Hi, Iām Sage/Megan (aka Mrs. Spock, Mrs. Cullen, Mrs. Cooper, Mrs. Lehnsherr/Eisenhardt, Mrs. Xavier, Mrs. Stark, wife of Haldir, Mrs. Rogers, Mrs. Picard, Mrs. Tavington, Mrs. Solo, Mrs. S. Holmes, Mrs. Laufeyson, Mrs. Lockhart, Mrs. Strange, Mrs. Wonka, Mrs Snape, and Countess Dracula), a white American woman who is ethnically an Ashkenazi Jew! Iām a Jewish pagan witch and Godspouse to Loki. Iām an adult Autistic Bi-Graysexual (sex-ambivalent) Biromantic biological woman (she/her)! My Spouses: Spock (Star Trek) {romantic & sexual}, Dr. Carlisle Cullen (Twilight franchise) {romantic & sexual}, Dr. Fitch Cooper (Nurse Jackie) {romantic & sexual}, Magneto/Max Eisenhardt/Erik Lehnsherr (X-Men movies/comics/cartoons) {romantic & sexual}, Charles Xavier/Professor X (X-Men movies) {romantic & sexual}, Howard Stark (MCU) {romantic & sexual}, Tony Stark/Iron Man (MCU) {romantic & sexual}, Haldir (LOTR) {romantic & sexual}, Steve Rogers/Captain America (MCU) {romantic & sexual}, Jean-Luc Picard (Star Trek) {romantic & sexual}, William Tavington (The Patriot 2000) {romantic & sexual}, Han Solo (Star Wars) {romantic & sexual}, Sherlock Holmes {romantic & sexual}, Loki (MCU) {romantic & sexual}, Gilderoy Lockhart (HP franchise) {romantic & sexual}, Doctor Stephen Strange (MCU) {romantic & sexual}, Willy Wonka (WWatCF 1971) {romantic & sexual}, Severus Snape (HP franchise) {romantic & sexual}, and Count Dracula (Dracula 1931) {romantic & sexual}. Feel free to ask any of my f/os and I questions about our relationships anytime since my askbox is always open! Hate, bullying, and discrimination of any kind will not be tolerated.
*Doctor Leonard āBonesā McCoy (Star Trek TOS & AOS) {romantic & sexual} - my husband
*Sherlock Holmes (RItchieverse) {romantic & sometimes sexual} - my husband
*Sherlock Holmes (ACD canon) {romantic} - my husband
*Ćomer of Rohan (LOTR) {romantic & sexual} - my husband
*Thor (MCU; when Iām not shipping myself with Loki) {romantic & sexual} - my husband
*James Moriarty (Guard Me Sherlock! Otome) {romantic & sexual}
*Loki (MCU; when Iām not shipping myself with Thor) {romantic & sexual} - my husband
*Anna of Arendelle (Disneyās Frozen franchise) {romantic & sexual} - my wife
*Captain James āJasā Hook (Peter Pan by J. M. Barrie, Peter Pan (1953), Peter Pan - Return to Neverland (2002), Pirate Fairy (2014), Hook (1991), Peter Pan (2003)) {romantic & sexual} - my husband
*Danny Valdessecchi (Blind Dating (2006)) {romantic & sexual}
*Sherlock Holmes (BBC) {romantic & sometimes sexual} - my husband
*Doctor Stephen Strange (MCU & comics) {romantic & sexual} - my husband
*Johnny Storm/Human Torch (Fantastic Four (2005)) {romantic & sexual}
*Sherlock Holmes (Granada) - my husband
*Ariel (TLM) {romantic & sexual} - my wife
*Elizabeth Swann (POTC) {romantic & sexual} - my wife
*Commodore James Norrington (POTC) {romantic & sexual} - my husband
*Captain Jack Sparrow (POTC) {romantic & sexual}
*Grinch (The Grinch (2018)) {romantic & sexual}
*Don Juan DeMarco {romantic & sexual}
*Dr. Ian Malcom (Jurassic Park (1993) {romantic & sexual}
*Vision (MCU) {romantic & sexual}
*any character played by Paul Bettany
*Obi-Wan Kenobi (Star Wars) {romantic & sexual} - my husband
*King Thranduil of Mirkwood (Tolkienās works) {romantic & sexual} - my husband
*Belle (1991 BatB) {romantic & sexual}
*Gaston (BatB) {romantic & sexual}
*Any character played by Johnny Depp (except for his character in Black Mass & his character in Murder on the Orient Express (2022)) {romantic & sexual}
*Smaug (The Hobbit) {romantic & sexual}
*any character played by Benedict Cumberbatch (except for Paul Marshall from Atonement (2007)).
*King Henry V (Shakespeareās Henry V) {romantic & sexual}
*Sir Thomas Sharpe (Crimson Peak (2015)) {romantic & sexual}
*Any characters played by Tom Hiddleston {romantic & sexual}
*Any characters played by Kenneth Branagh {romantic & sexual}
Familial:
*Amos Diggory (HP franchise) - my father-in-law
*Aaron (The Prince of Egypt) - my older brother-in-law
*Miriam (The Prince of Egypt) - my older sister-in-law
*the Cullen family - my in-laws
*Ma & Pa Kent (DC comics, Christopher Reeve movies, and Superman (2025)) - my mother-in-law & father-in-law
*Pietro Maximoff (MCU & comics) - my brother-in-law
*Billy & Tommy Maximoff (MCU & comics) - my stepsons
*Mortica & Gomez Addams (The Addams Family tv show) - my parents
*Pugsley Addams (The Addams Family tv show) - my younger brother
*Wednesday Addams (The Addams Family tv show) - my little sister
*Tony Stark (MCU) - my stepson
*Lucille Sharpe (Crinson Peak) - my sister-in-law
*Queen Elsa of Arendelle (Frozen franchise) - ny sister-in-law
*Weatherby Swann (POTC)
*Dr. Henry Jones, Sr. (Indiana Jones franchise) - my father-in-law
*Xenophilius Lovegood (HP franchise) - my father-in-law
*Maurice (1991 BatB) - my father-in-law
*Draco Malfoy (HP franchise) - my stepson
*Joanna McCoy (Star Trek TOS & AOS) - my daughter-in-law
*Loki (when shipping myself with Thor), Odin, and Frigga (MCU) - my sibling-in-law, father-in-law, and mother-in-law
*Thor (when shipping myself with Loki), Odin, and Frigga (MCU) - my brother-in-law, father-in-law, and mother-in-law
*Kelly Malcom and the other 2 Makcom children (Jurassic Park franchise) - my stepchildren
*King Trition; Attina, Alana, Adella, Aquata, Arista, and Andrina (TOM) - my father-in-law and sisters-in-law
*Richard and Susan Reeds (Fantastic Four 2005) - my brother-in-law and sister-in-law
*Sam Kirk (Star Trek AOS) - my brother-in-law
*Faramir & Eowyn (LOTR) - my brother-in-law and sister-in-law
*Mr. and Mrs. Bennett (P&P 2005) - my parents-in-law
*Charles & Jane Bingley (P&P 2005) - my brither-in-law and sister-in-law
*Lydia, Kitty, and Mary (P&P 2005) - my sisters-in-law
*Legolas Greenleaf (Tolkienās works) - my stepson
*Rachel Turner (Regarding Henry) - my stepdaughter
Summary: As Chief Botanist on the USS Enterprise, new data brings you to the verge of a fascinating scientific discovery. But when a mission to investigate goes disastrously wrong, itās Bones McCoy who has to pick up the pieces, and hiding his feelings was never going to work out well for him.
Pairing: Bones McCoy x Female!Botanist!Reader
Word count: 5.4k (oops I went overboard)
AO3 link: The Mission That Started It All
Warnings: Misunderstandings, angsty scenes, made up headcanons for the USS Enterprise, intimacy that gets Spicyyy but it's all SFW.
Navigation: Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4 / Part 5 / Part 6 / Part 7 / Part 8 / Part 9 / Part 10 / Masterlist
ā¦ā¦ā¦ā¦
Day five of your stay in the medbay dawned as new days on the Enterprise did, the overhead lights steadily growing brighter as they moved minute by minute into Alpha shift. You had watched this happen every morning, at the exact same time, and this particular morning was no different from the previous four.
By 0800, the ceiling panels had reached their full brightness. Right on schedule.
A breakfast tray was delivered at 0815, also right on schedule, and McCoy made his first visit of the day at 0830. PADD in hand, his eyes panned over your monitors, reading the information and seemingly finding it to his satisfaction.
At 0845, he visited again. Read the same monitor, and appeared to make another note on his PADD.
His third visit happened at 0900.
You raised your eyebrows. There was only so many times one man could read the same medical monitor.
It would have been perfectly reasonable to say something, to question the number and necessity and nature of his visits. You were no doctor, but even you knew the monitors probably hadn't changed drastically between every reading. It would have been perfectly reasonable to ask him why he was back again, for the third time, and you probably would have received a perfectly reasonable response.
The question was right there. Ready and waiting.
You stayed quiet.
