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the-swedes-knees · 3 years

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Time in A Bottle (Agent Mobius x Reader)

Summary: Everyone has a guilty pleasure. For Mobius, it's a slice of pie in a very specific slice of time.

Word Count: 1.8k

Located in the middle of Downtown, bordering on the corner of old-time druggies and newly gentrified condos was a moderate sized building with an exorbitant monthly rent.

It was a theme restaurant, if the theme was 'we opened in 1953 and we'll be damned if we change the decor'- done up in chrome and frosted glass windows that clashed against the surrounding brick and mortar. The neon sign bearing the establishment's name had burnt out years ago, but it wasn't the type of place one would seek out.

Unless you were Mobius, that is.

[09:45:00]

Technically, he shouldn't be here.

His unit was nearly a mile out, or, more accurately, they would be within the hour. Dates like this, where a simple flap of a fat pigeon's wing could ripple into Nexus event after Nexus event had a name. A proper designation in their severity and frequency of necessary resets.

But he just always referred to them as 'a real pickle'.

You glance up at the front door as the brass bell affixed to the frame jingles loudly. The man that enters looks around the place before making eye contact with you and smiles. He points to the empty bar and you nod your head.

Once you finish refilling the other customer's drink, you see that he's made himself comfortable in the middle stool.

"Hey there." You greet from the opposite side of the counter. He offers a sheepish greeting in response as you set a water down in front of him, balancing a plastic straw on the rim of the glass. "Can I start you off with some coffee? Just made a fresh pot."

"That'd be great, thanks."

You place the mug and matching saucer in front of him and pour. For a moment you look up at him, and he's smiling a very genuine smile- something very rare these days.

As soon as it's full to the brim you're reaching under the counter and grabbing a clean glass sugar pourer, placing it right next to his cup.

"How'd you know?"

"Customer service intuition, I guess." He thanks you before unfurling the napkin containing his flatware. Like someone with real proper manners, he drapes the napkin over one of his legs before stirring an ample amount of sugar into his drink.

You can't help but notice just how much he fits in to the whole aesthetic with his well fitted brown suit and slim tie. New York offered a multiplicity of personalities, and you'd become quite numb to anything and everything that would walk through that door.

Yet, someone about this man was intriguing, familiar in a way. Like in the past life he was a PI that you hired to confirm your husband's affair.

Both a confidant, and a stranger.

"Feel free to take your time, but, do you know what you'd like?" You note his closed menu pushed to the side. He raises his eyebrows and nods while mid-sip, and you pull out a notepad and pen from your apron.

"Sure do, could I get two slices?" He points the vintage rotating pie cooler to your left and specifies his selection.

Easy enough. You put two generous slices onto separate plates, and he declines your offer of whipped cream or ice cream on top.

"Good choice, this one's my favorite."

"You don't say." The knowing twinkle in his eye wasn't noticed as you busied yourself with refilling his coffee. He holds his hands up in mock defeat and sighs. "Well, I guess you'll have to join me." The ceramic scraped against the quartz tabletop as he pushed one of the plates across the bar, directly opposite himself.

"I'm on the clock-"

"Don't worry, another customer doesn't come in for-" He pauses to flex his arm, riding his jacket sleeve up just enough to check his wristwatch. "12 minutes and 43 seconds."

[09:52:16]

"Am I supposed to trust you on that?" You raise an eyebrow, and his only response is a slight head tilt and pushing the second slice a nudge closer to you.

It wasn't every day courteous men offered you a break in the form of your favorite desert. Your face screwed up in contemplation as you looked at the only other two patrons in the diner before giving in and grabbing a second set of flatware. "Well, it is slow-"

"For a Friday?" He has another bite before setting down his fork and dabbing at his face with his napkin.

"Is it Friday already?" You sigh, bent over the counter to take a bite of the pie. Delicious as ever. "Hardly feels like it, all the days are melding together."

"I think this one will stand out."

"What is the date, anyway?"

"May 4th." You make a hum of acknowledgement and he gives you a lopsided grin. "2012, incase you forgot the year too."

"I'll mark it in my calendar," You laugh, using your hand to cover your mouth as you continue to chew. "'The Day I Met-'"

"Mobius." He introduces himself, extending his hand over the counter and you shake it. His grip is firm, authoritative. Before you can reply with your own name, he refers to you by it while maintaining perfect eye contact.

You can't explain why, but it feels so right when he says it. Like it was perfectly made to be pronounced in his charming Texan drawl with just the faintest hint of gravel.

While you're fixed in a stunned silence his eyes deliberately dart to the lapel of your uniform. You follow his gaze and laugh at yourself for neglecting that you were indeed wearing a nametag.

"So Mobius... like, from maths?"

"Yeah, like math." He eyes his untouched water and picks up the plastic straw. His fingers move carefully, removing the straw from the perorated paper. You watch with curiosity as the man twists the paper once and pinches the two ends together with his thumb and index finger.

Mobius holds his opposite hand out to you, confident, waiting. With a bemused smile you allow him to guide your hand. His skin is warm, presumably from the way he had cradled his coffee mug, but it's comforting in a way. His rough hand guides you, your finger tracing the geometry of the paper-straw shape.

"A path that twists and turns... but always ends back at the same spot."

"I wasn't very good at math." You admit, and gesture around as if working in a place like this was a testament to that fact. "Why does it matter that it always ends where it began?"

"Well, that all depends on perspective. Maybe it doesn't matter. But to the one who observes it, it makes all the difference." You quirk an eyebrow, silently pressing him to elaborate. "Maybe that point's... where you got your first kiss, the feeling when your favorite football team scores a winning touchdown, a perfect sunset-"

Mobius catches himself trailing off, and looks down at his plate. He puts another bite onto his fork and cheers it to you.

"Or having pie in good company."

You look around the mostly empty diner before bracing your arms against the counter, leaning in as if you were to whisper some great secret.

"Has anyone ever told you you're a bit odd?"

[09:59:06]

"No-" His eyes crinkle as he laughs. "No, that's a new one. But you find it charming." He winked, actually winked, and leaned back in his stool, smirking into his coffee.

Your fork was halfway to your mouth as your just stared at him, frozen. You feel your mouth open and close a few times as you try to think of a somewhat dignified response.

"How would you know that?"

"I just know things." He shrugged.

"Like what?" You challenged.

"How about, Paul- over there." You crane your head to follow his line of eye, your coworker currently bussing a table that had just left. "Worked in this place five years, loves Coke- from the glass bottle, nothing else. Has a girl on the Upper East Side and runs a decent sized internet radio station out of his apartment."

"You're one of his listeners." You narrowed your eyes at him, a perfectly reasonable explanation.

"Oh, no. Hyperpop... not my style."

"Alright, BBC Sherlock-" You countered. You give a subtle head tilt to a woman sitting in a far off booth, papers spread out on the table around her pancake combo. Whoever she was, she definitely wasn't a regular. "How about her?"

"Mrs. Braverman. Youngest of eight siblings, English teacher at the charter school up the avenue. Actually prefers imitation maple syrup to the real thing."

You know very well Mobius could be talking out of his ass. But he's confident, nonchalantly so- like this was a game to him and he was obviously winning.

"What about me?"

"Thought you'd never ask." Your anticipation is palpable as he swallows his final bite, taking the time to wipe his face of crumbs before smiling softly at you.

"You are... a poem of a person. Charming, capable, when you walk into a room people notice- even if you convince yourself that they don't." His gaze is steady, patient, and he's looking at you as if you're the only person in the universe. "You have big dreams, far beyond all... this... and you're gonna make it."

[10:04:59]

The sound of the door chime breaks you out of whatever hypnotic state you had found yourself in. Sucking in a breath and blinking away the very beginnings of tears in your eyes you tell the new customer to sit wherever they like.

Mobius took this chance to check his handheld, sighing at the time and the ever-growing slope of the branch variation.

The reset charge would be set soon, with or without him there.

"Look at that. Duty calls." He stands up and pulls a billfold from his jacket pocket, not even counting as he puts the cash down on the counter.

Mobius turns to leave, but hesitates. He turns back around to face you and places his hands on his hips. Allowing himself to play into the fleeting illusion just a tad longer.

"One more thing I know about you-" Mobius rubbed his chin in careful consideration. "You have a date tonight."

"Ah-" You wag your finger at him and shake your head side to side, "got one wrong."

"Did I? Ah- well... How about we change that?"

You pause. The plates you had been holding found their way back to the counter as you set them down slowly. Once again in a very short time span, he had left you speechless.

"That... was possibly the lamest pickup line I've ever heard." Though you mean it to be snarky, it sounds more like praise coming from your smiling lips. "I get off at 6:30."

"Alright." He looks perfectly pleased with himself as he lightly knocks on the counter with his fist. "It's a date."

Walking out the door, Mobius gave one last look at the diner before reporting to the event site.

He knew would see you again, always at 9:45.

#agent mobius #mobius #mobius m. mobius #agent mobius x reader #mobius x reader #loki series #loki #marvel #marvel x reader #sorry for the interruption from my usual content #but I love time traveling men

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eliemo · 3 years

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Little Talks

Summary: As Logan starts spending more time with the Duke in an effort to keep him under control, Remus has to come to terms with the fact that the way he treated Logan may have caused lasting damage after all.

TWs: RSD, violent thoughts, strong language, blood mention (it's Remus, what did you expect)

Pairings: Developing friendship. Can be seen as platonic or romantic Intrulogical

Notes: Thank you to @cheshirevalentine for helping me create and edit this. They're amazing and I love them dearly. Their AO3 is here!

Having Logan in his room was… weird.

Remus had known it was going to be happening. Logan had made the offer to stop by Remus’s room and let the Duke bounce his ideas off of someone. He’d let Remus ramble, listen to the flood of intrusive thoughts and gory, outrageous ideas, all so that Thomas wouldn’t have to.

Remus had cheerfully referred to Logic as his “test subject” the first time he’d come in, laughing outright at the way Logan’s face had screwed up in indignation.

He didn’t really plan on actually doing anything to Logan, despite the incredibly dangerous position the light side had put himself into. He mostly just talked, reciting each and every thought that came to his head in detail, watching to see if he could get an entertaining reaction out of the ever-stoic Logan Sanders.

It didn’t really work. Logan was stupidly boring with his stuffy clothes and perfect schedule and condescending eyebrow raises. He didn’t say much the first few times he stopped by, their “talks” only lasting ten-to-fifteen minutes at most, but after a week he seemed to warm up to the idea of talking to Remus a little.

He’d ask questions- ask where Remus had gotten an idea, or ask him to expand on a particularly disturbing thought- and while Remus didn’t always have an answer, it was nice to not be completely shoved aside and ignored for once. Besides, Remus always thought of the best answers to those sorts of things on the spot. He liked the challenge of having to think on his feet.

It was still weird, though. But Logan kept showing up, day after day, and Remus could almost pretend he wasn’t the only one enjoying their talks.

He knew that Logan didn’t want to be here, of course. Their meetings were on his calendar, so it was obviously an obligation. He was doing it so Thomas could get some sleep, and Remus could be a little less of a burden. Of course.

Remus had only only expected it to last a few days, if he was honest. A week at most. He knew he was a lot to deal with, especially alone, and he knew it would only be a matter of time until Logan decided it was all too much and forgot all about their little “arrangement”.

But Logan came back the next week, and the week after that, and soon fifteen minutes turned into twenty, then thirty, and some days he even stayed almost a whole hour.

Remus found he actually felt a little less agitated after Logan left, his head just a tiny bit more quiet. Tormenting Thomas was the closest thing he’d ever had to talking things out, and it was a little discouraging when the reactions were either horrified screams, insults, or pretending he didn’t exist.

Logan actually listened. He listened and engaged.

Remus loved Janus. And Deceit did what he could, but he didn’t have the same tolerance as Logan did for some of the gross things Remus came up with.

Maybe Logic would be open to dissecting something with him sometime…?

He should have known it wouldn’t last. Nobody stuck around Remus very long. He always did something to fuck it up.

He really should have known the way he’d treated Logan when he’d first made his appearance would be a problem. Logic separated himself from the Imagination, the side grounded deeply in reality, but a lack of lasting damage didn’t mean it hadn’t happened.

Remus had still hurt Logan to prove a point. And then had promptly moved on and forgotten about it until the next time it was brought up. Sometimes object permanence- or lack thereof- was a pain in the ass.

Remus had been ranting as usual, pacing around his room while Logan watched from the chair. He honestly couldn’t even remember what he was talking about, his mouth moving without much thought as it tended to do.

Whatever it was, he’d gotten worked up and excited, pacing the room, waving and flapping his arms as he talked, smile bright and mischievous and he whirled back to face Logan and-

And Logan flinched back, squeezing his eyes shut as his hands clutched the arm of his chair, shoulders hunched protectively.

It only lasted a second, Logan quickly pulling himself together and compulsively smoothing his tie once again. He seemed to do that when he was trying to pretend he was collected, Remus had noticed. His shoulders uncurled as he leaned forward again, but he wouldn’t quite look Remus in the eyes.

“Continue,” Logan said, when he realized Remus had stopped talking. “You were rambling about...something objectively disgusting.”

“I’m not stupid, you know.” Remus said, crossing his arms and ignoring the stupid, pointless hurt that blossomed in his chest when Logan couldn’t even recall what Remus had been saying. “I saw that.”

Logan blinked, staring at the Duke blankly. “Saw what?”

“You flinched.”

Logan scoffed, adjusting his glasses to avoid meeting Remus’s eyes. Again. “I did no such thing.”

“No, you did. I saw it.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Logan said, jumping right back into that emotionless facade he was so obsessed with. “Are you going to continue?”

Remus couldn’t even remember what he’d been talking about, his head flooded with images of Logan flinching away, eyes wide in terror, scrambling to get away.

Logan with a throwing star embedded in his forehead, with his mouth full of blood, crimson dripping down his forehead and chin, seeping into his pristine clothes and staining his tie. The thoughts seemed to dip into that spiral they always went down, swirling down the metaphorical drain pipe into his metaphorical pit-of-sewage excuse for a brain.

“No,” Remus said, shaking the thoughts away for the moment. Like stirring the cesspool a little so all the muck settled to the bottom. Metaphorically. “I’m good.”

Logan sighed, and Remus stepped away as the logical side stood up from his chair. “Then we’re done for the day.”

“Bye then.”

If there was one thing Remus was good at, it was pretending not to be bothered by the little things, by the way everyone perceived him. He was a terror and a burden, and he enjoyed it. It was funny! He didn’t care if he was liked, intrusive thoughts were never liked.

Remus flopped down on his bed, watching Logan’s back as he left. He was moving quickly, almost panicked, slipping out the door and closing it shut behind him.

Remus didn’t care if the stupid light sides liked him. He never had. But Logan… Logan was scared. Of him.

Scaring people was never the goal. Making Logan flinch like Remus was going to hurt him was never the goal.

Logan would deny it to his grave, of course. He was stupidly stubborn like that, somehow more stubborn than even Remus at times.

He’d insist that Logic had never felt a revolting feeling like fear in his life. He had no feelings on the matter, and Remus couldn’t frighten him because Logan had no feelings at all. Not enjoyment, not dislike, and not fear. Remus was another obligation on his schedule. Something to attend to. Nothing more.

And while Remus knew all of that was true… he also knew Logan was full of shit. He had feelings. His feelings might even be stronger than Patton’s or Roman’s. (Though it was doubtful. Weepy bitches they were- far too emotional for Remus’s tastes.)

And he was afraid of Remus. He’d made that perfectly clear today.

He… didn’t know how to fix that. His job wasn’t to fix problems. He made the problems. It’s better to start now than to never start at all, he supposed.

Well, obviously he had to start by finding a new coping mechanism. Logan was helpful, and possibly the healthiest outlet Remus had ever had, but he wouldn’t force someone who was terrified of him to come sit in his room and listen to him talk about guts and gore for an hour. He would have to find something to do in place of their talks.

A part of him doubted Logan would even come back again. Remus had caught him flinching, and with Remus’s reputation he wouldn’t be surprised if Logan assumed he would use the fear to his advantage.

And yeah, maybe under different circumstances he would have. Scaring people was fun but… not like this.

But that was fine, he could readjust to being alone. He’d done it before. He could lock himself in the Imagination, annoy Janus until he finally snapped and drove him away, maybe even pay Thomas another visit if he really got desperate.

He wasn’t disappointed. He’d gone his whole life without Logan’s company, he had no reason to miss it. It wasn’t fair to miss something he had barely begun to get used to. Logan was annoying and boring and stuck up, and Remus didn’t know why he enjoyed his company in the first place.

Not that he enjoyed it. He didn’t. He didn’t care.

He spent all night feeding himself those repeating lies, preparing to entertain himself all on his own tomorrow, so he was almost more annoyed than surprised when Logan walked right into his room the next day, same time as always.

Remus sat up in bed, watching in disbelief as Logan made his way to the chair and set his notebook on the table, settling in like nothing had changed.

“What the fuck are you doing here?”

Logan looked up at him, hands folded neatly in his lap. “I said I would make an effort to see you everyday. I put it in my schedule. If I’m not going to be able to make it, I will inform you the day before.”

“Oh,” Remus said, not bothering to move from the bed. “Well, that’s boring and predictable.”

“I prefer to have a schedule rather than do things on a whim. And I’m here now.”

“Yes,” Remus said, shifting to stare blankly at the wall beside Logan’s head. He bet he could spit that far if he really tried. “You are.”

There was a beat of silence that didn’t often exist in Remus’s room. Usually he would start talking right away about whatever late night thoughts he’d been plagued with, chatting on excitedly until Logan cut in to add something dumb and nerdy.

Remus didn’t plan on breaking the silence this time, choosing to sit and quietly dwell on his thoughts on his own, smirking at the utterly baffled look on Logan’s face.

Logan cleared his throat, frowning slightly. “What’s on your mind?”

“Lot’s of things!”

“Are you going to talk about them?” Logan asked. “That is why I’m here.”

“Nah.” He hated this, hated the way Logan was pretending to care, like he didn’t want to get up right now and run as far away from Remus as possible. Just like everyone else. “Intrusive thoughts aren’t always words, Nerdy Wolverine.”

He saw Logan shift uncomfortably, eyes darting briefly to the door, and Remus realized that might not have been the best way to phrase things.

“Ah,” Logan said, sitting back like he wasn’t terrified. “You can always show me instead. That is what I’m here for.”

“I’m good,” Remus said, doing his best to sound uncaring. “It’s gross.”

“Yes, I’m aware it probably is.” Another beat of silence and Logan sighed, standing from his chair. “Remus. The point of me being here is to keep Thomas’s intrusive thoughts under control. We’ve discussed this.”

And Remus knew Logan didn’t actually enjoy Remus’s company, he’d known that from the beginning, but it still hurt to hear. It hurt something fierce, a deep, sharp slash in his chest that he would swear he could feel, that he was just something to “keep under control”.

He pushed the feeling down, flashing Logan a toothy grin that he knew looked ridiculously fake. “Okay.”

Logan sighed again, pushing up his glasses to pinch the bridge of his nose. Remus wondered if he could frustrate Logic into storming out. “I’m here to help you.”

“I don’t need your help.”

“You do,” Logan argued, like he had any idea. “Surely talking to someone is better than being alone with your thoughts,”

Remus scowled, shoving himself off the bed and stalking past Logan, moving towards one of the various piles of rubble and bones scattered around his room. He bet Logan hated how cluttered it was in here.

“At least my thoughts don’t pretend to care about me.”

Remus kicked idly at something that looked a bit like a spine, staring blankly at the floor as he let his words settle.

“What?” Logan sounded genuinely confused for the first time. “What does that mean?”

“Hm?” Remus glanced over his shoulder, grinning. “What did I say?”

Logan stepped forward, shoes clicking against the floor, echoing against the now silent room. “I do not understand why you’re suddenly being difficult.”

“Suddenly?”

“Yes, suddenly,” Logan said, and Remus turned away again with an eye roll. “We had an arrangement.”

“Did we?”

“Yes.” Logan touched his arm, and Remus yanked away so fast he thought he might have pulled something. “This is beneficial for everyone.”

“Right,” Remus scoffed. “For everyone.”

Logan actually had the audacity to look taken aback, brow drawing in further confusion. “Yes? You have an outlet, and Thomas gets a break.”

