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biggest-stupidhead · 4 years ago

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HI WELCOME BACK! if i could request 'modern dad' levi x reader. i don't mind the format. im so happy your back!

HI! I MISSED U SM!!! Also this idea has been living RENT FREE in my brain so thanks for sending it in. If you're looking for more of this content I have a WIP that features dad! Levi x nanny! reader if you haven't checked it out yet go give it a read :)

Summary: Levi is a dad :)

Word Count: 1.3K

___

Levi knew that parenting wouldn't be easy. He had grown up with a sketchy idea of what it took to parent, having lost his mom so young and living with his detached uncle. So when you told him that you were pregnant with teary eyes and a quivering lip he had turned his back, unsure of his feelings.

At first he felt guilty, putting this burden on you. You however assured him that it was fine, that you would do whatever made him feel most comfortable. You had even had the audacity to suggest raising the child on your own, he of course refused.

Growing up in a single parent home had been less than ideal for himself and he would rather be caught dead than being a deadbeat dad. So after about three days of space, he came to you and told you his feelings. He told you how much he would hate to see you go through pregnancy alone, hate to see the child grow up as he had.

You had hugged him and cried into his chest as he rubbed your back. Now, nearly three years later, he couldn't have been happier with his decision. Even if he was covered in mashed peas and baby barf for the majority of those years. He wouldn't have traded it for the world. Every morning your daughter woke you up at six with tiny hands smushing cheeks and knees digging into ribs. She had his hair and eyes, but all of your charisma. She was stubborn and loud, extroverted and curious of the world. Levi had feared that he wouldn't have known what to do with her. The first time he held her in his arms was indeed the first time he had ever held such a small human.

Growing up in such a small family, he had never grown accustomed to children, as he cradled her small head, your hands guided him to support her bottom as you pressed her into his chest. He barely fought the tears form his eyes as the nurses congratulated him and you on your first child. She wore a small pink hat, swaddled in one of the hospitals newborn blankets.

Now she was racing around the house, bare feet slapping loudly against hardwood floors, sticky hands smearing handprints on his white walls. But he wasn't mad about the noise, or the mess for the first time in his life. He watched you as you parented her effortlessly, encouraging her to use her words and reading her mood flawlessly.

If she was fussy and extra stubborn, you would ignore her wails and snotty nose, instead heading into the kitchen to cut up an apple and dish out some peanut butter. As she ate the snack with tear filled eyes you nudged Levi's side and grinned softly at him.

"Peanut butter fixes everything." You explained as you leaned into his side. He scoffed and watched her scarf down the last of the apple slices, completely complacent.

"Now tell me what's wrong." You encouraged her and she let out a loud sigh.

"I wanna go outside." She said, her cheeks smudged with peanut butter. Levi turned and grabbed a fresh wash cloth, wetting it with warm water and crossing the room to clean off her rosy cheeks.

"Baby, it's raining outside." You reasoned and she grunted as Levi scrubbed her face.

"I wanna catch frogs." She whined and Levi's lip curled in disgust. Ever since Hange had babysat that one rainy weekend she wouldn't shut up about frogs.

"Okay, let's get your rain boots on." You said, heading towards the mud room where the shoes and coats were kept.

"Yes!" She squealed, throwing her arms around Levi's neck and pressing her damp cheek to his. He huffed, pulling her from her seat and carrying her after you. They found you pulling on a pair of old boots and a windbreaker, Levi helped Violet into her own rain gear. She could hardly sit still as he fastened the last button on her rain slicker. "You comin?" You asked as you pulled the garage door open, pressing the button to raise the garage door.

"I'll pass." He said, ruffling Violets dark locks before pulling her hood on.

"We'll bring in the findings." You said as you stepped out of the house, Violet hot on your heels.

"Those slimy things are not coming in here." Levi called after you as you waved a hand dismissively over your shoulder.

