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shadesoflsk · 3 months

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YOUR? OUR MARGARET

PAIRING: Leon Kennedy x Single mom!reader

SUMMARY: Life slowed down when Leon first saw those tiny rays of sunlight. But he didn't think he would fall in love with the whole sun. Or: Leon falls in love with a single mother.

WARNINGS: Brief mentions of alcohol, government, leon's traumas, love confessions, Leon is a bit insecure and awkward but he's also a sweetheart and has a soft spot for kids, cheesy and corny type of love, this is just fluff believe me!

WORD COUNT: 4.5k

AUTHOR'S NOTE: If I had a nickel for every time I've written about Leon's transition from vendetta to death island I would have two which it isn't a lot but it's funny it happened twice. If you wish to know what song Leon played this is the one I had in mind. As always, I hope you like it. This is my Valentine's Day fic for today!

MY MASTERLIST

Gruesome scenarios and depressive states of mind have tainted Leon's path in life. However, the grizzled and gloomy agent has had a rather rough patch this last year in which he was left alone to die in his own sorrow—Raccoon City, Spain, China and his already-known addiction took a toll on him.

He doesn't have anyone to blame, nor does he want to. Yeah, he could blame the government for stripping him of his innocence and his genuine wish to help people but he felt like he had failed his nation, not the DSO, not the FBI, just him.

Behind closed doors, in the white house and for everyone else he's Agent Leon Kennedy, Mr. Kennedy, and if someone were to ask the president he'd say he's the most trusted weapon the country has.

He has grown accustomed. His shield has hardened to the point he's numb to most things he should find disturbing or annoying yet he couldn’t help but wish someone would see him the way he really is.

A bittersweet feeling grew in Leon’s system. Alcohol no longer brought the same dull sensation that’d put him to sleep even in the loudest and sleazy bar. So, slowly he grew out of his addiction. Not alone, though. Alongside him were a couple of therapists which he reluctantly confided in. Not because he didn’t believe in mental health, but because he thought it wasn’t for him.

Also, his friends made his life a bit better. Spare the man the embarrassment, but friendship does indeed make you see the world more colorfully. It was nice hearing his name slip out of his friends' lips. Leon, Leon! Aww, Leon.

However, life didn’t prepare him for the moment his name was replaced by a:

Dada.

Therapists had told him he should look for a hobby, something that’d fill those moments where boredom or monotony would push him to fall back into his deadly addictions. And he completely understood, he ought to follow the experts’ advice in order to actually improve.

It was rather easier, he was not a complicated man.

Even before the Raccoon City incident, he loved exercising. Whether it was lifting weights, cycling, or plain running he’d always be found doing something. The mere thought of just lying in bed was something he’d never engage in, especially not now that he’s getting better.

So, he combined two things. One he was familiar with and a second one he hasn’t been able to really connect with: nature.

Near his current apartment, there was a small park in which he goes jogging. Usually, his schedule would only allow him to go there in the early hours of the morning where the only people he’d find were retired grandparents who danced to some Spanish music he couldn’t understand.

Peaceful, he liked it.

But when he was getting used to his daily morning jogging, a call from work told him they needed him ASAP. So, his little detoxicating activity would be postponed to the afternoon.

After dealing with the usual stress from work, calls from Hunnigan, and a rather bothersome headache, he got to his apartment and decided to get ready and not skip his so-needed jogging.

The afternoon sky was painted with a hue of blue mixing with the slightest orange color, the gentle breeze hitting Leon’s face as he jogged around the park. His tempo never missed a beat not even after an hour or so between his physical training and some pauses. Sweat fell from his forehead and onto the ground with each step he took, meaning that he was reaching exhaustion.

At last, he found solace under a tree that cast a shadow, perfect for Leon to catch his breath. Closing his eyes, he let his lungs inhale as much air as they could.

His peaceful moment was broken when a tiny voice called out for him. Or rather, mistaken him for someone else.

“Dada!” A little girl came walking to where he was seated, wobbly steps trying to reach him.

“Margaret!” You appeared out of nowhere before the toddler could reach and hug the stranger. The giggling and excited kid seemed to have heard “run faster” by the way she didn’t stop at your call.

A hint of confusion washed over Leon as he watched the scene develop with rather curious eyes. A mop of curly hair running away from your grasp. The white dress turned into a slightly brown color, Leon guessed the child must have been playing in the dirt.

And then a glimpse of a faint smile replaced his previous bewilderment as his eyes fell on you. As you tried catching your daughter, he observed her antics and your patience.

Finally, your hands lifted the little one as her tiny legs kicked in the air, ready to run in the air.