“I don’t need it. I can bash skulls in the Imagination.”

“Which is significantly more unhealthy.”

Remus shrugged, kicking another bone until it slammed into the wall. “It’s easy and fun.”

“We were doing fine,” Logan said, trying to move around him so Remus would meet his gaze. “I thought coming in to talk to you was helping.”

“You don’t care,” Remus snapped. “And you don’t want to listen.”

“I want to,” Logan said. “That is why I’m here.”

“Right.”

“I am incredibly busy, Remus,” Logan said, and Remus felt like he was being lectured. “I would not be here if I didn’t want to be.”

“Then get gone!” Remus spun around gesturing to the door. “Just fucking leave already!”

“I think I’d prefer to stay.”

“You said you’re busy,” Remus snarled. “If you’re so busy you don’t need to carve out time for me.”

“I chose to.”

“Thomas can live with intrusive thoughts,” Remus said. “He’ll be fine. Patton and Virgil will ease up eventually. You should be focused on them.”

“I have been.” Logan was still staring at him, and at this point Remus was considering storming out of his own room. “I have time for you.”

“I thought you were busy,” Remus argued, back to being difficult on purpose. “Which is it? Are you busy or do you have time?”

Logan sighed, and now Remus felt like a child throwing a tantrum. “I’ve made time. I’m making time for you.”

“Right.”

“I don’t understand what changed,” Logan said. “I thought you were getting some enjoyment out of our talks.”

“Yeah, I was,” Remus admitted because despite everything, that was the truth. “But you aren’t.”

It took a moment for Logan to respond, no less confused than before. “I am perfectly content.”

“Yeah?” Remus finally turned around to face him, looking the logical side right in the eyes. “Then why did you flinch?”

Logan blinked, shoulders tense, a mix of panic and understanding flickering in his eyes. “I...did not flinch.”

“Yes, you did. Don’t lie.”

It was Logan’s turn to scoff, like Remus was being ridiculous and dramatic. And he often was, but he was serious this time. “I don’t see how one involuntary movement has become such a big deal.”

Remus didn’t look away, even as Logan’s eyes began to wander. “You’re afraid of me.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Logan said. “I do not feel fear.”

“Yes you do.” Remus stepped closer, taking in the way Logan’s jaw clenched. “You have feelings.”

“No I don’t.”

“You do.”

“You’re figuratively jumping to conclusions,” Logan said, quickly changing the subject. “I am perfectly content spending time with you.”

“I’m not jumping to anything,” Remus said. “You’re scared.”

Logan rolled his eyes, hands lifting to brush over his tie before crossing his arms across his chest. Compulsory comfort action.

“You think you saw me flinch once and now you believe that I’m afraid of you, when there is no logical reason to be. You cannot cause any lasting damage to me, so I—”

Remus lifted a hand without warning, fast and sudden like he was going to strike Logan, keeping it frozen in the air as he took in the reaction before him.

Logan flinched back as soon as Remus moved, his own hands moving to protect his face, eyes glued to Remus’s raised arm, widening in genuine fear and shock.

Remus sighed, slowly lowering his hand as he watched Logan struggle to compose himself. “You’re afraid of me.”

“No,” Logan still had the audacity to argue. “I am not.”

“You flinched.”

Logan fixed his tie again. Remus knew it was some kind of nervous tic. “You startled me.”

“I lifted my hand.”

“Yes,” Logan agreed. “Unexpectedly.”

Remus sighed and stepped back out of Logan’s space, too tired to keep arguing.

“I’m not going to hurt you.” He winced at his own words, images flashing in his mind of Logan stumbling backwards with wide eyes, of Logan covered in blood, of Patton screaming. “Not again, anyway.”

“Well,” Logan said, carefully clearing his throat. “You can understand that I wasn’t exactly…sure. That does not mean I dislike you. Or that I’m frightened of you.”

Remus found himself looking at his shoes, trying and failing to get images of Logan hurt, Logan dying, out of his stupid cesspool sewage pipe head.

He wondered if this was what guilt felt like. If it was, maybe he should start being nicer to Patton. This sucked dick and balls.

“I won’t.”

“And I appreciate that,” Logan said. “But you could not cause any lasting damage to me anyway.”

“So? It still, like… hurt you. I’m not gonna do it again.”

“Well then, I have no reason to be afraid.” Logan straightened, smiling at Remus like that had just solved everything. “Which I wasn’t in the first place.”

Remus’s eyes narrowed. “You flinched.”

“Yes I did,” Logan admitted. “I apologize for that. I can assure you it won’t happen again.”

Remus didn’t move, staring at Logan in disbelief, at a loss for words for the first time in his life. He hoped the exhaustion on his face resembled a glare at least a little bit.

“I don’t… understand,” Logan said, and Remus couldn't even stay mad at him. “Was an apology not what you wanted?”

“No, Logan. I don’t want anything.”

Logan tilted his head slightly, brow furrowed, and Remus could practically see the gears turning as he looked Remus over. “You’re still upset.”

“Why’re you still here?” Remus finally demanded, throwing his arms out in exasperation. “If you’re afraid of me why don’t you just leave?”

Logan blinked, seemingly unfazed. “Because I enjoy talking to you.”

Logic may as well have just punched him right in the chest, the air leaving his lungs in a rush as he took a step back, choking out a shocked laugh. “That can’t be it.”

Logan frowned. “Why not?”

“Nobody enjoys talking to me.”

“Well,” Logan said slowly, and it was like Remus could see some of his walls coming down. “If it helps, no one particularly enjoys talking to me, either.”

Remus wasn’t entirely convinced that was true, but he figured he wasn’t the right one to give Logan a talk on self esteem.

“I like talking to you,” he said instead. “I just think you’re kinda stuffy.”

“I enjoy talking to you as well,” Logan said, and it really did sound like he meant it. “I would just prefer if your more violent thoughts were not physically manifested.”

“Oh.” Remus swallowed, absolutely refusing to show Logic how much this meant to him. He wasn’t going to cry. “Yeah, I can...do that. Sure.”

“Then I’m glad we could come to an understanding,” Logan said, right back to the stiff, professional persona Remus was learning to see right through. “I’m not afraid of you.”

Remus nodded, and realized he was actually starting to believe him this time. “Yeah. Ok. That’s good.”

Logan stepped back out of Remus’s space and Remus quickly did the same, the two of them standing on opposite sides of the Duke’s now painfully silent bedroom.

“I can leave,” Logan said after a moment. “If you’d still like me to.”

Remus hesitated, fighting to keep acting like he didn’t care. “Do you want to leave?”

“Not particularly,” Logan said, and Remus hadn’t expected to feel so relieved. “But it’s your room. I don’t want to intrude.”

“You’re not.” Remus moved back to his bed, dropping himself unceremoniously onto his back. “Don’t leave if you don’t want to. I don’t care.”

“Then I’ll stay.”

Logan pulled up his usual chair, leaning back comfortably as he picked his notebook back up and began flipping idly through it. He looked content and relaxed when Remus risked a glance in his direction, and he smiled to himself.

“You can talk if you like,” Logan said, glancing up from the pages. “I’m listening.”

Remus did eventually start talking, dumping his latest ideas on Logan like he usually did, diving into last night’s fantasy of setting an office building on fire in the middle of the week.

Logan had added on, and Remus had listened intently as he’d recited statistics and calculations, the likelihood of survival, and the two of them eventually decided it would be a waste of time, the fire likely to be put out before even causing any real damage to the building.

That was a talent Logan had. He could get Remus to let go of a thought that typically wouldn’t have left him alone for weeks.

It wasn’t until Logan had stood up to leave for dinner, promising he’d be back at the same time tomorrow, that Remus realized Logan had stayed twice as long as he usually did.

Huh.

Weird.

#sanders sides #thomas sanders #remus sanders #logan sanders #platonic intrulogical #intrulogical #hurt/comfort #ts remus #ts logan #blood mention tw #violence mention tw #fanfiction #writing

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pucksnsticksnhockeyboys · 3 years

Text

all wrapped up for you

summary: you’d do anything for your best friend, even if that means helping him buy the perfect gift for the person he truly likes.

word count: 3k

note from the writer: day three! make sure to check back for the next nine fics! / masterpost of the Christmas fics

tagging: @bqstqnbruin @broadstbroskis @laurenairay @calgarycanuck @justjosty @sorryjustafangirl @tayella13 @wastedheartcth @kiedhara @writinghockey / add yourself to my Christmas fics taglist

You really wished you were better at telling Anthony no. Wished you had taken up your friend’s offer to get brunch so you had an excuse to say you were busy on Saturday. Wished you weren’t so gone for him that the moment he said he needed help you didn’t clear your calendar.

Because now you were stuck helping the guy you were practically in love with buy a gift for someone else.

He showed up to your apartment half an hour earlier, before you had even gotten dressed for the day, and let himself into your apartment as if he owned the place. You couldn’t be mad, truly, because you had given him a key and it was far from the first time he had done so.

“Are you ready?” Anthony asked excitedly, making his way into your kitchen where you were putting your now empty mug in the sink. You rolled your eyes, grin tugging at your lips as you turned to face him and gestured to the baggy t-shirt and old shorts you slept in.

“Does it look like I’m ready, Beau?” You questioned teasingly, watching as he sighed dramatically with a grin that rivaled yours. A thought crossed your mind then, one that dampened your mood and you bit your lip to try and stop yourself from voicing it, but it was too little too late and suddenly you were speaking without your permission. “You must really like this girl if you’re showing up early and trying to drag me out of here.”

“Yeah, I do.” Anthony responded easily, and thankfully his back was turned as he dug through your cupboards for something to snack on so he didn’t see the way your face fell and shoulders slumped. You hurt your own feelings with that comment, the dreaminess in his words tugging at your heart. You wanted nothing more than to be his, but if you couldn't have him, you at least wanted him to be happy.

“I’m going to go change.” You murmured, and if Anthony picked on the sudden change in your tone he didn’t say anything. The time it took for you to get dressed and put the final touches on your outfit gave you the break you needed to collect yourself and your thoughts.

You knew the next few hours were going to be rough; you’d be spending time with Anthony, which you always looked forward to, but it’d come with a cost. That cost being helping him get the perfect gift for the person he had feelings for. The person who was, very clearly, not you.

“Ready?” You questioned as you emerged from your bedroom to find Anthony sitting on your couch waiting patiently. He jumped to his feet, clearly anxious to get started, and you tried your best to chase away any and all thoughts regarding your current predicament with him.

If he asked your help, then you’d give it to him.

“So, what are we thinking? Jewelry? Perfume? Shoes?” You asked the moment you entered the department store he had taken you to. Glancing up to him, you couldn’t help but laugh at the bewildered look on his face, clearly unsure of where to start.

“Is that stuff you would like?” He turned to face you, brows furrowed and for a moment he caught you off guard. This was a dangerous game, picking out stuff you would like only to have Anthony turn around and buy it for someone else. But he looked so completely lost and out of his element that you forced a tight smile and curled your hand around his bicep to lead him further into the store.

“Do you know her sizes? Shoes could be nice, or we can look at jewelry if you want it to be more romantic.” You mused, pulling him towards the shoe section to start. Even if he wanted to look for other stuff, you could still buy yourself something nice. Maybe you’d get something out of this trip other than your own hurt feelings and the confirmation that he definitely did not feel the same about it. A little retail therapy never hurt, right?

“She’s about your size, yeah.” He told you, certain in his tone despite not giving you a solid answer. You tried to stop yourself from running through the list of people Anthony hung out with that were roughly your size, but you came up short, certain that he would have told you if it was one of your mutual friends.

“Maybe we should look at perfumes, then.” You steered him away from the clothing section. If he didn’t know her exact sizes, then you didn’t want him to get her something that didn’t fit. Standing in front of the display shelf full of perfume, you getsured for Anthony to take his pick.

“Isn’t this the kind you wear?” He asked, grabbing a bottle off the shelf and spraying it. You shot him a look, unsure of why he would know that and how he was able to pick it out easily. It wasn’t as if he had smelt it and recognized it; he had picked it up off the shelf completely unprompted. Part of you wanted to melt at his words, to overthink and hurt your own feelings once more, but you shoved that part aside.

“And you know that, how?” You asked, grabbing the bottle out of his hands and putting it back on the shelf. There was absolutely no way he was going to be getting the same perfume you wore for some other girl.

“I don’t know, I’ve seen you getting ready for nights out too many times, I guess.” He said with a shrug, but you would have sworn you saw a blush on his cheeks. He turned away from you before you could be certain, and you were left standing in front of the shelf of perfume confused while Anthony wandered off to the counter full of different types of jewelry. “Jewelry is romantic, right?”

“Yeah, what are you thinking?” You confirmed, trying not to seem as defeated as you were by his choice of words. He was looking for a romantic gift, a gift that was not for you and you were helping him pick it out.

“I don’t know, what do you like?” He questioned, looking over the case of rings, bracelets, earrings and necklaces with confusion. You couldn’t help but chuckle at how lost he looked, and it was that tiny bit of pity that had you turning to look at the jewelry to pick out something you liked.

“I think those necklaces are really pretty.” You hummed, pointing out a row of beautiful gold chains with different pendants and designs. They weren’t overly gaudy but strikingly simple, and they had caught your eye almost immediately.

“The diamond ones?” Anthony questioned, looking to the rack just next to the one you had been pointing to. Shaking your head, your head, you moved closer so that the necklaces were in reach. They truly were a gift you’d love to receive, and it stung a bit that Anthony might be buying one for someone other than you.

“No, not necessarily. I don’t think the price tag matters, but maybe something a little more personal, you know?” You explained, your fingers brushing over the dainty gold chains absentmindedly. Glancing up, you noticed a far away look in his eyes as he studied you and most definitely not the jewelry you were showing him. “Beau?”

“Yeah, I got it.” Anthony said quietly, like he was having a completely different conversation that you were unaware of. You gave him a confused look, but chose not to question him. Your heart was hammering in your chest as a result of the way he was looking at you, a soft smile on his lips and a look that was too similar to adoration in his eyes. All too soon, though, his gaze drifted over your shoulder as if searching for something. “What about that?”

“A candle?” You asked, following his gaze to the section of seasonal and decorative candles. Anthony nodded, a slight flush to his cheeks as he grabbed your hand and pulled you away from the jewelry and to the candles. “Beau, you asked me to come along for gift ideas but you haven’t listened to a single thing I’ve suggested.”

“Just trust me on this? I promise she’ll like this.” He assured you, though he didn’t sound all too convinced. Candles weren’t the most romantic gift, certainly not as much as the jewelry and perfume you had just been looking at, but he had the advantage of knowing who you were shopping for.

“You know, this would be a lot easier if you told me who she is. Have I met her before?” You questioned, grabbing the first candle off the shelf and smelling it. You were trying to act inconspicuous, but you were dying for information.

“Yeah, but I’m not telling you.” He said, a bashful look on his face as he avoided your gaze and examined the candles as if they were the most interesting thing in the world. He must have felt the weight of your stare, because he shot you a mischievous smile that nearly knocked the wind out of you. “It’s a secret.”

“Does Barzy know?” You challenged, picking up another candle and inspecting it as a way to try and seem less interested than you were in Anthony’s love life.

“That’s not important.”

“So he does.” You stated, a victorious smile on your lips despite the way your heart raced at the thought of getting closer to finding out who had Anthony all worked up. Maybe it would be best if you didn’t know who it was, to live in blissful ignorance for a little while longer, but you had never been the best at preserving your own feelings. Hence the reason you had agreed to spend your free Saturday helping Anthony buy a gift for someone else. “Come on, why won’t you tell me?”

“How does this smell?” He dodged the question, grabbing the closest candle and holding it up to your face to get your opinion. You gave him a curious look, but otherwise dropped the subject and focused on the apple cinnamon scented candle he held.

“Here, try this one instead.” You sighed, handing him the candle you had previously been testing. With a heavy heart, you watched as he gave the candle sniff before looking to you for guidance. “Wisteria and jasmine, it’s supposed to be a romantic combination. I’m sure she’ll love that, whoever she is.”

“Yeah,” Anthony started, watching you with the same adoring look in his eyes that made your heart race. “Whoever she is.”

You couldn’t help but feel a little guilty satisfaction as you watched Anthony hand the candle to the cashier, because even though some other girl would be getting his attention along with that gift, at least it wasn’t something entirely too romantic.

It was a few days until Anthony finally came around to your place again. He had told you that he needed to come over and give you his gift, because he was supposed to be heading back home to see his family soon and wanted you to have it before he left. Your present for him was sitting on your kitchen table, a nice leather wallet wrapped and ready to be exchanged, and when he finally knocked on your door you jumped to your feet to let him in.

He was nervous, you could tell from the way that he knocked instead of letting himself in and how he rushed past you with little more than a quiet ‘hello’ and a kiss pressed to your forehead. With a furrowed brow, you shut your apartment door and followed after him into your living room, where instead of making himself at home on your couch like he usually did, he was pacing the length of the room.

“Beau, are you alright?” He stopped at the sound of your voice, and spun to face you a little too quickly. He didn’t say anything at first, just dragged his hand through his hair and nodded despite looking anything but alright.

“Here’s your present.” He blurted, holding out a wide, flat box. Definitely not a candle. It was evident that he had wrapped it himself, you could see how much tape he used and how the folds were less than neat, but you smiled happily all the same.

“Let me go get your gift, and we can open them together—” You started, but Anthony shook his head quickly to shoot down the idea.

“No, you need to open yours first.” He said decidedly. You didn’t put up an argument, and instead took the box he was extending towards you and settling down on the couch. Anthony stayed standing, and you tried not to let that unnerve you, but something was going on with him.

After unwrapping the present, you opened the lid of the box to find a familiar blue and orange jersey inside. With a chuckle, you lifted the fabric up to better read the name and number on the back of the jersey. Beavullier, number eighteen. It was a running joke between the two of you, that somehow you, his good luck charm, didn’t even own one of his jerseys.

“Thanks, Beau.” You smiled genuinely, but before Anthony could say anything in response your gaze caught on something else in the box with the jersey. It was a smaller, black box that you instantly recognized as one for jewelry. Your breath caught in your throat and you glanced up to Anthony, but he was just watching you with a nearly unreadable look in his eyes.

You opened the box, a shocked grin instantly making its way onto your face as you saw the dainty gold chain and the tiny circular pendant of the necklace. You remembered it as one of the necklaces you had pointed out to him in the department store.

“You said personal.” Anthony said quietly as you brushed the pad of your finger across the lowercase ‘a’ engraved on the pendant. You felt your heart skip three beats at the realization of what the ‘a’ meant. It was for Anthony. He was giving you a necklace with his initial on it.

And he had you convinced that he was terrible at buying romantic gifts.

“Yeah, I did.” You replied just as quietly, carefully setting the boxes on the coffee table before standing and crossing the short distance to where he was standing in your living room anxiously. “Who is the other girl, Beau?”

“There isn’t another girl. Never was, never will be.” He confessed, his hands slowly finding purchase on your waist as you stepped closer to him with each word that passed his lips. Your heart was hammering in your chest, but a thin veil of confusion still covered you. Regardless, your hands fell to his chest, and you could feel the rapid beat of his own heart under your palm.

“Why’d you buy the candle that day, then?” You questioned, because for the past few days you had done nothing but think about how he bought another gift for another girl. Anthony smiled sheepishly, ducking his head slightly in nerves.

“I couldn’t exactly buy your gift with you right there, now could I?” He explained and you couldn’t help the chuckle that fell past your lips then at his comment.

“What’d you do with it?” You were teasing him then, simply bidding time until the conversation that you felt was inevitable came. The one where you finally told Anthony how you felt, the one where he, hopefully, said he felt the same.

“Gave it to Barzy. He really appreciated you picking out the scent, by the way. Said it was exactly what he was looking for.” He mumbled, his head dropping lower and lower in search of a kiss you wouldn’t hesitate to give him. He was teasing, buying time for you to pull back but you stayed still, tilting your chin up slightly in a bid to get him to finally connect your lips.

“Well, tell him I said you’re welcome.” You grinned, shaking your head in mirth at their close friendship. It was then that Anthony closed the gap between you and him, your hands moving of their own accord to hold his face as he kissed you with everything he had. It was a little dizzying, to finally have his lips on yours after so long spent dreaming of this moment. Even when you pulled back ever so slightly to breathe, it was clear both of you had smiles that would last for days.

