, looking handsome as ever in the tux and silk pink bowtie the bride had chosen for the party. Gaz with a bridesmaid on his arm, pretty in pink, but the second they part his eyes find Soap sitting in the crowd. In a pretty deep blue suit that compliments his eyes, top two buttons of his white shirt undone. Gold chain to his cross glittering in the sunlight.

The two admiring each other, and Gaz watches his grandmother sit down next to Soap. The Scot says something charming, undoubtedly a direct flirt, knowing that was the way to her heart. Her wrinkled hand clutching at her pearls jokingly, admonishing him as they fall naturally into conversation.

Gaz passively wonders why it suddenly meant so much to him for his family to like Soap, how it sent a bolt through his heart to see him get on so easy with his grandmother especially. (He was always a grandma’s boy, even if he’d never admit it. He was her favorite grandson, though she’d never admit that, either.)

During the reception, when Gaz and Soap are smiling big dopey smiles at each other in the multicolored lights, dancing with their arms slung around each other in messy, drunken circles, Gaz’s parents watch on with satisfied smiles.

“Our son has never looked happier, love. Just look at him, he’s glowing!” Gaz’s mother offers her champagne glass as a toast.

His father’s face wrinkles handsomely when he smiles back at his gorgeous wife. He clinks his glass with hers.

“Looks like he’s found himself a nice young man, darling. You did a good job.”

“We did, love. We did.”

(Gaz and Soap end up going back to their hotel room and making out a little bit, but they don’t discuss it for a long while. They write it off as them being drunk and stumbling back to their room together, that they got confused or wires got crossed somehow.)

…

Soap and Gaz realize their mistake of introducing their mothers to one another much too late. They become fast friends, video calling each other once a week over drinks to gossip about their families, talk about books they are reading, and boast about new recipes cooked. As much as the two men complain about it, they know the friendship is much deeper- the two women comfort each other when their kids are on mission. Finally, they each had another mom who could understand what they were going through.

…

When Soap’s grandpa gets sick and it's all hands on deck, every sibling and cousin and family friend coming home, Soap doesn’t even have to ask Gaz. He’s already got his bag packed and both of their paperwork filed for the time off. A warm supporting hand giving his shoulder a squeeze, offering the first bit of relief Soap has felt in weeks.

By this point, Gaz was already known by half of Soap’s family online. They were able to just arrive at the MacTavish family home, roll up their sleeves, and get to work. No one knew that Grandpa Mactavish had been on such a rapid decline, the family home and property in general disrepair.

Soap’s eldest sister was a carpenter. His middle sister was a homemaker. His youngest sister was a moody teenager. Together the three women pulled the most weight, directing the family into teams. Within a day, the house had been cleaned, the overgrown grass mowed, the dry rot on the outside of the home repaired, each dead lightbulb on the property replaced.

Soap and Gaz filled the family home with the scent of spices and herbs as they cooked tirelessly. Enough to feed every hand that leant help, and then some so Grandpa Mactavish had plenty leftover. While they chopped and simmered and seasoned, Gaz listened to Soap reminisce about his memories in this home. Every Christmas when the family of nearly 30 all packed in together, every birthday or life milestone that was celebrated there. The wall of carved height trackers- from his great-grandfather to his littlest cousin. When Soap eventually breaks down crying, Gaz doesn’t think twice to pull him into a hug.

He doesn’t move when Soap’s mother comes in and hugs Soap from behind- Gaz and Soap’s mother worked as a team to hold Soap together.

…

Years later, when Soap finally blurts out the big question, eyes wide with fear as if Gaz would ever dream of saying no to his proposal, Gaz tackles his boyfriend- now fiancé- with such vigor they both get bruises from the tumble. They are laughing, blushing, ragging on each other for being so sappy even as they have happy tears forming in their eyes.

The Garrick-Mactavish wedding is no small event. It's damn near the wedding of the century.

Laswell and the rest of their 141 family runs the event like it's a military op. The Vaqueros join in too, friends from KorTac throwing in their hand as well. (Nicolai's main job is just keeping Price's blood pressure down.)

The reception itself was gorgeous, Gaz dressed in a warm white suit, looking like a dream with gold accents. Soap opposite him in a formal wear kilt fashion, his usually messy mohawk tamed back. The 141 made up the wedding party, plus each groom's own assortment of childhood friends or siblings. (The joint bachelor party the month prior was legendary, but the aftermath gave Laswell a headache. Something about a building getting blown up and/or burnt down. If asked, she wouldn't talk about it but excuse herself to get another drink.) When they kiss, confirming their lifetime bond now confirmed and witnessed by all of their loved ones, Soap dips Gaz, making the beautiful man laugh and hold onto his shoulders as cheers erupt around them.

The reception and party and after party in total lasted three days. The two families now and forever intertwined‐ once separately large on their own- made a tree so huge they couldn't fit it on one page of Soap’s sketchbook anymore. (They just make a huge painting of it in their home- the home that houses the entire extended Garrick-Mactavish family every holiday until the happy, long-lived end of their days.)

#noel.txt #gaz x soap #soap x gaz #i never remember what order i usually tag them in #oh well #someone be proud of me for writing a fic longer than 300 words pls #I based Gaz's grandma off of my own grandma btw #she flirts with firemen and isn't ashamed about it

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all-the-things-2020 · 6 months ago

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Late Night Talking - Chapter Nineteen

Summary: Emily moves in, Dieter gets the flu … and Valentine’s Day Dieter Bravo style.

Rating: PG-13

Word count: 5600+

Tag list: @rhoorl @avastrasposts @readingiskeepingmegoing @runningmom94 @gwendibleywrites @weho2kcmo

Things moved quickly once we got back to California. With the help of a moving company (and Oladele) I was soon out of my condo and living in Dieter’s house. I also bought a new car. Dieter had insisted I “just look” at the Audis and I fell in love with a little blue sedan. It was at the lower end of the range, but still expensive to me. Writing out a check for roughly $40,000 was a surreal experience.

Dieter insisted the car needed a name and that it was a boy. “Auden? Austin? Augustus?,” he suggested.

”Augustus? What kind of name is that for a car?”

”Well, there aren’t that many names that start with A-U,” he said, furrowing his brow. He pulled out his phone. “Auggie?

”That’s just short for Augustus,” I pointed out. “And we can’t call an Audi Austin because that’s another make of car.”

”Then it has to be Auden,” Dieter said. “He was a poet, wasn’t he? That’s good for a bookish person, right?”

And so Auden it was.

**********************************************

Soon it was February and Sam’s birthday was coming up. We always called each other on our birthdays, setting aside an hour just for us. One year she’d even walked away from her own birthday party to sit outside on her porch in the cold so we could have our birthday chat.

”Why don’t you fly back there and surprise her?” Dieter suggested. “Call her from the sidewalk and when she answers, tell her to come outside.”

”I can’t just fly to Maryland on a whim,” I said. Dieter raised an eyebrow and I realized that I could do that. I could go online and book a flight and hotel and not have to worry about where the money was coming from. It felt decadent. It felt wrong. It felt amazing.

”Do it,” he urged. “Let me be the one sitting home alone for once.”

I flew to Maryland and did just what Dieter suggested: I stood outside of Sam’s house and called her. When she opened the front door and saw me, we both burst into tears. It had been years since we’d seen each other in person.

”Oh, my God, chickie!,” she sobbed. “This is the best birthday present ever!”

We spend the weekend on her couch, eating chips and ice cream, watching old movies and basically just being teenage girls; all the stuff we missed out on doing together when she’d moved away.

”So you’re getting married,” Sam said at one point. She took my hand and made a show of studying my ring from several angles.

“It still doesn’t quite seem real,” I admitted. “I’ve barely moved in and honestly I still feel like I’m just on a break and I’ll have to go home and back to work.”

”Any wedding plans yet?” There was a glint in her eye that made me feel excited.

”Nothing firm. Why, do you have an idea?”

”Remember when we were little and we did that whole soap opera with our Barbies and Kens and my brother’s G.I. Joes? And your Barbie got married at the beach and then her husband got eaten by sharks?”

I hadn’t thought about that summer in years. We’d played out so many silly plot lines with our dolls and action figures. Every day we created a new episode. Of course, our soap opera leaned more heavily on car chases and jumping off cliffs and fighting wild tigers than romance, but we were only about eight years old at the time.

“I’m not feeding Dieter to a shark,” I said.

Sam rolled her eyes. “Duh! I meant, how about a beach wedding? You live in L.A., you said you want a summer wedding so Dieter’s brother and his kids can come out … my kids will be off for the summer.”

”You’re just fishing for an invitation,” I teased.

“Oh, I’m going to be there,” Sam said firmly. “I’m going to be your maid of honor.”

I felt tears welling in my eyes. I couldn’t afford to fly back east for Sam’s wedding, but she’d still asked me to be her maid of honor, only giving the job to one of her cousins after I’d had to decline.

“I’d love to have you at the wedding,” I said. “It won’t be big or fancy. Dieter and I haven’t talked details yet but we both want something small and informal.”

”Which is perfect for a beach wedding,” Sam said. “I can totally see Dieter in a white suit, barefoot, open neck shirt, and you in a white sundress, the ocean breeze playing with your hair.”

“Or maybe Deet in board shorts and a PacSun t shirt.”

”You could wear a bikini and freak out your Aunt Helen!”

”Speedos!”

We collapsed into giggles. “I’ve missed you, chickie,” I said.

”I’ve missed you, too,” Sam said. “But just think, now you’ll be able to come visit whenever you want. And I’ll have a place to stay in California.” She winked.

**************************************************

That winter, I’d managed to avoid catching the flu, which was an occupational hazard of working in a public school. Dieter, unfortunately, was not as lucky, as I found when I called him from the airport when I landed.

“I’b fide,” he said over FaceTime, before turning away to blow his nose loudly. He’d clearly been doing that a lot, because his nose was red and tender looking.

“You are not fine,” I retorted. “I shouldn’t have gone.”

”I didin stard feeling sick undil after you lefd. Bud id’s nod dad bad.” He immediately sneezed and coughed at the same time.

”Go to bed,” I said. “I’ll be home as soon as I can.”

On the way home from LAX, I stopped at a Walgreens and stocked up on everything I thought Dieter might possibly need. When I finally got home. I let myself in and dropped my bags on the kitchen island. “Hey, sweetie, are you awake?” I called out.

I turned around when I heard a noise coming from the hallway. Dieter shuffled into the dining room, his ratty green bathrobe wrapped around a dirty t-shirt and pajama pants, with an assortment of used tissues falling out of the pockets. His hair was even more wild than usual, and looked greasy. His nose was red and raw, he clearly hadn’t shaved since I’d left home and his eyes were glassy.

“Hey,” he croaked, leaning against the wall.

“You look horrible,” I said.

“Thangs,” he grumped. “I feel lige shid.”

I walked over to him and laid my hand on his forehead. He felt hot and smelled gross. “Ugh, when was the last time you showered?” I asked. “Or changed your clothes.”

He shrugged. “Coupla days ago,” he mumbled.

I shook my head. “Disgusting.” I turned him around and pushed him back toward the bedroom. The bed looked as bad as he did. The covers were all shoved into a tangled pile in the center of the bed and there was an overflowing trash can surrounded by a scattered ring of tissues.

“Okay, we’re getting you and this room cleaned up,” I said. I plopped him down on the bed and opened the dresser to pull out a clean t-shirt and pair of pajama pants. I popped into the hall to grab some towels and a washcloth from the linen closet and then came back to find Dieter on his side, groaning into the pillow.

“Get up, babe,” I told him. “You need a shower.”

“Don’d wan’ a shower,” he grumbled.

“Tough,” I said. “You stink. Come on, I’ll help you.”

I pulled him up and led him to the bathroom, where I turned on the water to warm up. I knew he really did feel horrible, because as I stripped off his clothes, he didn’t make any jokes or try anything cute. He seemed a bit wobbly, so I got undressed as well and we stepped into the shower together.

“Lean against the wall if you feel dizzy or weak,” I told him. I adjusted the shower head so the water wasn’t hitting him in the face, and helped him step under the spray.

“Cold,” he complained.

“It’ll warm up in a minute,” I said. “Come on, let’s get you clean.” I worked quickly, soaping up the washcloth and scrubbing his body thoroughly. “Bend down,” I told him when I was done, and I shampooed and rinsed his hair.

I helped him get out and wrapped him in towels. “Dry off and we’ll get you in clean jammies,” I said. He rolled his eyes at the word “jammies” but he did as he was told. I helped him into the clean shirt and flannel pants, put my clothes back on, and then led him out to the living room.

“I’m going to park you on the couch while I change the bed, okay?” I tucked some throw pillows behind his back and spread one of the throws that lived on the back of the couch over his lap. I put the remote in his hand and smoothed his wet hair back off his forehead so I could give him a kiss.

I stripped the bed and carried the dirty linens to the laundry room, then went back and remade the bed with clean sheets, blankets, pillowcases and the summer duvet that was tucked in the very back of the linen closet. When I was done, I threw the winter comforter into the washer and went back to check on Dieter.

He was staring dully at the TV, which was tuned to a cooking program, something he normally didn’t watch. “You want to stay out here, or go back to bed?” I asked. He turned slowly to me and blinked twice.

“Bed,” he said after a moment.

I walked him back to the bedroom, tucked him in, piled pillows behind him so he was partially propped up and then went to fetch my supplies from Walgreens. I couldn’t remember what we had in the medicine chest so I had bought everything: a thermometer, assorted medications, tissues, cough drops … even a couple of cans of chicken soup and a box of saltine crackers.

First, I took his temperature. “One hundred point two,” I said. “Not too bad.” I dropped the Tylenol back into the bag. We wouldn’t be needing that unless his fever spiked higher. Then I asked him about his symptoms.

“Congestion … definitely,” I said. “Is your throat sore?”

“Kind of scratchy,” he admitted.

“But not sore sore?”

“No.”

“How about coughing?”

We ran through every symptom I could think of and I lined up the medications and other supplies I’d need on the nightstand on his side of the bed.

“Okay,” I said when I was done. “Did you eat dinner yet?”

He shook his head. “Not hungry.”

“You need to eat,” I said firmly. “I’m going to make you some soup.”

“I’m not hungry,” he whined.

“Tough,” I replied. “You’re going to eat.”

I heated up a can of chicken noodle soup and boiled some water for tea. By the time I brought it into the bedroom, Dieter was half asleep.

“Dinner time,” I said brightly.

He shook his head and flipped me off. “Told you I’m not hungry,” he grumped.

“I don’t care. At least drink the broth and the tea. I put in honey and lemon for your throat,” I said as I sat down beside him. “And if you won’t eat it yourself, I’ll feed you.”

I got him to eat half the soup and most of a cup of tea before I gave up. I made him take his medication and then went out to the kitchen. I dumped the leftovers and put the dishes in the sink to be washed later. I checked on the washer and since it still had over twenty minutes left, I reheated the rest of the soup for myself. By the time I’d finished eating and washed up the dirty dishes, it was time to load the comforter in the dryer.

I had an hour to kill before it was done, so I went back to check on Dieter. He was asleep, so I very quietly changed into my nightshirt and curled up on the couch to watch some TV while I waited for the dryer to finish. Two episodes of “The Big Bang Theory” later, I fetched the toasty warm comforter from the laundry room and headed to the bedroom.

I pulled the summer duvet off the bed and threw the warm comforter over Dieter. He woke up. “Whad you doin’?,” he mumbled.

I crawled under the covers. “Nice warm blankie,” I said, snuggling down. “Go back to sleep.”

He grunted and coughed, then reached for the box of tissues I’d left on his nightstand. He blew his nose loudly and slumped back onto the pillows with a groan. “You should sleep in the guest roob,” he said. “You’ll ged sick.”

I kicked him gently. “Like I haven’t already been around your germs all evening,” I replied. “Besides, this way I’m here if you need anything.” I curled up, enjoying the warmth of the freshly laundered comforter. Despite Dieter’s coughs and sniffles, I fell asleep pretty quickly. It had been a long day.

***************************

I woke up at 3:00 am when Dieter had a coughing fit. “Sorry, sorry,” he said in between hacking coughs. “Shit.”

“It’s okay,” I said. I measured out a dose of cough syrup and fetched him a glass of ice water to wash it down with. “Take this.” He made a face but swallowed the medicine. I didn’t blame him; that stuff tasted nasty. Cherry flavor my ass.

“Come here,” I said, after he’d drunk half the glass of water to get the taste out of his mouth. I opened a jar of Vicks VapoRub and pushed his t-shirt up. “This will help.” I started rubbing the greasy ointment in small circles over his chest. I suppressed the urge to sing “Soft Kitty,” knowing that Dieter would not understand. He’d watched “The Big Bang Theory” with me a few times but claimed he didn't get it.

Once I’d coated his chest, I pulled the shirt back down and started rubbing Vicks on his throat. “I know it smells horrible, but it works,” I said as he blinked from the pungent fumes. I chuckled. “Just be glad my friend Carla’s mom isn’t around. When I had sleepovers at her house when I was little, she rubbed Vicks on our feet and made us wear white socks to bed. Even if we weren’t sick.”

I put the lid back on the jar and smeared the leftover ointment on his stomach, just to be a jerk. He grumped at me and I pressed a kiss on his belly, just below where I’d rubbed the Vicks.

“Not in the mood,” he grumbled.

I pretended to pout. “You’re no fun,” I said. I put the jar of Vicks back on the nightstand, leaning across him to reach it. I knew that in that position, he could see right down my sleep shirt, and it was riding up at the bottom to show off my panties but he didn’t react at all. “You really are sick,” I said, patting his cheek. “Go back to sleep.”

He just grunted and then coughed in my face. “Sorry,” he mumbled, as I crawled back over to my side of the bed. “I know this isn’t fun for you.”

“I’m not here to have fun,” I told him. “I’m here to take care of you. Now shut up and go back to sleep.”

**************************************************

The next day I spent most of my time running back and forth from the kitchen to the bedroom. He wanted coffee but then it made his stomach hurt. He wanted toast but then only ate half of it. I made him tea with honey but it got cold too fast, and when I heated it in the microwave it was too hot and burned his tongue. Every time he took a dose of medicine, he needed fresh ice water.

For lunch, I suggested grilled cheese, my go-to meal when I was feeling sick as a kid. He took two bites. It was like taking care of a nearly six foot toddler.

“You have to eat, sweetie,” I told him. “All that medicine on an empty stomach isn’t good for you.”

“I’m not fucking hungry,” he growled. “Just leave me alone, okay?”

“Fine, Mr. Grumpy Pants,” I said. I took the remains of his lunch out to the kitchen, cut off the part he’d bitten and finished the sandwich myself. I knew he didn’t feel well, but it was starting to wear on me. I pulled out my phone and texted Sam.

ME: Dieter is driving me crazy. Why are men such babies when they’re sick?

She replied quickly with a series of laughing emojis.

We commiserated about the tribulations of taking care of a man-child until I heard a pathetic voice calling my name from the bedroom. I took the phone with me as I went to see what he wanted.

“I’m hungry,” he said. “Can I have that sandwich now?”

I texted Sam as I went back out to the kitchen to make a fresh grilled cheese.

ME: Can I divorce someone I’m not married to yet?

Her only reply was another string of laughing emojis.

**************************************************

The next morning, Dieter still had a low grade fever and his cough was no better. “I think we need to go to urgent care,” I told him.

“I’m fine,” he whined. “I hate the doctor.”

“But I don’t think this cough syrup is strong enough,” I replied. “You might need the prescription stuff. Get dressed.”

He grumped and complained but changed into jeans and a clean t-shirt while I called the closest urgent care that took his insurance. They wouldn’t make an appointment but claimed the wait time was currently less than an hour. “Is your phone charged? We might have a bit of a wait,” I asked.

It took twenty minutes to find his phone, which had slipped down between the couch cushions at some point. The battery was at 45%, so I had to fetch the car charger from his car before we could leave. Fortunately, it took long enough to get to the urgent care that his phone was up to 70% by the time we were parked. I knew he’d get bored sitting in the waiting room if he didn’t have his phone to play with. It really is like taking care of a giant toddler, I thought.

The waiting room was three quarters full and when we checked in, the receptionist told me in a bored voice that it would probably be close to ninety minutes before we could see a doctor. “We had a couple of soccer injuries come in and they got jumped to the head of the line,” she explained. “Fill out the forms and have a seat.”

*****************************************

“Mr. Bravo?,” a nurse finally called out. I nudged Dieter, who had started to doze off.

“What?”

“It’s your turn. Come on,” I said.

We followed the nurse into the back. She kept giving him curious looks as she sat him down at her station to start taking his vitals. “I’m sorry,” she said after a minute. “It’s just …”

“It’s okay,” I said. “He’s used to being stared at.”

Dieter started to say something smart but veered into another coughing fit.

The nurse nodded and patted him on the shoulder. “Don’t try to talk.” She handed him some tissues and went back to laying out her instruments. She took his temperature, blood pressure and checked his blood oxygen levels.

“Slight fever, and the coughing has the blood pressure up a bit, but ox levels are good,” the nurse said as she jotted things down on a form. “Okay, let’s put you in a room and the doctor will be with you soon.”

She led us into an examination room. Dieter slumped on the exam table, the paper crinkling and crunching underneath him. I settled in an uncomfortable chair and we waited. And waited.

“This is ridiculous,” Dieter said after we’d been in the exam room for nearly twenty minutes. “We’re wasting our time.”

“No we’re not,” I said. “Just be patient.” I chuckled. “Get it, you’re a patient … so you need to be patient.”

He just shook his head and flipped me off. So much for making him laugh.

The doctor finally came in, a flustered looking young Indian woman. “So sorry for the wait,” she said. “I’m Dr. Pradesh. We’re short staffed today because of this flu.” She looked at the file in her hand. “Which you appear to have, Mr. Bravo.” She smiled apologetically.

She quickly examined Dieter, looking in his ears, up his nose, and listening to his heart and lungs. “Okay,” she said when she was done. “Lungs are definitely congested but I don’t hear anything too concerning.” She pulled out a prescription pad. “I’m going to get you some cough syrup with codeine, which should help. It’s stronger than the over the counter stuff you’ve been taking. And an inhaler to open up the bronchial passages.” She turned to me.

“I take it you’re looking after him,” she said. I nodded. “Rest, lots of fluids, make sure he takes his meds,” she said, ticking each item off on her fingers. “This virus usually runs its course in about two weeks, but the first week is the worst. He should start feeling better in a few days.”

She handed me the prescription form and smiled at Dieter. “I hope you feel better, Mr. Bravo,” she said. “If your symptoms get worse, call us or your primary doctor.” She shook his hand, then mine, and was gone.

The nurse popped in a moment later with some paperwork in her hand. “Okay, you’re ready to go.” She hesitated a moment. “Um, I know you aren’t feeling well, but … do you think I could get an autograph?”

Dieter sighed, but smiled and took the pen she shyly offered. He scribbled his signature on a scrap of paper and we were on our way.

“Sorry,” I said as we buckled ourselves into the car.

“For what?”

“You feel like crap and still got accosted by a fan,” I said.

He shrugged. “She was very polite about it. I wouldn’t call it being accosted.”

“Still,” I said, as I backed the car out of the parking space. “I know it’s annoying.”

“Not your fault,” he said, before starting to cough violently again.

We stopped at CVS on the way home. “You can wait in the car if you don’t feel like going in,” I told him and after a moment he nodded.

“If you don’t mind,” he said. He looked exhausted. I kissed him on the forehead and held out my hand for his wallet.

Fortunately the pharmacy had no line and I got his prescriptions after a short wait. Still, Dieter was asleep by the time I got back to the car. He was slumped in the passenger seat, his mouth hanging slightly open. I felt a sudden surge of love for him. Despite the way he’d been driving me crazy, I knew it was the virus that made him so grumpy and needy. All I wanted was for him to feel better.

I got into the car as quietly as I could, but he still woke up. “I’m awake,” he mumbled as he sat up straighter.

“You’re fine, babe,” I told him, placing the pharmacy bag on his lap. “Now let’s get you home.”

*****************************

“Are you sure you don’t want to stay in the guest room?” Dieter asked after I’d gotten him home, back in pajamas, into bed, fed, and medicated.

“Why? Are you sick of me already? Get it? Sick.” I asked. I hopped onto the bed next to him.

“Fuck off,” he said, shaking his head.

“I’m not going anywhere” I told him. “Got to take care of you, sweetie.” I kissed him on the cheek.

“You don’t have to do that,” he said. “I’ll be fine. I’m not a kid,” he grumped, but I could see a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. He liked the idea of me taking care of him.

“You’re acting like one,” I retorted. “Everyone does, when they’re sick. And what does a sick kid want most? To be taken care of.” I slid my arm around his shoulders and pulled him close. “Which is exactly what I’m going to do.”

“I love you,” he mumbled into my hair.

“I love you, too,” I replied. “But please don’t get snot in my hair.”

He started laughing, which turned into another coughing fit. I patted his back and handed him a cough drop from my pocket. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” he said when he stopped coughing. “Thanks for taking such good care of me.”