You fixed Margaret’s dress and messy hair while her bright eyes continued being focused on the man sitting on the grass. Her hands doing the typical “grabby” motion to Leon. Sighing in defeat, you spoke to the man.

“Sorry, don’t know what happened.” You sheepishly said as you offered the man an apology for your daughter’s previous mischievous actions. “She usually doesn’t call random people dada I assure you.”

“She gave me quite the scare.” Leon chuckled as he got up from the grass. “My past actions flashed before my eyes.”

“As I said, I’m sorry.” You repeated your words while your daughter tried wriggling her way out of your arms. When she saw that her mother’s grip wasn’t budging, she took matters into her own hands.

She started crying.

You weren’t letting your daughter play with a stranger, that much you knew.

“My name’s Leon, by the way.” Leon said, extending his arm, but he pulled back as soon as he saw that you were too busy handling the tantrum your daughter was having.

You told Leon your name which easily fell from his lips to confirm he heard you well. “Do you normally come here?” You asked.

“Yes, but just in the mornings.” He responded, watching the little one pouting. “Something came out today so duty called. Cops don’t rest.”

“Wait, Are you a cop?” You seemed to relax at the revelation and he couldn’t help but get a Deja Vu from this little interaction. A friend of his asked him the same question, but at least now he wasn’t surrounded by zombies.

“A cop…” A whisper came out from Leon’s lips, a playful yet gentle smile formed on his face. “Kinda.”

“I’ll assume you’re way more important than that.” You adjusted Margaret in your arms when she finally calmed. Although she kept on staring at Leon, her bright eyes focused on him. “Because if you were indeed a cop or a chief you’d be puffing your chest out.”

“Are they always like that?” He acted surprised.

“Here, in New York? I don’t know… you tell me.”

It’s been a while since he last spoke with someone this freely. Surely he has talked with his friends a lot. But they were people he had previously known and shared the same past as him, a connection to the outside world seemed impossible and even greedy in a way.

Soon, both of you found yourselves unable to stop talking, even Margaret chirped from time to time, making her opinion loud and clear. He got to know a bit about you, and you got to know little fragments of his life. The ones who wouldn’t lead him to share more than necessary, obviously.

Despite the rough exterior, his constant frowning stopped as a soft expression replaced it. Margaret's chubby hands absentmindedly held one of Leon’s fingers as he spoke with you, blabbering and being overjoyed by his presence.

However, her cheerful mood slowly turned sour as soon as she got hungry. Glassy eyes and sobs warned you that the conversation would come to an end.

“Yup, I gotta go.” You murmured trying not to bring more stress to your already distressed baby. “It was nice talking to you.”

“Likewise.” Leon kept his hands in his pockets, unable to come up with anything else. He wanted to say that perhaps they could repeat this. But then again, he’s been so deprived of normal social interactions that he no longer knows if that would sound creepy.

“Have a good night.” He decided it would be the wisest thing to do. He watched your soft expression as you took your little girl’s hand and waved goodbye.

Ever since that little interaction, his schedule changed. His morning routine was long forgotten. An excuse was made, something between the lines that his shift changed so he has to work in the mornings.

And he was delighted to spend time with both of you. The highlights of his whole day would be getting to hear about you and Margaret.

Each day that passed meant new memories being made. From the way he got to know Margaret’s favorite ice cream flavor to your childhood dreams. Every detail mattered for him because he could now see how simple life could be.

He took—both of you mostly— on little dates. Let it be to try a new cafeteria near the park, drinking an americano while Margaret drank from her sippy cut which was filled with chocolate milk.

However, there were times in which Margaret would stay with a friend of yours. Allowing you to be alone with Leon. And while he appreciates the joy and happiness your daughter brought, he also loved the moments in which he could focus just on you.

Sadly, years of training didn’t prepare him to man up and make the first move. When he thought he would brush away every insecurity and second guesses, something would come up.

He wanted to grab your hand, the waiter would come at the worst time. He wants to compliment you, he'd almost choke with his own saliva. He wanted to give you a goodbye kiss after driving you home, someone would call him.

It was as if the universe was against him.

Thankfully, you had picked up those hints. And if Leon wasn't the luckiest man out there, you can help him in his predicament.

On a usual afternoon, as Margaret played with the leaves that had fallen from the trees, you shot him a question.

“Would you like to have dinner with me?”

“Huh? Yes, it sounds nice.” Leon absentmindedly replied, thinking it would be like the rest of your dates.

“I mean… In my house. I don't think I've invited you yet.”

In the meantime, Margaret had grabbed some leaves which she placed on Leon's hair. The man didn't even react to it, already used to her antics.

“I wouldn't like to intrude.”

“You wouldn't. See it as a friendly meeting.”