“Besides, I needed to take you shopping to see what you liked. Pretty smart, eh?” He grinned, clearly proud of himself. You rolled your eyes playfully at his comment, but he only tugged you closer to him until you were flush against his front.

“Beau, I’ve spent the past week and a half thinking you had feelings for someone else. You could have played it a little smarter.” You teased, shifting so your arms were wrapped loosely around his neck. His expression flickered then, to one a bit more serious and he was looking at you with a sincerity in his eyes that would have made you melt, if his kiss hadn’t already done so.

“So, you like me too?” He questioned, and though his wording felt a little juvenile you nodded honestly, your gaze shifting to match his.

“Wouldn’t have kissed you if I didn’t.” You told him, tilting your chin up in search of another kiss that Anthony wasted no time in giving you. “And I definitely wouldn’t have done it again.”

“Do you want to put on the necklace? I want to see you with my initial.” He commented, a little cheekily but mostly happily. You nodded, slowly slipping from his arms to pick up the box you had set on the coffee table. With a sly smile of your own, you asked;

“Help me put it on?”

#anthony beauvillier #Anthony beauvillier x reader #Anthony beauvillier imagine #tito beauvillier #tito beauvilliier x reader #tito beauvillier imagine #New York Islanders #New York islanders imagine #hockey fic #hockey imagine #nhl fic #nhl imagine #12 days fics

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cycat4077 · 3 years

Text

Real Talk

Words: 1639 Warnings: angst Pairing: Sonny x Reader AO3 here

This idea popped into my head after that phone call Sonny received which seemed to be a date. So, ignore the fact that we know that the person on the other end was Nicole. 🙃

Part 2

---

You had met Sonny at Fordham while taking your law degree. A few classes together and the two of you, with a couple other people, hit it off. Yes, you were part of that group Sonny mentioned to Amaro. The group that he went bowling with. In fact, you were even one of the “pretty girls”. However, that’s where it stayed. You and Sonny often bounced ideas off one another and studied for exams.

Any girl would be a fool to say that they didn’t have a crush on Carisi at least at some point, and you were no different. But the thing was, your friendship meant so much more. It was uncomplicated. Just two people who supported one another; borrowed ears to let off steam from time to time.

When graduation rolled around though, you and Sonny saw less and less of one another. His detective gig left him such little free time to begin with that without classes, it was virtually impossible to find the time to get together. And, as so often happens, the texts and calls grew fewer and far between until six whole years had come and gone.

That all changed however, when you walked into the Manhattan DA’s office to cross reference about a case that you were working in Brooklyn. You could recognize that lanky, well-dressed man anywhere. He was speaking to a colleague, using his hands like he always did to get his point across. Your heart rose to your throat.

“Sonny?” you speak up, but you already know the answer. He swivels on his heels to face you, his features easing and eyes lighting up upon recognition.

He crosses the room in just a few long strides, a huge smile plastered on his face. He speaks your name and scoops you into a hug. It catches you by surprise at first, but the warmth of his arms around you – back around you after so many years, makes you genuinely happy. “How are ya?” he exclaims. “It’s been too long.”

You make small talk for a little while, catching up on what you’d missed. Sonny was an ADA now, finally biting the bullet and moving on from SVU. You tell him that you’re working in Brooklyn, not on criminal cases, that was always more Sonny’s speed, but still enjoying the career that your time at Fordham had awarded you. It was decided that you and Sonny needed to make grabbing coffees and lunches a regular occurrence, and so the two of you reserved a space in your calendar for the first one of many.

It was nice to rekindle that friendship. For all the time you knew one another at school, you had always had one another’s backs. There were never any judgements and the two of you could talk about anything and everything. Sonny would always make sure you were doing okay, seemingly knowing just when you needed him to talk to. This dynamic worked both ways too. It used to be that Sonny would phone you up, sometimes in the middle of the night, because he had come off a particularly hard case. You always picked up and it was that mutual friendship and care that got you both through many tough times.

Unfortunately, in those six years, that type of relationship was something you hadn’t found since. Seeing Sonny again made you realize just how much you had missed him. Not to mention that he had gotten more handsome and impossibly sweeter. You hated to admit that there was a flutter in your stomach every time he would smile and a heat that rose to your cheeks when he’d give you a quick peck as a friendly hello.

Little did you know that Sonny was starting to feel that way too and, after a few months of coffee and lunch meet-ups, he invited you to have dinner with him. You suggested a place, one of the few restaurants which were open for dine-in and one that you loved.

Was it a date? You weren’t exactly sure, but you worked up the courage to make tonight the time to tell him how you felt. You put forth extra effort in your appearance, styling your hair and slipping into a nice dress. Stepping in front of the mirror, you take a deep breath and tell yourself that it’s now or never.

Then your phone rings. It’s Sonny. You pick up and greet him, smiling.

“Hey,” he says. “I just finished my paperwork n’ am ready ta leave.”

“Great!” you say eagerly. “I’ll call to confirm our reservation -”

“Ah, that sounds great,” Sonny sounds in your ear.

“- and I’ll make my way over there.”

“Ah, that sounds great,” he says again. His voice sounds genuinely excited. “Listen, I’ll meet you there in an hour.”

“Sounds good, Sonny.” You take a breath, softening your voice. “I’m really looking forward to tonight.”

“Yeah, me too.” You can hear the smile in his voice.

“See you soon. Bye.”

“Alright, bye.”

A fluster of nervousness and excitement churn in your gut as you grab your coat and purse and head for the door.

---

Arriving at the restaurant, you’re taken to a table out of the way in one of the back corners. All the better to have a conversation, you think to yourself.

Just as you’ve gotten comfortable, your phone rings again. Sonny Carisi flashes on the screen. Your heart rises to your throat, unsure why he would be calling. “What’s up?” you answer.

“I’m gonna be late,” he begins apologetically. “Rollins had a family emergency and I was helping her take care of a few things.”

“Oh, okay,” you stammer out, slightly confused. “Be careful.”

“Yeah, I will. See you in a bit.” The line clicks off.

Amanda Rollins. A major figure in Sonny’s work life. His partner as a detective and still a member of the squad he tries cases for. Many the times you had heard about Rollins: how hard she had things, her problematic family, her daughter Jesse. And each mention of her would be rooted in Sonny’s desire to help her out somehow. Cook her dinner or help her with her baby. He’d tell you how great of a detective she was and how she, too, had his back.

However, Sonny could be gullible. He made decisions with his heart rather than his head and sometimes that let people take advantage of his kindness. So, you were often cautious on his behalf when he’d tell you about the things he did for Amanda. Sometimes it seemed that she, whether intentional or not, would accept Sonny’s kindness without giving him much in return. And by the way he used to talk about her, you suspected he had developed some sort of feelings for her. But through these conversations, he also invertedly revealed how she kept him at arms length. Now, from Sonny’s phone call, you suppose that things had never changed.

You sit there for what feels like an eternity, the waiter returning to check in on you a few times, until finally you see him round the restaurant corner towards your booth.

“I’m so sorry,” he begins, taking a seat. “Rollins – her dad had a stroke n' she needed ta fly out immediately. I arranged for her mom to watch her kids n' informed Liv what was goin' on. I feel so bad. I mean, she’s been through so much n' she really has no one…” He looks up at you then, noticing your attire. His eyebrows lift as he drinks in how pretty you look. But your face tells a different story.

You feel so disappointed. Not in Sonny, but rather, in yourself. You thought that the history you shared would bring you closer together. A solid and mutually supportive friendship was something you longed for in a significant other. Something for love to build off of and grow. Now though, seeing how Sonny was still holding out hope for Amanda, still giving her every ounce of himself with little in return, you couldn’t take it.

You catch Sonny’s gaze. “It was silly of me to think that this was a date.” Your voice is quiet, sadness brimming your words.

He stares back at you confused. His brow knits, “No!” he begins, the realization hitting him. “It was – is a date!” He reaches for your hand, placing his overtop. “I asked you here because it felt so good to reconnect with you. I missed you. We get along so easily and it’s nice to have someone to talk to again. I always thought you were attractive too, both physically and intellectually. When we were at Fordham we were always just friends but seeing you again and having you back in my life, well, it made me feel something.”

Sonny looks positively hurt, yet he understands how all this must seem to you. “I missed you too, Sonny. So much,” you reply, voice a little unsteady. “And I care about you more than you could ever imagine.” You give his hand a small squeeze and he closes his eyes for a moment, knowingly. “Except, I can’t be a placeholder while you wait for Amanda to come around. It’s not fair to me. It’s not fair to you either, but that decision has to come from you.”

There it is. All feelings laid bare. There’s nothing more you can say. You have and always will support Sonny and you always will be his friend. However, those lines between friendship and something more were starting to blur and before you give your heart away, you need to know if Sonny truly wishes to accept it.

Sonny studies your face, his mind racing. Then he looks down, squeezing his eyes shut. “I know,” he says running a thumb along your knuckles. "I know."

---

Tag list? @barbasbodaciousbeard @adarafaelbarba @teamsladsandgents @caracalwithchips @averyhotchner

❤

#This was a rough idea #Literally written in about 3 hours #Forgive any mistakes #Please love me #No hate for any ship #Just love for Sonny #sonny carisi #sonny carisi x reader #law and order svu #Svu s22 e10 #Svu spoilers #sonny carisi x you #Law and order svu fanfic #my fanfic

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lettheladylead · 3 years

Text

Not Your Aunt

Chapter 7: Huey [ao3 link]

It’d been two days since her chat with Dewey and Goldie found herself still in Scrooge’s home. Normally she would’ve left the morning after her little visit, but he’d been so busy with all of his family’s craziness that they hadn’t really had a chance to talk yet. Donald had apparently just left on a trip with his girlfriend and some clone children and everyone was adjusting to all the news and everything they’d been through.

So Goldie figured she would just...wait around. She’d informed the necessary people that she was alive, shockingly, after being missing for a few weeks, so she could take a few more days to herself. And it wasn’t like Scrooge didn’t know she was there; she’d still spent both nights in his bed, but he’d been falling asleep pretty quickly and getting up early and this whole situation they were in felt disturbingly domestic. She’d probably need to leave sooner or later, before anyone started to think she was moving in.

At that particular moment, Goldie was situated on the living room couch, wearing a tank top and sweatpants and flipping through the channels on the TV without much thought. Scrooge was at another meeting at the Money Bin and if she didn’t know any better she’d almost think he was avoiding her with all of his late night meetings. Actually, she didn’t really know better, since this was kind of a new situation for them, but...well...what was she supposed to do about it? Go with him? That sounded terribly boring.

A home redecorating show she liked came on and Goldie decided to forget everything else and just sit back and try to enjoy it. Overthinking things with Scrooge never worked out well for her. It was one of many reasons why after over a hundred years, she felt out of place just sitting in his home without him.

The pitter patter of tiny feet coming her way didn’t ease that feeling at all, either.

She glanced to the right as the other triplet - Huey, she was confident she had that right - picked himself up and plopped himself on the couch next to her. She’d never had a single conversation with this child, but she’d stolen from him and knew he kept a ridiculous number of things hidden under his tiny little hat. It was fascinating. But otherwise she didn’t know much about him or why he would be attempting to interact with her.

“I’d like to go over some scheduling issues,” he said suddenly, pulling a notebook and a pen out from under his hat.

Goldie glanced around the room briefly and then back at him. “...with me?”

“Yes,” Huey responded matter-of-factly. “If you’re going to be staying here for a while or living here or whatever’s happening with you, ideally I’d love to add you to the shared family calendar.”

“...what?”

“...but assuming you’re just here for a few days and then coming and going at your leisure, just knowing ahead of time when you and Uncle Scrooge are having your date nights would be perfect.” He took notes while he was talking, as if Goldie had given him even a single answer. “I like to know where he is in case we need him for anything. I’m sure you understand.”

“I, uh…” Goldie took a moment to go over everything he said and quickly shook her head. “Your uncle and I do not have ‘date nights’.”

“Well maybe not this time around since he’s been so busy, but isn’t that the plan?” Huey asked genuinely, still taking notes on who-knew-what. “Once he’s free I assume you’ll get dinner and have a talk about your relationship and our family. And other adult date stuff.”

Goldie responded to that with the most neutral, unemotional stare that Huey had ever received. She took the remote and muted the television before turning her whole body towards the nosy child next to her, lifting her feet up onto the couch. “And why exactly do you assume that?”

Huey tilted his head at her. “Oh...sorry, isn’t that right? Dewey said you’d been wandering around waiting to talk to Uncle Scrooge so that’s just the conclusion I drew. Plus you’re...y’know, still here even though he’s not. And you’re not stealing anything.”

“I have other hobbies.”

He pointed to the TV with his pen. “Like the Property Brothers?”

Goldie glanced at the screen and then back at the kid. “Even if, hypothetically, you were right about all of that, I am absolutely not ever joining your family calendar.”

Huey shook his head. “I don’t know why you’d say that like it’s a bad thing. Don’t you want to be organized?”

“I’m plenty organized by myself.”

“But if you were synced with us, then you’d know when Uncle Scrooge or Louie is available to spend time with.”

Goldie paused for a moment and stared at him. She’d barely spoken to her favorite of Della’s kids since arriving at the house and having him brought up felt like some kind of dig. She wasn’t sure how to respond to it without getting defensive and she wasn’t even sure what she’d be getting defensive about. “...I prefer the element of surprise. Keeps the boys on their toes.”

Huey shook his head and shrugged. “So how long are you staying here? Can I at least know that?”

“I’m not really sure,” Goldie answered, leaning fully against the back of the couch. It was pretty comfy. “Not too long. I’ve got other places to be.”

“...extremely vague and unhelpful,” Huey mumbled, jotting something down in his notebook. “You and Uncle Scrooge are quite the pair.”

Goldie only responded to that with a short hum, grabbing the remote to get back to her show.

“Can I ask you something else?”

She sighed and put the remote back down. “It’s not like I can stop you.”

Huey turned his body fully towards her, one leg up on the couch and one still dangling. “Well...if I’m making you really uncomfortable or anything, I can stop.”

Goldie raised an eyebrow at him, surprised by the suggestion, but quickly waved it off. “What’s your question?”

“Are you planning on marrying Uncle Scrooge?”

If she’d been drinking anything, she would’ve spit it out at that moment. Goldie could say with absolute certainty that she did not see that question coming. “What could I have possibly said to make you think that?”

“Not you,” Huey said earnestly. “I just noticed that everyone seems to call you Aunt Goldie and I remember in one of Uncle Scrooge’s journals he wrote about marriage when he wrote about you so I assumed you two have had a conversation about it at least once or twice. Right?”

Goldie’s eyes widened and she felt heat rising in her chest that she couldn’t explain away as simple heartburn. She hoped her face wasn’t red to match, because this kid was clearly observant and blunt and she didn’t need the whole family thinking she wanted to get married and move in. “I, uh…” Goldie cleared her throat awkwardly. “...no, it’s not something we’ve really talked about.”

Huey looked at her in confusion. “Not really or not at all?”

She grimaced and sighed and moved her hands around her face as she tried to put her thoughts together. “It’s not...I mean, it’s not never come up, it’s just...it’s complicated. It’d be hard to explain.”

“Try me.”

Goldie frowned and barely stopped herself from glaring at him. “...y’know what, if your uncle is the one writing Goldie McDuck in little hearts all over his workbooks, maybe you should talk to him about it, hm?”

Huey blinked up at her. “I guess I can do that. He’s just always very secretive when it comes to you.”

That got her attention a little more than it should’ve. Goldie sighed internally and didn’t bother trying to stop herself. “...what do you mean by that?”

“Well, like…” Huey moved so both of his legs were dangling again and he could swing them around. “I love romance a lot. I love to read about it and watch romantic movies...my friend Fenton and his girlfriend Gandra are so sweet together and Uncle Donald and his girlfriend are also really sweet together and I really love that for both of them. But then you and Uncle Scrooge seem like you’re happy sometimes but then when I ask him about you he gets all grumbly and doesn’t answer my questions, so that’s not a good sign. But I’m really curious about it because I know there’s all different types of romance out there and I don’t even know how the two of you met.”

Goldie hummed quietly and stared at the wall over the TV, considering her response. She definitely wouldn’t describe her and Scrooge’s relationship as ‘sweet,’ but she’d never tried to sum it up into one word before. “...the way we met is also very...complicated.”

“It seems like everything about you two is complicated.”

“That’s putting it lightly,” she said with a short, quiet laugh. “I do love your uncle, but it’s just-...!”

Huey gasped, and Goldie froze at the realization of what she’d just said. She stared directly at Huey who looked more excited than he’d been for any of the rest of their conversation. He was suddenly fully engaged thanks to her accidental use of the l-word. She glanced away from him and hoped she could stumble over that, but she’d paused for too long for them to simply move past it.

It wasn’t like she’d never said it before, but absolutely never to someone in his family. That would be...too much.

“You do?!” Huey asked - his notepad down and leaning towards her and putting his hands on his cheeks. “Does Uncle Scrooge know? Has he said it too? That’s so romantic!”

Goldie groaned and looked back at the TV, only to see the couple fixing up their house snuggling on the camera. “I mean, look. We’ve been...well, it’s been over a hundred years, so yeah these things are bound to be said at some point-”

Huey let out a tiny, adorable little squeal that Goldie refused to find endearing.

“Alright, I’ve changed my mind!” Huey announced, grabbing his pen and notepad again. “I’m completely fine to call you Aunt Goldie!”

“Wait, what?” Goldie stared at him, feeling very confused like she’d missed a whole big part of their conversation. “You know we’re still not getting married, right?”

“Well, Aunt Goldie,” Huey said with a smirk. “I now know that you’re mutually in love and probably have been for a very long time, so whether you want to be or not, that means you’re part of the family!”

She sighed and lightly scratched her neck.

“Do you have any other family?”

Goldie looked surprised at the sudden question, not expecting this child to suddenly change conversation topics like his brother. “...no, I don’t.”

“Oh,” Huey responded, looking a little sad. “Did they...I mean, you’re as old as Uncle Scrooge, right? So they’re...uh…”

“Dead, yeah,” Goldie said with a shrug.

“I’m sorry!” Huey looked down at his hands. “I shouldn’t have asked.”

She watched him look like he was about to go into some shame spiral and Goldie quickly reached out a hand and plopped it on his head. “Don’t worry about it, it was a long time ago. And we were never close to begin with,” she added with another shrug.

Huey glanced back up at her, blushing a bit from the unexpected physical affection. “Does that mean you never introduced them to Uncle Scrooge?”

Goldie couldn’t stop herself and let out a short laugh, moving her hand from Huey’s head to cover her beak. “Sorry, sorry,” she mumbled as she collected herself. “No, God no, absolutely not.”

He moved his hat back to the position he preferred it in. “Have you met Uncle Scrooge’s parents?”

“Ah...sort of-” Goldie started, but suddenly she froze. She thought about his line of questioning for a second before turning to glare at Huey completely. “What are you writing?”

Huey looked up from his notebook and let out a small chirp as he noticed Goldie’s expression. “Um...I’m just taking notes…”

“Taking notes about what?” Goldie asked as she reached out and grabbed the notebook away from him. Huey struggled to grab it back but Goldie held him down with her other hand.

She scanned over the open page and saw that he’d written notes on all the information she’d given him (about herself, about her and Scrooge’s relationship) and her tone of voice and expression when talking about them. She flipped to another page to see similar notes and rolled her eyes before throwing the notepad back at Huey.

Huey caught it and did his best to avoid her gaze.

“Should I even ask?”

He shoved the notepad and pen under his hat again and rubbed the back of his neck. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you.”

Goldie pinched the bridge of her beak. “I’m not upset, I’m just confused. Did Scrooge tell you to come talk to me?”

“Huh?” Huey mirrored her confusion. “No, of course not! It was nothing like that!”

“Then…?”

He sighed awkwardly. “Dewey said he got an interview with you and I didn’t believe him and then we got into an argument about it and he said he had the best interviewing skills in the family, but I’m the one with the Interviewing Badge which I’ve had for several years so I wanted to...prove him wrong, I guess.” Huey covered his eyes with his hands and sighed. “Ugh, this is so stupid. I’m really sorry.”