“It’s my job,” I said. He raised an eyebrow at me. “It’s in the fiancé job description. Section fourteen, paragraph five. ‘Take care of him when he’s sick, even if he acts like a giant baby.’”

“Very funny,” he said. “Now, what does it say in that job description about doing my laundry?”

I sighed. It was going to be a long week.

**************************************************

“How the hell is it already February 18th?” Dieter was feeling better and was catching up on emails.

“Well, first it was February 1st, and then days went by …”

He gave me the stink-eye. “Ha ha, very funny,” he said. “I missed Valentine’s Day. I had stuff planned and everything.”

“It’s no big deal,” I told him. “Valentine’s Day is a very overrated holiday, anyway. To be honest, it was nice not to be surrounded by teenagers carrying around balloons and stuffed animals and all that stupid shit.”

“But it was our first Valentine’s Day together, and I missed it,” Dieter said. “That doesn’t bode well.” He frowned.

“I don’t need chocolates or flowers or any of that stuff,” I reassured him. “I’m just glad you’re feeling better. And we can do something special next year, if you want.” I was going through my own emails, which included several from Oladele offering suggestions for wedding venues. Without me even realizing it, she had been hired as my personal assistant and I already didn’t know what I would do without her. “Hey, speaking of flowers, do you think we need some for the wedding?” Oladele had gotten some quotes from florists.

“What? That’s months away,” Dieter said.

”June is only four months away and it’ll be here before we know it,” I replied. “We really need to sit down and go over things. Like where, when, and who’s invited. And flowers, food, cake …” I sighed. “Even for a low key wedding, there’s a lot to think about.”

Dieter waved his hand in the air. “Get some roses, a cake with white frosting, a few bottles of champagne and sparkling cider … boom! A wedding.”

”You’re no help.”

”My head’s still full of mucus and shit,” he said. “Give me a couple of days and then we’ll sit down and go over stuff.” I could tell he was getting tired and grumpy and I cut him some slack. I knew from experience that the flu took a lot out of you.

**************************************************

Two days later, I went grocery shopping. Dieter’s appetite had come back and we were completely out of snacks. When I got home, I opened the front door to the scent of roses. “What the hell? Dieter, can I get some help with the groceries?”

There was no reply and I stepped further in. There were bouquets of roses all over the living room, dozens and dozens of roses: red, white, pink, and silver, in glass vases tied with ribbons. A large heart shaped box of chocolates was in the center of the coffee table, next to a teddy bear holding a red velvet heart that read “I ❤️U.”

”Dieter!” I yelled. “Where are you and why did a drug store Valentine’s aisle throw up in our living room?”

He appeared in the doorway, wearing a red satin robe over black silk pajamas. “I told you I had plans,” he said, batting his eyelashes at me.

”Well, can we get the groceries in and put away first?”

He sighed and stumbled off to find his Crocs. “You have no sense of romance,” he grumped.

Once we’d fetched the food and put everything away, I let Dieter lead me back to the living room. “Have a seat, my sweet,” he said, with a deep bow. He pulled a fancy box from underneath the couch and placed it in my lap. I untied the red velvet ribbon and opened the box to reveal a lacy black silk nightgown and red satin robe that matched his. “You go change into that,” he said, “and I’ll get the rest of your surprise ready.”

I normally preferred cotton night clothes but the feel of the silk and satin against my skin was sensual. Not exactly something I’d want to wear all night, but it definitely set the stage for sexy times. So I was truly surprised when I went back into the living room and found Dieter with his glasses on and a notebook in his hand.

”What’s going on?”

”I am about to do the most romantic thing any man has ever done,” he said dramatically. He picked up the remote. “I’m going to turn off the television and give you my undivided attention and we are going to plan our wedding.” He nodded toward the coffee table, where both of our iPads were turned on and nestled amongst a selection of brochures. “Oladele sent me all her stuff.”

I sank onto the couch. “You never cease to amaze me, Dieter Fucking Bravo.”

“We’ll get to that part later,” he said with a wink. “Right now, let’s plan a wedding.”

Two hours — and a bag of chips and several of the chocolates from the fancy box — later, we had a rough plan. A secular ceremony on the beach, small reception with finger foods and cake, not too many flowers (because of the wind off the ocean). Freddy would be his best man and Sam would be my maid of honor. We even narrowed it down to three venues: a public beach that had an area that could be reserved for private functions, a private beach that could be rented for a hefty fee but included catering, and the backyard of a producer friend of Dieter’s, which backed onto a private beach.

”Okay, so guest list,” I said, scanning the checklist that Oladele had sent us. “Freddy, Leila and the kids, that’s four. And Sam, her husband and kids, that’s another five, so we’re up to nine.”

”Dominic and his family,” Dieter said. “That brings us to thirteen. Oh, and Oladele. That’s fourteen.”

”Carmen,” I said. “That’s fifteen.”

Dieter named a few other people from “the business” which brought our total up to twenty three. “How about your family? Just your aunt and uncle or do we have to invite all the cousins, too?”

”Just Aunt Helen and Uncle Jeremiah,” I said. “We’ll put them up at a fancy hotel, just to make her squirm a little.” I laughed. “Actually, I think she’ll enjoy it. I don’t think they’ve had a real vacation, just the two of them, in forever.”

Dieter nodded. “That’s twenty five. That’s a good number, unless you want to invite anyone from your old job?”

”Don’t forget your dad,” I added. “That makes twenty six.” Dieter made a face. “Look, I know you aren’t on the best of terms with him but there is no way he’s not coming to our wedding. Between the two of us we only have one parent living, and he has to be there.”

Dieter pursed his lips. “It’ll be twenty seven if he comes,” he said tersely, “because he’ll bring her.”

”Her?”

”His wife.”

“I didn’t know you had a stepmother.”

”She’s not my stepmother,” Dieter said fiercely. “She’s his wife.”

”Sorry. Is she that bad?”

He shook his head and sighed. “No, actually, she’s pretty great. Just a normal, nice lady who loves him and …” He closed his eyes. “Freddy’s kids call her Grandma. Which is fine. It’s just …”

”I get it,” I said, taking his hand in mine. I never stopped being amazed at how big his hands were. Dieter was a big man, strong — and very fragile. “I wish your mom could be there. My parents, too. They would have loved you.”

He lifted my hand to his lips. “I wish I could have met them. And my mom — I know she was problematic. I know she was selfish and Dad was better off after she left but damn it, I loved her so much.”

I let him cry against my shoulder. “I know. I know. She was your mom.” I rubbed his back and waited until he was able to compose himself. He sat back, his eyes red and his nose streaming snot. I handed him a tissue from the box that was still on the coffee table from his cold.

He blew his nose and wiped his face. “Probably not the best time to try to seduce you, huh?” His smile was tentative, but it was genuine.

”Actually, I kind of like the blotchy-faced, snot-nosed look,” I said. I shoved his notebook away and straddled his lap. With only two thin layers of silk between us, I could feel every inch of his body beneath me.

”Good, ‘cause it’s my signature look,” he said, his hands sliding down to grip my hips.

And that was the end of wedding planning for the time being. After all, June was months and months away.

#dieter bravo #dieter bravo fanfiction #dieter bravo fic #dieter bravo x ofc #dieter x emily #late night talking #the bubble fanfiction

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bbygirlky18 · 1 year ago

Note

can you make a solo fic where reader punches rhea bc she was all up in his face (that one time iykyk)

Being Aggressive! Solo Sikoa

Solo Sikoa x y/n

Warnings: Swearing!!!!

Word Count: 354

A/N: Hi everyone!!! This was sent in by Anonymous so let's get into it.

Y/n is your name.

Hope you guys love this

The Judgment Day and the Bloodline have their problems but with y/n being the new member she became more aggressive.

The Bloodline was out in the ring cutting a promo when music hits. Y/n, Solo, Jimmy, and Jey look to see the Judgment Day walking out to the ring.

“Well, well, well if isn’t the Bloodline. Y/n you do know you to be married or related to them to be in the Bloodline right?” Dominik Mysterio said with sarcasam in his tone.

“Dominik you do realize that in order for you to be wearing a bandana around your neck you have to do more than 1 day in prison right? I hope you didn’t drop the soap. They prey on bitches like you.” Y/n said causing Dominik to get mad. Jimmy and Jey started talking when Dominik stepped closer to Solo.

Solo got in his face and then Rhea stepped in so y/n gets in front of Solo and Solo whispers in her “Don’t do anything you’ll regret.”

Y/n looks at Solo and says “Babe, please if I hurt anyone in the Judgment Day I wouldn’t regret it.” Y/n looks back at Rhea and she’s even more in Solo’s face then she was.

Y/n didn’t even blink she just punched Rhea in her face. She jumped on Rhea and did her finisher the Depth’s of Hell on Rhea.

Y/n picks up the mic and says “Hey Judgment Day be ready for our match tonight but Rhea for the match that we’re gonna have cause in case you didn’t I’m gonna show Dom Dom what it looks like when you’re somebody’s bitch and also if you didn’t know Roman may claim that he runs shit around here but I run this shit. I run this bitch. Later losers. Boys roll out.”

Y/n and the Bloodline walk backstage and Solo showers y/n in kisses and thanks her for sticking up for him and she kisses him and says that she would do it and he doesn’t need to ask her because she loves him.

-I hope you guys enjoyed this! I had fun writing it! I love you guys so so much. Love you <33333

#solo sikoa fanfiction #solo sikoa #solo sikoa x reader

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whosjunglejim4322 · 4 years ago

Text

Warnings: SMUT, insecurities but mark just needs a lil reassurance abt how good he makes you feel, finger fucking/sucking, he cums in his pants, fluff bc yall r in love love <3

Mark knows he's being irrational about this whole ordeal. One conversation shouldn't be getting under his skin like it is, but this one thing seems to be knocking at the forefront of his brain, throwing him out of focus as of late.

So what, you masturbate. It's normal, he's not there all the time, of course you do. He does too, but he also becomes outrageously horny everytime he so much as thinks about your skin or the way you kiss him. And it's safe to say he thinks about you alot. Alot alot.

"It's different, though? I'm a guy, we jerk off an outrageous amount," he argues, furrowing his eyebrows as you stare up at his pacing form from the bed, grinning. He's cute when he's flustered.

"And girls just...aren't supposed to get horny without the help of a guy?" You inquire.

He stops pacing at this, slumping his shoulders. "that's not what I mean, I just-" he sighs, plopping himself next to you on the edge of the bed. He chews on the inside of his lip for a moment before shaking his head.

"Nevermind, I'm just tired." He runs his fingers through his disheveled hair, looking at you apologetically with his big doe eyes.

You're still amused, giggling as you reach over to cup his rosy hued cheeks, pulling him to your mouth for a kiss.

"A little toy could never replace you, my love."

You'd reassured him that night by wrapping your lips around his dick, and he was too lost in the belly aching anticipation and bliss of it all, to really pay attention to what it was you'd just said.

A little toy.

He hasn't stopped thinking about it. It's both slightly irritating, while also being the new source of his sexual frustration when he's supposed to be practicing. He thinks it may be more irritating than the ladder though, because as much as he hates to admit it, he is a jealous creature.

It's silly, childish and he knows it. Maybe that's why he's so unsettled by this, because he knows that you love him. He knows you like his dick, from what you've expressed. But, maybe he's doing something wrong?

Maybe you just don't want to to wound his ego, and instead act like his dick is enough to satisfy you. Of course, he knows some sensations are better than others, but how often do you need to touch yourself? Does he not please you enough in the moments you two are together?

These questions still nag him when he walks into your apartment at around 7:35 pm, causing worry to crease between his brows.

You, of course, pick up on this when you round the corner from your bedroom to see him making his way towards you, lost in thought. Your arms snake around his middle and your lips place a kiss to his jaw. A smile tugs at the corner of his mouth.

"What's got you all mopey?" You ask, searching for any signs of pain or discomfort in his eyes, only to be stumped by his undreadable expression. Maybe he's just had a long day?

He hums, broken from his self depricating reverie, evidently not realizing he's wearing his emotions so blatantly.

"Nothin' just tired, wanted to come home." He buries his face in the crook of your shoulder once you've pulled him into your room, his breath warm against your neck.

You must've just taken a shower, skin the scent of his favorite soap that always has him sniffing you randomly throughout the day. He squeezes you tighter.

You kiss the side of his head, reluctantly pulling yourself away only to grab his hands and move to the bed, not believing that there's nothing more than just fatigue that's got his usual goofy smile hidden behind such a frustrated countenance.

You crawl onto his lap once his back is against the headboard, his hands slipping underneath your shirt to rub your back, a habit when he's nervous. He knows what's coming, already avoiding your eyes.

"Are you gonna tell me what's wrong, Mark Lee? No excuses, this time." You mean business, but your voice is still as soft and comforting as ever. He can't resist looking up at you once you stroke his cheek with your thumb, featherlight.

With a drawn out breath, he reluctantly responds, knowing it'll only eat at him further if he doesn't.

"It's just....I feel like maybe I don't do enough for you...sexually? Like, I know everyone masturbates and It's totally fine you use a toy and stuff, I just feel like...like maybe It's better than...than what I can do? I know I'm not the most experienced but-"

He's stuttering, ears tomato red at the tips and he's a bit perplexed to see such a jubilant smile spreading across your face as he rubs the back of his neck, embarassed beyond belief.

"Mark..." you cup his soft, blazing cheeks in your palms, forcing him to meet your gaze as squeamish as he's suddenly become. "you're that upset over something like this?"

You don't sound judgemental nor teasing, despite the way you're grinning. But still, he wants to hide his face, wants to bow his head in shame. Suddenly he feels very foolish.

Not being able to stand seeing him so crestfallen, you reassure him, trurthfully. Your heart aches.

"Hey hey, look at me bub," wide doe eyes stare back at you, as you move some of his hair out from in front of his forehead where the strands have fallen. "you are more than enough, so good that when you're away I cant stand it. I have to touch myself, and I'm not just saying that."

His expression has regained some confidence, though you're not done yet. You've got this determination swirling in the pit of your belly, thrumming through your veins. You want him to know how truly incredible he really is, how good he really makes you feel.

"I think about your hands, your mouth, your dick. And you know what? By the end of it I'm not even satisfied, because that little toy isn't you. Do you understand? Hmm? Or do I have to show you?"

Suddenly his heartbeat is loud in his ears, adams apple bobbing as he swallows. He's hardened underneath you and you known that you've got him.

"I-I understand, now. But you could still show me, you know. If you want." His voice is a little unsteady but the corners of his soft, pink mouth twitch at the corners with an echo of a smile.

It's too much, Mark Lee absolutely will be the death of you. And so you kiss him, in a way that has his toes curling and his arms wrapping around your middle like a boa, refusing to let go.

Your fingers are tiwsted in his hair as you suck on his plush bottom lip, a gasp leaving his throat when your teeth nibble the sensitive skin. He can feel your hardened nipples through your sweater, pressing against his chest.

Your knees have tightened around the small of his waist as well, crotch rubbing against the strained bulge in his basketball shorts. You whine into his mouth.

"Mm, you should feel how wet you make me," his hands venture lower at this, until his warm fingertips are pressing into the flesh of your thighs. "go ahead Markie, touch me."

He groans, not being able to hold it back from his chest at the sound of your voice and your generous offer. His fingers, delicate and eager rub your pussy through your lounge shorts, and his jaw slacks a bit at your lack of underwear.

Your tongue slips against his, mouths parted and greedy while he slips his hand into the warmth of your shorts - and practically whines.

He wasn't expecting the abundance of your essence, the utter and complete lack of friction as his digits glide effortlessly through your silken folds. He takes his ring finger and presses the pad of it against your entrance, circling and listening to the lewd, slick sounds.

"Oh fuck," he croons free hand on your lower back and urging you against his touch. "you're s-so wet already, how are you so wet?" He's mystified, and completely fucked.

"I told you." You kiss him again, swallowing his reply and grinding your pussy against his palm. Without warning, he slips a finger in, and then another, falling apart at the way your walls so eagerly welcome them. He trembles.

"Mm, Mark." You're reaching down, underneath his arm and gripping his length, hot in your hand underneath the slinky material of his shorts. He twitches.

Suddenly his fingers are curling inside of you, and he begins to languidly pump them in and out of your sopping heat, on fire from his toes to the top of his head. You have to grip onto his shoulders, momentarily forgetting your previous endeavor of palming his dick.

He doesn't mind, not when you're whining like this, fingers digging into his skin, your body rocking against his while your walls hug and squeeze around his digits.

"Does it feel good?" He asks genuinley, but already knows the answer, too high off of this moment to not want his ego stroked. Your eyebrows are furrowed, lips kiss bitten, skin hot to the touch. You can barely make out an answer, and he swears all the blood in his body rushes straight to his dick.

"S-so good Markie - harder, please." You bury your face in the crook of his shoulder as tour thighs tremble around his narrow hips, lips trembling against his throat. He obliges you happily, anything to have you wilting against him like this. To hear more of the sounds you're making, for him.

Anyone outside the door would know whats going on, with the squelching of your wetness and the vigor in which he's fucking you with his fingers, heel of his palm nudging your clit with each thrust. You already feel that pit of pressure inside your belly expanding, so close to the brink of exploding.

He's fairing the same, if he's honest. You're rubbing up against the painful, throbbing boner in his bottoms, hidden behind only a thin layer of clothing. Your juices have leaked, leaving your own shorts wet at the crotch and the sight is erotic in a way that makes him buck up against you.

His free hand cups your face when he adds a third finger, pulling you from his shoulder to look at your face.

He damn near blows his load right then and there.

You look like you're on the verge of tears, not able to hold yourself up straight. A blush burns his skin, when you lean into his touch, fingers grasping at the front of his white tee.

"M'gonna cum soon Markie."

His heart threatens to explode from his chest when you turn your head and suck his thumb into your warm mouth, closing your eyes and bliss while his fingers pump into you, buried to the third knuckle.

This causes him to thrust into you with a sudden jolt, and the way his fingertips rub against the sweet spot deep inside of you, has the build up of pleasure finally spilling over like a broken dam.

The fingers on either of his hands are soaked now, one with your saliva and the other with your cum. You're gripping onto his wrists, letting him massage the inside of your walls while they contract around him, eyes rolled to the back of your head.

The sight, the feeling, is too much. You're a mess, a beautiful, sopping wet mess and without warning it's like a freight train is hitting him at full force, cock twitching willdy as pure bliss seeps through his pores.

You're still shivering, humping his hand while spurts of cum fill the inside of his shorts, dripping down the crease of his thigh and even soaking through the material a bit. Your eyes are barely able to open, but you will them to when you hear the almost imperceptible groan that strains from his throat when your heartbeat finally stops drumming so loudly in your ears.

Your belly lurches, skin tingly to the touch as he slumps against the headboard, peering up at you with more adoration than you can handle.

"I-I came in my pants." He breathes out, panting heavily alongside you. The thrill that runs down your spine like a tremor at the realization that he's cum, untouched, because of you, is what allows you to have half the mind to pull his fingers from your aching heat - replacing the others in your mouth.

His head lolls to the side, honey eyes trained on you like it’s impossible to look away while you suck your juices from his digits, humming around them. It's like he's staring up at the sun, mesmerized.

And then you're kissing him, and he's sure he's gone to heaven. He tastes you on the tip of your own tongue, and you're so sweet, so tender when you grasp his cheeks.

"I came in my pants too, by the way. Technically." You smile, and he chuckles warmly, giddy. His arms encapsulate you and he nudges the tip of your nose with his own.

The toy can have its fun, he thinks to himself. Because really, truly, nothing - and no one, will ever be as lucky and as enamored as he is with you.

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darkacademicfrom2021 · 3 years ago

Text

Away. So, so far away.

"There wasn’t a single moment where he could forget how fragile you were. How different your life span was compared to his —he wanted to give you all of his enormity, all of the years that wore too big on his bland and heavy life.

He couldn’t keep you by his side forever".

Pairing/s: Loki x reader, Bucky x reader

There's 2 alternative endings, a "choose your own adventure" kind of thing.

<<Previous part Masterlist Next part>>

Warnings: angst. God, believe me, this is so fucking sad. Sorry about that. Some fluff, implied smut, Odin and Frigga's A+ parenting (/s). Thor being a little bitch. Reader not wanting kids.

Total word count: 16,3K (this was supposed to be an oneshot???)

Chapter word count: 4,6K

If you had to choose the best outcome from working with the Avengers (or, more specifically, under the economic decisions of Tony Stark), it had to be the hotels he chose for the team on the missions.

The rooms were always a bliss —you would’ve never gone to such fancy places if it were up to you. You didn’t think it was worth the money at all, and you didn’t fit into the overpriced lifestyle of those who loved the five-stars everything.

But your work was something you had to do, and, let’s say the comfortable beds, big bathrooms and incredibly talented chefs making your breakfast wasn’t something you had to work hard for you to enjoy.

And now, as your sore muscles ached and your fogged head went everywhere and anywhere, you thanked greatly to be able to be there that night. Peaceful. Tranquility washing over your back in the form of drops of water.

The mirror was covered with steam and a curtain blocked your way, but you still noticed the tall figure of Loki peeping in. You heard his clothes being dropped on the floor and you kept on putting soap over your shoulders, as if he wasn’t there. You were so, so tired, you didn’t even realize that the shower was a little bit too hot for your lover. It even was too hot for you, too.

“Damn”, he gasped as he flinched away from the water. You woke up from your daydreaming and immediately turned the cold water on. The mixture of them formed a perfectly tepid temperature you both could tolerate. You learnt the hard way Loki showered on such cold water your lips would turn blue. “You alright, dear?”, he asked from behind you.

“Yeah, a little tired, not more”.

“You need some rest, take the day off tomorrow, would you?”, he purred on your ear with his hands on your shoulders, giving you a soft massage. His hands moved up to your hair, and he soon began cleaning it himself. He loved to do that for you, and you loved to feel his long fingers caress your scalp, the soap running down your body, the shampoo smell staining his own skin and leaving the shower smelling the same.

“I have to finish this mission up”, you mumbled. “But once we’re back to the compound you bet we’re taking a day off together. You must be tired too”.

“Not that much, but I can’t deny a day off with you”, you felt him smile, even though you weren’t facing him. You knew how and when he smiled; you memorized the curve of his lips and every situation it would curve. His smile did things to you. “You know I don’t get tired off of these things”.

“Yeah, it’s almost like you’re a God or something”.

You both laughed softly. He gently pulled your head back and cleaned off the shampoo. He kissed your temples, all the way down to the nape of your neck, and kept kissing each protuberance of the spine, bone by bone, as if missing one would make it feel left out. As if every inch of you, every single bit of you, deserved the same praise and the same love —it did. He made sure you knew that.

“It’ll be all over soon”, he promised in a whisper. You sighed.

“Don’t worry, my love. It will pay off”, you assured him. You turned around to face his furrowed brows. Standing in your tiptoes, you reached his forehead and planted a kiss where his frown disappeared as if by magic. “Now it’s my turn to wash your hair”. He smiled and kneeled before you, so you could reach his head.

You shampooed and conditioned his hair slowly and silently. He closed his eyes, not letting you know he was overthinking about everything he was making you do, and how much he appreciated you doing it.

“You know…”, he murmured, his deep voice almost getting mistaken by a groan if it weren’t for the clearly spoken words, “we could stop all of this, if you see it… surpassing your limitations”.

He opened his eyes and raised his head to meet yours. Those puppy eyes of his. You scoffed.

“Limitations?”, you cocked an eyebrow and smirked teasingly.

He laughed and rolled his eyes.

“You know you’re a weakie”, he said jokingly, emphasizing on how bad that word described you at his gaze. “Now, seriously. I’m aware it’s a lot. A lot, lot”.

“Love, you don’t have to keep worrying about it. I accepted because I love you so, so much. Some even could say too much”, you caressed the back of his head and sank your fingers in between the curled strands. “I may not agree with it ideologically, but I can make a little sacrifice if that means being with you for the rest of my life. And, for the record, it’s not as much as you think”.

He didn’t say anything else to that. He simply smiled again, pressed lips in the tiniest curve, as if repressing it would make it last longer, and let you wash the conditioner off him.

You could do very well with a day off, though. Between the missions that seemed to never stop and only get worse week by week, and the infinite amount of trials you had to go through by the Asgardian royals, you thought you may pass out any time soon.

The trials… ah, the weirdest thing you’ve ever had to do in your life. And that was not little to say, for you had fought freaking aliens and helped supersoldier’s wounds to heal in a matter of seconds with Stark’s subdermic nanotech.

Loki had a possibility, a chance to have everything he ever wanted to have, and he could’ve taken it. They said ‘you can have the throne now’, as if it had always been that easy, and he didn’t take it right away, as if it hadn’t been the thing he most wanted.

“The thing I most want, little darling, is you”, he told you when he explained what had happened.

And you swore he was about to propose —he almost took off a damn ring off his pocket. But he didn’t, and instead, he related carefully and detailedly what had to happen before he could marry you, if he were to get the throne. You had to show your in-laws you were a good companion for the King.

