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violet-yimlat · 11 months ago

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This one is a little longer and darker than the other. Tw for the word “Suicide” and actual murder (he’ll be fine).

And if I may quote our king, Neil Gaiman:

“Lucifer was an idiot!”

Neil Gaiman, Neverwhere.

Featuring:

A Nightvale reference!

Violence!

Temptation!

The Archangel fucking Michael!

No sho- no wait I talk about the boots the angels are wearing.

Fuck.

The part I almost cried while writing because “This is home” was playing!

Enjoy! Unless it makes you sad!

Then you won’t.

Chapter four

Well, shit.

All Lucifer could do was fight, buy time, and hope that someone would show up before Michael got there.

He hadn’t fought these two angels before, or at least didn’t remember it, but he could make some guesses. Identical uniform, identical weapons, probably foot soldiers. Coordinated, but without the same bond or camaraderie as Ithuriel and Zephon. Standard training probably, maybe a little bit of specialist training to deal with him, but that wasn’t guaranteed. Little individuality and personality, probably not much fun to annoy.

But he was going to try.

He greeted the angels with a two-finger mock salute.

“‘Sup?”

Neither of the angels batted an eye, but one, taller, paler, mentally nicknamed “Erika”, did bat him into a wall with their powerful raven wings.

A swan’s wing can break your arm, an angel’s can shatter your very soul.

“Rude. Is that any way to greet an old enemy?”

The other angel, darker and stockier than the first, mentally nicknamed “Bitchiel”, kicked him in the ribs with the metal toe of their armoured boot.

Even on the ground, Lucifer wouldn’t give in. Or shut up.

“Hey! This waistcoat is new!”

Neither of the angels cared at all about his waistcoat. They just cared that he stayed on the ground, and was still there when Michael arrived.

It’s not like he hadn’t been in this situation before. He just had to make sure they didn’t-

Nope.

Too late. Bitchiel rolled him onto his front and pinned him with his foot.

So it was going to be like this. It was likely that he wasn’t going to make it out of there unscathed.

Oh well. Worst case scenario he was dead for a couple of days. A week, tops. He might miss the weekend, but he’d be alright after a fashion.

And if he wasn’t…

There were plans in place to deal with his extended absence. They had been necessary a few times, the most notable of which was the time when he had been hacked into pieces and cremated. It had taken him almost a month to pull himself back together. Half of Hell had assumed that he was dead and never coming back. His return had come as quite a shock to a quite a few people.

“Do you mind if I call someone?” Enquired Lucifer. “Only I have a feeling that I’m going to be dead for a week or two and I don’t want anyone to worry.”

“Actually, If all goes to plan,” corrected Erika, “you’ll be dead for much longer than two weeks.”

“All the more reason to keep them informed, then. How long’re we talking here?”

“Eternally.”

“Oh.”

Lucifer had never really been forced to grapple with his own mortality before, mostly because he was pretty sure that he didn’t have any. He hoped that the angels were bluffing, but most weren’t really the sort.

Angels almost never lied.

“So how am I going to die? Drowned in holy water and burned by holy fire? Won’t work. Exorcised to death? Won’t work. Beaten to a pulp, shoved in a blender and drank? Won’t work. Also drinking me would probably have some seriously nasty side effects.”

The angels glared at him with utter loathing.

“Have you ever seen what happens when humans drink demon blood? I saw it happen a few times in the old days.”He grimaced. “It wasn’t pretty. They were like, turning into demons but also melting. I think there was also a time when an angel forced to do it. That was worse. So much worse.” He half shuddered and half chuckled. “So Lucifer smoothie is not a valid option.”

He heard human footsteps approaching.

He spoke louder. The louder he was, the more attention he would get, the likelier someone would come down the alley and save his ass.

“What you theoretically could do is not kill me, but permanently bind me to, like, the sun or something. I’d be in pain, I couldn’t escape, but I’m alive and could maybe get an occasional visitor. Everyone wins! Especially when I eventually escape.”

The last part was a desperate attempt to influence the person who was walking past the alley opening.

The sound of footsteps faded away.

Erika bent down to look him in the eye. They smirked smugly.

“Ironically, they were listening to extremely loud black metal and they couldn’t hear anything.”

“Darn them and their incredible taste in music! Say, angel, if it were up to you, how would you have dealt with me?”

The angel pondered the question for a few moments.

“I would have left you an angel, but powerless and subservient to all. A slave to Heaven with no ability to cause trouble or pain to anyone.”

“So your opinion differs from the will of the lord?” He asked with mock horror, deliberately dropping the capital letter, “I was fairly sure that was a big ‘angel no-no’!”

“You’re the one who asked the question!” Protested the slightly flustered angel.

“Don’t listen to him, Camael. He’s trying to get you riled up and trick you into making a mistake.” Huffed Bitchiel.

“And how would you deal with me?”

The angel shifted their weight slightly, pressing their heel against his back. If he had a spine, it would have been broken.

“Silence, adversary. Your tricks won’t work on me.”

“Oh that’s a good one. Condemn me to silence. Can’t talk, can’t tempt. Although you’d have to remove my hands because sign language. And then you’d have to take my arms because I could probably use semaphore. And I could tap out morse code with my feet, so you’d have to get rid of those too. I could also do morse with my eyes, or even by opening and closing my mouth or shrugging my shoulders. So you couldn’t truly silence me unless you destroyed my physical form! Even then I could still possess someone so that isn’t really an all encompassing solution. You might as well kill me, to tell the truth, but I’ll give that idea a ‘C’ for imagination. Keep up the good work.”

“I meant that you should shut up. Ponder what you want your last words to be. Quietly.”

“But that would be boring.” He moaned. “And besides, it’s always fun to argue against someone less intelligent than yourself.”

“So you never have fun? I almost pity you.” Mocked Erika.

Lucifer grinned. This was going to be highly enjoyable.

“Fighting words from an angel with more wings than brain cells.”

“I’ll have you know that, on occasion, I have assumed a form with fifty wings and one hundred eyes.”

“That’s still only forty nine brain cells though.”

“Angels are all brain, all heart, all soul. We do not have ‘brain cells’ or any cells at all.”

“Is that why you’re such a worthless nobody? Haha. No-body.”

The angel bared their white, film star teeth in a snarl.

Oh good, thought Lucifer. They’re losing their temper. This is when they make mistakes. Mistakes like challenging him to a duel or attempting to kill him without the blessing of their superiors. There had been at least a dozen times when Lucifer had found his way back to Hell only to find the angel that has just killed him waiting there, having themself been condemned. It was really funny.

“What did I just say about not listening to him?” Chided Bitchiel. “Come on. You’re better than this.”

“You think you are above emotion? Please, nobody should deny their feelings. It’s not healthy.”

“I feel like kicking you in the face.” Growled Erika.

“Then by all means, kick away! I physically can’t stop you, what with your uptight friend standing on me, so please, kick my face.”

“Don’t do it, Camael. Don’t let him tempt you.”

“Do it, Camael. Make me feel your wrath. It’ll be very cathartic. My body may never have been a temple, but it might be a rage room for you. Just let it all out.”

He arranged his features into the most annoying smirk possible.

“Camael for heaven’s sake, don’t.”

“C’mon- I’m sorry what’s your name?”

“I’m not telling you that. We all know that your words have more power over us if you know our names.”

“I do? That’s news to me. How careless you must have been to let me learn Camael’s name. Say Camael, would you jump off a cliff if I told you to?”

“Probably not.”

“Only probably? Oh dear I must have some power over you. Anyway, as I was saying, why not let them exercise their free will for once. Let them make their own decisions. Such as the decision to kick me in the face!”

“Camael don’t.”

Erika stood up straight in front of Lucifer’s face. They pulled back their leg for a good swing…

And almost fell over when a flash of light and a sound like harps and thunder crashed down behind them.

The Archangel had arrived.

“Oh, c’mon!” Barked Lucifer “Michael you have the worst sense of timing. Camael was just about to succumb to temptation and you ruined it! Dude, this is why nobody likes you.”

“Barbiel, let the traitor stand. Camael, I’ll deal with you later.” Spake the Archangel. The two angels moved behind their superior and stood to attention, blocking the mouth of the alley and further narrowing Lucifer’s chance of escape.

He got to his feet, rolling his eyes.

“Good afternoon, sibling. Let’s make this easy. If you ‘kill’”— he flexed his fingers making air quotes around the last word —“me, I’ll be dead for a couple of weeks, and then I’ll be back. So why don’t we forego the violence and bloodshed and I just go to Hell and don’t come back for two weeks. Same effect, but I won’t have to go through all that ‘temporarily not existing’ bullshit. Hmm? What do you say. Do we have a deal?”

He held out his hand for the Archangel to shake. They looked at it as though they were being proffered a half decayed dead fish.

“I don’t make deals with your sort. And besides, your death would be much more convenient than having to explain why I let you go. You’re a liar, Satan. You wouldn’t stay in Hell for five minutes, let alone two weeks.”

Angels almost never lied, but Lucifer did so on the regular.

He shrugged.

“You’re right. Of course I wouldn’t. As much as I like Hell —Lovely place. You should visit sometime— it does get a bit dull if you can’t go anywhere else.”

The angel furrowed their brows. They were, as always, slightly disheveled. Other than their eyebrows and their wings —which were wide and strong with a gentle gradient from midnight blue at the top, to a pale lavender colour on the tips of the pinions, flecked with silver throughout but always slightly ruffled— Michael was impeccably neat. Their armour was always polished to a mirror shine without so much as a scratch. Their golden hair was straight as a pin and the exact same shade as their sharp almond eyes. They wore silver armour with gold trim and purple pauldrons and tassets (shoulder and thigh armour respectively). A lilac silk sash went from their left shoulder to right hip and matched the blazon on the centre of their breastplate; a golden, six-pointed star on a purple background. The only time their crisp white robe was ever stained was with blood. Usually Lucifer’s.

They sneered.

“What about me makes you think that I would ever want to visit Hell? It is a place of darkness and corruption, inhabited by traitors and lost souls. A place of eternal hopelessness and despair.” Michael paused for a moment “Also, you’re there. No thanks.”

“Oof. But seriously, if you hate me so much, then why are you always hunting me down?”

“I wish to bring about your ultimate demise and rid the world of your taint. Your existence is a stain upon creation and I long to see it come to an end.” Spat the Archangel, expelling each word like poison.

“Well that escalated quickly. So how do you plan to kill me? Keep in mind that I’m almost as immortal as you, my death would disturb the balance of the universe, and that I’m fairly well liked and might be avenged.”

“With this.” Gloated Michael, drawing an ornate, shining sword seemingly from thin air. The blade was perhaps a meter long and five centimetres across, pure white except for a thin golden line down its centre. The hilt was also golden, with a rounded white pommel and a cross guard in the shape of outstretched wings. The whole thing glowed with otherworldly divine radiance.

Lucifer was momentarily taken aback.

“It looks just like-”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Spite. And we needed to control all the variables.”

Part of him, long suppressed and near dead, longed to touch it. To hold it. To feel the weight of the holy weapon in his cursed hands. But the overwhelming majority of his being was screaming “Danger!”, telling him to run, warning him that yes, this might actually be the death of him.

Stay calm Lucifer, keep cool.

“So you’re planning to kill me with a replica of my own sword. How original I’m sure you’re very proud of that.”

“We are, actually. Do you know how hard it is to replicate a divine weapon if it doesn’t exist anymore and all you have to go on is vague memories from millennia ago?”

“You got the pommel wrong. Mine is more diamond-shaped. And the accent colour was copper rather than gold.”

“It should work the same way, though.”

“Oh”

The panic was beginning to set in, but so was the annoyance. How dare they use his own magic against him.

He had, at one point a long, long, time ago, had a nearly identical weapon. He hadn’t lost it, but it was different now, both in looks and capabilities. It was imbued with powerful dark magic and possessed the unique ability to permanently harm or even kill an angel.

So if Heaven had reverse engineered a similar sword, then…

“Oh no.”

Lucifer took a step backward. Michael mirrored his movement and brandished the sword with both hands. They grinned from ear to ear. They looked almost mad.

“No! No, no, no no!”

He didn’t want to die. He never thought it was even possible, but now with the prospect of his imminent, permanent demise, he’d do anything to escape. But there was nowhere to go. He had backed himself into a corner. There was no room to unfurl his wings, let alone get enough lift to escape.

He opened his mouth to plead for his life, but all that came out was a ragged sob.

“You’re pathetic. I once looked up to you, but just look at you now, begging for mercy that won’t come, tears running down your face; it’s just sad. And the best part is they’ll think the corpse is human, we’ve seen to that. A John Doe, or whatever the local equivalent is, found stabbed to death in an alley. It’s only a shame that I couldn’t make it look like a suicide.”

“Can-“ he sobbed, but managed to choke out his words “can I at least die in my true form?”

“No”

The Archangel stabbed.

The Devil screamed.

Lucifer staggered backwards, hitting the wall and slumping against it. Michael braced their foot against his chest and tugged the sword out with both hands.

“I wonder”, mused the angel, “is there life after life after death?” Before turning their back on the demon who had once been their brother, for what they thought would be the last time.

I hate to pull this card but

Pulls out a deck of cards from various sources and draws the tarot card, The Tower.

Oops. Wrong card.

Draws the Cards Against Humanity card reading “A hummingbird drinking nectar out of my urethra”.

I do hate to pull that card too but it wasn’t what I was looking for- ah! Here it is!

Draws a card reading “If this post can get 5000 notes within the next week I will continue writing my terrible, stupid book”.

Preview under the cut.

Prologue

You might have heard the urban legend. It goes like this; someone is walking along a street. They’re always pretty much alone, perhaps with the exception of maybe a pet dog, a conveniently non-verbal companion, when they hear sounds of a pretty intense struggle in an alley. So they go to check it out, but nobody is ever there.

Although sometimes, there’s a little pool of blood or a few feathers.

Mostly this is dismissed as a hallucination, or birds fighting, but the amount of blood and the size of the feathers makes it hard to believe.

And the voices. Most people report hearing arguing. But wherever in the world the story takes place, nobody can understand the language spoken by the fighters. The reports are fairly consistent. The language is described as “mellifluous” and “ethereal”, and there are always multiple people speaking it. Or at least shouting in it, but it is generally agreed upon that they are angry.

But there is always another voice, speaking a different, but still incomprehensible, language. He, for in the stories it’s always a he, sounds defiant and cocky, speaking in a harsher, less musical tongue, unless, of course, you count black metal. Some especially astute listeners have picked up words and sentences used by the lone, defiant individual and the angry group, coming to the conclusion that they seem to be speaking different dialects of the same language.

And another thing; birds don’t generally use weapons. One witness said that they heard what sounded like a fencing match or duel before they turned the corner.

There are so many witnesses that they should probably make a discord server.

Now we come to the theories. We have the rational explanation as mentioned previously; birds.

We have the “Time travelling fight club” theory.

We have the “That one alien spaceship where they keep having to get out because that one alien speaking another dialect keeps picking fights and they always threaten to maroon him on Earth but they never do” theory.

There’s the “Mothman vs other Mothman” theory and the “Crazy global cult who’s leader travels from place to place to perform blood sacrifices” theory, and let’s not forget the “Magical mutant cock-fighting ring gone wrong” theory, but one theory stands above all the rest.

The most well known, and probably the most ridiculous, theory is the “Demon repeatedly getting jumped by angels” theory.

But it’s all just a conspiracy theory. An urban legend. A joke.

Until the day Amelia Butler found the devil bleeding out in an alley.

#lucifer #satan #the archangel Michael #writeblr #shitty writing #writers on tumblr #writing #angel #demon #angels #demons #angel and demon #urban fantasy #fantasy #paradise lost fanfic

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humansbgone · 3 years ago

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(This is content for Humans-B-Gone!, a sci-fi series about giant bugs. Watch it on YouTube here: https://youtube.com/c/humansbgone )

A special treat this week: A behind-the-scenes! Someone had wanted to know how I do backgrounds, so here's how I did this one.

Even though the characters are cg models, it's not practical to model background elements unless they're animated or the characters actually need to interact with them. Besides that, I'm going for a traditional cel-shaded look with the aesthetic, so I like the way painted backgrounds look better as a rule. So, I've taken a leaf from old movies and will basically do painted mattes for backgrounds. (Doing models for characters and hand drawing for backgrounds is a little inverse of how these things are usually done, but since my backgrounds are squishy organic plants and my characters are bugs with rigid exoskeletons, it works out better this way!)

Usually, I can get by with making backgrounds just textures on flat planes in front of or behind characters (or add them later in compositing), so basically like painted cels floating in a 3d space. However, when the camera moves, parallaxing flat planes alone isn't enough to cut it. This is especially the case when a character is standing on a background. Not only will the flatness of the background stand out with a character in front of it, but if the background isn't close enough to their feet, they'll look like they're drifting in space over it!

So, for shots like this one, I'll compromise and make a very simple mesh with the background texture projected on it. Here's what this background looks like from another angle:

Now, let's see how I did it!

You can see that the mesh it's projected on is very simple, no raised parts or actual lighting--just the lighting from the painting itself. Additionally, the doors and "roof" above them are still flat planes. Hopefully, the flatness doesn't stand out too much in the final camera angle!

To make this background, I started off with a mock-up in Grease Pencil. This is a tool in Blender, the 3d modeling program I use, which lets you basically draw in a 3d space. This was very, very rough, and done just to figure out camera angles and animation (the doors have a one-frame opening animation, and the spider stand-in moves forward):

Next, I brought in Rose's model, and made simple cubes for the doors. The doors were set up with a simple rig, so that when I made the final doors I could still use the rig's animation. (Rose looks kind of weird because *all* her facial parts are in place at once--usually the bag under her eyes or the cheeks are used separately, and you'd only see an eyebrow furrow for the side of the eyebrow facing away from us. Also, her abdomen hair hasn't been rotated to match the camera angle, and I didn't turn on the solidify modifier for her line art.)

After I'd established the key frames for Rose's movements, I made a *very* rough background, just so I could set up the basic mesh and make sure the camera angle looked right. The textures were cobbled together from existing backgrounds--the pink backdrop is from an earlier shot in this episode, the big roots were taken from the roots the roach walks in front of in episode one, and the doors were made from the roots the soldiers are standing on in the the "Pest Control" promo!

Here's what it looks like without the textures and with vertices visible. You can also see the rig for the doors, and for Rose herself!

Once I'd finalized the animation, I decided it was time to finally finish the background. (Normally I try to get these done after I've established key poses instead of waiting for the whole animation to be finished, but there were so many backgrounds with such fiddly camera angles that I dragged my feet on it this time.) The meshes had to be tweaked a little, but mostly it was just a lot of painting, which didn't take too long.

In case you were wondering, here's what the image files for the background textures look like on their own:

I hope this was a fun look at the way I do things. Maybe it'll even help you with projects of your own!

Be sure to let me know if you'd like to see more behind-the-scenes stuff like this in the future!

As for the progress update--making good time! All animation is finally done, and now I'm working on backgrounds like the one you've just seen! This was one of three big, intimidating backgrounds with complex parts. Once the other two are out of the way, the remaining backgrounds will be much simpler and can be mostly marathoned. If all goes well, I'd give an estimate of just another two weeks until episode two's release!

#humansbgone #humans b gone #3d #background #painting #behind-the-scenes #animation #tarantula #spider #rose

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strawwritesfic · 3 years ago

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Loki Laufeyson x Female!Midgardian!Reader: A Bird in the Hand

Summary: …is surely not worth its asking price.

Rating/Warnings/Tags: All (some foul language; not Thor Ragnarok compliant)

Fic Trade Prompt: “Please, I don’t want to lose you, too.”

A Bird in the Hand

Once upon a time in a realm known as Midgard, there lived a girl. This girl, of course, was you, and you lived as many young women at the time did during that Age of Miracles. None of these miracles ever happened to you. There were no fish oil transformations on your horizon, nor were there any divine calls to adventure. Just like all New Yorkers, you grew use to your daily commute being interrupted by superheroes, to calling insurance companies to argue over their decision to not pay for alien invasion damage to your apartment, and even to carrying an umbrella around with you even on the driest of days in case certain Asgardians decided to visit. Life went on. You had stopped looking for a real miracle years ago.