You stayed quiet because yesterday there was an almost-kiss that had changed everything. Yesterday he had seen you writing your resignation letter and, instead of nodding and moving on like perhaps anyone else on this ship would have done, he had pulled up a chair. He'd sat down, told you that Jim Kirk wanted you on this ship, on his team, followed by āand so would Iā in the deliberate way that left no room for misinterpretations. Heād wiped away a tear on your cheek, the tear that threatened to be first of many and held all the emotions that your resignation letter did not, and he'd leaned in. You had followed. He'd been so close, so close, it would have been easy for you to lean in further, bridge the gap, to make the almost-kiss an actual-kiss and then, and then--
You blinked, conscious of the reddening of your cheeks.
You glanced over at McCoy. He was still reading the monitor and, mercifully, completely unaware of where your mind had just been wandering off to.
Get it together, you told yourself, trying to keep your breathing steady so the monitor didn't give him something different to read.
Just ask him why heās back.
You clenched your fists.
Three visits in thirty minutes is not normal. Not. Normal. Just ask--
"I need a blood sample," he said, not looking away from the monitor and not seeing your mouth was open and poised to speak. "Just to check the trace elements of the mineral have gone and there's no toxin remaining." He was already reaching for the kit on the tray. "Small scratch. Won't take a moment."
You closed your mouth and looked at the wall over his left shoulder.
His fingers found your arm, and there it was: the same soft touch that had stopped you from hitting āsendā, the same warmth against your skin that had been at your jaw not twenty-four hours prior.
Your breath stalled in your throat.
His thumb found the vein in the crook of your arm and he applied the device with a subtle click.
You risked a glance his way. His focus was entirely on the sample collector. Not on you. Not on why your cheeks were red and why your heart was racing behind your ribs.
The sample vial filled in less than ten seconds.
āAll done,ā he said, capping off the collector and labelling the vial.
"Mm," you said, finally letting go of the breath youād been subconsciously holding onto.
āResults wonāt be long,ā he said with a nod as he slipped the vial into his breast pocket. "If the trace elements have gone, we can start talking about discharge timeline.ā
Ask him. Ask him now.
Your mouth opened, but what you wanted to say didnāt arrive.
āOkay.ā
McCoy nodded once, turned and walked away.
You watched as he crossed the bay to where Chapel stood, said something to her in a low tone that didn't carry, and didn't look back.
He's treating you like a patient.
You stared, glassy-eyed, at the back of his head.
Nothing more.
Didā¦ Did the almost-kiss from yesterday mean nothing to him?
Was it something he was trying to ignore? Forget? Was he burying himself in his work and pretending it never happened?
Your arms wrapped tightly around your middle, the way they did when your brain was enthusiastically running away with its thoughts with no plan on stopping.
Maybeā¦ Maybe you should forget it ever happened, too.
That would be easier.
Slowly, you curled down on the biobed and shut your eyes against the morning light, surrendering to the vulture-like thoughts circling through your head.
McCoyās next visit never came.
Instead, it was Nurse Chapel who appeared around the curtain at 1130, wearing the usual soft smile she saved specifically for bedside visits.
"Good news," she said, pulling out her PADD. "Everything looks normal on your bloodwork. No signs of the mineral or the toxin." She looked at you over the PADD, her smile growing. "Which means you can get out of that bed."
You looked at her. "Now?"
"Now," she nodded. "We'll take it slow, five minutes or so, just to begin with." She set the PADD down and moved to your side. "Doctor's orders."
Doctor's orders, which meant McCoyās orders, which meantā¦
Had he sent Chapel deliberately so he didn't have to come back?
There was no time to overthink this thought because getting out of bed was, unsurprisingly, harder than you remembered. Chapel stood beside you, her hand at your elbow as your bare feet made contact with the cool, panelled floor of the medbay. Your legs wobbled a fraction as they took on a weight they'd not had to deal with in well over a week.
āSteady,ā Chapel said quietly, her hand settling against your elbow.
āI'm fine,ā you said, almost automatically, and you stood up a little straighter.
Consciously, you lifted your right foot, and took a step. And another. And another after that. Every step you took felt steadier, your body remembering how to do this rather than learning how to do this. In minutes, you had passed the end of the biobed and made it half way out into the open medbay.
āGood,ā Chapel said at your side. āReally good. How do you feel?ā
āAlright,ā you nodded. āA bit unsteady at first, but that's gone now.ā
āGreat,ā she said, one hand still at your elbow. āLet's take a break, just to let your body rest. Don't want to overdo it,ā she added, gesturing back towards your biobed.
You nodded, then glanced quickly down the medbay.
McCoyās office door was closed.
āWhere's Doctor McCoy?ā you asked, casually, breezily, with absolutely no reason for Chapel to read into it further than necessary.
Her facial expression suggested she might have been reading into it.
āPaperwork,ā she said, also casually and breezily. āDo you need something? I can get him to--ā
āNo. No, it's fine, thank you.ā You put on your best polite smile and focused on the remaining ten steps to the edge of the biobed.
āWell,ā Chapel said, pulling out her PADD to make a quick note as you sat down. āFrom now on, you don't need permission to leave your bed. If you feel steady enough, you can get yourself up. Walk around, stretch your legs, it'll help build up your strength.ā
You smiled at that. āReally?ā
āAbsolutely,ā she replied, tucking the PADD under her arm. āStick to medbay, though, so help is always nearby.ā
You nodded. āI will.ā
You utilised your newfound freedom wisely throughout the rest of the afternoon, taking slow and gentle strolls around the medbay, meandering past empty biobeds and packed equipment stations and monitors on standby.
On your third stroll, your directionless feet took you past McCoyās office. The door was open, the inside of the Chief Medical Officerās personal workspace open for all to see.
Your feet slowed.
The office was empty. You knew it would be; youād seen him leave the medbay on an errand twenty minutes earlier, and caught the conversation heād had with Nurse Chapel about it close to your biobed. Iāll be back shortly, heād told Chapel. Comm me if you need anything, heād said. Chapel had given him the briefest of nods before heād walked through the parted medbay doors and out into the corridor beyond.
You hovered at the edge of the doorframe. This was his private space. His office. He could be back at any moment. You should leave, carry on walking. Go back to bed. Or something.
Glancing up and down the medbay to make sure Chapel and none of the med techs were watching, you stepped inside.
The office was a compact space, made to feel even more compact by a large shelf along one wall which was stacked with actual paperback books. A ventilation pipe ran down the wall behind his desk chair, from which his personal medkit bag was hung. The desk itself was strewn with paperwork, seemingly with no particular organisation to anyone except the officeās occupant, pens of varying colours lying on top. To one side of the desk stood a framed display. You reached out to turn it, and saw the display was cycling through old photos; an elderly couple waving jovially at the camera, a farmhouse, a boy on a bicycle being chased by his dadā¦
As you watched the pictures, something silver flashed in the corner of your vision.
Your head turned.
The insect from the planet. Still in the same container you had dropped it into before shoving it into Spockās hand, sitting on top of a cabinet to one side. Still dead, all six legs curled upward and wings sprawled against the base of the container. The stinger that had pierced your suit and skin still very much visible, sharp and pointed at the rear end of the creature.
Your leg throbbed just looking at it.
A range of emotions welled within you from seeing the specimen again. The anticipation and excitement before the mission commenced. The awe and wonder watching the insects in their habitat, discovering the new mineral. Before it had all gone wrong, before the hive had collapsed when it had met the end of your coring tool. Before you had put everyone at risk and nearly got yourself killed.
You failed to notice the approaching footsteps.
āThere you are.ā
You spun around, heart jolting in your chest.
McCoy stood in the doorway, PADD still in hand. The moment you turned, he appeared to realise what he'd said and cleared his throat. āNurse Chapel said you were walking laps of the medbay. Didnāt realise that included my office, too.ā
āSorry,ā you said quickly, āIāll justā¦ā
The sentence you started went absolutely nowhere as his eyes lingered on you for a moment too long.
āItās fine. I tend to leave it open,ā McCoy said calmly, moving around you to place his PADD on the desk. āA locked door and a medical emergency are never really a good combination.ā
You saw him glance over at the silver insect in the specimen container.
āI see youāve been admiring your little friend, there.ā
You scoffed. āThe friendship is one-sided, I can assure you.ā
That earned a small huff from McCoy, which could almost be classed as laughter.
He perched on the edge of the desk before he spoke again. āDid anyone tell you what eventually saved your life?ā
You shook your head. āNo?ā
āWell, Iām sure Spockāll fill you in on all the scientific aspects. But the long and short of it is, your little insect there caused all kinds of problems.ā His eyes glanced once again to the unmistakably-dead silver insect in the container. āThe stinger not only delivered a toxin into your bloodstream, it also introduced the mineral too. The uncatalogued one. The one that was present throughout the planetās environment.ā
āOh,ā you said, eyes wide.
āYeah.ā McCoy folded his arms. āSpock managed to analyse the mineral composition. Said it was organic, mostly proteins or something.ā He shrugged. āAnd then, after I pressed him on how we could get it out of you, he said enzymes might help.ā
You nodded slowly in understanding. That would make sense, biologically-speaking; enzymes could bind with a substrate to alter molecules and clear toxins. An unknown mineral primarily made up of proteins would be particularly susceptible to enzymes designed for digestion and metabolism. You'd seen this biological reaction in the worms from the last planetary survey.