And that sucked. Why did it matter so much? You loved him and he loved you, and he was going to be a great King. That was all that mattered for both of you. But the conditions were very clear, and had no room for argument. And you wouldn’t let Loki give up his unfulfilled wish to rule the realms, nor would he give it up now that he had the chance.

So there you were, balancing between the missions and the trials. Which were very sexist, in fact. Who would’ve thought royals and Gods would be so conservative? You laughed. They varied between many housekeeping duties, archery, Asgard’s history, a lot of politics, the cooking and baking of different Asgardian treats, and a lot of those idiotic kind of trainings of putting books over your head and walking in heels. They said they had to transform an avenger into royalty, and you almost laughed in their face. Loki did.

It was impossible you'd ever actually become who they wanted you to change into. A submissive and silent companion, not possessing any other ability than smiling politely and attending your husband's needs? You were so incredibly far from even being like that, that not even Strange could see a reality in where you'd do it.

But you could pretend. You passed the first dozen trials, and passed them well. Odin had started growing a certain liking to your attitude, much unlike Frigga, who was increasingly repulsed by it. She was trying her best in transforming you, a lost cause in her eyes, into whatever she found fitting to accompany her younger son.

"Your mother's idea of a 'good' partner is very different from mine", you said over a glass of wine, waiting for dinner to finish cooking. Loki was sitting over the counter reading a book. He closed it over his lap and marked the page with a wooden spoon that was on handy.

"Mine too", he sighed. "She doesn't see that you already are perfect".

"I don't think she'd see me with your eyes".

"You must remember she was raised to be the princess that would someday marry Odin. She has no other view of marriage than… changing the true self. Much as she taught me shapeshifting, we have all learnt different ways to hide underneath a veil of lies and deceiving".

You took in his sincere words and went back to silence for a while. He didn't go back to his book, instead, he looked at you. He wanted to know what you were thinking about, but asking felt like an intrusion of some sort. You looked back at him, an invitation to ask. He then asked,

"How do you feel about it?".

You nodded with no reason to nod. Pressed your lips in a line, a smile that wouldn't form just yet. Not for this.

"I sincerely don't know", you finally said. He hummed. "I love you, that's all I know. My perception of marriage doesn't mean giving everything and everyone up. But again, in my perception of marriage I never thought I would actually marry a prince. I know this is how it is. I know this is what has to be done".

"It doesn't", he jumped off the counter and surrounded your waist with his arms, resting his head on your shoulder. "Love, this can be solved. I don't want you to resign everything and everyone. This is not how it has to go if you don't like it. Say the word. Say the word and…", he sighed.

"And you'll resign your everything and everyone?", you chuckled.

"You're my everything and everyone, I wouldn't be resigning anything I don't already have".

"Liar. You want this", you said almost in a whisper. Turning around to face him, you cupped his face and kissed his chin. "You can have it. I'm sorry, I don't want you to feel guilty".

"I have reasons to feel that way".

"I'm just being dramatic".

"You're not".

"I really am", you assured him. Love sometimes was protecting him from your thoughts. Love sometimes was waking up from a nightmare where he died and not telling him about it. Love sometimes was not worrying him and lying. Or was it? Were you protecting him or were you creating a demon? "This is your big chance. Do I have a big chance here? I don't. My big chance so far has been being by your side. You make me blindly happy. I don't care if I have to change some things to please your parents, we both know I wouldn't actually change. We can see underneath the acting. You know me".

"I know you enough…", he started saying, with no need to finish it. I know you enough to know you don't want this.

"Let's have dinner", you smiled, and he kissed your forehead.

Love sometimes was accepting, he thought. Accepting you didn't want to talk about it that much. Love sometimes was sharing time. Sharing that glass of wine while sharing moments in the kitchen. Sharing the dinner you cooked together. Sharing time. Sharing. And this… Loki knew he wasn't sharing. He was taking his chance and making you go through it without you wanting it. But you shared —your life, your motivations, your fears, most of your thoughts. And you shared your thoughts about it, yet he could sense that wasn't all. You were keeping some worries to yourself, and that was what preoccupied him the most.

In the training room, you avoided Thor’s blasts and threw your daggers, trying to practice over the little things the Queen had taught you. Loki observed from afar, not wanting to distract you. He stared proudly, knowing who he was going to marry. It was not bad at all.

You had started liking that part of the training. You catched interest for Asgard’s history, politics, and the trainings of archery and dagger-fighting. You grew fonder of the idea of living in his Palace, and, to him, nothing sounded better than you calling him my King in front of everyone. But, whatever would come for the future, would come brightly.

You weren’t closer with Thor than with any other Avenger. And you weren’t exactly friends with anyone. You got along pretty well. Tony Stark liked your fierce personality, and laughed at the contrast between your bitterness in the field to your kind essence in any other situation.

Steve Rogers constantly pointed out how hilarious it was that someone like you would end up with someone like Loki. Both took it personal —Loki thought it was an offence to him, “how could someone as caring and sweet as you end up with that mass murderer”. You thought it was an offence to you, “how could someone as dull and incompetent as you end up with a literal God”.

Natasha Romanoff… She didn’t talk much. But, unlike James, she didn’t even try to communicate. James was interesting, and you were sure you would call him a friend, someday. He wasn’t very talkative, but he was always there. Always laughed at your jokes. He memorized your coffee order. He liked the same shows you did and watched them with you, in silence. He was quiet, but his actions spoke to you much more than any other Avenger. Although, James “Bucky” Barnes, was not an Avenger. Much like Loki. He was just there, he was always helping.

“How are the trials?”, asked Thor, avoiding one of your daggers without much effort. You weren’t actually good at it. Thor had learnt to avoid them for the last thousand years.

“I have a week left, and then it’s done. I think I’m doing pretty good”, you said, hiding your exhaustion. Thor was barely moving and you couldn’t catch up to him as much as you tried. He laughed when you fell, and helped you up, only to blast you again with a tiny electric wave, that at that point you felt no more than a tingling sensation.

“My son”, heard Loki from behind him. He turned around and made a small reverence to her. She smiled and stood by his side, observing you too. “I see their determination”.

“Nothing better for a King’s companion, yes?”, he said, proud dripping off his words. Frigga rolled her eyes and nodded. She wasn’t amused that Loki, from all the choices he had, had chosen a dull midgardian to follow him for less than a century. And then he’d had to choose again. Hopefully, someone who would live longer than a damn heartbeat.

“We ought to have a little talk, boy”, she finally said, and Loki’s heart tightened with nervousness. Very few people managed to get him that nervous over a couple of words. “Join me to a more… private space”.

They walked in silence until his room seemed like the best option. Room was a formal way to call it, for it was huge as an apartment. You both had managed to make a standardized-looking studio apartment into a cozy space, decorated with care and dedication. It was obvious Loki’s good taste and your inherent warmth had a big role on the decorations.

Frigga roamed around the room, observing the hung pictures and passing a finger through the white Christmas lights. She stopped at a particular photograph of Loki and you ice skating. He was carrying you as if you were a feather-weight doll, your seemingly cold hands wrapping his blue neck. Frigga stared at the actions developing at that moment. Under your cold touch, he was half transformed in his Jötun form, completely comfortable. You looked at his eyes with a glimmer that Frigga knew it to be the same Loki looked at you with. You were both laughing, and he seemed to have carried you up bridal style only to tease you into throwing you into a snow pile.

“Mother?”, Loki pulled her off of her thoughts. She turned around. “You wished to talk about something”.

“You seem… in love”, she murmured under a confusing expression. Despite Loki’s perceptiveness, he couldn’t figure out if his mother was repressing a smile or holding back a frown of sadness. Perhaps both.

“I am, mother”, he admitted, appearing a mug of tea in her hand and inviting her to sit on one of the couches. “If I must be sincere with you, as I always have been, I don’t think I’ve ever felt this way for anyone”.

“For a mortal, Loki…”, she sighed and sipped her tea. “You know what will happen now. You’re so… attached”.

“As attached as you are to Father, not as one is to a puppy pet”, he clarified.

“But much more like a puppy pet, they’ll live less than a quarter of your life. Much less. In fact, you’ll blink twice and you’ll be by an empty space on your bed, my dear”.

“I certainly hope you’re getting to a point here”, he scoffed. He’s had this conversation countless times before, and his mother never gave in.

“There is this last thing in the trials…”, she said, raising her eyebrows and getting up to pace around the room once again, barely watching over the decens of good moments in pictures you had displayed on the wall. “One thing that has to be surely not optional”.

Loki sipped on his own tea, looking out the window. He watched the spider boy try the man of iron’s flying boots and crush against a window. It was a much better thing to have his mind on, than in what his mother had just implied.

He didn’t realize it, but a few tears formed in the corners of his eyes, and he had to swallow harder to speak his mind. The implication alone of what that meant… he knew all of this would crumble under his touch. Sooner or later, he would have to make a choice, and he’d choose the wrong thing.

Both options were the wrong thing. There was no way out. There was no right path to follow.

“There has to be a way out of this question. Of this decision”, he hurried. His mother chuckled.

“Given your reaction, son, it doesn’t sound like there’s much to decide. It’s an answered question, and we all know it”.

“Yet you thought it wise to pull them through all of these trials, all of these…”, his lips trembled, and he had to stop to take a breath. “To rouse us with the illusion of the better life we always dreamed of?”.

“I had warned you about it, Loki. There is no us in your daydream for the throne. And much less with a short-lived being such as a midgardian. I had warned you”, she repeated, and rage boiled on Loki’s veins.

“Why is it that everytime I get a glimpse of what a good future could look like, it gets destroyed before it arrives?!”, he lost his temper, raising his voice. The tea fell to the carpeted floor and he didn’t even look at it. Frigga didn’t flinch, and walked closer to him. She gave him an arm-length grab on his shoulders that was supposed to calm him down.

“Hush, little boy… this is for…”, she tried to soothe the wound she opened, but he interrupted her before she could say anything else.

“For my own good? Were you going to say that, Frigga?”, he hissed. His mother dropped the arms. She didn’t like when he called her by name. It implied things he had implied before, and were no less true than what he felt like. Apart. Away. “And must I remind you I’m not a little boy you need to protect and make decisions for? This is ridiculous. I’m given, once again, the illusion of the choice”.

“Oh, Loki, when have I ever given you a golden apple you couldn’t actually reach?”, she folded her arms, furrowing her brows. “I’ve taught you magic so you could be unstoppable. I’ve raised you equally, despite your roots. I’ve…”, she enlisted, and Loki’s chest hurt so tightly he thought he’d finally die. He couldn’t speak. “I’ve left everything to your reach. Your arm just wasn’t long enough. You could’ve stretched it further, yet you decided to go for another apple, and that, my son, is not our fault”.

Loki sat on the floor, and she stayed standing. The height difference that would always make her look up at him was now gone, dissolved as the confidence Loki had gathered in the past few years he’s been living in Midgard, away from all of those words. Away from what he considered at some point, the truth. And you weren’t there to hug him and squeeze the lies away —it wasn’t true, it wasn’t true, it wasn’t true, he repeated himself like a machine. It wasn’t true, although it felt so much like it.

“Loki? You haven’t said a word in…”, she began saying, rotting her patience of steel.

“What would you like me to say?”, he asked, blinking some tears away. He got up, not letting her see how much smaller he felt now. Words are just words. “Perhaps you could facilitate me with a script, so I would never wrong my path again, yes?”, he spat sarcastically.

“Oh, son. You musn’t…”.

“Take this personally, I’m aware. Now, if you excuse me, my beloved will come from training any time soon now, and it would be very unpleasant for you to come across them and have to greet them, right? So I’d suggest we wrap up our little chat and you go… Queen around”.

“Now, you’re being just rude. I wouldn’t wish you to fail in anything”.

“I’ve never said that. You said that I’m just too… incompetent to reach, the apples, was it? Were you talking about Iduna’s or was it a metaphor for all the things you’ve taken from me?”.

“You’re putting words in my mouth”.

“You’re right. You’ve never taken anything from me. You’ve never given them in the first place. You’ve only put them near, so I could want them enough, and then give them to your real son”.

“You’re my son, too. You’re a real son, too, Loki”, she extended her palms for him to grab, but he didn’t. Instead, he turned around.

“Excuse me. I must have misunderstood”.

“You certainly did”.

“Perhaps it’s because I live in a world of illusions, and I’m forgetting what’s real and what’s not”.

She nodded, hiding impatience. Without saying another word, she teleported away, disappearing behind a veil of yellow lights, like a flame surrounding and consuming her.

Loki dropped to the floor again, and inhaled and exhaled, inhaled and exhaled, inhaled…

“Love?”, you asked, dropping your water bottle on the table without unlocking your eyes from him. You kneeled next to him immediately. “Love, what’s happening? Are you bad?”.

If he wasn’t in such a state, he would’ve laughed at the comparison of what caring for the other meant in your eyes and his family’s.

He didn’t let you see his face —torn apart, wet with cold tears that solidified to the touch of his skin, the blue form that couldn’t hide when he was too upset, or too broken, like he was right then.

He sank in your arms, hugging you as tightly as he allowed himself to. Grasping for your touch, for you to never leave him, for your soul to never leave your body and stay with him for the rest of his life.

His mother was right, he thought. He was all she said he was, and that hurt him. But it stung him even more when he knew how right she was about his short-lived being beloved. He was going to pull away from your hug and you would take a few more breaths, and that was it. And your worried face, frowning your expression as you couldn’t see what had taken over his lover this time, would become cold as marble.

“Please, please—I can’t live without you, not like this—not anymore”, he sobbed over your neck, sinking deeper into the embrace you would oh so tightly hold and hold —you wouldn’t let him go, not ever, not if you had the chance to. And Loki knew you would actually do it. He’d lose you because you would never agree to that, and with good reason.

“You don’t have to, I’m not leaving. I’m here, Loki. I’m here, love, and you’re alright. Deep breaths, breathe with me, love, come, breathe with me”, you helped him calm down, rubbing big circles on his back, your palms open and warm trying to cover the immensity of him compared to you.

There wasn’t a single moment where he could forget how fragile you were. How different your life span was compared to his —he wanted to give you all of his enormity, all of the years that wore too big on his bland and heavy life.

He couldn’t keep you by his side forever.

He could, on the other hand, keep you as far as he could manage to.

He was already stable, now. You cuddled him on the couch, weighted blanket surrounding his body, a few ice cubes inside a bag for his forehead and neck —you knew it would always make him feel less pushed, keeping his Aesir form costed an extra amount of energy he sometimes couldn’t handle to bare— and your hand kept brushing his hair, braiding it, letting him know he was safe.

He opened his eyes and there you were —an angel, a healer caring for his wounds. He sighed at your sight, and embarrassed himself for even thinking about it. No, no. Of course he would choose you. He would never choose the throne if he had to give you up. He wouldn’t be able to live with himself.

He raised a hand to cup your cheek.

“I’m sorry”, he whispered.

“Don’t be”, you assured.

“I… I have to ask”.

“Tell me”.

And so he asked,

“Would you, ever, at any given point of your life, want to have a child with me?”.

You stayed silent. You looked at him, every bit of his face, every expression that would tell you what he was actually thinking about. Why was he asking this now? After all of this? He knew the answer, why would he bring it up again?

And then it hit you.

“Your Mother was here”, you lowered your gaze. Your legs started bouncing.

“She was”.

“This is a condition”.

“It is”.

“Heir”.

“Not more and not less”.

“What will we do?”, you asked, raising your eyebrows. As you looked for Loki’s eyes to be wet, to have any emotion of regret, they weren’t. He was hiding them very well.

“We will stay here. No more trials. No more boring royal things for you to learn”.

“This can’t be possible”, you frowned in concern. “Loki, this is the thing you most want. You can’t give it up for this”.

“For what? For being with the love of my life? I certainly can and will”, he smiled. It was a sad smile, you noticed. His eyes couldn’t hide what his lips tried to. He noticed you didn’t believe him. “We’ve talked about this over and over. I will bargain more. But as for now, I can see the most likely option will be this one. I propose we get comfortable. You once talked about a house by the mountains and cats, right?”.

“Don’t change the topic, mister”, you frowned and he laughed. You hugged him tightly, and murmured in his ear “are you sure you want this?”.

“So, so sure, my little darling”.

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thefanbasewhore · 4 years ago

Text

About Time.

Summary: While Din has a hard time showing how he feels, it’s not take he doesn’t want to I’ve into them, he wants nothing more in this world but in order to keep you safe he makes some decisions that can strain your relationship forever. Reader has enough of it and finally says something to be ignored. Despite this she still does something that makes even the Mandalorian cry.

Warning/Content: Fluffy din, broken heart, din doesn’t know how to handle his feelings, emotional Din with first kiss between characters. Two idiots finally admitting their feelings for each other.

Paring: Din Djarin/Female Reader

Tag list here || Master list.

“Do you want some of these, is that is bug?” Your tone is teasing, a small laughing falling from petal like lips and Din can’t find himself to look away from the soft curve of your nose, eyes wrinkling with joy to match the most breath-taking smile even though it’s directed towards the child tucked inside the bag the slings across the Mandalorian’s chest he is rather breathless at the sight.

From the form of your jaw, the few dark spots that form against cheeks, he feels his heart stuttering inside his chest. The sun is hangs so high in the air, thick clouds can’t even contain the orange haze that hits your skin just right, illuminating the dips of collarbones, a natural glow that no one could even come close to. The shine reflecting off the beskar but you still manage to look up, pause and really give him something to be nervous about as the kind smile is now exclusively for the breathless Mandalorian.

Despite what others may think that the Mandalorian is ruthless, nothing but a cold stone killer he proves them wrong. Has an eye for acquired beauty, takes time at every planet he visits just to watch the sunset - if it’s over the forest, the bitter cold mountains or buzzing city, there’s just something about watching the colors of the sky collide, the dim light singing a silent lullaby with the promise of new life tomorrow when sun rises again. But nothing, absolutely nothing will beat that smile, it’s hurts to see it, makes his head spin as he’s consumed with thoughts of you, you, you.

Knees feel like they’re going to buckle underneath the weight of your smile, cheeks are instantly hot as he’s caught but with the way the sun touches your skin and glimmers against the natural highlights of your cheek bones, he could careless. So close, your so close he can smell the intoxicating scent of soap, gooseberries and spice, sweet but fierce, calm but firey. A surge of goosebumps makes him shiver feeling the heat of your body as you brush your hand along his arm unintentionally raising the sleeve of cookies teasingly, up and down towards the child. His bead bobs with your own, he’d following that smile to the pits of underworld.

The marketplace is full, buzzing with life, bodies knocking against each other in the afternoon rush, a few goers knocking against the Mandalorian and yourself but he quickly puts a stop to it. He’s closer, nearly attached at the hip, helmet following anyone who gets too close with a silent warning which has a few men gulping, turning back into the direction they came from.

“What else do you need?” The vocoder crackles under his baritone, thick and laced with a genuine concern that makes you bite the inside of your cheek. He must have reached out unintentionally for you, watching as your eyes flicker from his gloved hold that softly rubs your wrist to his face, cheeks flushing just a little as he pulls away - not sure if his actions.

“I think we have everything.” Face burning, but only because of how fast the Mandalorian moved away - like he was disgusted, impulsed he would ever touch you. He seems to notice the shift of temper, nervously trailing behind as you walk away without a second glance towards him.

His throat is weary, unable to speak because of just how try it feels. It’s awkward, lingering silence between you, he wants to know why. Nervousness stirs his stomach, beads sweat across his forehead. He’s so inobvious of your affections, it is absolutely infuriating at times. It’s not his fault, how could he notice? He can barely think with you so close. The sudden change doesn’t go unnoticed though, not daring to look up at him at least half way through the market place.

“Are you okay?” He’s clueless, completely unaware of your pounding heart, the question making you pause and freeze and he must have not been paying attention as he hits your back with a small huff through the static of the vocoder, knocking the wind from your startled chest. He curses under his breath, fingers spreading across the base of your hip to steady you. “Kriff, I’m sorry. Are you alright?”

“Fine.” The word is sharp, more harsh then intended and thankfully the Mandalorian’s face can’t been seen, confusion pinches his eyebrows, mouth dropping to say something, anything but the little wobble of your voice along with the small tears that gloss over eyes as him immobilized.

Unable to speak, not prepared nor what to say to the tearing beauty in front of him. What does he say? Does he let it go? Obviously you didn’t want to talk, but he doesn’t like the swirl of emotions in his own chest as he watches you turn, try to slip out towards the direction of the Crest but his hands grab your sides before he even register what is happening.

“Wait.. wait. Cyar'ika, why are you crying?” As the tears slip past long eyelashes he feels confused. “Where are you going?”

“Why do you always do this?” The words confuse the Mandalorian, make him step closer, reach for you but with every inch he steps forward you find yourself steering away. “You can’t keep calling me these nicknames, touching me and acting like nothing exist between us. It’s - it’s - it’s exhausting! Every time I bring it up, you ignore me.”

He never misses a beat, hearing the choke in your throat, voice rising an oculate as his heart pounds inside his chest. He pauses, completely freezes as the commotion causes uncomfortable eyes. Harsh and grumbled. “Not here.”

“You never want to talk about it! – ugh, you’re impossible!” While he didn’t particularly like your tone there are some truths behind your words, the sting of realization brazes his cheeks, makes him bite his lip, chewing nervously on the fat of it.

It’s true, every single word. He is impossible, difficult to talk too especially when it comes to feelings. He wants to blame it on his upbringing, feelings were never a factors, what he felt never mattered. He carried it all throughout his life but what really did matter in this point and time is how you feel. It matters to him, the way you pout if he doesn’t hold you close at night, when you’re feeling homesick, like a caged bird from being in the Crest for too long. He cares, cares so much but doesnt know how to show it.

Din Djarin doesn’t like change, he doesn’t like being unprepared, parting from a very stern schedule but once he met you, that all seemed to be thrown out the door, only coming up on a year but it feels like another life. Truthfully, he doesn’t know how to handle these feelings, they swell inside, make his heart four times bigger until he feels like it’s going to explode with just how lovely you are. So naturally, just like the way he was raised instead of handling them, he chooses to ignore them, let them dangle in front of your face with sweet nicknames, touches of a lover, promised that seem like nothing.

The Crest isn’t too far, camouflaged between trees whose think branches canope around it, the greenery hiding any proof the Mandalorian roams these parts, he didn’t have too. It’s almost second nature now, hiding the ship to guarantee the safety for his son and girl.

You don’t say another word, shoving through the rather large crowd, slipping through a few crack but so quickly that Din and his large mass of armor can barely catch up, calling your name but it’s no use as you’re swollowed into the swarm of people.

When the Mandalorian finally does make it to the ship he calls home he lifts the sleeping child from the brown bag, rockling him softly until he reaches the threshold of the upper belly of the Razor Crest, noticing the rather large lump of blankets. He pauses, his heart wants him to press further, peel back every layer of insecurity as the blankets would reveal your body under his fists but he shakes his head, clear the thought all together before placing the child next to you, placing the loose corner to cover him. The Mandalorian doesn’t come to bed that night or even the next following nights.

He doesn’t dare speak, the only time you do hear him over the course of a few days is a cracked scolding or coo towards the child but he now spends the majority of his time in the cockpit. He doesn’t look at you, doesn’t even acknowledge your presence. It’s like two ghosts passing in the night. It makes you regret even bringing it up, claiming his sweet touches were fake, that his kisses in the dark meant nothing. You know they do, despite how much he wants to claim their not, that he doesn’t care for you in the way, the memory of the smile that caresses your shoulder says different, the warm lips that melt against your forehead but never dare dive to the intoxicity of your lips. He used to hold you so close at night, warmth and familiarity fight away fear that may creep up on you late a night but now you find yourself nudging nose deep into the pillows just to get a glimpse of his fated scent.

Earthy woods, dewy morning pine smell mixed with the ringed, worn leather of his gloves. You never realized how much you loved it. Even right now, late hours of the night but early hours of the morning sitting up on the bed. The only sound is the heavy breathing of the little green ball curled up in Din’s spot, sleep doesn’t seem to come easy anymore.

You’re so exhausted, eyes heavy, crusting for the relief of closing but nothing can take away the aching of your heart. It hurts so much you find yourself pressing your hand against your chest, rubbing the skin like it would sooth the ache. It almost makes you want to march up the stupid, wobbly later and apologize but it’s hard when you meant every word you said.

You know it deep in your heart Din cares for you, he would do anything, die for you but living on this constant edge of ��what are we” is almost as tiring as not sleeping for three days, at this moment you can’t tell which one is worse. He needed to admit it, stop playing heartless bounty hunter because he’s anything but.

He’s comes off as cold, stern and ruthless but he’s anything but. He’s kind, cares for others. You see it in the way he tries to understand, attempt to speak the languages of the people he meets in order to make sure they’re more comfortable. He gives the benefit of the doubt no matter the reputation of man. Maybe because it hits so close to home. To the outside world he is a cold man, will do anything to return his bounty but if anyone bothered to try, the world would notice the façade quickly crumbles.

You’re so wrapped up in just thinking, concentrating on every breath that falls from your erratic, heavy chest you don’t notice the way the ladder to the upper level rattles under the pressure of a man.