As well you should have, because there was nothing miraculous about your wedding day. Outside, a seemingly endless mass of dark gray clouds let loose bucket after bucket of rain. Thunder rolled across the sky; lightning flashed–and that, really, was all you could see through the window you had stationed yourself in front of to sulk. If you hadn’t known any better, you’d have blamed the city’s resident thunder god for the disastrous timing of this storm front. As it was, all you could blame was your string of bad luck.

Speaking of bad luck, the door to your parlor snapped open and in stepped the dripping figure of your best friend. Aliyah paused only long enough to adjust her sodden pink hijab before plopping soggily onto an overstuffed loveseat.

“Well, the gazebo is flooded,” she announced, “the food is soaked through, and the caterer won’t bring more to replace it. Your flower arrangements are in pieces, and the band already ran off. I don’t think there’s anything left of your wedding ceremony.”

You did not bother to leave the window, though you did turn just far enough to throw her a sour look. “Do you have any good news to impart?” you asked.

Aliyah grinned. “Your maid of honor hasn’t walked out yet. At least there will be one person here to witness this fiasco.”

“Gonna need a groom for anything to be witnessed.”

Most close friends would offer sympathy when their friend’s fiancé of a year and a half decided to just not show up for the actual wedding. Most acquaintances would feel bad enough when the carefully planned event got rained out. Not your Aliyah. She simply let out a sharp breath and leaned her head back against the couch cushion.

“Can’t say I didn’t warn you,” she said.

You glared at her, which of course she didn’t see, having shut her eyes to listen to the water tumble from the roof to the street outside.

“Thank you. So much,” you said.

“What?” she asked, forcing her eyes open again. “I told you Jared wasn’t good enough for you. Besides, you should keep all the gifts even if he doesn’t stop by. I saw, like, nine blenders in that pile. You’re better off this way, if you ask me.”

“You’re just saying that because you want a free blender,” you said.

“I wouldn’t say no. But, really, you should count your lucky stars. Free stuff and free of your jackass boyfriend. What better start to a weekend?”

“I’d rather be married to my jackass boyfriend.”

Aliyah’s disdain for Jared was nothing new or surprising. He’d fallen from grace in her eyes when he’d got jealous over your fondness for an injured pigeon you’d rescued only a few months after you started dating Jared. Even releasing the bird hadn’t entirely put an end to his complaints about how you spent your free time. On the other hand, you knew one thing that neither Aliyah nor Jared did: Jared’s jealousy wasn’t entirely misplaced.

But that was years ago. This was now. And that bird had always been bad news.

“Are you going to cry about it?” Aliyah asked, peering over at your perch by the parlor’s bay window. “Because, if not, I’d hate to have dragged Habib all the way to America for nothing.”

At the mention of her long-distance boyfriend, you motioned for Aliyah to go on. You preferred to do your moping alone, and Aliyah knew it. She stood and crossed the room to give you a quick hug before she left without another word. Probably you did owe your maid of honor at a least a blender for all the trouble she’d been through on your behalf.

Sighing, you lifted one hand, dug your fingers into your hair, and tore out what was holding it in its elaborate design. Who cared what you looked like now? Even if stupid Jared had shown up, the storm would have ruined your appearance before you made it down the aisle. Now Aliyah had free rein to spend the rest of her afternoon cuddling with Habib, and you had no one else to bother looking pretty for.

Outside your empty room, you could hear the indistinct muttering of your remaining guests. Family, mostly, who had already given up trying to convince you to let them in. What the rest of them were waiting for before they left, you couldn’t guess. Perhaps for you to come out and make an official announcement: The wedding has been called off. Party’s over. You don’t have to go home, but you can’t stay here. And thanks for all the blenders.

The shame of your situation suddenly threatened to crash down upon you. It would have, if you had remained sitting where you were. Instead, you got up, white dress rustling as you stalked across the room. A quiet shriek of rage was stifled only by your gloved hand pressed to your colored lips. Of all the pathetic, idiotic, insane things you had done in your life! Now you didn’t even have the courage to face your friends and family with the truth.

“Tap. Tap. Tap.”

Hail began to hit the glass behind you, soft and hesitant. Since you had no plans to leave the building any time soon, you ignored this weather development.

Jared hadn’t even called to say he’d changed his mind. You should have known when he hadn’t come home after his stag party the night before. He was probably laughing it up over your stupidity with some blonde bikini babe by the beach that you were supposed to go to for your honeymoon. The thought caused you to kick out angrily at the coffee table, and you heard a quiet rip issue from your skirt in response when it caught on a corner.

You swore.

”Tap. Tap. Tap.”

Now that you thought about it, the sound wasn’t regular enough to be hail. It wasn’t very hesitant anymore either. Still, you ignored the noise as you yanked off your veil, your gloves, and your garter. You were mentally preparing to rip them all to shreds with your fingernails when you heard it again:

“Tap. Tap. Tap.”

That time you did not suppress your shriek. As it faded into the overstuffed furniture surrounding you, you marched over to the window and shoved it open. The wind whistled through the empty space, sending anything in the room not tied down into the air and splattering your face with water. If ever there was a time to reasonably expect an Asgardian thunder god to step inside, it was then. No one was there, though, save for a single bedraggled pigeon.

“Oh, hello,” you said when it hopped onto the sill, and automatically you held out your cupped hands toward it.

The poor thing shivered once, then stepped onto your warm palms. Only when it looked up into your face did you see that it had bright green, very un-pigeon-ish eyes.

Before you could stuff the bird back outside, it lifted itself into the air to half-flutter, half-fly over to the loveseat Aliyah had been sitting on. A flash of light that had nothing to do with the lightning outside filled the room. When you had blinked and cleared your vision enough that you could see again, the pigeon was gone, and in its place reclined a tall, dark-haired, beautiful man, dressed to the nines in Asgardian fashion.

“Hello, darling,” said Loki Laufeyson. “Don’t you look ravishing?”

You were too shocked to contradict him. No mention of your torn dress, mussed hair, or smeared makeup escaped your lips. Instead, you said the only thing you could in that sort of situation: “What are you doing here?”

“Why, I’m here to offer you my congratulations, of course,” he answered, examining one perfectly manicured nail. “Or should it be my condolences?”

“Really?” Your tone dripped with enough sarcasm that it could be heard over the protesting window as you forced it shut. “You disappear for two years, never write, never visit, and then you just happen to pop by to celebrate my wedding to another man?”

“What kind of secret lover would I be if I did not?”

“We are not secret lovers.”

“Well, no, we haven’t been for quite some time. I see no reason why that should stop us from picking up right where we left off, however.”

“We were never secret lovers.”

“Really?” he said, mocking the tone of your earlier question. “That’s not what it seemed like to me. Of course, I had the brain of a pigeon most of the time, but at night when your beau had to work and leave you so very alone–”

“You can’t just show up out of the blue and expect me to want you again,” you interrupted. “And on my wedding day to boot.”

To his credit, Loki looked genuinely confused by your behavior–like he’d expected you to jump straight into his arms, marriage or no. Obviously, they did things differently in Asgard. You were not Asgardian.

“Fine,” he said. “If that’s the way you want it. I was only trying to thank you for helping me, you know.”

“All I did was take in a pigeon that got injured when Thor threw a bunch of peanuts at a flock. It didn’t really deserve that sort of thanking.”

“Ah, but you enjoyed it anyway.” That wasn’t the point. He knew it wasn’t the point just as well as you did, because once he made it, he got fluidly up to his feet to and walked over to stand in front of you. “If you are that disinclined to see me, I suppose I had better get going. If you ever grow tired of being lonely again–oh, that’s right. You don’t know how to contact me.”

You opened your mouth to remind Loki that you didn’t want to contact him, but then something about Loki’s words rang strange.

“Alone?” you echoed.

“Yes, alone. Or do you expect your Prince Charming to come riding up on a horse of white any second now? Better late than never?”

Without thinking, without warning, you slapped him straight across the face.

“Ow!” he snapped, pressing one of his hands to the mark on his face. “What was that for?”

“What did you do?” You lifted your hand for another blow. “What did you do to Jared?”

“Me? Do something to Jared? What should I have to do with that ponderous ass?”

“Did you kill him, Loki?” you asked, voice quavering. Loki could do it. Easily. He was a god, and Jared just…well, just a ponderous ass.

Loki let out a single bark of laughter. “Oh, please. I just got out of Asgardian prison. As if I’d risk going back over the murder of a petty moral such as he.”

That brought you up short. Frowning, you deigned to look at him again. “Prison?”

“Yes, prison. Did you think my absence was due to taking a pleasure cruise?”

“I thought you’d escaped prison when I found you the first time.”

“But you sent me back to Asgard when I started causing trouble,“ he reminded you. "Odin does not forget his son’s crimes easily, nor is he inclined to forgive them. Luckily my brother is far easier to manipulate.”

He had not, you noticed, made any real move to leave. Loki still stood in front of you, looking down as the pink handprint faded from his cheek.

“So…you didn’t kill my fiancé?” you asked uncertainly.

He shook his head. “If he isn’t here, it is because he is a dunce, not because I tricked him in any way.”

“Oh.” All the problems of your appearance seemed at once apparent and embarrassing. To think that this man would see you in such a state, and only because he’d wanted to see you after his release from jail. “Why did you really come, then? Since you knew he wasn’t here. To gloat?”

“The thought did occur to me,” Loki confessed. “I am not often in the position of being the more desirable choice. But,” here his voice turned oddly sincere, “I actually came to ask you to come with me.”

Your mouth fell open. Some of Loki’s usual acerbic amusement returned as he watched you flounder; you could see the faint outlines of his familiar smirk at the corners of his mouth. Finally, you managed a short, “go with you where?”

He shrugged, and started to twist the curtain in between his long, pale fingers. “I don’t know, really.”

“You want me to go somewhere with you without anywhere in mind?”

“I thought we’d figure it out as we went along,” he said. “Travel the galaxies. I cannot return to Asgard and Midgard, of course, is out of the question so long as I do not rule it.”

“You want me to follow you into outerspace?”

Only his silence could tip you off that Loki was actually nervous. He clearly had no idea how you would respond to his suggestion–which was by falling into a nearby chair to gape at him.

“You want me to leave my family?” you asked.

“They live far away and hardly talk to you.”

“And my job?”

“That you’ve never liked. We’re both aware.”

“And my best friend?”

“She spends most of her time visiting mosques in India with her boyfriend,” Loki said with a dismissive flick of his hand. “Besides, there’s no rule to say we can’t come back to visit her every so often. I have no objection. She seems a sensible enough woman.”

“And you want me to leave them all,” you went on as though you couldn’t hear him, “for you, a man I haven’t seen in years because he was in prison.”

Once more, Loki said nothing. His green eyes peered into yours with unreadable depths, just as they had the unfortunate day you had returned home after to work to find your injured pigeon friend gone and a strange man eating all of the meat out of your fridge in its place. You could remember, too, the feel of that man’s skin against yours, the heat of his lips on your neck, the sound of his low voice in your ear–and Jared complaining, always complaining, about how much time you spent with that damn bird.

You buried your face in your hands. “I can’t do it, Loki. I can’t.”

You waited to hear him leave again, to hear the glass move and the rush of the storm and the flutter of wings. None came. All that did was one soft word:

“Please.”

“Huh?”

When you looked up, Loki was right above you. His hands gripped the chair arms at your sides with enough force to make them whiter than ever–but his eyes were not on yours anymore.

“Please,” he said, “I don’t want to lose you, too.”

Another move without thinking or warning: You gently touched his other cheek.

Loki’s eyes closed for a half second before he moved one hand to hold your wrist there. “I have already lost my father, my mother, my home. My own brother has thrust me unceremoniously from both realms I sought to rule. And then to hear that I would lose you, too, to an oaf like that Jared.”

No one could say that Loki losing all of this wasn’t entirely his fault. He had decided to lead an alien invasion into Earth, to try murdering several members of his mentioned family, and to seduce young Earth women under the guise of hurt animals. But part of Loki’s charm was that he never failed to make one doubt that he could be better, maybe, if you only let him try.

“I’m sorry,” you said sincerely. A sincere apology didn’t mean your mind was changed, however, and this, also, Loki knew.

“Do you want me to beg?” he asked. “I am no longer a stranger to begging.”

With that, Loki slid to the wooden floor before you. Stranger or no, it was positive it wasn’t a position he relished being in, what with how stiff his hands were around yours when he made to hold them. He swallowed, took a deep breath, and began:

“I know I am asking a lot. But I, too, have lost a family, a job, and my closest friends. I would not ask you to come with me if I did not intend on paying you pack ten times in kind. If you will allow me to take you with me, I know I can make you happier than you would be here. Together we will find some place to call our own, and you shall be my queen. So please,” he said, “please let me keep one last thing that I love. Don’t make me leave you behind, too.”

It wasn’t the prettiest speech you had ever heard come out of his mouth, but it was probably the most honest. You gave him a tiny smile as you squeezed his hands in return. “A queen, huh?”

Loki smirked. “Or a comfortable, quiet living, depending on what we find, and how thorough Thor is in seeking me out. At least we could be comfortable and quiet for a little while.”

“Can’t imagine that’s going to last long with you around.”

“With you around to look after me, though…”

That got you to laugh. “Oh, yes, I’m sure I’d do a wonderful job making sure you didn’t get into any trouble. I did such a good job before.”

Some of the color returned to Loki’s features. He was starting to hope. Against your better judgement, so were you. A couple of things, however, remained to bother you:

“What if you came here and Jared and I were married?” you asked.

“Then I would have had to resort to kidnapping.”

“And how did you even know I was getting married today to begin with?”

He smiled his Cheshire smile, and that was when you knew you were truly lost. “You really ought to stop talking to the birds on your fire escape. You never know which one would be willing to pass information off in exchange for a couple of peanuts.”

“Oh, and you stalk me. What part of this deal doesn’t sound good?”

“None of it, I should hope.” Standing, Loki kept one hand firmly around one of yours. “We should go, you realize. Unless you want to say your goodbyes?”

You thought of your parents blustering about how you dared to invite both of them to your wedding. You thought of the forlorn apartment you shared with a man that had never really loved you for you. You thought of Aliyah and her instance that Jared would never be good enough for you. You thought of the awkward explanation that would be expected as soon you set foot outside that door–and you grinned.

“Not a chance.”

“Then I believe,” he said, and abruptly pulled you into his arms in an obvious parody of carrying a bride before pushing the window open with his boot, “we have a few errands to go on before we get on our way.”

“Like what?”

“Unless you plan to live the rest of our lives with nothing but multiple blenders,” he began, but was not able to finish over your sudden laughter and the return of the torrent outside.

You latched your hands behind his neck as he dove back into the rain. There were stars somewhere above those clouds, and you would be visiting them soon enough–them and endless other realms. Maybe eloping with a man that could turn into a pigeon wasn’t the best miracle there ever was on Midgard, but it pulled off the most important trick of them all: Against all odds, you lived happily ever after.

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spidermandni · 3 years ago

Text

ALL I WANT FOR CHRISTMAS IS YOU.

sweater weather.

pairing timeskip atsumu x reader

timestamp 01:11

notes this is being prepared to be posted on christmas on christmas eve so hi you guys!!! i hope you had an amazing christmas eve and i hope you all also have a merry christmas, i love you <333

“oh, shinsuke, you didn't have to.”

“i wanted to, name. merry christmas.” a smile is on his face as he hands you the wrapped christmas present, also leaning down to wrap his arms around you. when you separate, you open the present to find a new blender and you grinned at the older man. you had complained to him a month before about how your blender had broke and you didn't want to tell atsumu. knowing him, he would've bought you six more blenders just in case. your grin dimmed st the thought of the man.

“thank you, shin, really. i needed this.”

“then why d'ya look so sad, name?”

“cause this is the first christmas in years they haven't spent with their lil baby—”

“rintarou.”

“you know i'm right, name.” a sly smile is on the brunette's face as he mocks you.

“well, you're gonna be so excited to see my present, name.” osamu brags to you, a wide smirk on his face. you roll your eyes and begin to open your gift while questioning the twin of your husband.

“when exactly am i gonna get your present, 'samu?” at your question, his smirk drops and his eyes trail down to his watch like they have for the past hour, “everybody's gonna be heading home soon, i wouldn't mind waiting to see it later today—”

“no, that won't be necessary, it's almost here!”

“miya osamu, did you order the present today?”

“well, not exactly—” a knock is heard and everybody's head snaps to the front door. many of your guests have knowing smiles on their faces while others are turned around, avoiding your gaze. “can you open that, name?” osamu grins at you, grabbing your arms to lift you from the chair you were sitting in.

“fine, fine, i can get up myself.” you roll your eyes and walk towards the door, “it's like one in the morning, who could even be—”

you open the door and right there in front of you stands your husband that you thought would be in a whole other country this holiday, miya atsumu.

“oh my— tsumie!” you shriek at the top of your lungs, jumping into the strong man's arms. your friends' laugher fills the air of your apartment as they watch you leave harsh kisses on the face of the man you missed dearly.

“but—” kiss, “i thought—” kiss, “you weren't gonna—” another kiss, “be here—” and another, “for—” jesus christ, “this christmas!” and a final one.

“convinced them to let me come home to see you, darlin'. love you that much that i just had to be here, couldn't miss my baby's favorite holiday.” he giggles into your shoulder, pressing soft kisses to your neck at your excitement.

“this is the best christmas ever! the best gift ever, oh my gosh, osamu!” you turn to the grey haired twin and rush towards him to give him a tight, long hug, “this is the best gift anybody has ever gotten for me, i love you!”

“you're thanking this guy for me showing up, name? what happened to you huggin' and kissin' all on me, he didn't even do anything—”

“i helped you plan this, you ass—” your hand slaps at the shoulder of the younger brother before you walk over to your lover, swatting at his, too.

“no fighting on christmas!” atsumu swings his arms around you, lifting you back into his space.

“sorry, baby.”

“sorry, name.”

all you wanted for christmas was to spend it with your husband and you finally got what you wished for. merry christmas!

#✰ — my writing #♡ — anime #miya atsumu #atsumu #atsumu x reader #atsumu x black reader #atsumu imagine #atsumu imagines #atsumu fluff #haikyuu #haikyuu imagine #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu x black reader #haikyuu fluff

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comfyswitcherblanketfort · 4 years ago

Note

please please a part 2 of that gamer!geralt au, them doing something like Q&A

Nonie, I hope you know what you signed up for. This got out of hand lmao. like 2.4k of Q&A kind of out of hand.

Warnings: swearing, talk of drinking to excess, kinda spicy questions, lil kisses, idk how but I meant for this to be goofy and horny and it got kinda soft? what’s new?

____________

“Holy shit,” Geralt sat staring at his phone as he mindlessly stirred pasta.

“I swear to god, if you found a way to burn noodles-” Jaskier turned away from the blender to wave a wooden spoon covered in pesto puree.

Geralt shook his head and held his phone up to him, scrolling through the replies to a tweet as he did, going on for ages as Jaskier’s jaw slowly got closer to the floor.

“What are those for?!”

“I put up a poll for a boyfriend Q&A or a game review and not a single person has voted for the game review.” Geralt was still scrolling through questions people wanted answered as he watched Jaskier’s face go from shock to confusion to a smug grin.

“They love me,” he sang, kicking his heel up as he turned back to the pasta sauce.

Geralt rolled his eyes and started screenshotting some of the less invasive questions, shaking his head and muttering, “Course they do.”

Geralt pressed record, waited a moment, and heaved a dramatic, long-suffering sigh, “You guys literally didn’t even give me a choice on this one,” he reached off frame and scruffed Jaskier, plopping him down on the couch with him.

Jaskier didn’t stay where he was put for even a moment, using his momentum to bounce up onto Geralt’s lap with a shit-eating grin, “Oh? Are we rolling?”

Geralt dropped his forehead to Jaskier’s shoulder, stifling a laugh, “This is gonna be a long one.”