Thirty minutes later you came in sopping wet with a bucket full of bull frogs. Levi had tried to wrestle you out of the door but Violet reached into the bucket, pulling out easily the biggest, slimiest frog Levi had ever seen.

"His name is Booger!" She exclaimed as she held the fat frog by it's armpits.

"Get. That thing out of here now." Levi said, taking a step away from his daughter who took two tiny steps forwards. You hardly covered your laughter as Levi grabbed a nearby wooden spoon and pointed at Violet who continued to pursue him into the kitchen.

"Daddy look at his pretty spots!" She insisted as the frog let out a chorus of loud croaking. You set the bucket of smaller frogs back into the garage and pulled your phone out of your pocket to record the scene unfolding.

"He's ugly, get him out of here."

"Apologize!" Violet gasped, using her fingers to cover the frog's ears.

"No, get it out." Levi brandished the spoon, Violet squealed and thrust the frog forward with a toothy grin.

"He wants a kiss!" Violet giggled as the frog croaked loudly again.

"So help me I will drop kick that monstrosity out the front door." Levi growled, shooting a pointed glare at you and your camera.

"How rude!" Violet huffed, turning around with a loud squeak from her boots as she made her way back towards the garage.

"Unless you take the cleanest shower of your life, I will not be sleeping with you tonight." Levi threatened as you took the frog from her.

"You'd love that wouldn't you." You giggled as you pocketed your phone and turned to go release the frogs. He sighed loudly and placed the spoon back on the counter as the door closed behind you.

That night was spent bathing Violet head to toe after she splashed in one too many puddles. This was the part of parenting that Levi had no problem with, he was an expert at scrubbing her pale skin clean and picking up the trail of toys she left in her wake. He wrapped Violet in a warm towel as you finished up dinner in the other room. He helped her into her pajamas and she looped her arms around him with a content sigh.

"You're better at that than mommy." She complimented and Levi's brow furrowed.

"What do you mean?" He asked as he carried her into the dining room.

"Mommy's good too, but you always do it best." She smiled and Levi grunted, lips turning up in a small grin.

"That's 'cause your mom's shit at cleaning." He reasoned and Violet giggled. You came in, placing a plate of mac and cheese down in front of her as Levi planted a kiss to the crown of her head.

"And you suck at cooking." You countered and Levi quirked a brow as he looked down at the boxed mac and cheese that Violet was so eagerly shoveling into her mouth.

"Anyone can make boxed mac and cheese." Levi teased and you punched his arm with a pout.

"Shut up." You giggled and he rolled his eyes, pulling you in for a tight hug, you wrapped your arms around him and eased into his grasp. How had he gotten so lucky? He wondered as he held you close, the rain pattering outside as flashes of lightning lit up the dim room.

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artificialqueens · 4 years ago

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Love is a Dog From Hell, 1/5 (Rosnali) - Mattels

is it really that complicated that denali wants to be the best? all signs from the figure-skating gods seem to point to yes. (especially with her decidedly adult and mature hatred of coach rosé, who keeps wearing those god awful skin-tight ski-pants.)

aka denali’s a figure skating coach, rosé’s a ski coach; the rest is history

https://archiveofourown.org/works/29861322/chapters/73479360

November is sacred to Denali.

Although she’s a full-time figure-skating coach year round, boasting a full clientele of Olympic level students alongside a waiting list that seems to be growing by the year, November always manages to remind her why she started teaching to begin with.

Bonneville Academy, despite Denali considering its title of ‘academy’ being a stretch, has managed to wedge itself into her life, year after year. She spends six months of her year in Chicago, teaching private lessons to overenthusiastic and grossly rich teenagers, but from November through to April, she spends in Utah, working with the students to tighten their quadruple lutzes and receiving a paycheck that leaves her feeling pretty comfortable until the next November.

Although the school is technically a legitimate boarding school, offering fairly okay-quality education alongside the best training in the country all year, a lot of the students only attend for the ski season, unable or unwilling to fund a whole year.