Something in your head clicked.
āDonāt tell meā¦?ā
āYeah,ā said McCoy, smiling slightly. āToxicology created a formula using your space worms, after you told me their bioluminescence was from digestive enzymes.ā
You stared at him, open-mouthed. For a fleeting half-second, you were back in the corridor outside the lab, amazed at how heād even remembered the worms at all. Now here you were, amazed that he had not only remembered an insignificant detail about the earthworms, but he had used it to create a medical treatment which had, incidentally, saved your life.
āWow. Thatās-- Iām impressed,ā you managed eventually.
McCoy gave a subtle nod, his gaze turning back to the specimen container.
A steady silence fell, the conversation coming to its natural end.
You should've probably headed back to your bed.
Instead, you opened your mouth.
āListen, uh,ā you began, trying to piece together the words you wanted to say. āAbout yesterday, I shouldn't haveā¦ It was, it was inappropriate, and, I mean, we can just forget it ever--ā
He stood up from the desk, looking at you intently.
You felt your cheeks growing hot. āSorry, I probably shouldn't have brought it up. I'll justā¦ā
You made to turn away, feet moving in the direction of the medbay.
His hand came up. Settled against your upper arm, radiating warmth, firm yet gentle. The touch lasted for barely a moment, but it was enough to make you stop, enough to send shockwaves pulsing through your skin where his hand made contact.
āDon't leave,ā he said softly, quietly, barely a whisper. āDon't. Justā¦ā
You looked into his deep, hazel-brown eyes, trying to read him and coming up with nothing.
He spoke again, mouth barely moving as he spoke in the same low, whispered tone.
āDon't leave Starfleet.ā
You stared.
āPlease.ā
Jaw slack and mouth hanging open, you blinked once, twice, until your brain caught up with itself and his words actually contained meaning. He was asking you to stay. After everything. All the accidents, all the medbay visits, all the reasons you had that made you want to leave, he was asking you not to. Begging.
Your gaze dropped. āI, umā¦ā
āDon't tell me you already sent that letter,ā he sighed.
āI haven't,ā you said quickly.
The relief in his expression was visible.
āOkay, that'sā¦ That's good,ā he nodded slowly, taking a deep breath before he spoke again. āAre you still going toā¦?ā
You bit your lip. Truthfully, you hadn't made a decision about whether to quit Starfleet yet. There had been too much going on, too many other things occupying bandwidth in your brain that meant this rather important choice had been pushed down the priority list.
āI don't know.ā You gave a slight shrug. āHaven't made up my mind yet.ā
His eyes went behind you briefly; to the medbay, quiet and unassuming through the open door. Then his gaze turned back to you. There was a look on his face - a line of tension along his forehead - that suggested the brief glance away had been the moment heād made a decision and he was about to act upon it.
You saw his hands disappear into his pockets, in an almost identical movement to the way theyād disappeared before heād worked up the nerve to ask about the worms in the corridor. A moment which felt like a lifetime ago.
"Coffee," he said. "In the mess hall. It's, it's actually not half bad.ā He paused. āDon't get me wrong, it's no French Press, but it's decent. Palatable."
He caught sight of your expression and appeared to swiftly rearrange his thoughts.
"Well. You probably already know that." His hand found the nape of his neck, then dropped. "But I was wondering--" He quickly cleared his throat. "--if you'd like to go grab coffee. Together. Sometime." Another pause. "If you don't have any better plans, that is. And thatās okay if you do," he added. One hand left his pocket and lifted a fraction, open-palmed, gesturing that the offer was on the table and the choice of whether to take it was entirely your own.
You didnāt need any time to consider it.
āI donāt,ā you replied, a smile spreading to the corners of your mouth. āCoffee would be great.ā
Coffee with McCoy turned out to be not coffee at all.
The cups had sat there, mostly untouched, on a table tucked away in the far corner of the mess hall, gradually cooling and losing steam as you both talked and talked and talked. Several hours passed by as topics of conversation flowed naturally between you; anecdotes from your childhood and his med school days, who your friends were back home, his family, hobbies, favourite foods and least favourite foods. Crew members filed in and out around you, the tables becoming occupied and then unoccupied, until eventually the room became very empty and noticeably quiet, the mess attendants beginning to reset the hall before the next meal service.
He glanced at the chronometer on the wall. āWe should probably head back. Chapel will beā¦ Well, sheāll be fine, she always is. But I donāt like to make a habit of leaving her to run the medbay alone.ā
āI understand,ā you said, rising to your feet and picking up the almost-full cup of cold coffee.
āWell,ā he said, smiling softly. āThis has beenā¦ā The words trailed off as he looked at you.
āYeah,ā you said, returning the smile. āThank you. Bones,ā you said, quietly adding his nickname, which felt more appropriate for the moment than simply McCoy.
āLeonard,ā he corrected. āLeonard is fine.ā
You nodded once. āThank you, Leonard.ā
He walked you back to the medbay after that. Slowly, at your pace, which was the speed of someone still in recovery from a significant away mission injury and who was lucky to have any pace at all. There were certain things you noticed as you walked; the way he was, apparently, a gentleman about turbolifts - waving you in first, activating the panel himself, like he had been raised to show old-fashioned southern courtesies. The way he dropped behind you in the corridor to let crew members pass, his hand coming to your lower back in the same movement. The way you quietly wondered whether anyone else had noticed the turbolift or the control panel or the Chief Medical Officer's hand at the Chief Botanist's back. The way everyone who passed you had their eyes forwards suggesting they hadn't.
Just normal things you noticed about the man who had been nothing more than a senior doctor at the beginning of the week and who was now, after one coffee date, seemingly becoming something more.
There was a second coffee date the following evening, and a third the day after that, by which point you had both decided - without verbally stating it - that coffee was no longer required to maintain a conversation. It had become easy to be around him, you noticed; yes, there were still butterflies in your stomach every time you walked out of the medbay with him, but once you'd sat down and asked him how his day was, the butterflies settled into something that was less nervous and more relaxed. Perhaps it was his voice that settled your stomach, the way his accent turned more southern whenever he talked about something that he was particularly passionate about.
The same southern drawl came at the end of the third coffee date, before you both passed through the parting mess hall doors, only just loud enough for you to hear whilst ensuring his voice didn't carry.
āI want to do something special next time. Not just coffee,ā he muttered softly. āNext shore leave is a while off yet, so it would have to be something here on the ship. You got anything in mind?ā
You'd thought about this for a brief minute, before making your suggestion.
āHow about the observation deck?ā
Something had moved across his face. A subtle, yet visible blanching, eyes widening for less than a split second, jaw working, brows pinching with a tension that hadn't been there before.
In a blink of an eye, all of it was gone.
āSure,ā he'd said, and the smile he wore looked somewhat strained. āIf that's what you want.ā
Your eyes had narrowed. āAre you sure? Because we can--ā
āNo,ā he'd said firmly, hand coming out to gesture you through the mess hall doorway first in the gentlemanly-like way you were now no longer consciously noticing. āThe observation deck will be fine. Pick you up tomorrow at eight.ā
You were fully discharged the following morning. Leonard had worn a full, professional, I'm-your-primary-care-physician-and-nothing-more look as heād signed off your paperwork; two weeks off duty, then a phased return to the lab if all went well.
Nothing about his look hinted at what was to come later that evening.
It did not suggest he'd be standing outside your quarters at 1959 in smart-casual civilian clothes, holding a bunch of flowers he had, by his own admission, needed the help of Ensign Franks to pick from the greenhouses, having stood and looked at them for a full ten minutes with no idea where to start.
Youād pretended your cheeks weren't burning hotter than a solar flare when you'd taken them from his hands before leaving your quarters.
The observation deck on the USS Enterprise was right at the very top of the primary hull, above the bridge. It was a modest room, neither large nor small, built around a wide curve of floor-to-ceiling windows. Four cushioned armchairs faced the glass, and a drinks replicator stood off to one side. At this hour, it was completely empty, the room silent save for the usual low rumble of the ship drifting through space. You often came here on rest days; mostly for the peace and quiet and the ability to read uninterrupted, but the view was the room's selling point. Collections of planets and stars and galaxies twinkled in the vastness of space that lay beyond the ship, and the colourful hues of a nebula just a few thousand kilometers away gave the room a soft, amber glow.
You rushed over to the window. Being up here always sent a thrill of excitement through your veins. The view always changed with every visit you made, and today was no different. You spent several long minutes mesmerised by the nebula, the clouds of dust and gas towering upwards, the edges wispy and the centre bright.
Sensing that Leonard wasn't nearby, you glanced back over your shoulder.
He was hovering behind an armchair, quite possibly as far away from the windows as possible. His hand was clenched over the back cushion of the chair, and even from the distance, you could see his knuckles turning white.
āWhat's wrong?ā you asked.
He shifted his stance, looking slightly uncomfortable. āI, uhā¦ I suffer from aviophobia. In basic terms, that means fear of dying on something that flies. At one point, it got so bad, I avoided windows entirely,ā he added, glancing quickly at the curved glass behind your back.