“Yeah, it is,” Jask agreed, then turned to the camera, stroking Geralt’s hair, “My fans want more!”

“OH-kay,” Geralt manhandled Jaskier to sit next to him which earned him a pout and a leg draped over his lap as he continued his intro, “I’ve got a bunch of questions from twitter. I didn’t even have to confirm which video we would do, you guys just went straight for the kill. I picked a few, Jask picked a few, neither of us knows which ones the other picked.” he turned to see Jaskier wiggle his eyebrows at the camera, “Why am I thinking you picked the raunchy ones?”

The brunet pretended to be offended before he smirked, “Only a few.”

Geralt rolled his eyes. “Of course,” he nudged Jask with his shoulder and opened up his phone to his screenshots, “Okay! First up is AdamSandlersBitch, nice name. They asked what Jaskier’s favorite gaming console and game to play is.” he turned to Jaksier with raised eyebrows.

His boyfriend cringed, “My.. my phone? I don’t know? I play a lot of Candy Crush while I listen to podcasts?”

Geralt smiled sweetly, “Wait what about Stardew Valley? I thought you started that?”

“I did!” Jaskier brightened up for a moment before he deflated again, “But I got confused and then the ADHD made me bake cookies.”

“Those were good cookies. I’ll play with you if you want?” Geralt’s normal ‘streamer dude’ persona melted away while he played with the rips on Jaskier’s jeans.

Jask leaned forward and kissed his temple, “I’d love that.”

Geralt blushed, even after years, Jaskier’s affection still caught him off guard.

“Mkay! My turn!” Jaskier flashed his devilish grin and read, in his most obnoxious voice, “Dwn2Clwn said ‘do you two live together? Have you said ‘i love you’? And who tops?’”

Geralt’s mouth twisted into an upside-down U as he stared at Jaskier in muted surprise, “Honestly, not as bad as I expected.”

Jaskier looped his arm around Geralt’s, “I’m starting off easy.”

Geralt let his mock-disapproving gaze linger just a bit before he answered, “The living together is kind of new-like a few months. This one said ‘I love you’ on, what? The fourth date? Fifth?”

“Fourth.”

“No, it was the fifth, Eskel locked himself out on the fourth. Remember?”

“Shit you’re right,” Jaskier gave the camera a stern look, “In my defense, we’d been friends for a good four years before this. I wasn’t just confessing my love to a tinder date - though I have done that before.”

Geralt nodded, “That was very amusing.”

Jaskier tapped his nose, “Don’t avoid the last part, darling.”

Geralt huffed and stared down the camera, and, in the most matter of fact tone possible, said, “We switch. Compromise, folks. Can’t have one person doing all the work all the time.”

Jaskier nodded sagely, patting Geralt's chest, “We got a pow-”

Geralt clamped his hand over Jaskier’s mouth, 100% sure he was going to say ‘power bottom pillow princess’, “Nope. I’ll get demonetized for that.”

“But not who tops?” Jaskier asked through Geralt’s fingers.

He just shrugged, “I don’t make the rules.”

Jaskier tapped his phone and raised his eyebrows, telling him to move to the next question.

“Mis- Mischanication? Shit I hope I said that right, Mischanication asked, ‘would you ever get a pet together?’ We did! Her name is Roach and she’s a little shit! I told Jaskier not to feed her, but he did, now we have the snuggliest, crankiest cat I’ve ever met!”

Jaskier had gotten up to pluck Roach from her perch on the windowsill when Geralt had read the question and plopped down with her as Geralt finished his proud speech, “She’s not a little shit! She’s just delicate! Isn’t that right, darling?”

Geralt scratched under her chin and cooed, “You are a nasty little dragon baby, aren't you?! Just a little garbage child! Yes, you are. We love the tiny demon beast.”

“Geralt!”

He snickered and kissed Jaskier’s hair, “Next question, love.”

Jaskier grumbled something about positive reinforcement as Roach scampered back to her cat tree and he unlocked his phone for his next tweet, “This darling wants to remain anonymous,” Geralt gave him some serious side-eye at that, “they said ‘I think I’m in love with the flower twink, where can I find one of my own?’”

Geralt frowned at the camera and pulled Jaskier onto his lap, holding him close and snuggling into his chest, almost growling, “Hands off.”

Jaskier giggled, brushing Geralt’s hair out of his face as he talked to the camera, “You heard the man. Unfortunately, I was not mass-produced and I’ve been spoken for.”

Geralt looked up at him with what could only be called suspicious puppy eyes, “You picked that one just to sit in my lap didn’t you?”

“Yes. And because I want to change my socials to ‘flower twink’.”

“Do it,” Geralt kept Jaskier on his lap as he swiped to his next question, “Eggsfuckingsuck - heh, my dad hates eggs- Eggsfuckingsuck says, ‘what is the most embarrassing thing you’ve caught each other doing/saying?’ Oh boy, do I have a story for you!”

"Oh I couldn't say the thing but you can tell this story!?"

"...you have a point... Check my insta stories. I'll put it there after I post this."

Jaskier nodded, ever so pleased, and turned to the camera, "Our dear Yennefer of sorceryglammour once beat Geralt at trivia night when the theme was 'video games'."

“We did shots before we went to the bar and she goaded me and Lambert into a chugging competition before the round started. I’m telling you, she planned this. Yen is ruthless.” Geralt desperately tried to justify his defeat but Jaskier was having none of it.

“She’s mostly harmless, plus I have video evidence from that night. You weren’t that far gone.”

“Pull it up! Let’s settle it.”

Jaskier patted Geralt’s head like one would a toddler, “I’d have to get my old laptop out. Later, darling.”

Geralt had a smug look on his face, “That means he doesn’t have it anymore.”

“Next question!” Jaskier squeaked, not at all changing the subject.

Geralt shrugged, “If you admit I won that one.”

“It’s not a competition!” Jaskier laughed, looking down at him with that stupidly smitten look on his face.

“Hmmm…” Geralt tilted his chin up defiantly, “if you say so.”

Jaskier kissed him, lingering a little bit more than could be considered chaste, “I do.”

Geralt looked up at him, batting his eyelashes, “Fine then, next question.”

Jaskier handed him his phone and he read it off leaning his head on Jaskier’s shoulder, “CountryBumpkin42 asked if we play any instruments. I play the recorder very poorly, but Jask plays everything.”

“Not everything, but yes, I could cover a Trans Siberian Orchestra song if I had a pedalboard with enough loop settings.” Jaskier preened.

“And more,” Geralt added, counting on his fingers as he spoke, “In this house alone he has two pianos, three different types of guitars, a drumset, a violin and fiddle, a flute and piccilo, an oboe, a mandolin, a lute, bongos, saxophone, clarinet, tambourine, trumpet, and xylophone. Did I get them all?”

Jaskier glanced from side to side with a guilty look, “Ah… no, I bought a bass sax that showed up last night.”

“Oh, did Thursday at 3 decide they wanted to switch after all?”

“Yeah! She got the third chair as a freshman on a loaner instrument! I’m very proud!”

Geralt seemed to remember they were recording and turned back to the camera, “J teaches music at the university and does private lessons.”

“It’s how I can afford such a pretty trophy boyfriend,” Jaskier teased, ruffling Geralt’s hair and earning a little chuckle.

“Mkay, what do you have next?”

Jaskier smoothed Gearalt’s hair back down as he read the next question, “3R4108F6!J asks if we have any cute nicknames for each other.”

Geralt’s eyebrows nearly flew past his hairline, “J has a new one for me almost every day.”

“Its true,” Jaskier nodded, “I am a slut for cute nicknames. This morning was Ger Bear, one of my faves. I called him Thumbs for a bit, I lovingly call him Dumb Fuck rather often.”

“And he is Dip Shit, it’s balanced. I usually just shorten names? Jask or J is usually it, right?” Geralt asked, shifting so Jaskier was sitting on the couch between his legs and they were both turned out toward the camera but very much still cuddling.

“And when I’m being childish I get Alfie. But Geralt is much more deliberate and specific with his nicknames. It’s a bit of a friendship level up when he uses nicknames.”

Geralt frowned at him, “I do that?”

Jaskier giggled, “You never noticed?”

He tilted his head, giving Jaskier a quizzical look, “Not at all.”

Jaskier cupped Geralt’s cheek, “You’re so cute.”

Geralt blushed again, leaning into the touch just a tad, “Who’s turn is it?”

“Yours,” Jaskier hummed, pressing a soft kiss to his forehead.

“Okay,” Geralt blushed even more, “I had this one as an alternate, but uh, Yen asked what we’d name our first kid?”

Jaskier leaned into Geralt’s shoulder and hummed as he thought for a moment, “I always like Blake or Spencer, but I seem to remember you saying something about old world traditional names?”

Geralt nodded, absentmindedly running his fingers up and down Jaskier’s arm, “My grandma was hoping each of us boys would be a girl and wanted mum to name us Cirilla every time. I quite like it, but I’m rather open as long as I don’t know someone with the name. I really like Eric?”

“Oo, I like Eric.”

“But you like the neutral names.”

“I do, but it’s your hypothetical kiddo too.”

Geralt gave him a little squeeze, “There’s time for that later. What’s your next one?”

Jaskier snorted when he looked at his phone, “What are your guys’ love languages?”

Geralt just looked down at Jask, completely entangled in his arms, then up to the camera, “I’m gonna hazard a guess at physical touch.”

“Yeah, I think that’s a safe bet,” Jaskier giggled, “I haven’t taken the quiz in years, but I was that and gifts.”

“Oh, yeah. Physical touch and words of affirmation. I got like a 0 on acts of service and gifts, but I really like giving gifts.”

“Mhm, yes you do,” Jaksier wiggled his eyebrows, then turned to the camera, “I also had no idea you could have different giving and receiving languages till I met this one.”

Geralt nodded then turned to him with a slight frown, “you know I really thought your questions were going to be more graphic.”

“Oh, honey I saved the best for last,” Jaskier winked.

“Fuck me,” Geralt grumbled before reading off his last question, “Cali852 asked what we did for Pride.”

Jaskier’s eyes lit up, “Oh Pride was fun. We watched the parade, of course, then Yen did our makeup and… and where did we go after that?”

Geralt looked like he’d been waiting for this, “We went to a club, where you ordered three kamakazis, knocked them all back, danced for twenty minutes, then I took you home.”

“N-no… we went to the beach, didn’t we?”

“That was the year before. We were going to go to the drag show at our regular bar too, but someone had just finished grading finals and went a little too hard.”

Jaskier grinned, “Speaking of finals, time for the last question. I had a different one in mind but if the thing I cant say from earlier would get this demonetized then that defintitelyi would. So we’re going with ‘what is the wackest placy y’all banged?’”

Geralt snorted, “Shit who knows anymore?”

“Well there was the boat?”

“Or the train?”

“Nah, too standard. What about the cabin?”

“Heh, no I think your o-”

“I don’t have tenure darling,” It was Jaskier’s turn to slap his hands over Geralt’s mouth, “The answer is a dilapidated structure my parents still try to call a cabin out in the foothills.”

Geralt laughed and pulled his hand away, “Okay, that can be the answer.”

“Is that it? Now we just say bye?” Jaskier looked between Geralt and the camera.

Geralt shrugged, “Yeah. You wanna say the thing?”

Jaskier wiggled with a little pride and excitement, “Don’t forget to like and subscribe! Bye Fuckers!”

They both waved for a couple seconds before Geralt got up and turned the camera off. He popped out the memory card and was going to immediately start loading it onto his computer but Jask hooked his finger through a belt loop as he walked past and tugged him back down.

“I’m tired. Snuggle with me.”

Geralt hummed, “We just snuggled that whole time.”

Jaskier heaved a dramatic sigh, “I know and this is exhausting. I don’t know how you talk to a camera all day.”

Geralt stretched to set the chip on top of his laptop before collapsing back on top of Jaskier who had stretched the length of the couch, “Are you making fun of me?” he teased.

Jaskier cupped his face between his hands and pulled him up for a deep kiss, “Oh never.”

#geraskier #gamer geralt #streamer geralt #teacher jaskeir #noob jaskeir #geraskier boyfriends #geraskier fluff #soft geraskier #the witcher #the witcher fic #geraskier fic #geraskier modern au #the witcher modern au #look this is so self indulgent i hope yall still like it #lmao

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jamespotterthefirst · 4 years ago

Note

Can u write a small fic where a female intern is flirting shamelessly with ethan and he is completely unaware of it😂😂(well his mind is actually not on her but on lilac he just pretends to listen😂🤣) and lilac sees this sets intern in her place(they r married at that point) and it is only fair if lilac is also jealous😛

Autograph

Book: Open Heart Pairing: Dr. Ethan Ramsey x f!MC (Dr. Lilac Allende) Word count: 800 Warning: language

It isn't until the roaring of the blender comes to a complete stop that Ethan realizes someone has been talking to him this whole time. Although, in all honesty, his distraction had nothing to do with the crowded, bustling coffeehouse and everything to do with the picture coming into his phone's inbox. Lilac's beautiful face contorted into the most ridiculous expression, one Ethan always pretends to mock even when it leaves him glowing with contentment.

“Dr. Ramsey?” a voice says next to him.

It's a short, blonde intern he remembers from rounds that morning. At least, he thinks it's the same one he is remembering. They all blend together into a swirl of terrified faces at this point.

The blonde smiles coyly, parting her lips deliberately, her posture straightening.

Ethan is unmoved, teetering on the edge of impatience.

“Dr. Ramsey,” she repeats, his name uttered with the cadence of a breathless murmur. It almost drowns in the clattering background, forcing him to strain to hear her.

Ethan is already annoyed.

“Is there something I can do for you, Doctor. Or can it wait until after I'm done enjoying a scrap of peace during my free time?”

The young intern pouts her lips and, to Ethan's dismay, she doesn't look offended or discouraged. Instead, she produces a hardcover book from her bag, holding it up to Ethan like an of offering to a vengeful god.

When he peers down at it, he can see it's a brand new copy of his book, complete with plastic wrap and price tag.

“I was wondering if you could sign my book?” She makes her voice deliberately melodious, no doubt thinking it irresistible.

“No.”

This does give her pause.

“What? But—”

“I don't do autographs.”

The brash intern opens her mouth as though to argue. Ethan waits, almost stunned with disbelief, though his face betrays nothing. Maybe Lilac is right (as always) and he was going soft. No intern who valued their job or their dignity would have dared challenged him years ago.

Well, except maybe one.

“Don't take it personally,” a soft voice says from a few feet away, sending every nerve ending in his body into high alert. “The last time he autographed someone's book, the person just gave it away as if it were a Nicholas Sparks novel.”

Ethan readies a stern, disapproving glare but the sight of Lilac, looking fiercely irresistible in an elegant and rather form fitting pant suit, easily inspires a fond smile instead. Lilac, on the other hand, is far from smiling, sending a cool, assessing look at the puzzled intern.

“It was an overall traumatic experience for him so he doesn't do them anymore.”

Ethan narrows his eyes at her when their gazes finally meet. This brightens her expression with amusement, the hard edge of her features softening considerably as she gives him a charming little smile.

“I don't under—” the befuddled intern begins.

The words halt abruptly, however, because at that very moment, Lilac settles into his side, her arm encircling his waist, her body fitting like a puzzle piece against his. Green eyes glance up to meet his from behind those cute spectacles she started wearing a few years back, her cheeks glowing the prettiest shade of pink from the mid October chill. Pulse affluter, he decides he cannot resist another second without kissing her in greeting.

The intern, whom Ethan had forgotten about, lets out a surprised squeak.

“Dr. Ramsey, I didn't know you were—”

“Married?” He doesn't hide the irritation at being interrupted. “Happily so. A fact you could have discovered with a modicum of research before deciding to flirt with one of your attendings.”

The intern clutches the book to her chest, mortified. In the end, she escapes back to Edenbrook, dignity in shreds.

“You are quite the celebrity, Dr. Ramsey, ” Lilac teases, exaggerating the intern's breathy tone.

The tiny space around them tightens with customers and Ethan pulls her close in front of him.

“Are you jealous, Dr. Allende?”

“Yes,” she returns without hesitation. “I'm big enough to admit I don't enjoy it when my husband gets hit on with my own autograph move.”

Ethan laughs.

Hands at the dip of her waist, he leans in to whisper, “So are you finally admitting you were hitting on me that day?”

“In your dreams, Dr. Ramsey. ”

She is taunting him again, her voice an alluring, breathy murmur. Hearing it from her in that sexy, dark whisper, has his skin humming like an exposed wire.

“Say it again.”

“Your name?”

“Yes. The same way you just did.”

She gives him a devilish little smirk, eyes glinting in the gold lighting of the coffee shop. Her voice is a lush whisper, barely audible over the blenders, but Ethan leans in to catch every word.

“No. I only call you that at work,” she begins casually. Then her voice plunges dangerously. “Or in bed.”

Ethan groans.

The barista calls out their order, completely breaking the spell.

“Come on,” she says with a laugh, tugging at his hand. “We only have twenty minutes of lunch left. For now, I'll have to keep you awake and alert with good coffee.”

A/N: Again, a little piece of nothingness. Thank you anon for this. And also, other anons (old and new) I am working on a few of your requests! (Coming up are the Ethan with the kids request, the parent jealousy request, and Naveen with a neighbor request from months ago)

Thank you for reading!

Perma Tags (All Works/Edits)

@openheart12, @takeharryandgo , @aestheticartsx, @rookie-ramsey , @utterlyinevitable, @doilooklikeiknow, @snesdudes, @paulfwesley, @nikki-2406, @mvalentine, @casey-v, @blossomanarchy, @rookieoh, @lucy-268, @maurine07, @bellcat2010 , @iemcpbchoices , @potionsprefect , @heauxplesslydevoted , @writinghereandthere , @schnitzelbutterfingers , @gryffindordaughterofathena , @lovingramsey , @dr-ramseys-rookie , @udishaman , @forallthatitsworth , @canigetanawwjunk, @thegreentwin , @blainehellyes , @parkerattano , @lady-calypso , @nazarihoe , @rookiemarsswiftie , @queencarb , @fayeswiftie , @trappedinfanfiction , @alina-yol-ramsey , @chasingrobbie , @ashiiknees , @professorkingslay , @whimsicallywayward15 , @mysticalgalaxysstuff , @red-rookie , @bluebellot , @ramseysrookiex , @i-bloody-love-drake-walker , @interobanginyourmom , @mercury84choices , @drariellevalentine , @caroldxnvxrs, @gardeningoumet , @enmchoices, Except Bryce x MC: @openheartthot , @casey-v , @binny1985 , @tsrookie, @perriewinklenerdie , @drakewalkerfantasy , @choicesfanaf (except Bryce x MC/ Blaine x MC)

Open Heart- Ethan x f!MC Only

@octobereighth, @helloblueeyedcat , @genevievemd , @stygianflood , @ohchoices, @aworldoffandoms, @mysticaurathings , @myusualnerdyself , @ruinedbypixels, @custaroonie, @caseyvalentineramsey, @jooous, @aarisa-frost, @choicesaddict5 , @sizzlingcashherohumanoid

Unsorted tags (Assumed Ethan x MC)

*Please message me if you want to be moved or removed <3

@kites-in-our-skies, @kingliam2019, @cinnamonspongecake, @ethxnrxmsey, @missmiimiie, @jens-diamondchoices, @apphia12, @kalogh, @binny1985, @queenbirbs, @honeyandsunfl0wers, @newcolonies, @lilyvalentine, @rigatonireid, , @lilypills, @nooruleman, @lonely-mxxnlight, @shadynaturehilariouscookie @togetherwearerapture, @rookiemarsswiftie, @hatescapsicum, @choices-lurker, @kiara-36, @junehiratas, @danijimenezv, @macy-ray85, @adrex04, @sanchita012, @overwhelminglyaquarius , @scorpiochick8, @skylarklyon, @starrystarrytrouble, @ethanrcmsey, @a-crepusculo, @quacksonlover , @ramseyandrys, @whatchique, @varikasnuori, @dimitriwife, @shanzay44, @fabi-en-ciel, @trebondialanna, @ashiiknees, @alookseeblog, @whimsicallywayward15

@emotionalswift2, @lion-ess24, @forcverandalways

#Open Heart #Ethan Ramsey #Ethan x MC #Playchoices #My writing #Open Heart fanfiction #Ethan Ramsey Fanfiction #Anonymous

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wintervvidow · 4 years ago

Text

apricity pt. three

apricity - the warmth of the sun in winter

warnings: angst, vomit mention, violence

pairing: bucky barnes x female oc

word count: 4,200

A/N: this is a bit of a filler chapter yet still very important! I did have to use google translate for the Russian, so if it is incorrect, please let me know and I'm very sorry if it is! Thank you 💕

MASTERLIST

“Я готов отвечить.” ( Ready to comply.)

