#but in a way he ended up as something of a stand-in as well
Explore tagged Tumblr posts
rafecameronssl4t · 3 days ago
Text
For me? || Rafe Cameron x fem!reader
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
Summary: Glass onion inspired when Whisky goes to Miles because her boyfriend Duke asks her to but they already have something going on between them.
Warnings: r uses her body to get Topper what he wants, infidelity, suggestive content
Word count: 1,936
A/n: glass onion is definitely in my top 5 movies I love 😭
MASTERLIST
Tumblr media
Your fingers curl around Rafe’s wrist, tugging him toward the house, your movements quick and purposeful. The murmur of voices in the background fades as you enter, but one presence in particular stands out—Topper, leaning casually against the entryway, his expression hard, his eyes following you with a calculating intensity.
His words from earlier echo in your mind, their weight hanging heavy between you two. “You know what I’m asking. Just... talk to him again. Do what you have to do.” You’d replayed Topper’s plea in your head countless times, the way he’d lowered his voice, almost pleading, as he suggested you get closer to Rafe—his boss—convincing him to finally give Topper the promotion he’s been after for months.
It was a bitter pill to swallow, the thought of using your body to manipulate Rafe for Topper’s benefit, but you were already caught in the web, and here you were, carrying out the plan. Topper says nothing as you pass, but the look in his eyes—a mixture of calculation and expectation—burns into your back. You offer him a curt nod, more out of habit than a willingness to comply, before redirecting your focus to Rafe, who’s watching you with an almost predatory interest, his smirk tugging at his lips.
Rafe follows you, his presence closing in behind you like a shadow, and his eyes flicker with amusement as you guide him into the room. His voice is thick with arrogance as he speaks, the challenge clear in his tone. “Right now? You sure?” He steps closer, his hands finding your hips with a teasing pressure. His eyes move unapologetically up and down your body, pausing at the curves of your waist before he lets out a low chuckle.
“What’s the rush? Your little boyfriend’s still out there, isn’t he?” You roll your eyes, playing the part as you’ve done before. This wasn’t the first time Topper had asked you to sleep with Rafe, after all. It was a game you were tired of playing, but the rewards were clear. Rafe never failed to satisfy, and Topper always got what he wanted in the end. “Uh-huh, right now,” you reply, your tone sharp but confident, cutting through his mockery.
Rafe’s smirk deepens, eyes gleaming with a knowing glint. He wasn’t stupid—he’d caught on quickly. The first time you’d done this, he’d been skeptical, unsure of your motives. But it hadn’t taken long before he was hooked, and honestly, neither of you had any intention of stopping. “Well,” he says, a low whistle escaping his lips as his hands move to your waist, his fingers tightening just enough to pull you closer, “whatever you want, pretty girl."
His voice drips with amusement, as if he’s indulging you—and maybe himself—at the same time. Without waiting for a response, Rafe’s hand slips from your waist to press firmly against the small of your back, guiding you toward the bed. The door shuts behind you with a soft click, and for a moment, it’s just the two of you, the air thick with tension.
You push him onto the mattress, the movement swift and confident, and without hesitation, you climb onto his lap, straddling his hips, your top slipping off in one smooth motion. His hands find your waist again, his thumbs tracing lazy circles against your bare skin as his eyes lock onto yours. “You’re full of surprises tonight,” he murmurs, his voice low and gravelly, sending a rush of heat through you.
You smile down at him, a teasing glint in your eyes. “Just felt like being close to you, Mr. Cameron,” you murmur, resting your hands against his chest. There’s no denying it—after all the nights spent together, after the passion and intensity that marked each encounter, it was hard not to catch feelings. You’d tried to push them down, tried to keep it business as usual, but Rafe had a way of making it impossible to remain detached.
Rafe chuckles, but his eyes narrow with suspicion, as if he can see right through the act. “Close to me, huh?” he muses, voice dripping with sarcasm. “Or is this about Topper?” His grin widens, clearly amused by his own thoughts, but before you can reply, he shakes his head, a soft laugh escaping him. “You know, I’ve already given him the second-best office in the building. What more does he want?”
You can’t help but roll your eyes at his comment, a playful smile tugging at your lips as your fingers trace the collar of his shirt. “He just wants that promotion real bad, baby,” you say, your voice light and teasing as you lean down just enough to close the space between you. “He’s been working his ass off, you know.”
Rafe’s laugh rumbles beneath you, a sound that vibrates against your chest, and his hands slide down to grip your waist with an almost possessive force. “Working his ass off, huh?” he repeats mockingly, his smirk unfaltering. “And sending you in here to convince me, huh? That’s dedication.” You grin, meeting his eyes with a mixture of playfulness and something darker.
“But hey, I’m not complaining,” Rafe adds, his hands gripping your ass firmly, fingers digging into the soft flesh as his eyes never leave yours. You bite your lip lightly, feeling the heat building between you both, and Rafe hums beneath you, tilting his head slightly as his fingers dig into your sides. He pulls you closer, his body pressing firmly against yours. “If this is his idea of a plan,” he says, voice thick with amusement, “I gotta say, it’s not the worst one.”
A wicked grin spreads across his face, and his eyes gleam with something darker now—something that tells you he’s enjoying the control, the power he has over you. “But if you keep this up babe,” he warns, “I might just forget all about Topper’s promotion.” You laugh softly, though your pulse quickens at the intensity in his eyes.
“Guess we’ll see how good my persuasion skills are, then,” you reply, your voice hushed with anticipation, feeling the electric charge between you as you lean in for another kiss, your body pressing fully against his.
~
"So, will you do it? Give him the promotion?" The question slips from your lips as you prop yourself up on your forearms, your gaze locked on Rafe as he slides into his boxers, a casual motion that betrays nothing of the tension in the room. His smirk is as infuriating as it is irresistible, his eyes glinting with a knowing amusement that makes your chest tighten. He chuckles softly, the sound low and teasing, as he moves toward you, the air between you two heavy with something unspoken.
“I’ll think about it,” Rafe replies, his tone dripping with sarcasm but layered with something you can’t quite place. He lingers in front of you, his face so close that you can feel the heat radiating off him. For a moment, the air between you feels heavier, quieter, the world outside his room fading into irrelevance. His piercing blue eyes lock onto yours, searching, as if trying to unearth something buried deep within you.
“What?” you ask, chuckling softly, trying to ease the tension. Rafe’s lips twitch into a small smirk, his gaze flickering down to your mouth before he shrugs, his voice low and teasing. “Nothin’.” Before you can question him further, he leans in, pressing a quick kiss to your lips—a fleeting touch that leaves you momentarily breathless. He pulls back just as quickly, a boyish grin spreading across his face, like he knows exactly the effect he has on you.
You narrow your eyes at him, raising a brow in mock suspicion. “What are you smiling about?” “Nothing,” he repeats, though the mischievous gleam in his eyes betrays him. You shake your head slightly, unable to help the small smile that tugs at your lips, before sliding out of bed and gathering your clothes.
As you start getting dressed, Rafe’s gaze doesn’t waver, his eyes following your every movement. He leans back against the headboard, arms crossed over his chest, the satisfied smirk never leaving his face. “You good?” he asks, a chuckle rumbling low in his throat as he notices you limping slightly toward the door.
“Just sore,” you mutter, throwing a glance over your shoulder. His grin widens at your admission, his eyes lighting up with smug satisfaction. The way he looks at you—like he knows exactly what he’s done—sends a heat crawling up your neck. “You’re welcome,” he says casually, the arrogance in his tone unmistakable. You roll your eyes, fighting back a smile as you open the door. “Don’t let it go to your head, Cameron.”
“Too late,” he fires back, reclining further into the bed with a cocky grin, his eyes trailing after you as you disappear down the hallway. The door clicks softly behind you as you step into the dimly lit hallway, letting out a small, shaky breath. The quiet feels short-lived, a fragile reprieve from the storm brewing outside of Rafe’s room. You barely take a step forward when Topper suddenly appears in front of you, his face shadowed but unmistakably tense.
“What did he say?” His voice is sharp and demanding, startling you so much that your hand flies to your chest in an attempt to steady your racing heartbeat. “Fuck, Top!” you exclaim, your voice pitched with a mix of irritation and lingering adrenaline. “Don’t scare me like that!” You swat at his chest in frustration, but he doesn’t even flinch. His face remains stone-cold, his eyes burning with impatience.
“What. Did. Rafe. Say?” he asks again, his tone slower now but no less intense, every word laced with a simmering urgency that makes your stomach twist. You blink at him, struggling to find the right words, knowing he’s not going to like what you have to say. “He, uh… said he’ll think about it,” you murmur, the hesitance in your voice betraying the slight embarrassment you feel admitting it. You move to brush past him, hoping to avoid the explosion you sense is coming.
But Topper grabs your arm, his grip firm and unrelenting, forcing you to stop. The touch isn’t painful, but it carries a weight that feels heavier than it should. “What the fuck do you mean, ‘he’ll think about it’?” His voice rises, echoing faintly down the empty hallway, his frustration spilling out in sharp, jagged tones.
You yank your arm out of his grasp, stepping back just enough to put space between you. Your eyebrows knit together as you glare up at him, the tension between you sparking like a live wire. “Exactly what I said,” you bite back, your tone sharpening to match his. “He’ll think about it. That’s all he said, so maybe you should go ask him yourself if you’re so desperate for answers.”
Topper scoffs, the sound low and dripping with contempt as his jaw tightens. He rolls his tongue against the inside of his cheek, a gesture you’ve seen countless times before—one that usually comes before he says something he’ll regret. The weight of his stare makes your skin crawl, and you can’t help but feel the suffocating pressure of his disappointment. He doesn’t care how uncomfortable this all is for you, how humiliating it feels to play this game on his behalf. To him, you’re just the means to an end—a pawn in his ambition.
“You’re useless,” Topper mutters under his breath, his words laced with venom as he shakes his head. Your eyes narrow, and you take a step closer to him, refusing to let him get the last word. “You know what’s useless, Topper? You thinking you can send me in there to clean up your mess every time something doesn’t go your way. Maybe if you weren’t so desperate, Rafe would’ve already given you what you want,” you snap, the heat in your voice catching him off guard.
For a moment, Topper falters, his face flashing with something between anger and guilt. But just as quickly, his expression hardens again. “I’m doing this for us,” he says through gritted teeth, his voice lowering. “Us?” you scoff, crossing your arms over your chest as you glare at him. “Don’t pretend this is about me. You only care about that promotion. Don’t act like I’m the one who owes you anything.”
Topper’s silence is deafening, his jaw working furiously as if he’s holding back a response. Without another word, you turn and walk away, your heart pounding as the sound of your heels clicks against the hardwood floor.
~
“I’m comin’!” Rafe’s voice echoes through the house, casual and annoyed as he makes his way to the front door. He swings it open, expecting anything but you standing there. His brows raise slightly, surprise flickering across his face. “Y/n?” he says, leaning against the doorframe, that trademark smirk already tugging at his lips. “Back so soon? What does Topper want now—”
You don’t give him the chance to finish. Without hesitation, you grab the front of his shirt and pull him down, pressing your lips to his in a heated kiss. His words die in his throat, replaced by a soft grunt of surprise that quickly turns into amusement.
“Shut up,” you murmur against his lips, barely pulling away before moving to brush kisses along his jawline. Your voice is low and breathy as you add, “Topper didn’t send me.”“Oh?” Rafe smirks, his voice dropping into that teasing, cocky tone that always gets under your skin. His hands slide down to your hips, his fingers gripping you firmly, pulling you closer to him. “So what, you missed me already?”
You roll your eyes, though your lips curve into a small smile against his skin. “Something like that,” you reply, tilting your head just enough to look up at him. Rafe chuckles, the sound vibrating through his chest as he steps back, tugging you inside by your waist and letting the door shut behind you. His smirk deepens as he studies you, the playful glint in his eyes growing darker. “So, if you’re not here to play messenger, what’s the occasion, huh?”
You let out a soft laugh, your hands moving to the back of his neck, fingers threading through his hair as you tug him down to meet your gaze. “Does there always have to be a reason?” you tease, arching a brow. Rafe’s hands tighten their hold on your hips, his grin widening as he leans in, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear. “Not when it comes to you, baby,” he murmurs, his voice low and rough, sending shivers down your spine.
478 notes · View notes
severebananapuppy · 1 hour ago
Text
It's not like Kevin has a no-kill rule. He hits a guy in the head with three bricks from the top of a building! It's just that none of them killed him.
I think if it was funny for a child to kill Ghostface, it might overpower the 'he's a kid, we can't let him kill someone on television rule', especially if this is the two universes and their metalogic being combined instead of one opponent being in their enemy's universe.
And I think Kevin wins this. If it's true that the Ghostface killers never win in their own movies, where winning is defined as 'successfully killing every member of the main cast', and it's true that Kevin always wins his own movies, where winning is defined as 'not allowing the bad guys to kill, maim, injure or significantly inconvenience him in any way', although that last part may be in trouble if all of his family died (Then again they were mostly abusive towards him and he might be better off with the state; with Kevin's luck he might actually end up getting adopted by a presumably non-evil version of Trump depending on the setting, like Home Alone 2 which took place in his own hotel? Or something like that?), then, well, Kevin's basically got this in the bag.
It won't be easy, he's really gonna have to work for it, and it may end in a Pyrrhic Victory, but I can't imagine the Ghostface killers outright winning this.
...
However, I would like to propose two alternative matchups.
The first is the cast of a Final Destination movie, who are forced to survive Kevin, and will likely all lose...
And the second is Death from the Final Destination movies, who completely folds Kevin like a perfect omelette. I'm telling you, it would be genuinely embarrassing how easily Kevin dies. Once he's set up all of his traps to try and catch Death, Death just Rube Goldbergs him with them.
Death's entire power set is causing seemingly natural deaths using elements of the environment around his targets, and they're incredibly hard to avoid or predict (like a malfunctioning eye surgery machine, a falling fire escape, an explosion propelling a chain link fence THROUGH your body, or just drowning in the shower), and Kevin is SURROUNDED with those! They are his entire power set! I genuinely think Death would feel bad about how easy it would be to kill Kevin: we're not talking about the average FD protagonist, or the average person, or even the average child, Kevin routinely surrounds himself with traps designed to severely harm people! Even with HA enhanced durability, Kevin's still gonna fucking die!
It would be so easy I think Death might give up from being paralysed with indecision. Like, there's no question about him being able to kill Kevin here: he's Death! He always wins in his own films, and it's implied that the only reason they stand a chance of survival is A) because Life her(?)self is helping them, or B) because he's sending the visions himself to help them avoid the original cause of death so he can kill them for fun, which would mean they never stood a chance in the first place! Even if Kevin survived long enough to die of old age, he's still gonna die, although for the purpose of the film, that probably doesn't count as a win for Death.
There's one final matchup I've just thought of, though... The Mystery Inc crew (Composite, Scooby Doo) vs Death (Final Destination). I cannot even begin to imagine how chaotic the film would be, but I know exactly how it would end...
"And I would have gotten away with it, too, if it wasn't for you meddling kids!"
Probably helps that Scooby's apparently some kind of eldritch being.
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
1K notes · View notes
borathae · 2 days ago
Text
Kiss the Cook
Tumblr media
“Yoongi loves to cook for you. You love to watch him as he does and soon you can’t take it anymore. You have to kiss him or you will implode.”
Pairing: Yoongi x f.Reader
Genre: established relationship!AU, Slice of Life, domestic Fluff
Warnings: cutie!Yoongi, Yoongi being a sexy cook, i said what i said, he blushes!, she feeds him some tangerines <3, as she sits on the kitchen counter, making out on said counter, Yoongi in a woolen jumper, idk but this is so hot to me and therefore needs a warning, they’re grossly in love!!!, i want what they have #bigsad
Wordcount: 2.7k
a/n: i love him, i love them, i love her, i love this :( enjoy besties, oy!Yoongi is going to be the fucking death of me fjdjasf he is such a cutie ❤ ps: does a story sometimes make you feel so single or discontent with your current love life that you want to claw your own eyes out? yeah. this is that story for me. i want what they have fuxkxk they feel so mature and settled and :( grrr spreading negativity all around me grrrr
Tumblr media
You invited Yoongi over for dinner and wine. Which means that he comes over to your place to cook while you watch him and sip on wine. Now, this isn’t because you are lazy or you are forcing him to cook. On the contrary, it was Yoongi’s idea. He loves cooking for you, so you learned, and these little dinner dates have become a regular thing in your relationship.