āOh?ā you said, a pang of guilt shooting through your stomach.
āYeah.ā
You were about to apologise for your ignorance and suggest heading back to the mess hall instead, when he cleared his throat.
āYou're probably wondering why the hell I even joined Starfleet or why I said yes to a five-year deep space posting with a phobia like that.ā He let out a small, nervous laugh. āWell, Iāll tell you.ā
Your eyes tracked him as he moved beside the chair, his hands finding his pockets as he took a step closer.
āWhen I enlisted, I was newly divorced and down on my luck. Had nowhere to go, no other options. All I had was my doctorate and a crazy idea that maybe this was the fresh start I needed.ā A pause, followed by a short sigh. āAviophobia can be rough. Every second of every day, my mind would come up with a hundred ways this could all go wrong. Not a single day went by without wondering if that was the day I was going to crash into the sun.ā
He took another step forwards, eyes falling to the floor where the amber hue from the nebula cast its orange glow.
āBut lately, I've realised a few things. A lot of things, actually.ā
Another step forwards.
āIf I hadn't joined Starfleet, I wouldn't have been assigned to the Enterprise. I wouldn't have said yes to this deep space mission. I wouldn't have met you.ā Another pause as his eyes lifted, gazing straight into yours. āAnd meeting you changed everything.ā
He closed the distance, stepping beside you at the edge of the window.
āI boarded this ship a broken man, still holding on to my fears and my past. Thatās all still there, but now itās buried beneath something else. Something bigger.ā
Finally, his hands left his pockets, and he turned to face you, the amber light of the nebula crossing his face.
āItās you. Itās always been you, and Iām done pretending it isnāt.ā
One of his hands brushed your own, fingers slowly intertwining with yours.
āBecause if I'm going to crash into the sun, I'd rather do it with you than do it alone.ā
Something inside you broke.
That same something had been breaking apart for a while now. It had cracked at the sight of him standing in the doorway to your quarters holding flowers. It had cracked when he'd almost kissed you in the medbay. It had cracked when he'd pulled out his old-fashioned stethoscope to read your blood pressure and it had cracked the moment you'd collided with him in the hallway on the way to the mess hall for chicken pot pie.
āLeonard McCoy,ā you said, voice also cracking from the way you were falling apart inside. āThat's the most romantic thing anyone has ever said to me.ā
A small smile crept into the corners of his mouth.
āNah,ā he replied, edging even closer, one hand coming up to trace your hairline with his fingertip. āJust how I feel.ā
His fingers descended until they found the edge of your jaw, thumb brushing your cheek.
Your chin tilted upwards. Involuntarily. Pulled by a force that wasn't gravity. Dimming your world so there was only him in it, here, alone with you, in the observation deck with only the stars watching.
No interruptions. Nothing to pull him away this time. No room for wondering and what-ifs. It was happening this time, for real.
Slowly, your hand slid up his chest, fingertips touching his collarbone, feeling every heartbeat and every breath beneath your palm. You could see every crease in his forehead and every freckle on his cheekbones, the way his eyes lowered to your lips and the way his head began to drop slightly to the right.
And then you couldnāt see anything at all because your eyelids had fallen shut, surrendering to the moment.
When your lips finally touched, stars exploded behind your eyelids. Leonard was so gentle, so tender, he followed your lead like the moon follows the sun. Your mouth opened, tongue brushing his bottom lip, tentatively exploring him. And he responded almost immediately; his tongue met yours with a hunger held in check, never demanding anything more than you were willing to give.
Yet you wanted more. Needed more.
Your hands found his collar, pawing at the nape of his neck, drawing him in as the kiss deepened. Distantly, you heard a low sound catching in his throat in response, serving only to spur you on. Your arms were fully wrapped around his shoulders now, fists balling in the fabric of his jacket, your teeth catching his bottom lip as the kiss unfurled into something with more hunger, more drive. His response to this was perfect; his hand found the curve of your hip, sliding around your flank to your lower back in one effortless movement, close enough to the hem of your shirt that, if heād wanted to, he could have slipped beneath it.
The thought of that possibility made your knees weaken, stealing the last remnants of breath from your lungs in a soft, muted whimper.
You felt his mouth slow, and at last you broke apart. Slightly breathless, slightly giddy, you clung onto him like he was the only thing in the universe that mattered. His palm was still at your back, forehead coming to rest against yours, as though he was unwilling to let go and let the moment end.
For a long minute, you both stood there, catching your breath in each otherās embrace.
Finally, Leonard spoke first.
āSo, is thisā¦ I mean, are weā¦ā He still sounded breathless, chest rising and falling as he searched for the right words. āIs there a āweā?ā
āYeah,ā you said softly, unable to hold back a grin. āThere's a āweā.ā
He pulled you into him then, wrapping you up in his muscular arms. You went willingly, tucking your head beneath his chin and letting yourself sink into the warmth of his chest.
āI'm staying,ā you said quietly, the out-of-context statement mumbled to his sternum.
āHmm?ā
āIn Starfleet.ā You lifted your head slightly, so the words were clear. āI'm not quitting.ā
You felt and heard the deep, contented sigh that filled the space behind his ribs. Then his arms tightened around you, pulling you in even closer.
A low rumble came from within his chest. āKnew you weren't done yet.ā
You both stood there for a long time, in each other's warm embrace, the soft light of deep space casting through the windows to the empty observation deck. Neither of you looked at the chronometer because the chronometer didn't matter. All that mattered was you, him, and the stars beyond beyond the glass, slowly rotating at the frontiers of space.
At a later date, when the events of the last week or so had settled firmly into the past, you would reflect back on that particular away mission to the planet with the unknown insects and the uncatalogued mineral as one of your departmentās more significant scientific discoveries.
Spock had given you a full overview of his analysis into the mineral and its structure, which you had listened to with a keen fascination. Further tests and additional fieldwork carried out by your team in the Botany lab had pinpointed the mineral as the key for sustaining life on the planet; the proteins were responsible for building, repairing and maintaining all biological material in the ecosystem in a symbiotic relationship, just as you had theorised. The elevated concentration levels of the new mineral within the insects had remained a mystery, until Ensign Franks discovered the reason was due to their diet; they fed on mineral-enriched nectar in surrounding flowers, and the compound accumulated in their tissues faster than their bodies could expel it.
The Federation databases had been updated, and the Botany lab had a new designated sample tray labelled Frankon; a name you had chosen for the mineral in honour of Ensign Franksā contribution.
As for you and Leonardā¦ Well, there were many more mess hall coffee dates, and regular visits to the observation deck, too. This, in turn, had led to fewer overrunning shifts in the lab and the gradual disappearance of the purple bags around your eyes; a point which Leonard noted on your chart during your routine follow-up check and said absolutely nothing about.
The world was right again. As right as it could be, considering the Enterprise worked on artificial gravity.
And, most importantly, the away mission that went wrong was not going to be remembered as the mission that ended your career.
summary: A young Captain Jack Sparrow finds out he has a daughter and needs to find a way to take care of her.
cw: none
word count: 2.7k
Gently drifting through the versatile seas of the Caribbean always proved easier at night. Once that tropical heat actually managed to cool off a little it left behind a toasty blanket of air one could comfortably wrap around theirself.
Such as was Jack doing at the moment. His boat, which had bygonely been used to fish near shore, was barely long enough so he could fully stretch out his legs. He crossed them at the ankles and his arms behind his head, ready to be rocked to a peaceful slumber for once.
Besides his own breath there was only the faraway squall of the seagulls and soft ripples of the water to lull him to sleep but it was enough.
Even when the ripples grew louder and the boat swung from side to side more heavily he refused to open his eyes. He readjusted his position and tried to find another wave of sleep that way when a real one found him first. The splatter of saltwater startled him into sitting upright. He inspected the waters and saw nothing out of the ordinary. The moon and the stars, a beautiful woman-
His eyes widened and he jumped in his skin.
Her face was a flawless one, with perfectly smooth skin and eyes that captured all the baubles the nightskies' had to offer. But Jack knew of this deception. He knew her true form was one of unimaginable horrors, with barnacle covered skin and teeth so sharp they could easily scar you for life. Jack's hand was living proof for that. He cradled it as memories from that day flooded his mind for just a second. A horrendous song, hair the colour of the sea and all of his crew-mates completely and utterly ruined. Because that's what the presence of a mermaid did to a regular sailor. Not Captain Jack Sparrow though, no.
Nonchalantly he leaned his arms on the boat's edge and rested his head on top as if her presence did not disturb or surprise him in the slightest.
"Thought it be forbidden for ye and I to see one another?"
The mermaid nodded. Her diamond blue eyes gleamed under the stars. More so even than they probably would in the sunlight. But Jack had no way of knowing for sure since their relationship was one of the night only. The night sky was to these creatures what the sea was to Jack.
She swam closer. If he were to lean down now she'd be right there, perfectly in place for a kiss.
"I have come because we are forbidden."
He quirked an eyebrow and then smirked with a touch of smarmy overconfidence.