The December air was cold as it blew through Florence’s hair, her arms circling Bucky’s waist as they rode down the dark road on Bucky’s motorcycle. The soldier steered with one arm, free hand coming down to rub circles on the redhead’s calf as they pulled behind a cluster of trees, hiding them from onlookers as they waited. The pair of assassins were unthawed and reset only hours ago, immediately given their latest mission.

A car came into view, red tail lights illuminating the air around them. Bucky flipped the bike’s headlight on and pulled onto the road again. The soldier revved the bike, catching up to the side of the vehicle as Florence sunk her butterfly knife into the tire, causing the car to swerve off the road and crash into a building.

Bucky parked the bike ahead of the crash, Florence stepping off the bike, Bucky behind her, and approaching the car. She flipped open the trunk to reveal a large silver briefcase, opening it to see five bags of blue liquid; exactly what they were looking for.

This was the last mission the Winter Soldier and the Winter Widow would ever go on.

Florence bolted up in the cheap hotel bed, Bucky’s screams reverbing in her brain. HYDRA always made her watch when Bucky was reprogrammed, a way to keep Florence in line and remind her who she was; just a puppet.

The last mission was always a common nightmare in the rotation of dreams Florence had, continuously taunting her. She disappeared only two weeks after it, abandoning everything she had grown accustomed to and the only person she had ever loved.

Florence couldn't go back to sleep, instead deciding on making herself coffee, the microwave clock mocking her, 4:34 a.m. She sipped her coffee slowly at the small kitchenette table, patiently waiting to start her day as she watched the clock tick away until it became 6:30 a.m., a reasonable enough hour to be awake for Steve to not worry.

The team was in Lagos, following a lead on Brock Rumlow, who had been causing quite the headache in the past few months, this time his target was deadly weapons from the Institute For Infectious Diseases.

Florence and Natasha sat across from each other listening to Steve and Wanda Maximoff converse about their surroundings through their earpieces, doing their best to remain anonymous and still get the intel under the hot noon sun.

“You see that Range Rover halfway up the block?” Steve asked Wanda as she fiddled with the sugar packet in her hand.

“Yeah, the red one? It’s cute.”

“It’s also bulletproof, which means private security, which means more guns...which means more headaches for somebody. Probably us.” Florence smirked at Natasha’s response as she took a sip of her coffee, savoring the caffeine.

Wanda chirped back through her radio, ‘You guys know I can move things with my mind, right?”

Florence glanced at Wanda across the cafe, “Looking over your shoulder needs to become second nature.”

Sam’s voice floated through their earpieces from the rooftop above, “Anybody ever told you two you’re a little paranoid?”

The two redheads shared a knowing look with small smirks adorning their faces, “Not to either of our faces. Why? Did you hear something?” Florence’s tone was light, but both she and Natasha knew the darkness behind it; the Red Room made them that way.

Steve, ever the serious man, refocused the small group, “Eyes on target, folks. This is the best lead we’ve had on Rumlow in six months. I don’t want to lose him.”

Sam scoffed in the mic, “If he sees us coming, that won’t be a problem. He kind of hates us.”

There was a pause in time before Steve spoke, “Sam, see that garbage truck? Tag it.” Sam deployed Redwing, giving Sam and the team the information they needed, “That truck’s loaded for max weight. And the driver’s armed.”

Natasha glanced at Florence, the pair not too thrilled to be dealing with this particular situation, “It’s a battering ram.”

“Go now.”

Wanda questioned Steve into her mic, the tension had just risen significantly.

“He’s not hitting the police.”

The team scattered, Steve, Wanda, and Sam going after Rumlow while Florence and Natasha were both on motorcycles racing down the street.

“Rumlow has a biological weapon.”

Natasha revved her bike, “I’m on it.” The redhead purposely crashed her bike, flinging it into an armed guard. Florence ditched her bike, joining Natasha in the fight.

A guard swung at Florence, missing his target as she ducked and swept his feet from underneath the attacker. Natasha took down two more guards while Florence took down three more, tossing the last guard on the ground like a sack of potatoes.

Florence and Natasha were attacked by Rumlow, neither of the two women able to effectively take him down. The two were shoved into a tank, Rumlow dropping a bomb in before latching the door closed. They surveyed their surroundings quickly; two guards with guns aiming at them. Florence kicked one unconscious while Natasha grabbed the other guard and used him as a human shield when the grenade exploded, grabbing Florence on the way down.

Black smoke filled the air, the smell of fire making it hard to breathe, sending the pair of assassins into a coughing fit on the ground. Looking up, they could see Steve being blown back into the building by an explosion, their ears ringing from the volume. Steve sent Sam after Rumlow, who was in an AFV heading north.

Natasha relocated the ditched bike and got on, pulling Florence behind her. The younger assassin revved the bike as they entered the street, Florence holding onto her.

Sam called out the offenders, clocking four of them splitting up.

Natasha stopped the bike and looked at Florence before splitting up, “I got the two on the left, you take the right.”

Florence sprinted down the busy street, dodging and weaving the crowd. Her targets came into view ahead of her, the girl sent a throwing star their way, effectively knocking him to the ground with no way to run. The girl grabbed the man, searching the bag furiously, trying to locate the weapon, “It’s not here!” Sam replied back, not having the weapon either.

Natasha called over the mic, “I have it.” Florence sighed in relief, moving to meet back up with the team.

She came upon Steve, who had Rumlow on the ground in front of him. She approached the scene cautiously, listening to the exchange.

“You know, he knew you and that redhead, Florence. Your pal, your buddy, your Bucky.” Rumlow whispered tauntingly at Steve.

Florence approached from behind, grabbing Rumlow’s hair and yanking him back, putting a knife to his throat, “What did you say?” The flip switched in Florence’s brain at the mention of Bucky, nothing else mattering anymore. She didn’t care that people were probably filming her with a knife to someone’s throat, and Steve made no move to stop her.

The disfigured man laughed as the knife dug deeper against his neck, staring up at Florence, “He remembered you. I was there. He got all weepy about it. Always screaming about you.” He then looked at Steve, “Till they put his brain back in a blender. He wanted you to know something. He said to me, ‘Please tell Rogers. When you gotta go, you gotta go.’ And you’re coming with me.” Rumlow’s thumb pressed a detonation device, Florence and Steve noticing it at the same time.

Wanda was behind them, containing the explosion of fire with her powers, keeping Steve and Florence from becoming red mist. The newest member sent Rumlow up and into the building in front of them. The building went up in flames, the leftover gasses from Rumlow’s bombs reacting to the fire and exploding. The bystanders screamed and ran as Wanda looked on in horror at what she had just done, hand clamping over her face.

Florence gently guided the girl away from the scene, “Hey, come one. We have to go, this isn’t on you, okay?”

Behind them, Steve called for Sam to request Fire & Rescue before he took off to go save people from the building, leaving Florence to console the distraught brunette.

A month later, the team was back at the Avengers Compound, Florence sitting with Steve as they watched the news.

“Eleven Wakandans were among those killed during a confrontation between the Avengers and a group of mercenaries in Lagos, Nigeria last month. The traditionally reclusive Wakandans were on an outreach mission in Lagos, when the attack occurred.”

The TV switched to show King T’Chacka of Wakanda’s speech:

“Our people’s blood is spilled on foreign soil, not only because of the actions of criminals, ut by the indifference of those pledged to stop them. Victory at the expense of the innocent is no victory at all.”

Steve turned the TV off, the only other sound in the compound coming from Wanda’s TV in her room. Florence got up to go speak to the girl before Steve stopped her, “I’ll go.” Steve and Wanda were taking the Lagos incident the hardest, both blaming themselves. The mention of Bucky had made both Florence and Steve freeze until it was too late, leaving Wanda to deal with the bomb that now plagues her consciousness. Florence watched as Steve walked off until he wasn’t visible anymore for her to turn on her heel to head to the kitchen.

The redhead was in dire need of coffee, the cup she had that morning had worn off. The nightmares amplified after Rumlow’s supposed confession about Bucky, the girl had hardly slept more than two hours a night. When she did sleep it was restless, nightmares of Bucky haunting every corner of her mind. She managed to make it through half her mug before she was called downstairs for a meeting with Tony and the Secretary of State.

Secretary Ross sighed heavily as he stood at the head of the table of Avengers as he mimicked his golf swing, “Five years ago, I had a heart attack and dropped right in the middle of my backswing. Turned out it was the best round of my life because after 13 hours of surgery and a triple bypass, I found something 40 years in the Army had never taught me. Perspective. The world owes the Avengers an unpayable debt. You have fought for us, protected us, risked your lives, but while a great many people see you as heroes, there are some who would prefer the word ‘vigilantes’.”

Next to Florence, Natasha spoke with a smirk adorning her face, “What word would you use, Mr. Secretary?”

Secretary Ross looked up from the table, “How about ‘dangerous’? What would you call a group of US-based, enhanced individuals who routinely ignore sovereign borders and inflict their will wherever they choose and who, frankly, seem unconcerned about what they leave behind?”

Ross stepped aside from the table, allowing the full view to be on the screen in front of the table, showing various clips of incidents the Avengers were involved in. Everyone at the table grimaced at the screen, not proud of what it was showing. Ross flipped through events of New York, Washington D.C., Sokavia and Lagos before Steve had enough, noting Wanda’s demeanor change and telling Ross to turn it off.

“For the past four years, you’ve operated with unlimited power and no supervision. That’s an arrangement the governments of the world can no longer tolerate. But I think we have a solution.” Ross paused, placing a large file on the table in front of Wanda who passed it on to Rhodey, “The Sokovia Accords. Approved by 117 countries, it states that the Avengers shall no longer be a private organization. Instead, they’ll operate under the supervision of a United Nations panel only when and if that panel deems it necessary.”

Steve spoke from the end of the table, “The Avengers were formed to make the world a safer place. I feel we’ve done that.”

Ross looked down at Steve, “Tell me, Captain, do you know where Thor and Banner are right now? If I misplaced a couple of 30 megaton nukes, you can bet there’d be consequences. Compromise. Reassurance. That’s how the world works. Believe me, this is the middle ground.”

Rhodey gestured to the accords “So, there are contingencies.”

Ross shrugged, “Three days from now, the UN meets in Vienna to ratify the Accords. Talk it over.”

Ross began to leave until Natasha stopped him, “And if we come to a decision you don’t like?”

“Then you retire.” Ross left after that, leaving the team to discuss.

The team was arguing amongst themselves as Florence stared at the ceiling with her feet on the table, listening to various points being made while Rhodey and Sam debated behind Steve while Tony rolled his eyes.

“Secretary Ross has a Congressional Medal of Honor, which is one more than you have.”

Sam crossed his arms over his chest, “So let’s say we agree to this thing. How long is it gonna be before they LoJack us like a bunch of common criminals?”

“117 countries want to sign this. 117, Sam, and you’re just like, ‘No, that’s cool. We got it.’”

Sam cut Rhodey off, “How long are you going to play both sides?”

Vision interrupted from his spot on the couch next to Wanda, “I have an equation.”

Sam moved to stand behind Florence, his voice dripping in sarcasm, “Oh, this will clear it up.”

Vision continued, “In the eight years since Mr. Stark announced himself as Iron Man, the number of known enhanced persons has grown exponentially. During the same period, the number of potentially world-ending events has risen at a commensurate rate.”

“Are you saying it’s our fault?” Steve spoke with the Accords in hand.

“I’m saying there may be a causality. Our very strength invited challenge. Challenge incites conflict. And conflict,” Vision paused, “breeds catastrophe. Oversight, oversight is not an idea that can be dismissed out of hand.”

Rhodey looked to Sam, “Boom.”

Natasha spoke from her spot at the table, “Tony, you are being uncharacteristically non-hyperverbal.” Tony rolled his eyes exaggeratedly.

“It’s because he’s already made up his mind.”

Tony grumbled at Steve’s statement, “Boy, you know me so well.” Tony rose from the couch, cradling his head as he walked over to the kitchen, “Actually, I’m nursing an electromagnetic headache. That’s what’s going on, Cap. It’s just pain. It’s discomfort.” Tony grabbed a coffee mug, looking into the sink, “Who’s putting coffee grounds in the disposal?”

Natasha looked at Florence with a knowing look about her coffee-sleep- problem while Tony continued complaining behind them, “Am I running a bed and breakfast for a biker gang?”

Tony placed his phone in the fruit basket, a small hologram emitting from it of a young man, “Oh, that’s Charles Spencer, by the way. He’s a great kid. Computer engineering degree, 3.6 GPA, had a floor-level gig at Intel planned for the fall. But first, he wanted to put a few miles on his soul, before he parked it behind a desk, See the world. Maybe be of service. Charlie didn’t want to go to Vegas or Fort Lauderdale, which is what I would do. He didn’t go to Paris or Amsterdam, which sounds fun. He decided to spend his summer building sustainable housing for the poor. Guess where. Sokovia.” Tony paused, allowing the words to sink in painfully, “He wanted to make a difference, I suppose. We won’t know because we dropped a building on him while we were kicking ass. There’s no decision-making process here. We need to be put in check! Whatever form that takes, I’m game. If we can’t accept limitations, if we’re boundary-less, we’re no better than the bad guys.”

Steve began speaking, “Tony, someone dies on your watch, you don’t give up.”

“Who said we’re giving up?”

“We are if we’re not taking responsibility for our actions. This document just shifts the blame.”

Rhodey speaks up, pointing at Steve, “I’m sorry, Steve. This is dangerously arrogant. This is the United Nations we’re talking about. It’s not the World Security Council, it’s not S.H.I.E.L.D., it’s not HYDRA.”

Florence practically flinched at Rhodey’s mention of HYDRA as Steve cut him off, “No, but it’s run by people with agendas, and agendas change.”

Tony walked towards the group, “That’s good. That’s why I’m here. When I realized what my weapons were capable of in the wrong hands, I shut it down and stopped manufacturing.”

Steve interrupted, “Tony, you chose to do that. If we sign this, we surrender our right to choose. What if this panel sends us somewhere we don’t think we should go? What if there’s somewhere we need to go and they don’t let us? We may not be perfect, but the safest hands are still our own.” The team all shared looks, silently gauging their stances.

Tony looked down at Steve, “If we don’t do this now, it’s gonna be done to us later. That’s the fact. That won’t be pretty.”

Wanda, who had been silent the entire meeting, spoke from her seat next to Vision, “You’re saying they’ll come for me.”

Vision spoke beside her, “We would protect you.”

“Maybe Tony’s right,” All eyes darted to Natasha, “If we have one hand on the wheel, we can still steer. If we take it off-”

Sam cut her off, “Aren’t you the same woman who told the government to kiss her ass a few years ago?”

“I’m just reading the terrain. We have made some very public mistakes. We need to win their trust back.” Florence was slightly shocked at Natasha’s statement. She had assumed that she wouldn’t be signing, not wanting to walk back into a potential puppet situation.

Tony leaned against his chair, looking at Natasha baffled, “Focus up. I’m sorry. Did I just mishear you or did you agree with me?”

Natasha shook her head, “I want to take it back now.”

“No, no, no, you can’t retract it. Thank you. Unprecedented. Okay. Case closed. I win.”

Florence noticed Steve’s phone buzzing, watching his face fall as he read the notification, “I have to go.” The team watched as Steve bolted out of the room.

Days later, Florence was seated between Steve and Sam as they attended Peggy Carter’s funeral in London. The girl was never close to Peggy in the ’40s, she only spoke to her briefly, but Florence knew Steve would need support. The trio watched from the pew as Sharon Carter, Peggy’s niece and an ex S.H.I.E.L.D agent, spoke about her aunt. Sharon had grown to be a friend and an ally to the team, helping them out during the Battle of Triskelion.

The funeral ended quickly, Florence standing outside with Sam while Steve remained in the chapel. A familiar redhead passed by, Florence grabbing Natasha’s arm gently, “Nat? What are you doing here?”

“I came to see Steve, then I’m off to Vienna to sign the Accords.”

Florence furrowed her brows, “You’re signing it? Who else signed?”

Natasha shrugged, “Yeah, it’s what seems right. Tony, Rhodey and Vision have signed. Clint says he’s retired and Wanda is TBD. You?”

“I can’t.” Florence wanted to but was immensely torn. She didn’t see a way to function properly under the Accords, and her best bet was to not sign, much to Natasha’s dismay. Florence remained paranoid after the Red Room and HYDRA, even more so than the redhead in front of her. She wanted it to be easy, to sign the Accords without any second thoughts, but she couldn’t bring herself to do it.

Natasha smiled softly at her friend, “I figured. But there’s room on the jet if you change your mind.”

“Thanks, Nat, but I’ll pass. Go see Steve.” The two girls hugged briefly, Natasha pulling away and entering the chapel.

Hours later, both Sam and Florence’s phone vibrated, alerting a notification, the pair taking out their devices and reading ‘UNITED NATIONS COMPLEX BOMBED’

The two looked up from their phones in fear, immediately on the hunt to find Steve.

They found him in the lobby of Sharon’s hotel, having walked her back after Natasha left hours ago. Sam stopped in front of him, “Steve, there’s something you need to see.”

The trio stood in front of the TV of their shared hotel room as the news anchor spoke, “A bomb hidden in news van ripped through the UN building in Vienna.”

Sharon paced behind them while she was on the phone.

“More than 70 people have been injured. At least 12 are dead, including Wakanda’s King T’Chaka. Officials have released a video of a suspect, who they have identified as James Buchanan Barnes, the Winter Soldier. The infamous HYDRA agent linked to numerous acts of terrorism and political assassinations.”

The screen played a clip of the alleged suspect, Bucky, and Florence felt like she was going to be sick. Her stomach dropped and she could feel Sam’s gaze on her. It couldn’t be him. It couldn’t be him. It couldn’t be him.

Sharon interrupted Steve and Florence’s internal spiral, “I have to go to work.”

Florence remained in front of the TV, trying to talk herself out of believing that Bucky would do this. He would have been acting alone. He wouldn’t have done this, this wasn’t the man she knew. She knew he was out of HYDRA’s clutches and was on his own, it couldn’t be him.

Steve grabbed her wrist gently, turning her away from the TV, “We have to go to Vienna, come on.”

Florence and Steve made it to Vienna along with Sam, both leaning against a tree with hats and sunglasses in an attempt to remain unknown. Steve pulled out his phone, dialing Natasha’s number. Florence ignored their conversation as she stared emotionless at the ground. The air was still heavy with smoke from the bombing as Steve spotted Natasha a few yards away, her ignorant to the fact that Steve and Florence were here.

After Steve hung up, Florence’s phone began to ring, Natasha’s contact lighting up the screen. She shared a look with Steve before answering, “Hey.”

Natasha wasted no time getting to the point, “Look, I know how much Barnes means to you, trust me I get it, but don’t do anything stupid. You need to stay home and regroup.”

Florence sighed into the phone, “Nat, you know I can’t do that.” Florence ended the call before Natasha could respond, quickly pocketing the phone in her black jacket and walking away.

Florence and Steve entered a restaurant, quickly spotting Sam at the bar.

Sam placed his food down, “She tell you to stay out of it?” Steve and Florence’s silence was answer enough for Sam, “Might have a point.”

Steve pursed his lips, “He’d do it for me.”