And it is perfect. You get to see him and talk to him. He gets to do something he loves whilst talking to you. And at the end of it, you can share the yummiest dinner ever and experience a giddy tingle in your stomachs.
You invited him over tonight for exactly such a dinner date. You dressed up in a thick jumper and some woolen socks and even did your hair.
It has been snowing rather vividly all day, turning the roads into one powdery white plane with the rest of the world. The weeping willow in front of your sunroom is bending under the weight of the snow and the frozen stream is covered under a heavy layer of it as well. It is such a beautiful view, making you happy to be inside where it is warm and cozy.
Levi, your cute little cat, hasn’t left his spot by the fireplace all day. He spends most of his winter days napping where it is warm or watching the very few winter birds eat from your bird feeder. He will not leave for outside, however, that much is sure. It is way too much work to soil his good fur with sticky, wet snow.
You check the time again. Ten past eight. Yoongi should have been here by eight. You pace in front the sunroom windows, looking at the faint lights where his house might be. He decorated the outside with lots of Christmas lights and on the nights where you miss him, you like to stand in the sunroom and look up at the lights. Whenever you do, it feels as if he was right there with you. 
Tonight however, the view makes you uneasy. Where is Yoongi and why isn’t he here yet? Did he slip and hit his head? Did a huge chunk of snow fall on him and he is now buried alive somewhere? Is he stuck somewhere? Did he forget?
Nervously biting your own nails, you hurry to the front door to take another peek outside. 
“Oh, shit!” Yoongi exclaims, stumbling back and almost dropping the grocery bags he is carrying under his arms.
You flinch back too, not having expected him to literally stand right in front of the door in the midst of ringing your bell.
“Sorry, you scared me”, he apologises for his cursing. He is bundled into the thickest winter coat ever, wearing a beanie, scarf and gloves with it. His snow pants are covered in snow up to his thighs, his winter boots are basically white from all the snow. The last few inches of his coat are opened. Holly, wearing a little beanie as well, is peeking out from it. Yoongi must have bundled him up in it to keep him warm. The view is adorable.
“You scared me too. I wanted to check if I could spot you. Come in”, you say, stepping out of the doorway.
“Yeah, sorry for being late. I underestimated the height of the snow. I had to fight my way down here without falling on my butt. I waddled like I was ninety.” 
“No worries, I’m just so happy that you’re here now and that you’re safe. I already pictured the worst scenarios ever.” 
Yoongi chuckles, “I survived. Barely, but I survived.”
You laugh. He is so funny, making you laugh again when he struggles with undressing.
“Wait. Let me take the bags so you have your hands free.”
“Thanks.” 
“Of course, I’ll carry them to the kitchen if you don’t mind.”
“Go ahead, I’ll be with you soon.”
Tumblr media
You are in the midst of unpacking the groceries when Yoongi and Holly join you in the kitchen. Holly greets you first, jumping up your leg and barking excitedly. 
You coo, picking him up to let him lick your face. 
“I missed you too, you little stinker. Aw big kissies, yes big kissies.”
“He really missed you”, Yoongi says, walking to you. 
“Yeah, I missed him too.” You hand him Holly. “And I missed his dad even more. Hey there, handsome”, you say, stealing a kiss. 
Yoongi smiles into it, rubbing your waist as the kiss breaks.
“Hey there, beautiful. I missed you too.” He says and then takes a step back to set down Holly. The little toy poodle instantly sets off to explore your home and look for Levi. 
Yoongi studies your get-up, “I love what you did with your hair. It suits you.”
“Thank you, heh. I tried something new.”
“It’s nice, really beautiful.”
“Thankies. Uhm, wine?” You offer. “I might have already started without you because I was picturing you dying somewhere.”
He laughs, “what a relaxing thing to do. I won’t say no to some wine, thank you.”
You prepare him a glass, then cheer with him. He enjoys it with a hum. Afterwards he touches your hip and kisses your cheek. You lean into it, smiling from ear to ear. He is always so gentle with you. You love it so much.
“I hope that you’re hungry. I’m making risotto tonight”, Yoongi says.
“Yes risotto! I love risotto. I haven’t eaten since twelve because I wanted to be really hungry tonight.” 
Yoongi smiles and begins. He puts on the apron you made for him and rolls up his sleeves. Well, at least he tries to because you stop him before he can.
“Wait, let me.”
He gazes at your face as you work, cheeks slightly flushed and heart racing. 
“Thanks”, he whispers, trying oh so hard not to expose how giddy he actually feels. Spoiler alert, he feels very giddy. You are always so tender with him. He loves it so much.
Yoongi is wearing a brown jumper made out of the softest wool. It is warm and sits on his body in the most perfect of ways. His chest and back are defined in it, but he still looks snuggly. You feel so attracted to him that it is difficult not to bite him. In an adoring way of course. 
It also isn’t helping that he is wearing your favourite cologne and a watch which really fits his wrist. Once his sleeves are rolled up, you can’t help but feel up his arms just once. You trace his veins, squeeze him and play with his fingers.
Yoongi chuckles lazily, closing his hands around yours.
“Is this still part of the service?” 
“No, this was for me. You look really sexy in this jumper.”
He smiles and pulls you close to steal a kiss. You give it to him with a fluttering heart, gazing deep into his eyes once it breaks. He has the most beautiful eyes.
“I put it on for you. Because you once said that you like me in a jumper.”
“I do. I could bite you, I’m serious.”
“Please don’t”, he laughs and pecks your cheek, “I’ll be quick with dinner, promise. No biting needs to happen.”
“Maybe a little bit of biting.”
He laughs, shaking his head in disbelief. 
“If I knew that I would be dating a biter, I might have reconsidered”, he jokes, busy with setting up some pans.
“You like it. Don’t lie”, you say and sit down on the kitchen counter.
“Maybe I do.”
You snicker, picking up a tangerine to peel it as he cooks.
And so it begins. One of the coziest and most beloved date activity as a couple. He cooks while you watch him. There are only a few things better than this. 
You have the radio playing. Christmas songs because it is almost time for the holidays. The tangerine fills the air with a cozy scent and the wine tastes especially good. Whenever you and he aren’t lost in conversation, you can listen to Yoongi hum to the songs on the radio. He has a very nice singing voice. Deep and warm. You could listen to it for hours. Just as you could listen to him talk for hours.
“How are your legs by the way? Did the snow soak through your snow pants?” you ask him, staring at his butt. 
It isn’t your fault, he is wiggling it to the music. It is his fault that you have to take a sneaky look.
“Mhm? No, my legs are fine. The snow didn’t soak through.”
“That’s good to hear. How was your day?”
“It was good. I fixed some things in the upstairs bathroom and started with the chaulking.”
Yoongi is still renovating his house. It is a very big project and he isn’t stressing himself, so it’s been taking some time already. You don’t mind. It just means that he will have to stay over more often whenever the building site is too dirty. Quite frankly, a part of you secretly wishes for the renovations to take forever just so he will keep coming over to sleep in your bed. You really love having him sleep in your bed. Not only because he is a total cuddlebug (don’t spread these news to anyone, he is very shy about it) or because he always smells so good, but also because you feel safer with him close. 
“Chaulking? Wow, this sounds like process”, you say.
“Yeah, it’s been going really well lately.” He turns for a moment. “And you? Did you have a good day?”
“I had a really good day. I made some progress on the scarf and then did some yoga. Tangerine?” 
Yoongi closes the distance, snacking on the slice you’re offering.
“This sounds like a good day. You have to be finished soon, don’t you?”
“Yeah, it's almost finished, which is very exciting if you asked me.”
You are currently knitting a scarf and have been regularly sending updates to Yoongi via text messages. His reactions to the messages vary from “good job!” all the way to the very rare and precious thumbs up emoji. He is honestly such a cutie.
“I can imagine. Do you have a new project in mind after you finish the scarf?” Yoongi takes one more slice of tangerine before he returns to the stove. 
While you begin telling him about all the knitting project ideas you have. You don’t leave out any details. The material of the yarn, the design, the colours, even what kind of stitches you plan on using. And Yoongi listens gladly, he asks questions and reacts with his very endearing version of enthusiasm. It means so much to you. Being loved by him is so fulfilling. You feel so important, as if your existence has purpose. There is not one thing about you which isn’t important to him or which you feel like you have to hide from him.
It might sound strange, but being loved by him is so freeing. You feel so whole and so happy and you love him so much in return. 
Yoongi steals one more slice of tangerine, staying close to you afterwards as he slices some mushrooms for the risotto.
“And what about you? Any new music projects you are working on?” you ask him, switching your adoring gaze between his face and his hands. He has such sexy hands.
“Yes, so many”, he says, nodding his head.
“Tell me everything.”
You listen to everything he has to tell you, gazing at him with the biggest heart eyes. He is so interesting and exciting. His hobbies are so wonderful to listen to. As much as you love talking to him, you love listening just as much.
Yoongi feels content with you. He feels utterly and completely happy. There is nothing missing with you. When he is with you, he feels whole and like himself. There is not even the littlest thing about him he feels like he has to hide from you and whenever he comes out of one of his accidental monologues about his interests, he isn’t met with boredom but enthusiasm and questions. Truly, his nerdy little heart swells thrice its size when he is with you. 
A moment of silence follows after you and he exchanged interests. Happy and jazzy Christmas music fills it. Yoongi picks up the cutting board, carrying it to the pan so he can sauté the mushrooms in some butter. He adds the rice afterwards, seasoning it before he pours white wine into the pan. He pours some of the wine in his glass afterwards, closing the distance to clink glasses with you. 
“To this evening”, he says, smiling one of his pretty, soft smiles he always does.
“To this evening and to you, the best boyfriend ever.” 
“Be quiet”, he mumbles and drinks from his glass, looking to the side shyly. He blushes.
“Never. You need to know”, you say and lean in to munch on his cheek. 
“Hey. No biting”, he laughs as he complains, moving back. 
“Mhm, then how about I kiss the cook instead?” you say, setting the wine aside to pull him closer.
He lets you tug him between your legs, smiling at you and setting the wine aside. His eyes fall to your lips, his hands dance along a path which consists of your waist, hips and the side of your thighs.
“You’ve got a minute before I have to get back to the risotto”, he says.
“Then let me make the best of it”, you say, pulling him into a kiss. 
How you make the best of this one minute. You kiss him as if you missed him for a million years, as if you needed him for survival, as if his lips are all you ever wished for. It might only be a minute, but Yoongi comes out of this kiss with slightly wobbly knees and a racing heart. His cheeks are flushed, his lower lip tingles as you end the kiss by biting on it gently. 
“What was that for?” his voice is raspy, his eyes foggy as they gaze at your lips.
“Just felt like it”, you whisper, playing with his soft hair at the nape of his neck. 
“Should we like, I don’t know, should I remove the pan from the stove for a moment?” 
You laugh, scrunching your nose. You know what he is insinuating, stomach tingling at the aspect of it.
“And why should you do that?” you tease him, tinting his cheeks an even deeper pink. He curses under his breath, giving your hips a gentle squeeze.
“You drive me crazy, you know. First kissing me like this and then acting innocent.”
“Shouldn’t you check on the rice?”
Yoongi lets out a whine of discontent, but breaks away from you to stir the rice. He glances at you. You retort the glances, heart racing like crazy. His hair is a little messy because you played with it as you kissed him. His lips are slightly puffy and flushed pink. Quite frankly, he has never looked more attractive than he does right now in your little kitchen wearing the black apron you made for him as he cooks you dinner and seems just a little ruffled from your kiss. 
You lift the glass of wine to your equally as puffy lips, giving him an eye smile as you sip the sweet alcohol. Yoongi blushes, shifting his gaze to dinner. He rolls his lower lip between his teeth mindlessly while his hands are busy with pouring chicken stock over the rice. 
You and he both feel the electric sparkles in the air. The feeling is addicting, just as it is addicting to spend time with each other. You just work so well together, you are so right. 
“You know”, you begin.
“Yes, baby?” he answers you, voice warm and caring.
“I love having you over.” 
He glances again. His eyes sparkle, his teeth show in the shiest of smiles.
“I can look at you, I get to listen to you and talk to you. I love it.”
“Yeah, I love it too.”
“And I get to kiss you. It’s pretty awesome.”
He looks at your lips, raising your pulse with it.
“You know. I, theoretically, have one minute again”, he says, giving you puppy eyes.
You laugh because you love when he flirts. You set the wine aside, making grabby hands at him.
“Then come here and make it count.”
Yoongi sets the spoon aside, closing the distance. How he is going to make it count.
313 notes · View notes
mixingandmelting · 20 hours ago
Text
Winter Series Day 6: Teenage Crush
Summary: how he's in love with you featuring the original Robin trio
A/N: was i emotional when i wrote this? yes, no thanks to remembering jason was the sweetest and cheerful robin at the height of 4' 6" in-canon
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
Robin!Dick:
Daredevil, gremlin child, and the nightmare of all of Gotham’s villains was what Robin!Dick was known for. But at the end of the day, he’s just a boy that’s completely gone for you. He can’t and doesn’t let you catch a break as he constantly pokes you from starting the silliest arguments to putting on a show of his routines he used to do back in his family’s circus. Not once does he approach you like a normal person. One day he’d be creeping silently behind you, suddenly asking what you’re doing right into your ear while peering over your shoulder. The next, he would simply stand in front of you and wait for you to notice. He pouts when it seems like it’s taking you too long, though he does appreciate getting the time to engrave your form and the other expressions you make when he’s not annoying you. All of this, he does constantly, almost every other day in fact, because in his mind and heart, you are the best thing to ever enter and be in his life. It amplifies his haughtiness, silliness, goofiness, and sass as he does everything in hopes that he could strike a chance with you. So when he comes back from a long mission and you express any indiction of concern and how you missed him, his smile stretches from ear to ear, his heart fluttering from how you care for him. Of course he would probe to hear more, his desire of wanting to hear your thoughts on him but he still manages to stop himself from overdoing it. During the times when you pull an uno-reverse card on him unexpectedly, he gets extremely flustered and flushed from his “impress to woo the other person over” backfiring big time and instead, he’s falling for you all over again.
Robin!Jason:
Despite his height, he’s considered the cheerful and bright one as he steals the hearts of the Titans after a single mission, and makes Batman of all people laugh. Have you in the room and  he lights the whole place from how much he glows. Before heading to you, he sniffs his uniform to make sure it doesn’t smell like cigarettes. If it has the faintest scent of it, he goes back to the cave to change into a new one, doing so even more after learning how second-hand smoking can cause cancer. At some point he gets fed up with sniffing and changing so many times, he starts going through all the tricks to quit smoking even faster. Time to time, he brings something small, making excuses including the classic “saved an old lady crossing the road” on his way as a rose gets placed into your hands. He’s notably chattier and laughing more around you, enjoying whatever the two of you talk about even if it’s mundane and boring. He can’t help it when your passion, laughter, excitement, and smiles are infectious. His love for you is so pure that he’d be satisfied with simply being by your side, his one wish being that he can bring you as much happiness as you do for him. Time to time when you get a burger combo meal, seemingly to believe that’s his favorite based on the one time he mentioned about his memory with it whether it’s to welcome him back from a long while or randomly he gets fuzzy, warm, and the heart palpitations while he shares the meal with you. You make him feel that his life is complete, that he won the whole world which motivates him to become a better person, a “good guy” as they all say, so he can stay with you even if he ends up not being your end game.
