#Taking all my will just to run alone/Until I bring you home || Verse | Main | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

mae-gi-writes · 1 year

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rile you up | lee Minho (xo kitty)

You’re Minho’s latest form of entertainment and he cannot just get enough of riling you up.

Genre: romcom, slice of life, school!au, minho is a little dick

———

“Fuck you, Minho.”

“What a ray of sunshine you are on this fine day.”

You grit your teeth together, almost grind them to nothing, and repeat the words with even more conviction, “I said fuck you.”

”Watch that tongue sunshine, might fall out if you’re not careful,” Minho’s grin just widens at the way your eyes have narrowed into slights. If looks could kill, he would’ve been shot int he head twice, revived, and shot once again. But thankfully for him, your narrow-eyed stare is nothing scarier than a cute kitten ready to take her claws out.

It’s a boring, rainy and muddy Wednesday afternoon and you really don’t want to be here, in English Lit, listening to professor Lau drone on and on about love and friendship in the verses of Lord Byron’s poems and how, if you read in-between the lines and analyze the intonations, the words, the onomatopieas, you’ll find a much deeper definition of Lord Byron’s feelings.

And Minho sitting right beside you is not making it much easier.

“You’ve got a pimple growing on your left cheek,” Minho squints at your face as you turn away, cupping your face with your hands as your eyes find the lock tick, tick, ticking at the far end of the classroom. Thirty more minutes of this torture.

“Can you just stop hyper-analyzing me like I’m some kind of lab rat?I’m really not in the mood for this right now.” You snap back.

“Woah,” Minho sighs before he shakes his head, “you really did wake up on the wrong side of the bed today.”

“And you, my friend, need to mind your own business.”

“Minho and Y/N.”

Professor Lau’s voice causes both of them to wince, physically, before looking up to see the said old man with bespectacled glasses, the book of poems in his hand and his eyebrows raised as though he expected better.

If you’re being honest, you really do enjoy Professor Lau’s classes, normally. Normally.

But not today. Today, you’re having a completely off day. You woke up late, you couldn’t sleep at all last night, and all the coffee had run out by the time you’d made it to campus. Your grades are suffering and you’re currently trying to ploughing through all the assignments without drowning.

And the worst of it all, you miss home.

You miss your mom. You miss your family, your brother with whom you would fight with at every occasion and play Mario kart with. You missed your grandma, your aunts, the food they cooked, the shared laughter, the smiles…

You’re in so deep in your thought process that you haven’t even registered that Professor Lau is telling you off until he calls for your name that brings you back to attention.

“—yes?” Your eyes flit up to Professor Lau’s and a wave of emotion suddenly takes its toll on you. You try hard to blink back the sudden burn of tears at the corner of your eyes, crawling up your throat.

“I was expecting better of your behaviour, miss Y/N,” he says, pointedly looking between you and Minho with pursed lips, “in my office after class. You’re up for cleaning duty.”

Great. That’s exactly what you need. After everything.

Fucking. Great.

———

“These pretty hands cannot clean,” these are Minho’s first words as the rest of the class files out to leave you two alone on cleaning duty and as you had predicted, there are papers all over the place, test papers and pens and pencils, “I’ve taken care of my hands all these years. I am not ruining it just to clean a classroom.”

“You are so freaking dramatic,” you roll your eyes, standing up to find the cleaning supplies that are stacked at the back of the class, in the storage closet, “let’s just get this over with and we can both move on with our lives and I won’t have to see you again for the rest of this week.”

“What’s up your arse, dude?” Minho follows you, one hand leaning on the doorframe as you start pulling out the duster, the cleaning rags and the shiny new broom that Professor Lau is currently obsessed with, “you’ve been acting really weird.”

“What?” You scoff, proceeding to hand him the broom because you know he’s never going to be the one on his hands and knees cleaning the floors, “I’m not. I’m just tired.”

“No, you’ve been acting off all week. You’re all snappy, your dark circles are so prominent you look like a walking zombie and you keep asking me to go fuck myself,” Minho rolls his eyes, “also, how do you use this?”

“Jesus chri—“ you make a move towards him, grabbing the hand holding the broom while struggling to circle his back and grabbing the other, “you keep that thing steady, then you brush the dirt from this one—“ you grip his hand and shuffle it over the floor in a sweeping motion, “until it goes into the pan. Got it?”

It's only then you realize the warmth emanating from Minho's back. If you move a little closer, you could press your cheek against him. He smells like something citrus and fresh mint and man.

Somehow, it makes goosebumps explode all over your skin. You step back abruptly, noting the heat searing through your palms where you had touched him just as he turns to face you, "you seem to be a natural at this. Why don't you do it?"

"I'm gonna take care of the floors," you're glad for the distraction that comes in the form of the rag, for there's a knot of heat in the middle of your chest and you're not quite sure how to deal with it, "let's just get this over with."

There's a long moment of silence as both of you focus on your tasks, which helps to calm down your nerves. Somehow, the sound of Minho's brush is conforting to hear.

Until he speaks up, "so you're gonna tell me what's wrong?"

"Why should I tell you, of all people?"

"Because there's nobody else around and seeing you all mopey makes me actually feel bad for you."

You wipe off the dusty corner by the teacher's desk, "Do you have any ounce of decency in you somewhere?"

"Not when you're involved," Minho snickers.

You whip around, throw the balled-up rag at him and smirk in satiafaction when it hits him square in the head, "ow--what the fuck, Y/N?!"

Glad that you managed to piss him off, you turn and continue, "oops sorry. My hand slipped."

It's not ultimately Minho's fault that you're more anxious, more easily irritated than usual. So you can't really take it out on him. But he doesn't make it any easier either.

Thankfully, the rest of the cleanup goes smoothly as butter and he parts ways with the excuse that he needs to go find his aupposed lunch date, to which you merely rolles your eyes and headed for the dining hall alone.

It doesn't normally bother you to be alone. On the contrary, you relish in those silent moments of freedom without having to hear an earful from Kitty and Q, or having Yuri complain about yet another one of her life's family miseries.

But as you find a vacant seat by the door, you can't help but suddenly feel a little small in a room full of people who seem to be right where they should be. And something in your heart constricts and clenches so hard it causes a soft sob to die at the back of your throat.

You grip your spoon a little tighter and bite down so hard on your lip that you feel the tangy taste of blood.

It feels lonely.

------

You're kind of sick.

Not physically sick.

Just sick of hearing christmas carols ringing all over campus. Sick of smelling hot chocolate in the air, sick of seeing luggages being dragged on vacation.

Sick of being here.

For an international student, returning home for Christmas was never an option. The airplane ticket is too expensive for your familt to afford, and you wouldn't ever impose that on them. But if you had to admit to that selfish part of you; you wished you were privileged enough to get to fly out at every chance you got.

Alas, that is not the kind of life that you live.

So when the doorbell rings at seven-thirty in the morning on Christmas Eve, you're more than surprised to find none other than Minho standing by your door with his hands in his pockets.

"Wh--Yeah? What do you want?" You frown upon noticing the lack of luggage behind him. Knowing Minho, he packed like a diva.

He hums and peeks inside your flat, causing you to shuffle into his peripheral vision, "what do you want Minho?"

"You're not packed."

"Wise observation, smartass."

He brushes past you and strides inside, taking his shoes off casually by the door, "why not?"

"None of your business."

He throws you an exasperated look, "you gonna keep being like this?"

"I don't know, are you gonna keep annoying the hell out of me?"

He can't help the grin that spreads over his face at that, "you're fun to mess around with."

"Well for your information, it's not fun. Not for me," you don't hesitate to walk over before grabbing onto his arm and tugging over to the door, "really. I'm fine. Now leave."

"I'm surprised you're not going home for Christmas," he continues as you're pushing him out of the door.

It stings, "why?"

"International kids usually do," he folds his arms, proceeds to lean into the open doorway and you got another whiff of his scent, "what? Daddy didn't want to pay for you this time?"

"My dad died. Two years ago."

There's surprise first, that flashes through his eyes. Then realization slowly dawns.

There’s some kind of weight in your chest. Like your heart has just broke.

"What?" You laugh but it's dry and twisted, "cat got your tongue? Too shocked to speak? Poor little Y/N, who doesn't have a father to pay off her credit card bills, right?"

"I didn't know--"

"Of course you didn't. You never asked."

"I'm--" he swallows, looks away, "—sorry."

You scoff, "don't. It's okay. I've been over it for the past two years."

It's not what he says but rather the way he looks at you that makes your insides shrivel up with dread and fear and the idea that he'll never look at you the same way ever again.

Because the thing is, no matter how much Mjnjo teases you, bullies you into oblivion, you do enjoy the attention, the banter. It's almost as if it's better than just being ignored altogether.

And amidst all his teasing and his annoying personaity, there are bite and smidges of Minho's kindness smattered in-between, flecks of tenderness that makes your heart soar, your brrath

To have such a man look down at you, pity you, makes you want to be sick.

"Y/N--" you cut him off before he can even try to make it up to you, "it's fine, Minho. Just drop it--"

"Wha--I said I was sorry, don't give me that look--"

"I said drop it!" You swerve around on him, anger bubbling from deep within your chest as blood pulses through, rushes through you, "for one goddamn second, can you just leave me alone?! I don’t need this—this constant bullying of your part! It’s tiring and it’s just so goddamn frustrating and humiliating so will you just stop?!”

The shocked silence that follows your sudden outburst is heavy. If the tension had been thick before, it’s now so hard you can barely cut it with a knife. You try to regulate your staccato breaths, try not to let your body take over your mind as you focus on breathing in, breathing out, breathing in. Breathing out. Just like that.

Calm. Like water. Like you’re a river that never stops.

“Just go, Minho,” your words are bitter. You can barely look his way, an overwhelming surge of irritation, guilt and hurt swimming through you.

Thankfully, the young man seems just as surprised as you are and leaves without even a backward glance. That’s when you finally cave in and allow your legs to crumble to your floor. Pressing your head against the door, your body instantly gives into the sadness that crumbles through you like used up tissue, soaking in all the tears that are suddenly cascading down your cheeks without restraint.

You cry yourself to sleep that night.

———

“Minho, I’m really sorry about my behaviour.”

You stare.

Your reflection stares back.

Shit. This doesn’t feel right. You close your eyes, exhale a soft breath, and open them once more only to find a set of familiar brown eyes gazing back at you.

It’s just the day after Christmas and though the majority of your friends were still off campus, you’re well aware that a certain Korean young man has decidedly stayed back because of his mother’s offshoot shooting commercial.

However, you still hadn’t gotten the guts to go back and ask him for a formal apology yet. Did you even need one when he’d been the one prodding you with a stick like he would with a nest of aggressive bees?

Oh well. You decided you’d be the bigger person and make the first move. As always.

So you look back to your reflection with renewed determination, take a deep breath before forcing the words out, “I am really sorry for my shitty behaviour, Minho, I should’ve—no,” you shake your head, start again and clasp your hands together for good measure, “I’m really sorry if I offended you in any way, I was hurt—no. God. I sound so pathetic.” You can’t help but curse at the mirror.

Inhale. Exhale. Deep breath. And you try once more, this time adding a small smile.

“I’m really sorry for everything that I said. I was being a bit insensitive and wasn’t in the right headspace—“ you break off with a frustrated snarl, “god! Why is it so hard to apologize to the dude?!”

“The dude’s standing right here.”

Shocked, you swivel around only to find none other than the said question in person leaning against your doorway, eyebrows raised and a semblance of a smirk lining his lips.

“M—Minho,” you feel like slapping yourself for sounding like a stuttering goldfish. Quickly, your hands smooth down your sweater, hiding them in the big bell sleeves as your eyes find everything — anything, to get off his face, “what—what are you doing here?”

“I was looking for you, actually.”

“Why?”

You’re still not looking, deciding that the faint crack in your dorm room is much more interesting.

Minho’s footsteps approach as he strides close, close enough that you get a whiff of his expensive cologne and restrain yourself from sighing out loud.

The bastard smells too good, you feel like crying.

“Why?” He scoffs, “isn’t it obvious?”

“Not really.”

“Alright. Fine,” you’re still not looking at him, which is why you almost jump out of your skin the moment you feel the gentlest graze of his fingertips at your jaw.

“Wha—“ you stutter, eyes flashing up to his on instinct.

Dark brown meets swirls of maroon. You almost lose your breath.

In the mid-morning light with sunshine falling over half of his face, Minho looks like he’d just walked out of some fashion magazine.

“What are you…doing?” You manage to murmur out. Barely.

It’s hard to concentrate when he’s right there, in your personal space, looking a little too dashing for his own good.

“You’re right. I was being a selfish dick to you two days ago,” his grip on your chin is firm, his dark eyes even firmer, “so I’m sorry if you took it the wrong way.”

You laugh, “wait—is Minho actually apologizing? To me?”

“Don’t get used to it.”

“But this is a legendary moment,” you fake a mocking gasp at him, “I should record this right now.”

“Don’t make me regret it, Y/N.”

Chuckling, your eyes crinkle up as you allow yourself to roam over his features, “okay okay, I’ll stop.”

Minho fidgets and doesn’t say anything back. Weird, considering that he has a comeback for everything. You feel his hand drop from your chin as he takes a step back, lips pressed together and face looking like he’s uncomfortable being here.

Do you make him uncomfortable? It’s not a sight you’re used to seeing. Something tugs at your heartstrings but you try and ignore it.

“What is it?” You ask instead.

“There is…” his eyes dart away, “something I need to tell you.”

“About?”

His hand drops. Instantly, cold swoops in.

“About me. And you.”

You squint, “Minho I swear, if this is one of your stupid jokes again—“

“I like you.”

You blink.

He gazes back. His eyes. They’re gazing straight at you. Focused. Intense. Hot.

So hot it causes a flame to burst in your chest.

Wait…your mind backtracks, what?

“You—“ your mouth opens. Closes. Opens once more, "I'm sorry--what?"

His eyes answer in his stead. Dark orbs swirling with a depth that makes your skin explode in goosebumps. You realize, all too soon, how close you are, how -- if you want -- you can diminish the space between just with one single step forward.

"I like you," he says it honestly. Somehow, you relish in the way he says it. Clear and transparent. No inside games, no beating around the bush, "maybe more than a little."

You sense a but. "And?"

He rolls his eyes, "and maybe I just don't know how to show it."

"You mean, acting like a five year old boy who bullies his crush for fun because he likes her?"

"Something like that."

"Okay," you drag out the word in hopes that it will hide the way your heart suddenly skips a beat, the way your legs feel weaker at the knees, "so what--what now?"

"Well, that's the part where you tell me you like me back--" Minho catches himself upon seeing you raise a brow at him, "--or not. Your choice, your rules, doll."

Doll? You can feel the flame bursting through your chest and squeezing your heart. It aches so much it hurts, though it seems that your smile can't help tugging at the corners of your lips as you watch him and despite his seeming nonchalance about the whole matter, there's the slightest sheen of pink that gives him away.

Cute. Your brain chants.

"Well," you tilt your chin up in what you hope is a confident manner, "you normally take a girl out to dinner first."

"Is that a yes?" Minho smirks.

"Did you hear what I said?"

"Yes, yes I heard alright. Fine," he sighs and crosses his arms over his chest, "tomorrow night. Dinner. Be ready by six. I'll pick you up."

"Tomorrow? But wait I--"

"You better be there, doll."

And with that, he swivels on his feet and walk away while whistling a soft tune, leaving your heart flooded with a tide of mixed emotions that erupt through your chest and butterflies running along your skin.

---

Minho: I'll come pick you up by six. Be ready then. Wear something cute but casual. Nothing fancy.

Y/N: i like how you're telling me how to dress up when you're the one who's supposes to be wooing me.

Minho: oh you don't have to worry about that.

The way he replies so smoothly has goosebumps running along the back of your neck and you squeeze your hands into fists. You're still sitting on your bed, trying to digest all this new information as another flurry of messages burst through your phone, probably fron Kitty's latest reaction your news.

Kitty: what?! Minho?! And you?! He asked you out?!!! Omg how did I not see this coming!!!

Y/N: i thought you were a matchmaker.

Kitty: well YEAH before he went and ruined it!!! Anyway, what are you WEARING?!

Y/N: i have absolutely no idea. He said something cute but casual, so I'm guessing there's not gonna be any fancy dinners or anything.

Kitty: omg!! Minho and casual doesn't sound right. Maybe he really is trying to woo you!!

Y/N: should I wear shorts? Pants? A skirt?

Kitty: definitely no pants. Maybe that cute skater skirt you wore to Yuri's party last semester?

So you do. The skirt's baby blue colour contrasts well with the simple white tshirt you decided to wear with it, and throwing on a beige cardigan and some white sneakers complete the look. You add a small blue bow into your hair to match, and take one last look at yourself in hopes that you're looking exactly how Minho wants you to--

No. That's the wrong way to go about it. Minho likes you. Yes. You. Not the girls he's always so uses to seeing. You don't have to impress him.

That’s how you meet him right outside your door, with your newly-found resolve as you catch the simple white tee and ripped jeans, hair styled just the way he likes it, just enough to make every woman’s heart swoon.

His eyes do a once-over, “not bad, Y/N. You clean up nice.”

“Not bad?” You scoff, “I’m sure there are much better adjectives to use.”

He grins, “we’ll see.”

Minho brings you over to the Han river by electric scooter, with you standing in front and holding on to the handlebars as he guides you across the street even though it’s technically illegal for people to do such a thing. But with the wind in your hair and Minho’s warmth at your back, you don’t find yourself complaining.

“Han river?” You raise a brow at him as he parks and pays for his e-scooter ride, “really? So cliche.”

“The Han River is a classic,” he looks at you pointedly, “and I’ll have you know, I’ve never brought anyone here before.”

“Ooh, does that mean anything?” You wriggle your brows and he scoffs, looks away, “shut up.”

You weren’t expecting him, of all people, to be a fan of romantic gestures such as this. But when he parks his scooter in favor of walking alongside you by the trail — even with his multiple complaints about the dirt being too dirty and people needing to revisit their wardrobe fashion — you can’t help but wonder how much effort he’s putting into just being with you. Because knowing Minho, walking on crushed grass and having his shoes in dirt is quite a big deal.

“Look, do you want to be swooned or not?” He replies when you ask him the question, even looks offended that you’d dared ask such a thing, “I thought girls loved it when boys brought them here.”

“Yes I know that,” your grin is so wide that you’re surprised it hasn’t broken your face in two yet, “and don’t get me wrong. I love it, but I never thought you—of all people — would bring me here, of all places. It’s just not…”

“Not what?” He scowls.

“Just not you,” you confess, and then, seeing that his frown seems to take a permanent fixture on his face, you quickly add, “so the fact that you’re doing it…thanks. It means…something. You know?”

Heat springs through your cheeks at the sudden confession and you quickly look away, anywhere, but not before glancing at Minho to see that he has a faint smile dancing across his lips.

As the evening wears on, you get to talk about everything and anything; from worries about your future and the rigorous routine of adult life, about which game box is better and which restaurant serves the best korean noodles, which Minho argues does not exist, considering that every single noodle joint in Seoul is a pro in making them.

"We're the city of noodles and gimbap, obviously there's more than one good noodle stop."

"You speak like someone who hasn't tasted Uncle Cha's food yet. You know, the snack from across the road to campus."

Minho's nose wrinkles, "nah I'm good--"

"Oh no you don't," you grab onto his arm before he has a chance to run away, "nu-uh. Let's go get them right now, actually."

Surprisingly awed by Cha's cuisine, Minho has no other choice than to grumble out a faint agreement. It's no secret that it makes your day.

"But the environment--" Minho shudders, "I think I saw a cockcroach scuttling about in there."

“Oh yeah,” you let your eyes follow the wall and trail back up to him, pointing at his face, “there’s one.”

Shoving you playfully, he pulls out his tongue in such a childish manner you can’t help but burst out laughing.

You decide to take the walk back along the Han River even if it makes a detour, stopping by a coffee shop to grab some hot chocolate. The city lights now illuminate the city like stars scraping the earth’s surface and you can’t help but feel amazed by how beautiful the scenery is, with the wind trickling through your hair and soft music from busking sessions in the background.

“I’ve never actually walked along the Han River before,” you confess to him as you gaze down at the black waters sloshing against the river edge, “thanks, Minho.”

He has the look of a satisfied five year old child who got a gold star for his best behaviour, “you’re welcome.”

“Who knew you’d be the one to bring me here?” You jostle his shoulder playfully before taking a sip of your hot chocolate.

“What’s that you’re implying?” He frowns.

