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bingbongsupremacy · 12 days ago

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The Soldier's Baby

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Plus Sized fem!reader

Warning: Y/N use, swearing, mentions of sexual assault (Not graphic just mentioned a few times) & the word rape (No one raped reader, there was just confusion on what happened), fatphobia, trauma, abuse, insecurities.

Summary: Y/N, a former HYDRA captive, taken at 18, escapes with her young daughter-born not by choice but through HYDRA's experimentation using The Winter Soldier's genetic material. Traumatized and wary, Y/N is brought to the Avengers compound for safety and recovery. It's there she discovers that the father of her child, a man she had only seen in passing, was alive and nearby. Bucky, who has no memory of what HYDRA did to him and has never met Y/N, is blindsided when he learns he has a daughter. Will the two be able to work past this difficult situation to become the parents their little girl deserves? Will they find love along the way?

After Captain America TWS, Not cannon to movies just some things from the movies mentioned.

*Not Proof Read*

Pt. 1 Pt. 2 Pt. 3 AU Version (What if you told Bucky while you were both in HYDRA)

□□□□□□□

The metal of the chair was cold against your skin, the sterile lab lights buzzing faintly overhead. You try not to shiver, though you are in nothing but a thin gown, one size too small, clinging to you uncomfortably in all the places they like to mock.

"Subject Nine," a voice crackles from above. "Remain still. This will be quick."

You don’t move. Not because you are obeying, but because your limbs are too heavy. Too tired. Too defeated. The restraints around your wrists dig into your flesh, but you barely notice anymore.

Dr. Johns, the lead scientist, enters the room with his usual haughty gait and bitter aftershave that made your stomach churn. He doesn’t look at you. He rarely does. You aren’t a person to them. Just a project.

"You should be honored," he says, flipping through a clipboard. "You’ve been chosen for something… special."

You don’t speak.

He looks up then, eyes sharp and smiling in a way that feels wrong. “We’re calling it Project Genesis. Has a nice ring, don’t you think?”

Still, you say nothing. You’d learned silence was the only control you had left. But you can’t stop your stomach from sinking, can’t stop the coil of dread tightening in your chest. What are they going to do to me?

“We’ve selected the optimal pairing. Your mind—remarkably resilient to manipulation and incredible intelligence—and his… well. You’ll see.”

You frown. “His?”

He finally smiles. “Yes. We’re combining your DNA with one of our finest specimens. You’ll be carrying a child.”

Your heart stops.

“What?” you croak. It was the first time you’ve spoken in weeks.

"A hybrid. The perfect balance of power and adaptability," he says matter-of-factly. “Your body will serve as the host. We’ll be implanting within the next week.”

“No,” you whisper, eyes wide. “You can’t—please. I don’t want—”

Dr. Johns leans in closer. “Want?” he echoes. “You don’t get to want. This isn’t about you.”

Here, nothing is ever about what I want. It's about what they can take and use.

The following week was hell.

You screamed. You cried. You begged. But the drugs were stronger than your resistance, and they didn’t even look at you while they did it. Just hands and needles and cold words behind masks.

Then it was over.

And you were left in a cell, aching, hollow, and furious.

For days, you lay curled on the thin cot, hands cradling your soft belly protectively, as if the new life inside you could already hear your sobbing. You didn't want this. Not like this. Not here.

But slowly—slowly—something inside you shifts.

The first time you feel the flutter, you are on your knees, scrubbing the concrete with shaking hands after they'd ordered you to "make yourself useful." Your palm pauses mid-swipe. A soft thump, deep in your stomach.

Your breath catches.

Was that…?

It comes again. A whisper from within. Not pain. Not control.

Just… life.

Tears fill your eyes as you drop the rag. You wrap your arms around yourself, hands shaking.

“Hi,” you whisper to the silence. “I’m your mom.”

This is not the life you want for your child. All you can do was love it and hope there was a way out.

Every time it kicks, your love for it grows stronger. The little baby underneath your heart. She is the only thing you have for yourself. The only thing that would love you back.

They try to stop you from talking to her. They say affection would ruin the experiment. But you don’t care anymore.

You name it in secret—just a name between you and it. A name you never speak out loud, but repeat every night in your thoughts. My baby. My child. My everything.

Sometimes you envision a different life with your baby. A life where it would be born into a safe, loving home-not a facility. A life where you can give it everything it could ever want or need.

They still taunt you.

“You’re barely holding together,” a guard snorteds. “Fat girl and a freak baby. What a combo. It's incredible they chose you as the surrogate. Clearly, there are better options.”

You stare straight ahead, your arms wrapped protectively around your stomach. Say what you want about me, you think. But don’t you dare touch my baby.

Time passes slowly. Days bleed into weeks. Your belly grows, and with it, a fragile hope.

You don’t know who the father is—not truly. They never say anything, and you know not to ask. You wonder if the father knows he's going to be a dad. If he is a victim like you, someone they forced into the same predicament.

That was likely the case.

Would your baby ever get to meet its father? Would it be safe for the baby to know him? All these questions yet no answers.

What kind of life will it have?

You try to escape numerous times. You try to get yourself and your baby out of the place you know as hell. It never works. They know you are too smart for digital locks. You can crack them within minutes. They settle for old-fashioned chain lock and cuffs. The more restricted you are, the less likely you would be able to find a way to get out of the situation.

-------

They make you give birth on a table. No warmth. No hand to hold. Just cold hands and barking orders.

You remember screaming. You remember crying. You remember the sharp pains wracking your body due to the lack of drugs to soothe them.

You remember the silence after her first wail.

"Let me see her!" you cry, body shaking. “Please—let me hold her—just once—please—!”

But they are already gone. The door slams. The silence returns.

And you bleed alone on the table, heartbroken. You knew this would happen. There was no way they'd let you keep her. You just wish that small sliver of hope buried deep in your chest had been correct.

You don’t move for days.

They threaten you. Drug you. Torture you mentally. But you stay silent, numb.

Then, one day, they come with a new offer.

“You’ll get to see her,” Dr. Johns says smoothly, “once a week. But only if you behave.”

You want to spit in his face. But the thought of your baby—of her eyes, her breath, her smile—shatters your resolve.

“…Okay,” you say. At least you can check if she was okay.

-----

She is beautiful. Everything you imagine and more. With beautiful brown eyes and tuffs of brown hair. There are a few features you recognize in yourself. Your pout, your lashes. And there are features you don't recognize, like birthmarks or the shape of her nose. Those must be from her father-whoever he is.

Even through the glass, even under guard supervision, she is the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen.

And one day, you find the file.

It's stupid. Someone left it open. Maybe a test. Maybe a trap.

But you can’t help it. You have to know.

Subject: Project Genesis Maternal Donor: Subject Nine Paternal Donor: WS-13 (Winter Soldier)

You nearly drop it.

Him.

That man. The one with the metal arm. The one who never speaks.

Your heart breaks—not for yourself, but for him. He doesn’t know. There is no way he does. I've seen them wipe his mind hundreds of times. If he knew, they would immediately wipe him. That's the kind of people they were. He doesn’t know she exists.

You close the file, tuck it back carefully, and say nothing.

You don’t tell anyone. You don't tell him, even though you sometimes see him in the halls on his way to the next mission. His stoic eyes and rough demeanor scare you. He isn't here to mess around. He has a mission, and that is his only focus.

Who knows what he would do if he found out he had a child? A man like him, so badly tortured. He's a killing machine. There's no telling if he was even capable of caring for anyone. He could become a risk to her. He could cause her harm. He could hurt me, too.

Sometimes your mind would wander. What if he does know? What if he knows he has a child and but doesn't care? On the other hand, what if he found out and he did care? Would he try to protect the baby?

The what-ifs plague your mind. In the end, you decide it is too much of a risk. You have no idea how he will react, and that scares you. It's better safe than sorry.

Because if you die—there will be no one left to protect her. You are her only shot.

----

The guards give you one hour. That was the rule.

One hour, once a week. Under supervision. In a sterile white room with a single metal chair and your baby sitting behind reinforced glass, until they allow you to hold her.

They never say her name—never call her anything but the subject or the specimen. But you say her name in your head a thousand times a day. It is the only thing that feels like yours.

When they first let you hold her, she is so small. Lighter than you imagined. Warm, wiggling in your arms like she knows you.

You sit down and don’t move the entire hour, too scared they'll take her early if you do anything wrong.

“I missed you,” you whisper, brushing your nose against her tiny head. “Did they treat you okay? Did they… Did you eat enough?”

She cooes softly, hand brushing against the thin hospital gown you are wearing. Your heart breaks into a thousand glass pieces.

“You’re safe with me,” you promise, even though it is a lie. You really can't do much to protect her. You have no leverage to use against them. You also aren't a trained supersoldier, like her father. They are more focused on your mental abilities than your physical strength, so they never bother to train you. “Just for now. You’re safe.”

The guard coughs behind you, clearly bored.

You glare down at your arms. “Don’t listen to them, sweetheart. Mommy’s here.”

------

Weeks pass.

Your arms grow stronger from carrying her. Your body, tired and aching, moves faster in the cell training they force on you. You do everything they ask. Not because you want to—but because it keeps her safe.

She starts recognizing you.

She babbles when she sees you. Wriggle excitedly when you come into the room. One visit, she reaches her chubby arms out and gives the smallest, gummiest smile.

You cry so hard you can barely breathe.

When she falls asleep against your chest—her tiny hand wrapped around your finger—you pray time will freeze.

“Sleep, baby,” you whisper. “Please… dream of trees, and blue skies, and things I can’t give you.”

Most days are like that. Peaceful between the two of you. However, there are times when things get difficult.

There is one day, she is quiet.

Too quiet.

You feel the panic rising in your throat the moment you step into the room. She isn’t smiling. She isn’t moving.

“Is she sick?” you ask the guards, voice rising. “What did you do?!”

“No questions,” says the same monotone response. “One hour. No more.”

You clutch her tightly, holding her against your chest, rocking her gently.

Her little head lifts. She lets out a tired breath. Her eyes—a beautiful shimmering brown—blink up at you.

Relief hits like a tidal wave. You cradle her even tighter.

“You scared Mommy,” you whisper into her soft curls. “Don’t ever do that again, okay?”

Your voice cracks.

“I don’t know what I’d do if I lost you.”

You have no idea what they are doing to your child. It kills you to think they are hurting her. You have no control. All you can do is try to bring some comfort in the short time you have with her.

-----

Life stays like that for two years. You spend the time you can with her. You teach her how to talk and walk. Even though the situation is difficult, she is a resilient baby. She is smart. She learns quickly. She definitely develops skills faster than other babies do. That makes you proud.

Then the visits stop.

No explanation. No announcement. Just… silence.

Days pass. Then weeks.

You scream. You fight. You are drugged.

And when you come to—bleary, arms strapped down in your cot—you know something is wrong.

The halls are quieter. Fewer footsteps. Fewer voices. Then none.

The next time someone opens your door, it isn’t a guard.

It was no one.

A soft creak. A hiss of released air.

You wait.

No commands. No threats.

You pull the restraints free with little effort, too easily. The power has been cut. The systems are breaking down.

You stumble into the hallway, barefoot and filled with panic.

Lights flicker.

No soldiers.

No scientists.

Just the dead hum of a forgotten place.

And then—

A sound.

A baby crying.

Your baby crying.

Her.

You run harder than you ever have in your life.

Your legs burn, your body still weak from weeks of starvation and isolation, punishments for your lack of cooperation, but you run.

The lab is a maze. But your instincts—your love—cut through the fog.

You find her in a room filled with overturned equipment. She is crying, face red, fists curled. She is still in her tiny containment crib. But no one is watching her anymore.

You throw open the gate and collapse to your knees, cradling her against your chest.

“I’m here,” you sob, rocking her. “I’m here. I got you. I got you.”

She stops crying instantly, face pressed into your neck.

You clutch her so tight, your arms ache.

And then you find a room with a door that locks from the inside. It used to be a cell. Now, it's your only sanctuary.

You ration food. You keep her warm. You sing songs in a hoarse voice, trying to drown out your own fear.

You don’t know how long you can last. But as long as she is breathing, you’d try.

You know, at some point, you will have to leave the building. You will need more food and water.

The thought terrifies you. You haven't been outside in years. You haven't seen the sun or the outside in so long. The world is different. It has to be. While you were stuck in a building that never seemed to change, you know the outside is different. There is no one for you to trust outside. You will be so exposed and vulnerable out there.

At least you know what you are working with in the confines of the building. You can keep her safe here for now. You will figure out the rest later.

You scavenge the building for as many resources as you can find. It is enough to keep you both okay for a few months. Definitely not enough to last longer than 8 months.

---

Three months passed. Winter was coming. You know you need to leave soon. You will both freeze to death if you stay here much longer.

You are thinner. Paler. You know your body is getting weaker, but you do your best to be there for your baby and plan your next steps.

Then one day—it all shattered.

You hear footsteps.

Not like before. Heavier. Measured. Careful.

Voices. English. Not Russian.

You scoop her up. Her body is heavier now, growing. You run down the halls, bare feet slapping against concrete. The lights died long ago, and all you have is your memory of the maze.

She starts crying.

Too loud.

You hush her frantically. “Please, baby, shh—don’t cry, don’t cry, they’ll hear you—”

Too late.

Footsteps speed up.

Voices bark orders.

Then you turn a corner—and freeze.

A woman stands at the end of the hall.

Red hair.

Black suit.

Eyes wide.

She doesn’t raise a weapon.

“Hey,” she says, holding up both hands. “It’s okay. We’re not going to hurt you.”

You back away, toddler clutched tight. “No! Don’t touch her! Don’t take her!”

Others come. Bigger. Bulkier. You see a glowing chest light in the dark—hear a metal suit hiss.

You turn. You run.

But another figure appears behind you, this one carrying arrows.

You are surrounded.

The baby is sobbing now, screaming into your neck. She can sense your fear and desperation.

“Don’t kill her!” you cry, collapsing to your knees. “Please—I’ll do anything, just don’t hurt her—please—!”

The redhead approaches slowly. “We’re not here to hurt her,” she says gently. “Or you.”

You shake your head, body trembling. “Liar. You’re all liars—she’s just a project to you. She’s all I have. Don’t take her.”

“We’re the Avengers, we just want to help you. We are not a part of HYDRA,” she says. “You’re safe now.”

You cling tighter to your baby.

“Please,” you whisper, chest heaving. You don't believe their words. “Just let me keep her.”

The redhead crouches beside you.

“You will.”

------

The Quinjet is too loud.

You sit stiffly in a corner seat, clutching your daughter like she might vanish if you blink. She's curled up against your chest, worn out from crying and the chaos, her tiny hands fists in your torn clothes.

Your arms are shaking.

Everything feels like too much.

Too bright. Too fast. Too real.

You stare at the dark floor panels, heart pounding like a war drum. The whirring of the engines, the humming of voices you don’t trust—none of it felt safe. You don’t feel safe.

No one tries to take her from you. Not yet. That was the only reason you haven't fought.

She shifts in your arms, pressing her flushed cheek to your collarbone. Your hand automatically rubs gentle circles into her back, your mother’s instincts stronger than the trauma clawing at your brain.

“She won’t let go,” Natasha murmurs to Bruce, standing just far enough not to crowd you. “Even when she’s asleep.”

“She shouldn’t have to,” Bruce says softly. “Not after what she’s been through.”

They don’t think you can hear them.

But you did.

You heard everything.

They bring you to a room with soft lighting and gentle walls. It smells clean—but not like chemicals. Not like HYDRA.

Bruce Banner stands in the corner, hands folded, speaking in a voice like wind brushing over still water.

“I’m just going to take a look at you,” he says gently. “Both of you. I promise I won’t touch her unless you say it’s okay.”

You don’t move.

Your baby is wide awake again, sitting in your lap, staring with wide eyes at the stranger in the white coat.

You pull her tighter against you.

“She’s mine,” you say. Your voice cracks. “No one touches her.”

Bruce gives a small nod. “Of course. I just want to help.”

You don’t believe that.

But he doesn’t push. Instead, he pulls out a scanner and crouches—to your eye level.

“May I scan you from here?”

You hesitate… then give a tiny nod.

The scan was quiet. No pain. No poking. No restraint.

“She’s malnourished but stable,” Bruce says, looking at your daughter. “You’ve been feeding her from rations?”

“Yes,” you whisper.

He nods again, with genuine warmth. “You did an incredible job.”

Your throat closes up. You tried.

You look down at your baby, who's pressing her forehead into your chest. She's calmer here. Calmer with you.

You’ve done something right.

“You’ve been through serious mental trauma,” Bruce continues. “I think your system’s still fighting the effects of long-term neurological exposure. We’ll give you space, but if you ever want help—therapy, or medication, or even just rest—we’ll be here.”

You don’t answer.

You are still waiting for the moment they take her away.

But no one moves.

They are waiting for you.

Later, they bring you to a different hospital room that was too nice to be real. Real bed. Blankets. A large mirror on the other side of the room. A window with sunlight. You can see the world. It was very different than what you remembered.

When you were taken, you were freshly 18. A time that was supposed to be exciting and full of new adventures was quickly robbed from you. All your dreams of finally getting to go to Harvard were crushed. You were from a smaller town, one that didn't have these massive buildings that surrounded you. You were used to fields and animals. Nothing like that was outside. It was a shock.

You don’t know how to sleep in a bed anymore. But your baby is finally dozing in the crook of your arm.

You sit, awake, staring at the door.

And then it knocks.

“Hey. It’s me. Natasha,” comes the voice from the other side. “Can I come in?”

You don’t say anything.

The door opens gently.