Friendly meeting, of course. He couldn’t be so selfish.

“If you insist.” He says as the little one giggles, her smile just showing two teeth. “When would it be?”

“Are you free this 14th?”

He nods, he doesn't even remember if he's in fact free. But he'd make time.

Besides, who works on Valentine’s Day?

⊹˚₊‧───────────────‧₊˚⊹

He wishes he would've realized about the implications of the day sooner.

The other dates have been nothing but platonic. Of course he had been nervous, biting his nails to the point where had to put on clear nail polish.

But this one is for Valentine's Day. Day where people confess their love in dramatic ways. Some lucky people even propose on this date.

Leon has been out of the dating game for years. He believes he'll mess it up somehow, especially as he sees the reflection of himself in the mirror.

Of course, he knows he's getting better. But his appearance tells everyone otherwise. His hair continues being dark, a big contrast from his past self whose blond hair would be the talk of some people.

The palm of his hand brushes over his stubble cheek. The sensation of those tiny hairs is similar to blades. He looks at his watch, there is no time to shave. The last thing he wanted was to be late on his first date.

He sighs and walks toward the table, on top of it are two bouquets. One has multiple red and pink roses, that one is for you. The other one consists of a single white rose, for Margaret. Even if he has forgotten the basics of dating, he wouldn’t go empty-handed to your home.

The drive to your house isn’t an easy one. Not because he lacked driving skills, he is pretty much proud of how well he could drive when he is not facing life-or-death situations.

He takes his car, just for today. He knows he has to be himself and show you his love for bikes. But he would be lying if he wasn’t a tad scared about coming to your house driving his usual motorbike. What would you think? Surely you’d dump him for risking his life or something like that.

But he is so damned anxious. He turns on the radio, trying to muffle his thoughts but the first thing that comes up is a Valentine's Day advertisement. ‘Don’t mess up your date today! Try our newest product and—’ He’s trying, he doesn’t know what the ad is talking about but he needs no product for this date to be a success.

He turns off the stupid machine. After all, today’s music sucks. Nothing personal, he just doesn’t like it. He’d prefer if the radio played real music. Some Deftones and Korn would do.

But right now he’d dance to anything. Valentine’s Day, after all, should be a romantic getaway from the normalcy of life. Even though years had made him a corny individual, if it’s with you, romanticism should never die.

He’s rambling, his head is a mess. He sees himself slow dancing with you, Somethin’ Stupid playing in the background. He foresees a future in which he could paint next to your daughter, suns and trees never looked so pretty as he imagines that scenario.

Dating you would come with the whole pack, he knows well. But even at his age, he still feels like a broken child whenever he sees himself in the mirror. Memories of his innocence being stripped away of him and his present still clinging on to the faint threads of hope.

So that’s why he made the promise of taking this relationship seriously. No matter if you end up being nothing more than friends. People often say that you just know when you meet the one. And he saw the beacons of lights announcing the whole sun when he met you and your little one.

Eventually, he reaches your home. Double-checking the address you had previously sent him over text, he confirms this is the place you live in. A modest house, enough for you and Margaret.

He switches off the engine and takes out the key from the ignition. Placing his hands one last time on the steering wheel, he takes a deep breath, mentally preparing himself. And with a newfound conviction, he grabs the two bouquets and gets out of the car.

When he walks towards the door, he immediately knocks. If he dared to wait just a second just to calm his anxiety, he’d spend at least 5 minutes staring at the wooden material. So, he sacrifices that priceless time in order to face reality.

A ‘coming’ is heard by Leon a few seconds after he knocks. Eventually, the front door opens and you welcome him with Margaret in your arms. “Hey.” You greet him, Margaret doing the same as she waves her hand.

“Hey, you two.” Leon says with a warm smile, trying to hold back the fact that there hasn’t been a better image than this. “I couldn’t come empty-handed to your house so I took the liberty to bring you these.”

Leon then hands you the bouquets he had brought—the bigger one for you, and the smaller one with a single rose for Margaret.

“Are these for me?” A dumb question, of course. But there’s no harm to ask and surely it would get a nice reply from Leon who has been dancing around the idea of flirting with you. Too scared to come off as awkward and silly.

“I don’t see another pretty woman around here.” It slips so smoothly out of his lips. Leon Kennedy, you still got it, he mentally praises himself.

“Yeah, right.” You roll your eyes, satisfied with the answer you received. “Please, come in.”

Leon nods and enters your house. The living room was nicely organized, and the way some toys blended in with the decoration brought a smile to his face. The perfect balance between the sober expected room with the colorful and childish playthings.