“That you’ve surprised me and my expectations.”

“And that’s supposed to be a compliment?” He looks horrified and dramatic, “you’re harsh, Y/N. I’ll have you know, I haven’t—“ he stops himself just in time for you to swoop in and push, “yeah? You haven’t what?”

“Nevermind,” he sips his own drink and you notice the way his ears have turned red.

You giggle, “tell me, have you gone on dates before?”

“Wha—of course I have! What kind of question is that?!” You keep on laughing and laughing at his face, shaking your head as you try and muffle your chuckles the best you can, “oh god—oh my god, you never have. It’s written all over your face—“

“You talk too much,” he mutters into his drink and turns away from you, ears as red as a fire engine.

You nudge him, smiling, loving that side of him that he’s never really shown anyone before. Because you all know the cool, confident Minho. But this, this side of Minho is uncharted territory.

And you’re all here for it.

“Why not, though?”

His eyes narrow as he looks back at you, “what?”

“Why haven’t you brought anyone out before?’ You fidget with your cup, glad that it’s warming your hands so you can busy yourself with something, “because I’ve seen you, with different types of girls. All the time—“

“Yeah that didn’t mean anything.”

“But you still went out with them.”

“Is that jealousy I hear in your voice?”

“What?” Heat flushes through you, “no, I just—“

That’s when you feel it. His hand, fluttering up to yours. He pries your hold from your cup gently before bringing it down between you, fingers entangling with yours like they’re meant to be there in the first place.

And when your eyes flutter to lock onto his, there’s liquid warmth in those pools of brown, a tenderness you’ve seldom seen before.

“This is new too,” he murmurs then, “all of this.”

Your heart skips a beat. There are no words to be said.

You swallow thickly, look away, and don’t miss the soft chuckle that falls from his lips as he keeps swinging your hands back and forth between you, his smile a permanent fixture on his face. One that your lips mirror faintly as you keep walking back towards your dorms in comforting silence.

———

“Was that romantic enough for you?”

Minho’s question is met with a chuckle from your part as you finally reach your dormitory. A few stray students are still studying deep into the night, some already asleep on the deep blue couches in the common room as you make your way through, hands still entertained from earlier.

Your heart has been skipping and rollerblading into ecstasy ever since.

“Hmm,” you hum, even tilting your head in thought, “guess so. Though if I had any complaints—“

“You wouldn’t tell me, because there aren’t any,” Minho finishes for you, “right?”

“Oh i have plenty, but I’ll keep it for another time,” you flash him a mischievous smile. You’ve reached your corridor by that time, your words causing Minho to shoot you a suggestive look.

“another time?” He repeats with a cock of his brow.

You bite your lip and look away to avoid the fact that there’s a faint, yet growing smile on your face, “yeah. Maybe.”

The said young man’s lips pulls into a small smile, “I can work with that.” He murmurs, and something warm pools in the middle of your chest.

It’s hard to control yourself around Minho especially when he’s not being a little shit. Because the fact is; he’s very enticingly charming and likable.

“Well, that’s me,” you’ve reached your door then, glad that for once your dorm room is free of activity since both your roommates have gone home for the Christmas season, and turn towards Minho.

“Thanks you, for tonight,” your cheeks are warm with heat but you can’t resist grinning up at him, “I had more fun than expected.”

Minho sucks in a dramatic breath, “wow. I think i finally got a compliment out of your mouth.”

“Trust me, that’s me being nice.”

“I know,” he flashes a grin at you and before you know it, his arm has gone up to press against the doorway, caging you in and suddenly making you feel smaller than you are already. His body heat rolls into you in waves, the scent of his boyish cologne making you dizzy as your body leans into him unconsciously.

“So,” he breathes. He’s so close, so close that if you move just a little, your noses would brush, “since I’ve taken you out on a date, do I get to kiss you now?”

Air stills in your lungs. Your teeth find your lower lip.

“It depends,” your whisper is so soft he barely catches it, too enthralled by the way your mouth curves and moves with the words, “will you take me out again?”

“If her highness wishes,” Minho chuckles, tilting his head so that your noses brush. Electricity zaps through your body, goosebumps raising at the back of your neck, “I’ll take you wherever you want.”

Your eyes lock. There’s warmth, want. Desire swimming through his own pools of brown.

“Sounds like a promise,” you breathe, “so when will that—“

“Y/N.”

The way he says your name has a knot tightening in your stomach. Your body tenses in anticipation.

He’s gazing at you as if he’s only just seeing you. His lips are so close, you can feel his breaths on your lips. Hot against cold. He smells divine.

You’re so lost in your own daydream that you respond a few seconds late, “y-yeah?”

“Do me a favor?”

One hand cradles your cheek. You freeze.

“Hm?”

“Stop talking.”

And before you can do anything else, his mouth presses against yours.

Fireworks explode. Behind your eyelids. Through your body. Blood races and your brain goes fuzzy with want and desire as Minho’s other hand wraps around your waist to tug you in, his other hand clasping your jaw firmly as he kisses you. Once. Twice. He’s a good kisser, yet so gentle and tentative.

You’re taken by surprise for a few seconds, before you finally melt into him and kiss him back. A sigh escapes you as your hands go up to wrap around his neck, and the groan of satisfaction he lets out makes your entire nerves buzz with delight.

Tilting his head to the side to kiss you deeper, longer, you let out a gasp against his mouth as he pulls you even closer still, as if he can’t get enough of you. You haven’t realized you’re pressed to the door until your back meets the hard wood underneath and you yelp softly at the way his tongue swipes over your bottom lip to ask for entrance.

He kisses you softly, yet so firmly as if you’re the only thing keeping him alive, satiated. His hand at your hip moves up, tracing the back of your spine, the side of your rib cage before brushing against the corner of your bra and making you squirm while your hands curl into his hair. You tug, causing a grumble to echo out of Minho’s chest. His tongue darts in and you part for him like melted butter so that he can kiss you and ravage you without restraint.

Everything falls away, with only Minho being your anchor. You smell him, feel him against you, and want nothing else other than the dizzying rush that makes your stomach erupt with fireflies.

Your mouths part with a pop and he takes this chance to nip at your jaw, littering kisses down your neck before suckling on a soft patch of skin. Your body reacts instantly, curving into him as your lips part in a soft, minuscule moan. That’s enough to snap him back to attention.

He gazes up at you, chest heaving and all heavy breaths. His lips are swollen and red and just so beautiful. Hair tousled like he’s just tumbled out of bed and you quickly decide that’s the look you love best on him.

The curfew bell sounds and he curses.

“Minho,” you murmur when he leans in, noses brushing to capture your lips into his once more. You sigh, eyes falling shut as he takes your next set of words away.

It’s almost as if he’s drunk on you, as if he just can’t get enough.

The thought makes you shiver. Your heart swells with emotion.

“Minho,” you murmur once more against his lips. He groans, pulls away onto to bury his face into your neck and humming, “yeah?”

“Curfew’s in two minutes.”

“I know,” he’s pressing open-mouthed kisses over your collarbone and you can’t help but whimper and cradling his head closer to you despite trying to make sense of your thoughts.

“Y—You should go,” you stutter out but it’s almost like you’re talking to yourself. He’s clearly in his own world, suckling onto your skin and leaving purple marks to claim you as his. He pulls away, groaning appreciatively at the sight you make.

“Do I really have to go?” His dark eyes — darker than you’ve ever seen them — flickers over your features. There’s a kind of hunger to them that makes you shiver.

“Yes,” you stammer out, heart almost bursting out of your chest when the boy merely tugs you close before he rests his head atop yours. He holds you, breaths you in, and your eyes close on their own accord, taking in the moment like it’s the last.

“I’ll see you in the morning,” his whisper grazes the shell of your ear and you shiver. He pulls back and there’s the kind of crooked smile that makes your heart tighten, “goodnight, Y/N.”

“Good night, Minho,” you murmur and dropping a last kiss atop your temple, you watch him walk away, raising a salute with his hand as he does so.

———

A/N: GAHHH IDK WHAT I WROTE AND I GAVE UP AT THE END I HOPE IT’S ALRIGHT BUT ANYWAY I’VE BEEN OBSSESSED WITH MINHO THESE DAYS.

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vase-of-lilies · 8 months

Note

… for the tiny tiger au. How about Wanda and Nat freaking out thinking that R got out. Which we did, we’re alone outside. But instead of running like they think we did, we found a baby fox and start poking it and what not to see if it’s alive (cause it’s sleeping) and thinking it’s cute we bring it back to mommy and mama who are in hysterics trying to find out where we went, only to turn when tapped to find us covered in mud/dirt presenting the new friend we have to them, wide eyed kan we eep em? Mommy mama pweeesss?

Nat and Wanda don’t know what to do side eyeing one another because they don’t want their baby to cry, but also. It’s a fox.

Muddy Buddies

Paring: Mommy!Wanda Maximoff x Little!Reader x Momma!Natasha Romanoff

Warnings: this is a dark AU, wandering off into the woods, finding a friend, fluff, heavy MD/LG, needles, rabies shots

A/N: This immediately reminds me of this video I saw where this kid found a raccoon and is crying because she can’t take him home 😭 Another small drabble for Into The Tiny Verse:) Also, I'm so sorry. I am so tired so if it sounds like a 10-year-old wrote this (my vocab sucks when I'm tired) then just- Idk bear with me here 😭

Your little self was none the wiser when an opportunity to go outside came up. You didn't have any intention of escaping from your new caregivers, all you wanted to do was go on an adventure with your lion! And when this opportunity came up, you took it.

Natasha had just returned from her trip to town, grocery bags in her arms. Usually, she was much better at keeping an eye on you when Wanda was busy, and when she didn't see you come running to the door to say hi to her, she figured you were asleep or with your mommy.

At this point, you were now a couple feet into the forest surrounding the cabin. Not wanting to scare your mommies, you never lost sight of the house. That is until a little hint of orange just a little further inside the trees caught your eye.

Your curiosity moved your feet closer to the unknown blob of color, and once you saw it you let out a soft gasp. Your hand covered your mouth and you moved just a little closer.

It was a baby fox!

Looking around, you grab a stick with some leaves still on it and you kneel down next to the still fox. Is it dead? Your head pushes. Why isn't the mother here? Another question you ask yourself. With the stick in your hand, you gently poke the soft bum of the fox. The animal twitches, and you jump in surprise. Dropping the stick, you crawl to it, not caring about the mud on your pants or hands.

The small fox squeaks, and opens her little eyes, looking up at you. However, it did not run away. Instead, she yawned and got up from her position on the muddy forest floor. She stretches and even approaches you. Carefully, you hold your hand out and you smile as the fox's wet nose sniffs your fingers.

"Aren't chu jus' the chutest ting?" You whisper, scratching the fox's chin. "Yous name is Butto! (Butter)"

Butter lets out a small whine and a raspy bark, and you pick her up. She looks around as you stand up with her, and she slightly starts to struggle. You hold her comfortably tight, and you walk quickly back to the cabin.

Upon entering the cabin once again, you hear your mommies' worried voices. They shouldn't be worried... I'm right here! They don't hear you come in through the front door, too focused on reviewing the camera footage from outside of the warm abode. The two women don't even hear you enter their office!

Holding Butter and Leo (your lion) in one arm, you gently tap Wanda's shoulder to get her attention with the other hand. Her head snaps to the side, her eyes widening when she sees you. "Tiny! Oh my- Oh, and tiny's friend..." She says with a hesitant laugh, pulling her hands away from your muddy self and your muddy friend.

You tilt your head at her reaction to you but shake it off to ask the more important question at hand. You look up at the woman with doe eyes, "kan we eep em? Mommy mama pweeesss?" Wanda and Nat look at each other, surprised to say the least, but not wanting to hear you cry if they take your friend away.

"Who- uh- who is this, little one?" Natasha says, looking down at the fox in your arms.

"Her name Butto'" You say nonchalantly, as if it was just a new stuffed animal.

"Butter?" Wanda confirms and looks at her wife, eyes wide and asking for some type of support. Natasha can’t help but chuckle, and she kneels down in front of you.

“Tiny, I know this little one looks like a friend, but these little guys are tedious. They aren’t very friendly,” Nat frowns, starting to take the fox from your arms.

“Nnnnooooo! No she fren, mama, she nice,” you protest, pulling yourself away from the woman. “She tan stay wif me in m’room, and she can snuggle wif us!”

Wanda and Natasha devise a plan to get the little fox away from you and back to its mother, and they do that by putting you outside with Butter. In the backyard of course.

Butter in fact wasn’t nice. She scratched you, bit you, and made you cry, but your intentions on keeping her never wavered. Your little brain was just seeing another friend, and that’s all you thought this little fox was.

Wanda offered you a deal. “How about we make a trade?” She asks with a smile. “How about I take Butter, and you take Pancakes?” Your mommy pulls a plush fox from behind her back, and you tilt your head. “Just like you need mommy to take care of you, so does little Butter, and we need to get her back to her mommy.” Wanda says, and you start to understand.

“Butter has mommy too?” You ask, tears forming in your eyes at the thought of being taken away from your caretakers. Wanda nods softly and takes Butter from your hands.

“Yeah, so let’s get her back to her home and we can play with Pancakes all night. How does that sound?” Wanda asks you, finally pulling the baby fox from your scratched up hands.

Natasha had contacted Bruce Banner. He may be a human doctor, but he knows where this little fox can go to get real care. He even said that you and your mommies could visit her too! While Wanda held you in her arms, Natasha was distracting you while Bruce gave you a few rabies shots, and a few other vaccines to help you stay healthy after touching a wild animal.

You were not a fan of needles, and the two women knew that.

As you waved goodbye to Bruce and Butter, you sighed softly. “Butto’ sc’atched me,” you sniffle, looking down at your hands that now stung.

“Oh honey, it’s ok, let’s go get you cleaned up for dinner, ok?” Wanda says, picking you up bridal-style and taking you to the bathroom to wash up.

Once your bath was finished, Wanda bandaged your hands and arms and got you all warmed up in your pjs. After dinner, your mommies kept their promise and you played with your new (fluff-filled) friend until you fell asleep!

“We need to watch her carefully…” Natasha chuckles, stroking her knuckle over your sleeping face.

Wanda nods, “Agreed!”

#natasha romanoff x reader #wanda maximoff x reader #into the tiny verse #wandanat x female reader #mommy wanda maximoff x reader #mommy!natasha romanoff x little!reader #mommy wanda x little reader #mommy!wandanat x reader #mommy!wanda x little!reader

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lip-rings-and-quiffs · 2 years

Text

Tiresome

Luke + y/n (f!reader sorry didn’t realize until rn)

+masterlist

A/N:a cute lil imagine (according to me), idk how the music industry works and it shows…it shows here lol. So sorry about that🥲. Also gimme feedback pls🥺💙

Luke sighed heavily as he typed away at his computer, stopping every now and then to rub at his sleepy eyes. If he was to describe today with one word he would definitely pick the word tiresome. Management had been on his back ever since he got up, asking about how the songs are coming along, how the writing process is going, if he got a new melody etc. etc.

He sweared they only wanted to annoy him on his free day. He’d seen how the rest of the boys were having fun, throwing a pool party when he went on instagram a while ago. He would’ve gone too but with the long hours they’ve been pulling at the studio, he just wanted to stay home and rest for a while, maybe spend some time with his girl.

But the universe had to go out of its way to tell him he can’t have what he want. His girlfriend of course had to go to work that day and his so called management doesn’t understand the fact that “free day” means they should leave him the fuck alone. Since he had nothing better to do he started to finish a song he’d been working on with Ashton. And he was dumb enough to let everyone know what he’d been doing causing his “management” to keep butting in every five minutes asking about it.

He’s been in the industry for a literal decade now, he knows how it works, he knows how to write a damn song alone. So yeah it’s been a bad day.

He groaned as he saw how he’s gotten the last part of the verse wrong. Just as he lifted his fingers to correct it, his phone started ringing. Petunia, his dog who was sleeping next to his feet got up and walked away with a noise that’s so close to a huff. Luke mumbled a sorry to the now empty room, taking his phone to see who it was. With furrowed eyebrows, he turned his phone off, mentally smacking him in the face for not realizing that was an option five hours ago.

He sinked down on his chair, rubbing his palm all over his face causing the skin to turn a shade darker. “Lukey” he heard her small voice as she padded into his homemade studio. She walked toward him until she was situated behind the blue office chair, then snaked her arms around his broad shoulders until they rest atop of his clothed chest, resting her head on top of his.

Luke sighed with closed eyes, basking in her presence as he felt himself falling into the relaxation he’d been craving the whole day. “What’s wrong?” She asked softly, running her fingertips over his old nirvana shirt. He sighed again, for the hundredth time that night as he said, “Some people just don’t seem to understand what free day means. I’ve been trying to get this song right for more than two hours and they’re making me feel like shit!”

“Baby” she whispered voice laced with worry or maybe it was sympathy, who knows “I’m so sorry”. “ ‘s fine. Better now you’re here” he said taking her hand in his, interlacing their fingers. He felt her lips pressing little pecks on top of his head, her free hand coming to cup his cheek affectionately. It made him feel all fuzzy inside. Like his whole body was infected with tingles. “I love you” she said as he tugged at her hand until she came towards him. Luke sat up, bringing her to his lap as she let out a shriek, chuckling at the sound. “I love you more” he finally said as she got comfortable on top of him.

“Not possible” she retorted cheekily, pressing a kiss to his stubbled cheek. “That won’t do” he stated, talking about the little peck as he brought her face toward him with his hand, pressing his lip fully to her plump ones. She kissed back with equal eagerness, wanting nothing more than to melt into his embrace.

“Maybe you should take a few days off” she suggested after their lips parted. “Today was my day off Y/N/N” Luke mumbled, nuzzling his nose against her forehead. “That won’t do” she repeated back his words with furrowed eyebrows.

“We just have to finish this albu-” he started only to be cut off by her “I don’t care Luke. You need rest, the album can wait”. “But the fans-” she glared at him until he shut up. “Now, I’m going to go call Mikey and make sure you get at least a week off and when I get back I expect you to be on the bed with your phone turned off mister!” she ordered, playfully dabbing her index finger at his chest, getting back up from his lap and going to find her phone.

Luke finally got up from the uncomfortable chair, smiling at his girlfriend’s antics as he walked towards their shared bedroom, catching the sight of her with her phone tucked between her ear and shoulder as she was searching something from her bag as he walked by.

He crawled onto the bed, kissing petunia on top of her head as the pet made a sound of approval. Within a few seconds he’s deep in his slumber, Y/N who walked inside to tell him the good news couldn’t help the smile that itched up her face as she took in his sleepy face, he looked so peaceful.

She bit her lip, taking a quick photo of the duo before crawling on to the bed and kissing him on the forehead.

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thespectralvision · 4 months

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I typed up a little thing on Facebook, where I'm trying to be more open about my struggles and less internal, and I wanted to share it here too, since this is my space to be my weird little robot loving self:

It doesn’t take long for most people to realize I’m a Marvel fan. Usually that comes with a follow up question- who is your favorite character? I love watching the reactions; it’s clear people expect me to say Spider-Man or Iron Man or one of the other, more ‘popular,’ heroes. My favorite reaction when I said it was Vision was a comment made of “That’s a bold choice.”

The Vision certainly isn’t the most popular Avenger, it’s true. I’ve talked with artists at conventions who don’t bother bringing prints of him because they just don’t sell and space is limited. I see the comments on conventions where Mr. Bettany is a guest saying “Is Vision the best you can do?”. It sucks seeing that, and upsets me because every character is important to someone. Yes he’s not the most exciting or action packed hero. He’s kind of silly looking. He’s a thinker more than a fighter. And he’s been treated pretty badly in writing since the late 80’s and forgotten until very recently.

Trying to explain why he’s my favorite would take me days. Even choosing my favorite comic run/issue is hard. I would argue that Tom King’s series The Vision from 2015-16 is my favorite series of all time. I’ve read it over and over, and while it’s contested by some as being out of character I think it’s one of her few times Vision (and more importantly his trauma) has really been explored. I’ll talk about that run in another post maybe. I’m also very fond of some one off issues, like Avengers Spotlight 40 from 1990, where (White) Vision finally seeks help for everything he’s struggling with.