She enters slowly, hands empty. She sits across from you, not too close.

“I just want to ask you a few questions,” she says quietly. “Is that okay?”

You look at her for a long moment… then give the smallest nod.

“What’s your name?”

You lick your dry lips. “Y/N.”

“How old are you?”

“Twenty-six.”

Her expression softens. “And how long were you in that facility?”

You look down at your baby. “Since I turned 18.”

A beat of silence.

Natasha’s jaw tightens—just a bit. “That’s a long time.”

You don’t respond.

She nods to your baby, who is sound asleep now.

“What’s her name?”

You hesitate—but just for a moment. You are too proud to stay silent.

“Daisy.”

You always loved Daisies. Naming her that reminded you of the beautiful world outside of the building. A world you hoped you would get to show her.

Natasha smiles gently. “That’s beautiful.”

You nod slowly, brushing your fingers through your daughter’s hair. "I thought so too."

Natasha leans forward just a little. “Can I ask about her father?”

Your whole body tenses.

Your eyes drop to Daisy’s face again. So small. So innocent.

You swallow thickly. “I don’t… I don’t know him,” you admit. “I never met him. Not really.” You had only ever seen him in passing.

Natasha’s gaze flickers, and you see it—just the briefest flash of concern. Worry.

“It wasn’t like that,” you say quickly. “No one… touched me. I mean, not—not that way.”

She relaxes. Just slightly.

You toke a shaky breath.

“They called it Project Genesis. They told me they wanted to create a weapon with the perfect balance. My mind. His body. His strength.” You brush your fingers across Daisy’s head. “I didn’t even know whose DNA they used. Not at first.”

“You found out?”

You nod slowly. “They left a file out once. I don’t think they meant to. I saw his name.”

Natasha doesn’t speak.

“They called him… the Winter Soldier.”

You wonder what happened to him. You stopped seeing him about a month before they stopped showing you Daisy. Had he gotten away? Was he a free man, living his life as normally as he could? Sometimes you wonder if you should have told him. He did have a right to know. If he had gotten away, would he have taken Daisy with him if he knew? Would he have kept her safe?

The room goes so quiet, you could hear your heartbeat.

“I didn’t tell him,” you whisper. “I was scared. I thought maybe he’d take her. Maybe he’d hurt her. Or… maybe he didn’t know. I couldn’t risk it. I had to protect her.”

You looked up at Natasha, terrified.

“I swear I’m telling the truth.”

She didn’t answer.

She didn’t have to.

Her face said everything.

----3rd POV----

Outside, behind a one-way mirror, the rest of the team watched in stunned silence.

Steve stood stiff, fists clenched. His heart hurt for the woman. She had been forced into a situation no one should ever have to be. And he felt bad for his friend. Bucky had no idea. If Bucky knew he had a child, he would've told Steve. He also would've done everything in his power to save it from the horrors the baby undoubtedly experienced.

Sam glanced at Clint. “Is this even possible? Bucky's never mentioned having a kid before. Could she be lying? Trying to get something from him or us?”

Tony frowned. “HYDRA did a lot of things that shouldn’t have been possible. It's not out of the realm to think they would go this far. They were selectively breeding.”

“She doesn’t know he’s here. What's there to gain from lying about him?” Bruce said quietly. “I don't think she’s lying.”

Steve ran a hand through his hair. “I think she's telling the truth. I mean look at that kid. I knew she looked familiar. It makes sense now. She's got Buck's eyes and hair. We can also do a DNA test, right, Bruce?” he said, voice rough.

Bruce nods. “If he wants one done, I can try to convince Y/N to let us take some blood from the baby.” He observes the baby through the glass. "She does look a lot like Bucky."

“We have to tell him.” Clint looks around at the group of men.

“Who’s going to do it?” Sam asked.

“I will.” Steve volunteers. "It'll be better coming from me.

----- 3rd POV -----

The rhythmic thud of fists against the heavy bag echoed through the training room.

Sweat dripped from Bucky’s brow, soaking into the collar of his shirt. His knuckles—flesh and metal—were raw from the relentless assault. The gym was quiet, empty except for the sound of effort. That’s how he liked it.

Alone. Focused. Empty.

This was the only place where the memories didn’t claw so loudly at the back of his skull.

Every time he closed his eyes, he saw faces—bloodied, terrified, dying. Faces he couldn’t name. Faces he’d hurt. Even now, even free, the weight of what he’d done pressed against his chest like a boulder he could never move.

So he hit the bag.

Over and over.

Like he could punch his past into silence.

His metal arm whirred with each movement—controlled and brutal. He wasn’t training to stay in shape. He was trying to feel something. Anything that wasn’t guilt.

But then he heard it.

“Buck.”

Steve’s voice.

He didn’t stop punching. Didn’t look.

“I need to talk to you.”

Still, he didn’t stop. Not until Steve stepped into his line of sight.

Bucky dropped his fists, breathing heavy, strands of dark hair sticking to his forehead. “What is it?”

Steve hesitated.

And that… that was never a good sign.

Steve's voice was low, careful. Like he was trying not to spook a wild animal.

“There’s a woman here. She was rescued from a HYDRA facility.”

Bucky blinked, wiping his face with a towel. “Okay…”

“She was part of an experiment. One of the worst ones. Mental manipulation. Long-term isolation. She’s been in there since she was eighteen.”

Bucky stiffened.

“I… I wouldn’t be telling you this if it wasn’t important.”

“Steve,” Bucky said, voice a warning. “What are you not saying?” Steve needs to stop beating around the bush.

Steve’s throat bobbed.

“She has a daughter.”

Bucky frowned. “Okay? So?”

Steve took a step closer. “We're... We're pretty sure she's yours. She looks a lot like you did as a kid. The mother says they used your DNA, Buck.”

The words hit him like a bullet to the chest.

“What?”

“She didn’t know at first. She found out later. The girl—her name’s Daisy—is about two years old. HYDRA created her. They used you.”

Bucky staggered back, as if someone had punched him in the gut.

“No.” His voice cracked. “No, that’s not—That can’t be—”

“I know it’s a lot,” Steve said quickly. “I know. She didn’t lie. She didn’t even know you were here. She wasn’t trying to manipulate anyone. All she’s done is try to protect that little girl. If you want more confirmation, we can try to get a DNA test from Daisy. It might take some time to convince her mom to allow us to get close to her, but we can try if you want.”

Bucky stared down at his hands.

His right hand—flesh and bone—trembled. His left hand—metal, inhuman—hung limp at his side.

“A kid?” he whispered. “My kid?”

His vision blurred. He didn’t realize he was shaking until Steve gently rested a hand on his shoulder.

“I didn’t even know,” Bucky rasped. “I didn’t even know what they were doing. They took it from me. They used me again.”

“I know, Buck.”

He turned away, eyes wild. “I don’t—What if I’m just like them? What if Daisy's like me? What if—”

“She’s not,” Steve said, voice firm. “She’s sweet. Gentle. She looks at her mother like she’s the whole damn world. She's a great kid, Buck.”

Bucky’s throat closed.

And then the question clawed its way out:

“Does she know I'm here now? The mother… does she hate me?”

“No,” Steve said quietly. “She doesn’t even blame you. She said she thinks you didn’t know. That maybe you were just a name to them. She didn’t tell anyone because she was scared. She’s just trying to keep her daughter safe.”

Bucky sank to the floor.

He didn’t speak. Just pressed his face into his hands, breaths coming short and fast. Should I get a DNA test? That might put both the mother and the kid through a lot of trauma. Steve said Daisy looked like me. How could she look like me if she's not somehow related to me? I don't have any family left alive. It couldn't be a niece or something.

A kid.

A real one.

A little girl who existed in this world, who shouldn’t, because of him.

And he didn’t know if he had the right to see her.

-----

The compound garden was quiet except for the rustle of wind against tree branches and the distant hum of city life beyond the security walls. It didn’t feel real, not after the concrete and cold metal of the facility. You still flinch every time someone closes a door too hard.

You sit on a bench near the far edge of the garden, your daughter cradled against your side, her tiny hands sticky with banana. The blanket around her small frame is a borrowed one—soft and blue with tiny stars stitched into the corners. It was Natasha’s idea, something comforting and warm to help your daughter adjust.

Your own comfort? That was a different story.

You're still in borrowed clothes. Still tense. Still not sure when someone is going to pull the rug out from under you again.

Daisy's humming a little tune, off-key but sweet. Your hand moves in her hair, soothing her even though she doesn’t need it. Maybe you do.

Then came the sound of slow, hesitant footsteps on the gravel path.

You don't move right away. You are used to the sounds of people coming. You’d learned that reacting too quickly made them think you were unstable.

But something about these steps made your body tense. Heavy. Measured.

You turned—and your breath caught.

It was him.

The man from the file. The man from the hallway glimpses when you’d been escorted for testing. The man who made your head race with a million questions.

The Winter Soldier.

No—Bucky Barnes. That's what Natasha calls him.

He looks like a shadow from the past given breath. His long hair is tied back in a loose band, strands escaping around his jaw. He's wearing a hoodie too big for him and boots that look scuffed from use. His vibranium arm shines in the filtered sunlight, catching faint reflections of the world around him.

His face—oh, his face.

He isn’t the weapon you remember. He's a man. And he looks like he hasn’t slept in weeks.

He stops several feet away, eyes locked on you, then flickers to the child on your lap. His eyes stay on Daisy as he takes her in, like he's trying to memorize her.

He looks like he wants to speak but doesn’t know how.

You sit up straighter, your arms instinctively wrapping more protectively around Daisy. She shifts, sensing your tension.

Bucky notices.

“I—” he starts, voice rough like gravel. “I’m not gonna hurt you.”

You don’t answer.

“I shouldn’t’ve come,” he murmurs. His hands hover at his sides, uncertain. “I didn’t want to scare you. I just…”

He swallows hard, eyes flicking to Daisy again.

“She’s mine?” he asks quietly.

You nod, slow and cautious. “Yes.”

His jaw clenches. He looks like he might collapse under the weight of that one word.

“I didn’t know. They didn't tell me,” he whispers. “I swear, I didn’t know.”

“I believe you,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper. He looks so different then how you'd seen him in the past. His face, which was usually stoic and emotionless, is filled with conflicting feelings. This has to be a lot for him to take in.

His eyes—startlingly blue, filled with pain—finally meet yours.

He takes one step forward and then pauses again. And then, hesitantly, in a voice that barely held together: “Did I—did I hurt you when she… when she was…” He trails off, the words choking in his throat. His eyes drop to the ground. “I hoped I wasn’t capable of shit like that but… I don’t know. I never know what they made me do. Not really.”

You stare at him, breath caught in your chest.

You know what he meant. He wants to know if they made him rape you. It was too hard for him to say.

That has to be a horrible feeling to experience. Knowing your mind and body could have been potentially used to so horribly violate another person. HYDRA controlled his actions, but in the end, he was the one having to live with the consequences.

“No,” you say softly. “You weren’t even in the room.”

His head jerks up to look at you. He's confused.

“It was in vitro,” you clarify. You tear your gaze away from his face, embarrassed by your vulnerable experience. I wish I could've protected myself. Stopped what they did to me. I couldn't, which makes me feel so weak. You continue. "When I was first brought into the facility, they took some of my eggs. They fertilized the egg with your sperm in a lab and then put it back in me. You were never physically involved in it." You try to reassure the man. "They never let me see who the donor was. I didn’t know until about a year after Daisy was born.”

You push yourself to look at his face.

Relief crashes across his features—brief, raw, and almost too painful to look at. He nods, a quiet breath escaping him, but the tension doesn’t leave his shoulders. Then sympathy and regret take over his face as your words settle in his head.

"I'm so sorry you had to go through that...I can't imagine what that must've been like. Living in a place like that, in those conditions while pregnant...it's hard enough to survive without a baby." Bucky apologizes like it's his fault. Like he had put you through that situation. "If I had known...I would've tried to get you both out or helped you. It's not fair that you had to do that alone." He speaks genuinely.

"It's not your fault. They used you like they used me. There's nothing you could've done. They would have killed you or sent you away." I don't hold a grudge against him.

"Still, I'm very sorry."

You look at him again—really looked at him—and realize something that unsettles you.

He's just as scared as you are.

And just as broken.

There was silence between you. Heavy, aching silence. You both had experienced so much at the hands of the same people. While your journeys were different, you were both left with trauma and nightmares. You both missed time with your daughter.

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you." It's your turn to apologize. "About her. I-I didn't know what you were going to do or react. If you would even care. I didn't know if it was safe to tell you. I couldn't risk being hurt and getting killed or losing the time they allowed me to see her." You nervously continue. "I had seen you a few times in the halls. You always looked angry and emotionless. Like a cold weapon. I was nervous to talk to you."

Bucky face is stiff. His eyes, however, hold sadness. " I'm sorry. I couldn't control myself. They killed my personality and feelings. You did what you had to. She comes first. I'll never be angry for you putting her well-being first."

He isn't how you expected. Well, you didn't really know what to expect. It makes you sad he didn't get to spend time with her at all. At least you saw her once a week. This is the first time he's met her. While you missed a few milestones, he had missed them all. That's time he could never get back.

Then Daisy stirs.

She blinks up at the stranger, her small brows furrowing. “Mama?” she whispers.

You smooth a hand over her hair. “It’s okay, sweetheart.”

Bucky slowly crouches down, still not closing the distance.

He looks at Daisy with a softness that shocks you. His metal hand flexes on his knee, uncertain.

“She’s… beautiful,” he says, voice cracking.

Your throat tightens. “She is.”

“How old?”

“Almost two and a half.”

He nods slowly, trying to work the math in his head. “God…”

You see him glance toward her again.

He wants to reach out. You can tell.

But he doesn’t.

And that matters more than anything else—he doesn't assume he has a right to her. He respects you. He's willing to go at your pace.

“Do you… do you want to sit?” you ask hesitantly.

He looks up, shocked. Then nods, barely breathing.

“I’ll stay back here,” he promises, lowering himself to the far end of the bench. “Just wanted to see her. That’s all.”

You watch him out of the corner of your eye as Daisy nibbles on the banana again, still watching him with curiosity. She giggles and waves at him with a wide grin.

Bucky's lips curl into a pained smile. He waves back.

“He good guy?” she asks, glancing at you.

You pause.

You look at Bucky again.

The sorrow on his face. The weight on his shoulders.

“I think he’s trying to be,” you said quietly.

----- 3rd POV -----

Bucky didn’t remember walking back into the compound.

He remembered standing up from the bench with a nod and a faint, careful thank you to Y/N. He remembered Daisy waving her banana at him in a tiny, sticky goodbye. He remembered the ache in his chest when he looked at them one last time.

But after that, it was a blur.

Now he was back in the gym, his hoodie on the floor, fists slamming into the punching bag like it had personally ruined his life. Sweat clung to his skin, hair stuck to his forehead, and the fabric of his shirt felt suffocating. The leather wrap on his right hand had already started to fray.

Wham.

WHAM.

"You're gonna break the damn wall if you keep that up."

Bucky didn’t stop punching, but his jaw tensed. "Maybe it deserves it."

Steve stepped into view, hands in the pockets of his jeans. His voice was steady, but soft. “You went to see her?”

Bucky exhaled through his nose and gave the bag one last blow before stepping back. His chest heaved. “Yeah.”

Steve didn’t say anything for a long moment. He just waited.

Bucky ripped off the wraps on his hands, tossing them onto the floor. “Y/N, she’s scared of me.”

“She’s been through hell,” Steve said quietly.

“I know that,” Bucky snapped, more at himself than Steve. “I saw it. I saw it all over her face. Every time I moved too fast, every time I even looked at her wrong, she flinched like I was going to—”

He broke off, dragging a hand over his face.

“I didn’t mean to scare her.”

Steve walked closer. “You didn’t mean to have a kid, either.”

Bucky barked a humorless laugh. “No, I didn’t. Hydra made that choice for both of us. Took what they wanted, like they always did. Used me to make a baby and used her to carry it. That shit is cruel. All those procedures Y/N had to endure...going through pregnancy in a place like that. A time that was supposed to be happy for most must've been a nightmare for her. Yeah, they took sperm from me, but that was the end of my job. They made her carry Daisy and suffer alone. The fear she must've felt, Steve. The pain. And she had no one there to support her.” Bucky was pissed and guilty.

He had wanted kids when he was younger. Before the war, he wanted a family. He wanted to be there for his wife, whoever she was, when the time came for them to have kids. He wanted to help her and be there to get everything she needed or wanted. He felt like it was the responsiblity of the father to be there to support the mother of their child. He hadn't known, so he wasn't able to be there. That hurt. Besides that, he missed so many milestones. Daisy's first laugh, first word. And so many more.

He rubbed at the back of his neck, pacing a few steps away. “You know what’s messed up? For a second—I was terrified I’d hurt her. That they made me violate her...” He swallowed the bile crawling up his throat at the thought. “But she said it was in vitro. That I wasn’t even there. And I was relieved. Relieved I didn’t hurt her.”

“That’s not messed up,” Steve said. “That’s human. It'd be messed up if you didn't care what had happened to her.”

Bucky slumped onto a bench, metal hand resting on his thigh. “She said she’d seen me before. That I looked cold. Like a weapon.”

Steve sat beside him, not too close. “You were being used as one.”

“It doesn’t matter. That face still haunts her. Still haunts me.”

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “She was trying so hard to be brave. Holding that little girl like her life depended on it. Maybe it does.”

Steve was quiet for a moment. “Did you look at her?”

Bucky glanced sideways. “The baby?”

Steve nodded.