Or maybe, Denali considers with a smile, nobody wants to live in the middle of nowhere, locked away in the mountains like a fucking yeti.

Michelle Visage, school director, emails Denali every year about working for them full-time, but every year Denali finds herself unable to leave Chicago behind. She loves her cozy city life, thank you very much. Living alone in her uptown apartment has yet to be beaten, even with the promise of the best skating facilities money can buy.

Half of the kids who attend don’t even realise how lucky they are, she finds herself thinking as her rental car starts the ascent to the school. It’s a long drive, the journey from Salt Lake to Bonneville is deliberately out of most peoples’ way, ensuring the cleanest snow and freshest powder for its plethora of skiers and snowboarders. She’d definitely have killed for something like this when she was still training.

The school is specialised, known for its premium winter sports programme raved about by former Olympians and their coaches. Everything is fully equipped, facilities and machines inside the camp always sparkling new and top of the line; huge dance studios with scary Russian ballet teachers to help her skaters achieve their best on the ice; big gyms and personal trainers; meals specially catered and designed to build muscle and strengthen bones.

It’s also really fucking expensive; Denali sees the checks on Michelle’s desk with their seemingly endless zeroes, given by mothers determined to boast that their little Sally went to Bonneville! But the elusive RuPaul, who Denali knows funds the school, but has never seen or heard much about, hands out plenty of scholarships to kids she deems talented and hard-working enough to thrive.

Denali’s car turns the corner, giving her a view of Bonneville’s ski slopes. She spots a couple of instructors already at the top of the chairlifts, riding down the mountain in neat lines as they enjoy the start of what’s looking to be a beautiful season. It’s still early, but it’s snowing heavily, Denali’s windscreen wipers working hard to keep the snowflakes off her windscreen.

As Denali pulls up to their entrance, she spots a couple of other employees hanging around outside, boisterous laughter coming from their conversations. They’re all old-timers, Denali is sure one or two of them have worked at the school since its opening in the late nineties.

She immediately spots the inky black mullet that belongs to Mik, one of the snowboarding coaches for the younger kids. She’s standing alone, narrow back pressed up against a red bricked wall as she smokes a cigarette, flicking ash off of the end into the thin layer of snow below her feet.

She gets out of her car, passing her keys over to the valet Michelle hires unnecessarily every year, always insisting, rather pointedly if you ask Denali, who seems to consistently be at the receiving end of the seemingly never-ending gripe, that she knows that someone’ll fuck up her parking arrangement, Denali.

It’s a fair point– Denali would never be bothered to follow Michelle’s colour-coordinated and meticulously planned spreadsheet, in which she’s grouped all the instructors of the same sport together in the carpark, as if it matters to anyone which spot they have.

The valet takes her bags too, which she’s perpetually grateful for; her suitcases are almost always overweight in the airport, despite taking three of her big ones with her. They’ll take them down to her room for her too, as if she’s staying in a nice hotel, not just a ridiculously boujee school.

Mik spots her, dropping the cigarette she was smoking and stubbing it against her chunky boots, jogging over to catch Denali in a tight hug. “Hey slut!”

Denali laughs, embracing her. “Nice to see you too, Mickey.”

Mik shrugs, letting her go with a smile. “You know you missed me, don’t even try it.” Denali rolls her eyes but can’t deny it, grinning when Mik wraps an arm around her shoulders.

“Denali Foxx!” Michelle greets her loudly, ticking her name off on a clipboard. “Usual room,” she says, fishing a key out of her pocket and passing it to Denali.

“Roomies!” Mik says, laughing with an eye-roll when Denali pretends to shover her fingers down her throat complete with exaggerated gagging sounds.

Denali’s always grateful to room with Mik, the rooms are a slightly awkward size– too big to stay in alone, a little too small for two people. Mik works at the school year round, and Denali knows she’s equally grateful to have someone to share with, forever complaining about how empty it feels when she’s by herself with two beds.