“1945, maybe.” Florence glared at Sam through her glasses as he continued speaking, “I just want to make sure we consider all our options. The people that shoot at you two usually end up shooting at me.”

Sam didn’t know him. Steve didn’t know the ‘new’ him. Out of the two, she had known Bucky the longest, loving him through the good and the bad. Even when he was the darkest parts of the Winter Soldier, Florence still held love for him in her heart because she knew what HYDRA made him into. And when Florence’s reflection was unfamiliar to herself, whether she was covered in someone else’s blood or she had been reprogrammed, Bucky kept her from falling apart in the Red Room. It couldn’t be him.

Sharon made her way up the bar, standing next to Steve as she updated the group, “Tips have been pouring in since that footage went public. Everybody thinks the Winter Soldier goes to their gym. Most of its noise.” Sharon slid a file over to Steve, “Except for this. My boss expects a briefing, pretty much now, so that’s all the head start you’re gonna get.”

Florence thanked Sharon as she left to leave, “You’re all gonna have to hurry. We have orders to shoot on sight.” Again, the feeling of bile worked its way up Florence’s throat, forcing herself to choke it down. Her hands shook at her sides as she took in Sharon’s words. She wouldn’t let that happen, even if it ended up killing her. She was going to save him.

Steve read over the file quickly, Sam and Florence looking at him expectantly, ”He’s in Romania.”

The location shouldn’t have shocked Florence as much as it did. A lot happened in Romania between herself and Bucky, she shouldn’t be surprised he went there. He probably didn’t even realize why he went to Bucharest, the action must have felt familiar. She should have began their search there two years ago, Florence was angry with herself for missing such an important place to them both. And God, did Romania have painful roots in the soldiers’ and widows’ lives.

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ateezmakemeweep · 4 years ago

Text

richboy!yeosang (part 4)

word count: 7k

fluff

(part 3) (series masterlist)

when you look back on your pregnancy, you’re not gonna remember the rocky start you and yeosang both had.

your immense fear and yeosang’s anger and just an overall feeling of dread and hysteria that comes with an accidental pregnancy.

it’ll be all the little moments in between that stick with you, the cute stuff and the hard stuff and the wide range of emotions that didn’t even fully prepare you and yeosang for what was to come in parenthood.

three months:

“this is cute.”

you look over at yeosang holding a tiny pink onesie with the brightest smile on his face, strawberries and cherries scattered around the soft fabric.

you mirror his smile as you walk closer to him, cocking your head to the side as you narrow your eyes at him.

“just say you want it be a girl already. i know you do.”

it’d been the debate going on between you two for the past few weeks, you not admitting you want a boy and him not admitting he wants a girl; but you can just tell he does, little comments he makes and the things he picks out when you pop in stores during sunday errands.

“because it’s pink? it could be for a boy, too,” yeosang says, “that doesn’t mean anything.”

you bite back the smirk threatening to take over your face, not letting it slip that, sometimes, you’ll hear him talking quietly at night. speaking into the darkness about how much he’s wanted to have a little girl to spoil.

“but you can’t tell your mommy,” he teased, his voice in a hushed whisper.

he now also has a habit of slipping his hands under your shirt (or more often, his that you stole) and splaying his fingers across your warm skin.

your stomach is just starting to show, the slightest indication of a bump forming that made his heart warm way more than he ever expected to feel; he knew he’d love to see you pregnant but he had no idea how much it was really gonna effect him.

watching as your body transformed seamlessly in order to carry his child.

“not that we should keep secrets from mommy, she just already knows everything,” he corrects, grateful to have your face hidden in his chest so he doesn’t see you smile.

“i can’t wait for you to meet her. she’s gonna be a lot better at this than me but hopefully you like me, too, baby girl.”

and you don’t have the heart to tell him you hear him at night, nor do you have the heart to tell him the person growing inside of you won’t be able to hear him for a few more weeks.

but you love how quickly he’s grown comfortable with this idea of becoming a father, finding solace in speaking hushly and sweetly when no one but them are around to hear.

“it has nothing to do with that,” you squeak, poking at his chest and giggling when he grabs your hand. “i just know. i know everything, right?”

his eyes narrow suspiciously and you have to control the laugh threatening to bubble up from your chest, instead giggling more when he tosses the onesie in the cart and guides you in front of the cart.

your back is against his chest as you two push the cart together, lingering in the newborn section for far too long as you excitedly look through clothes, books, and toys you already know are gonna clutter the apartment before the baby’s arrival.

four months:

your eating habits before pregnancy were, admittedly, rather picky.

everyone in your life had always made fun of you for having the palate of a toddler, straying from anything that didn’t look appetizing or produced a mildly unpleasant smell.

that’s why, after tons of research and reading up on the journey of pregnancy, yeosang was humored to hear about ‘unusual cravings’ that come about in the first and second trimester.

“i don’t know, baby, i can’t see you eating anything too disgusting. you’re kind of picky.”

“you’re kind of picky,” you immaturely mock because if pregnancy brain is giving you anything, it’s a lack of witty comebacks and remarks to your smart ass boyfriend.

a snort leaves yeosang’s mouth as he piles fruit into the blender, being sure to add a few extra blueberries after the doctor told you guys it was a good power food to implement into your diet.

it was something that, no matter how hormonal and scatter-brained, you were noticing. how sweet and attentive and just... into the pregnancy he was.

it was almost shocking you, to be honest.

because you knew yeosang was sweet, that the tough guy persona he attempts to put up around others is just a macho act, but this whole journey is really making you see just how caring your boyfriend is.

how he’s so accommodating to you and will drop everything the moment you open your mouth to ask him for something.

how when your parents were, while in the end thrilled to be grandparents, hesitant and nervous and asked if you wanted to move back in for help, insisted he would take care of you and the baby and they’d have nothing to worry about.

how everything that should be difficult during this is just so easy because of him, your level of comfort and happiness exponentially high.

he places your smoothie on the table before leaving a parting kiss on your head, telling you that he’ll be home early and will see you later. you smile and wave happily before resting back on the couch, sipping at your drink as you catch up on school work.

and it’s that same sight that greets yeosang when he comes home a few hours later, emptied cup on the table and your closed laptop resting on your stomach as you nap soundly.

a smile lights up his face and a warmth spreads over his entire body upon seeing you, any stress or irritation from his work day quickly fading away as he makes his way over to you.

he bends down and brushes hair from your face, his eyes roaming every feature; he’s excited to see what your child is gonna look like.

if she’ll (because something is just telling him it’s a girl, or maybe it’s just his wishful thinking and hopes), have your eyes or his nose. if she’s gonna have your personality, sweet and gentle with just enough spunk, or be more like him.

his eyes travel down to your shirt-covered stomach, a small smile on his face as he recalls the first time you noticed the change.

it was after you took a bath, body aching and sore as your body adjusted to morning sickness.

it was something so small and subtle but you had noticed just before wrapping the towel around yourself, your eyes narrowing as you turned to the side.

“yeosang?” he heard from the bedroom, pushing his laptop and books away as he makes his way to the en suite.

there was no sense of urgency in your voice but he still felt the overwhelmingly need to get to you, some innate protectiveness in him spiking anytime you call his name these days.

“yeah, my love?” he hums, his eyes widening and a smirk crossing his face when he’s greeted by your naked body.

“oh?” he hums, making his way over and gripping your bare hips. “i would’ve joined you in here earlier if i knew you wanted to-”

“not that, you perv,” you whine, pushing him away lightly before placing your hand on your lower stomach.

he notices your placement and immediately snaps out of his lustful daze, his eyes watching you carefully for any hint of pain or discomfort; but instead, he’s greeted with the sight of excitement shining in your eyes.

“does my stomach look different to you?” you ask, the small smile on your face making his heat pang in his chest. “there’s a little bump.”

“well no shit, baby,” he teases lightly, his hands going back on your stomach as he looks at you through the mirror. “gotta fit her in there somehow.”

you bite back the smirk on your lips as you meet his gaze, your eyebrow raising before he throws his hands up innocently.

“or him. gotta find them in there somehow.”

you let out a huff before rolling your eyes, turning back to look at yourself in the mirror.

you knew you were gonna see some sort of change soon but it’s like finally seeing it begin is making it all sink in. that you’re gonna get bigger and rounder and really start to look and feel more pregnant.

and while you obviously know that’s a part of this, that makes you a little nervous, too. watching as your body changes and you become more-

“you look beautiful.”

you heart jumps at the compliment still, a small smile on your face as you meet his gaze. it’s soft and warm and sweet and only makes your smile grow bigger, your head cocked to the side as you stare back at him.

he didn’t know if you needed to hear that right now, if the way you were looking at yourself was just curious and accepting or if you’re brain was gonna start becoming insecure, but he just felt like he needed to say it.

you don’t know what to say so you don’t say anything, pressing up on your toes to peck his lips sweetly.

you giggle into this kiss when, after you try to pull away, he drags you back to him and deepens it. a squeal leaves your mouth when his hands grip your thighs and pull you up, your legs wrapping immediately around his waist.

your towel falls to the ground with a plop as he makes his way to your bed, throwing you down and smiling wider as your giggle rings through the air.

the gentle lull of fingers running against your skin stirs you awake, a quiet groan escaping you before your eyes flutter open. an uncontrollable smile crosses your lips when you’re able to make out yeosang, his warm hands on your stomach and his soft eyes staring at you.

“hey baby.”

“hi,” you mumble tiredly, your arms outstretched before he chuckles and collapses on top of you. he makes sure to hold himself above you to not crush yo entirely, burying his face in your neck to press short, ticklish kisses.

“you smell good.”

“i haven’t left this couch, i can’t imagine how.”

he pulls back to look down at you, his hand combing though your messy hair and a laugh threatening to leave his mouth.

“have you had anything to eat yet?”

and he has to hold back a gag when you tell him you’ve only had your peanut butter and cheese, the bizarre craving that left you both shocked and surprised.

five months:

“alright, everyone who thinks it’s a girl, say i.”

you roll your eyes when you hear yeosang’s voice boom the loudest “i,” quickly followed by mingi, hongjoong, seonghwa and san.

“alright, so now everyone’s who correct in thinking it’s a boy, say i.”

“i.”

“i-”

“i! will bet my entire bank account that it’s a girl,” san interrupts, nearly throwing his fork across the table as he points it threateningly toward the ‘boy side.’

it was the day before your 18-week check up and nothing could’ve prepared you for the chaos that was to come.

the boys had made it a point to come over once a week ever since you told them the news, swapping between ordering food and bringing home cooked meals to fully prepare for their new lives as uncles.

it was a healthy mix of of fun banter and arguing before an aggressive explosion of debates like these: guessing the sex of the baby, fighting for spots as godparents and seeing who’s meal is gonna satisfy your pregnant self the most.

“anyone need $40?” jongho asks, him and wooyoung the most confident you’ve ever seen that you’re gonna have a baby boy - you wish you were as confident as all of them, because you really don’t know what’s gonna come tomorrow.

“fuck you!” san whines, a giggle leaving you as your hand rests on your stomach and you watch the boys argue back and forth.

yeosang kisses the side of your head as he gathers the plates and cups, seonghwa and yunho quietly talking to you and asking how you’ve been doing.

they knew it was hard for you to make the decision to not enroll in classes for the spring semester, knowing that the later months of pregnancy and baby’s arrival were far too close to finals time.

but you seem to be happy about that decision it seems, basking in the easy going pregnancy you’ve had thus far.

“i’ll probably go back when she’s one or something,” you say absentmindedly, the plan you started concocting in your head when you and yeosang talked about what you were gonna do.

“my parents said they’d be more than happy to watch her on the days i have class so i think it’ll be okay. i’m definitely going back, though.”

seonghwa and mingi shared a look with matching smiles on their faces, something that went unnoticed to you before the other boys quickly came over and stole your attention away.

“looks like you got her thinking it’s a girl, too,” seonghwa mumbles to yeosang, the boy biting back a smile.

he overheard you and couldn’t control the happiness blooming in his chest, watching with a smile as he watches you giggle and hit san and wooyoung’s arms playfully.

by the time the boys left, absolutely overstaying their welcome as they do every time, you were exhausted. laid out on the couch with your head on the arm, eyes threatening to close before yeosang came over and leant down next to you.

“you okay?”

“yeah,” you yawn, running your fingers through his hair lazily. “they’re just a little exhausting.”

“a little?” he hums skeptically, a smirk crossing your face as you hold your arms out to him.

“what?” he smiles, eyes lighting up as he looks at you.

“help me up.”

he pulls you up before scooping you into his arms, a content hum leaving your mouth as he walks toward the bedroom. he places you gently on the bed before pecking your head with a kiss, mumbling for you to change while he gets you a glass of water.

this was the new night time routine like clockwork, yeosang more often that not carrying your exhausted body in before setting you up with water and waiting until you fell asleep soundly on his chest.

he comes in a few moments later to see you already in bed, a smile lighting up your face that has him speeding up to get to you.

your eyes are drooping with your hold on him tight, soft mumbles of “i love you,” in your ear, about to succumb to sleep before you hear his deep voice begin to speak.

“baby, you still up?”

“hm?” you hum sleepily, your chin resting on his chest as you stare up at him with tired eyes.

he smiles softly upon seeing your face, his hand reaching out to caress your cheek gently.

there’s been something about seeing you like this that makes it feels like he’s falling for you again, unable to fully grasp just how much he loves you sometimes. it’s a feeling he once thought was scary, one that he thought he wasn’t even capable of.

but he sees now that’s not the case at all; that, if anything, the feeling only gets stronger and more prevalent the more you two go through.

“you know i really don’t care if it’s a boy or a girl, right?” he asks, the softness and sweetness of his tone making your tired state lessen. “i’m gonna be happy no matter what tomorrow.”

you can’t even control the giggle that leaves your mouth, reaching up to place a kiss on his lips.

“i love you,” you tell him, humor and amusement heavy in your tone not taking away from how true it is.

and from the slight pinkness on his cheeks and the scoff that leaves his mouth, you think he knows you’re only making fun of him a little.

“of course i know that, silly,” you tell him, his eyes narrowing before you snake your hand down and play with his fingers.

“but i do think you’ve convinced me it’s a girl, too,” you sigh out, your head resting back on his chest and your eyes closing. “i’ll also be happy either way, though. i think...we’re gonna be good at this.”

the words are quiet and sweet and making his heart jump. but when he looks down to meet your gaze again, he sees your fast asleep against his chest.

“so....” san drags out at next week��s dinner, the seven boys around the table looking at you and yeosang expectantly. “did you guys find out?”

you and yeosang share a smile and nod at them, the table erupting into a burst of chatter and demands to be told who was right.

“you’re not gonna tell us, are you?” seonghwa asks, the twinge in both your eyes making him far too skeptical.

a smirk crosses your face as you shake your head no, groans of protest and silent curses filling the apartment. they harass you and yeosang for the rest of the night, going as far as to put up money and chore work to know the answer.

but you insist that you’re keeping it a surprise, not even letting mingi or yunho know even though you and yeosang decided that, if they want t, they’re gonna have to be the godparents.

six months:

"this is pretty," you say quietly, tapping your finger on a light yellow that has yeosang’s face falling into a grimace.

"it's not for a nursery, y/n," he mumbles from behind you, the close proximity of his voice causing you to jump.

you hadn't realized he had moved closer to you as you browsed, his chest now pressed up right against your back. you feel the breath of his words grazing your skin as he looks over your shoulder.

"how 'bout that?" he asks, his arm brushing yours as he points to the most hideous shade of brown you'd ever seen.

"that is so ugly," you bluntly state, his deep chuckle rumbling in your ear as he pulls his arm back to rest on your shoulder. you try not to jump at the open affection and touch he's giving you, his hand ever so often squeezing gently.

"oooh, what about this?" you ask, craning your neck up to show him the color sample.

your cheeks nearly touch from how close your faces are now, holding your breath as you watch him look at it before meeting your gaze. you resist the urge to swallow nervously, his teasing eyes now looking right into yours.

"pretty," he mumbles, "it'll do."

“pretty,” you say, laid out on the floor as your eyes roam the freshly painted wall yeosang just finished. “it’ll do.”

“oh will it? i’m glad,” yeosang quips sarcastically, paint on his face and his hair a mess of waves as you giggle into your hand.

keeping the sex of the baby a secret, unfortunately, meant that you and yeosang had no help in painting the nursery.

it was the second guest room that you two never even touched, the white and beige walls in desperate need of some color for your baby’s arrival.

today reminded you heavily of your and yeosang’s first official date, when you shopped around the store with him to pick out the paint for his pool house.

you remember feeling so nervous and out of your element during that time, his chest against your back as you pushed the cart making your heart pound in your chest.

your cheeks warm when your hear his chuckle, his footsteps moving toward you until his arms reach around you to grasp the bar of the cart.

"you know, you talk a lot of shit one minute and then get unbelievably nervous the next," he lowly mumbles in your ear. "quite easily, might i add."

"i'm not nervous," you snap, placing your hands in the middle of the bar as you to start to push it down the aisle. "what gave you that impression?"

“baby, can you hand me that brush please?” he hums softly, your eyes moving to him atop the ladder.

you nod your head with a small smile, doing your best to get up despite the size of your growing stomach; you had thought at this point you’d actually be a little tired of being pregnant but, much to your surprise, it wasn’t annoying you too much.

yet.

“here you go,” you squeak, throwing it up to him just for it to fly past him and clatter back onto the floor by your feet.

he presses his lips together so he doesn’t burst out laughing, his brow raised before you narrow your eyes. it’s a challenge but you eventually bend down and get it, yeosang’s deep chuckles in the background only making you pout.

“i was gonna start helping you again but i don’t think i should,” you say, defiance and a bratty edge in your tone that he’s secretly missed. “how can you laugh at me?”

“you’re just cute, love, i’m sorry,” he smiles, walking a few steps down and pecking a kiss on your head before continuing with the third wall.

you decided on three pastel blue walls with one accent wall of wallpaper, a mural of animals and pretty landscape where you’ll eventually put the baby’s name.

“we still have to decide on a name, you know,” you hum softly, looking around the room.

it stills fills you with a little disbelief that this is what you guys are preparing for, talking about a name for your child and preparing a room for the baby that’s quickly gonna make their appearance into the world.

“i know,” he smiles softly, eyes roaming your face to see it’s calm and tranquil. his number one goal during these past months was to keep you as calm and content as possible, the shaky start to the pregnancy still making him feel guilty.

he turns back to continue the last bit of paint, eyes tired and body aching from hours of painting up and down the walls. you insisted that they hire someone, knowing you wouldn’t be that much help, but he thought this was better.

because similar to you, he couldn’t help but think back to when you painted his pool house together.

when you two were just starting out and he was every bit as nervous and unfamiliar as you. he didn’t think he was deserving of you but he took you anyway, unable to control the feeling in his chest or overwhelmingly desire to see you.

watch your reactions and how you talk to him, even if most of the time you were yelling or rolling your eyes.

“this looks like the same blue we painted the pool house, no?” he asks suddenly, your head snapping up before a smile lights up your face.

you knew he probably remembered the date but you weren’t sure if he’d been thinking the same thing today too.

“it does,” you smile, walking over and picking up your paintbrush. you dip it in the tray and watch the bristles absorb the pretty blue, peeking up at him to see his eyebrows pinched in concentration.

“i think i like this one a little bit better though.”

“me too,” he hums back, a smile on his face that makes your heart jump.

he finishes the wall a few moments later, you still brushing the paint through the tray absentmindedly. his presence in front of you halts your movements, his hand reaching down to help you up gently.

you giggle and immediately accept his hand, pecking his lips as you apologize for not doing more.

“stop,” he chastises, voice soft and sweet as he places a gentle peck on your nose. “you didn’t have to do anything, i just wanted you with me.”

“yeah?” you quip softly, your bottom lip slipping between your teeth as you stare up at him. his eyes darken ever so slightly and you have to resist the urge to laugh, tightening your hold on the paintbrush hidden behind your back.