Bucky’s voice dropped to a whisper. “She’s perfect, Steve. Big eyes. Wild hair. She’s got this laugh—she laughed at me. Me. Can you believe that?” His lips pulled into a soft, disbelieving smile. Then it faded.

“I don’t know what to do. She’s scared of me. Rightfully so. I don’t even know what I am to that little girl. I don't know if I'm good enough to be a dad. I've never had a responsibility like that. I didn’t choose any of this.”

“No,” Steve agreed. “But you’re here now. You're going to be a great dad, Bucky. You're just going to need to learn a little bit. There's nothing wrong with that. Y/N is still learning too.”

Bucky closed his eyes, the weight of it all pressing into his spine. “What if I mess this up?”

Steve clapped a hand on his shoulder, firm and sure. “Then you keep trying. You show up and try again. You don't give up on your kid. And you let them set the pace.”

------

You watch Daisy sleep from across the room, arms wrapped around your knees, curled into yourself like you used to in your cell.

The compound was too quiet sometimes. Not the same kind of terrifying quiet like HYDRA, but… too peaceful. Like silence, you hadn’t earned.

You could still feel the warmth of the bench under your body. Still see the careful way Bucky had kept his distance. The way he’d crouched like he wasn’t sure if he should even breathe too close to your daughter.

Our daughter.

This isn't how you had planned to have a family. As a young girl, you had always wanted to have a family someday. You wanted a lot of things. You want to graduate from Harvard with honors and get into a great graduate program. You wanted an amazing career in an industry where you could make a difference with the help of your intelligence. You wanted to find a man who loved you completely, no matter how much you weighed or what you looked like. You wanted to get married and have children in a beautiful home you worked hard for. You wanted your husband to be there when you gave birth to your babies, to be able to share the moment with you. You wanted your husband to be able to share your baby's beautiful moments and milestones with you. You wanted to throw birthday parties and show your baby off. You wanted so much.

And you got none of it.

You didn't get to graduate or get married. You didn't get to fall and love and have support through your pregnancy. You were forced through hundreds of tests, surgeries, and experiments until your bubbly, confident self was turned into a shell of who you were. You were forced to experience the heartbreak of being forcibly impregnated by a stranger, growing a bond with your baby, delivering her in a traumatic setting, and then getting her taken away.

You shiver at the thought.

You had seen his face in so many nightmares. Those glimpses in the hallway, the times he’d walked by in black gear with no emotion behind his eyes. The Winter Soldier. A ghost of war, of death, of silence.

Now that face had looked at you with fear. Guilt.

And tenderness.

He had looked at Daisy like she was made of stardust. Like she was the one good thing in a world full of pain.

Your heart twisted.

You wanted to hate him. To blame him. That would be easier than trying to navigate this next stage in life.

But he hadn’t been in the room. He hadn’t made the choice. He hadn't known.

Neither had you.

You reach up and touch your side, remembering the cold, sterile ache of the implantation procedure. The way they drugged you and stole pieces of you before violating your body and forcing you to take those changed pieces back. Remembering the nurse who whispered, “You should be honored. He’s the pinnacle of perfection. Your child will be a masterpiece.”

You blink hard, pressing your forehead to your knees. Rage and shame twist in your stomach.

You hadn’t even known his name when Daisy started to grow inside her. Just a number. A file. A myth.

And now he was real.

So painfully real.

You weren't ready. You wanted to be—but you weren't. Not yet.

But the way he’d looked at Daisy…

It made something shift in you.

A glimmer of hope.

A flicker of trust.

You didn’t know what was going to happen next. Didn’t know if you could ever let him in completely. But maybe—just maybe—Daisy could have the chance at something better.

Maybe they all could.

------

It was late afternoon when the hallway outside the common room falls quiet again, the golden sunlight slants across the polished floors. The Avengers Compound always seems to hum with a soft, underlying rhythm—doors closing gently, distant voices, the faint clinking of cups or laughter echoing down corridors.

You sit on the floor with Daisy again, this time carefully braiding your daughter’s hair—short, wavy strands that refuse to stay in the little plaits. Daisy keeps giggling and squirming, half-playing, half-patient. A picture book lies forgotten on the rug, open to a page about rainbows.

It feels… almost normal. A warmth in your chest you don’t dare name yet.

You don’t hear him at first.

“Um… hi.” The voice was gravel-soft. Low. Hesitant.

You look up slowly, hands still tangled in your daughter’s hair.

Bucky stands a few feet away, not moving any closer, shoulders drawn in like he's trying to make himself smaller. He's wearing a dark sweatshirt with the sleeves pushed up just enough to show the glint of his metal arm. His eyes, usually so guarded, are careful now—open in a quiet way, like he's trying not to spook you.

You stiffen slightly, but don’t pull Daisy into your lap the way you might’ve just a few days ago.

He notices.

“I—I didn’t mean to interrupt,” he says quickly, raising one hand in a peaceable gesture. “I just… I was wondering if I could… if I could talk to her. To Daisy. Just for a little bit.”

His voice cracks slightly on the name.

You blink. Daisy keeps playing with her plush porcupine, blissfully unaware of the tension between the two adults hovering above her.

“I wouldn’t—” Bucky looks down at his boots, then up at you again, almost painfully slow. “I wouldn’t touch her. Or scare her. I’d just… like to sit nearby. Maybe say hi. If that’s okay.”

There's a long silence. The kind where you can hear every breath.

You look at him—really look at him. He isn’t trying to loom or press. If anything, he looks like he's bracing for you to flinch. For you to say no. For you to shut him down completely.

And yet… he's still here.

Still trying.

“Yeah sure. She’s just playing,” You say, finally, your voice barely above a whisper. “You can sit. If you want.”

The relief that passes through Bucky’s body isn't loud—but you feel it, somehow. Like something in the air softened.

“Thank you,” he murmurs.

He steps over slowly and settles on the floor, leaving a comfortable space between them. He sits cross-legged, not facing Daisy directly—just angled enough to be part of the circle, but not too close. He doesn't speak right away. Just watches.

Daisy looks up from her toy and blinks at the new face.

She tilts her head.

Then offers him her porcupine.

Bucky lets out a breath of laughter, barely audible, as he reaches forward with a hand that trembles just slightly.

“That for me?” he asks softly.

Daisy nodded solemnly. “His name’s Pokey.”

He takes the plush in his large, careful hands and holds it like it is something delicate. “Pokey, huh? That’s a good name.”

You watch them both. Your hands drop from your daughter’s hair as you sit back against the couch, unsure of what to feel. Your heart is beating a little too fast.

Daisy begins stacking plastic cups again. Her porcupine now rests between her and Bucky, like a silent peace offering.

“She likes you,” You say after a beat. “I can tell.”

“She’s brave,” Bucky says, watching her. “She’s got your smile.”

The compliment stirs something warm in your chest, though you don't show it.

You two sat like that for a while. Not friends. Not strangers. Something in between. A fragile beginning.

And Bucky doesn't push. He just stays.

Careful. Quiet.

Present.

----3rd POV----

Bucky sat alone on the balcony connected to his room, elbows on his knees, fingers steepled beneath his mouth. The sky was slipping into dusk, streaked in lilac and orange, and the air carried that subtle shift toward nighttime—the kind of cool that made you breathe a little deeper.

He hadn’t moved for nearly an hour.

The image of Daisy—stacking plastic cups with gentle concentration, her nose scrunched, her little fingers brushing his when she passed him the porcupine—played on repeat in his mind.

She didn’t know who he was.

And still, she smiled.

Still, she trusted him—instinctively, openly, like no one ever had without reason.

It was unbearable in the best and worst way.

The door behind him opened softly.

He didn’t look back.

“Figured I’d find you out here,” Steve said, stepping onto the balcony with two mugs in hand.

Bucky took one without a word. It was warm—chamomile or something equally Steve-like.

They sat in silence for a few long beats. The kind of silence only decades of friendship could make comfortable.

Steve finally spoke.

“How’d it go?”

Bucky let out a breath through his nose.

“She let me sit,” he said. “That’s more than I expected.”

“She trust you?” Steve asked gently.

“No. Not yet,” Bucky murmured. “But she didn’t flinch when I talked. She didn’t grab Daisy and run.”

Steve nodded. “That’s progress.”

“She looked scared of me,” Bucky said finally, softly. “Even though she was trying not to be. I know that look.”

Steve tilted his head, studying his best friend.

“And Daisy?” he asked.

“She gave me a damn stuffed animal,” Bucky said, shaking his head. “Called it Pokey. Just… handed it to me like she already knew I wasn’t gonna hurt her.”

There was a beat of silence.

“I didn’t think I’d ever get this,” Bucky said, almost too quietly. “A kid. Even just… knowing there’s someone out there who’s part of me.”

Steve set his mug down carefully on the railing.

“You didn’t get this, Buck. It was taken from you. From both of you.”

Bucky nodded slowly, staring at the darkening horizon. His hands clenched around the mug.

“I want to know her,” he said. “But I don’t wanna push Y/N. I don’t wanna be that guy who comes in and messes it all up just because I showed up too late.”

Steve looked at him, steady and kind.

“You being cautious already tells me you’re not gonna mess it up. You care. You’re trying. That counts.”

Bucky exhaled deeply.

“I just hate that HYDRA used us both like that,” he said. “Violated her. Used my DNA like it meant nothing. I feel like I’m walking into a house made of glass. One wrong word and it all shatters.”

Steve nodded again, silent in understanding.

“You’ll figure it out,” he said. “She’ll see it.”

Bucky didn’t answer. Just stared at the horizon, holding the warmth of the tea in his hands like an anchor.

----

The compound was quiet again.

You stand at the crib beside your bed, your fingers brushing softly over Daisy’s soft hair. The toddler was fast asleep—tucked up tight, one arm around Pokey, the other sprawled across her blanket.

She looked so small like that. Fragile. But she wasn’t, not really. Daisy had known nothing but chaos and confinement, and yet she still smiled. Still trusted.

Still shared her toys.

You turn away and sit down on the bed, your knees pulled up toward your chest. The sheets were soft. Clean. The scent of lavender drifted from the pillow.

It was all so different from the concrete cell.

From the cold, sterile walls of the lab.

And yet you couldn’t stop the way your heart pounded anytime you saw someone unexpected in the hallway. Couldn’t stop the way your body tensed when someone spoke too loudly. Couldn’t stop glancing at the exits.

One of the moments with Bucky played in your head over and over.

His voice, low and cautious. The way he sat across from you, like he didn’t want to breathe too loudly.

“Did I… did I hurt you…”

You swallow hard, your chest tightening again.

He’d been so careful. So afraid that he had done something monstrous without knowing. And when you told him he hadn’t, you saw him breathe again. Like someone had finally taken the weight off his chest.

He wasn’t the man who hurt you.

He’d never even been there.

And yet… he was the man whose face haunted you back then. Cold. Silent. Deadly. The Winter Soldier had passed by your cell more than once. You remembered the way guards stood straighter. How even the doctors looked nervous.

But this Bucky?

This was someone else entirely.

Gentle. Broken. Kind.

And you didn’t know what to do with that.

How could someone be the ghost in your nightmares and also the man your child smiled at?

You curled tighter into yourself and closed your eyes. Your body ached with memory and fatigue. Your heart felt stretched thin with confusion and fear and… something else. Something warmer that you didn’t dare name.

Not yet.

But maybe, if he stayed gentle… if he kept giving them space and showing up without demanding anything…

Maybe you could learn how to name it.

----

Bucky now spent a little more time with you and Daisy every few days—never too long, always careful not to push. Sometimes he brought little things for Daisy: a new picture book, a wooden toy. He always checked with you first.

And you two started to talk.

It started out slow with things like 'How are you?', 'Do you like the tower?', or just general conversation about their baby.

“She reminds me of Becca sometimes,” Bucky says one afternoon as Daisy scribbled chalk shapes on the pavement. His soft eyes gaze down at her, a small smile curling on his lips. “My sister.”

You tilt your head. “Was she older or younger?”

“Younger,” he says, his smile widening at a memory. “Bossy. Tougher than I ever was.”

You smile back. “I had a brother. He was older. He… tried to stop them when they came for me.”

Bucky looks over, eyes shaded with something dark and aching. “I’m sorry.”

“Me too,” you whisper. “I don’t even know if he made it.”

Bucky gives you a sad smile. “My sister got sick and died a long time ago. This was after HYDRA got to me.”

There was silence for a moment, not heavy—but shared. Bucky sits back on the bench, arms resting on his knees.

“You were only eighteen,” he murmurs. “I read your file.”

Your stomach clenches. “Oh.”

“No— I just…” He sits up straighter. “I’m not trying to dig into your past. I just—wanted to understand. What they did to you, what they made you go through…”

His voice cracks a little, then hardens again. “It’s not fair. None of it.”

You look at him carefully. He was trying to understand you. “It wasn’t your fault.”

“But it’s still part of me,” he says. “HYDRA’s part of me. And I hate that.”

You are quiet for a while. Then softly you speak: “They tried to break both of us. But we’re still here.”

He looks at you. Really looked. There was something in his eyes—a kind of admiration you didn’t know how to respond to. He gives you space, respects every boundary. And still, there's warmth. There's safety.

And you were beginning to feel it.

Your chest aches with something too complex to name. You knew you were starting to like him. To care. But you couldn’t let it show. Not yet.

You turn your eyes to Daisy, who is now chalking a stick figure with dark hair.

Bucky smiles faintly beside her. “That one’s me, isn’t it?”

You laugh under your breath. “Looks like it. Strong jaw and everything.”

He grins, and for a moment—just a fleeting second—you feel like a girl again. Not a prisoner. Not a lab rat. Just someone…normal.

And that was new.

---

Pt. 1 Pt. 2 Pt. 3 AU Version (What if you told Bucky while you were both in HYDRA)

553 notes · View notes

lieslab · 24 days ago

Text

No wisdom, just teeth

꘎♡━━━━━♡꘎ ꘎♡━━━━━♡꘎

Pairing: og8 X gn reader

Summary: A tooth infection leads to a dentist trip and some chaos.

Genre: 9th member AU

Word Count: 3.6k

A/N: Lab rats, do we like 9th member AUs? I'm testing this out and working on another 9th member AU request. Consider this a brief test run.

_ _ _

The pain radiating throughout your jaw, when your eyes opened to the sound of your alarm clock, blinded you. You gently cupped the side of your aching jaw, moaned in pain, and blindly reached over to quiet your alarm clock.

Three days ago, it was a minor toothache. All the way in the back left corner of your mouth, you assumed it was a pesky wisdom tooth. Why on earth humans grew more teeth as they aged? You didn’t know. All you knew was that it was hell on earth.

The aching gums, the discomfort of chewing, the tiny morsels of growth that left you feeling exhausted and defeated. It became more and more clear why babies cried and gnawed on everything when growing in their own teeth.

You took the proper steps yesterday, when nothing seemed to work. The pain killers didn’t help the pain and neither did the gel you applied to numb the pain. Briefly, you were freed from the ache with the gel, but the pain came back much worse. The next opening for your dentist was next week. You thought you could manage, but clearly your tooth had other ideas.

Out in the kitchen, plastic coffee cups clattered. Chan pressed buttons on the fancy espresso machine and tapped his fingers awaiting a third espresso shot. A triple shot americano wasn’t needed at seven in the morning, but something had to cut through his groggy haze. A cup full of ice sat waiting.

In the distance, Jeongin struggled to open his eyes in the bathroom. His hair stuck out in multiple directions. Their morning routine didn’t change, but he still struggled to pull himself from sleep, too. A sigh escaped his lips, he forced his eyes open, and reached for the hairbrush.

Mid-brush, he paused when he heard you calling for Chan. It wasn’t unusual for the ninth member to want Chan. You found comfort in Chan and often seeked him out for guidance. Being the leader of the group, you often admired him and trusted his advice.

“Chan?” You grumbled again as you patted into the kitchen.

“I’m here, what’s up?” His silhouette appeared around the corner. “Do you want a morning coff- oh?” He frowned. Your eyes were still barely open. An unsteady gait in your walk. With cheeks flushed of color and something obviously wrong, he walked to meet you. “What’s wrong?”

“I think my tooth is infected. I feel like shit and my tooth has been hurting.”

“Uh-oh.”

“What’s going on?” Jeongin appeared with a toothbrush full of toothpaste. “Did you lose something again?”

“Even worse, they might have a tooth infection.”

Jeongin’s face contorted into an instant grimace. “That’s not good.”

“Did you call your dentist?”

“Booked out until next week.”

“Are we sure it’s an infected tooth and not the flu or something?” Jeongin asked.

Chan’s eyes wandered back to you and you shook your head. “I have a pounding headache and was fine last night. My tooth hurts worse and my head feels like it’s on fire. Even just accidentally touching my face hurts my jaw.”

His face quickly mirrored Jeongin’s. “There’s no way you can work like this. Why don’t you settle back into bed and I’ll make some calls? I’ll call my dentist and if I can’t find someone willing to work something out, I’ll call another dentist.”

“I can call people, I just-”

“Your focus right now should be on resting. Take some painkillers, drink some water, and I’ve got this, okay? Let me do this for you. You’re in pain and I don’t want you to stress yourself out more.”

“Thank you.”

“Innie, are you still-”

“Going to the company building? Yeah, unless you want me to stick around here and help you.”

“I’ve got it. Tell the guys that I’ll be there a little later. I’m going to get this worked out first.”

“Aye, aye, captain.” He saluted, patted you on the shoulder, and disappeared back in the bathroom to brush his teeth.

“Try not to worry too much, we’ll figure it out.” Chan flashed you a dimpled reassuring smile, but it didn’t feel very reassuring to your aching jaw.