You set Margaret on the floor not before giving her the rose Leon gifted her. She absentmindedly walks toward the couch and sits down to inspect what an amazing thing the funny man brought.

“Well, looks like she likes them.” Leon hums as he watches how Margaret starts happily tearing the flower into tiny pieces. Her antics filling Leon’s heart, he could get used to this feeling.

He wants to.

“Yup, definitely.” And your eyes meet Leon’s, his piercing blue eyes are not cold as he often thinks. They remind you of the beach sea, of the gentle waves and the gentleness they carry.

And he sees himself in yours. In your eyes, he isn’t a cold and depressed agent who is fighting off the odds. He admires the man he’s becoming. The man who despite everything he has experienced, wants to do better.

“I haven’t told you yet but…” Leon trails off as he gathers the courage to do this simple yet nerve-wracking action. “Happy Valentine’s Day.”

He grabs your hand and brings it to his lips. Without breaking eye contact, he kisses your knuckles. A gentleman through and through. If he could win your heart, he’d do anything to protect both of you.

Although he was lying, even if he weren’t to win you over, you have already gained a friend who would literally save the world for you to live in with your most beautiful miracle.

“You’re sappy.” You shake your head laughing, but you don’t push Leon away. In a way, your teasing comes off as a thank you.

“And you break my heart.” He chuckles, letting go of your hand which falls to your side.

As it does, your eyes fall on Margaret. While she continues playing with torn pieces of the flower, you see her head swaying slowly from side to side, as if fighting off sleep.

“It’s nap time for little Margaret.” You break the silence as you walk toward Margaret whose tiny fingers still try to tear up the already destroyed rose.

You pick up Margaret and with the way she isn't getting fuzzy, your assumption was correct. She is fighting against Morpheus, sadly losing.

You glance at Leon who is standing in the same place you left him. Admiring the scene of you carrying your daughter.

“Would you like to help me?” You murmur.

Of course he does, he wants nothing more but to embark on this new life. He has seen so much horror and for once, he wants to indulge in this domestic dream of his.

“If you let me.”

Humble, timid, and definitely not showing how enthusiastic he was about helping you.

You nod and guide him upstairs. Margaret’s room was just next to yours, even though you prefer to sleep with her, still too nervous about her getting tangled in her own blankets.

As both of you reach the room, shades of pink and white greet Leon. Some toys are scattered around the floor too. Proof of Margaret’s wholesome behavior.

Margaret shifts in your arms, her previous peaceful demeanor changing given the frustration of not falling asleep yet. She is pretty much easy to handle when nap time comes, but today is one of those days.

��You told me I could help.” Leon's hushed voice reaches you. His eyes express the need to assist you in a task like this.

“Sure…” Your heart flutters as Leon steps up to help you. You indeed asked him if he wanted to come with you. But the fact he had so eagerly accepted the role made you appreciate him even more.

If that was even possible.

As Margaret starts letting out soft cries, you hand her to Leon who is quick to catch her. At first, Margaret is held rather awkwardly which brings a smile to your face before her cries get really serious.

You help Leon by moving his hand. That gains a quiet ‘ok ok’ meaning that he got the hang of it.

He positions Margaret on his chest, her face seeking the crook of his neck as she continues letting out tiny sobs. With his hand supporting his back, he rocks her.

If anyone were to see him, they'd think he's a father holding his daughter. But in his mind, he's holding your world, his world.

Oblivious to it, Leon started humming a song. He doesn’t know where he had heard it before. Maybe it came from his mother, a memory he thought was deeply buried in his mind.

Eventually, your baby falls asleep which definitely boosts Leon’s mood as she grins. He's built for this! He thinks.

He lays Margaret in her crib. The little one breathes slowly as she drifts off to dreamland.

Both of you slowly and quietly walk out of the room making sure not to make any loud noise and wake the sleeping princess.

As you slowly descend from the stairs and are once again in the living room, Leon’s mind is filled with expectations.

What's next?

What is he supposed to do now?

As if on cue, your words break the silence.

“I forgot to order the food.” You sheepishly admit as you nervously laugh. Between cleaning the house before Leon came and taking care of a toddler the fact that a dinner without food wouldn't be a dinner slipped out of your mind.

“I'll do it right now just give me a second to search for this one restau—”

“Hey, it's okay.” Leon reaches for your arm before you can walk toward where the phone is. He takes this opportunity to do all the things he has wanted to do with you. To accomplish each one of those silly yet endearing wishes of his.

“Besides… this is a great excuse for us to bond more.”

He lets go of your arm but instead, his hand takes out his cellphone. Your eyes curiously watch as he types something.

For a moment, Leon doesn't utter a word and you can see how his fingers are slightly shaking.