"Breakin' the rules for me, love? How very tempting..."
Her body raised out of the water a bit more so they were now on eye level. Jack's eyes flickered down to her lips. How he's missed the kiss of a mermaid. They tasted of freedom and the sea and came with the neat little side effect of protecting one from drowning. He could use a refresher for that and seductively leaned closer, eyes hooded and one hand caressing her face.
"Marina..."
"Jack," she whispered and just when their lips were about to meet she pushed a foul-smelling bundle of seaweed into his face. Jack jerked back and he spit out the bit of seawater that had landed in his opened mouth.
He raised his eyebrows at the strange gift when she raised the bundle up to him.
Though the night was deep and dark, the light of the full-moon above him helped him make out bits of the package. In contrast to earlier believes it wasn't just seaweed. There was something wrapped up inside it. Something alive. Something eerily human.
He raised his finger, lazily pointing at the creature.
"What's tha'?"
Marina's face changed. Anger flared high and for a moment Jack remembered her true form. It was something he had never quite seen, only ever in his peripheral, and yet he knew it to be real. Barnacles and all. He put on a smile and tried again, this time with some more conviction.
"Goody, what might that be?"
Marina rolled her eyes and shoved the bundle into his chest and where he was meant to take it he only leaned back and held his arms from his body as if its touch were poisonous.
"She's yours, Jack."
He chuckled and moved further to the back of the boat to avoid this...present.
"And there I thought it were ye sharp-as-daggers teeth that oughta scare a sailor," he quipped when a splash sounded and she was behind him again. He fell back and the little boat rocked vehemently.
Her strong tail carried her above the water easily and once again she held the child out to him.
That tune started. Albeit tune was already an embellishment of those terrible mermaid noises that never seemed to affect him.
But to make her stop he knew he had to take it. Sloth-like, Jack reached for the bundle and held it at an arm's length. He wondered if the dripping seaweed was drenched only in ocean water or if other more babe-produced condiments were currently flooding his boat as well. If so, he couldn't smell it beyond the stink of fish anyhow. Or maybe that was the babe.
Jolly...
He looked it over. The child's sleeping face was covered in a strange opaque film but he could clearly make out its hair beneath that shimmered such a dark colour it looked unreal. The song had stopped now but somehow Jack felt no relief anyways.
"N' what now?"
"You take care of her, that's what," Marina ordered with a strain in her voice. She stared at the child with a certain wistfulness that made Jack almost certain she didn't actually want to give him her daughter.
"N' not to sound like a deadbeat father 'ere but...why can't she live with ye?"
Marina lowered her gaze. It was safe to say mermaid tears weren't meant for measly human eyes.
"Davy Jones..."
At that Jack was suddenly clairaudient. He leaned forward, finally allowing the child to come somewhat close to him as he cradled her into his chest. "Pardon?"
Marina's breath trembled and he was surprised to even hear her snivel.
"The chairwomen on Isla Sirena...You know them..." And how he did. Jack's face darkened at the breathless feeling and suffocation of their faces.
Meanwhile Marina continued, "They report back all abnormalities of the sea to the sirens and they in turn to Jones. She is an abnormality, Jack."
She rested her arms on the side of his boat and softly caressed the babe's cheek with her slender finger before pressing a most tender kiss on her forehead. She retreated back into the water.
"I fear she isn't safe with me once they learn of her paternity."
He looked down. The layer of strange goo was melting away and her eyelids twitched in her sleep. Then, like a newborn bird she painstakingly opened her eyes to reveal a strange set of colours.
One was blue, crystalline and fair. A colour that surely felt cold to the touch. Clearly, from her mother's side.
The other, however, dark like coal, was definitely his doing. He swallowed hard as she stared up at him, blinking away the blear of sleep. She held the whole night-sky in her eyes with a fascinating sparkle. When she yawned her whole little face scrunched up and he almost smiled.
He turned to Marina. "But I'm a..."
Panicked, his eyes roamed the surface of the ocean for a sight of her but she was gone. The sea was calm and smooth like it had been earlier, no signs of beautifully dangerous women anywhere. He was alone once again. Well- Not truly alone at that. He looked back down to the child - his child - and frowned,
"But I'm a pirate..." he voiced in defeat.
"Ain't even know yer name, lass," Jack addressed the child who had freed her arms and was now tugging on his beard.
"Pirates and names, aye?" He stated matter-of-factly and squinted his eyes.
"A name for ye mother? Mer...Mermaid...A?" He tried out the name. How it felt to say but then quickly shook his head at the idea.
"Mermaids ain't that great anyhow. They're all just glorified frogs, if y'think about it. With the whole breath'n above and below water, I mean...That'd make ye a tadpole."
She pulled on the bead of his beard and Jack smiled lightly. Who was to see him doing so anyways?
"Tadpole? S'a bit primitive though, don't'ya think? How 'bout some dignified French...TĆŖtard," he tried but just as quickly threw it out again with a scowl. "You'd definitely get teased for tha'...How 'bout...Mormoloc?" He wrinkled his nose. "...Sounds like'a grand ol' beastie, aight."
He huffed out. Be clever, Jackie, he thought.
Y'could easily trick out cursed captains and battle sea beasts but this is where y'were stumped? Pirates and naming things were never a good combination. But maybe this needed something simple for once. Not too clever, not too boring.
"Renacuajo? Rena...Reina?"
He looked down with raised eyebrows.
"Y'like that?"
And when the babe's mouth hinted a smile Jack repeated it with newfound confidence.
"Reina, the Queen of Tadpoles, Sparrow." He nodded in satisfaction.
"Got quite the name there, lassie."
He raised his hand to her small face and she grabbed his finger. He grinned, full on this time.
"Welcome home."
Pantano River. It's where his compass had led him after days at sea and he was glad for it. The last of the goat milk he had bartered for one of his rings was running dry and at the prospect of receiving a little help from the Bayou Witch, Tia Dalma, he felt a weight lifted from his shoulders.
Figuring out what to feed a half-breed mermaid baby had proved rather difficult for he had no idea what merfolk ate other than sailors as hisself. So he had opted for what he did know which was; Babes drink milk.
But that was nearing its end now too. Little Reina was sickly pale and Jack did not know whether that was normal or not.
Maybe the Voodoo Queen would be able to help him in that regard seen as she somehow always had the right solution for every problem at hand.
As Jack rowed through the swamp Reina was soundly asleep, curled into the nest he had made for her out of his coat and vest.
He mockingly bowed at the figures that guarded the river and wrinkled his nose when he bumped into the leathery back of a gator with his oar.
"Pardon."
When he arrived at Tia Dalma's shack he made an effort not too rock the boat too feverishly and gently picked the babe up into his arms. Without his coat and vest the mosquitos were even more irritating than usual and he swatted at them with one hand while cradling Reina into his chest with the other.
"Begone, y'filthy buggers," he cursed.
"Jack Sparrow," Tia Dalma's velvety voice mused behind him and and he swiftly turned around, staggering up the steps.
"Greetings, love."
She closed the door behind him and though mosquitoes still buzzed inside the room Jack was relieved to find them all gathered inside a specific jar that, despite it having no lid, they couldn't escape from. He grinned impishly and turned to the witch.
"Dunno if ye've heard yet but as of late I've become the proud caretaker of this wee sprog āere."
Jack revealed Reina who yawned as she awoke and Tia Dalma smiled as warmly as ever at her. Expectantly she held her hands out for the babe and, though warily, Jack allowed it. Tia Dalma rocked the child in her arms, coddling it like a precious doll.
"Aye, what a gem you are, little half-caste. A mermaid?" she asked Jack who nodded mindlessly while looking around the room. She traced over the childās sickly skin.
"I understand...Very rare for a mermaid to give up her young, even if they be half-breds."
"She said the kid wouldn't be safe with 'er."
Tia Dalma nodded wisely.
"For whomever seeks to get their revenge on the notoriously self-absorbed pirate captain, Jack Sparrow, might and try and use her for that."
"Self-absorbed?" Jack protested. "Calumny, says I. Have I or have I not voyaged here on mission to help my spawn?"
"Aye, that be true but it be 'cus she is your own." She turned sharply, sending him an accusatory look.
"Would ye do it for another?"
Jack looked aside in thought. There were few people he cared for in this life. Especially ever since his former crew had marooned him to die a deadly death he found himself rather unwilling to consider anyone a friend. Going to strenuous lengths to help them was even less likely.
He opened his mouth as if to say something and raised his finger at Tia Dalma but then stayed quiet as a mouse. She tilted her head in victory and Jack grunted.
"Takin' her here already proved she be the best leverage against ye, Jack."
"What do I do then?"
Carefully she handed Reina back to her father and started rummaging through shelves and baskets till she hummed in satisfaction. Jack eyed what hung there from her raised hand skeptically.
āA necklace?ā
"An amulet," Tia Dalma corrected.
She lifted Reina's head up gently and placed the slender silver chain around her neck. The pendant was a dainty round sun with wiggly lines for rays. Jack watched in awe as the blue of her one eye slowly darkened. The brown colour ate up the previous as if drenched with ink. Then she whispered something into her hands.