~ ~ ~

The bright blue eyes of the dentist peeking over your face didn’t make you feel better. After a quick phone call to his dentist, Chan’s dentist agreed to meet you immediately. If a tooth infection created the root of the problem, the infection could turn much more dire than expected.

So you laid with your mouth cranked open. Silver dental tools poked and prodded the back of your mouth. Tender and sore gums bled at the touch. Your nose scrunched from the pain. Tools scraped. The dentist mumbled to the assistant and you hated all of it.

Getting x-rays sucked. Biting down on two pieces of plastic nearly made you vomit in your unwell state. Even the basic exam made tears prick in your eyes. Chan’s dentist was nice. She didn’t mean to make you feel worse, but your feelings were in shambles.

All you could focus on was your aching jaw. Across the pale blue room, Chan’s knee bounced. He could have stayed in the waiting room, but he wanted to be here with you to make sure you were okay. You were grateful, despite the awkwardness, you didn’t want to be alone.

He texted the group chat with frequent updates to keep the rest of the members informed, but all he could really do was wait for the dentist’s diagnosis. Nervous for you, his knee never stopped bouncing. He winced at every sound of a tool clanging against your teeth, he knew how it felt from his own time in the dental chair for cleanings.

After a few more moments, the dentist pulled back. She pulled down her blue surgical mask and sighed. “I have good news and I have bad news. The bad news, it’s an infected wisdom tooth. The good news? It can be fixed with extraction and some antibiotics to make sure the infection is cleared up.”

Chan’s head perked up at the sound of her voice. He clicked off his phone and looked at you. Your eyes were focused on the ceiling, only half-paying attention. When he called your name, you glanced over.

“Did you hear that?”

“Please take it out before it kills me.”

Unable to hide her amusement, the dentist chuckled softly. “It won’t be a problem.” Her eyes went back to Chan. “It might take a while and since it’s a wisdom tooth, you’ll probably be better to wait in our waiting room.”

“If I give you my number, can you call me when they’re finished?” He glanced at the dentist and she nodded. He stood up and approached you. “I don’t want to leave you, but the guys are having some issues at the recording booth.”

“Go ahead and help them. I’ll be here when they finish and after they call. If we’re lucky, I’ll be in a lot less pain.”

He chuckled, grabbed your hand, and gently squeezed it. “Behave for the dentist, will you?”

“As long as she frees me of that stupid tooth, we’ll get along just fine.”

~ ~ ~

The lights blinded you. The world blurred and you groaned loudly. Your head jerked back in the wheelchair you were sitting in. People around you turned into silhouettes rather than individuals with clarified features.

“Hey, easy there, tiger.” A hand gently patted the top of your head. Minho’s voice reassured you, but you couldn’t see him. “Keep your hands and feet inside the ride at all times or the pig-bunny will gnaw them off.”

“Hey!” Changbin cried out, clearly offended. “That’s not true! I wouldn’t gnaw off your arms.”

“Guys, stop it. They just came around from having all four wisdom teeth plucked out. They’re probably confused and disoriented, you’ll scare them.”

Felix’s freckled face appeared right in front of yours. “Hi, there!” He grinned and reached out to lightly poke the tip of your nose. “Can you hear me? Are you okay?”

All you could muster was another groan. Your cheeks felt like they were bursting at the seams. Packed with bloody gauze, you were a numbed zombie. Your entire body felt off. More than anything, you were confused about the ongoing scenario around you.

Back in the lobby of the dental office, Chan talked to the dentist and receptionist with slight worry. He didn’t realize after he left, you agreed with the dentist to have all four wisdom teeth pulled, rather than the single infected tooth. It’d save you a second procedure, but the recovery would last a lot longer.

He flipped through the papers in his hands, trying to understand everything the dentist reminded him. Beside him, Jeongin glanced back outside to you. As both your roommates, they’d get the task of managing the majority of your recovery process. Neither was looking forward to it, nor were they looking forward to informing your manager that you’d have to sit out of the usual schedule for a while.

Han popped out of an open car door when Minho rolled up with your anesthetic-laced body. Upon seeing the roundness of your cheeks, he burst into a fit of giggles. “Hey! You look just like me! You’ve got my cheeks!”

Your head slightly shook, which caused him to laugh. He climbed out of the car. Hyunjin glanced up from the driver’s side and looked behind his seat. Bloody gauze could be seen in your slightly opened mouth. His eyes narrowed. “Ew.”

“Ew?” You mumbled.

“That’s what I said. Ew.”

Your bottom lip trembled and Felix’s face fell. “No, no, no. Sweetheart, don’t cry, he’s just teasing you. He doesn’t think that you’re ew, he’s talking about the bloody gauze in your mouth. He’s just being silly.”

“He’s ‘urting my ‘eelings!”

“Well, you look ugly and swollen, so…” Seungmin shrugged and took a sip of his smoothie. Before the guys left the company building to pick you up, they stopped to get drinks.

Changbin spun around, trying not to laugh. Felix swatted his shoulder. Han forced himself to bite his lip. Behind you, Minho couldn’t stop the grin from appearing.

By the time Chan and Jeongin came out of the building, a steady stream of tears slipped down your cheeks. The guys tried hard to comfort you, but you weren’t having any of it. Too strung out on the remnants of being under anesthesia, you didn’t realize Seungmin’s words held no truth.

“What’s going on? Why are they crying?”

“Because Seungmin was a dickhead,” Minho pointed out.

“Yeah, he called them ugly and swollen.”

Jeongin’s hand patted your leg reassuringly. “I’m sure he didn’t mean it. Seungmin’s face looks ugly and swollen all the time.”

“It does not!” His instant objection brought a pause to your tears.

Minho realized it instantly and grinned. “Hey, they stopped crying! Keep going! Seungmin is ugly and untalented!”

“Seungmin smells like beef,” Han continued. A look of Seungmin’s genuine concern shot his way. Han ignored it and went on. “Seungminnie is bad at most video games.”

“‘Outh ‘urts.”

“What are they saying?” Changbin asked.

“Their mouth hurts. I know it hurts, but we’re going to get you home and feel better. When you feel much better, I’ll make you an entire batch of brownies, okay?”

You wiped away your tears instantly. “Tanks.”

“You’re welcome.”

After deciding who was sitting where, a few of the guys sat with you. Others followed Jeongin into his car, so they could be taken home. Hyunjin drove, Chan sat in the passenger’s seat, Minho, and Felix sat on either side of you.

You stayed quiet and let your eyes shut. For the first few minutes, all was fine, until it wasn’t. For whatever reason, you jerked straight upright with wide eyes. Both Felix and Minho glanced over concerned.

“I’m being kitnapped!”

“Huh?”

Your hand went towards your seatbelt. Minho quickly grabbed your hand, trying to prevent you from getting loose. “Woah, there. You can’t unbuckle when the car is moving.”

“Channie!” You cried out loudly.

Chan flipped his sun visor down and glanced at you. “What’s wrong? What is it?”

“He’s kitnapping me!”

“Who is?”

Your arm flung toward Hyunjin. Hyunjin glanced in the rearview mirror and rolled his eyes. “If I was kidnapping you, you’d probably have a bag over your head. Why would I kidnap you and put you beside Felix? Being kidnapped with Felix probably wouldn’t even feel like being kidnapped.”

“Don’t worry, mate. When ‘re outta this, I’m gonna make yer brohwnies.” Hyunjin uttered in a dramatic Australian accent.

“I do NAUGHT sound like that!”

“You just did.”

Felix huffed and tucked his hand around yours. “You’re not being kidnapped. We’re taking you back home, so you can get some rest. You’re safe with us.”

“Channie!” You uttered again.

“Hyunjin, can you stop the car, so I can change spots with Minho?”

“Oh, yeah! Lemme up there, so I can air fry the ferret and stretch my legs.”

“CHANNIE!”

“Minho, you’re making them upset. It’s okay, I’m coming back there, don’t worry. Felix isn’t going to let Minho air fry anyone, okay?”

Hyunjin slowly brought the car to a stop on the side of the road. He turned on his hazard lights, allowing Minho and Chan to swap spots. The moment Chan slipped beside you, you grabbed his hand and refused to let go. Your forehead rested upon his shoulder. The numbness and confusion you felt melted together. Your eyes drooped and you let yourself drift to sleep.

~ ~ ~

In Chan and Jeongin’s dorm, Jeongin already arrived back home with Changbin, Seungmin, and Han. Chan told Jeongin to make sure they had a proper spot for you on the couch and he didn’t know exactly what that meant, so he tried his best.

After dumping multiple of your blankets and pillows on the couch, he stood back and scratched the back of his neck. “How on earth do you make a cozy spot for someone on the couch? It’s the couch, it’s not meant to sleep on after such an intense procedure.”

“Oh, this one is.” Han grabbed one of the blankets and wrapped it around his shoulders. “This leather couch is so sleek and nice. I can’t believe I’m saying it, but you both have good taste. This couch is my favorite piece of furniture.”

“I don’t think they’re going to be real happy knowing you’re stealing their blanket,” Seungmin commented.

“And I don’t think they’ll be happy seeing your swollen and ugly face,” Changbin shot out in Han’s defense.

“You wanna go, pig-bunny?”

“Yeah, come here!” Changbin shot forward and grabbed Seungmin’s throat.

A grin instantly filled Seungmin’s face. “I didn’t know you were into being an alpha man.”

“Yah, no! Ew! Stop!” Changbin pulled away and shook his hand. “No more alpha and omega stuff. I don’t wanna hear about it, you pervert.”

“You grew oddly offended about that.”

“Shut up!”

“Shh! They’re back, I can see them coming to the door through the window.” Han shoved himself to his feet, shedding your blanket, and letting it lay on the couch.

Jeongin hurried to the door and pulled it open. In Chan’s arms, your sleeping body lay bridal style. He carried you inside with ease. “Did you get the couch ready?”

“I mean, I didn’t know exactly what you wanted, but their stuff is there.”

“Good enough.”

The rest of the guys followed behind Chan. He gently placed you on the couch against your pillow, making sure you weren’t lying on either side of your jaw. He quickly grabbed blankets to cover you up and let out a sigh of relief. “That takes care of that for now.”

Out in the kitchen, Minho flicked through the stack of paperwork from the dental office. “This looks like a huge headache, thank god I’m not playing a part in this.”

Felix appeared over his shoulder and frowned. “Oh, poor thing. This is certainly going to be a long recovery period. They’ll probably be pretty upset when they wake up.”

“And in pain. Does anyone want to come with me to go pick up their antibiotics from the pharmacy?” Jeongin pulled out his car keys.

“Please get me the hell out of here,” Seungmin walked towards him instantly.

“I guess I’ll go.”

“Yeah, same.”

Changbin and Han followed him, but it was Han that spoke up first. “Do you think we should stop at the store and grab some soft snacks, so they have something to eat and drink when they wake up?”

“That’s a good idea.”

The guys all conversed and slipped out the door, leaving only a handful behind. Hyunjin observed your peaceful demeanor and sighed. “I think this is the first time they haven’t been stressed in a while.”

“Anesthesia is just a brief coma,” Felix mumbled beneath his breath.

Chan came out to look through the papers that were in Minho’s hand. Despite Minho’s previous words, he didn’t mean them. Of course, he’d help with your recovery, he always would.

~ ~ ~

You woke up to the sound of quiet whispers full of affection.

“They look so cute when they’re relaxed and asleep like this.”

“I can’t wait until they wake up, I miss them.”

“I like them when they’re dead to the world. I haven’t heard this kind of silence in so long.”

“Kim Seungmin, you fucking jackass.”

“Bite me.”

“I might.”

When your eyes opened, you made out the faint illumination of Chan’s yellowed face. The way the lamp positioned, it cast an unnatural tint to his face. He stepped away and walked closer to you. “Hey there, are you awake?”

You tried to speak, but the gauze stopped your words from coming out clearly. Your eyes widened and Chan stepped forward. “Whoops, I forgot about that. Hold on, stay still, and let me take this out for you.”

He leaned forward and peeled away the gauze. When he did, you blinked rapidly, trying to wake up. To your surprise, all the guys were scattered throughout the dorm’s living room.

“You made it through your wisdom teeth extraction.”

“You’re a total baby when you’re high on anesthesia and you can’t take a joke.”

“Seungmin made you cry.”

You tried to speak, but your voice felt hoarse. Jeongin quickly stood up to retrieve a water bottle for you when your words came out cracked. When he came back, he jerked it open, and handed it to you. After a few sips of refreshing cold water, you thanked him.

“Honestly, I’m really disappointed you didn’t give us more to work with. I was expecting you to turn into a total brat, but you didn’t. You thought I was kidnapping you and cried at Seungmin’s insult, but that was about it.”

You glanced up at Hyunjin with furrowed eyebrows. He sighed and crossed his arms over his chest. “You don’t remember?”

“No. I don’t remember a lot of it. I thought they were taking out one tooth.”

“Yeah, I think you were half unconscious when you agreed to take out all four.”

“But I don’t think it’s a bad thing,” Felix chimed in. “Now you never have to do that again and that’s pretty cool. Unlike the rest of us…” He frowned thinking about it.

“Oh, hell no!” Jeongin’s head shook. “They’re not putting dental tools in my mouth.”

“Yeah, I agree. I’ll continue my regular appointments to keep my mouth cleaned. I’ll be flossing and brushing like usual,” Minho added. “Preventive measures help with tooth infections and cavities.”

“Thank you, doctor obvious.”

“Are you sure you’re feeling okay?” Chan questioned with concern.

“My mouth feels so swollen and I’m tired.”

“No pain?”

“Not really, I just feel groggy.”

“I think this has been the best possible outcome for you.”

“Wrong. I wanted to see you beat up Changbin,” Seungmin pouted.

“And I wanted to see them put their foot up your ass, so I guess we’re all disappointed,” Changbin glared.

The sound of your stomach made everyone pause. Your cheeks flushed red and you grabbed your stomach. “Sorry, I guess I’m hungry. I haven’t had food all day.”

“Oh!” Felix popped up. “You can pick something off the list of foods that the dentist recommended.”

“Nothing hard, crunchy, or sticky,” Han clarified.

“I know it’s not exactly healthy, but a milkshake sounds nice.”

“You’re not allowed to use a straw, but if you want a milkshake, it can be arranged,” Chan leaned over and patted your head. “What kind?”

“Can we all have milkshakes for dinner? A big giant chocolate milkshake would hit the spot. Topped with a lot of whipped cream and chocolate syrup and-”

Jeongin cut off Han’s rambling. “Usually, I’d judge you for that, but that sounds so good.”

“Sounds pretty official to me.”

“Come on, Innie.” Changbin stood up and grabbed Jeongin’s arm. “The rest of you can text the group chat with what kind of milkshakes you want. We’re going to go find our sugar rush.”

Chan sighed and leaned back against the couch. “I can’t believe I’m a full grown man and agreeing to get dessert to replace a balanced dinner.”

“Live a little, you ancient, old fuck.”

“Seungmin is right!”

“Felix, you’re not supposed to agree with him.”

“Well, he’s acting like he has a stick up his ass.”

“I am not! I just think that having a milkshake is ironic since our member just got out their-”

“Hey, what’s the best time to go to the dentist?” Han beamed.

“Han fucking Jisung, if you say tooth-hurty-”

“Tooth-hurty!”

“Come here,” Minho stood up with a fist. “I’ll show you a tooth-hurty.”

“AH!” He rushed to the opposite side of the couch.

You sucked in a deep breath and sighed. You might have survived getting your wisdom teeth removed, but now you were tasked with surviving your recovery period with the members of your group; quite a difficult feat when you live with a group of wild animals.

| ♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡ | ♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡ | ♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡ |

Taglist: @lia-linny @seungnishi @stellasays45 @emilyywhyy @rockstarkkami @flightlessackerman @inlovewithstraykids @velvetmoonlght @chrizrizz

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hy6erion · 3 months ago

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Hello~!

There is one thing I need and that's Viktor's head on my chest, you know, imagine he came from work all tired and stressed and then reader is there, waiting for him with dinner ready and before sleep she holds him all lovingly and rest his head between her breasts and he just lay there between consciousness and sleepiness, holding and toying with her boobs just because they're squishy and warm 💕

𝐒𝐨𝐟𝐭 𝐚𝐬 𝐒𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐭𝐮𝐚𝐫𝐲 - 𝐕𝐢𝐤𝐭𝐨𝐫 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

✰⍣..𝐚𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐚 𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐝𝐚𝐲, 𝐕𝐢𝐤𝐭𝐨𝐫 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐩𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐞 𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐚𝐫𝐦𝐬, 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐨𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐬𝐭, 𝐬𝐚𝐟𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐦 𝐢𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐞𝐦𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐞

𝐦𝐚𝐧 𝐢 𝐧𝐞𝐞𝐝 𝐡𝐢𝐦 𝐬𝐨 𝐛𝐚𝐝 (ෆ˙ᵕ˙��)

The apartment was quiet, bathed in the warm amber glow of the setting sun, casting long shadows across the walls. A gentle breeze filtered through the open window, carrying with it the faint sounds of Piltover’s bustling streets, but here… here, in this little sanctuary you’d built together, it was peaceful.

You stood in the kitchen, carefully ladling hot soup into two ceramic bowls, the comforting aroma of herbs and roasted vegetables filling the air. A fresh loaf of bread, still warm from the oven, sat on the counter, and you’d set the table with care—nothing extravagant, just a soft candle and folded napkins, the kind of touch that made a house feel like a home.

Viktor was late again.

You’d stopped worrying about it, not because you didn’t care, but because this was his rhythm—long hours at the lab, his brilliant mind always burning, pushing the boundaries of science. But no matter how caught up he got in his work, he always came home to you. Always.