Goldie raised an eyebrow and reached over to tug his hands away from his eyes. “Kid, it’s fine. I can always understand the urge to prove you’re better than someone else,” she said with a smirk.

Huey looked at her for a few moments before smiling. “So it’s okay if I show this to Dewey?”

She glanced at his hat and then back down at his eyes, which were sparkling and genuine and he was just a very cute kid and Goldie hated how that seemed to be something that affected her these days. She held back a sigh and let go of his arms. “Yeah, it’s fine. It’s not like I said anything that’s a secret.”

“Thank you, Aunt Goldie!” Huey said happily right before he jumped forward and wrapped his arms around her neck.

Goldie let out a surprised OOF! and didn’t hug back, just stared off towards the wall on the other side of the room.

Huey moved back away from her and kept smiling. “Louie’s right, you’re a lot nicer than Uncle Scrooge says you are!” he said as he hopped off the couch. “Thanks for talking to me! I hope you didn’t miss anything important on your show.”

“...nothing important ever happens on this show,” Goldie mumbled as Huey waddled away - probably towards the boys’ shared bedroom. She frowned and tried to will away the blush on her cheeks from the light physical affection. It was disturbing to her how much a little hand-hold or a hug made her feel like she had butterflies in her stomach. It was more than disturbing! She was practically going soft.

She sighed and thought about what Huey said before he left. Maybe she needed to have a chat with Sharpie.

#ducktales #goldie o'gilt #huey duck #scroldie #not your aunt #fic #fics #i dont remember what my plan was for this initially but heres where it went

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wolfish-trickster · 3 years

Text

Advent kisses

3/24

Loki x female!reader

Word count: 1 280(they are getting longer and longer, i'm so sorry)

Summary: Instead of chocolates, kisses are going to be recieved everyday until Christmas.

Tag list: @gaitwae

'I think I went too quick.'

Loki was lying on his bed staring at the ceiling. A few minutes ago he kissed you on the cheek. It was the best feeling he had had in a long while. Your skin was so soft and warm. His heart was beating unnaturally quick. Still.

'I should've gone for her fingers or palm, not moving straight to her face.' He was overthinking. If he went too fast, he could've scare you away. You could start avoiding him, just like he thought you did today. He knew you were not lying when you said the reason you were asking Thor about Asgard and not him. But something about that truth felt off. Like you didn't say the entire truth.

It doesn't matter. You were telling the truth. You wanted to give him a gift. Him! Humans tend to give eachother gifts when they care about eachother. You cared about him! He smiled at that thought.

Loki glanced at his alarm clock. 00:10. He should really go to sleep. He rolled on his side and hugged one of his spare pillows imagining it was you, closed his eyes and dreamt of tommorrow's kiss.

Morning came too soon for his liking. It was 6:00 when he first opened his eyes and 6:45 when he rolled from his bed, got dressed and made his way to kitchen. Sun didn't even start rising yet. Only Avngers did. Natasha, Clint and Tony were opening their advent calendars and chewing on their chocolates. When Tony spotted the mischievious god he stopped chewing.

"You! How dare you ruin the tradition!" he pointed at Loki, mouth still full of chocolate.

"Whatever you think I did Stark, I thoroughly enjoyed it. But seriously now, what do you think I did?"

"You," Tony reached for one of the calendars behind his back, "ate," picked up the box with Loki's name, "all of your chocolates in one day! It's not how we do it! You're supposed to eat one a day!"

"Calm down Tony, it's his loss. He's going to be without chocolates, not you," Natasha was trying to pacify the situation.

Tony looked at her. Nat glared at him.

"Bet he'll back off," Clint whispered to Loki.

"Why betting when you already won?" Loki smirked. Everyone knew when Natasha glared and you didn't back off soon enough, you're not gonna end well.

Thankfully, Tony still had common sense. "Alright, you're forgiven Mischief."

"As if I needed your forgiveness. You gave the box to me, remember? And I get to do whatever I please with it. Including enjoying the chocolate in one go," he smirked.

Meanwhile the rest stumbled into the kitchen. Bucky, Sam and Steve wet from their morning after run shower, Thor in nothing more than brown sweatpants, Wanda and Vision holding hands, Bruce yawning from reading instead of sleeping the whole night and you. Your hair was a mess, still in your pyjamas (oversized t-shirt and sweatpants), rubbing your eyes. You looked extremly cute.

"Good morning," you greeted him mid-yawn.

"Good morning to you too," Loki smiled at you. You weren't trying to avoid him like he thought you would. First good thing this morning.

All of you ate breakfast. Discussed your plans for the day. Talked. Just the typical morning.

"And what about you Y/N?"

You looked up from your plate, still half asleep. "What?"

Wanda repeated her question. "What about you? Do you want to come with me, Vision, Tony and Pepper to city? Taking a walk on the fresh air, shopping-" "Aka you browsing through store for half an hour and leaving because the jacket isn't in the right shade of red?" Vision teased her with his hand around her shoulders.

"That happened only once Vis. Can you please stop bringing it up?"

Vision pretended to think. Then smiled at her. "No."

You chuckled a bit. "No I don't think I will join you. Not that I have better things to do than hang out with you. I'll be like a fifth wheel to you guys. Two couples and a book worm without social skills," Loki noticed your mood shift. You were lonely. He can't just leave it like that now, can he?

"I can accompany you, if the rest of the group allows me. It'll be two discustingly in love couples and two book worms," he smiled at you.

You looked at him and smiled. Then you looked at Tony. "Can he come please? I'll keep an eye on him, I promise."

"Alright. But don't let him buy any chocolate. He already had enough," Tony glared at Loki who smirked at him.

20 minutes later the six of you were heading to shopping mall. As Vision predicted (and all of the boys expected) girls spent about an hour in two different stores, but didn't buy anything. You headed to bookstore while the girls stopped to look at purses.

"So what's between you and Y/N?" Tony asked Loki as they were waiting in front of the shop.

"Something called friendship, maybe you've heard of it?"

"Cut the sass and tell me the truth."

"It is the truth."

"You kissed her hand two days ago."

"That I did. We do it on Asgard to show respect or gratitude. Things Midgardians lack these days."

"I also saw you and her in the library reading together."

Loki side eyed Tony. "That's..... what libraries are for."

Tony smirked. "But libraries aren't meant for two 'friends' to cuddle."

'Damn, I forgot the security cameras.' Loki kept his stone cold facade while panicing internally. If he saw you two cuddling then he also saw the cheek kiss. Why must this man see and ruin every sweet moment he shared with you?!

Just as he wanted to reply smething sarcastic you ran up to both of them laughing and holding a book. "I found it guys! The picture of Dorian Grey! I was looking for this book for WEEKS!" you ran straight into Loki, hugging him tightly. Tony smirked at both of you. Loki only glared at him and put both of his arms around you.

"Darling, I don't think I can survive another hour waiting in front of the store for ladies of those two. Let's go outside for fresh air," he was pushing you with a hand on your lower back away from Tony before he could comment on the hug.

It was cold outside. Loki barely registered, but you were positively shivering. He started walking towards the tower but you stopped him with a hand on his shoulder. "Can we go for a walk into a park? I like this weather, might be one of the last days with sun still shining without clouds."

"Alright, lead the way darling," he smiled at the way you blushed. He liked making you blush. You looked cute. After 45 minutes of walking he noticed how your nose and cheeks got red from cold. "You must be terribly cold, don't you want to go to tower yet?"

You shook your head. "Not really. Well, maybe a little bit. My fingers are freezing. I think it's time to go before I get frostbite," you looked down at your red finger tips.

"Here let me help you," Loki brought both of your hands to his face. His hands starte to glow with soft green light as he kissed each finger tip. You were bright red, but not from cold. When he drew back he smiled at you. "Better?"

Only then you realized what he did. He put a warming spell on you.

"Yes, thank you," you smiled back at him.

He looked down at your small hands in his big pale ones. "Can I hold your hand the way back to tower? To keep the warming charm."

Both of you knew it wasn't only for the charm. So you let him.

#loki #loki laufeyson #loki odinson #loki x reader #loki fluff #fluffy loki #christmas fic #the avengers #fluff

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supercorpkid · 3 years

Text

This is why you should never trust an Imp – Part 1.

Supercorp, Kara Danvers x Daughter!Reader, Lena Luthor x Daughter!Reader

Word count: 2475.

“Oh hey” You say when you see Jamie walking towards you.

“Don’t ‘oh hey’ me.” Jamie says rolling her eyes.

“I see you got my note.” You point at her hand and she frowns in response.

“Of course I got your note, you taped it in to my forehead while I was sleeping.” She opens the note and does her best impression of you. “Dear Jamie, come alone to the training center, I need your help. Signed: Little Danvers.”

“Yeah.” You smile proud of your ability of sneaking into her bedroom, and not waking anyone up. Jamie breathes heavily, not very proud of you.

“You couldn’t wake me up and like, fly me here?”

“I guess.” You actually didn’t think about that. “But then I wouldn’t have anything to do with the note, and it was already written.”

“You could’ve, I don’t know, thrown it away?” She shakes her head and her hand goes to her forehead. “Why are we here? Why are we not at school?”

“Oh right, this is very important.” You point to the chair next to you, and wait until she’s seated. “Do you remember an imp from the fifth dimension called mister mxflafopolis?”

“What?” Jamie thinks about it for a second. “Wait, you mean Mister Mxyzptlk?”

“How do you do that? With your tongue?” You ask and then spend five minutes, with Jamie’s help, trying to pronounce his name, unsuccessfully.

“Oh my God, we’re wasting time! Just tell me why I’m here.” She finally snaps.

“Right, well mister whatever his name is, came to me last night and he had an interesting proposal. So, he said-”

“Nope. Bad idea.” She interrupts you.

“You don’t even know what it is!”

“He’s an imp from another dimension, dipshit, I don’t have to listen to it to know it’s bad.” Jamie gets up from the chair mentioning that she’s about to leave.

“Ok, but just hear me out.”

“No! I want nothing to do with it.” Jamie looks back at you. “I know you long enough to know that you’re going to do something stupid. So, the less I know, the less I can say when I’m being interrogated by our moms.”

“But-but, Jamie! You have to know! What if he double crosses me or something?”

“Do you even hear yourself? If there’s a chance for him to double cross you, do you actually think it’s a good idea?” She asks and you know she’s right. You know better than to trust an imp. You’re much, much smarter than that. But then again, you’re also not.

“Fine, fine.” You say so you can ease her mind. “Come on, I’ll fly us to school so we’re not late.”

“Actually, my mama is waiting outside in the car.”

“I thought I told you to come alone.”

“How would you expect me to get here without her help?” You roll your eyes thinking you should’ve picked her up, so aunt Kelly wouldn’t have anything to do with it. But in the end, as you sat in the backseat of her momvan, she just asks if everything is alright and takes you both to school without further questions. Maybe she, too, knows that the less she knows the better.

The whole way there you could only think about the proposal. He wants to show you your future. You are desperate to know. You need to know what you’ll become. You need to know what you’ll choose: science, powers, or something else completely.

Jamie doesn’t understand, well, she didn’t hear the proposal in the first place. But even if she had, she probably wouldn’t understand. You’re asked so much; people expect so much from you. You NEED to know if you will live up to their expectations. You need to know that if you choose to become a superhero, that Lena wouldn’t be disappointed, or the other way around.

So, before you even realize, it’s decided. You’re going to take him on his offer. You’re going to the future. And the only thing he said it was a rule is that you have to stay there for two days. Easy peasy.

“Mister mxytopolopolis.” You call him as soon as you’re back home from school. He doesn’t come. “Oh Rao, what was his name again?” You look at the paper he left you and the instructions that say ‘just call my name’. “Ok, let’s try this again. Mister Mxytlk… No wait. Mxyztelk? Shit! That’s not it. Mister Mxyzptlk!”

And just like that he is in front of you.

“I’m interested. Let’s do it. Let’s go to the future!”

“Well, actually, dear. You’re going to the future. I’ll go pick you up in two days like we agreed on.” He says and you shake your head agreeing.

“Wait, wait, wait. But what if-” But before you’re finished, he pushes you through a portal and you drop high from the sky on the ground.

You look around, still lying on the floor. You are still in National City, and you’re lying on the ground of a park. There are people walking, talking and laughing. You look at the buildings and frown. Everything looks exactly the same. The future doesn’t look really futuristic, and you wonder how many years into the future you are.

“Hey kid. You dropped really high from that tree. Are you ok?” You smile at your momma all dressed in her Supergirl suit. She doesn’t look much older, but you know she ages at a different pace.

“I’m ok, momma.” You smile supporting yourself on your elbow so you can sit down. She quickly holds your arm and helps you up.

“Are you sure, kid?” She asks and you shake your head agreeing. “’Cause you just called me momma.” She looks around. “Are you lost? Is your mom here?”

“What?” You ask confused and she smiles.

“I’m Supergirl, kid. C’mon. I’ll help you look for your mom.” She reaches out to you and you stand up. “Was she here with you?”

“Are you kidding me?” You ask dumbfounded. “You don’t know me?”

“No. Should I?” Kara asks and you look around. Heart racing and a lot of questions racing through your mind. Why doesn’t Kara know who you are? She must’ve listened to your heartbeat, because her hands go to your shoulders. “Hey, hey, calm down. It’s ok. Did you hit your head? I can take you to the hospital.”

“No. No. I’m-I’m ok.” You say, letting yourself go of her, and walking backwards. “Really, thank you for your help Supergirl. I should get going.” You point at your watch. “I should be in school.”

“Wait.” Kara holds your forearm and furrows her brows. She is looking at the watch and you hold your breath. “Where did you get that?”

“Oh, the watch? It’s, um, family heirloom.” You’re scared she might open it and see it’s actually the super watch, so you have to distract her. You look at her hand. There’s a ring, she’s married. “I didn’t know Supergirl was married.”

She smiles while nodding, and she also looks at her ring getting distracted from the watch thing. You finally let out a breath.

“Do you have kids?”

“I don’t.” She then looks right into your eyes. “That’s so weird, you look so familiar. You kind of look like me when I was young.” You smile at the compliment. Then stop yourself. “What’s your name, kid?”

“Uh, my name? Um…” You look around. You can’t tell her your real name, you don’t know what year you’re in, and she seems confused with your existence. And she just said she doesn’t have kids. Wait. She doesn’t have kids?

“Did you forget your own name?” She looks worried. The crinkle in her forehead is almost showing and you blurt out before it does. You hate when she gets worried.

“No! I know my name. My name is Le…” Don’t say Lena, dumbass! She probably knows who Lena is. “Lexa!”

Really? All the names in the universe and you decided to go with a variation of Lex? Gross.

“Oh, well, nice to meet you, Lexa.” She smiles and you can’t help but smile too.

“You too, Supergirl! You are very nice. Well, I should go now. Thanks for the help and all. Have a great day! Ok, bye.” You run as fast as you can, but it’s not so fast that Kara would notice that you have powers. You stop in an alley nearby and breathe heavily. What is happening? When exactly in the future did Mxylopolik send you anyway? And if you’re really in the future, why doesn’t Kara know about your existence?

Ok, first things first. You need to find out what year you’re in, but you are very aware that it would be very strange if you just grabbed someone at random and asked them what year it is. No, you need another way to know.

You get out of the alley and see someone about your age coming in your direction. Ok, don’t be weird, don’t freak him out.

“Hey. Sorry. Hope I’m not disturbing you, I just… Someone just robbed me, and I was wondering if I could use your phone to call my mom.”

“Yeah. Sure.” The guy unlocks his phone and hands it to you. You go to the calendar very fast and check the date. Ok, you are two years in the future. So, you were supposed to be 17. You give back his phone. “Aren’t you going to call?”

“Oh. I don’t have her phone memorized. Isn’t it weird how we just don’t remember numbers anymore? Anyways, thanks for your help, you’re very kind.” You wave goodbye and he just stares at you for a few seconds and then resumes walking.

So, you are in the future. But how is this your future if Kara doesn’t have any kids? I mean, she’s still married, but is she married to your mom or is this some alternative reality? You need to go see Lena.

The receptionist at L Corp doesn’t know who you are, you don’t know who she is either. She doesn’t want to let you go inside, so you distract her enough and use your superspeed to get into the elevator. When you get to the last floor, you look for your mom’s assistant. She isn’t at her desk. This might be a stroke of luck.

You see Lena’s name on the door. So, this isn’t an alternative reality where she isn’t the CEO anymore, which is good. You knock and she calls you in.

“Hey.” You don’t want to call her mom, if she doesn’t remember you that would be very hard to explain.

“Can I help you?” Lena takes one look at you and you’re sure. She has no idea who you are. Your heart drops in your chest, and you can feel the tears coming.

“Oh. Um. Yes, Mrs. Luthor.” You have to think of something. “I’m, well, my name is…” What was the name you made up again? “Lexa. And I’m…Um...”

“Did my assistant send you in?” She looks confused, and you feel the same way. What the fuck is happening? Why do your moms don’t remember you in the future? You feel so alone.

“I-I just have a question. About science. And you’re the smartest person on the planet, so I thought you would be the only one who could answer it.”

“Well, I don’t know about me being the smartest person on the planet.” Lena says with a chuckle. “But take a seat, Lexa. Let me see if I can help you.” She points at the chair in front of her and you breathe in relief. You were almost sure she was going to call security and throw you out. You look at her hand and there’s also a ring.

“Ok, let’s just say time travel exists…” You see her looking confused at the way you started, but she lets you continue. “And I don’t know, let’s say I go to the future.”

“There’s a lot of pretending in your scenario.”

“Right. But my question is… Do I stop existing in my own timeline?” You ask and she opens her mouth to answer, but nothing comes out. “You know, ‘cause, if my future is now my present, then my present becomes my past.”

“Yes.” She agrees so you can keep going.

“Right. So, if I left my present that is now my past then I cease to exist in the past. And I’m no longer in my timeline. That means, I only exist in this timeline, therefore no one remembers me, because I’m only existing here and now in the future, that is, you know, actually my present.”

“What is this for, again?” She asks and you scramble your brain for a good excuse. You were so distracted with how good your mom will look in two years. It’s kind of weird that she has a few grey hairs already, but she is totally pulling it off.

“School project. Y’know, I’m trying to prove that time travel doesn’t work, but I need a specialist opinion.” But apparently time travel works. Just not in a very nice way.

“I’m sorry to say that I’m no specialist in time travel.” Lena smiles. “But you seem to be going in the right direction. Just, um, maybe don’t speak like that in front of your classmates if you don’t want to get bullied.”

“Oh, it’s too late for that.” You smile shyly and she chuckles.

“How old are you, Lexa?”

“Fifteen.”

“Here.” She gives you her card. “When you turn eighteen, if you’re still into science like that, give me a call and you can come work for me.”

You want to tell her that you already work for her. That you have a whole lab for yourself. You want to stay here and keep talking to your mom, but you know she’s minutes away to ask you to leave. And since she has no idea who you are, she was already kind enough to waste her time on you. You take a look around the office quickly and you see a picture of your moms smiling at each other. At least that is still right in the future.

“Thank you, Mrs. Luthor. For your time, and kindness, and the card.” You smile putting it in your pocket. “You’re very nice. Have a great day!”

“You too, kid!” Lena smiles and you leave feeling like you got nowhere. Is your theory right? Did you stop existing to them?

You leave L Corp and go into an alley.

“Mister Mxy-freaking-polik.” Fucking shit. What was that asshole’s name again? Thankfully, his card is still in your pocket. You read it slowly. “Mister Mxyzptlk!”

He doesn’t come, and you know for sure that you said his name right. Rao, this is why you should never trust an imp.

Notes:

Am I writing a bunch of nonsense? Possibly. Please stay with me either way :)

#supercorp #supergirl #kara danvers #kara x lena #lena luthor #supercorp fanfic #supercorpfamily #kara x reader #lena x reader #supercorp daughter #reader insert

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clumsyclifford · 3 years

Note

lashton prompt: luke falling asleep on skype and ashton taking the opportunity to draw him, bonus if someone else finds the sketches before ashton shows them to luke

meghna this prompt is from almost a full calendar year ago. i am proud to report that after all this time i did in fact manage to set it in spideyverse because that’s how determined i am. more info in ao3 notes but it takes place in the summer before their senior year of high school, so after the events of everything else in spideyverse so far

read here on ao3

Ashton will have to thank Maya later for the tip about the Fine Arts Room. He jimmies the door handle and, as promised, the door swings opens to reveal a darkened room full of half-finished projects. They must really take the decency of humanity on faith here. Anyone could come in at any time and sabotage any of this work.