He pauses almost instantly, clearly not expecting the sight of you protruding forward, sore shoulders slumped. Not noticing the extra shadow you squeeze your eyes shut, trying to keep the small promise of tears from rolling over but it’s pretty much useless.

The tears come, flush against the heat of your face as you pull the blanket closer, turning the slightest bit just to check up on the sleeping child but tucked away in the corner the rather large silhouette catches catches your own reflection.

He pauses, the T of his visor never leaves the direction of your reddening face. There’s a small noise, a peak of his voice. It’s like he tried to speak, words dying in his throat, tries to hide it but the vocoder catches it.

Din feels at war. His heart just wants to climb into bed with you, kiss every single tear that you cry but his brain says the opposite. Be logical, it would never last, no one would want a life like this why would he subject you to it? Give you more of a reason to stay?

Besides it’s easier this way, you would never be safe. If there isn’t one already, there would be a giant target painted on your back. Especially with the child, you would never be safe.

Honestly, you don’t know what hurts more, the lack of sleep that pinches your eyes or the sinking of your heart as the Mandalorian walks away without a word.

The next morning is awkward, scratch that, the last few days have just weird. Din comes before you even manage to wake, taking the child to feed and wash him and keeps him in the cockpit while he tries to figure out where the last bounty has traveled to. Which is fine but all this time alone as left you.. bored.

Usually you would be up there with them, teasing the Mandalorian at the fact that his voice raises a few notches as he talks to Grogu, which would only result in a scoff but he would still murmurs in the annoyingly cute voice and call him his little co-pilot.

The words on the page in front of you start to blur, words grouping together, it didn’t make any sense no matter how many times you try to reread them. The ship is rather warmer then usual, not having to go outside to know it’s a beautiful, warm day and judging by your calculations, it was market day again.

You stand aimlessly, the lack of sleep making you shift on your feet, balance and coordination long gone. Movements are slower, messy but despite heavy eyes still are able to move though the belly of the Crest to find your bag, throwing it across your shoulder as you mindlessly press the button the shakes and squeals as the hydraulics of the descending ramp come to life.

You don’t want to be alone anymore, no matter how much the bed calls, the chattering of civilization and social interaction call you from just over the ridge. Before stepping out, you take one last look around, biting your lip as you nervously suck on it. It wasn’t a good idea to just disappear, just in case something would happen but truthfully, the Mandalorian doesn’t seem to care too much at the moment.

The first step into the forest is liberating, fresh air beings the color back to your skin, it’s easier to breath following the small trail towards the town. Fresh pine and dark green leaves that shiver with every low breeze, it nips your skin pink but it just feels so good to be out of the ship.

***

The laugh that falls from your lips is quite unexpected, the small human that extends his hand, offering you a beautiful, purple flower.

“Thank you.” The boy gives a shy smile before disappearing behind the stall of the vender, off to find his mother.

The market is buzzing, filled with laughs, venders shouting deals from every corner, the smells are beautiful, mixed with homemade soaps to mouth watering food. The colors are bright, no doubt to match the just as shining sun, bright oranges and sky blues from fabrics, blanket and clothing.

You find yourself smack dab in the middle of it, not really knowing where to start as the first smile in days touches your lips as people shove past you. It felt good to be out but the realization of why you were alone dropped your smile instantly.

“Are you alright miss?” The voice moving your head in direction, peering over your shoulder to notice the man leaning against one of the stalls, throwing the apple in his hand up then back down to his palm.

He was quite tall but not as tall as the Mandalorian. A scruffy dark beard that is cut low, leaving a shadow of darkness over the distal end of his prominent features. Cupid lips, the curve of his nose strong but the bridge slightly crooked, looks like it’s been broken a few times. Baby blue eyes, ones that are filled with concern as you realize how long you’re taking looking at him. He has silky, long curls.

“Yeah…” You finally answer, unsure of the words as he steps closer. His clothes look expensive, blood red fleece mixed with a pattern of gold. He gives you a small grin… And he’s not ugly.

His skin is flushed from it’s normal color, no doubt a little irritated from the brutal sun. He smiles at your reply, dimples and all. “Would you like an apple miss?”

“How do I know you didn’t do anything to it?” This makes him laugh, clicking his tongue as he flirty leans a little forward.

“I guess you must take a leap of faith, my lady. I’m sure one little, innocent apple won’t cause death to such a pretty lady.”

Your cheeks ignite almost instantly but the wide smile hides it. “My lady?”

“Well you never gave me your name.”

“You never asked.” You take the apple from his outstretched palm, watching and anticipating the bite but it never comes. Still skeptical of taking foods from a stranger.

“What is your name?” You answer, telling him as his hand covers your free one but right when you’re about to push him away he brings the ring on your finger closer to his face, running his own thumbs over it in amazement.

“What is it?” His eyes fill with so much awe at the stone, large and black. It looked like a galaxy, the stars inside of it moving, making him look up questioningly. “It’s moving, it’s amazing. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“It’s just a moonstone.” A gift from months ago, Din had shyly placed it in front of you, swearing Grogu picked it out but the way he lingered for a reaction told you everything.

He must have noticed how close he was but didn’t bother to move as his eyes widen. “Oh, sorry! I don’t get out much.” He must have noticed the pinch of confusion Where are my manners? I’m Prince Brydon.“

“Prince? As of prince of?”

He pauses, brows moving closer in confusion. “As of Aralan, the planet we are on..”

“Oh.” Suddenly you felt nervous of the man, giving him a polite but uncomfortable smile.

“I know I just met you but would you like to walk with me? Just for a little, I can offer you food or drink?” Who are you to say no to the prince?

You’re about to follow but a smooth grip that pulls you back by your elbow makes your head whip back. The orange tipped leather gloves never leave despite gaining your attention, instead pull you further away from the prince. Even though the Mandalorian’s face is completely concealed, there’s no hiding his anger, he visibly trembles, words are deep from his chest. “Where have you been? How long have you been gone?”

You look up at the prince apologically, feeling like a toddler getting a scolding especially with the angle of your arm. The baby is pressed against his chest with the other arm, cooing as he reaches out for you. His father’s displeased attitude rubbing off onto the green baby.

The Mandalorian is frustrated, so much he doesn’t notice the prince only lets a soft curse fall from the static as he releases your arm, mumbling a soft sorry as he extends the child towards you. You take him happily, bouncing him as he goes right to burying his petal-like ears into the crook of your neck. With that you hope the Din will just leave it alone, go back to not talking because right now the last thing you want to deal with is him. “You can’t just run off like that, what is something happened?” It felt good to hear him speak, it’s been so long and honestly the deep vibration of his vocal cords were soothing, husky with a odd element of security. “Who are you?”

The words were a little harsh as the Mandalorian finally notices the added presence, stiffening and taking two steps in front of you. Institutionally protecting the child and yourself. Din almost towers over him, broad shoulders blocking the prince from your peripheral.

The Prince speaks, claiming his title but Din looks unamused, still standing strong and straight, shoulder widening, slowing his strength. He’s sizing him up, the poor prince is confused, eyes dropping towards your own but Din blocks his way. Overbearing but Din has vowed in silence to himself to always protect you.

“Will you be okay?” The prince asks, unsure of leaving you with the metal man but you nod, giving him a soft smile. “Well It was a pleasure to meet you and your weird friend.”

The giggle that falls from your lips makes Din’s heart thump and chest fill with jealousy, the smile towards the Prince he’s one he’s never seen before.

***

Din still ignoring you but every few minutes looks past his shoulder to see if you’re still following. He doesn’t seem to care about the delicious smell of food, or singing of passerby’s, but you do, you keep stopping to look at the flowers, inquire about something to eat but feel suffocated by the Mandalorian. He’s walking so close that he’s practically ontop of you, hips pressed against the back of your own, trying to ignore the feeling of your ass pressed against him but the scowl on your face knocks sense into him.

“You don’t have to watch me.”

“Why? For you can run away again?”

You scoff, hand pressing against the cuirass of the armor trying to push him away. Truly amused by the challenge in his voice, the audacity of a man who didn’t care weather you were alive or dead for the last few days. “I didn’t run away. You been ignoring me for days and then scare away the first person who wanted to talk to me. Why do you care?”

The Mandalorian’s mouth drops behind the helmet, words trapped behind his teeth, they’re fumbling on the tip of his tongue, an apology so close but he can’t help but notice you’re looking past his shoulder now, brows moving closer in concentration and then widening but before he can manage to turn around to see you tackle him to the ground.

A large spray of blaster shots kick the dirt up from around you, curling yourself deeper into Din but laying across him, using your own body to shield him. Eyes squeezed so tight expecting pain and blood but nothing comes. It only last a few more seconds before the loud boom fills your ears, the smell of gun powder and heat fill your entire body and the shooter drops dead a few feet away. The source is right next to you, one of Din’s arms wrapped tightly around your waist, the other extended and gripping the just fired blaster.

There’s a moment of silence as everyone around starts to look up, realizing the gun fire is gone. Low chatter followed by heavy breaths, even your own chest betrays you. Din’s eyes never leave your own, pants cracked with static as his throat feels dry.

“Why did you do that?” The Mandalorian’s hands grip your face, don’t allow you to move from the captivating reflection of yourself in the helmet. Still on top of him but now he pulls you into his lap, a deep sigh racks his body. The orange tips of his glove shape against the outline of your jaw, keep your eyes on what you can only guess is his own. They’re gentle, applying just enough pressure to keep you up right.

One set of fingers rub the bumpy surface of your cheek bones, it’s gentle, savoring every moment of it. His chest falling and raising with faltering adrenaline but swelling with emotion.

Small tears pick his eyes, he can’t seem to care about the yelling and chaos that surrounds you, he leans closer, forehead pressing against your own. “Why did you do that? You could have gotten hurt - that was st -.”

He wants to finish the sentence but can’t seem to. It’s not stupid, it was incredibly dangerous, selfless but the action on it’s own filled him with such warmth and so many unsaid words. Never, ever has anyone risk their lives for his own. He’s speechless, can’t form words as the ball of emotion grows inside his throat, so big it barely allows air to pass through.

It’s so sudden you’re stunned when it happens, the rush of air from the force of his arms wrapping around your waist. He sits up, but it’s only to pull you closer into him until your head rests against his chest. Now it’s your turn to stop breathing, hearing your heart pound in your ears but still managing to hear the cracked gasp that falls from the helmet. His chest is moving to fast, the rise and fall abnormally pressing against your cheek. Fingers clutch his forearm, rubbing soothing circles as you try to ask him if he’s alright, the reason for his tears but he doesn’t allow you to. “Never ever do that again.”

“Din -.”

“Promise me, please. Never, ever do something like that again.”

He’s so suddenly filled with so much guilt, the look on your face when he walked away from your long night of crying is seared in his brain. Even now he feels guilty, it racks his body, makes his hold tighter as one hand comes to rub the soft strands of your hair. “Promise me.”

He suddenly can’t think of anything else except for how absolutely breath taking you are, and how this planet could be named his favorite just by the way it so generously let’s the natural light shine against your skin. He’s a complete mess, shoulders protruding forward, back starting to ache from being the man base of support for holding you and him up, no matter how much he tried to squeeze his eyes shut, blink away the tears he can’t help as they slide past eyelashes.

You notice almost instantly, he sees they way your hand outstretches to feel the points of the helmet. In that very moment, under the scrutiny of those eyes he feels three words touch his tongue, he’s leaning forward into your touch, mouth opening to finally say them but the bewildered, pure panic that widens your eyes has him looking around impending danger he’s too distracted to notice.

Just like that the both of you click, Din letting out a worried gasp. “Grogu.”

As if there wasn’t any other reason to feel like a terrible person already, he was so distracted by you, finally allowing you to peal back the layers and layers he’s built but forgetting his soon after an all out gun fire was pretty low on even his list. To be fair though, the way you looked at him was almost sinful, it would be a crime to look away.

The Mandalorian’s gentle fingers lift your thighs, helping you stand as he quickly stalks away, the child’s name break through the static, low and horse, no doubt trying to swallow the ball that made it so hard to even talk. He’s not injury, both of you know this. He’s a baby, lacks a little common sense but one of the smartest creatures you’ve ever met.

No doubt he sensed the danger, no wonder why he was so fussy. He most likely ran for cover to avoid the blaster shots. With wobbly legs you stand, using the stall next to you for support but the Mandalorian’s hand against the small of your back steadies you, the small child cooing from his fathers arm’s.

Almost as quick as the night he found you crying, he turns his back to you, heart dropping at the sudden coldness almost identical to the temperature of his shiny beskar. Small, unwanted tears gather in the corner of your eyes, just like that he was back to hating you, possibly ignore your presence for another week or so.

A smooth gush of air follows as he turns to face you, heart skipping in your chest as the shadow of his visor meets your gaze. Pushing Grogu closer to his chest. Mouth dropping in surprise as he extends his other, hand opening for your own.

“Let’s go home, Cyare.” He doesn’t give you much of a choice as he steps closer to fill the gaps between his fingers with your own. They trip back to the ship is quiet, not uncomfortable but clearly the both of you have a lot on your minds.

***

No one says a word, nightfall kisses the horizon by the time you return. Convinced nothing could calm the irregular pattern of your pounding heart, the heat on your cheeks never leaving, a reminder every time you look down and see your entangled fingers.

Once on the ship, he’s still silent, not daring to speak as he puts the child down and retreats to the cockpit, once the ship is up and out of the atmosphere you half expect him be dismissive again, spend the rest of the trip in the cockpit but instead are filled with surprise as the lights of hull flicker off. Instantly reaching out to find something to steady yourself on but instead strong, large arms wrap around you. They keep you grounded, steady as your eyes widen. The Mandalorian’s hot breath fanning your face, the ghost of his lips at the shell of your ear. “Easy, easy, it’s just me.”

Standing in complete silence, all breath void with fears it might scare him away. You’re so caught up in the heat of his breath against your face, so close to your lips which he never allowed himself to touch that the realization of his helmet being off almost sends you onto your ass, grabbing his sleeves to stand up straight.

Finally you can’t take it anymore, hands softly running over the smoothness of his jaw, coarse hairs of the patchy beard followed by the fly away hairs just above his lips, then to form over the soft flesh of his cupid shaped lips. This causes the Mandalorian to stiffen, a long breath parting his lips as he pulls you closer, stepping back until he falls onto the cot, bringing you down with him to straddle his lap.

Without thinking you start to lean in, the Mandalorian feeling the force of your body lifting up but turn his head for you feel the corner of his lip, the bluntness of the kiss against his cheek. This makes your skin on fire, embarrassed as your try to move away but the grip on your thighs doesn’t allow you to.

“I’ve never kissed someone before.” He admits lowly, just above a whisper trying to save you the embarrassment. The soft oh that falls from your lips is panicked as you try to pull the touch away but the Mandalorian is too quick, his palm squeezes your fingers, pulling them back to cup his cheek and nuzzling into it.

“We don’t have to Din, I should’ve asked.”

“No, no, I want to kiss you sweet girl.” The nickname alone is enough to have you melting into a puddle, knees weak and buckling but lucky for you, Din holds you up right. “I just don’t want to mess it up.”

Staying silent, not daring to move but instead allow Din to take his time, experiment as he starts to lean closer and do it on his own time.

Time felt like it almost stopped when his nose nudged your own, lips barely touching, hovering as he lets out a soft sigh, leaning closer until you feel his eyelashes flutter against your own. He’s so gentle as his lips finally meet yours, only being able to focus on how soft they were against his own.

Every breath he took smelt like you, wild flowers and vanilla as his lips shape against your own. Whole body tingling as he pulls you closer against him, giving him a better angle to kiss you at, he pulled away for just a second, catching his breath before claiming your mouth again. Filled with emotion, heavy and soft as his tongue slips past your lips.

You’re so caught up in the way he feels you don’t notice the fingers that slip under your shirt, feeling the soft flesh of his skin. A soft moan falling from his parted lips as you shift on his lap.

tags: @coonflix, @mudhornchronicles, @kaermorons @winter-rxn @carlygrayson @naturalswifty89 @Curiouskeyboard @idjitdestiel @tossacoin2yourwitcher @victias, @altarsw , @nikkixostan , @moonlightnumbsthepainifeel, @est19xxshit , @owloveyounever , @engie115@dinsbeskar, @akatasukilove , @nerdalert-andi , @mailee420 , @you-and-i-deserve-the-world, @thatonedindjarinfan, @Sporadicshoebailifffish, @coldlilheart, @starsvck, @agirlinherhead, @lokismidnight, @expellopatronum, @dinschutta , @queenbbarnes, @ironbabey, @i-ship-it-ironically, @coonflix, @ilikemymendarkandfictional, @maileecabudal, @buckysalefty, @fangirlmendes, @godohammers, @mermaidbrina, @capsheadquaters, @i-ship-it-ironically

@dinsbeskar

#din djarin #din dijarin x reader #din djarin fan fiction #din djarin x reader #din djarin imagine #the mandolarian #the mandolorian imagine #the mandalorian #the mandolorian x reader #pedro pascal character #pedro pascal #pedro pascal imagine

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samuel-de-champagne-problems · 4 years ago

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Blurb #9

Pairing- Spencer Reid x Female Reader

CW- none

Author’s Note- this comes from this ask by @leahblackk thanks so much for this love!! it was so much fun to write 💛 also sorry if it looks a little wonky I’m on mobile!!

Word Count— 2K (not really a blurb)

Studies show that the music we listen to at 14 years old is the most influential on our personality and development. Naturally, there’s some exceptions to this. Spencer, for one, tended to listen to classical music or the Beach Boys records his mother had around the house as a teenager. He still can’t listen to jazz without the bittersweet memories of Ethan coming back to haunt him. His music taste, in his opinion, didn’t really develop until Derek made him listen to his CDs on rides during their commute.

It wasn’t until he met his neighbor, Y/N that he learned just how impactful music can be on someone’s life. Spencer, despite Derek and Penelope’s efforts, doesn’t really enjoy modern music. There’s one expectation to that though: Y/N. Everytime she drags him over for late night dinners and movie nights, she always ends up putting a Taylor Swift album on her vintage record player. It’s like a ritual that either comforts her, hypes her up, or softens her heartbreak. Through the months that they’ve been friends, Spencer’s come to enjoy the music nights. There’s something about the way that she sings about love and life that is so familiar to Spencer. The day he realized, it hit him like a ton of bricks. Y/N makes all those magical, heartwarming, Taylor Swift songs make sense.

So everytime he goes over to her apartment, before he knocks he’ll listen for the music. It’s hard to not let his profiling instincts kick when he does this. Thanks to his eidetic memory, Spencer can recognize any of the songs with only a couple seconds of the lyrics.

On a sunny Monday, Spencer listens closely for the record player. He can hear the upbeat, dance tunes of New Romantics. Okay, he thinks. If Y/N is listening to that song, she’s probably happy. So he knocks on the door, a big smile on his face ready to listen to the happiest Taylor Swift songs with the girl he’s pining for and try not to reveal just how much he wants her to love him back.

“Spence! Come on, we’re dancing” Y/N shouts loudly above the music. Spencer doesn’t want to burst her bubble by telling her he doesn’t dance, so he takes her hand and dances his heart away.

In between the jumpy and laughter the song shifts. Y/N must be playing it from her Alexa because the next song is from a different album, Paper Rings comes on next. A song dedicated to the kind of love that probably makes the most sense to Spencer. He’d marry Y/N without any kind of ring- and that’s a terrifying thought.

“I love this song!” Y/N says, closing her eyes and dancing wildly, “You like this one too, right Spence?” she says above the loud music.

Spencer, unable to fully articulate how much he loves this song, decides to grab Y/N by the hand and twirl her around and around. She’s laughing and smiling, happy as she could be. Spencer’s thoughts shift from how beautiful she looks, to how easy this is. How simple loving her could be, but how hard telling her is.

The music slows, turning to Lover, a song that Spencer has dreamt of dancing with Y/N to on a white veiled occasion several times. This must be her happy playlist, Spencer thinks as she pull him close. They’re slow dancing and if Spencer closes his eyes and quiets his mind, he can trick himself into thinking she loves him back. Afterall she holds him like she does.

“I like this one the best,” Spencer whispers, his eyes still closed as he and Y/N sway to the beat of the song, “It’s comforting,” he explains.

“It’s a good wedding song,” Y/N says, resting her head against his shoulder, “like a first dance song,”

“It is,” Spencer says, “It’s actually in the proper beats per second to be a waltz, which is a common dance for a traditional first dance at a wedding,”

“Yeah,” Y/N says, pulling herself in closer to Spencer as she pets small circles into his soft cardigan. The spot where she touches leaves her mark; his heart has belonged to her for awhile now, but Spencer’s ready to give her whatever else she wants, “but dancing like this is also very nice,”

“Hmm,” Spencer says, not trusting himself to say anything else. The music switches again, and Spencer knows the song, probably before even Y/N. Dress comes on and Spencer really isn’t sure how he’ll get through listening to the sultry song that croons about pining after your best friend. Part of him seriously thinks he’s being stalked, because those songs perfectly encapsulate his love and his admiration for the girl next door.

“Oh, I got asked out on a date,” Y/N says, seemingly shocking Spencer out of his daydream, “at the coffee shop. His name is John, he seems nice,” she tells him, sounding a little nervous.

“That’s great, Y/N,” Spencer says, trying to put on a smile for his best friend, but fails to do so, “I’m happy for you,”

“Well it’s, you know. I think I just need to put myself out there and stop waiting around for my wild dreams to come true. Because after all your wildest dreams are just that, dreams,” she says, a little sadly.

“Call me after, Y/N, just to make sure you get home safe,” Spencer requests, he squeezes her hand, in what he hopes can be seen as a friendly gesture, despite him not wanting to let go.

“Of course, Mr. FBI,” Y/N teases, “Alexa, shut up! Hey, Spence, you want to order pizza. It’s been like a week since I watch Long Pond and I’ve got that itch that only listening to This Is Me Trying while stuffing my face with pizza and white wine can fix,”

“Sure, Y/N,” Spencer says, smiling through his heartbreak. He tries to not let Y/N see the tears that prickle in the corners of his eyes when the 1 comes on. It would have been fun, if he could have been Y/N’s “1”. Even in heartbreak, Taylor Swift can capture exactly what Spencer feels.

He almost didn’t bother checking by her apartment because he knew it’s her date with Jake or John, or whatever his name was. Spencer’s not a man to get jealous, he knows that Y/N doesn’t owe him her love just because he loves her. He knows that, but that doesn’t lessen the hurt of her falling for someone other than him.

As he walks by, Spencer’s ears catch the music coming from her apartment. He hears the unrecognizable twangy strum of the guitar and knows it’s going to be back news. Without thinking, Spencer rumages into his pocket, looking for his spare key to Y/N’s apartment. He unlocks the door and is greeted by Y/N’s cat, August, meowing at the door.

“Where’s our girl?” Spencer says, picking up the cat as he slips off his shoes, “hey, Y/N. It’s Spencer. I heard the music and I just thought I’d check in. I thought you were going out on your date?” he asks, finding Y/N curled up on the couch, with piles of tissues littered around her.

“Please, Spence. I’m a mess. I don’t want anyone to see me like this, especially you,” Y/N tells him, mopping her eyes up and petting her lap for August to jump up.

“Hey, hey, honey. You don’t have to worry about being a mess in front of me, I already think you’re amazing,” Spencer says, softly. He tries to gracefully avoid the spoiled tissues, he might be in love with Y/N, but he’s not in love with her used tissues.

“He-he stood me up,” Y/N stutters as a new wave of tears floods her face. Spencer leans over, shutting Alexa off. The sorrow, regretful tunes of Dear John turn off, leaving Spencer with the thought that it probably was an appropriate song to choose.

“I don’t even know why I try any more, Spence” she says, leaning into his body as he puts a comforting and protective arm around her upper half, “it’s useless. I’m doomed to be alone,”

“That’s not true, Y/N,” Spencer says, mumbling into her hair, “not at all. You’re amazing. You’re kind and so smart. You’re beautiful and you have great taste in music. Anybody would be lucky to date you,” he finishes, forgetting himself for a second as he kisses her hair. She smells like green apples and ivory soap.

“You’re just saying that because you’re my friend,” Y/N says. The emphasis on ‘friend’ giving Spencer a little hope at what she is subtly implying.

“What-what if I wasn’t? What if I wasn’t saying this as just a friend?” Spencer asks, daring to be bold and brave for once in his life. He couldn’t be bold and brave for Y/N, then who is he?

She must be thinking, because Y/N doesn’t say anything. Spencer’s mind instantly switches into full gear, thinking of how he’d get out of here all while sparing his feelings.

“Please don’t say those things, Spencer. Don’t say those things unless you mean it,” Y/N tells him, her voice sounding cold and far off, like she’s trying to put some distance between themselves to protect herself. Spencer’s mind ventures to take it as a good thing, when she doesn’t physically distance herself. She decides to stay with Spencer’s arms wrapped around her upper half and his hands drawing shapes on her back.

“I mean it, Y/N. I really do mean it,” Spencer says, sounding terrified, but feeling braver than ever. “I’d never lie to you about how you make me feel. Not anymore at least,” he explains, waiting for Y/N to respond.