“Almost everyone else is already on the slopes,” Michelle notes, turning around so she can point out people on the mountain behind them. “You’ve got a couple days until the kids are allowed out, so better make the most of it.”

The school is laid out like a small village, boys on one side and girls on another, divided in almost everything except meals, which they have in the dining hall all together. The dorms are split into age, six buildings facing parallel to one another in a large U-shape, each with attached communal bathrooms and showers for the students. The buildings are all deliberately short so you can gape at Utah’s mountains practically anywhere on campus.

“I’ve been waiting for you to go out,” Mik says, grabbing Denali’s hand between her cold fingers, trying to drag her down the asphalt leading to the sports instructors’ rooming in the centre of the U.

The academics take place a couple miles down the road in a big building that actually looks like a school, which Michelle swears helps the students to stay focused, but Denali can’t say she’s totally convinced. She’s seen them get off the bus after school, racing one another to be the first in the chairlift queue.

“I really don’t want to go.” Denali whines, but lets Mik tug her down the path regardless. She’s not the best snowboarder even on her best days, and Mik always wants to take her down the especially mogul-ly runs, zipping in between trees and dodging ice patches that are still missing snow.

“Yes you do!” She says, practically skipping down the road. “There’s only a couple of us here anyways, and the kids aren’t allowed to carve up the snow yet– it’ll be fun!”

Denali rolls her eyes, with a sigh. “I’m only doing green runs!”

“Only red runs? Perfect!”

“No, fuck, come on Mik,” she huffs, her breath coming out in sharp puffs in the cold air. “I’m out of practice, this isn’t fair.”

Mik looks at her, shrugging her narrow shoulders, “how’s that my issue, gorge?”

She groans loudly as they approach the staff building, letting Mik lead the way to their room, unlocking the door with her own key.

Mik keeps their room uncharacteristically clean, especially in comparison to her wardrobe filled with clothes piled up on the bottom rather than on their hangers. Denali is pleased to see her blue suitcases on the side of the room Mik’s left for her, both her skating and snowboard boot bags by the end of her bed.

Mik talks aimlessly about the year so far as Denali changes out of her oversized shirt and equally oversized jeans combo. She rifles through her suitcases, half listening to the other girl, searching for her snow-pants and a hoodie, adhering to Mik’s advice to forgo her ski-jacket as it’s still early in the season and sunny enough, despite the snowfall.

She makes her help her lace up her boots properly, watching Mik’s skilled hands tightening them in record time. “Are you borrowing a board?” She asks.

“Mm,” Denali confirms, “are they ready?”

“You can literally borrow mine,” Mik squints up at her from her kneeling position, “we’re like, basically the same height.”

Denali scoffs at this, arching one of her dark eyebrows. “No fucking way am I borrowing one of yours, they’re all deathtraps.”

“They’re literally normal boards.”

“No, they’re all weirdly thin and flexible, I’ll literally break my neck.”

Mik frowns, “ok, first of all, rude. Second of all, I’ll have you know my boards are perfectly safe–”

“–did you or did you not snap one in half last year?”

“That was one time!”

“And that’s one time too many, doll.” Denali says, leaning down to tuck the laces into the tongue of her boot, pulling down her pants so they rest over the top. She reaches out a palm, helping Mik up from her kneeling position. “Get ready and I’ll meet you by the chairlift, okay?”

Mik rolls her eyes, reaching into Denali’s suitcase to attach her goggles to her helmet, passing it over with her gloves tucked neatly inside, as she would with her ten year-olds. Denali yells a thanks over her shoulder as she leaves, weaving her way out of their building to run down to their small ski shop.

☆☆☆☆☆

Humiliatingly enough, Mik makes Denali carry her snowboard with her on the chairlift, refusing to let her sit with one foot strapped in like a normal person would.

“You’re gonna knock your teeth out,” she laughs when Denali complains loudly about it. “Like fully splat, bitch.”

“I know how to ride a chairlift, thank you very much.” Denali grumbles, clutching her board tightly in her arms and sitting down. Mik reaches behind them, pulling down the safety bar, which Denali rests her feet on.