Ashton has less nefarious plans.

He sits at his usual spot but doesn’t turn any lights on; the big windows shine just enough moonlight into the room that Ashton can see the silhouettes of the furniture, and his laptop will be on in a moment anyway. Careful of the scattered pages over his workspace, he opens his computer and loads up Skype.

Just in time for an incoming call.

Ashton fumbles with his headphones and plugs them in with one hand while he accepts the call with the other. The screen fills with Luke’s brightly-lit, highly pixelated face. Chin in his hands, elbows propped on his desk, hair a ruffled mess (from the mask, Ashton knows) — the sight of him fills Ashton with warmth.

“Hey,” Luke says, smiling his usual cheeky smile. They’ve been texting sporadically, but seeing Luke’s face — hearing his voice — gives Ashton a fluttery feeling behind his sternum. Calum would call that anatomically impossible, but he’d do it with a smirk. “I can barely see you.”

“I’m sitting in the dark,” Ashton explains. His voice is a hushed whisper even though he knows it’s absurd to be paranoid. They’re supposed to be confined to their bunks by now, and the staff and counselors will all be asleep. The only reason he and Luke are calling now, past midnight, is because now is the only time they’re both available. “I’m in the Fine Arts Room.”

“Ooh, can I see?”

“I don’t want to turn on the lights,” Ashton says. “There are windows and stuff.”

“Are you not supposed to be there?” Luke raises an eyebrow and grins. “Ooh, is Ashton Irwin sneaking around?”

“Well, if we weren’t calling at the middle of the night, I wouldn’t have to.”

“Don’t they lock the buildings?” Luke suddenly looks concerned.

Ashton shrugs. “Maya told me that if I jiggle the handle, the door will open. She was right.”

“Go Maya,” Luke says. “I like Maya. Who’s Maya?”

“My new friend,” says Ashton. “She mostly paints. We’ve got a challenge going on about whether she’s better at drawing or I’m better at painting, since neither of us really use those mediums. Hannah — one of the other campers — is going to find something for us to both paint slash draw and then there’ll be an unofficial panel of judges. It’s pretty stupid.”

“You’re smiling a lot,” Luke says, and Ashton realizes he is. “Doesn’t sound stupid to me. You think you’re gonna win?”

“No,” Ashton says honestly. “I’m pretty awful at painting.”

“I’m sure you’re better than you think. How hard can it be?”

“That’s very rich coming from you, Mr. I-Can’t-Draw-A-House.”

“Hey, fuck off! I can draw a house, thank you very much.” Luke looks down at his desk and his focus shifts, and Ashton watches in bemused patience. As he waits, he draws a blank piece of paper towards him and grabs the nearest pencil lying around. His hands move almost unconsciously, drawing lines and curves and sketching the outline of something Ashton hasn’t quite decided on yet. Luke finally lifts his head up. “Here, see?” He holds up a piece of paper to the camera, where he’s drawn a box with an isosceles triangle on top for the roof, complete with a little chimney sticking out. “House,” Luke proudly declares. “Boom. Get fucked, Irwin.”

“I stand corrected,” Ashton chuckles. He hums. “They’ll probably just find us equally talented because painting is different from drawing and blah blah blah artsy hipster bullshit.”

“Stop dismissing the artsy hipster bullshit,” Luke says stubbornly. “I’ll have you know my boyfriend deals exclusively in artsy hipster bullshit.”

“You think my drawings are artsy hipster bullshit?”

“No, babe, I think you are artsy hipster bullshit.” Luke grins widely and then gets cut off by a yawn. Ashton bites back a very cheesy comment about how Luke should web himself up for being criminally cute.

“You know what, I’m gonna let you have that one,” he says instead. “Since I am at an artsy hipster bullshit summer camp.”

“I miss you.” Luke pouts. It’s a funny look on him. Ashton tries to imagine Spiderman pouting and completely fails. Sometimes it’s hard for him to reconcile Luke and Spiderman being the same person. That this adorable six-foot-and-change beanstalk who yawns on Skype is the same person who can do a double-backflip and land on his feet on the rooftop of any building. Ashton’s boyfriend stops crimes. What the fuck.

“I miss you too,” he says. “You seem tired.”

“I’m not tired.” Instant karma is a bitch. Luke immediately yawns again, this time much wider. “Okay, I’m a little tired,” he admits, smacking his lips like a child. “Summer break is deceptively boring. I…I run out of things to do all day, so I just kinda…keep patrolling. I might be wearing myself out.”

“Jesus, Luke, take it easy on yourself. Queens goes the entire school day without Spiderman’s protection during the school year. You can handle a break.”

“Yeah, but I might as well patrol,” Luke counters. “I have the time, and it’s not like I’m doing anything else.”

“I thought you and Michael were working on new specs for the suit.”

“It’s mostly Michael. Also, I think he’s kind of annoyed about the whole 24/7 patrol. He can’t work on the suit if I’m wearing it.”

“That is true.”

“But he’s been spending a lot of his time with Calum, anyway,” Luke says coolly. “So I figure he’s probably got other priorities.”

“Well, if you keep blowing him off to obsessively patrol the city, I can’t possibly imagine why he’s making other plans.”

Luke stares through the camera. His shoulders slump. “Maybe. I hadn’t thought of that.”

“That’s why I’m here,” Ashton chirps.

Luke sighs deeply. “You’re not here, Ash.”

Ashton purses his lips and frowns. “That’s not what I meant.”

“I know, but I’m just saying. I miss you. I wish you were here.”

“Yeah,” Ashton says. He misses Luke too, more than is probably healthy. That’s what he gets, he supposes, for only having a handful of close relationships; Luke and Calum are his whole life, and not being able to hug either one of them for even a week has been pretty challenging. “But look, it’s only another week, and then I am all yours, I swear.”

“Don’t enable me,” Luke says, affronted. “You’re supposed to say things like… ‘You don’t own me’ and ‘I’m my own person’ and stuff like that.”

Ashton blinks, confused. “Uh…well, yeah, but we both already know that. I’m just saying I miss you too. But if it’s any consolation, Maya has ruthlessly mocked me for all the drawings I do of you. Like mercilessly. It’s actually kind of embarrassing.”

“That is super embarrassing,” Luke says, with a small, bashful smile. “You’re so fucking lame, Ashton.”

“Wow,” Ashton says. “You even sound like her.”

Luke giggles, which turns seamlessly into a yawn. “Hey, I came first. Maya sounds like me.”

“Luke, babe, just go to sleep,” Ashton says. “We can talk another night. Maybe one where you’re more well-rested.”

“I’m super rested,” Luke says in a monotone. “King of restedness, me.”

“Wow, I’m suddenly convinced.” Luke makes a half-hearted face at him and Ashton makes one back. The sketch under Ashton’s pencil has revealed itself to be Luke, yet again. Shocker. It really is embarrassing that Ashton defaults to drawing his boyfriend. If they ever break up, Ashton will be fucked.

“Are you drawing?” Trust Luke to notice. Although the fact that it’s taken him this long to notice means he must be slower on the uptake than usual.

“Yeah,” Ashton says, because when is he not.

“Drawing what?”

“Guess,” Ashton says dryly.

Luke gives a sleepy smile. “At least you’re predictable.”

“Luke, I’m begging you to get some sleep. We’ll talk tomorrow or this weekend or something, okay?”

Luke yawns yet again. “Okay,” he agrees, right hand propping up his head. His eyes flutter shut and then open again. “Okay, fine.”

“And please let Michael look at your suit,” Ashton adds. “You know he’s only going to make it better.”

“I know, I know, I just…” Luke’s eyes fall shut again. It seems more out of tiredness than distress. “If I give it to him, then I can’t use it.”

Ashton’s pretty sure if Luke’s hero complex gets any bigger he’s going to have to start renting out rooms. “It’ll be two days, tops,” he says. “Take two days off.”

“I wanna wait ‘til you’re back,” Luke mumbles. “Spend ‘em with you.”

“You spend most of your time with me,” Ashton says gently. “Spend them with Michael. Hell, spend them with Cal.”

“But I want…” Luke yawns. He lists sideways a little. “I want you.”

Ashton chews his lip. “I’ll be back before you know it,” he says. “You won’t be able to get rid of me.”

Luke hums absently. “‘Kay, g’night,” he slurs, but makes no gesture to hang up the call. He probably expects Ashton to end it. If Luke is as asleep as he looks right now, Ashton kind of has to.

The graphite on the sketch paper is smudging a little. Ashton glances down at the half-assed likeness of his boyfriend and has an idea.

Quietly, he grabs another blank page, moves his laptop back a little, and starts to draw.

They’re up bright and early the next day, and after breakfast Ashton follows a decidedly more lively Maya into the Fine Arts Room, where she takes her place diagonally from him at their table. They’re both mid-project; Ashton stacks and sets aside his scratch papers and pulls forth the drawing he’s currently working on.

“So? You talked to Luke?”

Ashton blinks and looks up at Maya. “Yeah,” he says. “Thanks for the tip, I meant to say.”

“Hey, don’t thank me, thank Cupid,” Maya says airily. “I’m on the side of love, baby.”

Ashton snorts and rolls his eyes. “Let Cupid know I say thanks.”

Maya hums. “Cupid says you’re welcome.”

They’re quiet while Maya gets herself set up — she has to put all her acrylics back every evening only to set them back out every morning, another reason Ashton prefers pencils over paints — and Ashton picks up his pencil and starts to draw.

“Is this yours?” Maya asks, peering at Ashton’s discarded stack of sketches.

“Yeah,” Ashton says without looking. “Just sketches and stuff.”

“Wait, this is so cute.” She’s leaning over the drawing on the top. Ashton glances up.

It’s Luke from last night, soundly asleep over Skype.

Ashton had ended the call after about ten minutes of silence, enough time to get the rough outlines of all the important shapes. The video quality wouldn’t have lent itself to a good sketch anyway if Ashton had been chasing authenticity, but fortunately he knows Luke’s face well enough — both from drawing it and gazing at it in real life — to pretend the call had had a crystal-clear picture. None of it is colored in, but it’s as obviously Luke as all of Ashton’s other drawings. Somehow, though, this one feels more personal.

“Did you draw this last night?”

“Uh,” Ashton says, reaching for the drawing. He shuffles it between several other papers so an innocuous collection of doodles is now at the top of the stack, and Maya clicks her tongue in disapproval.

“Hey, I was looking at that. It was cute.”

“Yeah, it’s— it’s just nothing.”

“It’s not nothing, it’s adorable,” Maya says. She fixes him with puppy-dog eyes. “Pleeeease can I see it? I won’t show anyone. I’m studying so I can kick your ass in our competition.”

Ashton sighs. “It’s just Luke. You’ve seen millions of drawings of him.”

“But those were obviously from memory,” Maya points out, taking his non-answer as an affirmative and sifting through the stack. Ashton doesn’t bother trying to stop her. It’s not like he has anything to hide — or at least not anything Maya could figure out by looking at the drawing.

And in her defense, Luke does look cute as fuck in the drawing, because he’d looked cute as fuck in real life.

“For all you know, this one is also from memory.”

“You drew the screen, Ash, it’s clearly from last night.”

“Well,” Ashton says diplomatically. Then he abandons diplomacy, because Maya has located the drawing and is grinning and aww-ing. “Well do you blame me? He fell asleep on our call. It was adorable.”

Maya giggles. “You guys are so fucking cute,” she says. “Y’know, most people would be insulted if their boyfriend fell asleep on a video call with them.”

“He’s been really busy lately,” Ashton says. “And it was the end of the call anyway.”

“One day, I will have someone to draw me when I fall asleep on our Skype calls,” Maya says wistfully. “I’m putting the vibes out into the universe so it’ll happen soon.”

“Maybe you’ll be the one drawing them,” Ashton points out.

Maya finally sets down the Luke drawing. She dips her brush in red paint, clearly intending to put it into her work, but at Ashton’s words instead brandishes it threateningly at him. “I won’t be drawing anyone, buddy.”

Ashton laughs. “But you’d date someone who drew instead of painted?”

“At this point?” Maya sighs theatrically. “I’d date just about anyone who did anything.”

Ashton laughs again. They work quietly for a few minutes. Ashton starts shading.

“Why do you only ever draw Luke?” Maya asks. “You said you’ve been together for less than a year. Who were you drawing before then?”

Ashton shrugs. “Uh, anyone, really,” he says. “People. There are a lot of pretty interesting people at my school, and besides, I’m from the city.”

Maya snorts derisively. “You’re from Queens.”

“Queens is in the city.”

Another derisive snort. “Queens is in the city the same way using ink stamps is painting.”

“That’s not even a little bit the same thing, at all.”

“You’re not a city boy.”

“I am literally a city boy!” Maya waves him off, but Ashton ignores her. She’s from Massachusetts. She has no leg to stand on. “My point is that there are lot of interesting people near where I live, too.”

“You didn’t ever, I don’t know, draw your friends? Calum, didn’t you say he’s your best friend from home?”

“Ah, yeah,” Ashton says. “Calum. Didn’t like when I drew him.”

“What, seriously? Why not?”

“I don’t know,” Ashton says, and it’s true. “He just asked me to stop drawing him one day so I did.” He hesitates. “...Mostly. Sometimes I still do. But if you knew Calum you’d understand why. He’s extremely good-looking.”

“Of course he is,” Maya says. “Any chance he’s single and/or interested in women from several states away?”

“No to both questions,” Ashton says sympathetically. “But good try.”

“Yeah, I figured,” Maya says good-naturedly, and they lapse into silence again.

It’s broken by Maya, again. “Do you show Luke the drawings you do of him?”

That’s a complicated question. No, Ashton doesn’t actively show his drawings to Luke, but Luke usually sees them anyway. Some of them are more private; Ashton keeps the one of Luke in the Spiderman suit sans mask folded up in the bottom of his socks drawer where he’s pretty certain no one ever looks. There doesn’t seem to be a point to showing it to Luke now, so long after he’d actually done it. But for the most part he’s not hiding his art from Luke; Luke sees what he sees, notwithstanding Ashton’s intention.

“Sometimes,” Ashton says.

Maya nods at the drawing of Luke asleep on Skype. “You gonna show him that one?”

“Uh, probably not.”

“What, why? It’s so cute.”

“I don’t know, maybe because it makes me seem like a ridiculous lovesick borderline creepy idiot?”

“Guys love that,” Maya assures him. “Or so I’m told. C’mon, why hold out on him when he already knows you’re basically obsessed with drawing him?” She taps the drawing. “And when he looks this adorable?”

Ashton breathes a laugh. “You have a point.”

“I always do,” Maya says, and she flips her hair dramatically.

Maybe Michael would let Ashton draw him. That would be a nice change from always drawing Luke and never drawing Calum. Maybe Ashton could just do it and then ask Michael what he thinks. It would be nice to have new muses. Ashton has spent a lot of time on Luke; maybe it’s about time he branched out again.

“Hey,” Ashton says, struck with inspiration as he watches Maya make brushstrokes across her paper. “Can I draw you?”

“Hell yeah, go for it,” Maya says. “I’m not sitting still for you, though.”

“I’ll live,” Ashton says dryly. Maya grins and laughs. A fresh page before Ashton and a new pencil in his hand, he studies Maya’s profile carefully and then brings his pencil to the page.

“Did you break into the Fine Arts Room again?”

“I don’t think it’s breaking in if it’s technically unlocked,” Ashton points out.

Luke squints but evidently fails to argue with this logic. “How’s artsy hipster bullshit camp?”

“Really good,” Ashton says, cracking his knuckles. His parents have told him repeatedly that doing so will give him arthritis, but Ashton suspects that’s more of a scare tactic than a fact. At this point he doubts even rehab could get him to stop. It’s the only thing Ashton can think to do with his hands when he’s not drawing. “By the way, remember the other day when you fell asleep on our call?”

I fell asleep at the end of our call,” Luke corrects him. “We were done talking.”

“Okay, weirdo,” Ashton says, shaking his head. “Well, anyway, Maya convinced me that I should show you this because maybe you’d think it was cute, or something.” He holds up the drawing of Luke.

Luke leans closer to the camera. Anyone else might have trouble discerning what’s on the page given how dim it is around Ashton, but not Luke. Luke has super-senses. His visual acuity is, like, a thousand. (Rough estimate.)

So when Luke’s face splits into a grin, Ashton knows he’s seen exactly what’s there. “Oh my fucking God, you sap,” he says. “I thought you just hung up straightaway.”

“Nope,” Ashton says. “I’m just saving moments. One day I’ll have enough for a flip book.”

Luke’s expression goes all mushy and heart-eyed. “You’re unbelievable,” he says, fond and endeared. “I can’t believe you’re not bored of my dumb face yet.”

“Are you kidding? Have you seen your dumb face?” Ashton laughs. “It’s impossible to be bored of it.”

“Ashton,” Luke says, his eyes crinkling so much that the blue all but disappears. “I love you.”

And everything makes sense.

“I love you too,” Ashton says, struck by the realization that he does. The drawings, the midnight Skype calls, the death-defying trips around the city with only his faith in Luke to keep them afloat, the fluttery feeling — all of the colors lock into place, and Ashton can see the rainbow clear as day in front of him. He’s never been in love; of course he couldn’t tell. But there’s nothing else it could be.

“Oh, good,” Luke says timidly. “I was a little worried you wouldn’t say it back.”

Ashton glances from the drawing in his hand to the look on Luke’s face on the screen, and he cracks a crooked smile. “Then you, superhero, have not been paying attention.”

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pocketramblr · 3 years

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im going to be so fucking predictable right now but, for a prompt... how about some momnight

I'm going to do my Very Best at this though I am very unpracticed with writing her so here we go!

---

"Alright, class. Today we're supposed to do a lesson that follows up on the interviews you did yesterday with Midnight and Mt. Lady. Which means I'm not teaching."

With that, Aizawa-sensei flopped to the ground. The thud was only slightly cushioned by the sleeping bag around him. A few students winced.

"Exactly!" Midnight said, shoving open the door. "This time, we'll be practicing a little more with cameras and a little less with talking."

Oh? The students all leaned in, curious and excited.

"We'll be practicing photo shoots! Come to studio 1-4, come on." She stepped to the side as the class got excited, and just waved Aoyama out the door when he jumped to go ask her a million questions, sparkling.

Toru was excited too, though she took more time to stand than the others. By the time she had, Yaomomo had already dragged the reluctant Jiro out of the room, and all that remained were Bakugo and Koda.

"Not going to be the last one there, I hope, Bakugo?" Midnight asked, tone of voice edging into a tease.

Bakugo grumbled about it being stupid, but he did hurry more out the door.

"And you, Koda? Nothing to be scared about, the camera doesn't bite." But their teachers sure might, if they dawdled- or interrupted anymore of Aizawa's extended naptime.

"Right!" Toru agreed, skipping to the back of the room to reach for the boy's arm. "Come on, it'll be a fun lesson! Better than a pop quiz, and maybe you'll even get to do a cute picture, like holding a bunny!"

Koda stared at her sleeve for a long moment, then finally nodded.

When they passed Midnight at the door, Toru looked up and realized the woman's smile had slipped a little; she looked thoughtful, brow furrowed behind her glasses.

The smile came back quickly though, as she tugged the door closed behind them and hurried them to the studio where the class was waiting for them.

Haya-senpai was also waiting for them, apparently. The cool girl stood in front of a group of third years by the side wall of the room, where several desks and mirrors and lights had been shoved in a row. The rest of the room was cleared out, backdrops and green screens angled around with a few stools and props.

"Alright, class 1a, before we get ready for your first shoot, there are some things to know." Midnight closed the door behind her. "You can take notes on your phone, if you want. There are several different kinds of photoshoots. What ones can you think of?"

"Ooh!" Mina waved her hand and was called on. "There's magazine photoshoots, and if you're lucky you'll be on the front page!"

"Certainly, magazine shoots. What else- Yaoyorozu?"

"Advertisements, with products?"

"Very good, you've done some of that already, haven't you? Alright, what other kinds?"