Leon looks up from the phone and gives you a gentle smile before he sets the phone aside. After a couple of seconds, the slow and wistful chords of a piano announce the beginning of a song.

“May I have this dance?” Leon extends his hand toward you.

You opt to accept his hand. In the back of your mind, you wanted to tease him one more time. Just like you did when he told you happy Valentine’s. But you feel this is way more important than those simple words.

As your hand locks with his, he pulls you closer to his body. His free arm finds its home in your lower back, not too low to keep it PG and not to discomfort you in this intimate dance.

Letting him guide you, you sway from side to side. His past self wouldn't have imagined that he could reach this level of serenity and tranquility. The simple thought of having a family was like a faraway dream.

Your head rests comfortably on Leon's shoulder, the scent of his cologne being your new favorite aroma. The one that brings you memories from the time you met him to all the dates you had that led to this very moment.

The song continues its course, and the outside world is forgotten for a moment. No words are exchanged as both of you drown in the homely feeling of dancing in each other's arms.

After a while, without lifting his head and allowing his lips to ever so slightly graze against your ears, Leon's voice cut through the peaceful melody.

“Let me in.” He whispers, his hands ever so slightly tightening around your middle section. His words brush against your ear like the soft melody that plays in the background.

“What do you mean?”

“Let me in, in your life. I don’t want to ask you to just be your partner.” The weight and truth of his statement turn your head in a messy place. “I want to be part of your life and Margaret’s.”

He wants to stick around, he wants to be greeted by you and Margaret each time he comes back from a mission. He wants to give Margaret the childhood he never had. And, he wants to fulfill every little dream you and he may have.

“I want to wake up next to you each morning. To Margaret telling us she's hungry in her own way.” He's always been a man of few words, but in this moment he could recite the whole bible if he wanted.

“I want to put Margaret to sleep every day just like I did today. And I want to sleep next to you every night, knowing that you're safe.”

“I don't want you to be a memory.” His lips move to the side of your face, daring to kiss your cheeks in a sweet manner. “I want you to be my whole life.”

Smoothly and with ease, his words fall from his lips while his tempo never falters. His thumb now softly rubs your skin, where his hand is located to support your back in the dance.

He'd want to take pride and tell you he's that good with words. However, many times he has rehearsed this speech that if he had stumbled on his words he'd have let the earth swallow him.

And as the song came to an end, so did Leon’s confession.

A few seconds of silence create the worst nightmare in Leon's imagination. He could already hear your words telling him you don't feel the same that you're already in love with someone else or—

Your knuckles caress Leon’s face, feeling the growing stubble on his cheek and jaw. The sensation of being touched like this has been a long-distance memory that he's completely forgotten what being loved felt like.

He now feels both of your hands cupping his face, prompting him to look you in the eyes. His blue eyes lock with yours and admire the softest of expressions drawn on your face.

As he gazes into you, he can only think how in love he is. And what a good life awaits for him.

And what feels like both an eternity and a split second, your lips connect with his in a tender yet meaningful kiss. One that he's been expecting after all this time.

The one is indeed not a myth.

AUTHOR'S NOTE 2: I had so much fun writing this. There's something about found family that makes me all soft and sappy lmao. And sorry if my despiction about cops is wrong... I've never set foot in the US so spare your writer the embarrassment. Anyway, I hope you all have a beautiful day! No matter if you spend it with your lover, friends or alone. (Dividers are from: @/cafekitsune)

💬 SHADESOFLSK: Comments, reblogs and likes are very much appreciated.

#leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x you #leon kennedy #leon s kennedy #leon kennedy fluff #resident evil #resident evil x reader

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dinogoofymutated · 1 month

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Blue over you - 97' Wolverine/Gn! Reader

Wolverine's not even my guy, and I finished this in a day! Haven't finished anything in a while, so this was an accomplishment! This was mainly inspired by the song Blue over you by mason ramsey, and Too sweet by hozier!

Let me know if Logan is to OOC. I'm trying my best to learn how to write for him!

Tw! Alcohol consumption, Light angst. Open-ending.

You can’t sleep.

Maybe it was because of the excitement of the day, the stress from grieving the professor, or what you ate for dinner. Either way, it was nearly 1 am at this point, and your pursuit of rest was fruitless. You let out a frustrated sigh, sitting up in bed and rubbing your eyes. You wonder if you could convince Jean to help you out, but you’re sure she’s asleep right now, and you don't want to wake her up. Especially not after she announced her… condition, at dinner.