“Can’t have any casualties on day one, gorge.”

“The only casualty will be from me wringing your skinny little neck out when you push me down the mountain, you fucking bitch.” She groans, looking at the run below them.

There’s a pack of skiers weaving their way down tightly together under the poles of the lift. She can already see the deep valleys of moguls, even with her terrible eyesight. One of them looks up at their chair, waving at them with a grin.

Denali squints and she can see it’s Tayce, one of the newer instructors at the school. They had made fast friends last year, gossiping together about who hooked up with who over Thanksgiving– no, no, no, it’s clearly Brooklyn and Vanessa, they keep eyeing each other up–, which of their kids were likely to actually make the Olympic team– all of mine, thank you very much, Taycey–, who they might fuck given the chance– have you not seen A’Whora in the physio suite? I’d let her curb-stomp my neck– et cetera, et cetera.

“Everyone else is coming up tonight and tomorrow,” Mik remarks, waving over-exaggeratedly waving down to Tayce like she’s in a pantomime. “Tayce is like the only bitch I can stand here, as of currently”

“ As of currently? I’m here, as of currently! ”

“My point still stands, gorge.”

“After this run can you join up with them?” Denali groans, “Tayce’ll go super-speed with you. And she’ll let you harass her without breaking your nose.”

Mik laughs, “I don’t go that fast, bitch.”

“Have you ever seen that Disney movie Bolt ? Y’know the one with that dog who runs like, full speed of light? They could do a live-action version with you as the dog.”

“Woof!”

Denali’s face cracks into a grin as she rolls her eyes, “I’m serious! One minute you’re next to me, the next you’re–” she slides her gloved hands together in a forward motion “–zip . And then I’m the idiot who can’t get down.

“I’d never leave you!” Mik gasps, clapping a palm to her chest. “How dare you, fucking bitch.”

Denali scoffs loudly in response. Every year Mik tries to bully her into doing a couple runs together, and every year without fail Denali obliges, only to find herself stuck at the top of a mountain, Mik nowhere in sight.

“Head,” Mik announces, reminding Denali to duck her head so Mik can raise the safety bar, as they start to approach the end of the lift. Mik lines herself up to the drop-off, riding around the corner smoothly, giggling as Denali has to jog to keep up.

They both sit down to strap in, Mik tightening Denali’s bindings for her and pulling her up with a roll of her eyes.

“See you at the bottom?” Mik asks. Before Denali can answer, she’s slipped off, whooping as she hits a bump and flies upwards, grabbing the nose of her board as she hits the jump.

“So much for never leaving me, I guess,” Denali grumbles, carefully edging herself down the slopes with big sweeping S-shaped turns, she knows Mik will laugh at her about later, reminding her how her ten year-olds could easily out-board her.

Uh yeah, I’d fucking hope so, Denali thinks to herself, curving around onto the toe-edge of her board. Otherwise this’d be the biggest waste of money like, uh, ever.

The air that whips around her is cool, blowing snowflakes into her dark hair, but she doesn’t feel cold, happy in her thick sweatshirt and pants. Her feet are desperate to be unlatched from the board, feeling slightly unnatural to be locked in. She’s much more in her element spraying ice as she nails a complicated spin, she knows Mik would eat ass on.

Yeah, she thinks, fuck you and your ten year-olds, Mickey.

☆☆☆☆☆

“Michelle’s put the board up,” Tayce says in the late afternoon, sticking her head around Denali and Mik’s door propped open by a snowboard boot.

Denali looks up from the book she’s reading, comfortably curled up on her bed with her mandatory evening uniform of thick fluffy socks and sweats on. Mik, on the other hand, is still in her lycra leggings and hoodie, having made no effort to change since coming back, much to Denali’s disgust.

“Well?” Tayce asks in annoyance, cocking her hip, “you coming or what?”