Robin!Tim:
He’s known as the smart one as well as the one that sacrificed his chance of normal for the sake of saving Batman and currently, Gotham. You were never part of his plan as he already envisioned how his life as Batman's sidekick would look like but here he is, completely smitten for you as he figures out ahead how to approach you when he catches you hanging out. Image training, standing in front of the mirror and going through his lines and poses until Alfred caught him doing it once. Now he does it after locking his door, double, triple checking he was going to get his little gig right so he can look cool when he appears in front of you. Take the “yapper and listener” meme. That’s his relationship with you where he’s serenaded by your voice and won’t ever get sick of listening to it. If you were to express anything you need or want, he gets it and leaves it where he was standing or sitting with a small note attached. He’s also guilty of abusing his alternative identities and disguises so he could extend his time with you even outside of being Robin. Not that you would ever know as he has no intentions any time soon to out himself. There’s no other reason for him being this extra other than that you are the one that gives him the comfort and relief he needs. You are his solace that makes his self doubt disappear and everything he has done worth it. So when you do any skin ship including the scandalous hand holding, he’s equivalent to the red on his suit and mute from how conscious he gets from feeling you extremely close to him. Also gets him to forget to breathe but that’s not the issue here.
157 notes · View notes
moonstruckme · 1 day ago
Note
Hey Mae!!! I saw that the requests were open so I thought I would request something but if I misread it or something then please ignore this!
I was wondering if you could write something with reader not used to being taken care of? Like they have always taken care of others and have never had the opportunity to be taken care of so when someone else does they feel the need to do something for them in return? I was thinking of maybe Remus for this one? Or maybe a poly! Ship but you can write whoever you want!!
I understand if this is not a topic you would like to write about but I just love your writing and thought I would give it a try. Thank you for reading this anyway and I hope you have a wonderful day/night!
(Sorry it’s such a long request)
No you were right lovely! Thanks for your request :)
roommate!Remus x fem!reader ♡ 625 words
You pad into the kitchen, blanket around your shoulders and half-dissolved lozenge tucked into your cheek, to find the sink clear of dishes yet again. Guilt grows like winding vines around your ribcage. 
You put on the kettle. Stand over it as the steam starts to rise, breathing in the thick air and imagining you can feel the pressure in your sinuses lessening slightly. You make a cup of turmeric tea with honey for yourself, and English breakfast for Remus, stirring in a tiny bit of sugar the way he likes. You’re careful to keep it well away from you and your potential contagious-ness while you carry it upstairs. 
You knock softly in case, but Remus is awake, as you knew he’d be. 
“Morning,” he says, looking up from his book with a smile. The sight of him, sleep-rumpled and happy to see you, is almost too much. His eyes flicker down to the mugs you’re carrying, eyebrows lifting. “For me?” 
“Mhm.” You pass it to him, ignoring his soft tutting when you turn it in your grip so the handle is facing out towards him. 
“Thanks, sweetheart,” he says warmly. He blows steam off the top, honeyed eyes on yours. “I should be the one getting up to make you tea, really. How are you?” 
“I’m okay.” You shrug, taking a sip of your tea. The heat dissolves your lozenge faster, double soothing for your throat. “And you’ve done more than enough already. Sorry about the dishes.” 
Remus’ expression clouds with confusion for a moment before he realizes what you’re talking about. “Oh, I don’t mind. I wouldn’t be doing dishes if I was unwell, either.” 
“Thanks for doing them for me,” you say softly. Or you try to, but it ends in a rasp, your throat contracting against a cough that doesn’t form. You clear it embarrassedly. 
Your roommate’s brows bend with sympathy. “Don’t worry about it,” he tells you. “It’s really no problem. You don’t need to bring me tea just because I did a few of your dishes.” 
“I want to make it up to you.” 
His expression softens. “There’s nothing to make up, love. It’s not a debt that needs to be repaid.” 
You frown, chewing your lozenge. “At least let me make you breakfast. Is there anything you’re craving?” 
“No.” Remus smiles at you. Not quite confused, almost disbelieving. “You don’t need to make me anything. You should be resting.” 
“I’ve been resting.” You sniff, wincing at the pain it sends through your head. You’ve been either in bed or on the couch for days, and meanwhile Remus has been cleaning up your messes, keeping quiet so you can sleep, and bringing you soup from that place you like down the street. 
“It’s my turn to help now,” you say. 
“It’ll be your turn when I’m poorly and miserable.” Remus sets a hand to your forehead, humming disapprovingly. You use every scrap of willpower you have left not to melt into his bed. “Listen to me, alright? I don’t mind looking after you. It’s not transactional. I washed your dishes because they were there and I had the time, and—” He gives you a playful look. “—because I know that if I were up all night coughing, I wouldn’t want to worry about dishes. Okay?” 
His eyes hold yours. You feel perhaps the most out of it you have since this illness came on. Drunk, almost. “Okay,” you capitulate. 
Remus smiles. “Thank you. So you can stop trying to think up ways to get even.” He picks up his tea. “I can see that head of yours working. Leave it alone, it’s going through enough.” 
You smile back, caught. “Thanks for all your help.” 
“Don’t worry about it, love.”
325 notes · View notes
moonstonejpg · 3 days ago
Text
support
k. bakugo x reader
where bakugo has a crush on a girl in the support course
Tumblr media Tumblr media
w.c: 1,707
tags: pure fluff, kiri and denki being the best wingmen in the world, oh also ua is a college not a high school bc i said so
bakugo is my comfort character i love him sm and want to protect him at all costs ♡
Tumblr media
If he didn’t know any better, he would think the sudden pounding of his heart meant it was acting up again like it did occasionally after Edgeshot revived him, because Katsuki Bakugo didn’t have crushes. And despite it being a natural part of life, it freaks him out a lot more than he’d care to admit. Because Bakugo has always had the same plan, get into UA College and become a top ranked hero; nowhere in his plan did he account for the girl with a heart of gold in the support course.
“Katsuki!” You call, arms full of some unknown material as you jogged towards him. You had a bright smile on your face, and your eyes were lit up with excitement. He couldn’t help the fond smile spreading across his lips as he gazed down at where you skidded to a stop in front of him.
“I did it! Here—hold this please.” You shove the item in your arms towards him, hands animatedly waving towards the different places on as you explain. It took a few moments for Bakugo’s mind to catch up to what was happening in front of him, but once it did his gaze snapped up to meet your eyes in shock.
“—and so, basically, you put this on under your hero suit and it absorbs the shockwaves from your blasts, turning it back into itself to heat your muscles.”
He blinks, his thoughts spinning to the conversation from last week when you had caught him sitting on the rooftop of the college. Instead of leaving, you plopped down next to him, starting a conversation after a few hesitant moments.
“I know you love your quirk, and honestly I do too!” you giggle, a light blush dusting your cheeks. “But if there was something you could change—or well, something to help, what would it be?”
He cocks his head to the side, mulling over your question; he wants to give you a good answer, an honest answer. So, he dips into the vat of his insecurities, unearthing a small secret he’s never shared with anyone.
“I—when I use it too much my arms and shoulders start to ache, and even if I pause to conserve my energy it seems to just leak out and then…eventually both body parts end up going numb. It’s been happening more frequently now that we are training longer, and it—it sucks to be quite honest.”
You pull your knees up to your chest, eyes fixed on a distance point on the horizon. He glances sideways at you, noticing the indent between your eyebrows. Your tongue pokes out, and he realizes this is your thinking face. He’s amazed that he can see the wheels turning, and wonders what’s going on in your brain.
It’s silent for a few moments, before you jump up, an excited gleam in your eye. You start to leave, pausing to turn back to him, your face now serious. “I won’t tell anyone; your secret is safe with me.”
He nods once, and the seriousness evaporates as you smile at him, then disappear down the stairs.
“Was…is this okay?” You ask suddenly, the excitement in your eyes dimming slightly as he stared dumbly at you, not a single word leaving his lips since you handed over the gadget. “I—I just thought that—I can take it back!”
“No, I—"
“It’s okay! I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to overstep. I had just thought…well, either way it doesn’t matter.” You reach your hands out to take the thin fabric back, but he holds it above your head, forcing you to stop and look at him in surprise.
“I love it, you just—you surprised me is all.” He mumbles, feeling heat rise in his cheeks. “I wish I could do something to thank you, something other than just standing here looking like a fool.”
“I don’t need anything from you, really! It’s, well, it’s a gift.” You reply quietly, twisting your hands together then shoving them back behind your back. There’s a light pink stain on the apples of your cheeks, and Bakugo gets the alarming urge to kiss you. Instead, he fists the cloth in his hands and lowers his arms, cradling the material to his chest.
“Thank you.” He whispers, still in shock that someone would do something like this for him.
You nod once, a soft smile on your face as you turn and leave the hallway, his eyes not leaving your back until you’re just a speck at the end of the corridor.   
Hours later he’s still thinking of the exchange; feeling incredibly stupid for not asking for your number at the very least. He’s supposed to be helping Kirishima and Kaminari study for their exam in the library, but how could he possibly do that when all he wants to do is replay your smile over again on a never-ending loop.  
“Bakugo? Hey, Katsuki!”
Fingers are suddenly snapping in front of his face, effectively ripping him from his thoughts. “What?” He grumbles out, smacking Kirishima’s hand away from his face.
“What’s up with you lately, dude?” Kaminari asks, raising an eyebrow.
Bakugo doesn’t respond, distracted by the familiar girl at the far end of the rows of books.  
Kirishima throws his elbow into Kaminari’s side, rolling his eyes at the huff of indignation the blonde lets out. He tilts his chin up to the other end of the room, and that’s when they notice Bakugo’s eyes locked on to where you’re seated, book in hand.  
They watch, transfixed as a slow smile stretches across the blonde’s face, his chin nearly dropping in his upturned hand to watch you.
“Oh. Oh my god.” And suddenly everything makes sense to the pair. Kirishima and Denki lock eyes, secretive smiles plastered on both of their faces.
“She’s really pretty.” Kaminari muses, shutting his textbook and leaning back in his chair.
“Mm.” Katsuki grunts, only half paying attention.
“And way smarter than you.” Kirishima says, eyes locked on his friend.  
“Wait, what?” Bakugo asks, attention snapping back to his friends.
“So the day has finally come…our blasty boy has officially grown up.” Kirishima pretends to wipe non-existent tears, sniffing a little.
“What are you two idiots talking about?” Bakugo asks gruffly, flipping a page in his textbook.
“Oh nothing, just—"
“When’s the wedding?” Kaminari asks, wiggling his eyebrows.
“Again, what are you even talking about?”
“You have a crush!” Kaminari coos.
“I mean, I would like to crush your heads together.” Bakugo mumbles, but they can’t miss the way his cheeks turn pink. He avoids all eye contact, choosing instead to pretend to read the page in front of him. “She ah.” He clears his throat, “She made me this material to go under my hero suit, something about the shockwaves from my explosions being fed back into the material to…well, anyway, she brought it for me today. And I should have asked for her number, but…” He trails off, the unspoken words hanging in the air.  
I’m scared.
Kirishima puts a steady hand on Bakugo’s shoulder, knowing the fear his friend feels is more than warranted. Bakugo is silent for a few moments. And then, “I have all of these hard edges, and I don’t know how to be soft.”
“You don’t need to be soft; you need to be yourself.” Kaminari whispers, smiling at him. “And something tells me she probably feels the same way about you.”
Kirishima and Kaminari lock eyes again before standing and calling your name. Bakugo watches in abject horror as they approach you, his knee bouncing faster as they speak, the distance too great to listen to what exactly was being said. His eyes flit across the trio, panicking slightly.
He knew deep down that his friends just wanted him to be happy, but at this moment he wanted nothing more than to leap across the room and strangle them both. Bakugo briefly considers blowing the entire room up but decided against it at the thought of another bill being sent to his parents.
He watches as you put your book face down, eyes moving between his friends. They say something, then you frown before responding. The exchange feels like hours but is only a few minutes before you stand. You look over, locking eyes with Bakugo, then begin to make your way over to him.
He catches both Kaminari and Kirishima shooting him a thumbs up, before scuttling out of the library, leaving their books and backpacks behind where Bakugo sits. He scrambles out of his chair, choosing instead to lean a hip against the edge of the table as you approach.
“Hi.” He whispers, reaching a hand back to scratch his neck.
“Hi.” You reply, pressing your hands together before twisting them together again. He recognizes the movement from hours before, cataloguing the nervous habit in the file in his brain under your name. “They said you had something to tell me?”
“I—you make my chest feel weird.”
“Um, what?” You squeak out.
“No! No, I mean—god, I’m fucking this all up.” He heaves out a sigh, looking up at the ceiling before locking eyes with you. “I appreciate your gift, more than you know. And I like how smart you are, and that I can see the wheels turning in your head when you’re thinking really hard. I like how you aren’t afraid to talk to me, and I haven’t…I’ve never felt like this about another person before. You haven’t left my mind since the day I met you, and I-I like you, a lot.”
Your jaw drops slightly, eyes flickering back and forth across his face. He swallows, taking a step towards you before hesitantly reaching to brush a stray piece of hair behind your ear.
“Can I take you on a date?” He asks quietly, swallowing nervously.
You blink before a smile splits your face, and you nod. He smiles back, and before you lose courage, you push up on the tips of your toes to press a soft kiss on his cheek, giggling when you pull away and see the now bright red color flooding his cheeks.
“I like you too, Blasty.”  
Tumblr media
218 notes · View notes
idkyetxoxo · 2 days ago
Text
Jacaerys Velaryon - Timid Flames
Summary - In a politically arranged marriage, they unexpectedly find solace in each other. As they navigate the storm of familial conflict, a night of celebration reveals desires and bravery, challenging the bounds of their union and the roles they play in a dangerous game of power.
Pairing - Jacaerys Velaryon x Targaryen reader
Warnings - None
Word count - 2759
Masterlist for Jacaerys • House of the Dragon General Masterlist.
Tumblr media
Prince Jacaerys Velaryon had only been wed for three moons—a union born out of political necessity, carefully arranged to forge a fragile peace. 
The bride, Alicent Hightower's youngest daughter, had been offered as part of King Viserys's latest attempt to mend the rift tearing apart his divided family. 
After the bitter fallout from the petition for Driftmark, this marriage had been the king's insistence, hoping it might soothe the growing tensions.
Surprisingly, the match had not been as cold and distant as some feared. 
In fact, much to Jace's amusement, our marriage had become rather... agreeable. 
Unlike my more impulsive and outspoken brothers, I shared Jace's temperament—thoughtful, measured, and often preferring quiet contemplation over conflict. 
This similarity made it easy for us to find common ground, and more often than not, we ended up agreeing with one another on most matters.
Jace, though shy at times, had grown fond of me quicker than he expected. In quiet moments, when he allowed himself to reflect on our marriage, he felt grateful. 
"You know," he once remarked with a soft chuckle as we shared a private dinner in Dragonstone, "I expected our union to be just another duty. But it hasn't felt like that at all." 
He reached across the table, lightly clasping my hand. "I enjoy this... us."
I smiled, feeling a warmth in my chest. "As do I. It's strange, isn't it? To be at ease in a marriage forged by others."
We were now bound for King's Landing, a return prompted by the upcoming wedding of my elder brother, Aemond. 
Though I could sense Jace and his brothers were not particularly eager to make the journey back to the capital so soon after leaving it, I longed to see my family again. 
I missed them—Helaena most of all, with her gentle spirit and enigmatic ways.
Standing at the ship's edge, I watched the shimmering blue waters stretch out before us, occasionally lifting my gaze to the sky. 
There, Silverwing, Vermax, and Arrax flew overhead, their gleeful screeches piercing the air as they relished the freedom of the open skies. The sight of the dragons always stirred something in me—a mix of awe and pride.
"Are you happy to be returning?" Jace's voice came from behind me, softer than the wind that tugged at our hair. 
I turned to find him watching me with that familiar, shy look on his face. I nodded, sighing with contentment.