“Can I show you something?” Y/N ask, her voicing sounding an awfully lot like Spencer’s with the mix of fear and tension and love fighting for dominance.

“Of course,” Spencer says, nodding into her hair and letting her go.

He watches and waits as she grabs her phone from the coffee table. Y/N launches her music app, but covers her phone so Spencer can’t see which playlist she’s choosing. Y/N has very curated Taylor Swift playlists kko that help her to either middle through her dark days or celebrate her happy ones.

The music starts and just within the first few notes Spencer can tell which song is playing. “Gold Rush,” he asks, of course getting it correct and making Y/N smile.

“I knew I kept you around for a reason,” Y/N says, scooting in closer to Spencer so his chin rests over her head. “I don’t think you’ve heard this playlist yet,” she says, handing him her phone.

Spencer looks at the phone, reading the playlist title Songs That Remind Me of Spencer, but ends up having to do a double take.

“This song always reminded me of you, Spence. I think it just captures how beautiful you are and how scared I am that you’ll find someone that will make you feel that way. Someone that’s more beautiful and better for you—“

Spencer can’t hear it anymore so he does something that was only a figment of his imagination: he kisses Y/N. He holds her head in his hands, brushing gently on her temples. It’s wonderful and magical, and Spencer thinks that he could kiss her for his whole life. He wants to know what makes her whimper and whine or make her flush. He wants to know everything about her because he is her 1, just as she is his.

“You made a playlist for me?” Spencer says, breaking away from Y/N’s lips to kiss her face. All over her forehead, her cheeks and eyes. He kisses her like he can’t get enough and is only encouraged by Y/N giggles for approval.

“Of course I did, Spence. You’re just everything to me and I couldn’t quite say it myself. So I left it up to the best songwriter I know,”

“I’ll make you one, today. Tomorrow, everyday,” Spencer says, kissing Y/N’s hands and wrists, “I just want to make you happy and know how loved you are. Because I love you, Y/N” Spencer says

“Spence,” Y/N says, not quite able to articulate how much she loves him, kisses his forehead, “I love you. God. I love you so much. And I may or may not have re-written Hey Stephen as Hey Spencer,”

#spencer reid #spencer reid blurbs #Spencer Reid x reader

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atlafan · 4 years ago

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One Last Time - One Shot

a/n: heavily inspired by Let Me Love You Goodbye lmao. I didn’t proofread, sorry!

Warnings: smut and angst

Words: 8K

After months of bottling things up, they finally had the discussion they needed to have. They argued a little, but never really raised their voices. Tears had taken over them at some point, and when they had both calmed down, they were able to think and speak more rationally. It was over. A year and a half over and done, just like that. It wasn’t from a lack of trying or a lack of love. They loved each other very much, it just wasn’t enough anymore. Sometimes when two part start to grow up, they grow apart instead of growing together. This is what happened with Harry and Y/N.

“I’ll stay in the guest room tonight. Meg said I could move in with her. She’s been looking for a roommate anyways.”

“So…you’ve discussed us breaking up with her before you even discussed it with me?” He was hurt, of course he was.

“She’s my best friend, Har. I told her how I was feeling and how I wouldn’t really know what to do if things ended with us, and well…she offered.” His eyes were still puffy. His lips part to say something, but there wasn’t much else left to say. “I’ll need some time to get all of my things, divide up the shared items…but I should able to do it while you’re at work.”

“I’ll stay in the guest room, you can stay in the bed.”

“No, I…I don’t want to.”

“Why not? Now the bed’s not good enough for you?” It was a jab, one that he needed it get in.

“The guest bed doesn’t smell like you, like us.” She says quietly, and his face softens more. She blinks away a few more tears and takes a deep breath. “I’m sorry.”

“I’m sorry too. I wish things could be different.”

“Me too.” She laughs to herself and he raises an eyebrow. “At least I can say the first boy I ever truly loved, loved me back, and it was good.” She stands up and wipes her face. “I’m gonna get settled for bed…not that I think I’ll be able to sleep much.” She sighs.

“Me neither. Go on, do what you need to do, I’ll give you your privacy.”

“Thanks.”

Every night when Harry got home from work there were more and more things missing from his home. First, she cleared out all her toiletries from their shared bathroom. Her special hair color shampoo and conditioner, her Dove soap for sensitive skin, all of her raisers, not even a box of pads or tampons. One would never know a woman had lived there. Then it was her clothes. She had about six different mental breakdowns packing her clothes, not that he would know. She had to stand there looking at the closet and decide if she wanted to keep any of the sweatshirts she had taken form him over the years. T-shirts, sweatpants, bandanas, scrunchies, so many things they just shared. She decided just to keep one of each, her very favorites, and leave the rest for him. This caused him to breakdown. He wanted her to keep these things, he wanted her to keep part of him. Her next task, he realized, was the kitchen. Her favorite mugs were gone. She had a knack for collecting them. They had a shared home office that she had to finish packing up. That was about it, though. He had all the furniture they needed when she moved in. He wondered what she was doing for a bed at Meg’s. He thought to ask her if she wanted to take the guest bed, but he knew she was would just say no.

Y/N knew the last time she would go to pick up her last bit of things, she would be leaving the keys to the once shared home behind. Meg said they could go out for brunch once it was done, so she made sure to doll herself up. She did her hair and makeup, and put on a cute red crop top with some mom jeans. She looked cute, yet casual. She took a deep breath as she pulled into the driveway. She took an even deeper one when she keyed into the house. She walks all the way to the back where the office is and gasps when she sees Harry at his desk, headphones on, typing away at his computer. He jumps when he turns and sees her.

“Christ.” He says, taking his headphones off. He looks her up and down. Why did she look so good? Did she always dress up like this when she’d come by to pick up her things.

“Why are you home…here?” She corrects herself. This wasn’t home anymore.

“I didn’t have any meetings today, so I thought I’d work from home. You didn’t tell me you were coming by today.” He stands up and rubs the back his neck.

“I didn’t think I had to.” She looks at her boxes and moves to go pick one up.

“Let me do that.”

“No, I’ve got it.”

“Please, it’s the least-“

“Harry, it’s too weird! I don’t want you helping me move out, okay? It’s too much.” She picks up a box and moves down the hall. He watches as she comes in and out four separate times. The last time she comes in she takes the keys off the key ring and sets them down on his desk. “That was everything, bye, Harry.”

He grabs her wrist just as he’s turning.

“You’re sure? You double checked everything?”

“Yes.”

“I think you left some clothes upstairs.”

“No way.” She shakes her head. “That’s impossible.”

“Will you at least come up and look?”

“Alright.” She sighs. “But then I need to go.”

He nods and gestures for her to go first. He watches her as she walks up the stairs. Why did she have to wear this outfit? She knew he loved when she dressed like this. It was so simple, but she made it look so good. And she was wearing a very particular shade of lipstick that he liked on her. She was also wearing the perfume she knew he liked most. What was she trying to do?

“Show me what you think I left.” She says, crossing her arms.

He looked good today too. He was just in a simple t-shirt and grey joggers. Those damn grey joggers.

“These sweatshirts, they’re not mine.” He tosses them on the bed.

“They are.”

“But you wore them more.”

“So that makes them mine? I don’t want them.”

“Neither do I.”

“So, get rid of them.”

“Nice of you to let me do that.” He huffs and shakes his head. “And why did you come around here looking like this, hm?”

“Looking like what?”

“Don’t act so innocent.”

“I had no idea you’d be home. I’m going to brunch after this, and-“

“Must be nice to have an appetite.” He scoffs.

“Hey!” She snaps. “This is a mutual breakup, Harry. Neither of us were happy, and noting we did helped.”

“Doesn’t mean this part doesn’t suck. You’re leaving, you’re really leaving, and…I’m never going to see you again.”

“We have mutual friends, we’ll see each other.”

“But we’ll do what all people do when they breakup. We’ll share an awkward smile, and then we’ll avoid each other the rest of the time.”

“What do you propose we do then? We agreed we shouldn’t really contact each other unless it was an emergency.” She looks down. “You’re dressed how I like too, you know? It’s not just me.”

“I literally had no idea you’d be coming here today. Also, I’m just in sweats, what’s so special about that?”

“What’s so special about a fucking crop top and jeans?!”

“It’s because you’re wearing it.” He steps closer to her. “We always makeup after a fight, and this time we didn’t.”

“Because we broke up, Harry. We don’t need to makeup.”

“I just don’t think we’re getting a proper goodbye.” He whispers as he cups her cheeks, making her look at him. “You’re about to walk out of my life…can’t we just…”

“Are you asking to have sex with me?” She was shocked. They hadn’t had sex in a really long time.

“Just one last time.”

She’s be lying if she said she didn’t want to. Why not go out with one last bang? All she does is nod her head yes. He leans in, but she backs away.

“Don’t kiss me.”

“Y/N.” He frowns.

“I can handle the rest, but don’t kiss me on the mouth, please.”

He moves some of her hair away.

“Where can I kiss you then?”

Her face flushes. They hadn’t had sex in a while, and they certainly hadn’t done that. Would it be so wrong to ask him to do it…just one las time?

“Anywhere but my mouth.”

His hands move to her hips to pull her close as he mouths at her neck, and just under her ear. Her hands move up to his hair to tug at it how he likes. His hands slides up her back to pull off her top. He takes his own and then unhooks her bra. He brings them both back to the bed for her to straddle him. He presses their chests close as he kisses on her neck. It was difficult not to kiss her, and that’s when he realizes he had taken it for granted. She rolls her hips down on him, causing him to groan. He needed this, he really did. He needed her so badly.

He grips her hips and places her on her back. He gets between her legs to undo her jeans. He pulls them down on her legs, she lifts her hips up to get her under wear off. She was breathing heavily. He knew what she wanted. He dips his head down to suck on one of her nipples while his fingers slide around her folds. When he pushes them inside her, she gasps and tightens around him. His thumb rubs on her clit as he works his fingers. She grips at his hair and pushes his head down further.

“Harry, please…I’ll return the favor, just please…”

He nods and moves down her body, finally wrapping his lips around her clit while he continued to finger her. Her hips move in sync with his fingers. Harry was always really good at this, there was no denying that.

“Oh my god, that’s ittttt.” She moans.

Harry felt like a fool. Why hadn’t they done this in a while? If they had would it have made a difference? Listening to her moan was almost torture because he knew after today he’d never get to hear the beautiful sound again.

“Shit, oh fuck, Harry!” She nearly screams as she comes on his fingers. He retracts them so he can suck on her center, bringing her way over the edge. “Fuck.” She breathes.

She watches as he sucks his fingers into his mouth to clean them off. He stands up to take his joggers off. He was commando under them. He lays on the bed next to her, and she gets between his legs. She spits into her hand before gripping him. She pumps him a few times before wrapping her lips around his tip. She listens to him grunt appreciatively. She sinks a little further down, but she doesn’t take much. She never could. No matter how hard she tried, she just couldn’t get her gag reflex under control. Harry never minded, felt best around his tip anyways.

“Feels so good.” He groans. “But I need to be able to fuck you.”

She pops off him, and crawls up his body, lining him up with her. She sinks down on him, and she nearly came from the feeling of him stretching her out alone. How the fuck was she supposed to move on and find someone else when Harry literally had the perfect dick. And she was just supposed to live with knowing that some other girl was going to be able to know him like this? It was bullshit. She was angry with him, and with herself. The entire situation was complete shit.

She bounces up and down on him at first, taking control of the pace, but he doesn’t let her for long. He pulls her close to him, and thrusts up into her. He essentially moves her up and down on him. She clutches at his shoulders, nails scratching at his tan skin. One of his hands snakes between them so he can rub her clit.

“Harry.” She whimpers.

“Like that?”

“Yes.” She says into his ear. “Faster.”

He rubs her faster as she moves up and down on him. She comes again, easily. Just as she’s coming down form her high, she’s being put on her back. Harry fucks in and out of her nice and hard.

“God.’ She groans. “So good, Harry.”

“Like it like this? Nice and hard?”

“Yes, fuck, yes.”

She can feel herself starting to tear up, so she grabs him by the back of the neck to pull him down. His face goes to the crook of her neck, and he rocks in and out of her.

“Can I?” He asks.

“Yes.”

His pace quickens and before she knows it, he’s coming inside her. Maybe it was a little irresponsible, but she was on the pill, and just wanted to feel all he could give her one last time. They were both glossy eyed when they looked at each other. After getting cleaned up and dressed, he walks her down to the front door. He hugs and holds her close, kissing the top of her head.

“Goodbye.” She whispers.

“Bye.”

He closes the door and rests his forehead against it, bursting into tears. She cried too, the entire way to meet Meg for brunch. She had tissues in the car, luckily, so she looked perfectly normal. She didn’t tell Meg about her abrupt and passionate romp with Harry. She didn’t want to be scolded or be told she was stupid for once again giving him exactly what he wanted.

“That’s impossible, I’m on the pill.”

“Sometimes birth control fails, Y/N.” Her doctor told her. “When was the last time you had sex?”

“Two months ago.” She groans. “With my ex-boyfriend. I don’t understand, I hadn’t missed a pill or anything.”

“It just happens sometimes.” She says, trying to be as sympathetic as possible.

“How far along am I then?”

“About ten weeks.”

“How could I be so stupid?! All the signs were there! I just thought I had mono or something, and maybe that’s why I haven’t been feeling well.” Her voice cracks.

“You know…you don’t have to…I mean, if now’s not the right time for you to have a baby, there are options.”

“I know.” She sniffles. “I just don’t think I could go through with it.” She takes a deep breath. “I’ll figure it out.”

Y/N explained to Meg that she was pregnant, forcing her to come clean about the last time her and Harry had sex. Meg was a really good friend, so she told Y/N they’d figure it out and make it work.

“Are you going to tell Harry?”

“No.” She sighs. “I can’t. He has so many plans, and-“

“So your life is allowed to change, but his isn’t?”

“He’d want to get back together, Meg…”

“I think he’d just want to help you.”

“You don’t understand, he has this thing…sometimes when we’d have sex we’d talk about having kids someday, it’s like a kink or something. If he sees me like this he’s not gonna let me go. I don’t want to be with him. I feel like I’m finally moving on, you know? My career is launching, I don’t want him in my life again.”

“Alright.” She sighs. “I just think he could help you…financially, that’s all.”

“I never wanted him for his money, and I certainly don’t intend to want him for that now.”

“And you want to have this baby? It’s okay if you don’t, Y/N…”

“Thanks.” She smiles a little. “I want to keep it. I’m already ten weeks along, I heard the heartbeat…I know it’s not even a thing a yet, but I-“

“Hey.” She squeezes her hand. “It’s your choice.”

Y/N gave birth to a beautiful baby girl. Her parents were shocked when she had initially told them, but they supported her, they were going to be grandparents after all. They were right there in the hospital with her. Y/N named her Emily, having always loved the name. Meg was a saint, being perfectly okay with using their office as a nursery.

Y/N loved her baby girl so much. As she watched her grow she realized that she had Harry’s eyes and curly hair, but Emily also had Y/N’s nose and face shape. A perfect mixture of the two. Among all this, Y/N had become quite friendly with a guy she had only ever been friends with. He wasn’t scared away by Emily, he knew Y/N wasn’t in contact with Harry. His name was Kevin, and she was wonderful.

Things were going better than expected, and Y/N took to motherhood way better than she thought. She was greatly enjoying her maternity leave as well. She only had about two weeks left to milk it before she’d have to leave Emily with her mother while she was at work. She thought it would be nice to have some mother-daughter time, and go a nice walk in town. Y/N heads inside her favorite coffee shop. Still not able to really drink caffeine, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t get a fun smoothie or something.

“One blueberry and banana please, with avocado, a little cocoa powder, and coconut milk.” She smiles. She has Emily strapped to her chest as she snoozes. It was pretty cute.

“Y/N?”

Her eyes grow wide as she steps aside to wait for her drink. She turns around and sees Harry there, in his suit, small coffee cup in hand, no doubt housing black coffee.

“Harry, oh my goodness, hi.” She says, almost in shock. This wasn’t exactly how she thought he’d ever meet his daughter, if she ever allowed it at all.

“It’s so good to see you.” He smiles. “It’s been…”

“A little over a year.”

“Miss?” She turns and sees her smoothie is done, and thanks the barista.

“Yeah, uh…” He looks down at the baby. “Did your sister have a kid or something?”

“No.” She giggles. “I did, about three months ago.” She could tell he was trying to do the math in his head. “Maybe we should sit.”

“I just came here quickly on my lunch hour…” His heart was racing.

“I really think we should sit.” She gestures to a table in the back. He sits down with her and watches as she takes the baby out of the little restraints she was in against Y/N’s chest. “Shh, shh, sweet girl.” She coos as Emily stretches out and yawns. “Harry, this is Emily.”

“Hi, Emily.”

The baby blinks and looks over at Harry. Harry puts his hand out and she grabs at his finger. Harry chuckles as he tries to get his finger out.

“Quite the grip.”

“Yeah, she’s pretty strong.”

“So…uh…” Harry furrows his brows as he looks at the baby. She almost looked familiar.

“She’s yours…” She says quietly.

“Pardon me?”

“She’s yours, Harry.”

“How is that even possible?” He searches for his inhaler on his person as now he felt like he couldn’t breathe. He takes it out and takes a couple of puffs.

“My birth control failed…after we…said goodbye.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” His voice cracks as tears start to well up. “I could have…I mean…I would have wanted to be around for all of it.”

“I was selfish.” She admits. “I didn’t want to see you. I thought you might try to get back together with me, and I didn’t want that. I was doing really well, still am…and it’s not like she doesn’t have a male figure in her life, I’m sort of seeing someone. You remember my friend Kevin?”

“Kevin?! I knew I never liked him.”

“Harry.”

“Can I hold her?” He could scream. He could pout. Hell, he could punch her in the face for keeping something like this from him, or he could be the bigger person and do what he could now to get his supposed daughter in his life.

“Of course.” She passes Emily over to him. He holds her like he was always meant to. “I have pictures from every moment, even when I was pregnant if you want to see…”

“Could we find a weekend to catch up? I’d love to see everything.”

“Harry.” A woman walks over to them, clearly annoyed. “I’ve been waiting outside for fifteen minutes, what the…what’s going on?”

“Heather! Uh, this is, um, this is Y/N…and uh, Y/N, this is Heather, she’s my colleague, and-“

“I remember her.” Y/N says. “Hi.”

“Haven’t see you in quite some time.” She crosses her arms. “What’s going on Harry?”

“You may want to go back to the office without me…I’ve just got some news, and I don’t think I can make it back.” He gestures to the baby.

“Are you say that’s yours?”

“Yes.” Harry and Y/N say at the same time.

“She could be lying, you know? Probably just wants your money.”

“She doesn’t. If she did, she would have told me she was pregnant. This meeting happened by chance, I’m glad it did, now go back to the office and tell them I’m not feeling well or tell them I just found out I’m a father, I don’t care, just go.”

Heather huffs, but leaves.

“So, shitting where you eat?” Y/N smirks.

“It’s not like that.”

“So you haven’t hooked up wither?”

“No, I have, she’s just not my girlfriend or anything. We’re colleagues.”

“Wonderful.”

“You don’t really have a leg to stand on, you’re dating a guy I never trusted, and you never told me you were pregnant when you should have.”

“Fair.”

Harry looks down at the baby in his arms and then back up to her beautiful mother.

“Can we go somewhere?”

“What happened to meeting up on a weekend?”

“As you just heard, I’m not going back to work this afternoon. Come on, I can call a car.”

“No, I walked here from my apartment, and I’d like to walk back. You can keep holding her if you want, or I can strap her back in.”

“I wanna keep holding her.”

The walk back was quiet. Y/N sipped on her smoothie while Harry carefully held Emily.

“So…” He finally says. “Are you and Kevin, like, serious?”

“We’re taking things slow. We’ve been on a few dates, but I’m really not in a position to have a boyfriend. All my free time goes to her. I go back to work soon, and then she’ll be with my mom.”

“Oh boy, they must love me.”

Y/N chuckles and keys into her apartment. She takes Emily form Harry and grabs a bottle out of the fridge.

“I pump.” She tells Harry as they sit on the couch.

“Wasn’t judging. You’re her mum, you know what’s best.”

“Thanks. I’ll let you burp her.”

“You were never going to tell me?”

“I don’t know.” She sighs. “There were a lot of times I wanted to call you…but…I wanted to do this without you. I wanted her to be a little older before I reached out to tell you.”

“How much older?” He scoffs. “Eighteen?”

“Harry.” She hands Emily to him, and puts a rag on his shoulder. “I know, it wasn’t a nice thing for me to do. I was sort of resentful.”

“Shouldn’t keep a baby from their father. I’m not a bad person.”

“I know.”

She takes Emily back and puts her down for her nap in the nursery. She comes back out and sits with Harry again.

“You look great, by the way.”

“Thank you.” She smiles. “I walk a lot, helped get rid of some of the extra fluff I put on.”

“Can I see the pictures?”

Y/N nods, and takes her phone out. Harry smiles at the pregnant photos.

“You were glowing.” He gasps when he sees the pictures of when Emily was first born. “Well, you’ve sold me. I’ll be setting up a nursery at my house. We’ll have to set up some type of schedule. Maybe I could have her on the weekends?”

“Whoa, slow down.”

“What? I have rights, don’t I? Is my name on her birth certificate?”

“Yes.”

“Alright then.” He shrugs. “I want to be involved in her life, Y/N. I want to be her dad, not just her father.” He frowns. Y/N knew Harry’s father wasn’t around much, and it really affected him. “Couldn’t we try to co-parent?”

“I suppose we could…you’re not too busy? I know you’ve moved up a lot at work.”

“I can make it work. I want my home to be her home.” He looks around at Y/N’s apartment. It was small, not tiny, but not big enough to have a child grow in. “Let me give you some money, you could get a bigger place, and-“

“You’re nuts!” She laughs. “She has her own room here.”

“What happens when Meg moves out, or doesn’t want a baby around, or whoever she ends up dating doesn’t want a baby around? Oh! I know, I have a guest house, you could-“

“Harry!” She puts her hands on his shoulders. It was the first time he had felt her hands on him in so long. “I’m not moving in with you. We’ve done that before, remember? Didn’t quite work out. We’re two very different people.”

“You wouldn’t be moving in with me, you’d be moving into my guest house. It’s sort of like a pool house, but larger. I have friends use it when they come visit, but it could be yours if you wanted it. It even has its own driveway and garage. It would feel like your own place.”

“One step at a time.”

“It would just make things easier.”

“Harry, what do you think other people do? Normal people don’t live within the same vicinity just to raise a kid.” She shakes her head. “I know what you’re doing, and it’s not going to work.”

“What’s that?”

“If I move in there, you and I will start getting close again. Then some night you’ll suggest I just move into the main house, and before we know it, I’m sleeping in your bed, we’re married, and we have three more kids.”

It sounded like a dream to Harry, why not to her?

“Well, we did talk about having four kids.” He smirks, but his smile fades when he realizes his joke didn’t exactly land. “I don’t have any schemes. I just want you well taken care of, along with her.”

“You just found out about her. We’re plenty well taken care of. I take care of her, and soon my mom will be with her when I go back to work.”

“You’re gonna outgrow this place.” He sighs. “But I won’t force you to move, just think about it. In the meantime, let me…” He takes his checkbook out of the inside of his suit jacket. “I’m not sure how much all your hospital bills were, but I want to-“

“Put that away.”

“At least let me send you money weekly, or monthly? She must be costing you a fortune.”

“I don’t want your money.”

“It’s not about you, it’s about that little baby girl.”

“You really wanna help financially?”

“I do.”

“Start a college fund for her then. I make plenty to cover things, but I haven’t been able to start a savings account for her yet. Any time you want to send me money, put it into a college fund for her.”

“That’s a brilliant idea. I’ll do that.” He smiles. “When can I have her?”

“We can pick a day to go shopping, I can help set a room up for her, and then we can discuss a custody agreement, okay? I know how busy you get with traveling.”

“Maybe every other weekend for now? If I can get it on my calendar they won’t schedule me for anything.”

“Okay.” She smiles. “It would be kind of nice to have some weekends to myself.”

“Yeah, you can keep going out on dates with Kevin, and then eventually, she’ll call him dad. Won’t that be great?”

“You’re impossible.” She nudges his arm. “Harry…I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. I know how much you love kids, and-“

“I get it. You thought you were doing what was best. And you’re right, I would have tried getting back together with you.” He shrugs and stands up. “Still might, you look really fucking good, love.” He winks at her and heads out.

He leaves her flustered as all hell. He always had the effect on her. She tells Meg all about the encounter when she gets home from work.

“You know you’re going to end up moving in with him.”

“Am not.”

“Sure you are. An entire guest house to move into for free? Fuck, I’d move in if he asked me.” She laughs.

“He’s different, but still the same. It was crazy just running into him like that.”

“I’m surprised he didn’t pass out when you told him.”

“He took it really well. He jumped at the chance to be involved. It was sweet. I feel guilty.”

“Don’t.”