"Mala nos non invenient. Viventes protege et bene eos protege." And when she pressed her enchanted hands on the amulet it slowly melted away, leaving not a burn, but a tattoo-like mark behind on the babe's delicate skin.
"It will block that what calls the threatening and threaten what it calls."
Jack traced the lines softly.
"What do I owe ye?"
She turned away, fingers tracing over all the knickknacks that lined the shelves.
"Your payment is not yet mine to collect, Jack Sparrow. For now I ask ye to keep her from danger and out of the grasps of Davy Jones."
He pulled her in, a queasy feeling building up in his stomach. Tia Dalma always demanded settlement.
"And how am I to do so at sea?" He mused sarcastically. "That be exactly inside of Davy Jones's grasp, if I recall correctly."
She turned slowly and the sorrow that plagued her frame let Jack's mind run wild.
"She must remain at land, then."
"But...I'm a pirate."
"Aye..."
Jack looked down at the little girl who now had his eyes exactly and a destined tragedy upon her.
"Give up the sea?" he wondered aloud and his heart clenched painfully at the thought alone.
"I...I dunno if I could."
Tia Dalma pulled her lips into a straight line. She already knew the answer to his own inner question.
"Aye. It is not in ye nature. It won't ever be even if you'd want it."
"Yer saying...I have to give'er up then, is that what?"
"She won't ever be safe with ye around, Jack."
Fate was a cruel thing wasn't it?
Bringing him along the only thing he would ever care for so deeply and then telling him he's the worst possible person for her to be around in the same breath.
And despite his intention to stay with her in that merchants' port town, he had, at the end, managed no more than three days and three nights.
Woefully, he looked back at the harbour where his old friend Arabella held his child in her arms, bearing him goodbye and growing smaller and smaller in the distance.
And despite his intention to return shortly after to that merchants' port town, he had, at the end, never set foot in it again.
themes: fluff, established relationship, domestic bliss, protective michael, clingy michael
synopsis: michaelās been paying closer attention to your body than you have, and he already knows the truth before you do.
warnings: suggestive banter/pillow talk, brief mention of morgue work/autopsies (no explicit detail)
word count: 1.8k
a/n: no specific era, could be bad to mature. reckon this is a part 1... hope you enjoy! let me know what you think of it :)
the morning alarm cut through the quiet bedroom at 5:45 am, a sharp incessant beeping that had michael reaching out blindly to swat the top of the nightstand.
next to him, you shuffled under the heavy duvet, groaning quietly into the pillow with the deadened exhaustion of someone who had spent twelve hours over an autopsy table.
seeing you stir, michael dragged himself closer. he didnāt pull away to start his day. instead, he maneuvered until his chest was pressed flush against your back, slinging a heavy arm over your waist and burying his nose into the crook of your neck.
he inhaled deeply, expecting the sharp, powdery bite of the french designer perfume you had worn since the day he met you. instead, his senses were hit with a soft scent of vanilla and almond oil.
"mmm," he hummed, his voice thick with sleep against your skin. "you changed it."
you stirred again, blinking against the faint morning light. "changed what?"
"your perfume, my love," he murmured, his fingers absently tracing small circles over the fabric of your shirt, right above your hip. "itās different. sweet."
"the old one started smelling like floor cleaner," you muttered, eyes still half-closed. "made my nose itch."
michael didn't reply, but his hand didn't move either. it stayed anchored there, resting heavy against your midsection.
"angel," you whispered, a slight laugh tugging at your lips despite your bone-deep tiredness. "i have to get up in fifteen minutes. dr. etomi wants the preliminary report on the westside case by eight."
"five minutes.".
he tightened his grip even more, impossibly so, pulling you so close there wasn't an inch of air between you.
it was happening more and more lately. almost six months into the marriage, and while you expected a honeymoon phase like what your married friends had told you, michael had completely morphed into a persistent shadow.
if you were sitting on the couch reading something, he was leaning against your shoulder, resting his chin on your head.
if you were in the kitchen making tea, heād wander in, wrap his arms around your waist from behind, and rest his forehead against your shoulder while the kettle boiled.
it was sweet, if maybe just a tiny bit suffocating (but honestly it's not like you really minded). you assumed he was just enjoying the rare lull in his scheduleāno stadiums to fill, no press conferences, just quiet days at home while he casually worked on music demos.
an hour later, you were fully dressed in your blouse and slacks, rushing through the kitchen to grab your coffee thermos. michael was standing near the counter, wearing an oversized shirt, watching you with that strangely intense focus heād had all week.
"eat something," he said softly, sliding a plate across the island.
you paused, just staring at it. there was a thick slice of brioche toast topped with a ridiculous layer of raspberry jam and a dusting of powdered sugar.
"michael, i don't eat sweet stuff in the morning. you know it gives me a headache."
"you ate three cinnamon rolls on tuesday," he pointed out, leaning his elbows on the counter. "and you stole my ice cream last night."
āācos i was running on four hours of sleep and my brain needed sugar," you shot back, though your stomach gave a traitorous rumble. you picked up the toast anyway and took a bite. it tasted ridiculously good. "my cycle is probably just acting up again. you know how irregular it gets when i'm stressed."
"right. stress," he repeated.
his tone may have been neutral, but his eyes tracked the way you swallowed, dropping briefly to the front of your blouse before rising back to meet yours.
he walked around the island, stepping right into your personal space. he didn't even say anything, just reached out and wiped some crumbs on the corner of your mouth. his thumb lingered there, pressing gently, as if testing the warmth of your skin.
"what?"
"nothing," he murmured, softly smiling. "just... stay safe today. don't push yourself too hard."
"i cut open dead people for a living, mike. it's not exactly high-risk."
"still."
he leaned down and kissed youānot a quick goodbye peck, but a deep, lingering press of his lips that left you slightly breathless. when he pulled back, his hands rested firmly on your hips, holding you in place for a second longer than necessary. "call me when you get there.ā
Ā°ā¢Ā°ā¢Ā°ā¢Ā°ā¢Ā°ā¢Ā°ā¢Ā°ā¢Ā°
by early afternoon, the morgue felt suffocatingly cold, yet somehow sweat was prickling at the back of your neck.
you pulled off your gloves, leaning heavy against the edge of the metal sink. your head was swimming. the chemical smell of the formaldehydeāa scent you hadn't noticed in yearsāwas suddenly so overpowering it made your throat constrict.
itās probably just exhaustion, you told yourself. just the double shifts and maybe too much sugar.
you took a slow breath, stepping out of the lab and down the long hallway toward your office. as you rounded the corner, you froze.
your husband was sitting on the wooden bench outside your door.
he was wearing a black fedora pulled low and a dark jacket, his long legs stretched out in front of him. he held a small insulated lunch bag resting on his lap.
"michael? what are you doing here? is everything okay?"
he stood up immediately, stepping toward you. "you forgot your lunch. and you didn't call."
"i was in the middle of an autopsy," you said, incredulous, a fond smile cracking through your fatigue. you almost never forgot your lunchāas you were usually hyper-organizedāso seeing him standing there with your lunch bag made the whole day feel a little surreal. "you came all the way here just for that?ā
"i wanted to see you.ā
he didn't wait for permission. he reached out, wrapping his arms around your shoulders and pulling you against his chest right there in the middle of the hospital corridor. he buried his face in the crook of your neck, taking a long sniff of that new vanilla scent.
"mike, people are walking by," you whispered, though you wrapped your arms around his waist anyway, letting yourself lean into his warmth.
"let them walk," he muttered into your hair. his hand glided down your spine, resting flat against the small of your back, applying a gentle pressure that seemed to instantly ease the dull ache in your lower muscles.
you pulled back slightly to look at him, searching his eyes. "you're being weird today. you've been weird for weeks."
"i'm fine," he said, offering an enigmatic smile that didn't quite reveal his thoughts. he unzipped the bag, pulling out your usual container alongside a small, chilled bottle of ginger ale. "eat.ā
you looked at the ginger ale, then up at his face. a sudden, strange realization flickered at the back of your mindāa thought that cut straight through the fog of your fatigue.
ginger. for nausea.
vanilla. for sensitivity.
sweets. for fatigue.
wait.
"michael," you said softly, your heart suddenly taking a hard thud against your ribs. "how long has my period been late?"
he didn't answer right away. he just held your gaze, his eyes brimming with tenderness, a tiny, triumphant tilt touching the corner of his lips.
"about three weeks.ā
Ā°ā¢Ā°ā¢Ā°ā¢Ā°ā¢Ā°ā¢Ā°ā¢Ā°ā¢Ā°
the drive back home was silent.
michael understood you needed the quiet to think and by the time you pulled into the driveway, you had a pharmacy bag clutched tightly in your lap, containing two identical white boxes.
in the master bathroom, the atmosphere was suffocatingly tense. you sat on the edge of the closed toilet lid, holding the plastic stick in your hand while the small timer on the counter ticked down.
michael, on the other hand, was pacing the tile floor like a caged cat.
he couldn't keep stillāhis hands went into his pockets, then out, then he was crouching right in front of you, resting his chin on your knees and looking up into your face.