Toru waved her arm, humming so she'd be more noticed. Midnight crooked her finger at her. "Makeup? Well I guess that could be a product too, but there's also fashion shoots."

"Right on, Hagakure."

The class was quiet for a few moments, and Midnight nodded. "There's other kinds too- a headshot shoot, some hero agencies will require them for an application or their site. Portraits, lifestyle, sports, glamor, portfolio- the point is, there’s different types, and different points to each of them.”

Tsuyu raised a hand, and got a nod. “Midnight, all the different types, but don’t they boil down to either work use- like the headshots- or publicity for everything else?”

“That’s not a bad way of looking at it, Asui,” The teacher tapper her cheek as she paused, “But there’s more than that. You could also be doing it for benefit of others, either like a charity calendar photos, or perhaps even as a favor for a friend if one of them asks for a photo op.”

“And if,” Bakugo spoke up, apparently at the end of his patience for waiting for an explanation, “we don’t care about that crap? Publicity? If we haven’t got any friends who just want to take pictures of us?”

Midnight’s smile stretched, just a little, like a smirk. “Not a bad question. Anyone else think they have an answer?”

No one spoke, looking at each other, then Iida raised his hand.

“Midnight-sensei! Regardless of wanting to do publicity or charity or not, an agency may require to and all parts of a hero career should be done as exactly as one can, whether or not you want to-”

Midnight coughed. “Not bad, Iida, but not what I was thinking of. Bakugo, everyone, consider it like this. Once you become a hero- before that, even- you are going to have publicity. You are going to have paparazzi. Your photos are going to end up in ragmags no matter what you do.” She emphasized those words with a tap from her whip to her palm. “But, you can decide how you present yourself in other media. Sure, you can go way underground like Eraser. Or, you can take control of your representation. Choose your own photographers, magazines, products, vlogs, anything. That’s why you have to learn how to do these photoshoots and other media courses.” She clapped her hands, and the third years jumped. “So, we start with makeup.”

The older students waved some of her classmates forward, and Toru pushed Koda forward so he’d sit.

She found herself watching them get makeup put on, holding Iida’s glasses for him while Haya mused with his hair. Next to him, a senior was marking lines under Uraraka’s eyes to make the lashes pop.

“That looks really cute!”

“Thanks!”

“Do you mind me using a bit more foundation here?” Another senior said, poking at Midoriya. “It’s not quite even, but some of your freckles are showing through still.”

“Uhh,” Midori said, eloquently.

The older student raised his eyebrow.

“Um, actually, its,”

“It’s what, Midoriya?” Midnight asked, stepping from out of nowhere to peer over his shoulder at his mirror.

“It’s fine!” The makeup didn’t completely hide how red his face went.

Their teacher met his gaze in the reflection, clicking her tongue. “Come on, what did I say the point of the lesson was?”

“Um, control?” Midoriya asked, then went “Oh.”

Midnight smiled, straightening back up.

“I’d like my freckles to be- to not be covered up. Please.” Midoriya was still red, but the senior just shrugged.

“Alright. I’ll darken them with this then instead, so they actually show well under the lights and all that.”

He nodded, relaxing back in his seat, and Midnight squeezed his shoulder before moving on, nodding at Iida before looking at her.

“Hagakure, you haven’t gotten someone to start makeup yet?”

Toru shook her head- and shoulders. “No, Sensei. It’s not like I’ll show up on camera anyway, so.” She kept her voice cheerful, but her smile faltered halfway through.

It was fun to watch everyone else get dolled up and decorated... but would probably be fun if she could join them too.

Midnight stared at her, and she couldn’t read the expression before the teacher shook her head. “No, no. You’ll still have to participate and I have an idea!” She took Toru’s hand, then led her to the seat next to Uraraka.

Toru couldn’t keep the startled giggle from bubbling up as she sat.

“Midoriya,” Midnight said, riffling through the makeup on the desk, “You heard Hagakure. What do you think she could do in a photoshoot like this?”

“Hm.” Midoriya considered it, but when he answered he sounded much more confident than he had earlier. “Well, she’s invisible, but anything on her wouldn’t be. You could play with elements like dust or sparkles to suggest shape in an interesting way- oh, if you don’t mind being in your hero suit, that is.”

Midnight hummed an affirmation. “There’s a lot you and your team could do with that, and body paint is a fun medium to work with.” She paused, then leveled an eyeshadow brush at Toru like it was her whip. “Only when you’re eighteen, though. What do you think, Uraraka?”

“You could use your quirk, you know, to shine?” The brunette waved a hand. “Lighting up in different places to outline you, maybe, it’d look really cool if you had a space-y dress or something with it.”

“Oooh,” Toru had to admit that would be fun. It’d need a dark background and probably a camera without a flash or something, but it would be a picture of her, using her own quirk.

“Or like, even a space suit or something alien!”

“As long as I don’t upstage Mina!”

Midnight decided on something, then turned back with a nod, eyes sparkling. “Those are good ideas. Now, I’m going to try something with eyeshadow on you. Tell me when your eyes are closed.”

Toru closed her eyes as asked. “They are now, Midnight.”

If the point of this lesson was control, she wasn’t quite sure that this counted since she was just letting someone else do it, but Toru didn’t mind. She had a couple new ideas bouncing around for real photoshoots, in the future, and she really wanted to see what her teacher came up with.

She’d been right, this was fun.

It tickled a little, when Midnight traced eyeliner all on the sides of her face, but Toru managed to keep her face still enough. Then came brushes and colors she couldn’t see, shapes she could feel but not recognize.

Finally, the touches to her face stopped and she heard the brush clatter on the table.

“You can open your eyes now.” Midnight said, moving out of the way between the chair and the mirror.

Toru gasped, then stood so she could lean closer to her reflection.

Her teacher had painted elaborate designs over both her eyes, branching out like butterfly wings. They shimmered with many neutral tones, light and brown and pink between the black lines. A few sparkles were touched heavier on the ends, and overall they looked beautiful.

“Oh! Guys, look!” Toru turned, and Uraraka gasped too, clapping.

“Those look so pretty!”

“Right? Thank you so much, Midnight-sensei!”

The hero laughed, waving a hand. “You’re very welcome. You’ll have to work with the photographer to decide how to model it on your own though. Speaking of...” She checked the clock on the wall. “Fifteen minutes left! Get to pictures then washing off.”

She walked off down the row again, checking on the other students, though not before she squeezed Toru’s shoulder for a second when she passed.

Toru was beaming as she asked for a senior with a camera to work with her, and she ended up with a picture of herself winking- one eye open to show the full butterfly, the other closed to show the colors swirled on the eyelid too.

It looked pretty, and it looked fun. It felt like a perfect picture.

#*offers this* sorry it took a while #it was pretty fun to write tho!#pocket talks to people #owlf45 #my writing

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amylillian22 · 4 years

Text

Quarantine (Part 2) - Chris Evans Imagine

Summary: Chris notices there’s something wrong with Y/N when she comes home from work. When he looks at the calendar, he realizes it’s that time of the month. He decides to do everything and anything that will comfort her.

Word Count: 1,604

Warnings: FLUFF!!!!

Author’s Note: I hope y’all enjoy all the cuteness in this imagine!

[Part 1] [Chris Evans Master List]

Y/N turned off the car in Chris' two car garage. She grabbed her purse and grunted as she walked to the door that would lead to the washroom. She stripped her clothes and dumped them in the open washer. She had noticed Chris had already put in his clothes. She turned on the washer and put some laundry detergent before closing the washer. She grabbed the bottle of Lysol and sprayed the bottom of her shoes before slipping them into the shoe rack by the door. She sprayed the inside of her purse, her car keys, and her work lanyard with her ID. Placing the Lysol back in place, she grabbed a disinfectant wipe and wiped down her watch and phone. She mentally double checked everything off she was supposed to get rid of and disinfectant before entering Chris' house. Although it wasn't her house, it was a system they both came up with when they both returned to work still in the middle of a pandemic. She closed the washroom door behind her and made her way across the kitchen, where Chris was in his underwear fixing up dinner. His hair was wet and his chest was glistening with a thin layer of sweat. "I just got out of the shower and thought I would get started on dinner," he said as he turned on the stove. "Any special request?" "Whatever you want. I don't really care," she said slightly annoyed without looking at him. "I'm getting in the shower." Chris furrowed his eyebrows as he saw her walk away. Since their first sexual encounter a couple of months ago, the two couldn't keep their hands off each other, making up for lost time not having sex throughout the pandemic. They had become used to flirting and teasing. So, he was a bit surprised when she didn't even so much look at him half naked in the kitchen. He turned around to his fridge to get the chicken out, only to see the calendar right in front of him. He saw the date and immediately knew why she was annoyed today. "Good thing I went to the store today," he mumbled to himself as he decided to change the dinner menu to her favorite comfort food, Mac and Cheese. Back in her room, Y/N walked to her bathroom and saw the empty box of tampons on the countertop. She let out a frustrating groan knowing she forgot to go to the store after work to pick some up. She opened the cabinet underneath her sink for an overnight pad, thinking that'll have to do for the evening until she can go to the store tomorrow morning before work. She gasped as she saw two bulk boxes of tampons in two different sizes. She grabbed one of the boxes and opened it. She furrowed her eyebrows, trying to remember when she bought them. "Could he have?" She whispered to herself. "No," she shook the silly idea out of her head. She quickly got in the shower and let the warm water relax her muscles. A few minutes later, she dried herself and got dressed. She walked to the kitchen to see Chris dressed in sweats and a long sleeve. "Perfect timing!" He beamed. "The Mac and Cheese is ready. I went to the store earlier today and also got you a few things-" "Like tampons?" She asked, now that he mentioned he did go shopping. "Yes. I wasn't sure on the sizes, so I got you both. I hope that's okay," he looked at her, scanning for any facial expression that might say he screwed up. She nodded with a small smile, "both sizes are fine. As Amy Schumer says, 'your flow changes and so should the size of your Tampax!'" They both laughed as they had seen that commercial a million times while staying home. "And to think, I was so close to book that commercial. They said I was great, but didn't quite fit the character they were looking for," he joked. Y/N chuckled. "In all seriousness though, thank you," She said sincerely. "You're very welcome. I was a little nervous I might have bought the wrong ones. Glad to know I didn't," he smiled back at her. "Anyways, I also got a box of your favorite candies. The popcorn is in the microwave as we speak. I figured we would watch a Disney movie and eat dinner in the living room tonight." Y/N eyes welled up at the sweet gesture he had done for her. "How did you know?" "Well," he walked towards her and placed his hands on her shoulders. "We've been quarantining together for almost the entire year. I think I've picked up on certain things. Like when Aunt Flo comes to visit and what comfort foods you like when she's in town for her monthly visit." Chris pulled her in for a hug as he noticed more tears filled her eyes. "What's wrong? Did I do something wrong? Did I miss something?" "No," she mumbled against his chest, hugging him back. "It's perfect. These are happy tears." Chris let out a soft chuckle before he kissed her forehead. "Did you really just say Aunt Flo?" Y/N pulled back. Chris let out a hearty laugh, rolling his head back. "Yes, clearly I regret it now. Let's eat." Chris grabbed their bowls of Mac and Cheese while Y/N grabbed two water bottles from the fridge. Chris gave her the Roku remote, letting her decide which Disney movie she wanted to watch on Disney+ as he went back to get the candies and popcorn. They both sat cross legged on the couch and ate their Mac and Cheese as Oliver and Company started playing. Once they finished their dinner, they munched on popcorn and chocolates. Halfway through the movie, Y/N turned around and faced Chris. "Can I ask for a small favor?" "Anything," he said, his eyes still on the movie. "Can we cuddle?" Chris' head turned to her, double checking if he heard right. "I know it's a silly question, but I'm just in a mood for some cuddling. If you don't want to, I can ask Dodger." Chris' lips formed a small, sincere smile as he repositioned himself. Y/N got up as Chris laid down. She hoovered over him before she fit herself between him and the couch. Chris wrapped his arms around her after Y/N pulled a blanket over them. "Is this okay?" He asked. She snuggled closer to him, resting her cheek on his chest. "Better than okay," she mumbled. "Thanks." "Anytime," he kissed the top of her head. Chris' phone rang on top of the coffee table. He grabbed it and saw his brother's picture on the screen. It was an incoming FaceTime from Scott. Y/N saw it and said he should take the call as she paused the movie. "Sup bro?" Scott immediately asked once Chris accepted the call. "Watching a movie," Chris kind of held the phone at an angle to where Scott couldn't see he was cuddling with Y/N. "What? No hot sexy date with your girlfriend?" "Scott-" Chris started but couldn't get a word in as Scott continued. "I'm surprised. It seems like you're always busy with her almost every night. Although if you say she's the best you've ever had, maybe I can see why you never answer when we call you in the evenings-" "For the love of God, Scott, shut up!" Chris' cheeks grew hot as small beads of sweat started forming on his forehead. "What?" He asked, confused. Chris sighed as he moved the phone for Scott to see. Y/N smiled widely as she rested her chin on Chris' chest. She gave Scott a small wave. "Shit," Scott mumbled to himself, realizing he let a secret out as he saw Y/N was with Chris. "Ok, I'm gonna go hide because I feel like Chris is gonna go on a man hunt for me. Bye!" Chris groaned as he dropped his phone on the rug, unable to look at Y/N. She smiled as she trailed two fingers up his chest, "I have two questions for you. One: why does your brother think I'm your girlfriend?" "Because I may or may not have mentioned you..." he trailed before his lips formed a smile that gave away his lie. "Okay, maybe all the time." "Uh, interesting," she nodded, his smile made her smile as well. "And, two..." she cupped Chris' cheek and moved him to face her. She looked deep into his ocean blue eyes and whispered, "Am I really the best you've ever had?" Chris swallowed hard, his Adam's Apple bobbing up and down slowly, before he nodded once. "I know it was only supposed to be a friends with benefits kind of thing, but I don't know. I kind of caught feelings in the midst of things." She stood on her hands and leaned down to kiss him. Chris was taken back but quickly kissed her back. His hand slid to the back of her neck as she slowly lowered herself on top of him. The kiss was sweet and tender, perfect for their first real kiss. She cupped his cheek as the kiss deepened, ignoring the tickling sensation his beard gave her palm. Her toes curled as Chris ignited the buttleries in the pit of her stomach. Chirs slowly pulled back and pecked her lips once more before she rested her forehead against his. Their chest heaved against each others' as they tried to catch their breath. "Not that I didn't like it, because I loved it, but what was that for?" Chris whispered against her lips. She smiled at him as her thumb traced his cheekbone. "Because somewhere along the way, I also caught feelings for my boyfriend." Chris chuckled before he leaned in and kissed her once more.

#chris evans #chris evans imagine #chris evans imagines #chris evans fanfiction #chris evans fan fiction #Chris Evans x reader #chris evans x you #Chris Evans fluff #chris evans fanfic #Chris Evans fan fic #Chris Evans master list

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timebird84 · 3 years

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🎄 PotO Advent Calendar 2020 🎄

By @flora-gray

The Gift Exchange

(Rated T)

Erik was wrong.

It was a rare occurrence, in Christine’s experience, but even geniuses don’t know everything about everything, and he certainly didn’t seem to know much about anything when it came to love.

He had insisted that the distraction of a suitor would interfere with her studies — it had not. She hadn’t missed a single one of their covert lessons, but had continued to put in the endless hours of practice he demanded, with irreproachable focus and without complaint.

He had been adamant that a man of nobility could not be trusted to do right by her, yet here they were, six months on, an engagement ring on Christine’s finger and a gift in Raoul’s hands, carefully wrapped in bright red paper trimmed in gold.

After all those summers at the seaside, this was their first Christmas together, the first of what Raoul promised would be a lifetime of many. Christine chewed at her thumbnail — a nasty habit, Erik would say whenever he caught her — as her fiancé ripped open the paper, a smile twitching on her lips.

“Oh, Christine!” Raoul exclaimed as he pulled a little ribbon-wrapped bundle from the box. The spicy-clean scent of peppermint filled the air. “Polkagris? Wherever did you find this?” He pulled a candy stick from the bundle, the glossy swirls of red and white glistening in the dressing room’s soft lamplight. “I haven’t had polkagris since we were children! I can’t believe you remembered how much I used to love them.” A smile beaming on his face, he tucked the candy back into the box and pulled her into an embrace. “Christine, you truly are the most thoughtful person I’ve ever known.”

“It’s just a little thing,” she replied, her cheeks glowing a warm rosy pink. “I remembered how you used to beg Papa for them, and I happened upon a candy shop run by a Swedish family.”

“Well, I’m afraid mine will seem rather uninspired compared to yours,” Raoul said, speaking up over the sound of rustling paper as he dug into the bag next to him, “but I do hope you’ll like it anyway. I’ve hardly been able to stand having to wait all week — I had to hide it away in a closet so I wouldn’t be tempted to give it to you early!” He placed a box on her lap and rubbed his hands together, nearly bouncing in his seat.

The package was large and flat and covered in thick, heavy paper printed all over with shining silver arabesques, topped with an elaborately tied white satin bow. “It’s so beautifully wrapped, I almost don’t want to open it,” Christine said, trailing her fingers over the soft, shimmery ribbon before tugging it loose. Gingerly, she slid a nail around the edge to loosen the paper.

“You needn’t be so careful with it, I have plenty more of the stuff back at home. It’s all yours, if you like it so much,” Raoul laughed, his eyes lit up with anticipation.

“Good,” she smiled teasingly back at him. “Then I’ll expect you to wrap up everything you ever give me just like this from now on.” The paper fell away and she lifted the lid.

Layers of impossibly thin tissue paper covered the contents, and she peeled them back, one by one.

On top was a fine linen handkerchief trimmed in lace, embellished with intricate embroidery. “It’s lovely Raoul!” Christine breathed, lifting it from the package and letting her fingers glide along the underside of the smooth fabric, all the while wondering vaguely if she’d ever stop feeling uncomfortable with such fine things.

Raoul’s casual displays of wealth, though never snobbish, were evidence of the privilege he’d been raised with, so different from her early life of scraping by, of simple meals of bread and cheese and rough muslin against her skin. And even now, she was acutely aware of the gulf that lay between them. It was impossible not to, when she was occasionally mistaken for a shop girl while they strolled Le Bon Marché together, an experience he found much more amusing than she did. Even once they married and she went from Christine Daaé to Vicomtess de Chagny, she doubted she’d ever truly fit in amongst the fine ladies who’d been raised with finishing school and balls, who sat and enjoyed operas from velvet-lined boxes rather than performed them, sweating under the hot lights for a modest salary. And though Raoul was insistent that he loved her just as she was, that certainly didn’t seem to stop him from trying to outfit her like somebody else.

Unfolding the handkerchief which likely cost more than her entire dress, Christine spread it open to admire its details. “I’ve never seen such gorgeous lace!” she gushed. “And are these our—”

“Yes, our initials!” Raoul finished triumphantly.

Christine’s brow furrowed. “Actually…” She brought the handkerchief up to her eyes and squinted at the letters. Her heartbeat began to quicken. “It says R, and...” She blinked, but the letter stubbornly stayed the same. “And...V.”

“What? Let me see!” Raoul’s hand shot out and yanked the handkerchief from her slack fingers. Turning it over and over, he examined every inch of it, shaking his head. “There must have been some mistake! Perhaps the girl at the shop heard me wrong — I suppose the letters do sound the same.” He looked up at her, eyes anxious and searching. “I’m so sorry, my love, I can’t believe I didn’t notice! I can have it remade right away.”

“Oh no, it’s fine,” she said, her lips forming the words automatically. A formless sense of unease was slithering its way into the back of her mind, but, with a firm shove, she pushed the feeling away; there was no reason to let a simple mistake ruin their first Christmas. “Really,” she insisted, arranging her lips into a smile that was only a little forced.

Beneath the next layer of paper, enclosed in its own small, shallow box, was a pile of silk, white as snow and with that same incomparable look, as though it were delicate enough to melt under her fingertips. This new luxury unfurled as she raised it up between them, the folds falling, forming the shape of...a pair of ladies’ drawers?

The breath escaped from her lungs in a sharp gasp. Heat flamed at the edge of her ears as she dragged her eyes up to where her fiancé sat, stock still.

A red flush was creeping up from under his collar.

His voice wavered. “That— that’s not a shawl?”

“No, Raoul,” she replied evenly, despite the queasy fluttering in her stomach. “It is not.”