“mhm,” he hums lowly, his paint-covered hand reaching out to hold your cheek. “are you hungry? i can make you something or we can-”

and even despite his sweet words and even sweeter intentions, it doesn’t stop you from reaching out and smearing the paintbrush across his cheek.

and that's how the first tragedy started, you so boldly dipping your finger in the tray and poking two blue dots on his face.

he stared at you in shock for a second, like he was trying to decipher if you really just did that, while you held back the laugh desperate to bubble out of your chest.

"you didn't."

"i did," you say playfully, "and it shut you up for a few seconds so i just might do it-"

roller in hand, he's quick to smear it over your entire cheek, wet paint grazing your skin and the stray hairs that have fallen out of your bun. your gasp and open-mouthed stare causes his deep chuckle to echo through the pool-house, a sound so foreign to those walls.

"you got my whole face!" you yelp, holding your own roller out like it's a weapon. "i did two little specks on your cheek."

"two specks too many and now you look ridiculous. so i hope you're hap-"

you quickly roll the paint over both his cheeks now, first the right then the left, before dropping it in the pan and running over to the safe zone in the kitchen.

a smile crosses your face as you look at him with a giggle, the boy just standing there in disbelief before his neck snaps up to look at you.

"you're done," is all you hear his deep voice say, the dark teasing causing excitement to run through you until you see him going over to pick up the roller you dropped.

he only stares at you in shock for a few seconds, eyes flashing and face twisting before he shakes his head and grabs onto your waist tightly.

“you’re done.”

you shake your head as a teasing smile makes it way across your face, attempting to run out of the nursery to prevent another paint tragedy from occurring.

but he catches you gently around the waist before you can get further, his arms quickly scooping you up. he plops you down on the couch despite your protests, watching with soft amusement as you giggle and shake your head rapidly.

the rest of the night goes by in a flurry of teasing from him and giggles from you, sharing pizza and soda before it feels as if you hadn’t slept in hours; but this was one of the first days you’ve gone without a nap, your body on top of yeosang despite the ever-present fear you’re gonna crush him.

“if- if i get too heavy, just tell me to get off,” you mumble tiredly, your legs between his as your head rests on his chest.

he chuckles lightly against your head, wrapping his arms around your back and tightening his hold on you immediately.

“that’ll never happen,” he mumbles against your head, feeling your smile against his chest before your breaths even out and you’re fast asleep.

seven months:

it was at this point in the pregnancy you felt as if the happy glow was wearing off.

your stomach was huge, your back was aching, and any time you looked in the mirror, it’s like you didn’t recognize yourself.

your body wasn’t your body anymore and even your face looked different, cheeks fatter and nose wider in a way that, tonight in particular, was getting to you.

“he hates me. i know he does,” you cry out, mingi and yunho looking at you like you’ve grown five heads.

because after you slightly burnt the cookies in the oven you’d been craving, yeosang out with wooyoung and san helping them set up apartment furniture, you’d been on a hormonal, downward spiral since.

you felt big and ugly and undesirable.

you felt as if you looked miserable and depressed and like you didn’t wanna be a mother at all.

you felt like yeosang didn’t love you anymore, sick of doting on you and putting up with your naps and every thing else you’ve annoyed him with for the past seven months.

“i hate the guy most days, y/n, but i can tell you right now he loves you more than anyone else in the world. it’s the only reason i haven’t actually beat his ass.”

yunho lets out a snort, less at mingi’s words and more so at picturing his sweet fiancé beating someone up. but when the boy shoots his head toward him, he sends a smile and nod his way.

“mingi’s right, babe. he could absolutely beat him up and he hasn’t. because we know how much he loves you.”

“he might love me but he doesn’t like me,” you whine, tears brimming your eyes and threatening to overflow.

usually, the second these two boys see you on the verge of tears, they hate it. will do everything in their power to stop it because they hate seeing you so sad and upset.

but this is making them almost wanna laugh, knowing the hormones that come with the later part of the pregnancy can be very daunting.

“he likes you and he loves you, y/n, i can promise you that,” yunho says, the smile on his face making you pull your eyebrows together and let out more cries.

it’s upon yeosang opening the door a few moments later that yunho and mingi shoot up, rushing toward the boy who looks at them in surprise.

“what the-”

“she’s been crying all day and thinks you hate her.”

“actually, she thinks you love her but don’t like her,” mingi whispers, yeosang’s face twisting into one of confusion.

but before he can ask them to explain, or ask what the hell you even meant by that, he hears cries coming from the couch that have him rushing over before the two boys can say anything else.

“hey, my love. what’s wrong?” he asks, plopping down next to you and pulling you into him.

you slump against him immediately, missing him and his warmth despite the fact he was only gone for a few hours; you were usually clingy and needy at night but it appeared to get worse these days.

you only slump against him and shake your head, suddenly embarrassed and upset and just wanting everything to be over. you just want this baby out of you already, you want your body back to normal and you want to stop feeling like this some days.

the faint sound of the front door closing goes unheard by both of you, yeosang’s arm around you and your head on his chest before he pulls back and looks down at you.

“why’d they tell me you were crying all day?” yeosang questions softly, a frown on his face because the thought physically pains him. “and why do you think i don’t like you? i love you, baby.”

“i know.... i know you love me but i don’t think you like me anymore,” you whine, a smirk threatening to take over his face.

but he knows the last thing to do in front of a pregnant, hormonal woman is to laugh in the face of her emotional breakdown. so instead, he remains soft and gentle, pulling you on top of him and brushing his fingers through your hair as you whimper into him.

“i’m so sick of being pregnant, yeosang. i just feel like i’ve been annoying and tired and sleeping all day. i’m so big and ugly and my face has changed and i-”

“stop.”

his voice is deep and harsh and immediate, the command in his voice that you know means there will be no exceptions.

he sees your eyebrows pulled together in protest, his face softening before he cups yours and gently caresses your skin; he knows he can’t imagine how tiresome it is to go through this process but he also knows by no means are you ugly or incapable of doing this.

“i know you’re tired of this, baby, and i’m sorry. but you’re not ugly. you couldn’t be ugly if you tired, pretty girl,” he says, the pout on your lips making him smile and press a kiss on your mouth.

“and you gotta eat to keep my child healthy and strong, no?” he asks, his eyebrow raised as his hands lower to your round stomach.

he thought the transformation was amazing actually, what the human body could do and watching you become like this just to fit something he put inside you.

“so if you weren’t getting bigger, we’d be having problems. you’re doing so good, baby, you really are. and you’re gonna be such a good mom, too. you only have a little bit more to get through, okay?”

his words calm you as much as they make your heart flutter, the tears now swarming in your eyes one from happiness.

“so you do like me?”

and he didn’t expect that to be the next thing you say after that, a deep chuckle bubbling from his mouth that makes a wet giggle leave your own.

“yes, baby. i like you.”

eight months:

you thought nothing was gonna beat the panic you felt when you first found out you were pregnant.

your shaking hands and pounding heart and the overwhelming fear that you and yeosang weren’t gonna be able to get through this.

now, though, the fears feel much more real and much more terrifying.

knowing that, in just a month, a third person is gonna be a part of your little family. someone you’re gonna be completely and solely responsible for, making sure their needs are met and you raise them to be a good human being.

and it’s really hitting you tonight, after some mild cramping landed you in the doctor’s office where you were assured it was just your body’s response in preparing for labor.

but that was enough to completely scare you. leave you silent on the car ride home with your sweaty palm in yeosang’s and your mind racing a mile a minute.

“you’re quiet,” yeosang hums softly, the air between you thick as his thumb caresses your hand.

he felt a similar surge of panic rush through him when you told him about the mild discomfort in your stomach, all but jumping up and out the door to get you to the doctor immediately.

you make a noise of approval in the back of your throat, the only response other than the way you tighten in his hand in yours.

because right now, with all of these racing thoughts, you just wanna stop.

stop thinking about everything that could go wrong in the next month, the pain of labor and dealing with a newborn.

you wanna stop thinking about you and yeosang not handling the transition well, lashing out at each other after sleepless nights full of the baby’s crying as you try trying to adjust to this new life.

your walk up to the apartment is silent as well, going right into your room and plopping face down on the cold sheets.

the bed dips a few moments later and you make a tired groan when yeosang drags you up toward the pillows, placing you in front of him before leaning you back.

your back rests on his front for a few calming moments, his hands rubbing slowly over your stomach in a way he’s gotten used to over these past few days.

the moment you told him you had cramps, you weren’t surprised when he started doing that.

there hasn’t been a moment throughout this pregnancy when he wasn’t comforting you or assuring you in some way. holding your hand or stroking your hair and just making sure at all times, you were feeling happy and healthy.

but now it’s like you’re so beyond that point, tired and frustrated and just feeling so anxious about what’s to come.

“are you scared for her to come?”

yeosang’s hands stop on your stomach when he hears you utter those words, shifting your body until you’re sitting in front of him.

your eyes are wide and glossy and he can’t help but smile at how pretty you look, taking your face in his hands gently.

“of course i am,” he says honestly, not wanting to sugar coat anything or lie to you. “but i’m also excited to meet her. we’re as prepared as we can be, right? so we’ll just have to figure it out one day at a time.”

“i know,” you sigh out, that piece of advice everyone in your life is telling you. to take the early challenges of motherhood one day at a time; but you think it’s easier said than done, especially with a month left to just sit here and dwell on things.

“but i don’t know.... are we really ready? we’re not even married, yeosang. what if everyone at the hospital is like.... yikes.”

a snort leaves his mouth that he couldn’t hold back, not liking to laugh at the comments and exaggerations you make these days but sometimes not being able to help it.

“again, baby, if you wanna get married right now, i’ll go out and get a ring. but otherwise, no one is gonna say shit.”

“that’s not why i said it,” you whine, pushing him playfully and cracking a smile at his deep chuckle. “i’m just... scared about a lot of things again, yeosang. it was nice in, like, the middle of this. and it didn’t seem too bad. but now it’s all feeling very real again and i....i don’t know if i’ll be able to do it.”

“of course you’ll be able to do it,” yeosang mumbles softly, his fingers tracing shapes on your shoulder. “you made it this far, baby, and you’ve been doing so good. i already told mi that you’re gonna be better at this than me.”

a smile lights up your face as you hear him say your daughter’s name aloud, the long winded decision in picking your child’s name finally coming to an end last week.

you both had gone back and forth about what kind of names you wanted, discussing meanings and how it sounded and voting out what you absolutely didn’t want.

jang-mi was the name yeosang suggested that you immediately loved, could see it fitting right next to yours on a christmas card or shouting it through the apartment when she’s a crazy toddler.

“that’s funny because i told her the same thing,” you chuckle out quietly, letting out a sigh as you roll over and curl into him.

you were soaking in the bath one morning, all but demanding yeosang to sleep in one weekend when you felt her kicking inside you.

the first time you felt it all a few months ago, you remember nearly yelping. alarming yeosang to the severest degree and watching him rush into the living room to see you staring at him shock.

but he was just as fascinated and happy as you, feeling kicks from inside your stomach as prove that there really was a baby growing in there.

you’d gotten used to it though, every time you felt it talking to her quietly or giggling at the sensation.

telling her how excited you are to meet her despite your nerves, sharing stories or readings books and just informing her of the true chaos she’s gonna encounter with her father and uncles.

“i already know mingi’s gonna try to be strict with you but i think you’ll have him wrapped around your finger the tightest,” you predicted, above all else excited to see him interact with a baby.

“and your daddy’s gonna act like he doesn’t know what he’s doing or is bad at it. but i think he’ll be a lot better at this than me, jang-mi. he acts tough and strong and mean but he’s... the best man ever. and i’m happy he’s your dad.”

yeosang doesn’t have the heart to tell you he heard you in the bath that day, remembering how quickly tears were in his eyes and he was, for a brief moment, the happiest he’d ever felt in his life.

“then maybe we’ll both do a good job,” he hums quietly, already knowing full well that, whatever happens, she’s gonna have you both wrapped around her finger.

nine months:

your water broke two weeks early and nothing could have prepared you for the terror of that moment.

how one second, you were walking in the coffee shop with mingi and yunho and the next, wetness poured down your legs and onto the floor below you. the inside of your pink maternity dress was sticking uncomfortably, a confused expression overtaking your face.

“uhhh, guys...”

“i think i’m gonna get a scone,” yunho says, looking up at the menu despite going here for years.

“no, get the cookies again.”

“you never eat them, babe, why would we-”

“guys...”

“doesn’t he never eat the cookies, y/n?” yunho asks, his head turning to side-eye you before he notices your look of discomfort. “what’s wrong?”

and it’s at that that mingi turns his head, looking over your face before catching the wetness on your dress and at your feet. he looks from the floor to you several times, like he’s trying to put two and two together before his mouth hangs open almost comically.

but because he’s mingi, you should’ve known the words leaving his mouth were gonna be even more funny, even if you didn’t think it at the time.

“did you just piss?”

it’s yunho’s delayed realization that kicks everything into gear, his hand bouncing off mingi’s head before he exclaims that your water just broke.

excitement and shock and even a little bit of chaos erupts throughout the coffee shop in the minutes after, strangers asking if they could help and the barista’s you’ve come to know clapping their hands and looking on excitedly.

“call yeosang,” yunho says, flagging down a taxi just as the fear and anticipation start to build in you.

he answers on the 2nd ring when he sees mingi’s name pop up, knowing full well that the boy was spending the day with you; because he was actually guilty in demanding, with the due date just around the corner, that someone was with you at all times.

“hello?”

“yeosang...”

he doesn’t know how but the second he hears your voice, he can just tell something’s not right.

“what happened? is everything okay?”

you lick over your lips anxiously, knowing for the past nine months you guys have been both terrified and waiting for this day. just a few (or many) hours away from meeting your daughter.

“she’s coming.”

the line goes silent for a few moments, just the sound of his breathing before he starts to shuffle and rush toward his boss’s office.

you’re so lost in his words, assuring you that everything will be fine and that he’ll see you soon, you miss yunho and mingi share big smiles with one another, the former excitedly mouthing “it’s a girl,” just as the taxi pulls up to bring you to the hospital.

part 5

tag list: @mirror-juliet @toffee-hwa @valhoez @miatsubaki23 @mydaintydaisy @treasurehwa @markleeyeosang

#my laptop broke so i unfourt cant edit this #dont come 4 me #yeosang #yeosang fluff #yeosang angst #yeosang smut #ateez #ateez fluff #ateez smut #ateez angst #yeosang scenarios #yeosang imagines #ateez scenarios #ateez imagines

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agent-cupcake · 4 years ago

Text

Garreg Mach Café Episode Two: Lucky Seven (Yuri x Reader)

The first thing you learned about him —one of the very few things you knew about him— was that he liked sugar. A lot. You didn’t work the counter most of the time, you just made the drinks. So, you didn’t know who had ordered the heart attack inducing Ruined Sky Strawberry Frappe, only that someone was looking for a cavity. Vanilla bean coffee, three pumps of vanilla syrup, and strawberry puree with ice blended and topped with whipped cream, hazelnut drizzle, strawberry drizzle, and red sprinkles.

The second thing you learned about him was his name. Or, more accurately, his lack thereof. People regularly used dumb names. It didn’t really bug you, there was no shame in entertaining someone who thought making a barista call out a drink for Phun E. Monki was the peak of modern entertainment. Not so surprisingly, you saw a lot of hipster and nerd traffic through the café so references and jokes weren’t at all unheard of. Really, this one wasn’t even that bad. Comparatively.

“Ruined Sky Strawberry Frappe for Arsène Lupin,” you called, turning around.

“That’s mine,” the waiting customer responded. Shockingly, it was not the top-hat wearing gentleman thief who stood at the counter waiting for his drink. Neither was it the dweeb you expected. Your Arsène Lupin —that is, the man standing on the other side of the glistening lacquered wood countertop— certainly wasn’t normal, but not in the way you had initially assumed.

The third thing you learned about him was that he was disarmingly beautiful. He stood casually; his arms crossed with one of his hands resting lightly on his chin as he watched with a half-smile that you would have sworn had a mischievous glint. Waiting to see if the little joke got a reaction, you figured.

Well, who were you to deny him that? Pushing down the instinctual nerves of talking to someone who belonged more in the technicolor light of your two-past-midnight Instagram escapades rather than the academia chic café, you smiled back. “Here you go, Monsieur Lupin.”

That made his lips twitch in amusement, which shouldn’t have been as gratifying as it was. “Thanks,” Arsène said warmly, wrapping his fingers around the cup. It wasn’t like you were intentionally trying to notice, but his fingers were long and thin, the nails neat and manicured. Pretty hands. Attractive hands. You wondered if they were soft, or as strong as they looked, or what they might feel like-

Nope. No. You needed God.

Or Tinder

“I hope you enjoy,” you said, trying to act like you hadn’t just committed some obscene thought crime. He was supposed to leave after that. People got their drinks and either sat down or left. But he didn’t, meeting your eyes with an even gaze. Their violet coloring was striking, drawn out by the purple eyeshadow smoked out over his pale eyelids. The makeup should have been off-putting, you were less than uninterested in the pierced hoard of e-boys that had saturated the modern alternative dating market, but it wasn’t. Not on him, at least.

“This is a cute place,” Arsène said. But he wasn’t looking around the cafe, he was staring directly at you. Which… you weren’t sure if you were to buy into your ego telling you he was flirting or your paranoia that he was laughing at you. “Is it usually this busy?”

Flirting was better, for your sanity’s sake if nothing else, so you smiled, doing a quick check to make sure you weren’t missing any customers. The guy working the register was looking at his phone under the counter.

“You know, you shouldn’t pick such an obvious pseudonym when you’re canvassing a business,” you said playfully. “Charm will only get you so far.”

That made him laugh, his appraising eyes sparkling with amusement as he stabbed a straw past the whipped cream of his drink. “In my experience, charm will get you anywhere.”

“For you, maybe,” you allowed, feeling a little more emboldened by that response. Lowering your voice slightly, you leaned in as if to conspire. “I guess the real question is what you’re stealing, Monsieur Lupin, hearts or jewels?”

“Jewels, usually,” Arsène told you without missing a beat. “I have no need to steal the hearts.” He shrugged one shoulder carelessly, casually. “I collect enough of them as it is.”

A corny, over-confident line like that should have made you laugh. Unfortunately, you kind of believed it. So you raised a skeptical eyebrow. “That goes against the spirit of being a Phantom Thief, doesn’t it?”

“Why, do you want me to steal your heart?” Arsène asked. He didn’t sound serious, exactly, but neither was the question joking enough to keep a flush from crawling up your cheeks.

“Baristas don’t have hearts,” you told him theatrically, rejecting your silly reaction. “It’s a void of caffeine, student debt, and the disappointment of our parents.”

Arsène was about to respond when you heard the door jingle open. You turned, looking over your shoulder at the customers who had stepped up to the register. “It looks like you’re needed,” he said, following your eye line.

“Yeah,” you said, feeling a strange stab of disappointment. Which was dumb. A little bit of banter with a handsome stranger was nice, but it shouldn’t have been anything else.

“Don’t worry, I’ll be back,” Arsène said, smirking in a way that made you think he’d seen your dismayed reaction. “Thanks for the drink.”

He raised the cup like a toast goodbye, and you wished him a good day. It was completely ridiculous, but that quick and strange interaction played on loop in your head for the rest of the day. You went from embarrassed, to amused, to insecure, and back again dozens of times. By the next day, you weren’t sure what to think about it and you hated to think that you were watching for him, but-

Well, you were.

The fourth thing you learned about him was that he had a schedule, a specific time slot that seemed to be allocated to getting an overly sugary drink at your little cafe.

“Noa Fruit and Caramel Macchiato for Mr Pink,” you called, already expecting to see his smile based on the name alone. Not that the preparation did a whole lot in lessening the effects. Today Arsène, or Mr Pink, wore a dark striped button up tucked into black pants. The top buttons were undone, showing off the elegant column of his neck and the framing lines of his collarbones. His skin was so pale, like it had never seen the sun, the color perfectly even and milky.

“That’s mine,” he said. Redundantly. Of course it was his.

To think that you’d done your makeup with more care than usual today was embarrassing, but you were glad for it as you passed the drink to him. “Reservoir Dogs, right?” you asked, forcing yourself to not be flustered.