"is the time up?" he whispered. or tried to whisper with his voice pitching high as he struggled to contain his excitement.
"mike, it's been ninety seconds. it takes three minutes."
"it feels like an hour," he muttered, resting his hands on your thighs, his fingers digging in lightly. he was practically vibrating. "i'm telling you. i already know. i just want to see the little lines."
"you don't know anything yet," you countered softly, a nervous smile tugging at your lips. "you're just overly observant and incredibly clingy.ā
"i knew," he insisted, a bright, boyish grin breaking across his face. "you stopped letting me lay my head on your chest because you said your bra was too tight. and you smelled like vanilla. and you were cranky."
the timer suddenly went off with a sharp beep before you could answer.
your breath hitched. you looked down at the test in your hand.
two solid, undeniably pink lines.
michael didn't even wait for you to speak. he read the look on your face, let out a gasp, and immediately leaned in, burying his face into your stomach as his arms wrapped tight around your waist. he was laughing, a bubbling sound against your shirt.
āi knew it.ā
"you're impossible," you breathed, tears unexpectedly stinging the corners of your eyes as you ran your fingers through his soft curls.
Ā°ā¢Ā°ā¢Ā°ā¢Ā°ā¢Ā°ā¢Ā°ā¢Ā°ā¢Ā°
later that evening, the test sat forgotten on the nightstand, and the two of you were tangled together under the sheets. true to form, michael hadn't put an inch of distance between you since you left the bathroom; he was lying on his side, one leg hooked over yours, his palm resting flat and warm over your lower stomach.
"so," you murmured, tracing the line of his jawline with your index finger. "when exactly do you think this happened, mr. detective?"
michaelās eyes fluttered open, a wicked little smirk slowly spreading across his lips.
"well," he drawled softly, his thumb lazily stroke your hip, sliding under the hem of your shirt to touch bare skin. "you had that three-day break at the end of april. the studio was closed for renovations.ā
"when you insisted on staying in bed until two in the afternoon every day?ā
"the very same," he hummed, leaning down to press a warm kiss right below your ear, making you shiver. "remember the second night? when you said you were too tired, and then..."
"okay, alright," you cut him off, laughing as your cheeks flushed hot, burying your face in his chest. "i remember."
"i think it was that night," he whispered into your hair, his voice dropping into that gentle tone that always made your knees weak. "you were extra pretty and extra sweet to me then."
"you're ridiculous," you teased softly, looking up at him. "and you're going to be insufferable for the next eight months, aren't you?"
"absolutely," he smiled, pulling the blanket higher over your shoulders and kissing the tip of your nose. "you're stuck with me hovering 24/7 now. no escaping.ā
Request: @groovy-lady Hello! May I please request an OG Avengers Tower AU in which Loki (who lives in Stark Tower as well) reveals that he used to have a wife, but she had gone missing and has been presumed to be dead for many years but even he is surprised to find that his wife had been captured by a magic user and forced to live on Midgard without any way of returning to Asgard?
A/N: this was sent back in Aprilā¦ i apologize for the long wait.
Summary: you knew this place held someone -- someone-- familiar. you just needed to know what or who it was after years of torture. [wc 1K] [ao3]
Warnings: angst, hurt/comfort, reunion
No one in the Tower expects Loki to talk about his past. Not really. Heāsā¦ integrated, in his own wayāstill sharp-edged, still unpredictableābut quieter than he used to be. Less interested in grand gestures, more inclined to linger in shadows and watch.
So when he speaks up one nightāunpromptedāit catches everyone off guard.
āI was married once.ā
Silence falls over the common room. He doesn't look up when he reveals it.
Tony Stark lowers his glass slowly. āWell. Thatās new.ā
Natasha Romanoff tilts her head, eyes narrowing just slightly. āYouāre serious.ā
Loki doesnāt look at any of them. His gaze is fixed somewhere distantāsomewhere far beyond Midgard. āI am always serious,ā he replies quietly. Thatās how they know it matters. He doesnāt give them everything. Just fragments. āSheā¦ was not Asgardian by birth,ā he says, voice measured. āBut she belonged there more than most.ā
Thereās something almost fond in the way he says it. Soft. Gone as quickly as it appeared. āShe vanished.ā A pause. āMagic,ā he adds. āPowerful enough that even I could not trace it.ā
āDead?ā Steve asks gently.
Lokiās jaw tightens. āā¦presumed.ā The word sits heavy. Like something he never fully accepted. He doesn't met anyone's eyes when he speaks it.
After that, the subject is dropped. But things shift. Subtle. Loki becomesā¦ distracted. More than usual. He disappears for longer stretches, returns with tension coiled tight in his shoulders, magic flickering restlessly at his fingertips.
Like something is pulling at him.
ā
And then one afternoon, you prance into the Stark Tower.
Itās not dramatic. No thunder. No cosmic fanfare. Just the quiet hum of the lobby, polished floors, and youāstanding there like you donāt quite belong. Because you donāt. Not really. Not here. Not anywhere.
Youāve spent years like this. Moving. Hiding. Living a life that never quite fit, like you were wearing someone elseās skin. You learned quickly not to talk about itāthe strange dreams, the flashes of gold and green, the feeling of loss that never made sense.
The man who kept youāwho controlled youāmade sure of that No magic. No reaching out. No going back. Until he died. And whatever he bound you withā¦ broke.
Thatās how you end up here. Because something in you said this place mattered. That someone here mattered.
āCan I help you?ā the receptionist asks.
You hesitate. āIā¦ I think Iām supposed to be here.ā
It sounds ridiculous the second it leaves your mouth. But before they can respond, the air shifts. Upstairs, Loki freezes mid-step. His breath catches. Thereās a pullā a sharp, naggingly tugging pull. Familiar. Impossible.
āNo,ā he whispers. And then heās gone before anyone could stop him.
You donāt even have time to react before he appears. Not walking. Not arriving. Justāthere. Magic curling faintly around him, eyes wide in a way no one in the Tower has ever seen before.
For a moment, Neither of you move.
You donāt recognize him. Not fully. Thereās something thereāsomething that achesābut itās buried under years of confusion, of being told what you are and arenāt, of being disconnected from something you couldnāt name.
But him? He knows. Immediately. Completely.
āā¦no,ā Loki breathes again, softer this time. Like if he says it too loud, youāll disappear.
Your heart starts racing. Because the way heās looking at youā Like youāre something fragile. Something lost. Something heās already grieved.
āDo Iā¦ know you?ā you ask, uncertain. It nearly breaks him. You see it. The crack in his composure. The way his shoulders tense like heās been struck.
āā¦you should,ā he says quietly. Not accusing. Justā¦ honest.
You take a small step forward. Something in your chest pulls tight. Painfully familiar. āI feel like I do.ā Your voice softens without meaning to. āBut I canātāā
āYour name,ā he interrupts gently. Not demanding. Asking.
You tell him.
The reaction is immediate. His eyes close briefly, like the sound of it is both a relief and a wound. āā¦I have spoken that name,ā he says, voice rougher now, āinto silence for years.ā
The world tilts. Something in you shifts. A memoryānot clear, not wholeābut there. A voice. His voice. Softer than this. Closer.
āYouā¦ā your breath catches. āYouāre in my dreams.ā
His eyes snap open. āThey were not dreams,ā he says. A step closer. Careful. Like approaching something sacred. āYou were taken,ā he continues, each word controlled, deliberate. āBound. Hidden from me. Taken in the middle of the night from our bed chambers.ā
Your chest tightens. Because thatā that right there feels so right.
āI couldnāt find you,ā he adds, quieter now. āI tried.ā Something in his voice makes your throat burn. āI tried everything.ā
The fragments start coming faster. Gold halls. Laughter. A hand in yours. Magic that felt like home instead of a cage.
āYouāreāā you shake your head, overwhelmed. āYouāre important to me.ā
A flicker of something almost like a broken laugh escapes him. āI should hope so.ā A beat. āI was your husband.ā
Silence.
It should feel impossible. Too much. Too fast. But it doesnāt. Not really. Because something deep inside youā Something that was never fully erasedā recognizes him.
āā¦Loki,ā you say slowly. Testing it.
He goes still. Like the sound of his name from you is something he hasnāt allowed himself to imagine. āYes.ā
You step closer. Close enough to see the fine detailsāthe exhaustion in his eyes, the hope heās trying not to show. āI rememberā¦ā you whisper. Not everything. But enough. āNot all of it,ā you add quickly. āButāpieces.ā
Thatās all it takes. Relief floods through himāsharp and overwhelming, barely contained. āI will take pieces,ā he says quietly. āI will take anything you can give me.ā Your hand lifts without thinking. Hesitates. Then rests lightly against his arm. The contact sends a jolt through both of you. Familiar. Electric. Real.
"Iām here now,ā you say, voice small but certain.
For a moment, Loki just looks at you. Like heās afraid this is another illusion. Another cruel trick. But then ā carefully, almost reverentlyā He covers your hand with his. Warm. Solid.
āā¦you are,ā he murmurs. And for the first time in yearsā The grief heās carried so tightly begins to loosen.