"I am," I said, offering him a small smile before glancing down. "I apologize if you're not."
Jace shook his head and joined me at the railing, his shoulder brushing against mine as he leaned beside me. 
His fingers, warm and calloused from dragon riding, lightly grazed mine, sending a wave of warmth rushing through me.
"I'm fine," he assured me, though I could sense the faint unease in his tone. "It's Luke who's not faring well with the journey." 
He nodded towards his younger brother, who stood further down the ship's deck, looking paler than usual, his face scrunched with discomfort.
I chuckled softly. "Poor Luke."
Jace smiled at that, but there was a quietness between us now, a lingering tension not easily dismissed. 
─── ✦⋅♡⋅✦ ───
The grand hall of the Keep was filled with the sound of music, laughter, and the clinking of goblets as the celebrations for Aemond's wedding reached full swing. 
My brother looked every bit the proud groom, standing tall with his new bride by his side, but my focus wasn't on him. 
Instead, I was hyper-aware of the tension swirling around Jace and Luke, who sat beside me at our family's table, enduring a barrage of thinly veiled insults from my brothers.
Aegon, as usual, was at the centre of it, his words dipped in honeyed sarcasm as he spoke just loud enough for all of us to hear.
"How's the sea voyage treating you these days, Luke? Not planning on visiting Driftmark anytime soon, I hope," Aegon remarked, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. 
The implication was clear—he was deliberately fanning the flames of the bitter conflict over Driftmark's succession, each word dripping with sarcasm designed to ignite tempers and deepen rifts, a cruel game that felt all too familiar.
Luke's jaw tightened, but he kept his eyes fixed on his plate, refusing to rise to the bait.
Jace, seated beside him, wasn't faring much better. He sat rigid, his shoulders tense, clearly biting his tongue to keep from responding.
"Must be difficult, sharing the same roof with those who think you don't belong," Aegon continued, his grin widening as he lifted his goblet to his lips.
I shot a sharp glance at Aegon, my irritation bubbling beneath the surface. 
Helaena, seated to my left, tried to offer me a reassuring smile, but even her calming presence wasn't enough to quell the frustration building inside me. I hated this constant tension, this incessant prodding from my brothers, who refused to let old wounds heal.
To drown out their jabs, I did the only thing I could think of at the moment, I reached for my goblet and took a deep sip of the rich wine. 
The warmth spread quickly through my body, dulling the edge of Aegon's words.
But one sip wasn't enough.
As the evening dragged on and the taunts kept coming—Aemond, more subtle but no less pointed in his barbed remarks—I found myself reaching for the goblet again and again, the wine a welcome escape. 
It made everything seem a little softer, a little less sharp. Even Jace, who sat brooding beside me, looked more relaxed in the golden glow of the torchlight as the alcohol dulled my senses.
By the time the feast was at its height, I was no longer just drinking to forget. I was enjoying the lightness in my limbs, the freedom of inhibition. 
The wine had worked its magic, and I found myself smiling at Jace—really smiling, more freely than I had in moons.
"You're too tense," I teased, my voice soft and slightly slurred as I leaned toward him with a grin. 
My fingers toyed with the rim of my goblet as I looked at him with a mischievous glint in my eyes.
Jace blinked, clearly taken aback by my sudden shift in demeanour. His eyes widened, and I saw a flush creep up his neck. 
He wasn't used to this—me, this playful, open side of myself that rarely came out. 
Normally, I was thoughtful and composed, matching his temperament. But tonight, I felt like throwing caution to the wind.
"Relax a little, husband," I whispered, leaning closer than I normally would, my lips grazing the shell of his ear as I spoke. 
My hand drifted lazily to his arm, fingers trailing along the fabric of his sleeve. "We're at a wedding. Let yourself enjoy it."
Jace stiffened, his entire body going rigid as he struggled to process what was happening. He wasn't accustomed to this kind of open flirtation from me, and certainly not in public. 
His cheeks flushed an even deeper shade of pink, and he swallowed hard, his eyes darting around the room as if looking for an escape.
"I—uh, I'm fine," he stammered, though his voice betrayed him. He sounded anything but fine. His face was a mix of confusion, surprise, and something else I couldn't quite place.
I laughed softly, delighted at his reaction. It was rare to see Jace flustered, but here he was—blushing, his carefully composed demeanour slipping with each teasing word I threw his way. 
 The way he tried so hard to remain serious only made it more fun.
"No, you're not," I teased again, my voice taking on a singsong quality as I leaned even closer, my breath warm against his ear. "You're all stiff and serious. You should loosen up a bit."
Jace's gaze flickered to the goblet in my hand, his concern growing. "I think you've had enough," he said gently, his fingers brushing against mine as he tried to take the goblet from me.
But I wasn't having it. I laughed, pulling the goblet back with a grin. 
"Don't be such a bore, Jace," I teased, the wine making me bolder than I'd ever been. "Don't tell me what to do, not when I'm having so much fun."
The way his face flushed deeper and his eyes widened at the playful lilt of my voice sent a thrill through me. 
For a moment, I forgot about the barbed comments from Aegon and Aemond, the lingering tension in the room. 
All I cared about was the way Jace was looking at me—flustered, surprised, and just a little bit helpless.
"I—I think you should rest," Jace tried again, his voice now tinged with nervous laughter. He was still trying to be the responsible one, the composed husband. 
But his usual control was slipping, and I could see the internal struggle in his eyes.
Instead of listening, I giggled and leaned even closer, letting my fingers dance up his arm. "Or..." I purred, a wicked smile curling my lips, "maybe you should dance with me."
Before Jace could protest, I was on my feet, pulling him up with me. He let out a startled laugh as I dragged him onto the dance floor, his hand clasped tightly in mine. 
His surprise was clear, but I was already spinning him into the centre of the hall, the music and wine making my movements feel light and carefree.
"Wait—what—" Jace stammered, completely caught off guard. He stumbled slightly as I twirled him, clearly not expecting me to take the lead so boldly. 
His eyes darted around the room, and I could see the mix of amusement and mortification on his face.
The people around us watched with varying degrees of curiosity and amusement, but I barely noticed. 
All I could focus on was Jace—how out of sorts he was, how flustered he looked, and how much fun it was to see him like this.
"I think I'm going to regret this," Jace muttered under his breath, though there was a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. 
He looked at me with a mixture of exasperation and affection, clearly at a loss for how to handle this version of me.
"Not if you have fun," I whispered, pulling him close as the music swelled. 
The wine had made me bold, and I relished the way he seemed to falter under my touch. For once, Jace was the one who couldn't keep his composure.
As the night wore on, I continued to flirt, to tease, to dance. Jace was a blushing mess by the end of it, his usual stoic demeanour completely shattered.
He loved the extra attention—I could tell by the way he kept stealing glances at me, his eyes lingering just a bit too long, his lips twitching into an almost smile every time I laughed or teased him.
Even though he tried to be the responsible one, I knew he secretly enjoyed it—the way I made him feel tonight, how I drew him out of his shell. 
"Are you even trying to enjoy yourself?" I teased, glancing up at Jace as I pulled him onto the dance floor once again.
He gave me a small, shy smile, his hand resting on the small of my back as he followed my lead. 
"I am. Just... keeping an eye on you," he said gently, though I could sense his amusement beneath the worry.
"Keeping an eye on me? I'm your wife, not some unruly dragon," I said with a smirk, spinning away from him with a playful twirl. 
He caught me again, steadying me with the ease of someone well-practised in handling situations beyond his control. 
I leaned in closer, speaking just loud enough for him to hear, "But I like it when you watch me."
Jace's blush was immediate, his gaze dropping for a brief moment before he met my eyes again. He looked as if he wanted to say something—something meaningful—but just then, a familiar voice interrupted us.
"Seems you've had quite a bit of wine tonight," a deep, smooth voice said from behind me.
I turned, finding myself face-to-face with Lord Ormund Hightower, one of my distant cousins on my mother's side. His smile was easy, but there was something in his gaze that felt too familiar, too lingering as it settled on me.
"Perhaps," I replied, trying to maintain my composure as I felt his eyes linger a bit too long. "But it's a wedding. Surely a bit of wine and dancing is expected."
"Of course, princess," Lord Ormund said with a chuckle, his gaze sliding between Jace and me. 
"Though one might say your enthusiasm tonight stands out." His tone was light, but the implication was clear. 
His gaze flicked back to me, lingering in a way that made me uncomfortable, a hint of something more than politeness in his look. "I didn't realize you were so... spirited."
Jace's expression shifted beside me, his dark eyes narrowing ever so slightly. He moved closer, his hand settling protectively at my waist, but still, he said nothing.
"Spirited, perhaps," I said, trying to brush off the comment with a smile. "But no more than any other on a night like this."
Lord Ormund gave a slow nod, his gaze lingering on me a beat longer before he added, "It's good to see you enjoying yourself. Though, if you're not careful, some might get the wrong impression of your... exuberance." 
His smile widened, a teasing glint in his eye. "Not everyone will see it as harmless fun."
Before I could react, Jace stepped forward, his posture straight and his tone steady, but there was an unmistakable edge to his voice.
"I think you've made your point, my lord," Jace said calmly, though his grip on my waist tightened ever so slightly. "And it's noted. But I would remind you that my wife's behaviour is of no concern to anyone here, except perhaps me."
The subtle warning in his voice wasn't lost on Lord Ormund, who raised his hands in mock surrender, the smile never leaving his face. 
"No offence meant, Prince Jacaerys. Merely a friendly observation."
Jace's gaze didn't waver, his expression unyielding. "Of course. But observations, when unnecessary, can sometimes be mistaken for something else." 
His voice remained level, but there was a quiet protectiveness in his tone that made it clear the conversation was over.
Lord Ormund hesitated, then gave a slight bow. "Enjoy the rest of your evening, both of you," he said before turning on his heel and walking away, though I could feel the weight of his gaze still lingering behind him.
As soon as Lord Ormund was out of earshot, I turned to Jace, my heart pounding not from fear but from the rush of the moment. I wasn't used to seeing him like this—so firm, so sure of himself. 
There was something deeply reassuring in the way he had stepped in, calmly but assertively.
"You didn't have to do that," I said softly, though I couldn't deny the warmth spreading through my chest.
Jace met my gaze, the tension in his expression softening now that we were alone again. "Yes, I did," he replied simply. "You shouldn't have to put up with that. Especially not from him."
I looked at him for a long moment, taking in the way his jaw was still set, the way his hand remained at my waist as if he wasn't quite ready to let go. 
His protectiveness stirred something deep within me—a mixture of gratitude and something else, something more intense.
"You don't usually speak up like that," I said, a teasing smile tugging at my lips. "I rather like it."
Jace looked slightly embarrassed, though a small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. 
"Someone has to look out for you, especially when you seem determined to cause a scene," he said, though his tone was light, playful.
I laughed softly, shaking my head. "Perhaps I'm more trouble than you bargained for."
Jace's smile grew, and this time, it was genuine and warm, the blush fading from his cheeks as his confidence returned. 
"I knew what I was getting into. And, if I'm being honest, I don't mind it."
The confession, quiet and simple, hung in the air between us. It wasn't grand or dramatic, but it meant something. Jace didn't just tolerate my boldness tonight—he liked it. 
He liked me, in all my messiness and unpredictability.
For the rest of the night, his hand remained at my waist, steady and reassuring, a quiet but constant reminder that I wasn't alone.
That no matter what happened, Jace would always be there, standing by my side, ready to protect me from whatever—or whomever—tried to push me too far.
A/n - I need to stop with the marriage of convenience trope x
145 notes · View notes
pecancobbler · 3 days ago
Text
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
cg ! viktor headcanons (arcane/lol)
— im being overtaken by brainrot help me !!!! i might do silco next js bc he's so dad 2 me :) but umm lemme know if u want more :3 !
-> cw: brief /neg disability talk
Tumblr media
ARCANE ♡
☆ cg ! viktor that brings you along everywhere, it would be annoying if you weren't so well-behaved while he does his work. having your own spot next to his workbench, maybe even a couch that you end up dragging him to so you can take naps together
☆ cg ! viktor who ends up with his cane being sticker-bombed the moment he falls asleep, waking up to you curled up next to him and his cane covered in little stickers and painted fingerprints from your impromptu arts n' crafts
☆ cg ! viktor who is frustrated with being unable to carry you like a baby, having to settle for you being on his lap. majority of your weight on his better leg, heating pad on his bad one in case if it becomes too much
☆ cg ! viktor who can only fall asleep easily when you're small, feeling like he's successfully taking care of you. sprawled out on the labs couch with your head tucked under his chin, jayce having to throw a blanket on you guys before leaving
☆ cg ! viktor who ends up having to stitch stuffies back up, making play surgeries for you to watch so you can see that they're still ok. finding perfect threads to match them, or finding ones to stand out against the fur to make cute patterns in the stitching
LEAGUE OF LEGENDS ♡
☆ cg ! viktor who deems you as perfection already, not minding any of your big or little emotions and accepting that as something he can't change. modeling certain creations after you, making some to help regulate bigger emotions he doesn't understand
☆ cg ! viktor who ends up buying way too many parenting books, his logical scientist brain wanting to know every single way he can help you and better himself. perfecting the way he talks to you, once so rigid now gentle and soothing
☆ cg ! viktor who carries you around easily, tossing you over his shoulder like a sack o' potatoes while the hexclaw steadies you. pretending to not hear you when you squeal and bang on his back to let you down, only releasing you when you say the magic words
☆ cg ! viktor who can only be pulled out of his lab by you, staying in it almost day and night until you paw at his shoulders until he caves. letting you drag him around with no real fight, making sure to not go limp with his augmented body to not weigh you down
☆ cg ! viktor who lets you carve little doodles into his robotic arms, making sure you don't hurt yourself with any sharp objects as you do so. encouraging you to doodle all you want, reassuring that he can't truly feel it anymore as you carve a little "[name] was here ^•×•^" on his bicep
Tumblr media
135 notes · View notes
yamumsyadadd · 3 days ago
Text
the forgotten girl (8)
posted this originally on my old account. will be posting twice weekly :)
Tumblr media
I tried to move on after the game. I stayed with Keira for a few days, letting her fuss over me because I knew it would make her feel better. I asked Jona to keep me as a bench player, just for a few extra games and he agreed. The team was treating me differently, they were trying to not make it obvious but it was. Anytime I paired up with someone they would make a silly mistake that they wouldn’t normally do, Cata and Sandra would let shots in that they could’ve easily stopped. There was only one person who wouldn’t go easy on me, Alexia.
I was fed up with it, after walking into the locker with Ale, laughing about something stupid Alba said, I noticed everyone stopping what they were doing and looking at us. Shock and confusion on their faces, over the period of months they had known me, I didn’t laugh much, not outwardly happy, so this was new for them.
“Can you all please stop acting like I’m made of glass? I see it. I see what you’re doing and while I appreciate the concern, I need you all to stop.”
“Milly-“ Keira started
“No Keira. I get it okay, I went MIA for three years and came back different, I get it, but I need you all to treat me like I’m normal, not some broken person who will break if you say the wrong thing.”
A murmur of sorrys went through the room, I missed the way Alexia looked at me, eyes full of admiration and love, but Mapi didn’t miss it. The weeks that followed were good, we won against Athleti Madrid, Villareal and UDG Tenerife, our next upcoming game was against Real Madrid, the El Classico. I was incredibly excited.
The Friday before El Classico, Jona pulled me into his office.
“Hi Amelia, how are you feeling?” He was calm, almost too calm.
“I’m good. Is everything okay? Did I do something wrong?” panic was arising within me. Was everything about to end before it truly started?
“Oh no! On the contrary. I want you to start tomorrow if you are feeling ok with that? I don’t want to push you into something that you aren’t ready to do.”
“Yes, god yes! Thank you Jona!”
Exiting his office I felt giddy, like a kid on Christmas eve. This was my Christmas eve, I couldn’t contain my excitement when I went into the locker room, it was mainly empty expect for Pina and Kei.