The comic I always reread on really bad days though, the one that really explains what Vision has become for me, is Avengers: No Road Home 10, the finale of the run. When I met Paul Bettany I mentioned this story to him - I don’t know if he’s read it or not, but he was kind enough to listen. In the run the godess Nyx wants to engulf the world in darkness, silencing everything. As someone who fights depression and has for a long time she feels almost symbolic of that. Quiet, calm, darkness and the end of light. She plans on doing this by finding The House of Ideas and destroying it, and at that point the run becomes somewhat metaphorical. Vision is the only Avenger able to follow her in before she closes the door, and ends up in the house - another dimension made of stories, where he faces Nyx alone. Now some context for the run - it begins with Vision, broken beyond repair and almost seeking death, believing he will finally be human if he can find a true death. Wanda and Monica and the others are very upset by this, trying to stop their friend and help him understand that death is not what makes us human (It is Vision after all, who always strives for something he can never truly be, while endlessly embodying the best of humanity despite that). He followed Nyx in because he wanted to die…And then we get this panel.

I won’t spoil much more, it’s a personal favorite run and I highly recommend it, but Vision eventually finds, and then becomes the light that defeats the darkness…using the power of stories, and memories, of his friends. And that’s what he became for me. I think about his stories, and the stories I want to tell about him to fight my own inner darkness. I paint images of him in bright colors and focus on the lights because it makes me feel better. He’s powered by the sun in the comics, and even in the MCU often symbolized with light through hologram like effects and the glowing Mind Stone. WandaVision made it clear he was the bright spot in Wanda’s life too. That’s just who and what Vision is in the Marvel-verses. One issue used the phrase "You were meant to be a Vision of mankind's brightest future" to describe him. And that’s one of the many reasons he’s my favorite. That’s what super hero stories are for I think, inspiring us and showing these silly spandex clad heroes against impossible odds to inspire us to fight the seemingly impossible things in our lives too.

I really love thinking about and writing these sorts of things. I tried blogging about comics and Vision for awhile but people didn’t seem interested. I think I’m going start doing it again for me, because much like my art it makes me happy sharing this silly Synthezoid with the world. Thank you Marvel, I never expected I would be so emotional about a red robot man but here we are.

#the vision #wandavision #marvel #mcu #Spec's Thoughts

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ji-ang · 4 months

Text

DRC Valentine’s Day Fest: A Rebel(CA)p(T)ain Reclist

Part I: In-Universe Settings

Fics set in a galaxy far, far away.

Return to main post for other cat related rebelcaptain content! (this link is now fixed!)

In the spirit of clicking links, today and every day is a good day to click to freely donate ad revenue from this site to the UNWRA (United Nations Relief and Works Agency for Palestine Refugees in the Near East).

Recs below! 💕

Alphabetical by author! All links are to the ao3 version of the fic because that’s how and where I found them.

I've tried to do my research and identify authors' tumblrs if I'm able to tag them. If I tagged the wrong person or if you're tagged and you don't want to be, just let me know. 💕

I used to be a king alone by @brynnmclean

Cassian and Jyn have some downtime while on a mission, explore a marketplace and pick up a furry friend. The author uses the tag “A Date-Shaped Mission or a Mission-shaped Date” which is honestly better and more succinct than any additional summary I could add. This fic features a bit of droidnerd!Cassian, which is another love of mine.

por más que crezca, vas a estar aquí by @firefeufuego

A very cool His Dark Materials style daemon insertion into a SW universe. Jyn’s spiritual manifestation is a cat that keeps Cassian company through the years.

Failure To Communicate by FluffMonster42

A multi-mission fic featuring the chaos duo of Han & Jyn, made even more excellent by the fact that Jyn acquires a loth cat that helps her & Cassian get over some of their emotional constipation.

the fact that you’re alive is a miracle by @fortysevenswrites

Presumed dead!Cassian is found alive and brought back to Jyn, who has in the meantime dedicated herself post-war to running a home for children and a clowder of tookas (do they have their own collective noun?). It’s very sweet.

1653 DAYS WITHOUT LUCK by @fulcrumstardust

I am 99% I didn’t know tookas were a thing until this fic, so I am forever grateful to it opening my eyes to that. 😂

It’s a story I enjoyed reading for a lot of reasons, but to focus on the cat facet: The tooka in this story is more conceptual/a child’s toy for most of the fic, but it’s a very cute element that brings Cassian and his daughter together.

Freya the Tooka by grexigone

Some very sweet (slightly bittersweet) Jyn backstory AND all sorts of adorable tooka interactions? Please and thank you.

Tooky Verse by @imsfire2

This series feels like an incredibly warm hug. Or, you know, a cuddle with a cat. Part 1 is tooka acquisition, Parts 2 & 3 are very cute snapshots of life on base in between missions.

Cheetah Tongue by @literatiruinedme

Short scenes of Cassian and Jyn’s cat on base. A bunch of funny, sometimes slightly awkward, and sweet vignettes and incredibly accurate depiction of cat behaviour.

Cat Cafe Verse by @luciechat

You know how all we want (most of the time) is for them to have nice, soft things? This series is absolutely a universe where they get to have ALL of them. Jyn and Cassian travel the verse and have to figure out what to do with all of the strays they can’t help but take in. This fic also tickles my droidnerd!Cassian itch.

Back to main post (this link is now fixed!)

#rebelcaptain #reclist #drcvalentinescelebration

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astxrwar · 5 months

Text

wrapped in red

SUMMARY: You buy Beck a record for his collection on a whim. It's not a Christmas present, really. The fact that you give it to him on Christmas is irrelevant.

Future-fic oneshot in TTB!verse, courtesy of me writing this non-chronologically.

RATING: Teen

WORD COUNT: 4.5K

CONTENT: Christmas fluff. I cut the scene right before the angst because this is a present to Me And My Brainworms and also the three people who care about TTB!verse. Merry Christmas!!!

It’s an impulse decision, really.

The two-hour-drive home from seeing family brings you past Beck’s place before you reach your house. It’s dark and it’s cold and it’s nine-thirty at night and you’ve used most of your critical thinking skills navigating the chaos that is family holidays when you come up on the turn you’d have to take off of the main artery through town to get to his apartment. There’s all of a handful of seconds to attempt to think it through, and what you do end up thinking is mostly fuck it, whatever, and then you hit your blinker and veer off onto the side street.

It’s not until you’ve parked and gotten to the elevator and are at long last standing still, not moving at all, walking or driving, that you start to have doubts. The little red lights on the panel above the door flash to two and then three and then the elevator car stops and the doors open and you have another few seconds to consider just hitting the ground floor button and going home, going to sleep in your own bed for the first time in a week and texting him tomorrow, but—

But that defeats the purpose , an entirely too sentimental part of your brain decries, It’s Christmas today .

And— yeah.

Yeah.

There’s this kind of nervous energy gathering somewhere in your chest as you come up on his door, staticky and frantic and buzzing, pressing up to your throat. You have to steel yourself to even knock, breathe deep and set your jaw and prepare for— well. Anything. Beck isn’t predictable, even now; he hates surprises just in general, and he’d explicitly and profusely expressed disdain and even outright derision for the holiday writ large. There is a nonzero chance he could take this as, like, an insult. Or a manipulation attempt. Or some other entirely negative thing you couldn’t distort your perception enough to even begin to anticipate.

You stand there for at least an entire minute before you work up the courage to knock.

The tension you feel in all of your limbs right down to your fingertips is the strongest it’s been in months, almost as bad as it was the first time you ever came here, or maybe— maybe even worse. There’s an edge to it now that feels nauseous and clammy and disorienting, like you might actually be about to make a massive fucking mistake, a grievous and unfixable error, fuck up in some different and much more terrible way. That part— the miscalculating— that’s not new. What is new is the feeling like it might matter, if you do, in ways unrelated to your pride.

There’s a rustle of movement on the other side of the door and you imagine the jolt that you feel at the sound must have done something awful and entirely unhealthy to your blood pressure, and then the lock turns and there’s your heart rate, too, your pulse thudding somewhere in your throat and your brain suddenly and unhelpfully deciding it’s now convinced this was a bad decision.

Beck opens the door and the feeling doesn’t go away, but something else starts up at the sight of him; you realize dumbly that you haven’t seen him once since the semester ended all the way back in early December, and between his being in the last stages of finalizing his most recent research for publication and a presentation down in San Diego and you just dealing with regular run-of-the-mill finals week shit, you’d really not been alone besides the commute for— what, a month?

And then, even more dumbly, you realize you’d missed him.

He doesn’t say anything to you, just stands there, staring, expression impassive but not displeased, eyebrows raised, just a little; he’s just in jeans and a tee-shirt and that’s kind of another strange shock to your nervous system, because you’d seen him really only in work clothes for the better part of a month, too.

“Hi,” you say eloquently. You’re holding the record up to your chest with your arms sort of wrapped around it, probably too tight, and you have to remind yourself to relax before you fucking break it, or something; that would suck.

“Hi,” he repeats, a little bit mocking, his mouth curving up just slightly at the corners. It’s probably embarrassing how fucking fast even just that tamps down a lot of your anxiety, has you feeling a lot more like smiling and a lot less like you��re exhausted and socially drained beyond recognition and grumpy as hell from being stuck in a car for two hours, but you just don’t care.

“Are you busy?” you say eventually, bouncing a little on the balls of your feet, that nervousness manageable, now, but not gone.

That gets this disbelieving almost-laugh, a sharp exhale through his nose and a more obviously raised eyebrow, “No,” he replies, like it’s a stupid question.

He steps to the side and gestures for you to come in; he doesn’t move, when you do, except to close the door behind you, and you’re painfully aware of how close he is, how your shoulder nearly touches his chest as you balance on one foot and then the other to work off both your boots

“I thought you were with your family,” he says, his tone mild and expression unreadable.

“I was,” you stack your boots in the tray next to his and follow him when he turns and moves deeper into the apartment; it looks the same as ever, impeccably organized and display-catalog clean, darkened except for the light on in the foyer and one tableside lamp in the living room. “I left after dinner, I just got back.”

He pauses at the edge of the kitchen by the bar counter to shoot you this odd look that you can’t parse. “Have you even been home yet?”

“Well–“ you furrow your brow and prod at the inside of your cheek with your tongue and in no way attempt to manage your expression with whatever extremely limited amount of social awareness you still have access to after the elaborate and draining performance that is Family Holiday Gatherings, “No, I was on the way, and I–“ you trail off with a wordless shrug, feeling incredibly awkward again.

He does actually smile at that, one of those effortlessly smug and self-assured ones that used to annoy you and still kind of does, just less in a caustic and frustrated way and more just— fond. “And you what,” he says, resting his weight back on the counter and appraising you with this amused warmth in his eyes; he’s so relaxed, and it’s fucking distracting. He looks good. He always looks good. “Just missed me that much, honey?”

“Actually—“ you sidestep the question because it’s safer than attempting outright denial when it’s almost kind of halfway true, and you instead just bite the bullet and say, “Actually, I have something. For you. That I wanted to— give you.”

That languid openness to his posture becomes something neutral and impenetrable so fast that it would be disconcerting, if it were anyone else. “Told you, I don’t do Christmas.”

His expression is unreadable again, and he folds his arms over his chest, and you have to tap into some of that deep-seated and instinctual stubbornness and reactive spite to keep yourself from just saying nevermind.

“It’s not a Christmas present,” you reply, defensive. “And look,” you’re still holding the record close to your chest, half-hidden in the draping edges of your unzipped and too-big winter coat, and you unfold your arms and hold it out flat in front of you. “It’s not even wrapped. So it’s not any type of present at all, Christmas or otherwise.”

Beck raises an eyebrow and stares at you for a long moment, before his eyes flick down to your outstretched hands.

“I was just at the store doing shopping for my family,” you say, talking before you even really mean to, that flighty and awkward nervousness driving you to fill the stretch of seemingly endless silence, “And I saw it, and you said once that you like Jeff Buckley because he’s a phenomenal guitar player, and so I just figured— I mean, I didn’t think I saw it in your collection. And I thought you might— like it. Like to— have it.”

He looks up at you again and it’s too dark in the kitchen for you to be able to tell if there’s warmth in his expression or if you’re just hoping for it; there’s not anything outwardly negative, at least, though that really doesn’t do anything to ease that anxiety, clammy and slimy and cold like a chunk of half-thawed dirt in your stomach, the kind that’ll sometimes get pulled up by the snowplows and just melts into gross muddy slush on the side of the road.

He takes the record from your hands; it’s still wrapped in that thin sheet of plastic, and it glints a little as it moves, catching the low light from the living room.

“I don’t do gifts, either,” he says finally.

“Okay, well, it’s not a gift. I’m not— gifting you anything, I’m just— giving it to you.” You can feel your expression furrowing deeper into a frown, and you reach your arms out again, motioning for it, “If you don’t want it, that’s fine, I have the receipt, I can just return it—“

“You know, you’re not supposed to try to take it back,” he says, and there— it’s obvious enough that you can see it, now, the faint beginnings of a smile, and something in your chest does this kind of traitorous and horrible flip at the sight of it, all that tension melting out of you, frost in sight of the sun. “Your etiquette is abysmal, honey. Frankly, it’s an affront to the spirit of the holiday.”

You can’t manage to hold onto your frustration at all of his stupid and entirely predictable mind games for more than a handful of seconds and you’re smiling a lot wider than you mean to be, “I can’t believe you were able to say any of that with a straight face.”

He scoffs and turns to set the record on the countertop, “Yes you can.”

Beck doesn’t say thank you. You don’t really expect him to, and it doesn’t even matter to you, anyways; your brain had responded with this terrible jolt of what felt like pure unadulterated dopamine just at the fact that he’d wanted to keep it at all, and for all that you know that’s probably a bad thing to be feeling, it still doesn’t register as one.

No, it feels—

It feels good.

He’s still turned, hands on the countertop, and he drums his fingers against the stone surface for a moment with this little pensive frown and then he looks at you, shrewd and searching, then finally says with this deeply aggrieved sigh, “All right, come on,” and turns back towards the foyer.

You stare after him for a long moment, uncomprehending. “What?”

He glances back at you with this indulgent and long-suffering expression, like he’s reluctantly entertaining a child. “I’m taking you somewhere, come on.”

“What— I literally just took my boots off,” you say, plaintive, still walking back over to the entry hallway anyways, nudging one of them in the shoe rack with your toe.

“So?”

“So now I’ve gotta untie them and retie them, and it’s tedious .”

“This would be a non-issue if you’d untie them in the first place to take them off, like you’re supposed to,” he says, patronizing, prodding at you as he shrugs on his coat, and you know you must be doing a terrible job at suppressing your smile as you crouch to lace your boots up, but you just can’t bring yourself to care.

“Where are we going?” you ask, once then and then again as he locks the door behind you, okay but really where are we going, and then again in the elevator, come on just tell me where until he finally levels you with this vaguely frustrated look.

“Nowhere, if you don’t shut the fuck up and stop asking,” he says, snappish and irritable, and you laugh aloud at that without even really meaning to.

“Okay, so—“

“If you ask again I’m turning around.”

It shouldn’t be funny, probably, because you can’t tell if he’s serious or if this is one of those illusory and affected bits, but it is, maybe just because you’re really tired or maybe because you’ve missed him, Beck, the person, and this is just how he is. Not even pleasant, kind of an asshole, and it seems almost impossible to try to remember how it fucking bothered you, before, when now really the only things you feel are this kind of exasperated sense of affection and an entirely nonsensical desire to laugh. it’s bizarre and it’s bizarrely endearing that he can manage to be this abrasive on fucking Christmas, of all days, and that just makes something inside of you feel warm and bright and remarkably fucking fond.

“I was going to ask why, not where,” you say, stifling the sound of another laugh you fail to entirely repress in the sleeve of your coat as if it’s a yawn; he notices, you can tell by the brief glance that he shoots over, his eyes breaking from the road for a second and his expression shifting to something more exasperated than actually cross. “If that’s allowed. Why are we going somewhere?”

He frowns and says nothing for a moment and then flicks on his blinker to take a turn down this residential road you’ve never been on before. “Because you can’t follow fucking directions,” he says, and it’s probably supposed to be acerbic but it doesn’t quite get there.

You open your mouth to say something back probably along the lines of okay what does that even mean, except then you round this bend and the scene outside— which had mostly just been this murky field of gray-black broken up by the darker shapes of trees and houses and occasional glow of lights still on in the windows and on porches— the sky takes on this sort of whitish glow, on the horizon, getting brighter as you get closer to cresting the top of this gently sloping hill, and then—

“Oh,” you say, when you do, “Oh, wow.”

It’s got to be somebody’s yard, just another large, sparsely-wooded property with a house somewhere on it like the dozens of others you’d passed on the street, but it’s like the inhabitants had gone out and purchased a fucking neighborhood’s worth of Christmas lights— there are these long strings of those classic teardrop-shaped bulbs in red and green and white wound around the trunks of trees and then up through the branches, but then there’s other ones in purples and blues and oranges and yellows. there’s so many of those complicated little light-up images, too, scenes of reindeer hitched to sleighs and scattered around the yard that flash in a way that’s supposed to make it look like they’re moving, and there’s this big glittering Santa Claus over the tiny iced-over pond in the center of the yard and that’s gently flickering Merry Christmas overhead, glowing smiling snowmen and mismatched arrangements of presents and gently swaying snowflakes and even this toy train on a track that winds out and around the edges of the property. it’s all so fucking disorganized and overdone and bright and probably ridiculously fucking expensive and it’s just—

“You’re such a child,” he says, with another irritated and entirely overdramatic sigh; you’re not really paying attention, turned to look before he drives too far past it, but what he does instead is pull over to the side of the road and unbuckle his seatbelt and crack the car door and look at you, expectant and still vaguely aggrieved.

“Oh,” you say again. “Are— is this allowed?”

“Yes.” Beck gives you another one of those looks that’s meant to be insulting, like you’re being especially stupid. He pockets his keys and gets out of the car and you follow him, catching up before he crosses the street.

“The town had to put up signs to designate parking,” tells you, gesturing in the distance to a post further up the road, the contents facing oncoming cars and turned away from you, “These people have been doing this for years, drawing crowds and creating all this annoying fucking rush-hour traffic and— “ he shoves you out into the road to cross it when there’s no cars coming in either direction and rolls his eyes when you glare back halfheartedly, “—and giving me migraines.”

There’s hardly anybody here, now— nine-thirty on Christmas Day, the majority of people are probably overfull and half-asleep with blood alcohol contents on the wrong side of the limit to be driving— and you hurry over the salt-stained asphalt to the edge of the lawn, where there’s a strip of muddy grass to stand in, the rest of the yard cordoned off with rope.

“This must be insanely expensive,” you say absently, when he comes to stand next to you.

His expression twists in distaste. “I’m sure it is,” he says.

You’re looking at the lights, watching the train work its way back around the track, and when it rounds the bend you realize it must have a shitty little speaker system inside because it makes these tinny chugging noises that you can hear as it gets closer, and you laugh aloud, delighted. “Oh my god, that’s so cute.”

Beck makes this derisive sound under his breath; you can see him, out of the corner of your eye, and he’s watching you. “Yeah, of course you’d like this stupid shit,” he says, still with that sort of long-suffering undertone, like this entire ordeal is exhausting; but there’s something else, too, beneath that.

You realize with this pang of uncomfortable warmth that this was intentional— he wasn’t going to drive past, he’d meant to do this, and this was it. The point. He’d brought you here on purpose.

The lights are beautiful, in a kind of haphazard and vaguely gauche way, reminds you of how the holidays used to feel when you were a little kid, like they had a little bit of magic to them, even with all of the chaos, and you’re almost positive he doesn’t share that opinion in any way. So the idea that he must have seen this and just thought of you— It makes something in your chest twinge and ache like a stress fracture, or like a strand of muscle pulled just a little bit too far.

“Wow,” you say, after a while, your voice wavering just a tiny bit, “I thought you were actually incapable of ever just, like— doing something nice. Unprompted.”

He scoffs. “Unprompted. You got me a fucking Christmas present, even when I said that I wasn't going to get you anything, and now I’m — how the fuck was I supposed to level with that.”

You frown. “You don’t have to level with anything, it wasn’t a Christmas present.”

“It was, and now we’re not even, and it’s—“ he sucks in a breath through his teeth, “— annoying. ”

“Even,” you repeat, momentarily stunned, “That’s not— oh my god. It wasn’t like that. And it wasn’t a Christmas present, I didn’t even wrap—“

“It’s not a Christmas present because it’s not wrapped,” he cuts you off, bordering on outright ridicule in a way that doesn’t even feel mean, just makes you want to laugh. “You are so bizarrely fucking pedantic. you bought me a present, and it’s Christmas— you can’t talk your way out of that.”

“What, so, that was a Christmas present and this— isn’t?”

“It’s somebody else’s lights, it’s not anything,” he says, dismissive, “There’s no actual gift involved, honey.”