“Very good,” he said in a voice that was borderline condescending.

“You thought I wouldn’t know? I serve coffee in downtown, knowing Tarantino is practically a job requirement,” you said. Arsène laughed warmly, a sound that was somewhere between amusement and mocking, a sound that invited a mess of fluttery nerves to dance around in your stomach which you covered with a smile. “Mr Pink, though… he’s a long way off from being a gentleman thief.”

“Let’s just say that I��ve fallen from grace,” Arsène said, his smile an odd combination of mirth and mystery. “Lupin is... more of an ideal. Reality is hardly ever so romantic.”

“Cheers to that,” you said wryly.

“Although if I had to emulate one of them, I’d far prefer it to be the gentleman,” he said, dropping a few dollars in your tip jar. Cheeky. “Thanks for the treat.”

“Oh… Yeah,” you said, not even thinking to point out that it was your job. Unless he wasn’t talking about the coffee, which was even more baffling. “Have a nice day.”

After that came a lineup of sugary drink orders under the names of famous thieves. Some references you knew immediately, others you had to google later. And always, always, he just about made your heart stop with that smile.

It was… Maybe a week later? Your Arsène had become something like an expectation. Which was ridiculous. And stupid. But it was true, and he hadn’t been in the day before which affected you far more than you dared admit. Seeing the familiar purple head in the lineup of waiting customers was more relieving than it should have been.

A Vanilla Wyvern Wing Latte for Danny Ocean, this time. Unfortunately, there was a swath of customer’s orders that needed filling so you couldn’t give it to him personally, sliding it across the counter before rushing back to the blender. That kind of disappointed you, especially since you hadn’t seen him the day before, until you realized that he had taken a seat along the bar, writing something in a notebook and sipping on the creamy white latte.

Waiting for you? Pushing down the spark of excitement you felt about that, you finished up the orders. After that, you took a breath, grabbing a rag to at least seem productive as you inched towards him.

“You’re awfully far from Vegas, Mr Ocean,” you said. Although you called him that, you still thought of him as Arsène Lupin. Your Arsène.

He looked up from his notebook, the end of his pen pushed against his lip in a distracting way. They were so pink. And shapely, his top lip curved by a perfectly symmetrical cupids bow that no amount of lip kits could falsify. And… And you were staring. Again. He obviously noticed, what with the way he grinned when you forced your eyes up to his, but he gracefully didn’t point it out.

“Casinos are nothing more than a party trick,” he told you lightly, flipping his pen through his fingers before letting it drop to the paper. “I’ve got my eye on something far more valuable.” His eyes were burning into yours as he spoke.

That was the fifth thing you learned about him. Arsène could make anything sound like a double entendre. You thought of yourself as being somewhat difficult to ruffle, but even the most innocuous of comments from him could make your cheeks warm. It was the tone of his smooth, lovely voice. Always speaking under his breath, or low enough that you found yourself leaning in.

“Jewels, right?” you asked, playing it cool because you refused to fall prey to what you knew was a purposeful attempt to throw you off balance. “I heard there was an exhibit coming to town.”

“I’m not really interested in that sort of thing,” Arsène said with a little wave of his elegant hand. “You know the reprehensible means they use to get them, don’t you? So beautiful... but stained with blood. Not too dissimilar from myself, I suppose.”

That momentarily tripped you up. He sounded so genuine, even with the little quip of a joke. Most people couldn’t pull off saying something so nakedly edgy. Maybe it only worked because he was pretty, and you were a fool. So you just smiled. “You really ought to work on this whole subterfuge thing.”

Arsène’s eyes met yours. So intense. “And how would you recommend I do that?”

“Misdirection,” you told him, refocusing on wiping up the counter to avoid his gaze. “The names are bad enough. You’ve gotta at least pretend to be an upstanding member of society, right?”

“Do you think I’m not?” he asked lightly, his head falling to the side, hand braced against his cheek casually. “And here I thought I was perfectly amicable.”

“Oh,” you said. Did he sound offended? You quickly backtracked. “I didn’t mean to imply that I don’t think you are, it’s just that what you said-”

“I’m kidding,” Arsène said, the slightly concerned expression slipping from his face like an easily discarded mask.

You winced, internally kicking yourself. “Ah, sorry.”

“Don’t worry. That was cute,” Arsène said with that oddly infuriating unreadable grin and shutting his notebook to stand up.

“You’re leaving?” you asked, almost confused that he’d wait only to cut the conversation short.

“Haven’t you realized? I’m a wanted man. As much as I’d love to stay and chat, I’ve got things to do,” he said. “Speaking of that, I hope you didn’t miss me too much yesterday. This project is more difficult than I anticipated.”

“That’s fine, it’s not like I expect you to come by,” you said. You lied.

“No?” Arsène asked. He didn’t believe you, that much was obvious. “Fine, then. I’m not afraid to admit that I missed you. I’ll definitely see you tomorrow, though.”

“Can’t wait,” you said. And, despite the half-sarcastic affect you tried to put on, you meant it.

It only settled after he’d already left what he really had said. Missed you. Not for the first time, you toyed with the idea of giving him your number. Then again, maybe you were misreading the situation. After all, you didn’t even know his name.

Still, true to his word, he came around the same time the next day.

This time, it was a Cinnamon Dust Frappe for Garrett. Arsène, or Garrett, was wearing a sweater today in a nod to the rainy weather. Just like everything else he wore, it was entirely in service of his allure, a dark knit with leather elbow patches. White clips kept a section of his hair out of his face, which was curling at the ends. From the humidity? Or perhaps he usually straightened it?

“It took me a minute,” you admitted as you handed him his drink, “Garrett. That’s Thief, right? I have to be honest; you don’t really strike me as the gamer type.”

“I’m full of surprises,” he responded. After a moment, he added, “I haven’t got much time for games these days, but I have some fond memories from when I was a kid.”

“Probably why you’re a criminal,” you said.

If you weren’t mistaken, his eyes widened for a fraction of a second in something like surprise before that was composed into something else, his laughter driving it away. “You might be on to something with that. Video games do make kids violent, after all.”

“So, tomorrow, will it be Ezio? Or Corvo… He’s got a bit of thievery under his belt.”

Arsène scoffed. “I’d never do the same trick twice.”

That made you smile. “I look forward to it.”

After he left, you realized that you’d learned the sixth thing about him. It was such a small and mundane detail, but there was something charming and oddly intimate to imagine Arsène as a kid playing video games.

The next day, you were working register while helping to train the newbie in making drinks. It was cold. Slushy snow half-heartedly sprinkled down outside, and the heater was desperately trying, and failing, to keep the cafe warm. The repairman wouldn’t come until the following morning. All in all, your mood was rather poor.

Until the door opened and a familiar face stepped up to the counter.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you up here,” Arsène said.

“Desperate times,” you said with a shrug. He smiled at that, looking up at the menu contemplatively.

“I’ll have…” he said, “a Mockingbird Mocha Hot Chocolate. Medium.”

“And who might you be today?” you asked professionally, the Sharpie point poised over the side of the cardboard hot drinks cup.

“Prometheus,” he said without hesitation.

You blinked, caught off guard for a second as you tried to figure out the reference. That was… clever. The original thief. You couldn’t help but shake your head in amusement as you scribbled that on the side of the cup. The newbie already knew how to make the drink, leaving you with nothing to do. The cafe was quiet today, a rarity. It was the poor weather. People dropped in to get hot drinks, but you didn’t blame them for not sticking around. Arsène was dressed for the cold, wearing a white cape coat that was either incredibly trendy or strangely fringe. Of course, it worked perfectly on him. He looked ready to hop into a new age fashion catalog for outerwear.

“From gentleman thief to a gangster to god… Moving up in the world, are we?” you asked to fill the silence.

“On the contrary,” Arsène told you “There’s no power in being a god nobody believes in.”

“I’d definitely believe in you if you could warm it up in here,” you told him. “I’ve been freezing all day.”

“I’m sure I could think of a few ways to warm you up,” Arsène said, smirking, his eyes dancing with mischievous amusement. “After all, I’m the one who stole the first flame.”

A shaky exhale left your mouth, becoming something like an awkward laugh because he definitely had you going for a second and you knew it was on purpose but still. “That’s what you meant. Right.”

He raised an eyebrow. “What did you think I was talking about?”

“Here you go,” the newbie said with absolutely perfect timing, handing Arsène his drink. At least your blush was keeping you warm.

“Thank you,” Arsène said, meeting her eyes. You were pretty sure you saw her swoon, which made sense. That was the most practical response to him, after all. He looked back to you. “Try to keep warm, I’d hate for you to be calling in sick.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” you said. He grinned, wishing the both of you a good day. And you did warm up. By thinking of all the ways he could keep you warm. At this point, even God Himself probably couldn’t do much about your sinful thoughts.

The next day was another cold one, meaning that it was slow. Because of that, your boss had decided that only one person was needed, and you didn’t mind if that was you. Paid hours were always welcome. More than that, and you hated yourself for it, you hoped to see your Arsène. You’d been scrolling on your phone under the register when the door opened. Winter rushed in like it had been chomping at the bit for the chance, called forth with the jingling of bells. Arsène had arrived right on time, wearing that white cloak coat and tall white heeled boots. Snowflakes shined in his hair, quick to melt in the warmth of the repaired heater. By now, you should have been immune. But you weren’t.

“Alone today?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Eerie, isn’t it?” you replied, gesturing to the empty cafe. “Not that I mind, now that the heater is fixed… What will you be having today?”

“A medium Caramel Leclair Latte,” he said.

“And your name…?”

“Yuri,” he said, which you scribbled onto the cardboard.

“All right… Just gimme a second,” you said. The drink was oddly tame for him, and a lot easier to make. You were pretty sure you could whip up a latte in your sleep. He waited without saying anything, but you could feel him watching. The music was too quiet to be a distraction and you were incredibly aware that it was just the two of you which was stupid because the counter practically put you in a different realm of reality, but-

You forced your thoughts to focus on something else, considering the name he’d given you. It was oddly unassuming, at least by the standards of other names he’d given you. You couldn’t recognize it as anything in particular, either. It was Russian. Or Japanese. It being the name of a Russian thief probably made the most sense contextually, but you were drawing a blank as to the specific reference.

“I can’t figure it out,” you admitted when you finished the drink and set it on the counter between you, “who are you impersonating today?”

Arsène blinked, a second of confusion passing before his lips quirked up just a bit. “Myself, actually. I figured it was time to give you my name. You can call me Yuri. Yuri Leclerc, to be precise.”

That was the seventh thing you learned about him. Your stomach clenched. Out of nerves or excitement or happiness, you couldn’t tell. You smiled, feeling something giddy fuzz in your head. “Well... It... It’s good to meet you, Yuri Leclerc.” Yes, you liked that name. It was better than all the others, even better than Arsène.

“The pleasure is all mine,” Yuri replied smoothly.

“So… Is there a reason for this momentous revelation?” you asked.

Some of the mirth drained from his eyes as he slid two of the little coffee straws into the lid. “I’m leaving town.”

The disappointment that struck you was beyond silly, it wasn’t like you had any claim to him. You’d only just learned his name for God’s sake. “Did the police finally catch up with you?” you asked with a smile, trying to be playful.

“Not yet,” Yuri said. “I prefer to leave before they catch wise.”

“I can never tell if you’re joking or not,” you told him, shaking your head. Sure, he was smiling, but, well, he smiled a lot. It was always unreadable. Amusement at something. Life itself, maybe.

“For your own sake,” Yuri said, his eyes fixing on yours, “you should always assume I am.”

Because that really cleared it up. You decided not to worry about it too much. “But you are leaving, that’s not pretend?”

“Yeah.”

Your heart sank all over again. Stupid, stupid. At least you finally knew his name.

That made for seven things you knew about him. That was enough, wasn’t it? Lucky sevens and all that? Without thinking too hard about it, you grabbed one of the embossed café cards and a pen, scribbling your name and phone number on the back. “If you’re ever back in town or whatever, this is me,” you told him, handing it over. “Or I dunno, I get vacation time. Maybe it’d be fun to take a trip to Almyra or Albinea or wherever gentleman thieves go until the heat dies down.”

Yuri looked at the card for a long moment before tucking it into his wallet, smiling. You felt like you could read this smile, it was warm and friendly. More real than his others, the emotion catching in his eyes, too. “I wonder, do you mean that?”

“Do you want me to?”

“I might.”

“Then I do,” you said with a shrug, like it was easy as that and unsure exactly how much of what you said was strictly playful. It didn’t really matter because it made Yuri smile all over again and the look was fond enough to make your heart seize.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” he said. “Until then, do you by any chance watch the news?”

“The news?” you asked, confused by the shift in topic. “Not if I can help it.”

“Well, you should, at least for a few days.”

“Am I gonna turn it on and see your mugshot slapped all over some headline about a bank robbery or something?” you asked, mostly joking. Mostly.

“What would have ever given you the impression that I’d do something like that?” he asked, feigning a tone of offense.

“Steal something?” you asked.

“Get caught,” he corrected.

You laughed, thinking of something clever to respond with. Unfortunately, the door opened to admit a trio of bundled up students, killing the moment before you spoke.

“That’s my cue,” Yuri said, picking up his coffee. “Don’t miss me too much until we meet again, yeah?”

“Only as long as you promise not to forget me,” you told him.

“It’s a deal, then.”

“Goodbye, Yuri.”

“Goodbye,” he echoed, his eyes meeting yours and voice gentle. Intimate, almost. Then he was gone, a flash of violet and white disappearing into the winter cold.

It was silly, but you kept an eye on the news like he told you, curious to know if anything would come of it or if you’d just fallen for a cute guy’s ruse. But, no, something did happen. A huge theft. The jewel exhibit that had been about to roll out downtown had been robbed. Such a feat was meant to be impossible, there was seemingly no way it could have been done. But it had and there were no suspects, no public leads. And, not surprisingly, no mugshots.

#fire emblem three houses #fe3h #yuri leclerc #yuris leclair #fe yuri #yuri leclerc x reader #yuris leclair x reader #fe yuri x reader #YOU'VE BEEN HIT BY #YOU'VE BEEN STRUCK BY #ive had this idea in my head for so long #admittedly i'm not sure it turned out the way i wanted but i can't tell why #iS thIs a pERsoNa rEFeRenCe? yes

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unstoppableforcce · 4 years ago

Note

12 from the fluff list with Poe please?

“am I your lock screen?” — “you weren’t supposed to see that.”

pairing: Poe Dameron x reader (modern au by default of the prompt lol)

masterlist

a/n: sorry for any errors, I only read though it like once after I finished it lol

Music blasted through the whole of the apartment, even with the door shut in the bathroom while you washed your hands, you could hear every word. Though it helped that it was all amplified by the three distinct voices belting it out lyric for lyric in the kitchen.

As you dried your hands and came back out into the living room, you couldn’t stop the laughter that bubbled out of you at the sight.

Poe at the stove, holding the spatula as a microphone. Finn with his face in the fridge but his his voice echoing back out as he shook his hips to the beat. And Rey, unashamed, muttering through each lyric as she snacked on the vegatables laid out on the counter.

“Are you laughing at us?” Poe interrupted himself mid sentence as he spotted you on your approach.

“I would never.”

Finn pulled his head out, looked to you and then to Poe and nodded in sync with him, “definitely laughing at us.”

You held your hands up in surrender and continued into the kitchen, not bothering to hide your laughter as you did. “I don’t even know what song this is...”

Reaching for Poe’s phone off the speaker where it was wedged next to the blender for maximum loudness, you swiped it open to see and was immediately taken aback by the photo showing behind the small bar from his music app.

They kept singing as you looked, Poe flipping the food over in the sizzling pan, and no one noticed you with the phone in your hand, leaning up against the corner of the counter. So you did what any rational person would do when they say they’re face on their best friends phone...

You kept looking at it.

It was a photo of the two of you, so it wasn’t the craziest of notions that he’d have it set as his background photo, but then again, it was just the two of you. Even when he was in your phone background it was because he was in a group picture.

This was just you two.

And you remembered the day he took it well too. It was on your birthday, or more aptly, it had been a few hours before your birthday.

Everyone had planned to go out the day of, but you and Poe had been running errands and ended up watching movies the night before when he realized that not only was it getting late, but the clock was ticking down to your birthday.

“You think the little ice cream parlor down the street is still open?” He asked as the credits began to roll on screen and your attention shifted back to him. “You know the little one with the pretty sprinkles...”

Looking at your phone, you shook your head, “it’s like 11:30 Poe, no where is going to be open.”

“The corner store will be.” He suggested and your brow just furrowed further as you say up from where you had melted back into the couch during the movie. “What’s with that look?”

“You really want ice cream? At this hour?”

“Well not at this hour, but in about 30 minutes.” He said eagerly before hopping up and grabbing his keys off the counter.

“What happens in 30 minutes?” That stopped him in his tracks, his hands throwing up at his sides before it snapped for you and you exclaimed “ooooohhhh my birthday!”

“Yes, your birthday,” he laughed, “did you forget?”

You rubbed your eyes and slowly pushed yourself off the couch, “only briefly, I’m still thinking about the movie...”

“It wasn’t a very good movie.” He kept laughing as you followed him to the door.

“Corner store ice cream isn’t going to be very good either.” You mocked back and the two of you remained enraptured in the same laughter as you walked down the block, dicussing just how bad a movie it actually was.

And once you were inside, you both rushed quickly to the freezer section, bending and reaching over one another to find what the both of you wanted, the laughter never subsiding.

You ended up with an ice cream sandwich and him with the fasted melting drumstick in the history of corner store ice cream.

That’s when the picture was snapped.

He wanted you to put a candle into yours to blow out as the clock turned over midnight so he could take a selfie to send in your groupchat but his was melting too fast. What he ended up with was the prefect picture of you laughing at him, angling your cream in front of your mouth as he licked the dripping ice cream from the bottom of his cone like a maniac.

That night, you rushed back inside before you ever saw the picture, much too concerned with asking for napkins while he struggled outside. But now was the first time you were really seeing it.

He had not only kept the photo, but he had it set as his background photo.

Just him and you.

And you both looked happier than you had seen either of you look in a photo in a long time.

“Are we about ready to eat, or is Rey full after all the carrots...” Poe turned over his shoulder as the song changed and his voice trailed off the second his stare landed on you. “Hey...”

“Hey.” You shocked yourself, feeling his eyes turn to you and hitting the off button, placing his phone back onto the counter. “Sorry, I wanted to know what song that was.”

“You’re fine...” he hesitated, uncharacteristically unsure of what to say.

Poe wasn’t a man who hesitated, he wasn’t one to bite his tongue or hold back in any way, yet he just turned back to the stove and the room fell silent besides the music blasting from the speaker. Looking to the fridge then to the counter, you found both slots empty, Rey and Finn having moved to the couch.

It was just you and Poe.

“Am I your lock screen?” You asked with the same hesitation he was radiating.

“You weren’t supposed to see that...” he muttered back, turning off the stove and turning to you. “It’s the picture—“

“From my birthday, yeah... I didn’t realize it turned out, I think I was too focused on the dripping ice cream.”

That pulled a small huff of a chuckle from his chest but did little to restore the cheery disposition that had just been lip singing to Britney Spears. “The messiest ice cream ever...”

“Yeah...”

Then the silence was back and neither of you seemed to like that much, both moving to break it in the same second.

“You weren’t supposed to see that—“

“It’s a really nice picture—“

You both stopped, laughing at each other like this wasn’t the most awkward moment the two of you had even had with one another.

He inhaled a deep breath and just finally let it out.

“I really like you, you know...” he sighed, brushing his curls back. “Like, really, really like you.”

“Really?”

He chuckled as you smile grew, “really.”

“I really like you.” You smirked back, taking a hesitant step closer. “Like, really really.”

He couldn’t take it anymore.

He leaned forward and grabbed your face with both of his hands, pulling your lips in to his for the quickest of kisses before you reacted and reached back into his curls and pulled yourself back for another.