“I’M STARTING TOMORROW BITCHES!” I screamed, scaring the two girls.
“Oh my god! Milly! I am so so proud of you! Come here!” Kei pulled me into a bone crushing hug, Claudia jumping on the both of us shortly after. Unbeknownst to you, Alexia was in the bathroom, hearing everything that was spoken about. She was so incredibly proud, she wanted to come out and congratulate you herself but felt it was better to hide and let you have your moment.
Real Madrid and Barcelona were huge rivals. This game was the game of all games. Id watched it numerous times, either on the TV when I was in my hermit era or live with Eli and Alba, even dragging Emily over a couple of times. To be able to play in it, it was indescribable.  
No one in the locker room seemed nervous, well no one expect me. Jona came in and gave his last speech, followed by Alexia and Irene. Slowly the subs lefts, then the starting 11. Even in the tunnel it was loud, almost overwhelming loud, I couldn’t hear my heartbeat, or what the girls were saying around me. It was all very overwhelming. Alexia noticed, pulling me to the side, her hands cradling my face.
“you’re okay mil. You deserve to be here. You’re the best, show them that.” After kissing my forehead, she was back at the start of the line. She was right, as always, I was okay, and I deserved to be there.
The start of the game was a little shaky, having to adjust quickly to cancelling the noise of the crowd out to be able to hear my teammates and the refs whistle. The first goal came easily, a break in the defence meant I was able to run through after receiving a perfect ball from Alexia. Misa didn’t stand a chance, 1-0. Scoring in front of 90,000 people is something I’ll never get used to.
Goal after goal was scored, by half time it was 5-0. Alexia with two goals and 2 assists, me with 2 goals and 1 assist, Caro scoring the other goal. I felt bad for Misa, she was a great person and a great goalie, her team was just shit. She wouldn’t leave though, she’s too loyal, much like alexia in that respect.
By the end of the game it was 9-0, alexia and myself with a hattrick, Caro with 2 and Vicky with 1. Misa was crying by the end of it, by passing everyone else I went to her. Engulfing her in a hug, I let her cry. Her frustrations were justified, and she deserved to let them out. After a while, she pulled back.
“I am so glad youre back, but im even more glad it took so long to have to play you.” I laughed, I always tried to visit Misa when I could, even making Alexia come with me, not that she hated it.
“I missed you too Misa.”
“you coming out tonight? Please say yes. You owe me a drink or three!”
“Fine you convinced me! I’ll see you later M” I trottered off to say good game to the rest of Real. As I was finishing up with Hayley Raso, a body jumped on my back, and then another one. Claud and Patri were yelling out ‘MVP’ and sent us tumbling to the ground. All three of us laughing as each other.
During our usual walk around to thank the fans, Alexia dragged me towards her mum and sister. 
“Mija! There you are. My god I’m so proud of you!” Eli pulled me into a bone crushing hug, leaving kisses all over my cheeks. Alba quickly joined in. Alexia had walked off to say hi to Olga and some other friends. 
“”You’re coming out right? Please say you are.” Alba asked. 
“Alba-“
“I am yes.” She squealed, pulling me into another hug. 
“You don’t have to come if you don’t want to mil. It’s not a problem.” Alexia didn’t want to push. It had been a big afternoon already and she would’ve completely understood if I didn’t want too. 
“No it’s fine. I promise. I want to go.” Quickly reassuring the captain that it truly wasn’t a problem. There was a look in her eye, something I couldn’t place. It wasn’t happiness, or sadness, maybe guilt? 
Quickly hugging Olga and Vir, before being pulled back away by Alba, she wanted to talk about outfits for tonight, she had decided to come to my house and get ready, to make sure I didn’t ’run away’, that comment got her a slap on the head from Ale and Eli. 
After slowly making it back to the locker room, the cheers could be heard from the tunnel. Everyone was singing and dancing, some wet from their shower or still in their kits. Deciding to ignore the partying for the mean time and opting for a shower in peace was the smartest decision I’d made. After I was finished I quietly and carefully slipped out of the locker room, wanting to go home and relax for an hour before Alba turned up. 
unintentionally, I fell asleep on the couch as soon as I got home, waking up to multiple loud knocks on the door. Alba was standing there, looking panicked. 
“Jesus Christ I thought you were fucking dead.” She lets out an annoyed sigh 
“Sorry I fell asleep.” 
“You’re not bailing. I don’t care if I have to drag you out.” 
“Relax. I’m still coming.” 
after 2 hours, many shots, and 3 extra bodies, we were all ready to go. The Uber to the club was fairly quick, Lucy and Misa were arguing over something stupid, Keira and Ona laughing at them and Alba holding my hand. The club was loud and full when we got there. Everyone holding hands to make it to the booth where the rest of the team were sitting. 
“Wow you finally showed up!” Mapi yelled, getting everyone’s attention. Alba came back shortly after with Misa, both carrying trays of shots. 
after lots of drinks, most of us were drunk. Half the group staying in the booth and half of us on the dance floor. Dancing in the middle of Alba and Misa, grinding on both in a purely platonic way, I felt eyes burning into my skull. Manoeuvring to see who it was, was quite the challenge, but it did. Confusion struck me. Anger, frustration, jealousy, rippled her face. With a huff, she got up and walked away. 
Why was Alexia so mad at me? What did I do? 
125 notes · View notes
harumasa-wifey · 2 days ago
Text
➹Happy New Year»———>
✖Asaba Harumasa x Fem!Reader
Tumblr media
Warnings: slight spoilers of chap 5(nothing major) Not proofread
Category: fluff
Note:i was inspired by the new official art and wrote this I was supposed to post it last night but I fell asleep while writing,Sorry for the wait.i cannot picture the accurate spot of this pic but I saw one in game I'll post a pic of it later for reference!
Tumblr media
“Meet me behind the cafe in lumina square”
This was the last text you had received from him as you left Random play after meeting with the siblings to return the movie you had rented and wishing them a happy New year in advance.
It was New year's eve and thankfully to the deputy chief you all were out and about today. No fighting hollows , No overload paperwork and some extra which asaba adds to you sneakily because he is too lazy to do them.You love him a lot but you wish sometimes he would Stop adding his paperwork on your desk. It can be a great hassle to finish them in time.
Lumina square always makes every New Year a grand one and a beautiful one to look forward to. You made your way to the metro station hurriedly taking the last train of the hour to the lumina square after talking with Nicole and the others in the cunning hares. The metro was full of people like the elderly, the people with their family, the young highschool students and the couples.
The thought of how this year went passes through your mind. The whole incident with the vision cooperation and the chase in the hollow was stressful. Although it hasn't been completely disposed of, you all can rest easy for the holidays. It was thanks to all of the background support everyone made it safely in the end.
Your thoughts came to an end as the mic on the train announced its stop , you got off the train heading out the metro station into the bustling city of New Eridu. There were lights everywhere and it was more crowded than usual, but there was still one place left to visit before you went to meet him.
Meeting the person you love on new year's eve without a gift doesn't sound right to you so here you are.Standing outside the shop while having second thoughts on what to get him. You had made up your mind to feed him some delicious sweets that are being sold around this time of year even though he likes the bitterness now and is not bothered by it.Having something sweet every once a while would definitely not harm him.
As you look around and yellowish star keychain catches your eye with a little Clover inside. There was something that attracted you to it, so without thinking further you had made the purchase and had it warped in a box.
And your next stop was The cafe.
You had made your way over to the cafe with a little pubsec bangboo to help you cross the road. You re-read his message and made your way to the back of the cafe.
There he was standing while leaning against the palisade while holding a small wrapped box in his hand, his attention over to you as he heard your footsteps coming closer.
“Well look who finally decided to grace me with their presence.Took you long enough”
He spoke with a gentle smile on his face as you rushed over to him.
“I am sorry! I was at the Sixth street when I got your message”
He chuckled at her worries about being late.
“Calm down baby, I was just teasing. No need to rush i just got in myself”
You could hear the crowd hushed as the first firework arched into the velvety night sky as he extended his hand holding the gift box his yellow eyes shining in the lights whispering in a soft tone.
“Happy new year”
Your instinct told you to go and hug him so that's what you did, wrapping your arms around his neck particularly throwing yourself over him not to worry he will always there to catch you.
“Happy new year asaba,may we be together in the next one too”
“Don't worry I'll live long” He said locking his lips with yours into a kiss.
124 notes · View notes
captain-hawks · 1 day ago
Note
oh well... I mean... how about oliver x snowed in? do we manage not to punch him in the face by the end of it?
over easy 🎀 oliver aiku x f!reader
In which domesticity creeps into the all the cracks in you and Oliver's casual arrangement as you find yourself snowed in at his apartment.
1.4k — fluff, soft oliver, fwb, mentions of sex
Tumblr media
It’s no good for your stupid, reckless heart—this predicament.
“Over easy? And two sugars in your coffee, right?” Oliver’s voice calls out from the kitchen.
It’s so fucking domestic, the way he says it. 
Like you’re not just some girl he fucks into his king size mattress in the middle of the night twice a week.
Like you’re not just going on your third morning of being stranded at his apartment because your car’s buried under several feet of snow that just keeps on coming down.
Like it’s okay that your heart fumbles meekly behind the confines of your ribcage whenever he tugs you back into his bed to stay the night. 
(That beats so hard it aches when he spins you around to kiss you in the doorway on your way out.)
You’re not dating.
You can’t date him.
Oliver doesn’t date.
But he’s handsome and charming and polite and funny and the sex is so good that you’ve never come so hard in your life and—
There’s no fucking Oliver out of your system unless it’s with Oliver himself.
And if you have some inconvenient feelings dangling on the sidelines, that’s your cross to bear on your own time when he’s not fucking you stupid in the backseat of his car or eating you out on his kitchen counter.
You don’t ask Oliver what he does on nights that he’s not with you. And you tell yourself it’s because it’s none of your goddamn business, not because you know his answer would probably hurt you too much to hear.
You assume, anyway.
But now it’s Christmas Eve, and you’ve lost any and all hope of digging your car out by tomorrow for your family dinner—not that you really wanted to go to that, anyway. 
And Oliver’s humming a Christmas song under his breath while he makes you breakfast, while you stand in his living room wearing nothing but one of his practice jerseys while perusing his bookshelf. 
It feels dangerously, terribly, awfully domestic.
And part of you thinks you’d be better off trudging across town home on foot than bearing the full weight of this walk of shame when the snow melts.
You’ve spent hours on his couch over the past few days, and he can’t seem to stop touching you. He scoots closer if you sit down too far away, places a hand on your ankle if it’s in reach, tucks your feet under his thigh. He puts his head in your lap or tugs yours down into his when you start yawning. He plays with your hair and your fingers—
And the two of you have been making your way through your favorite show, one that he’s never seen, one that you didn’t even think he would like. But it was his idea.
You even went down to his apartment building’s gym last night—something which didn’t feel strange in and of itself until Oliver kept appearing out of nowhere any time a guy tried to strike up a conversation with you, going so far as outright making out with you while you were on one of the stationary bikes. 
(The two of you barely made it through the door back up in his apartment before he was fucking you right there on the floor in the entryway.)
And you’ve yet to examine the feeling that stirred in your gut when you found oat milk in his fridge, knowing full well he doesn’t drink it. 
“Oh yeah, almost forgot to tell you. That’s for you, I picked it up the other day. I know you hate using regular milk in your coffee.”
—and the bag of mini dark chocolate bars you spotted in his cabinet last night.
“Yeah, yeah, you were right. Dark chocolate’s better.”
—and the brand-new, full-size bottle of your body wash that was staring you in the face when the two of you climbed into his shower the first morning, a mirror to the tiny travel bottle that you’ve taken to keeping in your purse for accidental sleepovers.
“It doesn’t make sense for you to have to carry soap around in your purse—”
You hadn’t even realized he knew you did that.
And yet now, as your eyes stray to the Christmas tree that sits in the corner of his living room between two large windows that overlook the city below, it’s the sight beneath it that promises to be your undoing.
Nestled between several gifts addressed to his parents and sisters is a box wrapped in gold paper with a blue bow on it. Your name is written carefully in his handwriting on the white tag stuck to the top of it. 
Your heart catches in your throat.
—and oh god you’re going to kick his ass if it’s some stupidly expensive piece of jewelry that he probably didn’t even pick out himself in there, one that’ll make you feel like you’re his even if you’re really not.
And you didn’t even get him anything because this is fucking casual—
“Wanna open it now?” You jump as Oliver’s voice comes up beside you, his chest against your back while he rests his chin on your shoulder.
“It’s not Christmas yet,” you stall, your noses brushing when you turn to look at him, but he spins you back toward the tree. 
“Yeah, I’m too impatient though,” he sighs, his breath hot against the shell of your ear as he reaches past you, arms hugging your sides while he places the package in your hands.
It’s oblong and light.
You’re glad, if nothing else, that he’s not directly facing you to see your uneasy facial expression. Slowly, with the tip of your finger, you begin to peel back the wrapping paper.
White bristles and bright green plastic greet you beneath it.
A toothbrush.
“Be my girlfriend,” Oliver whispers, nose brushing against your cheek. 
You choke out a laugh as your heart swoops. “You got me a toothbrush?”
Girlfriend.
“You would have thought jewelry was a tacky way to ask,” he hums, kissing the corner of your mouth.
You tilt your face into the kiss, murmuring against his mouth, “I didn’t get you anything.”
You almost did.
Several times, actually.
But nothing screams casual hookup gone rogue like a fucking Christmas present—and that was the last thing you wanted him to think.
And yet—
Oliver shrugs, spinning you around and cupping your face, the toothbrush still clutched in your hands. “You’re my gift.”
There’s no hiding the ridiculous smile that creeps across your face as he kisses you, tugging you with him as he walks backward into the couch, pulling you into his lap.
His lips are warm and soft as his mouth engulfs yours, kissing you in a way that you know now is far too familiar to be casual. Far too easy and gentle and intimate as he cups the back of your head and feathers a thumb against your hip bone and nips your bottom lip and laughs and—
He stops kissing you and looks at you seriously. “Oh, I also got you that dough mixer you kept looking at videos of when we were laying in bed that one night, but it’s going to be late because of the storm. I don’t want you to think I actually only got you a toothbrush.”
You blink at him.
“Oliver!”
He grins. “What?”
“I’m leaving right now to get you a gift,” you grouse, trying to hop out of his lap.
The room spins as he lifts you up, and you find yourself caged in beneath him on the couch.
“We’re snowed in,” he says, matter-of-factly.
“I’ll walk,” you frown.
“Nope,” he counters, hands sliding to pin your wrists above your head. “I’ve got the perfect gift already. Have you met my girlfriend yet?”
He reaches down into his pocket to pull out his phone, and you’re met with a photo of you laughing that you hadn’t even realized he took.
And it’s his wallpaper, for fuck’s sake.
Girlfriend.
“She’s beautiful,” he murmurs as he puts down his phone and cups your face, lips brushing against yours. “And smart.” Kiss. “And funny.” Kiss. “And—”
“I didn’t say yes.” 
Oliver stills, blinking several times as he looks down at you with a serious expression.
You roll your eyes as you thread your fingers in his hair and tug his mouth back down against yours.
“Yes.”
A pleased sound of satisfaction rumbles in his throat as his mouth skirts away from your lips, leaving a chaotic, hot, messy trail of kisses across your face, down your neck, across your collarbone—
The smoke alarm goes off somewhere in the kitchen.
113 notes · View notes
aestas---estas · 1 day ago
Text
Working hands
MDNI 18+ | Part 1 | Part 2 | Simon "Ghost" Riley x Reader | ~4,6k words | fem!reader, assistant!reader, reader described as shorter than Simon, suspend your disbelief for how long it is inbetween missions, basically all fluff | if I forgot a tag/tw please tell me | divider by @cafekitsune | Read on AO3
Tumblr media
It's early Saturday morning and you get woken up by a strong fist incessantly knocking on your front door. It's pointed and regular, military in its consistency. While Price knows where you live — it's on your paperwork after all — and you have no doubt in your mind that both Johnny and Kyle could've easily found out, you know in your bones that it's Simon.