It’s not that you weren’t excited. In fact, you were over the moon for your friends. Jean and Scott are important to you, more like siblings to you than they ever were just friends or classmates. Even so, after the cheers and congratulations and the celebration… The news left you with a melancholy you couldn’t quite shake. A baby. Jean and Scott, two people you basically grew up with, are having a baby- and here you are. Alone. You don’t have a partner, or a husband, or any romantic prospects, really. You’ve spent so long learning about yourself and how to protect others, you just never let yourself open up to someone like that. Sure, you’d met many people during your time as an X-man, but you had always been a hopeless romantic, and there had only ever been one man you had things for. But even so, you just… couldn’t help but feel like you were falling behind.

After a long stretch, and another sigh, you get out of bed. Maybe a drink and some air would help. The path to the little china cabinet in your room is familiar and automatic. It was a gift from the professor when you mentioned that you missed collecting things like funny-shaped teapots and such, a habit you picked up from your grandmother. You wonder if he knew that you used the wooden bottom cabinets to store alcohol. You laugh a little when you think about if he kept the information to himself, letting you have at least one little secret. He most definitely knew, you decided. You grab a random bottle of amber liquid, unable to see the label in the dark. You shrug it off, figuring that you’ll find out what it is at some point.

The halls of the mansion are dark and quiet as you make your way over to the balcony, stepping outside and eagerly breathing in the cool air. Your eyes are starting to droop already as you turn to shut the door, but you've come this far and you figure you might as well get a drink in.

You're rubbing your eyes again as you turn back around, only to jump at the sight of a figure sitting on the railing.

“Fuckin’ Christ!” You wheeze. “Logan, you scared the shit out of me!” The mutant hums, the corner of his lips tilting just slightly before falling again. You walk over next to him, setting the bottle down at your feet as you lean against the railing.

“Can't sleep?” You ask. Logan shakes his head, and you frown at him. As gruff as the guy is, he’s normally more talkative. At least, with you he is. You can tell that something wrong, and it doesn't exactly take a telepath to understand what it is.

“...You were the one who found out, weren’t you?” You ask, almost state. Logan Huffs at your question, hopping off of the railing to pace on the balcony. He presses his palms into his eyesockets, growling just slightly in frustration.

“Her smell was off. S’been off. Didn’t think anything of it until I heard the heartbeat.” He rumbles, setting his arms down. “Don’t know if I want to strangle Scott or throw him off of the roof of the mansion.” Logan’s hands flex in a way you know he’s just dying to unsheath his claws. You’re not entirely sure what to say at first as he sighs, and sits up against the far wall. He rests his head in his hands, and it hurts to see him like this. You open your mouth, before closing it again. You glance down at your feet, picking up the bottle you had grabbed earlier.

Logan doesn't seem to mind as you sit next to him, brushing against his shoulder. You screw off the top of the liquor, taking a swig straight out of it before offering him the bottle. It burns deliciously on the way down, and you smile cheekily as he raises an eyebrow at you. Nevertheless, the takes the bottle from you, hand brushing your own.

“You’re not gonna like it, by the way.” You laugh. Logan rolls his eyes, less than a ghost of a smile on his face.

“ ‘still liquor, ain’t it?” He hums, taking a swig. His face screws up as he swallows, holding the bottle out afterward to try and read the label.

“What is this?” He asks, disgusted. You can’t help but laugh at him as he gives you a tired look.

“Butterscotch Schnapps.” You answer him. “I told you that you weren't gonna like it, it’s too sweet for you.” Logan shakes his head, almost trying to get rid of the taste as he hands the bottle back and playfully shoves your shoulder.

“Not my fault you drink shitty liquor.” He grins. You feel a flutter in your chest as you smile back at him, taking another swig to mask whatever he could possibly pick up from you- The problems of pining for a man with super senses, you think, laughing slightly at your own thought.

“Guess it’s all for me then-” you start to joke, right before Logan snatches the bottle back.

“Gimme the damn bottle.” You’re giggling a little at this point as the alcohol starts to settle in just slightly. Logan rolls his eyes, still smiling as he takes another swig despite the fact he very clearly hates it.

The two of you go back and forth like this for a while. Take turns until the bottle is run dry. Your giggles have settled down, and the infamous wolverine has relaxed as you lean against him. The two of you sit in silence for a minute or two, both simply breathing in the cool night air.

“It’s okay, you know.” You mumble at some point. Logan, able to hold his liquor a lot better than you, cocks an eyebrow. He’s not sure if you even know you're talking at this point. You look like you’re bout to fall asleep, nuzzling against his shoulder with a pout on your face. He hums questioningly in response.

“It’s okay to hurt knowing that Jean’s pregnant.” Logan had almost forgotten about that, having been caught up in this moment. His face falls immediately, and he looks away from you, staring into the trees that surround the mansion. You feel your chest squeeze painfully, but either due to the drink or due to your lack of self-awareness, you continue talking. He needs to hear it, you drunkenly decide.