“Oh my god,” you tell him, rolling your eyes, “I’m not getting into an argument about the fucking scientific definition of what constitutes a gift—“

“Yeah, and that’s because you’d be wrong, obviously it’s—“

“- like there’s a consensus on what qualifies—“

“-- yes, it’s anything that can be physically given to someone, according to—“

“According to who? You?” Your volume has raised a not-insignificant amount and your words are laden with exasperation and he’s just as unaffected as ever.

“Yes,” he says, entirely too smug. “According to me.”

You let out this deeply aggrieved sigh, your breath pouring out in these little clouds of steam that glint multicolored in the glow of the lights. “Now who’s being fucking pedantic,” you tell him, and you try to keep yourself from smiling, but you only half-succeed. “I’ve given you two outs, and you refuse to take either of them.”

Beck says nothing for a moment. There’s this upturn to his mouth and this lightness to his expression; amusement, just a little bit. He looks back out on the lights and shoves his hands in his coat pockets and shrugs, effortlessly casual.

“It irritates you, that I won’t,” he says, after a minute— an observation, a statement, not a question.

A muscle ticks in your jaw. He hums, considering, still just studying you. “You don’t want me to feel like I owe you anything,” he continues, and this— it’s phrased like a statement, but it doesn’t register as one.

“No,” you say, rocking forwards onto your toes and then back again, the grass beneath your feet soggy and muddied by the runoff from the street, the top layer kept melted by the road salt and giving slightly until your heels make contact with the frozen ground underneath. “No, I just— saw something I thought you might like. You’re my friend, that’s allowed. It’s not transactional, but even if it was, you— this is—“ you gesture out at the landscape, the glow of the lights bright enough that your eyes can’t adjust to see past the edges of the display, everything outside the yard just this amorphous and unfocused gray. “You did the same thing.”

“Except I didn’t have to pay for this, honey, and you—“

“Oh my god,” you reply, exasperated, “If you want to run a fucking tab— I don’t pay you back for groceries, or gas, and I didn’t pay for anything when I came with you in November.“

“Well,” he says, like he’s considering it, and then he moves closer to you and his mouth twitches a little, “When you put it like that, now it kind of sounds like you’re the one who owes me.”

He’s got that wolfish and serrated-edged smile like he does when he’s walked you backwards into another stupid trap, and that’s it, really, you’re done, and you don’t even do a convincing job of scowling as you turn pointedly away, back to looking at the lights. “Fuck off, “ you grumble, “I can’t believe I really thought you felt bad.”

That grin takes on a satisfied slant that you can recognize even just looking at him as you are, sidelong, in glances, and you’re struck out of nowhere by how badly you want to kiss him.

There’s no snow, but it’s still really fucking cold, and when the wind picks up you shiver and shove your hands in your pockets.

“Zip your coat,” he tells you. “You always get cold and you still never zip your coat, I don’t know what you expect to happen.”

“You’re so—“ You do zip your coat. “— irritating.”

“And yet here you are,” his mouth twitches again, another almost-smile like maybe he can’t help it, “So either I’m not all that irritating or you have some kind of– dysfunctional masochistic impulse.”

“The second one,” you say, not missing a beat.

Beck grins, and when he moves towards you your pulse does something ridiculous and inexplicable like this is still somehow new, at all, him touching you and drawing you into him and his arms around you, his chin on the top of your head— it’s not fucking new, and it’s been a year, it’s been over a year— and it feels like something inside of you is losing essential structural integrity like your ribs and your muscles and your organs are made of wax, weak and warm and melting.

You lean into him and rest your cheek against his chest and look out over his arm at the lights, your vision slowly slipping out of focus until the garlands wrapped around the pine trees and the little flashing reindeer and the circling toy train as it rounds the track again all blur into this shimmering mass of color, and when you breathe in the air is warmed by his body heat and everything smells like him, spearmint and camphor and just like him, the person, and it’s—

“I missed you,” you say, without meaning to.

Something happens to his posture and his breathing that’s different enough for some subconscious pattern-seeking part of your brain to notice, but so miniscule and so brief that you can’t even describe what it was. “Aw,” he says, that oversweetened condescension in his voice, “That’s cute, honey.”

“Shut up,” you reply, and then, with an almost-subconscious sense of urgency that feels a lot like fucking damage control that the more complex parts of your brain actively refuse to acknowledge, “I missed my friends, and you’re my friend, and— I got to see everybody else before I left, except you. I haven’t really seen you since—“

“Since the end of the semester,” he muses quietly; there’s a gust of wind as another car hurtles past, and you shiver from the chill; he adjusts his arms around you, drawing you closer, and you burrow deeper into his coat gratefully. He’s always so fucking warm.

“Not even,” you say, after a minute. “More like Thanksgiving break.”

He huffs out a breath that might have been a laugh. On top of the tallest pine tree, a golden star twinkles on-off, on-off; you wonder idly how the hell these people even got that thing all the way up there. “I saw you almost every day for three weeks after that.”

And he’s right, technically, because you’d seen each other in passing and in the lab and he’d still sometimes give you rides if your schedules aligned so that you didn’t have to walk all the way from the student commuter lot in the cold. But you’d both been so busy, then, and half the time there were other people around and even when you were alone it was only for these brief and limited moments— it wasn’t the same or even really comparable to how it had been for those few days in November, or even just back when either of you had the time for you to be spending nights. And then the semester was over and he was swept up in finishing everything for the debut of his latest research and then he was out in San Diego and then by the time he got back you’d already left for your family’s place for a week. It’s not like you’d ever really stopped talking, but you’d still missed it. Him. Hadn’t even realized, really, until you’d seen him, hadn’t understood the scope of it until now.

“Yeah, I guess,” you say, after a while, “But— I dunno, we were both so busy.”

He just hums in response, the sound lost to the noises from traffic in the distance and the whistle of the wind as it shakes the bare, skeletal limbs of trees and sways the strings of lights across the branches, but you can feel it still, vibrating in your head with the way his chin is resting on it.

You turn your head from the lights until all you can see is the flat, monotone black of the fabric of his coat; you’re buffeted by a rush of air as another car barrels past, the wind strong enough to have you shivering, again.

“All right,” he says, “All right, let’s go, before one of those idiots sideswipes my car.”

He says that, but he doesn’t move.

“Yeah,” you say, “Okay," but you don’t move, either.

#quentin beck x reader #ties that bind #mysterio x reader

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litcityblues · 2 months

Text

I Finally Watched This Movie

I am way overdue for this movie, I realize this and for that, if anyone out there is judging me for it, I apologize. I don't know if modern life requires a lot of content consumption, but I try and manage my fire hose of content so I don't drown, so it took me a while to get here.

So, Everything, Everywhere, All At Once:

The story of Evelyn (Michelle Yeoh) who runs a laundromat with her husband Waymond (Ke Huy Quan), they immigrated to the United States two decades earlier- eloped as well, and had a daughter Joy (Stephanie Hsu.) As the movie opens, the laundromat is being audited by the IRS, Evelyn is stressing out over the visit of her demanding father Gong Gong (James Hong), Joy's relationship with her mother is strained because of many things, but Evelyn's reluctance to accept her non-Chinese girlfriend Becky is at the top of the list. Oh and Waymond, her husband? He's trying to serve her with divorce papers.

At the meeting with the IRS Inspector, Deirdre (Jamie Lee Curtis), Waymond's body is suddenly taken over by Alpha-Waymond, a version of Waymond from the Alphaverse. He explains to Evelyn that many parallel universes exist because every life choice creates a new alternative universe. Her version from the Alphaverse developed 'verse-jumping' technology that enabled people to access the skills, memories, and bodies of their parallel selves by bizarre actions. The multiverse is under threat from Jobu Tupaki (Alpha-Joy) whose mind was splintered after too much verse jumping. She experiences all universes at once and can verse-jump and manipulate matter at will. She has created a black hole in the shape of an 'everything bagel' topped with literally everything that could destroy the multiverse.

Evelyn, understandably, doesn't believe Alpha-Waymond at first, but soon finds herself caught up in the action, jumping from multiverse to multiverse where she's a stone in one, a movie star in another and everyone has hot dogs for digits in a third. She keeps jumping and jumping until finally, her mind splinters and she collapses. Like Jobu, she uncontrollably jumps across all the universes at once and Jobu almost convinces her that nothing matters, she has been looking for an Evelyn who agrees with her so they can both enter the bagel and finally die, but just before Evelyn does, she listens to one last plea from Waymond who begs her to stop fighting and be kind, even when life does not make sense. She decides to take his advice and experiences an existential epiphany and takes his advice, using her multiversal powers to fight with empathy.

This repairs the damage and neutralizes Jobu and her forces and brings her back to her home universe. She reconciles with Waymong, tells Gong Gong about Joy's girlfriend and Deidre even agrees to redo their taxes. One final task remains as Jobu enters the bagel alone and in the home Universe, Joy begs Evelyn to let her go- but instead, she tells her that even when nothing makes sense and they don't get along and she could be anywhere else in any universe, she will always want to be with Joy. This saves Jobu from the Bagel and Evelyn and Joy embrace.

This movie is a lot, I'm not going to lie. The title is perfect because there are times when you really feel like you're getting everywhere, everything all at once and it's almost overwhelming, but it's also an absolutely stunning visual spectacle. The visuals of this movie are beautiful and it deserves all the flowers and hype that it got on that basis alone.

I wanted to say that I had issues with the story, but having written out this review, I really don't. I think it's a perfect example of what science fiction at its best is like: it transports you to other worlds and other places and other universes oftentimes to tell the simplest of stories- in this case, how a broken family fixed itself and how a mother finds a way to tell her daughter that she loves her. Given the massive amount of disrespect the Academy shows to 'genre' films, it is so awesome to see a movie that demonstrates the power of genre in such a visually stunning way that underpins what's really a pretty simple and timeless story.

I can see why people might not like this movie. If multiverses aren't your thing, this might be a hard sell but at the same time, if you haven't gone near science fiction ever before and are looking for an entry point this could be a good one for you.

I, however, loved this movie. i loved the story. I loved the acting-- I have yet to see Michelle Yeoh in anything that I have actively disliked, and you would have to be the Grinch not to be absolutely thrilled for Ke Huy Quan who is awesome in this movie. James Hong has been around for what seems like forever and even though the dude is 95 years old, he proves that he still has it. Stephanie Hsu is absolutely incredible and goes toe to toe with Michelle Yeoh in this film.

Overall: It deserves all the flowers, hype, and awards that it got. It's visually stunning. A beautiful film to look at. A simple, beautiful story about the power of empathy and kindness. A stunningly good cast and a GENRE FILM that gets SOME RESPECT. FINALLY. My Grade: **** out of ****

(Okay, I went and looked at this list and went all the way back to 1930. Birdman did win Best Picture, but you can make the argument that it was less a genre film and more about an actor playing a genre character. And yes, Lord of the Rings did win. In 2003. Other than that, I can find nothing that comes close to a genre film even getting a sniff at serious critical recognition. 2001: A Space Odyssey came out in 1968 and was not even nominated. So nitpick me if you will, but I am right. Some respect for genre films was long overdue.)

(Damn it. The Shape of Water won in 2017 as well. Okay, so maybe genre films are slowly gaining a little more respect. But there have been 96 Years of the Oscars and I can find three (maybe four) movies that fit the bill of genre films that have ever won Best Picture. That's still less than one percent however you cut it.)

#everything everywhere all at once #movie review

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erodasfishtacos · 3 years

Note

Can I request a prompt of dad!Harry where maybe it’s just him And Sasha and they get mobbed and her slightly hurt but he is furious

JUST A LESSON

word count: 5k+ (how'd i write this in one day)

warnings: language, smut, blood, minor injuries

- If you'd like more from dad!harry verse - check out my masterlist! (pinned post)

- PLEASE NOTE: DAD!HARRY & CEO!HARRY ARE TWO DIFFERENT TROPES.

*** <- click for visuals throughout the story!

---

Harry was quite stressed out. He wasn’t sure how his wife did it all the time. She was constantly packing up Sasha and toting her around the globe to meet up with him for concerts and events when he was away.

The little family had been staying in their Los Angeles home for nearly three months now as Harry had been writing for his third solo album. It involved a lot of late nights were Y/N were putting Sasha to bed by herself.

Harry was eternally grateful that she was so patient and understanding when he snuck into bed quarter past three after finding a rift that fit a new song perfectly or when Mitch had an idea that had Harry on Skype for hours with him.

The stress was overwhelming for her though. She was usually good at self-care and taking time for herself but Sasha had been so needy lately and crabby when her father wasn’t at her beck and call.

The toddler was going through a bout where she struggled to sleep through the night and had a tendency to scream bloody murder when she didn’t get her way.

It was nearly three weeks of this and she hadn’t mentioned it too much to Harry because she didn’t want him to be as stressed out as she was.

Tonight, Y/N had rocked, sang, hummed, and read to her daughter to stop the angry tears that were rolling down her cheeks but nothing was working. It was near eleven at night and she had took Sasha out in the car for a long ride where she finally fell asleep.

But as soon as Y/N unlocked the front door, she startled awake even angrier than before, squirming out her mother’s grip and bolting through the house. When she tried to round a corner, she slipped on her bum.

Y/N felt her anxiety level break.

Sasha began screaming once again, “Mummy! No! No!”

When Y/N picked her up after her slight tumble, she was absolutely not hurt but had become even more frustrated. Y/N was starting to feel overwhelmed - which didn’t happen often.

“Baby, what do you want? What can mummy do?” Y/N asks with desperation, searching her baby’s watery green eyes. She looked so much like her dad it was absurd.

“No! Down! Stop!” The two year old orders with a furrowed brow, lips in a tight line with her nose scrunched up in displeasure.

“Sasha, you just hurt yourself. You can’t run in the house, the floor is slippery,” Y/N tells her firmly despite it falling upon deaf ears.

“Bad mummy,” Sasha shrieks, “Daddy! Want Daddy! Now!”

Y/N is embarrassed to admit that she has tears welling up in her eyes. She was trying everything in her power to soothe her baby. It’s midnight at this point and she’d been at it since seven this morning.

Sasha had refused a nap all day - giving Y/N no respite at all. Harry had left at eight in the morning and hadn’t returned yet. Even though Sasha was only two and a half, Y/N felt a pang at the words ‘bad mummy.’

She didn’t feel any other option at this point than to call Harry for help. She wanted to be capable of being at stay home mum but sometimes it was really fucking hard but she felt guilty because she should be able to do this. Harry was out there working hard, providing, constantly.

When he doesn’t answer, the tears freely start streaming down her face in silence. She scrubs at them quickly so that her daughter doesn’t see them but it’s hard to catch them all - sobs threatening to bubble through her lips.

“Daddy’s working, we need to go to sleep,” Y/N replies to her daughter, jaw clenched to hold back the upset she feels. She needs a minute alone but she doubts her toddler will let her.

“Pool?” Sasha piques, “Swim?”

Y/N wants to laugh, it’s so fucking late and Sasha should have been in bed nearly four hours ago. The mother was so beyond her routine at this point, that she actually just gave in to her daughter.

Sasha’s mood turns around when Y/N wrangles them both into their swimsuits ***and trails out of the back patio, switching on all the lights around as well as in the pool. The California air was still extremely warm, enough to cause a sweat. ***

She tugs a little donut raft into the pool with them that Sasha can float around on while Y/N guides it to keep her safe. She was so tired by this point that her bones felt like they weighed a million pounds.

Sasha’s eyes droop until they finally flutter close within minutes of being in the warm water. Her eyelids splotchy pink from all of the fits and tears from the day. And when she is completely asleep, Y/N lets herself cry as she continues to float the baby around the pool to keep her asleep.

She hasn’t been doing it for more than ten minutes when the patio door opens and Harry is stepping into the back with a confused expression that she can’t see because her back is turned to him.

“Love, why are you in the pool? S’late,” Harry asks softly but he doesn’t get an answer, so he’s slipping out of his plain tee and striped pants, dirty vans kicked to the side ***.

Just in his briefs, he quietly enters the pool to not disrupt the ebb and flow of the water. When he makes his way over to her, he slides in front of his wife, alarmed at the exhausted, tearful expression on her face.

“Baby, what’s happened? Talk t’me,” Harry whispers, hands coming to cup his wife’s face in between his large hands. Rings cold against her hot, wet cheeks. He looks to his sleeping daughter, running his eyes over her a few times and decides she seems completely okay.

“M’fine,” Y/N chokes out but the lie causes a fresh wave of tears.

Harry frowns, “Don’t lie to me, pet. Please, don’t shut me out. M’always here for you.”

“I’m a bad mum,” She sobs silently, her eyes closing as she leans into his palms before moving to rest her head heavily on the crook of his tattooed shoulder, his chest damp from the salty tears.

“Wha-What’s brought this on? Y’the best mum in the world, best wife in the world. The best at everythin’, why are you doubtin’ that, my heart?” Harry murmurs, taking over the rocking motions of Sasha’s raft.

“She wouldn’t settle today, Harry. Like at all, refusing to nap, eat any healthy food, or bathe. She screamed at me the whole day no matter what I did and then she told me I was bad and she wanted you.”

“Love, she’s in the midst of her terrible twos. She loves you more than anythin’ on this earth. Y’her mummy and a damn good one at that. Why didn’t y’call me? I’d come home, work is never more important than our family.”

Y/N doesn’t bring up the fact she did try to call, “I need to be able to do this myself, Harry. M’a stay at home mum, taking care of Sash is literally my only job and I can’t even do that.”

Harry’s face hardens but he tries to not take it personally, knowing his wife is just upset with herself, “That’s not fair to me, dove. M’her daddy, she’s half mine too. She’s just as much of my responsibility as yours, no matter what my job is.”

“I don’t want to stress you out more than necessary,” Y/N mutters into his skin.

“Me coming home to my wife in tears and my baby in the pool at midnight is more stressful than you ringin’ me to come home,” Harry tells her, smearing a few kisses to the top of her hair.

“I’m sorry for worrying you. I’m just tired.”

Harry pulls her back so he can look her in the eyes, “Never apologize for somethin’ like that. Go get a bath and let me put the bub to sleep, okay? I love y’mumma.”

Harry calls his mum the next morning while Y/N is out getting a manicure with Glenne. He’d called her favorite salon earlier in the day, coercing them into opening a spot for her with a monetary bribe.

Y/N had hesitated at the door as Sasha threw a fit at her mother leaving the house. She clung onto her calf until Harry had to physically pull her off and hold her tightly in his arms.

Currently, Sasha was playing with a set of dolls on the floor of her bedroom as Harry sat next to her. She’d originally been happy with the presence of her father until he told her he needed to make a phone call.

Harry had to be stern with her when she went to grab at the phone pressed to his ear, gently gripping her wrist and frowning, “We don’t do that, s’not nice.”

Sasha had attempted to grab at it again and managed to tangle Harry’s long locks into his fist, tugging at them. Harry unraveled the small fingers before telling his daughter, “If you do that one more time, y’going on the step for two minutes.”

The threat had her pouting harshly but turning back to her toys to occupy herself, sighing when his mum finally answered the phone, “Hi darling.”

“Hi mum, you alright?” Harry asks, relaxing at the sound of his mother’s melodic voice.

“I’m perfect, you don’t sound okay, dear,” Anne replies with a concerned twinge.

Harry didn’t call much to complain, didn’t like worrying her and most of the time Y/N was able to provide the support he needed or Jeff.

“Y/N’s really overwhelmed,” Harry tells her before choking up a bit, “And I don’t know what to do mum, I feel like m’bein’ a bad husband. Came home to her crying last night and she feels like she’s a bad mum.”

When Sasha hears her father’s voice crack, she looks up at him curiously before recognizing that he’s upset. She crawls into his lap, fitting herself against his chest before playing with a doll there. Comforting him.

Harry wraps his free arm around her, pulling her as close as possible. His precious little baby. A little blessing as sweet as her mother.

“Oh honey, that happens. Mums, good mums especially are so critical when they don’t need to be. Baby’s are overwhelming, plus I know she’s been alone a lot with her. But you’re not a bad husband, dear.”

“It feels like it,” Harry sniffles, burying his face in his daughter’s lavender-scented curls from her bath earlier.

“If you were, you wouldn’t be calling,” Anne chuckles at her son, “Now how can we make this situation better?”

The phone call helped Harry not feel so hopeless in helping his wife. He’d come up with the plan to fly to England with Sasha so that Anne could see her but Y/N could have some alone time for a long weekend.