Somewhere upstairs, the Avengers are definitely watching the security feed. Tony leans forward. āā¦so weāre not gonna talk about the whole long-lost wife appears in the lobby thing?ā
Natasha smirks faintly. āGive them a minute.ā
Down belowā Loki doesnāt let go. Not this time. Not again.
Summary: you finally admit what you're feeling. [wc 727] [ao3]
Warnings: shirtless loki, some flirting
Request: @groovy-lady Oooh may I please request a Shirtless Loki fic in which half-Asgardian!fem!Reader who has always been in love with Loki finally admits her feelings for him after he purposely keeps appearing before her shirtless?
Shirtless Men Series
It starts the first time he does it on purpose. You just donāt realize it yet. Youāre in the training wing when Loki appearsābecause of course he does, because subtlety has never been his strongest skill when heās bored. Or plotting. Or, apparently, testing your patience.
He steps through the shimmering green magic like he owns the concept of entering a room. And he isā Not wearing a shirt.
You nearly drop your weapon. Nearly. You absolutely do not look away fast enough.
Which is unfortunate, because Loki notices. Of course he does. āWell,ā he says lightly, glancing down at himself like this is completely normal behavior, āthis is a rather unexpected reaction.ā
You clear your throat aggressively. āIāwhat are you doing here?ā
āI live here,ā he reminds you.
āThatās not what I meant.ā
He tilts his head. Slowly. Like heās thinking very carefully about his next decision. Which is never good. āOh,ā he says. āI see.ā
Then, casuallyā āI was told Midgardian training facilities were excessively warm.ā
There is a pause.
You look around the perfectly temperature-controlled room. āā¦by who?ā
Loki smiles faintly. āNo one in particular.ā He walks further in. Still shirtless. Still infuriatingly calm about it.
You absolutely do not track the movement of his shoulders as he stretches. You definitely do not. āYouāre distracting,ā you say finally.
āAm I?ā
āYes.ā
āInteresting.ā He pauses just long enough to be suspicious. āIāll keep that in mind.ā
And thatās when it begins. Over the next week, it happens again. And again. And again. In the hallway after a mission briefing. In the library. Once, inexplicably, while youāre mid-conversation with Steve, who looks like he is actively questioning reality.
Each time it's just Loki. Loki. Calm. Composed. And not wearing a shirt. At first, you think itās coincidence. Then you think itās mockery. Then you start thinking it might beā No. No, thatās ridiculous. Except he always looks at you first. Always. Like heās waiting. Like heās watching to see when youāll finally crack.
āYouāre doing this on purpose,ā you accuse him one day, catching him in the corridor.
He doesnāt even pretend innocence. āI have no idea what you mean.ā
āYou keep showing up like that.ā
āLike what?ā
You gesture vaguely at him. āLikeālike that.ā
He looks down at himself. Then back up. āOh.ā A pause. āI suppose I am.ā
Your brain short-circuits slightly. āā¦you admit it?ā
Loki hums. āIt seemed more efficient.ā
There is a silence. A very long one.
You stare at him. He stares back. āYouāre trying to distract me,ā you say slowly.
āAm I succeeding?ā
You hate that your answer comes out too quickly. āā¦yes.ā
Something shifts in his expression then. Just slightly. Like satisfaction curling at the edges. Good. He planned for that.
But then he doesnāt move. Doesnāt tease further. Doesnāt vanish. Just stands there. Watching you. Like heās waiting for something else now.
And suddenly, you realize youāve been waiting too. āYou know whatās unfair?ā you say quietly.
Loki raises a brow. āYouāve always been unfair,ā he replies.
That makes you almost smile. Almost.
āIāve liked you for a long time,ā you admit before you can talk yourself out of it.
The words land heavier than you expected.
Silence. No teasing. No immediate clever remark. Just Loki. Still. Watching. āā¦have you now?ā he says finally. And his voice is softer than it has any right to be.
You swallow. āYes.ā A beat. āI think Iāve been trying not to.ā
That earns something different from him. Not a smirk. Not mischief. Something quieter. Worse, in a way. More real. āYou are aware,ā Loki says slowly, āthat I did not require shirtlessness as a strategy.ā
You blink. āā¦you didnāt?ā
āNo.ā A pause. Then, almost dryly, āI simply enjoyed the outcome.ā
That makes you laugh despite yourself. Of course he did. Of course this was intentional in the most Loki way possible. He steps closer now. Not rushing. Never rushing. But closing the space like heās decided itās time. āAnd yet,ā he says softly, āyou did not leave.ā
You meet his gaze. āā¦no.ā
Then Loki tilts his head slightly. Something unreadable flickering through his expression. āā¦good.ā
And for once, he doesnāt need theatrics. Doesnāt need tricks. Doesnāt need to be shirtless at all. Just you. And him. Finally saying what neither of you had been pretending not to feel.
Premise- headcanons on what type of huggers theyād be, X reader. Established relationship if you squint,
Characters-
Reiner Braun
Arthur Morgan
Max Eisenhardt/Erik Lehnsherr
Reiner Braunš§ø
When you look at Reiner at first heās big and scary- obviously everyone knows his looks are deceiving like bro is made of sugar and spice and all things nice, sweeter than grandmas sugar cookies
Youāll go into it at first worried heāll think youāre clingy but that little look he gives you? With one eyebrow raised and his lips parted in confusion as you welcome yourself in? That just let him know youāre comfortable for what heās about to become. His true self.
A whole ass grizzly bear waiting for his hibernation plushie every single damn night.
His favourite to usually lay in is with you sprawled atop and his arms locked tight round you. Heāll make a few exceptions heās not exactly picky. Itās just that heāll manhandle you onto him and forget his strength
If heās not having a good day heāll settle for resting his head on your chest or tummy like a sad puppy, maybe guide your hand into his hair for much needed pats.
Awh dude this is so corny but I genuinely canāt see him as anything but a cuddler, obviously he has other love languages but the dude is actually a teddy bear.
Softest one on my list. Best cuddler, will probably guilt trip you into snuggling him if you ever had an argument, swearing that it wards his nightmares away.
He smells like a warm cup of milk and bedtime bath all in one.
Tight, warm and soft. Youāre safe here.
If an explosion goes off youāre safer than a cockroach in a nuclear explosion.
Arthur Morganšļø
At first I can see him being stiff asf. Like he has no idea where to put his hands, heās mostly checking to see if youāre fully asleep enough to unconsciously grab onto him.
Heās warm but unlike Reiner heās NOT soft šš heās definitely sturdy and i can tell because when someone hugs him in game the impact sound is rough.
Again, itās you initiating, head tucked under his chin, arm draped over his chest.
His arm slowly curls over your shoulder whilst the other nonchalantly rests behind his head, continuously checking on you until he himself falls asleep.
If you hadnāt moved the entire night heāll hide the sore neck that was earned from remaining in that position with you. If using him as a pillow all night helps you sleep then so be it.
Despite all this, he can be easily guilt tripped into cuddling.
I didnāt give Reiner a rating because heās 10/10 but for Arthur I can see his hugs being 6/10 unless he puts his all into it which would put him at a 8/10 for safety points.
Youāre overall safe and warm due to the fact that heās easily awoken and has the reflexes of a professional fighter. What he lacks for in softness, he makes up for in protection.
Type of husband to leave the bed to see what that suspicious noise was downstairs and return with a sleepy tease that it was just a tree branch rubbing against the window.
Will pull you in and kiss your hairline, mumbling a hoarse āNow sleep, darlinā.ā
Max Eisenhardtš§²
Now this one is tricky. A lot of people like to say Max isnāt soft, sappy- that he puts his duties and responsibilities first and whilst I sort of agree we get a lot of examples of how he behaves within relationships.
Heās definitely not heavy on snuggles but he wonāt mind initiating as long as the position doesnāt remain. Heāll probably cuddle you before sleep and then roll onto his side or back to get proper rest, maybe spoon you for a while longer,
He enjoys reading to you before bed with you tucked against him whilst he reads, sometimes doing exaggerated dialogue to hear you laugh. Heāll keep a hand on your shoulder, the other on the book and have you turn the page when he finishes.
As for the texture of it all, Iād say itās fifty fifty. Heās firm but I can see him being soft especially when heās asleep. Max isnāt stiff but he isnāt exactly teddy bear material.
Cuddles aside though, he sometimes gets bored with his hands and starts absentmindedly caressing you. Be it your back, your hair or your neck, small patterns being traced into your spine or a small strand he canāt stop fidgeting with, curling it between his finger before releasing and repeating.
He probably doesnāt even know that the physical touch is slowly knocking you out.
Erik doesnāt do little spoon and he never thought he would until a nightmare he was so sure had left his psyche returned one dreadful night. The panicked gasps and tears awoke you from beside him and before he knew it, you moved over and carefully gathered him in, his head resting squarely over your heartbeat.
No words were spoken as you began stroking the silky strands of white on his hair, hushing him before he could apologise.
From this angle, he looks like a cat resisting sleep, watery blue eyes focused on you before his energy drifted away.
Yeah thinking about it now actually he seems better as a plushie as opposed to using you as a plushie. Though I think heād glare at you if you ever called him that.