“I told him I did it because I was being selfish. He made a good point that it was more about her than it was about me.”

“He’s smart, I’ll give him that.”

Y/N brought her mother with her when she met up with Harry at the baby store. It wasn’t as awkward as she thought. Her mom always loved Harry. He held Emily throughout their time in the store. They all drive back to his place so he can show them the room what would be hers. He already had it painted.

“Tell me again why you don’t want to live in that nice place out back?” Her mom whispered to Y/N while they let Harry change Emily.

“It would be weird. What about Kevin?”

“What about Kevin?” She scoffs. “You’ve got a perfectly great guy in front of you, and-“

“Mom, please.” She says.

“All done! Not too shabby.” Harry says, holding his daughter up with pride. “So, think this could be a place she’ll partially grow up in?”

“She’ll love it.” Y/N says, taking Emily from him. “Once you get all the furniture, we can figure out when your first weekend with her is.”

“Sounds great.” He smiles. “I can’t wait to have her to myself. Already got her picture on my desk and everything. I promise, I’m gonna be a great dad.”

The first weekend Y/N didn’t have Emily she felt conflicted. She missed her like crazy, but also slept better than she had in a long time, not being woken up by the crying and all. Harry did well with his baby. He enjoyed having her there very much, and nearly cried when Y/N came to pick her up.

“So…I’ll see her in two weeks.” He frowns.

“Harry, I can’t give her to you every weekend, then I wouldn’t have any of the fun time with her. She just gets me after a long day of work.”

“Maybe I could have her on Wednesday nights? A lot of people do that.”

“So, every Wednesday, and every other weekend?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay, I think I could make that work. I could drop her off here after work.”

“You’re serious?!”

“Yeah.” She smiles. “I won’t keep her from you, Harry. Not when I see how serious you are about all this.”

“You’re amazing, thank you.” He nearly almost kisses her, but stops himself, and gives Emily the kiss instead.

“Nice save, Styles.”

“Wait…uh…I had a thought the other day. If I needed to bring her to the doctor or something…is her last name mine?”

“Of course it is.”

“So, you were just going to let her grow up with my last name and not even tell her who I was?”

“No.” She chuckles. “My plan was to tell you about her when she was around six months. I just needed more time and courage. I’ll regret it forever, I can assure you.” She sighs.

“Well, what matters now is the present and the future. We don’t need to dwell on the past.” He smiles.

“Thank you.”

Y/N was exhausted from work when she had to bring Emily over to Harry’s. She mumbled under breath that he should have to come pick her up if he wants her so badly. She gets Emily out of the car, and Harry opens the door.

“Come on in, I’ve got dinner on the table.” He smiles.

“You’ve got a bottle of formula for her on the table?” Y/N smirks as she enters the home.

“No, silly.” He chuckles and takes Emily out of the car seat and gives her a big kiss on the cheek. “That’s on the counter in the kitchen. I’ve got dinner for you and I. A little thank you for being so wonderful to me.”

“I really don’t deserve dinner, Harry. I’m not wonderful.”

“You are. You could have told me to fuck off, or you could have told me Emily wasn’t mine when we ran into each other that day. I’ve never been so happy. I can’t shut up about her at work. Please, have dinner with me after I put her down. You must be hungry.”

“You’re lucky I am. I’ll help you put her down.”

Harry nods and goes upstairs with Y/N. They get Emily fed, burped, changed, and down for bed. They both go downstairs. Y/N’s mouth waters when she sees chicken, potatoes, and asparagus on the table.

“You made all this?” She asks, sitting down.

“Course I did, I’m a great cook, remember?” He sits down adjacent to her. A little too close perhaps, but oh well. “Want some wine? Water?”

“Wine, please.”

Harry pours her a glass, and one for himself. Y/N dives into the food and moans.

“Delicious, thank you.”

“Anytime. Maybe this could be our Wednesday night tradition? It could add some normalcy for Emily, and you wouldn’t be starved dropping her off.”

“Oh, so I always need to drop her off.”

“Makes it easier, I’m on the way. Plus, it gives me time to get home, and get everything ready.”

“I suppose as she grows it would be good to have some type of family dinner.”

“Exactly!” He smiles and takes a bite of the food. “So tell me, how was your day? What did you do?”

“Harry…the last thing I want to do is talk about work.” She chuckles.

“Alright, then how are you?”

“I’m good, how are you?” She laughs.

“I’m great.” He smiles and sips on his wine. “Like I said, never been happier.”

“And how’s Heather been with all this?”

“Every day she asks me to get a paternity test. As if you could look at that child and not know she’s mine.”

“Are you two stil…?”

“Nah, probably another reason why she’s been so pissy with me, but, oh well. I got a kid to worry about now. No time for random late night hookups.” He looks at her. “How’s Kevin?”

“Oh, we stopped seeing each other.”

“Why?”

“He wasn’t thrilled that you’ve come back into the picture, and he said he wouldn’t compete with you, and I told him there was nothing to compete with, and then he told me I wasn’t even worth it because Emily would never be his.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay.” She shrugs. “He showed his true colors. I didn’t love him or anything, he was just someone to go out with.”

“Sad neither of us have met someone else we’ve wanted to take things to the next level with.”

“Well, I was busy being pregnant, what’s your excuse?”

“I was busy being busy. Threw myself into my work, moved up, bought this house as soon as I could. I couldn’t stand living at the old place. Too many memories. I love it here though, it’s amazing. It’s gated so I have peace of mind, and the guest house has been amazing.”

“You’re not lonely?”

“That’s what Heather was for.” He shamelessly admits. “I went on other dates, tried to meet new people, but none of them…well, none of them were you.”

“You say that like the breakup was all my idea.” She frowns and pushes her plate away.

“I had a lot of time to reflect after that day. As we were…saying goodbye…I realized we hadn’t had sex in a long time, and I wanted to punch myself for being so stupid, for neglecting you. It was like we had become friends.”

“The intimacy depleted, that’s for sure. We were un a never ending rut.” She stands up and brings her plate to the kitchen. “We grew apart, Harry.” She says to him as he follows her in, taking her plate to soak it. “I was really starting my career, you were doing you’re thing…”

“I just ignored things when they were going wrong instead of getting on it.”

“So did I. It was easier to pretend.”

“And look where that got us.”

“I was scared at first, but I love that little girl with my whole heart. I don’t regret having her. I’m not mad about it. I was…because I just couldn’t understand how my birth control failed, but I accepted it.”

“I love her too. I know I haven’t known her as long, but I love her too.”

“That makes me really happy.” Y/N starts tearing up. “I know you said we didn’t need to dwell on it, but I hold so much guilt and regret for not telling you. I should have told you right away so you could have been around for the doctor’s appoints, fuck, so you could have been there when she was born! I’m so sorry, Harry. How you don’t fucking hate me is a wonder.”

He pulls her in close to his chest, and lets her cry on him. He strokes the back of her head and her back to try to soothe her.

“I forgive you.” He whispers. “You don’t need to feel guilty.”

“Why are you being so nice about all this?”

“Because I have a beautiful baby girl…and you’re back in my life.” He blushes as he looks down at her. “Never thought we’d talk about again, let alone see each other. I know we’re not together, but we’re parents…always wanted you to be the mother of my kids, I meant it every time I said it.”

“Harry.” She presses her head back into his chest so he can hold her close again. “Thank you for saying all that.” She smiles up at him and then lets go of him. She looks at the time on the clock. “I better get going, it’s getting late.”

“Alright.” He sighs. “I’ll drop her off at your mum’s?”

“Mhm.”

“By the way…my mum and sister might plan a trip here soon.”

“Oh?”

“I told them about Emily, obviously. They were thinking of planning something around when her first birthday is. Like, we could have a big party here if you wanted.”

“That’s seven months from now, they wanna wait that long?”

“Well, they’d come stay for a month.”

“Well, I think a nice big party would be nice. You’ve obviously got the room for it.”

“Great…when’s her exact birthday?”

“July 10th.”

“Poor thing.” He cups one of her cheeks, causing her heart to skip a beat. “So pregnant during those hot months.” He pouts.

“I survived.”

“Wish I could have been there for you, could have given you lots of foot and back rubs.”

“Thought you weren’t going to make me feel guilty.” She leans into his touch for a second before backing away. “I really need to go.”

“Alright…have a good night.”

“You too, thanks again for dinner.”

Harry sighs heavily after she leaves. They were doing the right thing by putting Emily first, but he couldn’t help but feel traditional. He wanted to make things work with Y/N. He wanted to give Emily a stable house hold. Not to mention he fucking loved Y/N with his whole heart, but he’d work up to dealing with that later.

Things went on like that. Wednesday nights Y/N and Harry had dinner together at his place, and every other weekend they would take turns having Emily. It was a good system. Harry was able to take Emily to appointments when she needed to see the doctor. Y/N didn’t realize how much help she actually needed, and was grateful Harry was around for so many things. Sometimes when he’d drop Emily off on Sunday evenings, Y/N would make him dinner as a thank you. Sometimes when she dropped Emily off on Friday evenings she’d stay to watch a movie. Things went on for months like this. Y/N would find herself almost missing Harry, especially when she’d drive all the way back to her apartment. Meg would often stay at her boyfriend’s place, so she was alone. Maybe living in Harry’s guest house wouldn’t be such a bad idea.

“Harry, could we talk?” She says to him when she takes Emily from him Sunday evening. “I’ve made dinner.”

“Yeah, of course.” He smiles. Once she gets Emily settled, she sits down with Harry. “What’s up?”

“Is your offer still good?”

“Which one?” He smirks. Harry may or may not have cheekily offered sex up to Y/N a couple of the times they had too much wine.

“The offer to live in your guest house, smart ass.”

“Oh my god, are you serious?” He perks up immediately.

“Yeah…Meg’s getting serious with her boyfriend, and I feel lonely sometimes. I thought maybe if you’re a little closer by I’d feel less lonely when you take Emily.”

“Yes, a million times yes! I could get it fixed up in a couple of weeks. We could move her furniture from here right away. You could just stay in the house until everything’s to your liking, and-“

“Harry! You always jump so far ahead.” She chuckles. “I should give Meg a month’s notice.”

“Right, of course. Sorry, I’m just really excited. Like, we could have dinner every night if we wanted.”

“We could.” She agrees.

“I’m so fucking excited.”

Y/N moved into Harry’s guest house a month or so later. It was so nice being able to just hand Emily over a few steps away instead of having to drive home afterwards. Harry and Y/N not only had dinner together, but they would try to do the morning feedings together at the same time.

Y/N was sleeping peacefully one night when her phone went off. She sees it’s Harry.

“Hello?”

“Y/N, I’m so sorry to bother you, but something’s up with Emily, and I-“

“I’ll be right there!”

Y/N races out of bed, only in a large t-shirt, not even bothering to grab a robe or put other clothes on. She rushes across the pool area and in through the back door. Emily was crying loudly while Harry was rocking her.

“She just started crying like crazy, I tried feeding her, changing her, she won’t stop, I have no idea what’s wrong.”

“Let me see her.”

Harry hands Emily over to Y/N. She caresses her and rocks her. She furrows her brows and gasps.

“She’s teething!” Y/N walks over to kitchen and looks for something to stick in her mouth. She opts to just run a pacifier under some really cold water and stick it in her mouth. She calms down after a few months. “Poor thing.” She rocks her. “Must be in pain from the teeth coming through.”

“Christ, I could have figured that out. I’m sorry to get you out of bed.”

“It’s okay, I’m glad you called, here, I’ll make us some tea.” She hands Emily over to Harry.

Harry sits down at the kitchen table and watches Y/N. He just now notices the shirt she’s wearing.

“You still have that?”

“Hm, oh…yeah, it’s my favorite bed shirt.” She blushes and reaches for two mugs, revealing the underside of her ass. “Is that weird?” She asks as he turns around. Harry’s face was beat red.

“Not at all.”

She plugs in the kettle and gets some tea bags out from where she knew he kept them.

“How’s the house been?” He asks her.

“Great, actually. I’m grateful, really. Most people wouldn’t be so lucky.” She pours the now boiled water into the mugs with the tea bags and puts them both on the table.

“Thank you. I think she’s out.”

“I can bring her back upstairs.” She carefully takes Emily from Harry. He follows her up with his tea. He can’t help but take peeks of her underside.

“Y/N.” He says, just as she’s getting Emily into the crib.

“Hold on.” She whispers and shuffles him out of the room. “Sorry, I didn’t want to risk her waking up again.”

He grabs her wrist and yanks him into his bedroom, setting his tea down on his dresser.

“What are you doing?!”

“What am I doing?! What are you doing?!”

“What do you mean?”

“You’re not wearing any knickers!”

Y/N’s eyes grow wide. She was so concerned about Emily she had completely forgotten.

“I’m so sorry! I…I rushed out, and, and, I, oh my god, so you saw my ass?”

“And a bit of your other…bits.”

“Oh my god.” Her hands slide down her face. “So embarrassing, I’m sorry.”

“Embarrassing?!” He laughs. “Please, I appreciate it. Anytime you wanna walk around her half naked, feel free.” He smirks.

“Harry…I didn’t do it on purpose.”

“You’re comfortable around me to rush out the door like that?”

“It’s nothing you haven’t seen before.”

“Haven’t seen it in a really long time.”

“No.”

“What are you-“

“You’re not getting what you want, I won’t fall for you again.” She brushes by him and leaves his room. He follows her quickly down the stairs. She takes a sip of her tea before dumping the rest down the drain.

“So…you’re suppressing feelings for me because you’re scared, is that it?” He crosses his arms.

“I’m not suppressing anything. I just don’t believe in the breaking up and getting back together thing. We know this doesn’t work, and we shouldn’t try to force it just because a baby is involved.”

“I’m very different now, and so are you.”

“Exactly.”

“I like who you’ve become…a lot. I think I’ve gotten to know you fairly well again. Couldn’t you say the same for me?”

“I guess.”

“And you like what you’ve gotten to know?”

“Yes.”

“Alright then, so what the fuck is your problem? Oh wait, you know what hasn’t changed? You’re still the most stubborn fucking person I’ve ever met. You did the same thing the last time. I asked you to move in, and you said you weren’t ready. Then a month later, when it was on your terms, you asked if you could move in. Everything has to be on your terms! Great, so I’ll just continue waiting for the night that you decide to come over and crawl into my bed. Does that work for you?”

“I’m confused! I was done with you, I thought I was better off without you, and then you came back into my life, and it was like…you were never even gone from it. I feel safe when I’m with you, but I’m fucking terrified of falling for you again. There were so many things that went wrong, and-“

“But some many things could go right!”

“We have a baby involved! What if it doesn’t work again, and she gets a little older? She’ll see and hear us fighting. I don’t want that.”

“I don’t want that either. You of all people should know that. If I wasn’t certain about us…”

“So, what…we’re supposed to just jump back in?”

“No, I’d like to take you out on a proper date. Something nice and formal, maybe a night away from the baby, or fuck it, let’s bring her along, I don’t care. I want you, I want you back. You were the best thing that ever happened to me and I let you slip away. I’ll never forgive myself. That day…I shouldn’t have let you leave after. I should have made you stay in my bed and cuddle and just talk everything through one more time.”

Y/N was crying now and so was Harry. She hated him, and she loved him all at the same time. She was stubborn.

“God damn it!”

She wraps her arms around his neck and crashes her mouth to his. He doesn’t waste a second to deepen the kiss. He hoists her up on the counter to stand between her legs, licking into her mouth. They both groan into each other.

“Is, is this smart?” She pants. “We have so much to talk about, and I don’t know if-“ She gasps when he lifts her shirt overhead. His eyes gaze at her body.

“You’re so fucking beautiful. I want you.”

“My boobs are saggy and I have stretch marks all over the place, how could you-“

“Shut the fuck up! For once in your life, just shut up, and take a compliment. You’re gorgeous, breathtaking, and it pisses me off to no end I never got fuck you while you were pregnant, alright?” He spreads her legs apart as she tugs at his shirt. He takes it off and she runs her hands over his chest.

“Even when I was sweating and as big as a house?” She pouts, knowing it’s only going to rile him up more.

“Especially then.” He pecks at her lips again.

“I want you too.” She breathes. “But you have to pull out this time. We’re noting bringing another baby into this world until we figure things out fully.”

“Excellent compromise.”

He drops his pants and runs his fingers over her center. She gasps at the feeling, especially when he pushes his fingers inside her.

“Oh fuck.” Her head rolls back.

“You’re so wet, why?”

“You just…you make me so…fucking crazy!”

Her lips slot over his again as he pumps in and out of her.

“Is this comfortable? You want me to fuck you here, or-“

“Put it in.”

He takes his dick out and pushes inside her. She wraps her legs around his waist to pull him closer.

“We’re so fucking stupid.” She grunts as he thrusts in and out of her.

“Idiots.” He sucks on her neck. “But I can’t help it, you drive me just as crazy. Always have.”

She tugs at his hair while he rubs on her clit.

“Harry, will you eat me out? You feel amazing, but I just…your tongue…it’s so fucking-“

He pulls out of her and she leans back on her elbows while his mouth attaches to her other lips. He sucks and licks, and does everything he remembers she likes. He rubs on her clit still while he fucks her with his tongue.

“Oh, that’s it! Fuck, Harry!” She pushes his head further against herself. He was nose deep and loving it. He groans against her, and she moans out loudly. “Don’t stop, please!”

One of his hands squeezes her thigh, pressing bruises into her. She comes on his tongue and he laps it all up. He plunges his dick back into her without warning. She was sensitive now, but she knew he needed to come too.

“You take it so well.” He grunts as he grips her hips. She tightens around him, loving the way his voice sounds in her ear. “How’d it feel, baby?”

“So good, thank you.”

“Anytime you want it, you have it, always.”

“Fuck.”

She was going to come again, and he gets her there. Just as he’s about to get there he pulls out and comes on her stomach. He rests his head against her shoulder as he catches his breath. He looks at her and kisses her before grabbing a rag to clean her up with. Neither of them say anything. He simply scoops her up, and carries her upstairs to his room. He lays her down, and spoons her.

“This just feels right, doesn’t it?” He says to her.

“It does.” She sighs and adjusts against him.

“I wanna be a real family with you.”

“I think I want that too. We just need to take baby steps.”

“I’d wait forever, Y/N. Just don’t walk out on me again.”

“I won’t.” She turns over to face him. “I may have walked out, but you left emotionally before I did. We hadn’t even had sex and-“

“I know, I’m not saying it was just you. It was me too, but never again, okay?”

“Okay.”

“I just wanna makeup for all the lost time.”

“We can.”

Harry hold her close as they both slowly drift off. Even though they had jumped in physically, it would take some time to mend things altogether. Neither of them minded because this time around they each were more willing to put the work in.

#harry styles #harry styles one shot #harry styles fic #harry styles imagine #harry styles fanfic #harry styles x reader #harry styles x y/n #harry styles y/n #harry styles smut #harry styles angst #dad!harry

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imgoingtocrash · 4 years ago

Text

my teen angst bullshit has a body count

by @imgoingtocrash for @hailxhydra

Rating: T

Relationships: Peter Parker & Tony Stark, Ned Leeds & Peter Parker, Peter Parker & Avengers Team

Characters: Peter Parker, Tony Stark, Ned Leeds, Flash Thompson, Jim Morita, Hydra Agents

Summary:

“Correcting people all the time, sucking up attention with the whole goody two-shoes act. I’m saying you’re a teacher’s pet, loser. And one day, everyone’s going to see it for the act that it is, and when they do—”

Peter’s hearing blanks out.

Pet.

It echoes.

Two years ago, Peter Parker escaped Hydra's control and was taken in by the Avengers. Traumatized from the experience but healing, Peter's starting to get a hang of this whole normal teenager thing. However, when Flash brings up a happily forgotten trigger from his past, Tony comes to give comfort and remind Peter that he's worth more to his loved ones than Hydra could have ever dreamed of.

Read on AO3

My fic for @friendly-neighborhood-exchange! Hopefully you enjoy it @hailxhydra!!!

Full fic under the cut as requested by the exchange:

“—But I’m asking if it’s a good movie.”

“I’m telling you, it was either picking Selena for the third time or Rio, which is a stupid animated movie about birds.” Ned shakes his head dramatically. “Everybody else will fall asleep, and if everybody falls asleep, then Misses Rodriguez will give us a pop quiz instead of letting us have a movie day.”

“But I like animated movies. We like them. We watched A Bug’s Life like last week!”

“Because you hadn’t seen it before! Your film under-education is criminal, and if I don’t help you fix it, who will?!”

Ned has a point. Being kidnapped and raised by Hydra after the age of six really limits a person’s entertainment consumption, as he’s learned more than ever now that he’s surrounded by other teenagers who grew up with movies and tv shows to watch at their fingertips.

“I mean, Steve does have a list…” Peter points out weakly.

Steve keeps it in his little notebook along with other things he doesn’t understand the references to yet. He tried to encourage Peter to start something like that in the beginning, but Peter’s never really considered himself a list person. He just sort of soaks up the world now, like a curious sponge. Sometimes it means he has to Google things he doesn’t really understand the meaning of, but it also means a lot of movie nights with both the other Avengers and Ned, which is actually sort of a bonus.

Ned stops them in the hall. “Yeah, but are they cool movies or are they movies for old people and war veterans who haven’t been alive for the last 100 years?”

“...You know that I don’t really know the difference.”

Ned gives a sad shake of his head. “You’re lucky you liked Star Wars, bro. Otherwise we’d be in a very different place right now, like, friendship-wise.”

“You still didn’t answer the question.”

Peter got to pick the movie for their classes’ Cinco de Mayo party. Peter’s not sure what either movie has to do with the Mexican Army’s historical defeat of the French, but he only picked Selena because Ned suggested it. Maybe he should be regretting that choice, if the other option was harmless little Spanish birds.

“You know, Parker, I have a question,” comes a very annoyingly musical voice from behind them.

Peter just barely resists to roll his eyes. Every time with this kid. Not that Peter is any less of a kid than Flash Thompson, technically, but he definitely feels more mature.

Ned, also more mature than some of their other classmates, completely ignores Flash.

“You’ll be humming the disco medleys for weeks, I promise.”

“Wait, wait, disco? I thought you said this was supposed to take place in the 80s and 90s?”

“Music endures, dude.”

“Hey, el idiots, I’m talking to you!” Flash interrupts again.

“That’s not even how you—” Peter starts to correct, only to realize he’s stepped directly in it when Ned groans.

Flash laughs obnoxiously to himself. “Just can’t help yourself, can you, Penis?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Peter grumbles. It doesn’t really matter what he says now. Flash has the attention that he wanted, which means he won’t bug off until the bell rings and until he has the last laugh. And that always happens, because he’s really the only one entertained by all of the poking and prodding at Peter.

Peter breathes in, steeling himself. He’s survived worse. So much worse. Bullies with electric prongs and steel cages and control over every other aspect of his life. This is just high school. Normal kids survive it all the time, even when there are bullies and bad test grades and cliquey subcultures. This is just one privileged asshole who thinks Peter’s an easy target.

In some way, Peter’s actually proud of that. No one has ever seen him as un-intimidating before. Even his Hydra captors knew that if they lost control of him as an asset, he could easily turn on them.

(Part of him always asks why he never did. If he wasn’t evil, if he wasn’t like them, then why didn’t he just fight back? But Sam says that’s just his mind trying to deal with trauma, and Peter is trying really, really hard to get better at ignoring those kinds of intrusive thoughts.)

Speaking of talking to himself, Flash snaps his fingers in Peter’s face to get his attention back.

“You’d think for such a genius, you’d be a lot quicker on the uptake.” Flash shakes his head like he’s disappointed.

“Please just get to the point already,” Ned begs, throwing his head back.

Peter’s hearing blanks out.

Pet.

It echoes.

C’mere, Pet.

Stay down, Pet!

He was property, he was an animal, he was a weapon, their weapon, he was a mutant and he deserved it, needed it, he was the Spider, a mongrel, nothing, he was nothing and no one and Hydra was the only home a no-good runt like the Spider would ever have and he should be grateful—Kneel, Pet, be a good boy and kneel for your masters—but he doesn’t want to, he doesn’t—

Foolish Pet, you wouldn’t survive out there.

You need us, Pet. You’ll always need us.

“Peter?”

He returns to the moment with one heaving breath, only to realize he can’t take in another.

His collar is too tight, they always put it on too tight and if he complains they hit him and if they hit him he bleeds and it gets on his clothes and he won’t get any more until his bath and he hates bath time because they water is cold and stings his skin and the soap is so harsh it burns his nostrils and they’re watching him he knows they’re watching because they never leave him alone because if they did he would try to escape, he would—

“Peter, what’s wrong, are you—?”

He did. He escaped and ran away but now they have him again and he can’t live like this, not when he knows about best friends and pizza and friendly ribbing and how warm he feels when Tony pulls Peter close on the couch and presses a kiss to his head and tells Peter that he’s proud. He can’t be here anymore, he has to go, he has to run.

“Peter, wait!”

Tony is, to say the least, nervous when he gets a call from Midtown Tech’s front office.