When Y/N enters the front door after her appointment, she’s met by a very excited little human who rushes to her mother and demands to be picked up. Of course, Y/N obliges, looking a bit more refreshed and awake as she tucks the baby against her hip.

Harry had ordered their favorite salads from a shop in the city and had it ready for her, “Oh, looks delicious. Thank you, H,” She smiles at him, leaning to give his stubbly cheek a kiss.

As they dig in, Y/N feeding bits of chicken and veggies to her daughter as they eat, Harry clears his throat, “I’m taking Sash to Holmes Chapel for the long weekend to see my mum.”

Y/N smiles, “That sounds great!”

Harry gives her a perplexed look, he’d thought she’d put up a fight. She despised being away from Sasha - couldn’t go a day without seeing her daughter.

“Really?” Her husband asks, putting down his fork.

“Mhm, I just have to pack a bag for Sash and I. When are we leaving?” Y/N replies eagerly, ready to go back home and get away from California for a bit.

Harry’s stomach clenches, “Erm, I meant just me and the baba? I thought you could stay here and relax for a weekend. Sleep, hang out, shop.”

Y/N’s face falls and is replaced with a devastated look, “You don’t think I’m being a good mum.”

Harry backpedals, realizing he shouldn’t have approached it in the lax way he did.

“No, no, of course not, baby. I think you’re such a good mum that you need a break. You never get breaks, m’the one who always does. S’not fair to you. I just need you to have some time to take care of yourself,” Harry explains, his heart shattering a bit at the tears brimming again.

“I don’t want a break, don’t leave me here,” Y/N begs, tucking a piece of tomato in her daughter’s expectant mouth before Sasha chews and smiles at her mother.

“Mummy, more please?” Sasha chirps, her mood a little bit brighter than it had been the last few days.

“Thank you for using your manners, here baby,” Her mother responds, popping another into her mouth after she sliced it in half.

“Did you book a commercial flight?” She asks her husband with an angry tone.

“No, private but we have to catch it at LAX,” Harry explains, the private airport they usually fly out of was filled to capacity at the moment.

“Either I’m coming or you’re going alone. You’re not taking Sasha without me,” Y/N replies firmly. She stands up and shuffles Sasha into his lap before leaving the room without another word.

Harry didn’t expect that. He should have thought it through more. If Y/N wanted to come, of course she could, but he’d never meant to offend her or act like he was taking Sasha away from her.

Harry had attempted to reason his way out of going to the studio with Jeff today. However, with the final cuts and adjustments were being made - he was quickly turned down and demanded in the studio.

When he’d trailed into the quiet house that night, relieved to find his baby in her crib instead of the pool, he went to his bedroom where the lights were still on.

The closet doors were open and Y/N was on the ground folding and sorting Sasha’s clothes before placing them in her suitcase. ***

Y/N’s suitcase already laying zipped and ready to go by the entrance of the closet. Her toiletry bag was placed neatly on top of it. Then his heart pings a bit when he sees that she’s already packed up his suitcase as well.

Harry pads over to his wife, plopping down behind her and tugging her back into him - long arms wrapping around her upper chest.

“Missed you, mumma.”

She hums, “I missed you too. Miss you always.”

“Y’the love of my life, y’know that?” Harry asks, kissing the back of her neck.

“I better be or you married the wrong person,” Y/N laughs softly, her tone still off but lighter than before.

“Married the right person, knocked up the right person.”

Y/N barks out a laugh, rolling her eyes, “How romantic.”

“Baby, y’know what I’m getting at. You’re the best mum and wife. I just wanted you to have a few days to yourself. To lower your stress level and let you do some self-care,” Harry murmurs, pushing the baby clothes out of her hands.

“But your mum can watch her for a bit while we’re there, right? I don’t want alone time, I need the exact opposite. I need company,” She tells him, twisting herself until she’s seated in his lap - straddling him.

“Mmm, can definitely have some alone time,” Harry agrees instantly, his mouth finding her throat - beginning to lay a path of wet, hot kisses down the column down to her collarbones.

“H, I have t’pack, we’re leaving tomorrow morning,” Y/N weakly argues but can’t help but bear down against her husband when she feels him harden in his loose pants quickly.

“S’just a quickie? Yeah, pet? Lemme fuck you,” Harry’s hands dragging the shirt she’s wearing up and over her head. Eyes lighting up boyishly when he realizes she didn’t have a bra on.

She can’t argue as he darts down to wrap his lips around her pert bud, sucking between long swipes of his tongue - just how she liked it. “Missed y’body so much,” Harry states against her heated skin.

“Just had me two days ago,” Y/N laughs but it cuts off into a moan when his hand slides into her pajama shorts and finds her clit over her thin underwear.

“Never enough,” Harry replies easily, “Remember the song I wrote f’you?”

Y/N snarkily asks, “Which one? Nearly all your songs are about me.”

And well...Harry can’t even argue how true her statement is. “The one titled ‘Never Enough’, pet? Remember?”

Before she can speak, he lowly croons out the chorus of the song he wrote for One Direction years ago, “Lips so good I forget my name. I swear I would give you everything. It’s never enough, never enough.”

Harry knows his sweet as syrup singing gets her immensely turned on and so he’s not surprised when she whimpers against his lips, “Fuck me, c’mon.”

He’s delighted at his wife’s pleas and quickly moves them, leaning forward with her until she’s on her back on the ground of their walk-in closet. He accidentally kicks over a pile of Sasha’s dresses but neither even notice.

There is no time wasted as Harry removed every single article from Y/N’s body quickly as well as his own. He’s leaning forward to suck a few more kisses to her chest as his fingers slip down to crook right up into her hot center.

“No teasing,” Y/N complains, wrapping hands around his biceps and bringing him on top of her more fully. She’s squeezing around his two fingers with need, it has him groaning when he brings them up and sucks them between his pouty lips.

Then she’s not waiting any longer, reaching down and grabbing a hold of his thick length. Harry lets out rumble from his chest at the contact before she’s guiding him into her without any further ado.

“Baby,” Harry chastises as soon as she starts goading him into thrusts with her feet against him bum, pushing him into her harder than he’d usually start, “Y’squeezin’ me s’tight, you missed me too?”

Y/N nods, whining every time he pushes against her spot and sends a zip of arousal through her body. His trimmed hair around his base brushing against her clit causing delicious friction for her.

“No, y’need to tell me,” Harry huffs, hand gripping her jaw harsher than he would if they were having slow, intimate sex. He knew she loved it by the way her eyes twinkle with stubbornness.

“No,” She replies coyly, heels of her feet pressing hard against him to the point it itches with a slight pain. Harry loved his wife so much it was looney.

“It’s fine, don’t need y’to come for me to get off, dove,” Harry replies simply, speeding up his thrusts with his hand holding her jaw for him to press bruising kisses against. His teeth are coming to pull her bottom lip in between.

Something switches in her demeanor though without warning, her voice softer and pliant, “Tell me you love me.”

It has Harry slowing down his hips until he’s rocking deeper into her, going down on his elbows so their noses are bumping. He releases the grip of her chin and instead moves to her bum to encourage her to meet him halfway.

“I love you, s’much it hurts most days,” Harry replies obediently, knowing what his wife needed at that moment. Reassurance. “Most beautiful thing I’ve ever laid eyes on, then you made us a perfect little baby.”

She’s looking up at him with loving, grateful eyes, landing a gentle peck to his upper lip and letting her head fall back onto the floor. This is what she needed right now from her husband and he was so good at providing.

“Breaks my heart when y’don’t think your a good mum or wife. ‘Cause you’re everythin’ I ever wanted. Why’d you think I write every song about you, lovie? S’cause you’re my soulmate.”

“H,” She whimpers, emotion thick in her throat as she meets his eyes, “I love you so much. You’re the best husband and dad ever.”

“Baby,” Harry murmurs into her cheek, picking up speed as she starts to clench around him in a warning of her oncoming orgasm. He slips his hand down to press a few light rubs to her clit before she’s arching her back and moaning with pleasure.

“You look s’good, coming ‘round my cock,” Harry tells her, helping her ride through it before hitching her hips up even further and thrusting harshly until his hips stutter and he’s coming as well.

“Harry,” Y/N sighs, her breathing coming back to normal as she roams a hand down his shoulders and back - scratching lightly.

“Hmm, dove? Y’want my cock again? Need a few,” He replies into her neck, ever the teenage boy.

She giggles, “No, we have to catch a flight at eight in the morning and it’s currently four-thirty.”

Harry grunts before pulling out and sitting up, “Y’better have packed my favorite pajama pants or I’m goin’ to be cross with you.”

Y/N now regrets the second round of fun as soon as their alarm goes off. Her body sore from the position he’d twisted her into against the shower wall after they packed the rest of Sasha necessities.

They were nearly at the airport with Sasha nodding back off in the carseat. She was excited to see her Nana and Aunt Gemma once again.

Their daughter was in the cutest, comfiest jumpsuit with comic hearts all over it *** and adorable little sock sneakers*** that slide right on and off her feet.

Harry had chucked on black sunglasses, a black jumper with green lettering, black joggers, and blue checkered van with white socks. He was attempting to fly under the radar as much as possible because he knew paparazzi just sit outside the entrances to spot celebrities. ***

It was annoying but he could deal with it when he was mobbed at the airport when he was by himself. But when it was with his wife and baby - he couldn’t stomach it. It’s part of the reason they fly private from a private port.

When they pull up to the curb, a staff member is waiting for them and helps Harry as well as the driver put his luggage on a cart to be brought to the awaiting jet.

Y/N unbuckles the baby who is awake now but bleary-eyed as she’s sitting on the curve of her mother’s hip.

And well - that’s when the madness begins. A pap spots them within seconds of exiting the car and is pulling up his camera for the first shots, the other photographers sitting around follow suit.

As soon as one of them screams, “Harry Styles - look this way!” The jam packed area looks towards them, seeming fans of his start murmuring before following behind the paparazzi pulling their phones out.

Y/N is used to the crowds by now - but just like Harry, not with Sasha around. They tried to avoid situations like this as much as possible. The lights and loud noises were scary to the little girl.

“Mummy,” Sasha whines, picking her head up from her mother’s shoulder to stare wide-eyed at the gathering in front of them.

Harry started to feel anxiety because this was becoming a massive crowd - scratch that, it wasn’t a crowd it was a fucking mob of people. They were all too close, blinding the family with their flashes despite security attempting to push them back.

Fans were shoving and thrusting their phones in Harry’s face, shoving random things for him to sign in front of him. Paparazzi were screaming questions and taking thousands of pictures in a minute’s time.

Harry grabs onto Y/N’s hand tightly, their diaper bag on Harry’s shoulder, and begins to attempt to guide them through the swarm. It was like trying to move through cement, the crowd not budging despite security’s screams.

Sasha is full blown crying at this point into her mother’s neck. Y/N’s hand cupping the back of her head to keep her head down and out of the photographs - holding her as tightly as possible.

Y/N can hear Harry began to curse - signaling that he’s becoming stressed out because he would usually never be rude to the public despite their actions. But he couldn’t give a fuck when it came to his family.

“Move out of the way.”

“D’you not see I have a fuckin’ baby?”

“Get those fuckin’ cameras out of their faces.”

“Back the fuck away from my wife and baby.”

Then Y/N is being shoved by a teenage girl who trips when she thrusts her arm towards Harry. She tumbles into Y/N with her full weight and Y/N’s loses her footing, falling forward - letting go of Harry’s hand.

When she falls, she manages to catch herself with the arm that’s not holding her daughter. But she feels pain in her knees and Sasha emits a sharp wail that alerts Y/N her daughter is hurt.

“Sash, fuck,” Y/N gasps, her motherly instincts automatically kicking in and she’s cradling her daughter as tightly to her chest as she can, shielding her from the swarm who had quieted only a bit.

It must take Harry a second to realize that something had happened, he turns around - eyes frantic as he absolutely roars, “Back the fuck up! I’ll fuckin’ break each and everyone of your cameras! Fucking leeches.”

With that, he’s helping to pull you up and grasping at the two, “Are you okay? Wha’s hurt?”

Y/N just shakes her head, having a panic attack as she shuffles the crying baby into his arms. “Please, just...Sasha. I think she hurt her arm when I fell.”

“Daddy, ouch,” Sasha shrieks loudly into his sweatshirt as he hikes her up onto his chest, her little legs wrapped around his midsection.

“Ssh, y’okay,” Harry tries to reassure her, matching his wife’s panic.

The crowd seems to give way now, the parents rushing their daughter into the airport.

Employees guide them to the medical office on-site where it’s now silent and calm but the family feels anything but.

Sasha’s sobs have turned into moans and whimpers at this point - but come back with a vengeance when Harry has to set her on the exam table and wrestle her out of her clothes until she’s just sat in her diaper.

The nurse was so amazing and kind. She checked Sasha thoroughly for any signs of trauma or broken bones but luckily, it was just a nasty scrape on her forearm that was hurting her. It wasn’t anything serious.

The parents had such concern for their daughter that Y/N didn’t even realize she had bled through her white joggers at the knees ***. The nurse frowns, “Honey, you’re still bleeding.”

“I’m fine,” She insisted even though her knees were aching.

“I’d like to examine your legs, dear,” The nurse tells her sternly, signaling that Harry can dress Sasha again.

He’s digging into the diaper bag for a spare out that they were always ready with. She was calming even more when Harry dressed her in a comfy pink set of clothes with little deer on them. ***

“Love, please let her,” Harry asks softly, pulling Sasha back onto his chest. Her thumb tucked into her mouth and her father hands her a plushie that Y/N had shoved in the bag last minute.

Y/N obliges with the pressure, wiggling the loose fabric down her legs until she’s just in her underwear and shirt - sits up on the table with her knees off to the side for her to examine.

Harry grimaces when he sees the multiple cuts and scrapes tainting her skin. A few slow trickles of blood still oozing from the gashes. The skin is already slowly covering purple and blue with bruises.

The nurse cleans her up, Y/N wincing when the alcohol brushes the cuts but Sasha is smiling again like nothing ever happened and cooing at her mum. It makes them both feel a lot better.

When they’re finally on the private jet, up high into the clouds away from the crowds and paparazzi - it feels like relief. ***

They had tucked their daughter onto the couch with her favorite fuzzy blanket and she’s asleep nearly as soon as her head hits the pillow.

They trail back into the other part of the cabin so that they don’t disturb her, cuddling up on the couch together.

“M’so sorry, I’m such a bad fa-”

Y/N cuts him off before he begins, “If I’m not allowed to be a bad mum - you’re not allowed to be a bad father. It wasn’t y’fault that happened - it’s those careless, crazed people who have nothing better to do.”

Y/N was always the voice of reason in Harry’s head when he started to spiral.

Spiral because his fame was so overwhelming and got his family into difficult situations sometimes. She brought him back to reality.

“Hey, we’re both okay. Just a few scrapes. It was just a lesson, Harry. We just need to be safer and plan better, alright?” Y/N assures him softly, kissing under his chin before resting back - ready to sleep.

“Y’the best. Best mum, best wife,” Harry tells her, encompassing her in his loving hold.

let me know your thoughts bub

come talk to me <3

1K notes · View notes

gotnofucks · 3 years

Text

Colour Me Red

Pairing: Steve x Reader

Summary: Your boss is chasing you like the proverbial hound of hell, and one vibrant shade of red is going to be his undoing, and yours.

Words: 3k

Warnings: Oral sex, allusions to smut, suggestive talking, kinda workplace harassment but not really, boss and employee relationship, 18+ ONLY

A/N: This is for my jaan Lexi’s 700 Challenge. Congratulations baby girl @bluemusickid , you deserve this and so so much more. Every day I live in awe of you and can only love you more. I’ve chosen the colour Red for this challenge.

Most people arrived at work early to impress their boss. You came early to avoid yours. Every morning was a race to dress up faster so that you could be out before he pulled up at your place to give you a ride. When you’d started working at the Avengers Compound, you thought your biggest problem would be alien attacks or spontaneous combustion. Yet, here you were, being pursued by your boss who was the very embodiment of the hounds of hell.

Captain Steve Rogers, for all his brilliance, was a man unaccustomed to being told no. At one word from him, agents would run in the field and fight a battle of their lives. He was respected and revered, his beautiful visage both an endearing and terrifying symbol. However, all you wanted was for him to leave you alone.

The first time you’d met him, Steve had taken one look at you and said, “I am going to fuck you”. You had gaped at him in disbelief, wondering if this was the true Captain America. You had almost gone back home, intent on finding another job but you needed the money and well, there were so many others around, how often would your paths cross with him?

Turns out, a lot. You had applied for the PR secretary position for Natasha, so imagine your surprise when you showed up for work and were told that you’ll be working for Steve Rogers. In retrospect, you should have quit that day, but the pay was far too good. You had ignored sleazy men before, how difficult could it be to ignore Steve’s advances?

From the very first day, Steve didn’t bother to hide his interest. He offered you a seat in his office, but only after you pointedly ignored his offer to sit on his lap. He had rolled his eyes playfully, explaining your role and duties before dismissing you.

“Walk slow, I want to have a good view of that ass.”

Months later now, you could say it was a well-versed routine. He would flirt with you and you’d kindly remind him about appropriate workplace practices. He would bring you flowers, and you’d pass it on to the old lady who sat behind the reception. You almost wanted to thank him, for it was because of him you’d become a pro at running in high heels.

Arranging your documents, you waited for Steve to arrive. He won’t be happy knowing he has a press conference today. You’d typed out his speech, he only needed to say it into the camera without looking constipated.

“You evaded me again today.” Steve greeted you, entering and taking his seat behind his desk. You met his eyes, unimpressed. He never gave up, did he?

“Good morning Captain Rogers.” You said with a smile, handing him the papers that he took with a wince.

“You don’t call me Captain Rogers in my dreams.” He casually said, going over the planned interview. You rolled your eyes, ignoring him the best you could. It would be a lie to say you didn’t find Steve attractive, but you were not about to sleep with your boss.

“Can you please stick to the script this time and not call the government a piece of shit organization who are greedy, racist, bigots?” You asked, not wanting another disaster management situation on your hands.

“Spot me the lie darling.” Steve said, smiling. He threw the papers on the desk, leaning back to look at you with a fond look in his eyes. “You need to let me drive you here someday. Or I’m gonna camp outside your house so you can’t run away.”

You flush, averting your gaze. God, why did he need to be so beautiful with such gorgeous eyes?

“Can you give it a rest until the press conference? I have a lot on my hands.” You said, rubbing your temples tiredly. Steve frowned, his eyes lingering over the dark circles under your eyes before getting up and coming around the desk to stand behind you, his large hands gently taking your shoulders and kneading. A soft moan escaped you, your bunched muscles relaxing under his touch.

You leaned back farther, your head meeting his firm stomach. His fingers splayed over your collarbones, heal of the hand pressing into the soft juncture where your neck met the shoulder. Groaning, you relaxed yourself, letting Steve massage the stiffness out of your body. Slowly, he leaned down, mouth right next to your ear.

“Imagine the kind of sounds you’ll make when you’re under me.” He breathed, pressing the softest of kisses on your cheek. Your eyes widened and you shot up, putting some distance between you. Steve grinned, taking in your labored breath with interest.

“Captain Rogers” You warned, taking a step back when he took one towards you.

“Say my name.” He demanded, walking purposely towards you until you crashed against the wall. Leisurely closing the distance between you both, he caged you with his hands, leaning in close. You gulped as he got into your space, his breath fanning over your heated cheeks and eyes turning liquid.

“This is inappropriate.” You said, blinking and looking away. You were scared his super senses would smell the arousal pooling between your thighs, warming your core. Steve chuckled, dipping his head as if to kiss you but stopping short.

“I’ll let it go today, since you’ll be screaming it soon enough. Why don’t you go and edit the speech, hmm? I want that part about thanking the government for their cooperation struck.” He smelled like sin, the musky aftershave he always wore clinging to your pores and infusing in your scent.

Smiling a little at the deer caught in the headlights look in your eyes, Steve pushed away from you and flicked your forehead playfully. He turned and walked back to his desk, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips as your stumbled out of his office after hastily collecting your papers. Every time you thought you’d gotten used to his advances, Steve would reduce you to a bundle of nerves with a few well chosen words.

Persistent little fucker.

If he didn’t show up in five more minutes, you’ll have a coronary. The reporters were already waiting for him, and you still needed to debrief Steve about the changes you had made. Left to his own devices, he’d unapologetically curse the government out and call out their crap with Bucky and Sam cheering from the sidelines. Again. That had been a nightmare.

“Where is he?” Jacob asked. He looked frazzled, looking worriedly at Tony from across the room. His boss was just as likely as yours to cause a scandal during a press conference and when they sat together, a shit storm was definitely on its way.