As if on cue, the faint, familiar sound of his key turning in the lock reached your ears. You glanced up, wiping your hands on a dish towel, a soft smile already forming. The door creaked open, and there he was—Viktor, framed in the doorway, exhaustion clinging to him like a heavy coat.

His coat was half-off his shoulders, his gait a little slower than usual as he leaned on his cane. The dark circles under his eyes spoke of long hours and little rest, but when his gaze found yours, something in him seemed to loosen.

“You’re home,” you said softly, stepping forward to meet him.

A small, tired smile tugged at the corners of his lips. “I am,” he murmured, voice rough with fatigue, as though the very act of speaking took effort.

You closed the distance between you, hands coming to rest gently on his arms. “Long day?”

He let out a breath that was almost a laugh, though there was no humor in it. “You could say that.”

“Come,” you whispered, guiding him toward the kitchen. “I made dinner. You need to eat.”

For a moment, he looked like he might argue, but the warmth of your touch and the promise of food seemed to sap the fight from him. He allowed himself to be led, sinking into a chair with a soft sigh, leaning his cane against the wall.

You set a bowl of soup in front of him, along with a thick slice of bread, and watched as he ate—slowly, methodically, like someone too tired to fully engage but aware that his body needed the nourishment.

He didn’t say much, but his free hand found yours on the table, his thumb stroking absently over your knuckles, grounding himself with your touch.

When the meal was finished, you cleared the dishes, gently brushing off his mumbled attempts to help. “Go lie down,” you said, pressing a soft kiss to the top of his head. “I’ll be there in a minute.”

Viktor didn’t argue. That, more than anything, told you how drained he was.

By the time you joined him in the bedroom, he was already half-undressed, his shirt discarded on the floor, leaving him in just his trousers. He sat on the edge of the bed, shoulders hunched, elbows resting on his knees, staring down at the floor as though he couldn’t quite summon the energy to move.

Wordlessly, you climbed onto the bed behind him, wrapping your arms around his waist, pressing your cheek against his bare back. His skin was warm, his muscles tense beneath your touch.

“Come here,” you whispered, tugging gently until he let himself be pulled back into your arms, into bed.

He all but collapsed against you, his head finding its natural place—nestled between your breasts, the softness of you cradling him like something sacred. You settled back against the pillows, one arm draped loosely around his shoulders, the other threading through his tousled hair, scratching your nails lightly against his scalp.

A soft, shuddering sigh escaped him, and you felt him melt, the tension bleeding out of his body as he let himself be held.

“Mm…” he murmured, already half-lost to that warm, hazy place between wakefulness and sleep. “You are very soft.”

You smiled, tracing slow circles along his back with your fingertips. “I know.”

His arm came around your waist, pulling you just that fraction closer, and his hand found its familiar place—resting gently over one of your chest, his fingers splayed, warm and absentmindedly toying with the flesh there.

It wasn’t sexual. Not really. It was comfort, a ritual you’d both fallen into without ever really discussing it.

“You do this every time,” you teased softly, your voice a lazy murmur.

“Can you blame me?” His voice was thick with sleep, muffled against your skin. “They are… very pleasant.”

A quiet laugh bubbled up, and you felt the corners of his lips curve into a small, lazy smile against your chest.

“Mm,” he hummed, giving a gentle, idle squeeze, his thumb brushing over your skin in slow, hypnotic circles. “Warm… and soft…”

You could feel him slipping, his body growing heavier, breaths slower.

“You work too hard,” you whispered, pressing a kiss to the top of his head.

A soft sound of agreement rumbled in his chest, but there was no fight in him, not now, not when he was so thoroughly enveloped in you, your warmth, your scent, the steady rise and fall of your breathing.

“You should sleep,” you murmured, your fingers still moving through his hair.

“I am sleeping,” he whispered back, though the smile in his voice betrayed him.

A few more minutes passed like that—quiet, warm, intimate. His hand grew heavier, his touch slowing until it was just the faintest, unconscious brush of his fingers.

“I love you,” he whispered, so softly you almost missed it, like a secret meant only for the space between your heartbeats.

“I love you too,” you whispered back, holding him just a little tighter.

And there, with his head resting on your chest, the sound of your heart in his ear, Viktor finally let the world go.

#✰⍣ 𝐡𝐲𝟔𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐨𝐧 #x reader #arcane #arcane x reader #viktor arcane #viktor x reader #arcane viktor #arcane viktor x reader #viktor arcane x reader #viktor x you #x you

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kalpeavaris · 6 days ago

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In the MD Dragon!AU, dragons can assume two forms: Bipedal and quadrupedal - two legged gaits and four legged gaits. The dragons living closer to the humans/cities generally assume a bipedal gait, as it allows for easier access to structures and makes them a bit smaller (around human size, maybe a bit taller), while "wild dragons" (or those chosing not to live with/around humans) usually walk on all fours as it was intended for their species.

When N & V first encounter Uzi in the wild, Uzi is quite confused by their appearance - clothes, weapons, standing and walking like humans tend to do. And worst of all, neither of them are in touch with their chosen element, unable to control it, which results in them using traditional human weapons (guns... eugh </3).

Both N and V never truly had any closer contact with wild dragons prior to Uzi, as they both (and J) were created artifically in the JCJenson's labs to serve as workers for the humans, similar to many other dragons (artifically created or not). They feel incredibly dedicated to their assigned task, but upon meeting Uzi, this is destined to change. :]

#murder drones #dragon!AU #md au #my art #md N #md V #md Uzi #uzi doorman #serial designation N #serial designation V #dragon #md fanart #md art #murder drones fanart #alternative universe #furry #anthro dragon #procreate #md comic

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peachii-nitenite · 4 months ago

Text

Much Needed Support (sfw-suggestive content) Part 1

JayVik x Reader Ramble

Idea: You’ve been overworking. Your aches and pains worsen by the day, and you can’t seem to tough it out like you used to… there’s only two people you really trust to help. 4.8k wordcount

Content: reader with feminine pronouns, sexual tension, fluff, partial nudity, boys getting shy about said nudity, mutual pining, self-doubt, idiots in love, getting sick, friends to lovers, discussions on medical neglect, mentions of chronic pain, descriptions of chronic pain (slightly implied hand kink???)

Very self indulgent selfiship coded x reader with a reader with scoliosis and joint issues to help me deal with feelings about own deterioration and struggles with findin a doc who’ll listen lol 🥲

Side note- this ended up much longer than I originally planned 😅 so this might end up being like 3 parts with MAYBE some spice ^v^

-You are a student at the academy in the arts and humanities department, a year below Jayce and Viktor, and you have worked your ass off to get here.

-You and Viktor have always gotten along; you were both from Zaun, both scholarship students, and both passionate about your work.

-Viktor introduced you to Jayce shortly after they partnered up, and the three of you become nearly inseparable.

-despite not even sharing a major, you found yourself in the lab during most of your free time, bantering and tossing ideas around, or sometimes quietly working on your own projects.

-for as long as Viktor’s known you, you’ve been energetic and passionate, but recently you’ve been acting a bit differently. Quieter, more despondent. You visited less frequently, and you seemed constantly exhausted.

-the change was gradual, how you seemed a bit more sluggish, had been walking a bit more slowly, movements a bit more calculated. And then one day, you tripped on the stairs while heading to the lab, a sharp pain having shot through your knee.

-you shrugged it off, insisting that you were fine and that it was just a bit slippery, but both of them could tell something was up.

-Jayce was actually the first to notice: how you constantly adjusted your gait, how you would wince at times when standing up, how you consistently had to correct your posture. Something was causing you pain, and you were trying to hide it.

-you were stubborn, and fiercely independent, and as such they were deterred from prying too much

-Viktor was the one who pointed out another clue: your clothes were always long and baggy, as if you were trying to hide something bulky beneath it. He could have even sworn seeing you looking a bit longer than usual at his leg brace one morning.

-in spite of how stubborn you were, they still cherished you greatly. which meant they could not allow you to go on like that,

-and all while they were brainstorming how to breach the topic, you were getting worse.

-the pain made it hard to sleep, the dull aching of the muscles around your spine needling you awake any time you began to drift off. You could feel you knees grinding and creaking with every step up the stairs. Your homemade remedies and exercises could only do so much to help, and you can only take so many pain pills a day.

-you were sick of being dismissed by upper city doctors, who claimed you were “too young” to have such issues, or chalked it up to stress or poor exercise. You had been dealing with these things since you were a child. But you were always told when you grew up, you would get better; stronger even. Now in your twenties, you look back bitterly, having only gotten weaker.

-you had a pair of simple, worn out compression braces for your knees. It had been patched and reinforced so many times that they were god awful to look at, not to mention the embarrassment you felt simply having to keep using them after all this time. They were easily covered up by the long skirts and baggy pants you usually wore.

-aside from that, you had an old, ill fitting corset that you used to attempt some semblance of support for your back. But it was all becoming too much. You had to get help, and soon, before it got even worse.

-as much as you didn't want to burden them, you had no other ideas left.

-right when you came to visit, both of them were already there, discussing the situation.

-perhaps it was the fatigue that made you finally cave, or maybe it was the longing to feel less alone in your pain. Regardless, you found yourself shuffling into the lab with all the energy of a cadaver.

—

“Is it really our place to ask though? If she’s being secretive, maybe there’s a deeper reason…” Jayce was pacing, tossing ideas back and forth in his head. “I mean, isn’t it a bit rude to just…ask out of the blue?” He sighs. “You may have a point, but we know her, Jayce” Viktor rose from his seat, interrupting the path of his partner’s pacing to place a reassuring hand on his arm.

“I…I know, I just-“

He was cut of by the sound of the door creaking open. Speak of the devil.

You looked tired, dark circles much more prominent than usual, and there seemed to be a touch of…anxiety?

“…hey guys. Been a minute.” You smiled weakly as you walked toward them. They looked between each other, as if trying to will the other to say something first. But before either of them could, you spoke up.

“I….you know I hate to ask but… I need your help”

“Of course! You know we’d do anything to help you out, what’s wrong?” Jayce pipes up, smoothly steering you toward a chair. Viktor quietly observes how you slump in relief, despite your posture remaining oddly stiff.

“I…well, uh….” You hang your head and sigh, as you struggle to get the words out “…do you know any good doctors? Preferably unbiased ones?” You muster a dry chuckle. They both furrow their brows in concern. “Of course, but what seems to be the issue?” Viktor chimes in, coming over to stand closer to you. You sigh, eyes once again lingering on his brace and his cane. “It…well it may just be easier to show you.”

You adjust yourself in the chair, and begin pulling up the hem of your long skirt. The two men freeze- you can tell they’re caught off guard by their faces as you do, and you can’t help but laugh a little. You bunch it up in your lap and their eyes land on your patchwork braces. Viktor’s eyes soften sympathetically, and you look away.

“…how long?” He steps closer to get a better look, and the proximity flusters you a bit. Jayce, follows suit, kneeling in front of you. You can them actively going into scientist mode, as you affectionately called it; eyes scanning and assessing your handiwork- or rather, the *failure*of your handiwork. You hesitate with your answer for a moment, eyes flitting between your two friends. There was nothing but sincere concern in their eyes, and you almost felt a bit guilty for not talking to them sooner.

“…not really sure, probably since I was a kid…but it’s only been getting worse. The damn things barely seem to work these days” you grumble, shifting your weight in discomfort. “And I…well I’d show you my back brace too but uh…that can probably wait” you trailed off, face getting warm at the mere thought of having to take your shirt off in front to the two men. You almost swore you saw a tinge of pink to Viktor’s ears as he cleared his throat, but perhaps it was just the light.

“Well, we’re not doctors….but if you don’t mind, would you let us have a closer look?” Jayce asks earnestly as he looks up at you, and you nod. He quickly clears a spot for you on the work table, and gestures for you to hop up. You hesitate for a moment, wearily eyeing the two of them before situating yourself on the table.

If there’s one thing to be said about those two, it’s that they’re efficient. After having you remove your old braces, they immediately set to work sketching, brainstorming, and most importantly- assessing your condition. They ask you more about your condition: is the pain sharp or dull? What tasks or activities aggravate it? How long has it been worsening? Do you take any medications for the pain? Do you have a diagnosis?

Much to your embarrassment the answers were difficult to muster. Most doctors topside would scoff, say you looked healthy enough and that you were too young for such issues, and send you on your way without so much as an exam. “Perhaps you aren’t active enough” or “it’s likely just stress” were the most common responses. This much attention being paid toward you was…odd almost. Refreshing, comforting even, but odd nonetheless.

“Y'know, for a while I was convinced I was just being dramatic… that’s what my last doctor said anyways. So it’s nice to be taken seriously for once!” You beamed as Viktor took notes. At those words, however, his pencil abruptly stopped. Jayce also looked up from the diagram he was sketching with a furrowed brow.

“I’m sorry…your doctor said what?” Viktor inquired, his tone tight and clipped. It quickly dawned on you that you had never seen him look so angry before, let alone on your behalf. It almost made you want to shrink away from that piercing gaze. Instead, you blinked, slowly repeating yourself before elaborating.

“Uh…yeah. My doctor wouldn’t give me a diagnosis or refer me elsewhere, and instead just recommended more exercise…” you scoff mirthlessly at the memory, how you felt so foolish and alone in that office under the doctor’s condescending gaze.

“…needless to say, I don’t see him anymore, aha…ha” you try to fill the silence with an awkward laugh, but neither of them laugh with you.

“And this… happens often? You’re dismissed like that?” Jayce asks, eyes fixed on your legs. It was strange for you to see the two of them so tense, especially on your behalf. You nodded, with a dejected grimace.

“…they usually think someone like me is after painkillers, so I get it- I really do. And it’s true that it’s odd for someone my age to be…well, like this-“ you gesture vaguely to yourself and to your discarded braces with a bitter expression.

“But… I just can’t tough it out like I used to. Even if I am being dramatic” you sigh, the mere act of explaining your situation only furthering your fatigue. “I…I’m sorry, didn’t mean to upset you with my sob story-“

“Don’t apologize.” Viktor cuts you off, his voice gentle, but firm. “Never apologize for this. It was wrong of them to neglect you.” He sets down his notepad next to you on the table, eyeing your old braces with disdain. “I know all too well what it is like. So do not apologize for seeking a solution to your pain.” His tone went soft, gentler than you’d ever heard him. There was none of the usual sass or clinical edge to his words, and in turn it made you feel softer as well. It reminded you why you had come for their help in the first place.

These were your friends- and they would do anything to help you.

“Vik is right. We’re not mad at you, we’re mad at those idiot doctors for not doing their jobs!” Jayce chimes in. It makes you smile, despite the odd urge to cry. Instead of risking tears by attempting to respond, you simply nodded once more. “Once we’re done in here I’ll get you the contact info for my doctor. She’s good at what she does, and Viktor’s been to her a few times. Sounds good?”

You smile, your unease slowly ebbing away

“Yeah, sounds like a plan!”

“So, let’s get to work shall we?”

—

-The two men quickly resumed their work with a new fervor. A prototype sketch was done within the hour, and all that was left before the first draft could be made was the measurements. You knew this part might be a tad awkward. What you did not know, is how unbothered the two of them were when it came to personal space while they were in “work mode”.

-You sat on the table, skirt hiked up to your mid thighs as the two of them sat before you with a measuring tape and a pad of paper, delicately handling each leg as they measured. And soon enough , they began to bicker over the design.

-and you quickly learned that your friends were very hands on with their brainstorming.

“It does not need to be that long, her condition is much different than mine, so the brace must be different as well!” Long fingers slid up your calf, resting just under your knee, gently holding it higher as if to show Jayce his error. “The brace should end here, not there” he asserted, drawing invisible lines over your shin and a few inches above your knee. It took a lot of willpower not to shudder at the sensation. “Any longer and it would be bulky and cumbersome, which is what we are seeking to avoid”

Viktor’s hands were cold, and rougher than you expected, no doubt from years of tinkering and inventing. You were not going to lie to yourself and say you hadn’t stared at them before, as he wrote or worked on prototypes. You also couldn’t say you hadn’t thought about them more…intimately either. How they would feel on your bare skin. But as he drew his invisible schematic on your leg, all your curiosities were answered as you let out a small gasp.

The feeling was nice. A little too nice.

He stopped instantly, looking up with worry.

“I am sorry, did I hurt you? I will be gentler…”

“Ah! N-no I’m fine! Your…uh…your hands are just a bit cold…” you manage to stammer out. There was no way in hell you could tell him the real reason.

“Apologies… I didn’t think about that…” he sheepishly put your leg back down and returned to his notes. Once you were free from the tantalizing sensation of his fingers tracing your skin, you were quickly shackled once more by the feeling of Jayce’s hand cupping your other leg.

“I get that it’s different V, but I’m trying to be practical for day to day wear. If it’s too short, it’ll keep sliding out of place throughout the day! It should start here and end here. So that it’s less likely to ride up or down during the course of the day.”

You could barely process what he was saying, as you were too fixated on the fact that his hand; his very warm hand that was nearly large enough to wrap around your calf, was now resting dangerously high on your leg, just below where you had gathered your skirt into your lap. Any higher and he’d be properly groping your thigh.

Jayce’s hands were rough as well, with quite a few prominent calluses and healed scrapes. The sensation of his palm on the sensitive skin of your thigh sent electricity through your nerves-tingly and warm.

And again. You’d be a liar if you claimed you’d never thought about it. But in a situation like this, sleep deprived and fatigued as you were, it was much more difficult to ignore that fact. The reality of his hands on you made your head spin.

Remain calm. Remain professional.

These are your friends. They are just trying to help.

Damn them for being so pretty

“Well, what do you think?”