“Are those…?” He dropped his gaze to the floor.

“Yes, they are.”

“I—” Raoul squirmed in his seat. The flush was working its way up his neck, spreading across his face, leaving beads of sweat in its wake. “It was meant to be a shawl. I would have never—” His words fell away and he looked up at her with pleading eyes.

“I know you wouldn’t have,” said Christine quickly. She jammed the drawers back into their box and shoved it all to the side, eager to leave the subject behind.

And it was true, she could not think of a less likely thing for him to give her. Their relationship had been quite chaste, almost to the point of frustration, with nothing more than sweet, sinless kisses, always broken off far too soon. He’d never given any indication that he so much as even thought about what lay under her skirts, let alone considered the subject enough to buy her such intimate garments. The mistake would almost be funny in its outlandishness, if it weren’t so mortifying — and such an unpleasant reminder of her most secret insecurity: the fear that though he undoubtedly seemed to love her, perhaps he did not desire her. That perhaps he held her up against those lovely ladies of high society he’d been pushed for years to accept, with their bosoms spilling from their silk dresses and their ample hips swaying beneath their skirts, and found nothing inspiring about her waiflike frame.

But no, he was just being a gentleman, wasn’t he? He wasn’t like the other men of the aristocracy, who took mistresses and visited brothels — no, no, he would never. Raoul, that sweet, brave boy from the salt-kissed seaside was now a respectful and honorable man, and he loved her for herself, not her body. There was nothing wrong with that.

But of course this was the last thing she wanted to be thinking about right now; Christine shook her head to fling away the thought and refocused the entirety of her attention back on the box in her lap.

“Oh, look! There’s still something left,” she said, infusing her tone with much more enthusiasm than she felt, and she lifted a red velvet pouch from where it lay, heavy, at the bottom of the box.

Raoul sprang forward. “Actually, why don’t you just give that back to me,” he said, his voice tight and trembling, reaching to take it from her hands. “This has turned out horribly so far, and I—”

“Darling, please.” Christine pulled the object out of his reach. “Certainly one of the three will be as you intended. Your luck can’t be that bad,” she laughed, though in the pit of her stomach sat a sour, sick feeling.

Grasping the pouch in one hand, she reached in with the other and slowly began to pull out a thick pillar of ivory, sculpted and polished, heavy as a candlestick — but not shaped like any candlestick she’d ever seen. It was too irregularly formed, the contours somehow too carnal, and her cheeks were already inexplicably burning before she’d even finished withdrawing it from its velvet enclosure.

It couldn’t be…

She’d heard that such things existed, but she never—

Too late she realized she should stop — not that she was sure she could have — but her hand kept moving, pulling the thing free from its covering to stand tall and proud in her clenched fist, absurdly large and luridly detailed — each vein, each curve of ivory flesh on display as she held it high, an obscene trophy.

Not a sound could be heard in the room. Not even a breath — not from her, and not from Raoul, who was looking at her, slack-jawed, with complete and utter horror written in every line of his face.

A minute passed, and then time unfroze.

Gasping as though she’d surfaced from deep underwater, Christine’s fingers flew open, loosing their grip on the vile thing; it hit the carpet with a muffled thud. Then she was on her feet, groping blindly for her cloak and gloves.

Raoul didn’t move from his seat; pale and trembling, he sat staring at the now empty gift box. “I don’t understand...”

Christine rounded on him, hot tears pricking at her eyes. “You don’t understand?” That formless unease had now taken a sinister, serpentine form, snaking itself around her heart, which spasmed within its crushing coils. “What was all that, Raoul?”

“I don’t know! It doesn’t make any sense. I wrapped it myself — that wasn’t in there!”

He stumbled to his feet, reaching for her hands; she pulled them away, pressing her clenched fists against her turning stomach. “What’s the explanation, then? Are you implying that the contents of the box were just magically replaced without you knowing?”

“No of course not! I mean, I don’t think so…”

One desperate, near-hysterical sob wrenched itself from Christine’s throat, and she fell silent. The painful throbbing of her heart had ceased. That place within her chest was cooling, hardening until it was as cool and hard as the piece of ivory which lay on the carpet, that disgusting thing which forced her to admit the truth to herself, a truth she’d been trying to deny since the moment she saw those embroidered initials.

How could she have been so stupid? This never could have worked out. He was highborn, she was practically a peasant. Perhaps he did love her, but likely it was a love born of nostalgia and pity, the love of a brother for his sister — and even if he had been willing to marry her, that kind of love isn’t the only kind men need. And perhaps...perhaps he really wasn’t different from other men, after all.

Christine gathered her cloak and gloves into a bundle and shoved it under her arm. “Goodbye, Raoul,” she said with finality, and steeling herself, she turned her back on the man she thought she loved.

“Christine!” Raoul gripped her arm in a wide-eyed panic. “You can’t believe that I would ever give you such a thing!”

Shaking off his hand, she held her head high. “No, Raoul, I don’t believe you would.” She could not look at him, not if she wanted to hold onto the last scraps of her tattered pride. “Do you know what I believe?” Despite her best efforts, tears were beginning to leak from her eyes, making the words thick and strained. “I believe that gift was intended for another woman.”

“What?” he cried, nearly choking on the word. “No!”

“The wrong initials,” she sobbed, no longer able to hold back the tide; bitter tears flowed freely down her cheeks. “I may be naive, but I’m not stupid, Raoul! Who is she? How long has this been going on?” Christine tugged the gold and diamond band off her finger. “Is she wearing one of these, too?” she demanded, brandishing the ring in his face.

“Christine…” Tears welled in Raoul’s beautiful blue eyes, but she would not be swayed by the obvious ploy meant to prey on her sympathy.

She flung the little piece of gold at him, and it bounced off his chest and fell to the floor with a pathetic clink.

“I should have listened to Erik!” she cried, and slammed the door behind her.

*****

Erik was right.

But then again, he usually was.

It was never going to work out between Christine and the boy; affairs between the nobility and the bourgeois rarely do, she had to know that. Really, it would be a mercy for it to end sooner rather than later. It was inevitable. And hadn’t he tried to warn her?

Still, he pretended surprise when she showed up at his door, red-eyed and sniffling, her ring finger blessedly bare.

Wordlessly, he brought her inside, wrapped her in a blanket and sat her down by the fire, brought her hot tea and let her pour out her heart — along with a steady stream of tears. Eventually, she slept, and Erik carried her to her room, tucking her into the bed he’d readied for her. He brushed the curls away from her face, now so hot and raw from crying, but no less beautiful.

He hated to see her in such pain, but someday she would understand, and she would have to agree that it was for the best. Erik always knew what was best for her.

Just like he knew that idiot boy would never notice a few feet of missing wrapping paper.

#PotO Advent Calendar #PotO #Phantom of the Opera #Door 22

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the-curious-butterfly · 4 years

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Mother’s Day

Where Eda gets to experience a human holiday and comes to the realization that she may actually like it.

While Luz learned early on that the Boiling Isles didn’t share many, or really any, holiday’s with the human realm it still didn’t stop her from being both excited, and a bit sad, when certain days came around. Though the realms also had different days on their calendars she managed to keep up with them using her phone which alerted her that today was a rather special day.

It was Mother’s Day and at first it had Luz feeling incredibly sad. She had stopped responding to her mother’s texts when summer was finally over, the last message she had left was somewhat a goodbye while also stating she promised she would return home one day. She just couldn’t right now, and safe to say the responses she got were very emotional ones. For a little while her mother still tried to reach her, to understand why. It broke Luz’s heart but she was just a kid who didn’t know how to explain. Her mami deserved more than a “because I’ve been in the demon realm and my only way back has been destroyed until I can find another one.” Plus Camilia definitely wouldn’t believe it.

Her mother has most likely been thinking the worst. Thinking it was someone else instead of Luz who sent that goodbye message. She desperately wanted to send a “Happy Mother’s Day” but if she did believe someone else had her daughter’s phone that would just make things much worse than it was wouldn’t it. It would sound like the person who took her baby was taunting her. Luz wasn’t gonna do that to her mami.

But this was one of her favorite holidays, to her there were few things better than showing her mother how much she meant to her so the idea of not celebrating it was very disheartening. Until she remembered that while her mami wasn’t here someone else, who had ended up becoming as much of a mother to her as her own biological one, was.

Eda was here and Eda has done so much. True she knew nothing of human holidays but surely the witch wouldn’t mind a day of being appreciated. It didn’t seem like that happened a lot around here so Luz made up her mind to make this day as special as she could for her mentor.

First thing’s first, breakfast in bed. Luz would have to hurry, Eda was in no way a morning person but in an hour or so it wouldn’t be that early anymore. Good thing the staple of a good breakfast, pancakes and bacon (or something that seemed similar to it), didn’t take too long to make.

She was just getting the ingredients out when King approached her, holding his stuffed rabbit, Francois, in one of his paws. It would surprise people to know that he could fit in the category of morning people but really he was almost always awake whenever something involving food was happening.

“Ah, making breakfast fit for a king I see.” He yawned and rubbed at his eyes in his adorable fashion. If it weren’t for the time limit Luz would have stopped and cooed at him for at least thirty minutes. But like I said there was no time, so she did it internally while still keeping busy. An incredible feat that she will praise herself on later.

“Something like that, you can have some after but what’s more important right now is that I make this for Eda so I can take it to her before she wakes up.”

“Why is that so important?” King half growled half pouted, how was anything more important than him being fed.

Luz poured the demon realm equivalent of milk into the demon realm equivalent of pancake mix and stirred it with a large wooden spoon before turning to address King. “Back where I’m from today’s a rather special day, a day of celebration to be exact.”

“And what celebration would that be? Crazy Lady Appreciation Day?”

Luz let out a chuckle as she poured some of the mix onto a flat pan she had warming up on the stove. “Actually, it’s a celebration of mothers called Mother’s Day.” not exactly the most creative way to put it but she supposed the point of calling it that wasn’t to be creative but more straight forward on what the day was about.

King was silent for a minute before responding with a rather quiet. “Oh.” He seemed to be deep in thought and Luz figured the conversation was done with until he spoke up again. “So this is like a requirement for said celebration?”

Luz shook her head. “Well no, not for everyone, but for me it is. It’s a wonderful way to start someone’s day and show how much they mean to you and that you care.”

“I see...what else do you do on this day of mothers?”

“Well, I’d give my mom a gift. Something I made since it’s more thoughtful that way.”

“I see.” King nervously played with Francois before looking back up at Luz. “Can I help?”

“Of course you can, buddy!” Luz beamed at him while rubbing the top of his bony head. “How about you help me get her cup of apple blood ready. You know how she can’t start the day without it.” Luz giggled for she found it funny. At first you’d think it was this realm’s equivalent of coffee until you found that coffee did indeed exist here. The fact that Eda couldn’t start her day without a cup of what was essentially apple juice was just the cutest thing.

King giggled too even if he didn’t know exactly why they were giggling and set about doing just like she asked. Just this once at least, he was still the King of demons but if Luz said today was an important celebration he wasn’t gonna ruin it by not being a part of it. Holding the carton of apple blood over his head he had a bit of trouble getting it onto the table but managed just fine. He then got the mug Eda tended to use most, not that he noticed these things, before hopping up on the table to pour some. Being careful not to spill, or at least not to spill too much, Luz approached the table with a plate of pancakes and another of bacon.

“Good job, King.” She patted him again as he made an adorable squeak like sound that showed he was taking great pleasure in the praise. She then took some of the pancakes and bacon onto another plate before placing it onto the tray along with the apple blood. “Wanna help me take this to her?”

“Yes!” He hopped down from the table and picked up Francois from where he left him on the floor. “She butter be grateful for this.” His pun had them both laughing.

“Breakfast puns! King you are a genius.”

“Oh stop it you.” He blushed and looked away as they made their way into Eda’s room.

Said witch looked to be just now waking up if her yawn and eye rubbing was any indication though she stopped whatever action she was doing when they entered and instead took to staring at them. Her eyes went from one to the other and then to the tray Luz had in her hands. “What’s with all that?” She finally managed to ask in her groggy state.

“King and I made this for you, it’s to show our appreciation.”

“Yeah, so you better appreciate it!” King added without the pun this time, causing Luz to softly reprimand him by calling his name. “Please” He said quietly.

Luz placed the tray down in the nest next to Eda who still hadn’t said anything and just watched. She wasn’t exactly sure what to say, she just knew that this feeling she’d suddenly been getting for weeks now was in her chest and it was way too early for it. The owl lady looked up at Luz and King’s dopey smiles, as if they were waiting for something.

It didn’t take a genius to know what they were waiting for so she took the plate offered to her along with the fork and speared one of the strips of bacon with it. Bringing it to her lips she noticed their smiles getting considerably wider, and before popping the food into her mouth her mind settled on her first coherent thought of the day. Man were her kids a bunch of weirdos.

“It’s good, thank you.” The two of them yelled hooray, which effectively startled her but her reflexes were at least good enough not to drop the plate.

“Just you wait, we have more things planned for you!” Luz cheered out before picking up King and running out the door with him. “You’re going to love it!”

“Oh...kay?” But they were long gone and her response was undoubtedly too quiet for them to hear. Still, might as well enjoy this breakfast they so thoughtfully made for her and was definitely not something to get worked up in any way about.