“I have no fucking idea!” You swore, running a hand through your hair and hoping your makeup hadn’t run off. You’d be sitting at the podium beside Steve, ready to kick his shin at the first moment he went off script. Jacob shot you a sympathetic look and a pat on the shoulder, his hairline glittering with sweat.

“One day I’ll quit this job and be a professional troll just to roast these assholes. Oh god, where the hell is he?” You bemoaned.

“Right here.”

You turn around, finding Steve striding towards you. The frustration in your eyes melted as you looked him over, the crisp navy blue suit fitting his body in a way that saliva pooled under your tongue. Shaking your head, you wagged a finger at him, trying your best to give him an angry frown instead of fuck me eyes.

“You’re the reason I’ll get greys so early in my life.” You scolded. Steve, however, lost his smirk. His eyes were trained hard on you, eyebrows turning in as if deeply disappointed. When his eyes met yours, you unconsciously stepped back and stumbled into Jacob. You knew Steve had a temper, but that anger had never been directed so harshly at you before.

“What the fuck?” He hissed from between clenched teeth. You blinked in surprise, completely at a loss of words about why he was suddenly so angry. You exchanged a bemused look with Jacob who was inching away from you, eager to be out of sight of the fire that was so obviously burning in the captain’s eyes.

Gulping nervously, you peered at him and cleared your throat. “Captain Rogers?” Your voice was soft and confused, and yet it only seemed to incense Steve more. He made a deep rumbling sound in his chest before grabbing you by your arm and pulling you away with him. You protested, trying to steer him back towards the conference but you were no match for his strength. He remained silent as you tried to loosen his grip on your arm, alarm evident in your voice at this unexpected aggression.

He brough you back to his office, pushing you in before he shut the door with a loud bang that would be sure to scare off anyone who might have wanted to step in and save you. Facing him in bewilderment, you opened your mouth to ask him what the fuck had gotten into him when he raised a hand in warning.

“If I hear ‘Captain Rogers’ pass one more time from your lips, I’ll shut you up in a way that will leave your throat sore for days.” He growled. Your breath hitched, fear and thrill spreading like venom through your blood as he prowled towards you, completely masculine and yet feline in his approach. Your legs refused to follow your command to move away and stayed rooted to their spot, trembling when Steve was standing right before you.

“Say my name.” He whispered. You licked your lips, eyes locked with his as his name passed your lips for the first time ever.

“Steve”

It was barely audible and yet you could see the shiver that ran down Steve’s body, a victorious growl expelled from his throat and suddenly you were pulled flush to his chest, his lips enveloping yours and branding a searing kiss on your lips. You gasped into his mouth, clutching his shoulders to keep steady on your legs that had turned to jelly.

“You dare,” Steve said, pulling away to glare at you, “you dare wear that shade of sin on your mouth in front of the world?”

It took you a moment, brain still in shock from the intimate embrace you’d just came out from when you registered what he said. Taking in his words along with the red that bled from your mouth to his, you sputtered in indignation.

“Did you drag me in here because I wore a red lipstick?!” You asked, slapping his chest to push him away. Steve, unhappy with your ire, pulled you closer still and slowly traced the curve of your bottom lip, pulling back his thumb to show you your lipstick that sat in stark contrast to his pale skin.

“My girl doesn’t go out looking like this in front of the world.” He countered. You scowled, twisting in his hold so you could knock some sense into the sexist bastard.

“I won’t be policed by somebody who regularly wear three sizes too small t-shirts to fuck with my ovulation cycle deliberately. And what the fuck does it mean ‘looking like this’? What do I look like to you Captain Rogers?” You sassed, breathing heavily.

Steve fisted your chair, tilting your head back as he possessively ran his nose down your neck and sniffed appetitively. “Looking like this, like the forbidden fruit that caused man to fall. You are already my undoing, do you wish to cause a war looking as tempting as this?”

Anger that had boiled in your gut disappeared as if doused by water. Maybe you were still pissed at being treated this way, but the heat that simmered deep in your bones overpowered it. His words set your heart on fire, a raging desire you rarely let yourself feel near him sending you straight into his arms, your head buried in his massive chest that cradled you close. Oh so close.

“There are ten different things I have to say to you about what just happened here, but I’ll do it later when my sanity has returned to me.” You said and Steve chuckled, his arms around you strong like boulders.

“If my kisses alone drove you insane, you’ll be a puddle of dumb mess after I’m done with you.” He huskily whispered in your ear and your core pulsed, a warm gush flooding your panties. This man would be the death of you. For months you’d fought the urge to let him fuck you on his desk and in the elevator, trying your best to overlook this eye fucks and flirting only to end up in his arms, right where he had prophesized you belong the moment he clapped eyes on you.

You didn’t believe in destiny, but then again Steve Rogers didn’t need a divine force to interfere on his behalf to get him what he wants. This moment had been building for a while now, like a volcano threatening to erupt until it finally did, encasing those close to it in scalding layers of passion and sin and love.

“I love this shade but just this once, I’ll make an exception. I’ll wipe it off.” You conceded. This was not you accepting defeat, just a compromise. There was much left to talk about and discuss, but you had a hoard of reporters waiting for the good captain to make his big speech.

You reached for the napkins on his desk, intent in quickly wiping your lipstick off when Steve grabbed you to himself again, cupping your face.

“Oh no honey, that trace of desire won’t stain a piece of paper. The only place its going to be is smeared on my cock. On your knees.” He ordered, very much like he did on the field. And yet, the order was as much a request. You could say no and drag him to the conference right now with no consequences. He was the same man who came by every morning to give you a ride despite knowing you’d already have left. He was the same man who cheekily rolled his eyes when you snubbed his affections, and yet never said a mean word to you. What would it feel like, marking this exemplary man with your colour, knowing as he walked that he was coloured in you?

You sank to the floor, hands already working to free his cock from the confines of his pants. Steve looked at you, letting you do everything, his hands resting lightly on your shoulders. Peering up at him, you marveled at the fact that it took so long to have you here like this.

“You could launch a thousand ships even on your knees.” He said.

Your lips pressed against the head of his cock, kissing him delicately. Steve jerked at the first touch, digging his fingers in your flesh when you licked him from head to base, suckling lightly, teasingly. You adored the noises that escaped him, loving that he didn’t even think of hiding them from you. When it came to desire, Steve Rogers didn’t mince his words.

His cock was beautiful, silken and hard in your fist and on your tongue. He tasted like the sea after a storm, salty and electric, dangerous and beautiful. Loving him this way came easy, and though you hadn’t had much experience with cocks as big as his, you were determined to show him your feelings with a gusto. Running your tongue along his slit with an impish grin, you swallowed him deep, humming to send vibrations up his length. Had your mouth not been stretched around him, you would have smiled wide at the curse he just yelled.

Picking up your pace, you bobbed your head and rolled his balls, getting high on his taste and sounds as he came undone in your mouth, spilling his essence that went thickly down your throat and ended with a moan from both of you. Pulling away, you saw his member streaked with the red traces of your lipstick and an animalistic possessiveness swelled in your chest. You marked him.

Steve helped you stand up, kissing you deep as he seemed unable to utter anything at the moment. You reveled in his touch, holding him close and wiping the stray tear that was lingering at the corner of your eye.

“You know its love, don’t you?” He asked you softly, the most vulnerable you’d ever seen him.

Was this love? Was it love when you’d secretly smile at his fixation with you? Was it love that you always kept a flower from his bouquets before passing it on to the old lady? Was it love when you could read his tiredness in the lines of his forehead and make his coffee stronger? Maybe it was. Maybe it was love because there was no other way you’d have went on your knees to worship a man. Unknowingly, in accepting every ‘no’ you threw his way, he had earned your ‘yes’. In forsaking the access to your body, you had gifted him your heart. Holding his gaze, you pressed your lips to his palm, smiling.

“It is love.”

“Mr. Stark, where is Captain Rogers?” A reporter asked. “Wasn’t he supposed to be a part of this conference?”

Jacob groaned, kicking Tony’s shin repeatedly to no avail. He wished he could slap a hand on his boss’s mouth and drag him away, because the glint in Tony’s eyes meant that he would be working damage control for the next coming weeks.

“Rogers, you ask?” Tony said grinning, his face alight in mischief. “Friday just gave me some million dollar worth information on that, and I am proud to announce to the public that the world’s oldest virgin just got his dick wet.”

Banging his head on the desk in the view of the clambering reporters, Jacob cursed you and your libido that had ruined him.

“Why couldn’t they wait until after the conference?” He moaned, jumping out and almost tackling Tony who was about to give the media some ‘video proof’. “Oh no you don’t Mr. Stark, you sir are on time out. I’ll be reporting you to Miss Potts!”

#lexisholiday2021 #bluemusickid700challenge #steve rogers x reader #steve x reader #Steve Rogers #boss!steve

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truly-quirkless · 4 months

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[@frogsonalotusleaf | From here!]

Yagi nearly flinched at that mention- an awkward half-smile crossing his face. Yeah,- he'd never been one for paperwork, not when it came to Hero business. Even at his agency, there were others under him who filed most of his reports.- But he had slowly been forced to take on more and more files and sortings, until it had become an every-day task, these past few months...

Being a teacher really was something else.

His smile fell, however, at the utterance of him 'trying harder'. That was what he'd done for so many years- but now, when all he could do was follow a doctor's instructions and hope it kept him alive...his old friend wanted him to do more. He exhaled softly. I'm not that strong, anymore.-- It was something he was slowly coming to grips with.

"...I can't." It sounded like an excuse- but it didn't ring any less true. What he had- what was left- was a delicate balance. He was trying to gain back some form of strength...what little remained...but he couldn't gain back some things. I can't be All Might anymore. The strain was too much. Even just looking like the old Hero for more than a second was enough to cause bloody coughing fits...

I can't be the Hero you want me to be, Nighteye.

"A soup doesn't need to have solids, but...if you're sure." He wouldn't push the issue. As much as Yagi wanted to help...he knew that (at least, personally) he would resist the aid of others if it was offered...and he had no doubt Nighteye would resist his.-- He sighed under his breath. The blond didn't have much he could do, and it seemed both of them were dancing the old subject. Maybe...it would just heal, on its own. Over time...those years apart might fade, but he worried.

Even his attempt at bringing it up had failed. It seemed Nighteye was rather intent on his personal life. Been there, he thought. When he'd been hospitalized- and for a long time after- he'd done everything he could to avoid anything down-putting. But the two would have to circle back to the original topic eventually.

"Well...they definitely joke a lot- though I don't think you'd care for their...style..." Toshinori rested his hand on his chin, thumb pressed slightly against his cheek, his fingers splayed out slightly along the other. "...they're scrappy, and can handle themself in a fight. The first night we met, they actually attacked some would-be robbers with a cookie tin..." He chuckled slightly at the memory.

"...they always seem to know how to make their coworkers smile, and I've seen them chatting with some of the ki--- students.-- Young Midoriya actually took a bit of a shining to them." He grinned. It was nice that his successor and his soulmate could get along. "Though they're really anxious when it comes to the general public..."

He wondered if it was okay to be saying that when Fin was on the same floor- but he doubted they wouldn't give him and Nighteye some privacy.

"I actually asked them to come with,...if you want to meet them." More to keep him company, though thinking about it...he probably shouldn't have invited them while he was speaking to Mirai. But, what was done was done.

#frogsonalotusleaf #Through many battles/I have been tested/I’ve never failed/Never have been bested || Toshinori Yagi #injury tw #medical tw #tag TBA | Mirai Sasaki.#long post #When you’re close to breakin’/Let me be your haven tonight || Cracked Facades #//good shit this got away from me-#Taking all my will just to run alone/Until I bring you home || Verse | Main #But I’m still on a mission/And I can’t let nobody stop me now || Thread Start

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dreamescapeswriting · 3 years

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Keep Holding On ~ KSJ [Request]

WORD COUNT: 1.7K

PAIRING: Jin x Reader x Daughter

GENRE: established relationship, death, angst, ANGST, sad, family au,

A/N: The song I went with was Keep Holding On by Avril Lavigne and I hope that it’s okay for you my love

TRIGGER WARNING: Details the passing of the reader please read with Caution!!!!

The moment he saw your daughter walk up onto her debut stage his heart clenched inside of his chest. Nara had turned out to look so much more like you than Jin and he couldn't help but imagine seeing you up on that stage. Nara's eyes scanned the crowd looking for Jin and as soon as she found her father she began doing a small wave with her hand. All she'd ever wanted was for Jin to come and watch her debut stage and now it was finally happening. Nerves will bundling up inside of her but with her dad watching she knew she would be able to do anything she put her mind to. The thought of the song lingered in her mind, it was a song Nara had been writing about in secrecy, not wanting Jin to see it until the time was right.

"She looks so much like Y/n," Jimin whispered as the lights began to focus on Nara, getting cameras ready to come back from the ad break. Jin stared at her, not being able to take his eyes off her for even a second. It had to have been the way your hair was styled and your makeup was done, it was like looking at a photograph of you.

"Hyung, she looks great," Yoongi whispered giving Jin a small shoulder rub of encouragement. It had been 24 years since you'd passed away and seeing your daughter up there was bringing everything back for Jin.

"Hyung?" Namjoon questioned watching as Jin looked down at his phone getting the camera open and staring back up at his daughter on the stage. Mic in her hand as she got ready to perform for the first time in front of thousands of people.

A slow melody began to play through the speakers inside of the room, it was a brave decision to debut with such a slow song but it was something from the heart. Something Nara had struggled with for years where your death was concerned. Although Jin had never once blamed Nara for your passing she couldn't help but feel guilty over it.

Tears rushed to her eyes instantly as she sang her heart out, making eye contact with Jin who was already crying from the first verse. The song touched on how guilty she felt about you dying and taking you away from Jin, about how she could feel you watching over her even when you were no longer around. That she and Jin were still going to keep holding on, pushing forward with you around them in their hearts.

"She has your nose," You whispered tiredly as you watched Jin bouncing around the side of your bed making you giggle. A small cough catching in your throat as you saw Jin stare down at your unnamed daughter. The one thing you had been struggling to do for the last hour was naming her.

"How about Hyuna?" Jin questioned as he sat down on the rocking chair beside your bed. Truth be told you had a bunch of names ready for her but when she came out of you, none of them seemed to match her.

"Nara?" You croaked out, sitting up in the bed a little and watching Jin. Your head resting on the pillow behind you as you felt your breathing begin to worsen. The doctor said all of this was normal, that you'd had such a rough birth that this was bound to make you tired for a while. But you felt completely out of it, everything sounded and felt as though it was completely far away from you and you had no energy to hold your own daughter.

"Nara," Jin repeats looking down at his daughter as she slept soundly in his arms. He was running the name through his head looking at her and smiling proudly.

"Nara," You whispered back to him, closing your eyes for just a second to get some rest. Jin smiled as he nodded his head,

"Nara is perfect...Little baby Nara," He chuckled softly glancing up and chuckling some more when he found you sound asleep.

"You must have really tired Mama out," He laughs getting up and carefully placing Nara into the small crib that the hospital had provided for you both to use during your stay. As much as Jin wanted you to get some rest you had to wake up, the doctors needed to do some tests on both you and Nara to make sure you were fit for release.

"Babe? You need to wake up, the doctors will be coming any second to discharge us," Jin nudged your arm softly but you didn't move, eyes didn't even flinch as Jin frowned.

"Baby?" He whispered laughing a little. You must have really been tired since usually, the smallest noise would wake you up. Jin knew from the experience of leaving the house early every morning. Shaking you a little Jin shook his head at you, wondering how you could even sleep with the hospital noise but your body rolled onto your back and stayed there, Jin's heart sank realising that you were no longer in the room.

"NURSE!" He screamed out ringing the bell beside the bed over and over again as he tried to feel for a pulse on your neck.

"NURSE!" His voice bellowed out as he desperately began to breathe into your lips, doing small chest compressions as he shook his head,

"Don't you dare die on me." He whimpered looking down at you as you laid there lifelessly, a nurse and set of doctors running into the room and ripping him away from you.

"Let me be with her! She needs me!" He screamed as a security guard escorted him out of the room. All he could see were people working around you tirelessly, machines beeping and people yelling over one another.

"What's going on? Please tell me!" He begged as a nurse ran out of the room carrying his daughter and taking her into another room with other babies.

"Jin...Jin you need to calm down." The security guard whispered as Jin stared through the small window at your bed. The doctors freezing as they stared up at the clock above your bed.

"Why did you stop!? HEY! HEY! Don't fucking stop!" He screamed banging his hands on the window as he yelled at the doctors to work on you.

"Time of death, 11:58 pm." The words felt like cold ice dripping down Jin's shirt as he watched doctors leaving the room, all of them giving looks of sympathy before leaving him there. All of them going back to their wives, husbands or partners to spend the night together while Jin just stayed there. Watching as a nurse covered up your body and walked out of the room.

"You can have some time with her...They'll come to collect her in five minutes." She whispered watching as Jin stared at your body, walking into the room and just watching you. Half expecting you to sit up or for him to wake up and have this all be some kind of nightmare.

"Mr Kim?" Jin turned to look at the coroner who had been running all of the tests on you and bounced Nara in his arms. It had been two weeks since you passed and there still wasn't a definitive answer as to how this had happened.

"It's hard to determine with things like these but we...We believe it was due to blood loss during the labour." Jin looked at Nara as he bounced her around, nodding his head. Even after getting answers that he would feel a little bit better but he didn't. Nothing made any of this better. The fear of raising his daughter alone came crashing into his head as he stared down at the report in the coroner's hands, sighing a little. Jin had held back crying for weeks, refusing to cry as he blamed himself for this. He felt as though he should have made sure that you were okay first, he should have pressured the doctors into sooner tests.

The final verse was coming up and tears were ruining Nara's makeup as she belted her whole chest into the song, holding the microphone despite shaking heavily.

"There's nothing you could say, nothing you could do...There's no other way when it comes to the truth...So keep holding on...Cause you know we'll make it through, we'll make it through." The crowd erupted in cheers as Jin and Nara made eye contact, both of them crying as she slowly made her way off the stage toward him.

"Daddy." She breathed as he said nothing, just pushed her into his chest wrapping his arms around her. Embracing her tightly and kissing the top of her head softly, both of them forgetting the cameras as they cried together. Sobbing against her father's chest as he kept her close to him, kissing her over and over again on the top of her head.

"None of it was ever your fault," He promised as he held her close to him, the cameras leaving them alone as the boys escorted them backstage for some privacy. Crying together as she nodded her head, Jin held her face in his hands as he smile, using his thumb to wipe away the tears from her cheeks.

"She would be proud of you, so proud." He whispered to her, his voice cracking as he looked down at her. Over the years of your passing, he'd never once moved on but it had gotten easier to deal with your death.

"Shall we go home and watch old home movies?" He questioned as she leaned into his touch, nodding her head over and over again. When you first died Jin could never bring himself to think or speak of you, when Nara reached the age of wondering where you were he could barely explain it. Instead, the two of them would watch home movies of you, look over old photos and videos you had made whilst pregnant.

"Let's go." He whispered to her, taking her hand in his and taking her to go and collect her things from her changing room.

Tagline: @lyoongx @mitzwinchester @rjsmochii @taestannie @sw33tnight @sweeneyblue1 @jin-from-the-block @acciocriativity @mwitsmejk @taeechwitaa @justbangtanthingz @stillwithlix @misa0000

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zuluc · 3 years

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hello i just had a little vacation and came back to my regularly scheduled lack of sleep 🥲 hope you enjoy this drabble ! this is set in a modern!au and if they are typos im too tired to fix them rn 😀

he really shouldn’t be here, not with your parents downstairs alert as always to make sure you aren’t hanging around with that boy again. they constantly talk ill of him to dissuade you from mentioning or even thinking of him. he’s not good for you, he’ll ruin your clean reputation. a delinquent.

didn’t he run away from home? isn’t he living with that woman who’s always drinking?

he doesn’t say much about his home, but he does mention how he wishes to return one day. visit old friends, maybe, and to show you the sights. one day he hopes, it just isn’t soon.

and the woman in question is boisterous at all times and not at all less responsible when drunk, which is most nights. she can hold her own and takes care of you like her own when you visit. she’d poke fun at the male for making a move so quickly but she forgets that she knows you’ve been together for quite some time. he teases her back, saying that she’s becoming like your parents for not knowing and she’s slightly offended. no offense to them, of course.

he’s a bad influence!

you could laugh in their face about the absurdity of their claims since they haven’t even met him, let alone held a single conversation. instead of vulgar language and slang they could not figure out, your parents would be surprised as to how well-versed he is in literature. his poems capturing much that he observes which now so happen to focus on one particular person.