“Are we going to be eating any time soon or?!” Finn shouted from the couch but Poe didn’t hesitate any longer.

He pulled back to respond with a quick, “you can wait!” back to Finn, then moving his lips back to yours, sighing to say, “I know I’ve waited long enough.”

#poe dameron x reader #star wars #star wars imagine #poe dameron #poe dameron imagine #drabble #fluff prompts

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hockeyboysiguess · 5 years ago

Text

Let’s Fall in Love for the Night

a/n: i listened to this song (let’s fall in love for the night by FINNEAS) and immediately got hit with matty vibes. enjoy! let me know if you wanna see more tkachuk writing!

Let’s fall in love for the night

And forget in the morning

Play me a song you like

You bet I’ll know every line

I’m the boy your boy hoped you’d avoid

Don’t waste your time on jealous guys, fuck that noise

I know better than to call you mine

You slammed the shot glass down on the bar, your face scrunching up as the tequila burned down your throat. You shook your head as the liquid settled in your stomach and then let out a sigh.

“I think I need another one,” you shouted over the music to your friend Jess.

“Whatever you need, babes,” she said, already leaning across the bar to wave down the bartender. “I know you just asked for space, but you need to dump his ass now.”

“I know what you think. You’ve been telling me every fifteen minutes,” you threw back at her, “but it’s not that easy. We’ve been together forever and I don’t really know what my life looks like without him anymore.”

“You get to hang out with me more,” she sang at you as two more shots appeared in front of you. “The biggest thing, babes, is that you deserve better than him on literally every level.”

You took the shot, knowing she was about to continue her rant of trashing your long-time boyfriend that she’d started five minutes before you’d even arrived at her house to pregame together.

“You are smarter than him. You are hotter than him, like look at you!” She gestured to your body and you rolled you eyes. You used her outstretched hand as an opportunity to put her shot in her hand. “Your ass looks killer in those pants and you and I both know it. Where was I? Oh, right! You are the breadwinner in that relationship. He has that lame-ass, poor-paying job and he refuses to get a better one even though you have the same degree. Who the fuck does that? You pretty much pay all of the bills while he does god knows what.”

She found a pause long enough to take her shot, which very clearly did not go down smoothly. She stuck her hand out to indicate she needed antoehr second before she could continue. You took the moment to order a drink, an actual beer instead of another shot.

“Most importantly of all!” Jess drummed her palms on the bar as she worked her way up to something. “He is terrible at sex!” You tried to shush her because she had shouted that loud enough to get the attention of a few interested parties around you, but you had no luck. “I mean, did her ever make you finish once? In three years? God, he sucks so bad and you need to actually for sure dump him and kick him out of the apartment you pretty much pay for by yourself. ”

You sighed, not loving your life choices that led to this moment right now. You were grateful the bartender dropped your beer in front of you so you could hide behind the bottle instead of answering. Part of you knew she was at least a little bit right, but you didn’t know what everything looked like without him and there were some parts of him that you couldn’t let go of, some moments that pulled at your heart when you thought about. He’d been so much worse lately though and you were having a hard time continuing to give him chances because a second chance happened so long ago you might have run out of numbers.

“Any reason a girl who looks this good is looking sad and drinking a pretty shitty beer at a bar on a Saturday night?”

You turned to see who had spoken and were met with piercing blue eyes and a mess of curly hair. Stubble coated his jawline and a smirk played at the corners of his mouth. Objectively attractive. Objectively your type. Objectively trouble.

“I’m Matthew,” he told you. “You are?”

You sighed, debating if you should cut him off with mercy like you were used to doing. Jess cut in before you could, telling him your name and hers before you could back out.

“So, about that terrible beer,” he picked it up and slid it close to the opposite edge of the bar from you, “can I buy you a better one?”

As if he knew, your phone lit up on the bar with your boyfriend’s name flashing across the screen, the hearts on either side of his name mocking you. You sighed and opened the text anyway.

I know you’re out with Jess right now and I just wanted to say that I know we’re taking some space right now, but space doesn’t include seeing other people to me. So I’m not gonna do it and I sure hope you’re not.

“Oh my god, give me your phone,” Jess whined from Matt’s opposite side. “I need to throw your phone into a blender. He needs to stop texting you.”

“Boyfriend?” Matthew asked you, an eyebrow raising at the question. “Seems like the jealous type if he’s texted that much.”

Your eyes shifted from your phone to Matthew and back again. He was trying to control you even after you asked for space. You were done just like that. You shot off a quick text to him that simply read ‘We’re done. Get your shit out of my apartment,’ then shoved shoved your phone into your purse, deciding to forget about him and whatever he was about to do next for the rest of the night.

“No, my ex. He still has shit at my apartment and is trying to figure out when he can come get it,” you replied

Jess started freaking out behind you, her fists pumping into the air in wild, uneven movements in her drunken excitement.

“Good,” Matthew smiled at you, “so, about that drink?”

Three more drinks each in an hour and you were stumbling through the front door of Matt’s apartment, his mouth clumsy against yours thanks to the alcohol and his efforts removing his jacket at the same time. You giggled when he cursed against you mouth as he had to pull way to actually get his jacket off. He tossed it somewhere behind you as his mouth reconnected with yours.

His hands were so different compared to your ex. You felt bad comparing them, that your mind was wandering there, but you couldn’t help it. Matthew pulled at different parts of you than he did. His hands on your hips, his teeth nipping at your bottom lip, one of his legs pushing between yours as he guided you so your back was pressed against the nearest wall. One of his hands ran up towards your chest, your shirt riding up with it.

“Jesus, fuck,” Matthew groaned when he saw move of your body. “You’re so fucking sexy.”

“Then stop fucking around and fuck me already.”

Your last words came out as a moan as his mouth found your neck. He chuckled against your skin as he travelled down, sinking low so his lips could kiss along the edge of your low cut shirt. His large hands wrapped around the back of your thighs and he suddenly lifted you, drawing a yelp from you as your nails dug into his shoulders for stability.

“I hope you know what you’re in for.”

Apparently what you were in for was the best sex you’d ever had. Your chest was steal heaving with your second orgasm when Matt slid off the bed. He stepped into his boxers before grabbing his phone off of the nightstand.

“Any idea where my purse is?” you asked him.

“Uh, I think kitchen counter?” He said it like a question, so much so he threw in additional, “Maybe?”

You sighed and rolled yourself out of his bed, sliding on your panties and bra before heading toward the kitchen. Your purse hadn’t quite made it to the counter, falling short onto the floor. You grabbed your phone and headed back toward’s Matthew’s room. You audibly groaned when you saw the notifications on your phone. 13 missed calls. 7 voicemails. 26 text messages. All from him.

“Jesus,” you mumbled under your breath.

“I know I’m pretty good, but already moving on to god-like compliments?”

Matthew’s joke brought you out of the spiral your brain had started to go down. You scrunched your nose up at him and stuck your tongue out, which made him throw his head back and laugh.

“So you had a good time then,” he chided you. His phone hanging loose in his hands as he did nothing to hide the fact that his eyes were raking up and down your body right now. “Wanna go again?”

“Give me like ten minutes,” you mumbled.

You barely registering what he’d said as you started to scroll through his texts. Each one was crazier then the last. Guaranteed, you had ended a three-year relationship with a guy you lived with over text, but you hadn’t realized quite how unhinged he could sound sometimes. You’d barely gotten a quarter of the way in when your phone was taken from your hands.

“Hey, that’s mine!” you whined. Matt was dangling it above your head, completely out of your reach. “Matthew, give it back.”

“Mm, nope. It’s mine for tonight and so are you,” he informed you. “Pick a song.”

He offered his phone out to you instead, Spotify open for you. He wiggled it a little from side to side to try and peak your interest.

“Let’s forget about that douchebag after I just fucked you way better than he does, okay? You pick a song and then we’ll go again and I’ll fuck you even better. Deal?”

A smirk pulled at the corner’s of his mouth. He knew you weren’t going to say no before you’d even decided to say yes. You weren’t sure how he’d known it was your ex. You’d probably given it away somehow. Your mom had always told you that you were an open book, begging to be read. You sighed and took his phone, deciding this night you might regret was better than dealing with you current problems.

You played the first thing you could think of. You regretted your choice as the first few chords started and Matt started laughing at your choice.

“Sorry, that’s super fucking lame,” you mumbled as you began your search for a new song.

“No, no,” Matt’s hands wrapped over your to stop your movements. “I love this song, even though it’s definitely super fucking lame.”

You smiled up at him and it made a mirroring smile come across his face. You let go, letting yourself be entirely in this moment tonight. You let yourself forget the texts and voicemails waiting for you. You let yourself forget how horrible it going home tomorrow was going to be. Instead, you let a pair of beautiful blue eyes and a mess of curls distract you. You made him yours for the night, thinking that was all it could be.

You need a pick-me up?

I’ll be there in twenty-five

I like to push my luck

So take my hand, let’s take a drive

“Are you up?”

Matthew usually texted you. By usually you mean over the past two months where you’d seen him at least three times a week. Fresh off your breakup, he’d become a great regular distraction that made it worth your time to text him instead of trying your chances at the bar again. Apparently he was either drunk or couldn’t read a clock because it was midnight on a Tuesday and he was calling you.

“Well, I answered the phone,” you groaned as you rubbed your eyes with your free hand, trying to wake yourself up a bit. “What’s up, Matt?”

“You didn’t answer my text and I wanna see you tonight,” he told you.

“You’re the worst hook up I’ve ever had for my sleeping schedule,” you mumbled. “Look, Matt, I had a shit day at work and I really just want to sleep and-“”

“Get your shoes on. I’ll be there in like, half an hour.”

He hung up without even bothering to wait for an answer. You tossed your phone down your bed as you let yourself fall back into the blankets. You wanted to let them swallow you up and drag you back to sleep, but you knew Matt was showing up regardless of how you felt about it. You let your feet drop heavily on the floor and let out a sigh before pushing yourself out of bed. You threw your hair up, at least grateful you’d made yourself shower before you went to bed, and grabbed the first clean clothes you could find. The fact that he’d asked you to put on your shoes was odd, but it was Matt. You couldn’t really expect anything because.

The time flew by and Matthew was knocking on your front door before you could even fully process the situation. How he looked this good with joggers hung low on his hips, and a workout t-shirt at midnight you didn’t really know.

“You’re not wearing shoes,” Matt sang softly. “I thought you knew that part was non-negotiable.”

“You called me after I’d already been asleep for two hours. You should be amazed I’m vertical right now,” you grumbled at him as you slid on the nearest pair of sneakers you could find. “Where are we going?”

“You said you had a bad day.” Matt verbally skated around your question as he stepped into the hallway of your apartment, propping the door open for you. “Wanna talk about it?”

“Not really,” you sighed. It had just been one of those days where there were too many little things that individually all sounded fine, but when put together had made you miserable. “How was your day?”

Matt shook his head at you and tsked softly, “Sharing is caring. And you can’t expect me to share if you don’t.”

“Do you like to try and sound like a kindergarten teacher to piss me off,” you stepped into the hallway and began fussing with the lock on your front door to get it to close, “or do you think it’s a kink for me? Spoiler alert, Matty, the answer is I fucking hate it.”

Matt laughed a full belly laugh and you finally heard the lock click into place. You spun on your heels to face Matthew. He smiled down at you and jutted one of his hands out into the space between you two.

“Let’s go for a drive. If you’re a good girl, I might even throw in some French fries at the end for ya.” A smirk pulled at the corners of his mouth as he added, “And an orgasm or two because I’m feeling generous.”

You rolled your eyes at him, but the smile forming on your lips betrayed you. You practically slapped your hand against his as your grabbed it.

“Careful with the merchandise!” Matthew shouted. You shushed him, knowing your elderly neighbor was already none too thrilled with you since her bedroom wall was shared with yours. “Oh, that old bat has heard worse.”

You couldn’t help but laugh as Matthew dragged you out to his car. Part of you, a part of you that you didn’t want to acknowledge, noted just how boyfriend-like this whole evening was. Or at least, that this isn’t what people who are just hooking up typically do. You pushed that thought aside. You knew this was just how Matthew was. This wasn’t serious and wasn’t on its way to it, but it could be self-contained serious. Each night could be serious. You could fall for him each and every single night you were with him if you wanted to, as long as the feelings were gone by the time the morning came.

I love it when you talk that nerdy shit

We’re in our twenties talking thirties shit

We’re making money but we’re saving it

‘Cause talking shit is cheap and we talk a lot of it

You won’t stay with me, I know

But you can have your way with me ‘til you go

“Okay, okay, try me again,” Matt said slowly, his fingertips tapping slowly on table between you. “I definitely won’t get it this time, but it’s hot when you’re smart.”

You rolled your eyes at him, a frequent occurrence, and shook your head softly. You grabbed your orange juice and took a few swigs of it before trying to explain the intricacies of your problem at work to him. He was cute and he was really good at hockey, but his ability to understand your job was lacking. Matthew still tried to understand though, even though he knew he probably wouldn’t get it. Your ex could understand, you’d gone to school together, but he never tried. It was the morning though, so you couldn’t be in love with Matty right now. That feeling, that temporary love, was reserved for nights in his bed or yours.

“Okay, I still don’t get it,” Matthew sighed, clearly a little frustrated with himself. “But you clearly know what you’re doing and you’re way too smart for me. I hope our babies get your smarts, but my hockey sense. You still can’t figure out offsides.”

“How many babies am I pushing out here, Tkachuk?” You raised an eyebrow at him, but you knew he was just talking shit, trying to get a reaction out of you. “Also, offsides is complicated and I’ve got a college degree taking up space in my brain where you have hockey knowledge.”

“I was thinking three,” Matt told you as he tossed his coffee cup between his hands, sliding it across the table with each toss. “I’ll strap them in skates as soon as they can walk, make them fall in love with hockey before your brains take over and they decide to become doctors or something ridiculous.”

“Yeah, wouldn’t that just be the worst thing if little Matty became a doctor instead of a hockey player?” You lifted your glass to your lips and smiled against the edge. “Absolutely the worst thing that could happy to him.”

“Exactly.” Matthew’s smile was evident in his voice. “Glad you’re on board with this plan.”

“Mm, I think you owe me some jewelry and a big party before I pop out any kids for you, Matt,” you sighed as you set your cup back down on the table.

“You’re so fucking picky. I’m just going to stand there in the jewelry store with a blank check and let you go ape shit,” Matt informed you.

“Thinking about wifing me up, huh?” you joked.

The words came out of your mouth and you knew you’d gone too far. Everything else was just running your mouths, something you both needed to keep things light and non-committal. But that joke was walking dangerously close to asking for a real commitment and a future.

“Do you want me to be thinking about it?”

You had absolutely no idea how your were supposed to feel after hearing his response. He was pushing the issue back on you, trying to get you to admit if your question was a joke that didn’t quite land or if it was serious. The problem was you honestly didn’t know. You knew you weren’t looking for anything. You knew you hadn’t let Matthew take you home the night you met at the bar to start anything. He wasn’t the type of guy you would have ever seen yourself with, but maybe that’s because you’d only ever pictured your future with one specific person.

“Is it okay if I don’t really know?”

The question was risky, because up until that moment everything was completely casual. You were forcing an issue that you weren’t even sure was really what you wanted or not.

“I’m good however you want to be. I just like being around you,” Matthew told you. “Whatever you want that to look like, I’m down for.”

You smiled and took his open ending as an opportunities to change the ton of the conversation with, “What if I wanted to move to the Bahamas and become a scuba instructor with you and our three kids?”

“Give up my hockey career to see you in a bikini everyday? Sign me the fuck up.”

I know better

I know better than to ever call you mine

It was like that conversation had only happened in your mind. You’d left the diner that day and Matthew acted like everything was exactly the same as it had been when you walked in an hour prior. You pretended too, because what else were you supposed to do?

“Okay so,” Matthew tossed the stress ball from your desk up into the air and paused to ensure he caught it on its journey back down. “I wanted to ask if you’d come to this party thing the team’s having. It’s like, kinda nice, but I promise it’ll be low-key. I’ll even buy you a new dress for it. Well, I’m gonna let one of the guys’ wives do it. Call it a gift for putting up with me for so long.”

You had said yes without even thinking really. Also, you said yes without realizing Matthew was totally lying about how nice the event was. When the dress arrived on your doorstep, you unboxed it, expecting something just on the right side of too revealing. Instead, you found an absolutely stunning right, knee length formal dress.

“Matthew,” you sighed to yourself in your empty apartment, the dress in your hands. “What are you doing here?”

You mentally blocked out more time to get ready than you’d previously been planning, knowing you had to step up your game this time. Still didn’t mean you weren’t rushing to put the last bobby pin in place when Matthew knocked on your door that Friday evening.

“It’s open!” you shouted from your bathroom.

“You know, that’s not really safe!” Matthew shouted back, his voice getting louder as he came toward you, his dress shoes tapping against the floorboards as he walked. “You know I could’ve been- holy fuck.”

You turned to see Matthew standing in the doorway of your bathroom, his eyes raking up and down your body unabashedly. One of his hands gripped the doorframe in support as his eyes lingered at his favorite areas of your body.

“Jesus Christ,” he breathed out. “You look unbelievable.”

“Thank you,” you smiled softly. Your nerves were rising under his intense gaze and you kept fidgeting with a strand of your hair. “Thank you for the dress. And thank whoever picked it out for me.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he muttered. “Definitely gonna have to thank her.”

You giggled a little at just how in shock he still was. Guaranteed, he’d never seen you actually try and look this good before. The best you’d probably ever looked for him was the night at the bar where you met.

“Are you ready to go?” Matthew asked after clearing his throat. He finally had collected himself enough.

“Just gotta our the heels on and then yes,” you replied, motioning for him to get out of your way so you could get to your heels in your bedroom across the hall.

You sat down on the edge of your bed and began winding the straps of your heels around your ankle. Jess has picked them out when she saw the dress. They were a little cumbersome to put on, but they looked incredible with Matthew’s gift, so you dealt with the hassle of getting them on.

“Hey um, I wanted to talk to you about something before we go,” Matthew asked, his voice shaky.

For someone who was usually so confident it was almost a turn off, he was practically green when you looked up at him, taking a physical and mental break before putting on your other shoe. His hands were clenching and in clenching at his sides.

“Look uh, I know you’re,” he paused and looked you over again before continuing. “Well, you’re you and I’m me and this is stupid why did I start this?”

He sighed and let his head fall back, his curls flopping back as he gathered his thoughts. He cursed softly before looking back at you.

“I know I said I’d be whatever you wanted in the diner, that it was up to you and anything would be fine with me.” He finally met your eyes. “But I don’t think anything is fine with me. Fuck, I know better than to think you’re mine, but you feel like mine. God, you really, really do.”

He had crossed the room and was standing in front of you before you could process the words coming out of his mouth. Matthew’s hands grabbed yours and he pulled you to your feet, keeping you steady because you were still only wearing one heel.

“I love being around you,” Matthew told you, his baby blues looking into your eyes. You felt like he was looking straight into you, into the parts that made you who you were. “You’re one of my favorite people I’ve ever met. I know I shouldn’t ask. You’re so successful and smart and strong and you deserve so much better than me. I know better than to think you’d want to be with me, but fuck, do you want to be with me? Because that’s what I really want.”

You didn’t even have to think about your answer. You knew it. You steadied yourself against him and pressed your lips to his. His arms wrapped around your waist, lifting you off the ground to eliminate the rockiness from the one heel situation. His mouth felt different against yours, eager, but tender and caring in a way you’d never felt before from him or anyone.

“Mine,” he whispered against your lips, his smile making kissing you too challenging in that moment. “You’re mine now.”

“Kinda already was,” you laughed lightly. “Glad you’re taking the position of boyfriend up officially.”

“Oh shit. Miscommunication. I was promoting myself right to future husband,” Matthew joked. “Guess I gotta earn that promotion now, huh?”

#matthew tkachuk #matthew tkachuk imagine #matthew tkachuk fanfic #nhl imagine #nhl fic #nhl fanfic #nhl fanfiction #nhl writing #hockey imagine #hockey writing #hockey fanfiction

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