Oh god she was smiling like an idiot too wasn’t she?

~~~

“What do you think of this, Luz?” King asked as he showed her the paper he was coloring on. It showed the image of a woman with a red dress and a mess of gray hair. She was holding hands with a shorter dark skinned figure with short hair and a small fluffy creature. In the background was a crude drawing of a house with a large circle on the door. Each figure, along with the circle on the door, was accompanied with a name. Below it all were the words: The Owl Family.

When Luz saw it she couldn’t help the image that entered her mind of a girl smiling happy with her mother and little brother. “This is wonderful, King!” her words were sweet and happy that the little demon couldn’t help but smile. “I’m sure Eda’s going to love it.”

“What are you making?” He asked as he climbed up on the couch to see what it was.

“I’m making roses out of different colors of paper. It’s something someone in my community once taught me to do.” She wasn’t always friendless, there was an old man who once lived alone in his house. If anyone ever visited him she never saw so Luz thought to do so one day. He was a kind old man and he showed her many interesting things. At first her mother was rather nervous about her doing this but once she met him, on a day that she was allowed to come home on time for once, she also found that he was a good man. The two had gone to his funeral together.

“Did you know that in the human realm, the different colors of a rose meant different things?” It was one of those things she learned about by reading fanfiction and then looked up on her own because the concept was too cute.

“Really? That’s dumb.” He replied though his voice betrayed his intrigue.

“Yup, like this one.” She picked up one she had already finished, a red one. “Can mean love and respect.” She picked up another, light pink. “This one can mean admiration. Pink for appreciation. White for innocence and youthfulness, but when given together with a red one can mean unity. All these are things I either want to give to Eda or they make me think of her.” Her voice was so soft when she finished, unbeknownst to her King wasn’t the only one listening.

She was just placing the paper roses into a small empty vase that she found in a pile of stuff from the human realm when Eda had stepped off the last stair step.

“Okay what’s going on?” She asked “Do you think I’m dying or something is that what this is about?” King and Luz shared a confused look, Eda was an expert when it came to containing her emotions so why did it look like she was about to cry.

“What do you mean?” Luz asked, worried that she did something wrong.

“I mean the breakfast in bed, these gifts that you both are making. The thing about love and respect and admiration. What is all this?”

King walked up to Eda with his drawing in hand. “Luz told me today was an important human celebration.”

“What celebration is that? Crazy Lady Appreciation Day?” Eda teased despite her emotions growing ever more strongly to the point they were hurting her, but not in a bad way. The other two had to contain their fits of laughter when they recalled that King said the exact same thing this morning.

“It’s Mother’s Day.” Luz said with a warm smile as she got up from the couch and held her vase of paper roses out for the witch to take. King did the same with his drawing, except he had to reach up considering how small he was.

Once again Eda couldn’t think of any words as she took the gifts. Mother’s Day? What a silly thing to make a day out of. Or at least that would have been a thought she’d have when she was younger. Right now though...maybe it wasn’t that silly.

She looked from one to the other a few times before clearing her throat to make sure she sounded alright when she made her offer. “You two wanna go get ice cream?”

“Yes, ice cream!” They both shouted as they brought their arms up in unison. Yes her kids were a bunch of weirdos. But she loved them.

#the owl house #eda clawthorne #eda the owl lady #Luz Noceda #king of demons #toh king #written by The Curious Butterfly

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astraeagreengrass · 4 years

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exile [the woods part 1]

When you wake up in the floor of your apartment, you have no idea of how much the world has changed

Word Count: 2.708

Warnings: angst, mentions of death and death-related themes, PTSD, brief allusion to a panic attack.

A/N: A month ago, Taylor Swift released her eight studio album folklore and, unsurprisingly, it took over my life. The stories Taylor beautifully narrates in her songs inspired me to write something of my own: the woods is a four-part, post-Endgame story, with some slight changes to the canon, featuring Steve Rogers. Updates will be every Friday. Thank you to @xbuchananbarnes for proof-reading this and @thegetawaywriter for encouraging me to write. The banner picture was found here. Dividers are from @writeyourmindaway. Here is exile. I hope you like it ♡

i think i've seen this film before and i didn't like the ending you're not my homeland anymore so what am i defending now? you were my town, now i'm in exile, seein' you out i think i've seen this film before so i'm leavin' out the side door

Being pieced back together was like a hangover.

Like drinking too much wine one evening and then waking up on a foreign bed, not knowing how you got there. It was a pounding headache, a churning stomach, a dry throat. The back of your teeth were sensitive and the sound of sirens rung too loudly on your ears.

In the aftermath of your intoxication, the city is deafening.

You groaned at the light - you must’ve been so wasted if you’d forgotten the blinds. Every breath took a toll of your lungs, stretching your muscles beyond their strength, creaking your joints as you exhaled.

Someone gasped, startling you.

The familiar floorboards of your apartment greeted you when your eyes opened. Timeworn almond timber, the New York staple. Craning your neck, you saw a foot. Shit. You weren't one to bring one night stands home, or actually have them in the first place. Little ol' you was a little too square, a little too cautious, struggling to keep her trust issues from spilling out of her hands. Definitely not the best candidate for loose-stringed affairs, but your grandma always told you there was a first time for everything.

The foot’s owner nudged you, and you groaned again.

“Miss?” they said. “Are you alive?”

I don’t know.

Your gaze focused and you noticed the person was a boy of eleven or twelve, with a beautiful dark mop of curls and soft brown eyes. What the...

“Who are you?” you managed to croak. There was an ashy taste in your mouth, as if you’d swallowed dust.

The boy looked up and across, and you noticed that, on your left side, his father was crouching beside your body. He looked just like the kid, except a couple of decades older, so you assumed he was the father.

“My name is Cal,” the man said, spacely, as if he’d might frighten you if he spoke normally. “This is my son Daniel. We’re not going to hurt you.”

"Nice to know the invaders won't hurt me," you tried to say, but it came out a jumbled, messy current of words, like a baby first learning to communicate.

"Invaders?" the boy exclaimed, insulted. "We live here!"

"Daniel!" his father chided. "Miss, what is the last thing you remember?"

You pressed a palm to the ground, trying to lay your weight on it so you could stand up. You weren't about to answer an unknown man's questions while laying face-down on your own apartment floor. You might be hungover, but you had more dignity than that. When your body crumpled like a twig under a boot, Cal held you up, helping you to a seating position facing the window.

Craning your neck to shield your eyes from the sun, you noticed it.

Golden brown leaves.

Golden brown leaves that shouldn't exist in May.

You clearly remember opening the windows yesterday to green, lively foliage. New York was many things - loud, chaotic, more often than not dangerous - but it’s seasons were consistent, enduring. Through the tempests and disturbances, nature persevered in her year-long cycle, living and dying and living again.

These particular leaves belonged to October, perhaps even early November, never May.

Something was terribly wrong.

“What day is it?” you whispered, wide eyes going from the window to the man aiding you.

Cal grimaced. His boy was suddenly very quiet.

When you were a child, you used to have nightmares: a ghost in the attic, a wolf haunting the woods outside your house, an IED blowing up your father's convoy in Iraq. They'd trap your consciousness, suffocating your mind with fear and panic, and no night light or teddy bear could stifle the onslaught of relentless screams that rattled the walls and hallways of your childhood home, until your frantic grandmother shook you awake. The reality that greeted you on the floor of your apartment was that Twilight Zone all over again.

“Please,” you pleaded, perhaps to the man, perhaps to yourself.

Cal sighed.

“Today is October 17th, 2023,” he said and you learned that the only thing scarier than a nightmare is life itself. “You’ve been dead for the past five years.”

“We could go to the house in the woods,” you mumbled to the warmth of Steve’s chest.

He tightened his hold around your body, pressing a feather-light kiss to the crown of your head.

“Whatever you want,” he said. “You’ve got me for the weekend.”

“The whole weekend?” you smiled at him, finding the reassurance you needed in his indigo gaze.

Steve kissed you again, a fierce press of lips this time. Mouths and tongues and teeth intertwined, your hand finding hip, his hand finding you thigh.

“The whole weekend,” he breathed in the shell of your ear, right before the two of you became nothing more than a mess of pillows and sheets, drowning in love and want and lust. “And then forever.”

When the world ended, several hospital units closed down due to lack of patients.

When the Avengers managed to reverse the effects of the Snap - no one knew how they did it, but everyone knew it was them because of course it was - the mayor of New York declared the interruption of all kinds of activities in the city in order to help those returning. It was in a campaign hospital in Bryant Park that Steve Rogers found you, sitting up cross-legged and wrapped up in a grey blanket, having your temperature checked by one of the volunteers.

Wearing dark clothes and a cap, Steve was nothing more than a shadow behind the woman's shoulder. A lesser-trained gaze would glide past his figure in a quarter of a second, but not you. Never you. You'd recognize him in a sea of people, as if the blood that sustained you and the bones that built you knew exactly where to find him.

Steve had the decency to wait until the woman was done to approach you. With slow, clearly measured steps, he came closer, taking a seat at the foot of your stretcher. If he reached out his arm, he'd touch you, but he refrained and you were glad he did. In your mind, you saw him days ago, but reality told you differently. The calendar at the nurse's station, the newspaper you got a hold on, the constant broadcast of news: all of them mocked you, tormented you. Five years had gone by - more time than you’d ever had with the man across from you. And if there was ever any lingering doubt in your mind that this was some elaborate trick to fool you, they faded when you noticed the modest signs of aging that nothing but time and grief could inflict on a Super Soldier.

Again, a lesser-trained gaze probably wouldn’t catch them, but that would never be you when it came to Steve Rogers.

The two of you stayed in silence for minutes, watching a CNN report of a family reuniting in Idaho. The mother snapped right after the birth of her daughter - now a little girl with ginger pigtails, hugging her legs and kissing her hands. Everyday since you woke up on the floor of your apartment, there'd been thousands of stories such as this: parents finding children, husbands finding wives. The fallen - that's what the press called people like you, the dead that weren't really dead - all had the same lost look in their eyes. You supposed that's what happened when your clock was five years too late.

“What happened?” you finally asked when the broadcast changed to twin brothers reconvening in Hawaii. “What went wrong?”

Steve didn’t look at you, instead he kept pulling at a loose thread on the hem of his shirt.

“He was too strong,” he sighed. “And I thought I could fight him without Tony, but…”

You nodded.

“One of the nurses said he was badly wounded in the battle upstate,” you mentioned.

“Yeah,” Steve agreed. “But he’ll recover. Banner is looking after him. He’s got a kid now, you know? Tony. Her name’s Morgan.”

“Wow,” you smiled genuinely. “That sounds unbelievable and incredible at the same time.

“She’s a good girl,” Steve said. “Keeps Tony on his toes.”

On the TV, the two brothers embraced with a beautiful sunset as background.

“What about Sam and Nat?” you wondered.

Steve's fidgety hands stilled. With the left one he rubbed his mouth and chin until his skin was reddish.

"Sam was like you," he muttered and the implicit words hurt more in his voice than anyone else's. "Natasha… She didn't make it."

She didn't make it.

Natasha Romanoff. Natalia. Your mentor, your friend. The strongest woman you'd ever met. She didn't make it.

"What?" you gasped. "What do you mean 'she didn't make it'? Didn't she come back?"

Like Sam and the mother in Idaho and the twins in Hawaii. Like you.

Steve shook his head.

"It wasn't like that," he said. "She survived the Snap. Spent years trying to find something, anything, even the smallest possibility of getting everyone back and when we finally did… She sacrificed herself so we could have the Soul Stone."

"Sacrificed herself? For a stone?" you were extremely agitated now, the grey blanked falling from your shoulders as you looked at Steve searching for any sign of emotion. "Steven, look at me!"

His eyes were glazed, a big blue sea threatening to spill over in waves of sadness.

"It wasn't a simple stone, Y/N. I'd rather not explain to you here, people can't know about this," he whispered, looking over his shoulder for anyone that could be listening.

"You mean they can't know why they disappeared and were brought back together like broken toys?" you exclaimed. "Toys that the Avengers can grab and then toss aside however they please? I'm not your toy, Steve!"

You knew you could be cruel. Ruthless. A child yelling ferociously at the top of her lungs until she got what she wanted. An angry teenager. An intelligence officer with obscure morals. But even when he left you without a goodbye, you'd always kept your forked tongue away from Steve Rogers.

Until now.

"Please," Steve pleaded. "Let's go home. I'll explain everything to you when we get there."

"I have no home," you spat. "I had a home three days ago when you came in saying something bad would happen, only to leave me again. Now I have nothing!”

Your tears were hot when they streamed down your face.

“I don't even know myself anymore,” you admitted and somehow that was worse than knowing you were alone in a world you didn't recognize. "All I know is dust. My bones were dust and now they're not. My heart was dust and now it's not. Everyone keeps telling me that I'm safe and that 'it's all over', but what is?"

You gasped, trying to breathe in some tranquility and breathe out some of the agony twisting your insides, but all that came out was a distressing wheeze.

"How do I know that I will not disappear again?" you cried and there was no more Steve, just a curtain of water contorting his figure, like one of those paintings he loved and you never understood the meaning.

The stretcher creaked when Steve pulled you to him, rubbing your arms back as he whispered your name.

"Breathe, Y/N. Breathe."

But you were so scared of breathing. So scared that you'd taste ash again and your lungs would collapse in dust, leaving not a shred of the person you were for people to remember you by. So scared of losing a game you didn't even know you were playing.

"Steve..." You weeped, gripping his shirt tightly.

"I'm here, my love. Just breathe."

You weren't expecting him.

After two years, the hope that kept you up at night waiting for him grew tired, dwindling until it was mere utopia. So you shut the windows, changed the locks and turned off the bedside lamp. Perhaps that's what brought him to your door, you thought. Maybe, wherever he was in the world, he felt your devotion waning, so he returned to haunt you.

You had to admit, though, that of all the ways you imagined Steve Rogers coming back to you, him ringing your doorbell at midnight wasn't one of them.

He looked handsome, with shaggy blonde hair curling at his ears and a beard, and it hurt like a punch to the stomach.

It's hard when the one that hurts the most you looks so unfazed, meanwhile you're just a shell of what you used to be.

"You've lost weight," was the first thing he said, as if he'd left to grab groceries instead of becoming an international criminal.

"What are you doing here?" you replied, ignoring his greeting. If that could even be a greeting.

He sighed, mentioning with his head to the hallway behind you.

“Can I come in?”

You stepped aside, letting him walk through. You didn’t bother turning the key because if anyone really wanted to get to him they wouldn’t be worried about leaving your door in one piece. Steve stood in the middle of the living room, his hands on his waist. An onlooker would never guess that he once belonged there.

“Did you hear about Tony?” He asked when you sat down at the armchair next to the window. The one you bought together in Ikea and Steve insisted he could assemble on his own.

“Yes,” you said. Tony Stark went missing after an alien ship appeared in Midtown. It was exactly the kind of disaster that would bring Steve Rogers to New York. “Have you found him?”

“No,” he replied. “But the same aliens that took Tony attacked Vision in Edinburgh. We managed to stop them from killing him, but he’s badly wounded. When he heard about Tony we flew to the Compound.”

You nodded. It was strange how you could feel so detached from these people- Vision, Wanda, even Tony in a way. They were once your friends, your colleagues. Now they just felt like characters in Steve’s tale - no longer part of your life, only his.

“And why are you here?” you asked.

Why did you come to the home we used to share? you meant to say. Did you miss it? Did you miss me?

He shrugged.

“I thought maybe you could’ve found something on Tony and…”

“If you went to the compound it means you saw Rhodey and Rhodey has most definitely told you that I quit my job when the Avengers split,” you interrupted him. “I have no tech, no machinery, no means whatsoever to find Tony here, nothing that Rhodey has at his disposal Upstate. So why are you really here?”

He was a stranger. Cold and detached, like the house that once trapped him. There was no tenderness in the blue of his eyes.

“Something bad is coming, Y/N,” he said. “I’m not sure what it is yet, but I… I wanted to see you. I wanted to know that you were safe.”

You thought Steve Rogers was done breaking your heart. You thought that when you stopped expecting his return you’d go back to who you were before him, even if you couldn’t find that girl amongst the mess he made of you. You thought you’d be safe from love, and trust and kind soldiers with blue eyes, but you’d never be safe from him - your fellow and your foe.

“Is that all you wanted to say?” you croaked, holding back the tears swimming in your throat with a cough.

Steve fisted his hands, and for a moment you swore that he was stopping himself from holding you. But he just hung his head, tearing his gaze from where you were sitting by the window.

“Just stay home, ok?” he stated. “Try not to leave the house until this situation is resolved.”

Then he turned around and left again.

#steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x female reader #steve rogers x y/n #steve rogers x you #captain america fanfiction #steve rogers fanfic #marvel fanfiction #marvel fan fiction #marvel fanfic series #my writing #corneliabarnes #the woods

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barbasbodaciousbeard · 3 years

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If You Love Someone, Let Them Go: Part 2

Summary: Since starting with SVU, Sonny hadn’t kept much terribly close to the chest. The squad knew about his family, growing up on Staten Island, the classes at Fordam. What was hidden was why he didn’t date. Sonny Carisi was also separated from his childhood sweetheart, a separation neither ever took to divorce. They had the same haunts. They’d grown up neighbors. Their paths crossed every few months, and divorce talks would turn into reminiscing would turn into a night spent together, sometimes sex sometimes just talking until the early morning. It always ended with one of them waking up alone however. How will that change when the squad finds out?

Pairings: Sonny Carisi x Original Character,

A/N: Ayyy, I’ll probably be posting these as I write them because I kind of like them.

Part 1

November 2013

When Victoria stepped into the bookstore she’d always frequented when she and Sonny first moved into the city, she didn’t expect to see him standing in the back. It felt wrong to see him out and about; being caught off guard was a reminder she didn’t know his schedule anymore. All she did know was that it was late enough he’d just left a night class, given he was in the city. She hadn’t seen him since he left the apartment the morning she left. Had he called? Once that she answered. She told him she felt like he didn’t want her there, and he told her that was stupid, of course he did. When she hung up, she didn’t hear anything else. Bella told her he didn’t seem to get it, discrediting the suggestions his sister knew were the problems. The youngest sister was the closest with Victoria, and she wasn’t willing to give up her confidant with Tommy not out yet. That meant Bella went between her brother and his wife, trying to get them to fix it. Sonny’s birthday had been weird enough without her; she wasn’t ready for the holidays.

“Victoria,” he exhaled when he saw her. Victoria didn’t like seeing that it looked like he wasn’t doing that well. When he wasn’t in front of her, she could pretend he was happy and healthy in their apartment on Staten Island. He certainly hadn’t slept much and was lurking the aisles this close to closing in the city. His hair was shaggier, his face had a few days worth of stubble, and his eyes had dark circles. It had only been three months, and it felt like any scabbing of the emotional wound had just been torn off in one fell swoop. Something had made him pull away, she’d known. He needed to tell her why, and she hated knowing leaving didn’t help. She hadn’t really expected it to, but she thought it might prompt him to talk to her. In all the time they’d known each other, they had been able to intuitively figure out what was wrong, watch the other and piece things together. Because of that, neither of them knew what to do when the other one couldn’t just figure it out.

“Dominick,” she nodded, shifting awkwardly. Both of them could see the glint of the other’s ring, relaxing ever so slightly not to be the only one wearing it.

“We oughta talk, huh?”

“Straight into it?”

“I don’t know what else to say to you. Which is weird.”

“Yeah. We could go to the park?”

“Okay. Do you want to get coffee or anything on the way?”

“Yeah,” she nodded, teeth pulling at the skin on her lips. She followed him to the street. They fell into step together easily, but the silence was heavy. There was too much that needed to be said, and neither of them knew how to say it.

“Starbucks or bodega?”

“Starbucks. I need hot, but not coffee.” He nodded, pulling the door open. Before she could say anything, he ordered her usual non-caffeinated order with his. When Victoria tried to protest, he shook his head, paying and going ahead to wait for her hot chocolate with his tea in hand. Saddling up to his side, she offered a quiet “Thanks.”

He nodded, watching her as she grabbed her drink. She didn’t look different than the last time he saw her, but it suddenly struck him that she didn’t look well. What upset him about that was the realization she’d looked like this, a look he knew meant she was hurting, for a while before she left. Her hair was in a haphazard braid, she didn’t have the make up she normally wore to work, she hadn’t bothered to take the apron off for her walk home. He led her to the nearby park, and they again walked in silence. It was foreign to him to be so close to her and not know what to say. They’d been married seven years, and he’d known her since he was five. He’d known her for twenty-two of his twenty-seven years, and now he was just staring at her. When he found an empty bench, he sat, and she settled beside him. It was hard to see her again, but he was grateful when she still sat close enough her arm brushed his. They both watched the empty patch of grass on the other side of the pathway, neither able to look at the other.

“Why?” he finally asked, and she winced at how small his voice sounded. When she was there, she knew something was wrong, but she hadn’t heard him sound so defeated before.

“I didn’t feel like you wanted me there.”

“That’s bullshit, Victoria.”

“When was the last time we did something together before you left? And I mean not just breakfast and dinner or rushed sex when you got home late.”

“Probably only like a month.”

“Four months. Easter with your family. I kept asking for dates or a movie night- anything- but you’d cancel or just never follow through.”

“Work was just busy. And then with classes I needed to take OT.”

“So over the course of four months and maxing out on OT, you couldn’t miss one evening? You missed my birthday. You missed celebrating the bakery. Something was bothering you and you wouldn’t tell me. You stopped telling me you loved me, Sonny.”

“No I didn’t.”

“Yeah. In May.”

“You were putting shit on a calendar?” he asked, and she could feel him bristling. He was getting frustrated, and she was fighting tears. She didn’t know how tears would impact this conversation. Could they be rational? Would he feel bad or angry? Beside her, realization was hitting Sonny that she was right. He wasn’t keeping work from her in a healthy way, and he’d fucked up. Royally.

“No, but you start to notice.”

“How long did you feel like I didn’t care?” he asked, and he was shifting from angry to hurt. She could see his neck tightening, his hands running over his thighs as he processed what he was hearing. Bella had already told him all of it, but he’d assumed she was overanalyzing. Sticking her nose in where she didn’t need to be. Instead, she’d realized what he couldn’t.

“Since my birthday. So almost a year now.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I never saw you, Dominick. That didn’t feel like a before work or on the phone conversation. Plus, it felt so whiny. Having you realize you missed my birthday should’ve been enough. I figured Gina, Teresa, and Bella would be giving you enough hell. And then I left thinking you’d listen to that. And you called and I tried to tell you and you called it stupid. What was I supposed to do from there?”

“It is stupid. I always want you in our home. You’re my wife, Victoria.”

“You weren’t showing it, Dom.”

“Apparently.” He watched her, hating the tears that were slipping out of the corners of her eyes. She looked tired. More than that. She looked defeated. Without thinking, he cupped her cheek, thumb brushing her tears away. His heart fluttered gently when she closed her eyes and leaned into his touch, but it also struck him suddenly how long it had been since these casual moments of affection. She was right. Easter was probably the last time, and that made Sonny want to march right off the nearest pier. Sure, there were things he needed to share with her, but did he have to stop playing with her fingers or coming home for dinner?

“I do love you,” she whispered. “I’m not stupid. I know something else was wrong. I couldn’t figure out what, though. And you won’t tell me. Dom, just because I figure most things out on my own, doesn’t mean I can figure them all.”

“Nothing was wrong,” he lied, and he knew she could tell he was lying, just like she’d known when they drove to the cabin upstate for his birthday a year ago. Just like last year, she didn’t press him on it, but this time he could see it was out of resignation instead of kindness. He hated that more, he thought, because she was accepting that he wasn’t going to tell her what could fix their relationship. Instead of opening up, he pressed a gentle kiss to her temple, thankful when she clung to his side.

“I love you,” she repeated, voice desperate as her hands fisted his sweatshirt.

“I love you too, Tor. I always will.”

That night found him in her bed after they’d stayed in the park later than they should’ve. It was already dark when they arrived. She fell asleep easily, clad in only his undershirt, but Sonny found himself staring at the ceiling as his thoughts raced. He never had to try with her, and apparently that had stopped working, and he wasn’t even paying enough attention to notice. It wasn’t fair to her. He’d done too much damage, and he wasn’t sure what to do about it. He wasn’t even aware of how badly he’d messed up. There was more he hadn’t gone into with her.

He’d been on homicide the last year. No one knew when the change happened, and the cases they caught stuck with him because it seemed most of them were women. What got to him was the way they’d been cleaned up, dressed, and carefully placed. The moment he saw them, he knew they were looking for a boyfriend or husband. Their faces haunted him more than anything else. They’d accepted what was coming. There was probably a history there. Whenever he found the partners, there would be 911 calls, and neighbors who weren’t even surprised. It was why he’d started applying to work with special victims.

It would’ve made sense to talk to Victoria about how he was feeling, but she was so good and so removed from the darkest parts of people he saw on the job. He wanted to keep it from her, not give her that burden. There was also a part of him that thought he’d be tainting her when he told her. Maybe he wouldn’t give her the details, but she’d start waking up in the night like he had been. As time marched on, he’d figured out how to start managing the feelings, but he wasn’t sure if he was managing the feeling or just not exposed to it. It was so easy to lie and say nothing was wrong because then he didn’t even have to consider bringing the darkness he saw into her world. It was probably selfish, but it was also something he felt like he couldn’t control. Would she think he was weaker? Would she be haunted just by the stories? Would she be afraid whenever she saw couples bicker?

Instead of telling her that, he slid out of bed, dressed, and left before he had to tell her about that part. He left a note by the coffee maker.

You deserve better, Tor. I’ll love you always. -Sonny

When she woke up, Victoria knew he was gone. Even when things weren’t perfect, she’d always wake up with his arm slung over her or his face buried in the crook of her neck if he hadn’t left yet. Something told her if he planned to call, he’d have said goodbye before leaving for work. She also couldn’t smell cooking or coffee, so he wasn’t in the kitchen. When she brewed coffee, she found his note and felt stupid for having thought he may stay. She got her phone off the nightstand, scrubbing her eyes.

I’ll love you always too, Sonny. Do we stay separated? Or do you want a divorce?

He was at the precinct, taking the lull in activity as an opportunity to read for class. That’s what he was telling himself at least as he read the same sentence again and again. When he saw her text, his heart beat faster. Some part of him had expected to get served in the next week or so since he’d left. Instead, he got this text in mere hours. All he knew was he wanted her to stay his wife. Once there were papers, he had to accept what he’d ruined.

I don’t want a divorce.

Me either.

Okay, so just a separation?

Not like a legal one. I can pay my part on the health insurance. And you saw I have a place. So we just pay our own bills.

Don’t worry about the insurance. Talk later?

Sure, Dom

She wasn’t surprised when they didn’t talk. Instead, she continued like she had been, not taking her wedding ring off but starting her own life and coming home to an apartment void of Sonny. It would be the first holiday she could remember that she wasn’t at the Carisi’s house, and she was dreading going to Rachel’s for Thanksgiving more than she had been. She’d ask questions that Victoria didn’t have the answer to, and the answers she did have were more convoluted now.

#law and order special victims unit #sonny carisi x oc #sonny carisi x reader #sonny carisi

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