“Yes, which do you like better?”

The questions snapped you out of your internal crisis.

“Huh? Oh, right! Uh….” It was difficult to form an answer with the both of them looking up at you so expectantly.

“Is…is there no middle ground? Maybe a m-mix of both?” You offer feebly. They look between each other competitively, before looking once more at their individual notes, and then back to you.

“I…suppose it could be done.” Was all Viktor was able to concede. Knowing how particular he could be, it was the best Jayce was going to get.

“Sorry if we got carried away…you know how we get” Jayce chuckled. “But now that that is out of the way, we can take a look at your back brace now.” He began absentmindedly caressing your leg with his thumb, a reassuring gesture no doubt. Viktor was doing something similar, his hand back under the crook of your knee. But the sensation, and the proximity made you tense up as you averted your gaze.

For a split second, confusion crossed his face-before he realized what he was doing. Jayce abruptly stood up, pulling his hand away. Now it was his turn to chuckle awkwardly, gesturing to Viktor to release your other leg as well. Viktor blinked, looking between you and Jayce, before looking down at the somewhat intimate position the two of you were currently in. He quickly followed suit, scooting his chair back and busying his hands with more notetaking, his ears definitely pink this time.

-you decided to promptly disregard their reactions. You were friends after all! Surely there was nothing else going on right? Anyone would get a little flustered in that kind of position. Your friends didn’t see you like that…right?

-besides, you could’ve sworn they had something going on with each other anyways…

-to remain productive (and totally not because you couldn’t look them in the eye) you got off of the table and promptly told them to turn around so you could get your sweater off

-they quickly complied, and the room was quiet aside from the rustling of clothes.

-not having a proper back brace, you had modified an old underbust corset with additional boning. But now you were starting to outgrow it once again, and there’s only so many times you could take it out before needing to find a new one.

-all you really wore beneath it was a thin slip so that the corset wouldn’t chafe your skin, but it was so flimsy you might as well have just been topless

And there you stood, hands on the table, under the white light of the overhead lamp. You shuddered as the cold air of the lab set in, and your own overthinking sent goosebumps over your exposed skin.

be normal. this is normal.

"Alright, now hurry up I'm getting cold-" you hiss, breaking the silence. You do not turn around, but you can feel their gaze on you; a moment of hesitation before you hear them approach. They are assessing you, yes, but there was something else beneath that as the two scientists raked their eyes over you: something you couldn’t quite place.

Viktor breaks the silence first, clearing his throat. Your eyes are still fixed on the table, the sudden sound causing you to flinch ever so slightly. You hope neither of them noticed. “Well…the design could definitely be worse, I can see where you tried to improve upon it…”

there was a but coming at the end of that sentence. You could feel it.

“But, In the long run it may end up doing more harm than good, considering the state of the garment itself…” he gently taps the row of tattered lacing running down the back. You nod, willing your voice not to crack. “So- what should we do? It’s all I can really afford at the moment…”

“Don’t worry about that- we’re more worried about making sure whatever we come up with is comfortable” Jayce chimes in, retrieving his measuring tape and notepad once more.

“Now, I need you to stand with your back as straight as possible for a moment, can you do that?” You nod, and you can feel him directly behind you as you straighten up. It’s uncomfortable, and you hear a few soft, telltale cracks as you do it. You groan quietly, and you feel him still for a moment.

“…don’t worry about it, just do what you gotta do.” You mumble, shifting your weight between your feet.

“Ah-uh- right! Right…” he laughs it off as he proceeds with his measurements and notes, quick, methodical, and very gentle. Every so often, skin would brush skin, his warm touch would linger, and you became increasingly aware of just how warm he was behind you: like a human space heater. It would be so easy in your exhausted state to simply lean back and melt into his chest, to bask in the warmth amidst the cold air of the lab and fall blissfully asleep.

Instead, with every ounce of composure you had, you avoided dozing off or leaning back. You could feel your eyes getting heavier before the deep timbre of Jayce’s voice brought you back.

“Alright, that’s done. You can rest now.”

You immediately slouch with a sluggish sigh, and you can nearly hear the furrowing of brows and the concerned expressions occurring behind you.

“We can stop if you are too fatigued, we should have enough to get started…” Viktor offered up, now nearly as close as Jayce was. You shook your head, taking a deep breath.

“No, no, I’m fine! It’s better to get this all over with now and save you both the trouble! So what next, huh?” You dredge up any remaining scraps of what could be perceived as enthusiasm as you turn your head to smile at Viktor.

The prospect of doing this again on a different day was already increasing your heartrate to an uncomfortable degree. Believe it or not; being examined by your two incredibly handsome scientist friends while half naked was something very anxiety inducing . Especially when you’ve been ignoring your growing feelings for said aforementioned handsome scientist friends. You felt awful for these thoughts and feelings, of course you did. So what better way to deal with this dilemma than to get it over with as quickly as possible. Right?

Wrong.

“Well, the last thing we really need is uh… well.” Jayce cleared his throat, carefully choosing his next words. “We’d want to get a look at your spine without your brace on, and take a few final measurements…”

Wrong. Dead wrong.

“… you need me to take it off?” You forced a nonchalant tone, unsure if it was convincing.

“Right. The measurements with it on will be slightly skewed since it is ill fitting in the first place…” Viktor added, a twinge of anxiety to his explanation. “But of course, only if you are comfortable doing so!” He quickly added. You began to spiral

Would it be weird to say yes? It would be more awkward if I refuse right? We’re all friends, this is fine! This is in a completely clinical context as well, so-

“Sure. No worries, uh-just… gimme a sec?” You blurted out before overthinking further, your hands leaving the table to fumble with the front closure of the corset. Your friends immediately averted their gaze, but did not completely turn around. Rather than dwelling on it, you focused on trying to get the busks open, before realizing you had laced it a bit tighter than usual that morning, thus making it a bit more difficult to get out of. You would need help. Great. You sigh.

“Uh… could one of you unlace me? It’s harder to get out of like this….”

The quiet that follows makes you cringe, and sets you a bit on edge, before Viktor pipes up behind you.

“Y-yes just a second”

You soon feel his cool hands against your back, nimble fingers finding the messy knot that kept your laces tight and marking short work of it. All three of you were quiet; no banter, no chatting, no bickering. Just the soft sound of laces being pulled through worn down grommets. Once it was loosened, you let out a breath it felt like you had been holding for a lifetime, slouching a bit as your back screamed at you.

Viktor leaned next to you, softly murmuring as he reassuringly placed a hand on your back. “Is that better?” His voice was low, soft, and held a bit of…restraint? You hoped the heat rising to your face wasn’t too noticeable, as the innocent action sent forth a troubling warmth in your gut. Not unpleasant, far from it. But troubling, given the circumstance.

“Mhm… y-yeah that’s better. Thank you” you murmured back, forcing your attention towards getting your corset off. The busks unhooked with ease as you shrugged off the patchwork garment, as well as your undershirt. As it fell to the floor, you instinctively moved to stretch, now free from the compression of your brace. A series of loud pops and cracks ring out into the lab as you did so, causing you to sigh in a unique mixture of relief and ache that you had grown accustomed to.

Once you had finished, you realized two things:

One: you were now completely topless in front of your two best friends

Two: neither of them had looked away this time.

Which could totally mean nothing

Upon this realization you kept your eyes forward, standing up as straight as you could once more, finding balance on the table.

“…well? go on, g-go ahead and look” you commanded weakly. Swallowing the anticipation that came with not being able to see them. Whose hands would you feel now? Whose breath would tickle your ear? You blamed your lack of sleep for how much your mind was wandering.

You felt a warm finger trace slowly down your spine, down from the nape of your neck, past your shoulder blades, before stopping and slowing down even further, following the unnatural curve that ended toward the middle of your back. It was Jayce, you realized. And a part of you was flustered even further now knowing you could tell it was him by just the feeling of his hands.

There was low murmuring, the sound of pencil on paper, and then Viktor’s hand, tracing from the bottom of your spine through your skirt, to the middle of you back before also stopping.

“…you’re too quiet. It’s unsettling” you manage to quip, starting to feel exposed under the bright light.

“…it’s your spine. You should’ve been fitted with a brace ages ago” Viktor finishes tracing his line up your back “a proper one, no offense to your handiwork of course.” He clarified.

“That bad huh?” You huff, wincing at the implication. You had known there was an issue for years now. But all you could do was your best in terms of treatment and preventative care. Every time it had crossed your mind to get checked out, you heard the condescending doctor’s voice echoing inside your skull: “you’re being dramatic.”

“Luckily, It seems manageable with a proper brace, and you already stretch and exercise, yes?” Viktor inquired behind you, his hand now resting on your shoulder. You hummed affirmatively, as you let yourself slouch once more. You knew it only contributed to your poor posture, but the temporary relief was worth it momentarily. The urge to fall asleep right then and there was overwhelming, even despite the cold. You could feel both of them shuffle back a bit as you did.

“Sorry, sorry! Did we take too long? Are you cold?” Jayce apologizes as he tries to get you warm again, picking up your sweater and getting it right-sides-out again. You let out a sleepy mumble as you reach back for it, turning toward him with your hand out.

Turning toward him.

After a few seconds of facing them with your hand out, and being confused as to why they were just standing there, avoiding your gaze, cheeks getting redder by the second; it hit you.

“Oh-oh shit! sorry, sorry, my bad-” you snatch up your sweater and quickly yank it on and you apologize profusely and so quickly that the words were barely recognizable.

Well, you were wide awake now.

You start rambling, trying to cram how you were cold and sleep deprived and achy all into the world’s fastest sentence as you got yourself together, gathering up your discarded braces. The only thing stopping you from bolting out of the door was the grinding of your now fully unsupported knees. You winced as you pitifully shuffled back to your chair, moving to put the braces back on.

The air was thick with…something.

It wasn’t quite tension, and although being a bit awkward it wasn’t quite full on embarrassment either. But it was something, and it was intense.

“….I’ll get going then…“ you murmur, standing on unsteady legs. Except now you weren’t sure if you were unsteady because of the pain, or because of the dizzying memory of their hands on your skin.

For a moment, your fatigue catches up to you; your legs feel like static and your vision blurs around the edges. Before you even have the chance to stumble, Jayce’s arms are around you.

“Easy there! Just give us a second, we’ll get you back to your dorm okay?”

“But-“ you were cut off by the sound of Viktor shushing you and guiding you over to a couch in the corner of the lab. The two men eyed you with a seriousness that felt strange in comparison to your usual lighthearted interactions. But it was oddly comforting now, as you let yourself sink into the plush sofa

“Rest for a while, you don’t have any more classes today, right?” It was less of a question and more of a reminder, as he retrieved a blanket to drape over you. You really had no say in the matter, and the couch was so comfortable….

You felt relieved, cared for, and so so very sleepy...

So you fell asleep.

Once you were certifiably slumbering, your two impromptu caregivers let out shuddering breaths they hadn't realized they were holding, exchanging knowing glances.

Little did you know, they had been struggling just as much as you, if not more.

"....Let's get back to work." Viktor mumbled, forcing his eyes away from your relaxed form on the couch. He gripped his cane tightly as he turned away, retrieving his notes. Upon noticing Jayce hadn't moved yet, he huffed at having to repeat himself.

"Jayce."

"Right! sorry..." Jayce nodded, slowly backtracking to the main worktable. Couldn't help the deja vu that hit him as he remembered your topless form leaning against it, illuminated under the overhead light. He groaned and shook his head.

"Heaven knows we need the distraction."

--------

tadaaa*~~~ took me long enough! p2 will be up relatively soon, i just needed to stop nitpicking.

part two will be primarily from the boys' POV!

#my writing #peachii fics #jayvik x reader #jayvik #viktor x reader #jayce x reader #sfw #arcane #arcane netflix #selfship coded

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jackabbbot · 16 days ago

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pairing: jack abbot x doctor!reader

summary: even when looking after your patients, you want to make sure jack is okay.

note: i wrote this on my phone whilst rewatching ep 12 and drinking every time im squeamish. its short. i’ve not read this back.

‘what does that even mean?’ jack looks at you, shaking his head. he shuffles his gait between his legs and you grab his hand. it’s big and strong, dwarfing your own hand.

‘it’s doesn’t matter,’ you say, shaking your head as you guide him towards a seat. pulling the stool towards you with your foot, you gently usher him down. ‘is it your hips or your leg?’

‘it’s nothing,’ he dismisses, trying to stand back up but your hand on his shoulder keeps him down. ‘i need to get back to work.’

aware of how long you’ve been touching him, you gently bring your hand away. at the very least, you want to preserve a small resemblance of professionalism at work, of all places.

‘you’re behind on your charting, anyway,’ bridget says, her eyebrow raised as she taps the computer in front of your husband. ‘sit down, and listen to your poor wife, for once.’

shooting her an appreciative look, you grab a tablet and look up at the screen. south 16 has a patient whose labs have come back. you take the case, having been one not touched since shift change.

‘hello,’ you introduce yourself to the patient, keeping just a sliver of curtain open. it allows you to keep an eye on your favourite attending. ‘your labs have just come back and your blood alcohol has returned to normal. this is great news as it means you can be discharged soon.’

‘thank fuck for that,’ the girl says, grabbing her phone. ‘and, it’s fucking dead, what the fuck. do you have a charger?’

‘yeah, i should do, let me check,’ you look down at the tablet and make a few notes. ‘okay, so your mom is on the way and i’ll come back if i’ve got a charger.’

‘great, i can’t wait to get out of this fucking place,’ she rolls her eyes and throws herself back on the bed. ‘it’s just a fucking nightmare. i just fell.’

‘your blood alcohol was 0.3. we have to make sure you’re sober before we let you go. in better news, though, that’s all we need to do before you need to go. your previous doctor has already gone through the care instructions for the cast.’

you make your way back into the er and jack has already left the seat. shooting a look to bridget, she just shakes her head and shrugs her shoulders.

‘hey, could you let me know when the patient in south 12’s mum gets here?’ you ask, finishing the last of your charting. she nods and the charge phone goes off.

you do a quick round to look for jack, knowing that there is someone coming in soon. he’s in the staff room, prosthetic off of his leg and is massaging it.

‘you okay, love?’ you ask, gently touching his shoulder. there aren’t that many people in the er as of yet so taking a little time isn’t particularly detrimental to anybody. ‘are you in pain?’

‘it’s okay,’ he shakes his head and tries to grab the prosthetic but you stop him. crouching down, you cup jack’s face in your hand.

‘it’s not okay. i know you say it’s almost constant but we have a moment. take a moment, please,’ you beg, taking over massaging his leg. he lets out a hiss and you brace jack’s head against your shoulder. ‘let me look after you for once.’

‘you always look after me,’ he starts, voice raspy. he points a finger at his heart. ‘you look after me here. all the time.’

he’s so sincere it makes your heart clench in your chest. your eyes well up just the slightest and you squeeze his hand, unable to say anything else.

you look deep into his beautiful hazel eyes and press a chaste kiss to his lips. it’s enough for now. it’s too much for work but far too little to truly express how you feel about him.

‘the charge phone went off before i came looking for you,’ you say, breaking the silence. ‘you can stay here and i’ll deal with it or someone else can.’

‘sweetheart, i’m fine,’ jack protests, kissing your knuckles. ‘i’ll be out in a minute.’

#jack abbot x reader #dr abbot x reader #my fic

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spr1ngbunnypvrin · 2 months ago

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Reluctant Comfort?... - oneshot | part 2 (for the "Late-Night Hypothesis")

ℍ𝕒𝕣𝕝𝕖𝕪 𝕊𝕒𝕨𝕪𝕖𝕣/𝕋𝕙𝕖 𝔻𝕠𝕔𝕥𝕠𝕣 (ℙ𝕣𝕖 -“𝕋𝕙𝕖 𝔻𝕠𝕔𝕥𝕠𝕣” 𝕍ℍ𝕊 𝕋𝕒𝕡𝕖 𝕒𝕟𝕕 𝕖𝕧𝕖𝕣𝕪𝕥𝕙𝕚𝕟𝕘) 𝕩 ℂ𝕠𝕝𝕝𝕖𝕒𝕘𝕦𝕖!ℝ𝕖𝕒𝕕𝕖𝕣

(Harley in his middle 30s and reader/you in late 20s)

🇨🇴🇳🇹🇪🇳🇹 🇼🇦🇷🇳🇮🇳🇬: None ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ – After you fall asleep at your desk, Harley lingers longer than necessary, his eyes lingering on your face. As he turns away, several of his coworkers—Eddie Ritterman, Leith Pierre, and Stella Greyber—make suggestive comments (about how he seems to care more about you than he should). But Harley evades, hiding behind cold answers and aloof demeanors. The conversation turns to recent experiments—the orphans who disappeared in secret, the brutal results they dare not discuss openly…

The laboratory was silent, save for the soft hum of overhead lights overhead. Harley Sawyer stood still, eyes lingering on the figure slumped over the desk—head resting atop a disordered pile of notes, breaths slow and even.

A sigh slipped from his lips as he reached for his lab coat, draping it over your shoulders with the practiced indifference of a man who had long since abandoned sentimentality.

Practicality, he told himself. Fatigue hinders productivity.

That was all.

And yet, when your stirred beneath the fabric, murmuring something half-conscious, he hesitated.

He was not one for displays of affection, nor did he see value in pointless tenderness, but the weight in his chest was a sensation he refused to name. He turned away before he could dwell on it any further.

Footsteps broke his trance. He recognized the gait before he even looked up.

"Still here, Sawyer?"