“Coming!” You call out, rubbing the sleep from your eyes as you quickly find a pair of sweatpants to throw on; it would probably be in bad form to open the door in only a washed-out shirt and underwear. You stop in front of the bathroom mirror to quickly fix your bed hair as much as possible, splashing some cold water on your face in an attempt to look more awake than you feel. Simon’s still knocking intermittently and you can practically hear the irritation he’s starting to feel through the door — the man does not like to be ignored or left to wait.
“Good morning,” you say as you finally fling your door open, annoyance at having been so rudely interrupted clear in your voice despite the amicable words. He’s standing with his fist raised, ready to knock once more, a tool kit gripped in his other hand and you eye it curiously. “What-?”
You don’t really know how to end the sentence — what is he doing here? What’s with the tool kit? What makes him think he can wake you at 7:30 in the morning on your day off? — but you’re cut off before you manage to get another word past your lips, as he’s already made his way into your flat and toward the bathroom.
In confusion you close the front door and follow behind, your bare feet padding against the cool wooden floor, making you wish — not for the first time — that your landlord allowed heated floors. Simon’s courteous enough to have already toed off his boots by your shoe rack, so at least you don’t have to clean up dirt and grime, but the barging his way inside your space only worked to further annoy and confuse you.
“Simon, it’s not even 8,” you say as you lean against the doorframe of your bathroom, watching as he gets down on his knees in front of the broken washing machine you still hadn’t had a chance to look at. The annoyance seeps out of you as you remember the conversation you had that Monday; about how you wanted to return his jacket washed, but hadn’t been able to do your laundry. It’s a thoughtful gesture, one you can’t help but smile in appreciation at.
“I’m an early riser,” is all Simon says in return, not even glancing your way. He’s already busy with turning the machine on and off, looking at all the hoses and pipes, to try and discern what the issue might be.
For a moment, you just stay there, watching him quietly. He’s not wearing the skull mask or printed balaclava that had become synonymous with his alias, but rather a more simple black surgical mask. You don’t really know what you expected Simon to look like; you knew he was blonde, something Johnny had once shared with you to tease his Lieutenant, yet the sight of the surprisingly well groomed tresses on his head make something inside of you stir. His hair is just long enough for you to be able to card your fingers through it, and his left eyebrow is cleaved in half from a faded scar. You can’t see his jaw or chin properly, and the only time you remember him ever lifting his mask in your presence was to drink his beer in the pub all those weeks ago before he walked you home. You’d been drunk back then, hadn’t had the sense of mind to memorise his visage, and you mentally kick yourself about it now.
“It’s the water,” you supply, wanting to be helpful and hopefully distract yourself from thoughts of how it would feel to pet his hair and trace his scars, and Simon turns his head to glance at you. “It doesn’t drain properly, overflows about half the time too.”
Simon nods before turning back to the washing machine, pulling it away from the wall with little effort. “Sounds like the hose, or maybe the drainpipe. Could also be the lint trap. If there is one.” He’s mumbling more to himself than to you at this point, craning his neck to look at the backside of the machine all while nodding or shaking his head, making mental notes of possible solutions.
“Might be a while, love. Why don’t you go make us some tea?” It’s the out you didn’t know you wanted, but the second the suggestion leaves Simon’s lips you pounce on it, leaving the bathroom for the kitchen with no words or fuss.
You make two cups of some berry blend one of your friends got you as a birthday present — the mugs are white, bland, a little too boring for your liking, but they get the job done. And besides, you have more important things to spend your money on than crockery.
When you return to the bathroom, two steaming mugs in hand, you can’t help but stare at Simon for a moment before making yourself known. While the hoodie he’s wearing doesn’t provide you with much, his jeans are tight fitting around those muscular thighs of his, especially with the way he keeps crouching and kneeling. God, he’s got an ass too. The thought makes heat race to your face and you pull your eyes away from the enticing view of his rear.
“One cup for you,” you say, placing the tea down on top of the washing machine for whenever he feels like taking a sip. He sends you an appreciative look before focusing back on the task at hand; you’re both relieved and disappointed that he didn’t remove the face mask to have a taste of the drink right then and there. But then again, if he did, you’re more than sure that his uncovered visage would haunt your dreams in the best way possible.
“I’ll, uh, leave you to it then,” you say when he makes no move to speak again. 
It’s odd having Simon in your space like this. Sure, he spent the night on the couch that night after the pub. But you had been drunk then, had thought of nothing but the soft embrace of your bed that awaited you. Now you’re both sober, both clear minded and both all too aware of whatever it is that’s been growing between the two of you. 
Usually on your days off you would sleep in, would take a long shower so hot the fog on the mirror wouldn’t disappear for over an hour afterwards, would even make a proper breakfast if you had the energy for it. But Simon was currently occupying your bathroom, so a shower was out of the question, and while a short nap as he worked didn’t sound so bad it felt almost rude to go back to sleep as long as he was still there. He was doing something sweet for you; fixing something you hadn’t had the time or money to fix yet yourself.
So instead of your usual routine, you plant yourself under a blanket on the sofa with a new book you’d been meaning to read but haven’t had the chance to just yet and turn on some music. You can hear Simon in the bathroom, the clattering of tools and humming of the washing machine as he starts and stops new cycles every so often. The whole thing feels almost domestic, and it tugs on your heart in a way you don’t want to look too deep into.
---
“Can I ask you something?” you question and Simon grunts in that affirmative way he always does when you knock on his office door in the mornings. He had felt you coming back into the bathroom five minutes ago, leaning against the door frame, watching him with inquisitive eyes; but he had kept his attention on the washing machine. “Why do you wear that mask?”
If you hadn’t been studying him so intensely, you might’ve not noticed the way his shoulders and back tensed for half a second; it’s gone before you even have a chance to ponder about his reaction.
“Anonymity,” he answers at length, but you can tell there is more to it. Most of the other operators don't wear facial coverings — and if they do, it’s only while in active combat.
You understood wanting to keep his identity anonymous in the field, not letting the enemies know his name or face, it was dangerous work what he did after all, yet you couldn’t help but press. “Everyone on base already knows your name. And besides, there’s no one around but me right now.” Who are you hiding from? is what goes unasked, but the question still makes the air around you both feel heavy.
“They know what I want them to know,” he supplies, as if that would be a satisfactory answer. And it is, you suppose, at least somewhat. It doesn’t answer why exactly he keeps himself closed off, why no one — not even the men he fights beside — knows what he looks like. But it does tell you that he’s deeply paranoid and near obsessive with personal security. It tells you that he’s willing to show more of himself to the few he deems worthy; god, you want to be worthy.
“When’s the last time you took it off?” It’s a gamble of a question, but you know if Simon wants to leave the conversation he’ll let you know it in no uncertain terms.
“Last night.” You roll your eyes at that, because of course he doesn’t sleep with a stupid balaclava or face mask — maybe in the field, but you don’t know what goes on during their missions if it’s not in the reports.
“I meant with someone else in the room, Simon,” you tell him and cross your arms over your chest.
It’s quiet for a few moments, seconds stretching into minutes as Simon gives no indication of giving you a reply. Just as you let out a sigh, ready to give up on the conversation and walk back to your living room, he speaks. “It’s been… a while. Years.”
You don’t feel sorry for him, you have a feeling Simon wouldn't take kindly to pity, but empathy courses through your veins at the pain evident in his voice. He puts down the tool in his hand, turning his head just enough to make you appear in his vision, but makes no move to stand up. You realise he’s studying you, your reactions, your body language, every micro expression you don’t have the education to hide like he does.
“That sounds lonely,” you eventually say, taking the few steps from the doorway to where he’s kneeling beside the washing machine, lowering yourself until you’re eye-to-eye. “If you ever…” you hesitate for a second, but the fact that Simon has yet to end the conversation makes you power through. “I’ll be here, if you ever want to show someone.”
It’s not a demand or a manipulative tactic to get him to feel secure before ripping the rug out from under him; you genuinely want to be there for him, face or no face, want him to not go through his life with that crushing loneliness that’s been making it hard to breathe freely for years. Your eyes shine with open honesty and it’s almost too much for Simon to bear. He nearly tells you everything then; about his past, his family, Roba, everything. But you seem so innocent, untouched by the cruel reality of the world. And although he’s destroyed more uncorrupted and pure lives than yours, he wants you to keep living in the bubble of life is worth living for as long as possible.
“It’s not pretty,” is what he says instead. It — his life, him. A sad smile passes your lips as you nod your understanding.
“I’ll be here,” you repeat, giving his shoulder a quick squeeze before standing and leaving him alone in the bathroom to work.
Simon stays there for another half hour before packing everything up and making his way towards the door. Truth be told he had figured out the issue after only ten minutes, had fixed the problem — a clog in the drain pipe — as slow as possible just to be in your presence for a few minutes longer. He knew he had disrupted your morning, had woken you up too early on your day off just to selfishly indulge his own need for your warmth, and now you were offering him unadulterated support without demanding anything in return. He didn’t deserve your kindness, had used your predicament to satisfy his own wants. It made him feel low, dirty, unworthy. 
“It works now,” Simon tells you as he walks past your spot on the couch, heading towards the front door without a second glance back.
Quickly you scramble from the couch and follow behind him, the blanket once more wrapped around your form. “Thank you,” you say, your eyes tracking his movements as he pulls on his jacket. “I’ll get your jacket back as soon as it’s washed.”
Simon shakes his head. “Told you, love, keep it.” There it is again; love. Before that weekend he had never called you that, and in the moment you had assumed the nickname had slipped from his lips the same way you had called him baby — simply to sell the illusion of a relationship so the creepy guy at the club would leave you alone. But now you couldn’t be so sure.
“At least let me buy you lunch or something as a thank you,” you insist, catching him by the wrist as he reaches for the door handle, grasping at straws for anything that would allow him to stay in your life. You had always done a good job at keeping your private and professional lives separate; but that was before Simon.
Simon’s eyes flicker down to where your fingers envelop his wrist, but he does not shift out of your grasp nor tell you to let go; so you don’t. “It doesn’t have to mean anything other than thanks,” you say, hoping the reassurance will help him decide.
Something indescribable passes through his eyes before he gives a firm nod. “I’m not much of a restaurant guy, but… a lunch sounds nice.”
“Great!” You beam, something akin to butterflies fluttering around inside your chest. “We can order in if that makes you more comfortable.”
Simon nods and it feels like he wants to say something, but no words leave his lips before he’s out the door.
---
As the hours of the day tick by, you find yourself glancing over to the hook where Simon’s jacket hangs. He said you could keep it, that it looks better on you. It feels wrong both to keep it — like you're owed something when you're not — and to give it back — like you don't appreciate his gesture of friendship.
It's a tightrope, one you can't navigate properly, one that wobbles and every step threatens to topple you over. It's anxiety inducing yet the most excited you've been in a while.
Deciding to bite the bullet, you send him a text.
Hope I didn’t scare you away with the invite to lunch.
You chew nervously on your bottom lip, already dreading his reply, but before your inevitable anxiety can spin out of control, your phone buzzes in your hand and the screen lights up with a new message.
You have plans tomorrow?
You don’t, actually, and tell him as much. It’s a few, short back and forths after that — Simon is concise even in text — but you have an official game plan that involves takeaway from the Indian place down the street and Simon showing up at your place around noon.
---
Simon had left the ordering up to you, having no idea what was good at the chosen restaurant — but he trusted you to guide him. He shows up just as you hang up on the Indian place, a can of WD-40 in hand, and you raise an eyebrow in question.
“Heard the god awful squeaking of the hinges on your bathroom door yesterday,” he explains with a shrug before making his way over to it without invitation.
You follow behind with a soft smile on your face, watching with more fascination than really necessary as he sprays the hinges and moves the door back and forth a few times until satisfied.
“Thank you. You didn't have to,” you say, giving his bicep a quick squeeze in gratitude. You'd lived with those squeaking hinges for months now, it had annoyed you in the beginning but it quickly fell into the background and it just became a noise you now ignored. 
“The food should be here in fifteen minutes,” you add.
“Alright.” Simon gives you a short nod, not quite meeting your eyes. If you hadn't known him, you would've thought he was uncomfortable or seeking an escape — but you did know him, knew that he would just up and leave if that was his prerogative. But he was here. He brought lubricant for your door without prompting. He entrusted you to pick the restaurant and the food. 
“Do you wanna sit?” you ask, gesturing to the couch; a fluffy blanket was draped over one of the armrests, embarrassing really how many times you folded the damn thing while cleaning up to make everything look presentable.
You were nervous, buzzing with both excitement and anxiety. You had hung out with Simon one-on-one before, a few times where he had walked you home from the pub, that time you called him after being ditched by your friends at the club, every single morning when you brought him a cup of tea in the office, and just yesterday when he had showed up unannounced to play handyman. But it had never been anything preplanned, you had never had time to rethink your decor and spend hours meticulously vacuuming and dusting and rearranging everything. And the realisation from the day before, about how kind and strong and capable and downright attractive he was, did not help.
You knew you wanted this to be a date, but there had been no clear confirmation from either side whether it was or wasn’t. Maybe he just saw this as lunch between co-workers, or as some sort of indebted meal because he fixed a problem that was entirely yours to sort.
It comes as no surprise when Simon spreads his legs wide on the couch when taking a seat, one arm on the armrest, the other slung lazily across the back. You knew if you sat down next to him, his knee would press against yours and his hand would be dangerously close to falling around your shoulders.
It was an easy choice, really, to plop yourself down beside him.
The conversation flowed easily, one topic blended into the next, Simon relaxed fully in his seat and you found yourself smiling enough to make your cheeks ache. It wasn’t until after you had thanked the delivery driver for the food and was starting to unload the various dishes you had ordered onto the coffee table, that his previous visible trepidation came back.
“I may have gone a little overboard,” you explain nervously, eyes downcast as you organise and open the boxes of food. They smelled delicious, and steam was rising from all of them; it nearly made your mouth water. “I didn’t know what you liked, so I ordered a little of everything.”
It’s good to have left-overs, your brain chimed in in defence of your own actions.
“‘S not that,” Simon replies, reaching for one of the dishes. You study his movements from the corner of your eye and as he stops his hand mid-air to his face you realise what the problem is — the mask.
“I can… turn around or something,” you supply, hoping to be helpful, to ease his nerves. But Simon just shakes his head and pulls the band away from behind his ear, letting the mask dangle for just a moment before unhooking the other side too.
You try not to stare — it’s obviously a big step, something significant that he chose to do with you — but it’s hard to tear your eyes away when the image in your head of what he looked like was actively being shattered and reformed.
There’s a raised, jagged line across his right cheek, a bump that makes his nose just a little crooked from where it hadn’t set properly after being broken, another smaller scar down the left side of his jaw. But the one mark that rocks you the most is the Glasgow smile. It’s only one side, but it’s clear as day that it wasn’t just someone getting a little too close with a knife in the field; it’s meticulous, sharp, someone with a steady hand had held his face still enough to carve it slowly. Not a battlescar, but rather one from torture.
You shake your head slightly, forcing yourself out of the spiral you’re otherwise likely to go down, and grab one of the boxes at random. “Let’s eat.” You hope your voice doesn’t shake, but when Simon raises an eyebrow you know you’ve failed.
“It’s okay to say it. It’s ugly. Told you it was.” He doesn’t sound mad about it, more exhaustedly used to it. Like it was an inevitability you would find him unattractive once he showed you everything.
As if instinctual, your hand shoots out to cup his knee. You can’t give him reassuring words, because the scars are awful, and you know Simon would see right through you if you try to lie and say you barely noticed. But they don’t take away from his attractiveness; rather, they make you sad at everything he’s gone through and angry at every person that’s inflicted pain upon him and forced him into the hard shell he now hides behind.