Mik groans, rolling off of her bed and moving to stand next to Tayce in their doorway, bare feet on the cold linoleum. Denali carefully places her bookmark in her book, grabbing a pair of Nike slides– sponsored, thank you very much– and begrudgingly walking down the corridor to their big common room.

The Board– with an optional trademarked symbol from Mik– as it’s been aptly dubbed, is a large whiteboard divided neatly (by the increasingly anal Michelle) into a leaderboard. The top ten coaches are listed top to bottom, ordering the number of world title holders they’ve coached at Bonneville, bonus points being allotted to those whose kids win gold, and double points if the title being held was Olympian.

Michelle says it builds healthy competition. Denali says it builds a desire to Tonya Harding every other bitch in this place. Tomayto, tomahto.

Denali hadn’t even been on The Board, until she had returned three seasons ago with the last World Skating Championships under her belt, managing to land three podium spots. She proudly boasted for months to anyone that looked like they might listen that her girls had swept the categories, winning medals across the ladies’ single event, ice dance and pair skating.

Despite her allure of confidence, she knows she only made it up there because Michelle insists on starting fresh each year. She tries to tell them that she’s giving the new coaches a chance, but everyone knows it’s to keep egos in check.

Egos like mother-fucking Rosé McCorkell’s, who’s placed first on The Board two years running.

First as in one spot ahead of Denali’s second, first. First as in gloating in Denali’s face every opportunity she gets (and rest be assured, every opportunity means every opportunity ), first. First as in deliberately sabotaging Denali’s skaters, first– well, at least in Denali’s eyes.

Okay, whatever, yes it could have been a coincidence that one of her front runners’ sole came unglued from the attached blade on the morning of Nationals a year ago. And yeah, sure, maybe Rosé was like, several states away from the incident. And okay, yes, she still came in first after the whole thing, so it’s not it even really mattered after all. But Denali just knows Rosé had something to do with it, that bitch.

“Who’s on top of the pyramid this year?” Mik sing-songs when they approach The Board. Denali instinctively works her way through their photos from the bottom to the top, clapping Tayce lightly on the back when she sees her smack-dab in the centre.

She isn’t nervous; she knows she did well this year, the girls she had coached in the previous season competing in nationally-recognised competitions, pictures of them grinning up on their podiums, flowers in sequinned arms, emailed to her and the school. And it’s not even like it matters.

Her photo stands in line with another, both placed side-by-side at the top of the leaderboard. She can hear Mik mumble an oh shit, with a laugh as she realises that Denali is tied with Rosé at the top.

Okay, so maybe it matters a little bit.

Rosé’s photo looks down at her. She’s wearing her obnoxious signature pink ski jacket, her name embroidered into it in a sparkly silver thread. Her equally obnoxiouly signature curly pink hair has been tied up in a messy ponytail, and she stares at Denali with a big fucking grin on her face.

Denali wants to rip down the laminated photo, putting it into a paper shredder and watch as Rosé’s dumb face gets torn into ribbons.

“Healthy competition huh?” Tayce remarks, wrapping a long arm around Denali’s shoulders. “The cheek, the nerve, the audacity and the gumption, mama.”

“You have got to be fucking kidding me.” A voice groans, Denali turns around and is met by the woman of the hour. Rosé looks her up and down, irritation flickering in her green eyes. “Stepping your shit up, this season ice princess?”

Denali arches an eyebrow in response. “Evidently, McCorkell.”

Rosé smiles at her, all pearly white teeth Denali is pretty sure are veneers– well, at least that’s the rumour she and Tayce started last year as a laugh.

All of a sudden, she feels like a shark’s prey, a minnow trapped inside the great white’s tank. Rosé doesn’t have to say anything for Denali to know that she’s going to be in for a tough season.

Better get that hammer ready, she thinks to herself, I am not the Nancy Kerrigan of this competition, bitch.

tags: rosé, denali foxx, gottmik, rosnali, rivals to lovers, coach au, figure skating au, skiing au, lesbian au, love is a dog from hell, mattels

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