Eddie M. N. Ritterman’s voice carried an edge of amusement, but there was something measured beneath it. The older man leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, his gaze flicking from Harley to the sleeping figure. One brow lifted. "Didn’t take you for the sentimental type."

Harley exhaled slowly, irritation threading through his carefully maintained composure. "If you came here to comment on my habits, you’re wasting both our time."

Eddie smirked, pushing off the frame. "Relax. Just an observation." His expression darkened slightly, something more calculating surfacing. "But I have to wonder—do you think sentimentality will be tolerated?"

Harley bristled at the insinuation. He had clawed his way up through the ranks of Playtime Co. through sheer intellect and ruthless ambition, but no matter how far he ascended, men like Eddie always looked at him as though he were a tool, a means to an end. It should not have bothered him. And yet—

He glanced back at the sleeping form on the desk. The sight stirred something unfamiliar. He remembered the first meeting, how your sharp tongue and unwavering gaze had irritated and intrigued him in equal measure.

You were clever—too clever, perhaps, for your own good. And yet, you had stayed, challenging him in ways he had not anticipated. He should have found it infuriating. Instead, he had found himself watching you, too often and for too long.

His fingers twitched at his side, recalling the warmth of your skin when he had brushed against them earlier, entirely by accident. He told himself it was insignificant. He had bigger concerns—more important matters to attend to.

Like the project. Like the children.

His stomach twisted at the thought. The orphans—test subjects, they were called, as if reducing them to a category could erase the reality of what had been done.

He had seen their faces, heard their voices—before they had been molded into something unrecognizable. It was necessary. It had to be. And yet, in the darkest corners of his mind, doubt whispered.

A voice he had long buried—one that sounded suspiciously like his younger self, before Ludwig had dismissed him, before his genius had been deemed too reckless, too cruel—resurfaced.

Would the man he had been recognize the man he had become?

"Sawyer," Eddie’s voice cut through the haze, drawing him back. "Are you even listening?"

Harley inhaled sharply, shoulders straightening. "I have work to do. Unless you have something of value to contribute, I suggest you leave."

Eddie studied him for a long moment before chuckling. "Suit yourself." He turned to go but paused at the threshold. "Just remember—attachment makes men weak. And weakness has no place here."

Harley did not respond. He merely watched as the older man disappeared down the dimly lit corridor before his gaze drifted, once more, to the slumbering figure before him.

He had never believed in kindness. But as he stood there, his coat still draped over you, he found himself lingering just a moment too long.

───── ⋆⋅✝⋅⋆ ─────

The lab was silent now.

Not the usual kind of silence that came with the late hours, where machines hummed and the distant clatter of some unseen worker echoed through the walls...

No, this was the silence that settled in after everything had been said. After words exchanged between weary scientists, after tension coiled and uncoiled like a serpent winding through the air. Harley stood in the middle of it, staring at nothing, his hands curled loosely at his sides.

The dancing of light in the lab cast elongated shadows across his face, carving out the sharpness of his cheekbones, the set of his jaw.

He was still as he always was after conversations like these—conversations where Eddie’s carefully veiled reprimands, Leith’s sardonic remarks, and Stella’s unreadable expressions piled atop one another, pressing in against his ribs.

Words about ethics, about progress, about lines crossed and lines yet to be drawn. As if they mattered. As if, at this point, there was anything left to salvage... for sake.

And then there was you.

Asleep at your desk, oblivious to the weight of the night pressing down on him. A pile of scattered notes lay beneath your head, the ink smudged faintly where your cheek had rested against the pages. His coat, still draped over your shoulders from earlier, had slipped slightly, exposing the curve of your nape to the cold air.

He should leave. He knew that. He should turn on his heel and return to his own office, lose himself in calculations and blueprints until exhaustion forced his body to surrender.

That was what he always did. That was what he was supposed to do.

And yet, he lingered.

Harley wasn’t sure when he had sat down, nor when he had leaned forward, elbows propped on his knees, watching the slow rise and fall of your breath.

He told himself it was practicality—an assessment. He had done the same with countless test subjects before, monitoring their vitals, the slightest twitch of their fingers. But this wasn’t that.

This was something else.

Your face was relaxed, softened in sleep in a way he rarely saw when you were awake. No guarded amusement, no sharp retorts laced with exasperation.

Just the quiet rise and fall of your chest, the small murmur that barely passed your lips as you shifted slightly beneath his coat. Something settled in him, something he refused to name. He had spent years categorizing every feeling, every instinct into neat, clinical labels.

It made things easier. It made him efficient.

But he had no label for this.

Harley sat there for longer than he should have, his gaze lingering in the spaces between your breaths.

He traced the contours of his own thoughts, the echoes of old memories clawing at the edges of his mind. He remembered standing in a different room, a different silence, where the weight of a wedding ring felt foreign on his hand, where the air still carried the scent of something warm—of someone who was gone.

He remembered the moment he stopped believing in anything outside of his work, the moment the pursuit of progress became the only thing that mattered.

And now, here you were. Here he was. And he had been looking at you for too long.

A quiet breath escaped him, barely more than a whisper in the stillness.

He reached forward, the movement automatic, the ghost of a touch just barely skimming the fabric near your shoulder before he stopped himself. His fingers curled into a fist, retracting as he stood abruptly, his chair scraping against the floor in the process.

You stirred, just barely, a soft sigh leaving your lips before you settled again.

Harley exhaled through his nose, forcing the stiffness from his shoulders.

Whatever this was, whatever momentary lapse had made him hesitate—he would not entertain it any further. There was work to be done. There was always work to be done.

Without another glance, he turned, his coat slipping slightly further down your frame as he left the room.

#harley sawyer #harley sawyer x reader #poppy playtime #poppy playtime x reader #the doctor x reader #the doctor #dr harley sawyer #╰₊✧ ﾟ⚬𓂂➢ 👁📺💉🩸

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redicillin · 2 months ago

Note

bro I can’t stop thinking about chase with a nerdy doctor reader who is basically the female Spencer Reid, goes of on tangents about the most random things that she somehow knows about and he is so happy to just sit there and listen 😩

𝐨𝐮𝐭𝐩𝐮𝐭. (𝐫.𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐬𝐞)

you like to ramble, Chase likes to listen.

fem!reader ☆ 1.1k ☆ masterlist. ☆ guess who’s backkkk

You don’t always notice when you're talking too much. It’s not intentional—it’s just that your brain moves faster than your mouth can keep up with, and when you latch onto something fascinating, you have to share it.

Right now, that something is the patient in Room 312.

You adjust your coat and push a stray strand of hair out of your eye, flipping through the patient’s file while Chase leans against the counter beside you. His posture is relaxed—arms crossed, weight shifted to one side—but his eyes are on you, steady and observant.

“This is so interesting,” you murmur, barely containing your excitement as you review the preliminary lab results. “I mean, it’s tragic for the patient, obviously, but from a medical standpoint, this is an incredibly rare case. Look—this deletion on chromosome 15? That could indicate Prader-Willi syndrome, but given the patient’s lack of speech development, the ataxic gait, and the characteristic happy demeanor, I think it’s more likely Angelman syndrome.”

You glance up, half-expecting Chase to be looking at the clock or zoning out like most people do when you go on a tangent.

Instead, he’s watching you.

He tilts his head slightly, a hint of a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “And what makes you think that?”

Encouraged, you straighten and turn the file around, pointing to the genetic test results. “Well, it all depends on which parent the deletion came from. Both Angelman and Prader-Willi syndromes result from imprinting errors on chromosome 15. If the deletion is inherited from the father, it causes Prader-Willi syndrome. But if it’s inherited from the mother, it results in Angelman syndrome.”

Chase hums in acknowledgment, his gaze still locked on you, but you’re too deep in thought to notice the way he’s studying your face rather than the test results.

“The cool thing about imprinting disorders,” you continue, “is that they show how genes aren’t just about inheritance but also about which parent they come from. It’s not just about the presence or absence of a gene—it’s about whether that gene is supposed to be active in a particular parental copy. The same genetic region can cause two completely different disorders depending on whether the missing part came from the mother or father. Isn’t that wild?”

You pause, catching yourself.

You’ve been talking non-stop for at least two minutes.

Most people don’t last this long.

Your excitement fades slightly as you glance at Chase, expecting polite disinterest. Instead, he’s still looking at you, arms still crossed, that small smirk still lingering.

Your face heats up. “Uh—sorry. I tend to… ramble,”

He exhales a quiet chuckle. “I noticed,”

You chew the inside of your cheek, looking away. “You could’ve stopped me, you know,”

“Why would I do that?”

You glance back at him, surprised by his tone—warm, easy, almost fond.

His smirk softens into something more sincere, and you suddenly feel very aware of how close he’s standing. Close enough that you can smell his cologne—something clean and subtle, like cedar and soap.

You quickly look down at the machine running the genetic test. The results are almost ready, the sequence data processing line by line.

A small beep signals the final printout.

You grab it, scanning the page with an eager intensity that momentarily pushes Chase’s gaze from your mind. “A maternal deletion,” you murmur, eyes widening. “It is Angelman syndrome,”

Chase straightens slightly, stepping closer to glance at the results over your shoulder. “And that means…?”

“It means we need to tailor the treatment accordingly. Angelman patients benefit from seizure management, physical therapy, and specialised communication support since they often have minimal verbal speech—” You stop yourself, pressing your lips together.

There you go again.

“Sorry,” you mumble. “Rambling again,”

Chase shakes his head, smiling. “No, keep going. You were saying?”

You blink, caught off guard.

He actually wants to hear more?

“…Right,” you continue hesitantly. “So, one of the main issues in Angelman syndrome is the loss of function of the UBE3A gene in neurons. Normally, the maternal copy of UBE3A is the only active one in the brain because the paternal copy is silenced. So when there’s a deletion on the maternal side, the patient essentially loses all functional UBE3A expression in their neurons, which leads to the neurological symptoms—seizures, developmental delays, lack of speech,”

You pause again, gauging his expression. He’s not just listening—he’s engaged.

You exhale softly, almost disbelieving.

“…Most people don’t let me talk about this stuff,” you admit.

Chase shrugs. “Most people are missing out,”

Your breath catches for just a moment.

Before you can respond, there’s a soft knock at the door, and you both turn as House steps in. “I’m gonna guess by the look on both your faces that the test was positive,”

You straighten, holding out the test results. “Yep. The patient has Angelman syndrome due to a maternal deletion on chromosome 15,”

House nods approvingly. “Good. Go and tell the parents that their child will have the mental capacity of an 8 year old forever,”

—

The patient’s parents sit across from you in the consultation room, their hands clasped together anxiously. The mother looks exhausted, her eyes red-rimmed, and the father’s knuckles are white from gripping his knee.

You take a deep breath, softening your voice. “We have a diagnosis for your son,”

Chase stands beside you, his presence steadying as you walk the family through the diagnosis. You explain Angelman syndrome carefully—what it means, how it happens, what treatments and support are available.

And when the mother, voice trembling, asks, “Is there any hope? Will he ever speak?”

You hesitate, choosing your words carefully. “Angelman syndrome affects speech development, but many children learn to communicate in other ways—gestures, pictures, assistive technology. With the right support, he will find ways to express himself,”

Chase steps in then, his voice calm and reassuring. “And because we caught it early, you’ll be able to get him the right therapies sooner. Seizure management, physical therapy, and specialised communication support will all be extremely useful,”

You blink, surprised.

You hadn’t expected him to remember that part.

The mother swallows thickly, nodding, and the father squeezes her hand. “Thank you,” he murmurs. “Thank you for explaining it so clearly,”

You smile gently. “It’s what I’m here for,”

—

Later, as you walk out of the consultation room, Chase nudges your arm.

“You did good in there,” he says.

You huff a small laugh. “We did good,”

He tilts his head, considering. “Yeah. But I meant you,”

You glance up at him, and for a second, the usual teasing glint in his eyes is replaced with something softer. Something that makes your heart skip a beat.

“…Thanks,” you say quietly.

He smirks, stepping back, slipping his hands into his pockets. “By the way,” he adds, “I think you almost finished your whole genetics lecture before we got interrupted. You’ll have to tell me the rest later,”

You narrow your eyes. “You’re making fun of me,”

Chase grins. “Maybe a little,”

You roll your eyes, but you can’t help the small, warm smile tugging at your lips.

Because for the first time in a long time, you don’t feel like you’re too much.

You feel understood.

And when Chase walks away, glancing back at you with that unreadable smile, you wonder if maybe he understands you more than anyone ever has.

#house md #robert chase #robert chase x reader #house md x reader #house md fluff #robert chase fluff

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treatmelikeasmut · 21 days ago

Text

This Journey of Ours

MASTERLIST

PAIRING: Viktor x AFAB!Reader//Modern!AU

CW: Pregnancy, fluff, passing mention of postpartum

WORD COUNT: 1.7k

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Kind of wrote this on a whim. Just something small and cute that came to mind!

Don't forget to like, comment, and reblog your favorite fics <3

You stared at the clock, then at the time on your cellphone. Both read 11:48 PM. Of all the days for Viktor to stay late at the lab, it had to be today. Your knee bounced rapidly, impatiently. Gaze lingering on the TV, though you had no idea what was playing. Some show you swore for ages you’d get around to watching and never did. Now the volume was so low it was barely a hum. It joined the anxiety buzzing in the back of your skull.

Once again, you looked down at the object in your lap.

POSITIVE stared back at you. As it had for the last two days. No matter how many times you put the test down or hid it away in a box, that word remained. For two days nerves wrapped you in nausea, or maybe that was just the morning sickness talking. You were pregnant. The reality hardly set in. It just couldn’t seem to sink into your brain with any form of permenace. You were growing an entirely newly life that hadn’t existed before. That grew from two microscopic halves and would eventually become a whole new being.

You checked the clock again, then your cell phone. 11:53 PM. You had texted Jayce that morning, asking for him to muscle Viktor out of the lab early. You didn’t tell him a reason, only that you wanted your husband home before midnight. He had replied that it would be easy. Given the hour, it appeared it hadn’t been.

Chewing the inside of your lip, you looked at the test again. POSITIVE was still there. What would Viktor think? Children were a subject that was danced around in your household. The stance on it should’ve been made clear before your marriage. But was never established.

11:57 PM - the sound of a key being jammed into the front door lock. It was still three minutes to midnight, Jayce got lucky this time. A muttered curse came from the entry way. Then the uneven gait of Viktor’s footsteps as he came down the hall. They stopped at the entrance to the living room.

“Love, you’re still awake,” Viktor observed. He came up behind the couch, kissing the top of your head. “It’s late, you need your rest.”

“I like to stay up and wait for you,” you told him, praying your voice was steady.

“You don’t have to do that.” He came around and sat on the couch, leaning his cane against the arm. He looked at you with that smug expression you loved. “Though, I will admit - coming home and seeing you so immediately after a long day is my favorite.”

You smiled briefly, and Viktor’s expression changed. The test was pressed between your thighs, keeping it from sight. It was a hard rigid against the soft flesh that grew more uncomfortable the longer he stared at you. Your husband was sharp as ever, even as tired as he was. You never could keep anything away from that sharp gaze.

“Something is wrong,” Viktor stated, eyes searching. His hand sought yours, holding in on the cushion between you. “What is it?”

You drew in a shaking breath, staring down at your woven fingers. Your heart was in your throat, clawing at your ribs. You were sick with it. Even the tips of your ears burned.

“What…” you started. “What do you think about kids?”

Viktor sucked in a sharp breath, stilling in his seat. His fingers clamped aorund yours a little harder. “In general? Or…as in us?”

You swallowed, mouth tacky. “Us.”

“I…well, I -” He couldn’t seem to find the words, gaze wandering to the TV. The grinding of the gears in his mind almost audible. He muttered something under his breath. Then said, “I thought I had the count wrong. But I did not.”

You knew Viktor tracked your menstral cycles. It was even on a calendar on your fridge. He must’ve been doing the math in his head. Even being semi-irregular, your period exceedingly late.

“You’re pregnant,” he stated, turning back to you.

There was no doubt in his face. He was as sure about this as if he’d told you the sky was blue. In response, you pulled out the test. It still said POSITIVE. He took it from you with a shaking hand. Viktor was quiet for a long time, just staring at the digital screen. Like he was daring it to change its mind. You knew it wouldn’t.

“I know we didn’t talk about it before,” you admitted. “We should’ve…so, what do you think?”

Viktor didn’t move, replying sensibly, “That we will call the OB in the morning to set up and ultrasound and ensure all is well.”

You nodded. “And…other than that? I’d like to know what’s going on in Husbandland right now.”

Viktor’s eyes bounced to you, holding your gaze for but a moment, before they turned back to the test. “Do you think we are ready?”

“They say you’re never really ready for kids.”

Viktor’s mouth pressed into a flat line. “If I ask something, will you be truthful, my love?’

You squeezed the hand you were holding. “Always.”

“Will I be a terrible father? You know I never -” He cut himself off at the thought.

“I think the fact you’re nervous about it means you’re already a good one.”

The corner of his lip twitched, but his face remained blank. “I always figured if it was meant for me, then children would come. If it was not, then I would be fine with that too. - The same as before I met you. I thought that if love was meant for me, then it would find me. If I was to remain alone, then I would reconcile with that as well. Yet we are married and this test tells me that a little one will come. There is a surprising amount of fear in that.”

“I think you’re going to do great.” You scooted across the couch until your legs touched. Then leaned your head against his shoulder, your folded hands resting on your thigh. You stared at the test with him now. The only sounds in the room the murmur of the TV and the ticking of the clock on the wall.

“Jayce will be stupid excited,” Viktor finally uttered. Louder, he asked, “But what about work? Long nights in the lab cannot be avoided forever. They will happen. You will be alone.”