For a split second, Simon freezes, the unexpected touch sending adrenaline coursing through his veins as his body gets ready for a fight that never comes. He’s unaccustomed to friendly and harmless touching, at least the kind that lingers. The occasional congratulatory pat on his shoulder from his captain and teammates, but never one from someone like you.
“Let’s eat,” you repeat, giving his knee a quick squeeze before resituating yourself on the couch and digging into your food.
---
It becomes a form of routine after that; Simon showing up at your place the weekends he has off. More often than not he’s got a toolbox in hand, fixing small things around your flat that he grumbles that your lazy landlord should’ve already fixed ages ago. You always say it’s not his job, that you’re used to the leaky tap and squeaking hinges and uneven shelves, and then thank him with the offer of lunch, trying a new restaurant every week; he seems particularly fond of the various noodle dishes they provide so you order those more than anything else.
Eventually he starts placing the black KN95 on your entryway table when the front door closes behind him. You never mention it, and neither does Simon. And even when there’s nothing left to fix (apart from completely ripping the floorboards up and installing heating, but you vehemently refuse to let him do that in fear of being kicked out), he still shows up for lunch and just a conversation. Most of the time he lets you ramble on about whatever you please, chiming in with hums of acknowledgements and one-worded replies — if he was being honest with himself he could listen to you talk for hours and be satiated.
You kiss his cheek goodbye every time before he shrouds his features again with the mask; your lips are soft and reverent, right over the scar that gives him a perpetually lopsided smile. It takes Simon four goodbyes to let his hands rest, warm and heavy with intent, on your waist, and it makes butterflies flutter to life in your stomach.
It’s a simple gesture, inconsequential in the grand scheme of things, but it’s also a big step. While you haven’t shied away from physical intimacy — a hand squeeze here, a bumping of shoulders there, all the cheek kisses — it was the first time Simon allowed himself to reciprocate.
It takes him two more goodbyes to finally angle his face enough to let your kiss catch the corner of his lips.
“Sorry,” you mumble and try to take a step back, but Simon’s grip tightens and keeps you firmly in place.
“Don’t be. I’m not.”
Oh.
Oh.
Carefully you raise your arms to wrap around his neck, going slow enough that even just a twitch from Simon would stop you in your tracks. But he stays still as a statue, eyes flickering between yours before settling at your lips.
“Is this okay?” you ask, your fingers tangling in the hair at the nape of his neck, nails gently scratching his scalp.
“More than,” Simon replies, his breath washing over your face as he dips down, letting his lips hover over yours, his every exhale intermingling with yours.
You press yourself closer and in turn his hands slide from your sides and around your back, holding you in place firmly against him, his touch leaving a scorching trail on your skin despite the fabric that separates you.
You don’t know who moves first, who closes the small distance between you, but suddenly his lips are on yours and the butterflies in your stomach metamorphosize into fireworks and you can feel your heart race against your ribcage. His lips are warm, softer than you'd imagined, and you can still taste the cigarette he smoked before entering the building. Your fingers tug gently at his curls, angling his face to your liking so you can easier slot your lips over his.
A broken moan leaves your throat as Simon’s tongue finds yours and it’s all he can do to not push you up against the wall and fuck you right then and there. God knows he’s fantasised about it enough, fisted his cock to mental images of how you’d sound as he punched the air out of you with every thrust, how you’d look with his cum dripping down your thighs, how your eyes would roll to the back of your skull as he wrings out another orgasm from your already spent body. But he knows that’s not the way to go about this, not if he wants to keep you.
He licks into your mouth, exploring and teasing all at once, indulging in the sounds you let slip from your lips. His hands twitch, eager to wander over your body, but settles on curling his fingers in your shirt, pulling you impossibly closer.
“Fuck, sweetheart, you trying to kill me?” Simon rasps when you eventually break to catch your breaths and your teeth nip at his lower lip.
“No,” you hum and trail a hand down his face and neck, smoothing your thumb over every risen scar in a show of unadulterated affection that makes him preen under your touch. “Quite like you alive. Like you a lot actually.”
Simon surges forward again, captures your lips in another bruising kiss because, fuck, if that doesn’t make his heart soar.
He doesn’t know what the future holds, how this will affect both his and your work, neither of you do. But he knows he’d rather be right here, with you in his arms, kissing you senseless, than anywhere else in the world.
--- Masterlist
102 notes · View notes
darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 2 days ago
Text
O Chilly Night
Warnings: no warnings because I let this be a sweet one. however I could see this Steve getting dark after this story hehe.
Summary: You go skating and fall in a way you don't expect. (plus!reader)
Character: skinny!Steve Rogers
Day Twenty-Two of the December Daze Challenge.
Prompt - i didn't fall on the ice, it was a trick 
Note: As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.
Tumblr media
The blades glide beneath your feet as your legs move without thinking. The noise of sharp edges slice across the ice as bodies float in pairs and trios, swirling and swerving in laps around the grand oval rink. Electric lights sparkle all around, intertwined with holly and berries in a festive scene. Cheery laughter and cutting whoops fill the crisp air around the clouds of warm breaths. 
Patricia and Joyce skate behind you, slower as they aren’t so confident in their balance. You keep a relaxed pace and spin to face them, moving backwards as they cling to each other. Joyce chatters and touches her cheek. 
“It’s awfully cold out,” she complains. 
“We’ve been inside all month,” you counter. “I’d rather this than to sit at the typewriter a moment longer.” 
“Mm, I’d rather the warm office,” she grips and Patricia nods in agreement. 
You chuckle, “well, Merry Christmas to you.” 
“I’d like it a lot more if it was in June,” Joyce leans into Patricia. 
“We can get some cocoa after, there’s a stall nearby,” you say. “I told you to bring a scarf.” 
“Thank you, mother,” Joyce sneers. 
“Would you like mine?” You ignore her venomous retort. 
“No, I want to stop. I’m dizzy. This is boring,” she whines. 
“Well, there are benches,” you shrug, “you could take a rest.” 
“Fine, but I’m not waiting on you all night,” she sniffles and cups her nose. 
“I’ll come with you. These skates are too small.” 
You smile through the tug in your cheeks. You thought your new coworkers would enjoy the night out. The rink seemed to be a nice seasonal attraction. Market stalls, skating, and even a horse-drawn sleigh. You might try that next. They seem more comfortable sitting down. 
The head for the closest exit and you turn to skim away, keeping a mellow pace. A raucous thunder of laughter and jeers rise from the other end of the rink and you peek over to see the reason. A group of six men pass by a body on the cold surface. The ice seems to steam around the small figure splayed there. 
No one stops. No one even seems to care and more laugh at the poor soul’s plight than worry for it. You sweep down the center of the ice, swooping between other skaters, and stop to bend over the man in his wool coat. His cap is off his head, pillowing it over the ice, and his scarf is twisted down his front. You didn’t expect a man, not at his size. He's rather spindly and the fall might’ve broken something. 
“Sir,” you eke out, “are you alright?” 
He groans and opens his eyes. They are big and blue around his beakish nose. His gives a pained grimace. “I must be. I thought if I kept my eyes closed I might melt into the ice.” 
“Did you hit your head?” You wonder. “Can you get up?” 
He stares at you, his irises gleaming in confusion as he searches your face. He looks around then nods. “Yeah... I’m good,” he assures you. “Thanks for asking.” 
“Here,” you offer your mittened hand. “You shouldn’t stay down there or you might stick.” 
His forehead creases and his mouth upturns. He snorts, “that’s silly.” 
He looks at your hand and reaches for it hesitantly. You grasp him and do your best to plant your skates. He’s not very heavy. You get him on his blades but he wobbles precariously. 
“Sorry, I’m no good at this.” He clings to you as his feet slip. “My friend wanted to come but...” he glances around. “He’s late.” 
He’s not very tall, even on the skates. And somehow standing, he doesn’t look much bigger than he did on the ice. The hollow of his throat is deep and his jacket is at least two sizes too big. His cheeks and nose are red from the cold. 
He finally lets you go and puts his hand out to balance himself. You bend and scoop up his hat. You hand it over as your cheeks bulb in a smile. 
“You sure you didn’t hurt anything?” 
He stares at the hat before he takes it and covers his messy blond hair. “Just my ego.” 
“We all fall when we learn. That's how you learn, what matters is you get back up,” you say. 
“Yeah? Well, it helps if we have someone to help us up,” he snorts. 
“I guess,” you shrug. “It’s just what you do.” 
“Really? Cause everyone else just laughed at me.” 
“That’s more their problem than yours, I’d say,” you tut. 
“Well, thanks. I appreciate it.” 
“Not at all. Merry Christmas, sir.” 
“Yeah, uh, you too,” he looks down sheepishly. “Can I ask how you got so good at this?” 
“Not by honest means. I used to sneak out when my mother wasn’t looking,” you snicker. “Kept a better eye on me after I fell under the ice.” 
He laughs, “hm, guess I’ll have to keep practicing.” 
“Um, I hope your friend shows up soon. Mine are waiting,” you point over your shoulder. “But, uh, do you want some help to the edge? You can lean on the posts.” 
“I think you’ve done enough,” he chews his cheek. “Think I see my buddy.” 
He raises his hand and you turn to look. You can’t see much over the bodies all around you. You’re not sure how he can see more than you. Oh well. 
“Well, have fun and... be careful,” you slowly turn and drift away. You should go find Patricia and Joyce. 
You step off the ice and sidle to the side. You look up and down the benches but don’t see them. There’s families, dads on one knee tying their kids’ skates, mothers checking their coat buttons, and adolescents impatient to go out and find their friends. 
You go around the perimeter, walking on your blades, but don’t find your fellow typists. You stop to change into your shoes, knotting the laces of your skates to hang over your shoulder. You hook your bag strap over them and get up to search the picnic tables. 
Your feet hurt as you come up fruitless in your hunt. You finally give into the disappointment and sit on your own. You stare at the stall as you mull over whether to get a cider or cocoa to soothe the wound. They left you. So much for friends. 
You untangle your skates and set them on the bench next to you. You rub your mitts together and contemplate whether it’s even worth it to spend the nickel. You shield your hurt behind a smile that aches in your cheeks. You miss home. You don’t know why you moved to the city. Like that man said, people just laugh at your pain. 
“Excuse me, miss,” his voice startles you as the thought of him seems to summon his appearance, “I didn’t get your name.” 
You look up at the thin man, his nose even redder than before. He holds two steaming mugs. You blink and utter your name. “What’s your name?” You ask. 
“Steve,” he grins. 
You look at the cups, “you found your friend?” 
“Sure did, he’s racing on the ice,” he says. “I don’t wanna break my tailbone so I thought I’d step off. Er...” he looks down at his hands, “can I sit with you?” 
“Oh,” you look around at the full tables. “I guess. I’m taking up a lot of room, aren’t I?” 
He sets the mugs down and sits. He sniffs and scratches his nose as he beams at you. He’s speechless as you try to figure out what to say. 
“Um, I got you cocoa,” he slides a cup across. “To say thanks.” 
“You...did?” Your brows rise in surprise. “That’s so sweet, you didn’t have to do that.” 
“I don’t mind,” he assures you. “So, where are your friends?” 
Your lips straighten. You can’t lie, you’ve never been any good at it. You reach for the mug, your mitten brushing his, and you pull it closer. 
“They left.” 
He hums, “really? Why would they do that?” 
You shrug, “too cold, maybe.” 
“Nah, I'd say they’re too cold,” he scoffs. 
You laugh softly, “you’re too nice. It’s my fault. I asked them and wouldn’t take no for an answer. I just thought...” you trail off. “Well, it doesn’t matter what I thought.” 
“Sure it does,” he leans his elbows on the table as he cups his hands around the mug. “If they don’t think so, then toss them. They’re missing out.” 
You look up at him and blink away the heat in your eyes. Perhaps he isn’t the friend you expected, but you think you made one nonetheless. You smile and blow over the mug. 
“Thank you, Steve,” you lift the cup, “for everything.” 
“It’s nothing,” he pushes his shoulders up as he stares at you with his bright eyes. “It’s just a cup of cocoa. You’re the sorta girl who deserves anything she could dream of.” 
114 notes · View notes
littlelamy · 4 hours ago
Note
HEY HI GORGEOUS
I'm here with another idea. what about divorced rafe and reader where she finds out she's pregnant after they hooked up on a family trip that they did only bc their kid asked for both parents on their birthday and she has to tell him that the baby is his
Tumblr media
author's note: hi bby, i made this a little angsty so i hope you enjoy it. thank you so much for sending a request! credits to @mochilly for the the divider <3
the soft hum of the engine and the chatter of your child in the backseat should've been comforting. you should've been able to relax and let the memories of the past weekend settle into something pleasant. but instead, all you could focus on was the secret bubbling inside you. a secret that was both thrilling and terrifying.
you’d been divorced from rafe for a year now. your kid's birthday party had been the excuse to bring you both back together, but the real reason for the trip was the way your kid begged. "please, just one weekend, mom, dad, both of you." and you had agreed, knowing that the family dynamic your child craved was slipping further away every day. rafe had agreed, too, though you both had kept your distance—until that night.
it had been a mistake. a drunken mistake. you had stayed in the same room because of space limitations, and the old chemistry that used to light up every corner of the house ignited that night, despite everything. you were both too broken, too hurt by the years of marriage that fell apart, but still... you found yourselves in bed together, tangled in passion.
now you were facing the consequences of that moment, and you couldn’t help but feel like you were about to crash into a wall of reality. you’d missed your period, and the test didn’t lie. the baby was his.
you pull up to the familiar house, the same one where you had shared so many memories, and where your child now split their time. your kid jumps out of the car and runs into the house, leaving you standing there, nerves tightening your chest. you take a deep breath and close your eyes, steeling yourself. you could do this.
the door opens, and there he is. rafe. his tall frame, messy hair, and that look in his eyes—the same look that once made your heart race. now, it just made your stomach churn with anxiety. he stares at you for a second, eyebrows knitting in confusion.
“hey,” you say softly, fighting the tremble in your voice.
“hey, you okay?” he asks, voice rough but laced with concern. “you look like you’re about to pass out.”
you wince, your heartbeat picking up speed. “i, uh, need to talk to you about something.”
rafe’s gaze sharpens, his posture shifting into something more guarded. “what’s wrong? is it about the kid?”
“no, no, it’s about... me,” you mutter, then stop yourself. "well, actually, about us."
the silence between you stretches, thick and uncomfortable. he raises an eyebrow. “us? what the hell are you talking about?”
you glance at your hands, nervous to look him in the eye. “rafe, the thing is... i’m pregnant.”
the words fall into the space between you like a bomb, and his expression morphs instantly from confusion to shock. his lips part as he takes a step back. “what?” his voice is barely a whisper, but you hear the panic in it.
you nod, watching him closely. “yeah. i’m pregnant, rafe. and it’s... it’s yours.”
the air seems to freeze around you. rafe stares at you like he’s trying to process the words, like they can’t possibly be true. his jaw tightens, and you can see the conflict churning in his eyes. “you’re fucking kidding me, right?” he snaps, running a hand through his hair.
“no, i’m not,” you reply, your voice growing firmer, though your insides feel like they're about to implode. "i just found out. the timing—hell, it’s a fucking nightmare, but it’s true.”
rafe glares at you, his usual defensiveness rising like a shield. “how the hell did we end up here?” he mutters under his breath, pacing in a circle.
you feel your own frustration bubbling up. “don’t act like this isn’t your fault too, rafe,” you shoot back, your voice louder now. “you think i wanted this? i didn’t ask for this. i didn’t ask to be here with you again, but our kid wanted us both. and now... now i’m stuck in this mess, and you’re here acting like it’s a goddamn surprise.”
he clenches his fists, jaw tightening. "i know, alright? i know i fucked up with you. but this—this is too much." he stops, running a hand over his face. “you could’ve just... kept it from me. this doesn’t have to be real.”
you scoff, feeling the sting of his words. "i’m not that kind of person, rafe. i’m not just going to pretend it didn’t happen. you need to hear this. whether you like it or not, this is our reality now.”
he’s silent for a moment, then steps closer to you. his voice drops to something softer, more strained. “what do you want me to do, huh? you think i can just act like everything’s fine?”