“It’s hard to watch someone you love be with someone else. It’s even harder to watch them move on without you. I know it hurts to watch her move on to the next stage of life without you. But at this point, the best thing you can do for her is support her because you love her, not covet what you wish you could have.” You know you sound like you’re drunkenly rambling, and maybe you are, but really, all of this is something you wish you could have said years ago. You’re sure you sound like Nightcrawler, talking about coveting and love and righteousness, but you’re not as much of a good person as Kurt is. You know that you’re no better than Logan, Pining after him for so long as he continues to pine for someone else. To be perfectly honest, You’re jealous of Jean. You’re jealous of her relationship, her happiness. You’re jealous of the fact that if she would turn around and throw everything away to be with Logan, he would take her in without a second thought. But she’s your friend. Your sister. You love her, and you cherish her happiness much more than you could ever resent her for it. You let out a pitiful chuckle, eyeing the last minuscule drop in the liquor bottle.

“Believe me, I would know.” You mumble. Logan’s brow furrows, taken aback by that. You’ve always been such a standalone, unbothered, always positive. It didn’t make sense to him.

“What do you mean by that?” He asks, but when he turns his head to look at you, you’ve fallen asleep against his shoulder.

The next morning, you wake up in your bed with one hell of a hangover. You groan at the light that drifts through your blinds, rolling over. When you finally open your eyes, you're greeted by the sight of a glass of water, and a bottle of painkillers. You’re confused at first, and then flooded with bashfulness and embarrassment when you realise who exactly had put them there. You roll onto your stomach, shoving your face into your pillow, unable to handle the embarrassment of knowing you said WAY too much last night. You can't help but smile a little though, knowing he must've cared enough to carry you back here and get you meds.

Maybe it wasn't all bad.

#x men 97 #x men comics #wolverine #wolverine x reader #logan howlett #logan howlett x reader #x men 97 x reader

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hotvintagepoll · 1 month

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Propaganda

Joan Blondell (Footlight Parade, The Public Enemy)—My Pre-code QUEEEEEN. Joan is a large part of why I love 30s movies. She's got such a flair and presence. She's not known for her voice, but her rendition of Remember My Forgotten Man will grab you by the heart. She played a variety of roles, and held her own with major stars like Bette Davis and Hot Vintage Poll icon James Cagney. She was a hardworker, even as Hollywood stopped giving her prime roles, and continued working in film and television up until her death. She's an absolute firecracker, even in her supporting roles I end up focused on her. Also, I just think it's cute that her name (real!) is Blondell.

Hu Die (Sing-Song Girl Red Peony, The Burning of the Red Lotus Temple)—i haven't seen any of her movies but apparently she was China's first "movie queen" in 1933? she was also in the the first Chinese sound movie!

This is round 2 of the tournament. All other polls in this bracket can be found here. Please reblog with further support of your beloved hot sexy vintage woman.

[additional propaganda submitted under the cut.]

Joan Blondell:

A pre-code sweetie. Hot, funny and practical.

Criterion retrospective:

Sharp-tongued, sharp-witted, and beautiful - what more could you ask for from a dame of the gangster film/screwball comedy era? (Also, James Cagney would want you to vote for her!)

with her sunny smile and characters tending to exhibit a blend of happy-go-lucky cheerfulness and scrappy toughness, joan blondell is one of the quintessential stars of the pre-code era. she and fellow fast-talking wisecracker james cagney were close friends, having met when they were in a broadway play together in 1929, and made seven movies together that ran the gamut from gangster pictures to comedies to musicals.

She's absolutely hilarious and I love her

She's the wisecracking blonde who has been around the block and knows the score, but just look at those big blue eyes gazing at Jimmy Cagney as she burns the midnight oil to help him achieve his dreams and picks him up when he gets buffeted by life

Smart, snarky, and so sexy!

My Forgotten Man is one of the most haunting depictions of the consequences of WWI that I’ve ever seen, knocked out of the park by Joan Blondell’s performance. In one song number it traces sending the boys off to war, bringing them back to die in the streets maimed, drunk, and full of PTSD, then leaving them to starve in the Depression, framed by the suffering of the women who loved them. Holy shit? This is a musical number? They fucking produced this barnburner in a mainstream musical?

My Forgotten Man, in two parts:

youtube

Hu Die:

#hu die #joan blondell #hotvintagepoll #fuck that old woman #ladies 2 #Youtube

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loganofthenorth · 5 months

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Every time I think about Mulan, I get obsessed with how awesome these three are. So I’mma take a few minutes to rant about it.