He trusts Peter by now. The kid has come a long, long way since he snuck onto the Avengers helicarrier during the chaos of a Hydra raid. Skinny as a rail, scared, brainwashed...abused.

The Spider.

Peter didn’t like being with Hydra since they were the ones that made him enhanced, but he sure as hell didn’t want to be locked in an enclosed space with a bunch of Avengers at the time either.

As was evident by the fight he put up until Steve knocked him out. Steve still feels bad about cold-clocking a kid when Peter jokingly brings it up now, but Tony’s never shamed Steve for the decision. It was that or some kind of drug injection with the way Peter fought back tooth and nail, confused and defensive. Practically feral, from the well-fitting clothing to his lack of speech.

It was all for the better, though, once they got him back to the compound.

Peter was a talkative kid once he let himself be. Funny, too. Almost normal, if you forgot the mutant spider genetics and years of torture from a bunch of descendant assholes that seemed to hate and resent the very thing they created.

That’s why Tony agreed to let Peter start school. Real, normal, human school just like every other teenager in America attended until they finished all twelve years of it.

Because he needed to be normal, sometimes. He needed movie nights, [other things], and most importantly, friends that were his own age rather than a bunch of adult superheroes that often acted like children.

But also because Peter wanted to go, and Tony had a really, really hard time denying anything that the kid wanted when he could so easily provide.

Peter had such a hard time wanting anything, in the beginning. What did Peter want to wear instead of the plain, grey, dirty sweatpants from Hydra? What did Peter want to eat now that he could have an adequate amount of calories for his enhanced, still growing body? What did he want to watch? Listen to?

All of these choices were suddenly available to Peter, but shaking years of being denied any kind of want, any kind of choice took a toll on him that took a lot of work to get through.

Peter had put in the work. Unsurprisingly well. He was smart—tactically from years of being trained for missions, academically from whatever education Hydra must have thrust upon him. Not so much socially, but they were doing better as Peter spent more time around people that actually cared about him and lobbed insults around to tease rather than to actually cause emotional harm.

But was that enough...training, of sorts, to be around a bunch of teenagers? Sure, Peter was technically also a teenager, but they’d found him at 14. Tony still looked at Peter and saw the wide-eyed little kid sitting in the corner of a containment cell, flinching every time Tony moved.

Two years later and a lot of growth physically and emotionally, but was it enough?

Tony was hesitant about it, wish-washing the entire summer with maybes and I’ll think about its until the deadline arrived and Tony had to actually make the call.

Peter had pleaded, citing an extensive, cheesy list of films that made him want the high school experience himself for some reason. He very genuinely enjoyed shopping for school supplies. He passed Midtown’s entrance exam with results that faked years progressing in homeschooling that Tony knew would have been true, if Peter had gotten the chance to grow up like he was supposed to.

So, Tony eventually said yes, knowing that one day this call might come and Tony would have to be prepared for whatever was on the other end of the line.

An “incident” of some kind. Whatever that meant. The secretary was entirely unclear, only insistent that Peter’s family should get down to the premises immediately to handle things.

That was Tony.

Part of Tony couldn’t fathom why Peter chose him out of everyone on the team to latch onto. Another part wasn’t exactly shocked. Trauma recognized trauma, after all, even if the context was entirely different.

Tony knew what it was like to be belittled. To be seen as something you weren’t. To be abused by someone you never really trusted in the first place.

He and Peter talked a lot in that little containment cell. Hours of Tony blabbering like he always did when he was uncomfortable and Peter just sitting and waiting, waiting, waiting for the strikes to start coming.

When he said his first words.

When he told Tony his name—not Spider, but Peter Parker, a little boy from Queens who lost his parents and his whole normal life in the same night, according to FRIDAY’s records.

When he touched Tony’s arm for the first time and got a smile instead of a reprimand.

He waited and Tony was patient and it was a rough road, but...Tony was kind of a parent, now. A parental figure, at least, among others of varying degrees of quality and influence on a scarred teenager.

He was Peter’s family, whether either of them was any good at it in a traditional way or not.

And also, you know. His money was paying Peter’s tuition. His time went into helping Peter study for the entrance exam. His name was technically on Peter’s manufactured birth certificate because he was the one forging it and it wasn’t like anyone else was offering when the subject came up.

And maybe, a little, because he cared about Peter. Loved him. Wanted to be what Peter needed, what he deserved, and what better way to do that than to write his name on a piece of paper that signified the job he sort of kind of wanted?

Tony slams the car door behind himself after pulling into Midtown’s parking lot, putting on his sunglasses for the brief trip into the early afternoon sun. He’s checking security cameras, exits, and also preparing a hefty sum of cash to go into Principal Jim Morita’s bank account as well as a handful of government officials, if that’s what it takes.

Again, not that Tony doesn’t trust Peter, it’s just...when you get this kind of call and your kid is a highly trained former assassin, you prepare exit strategies on multiple fronts.

It’s been two months and Peter has only made one friend at this place. The kids can’t all be angels like Peter proclaims Ned Leeds to be. If one of them touched Peter out of nowhere or said the wrong thing, maybe Peter lashed out. Maybe Peter forgot to hold his strength back like he’s been training to do. Maybe something was broken.

Maybe it’s something far worse.

Tony has to be ready for that. He has to be ready for whatever it takes to protect Peter.

At the very least, the police aren’t on site. That’s probably a good sign that they’re willing to leave this as an internal matter for now.

The unhelpful secretary of before leads Tony out of the office by the arm at a quick pace, not explaining the situation at all before they arrive at the scene. Whatever it is. Tony was definitely expecting more blood or yelling or...anything, really.

A small crowd stands outside of a door, marked by a golden plaque to be the janitor’s closet.

Leaning on the door itself with his arms resolutely crossed is a kid about Peter’s age. Short black hair, light brown skin, dressed so similarly to Peter that Tony’s starting to wonder if that’s where Peter’s new obsession with those geeky little t-shirts has come from.

“Mister Leeds—” An older Asian man pleads, dressed in a suit and standing up straight with all of the authority he can seem to muster against the stone wall that is the teen in front of him.

The kid shakes his head in response. So this is Ned, then.

“I’m sorry, sir, but I’m not moving. If he wants to stay in there to calm down, he should be allowed to stay in there.”

“I’m sure his parents—”

“He doesn’t even have—you don’t even know what he’s gone through!”

“And you do?”

“Well...kinda? No. But—but he’s obviously freaking out and everyone crowding around him is only going to make it worse!”

The adult rubs a hand across his forehead, stressing at a fold of wrinkles that settles there from the stress.

“Ned, I recognize you’re just trying to be a good friend, but this is a problem for—”

Tony clears his throat, catching the attention of both parties.

The older man sighs. “Oh, good. Thank you, Theresa, you can go on back to the office. We’ll take it from here.”

The secretary nods, brusquely turning around and heading off, leaving Tony there to be examined by both Ned and what must be the principal.

“Mister Stark, I’m glad you could come down, though I’m sorry it’s under these circumstances. I’m Principal Morita.”

“Obviously you know who I am,” Tony replies, shaking the man’s hand. “What did happen, exactly? Theresa was sparse on the details.”

“I told you, it’s Flash’s fault! He was being a dick and—” Ned shouts.

“Mister Leeds.” The principal interrupts, stern. “Another student apparently said something...unkind to Peter. He didn’t take it well and locked himself in the closet. I haven’t even been able to assess the situation properly yet. Normally I would start with asking Peter’s side of the story, but...”

He looks to the closet, where Ned still stands, defensive.

“The bouncer is a real stickler, got it,” Tony jokes, aiming a small smile at Ned. “Peter does seem to attract the protective type.”

“Oh,” Ned says, suddenly meeting Tony’s eyes and gaping like a fish. He seems to have finally realized exactly who he’s talking to. “Oh, wow. Mister Stark, it’s an honor. I’m a huge fan, like, so huge. Peter tells me to shut up about you at least three times a day. When he showed me a picture of you guys I was like, ‘Oh my god, your dad is Tony Stark!’ and he was like ‘Oh. Yeah, I guess you’d know who he is, huh?’ like he totally didn’t get how awesome it is that you’re Iron Man. And I know you’re only kind of his dad, but still—”

“It’s suddenly become very clear to me why you two are friends,” Tony responds, keeping his smile on.

It’s actually kind of sweet to see that Peter’s found someone to confide in, even if he’s seemingly left out the more traumatic elements. But he also knows that Peter can hear them through the door, and he wants to get to the kid as fast as possible instead of dawdling for time.

If Peter wants to see him, that is.

He does, doesn’t he? Tony has been there for everything, so far. Every breakdown when the choices became too much, when the world outside of Peter’s little cell and all of the things he did that he wishes he could forget attack him at night. He hasn’t gotten old enough to not want Tony around when he’s upset, right?

“Sorry, Mister Stark. Sorry,” Ned apologizes. “I’m just nervous and worried about Peter and—”

“I get it, kid. You’re good.” He gives a reassuring grasp to Ned’s shoulder. “But if you wouldn’t mind, I really need to see Peter now. You can ask him yourself, but I’m usually the exception to any rule about Peter wanting to be alone.”

“Right, yeah. I’ll just—”

Ned turns to open the door, but gives Morita a shifty look, like he doesn’t trust the man not to dive bomb in if given the chance.

“Peter—”

“Let him in,” replies Peter’s strained voice. He’s definitely been crying. Poor kid.

Ned pulls back and nods at Tony, stepping aside to let him through.

“You did a good job protecting him, Leeds. Thank you,” he says to the teen before stepping into the dimly lit closet and shutting the door behind him.

The room smells musty and over-powerful at the same time thanks to the potent combination of cleaners and the mop cart sitting so close together. Out of anywhere Peter could have picked, this probably isn’t the kindest to his sense of smell if it’s making Tony already scrunch his nose.

It’s lit by a single pull-chain light bulb, and in the shadows of it sits Peter, curled into himself and leaning against a rusty metal shelf filled with paper towels, cleaning equipment, and a few bottles of product that have to be expired.

“Hey, Pete.” Tony frowns at the cracked floor tile, but settles himself next to Peter anyway. His back catches some kind of spray bottle sitting on the shelf that digs uncomfortably into his back.

Peter sniffs, not looking up from the cradle of his arms. “Hey.”

Tony heaves a sigh, for the drama. “So, I hear you got your first bully.”

Peter shrugs. “Guess so.”

“That Ted kid is pretty nice. He’s a good friend.”

“Yeah. And his name is Ned.”

Tony stops beating around the bush. “What happened, Peter?”

“It was fine. It was good, you know? I got an A+ on my Spanish test, and Misses Rodriguez offered to let me choose the movie we were gonna watch for the Cinco de Mayo party as a reward. I didn’t even know any of the movies, but Ned said Selena was good because Jennifer Lopez is hot, so that’s what I picked. It was a good day, Tony!”

“...But?”

“But then Flash—”

“I meant to ask, is that his actual name? Like, legally?”

“No.”

“Oh thank god.”

“Flash said…he said I was a…” Peter’s hesitant to let it out.

“Pete, a lot of kids at this age are testing boundaries. They’re going to say a lot of stupid, insensitive, offensive—”

“He said I was a teacher’s pet.”

There’s a long minute of silence. Tony blinks curiously a few times. He doesn’t want to belittle what Peter’s feeling, but he also doesn’t understand why it’s caused him so much stress.

“I know, I know it’s—but they used to—” Peter swallows hard, probably only delaying another wave of tears. “Sometimes, before, they would call me…”

“Pet.”

Peter nods, starting to shake next to him on the floor, their arms lightly touching at just Tony saying the nickname.

“They liked it. I think it made them feel better about themselves if they acted like I wanted it. Like—like being locked in the cages or collared or—or being muzzled was good for me.”

“You need to learn a lesson, little pet. Be a good pet and eat your dinner. Stop your crying, pet. No more of your barking, pet.” Peter quotes with venom flinging from every syllable. “But I didn’t want that, Mister Stark! I promise! They gave me these powers and I didn’t want to be their pet and they made me—”

“Peter, I know. It’s not your fault. None of it is your fault, I know.”

Tony curls Peter into his side, rubbing his back consolingly.

“When Flash called me that I just—I felt the collar around my neck again and I couldn’t breathe though the muzzle and they kept kicking the cage even though it hurt my ears and I could never sleep in there because it was so small and—”

“Peter—” Peter’s hyperventilating. He’s panicking, Tony realizes. Probably just like he did initially. A flashback that triggered him into having a panic attack.

“And I know that’s not what Flash meant but I was back there and I can’t—I can’t stop—”

Peter breaks into sobs, burying his face into Tony’s shirt and clutching on tight.

“Oh, Pete. It’s okay. You’re okay,” Tony soothes.

He presses a kiss to Peter’s hair, unsure when he became this tender. Probably the moment he realized this was the way he wanted someone to treat him in the midst of his worst, most vulnerable moments.

“Sometimes the bad memories come back unexpectedly, it’s alright.”

“But don’t wanna think about it anymore!” Peter cries childishly.

If it wouldn’t break Tony’s ribs, Peter would probably start banging at his chest in frustration.

“What if it gets bad and I don’t talk anymore and I can’t go to school like a normal kid and I lose everything and then you won’t want me anymore because I can’t get over this and stop being a stupid animal who needs its owners to—”

“Peter Parker, no. Absolutely not.”

Tony pushes Peter away so he can hold the boy’s face in his hands. So that he can fucking imbue into this kid how much he is loved and cherished and human.

“You’re not property, and you’re not an animal. What they did to you was wrong, and you know that now. I know that you do.”

Not just because Peter’s been to therapy since integrating with the Avengers, but also because he’s talked to all of him during his recovery from the horrors of his earlier childhood. About how his life felt before and how it feels better now. How he wouldn’t have left in the first place if he really wanted to be a part of Hydra like they raised him to want.

He’s not the child soldier they raised anymore. He’s so much more than they ever allowed him to be in that awful place.

He loosens his grip on Peter’s face only to bring him back again with an arm around his shoulder. Maybe if Peter feels him, touches him, the kid will remember all of the growth he’s made, the family he’s gained.

“Buddy, you are getting better. I know it. I’ve seen it. You know we’re all so proud of you and the progress you’ve made.”

Tony sighs. Part of him wants to sugarcoat it. That Peter has seen the worst of the world and now he’ll just be able to move on from it scott-free. It’s what he deserves, but Tony knows from experience that nothing in life is that sort of kind.

“That doesn’t mean you won’t have setbacks. I have had setbacks. Healing from the bad stuff is really, really hard, but it doesn’t make you anything that they said you were. You’re a wonderful, good kid who deserves everything he’s worked so hard for. And you’re going to get it because you have me and the team and your new best friend behind your back. You’re not alone, you’re not in a cage, you’re—you’re home, Pete. You understand?”

Peter sniffs, a sign that he’s worked himself up again, but his weak nod into Tony’s chest tells him that some of them at least might be happier tears.

“Listen to me, Pete. And I mean really, truly listen.” He looks down at the snot-covered, tear-stained teenager practically in his lap. He does love Peter. He wouldn’t have gone this far for any other kid in the world.

“It doesn’t matter what happens—hitches, mishaps, a dumb teenage mistake. You’re our kid now, Peter. You’re never going back to Hydra. Never. Not with me around.”

He knows it means something to say it out loud rather than leaving it to be assumed. He doesn’t have as much of a problem admitting it as he thought he might.

“I’m never giving you up, or letting you go, or treating you like anything other than a person. Do you understand me? That is something you never, ever have to worry about. Not from me.”

Peter sobs against him. This time it feels a lot more like relief. A release in the safety of Tony’s arms that Peter hasn’t really allowed himself, even after two years of being free of Hydra.

Peter didn’t tell the team everything. He may never even tell Tony everything. But this is one more thing Peter doesn’t have to carry alone, and Tony is happy to help their kid navigate the horrors it's brought back into his improving life.

They sit there for another minute, Peter’s whimpers muffled in Tony’s dress shirt. He’s sure the principal and Peter’s friend are getting antsy. But all the same it gives Peter another chance to calm down, and this time he seems a lot lighter when he picks his head up to look at Tony.

“Feel better?”

Peter gives a sniffle, but accompanies it with a nod and bright, attentive eyes.

“Look, I think school’s a bust for the day. Let’s go home. Whatever you wanna do, just you and me. Nobody else needs to hear about this unless you want to tell them, okay?”

“And if you wanted, I guess…”

Peter tilts his head, expectant.

“We could...nah, it’s probably offensive, right?”

“What?” Peter insists. Tony tried to warn him, but Tony also can’t resist an idea once it pops into his head.

“I just thought, you know, if you wanted—if you thought it would help, we could get you a—“ He almost ruins it, but catches himself. “An animal. Like a dog or something.”

Peter is silent. He bites at his lip, contemplative. Looks in the direction of a mop bucket in the corner.

“Is that bad? You don’t have to, I just thought it might make you associate that word with good things, but if not—“

Peter finally meets his eyes with a tentative grin on his face.

“What kind of dog?”

#irondad #spiderson #au #friendly neighborhood exchange 2021 #marvel #peter parker #tony stark #my writing #hailxhydra

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yetanotherbuffyblog · 3 years ago

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Well that sucked.

The gist of this episode is that the Scoobies and Potentials get tired of Buffy’s questionable leadership and decide to dump her. There’s some other stuff: Spike and Andrew investigate Caleb’s past, and Caleb confronts Buffy in the abandoned school.

But the main thrust is that everyone kicks Buffy out because she’s not doing a great job. And it’s true, she’s not doing that great of a job. That’s not news. But they decide to elect Faith their new leader because she’s a Slayer and not constantly being harsh on them right now. And to be fair to Faith she doesn’t want that, but they do it anyway and that’s dumb.

TV Tropes has a good summary of points under ‘Unintentionally Unsympathetic.’

Notes!

-Clem is pretty nice. Not sure why he’s comfortable just driving out during broad daylight. Maybe he’s not, but things are desperate.

-Faith still offers prison trades. She offers to give up chips for “box of cigarettes and soap.”

-Is it not possible to grow back Xander’s eye by magic? I don’t think anyone should try, as there would be probably be some sort of horrible trade-off, but given how many crazy things magic has been shown to be able to do I’m surprised it hasn’t really been discussed.

-I talked about this with Warren, but Caleb’s schtick being a virulent misogynist is, again, very awkward in the wake of all the stuff that’s come out about Joss Whedon’s practices regarding actresses and female writers on the sets of his shows and movies.

-Buffy’s fights with Caleb are all really straightforward attacks? She doesn’t use anything other than straightforward attacks.

-Did Hot Pockets do product placement? For Andrew to be complaining about Faith stealing his despite it being labeled.

-Oh gosh I forgot how 90’s/early 2000’s the music in the Bronze was…

-The Bronze is not safe! The Bronze has never been safe! Why would anyone think it would be okay to bring people there during an apocalypse.

-Faith shouldn’t be going anywhere! She’s a criminal! She should have thought what being on the run actually means! Going to a public club is stupid!

-I’m thinking there’s a lot of ‘character acts stupid to get this Plot to work’ going around. Let’s call it the influence of the Hellmouth.

-If the cops really wanted to kill Faith, they wouldn’t tell her they were going to shot her, they’d just shoot her. They have no reason to taunt about it, they don’t know her? Again, let’s chalk it up to Hellmouth.

-The whole thing about ‘letting these girls blow off steam’ would have worked a lot better before the disaster at the vineyard fighting Caleb? And what’s weirder is that Giles is FINE with it when he was the one going on about people not taking things seriously. Why is he okay with this? I’m not saying he can’t be, but there has to be a reason for the switch given to us on-screen and it hasn’t been.

-I think because this is the last season the writers wanted to have a certain storyline and so they throw the Conflict Ball in there, but it’s just… this happens with shows sometimes. I get it. Sometimes you need to move things at a pace and so you give people conflict you don’t have time to properly build. We’ve all been there. But this is a lot, and asking us to accept that the entire cast just turns on the protagonist right now, when she’s under a lot of pressure? Seems more than a little stupid. Maybe it’ll be worth it in the end, but right now it feels annoying and egregious.

-There are A LOT of Potentials. Did I not realize how many of these girls there are?

-The info that Giles found said that the mission was empty, but the priest they find there says that they are all dead and killed. What did he do with the bodies and blood?

-“Democracies don’t win battles.” WHAT THE FUDGE BUFFY

-Dawn you can’t just kick your own sister out of the house what the fudge. Not only is it a massive dick move, but IT’S NOT YOUR HOUSE, AND BUFFY IS YOUR LEGAL GUARDIAN WHAT THE FUDGE

-I don’t like Buffy being booted from the group, and her behavior leading up to it, but I appreciate that she wants the group to stay together and encourages Faith to lead them well.

-I am a little surprised that with the whole ‘used to be a supervillain’ thing, and being a nerd, Andrew doesn’t know Latin? Then again his and Jonathan’s Spanish was atrocious so it kind of makes sense that they didn’t know an ancient foreign language.

-The Latin inscription found says that the something is only for ‘her’ to hold, and that made Caleb go into a murder rage?

-Wait did this air around the same time as Firefly what the fudge

-Still don’t have a satisfying explanation as to what Caleb’s deal is, but I think we will get something on that later on.

-Spike knows how they make onion rings!

-Oh and I guess Spike’s going to be the one guy who doesn’t turn on Buffy? That’s… stupid, that the former/maybe love interest is the one who doesn’t turn. It just smacks of laziness to me. Again, maybe it won’t be terrible by the end, but right now it doesn’t feel so great.

-Look, even if they’re upset with Buffy, nothing they’ve seen of Faith shows that she would be a better leader than Buffy? She is wanted by the police and took them out to the Bronze when they know there’s a villain out there who can, and is happy to, kill them all! And while she’s a cool character, she’s not the person who should be in charge, and she knows it! These people have no clue.

#Buffy The Vampire Slayer #7x19 #The Slayer #Buffy Summers #Faith Lehane #Dawn Summers #Xander Harris #Rupert Giles #Spike

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obeymeluv · 4 years ago

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The Bros Visit the Human World

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

You bring the bros to the human world for a little get-away and they develop some interesting habits.

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

Lucifer

He’s the restless one that doesn’t sleep well. It takes a night or two to get comfortable and sleep normally.

Lucifer will probably be the first one up. Not only out of habit, but you’re in the human world so he’ll see the sun again

Being away from Diavolo and the responsibilities actually makes him seem like a stranger. Everyone forgets who he is outside of that because he’s so dedicated.

If you’re around a lot of nature, he’ll just casually stroll around. Almost like he’s forgotten what grass, trees, and flowers look like. He loves to spend time in the sun and just breathe the air.

Have pets? He’s partial to cats and well-behaved dogs.

Surprisingly, he’ll be the type to chase birds off of anything half-wounded or put birds back into their nests

At some point you’ll find him on the roof, wings out and sunning

Take him to livestock stores or somewhere like Tractor Supply Co. and he’ll be super tempted to smuggle a baby chick out in his pocket.

Loathes most human TV. Can’t bring himself to be interested until you bust out bible-history related documentaries. If he finds one he’ll take control of the TV, watch it all, and rip it to pieces.

Kind of develops a complex about it. “What would these humans know?! They’ve only been around for, what, forty years? Try five thousand!”

Take him by the coffee shops or smoothie shops to try decadent treats! He secretly likes them!

Mammon

Sleeps easier than Lucifer but has a tough time because the noises are different

If you have an open field or bigger back yard, his favorite thing to do is stand there and watch birds come to him. It surprises him that he can summon more than crows

Boy will definitely throw on a sunhat (or some cool glasses) and ask you what you feed birds around your place. Stands out in your yard throwing bird seed like the birds are starving and he’s got a million bags.

The type to fight squirrels and chase them out of your yard or away from feeders because “It’s not FOR you!”

If you live somewhere more laid-back he’ll feel very restless. He’s drawn to bigger, busier places.

IMMEDIATELY asks you about restaurants and things to do (”What’cha got? What’s good? Anything fun around here?”)

Gets super frustrated by shows like Storage Wars but it eerily good at appraising the value of stuff at a glance. Often guesses the real value of the objects

Show him Antique Roadshow. He’ll LOSE. HIS. SHIT.

He’ll ask to go by places like pawn shops and jewelers to just look at the different things humans trade or want to save up for. Can probably get discounts on the stuff.

Bring this guy when shopping for jewelry. He has an innate gift for appraising and can see flaws. He knows when you’re being played.

Want to be a little mean? Get those chocolate treasure chest coins and give one to Beel first. Mammon might just have a heart attack.

Definitely goes on a rant about how making chocolate money is wrong. (”Why make a currency you can’t spend?!”)

Make the visit special by getting some type of matching jewelry--earrings, rings, necklaces--and he’ll wear it around.

Take him by pet stores where they’ll let the birds out of cages, he’ll make kissy noises and love on all of them. Will definitely try to smuggle one out.

He’ll spend whole days in parks when he realizes you can park it on a bench and feed birds. Birds that don’t always get food!

Don’t show him water fountains. He doesn’t get the concept of people tossing coins in and will definitely try to take them by posing as a cleaner or something

Taking him by a museum is a 50/50 gamble. He’s genuinely interested in the displays and setup but might try to steal something

Do you have a way to watch The Road to El Dorado? Show it to Mammon. He’ll love it.