“hey,” kazuha waves a hand in front of your face and you forget that he’s barely balanced on your window sill. you gasp slightly and grab his hand to help pull him in. he was as quiet as he always was.

it’s a skill he’s perfected to come up to your bedroom window without a peep, making sure to time his climbing on your large front lawn tree with the wind, masking his noise with the sound of the leaves. once you watched him in his entirety climbing and it’s as if he doesn’t even touch the bark, he jumps up like the wind is helping beneath him.

after he shuts your window you’re immediately taken in his arms, the smell of maple and his warm embrace greeting you welcomingly.

“are you alright?” he’s asking, pulling back to hold your face with one hand. his thumb caresses your cheek softly with a gaze set so sweetly on you. “what’s going on in that head of yours, maple leaf?”

kazuha isn’t unaware of your parent’s distaste of him nor is he of your ponderings over it. he doesn’t share much of his feelings about the topic, showing nonchalance against the situation but there is something that makes him uneasy. he hates to voice it out loud as if it could come true and you’d choose that way but he’d never know. not unless he asked.

actually, scratch that. he wasn’t uneasy. he was scared.

you sigh and he tightens the arm around you, still holding your face tenderly. you lift your hands up to hold onto the front of his sweater and lean forward to kiss him. it’s short and sweet and you laugh inwardly when his eyes downcast slightly when you pull away.

“my parents.” you say simply and he tenses. there is a beat of silence before you look up at him, and it surprises you. his expression is somewhat odd, an indescribable way his mouth is curled and how his stare is deadset on something past you. you can tell he isn’t looking at anything in particular but his hand is what gives you the clue.

it’s not touching your cheek now, instead it hovers.

he opens his mouth for a second and closes it.

“kazuha?” you say and he pulls away fully now. his eyes are on your floor and he’s darting them from all corners trying to figure out how to piece his words together.

it may be the first time he’s truly stuck.

“do you,” he starts slowly, having a hard time to let himself look you in the eye, “want to stop this?”

you’re flabbergasted. utterly taken aback. he’s taking small steps to the window but you pull on his wrist to bring him closer to you.

“what are you talking about?” in your head you’re thinking that maybe he’s had it with your complaining of the overprotectiveness, which was what you were going to do, but with his voice shaking you think it may be another thing. “are you crazy? do you think i’d let go of the best thing that’s ever happened to me?”

kazuha’s head shoots up at the statement and your mouth in shock after processing your words. you stutter with useless explanations but he just laughs airily with his head thrown back in relief. he hugs you again, the tenseness slowly dying down.

you weren’t lying, your now warm face giving it away. he gave you a sense of freedom away from the suffocation your family provides. you love them, absolutely, but they just wouldn’t let you live your life how you wanted. nothing bad was happening and you were happy, wasn’t that supposed to be enough?

“i thought you were breaking up with me,” he cups your face, a solemn smile shown to you, “dove, you almost gave me a heart attack.”

the next few minutes are filled with the both of you consoling each other, reassuring that no, you were both happy with your relationship and that there were just a few things you both wish could change with external factors. ultimately, between the two of you, everything was fine.

your legs grow more and more tired and from a shifting of your feet kazuha raises a brow and doesn’t think twice in lifting you in his arms. a surprised yelp comes from you and your mom calls up the stairs to ask if you’re okay. you quickly yell back an answer just as he throws you both on your bed, his head coming to cuddle into your neck with his arms around your middle tightly.

“we would have to tell them eventually,” he mutters, his breaths slowly evening out. you nod from your spot, turning to face him better and bringing up your hand to card through his hair.

“eventually.”

your eyes close and you mentally reassure yourself that you locked the door before he came in, slowly bringing yourself to sleep. kazuha tends to leave early in the morning just in case your parents get to suspicious from the lock so your worries die down to nothing.

that is, until he whispers once more.

“tomorrow morning it is.”

#late night thoughts #genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact scenarios #genshin impact imagines #genshin impact headcannons #genshin impact fluff #genshin impact angst #genshin impact kaedehara kazuha x reader #genshin impact kaedehara kazuha #kaedehara kazuha x reader #kaedehara kazuha #genshin impact kazuha x reader #genshin impact kazuha #kazuha x reader #kazuha

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haechanniesunflowers · 3 years

Text

Ateez being jealous

I left some of these open ended cause I might want to write a second part to this

Seonghwa

Your boyfriend had invited you over to watch him practice for an upcoming award show. The choreography was intense and it was hard to pull it off. He got rap parts for the song so that was the cherry on top. All he wanted was to show you how hard he was working and for you to be proud of him.

You met the rest of the boys through Seonghwa and supported them wholeheartedly. Unbeknownst to you, Seonghwa invited you for selfish purposes but you had eyes on all the members and cheered them on. That didn't sit well with Seonghwa.

Yeosang had the hardest part in the choreography and you cheered for him every time he executed those moves. What worsened things was that Seonghwa couldn't do his part the way he wanted to and that made him angry. When the head choreographer announced a break you came running to him but he didn't spare you a look.

"Seonghwa you did great!"

"hmm"

"don't overburden yourself, you'll get it right, I know it"

"can you leave?"

"what?"

"I can't concentrate with you cheering for everyone else, please leave"

Hongjoong

You finished your semester and to celebrate, Hongjoong invited you over to have a little pizza party, just the two of you, since the other members had schedules. He was alone in the dorms when you came. It was a wholesome date, snuggles, pizza and netflix. Some time later he showed you the piece he was working on for a rap song him and Mingi were planning to release.

You praised him and gave him feedback. Hongjoong was the happiest. He was about to kiss you when Mingi walked through the front door and entered the living room. You were really close with him so he came in for a hug which you gladly returned. You then asked him to show you his rap verse and he did. You were a huge Mingi fan and everyone in Ateez knew that. So you unconsciously praised him more than you did Hongjoong, which didn't sit well with him. He held his breath and didn't cause a scene because 1) he knew you were supportive of the members and 2) Mingi was his and your friend and an outburst from Hongjoong would hurtyou both.

He controlled his feelings and became quiet which didn't go unnoticed by Mingi. Sensing that his friend was spacing out he excused himself, patted his shoulder and mouthed an 'I'm sorry' before leaving for his room.

Yunho

He had been wanting to see this movie with you but didn't get the chance to tell you because of his busy schedule. He knew you'd love it and all he wanted was for you to be happy. When he was done with album promotions and got a day off, he got the perfect chance to meet you for a movie date before going to his home town. So he came to your apartment. You were very excited to see him and wouldn't stop hugging him. You guys talked about random things and you told him what you were up to while he was busy.

"I really really missed you that day Yunho, I missed you so much I called my friends and cried to them about how much I miss you. So they came over and we went out. We went to KFC and had ice-cream from McDonald's later. Oh and then we went to see this new movie that came out. It was really good, you should watch it too. I'm very thankful to my friends for taking me out that day, the food and movie made me feel really better."

When Yunho heard you talking about the same movie he was about to ask you to see with him, he felt devastated. He didn't want to, but he got sensitive about it and felt bad.

"you could've called me, I would have taken you to see that movie."

"but I didn't want to disturb you, you were so busy doing your thing."

"didn't want to disturb me? or didn't want to see the movie with me? and rather see it with your friends."

"what's so wrong with seeing the movie with my friends? And you're the one who set this rule about not meeting up for dates while you were promoting."

"it was just a movie, I could've made time to take you to see it!"

You were silent for a moment.

"you're right Yunho, it's just a movie."

Yunho caught on with the hurt in your tone but was too clouded by his jealousy that he didn't stop there.

"maybe you should go out more often with Robin then." he said knowing Robin was nothing more than a close friend to you.

"Robin is my friend and you know that."

"sure. Didn't we start as friends too."

Your jaw dropped at his words.

"I'm out of here." he said in an annoyed tone and got up to leave. You followed him and tried stopping him.

"you're doing all this just because I watched that movie with my friends and not you?"

"I'm doing all this because your friends care about you more than I could, so why not get out of your way and make things easier for you." he said and slammed the door shut.

Yeosang

You visited their dorms to see Yeosang because he wasn't feeling well. He worked out too hard and his body was sore so you came to tend to him until he felt like he could move his body without discomfort. He was on his bed and you sat on the chair. He moved a little and you immediately got up to hold his hand.

"hey don't move, tell me what it is."

"it's okay I just needed water, I can reach for the glass."

"let me do it Yeosang, just stay still for now."

He had heart eyes and was thankful for you. You lifted his head and brought the glass to his lips. You gently rested his head back on the pillow and were about to get up when he grabbed your hand.

"I need something."

"what is it?"

"give me a kiss."

"oh God Yeosang! Do the guys know how cheesy you tend to get?"

"they don't need to know." he smiled.

You placed your hand on his chest and lowered yourself to kiss him but were interrupted by Wooyoung suddenly entering the room. You moved away from Yeosang but he still had a grip on your arm. Wooyoung stomped to his bed and sat with his head in his hands. Yeosang nudged you to bring your attention back to him but you were worried for Wooyoung. Yeosang let go of your arm when you turned to look at his friend.

"hey is everything okay?" you asked.

"no" Wooyoung answered. You got up before Yeosang could grab your arm again and sat next to Wooyoung, patting his back.

"what's up? you can tell me."

"she was cheating on me with my friend." he said with a shaky voice, wiping his tears.

Yeosang scoffed, earning a glare from you. He wanted to comfort his friend in a time like this but he acted on his jealousy instead. He wanted you to sit next to him and not Wooyoung.

"didn't I tell you she was faking it? didn't I tell you she loved Yedam and not you? but you were just too in love to listen to me."

"Yeosang!" you warned him.

Wooyoung lifted his head to look at Yeosang, showing his red tear stained face. Yeosang looked unfazed and stared back at him, now sitting up on his bed. You didn't help him up, too annoyed with the way he was reacting to his friend's horrid break up.

You made Wooyoung face you instead and squeezed his shoulder.

"good riddance. You don't need someone who would look at other men when she had you. Be thankful that you got out of this."

Wooyoung whimpered at your words. You wanted to hug him but you knew it wasn't right so you gestured for Yeosang to comfort him. He scoffed again and you mouthed for him to do it or else. Yeosang hissed a little while getting up, his body still sore.

"I'll leave you two to talk about this, while I get ice-cream for Wooyoung to cheer him up."

"thanks y/n, I appreciate it." Wooyoung said.

Yeosang looked at you in disbelief.

San

You and San made it official so it was time to formally introduce him to your best friends. They knew you were seeing a guy who was very loving and caring and had a very kind heart. They were very happy for you because he was the first man you dated in a long time after breaking up with your toxic ex boyfriend 6 years ago. They arranged a surprise party for him and it was just San, you and your three best friends, Stella, Mia and Eric.

You picked him up from his place and drove to the location your friends sent you. San was excited and nervous, something you knew he would feel because he wanted your friends to like him. When you got there he was a little flustered to see the surprise, a separate table for 5 people, drinks already on the table and pretty wall hangings. You squeezed his hand and walked to them. They met you two and congratulated you both. San flashed his bright smile, showing his dimples. Your friends teased you about how handsome he was, making him shy. He was a gentleman and it showed by how he treated you all.

You introduced them individually and they noticed how San didn't shake hands with Stella and Mia and instead put his hand on his chest and bowed politely. When you introduced Eric to him, they revealed that they used to be classmates from grade 6th to 8th before San's parents moved to another city because of his dad's job. They shook hands and San felt a little weird about how he slightly squeezed his hand, making him lock eyes with him. He saw the look in his eyes and it made him uncomfortable. San didn't want to think about it and disregarded it as something in his head.

While talking and having food, San noticed how Eric would talk to you about old times, as if showing off how close you two were. It made him very jealous but he didn't act on it and acted like it didn't bother him.

Eric decided to test the waters and brought up a particular topic.

"so San, how long did it take you to build that muscle? I remember you used to be skinny as hell!" he joked.

You knew San was insecure about his past self and that's why he worked so hard to earn his toned and buff body. You knew Eric was only joking so you didn't interfere.

"haha well I... I became very active in junior year in college and I got these muscles after practicing dancing every day for 4 years"

"damn you went to college skinny?"

Although Eric was joking, nobody liked the joke and before you say something, Mia spoke first.

"what's wrong with being skinny?"

Eric started snickering, "nothing, I just meant that San looked like a kid when he was skinny."

"you went to college with that attitude and that awful haircut, who're you telling what they looked like." you defended your boyfriend who could only laugh at this point. Eric laughed about it and then the subject was changed.

San could feel Eric glaring at him but he chose to ignore him and focused on you.

Mingi

Mingi was headover heals for you the moment he saw you but you didn't like him like that. He saw that but worked hard to get you to notice him. You did notice him and thought he was hot but you didn't see him as a suitable partner for you so you let him be. Mingi, however, was determined to get you to like him so he came to the cafe you worked at, whenever he was free. One time it was raining and you were not that busy since people weren't coming in because of the rain. It gave you time to sit back and relax and it wasn't your turn to clean the counters and tables so you sat at one of the tables and watched the rain peacefully. You heard the bell jingle, signalling someone had come in. You immediately got up to get to your station. You didn't expect to see Mingi there, setting his umbrella in a corner and coming to the counter with a smile on his face. He ordered two coffee cups and two fudge brownies. You perceived that he had to meet someone here. After paying for it, he sat at the table and waited for his order to come. When your coworker placed it on the tray, you took it and served it at his table. Mingi thanked you and smiled warmly. You got back to your station and watched as he sat quietly, not touching the food. After about 5 minutes Mingi called for a waiter and your coworker went to him. He asked her if people came in this weather to which she replied that the cafe was usually empty when it rained heavily so they weren't expecting customers and Mingi was probably the last customer of the day. He thanked her and she returned to her station. Mingi came to the counter after her.

"hey y/n? I uh asked your coworker and she said probably no one's going to come so I was wondering if you would uh maybe want to have coffee with me?"

You could tell he was nervous.

"your date didn't show up?" you teased, making Mingi's eyes widen.

"no no it's not like that. I was hoping you could be my date today haha I ordered the other coffee and brownie for you."

You thought it was cute of him and your coworker said she'll take the orders if anyone comes in so you accepted his request.

You talked with Mingi over warm food and got to know that he's actually a really sweet and intelligent guy, contrary to what you thought of him to be a dumb guy with accidental hot looks. Mingi enjoyed your company too. He was talking about the song he was working on when another coworker came out from the staff room and walked over to the table when he saw you there with Mingi. He tapped your shoulder to get your attention.

"slacking are we?" he asked.

"what's it to you? Go back to your rat hole and let me be."

"it's lonely in there." he fake pouted. You were annoyed. He sometimes tried flirting with you but you never showed interest. Mingi saw the exchange and was jealous of the dude.

"come on I'm waiting for you." the guy tried again.

"I think it's pretty clear she doesn't want to tag along so why don't you leave her alone buddy." Mingi sternly said. The guy had no choice but to leave.

You were thankful for Mingi's help, even though you would have easily told him off too, but something about Mingi doing it made you feel butterflies.

"I've seen his kind, they just don't know when to stop. Just smack him in the head next time he tries something." Mingi said making you giggle.

He felt accomplished to have made you laugh and deep down was dying to get your number.

Wooyoung

Wanting to pick up another style of dancing, Wooyoung enrolled himself in a dance academy. Aside from ATEEZ's activities, he really wanted to learn this style.

It was particularly hard for him to grasp so he spent any free time he got at the academy, practicing. 6 months in, he got close to a few people in the academy but he had no time to spare. He was determined to get it right this time around so he decided to stay until they told him to leave. After much hard work he got a hang of it so he took a little break to rest his body in order to dance again. He was passing by one of the classes he was drawn to the music and peeked through the glass door and saw a young woman in the dimly lit room, dancing the same dance he was learning. Her dance lines were flawless and she moved effortlessly. Wooyoung was blown away and couldn't resist going inside.

"wow you're amazing" he complimented, after the music stopped. He clapped for her.

She thanked him but hadn't faced him yet, she instead walked towards her laptop and played another track and danced to it. Wooyoung still hadn't seen her face but was absolutely hooked to the way she was dancing.

He watched attentively as she danced perfectly. He wanted to dance like that too. When she stopped and sat down to catch her breath, Wooyoung clapped for her again and went to hand her a bottle of juice. She finally turned to look at him. Wooyoung felt his chest tighten, finding it hard to breathe. He felt weak in the knees. She took the bottle from him and thanked him. Wooyoung sat beside her, pupils dilated. She'd be lying to herself if she said he had no effect on her. She felt giddy and warm by his gesture, not to mention he was hot too.

"can you teach me that dance some time?" he asked.

Seeing this as an opportunity to get to know him better she nodded.

Wooyoung smiled widely, "I'm Wooyoung by the way."

"oh I'm Senna." she smiled back. They sat in awkward silence, tension thick. Someone came inside and switched on the lights.

"damn it Senna I was gonna ask you to dance with me for the duo performance!" he whined. He looked like he was close to her and that made him unhappy and jealous.

"huh?" Senna was confused.

"wait you didn't pair up with him for the duo performance?"

Before Senna could tell him no, Wooyoung answered first.

"yeah she was showing me the dance just now."

Senna looked to Wooyoung but he kept up his act.

"come on we have to get this right." he said, holding her hand.

Jongho

Being the reserved person he is, he didn't find it easy to mingle with his colleagues in the kpop industry. He was too shy to walk up to people and introduce himself. He felt he was hopeless and would be the rich single uncle to his members' children in the future. He talked about this with Seonghwa and Hongjoong. They advised him to put his walls down and let someone in. He struggled with it still. One day they were practicing for their dance performance for Ateez's 7 year anniversary. Seonghwa was suffering in silence with Wooyoung and San messing around with him. He noticed a female bb trippin dancer occasionally glancing towards Jongho. Seeing the chance he escaped from the torment and went to talk to Jongho. He subtly brought Jongho closer to her and seized the opportunity.

"hey y/n we saw your performance video, I think it was really cool. Your technique is amazing. Don't you think Jongho."

"haha yeah I uh think it was really good. You're very talented."

"thank you." she said and bowed.

"I'll leave you two to it, maybe you could talk about common interests." Seonghwa said and took his leave. Jongho and y/n started talking and over time became comfortable. They met at every dance practice and grew closer. They exchanged numbers with Seonghwa's help and hit it off from there. They would meet within the company and have little 7/11 dates.

Y/N invited Jongho to watch her performance at bb trippin's dance studio. Jongho went with Seonghwa. Y/N was a passionate dancer and it showed. Her moves were clean and sharp. Jongho felt proud. There was one performance where y/n danced with a male dancer. Their chemistry was excellent and everyone cheered them in. Jongho felt jealous and looked away, clenching his jaw. Seonghwa noticed this and tried soothing him.

"it's only a performance Jongho." he smiled warmly.

Jongho broke out of his trance and listened to Seonghwa's words.

"you're right hyung, it's only a dance."

He understood that she was his and one performance won't mean otherwise.

#ateez #ateez scenarios #ateez imagines #ateez reactions #ateez angst #ateez fluff #ateez x reader #ateez x y/n #ateez hongjoong #ateez seonghwa #ateez yunho #ateez yeosang #ateez san #ateez mingi #ateez wooyoung #ateez jongho

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rapsgoddess · 3 years

Text

Washing Machine Heart Part 1. (Erik Killmonger x OC)

This is unedited so please have mercy on me in the notes 😭

Nahla knew she didn’t mean a thing to him. Next to being a mercenary, Erik was a player. He came and went as he pleased, spent his nights with more than one woman, and didn’t feel a single shred of regret whenever his girls would pour out their hearts to him.

Nahla knew she didn’t mean a single thing to him, yet she still somehow fell in love.

It was a painful realization. One that she came to during one of Erik’s many long term absences. It was another sleepless night for her and she was sitting in bed with her laptop open to her right and her keyboard directly in front of her. For the past week, the same melody had been on loop inside her head. A broken tune that conveyed so much sorrow that it nearly brought her to tears whenever she hummed it. Each day after she got home from work, she would add onto the melody bit by bit, putting in different instruments and sounds to create a beautiful symphony.

When it came time to write lyrics for the song, all she could envision was a tune about unrequited love. The same unrequited love that she had been feeling for a while.

It wasn’t until she put a name to that feeling when she finally realized how she truly felt about Erik.

She decided to try and keep things suppressed for a while, hoping that her childish feelings of romance would disappear after a few days.