“no,” you say, your eyes meeting his. “but i can’t do this alone. i need you, rafe. i need you to be here. for me. for our kid.”
he exhales sharply, and for the first time, you see something in his eyes that isn’t anger or confusion—it's fear. “i don’t deserve that. you deserve someone who’s stable, who can give you everything you need. i can’t be that guy.”
“stop,” you interrupt him, your voice trembling. “stop trying to push me away. you’re all i’ve ever needed. yeah, things fell apart between us, but we’re both human. i’m not asking for some fucking fairy tale, rafe. i’m asking for you to step up, for our kid, for what we used to have.”
his lips press together, and the tension in the air thickens. then, finally, he speaks. “you’re right. i’m not perfect, but i’ll be here. i’ll try, alright? i’ll try for you. for the baby. i—”
he cuts himself off and takes a deep breath. his voice cracks a little when he adds, “i’m scared as hell, but i’ll try.”
tears well up in your eyes, but you hold them back. “i’m scared too,” you whisper. “but i think we can make it work.”
he steps closer, lifting a hand to gently cup your face, his thumb brushing over your cheek. his voice is low, almost a whisper. “we’ll figure this out. together.”
and for the first time in what felt like forever, you believed him.
taglist: @namelesslosers @maybanksangel @averyoceanblvd @iknowdatsrightbih @starkeysprincess @anamiad00msday @ivysprophecy @wearemadeofstardust0 @rafesangelita @sstargirln @rafedaddy01 @soldesole @bakugouswaif @skywalker0809 @vanessa-rafesgirl @evermorx89 @outerhills @ditzyzombiesblog
90 notes · View notes
captain-huggy-bear · 5 hours ago
Text
To Fight a Ten Year Old
Tumblr media
Pairing: Quinn Hughes x Fem!Reader
Warnings: N/A
Summary: In which Quinn is prepared to time travel to whoop some ten year old butt because you tell him a story from your childhood and he takes it personally.
Notes: Alas, I did in fact experience this as a child, but I can laugh about it now :) Also writing soccer instead of football actually hurt me.
Very silly + short idea to be honest but hope it brings a smile to some faces!
Totally happy to take requests/ideas/prompts at the moment in my ask box :)
Writing Masterlist
Tumblr media
It's a stupid little back and forth the two of you have going as you get ready for bed, silly little questions like 'tell me about your first broken bone' and 'why is your favourite animal your favourite?'. It's something Quinn and you have been doing since you first started dating. It started as a way to get to know each other better and ended up a habit, a ritual of sorts.
Each year the questions get harder to think of as your lives become more intertwined, most of your stories featuring the other, but it still raises interesting moments from your childhoods and silly little stories that explain a lot about you or him. Things you probably wouldn't find out about each other unless you asked these random questions or a family member brought it up at Thanksgiving or Christmas.
Today is no different. You're going through your night routine, taking off your make up and moisturising your skin, while Quinn brushes his teeth in the adjoining bathroom, door open so you can talk.
"Okay..." He's thinking hard, even as he talks around his toothbrush leaning his head out of the bathroom to watch you as you wipe away your eyeliner, "How about first heartbreak?" His voice is muffled around the toothbrush and almost sounds like he's underwater, despite this he never seems to want to wait until he's done.
"Like first heartbreak? Or first proper heartbreak?" You're running a cloth over the rest of your face as you ask, wiping away concealer and blush, an array of colours smearing the fabric. Your skin being revealed bit by bit.
"What's the difference?" He briefly disappears back into the bathroom to spit out his toothpaste and put his toothbrush away, but you know he's still listening as you explain.
"Well, first heartbreak is that time as a little kid that you thought you were in love and got hurt by it but it wasn't serious. You were probably over it by the next week, and first proper heartbreak is when you're older and it actually is heartbreak and you can't get over it for at least 3 months."
He hums as he comes back to lean against the doorframe, shoulders looking delicious without a shirt on, "First heartbreak, probably less depressing for a Monday night."
You take a moment, reaching for your moisturiser as you think back. There are many moments you could think of where you thought you were in love as a litte kid and had your heart broken as a result, but one stands out the most.
"Okay, um...When I was 10 years old I really liked like this boy in class called Cameron but Cameron really liked Emily, a girl 2 years older than us." You can still remember it now, the way he used to sit with her whenever he had the chance, how she clearly did not want a kid 2 years younger than her hanging around, how lovesick he was...how lovesick you were.
"Okay, so Cameron likes a cougar?" You glare over at him as you rub moisturiser into your skin, disapproving as he grins at you, straight teeth peeking out from behind his lips.
"2 years apart at the age of 10 and 12 does not make someone a cougar, Quinn!"
"I don't know, baby, seems pretty cougar-ish to me." You roll your eyes at him as he strolls closer to you, taking your comb in hand and tilting your head forward gently. He's careful as he starts to detangle your hair, careful not to pull too harshly on your scalp, much kinder than your mother used to be when you were a child. Quinn's always careful not to hurt you, apologetic if a tangle pulls too roughly.
"You're ridiculous. Anyway, where was I?" You reach for the detangler handing it back to him as he works, closing your eyes gently.
"You liked a spotty kid called Cameron." There's a hint of dislike riding his voice, even as his fingers are careful as they pull strands of your hair apart, teasing out knots.
Your eyes flash open and meet his in the vanity mirror, lips pursed at the way he insults a ten year old he's never met, "I liked a tall, cute kid called Cameron who was into soccer."
"Yeah, like I said, spotty." The dislike turns to a jealous sort of mumble, matched only by the sour look on his face that has you huffing out a laugh.
"Are you jealous of a ten year old?"
"He's not ten anymore..."
"Do I need to remind you this is a story of heartbreak?"
"Still, should've been me." His hands slide from your hair, comb having been put back on the side, and down to the base of your neck. Long fingers working at the tension there, you lean back into his fingers even as you call him out for his ridiculousness.
"We didn't even know each other! You're absurd, anyway, so I was certain Cameron was my future husband and I decided to be very brave one Valentine's day and get him a card and a gift." You lean a little to the right as Quinn hits a knot on the left side of your shoulder, you sway back into him.
"I'm proud of little you, that's gutsy." He can almost imagine it, little you bravely handing over a glittery red and pink monstrosity, little bows in your hair and chubby cheeks.
"I know, braver than I am now." You're not sure you'd have been brave enough to do something like that now, it had been Quinn after all who'd made the first move, Quinn who'd set the pace of your relationship at the start, "So I get him some chocolates, those stupid cheap heart shaped ones, and I make a stupid card covered in glitter and all sorts. I take my time and I write a heartfelt confession inside and then decided to give it to him in front of the entire class."
"No..." His voice drops, horror filling it as he looks at you through the mirror, mouth slightly open, eyes wide. You nod at him, confirming his worst fears, he knows how this is about to go down.
"Yeah, rookie move. I do it though, I hand it over and then he proceeds to not even read the card and um, rip it up in front of me and the entire class while telling me that he was going to marry Emily."
His fingers still in their massage. In fact, Quinn completely stills, his entire body rigid as he frowns at you through the mirror, there's a silence, long and heavy before he speaks.
"Where does Cameron live?"
"Quinn." You turn in your seat to look up at him, lips pursed together.
"I'm serious where does he live I'm going to go have some words with him," He crosses his arms and there's a brief moment where you're distracted by the strength and definition in his forearms before you really process that he's considering having words with a guy who broke your heart when you were ten.
"About his choices when he was ten?"
"Yeah! Who does that to someone, not only did he reject you, which is an insane decision by the way, he embarrasses my baby in front of the entire class!" Quinn reaches for your hands as he rants, pulling you to your feet, as his fingers twist and twine with yours. You'd think he's just joking but his tone is completely serious and it makes your heart warm, no matter how silly he's being. He's genuinely personally offended on your behalf about something that happened when you were a child, before you knew each other. It's sweet. Silly and absurd, but sweet.
"You can't fight a guy who broke my heart at the age of ten."
"Sure, I can or I can get Millsy to do it." He cracks a smile at that, even though he's serious about wanting words with this Cameron, he's also aware he's being absurd. He tugs you closer by the hands even as you glare up at him like a disappointed parent.
"You are not setting Miller on my childhood crush!"
"Why not?"
"Because it's ridiculous! It was over a decade ago!" Even as you protest you're smiling, arms reaching up to rest over his shoulders and around the back of his neck. Fingers twisting the strands of brunet hair that rest there.
"And, he broke your heart and that's not acceptable, baby, i'm sorry, I have to defend your honour." Quinn palms rest on each of your hips, pulling you in as his fingers curl into your pajama bottoms.
"But, it was a good thing."
"How is that a good thing?"
"Because if he hadn't done that, I might have married him and been stuck in a loveless marriage and then never met you or met you but not been able to be with you." You look at him with a little smirk like you've beat him at his own game, like you've outplayed him in a game of chess.
"So you're saying that I actually should be thanking that spotty kid for breaking your heart?"
"Yes."
There's a moment of silence as he draws you ever closer, leaning down to brush his nose against yours, all soft lidded eyes and warmth. Pliant like a docile house cat.
"I'm not thanking him, I will, however, not get Millsy to fight him." It's mumbled so close to your lips that they're brushing his, an almost kiss that speaks volumes about where his mind is now.
"Good, because I'm not breaking you or Miller out of prison."
"You don't love me enough?" He doesn't even have the decency to pretend to be offended or care as his eyes are heavy, focus on your lips, not your eyes and certainly not on the ten year old he was threatening to set Miller on 5 seconds ago.
"Oh, I love you enough, but I do not have that skill set, honey."
"I don't know, think you could probably charm the officers into letting me out, baby." Quinn brushes the tip of his nose purposefully with yours and you know he's seconds from breaking and just kissing you, he has his tells, his little gestures that have consistently given him away.
"You suggesting I seduce the police now?" You pull back just enough to get his attention, to force a pout from him at the distance, his fingers scrambling at your back to pull you back in.
"...Nawwh, only me."
"You're an idiot." He pulls in you in with enough force that your chests bump with a soft smack, rubbing his cheek against yours just because he knows the stratch of his beard will get a giggle from you as you shy away from the sensation.
"I'm your idiot though."
"Mmm, my idiot." You mumble it against his lips as he finally breaks, self control being ditched in favour of the way you sigh against his mouth. He tastes like spearmint toothpaste, minty and sweet as his lips part beneath yours with a hum.
Maybe heartbreak at ten sucked, but you can't help but be thankful for it when you ended up winning the jackpot when you scored Quinn. So much better than spotty ten year old Cameron.
73 notes · View notes
wanderlust-in-my-soul · 2 days ago
Note
Hi, just curious. What's your 10 or 20 fave BL kisses from bl series/dramas/web series you've watched or are watching, if you have any?
Hey Anon,
I don't know if you remember this ask, it has been sitting in my inbox for a while now. Sorry for the late reply!
And of course I have favorite kisses. I love a good kiss. In my definition of a good kiss, it doesn't need to be the perfect angle or the perfect "lip-touching", I don't know, people rate such scenes differently. For me it is more about the emotions I could feel during that kiss, the build-up or if there is a special detail that really catches my breath. I guess you'll understand, what I mean when you see my choices.
This is not a ranking! It is in alphabetical order, not just because I don't want to rank them, but because I am lazy.
Bad Buddy
Tumblr media
The iconic rooftop kiss. The whole build-up was perfect. The tears? The first short kiss followed by this gorgeous kiss filled with all the emotions one person can feel? What is not to like about this kiss!?
Be My Favorite
Tumblr media
I was very protective of these two and especially Krist. People were saying, he can't kiss other man because he is homophobic and what is this then? Yes, I remember Sotus. The kisses were.. not good, but I gave Be My Favorite a chance and this kiss was so soft and so full of love and tenderness. I really enjoyed this whole scene a lot! And Kris can kiss.
Boys Be Brave!
Tumblr media
This kiss came as a big surprise for me. It is Jinwoo trying to hide from Kisub and the letter finding him what leads to this quiet and beautiful first kiss. I loved everything about it!
Ghost Host, Ghost House
Tumblr media
All of there kisses were so good! But I loved the teasing and the chasing in this scene especially. Those two have incredible good chemistry and I wish we could see more of them.
History 3: Make Our Days Count
Tumblr media
Oh the desperation for each other was so real in this one. Both wanted each other so bad! But what I loved the most about this whole scene was the way how Sun Bo Xiang reassured Lu Zhi Gang that he desired all of him. So good!
I Feel You Linger In The Air
Tumblr media
The most painful and saddest kiss in bl-history! It is such a wonderful scene. Everything about it made me cry and smile at the same time. Gorgeous scene!
Jack and Joker
Tumblr media
They finally confessed and kissed for the first time. And what a kiss this was! It left the most of us speechless and a little bit breathless. The way Jack stopped the kiss in the middle to calm Joke down a little bit and they started the kiss again so fucking tender and argh! I love it so much!!!
Love Class 2
Tumblr media
Love Class 2 has some really good kisses, but this one was something else! It is one of the softest kisses ever. I don't know how many times I have rewatched this whole scene. Just look at them. You can feel the softness of this kiss! And there were sounds during that scene... they were something else.
Love For Love's Sake
Tumblr media
I really didn't expect that kiss at the end of this series. I hoped for a tight hug, but hello? Those two and the script kept delivering until the very end. This was pure perfection.
Love Mechanics
Tumblr media
Yeah, well... perhaps I am just a sucker for YinWar kissing... I don't know. But every time I see this kiss I want to live in this scene forever and I would be perfectly fine. I am just sitting here, wanting to write about this kiss and I stared at it for an unhealthy period of time and forgot everything else. That is really bad. I love that kiss so much!
My Stand-In
Tumblr media
They had some good kisses. This was not one of them, but this specific moment, when Joe gave in to the kiss, I was blown away. He really didn't want to like this kiss, but his heart still wanted it. The emotions!
My Tooth Your Love
Tumblr media
Every once in a while there are these cute and small kisses, so ordinary and overlooked. I think these are very important to portrait a good and real relationship. Because kisses don't need to be these big moments in slow-motion and with different angles. Yes, those are nice, but I really adore those "small" ones that show the love between the characters.
Perfect Propose
Tumblr media
The reason I picked this scene is because of the build-up. Hirokuni asked Kai not to call him Hiro, but Kai just ignored him and breathed Hiro and followed with this passionate kiss and I was just in awe.
Sing My Crush
Tumblr media
I was absolutely not expecting this kiss! I thought we got this dead-fish-kiss and that would be it. I would have love the series nevertheless, but this scene? Damn, Korea! Such a good kiss!
The Heart Killers
Tumblr media
I don't think those two are the best kissers in the industry. I think they have some good chemistry without a doubt. But this kiss. This moment here. It was everything for me. I can feel Style's hand on Fadel's head. I can feel it. And I love it! I am not normal about this scene! Everything about these few seconds brings me so much joy. The look on Fadel's face, the hand and everything that happend before and followed afterwards.
The Day I Loved You
Tumblr media
This is still one of my favorite rooftop-kisses. For me it is the way they grab each other to pull the other one close. The way they want to crawl into each other, to feel the other person everywhere. Such a perfect first kiss! Such a perfect scene.
To My Star 2
Tumblr media
I love these small kisses. I name them "A thousand little kisses". Those kisses make me smile and so happy! There is nothing more to say about it. I love them. To My Star is just an example for many other shows out there with these little kisses.
Unknown
Tumblr media
I loved this whole scene. But this segment of the kiss, this little dance of them, is so good. I can't tell you how many times I just watched this specific scene. How easy Yuan maneuvered Qian around to close the door. How they kept kissing. I... I... nope. There are no words in my head anymore.
Well, these are a few of my favorite kisses. There are more, but I guess this list is long enough. I hope you like my little selection :) I wish you a wonderful day!
95 notes · View notes