Leviathan

Unless you live by some cute cafes, comic book stores, or video game retailers he probably won’t do much on his visit

Do you have a pool? He changed his mind. Might gripe about the chlorine messing with his skin though.

If you only have access to a community pool he refuses to do anything with it

Take him to the beach if you live near one. He’ll ALWAYS go for ocean water!

Because the Devildom is the Devildom, I bet they don’t have Ghibli movies. Maybe they have knock-offs, or they’re considered rare because they’re human world related, but have a Ghibli marathon with him! He’ll love it! It won’t be Ruri-chan levels of love, but he’ll stan and want to buy some stuff

Can you make boba tea at home or swing by a coffee shop that makes a close substitute? Take him! He’ll like it! Levi may complain about it not being authentic but he’ll secretly appreciate it

He likes savory food and junk food so take him by a dollar store and get some cheap chips and sodas. It’ll be interesting to try. Maybe he can make a Deviltube video about trying human food!

Levi also strikes me as someone who would like nachos, so maybe grab him some nachos!

Do they know about the Doritos and Mountain Dew thing in the Devildom? He might want those. (”Look, I’m like the human gamers!”)

Levi runs a little colder than his brothers (by Devildom standards) so take him around to feel on blankets and maybe get one to take back to the Devildom.

Satan

Has a great love for books (obviously) and a great disdain for Devildom bookstores that charge an arm and a leg for human finds. TAKE HIM BY BOOKSTORES AND LET HIM LIVE IN HIS NATURAL ENVIRONMENT!

The type to bring an extra suitcase just for books

Is actually quite a homebody because he has no connections in the human world (besides you), so he’s fine to sit and read his new finds.

Do you have books at home? What are your favorites? He’ll read them, too, while he’s here

Show him some kind of crime channel or crime YouTuber and he’s 100% obsessed. Binges them like Netflix

Will wave you over and demand you sit, tangling your legs together as you lean back and speculate on who the murder is and what happens since most of those TV episodes are an hour long

Loves anything psychological-based. Wants to understand why people do things and how they work. Show things like Criminal Minds and Mind Games. He’ll be SUPER interested.

Do you have cats? You’ll see Satan whispering them and holding them against his shoulder. He’s in love and might be planning to steal your cat.

Taking him by animal shelters makes him a little sad but he’ll be glad to play with all the cats at one time.

Don’t tell him that, to most humans, Lucifer and Satan are the same figure in the Bible. He just might lose his shit.

Does your town have history/mystery tours? Take him! It’s a two-in-one and he loves it! History and culture, mystery and crime!

Show Satan Cinderella. He’ll get the BIGGEST laugh out of the cat being called Lucifer.

Asmodeus

Like Mammon, will ask you about aesthetic places and things to do

In a rare moment of not hating Mammon, the two will gossip at the jewelry stores and be really critical. Mammon stops Asmo from making bad purchases

Show him around some makeup stores! He’d LOVE to see human products!

If you take him by ANY store with clothes, he will look, pick, feel, analyze, and try things on for the hell of it. It will be an all-day thing

Human fashion takes off more than he expected on the Devilgram, so he’ll buy a few things.

When he realizes makeup stores give free makeovers, he’ll use that to his advantage. Especially by charming people

Goes on a small kick of charming people to get what he wants because Lucifer only ever told him he couldn’t do it to YOU. It’s a new level of fawning and attention and he eats it up

If he sees a cute Starbucks drink on TV, he wants it.

If you show him Pinterest or Instagram, he’s glued to a device and saving things.

By the time everyone goes back to the Devildom he has a tiny notebook full of ideas and details--ways to recreate it in the Devildom

Gets several modeling offers and you (or one of the bros) has to pull him away, It’s not happening.

Unexpectedly into unboxing videos and calligraphy. Lives for pretty hand writing and is fascinated by bullet journaling even though he’s too lazy to maintain one

Show him soap operas/dramas and celebrity entertainment channels. He won’t know what to believe.

If he sees shows like Jerry Springer, Maury, Jeremy Kyle, or Judge Judy he live-streams them like ‘can you believe what crazy things happen in the human world?!’

Beelzebub

The dollar store is his heaven! ALL THIS FOOD FOR A DOLLAR?!

I personally think that human food is less calorically dense so he’ll need to eat a lot. Take him by fast food places that have cheap dollar menus or five dollar deals

If you go to a restaurant with a ‘finish in ‘x’ amount of a minutes and it’s free!’ do it. He’ll set a record

Beel learns about all you can eat buffets and gives you puppy eyes until you take him to one. At least you’ll get your money’s worth!

Don’t take him by a real grocery store. He’ll bankrupt you. Or eat all the free samples.

He’s interested in cooking shows but if he watches them you’ll have to clean up a lot of drool, give him something to eat while he’s watching, or stop him from absently grabbing the closest thing and trying to eat it

Is super into renovation shows and technical shows where people work with their hands. It’s like sports of the mind.

Not as interested in watching American football because he’ll critique it too much. Any other sport, he’ll find it interesting and want to know how it works.

Show him old Olympic footage. He’s surprised at the variety of sports and will watch the whole thing

Will also enjoy Ghibli movies. How do they make food look like that?!

This boy is a Disney princess in a demon body. If he sees any critters while he’s out and about (ANY), he’ll want to try and feed it or pet it

Bugs are drawn to him. He especially likes caterpillars and butterflies.

Beel likes to hunt for ladybugs.

Likes to “donate” to ant hills and watch them work,

Likes to watch nature documentaries about different animals

If you take him to the zoo, he’ll marvel at the different animals. Wants to wrestle a tiger and the bigger animals to see if he’ll win. It looks “fun.”

Belphegor

When he hears about mattress stores, that’s his thing. That’s what he wants you to do together. Belphie will literally lay on as many mattresses as possible and judge them

He may not have a hard time sleeping as long as he has his favorite pillow, but, for kicks, show him ASMR. Beel’s not the only one who drools!

Will definitely fall asleep outside in the sun. Any place is a good place for a nap, and to look up and see clouds is special

Spend a night outside under the human sky. It’s constellations and things he only ever gets to see in the star room

Will watch just about anything on TV. He’ll say he doesn’t have a preference but he likes those happy, soft movies that have gentle endings where everything turns out okay. Actually cries a little.

If he learns what Snorlax is from Pokemon, he’ll want one. A big Snorlax plushy to cuddle and sleep on/with!

If he hears the word “demon” uttered on TV he’s instantly hooked. What stupid thing do these humans think? THAT’S their version of a demon?!

Can you take him to see real cows? He’d really like that.

The type to make flower chains in the grass because he’s bored. Gives his first one to Beel and falls asleep before he can make another one.

Loves milkshakes unironically. Will slink out of bed and come along on any errands/brother outings if he can get one out of you.

#Obey me!#Lucifer x Reader #Mammon x Reader #Levi x reader #Leviathan x Reader #Satan x Reader #Asmodeus x reader #Beelzebub x Reader #Belphegor x Reader

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dovesnroses · 4 years ago

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Dom! Lucifer

Rating: Explicit

Lucifer x Reader

a/n: Please kink responsibly and practice it safely, sanely, and consensually!

Warnings: Dom/sub dynamic, overstimulation, mentions of shibari

Lucifer’s personality is dominant on a daily basis. Being the eldest with chaotic brothers, you have to be. But Luci is a very private person. In bed he can be rough, but nothing you’re not used to. Even as his partner, you don’t know the full extent his dominance extends to the bedroom unless you bring it up. If not, he’d be perfectly okay restraining himself for you. He’d never want to make you uncomfortable.

But maybe one day you’ve teased him relentlessly: worn something revealing, palmed him through his slacks during a student council meeting, been extremely defiant. That night he has you pressed up against his door, knee in between your legs, hands on either side trapping you. He asks you to explain your insolence, and you ask him what his deepest, darkest fantasies are. He pulls away just enough that you could slip away if you want.

“To know that you’d have to give yourself to me completely”

The dark look in his eye sends a shiver down your spine, and if you’re unsure, Lucifer will let you go and think it over. He’s not going to let his pride get in the way of your safety.

But if you’re sure, he’ll caress your face and kiss you gently before pressing onto you even harder than before hand wrapping around your neck with a gentle squeeze.

If Lucifer were to take a test on what kind of kinkster he was the results would be:

Dominant: 99%

Daddy: 90%

Master/Mistress: 90%

Rigger: 87%

While Lucifer likes the idea of TPE, he knows that he has to have that conversation with you first. If you are new to BDSM, he’ll be a guide into this world and help you find your kinks and limits. He’ll handle you with care. If you’re more experienced and consent to doing TPE it will be the biggest ego boost for him. Lucifer as a dom is just as stern as normal. On the outside, he shows his dominance in smaller inconspicuous ways.

Lucifer will want you to be intellectually stimulated

He likes your mind as well as your body. The books or movies he suggests now come with a required reflection that you email him. He’ll still tutor you and make sure you understand the content of your classes. Further down the line a grade could get you punished or rewarded.

Your uniform

You can’t tie a bow to save your life. Normally, your neckerchief was tied in a knot because that was all you could manage. Now, you slip into his room every morning. He smiles and ties the neckerchief, crimson in color, into a bow before giving you the gentlest good morning kiss. He’ll never tell you that the small sleepy smile you give him after makes his heart explode. It’s one of his favorite things to do for you.

He picks out your underwear

The first time, it’s because he likes the way a certain pair looks. At school, you both realize sharing that secret is a huge turn on. He’ll do it more frequently until it's a habit. He knows what your intimates look like. You’ll even pick new ones out together. He loves you in black and red. He goes crazy for you in white.

Collaring

You probably won’t have conversations about a collar until you’ve returned to Devildom. It’s something he needs to be completely sure about, and he is completely sure about you. If you’re willing, he’ll give you a sleek, black, leather collar with a silver ‘o’ ring to wear only when you’re alone in his room. It’s strictly used for play.

In public and around the house, you wear a delicate, silver day collar with a layered heart pendant. The necklace has a padlock clasp and Lucifer keeps the small key tucked in his wallet. Considering he gifted you a rare gem broach as a ‘just because’ when you were friends, the necklace doesn’t stand out.

Nicknames

Lucifer will call you by your name out in public. If he wants a nickname he’ll use ‘my dear’. Privately you are love or prince/ess. If you’re being a brat he’ll call you a pest. When he thinks you’re asleep he calls you angel.

He will make you say his name. ‘Lucifer’ not Luci or Luc. One time you called him anything but, and you could barely sit for days. You’ll also call him ‘Sir’, ‘Daddy’ or ‘Master’. You once tried to call him ‘Lord’ and it squicked you both out; you couldn’t continue your scene.

Lucifer will never ask you to change your relationships with his brothers or anyone else. He doesn’t care about the hugs you give or even the small kisses you share. He knows that in the end you are his. However, Luci does not share. Your moans and tears and orgasms are his and his alone. There won’t be a third party introduced to your play vouyer or otherwise. He prides himself with knowing that he and he alone can turn you into a dripping mess.

…. Maybe for a very special occasion, he’ll ask Diavolo to share you with him.

Pain Play

Our Luci loves pain play. He loves but is not limited to, spanking, deep throating and making you gag, nipple clamps, etc. When you get used to the sting of his spanking, he moves to a belt, then a riding crop. His favorite thing to do is to put a cherry in your mouth to see how long you can hold out without biting down on it as he slaps the belt across your ass, chest, stomach. And when the tears are pricking your eyes, he will kiss your stained cheek gently. He’ll make sure you’re still consenting, remind you how good you’re being and continue on.

Overstimulation

There is no way to escape this. Good day, bad day, if he wants to he’ll restrain you to the bed legs opened wide. With his fingers or a toy, he’ll make you cum over and over and over. Lucifer will make you squirt. Then when you’re too blissed out, he’ll fuck you hard until he makes you cum on his cock hard enough to ride out his own orgasm. You’ve passed out this way.

Rope Play

He loves tying you up. Doesn’t even have to be for sex. Sometimes if its just the two of you, he’ll have your collar on and wrap a red cord around you in an intricate pattern. He’ll cuddle with you just like that for hours and admire how beautiful you look in his color.

Aftercare

Lucifer explains everything he does thoroughly. He reads your body language and masters it because there have been times when you have forced yourself to continue a scene. There was a light scolding and a very long conversation about using safe words after that.

After play he’ll loosen your restraints and massage your limbs gently. He’ll give you gentle kisses and nuzzles until your eyes are clear and you’ve emerged from your sub space. Baths are a favorite form of aftercare for Lucifer, and he’ll bathe you with your favorite soap and shampoo. He’ll wrap you in a warm towel and carry you to the bed. He holds you and tells you stories about his brothers or when he was an angel. When you’re drifting off, he’ll kiss you liberally and whisper all the things his pride keeps him from saying. This is how he tells you he loves you. It will be a long long time before he says it to you outright, but this moment will always be special to you.

***Sidenote: Asmo knows. Asmodeus always knows.

#obey me!#obey me shall we date #obey me headcanons #obey me lucifer #dani writes

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svnflowervol666 · 5 years ago

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I was wondering if you could write something where Harry’s wife tells him she doesn’t want him in the delivery room when she gives birth. She figures having maybe Gemma or Anne with her. She comes from a family of women, so she just doesn’t think she needs him. Harry’s left torn between agreeing with her because it’s her choice and absolutely broken up over it, because he wants to witness his first child come into the world. In the end she chooses to have him by her side. 🌻💛🌻

Word Count: 2.5k

Author’s Note: THANK YOU for this dad!Harry request!! It is quite apparent that I can ramble about dad!Harry for ages, so if anyone has anything dad!Harry they’d like to discuss, my inbox is open and I will give it my all! Enjoy! Take care and tpwk.

Harry found her by the pool, her already glowing body veiled by a thin layer of sweat. Her sun-kissed legs were crossed one another, body completely bare sans the skimpy swimsuit that she only wore at home due to her current situation. She was nearly 7 months pregnant with hers and Harry’s first child, having gotten to the point where even the thought of leaving the house exhausted her. Knowing this, it made sense to Harry as to why he found her in such an unusual place when he came home from his workout at the gym. She’d always claimed that the hated the oversized pool that took up room for a potential garden in the backyard of their home, so she was rarely seen dipping her toes in the cool, blue water. Harry supposed her cabin fever had gotten the best of her and she’d had to find new ways to entertain herself whilst they both waited anxiously for their baby to arrive.

He could see her through the large, glass windows that faced the backyard, her cell phone perched in one hand while she rubbed absent-minded circles around her swollen bump with the other. Sounds of her sweet, cherubic laugh trailed in through the cracks of the french doors, immediately warming Harry’s chest and causing him to smile in a way that showed off his cavernous dimples. This pregnancy had brought a lot of emotional turmoil in terms of the way her hormones would render her depressed and misanthropic for weeks at a time in some cases, then bouncy and cheery the next as if nothing had been wrong. Harry supposed today had been one of those good days.

It came as second nature to him to make a double batch of the smoothie he routinely drank after he exercised. He’d found out early on in her pregnancy that she’d always try to sneak sips of the sweet, fruity blend due to her new cravings, so he’d eventually just started making two drinks each time to satisfy them both. As he juggled the two glasses in his large, ringed hands, he slid open the door with the full intention of joining her in her sunbathing escapades to cool down after his intensive workout. Maybe he’d even convince her to stick her feet over the edge while he swam a few laps around her. That was until he’d caught the tail-end of the sentence that she’d muttered to whoever was on the other end of her phone line.

“…I was just thinking maybe you or Anne in the room during the delivery, and then Harry can come in and see the baby right after.”

Harry felt his heart sink into his arse at what he’d overheard, almost in disbelief at what he’d just heard her say. Surely, he’d missed a key part of this conversation and the tidbit he’d just stumbled upon was not her saying that she didn’t want Harry by her side when she gave birth to their first child. They’d never discussed it, but he’d always been under the assumption that he’d be right there next to her, holding her hand as their son or daughter made their appearance into the world. However, Harry couldn’t shake the feeling like that was exactly what she had just said.

“Yeah, totally. And then- Oh! Hi, Harry!” She stopped mid-sentence and perked up upon realizing her husband was home.

Harry smiles cheesily back at her, though there was a hint of disappointment in his expression. She was too entranced in her conversation to notice.

“Brought ye’ a smoothie,” Harry raised the glass towards his face to show off the perspiring glass of blended fruit and protein powder.

She wiggles her toes in excitement, the shiny lilac polish gleaming in the sunlight. Harry had painted them for her last week, her having been too far along in her pregnancy to reach her own toes. He always did little things like this for her so she could feel beautiful no matter how atrocious she was convinced she looked in her state. If it were up to Harry, he’d keep her like this for as long as possible; he had fallen in love with her ten times over since she’d been pregnant.

“Thank you, lovie. Gemma’s on the line. She says hi. And also that she’s still your mum’s favorite,” she said to Harry as she pulled the phone slightly away from her ear.

Harry couldn’t help but chuckle at his older sister’s immature banter as he sat the smoothie down next to his wife and leaned down to press a kiss to her damp hair.

He spoke clearly into the speaker so that Gemma was certain to hear him, “Just wait until the baby gets here. Then mum won’t give a shit about either of us.”

Harry didn’t hear Gemma’s snarky response, but he did hear her laugh loudly on the other end mixed with his wife’s own sweet giggles. He gave her bump a few pats with his hand that was cold from holding the glass and silently gestured to her that he was headed back inside. What he had overheard on the phone had killed his desire to lounge in the pool with his wife. He needed to be alone, whether it was to come up with a way to convince her otherwise or simply sulk about in his misery. His wife blew him a kiss which he subsequently pretended to catch and stuff in his hoddie pocket before ducking back into the house.

Whilst Harry was washing off in the shower, his mind was racing. Did she really not want him in the delivery room with her? It was his child, for christ’s sake! Of course he wanted to be there, more than anything, to be there when their baby took their first breaths, when they came out covered in goo and kicking and screaming. All Harry had ever wanted was a family to call his own, and now that it was within arm’s reach, he wanted to experience it all.

Of course, she was going to be the one quite literally pushing a life force out of her body, therefore Harry had no say in the matter. At the end of the day, even if his future efforts to convince her otherwise were unsuccessful, it was her choice and Harry would have to respect that. It just struck him right through his core to think that his own wife didn’t want him there beside her as she gave birth.

Amidst his racing thoughts, he’d lost track of time. The water had since run lukewarm, but he didn’t realize this until he heard the creak of the steamy shower door open and saw his pregnant wife step inside, still dressed in the skimpy swimsuit that she wore when she didn’t want any tan lines.

“Stealing all of the hot water now, aren’t you?” she teased as she stripped herself of the sopping wet material, then tossed it halfhazardly into the corner of the large, stand-in shower.

Harry mumbled a quiet, “Sorry,” before stepping out of the way of the faucet to let her rinse off.

“‘S alright. I’m still pretty warm from being outside,” she reassured him as she worked shampoo through her dripping locks, “Everything alright?”

“Ye’, why wouldn’t it be?” Harry answered his wife’s question, though he knew that wasn’t the truth and he couldn’t hold eye contact with her so he opted to watch as the soap suds ran from her scalp and down around her belly.

“Just seem kinda off is all,” she dismissed her quandaries and reached for the conditioner.

“‘M fine,” Harry lied again, “Wha’ were ye’ talkin’ to Gem about?”

“Oh, just baby stuff. She wanted to know if we’d decided on a theme for the nursery yet so she could start buying us gifts and then we just ended up talking for a while.”

Harry nodded silently as he worked a foaming cleanser into his skin, waiting until she was done rinsing her hair to take his turn back under the running water. He could say something, he really could. He knew that he should, because communication was key and he needed to be prepared for the heartbreak he’d experience when she told him that she didn’t want him in the delivery room with her. But he was nervous, scared almost. It was as if he actually didn’t want to know how she felt and would rather just forget the whole thing happened. However, now was not the time to be cowardly. This was his child and if he wasn’t willing to talk openly with his wife about how they’d approach the situation, maybe he wasn’t really ready to be a father after all.

“Did I overhear you tellin’ Gemma you don’t want me in the delivery room with ye’?”

She stopped running the silky soap through the ends of her hair to look at Harry directly.

“What do you mean?”

“I heard you say somethin’ about mum bein’ in the delivery room with ye’ and then me comin’ in right after. Do ye’ not want me in there?”

Harry’s voice sounded trembled as if he didn’t want to hear her answer his question. She finally picked up on his trepidation, and the look on her face was one of confusion.

“Harry I…I didn’t say that,” she was merely at a loss for words.

“Ye’ kinda did. Heard ye’ say it,” Harry snided.

“I didn’t say I didn’t want you in the room, Harry. My family’s always had only the girls in the delivery room. I just figured I’d do the same. Plus, I didn’t know you even wanted to be there.”

“Of course I want to be there,” Harry stressed, “‘s my baby for cryin’ out loud.”

Right then, she felt an intense flutter in her abdomen that caused her to cup her bump with her arm. This baby sure did love the sound of their father’s voice. Nothing was said between them, only awkward, unbearable silence. The water suddenly felt ice cold, raising chillbumps all up and down her arms and legs. Was Harry mad at her? She didn’t know. There was no malice with her intentions to give birth to their child without Harry in the delivery room, she genuinely hadn’t thought twice about it; it’s how she had been raised to believe how a woman should give birth, with strong women by their side. He was looking at her with glassy eyes like she had utterly broken him and caused irrepairable damage and it made her heart feel heavier than the weight of her baby bump that killed her lower back.

“I didn’t know, Harry,” she whispered, barely audible over the hissing of the faucet.

“Kinda common sense, now, innit? ‘S fine. ‘S your body.”

Harry quickly rid himself of any soap residue and left his wife alone in the ice cold shower before she could say another word. He left her the fluffier, more comfortable towel that he’d chosen for himself, because that’s just who he is.

He avoided her for the rest of the evening. He shut himself in his office for the better part of nearly three hours, hoping to turn his feelings into art and potentionally crank out a verse or two. The thoughts buzzing in his head were far too loud to concentrate on any chord or key, so he turned to answering emails, still not coming out of the room to resolve the argument he’d had with his wife in the shower. He wasn’t even sure what to say, or if there was anything to say at all.

She’d done the same, cooping herself up in their bedroom and taking a nap instead of finding Harry and demanding that they squash this immediately. She was so startled over the entire thing, having been bombarded with more information than she could handle. It hurt her to know that she’d hurt Harry, but at the same time she believed she hadn’t done anything wrong. This was clearly miscommunication on the most basic level, though it didn’t make her feel any better having realized that. Uneasiness settled deep into her bones as she drifted off into a light, relaxing slumber.

Harry tossed the garlic around in the pan with a wooden spoon blindly, only cooking to fill his stomach and not to enjoy it. It was her favorite meal, so he’d figured she’d enjoy the leftovers, at least. His mind kept drifting off to two months down the road, when his baby would be arriving in the sterile, chilly delivery room whilst he, on the other hand, wouldn’t be there to see it.

He nearly jumped out of his skin when he felt two arms wrap around his middle and a protruding bump poke him in the small of his back.

“‘M sorry,” her voice sounded muffled from where she was talking into his shirt.

Harry reduced the heat on the stove and turned around in her grasp to face her. He took her head in both of his hands, forcing her to look at him when she spoke.

“‘S okay. It’s your choice. I didn’t mean t’ upset ye’.”

“No, H. It’s not okay,” she couldn’t stop the hormonal tears from pooling in her eyes and running down her cheeks that were still warm from the nap she’d taken, “I should have asked you what you wanted. It’s your baby too. I just wasn’t thinking. I don’t you to be mad at me.”

Harry wiped her tears away with the pads of his thumbs, hating to see her cry like this.

“I’m not mad at ye’, love. Just caught me off guard. I’m fine now. I’ll wait outside the delivery room if that’s what ye’ want.”

He really hoped that wasn’t what she wanted, but he knew it was the right thing to do. After a long pause of her collecting her breath and nuzzling into Harry’s soothing touch, she found her words once more.

“It’s not what I want. I want you there. Beside me. Holding my hand when our baby gets here.”

This time it was Harry that started to cry, though he didn’t let her see the salty tears fall becaues he burried his head into the crook of her neck and held her in the dimly lit kitchen they stood in. All she could hear were his sniffles and his rapidly beating heart through is chest.

“I love you,” Harry mumbled into her neck, tickling her sensitive skin.

“I love you, too. So fucking much, Harry,” she gave his abdomen a tight embrace before pulling back.

“But promise me you’ll still want me after you see the baby come out of me. I’ve seen it before and it is not pretty.”

Harry choked on his remaining tears as a laugh roared through his chest. He wiped the wetness from his face with the sleeve of his sweatshirt.

“’M only gonna want ye’ more after that. Promise,” Harry then raised his left pinky towards her in sincerity, the wedding band on his ring glimmering in the stovetop light.

#harry styles x reader #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles imagine #harry styles one shot #harry styles x pregnant!reader #dad!harry #dad!harry x reader #dad!harry x pregnant!reader #harry styles blurb #asks

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