You shrugged. “We’ll figure it out when the time comes.”

“That is not fair you.”

“It’s what happens when I have a brilliant scientist as a husband.”

Viktor hummed. “I will need to do better…”

“You and I will figure it out down the line.” You squeezed his hand again.

Viktor’s cane clattered loudly as it slipped from its resting place. You both flinched. Viktor stared at it. “I will not be able to run with them. To do many things other fathers can.”

“Viktor,” you cooed, coaxing him to look at you. Panic was leaking through a careful mask. His eyes were wide, breathing a bit more rapid. You took his face in your hands, he leaned into the touch. “Our kid isn’t going to care about the stuff you can’t do. But they’ll always remember the things you can.”

“Like what?”

You leaned in a kissed him chastly. “Like vinegar and baking soda volcanos, and showing up to their games if they’re in sports, reading to them before bed - that sort of thing. They’ll just want time with you, how ever you can. - I’m also scared. What if I mess up? What if they don’t think I’m someone they can trust and come to when they get older? What if I accidentally feed them something they’re allergic to? I’m terrified of getting postpartum and doing something heinous.”

“I have no doubt you will as wonderful a parent as you are a partner. Whatever you need, I will do my best to accommodate.” Viktor cupped your cheek in one hand, running his thumb lightly across your skin. “I let you down enough as it stands. I don’t want to let the little one down, too.”

“You never let me down,” you whispered, a clot building in your throat. You swallowed against it. You were not going to cry right now. “You’ve frustrated me, sure - but never let me down.”

Viktor chuckled, the panic finally easing up. His eyes wandered back to the test. “So, it’s real and truly.”

You nodded. “I peed on two boxes worth of tests in the last three days, it was like Juno in here. They’re all stashed in a shopping bag under the bathroom sink if you want to see them.”

“That’s a bit overkill, don’t you think?” he teased, smirking.

Warm relief flodded through you, all your muscles relaxed for the first time in days. You laughed, shrugging. “Maybe - I wanted to be sure. Really sure before I told you. It’s like one of your experiments, right? You have to be sure you can replicate your results before you announce your findings.”

Viktor laughed rather heartily at that. “I suppose.”

“I’ll call the OB in the morning.”

Viktor nodded. “And I will make a list of questions for her. I have much to learn.”

“I’ll have to warn them when I make the appointment,” you joked, rolling your eyes. “You’re going to go overboard on research, aren’t you?”

“I would never dream of it,” scoffed Viktor, “I just want to make sure we are prepared. There is nothing wrong with that.”

You kissed him again. “Just make sure to enjoy the journey, too.”

Tentatively, Viktor placed a hand on your stomach, gently rubbing it through your shirt. You didn’t have a bump yet, but he seemed mesmerized all the same. He leaned his forehead to yours, then pressed a kiss to your lips.

“As long as the journey is by your side.”

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sweetflanfiction · 3 months ago

Text

Asymetrical Symphony - Part 27

Universe: Arcane (LOL)

Pairing: Viktor x reader

Summary: You had been on the rooftop with Jayce and the Herald and somehow you were sent to a place where things can be different with your help

Disclaimers and Warnings: If you want me to tag you on the chapters let me know! Also leave a comment with your thoughts :D Not finished, not proofread. English isn't my 1st language. All I know about LOL is from google and all I know about Arcane is taken from the show, so inacuracies will be plenty. I have a sort of idea on how to I'm gonna go with magic and runes, so bear with me. The reader will be written as GN (going by they/them) to get everyone involved, but if you see any discrepancies let me know

A.N: You're Welcome :D

Part 1 • Part 2 • Part 3 • Part 4 • Part 5 • Part 6 • Part 7 • Part 8 • Part 9 • Part 10 • Part 11 • Part 12 • Part 13 • Part 14 • Part 15 • Part 16 • Part 17 • Part 18 • Part 19 • Part 20 • Part 21 • Part 22 • Part 23 • Part 24 • Part 25 • Part 26

• ··········· • ············ •

You opened the cabinets and cupboards to find the plates and glasses while thinking about the sleeping arrangements.

The couch is big enough for him to sleep in, if he sleeps all folded, which would be uncomfortable while he slept and after. You could ask him to sleep on the bed and you sleep on the couch. You’ll be cramped in the morning, but you don’t have screws on your spine.

A wild thought came into your mind when you placed the last piece of cutlery on the table and peeked inside the bedroom. If you had to guess, a queen-sized bed, enough for two people. Maybe you could share. Both of you would have a decent night's sleep. No harm in asking, right? He did invite you to come to his house...that's forward... You were both fully adults, able to share a bed… The fact that you both seemed to have a massive crush on each other and had been close to kissing twice in a day was just a small, minuscule detail.

The oven pinged, and you almost jumped out of your skin. You turned around and started to get the food out of the appliance when you heard the familiar gait of the house owner.

“It’s done.” You announced and turned, stopping midway as you watched Viktor.

He had stopped midway to the kitchen to pet Nono, who was now curled up on the sheet couch. His hair was sticking all out around him, humid and untamed; he was wearing a blue robe, open, and a gray cotton shirt with “Tallis lab” embroidered on it. He had switched from the crutch to the cane. However, what caught your attention was the bottom part of his ensemble. Cream and light blue-colored boxer shorts that stopped a few inches above his knee.

But even that, what really made the air stick in your throat was his hex leg. It looked almost the same, the muscle and skin replaced by a purplish blue sinewy material. But while the other Viktor’s leg stopped there, this one had golden accents, a blue glow shimmering from within. More herald than Viktor. But Herald Viktor was, according to him, a more stable version of the tech.

“If it bothers you, I can wear something else.” His voice broke you from your thoughts.

“It doesn’t.” You said softly and gave him a sad smile.

“I debated on whether to show it to you or not. But…I thought it would be better to get this out of the way.” He scratched the back of his neck as he limped towards you.

You realized you’d actually never seen his leg in this universe, and he could take your staring in a completely different way. In the end, this was normal to you. Him with his less fatal imperfection. So you shrugged at him.

“I guess you’re just about ready to run a marathon.” You joked while placing the containers on the table as he raised a questioning eyebrow. “New lungs, new leg...”

He sat at the table, and you noticed his shoulders relaxed as if he was expecting something else, another reaction.

“I wish. It’s heavy. Too heavy. Jayce didn’t calculate my lack of muscle structure into the hex core.”

You blinked. Jayce? Of course. Jayce was in on the hex core's ability to enhance things, and he seemed to have decided to help him.

“Jayce helped?” was the only thing you managed while trying to look shocked or surprised. The man who sat in front of you poured some water from the jug you placed on the table.

“I was going to do it. He just decided I shouldn’t do it alone.”

“What about side effects?” You tried with all your might to keep a normal intonation.

“I was in the hospital for two months, one week, and three hours.” He looked at his plate, pouring a healthy dose of whatever delicious food Ximena had put in those containers. “We don’t have to talk about it.”

“It’s alright. You did want to put it out of the way…” You mimicked his movements and added some rice to the heavenly-smelling food.

“Well…we did the experiment on plants, and those worked. And so I wanted to try it on humans…so I got the first volunteer I found.”

“You.”

“Precisely. Jayce didn’t want to, but we were getting nowhere. He was adamant even. And well…I was bored.”

“Was no one there to stop you?” You thought of Professor Heimerdinger. It was a very obvious timeline; the small genius wouldn’t have this.

“The council only knew about it when the bills to the hospital came, and even then, they thought it failed.” He chewed his food. “The only one with enough will to stop us disappeared some time ago. Which might have been a blessing or a curse.”

You felt your eyebrows twitch. The old crone was probably still hiding at the Sanctuary in Zaun, playing his little banjo and annoying Ekko.

“So you both geniuses decided to experiment on you and…?”

“I…kind of…” He made a cracking noise and made a line with his fork at his neck.

“Oh…gods…Viktor! What the actual f--”

“Oh, it was just for 2 minutes and 10 seconds. It was expected.”

“Just?!” You leaned your head into your hand and shook it, amazed at the genius stupidity.

“Yes. Jayce was ready, and it all went according to plan. Unlike the heaviness, everything was accounted for.”

“So why the hospital?” You looked up at him, your face still on your hand.

“Pain. Lots of pain. My muscle and skin had been enhanced to some magical material that came out of a very sketchy piece of tech.” The way he nonchalantly talked about it made your mouth hang open. “My body had to get used to the thing. I needed to die so that all of my systems were rebooted, and when they did, my nervous system decided it should warn me that my leg was missing. I was in a coma for most of that time because I couldn’t handle the pain. And then it started to get better.”

“And now?”

“Now I have a lumpy piece of metal as a leg that would be great and most useful if my back wasn’t wrecked and my partner had accounted for me being…well…a stickbug.”

“What about the pain?”

“Still there.” He shrugged and made a face. “Sometimes better, sometimes worse but never gone.”

“Does the brace help with the weight?”

“Yes, and mobility as well. It’s still a sort of metal alloy, so it gets a little stiff sometimes.”

A cartoon image of Viktor dropping oil with a small old can into the hinges of his leg, and you snorted and choked.

Viktor got up from his seat and bent over to gently pat your back. When you calmed down, the scientist sat down, looking at you funny.

“I thought about you oiling your leg like you'd a machine…with a little can.”

He gave you a humorous smile and a mocking look at the ceiling, fingers tapping his chin.

“I might need to try that next time. A drop here and there, and maybe I can do the marathon. Do you think the hospital would let me borrow one IV pole?”

“For the oil?” You almost snorted your food out.

“No…for the pain medication that I would need…” He was joking, but it made you sober up.

“Sorry.”

“No. Don’t be.” He leaned into the table and placed his hand next to yours, his pinky stroking yours. “This went better than expected.”

“And what did you expect?” You leaned forward as well.

“Most people I bring over find it strange or…are too into it.”

Most people he brings over?!? You unconsciously raised an eyebrow and then remembered the guy didn’t make a vow of celibacy until you got here.

“It’s part of you, so…” You shrugged and leaned back.

“So?” He mimicked you, stretching his legs under the table.

You felt his legs go around your own under the table, and you nudged the metal one with your foot.

“So…It’s a leg… What do you want me to say? I have two of those too.”

“I’ve noticed…” he interrupted, raising an eyebrow.

“Difference is…” you continued rolling your eyes. “I can go by a mechanic’s store without attracting any magnets.”

His face contorted, and he wheezed, bursting into laughter. You followed suit.

“It’s funny because it’s true!!!” He said mid-laugh.

“What?!”

Viktor held on to the table for balance as he tried to speak through the laughter.

“Oh…wait…oh…” he took a couple of deep breaths. “The machines in the hospital stopped working when I got there, and nobody knew why… Why was this expensive material malfunctioning? Turns out…my leg…was magnetized! Jayce found out because he had a gear in his pocket that just…” He clinked a fork on the golden part of his knee and went back to laughing.

“So…one could say…you truly have a magnetic aura…”

You both looked at each other, snorted, tried not to laugh, and failed miserably.

After you calmed your chuckles, Viktor cleaned the dishes while you grabbed the notebooks from your packs.

Viktor rummaged through an old trunk he had in his bedroom and gave you a Piltover map that you spread on the table. For a couple of minutes, you both mapped out your plan for the next day. Going from the people who were furthest away to the ones nearest to the apothecary.

Halfway through your plan, a couple of piano notes come through the open veranda door.

“Oh!” Viktor straightened up and smiled. “Come, I think you will like this.”

You furrowed your brows, curious about what ‘this’ was, although as soon as you stepped into the small balcony, the enigma was revealed. Two young men were setting up a small piano on wheels near the corner cafe. From the balcony, you had the perfect view of it.

“The cafe owner lets them play for a bit at the beginning of the night to attract customers,” Viktor explained, leaning his shoulder into one of the balcony’s iron posts.

“Smart owner.” You leaned your elbows into the rail and looked at the two musicians preparing. “You don’t mind it?”

“No. It keeps me entertained. They are very good. Do you know them?”

“Do you know all the scientists in Piltover?”

“Actually ...yes…” He smiled, and you snorted.

The young man seated at the piano started to play a sorrowful waltz with a repetitive lilt. It was a simple melody, but when the other man started to sing, it became a beautiful harmony.

“Do you know what they are saying?” Viktor asked softly.

The song was in another language that you had studied in one of your many classes at a private school. By some miracle, you remembered what the words meant.

“The poet meets a…mmmm…poor stranger…lover under the moonlight. He’s writing the song in hopes their stranger hears it.” You softly translated the chorus to the scientist. “The stairways up to la butte can make the wretched sigh, while the windmill wings of the moulin shelter you and me.”

Viktor smiled at you and straightened up, giving you his hand, his eyes mischievous and bright.

“Would you…” He cleared his throat, a nervous chuckle coming in. “Would you like to dance?”

“Dance?” You straightened up as well, blinking at him; your eyebrows twitched.

“Well, it would be more of a swaying in place, but the sentiment is the same.” He gave you a bright smile, his hand still extended.

You looked at his hand and made to grab it but stopped shortly before you grasped it. This could either go really well or really badly and end with you having a panic attack on his balcony. You felt your breathing pick up, and after a few seconds, his hand was gone, and you shifted his gaze towards him. Sad, apologetic, but instead of a disappointed look, he had a soft smile.

“I apologize…I forgot…” He blinked, looked away, and when he blinked back, his smile got wider and his eyes shone brighter. “Do you trust me?”

“Nothing good comes from asking that.” You said that even though you nodded.

Viktor took a small step towards you, leaning his weight so his hand grabbed the railing behind you, and then slowly shuffled his feet closer to where you tensely stood, waiting to see what he was doing. He moved carefully, making sure your eyes followed his movements, and when he was standing in front of you, his other hand gripped the rail behind you, effectively keeping you in his arms without his hands touching you.

You leaned away from him slightly, only so he could move to stand comfortably. Your back hit the decorated metal fence when he got even closer.

“If it gets to be too much...please say so.” He whispered, and you nodded, afraid of what sound would come out of your throat. “You can breathe; I won’t move any further.”

Somewhere in the depths of your brain, you were disappointed at that. Until you realized that you were also a fully conscious adult who could, in fact, do something other than stand there awkwardly. Especially after he made his intentions very clear. So…you did.

Your hands came up slowly to his arms before pausing and looking up to him sheepishly.

“It hardly seems fair I get to touch you and you don’t.”

“I’m not complaining.” His voice was soft and smug, and you rolled your eyes, and instead of moving your hands to his arm, you placed them on his chest and pulled him softly towards you. You felt his hands slide closer together, and he took another step, and you were very much trapped between him and the rail.

You looked up at him, and he was smiling down at you. A quiet joy behind it, as if this was going beyond his expectations. You slightly nudged him sideways, and he made an ‘oh’ with his lips and then snorted when he understood you were trying to sway him from side to side.

“Alright, alright…I did ask for a dance.” He mumbled, following your movements as the two men sang on the street.

“More of a swaying in place.” You joked and saw him move his neck to look down at you with an eyebrow raised.

Without thinking much about it, you leaned your head on his shoulder, still swaying. You felt his chest heave with a sigh before he leaned his own head into your own. You stayed like that for what seemed to be hours, but only a few songs went by.

“I’m glad that whatever happened brought you to me.” Viktor mumbled softly after the end; you moved away from his neck to look up at him.

At some point, your hand had drifted towards his neck, and now you pushed it upwards towards his cheek. He closed his eyes and leaned into your hand.

Oh…fuck it…

You got close to his face, bumped your nose with his, and waited for him to open his eyes. The flicker of golden and brown mixed in his glowing orbs. You looked between them and at his lips, curved upwards into a smile.

With a deep breath, you pulled him towards you. Lips crashing and nose bumping. You felt his smile disappear and reappear as he pushed you further into the fence, his hands still gripping the rail.

It surprised you, the feeling behind it. It shouldn’t have, but it did. Soft but needy. You had kissed Viktor a hundred times, but this. This was different. Something in your soul knew this wasn’t the Viktor you knew.

This was someone else. Someone new. Someone you cared for independently if he looked like your former lover. Someone who looked so familiar but yet was still his own person.

The coffee was now mint and cinnamon. The dry and chapped lips were now wet and soft. It was tender and slow, not rushed or desperate. It was a long kiss and a dozen slow, gingerly kisses that gave you butterflies in your stomach.

The hand that wasn’t latched to his neck found his own on the railing, and you felt the tight grip he had on it. You slowly pried the hand away from the railing and intertwined your fingers. Awkwardly you shifted your arm so that your hand rested on your lower back, with his inside it.

When you pulled your lips away, the need to breathe became a priority. Viktor chased them, trying to recapture them, his nose brushing yours, and you moved away again.

“Don’t sleep on the sofa tonight.” You asked, not looking at his face.

The fingers intertwined behind your back squeezed your hand, and you looked up to see him give you a tired smile.

“Was this a plot to get me into bed with you?” He raised an eyebrow, and you snorted, rolling your eyes dramatically.

“No…just a consequence of it.” You lowered your hand to his chest, your thumb gently stroking.

“I shall keep it respectful.”

You raised an eyebrow, and before you could answer, you felt a yawn appearing, and Viktor chuckled.

“I think neither of us has the energy to do anything but…” you replied, and he smiled, taking a step back, his hand leaving yours as he opened the balcony door for you.

“Come then. Let’s rest respectfully.”

You shook your head and padded inside, making your way to his bedroom, petting Nono on the way, while grabbing the pillow and blanket from the couch.

“I, once again, feel like this was all premeditated.” You heard his familiar gait behind you.

“Well, yes.” You walked backward into the room. “I have been meaning to kiss you for a while now…”

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