They didn’t.

When Erik returned a few weeks later, she didn’t, know how to act. The man made it known that he was not committed to anybody, and Nahla was no exception. On the rare occasion Nahla would catch a glimpse of him on social media, she would see him surrounded by women who looked as if they could be models. Women who were leagues ahead of her. The photos never failed to resurrect her insecurities. They made her question why Erik even bothered to give her the time of day. Yet those insecurities melted away whenever he came to visit her.

Flash forward to the present, and Nahla found herself laying next to Erik’s naked frame in her bed. The faint sound of her washing machine echoed throughout the house, giving a sort of rhythmic banging as her shoes tussled around inside. The night was still fairly young, having only been a few minutes past seven, but all of the plans that Nahla had for that evening were discarded the moment Erik showed up on her doorstep.

It didn’t take much for his words to lull her into bed and for his lips on hers to enrapture her. His low, smooth voice was like music to her ears, and her moans being music to his. Each praise that left his lips was like a toxic lullaby. Nahla knew that he had repeated the same words to dozens of women in the past, yet in the moment, they made her feel as if she were the only woman in the world.

“You feel so good around me baby…”

“You don’t know how much I missed this pussy.”

“Say my name so everybody know who’s fuckin’ you right.”

Thinking back to his words sent shivers down her spine. She was wide awake, restless and too excited to fall asleep. It was rare for Erik to stay after having sex, let alone fall asleep before her, but her inner turmoil prevented her from falling asleep.

She turned back to look over at Erik, taking in every aspect of his being as if it were the last time she would see him again. No matter how many times she laid eyes on him, she would never be able to find the words to describe how beautiful he was. He had a smile that could light up a room and warm eyes that made her heart flutter each time she looked into them. It often left her wondering why exactly he even entertained the thought of her when he was way out of her league.

A heavy sigh left Nahla’s lips and she threw the covers off the lower half of her body. She looked back at Erik one last time while putting on her robe, making sure that he stayed asleep. Slowly and quietly, she crept out of the room and down the hall to her makeshift studio, closing the door behind her and turning on the lights. She used her studio as an escape from both the real world and her own mind, and right then she needed an escape from both. Turning on her equipment and opening up her laptop, she opened up the file that held her latest project. The one that helped her come to her realization in the first place. She made sure the speakers were low as to not wake Erik up and pressed play, listening to her voice blend with the gentle melody.

She had only written a few lines so far and could feel the next verse just on the tip of her tongue, but lyricism had never really been her strong suit. Muttering random words under her breath, she opened up the notes section on GarageBand and began writing down whatever sounded nice, replacing and adding words where she deemed fit.

“Might as well give it a go,” she sighed, getting up from her chair and walking over to the small corner where her mic and the rest of her recording equipment was set up. She pressed record on an empty track and began singing the second verse, her voice coming out soft and almost broken in contrast to her usual strong, belty tone. She was tired, both physically and emotionally, but she couldn’t walk back to that room. Not with him still laying asleep in her bed as if the two of them were a couple.

After a few more takes, she had finally gotten her voice warmed up enough to where it didn’t sound completely like shit and she walked over to her work station to edit the track on top the music.

With her mind now completely engulfed in her music, she didn’t noticed the sound of her toilet flushing or her bathroom sink running down the hall. She didn’t notice the sound of footsteps leading to her studio and her door opening slightly.

It wasn’t until the feeling of a hand snaking its way around her neck drew her from her work as she jumped in her seat while clutching her chest in panic.

“Whatchu scared for? It’s just me,” Erik muttered, his voice still laced with drowsiness. “What are you doing up? Any other day you’d be knocked out.” His fingers gently squeezed at her neck and he leaned down to plant a kiss on the top of her head. It was weirdly intimate of him.

“I couldn’t sleep so I decided to work on something.” Nahla spun her seat around to face him. He had on a pair of low hanging shorts. She recognized them as being one of the pairs she bought for him whenever he decided to stay over. She mentally scoffed at the thought; buying clothes for a man who she wasn’t even in a relationship with.

“You’re not leaving?” She asked. It had just dawned on her that, miraculously, Erik was still there.

“Nah. I haven’t seen you in a while so I figured I’d stay for a little bit.”

The sentiment made her heart flutter but she quickly grounded herself back to reality. She couldn’t afford to get her hopes up.

“So, what are you working on?” He asked, his arms folded across his chest as he looked past her and at the open editing software on her computer.

“Oh. Well I had a melody that was stuck in my head for a while so I put it down and write lyrics. I lowkey wanna find a mini orchestra to record it though.”

“Well can I hear it?” He suggested.

Nahla’s eyes widened and her heart skipped a beat. Despite knowing each other for the better part of two years now, this was the most he had ever expressed genuine interest in her music.

“U-Uhh, I’m not sure… I get really sensitive about my stuff. Plus it’s not what you’d expect it to be,” she said, swirling her chair back around to face her work station as she hesitantly placed her hand on the mouse and moved the cursor over the “play” button. After taking a deep breath, she played the song and closed her eyes as she waited for it to be over. Throughout the entirety of what little she had to play, Erik was silent, giving no response, comment, or critiques. When it was over, she reluctantly turned around to face him.

“So? What do you think?”

“Yeah, I can definitely hear an orchestra going behind that. Maybe start off with piano first, then bring in strings or some shit during the hook,” he suggested, walking over to the other chair in the corner of her studio and sitting down.

“Okay. Thanks.”

For about an hour or two, the two of them stayed up in her studio talking about random things while sharing a blunt together. They eventually migrated back to the bedroom and made their way beneath the covers together, Nahla’s body molding perfectly into Erik’s as they cuddled.

“Nah, I’m deadass. I thought I had locked his cage, but he always finds a way to get out,” Nahla giggled, referring to her pet chameleon who always managed to get out of his cage. “I remember a few day ago I had just woken up and went into the kitchen to get some juice and I see him inside the sink just sitting there. Then he have the nerve to look up at me like ‘what are you doing here?’ No sir, what are you doing here.”

Erik laughed softly while shaking his head. “Nah, I don’t think I could handle an animal just freely roaming my shit like that.”

“You get used to it after a while. I was low-key thinking about getting a snake too, but I gotta figure out where to put the tank.”

“Oh hell nah. If you get a snake, I’m not coming by anymore.”

“What?! You used to be a whole Navy Seal and you’re scared of snakes, E?” She asked, a bit surprised that he even shared that information with her.

“Girl, I don’t know how you can even stand them things,” he mumbled, “slithering around and shit. What if it gets out when you’re sleep and starts choking you?”

“Then we’ll cross that bridge when we get to it,” she giggled, earning an eye roll from Erik.

Though it didn’t seem possible, she pressed herself against Erik even harder, somehow managing to get even closer to him. Resting her head in the crook of his neck, she had a perfect view of the many scars and keloids that littered his body. She could tell some of them are new. Whether or not they were accidental or self inflicted, she didn’t want to know.

It was times like these where Nahla wished that her outlandish fantasies of romance weren’t fantasies at all. Having never been in a real relationship before, she constantly longed to be loved by someone in a romantic sense. Though she knew that Erik probably never thought of her as more than a fuck buddy, it was nice to feel his warmth underneath her. Even if it was an illusion, it was nice to imagine him as her lover while he was holding her close.

“What’s on your mind?” He pried, letting out a deep sigh before closing his eyes and relaxing his muscles.

“Where do you go when you disappear?” She partially lied. Even though that wasn’t what truly was on her mind, it was still a question that lingered over her head for a while.

“That, I can’t tell you ma. At least not right now.”

She wasn’t satisfied with how curt his reply was. Sitting up, she supported her head with her hand, her elbow buried into the pillow beside his head as she peered down at him.

“You can tell me,” she pried. A childish grin spread across her face. “If it’s something illegal I promise I won’t tell.”

Erik peaked one up up at her, a smile of his own taking over his featured. He pushed his hands behind his head and stared up at the ceiling. “Mm… Maybe I could tell you a little bit. I don’t even know where to begin though without you thinkin’ I’m crazy.”

“I won’t think you’re crazy.”

“You say that now.” There was a pregnant pause, and then, in the most serious tone ever, he said, “I’m apart of African royalty.”

“So there’s this country in Africa called Wakanda. At first glance, it seems like a small lil third world country, but in reality, they’re the most advanced civilization on the planet. They got this metal called Vibranium that allows them to all sorts of things, but they keep it hidden from the rest of the world.”

“How? And if they kept it hidden from the world, then how do you know about it?”

“They have a dome that surrounds the entire country. It’s practically impenetrable. And the only reason I know is because my father was the prince. He was sent here on an undercover mission in America but quickly saw how shitty thing were here, so he wanted to change it. “

“Wait, your father is the prince of an African country?” Nahla couldn’t believe her ears. Despite being secretive and mysterious, she knew that Erik wasn’t one to lie. After all, what could he possibly gain from lying about something as far fetched as this?

“Was. He was killed before he could enact any change; by his own brother no less.”

She could hear a pain and vulnerability in his voice that she’d never heard before. Now she definitely knew that he wasn’t lying.

Erik’s face had turned to the side in a fruitless attempt to hide the tears that welled up in his eyes. He’d never brought up his family or much of his life before he met her in a conversation, and now she could see why.

Hesitantly, Nahla reached up to wipe away the tears that left his eyes. “So you plan on going back and getting revenge?” She pondered. It would make sense why he’d want to stay under the radar, having no social media accounts, no permanent phone number, and constantly disappearing for months at a time. If he wanted to infiltrate an entire hidden country, then he’d have to be the closest thing to a ghost a person could be.

“It’s on the list,” he replied, sitting up in bed while resting back against the headboard. “But, my main goal is to change the world. Wakanda has technology and weapons that people can’t even begin fathom. If our people were able to get their hands on that kind of fire power, we wouldn’t have to worry about the White man oppressing us any longer.”

The sadness that was once present in his eyes had long disappeared, instead being replaced with a burning passion. It filled her with joy to see him get passionate about something, but it also put her on edge. Nahla knew what his plan implied, and she didn’t put it past him to sacrifice countless lives in order to see his vision come to life.

Staying silent, she simply nodded, too afraid that she’d say the wrong thing if she opened her mouth. Tearing her gaze away from the man, she began contemplating on everything she had been thinking about prior to his arrival. Her feelings for him were still unwavering, but now she was starting to ponder on whether or not being with him was a wise decision. It didn’t take being a genius to know that Erik’s path was a set one. He was a determined, goal-driven man, and when his mind was made up, there was no convincing him to go back on his decision.

If she followed him down that path, she wouldn’t be able to turn back.

“Do I scare you?”

Nahla looked back up only to be met with obsidian eyes boring straight into her deep brown ones. His question threw her for a loop, no doubt, considering how Erik was never one to be considerate of other people’s feelings.

“H-Huh? What do you mean?” She knew exactly what he meant.

“That look in your eyes… You’re scared of something. What is it?” He demanded in an eerily calm manner.

Attempting to spare his feelings would be a futile decision; Erik read people like his favorite novel. Yet, for some reason, Nahla had no control over the words that left her mouth.

She almost never did when she was around him.

“Nothing. I just get a bit spooked in the dark,” she chuckled.

Erik simply blinked at her, a look of uncertainty and doubt dancing around in his eye before he shrugged it off and laid back down in the bed, facing her completely.

“You should get some rest. Goodnight,” he said softly, his eyes never leaving her.

Upon hearing his words, Nahla felt an immense tiredness wash over her as if he casted a sleeping spell over her. She glanced over at the clock and noticed how it was nearly 4 AM. She had only three hours before she needed to get up and get ready for work.

She was tired, but fear kept plaguing her mind. A fear that he wouldn’t be there when she woke up. Or, even worse, a fear that she had dreamt the entire night.

“Don’t worry. I’ll be here when you wake up,” he whispered.

Nahla wanted to believe him, so she did, closing her eyes and drifting off to sleep.

#erik killmonger #erik killmonger x reader #erik killmonger x oc #black panther #mcu fanfiction

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starlit-scarlet · 3 years

Text

Healing

Pairing: Levi x Reader

Word Count: 1.8k

Wherein Levi comforts reader after the lost of a loved one.

A/N: This fic is also posted on ao3 and is dedicated to @artistic-resonance and another reader from ao3, as well as anyone who has ever lost a loved one. I lost my grandma last fall, two other grandparents in 2018, and I felt like we could all use a little comfort from the sweet, gruff man that is Levi Ackerman—that's how I see him at least.

I'd like to preface this with the following: if you feel that reading this would make things worse, please do not read it. The last thing I would ever want is for something I write to make it hurt more. I did this as a way to help, but my feelings will not be hurt if you decide not to read.

In any case, I hope you enjoy this little bit of comfort from our favorite spinny boy.

It was dark, the curtains drawn in tight, not letting a single ounce of sunlight into the living room—matching your current mood. Curled up on the couch under your favorite throw blanket—one they’d knitted for you—and all you could do was stare blankly out into the room in front of you. The cozy, woven material reminded you of them, somehow still smelling of them, remembering how their scent used to bring you peace—though that may have just been your wishful thinking. Your phone lay on the floor where it had slipped out of your hand the moment you’d received the news.

The five stages of grief, and you were in denial, having trouble believing that they were no longer with you, that you would never see them again, that beloved family member of yours that you’d been so close to.

That’s where he found you when he stepped into your home, lying on the couch, and his concern for you was so sudden that his keys slipped from his hand to land on the floor, the tinkling sound resounding through the quiet room.

“Baby.”

It was the only word he whispered before he moved. By your side in an instant, he lay down next to you, pulling you close against him, tucking your head against his chest.

The presence of him had the first of many tears slipping out of your eyes as your hands curled into fists in his shirt. You whimpered as you tried to explain to him that someone in your family had passed away through the sobs and hitching breaths that hit your body. Simply murmuring sweet nothings to you, he pressed gentle kisses to the top of your head, stroking your hair and back, his touches tender, ginger, supporting you as you grieved.

“They’re gone, Levi, they’re just gone ,” you wailed, snuggling closer to him.

“I know, baby, I know.” He was the type of man who struggled with emotions, with poetic words, yet he always tried for you. It was a testament to how much he loved you.

Never once did he let you go, never once did he cease the comforting caresses within your hair as you sobbed in his arms, the well of grief threatening to never dry. He was your rock, the one person who could provide you peace, and you didn’t know what you would have done if he wasn’t in your life at that moment.

Thankfully, you didn’t have to wonder.

Finally, after what seemed like ages, the tears began to dry, and you nuzzled in closer against him, your lips somehow curling into a faint smile at the way he kissed the top of your head again. It had taken ages for him to become comfortable with these forms of affection, but he’d learned, and though he still floundered at times, he always did his best.

And that was all that mattered to you.

“Why, Levi?” Your breath hitched. “Why did this have to happen?”

He sighed, massaging at your scalp in a way that made you want to purr against him. “I wish I had a reason, but these things just happen in life.”

His words had you sniffling, more tears threatening to spill. “I wasn’t ready to lose them, Levi.”

“We never are.”

That was part of what was so reassuring with him, that he knew what it was like to lose family, having lost Furlan and Isabel so long ago. You’d been there to help him through it, to help him through his grief, the way he was doing with you now.

“What do I do, Levi?”

“You get through it, and I’ll be here with you, every step of the way.”

It warmed your heart to hear him say that, shivering when he brushed his lips across your forehead. Some people perhaps would wish he was more poetic, more heartfelt. But the simplicity of his responses rang louder than any profound, rhythmic verse could ever dream of being. Somehow, he always managed to give tell you exactly what you needed to hear.

Rising from the couch, he pulled the blanket off of you, scooping you up into his arms, your own coming to wrap around his neck as you cuddled close against him. He carried you into the bathroom, setting you down gently onto the counter while he turned to fill the bathtub with water and some bubble bath before directing his attention back to you once again.

Hands gentle as he removed your clothing, he placed you into the bathtub, your frame engulfed in the water and the soothing fragrance of the bubbles.

He crouched down next to the tub, ruffling your hair in a way that always made you want to hum and purr like a cat. “Do you want me to sit with you, or do you want to be alone?”

“Please, Levi, I...I don’t want to be alone right now.”

He nodded, stripping himself of his clothes, folding them neatly and setting them on the counter next to yours. Stepping into the fragrant bath, he settled in behind you, drawing your back up against his chest and wrapping his arms around your waist.

Head falling back against him, you let yourself enjoy the simple comfort that was Levi holding you. His strong, sturdy arms against your waist, holding you close, reminding you that he would always be there for you. The gentle kisses he pressed along your neck and shoulders, reminding you that he loved you, more than anything in the world. For only you were able to see this soft, sweet side of him, the one that had been locked away before you’d both met.

Tilting your head back, he used a cup— one he kept in the bathroom for this purpose— to pour streams of water down your hair, wetting it. This was his domain, where he was most comfortable. It was how he showed you he loved you, the way he took care of you. You knew it was because his mother had done the same for him when he’d been a young boy.

Her way of making him feel better when he was little, had been to set him in a bubble bath and help him scrub away the day. He’d always been close to her, but had lost her when he was a teen, taken in by his Uncle Kenny shortly after.

A calm sigh slipped through your lips when he scrubbed at your hair with some shampoo, his hands tender, and sweet as he washed away the day, just as his mother had with him. It was a ritual the two of you had shared time and time again, the meaning of it different than between mother and son, but the bonding, the affection, all of that was still there.

Blocking your forehead with his hand, he carefully rinsed out the suds, making sure none slipped down to sting your eyes, pressing a gentle kiss to your temple that had your heart fluttering as you turned to gaze up at him. The warmth in his blue eyes lit up his entire face, the warmth that was only ever there for you.

His hands were ginger and sweet as they caressed down your body, scrubbing and cleaning, seeking to soothe and comfort, not entice and seduce. The gentleness of his hands had you relaxing further into him, reaching a different form of bliss, feeling completely safe and at ease with him.

The two of you stayed that way, relaxing, relishing in the comfort of each other until the bubbles fizzled away and the water cooled. Only then did he rise, lifting you back into his arms and setting you on the floor so he could gently dry you, giving your wet hair a little ruffle before running the coarse fabric through it. Of its own volition, your hand lifted to caress the side of his face, and he simply turned his head to kiss your fingertips.

And people thought him cruel and callous.

Hardly, you mentally scoffed.

Gruff. A bit of an ass. A neat freak. Yes, he was all of those things.

But cruel and callous? How could you ever think him to be that way when he treated you this way? So kind and gentle and sweet. As if you were the most precious thing in his life, and sometimes...sometimes it felt as if you were.

He wrapped the towel around you, moving to dry himself off, though he tutted in amusement when you tried to step out of the bathroom.

“Let me take care of you, alright?”

That had your heart fluttering again, the wings threatening to send it flying, soaring, to land straight into the palms of his hands. As if you could ever resist him.

So when he scooped you into his arms once again, you simply nuzzled into his neck, pressing loving kisses along the skin, already feeling immensely better. The grief in your heart ran deep, but his tender love and care was already helping you heal the wound. It felt as if you were floating, and you almost didn’t want him to set you back down—though the thought was hardly reasonable.

Despite knowing you were perfectly capable of dressing yourself, he helped you anyway, pulling your shirt over your head, followed by a pair of comfortable shorts, chuckling at the way you rolled your eyes at him. That was something else only you and a few select others were worthy enough to see and hear.

His smile.

His laugh.

For only those he felt truly comfortable with was he able to put down his guard enough to enjoy the simple things of life such as humor.

“What do you want for dinner?”

The simple question drew you out of your thoughts once again, and you managed to draw out another chuckle from him when you told him what you wanted. Food from your favorite delivery place, something that meant not having to go out, and meant that he wouldn’t have to take time away from holding you, which is what you needed most.

Once he’d placed the order, he didn’t hesitate to cart you into his arms again—spoiling you to no end—and carrying you out into the living room, where the two of you could settle in on the couch, cuddling close with your legs draped over his. He tossed the blanket over you—the one he knew meant everything to you—and switched on the TV, putting on your favorite show. It was one you knew he hated, but that he was willing to watch if it meant helping you.

That was why he was your sweet, gruff Levi.

As you sat together, you slowly could feel the wounds beginning to mend further.

With him—through helping him through his own losses—you’d come to learn that grief is the love you held for a lost loved one persevering.

You didn’t know how long it would take for you to heal, but you knew that as long as you had him by your side, that you had your friends…

You could get through anything.

One day at a time.

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#lev x reader #angst #one shot #emotional h/c #comfort #soft levi #levi ackerman #reader

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