This three good balls, bad asses, loveable idiots. They’re fricken adorable and I love them. And like, as a kid, I used to not understand how they became friends with Mulan. I thought they were sexist assholes that only trusted her because, well, you know, she saved China.

But I analyzed the movie as an adult, and honestly? I think they knew Mulan was a girl the whole time, and just kinda, accepted it. Still treated her like one of the guys, wanted to see how long she could keep this up for. Yao and Ling most certainly bet on it while Chien-po was probably like: “Shouldn’t we just… tell her we know so she has people to trust?” And the other two were like: Nah this is funny.

I also think Ling and Chien-Po knew instantly since Yao was too mad to be like: Huh… hmm… something’s off here.

They probably told him later. Like:

Chien-Po: You know, it isn’t nice to hit a lady.

Yao: Wow, didn’t think you had it in ya to be such an ass. I mean, he’s a wimp but sheesh.

Ling: *falling over laughing*

Yao: What the hell’s his problem?

Chien-Po: *whispering* I mean and actual lady, Yao.

Ling: And no one tells! Got it? No telling anyone else. Only us three know. I wanna see how long this goes on for.

Chien-Po: Also… They’ll kill her if they find out, and… She’s our friend now.

Yao: Friend’s a strong word… But sure, I’ll keep it to myself. Besides, only I’m allowed to kill them now.

So yeah, when they later heard that Mulan was alone in the bath pond thing, it was too good an opportunity to miss. I don’t think these himbos even considered how weird it was. They were too distracted with how fricken hilarious it’d be.

I mean

Come on

That smug smile and Chien-Po’s: This is fine.

They know exactly what they’re doing.

Then with ‘A Girl Worth Fighting For’, Ling brings up the song to cheer everyone up because they’re sore, didn’t choose to go to war, and need something, anything to keep them going. Then once Mulan’s line comes up it’s like: “Oh, right. Forgot about that. Whelp, time to continue messing with her.”

Like: Ight, guys. Whatever she says, probably describing herself. So, whatever she says, say Nah. It’s funny.

The main thing that sent me on this tangent, was this scene

Their shock, their surprise, this reaction isn’t an: “Oh shit, we trained/hung out with/bathed/etc with a girl.” Reaction.

This is a: “Shit they caught her and now they’re gonna kill our friend!” Reaction.

Which, yeah, of course it would be. They have their priorities checked out.

However

If memory serves me right there was no hesitation

There was also no hesitation to trust her when no one else would

Because they didn’t have the feeling of betrayal Shane had for being lied to

And they were totally down to dress in drag

They really just couldn’t care less about Mulan being a girl

And I love them for that

This tis the end of my tangent. I love these three gentlebros

#mulan #disney classics #disney princesses #Disney Mulan #Yao #Ling #Chien-Po #Yao Ling Chien-Po #Mulan’s Friends #movie analysis #character analysis #Disney movie #mulan 1998

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audreydoeskaren · 1 year

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Note about periodization

I am going to start describing time periods in Chinese history with European historical terms like medieval, Renaissance, early modern, Georgian and Victorian and so on, alongside the standard dynastic terms like Song, Ming and Qing I usually use. So like something about the Ming Dynasty I will tag Ming Dynasty and Renaissance. I already do it sometimes but not consistently. Here’s why.

A common criticism levied against this practice is that periodization is geographically specific and that it’s wrong and eurocentric to refer to, say, late Ming China as Renaissance China. It is a valid criticism, but in my experience the result of not using European periodization is that people default to ‘ancient’ when describing any period in Chinese history before the 20th century, which does conjure up specific images of European antiquity that do not align temporally with the Chinese period in question. I have talked about my issue with ‘ancient China’ before but I want to elaborate. People already consciously or subconsciously consider European periodizations of history to be universal, because of the legacy of colonialism and how eurocentric modern human culture generally is. By not using European historical terms for non-European places, people will simply think those places exist outside of history altogether, or at least exist within an early, primitive stage of European history. It’s a recipe for the denial of coevalness. I think there is a certain dangerous naivete among scholars who believe that if they refrain from using European periodization for non-European places, people will switch to the periodization appropriate for those places in question and challenge eurocentric history writing; in practice I’ve never seen it happen. The general public is not literate enough about history to do these conversions in situ. I have accumulated a fairly large pool of examples just from the number of people spamming ‘ancient China’ in my askbox despite repeatedly specifying the time periods I’m interested in (not antiquity!). If I say ‘Ming China’ instead of ‘Renaissance China’ people will take it as something on the same temporal plane as classical Greece instead of Tudor England. How many people would be surprised if I say that Emperor Qianlong of the Qing was a contemporary of George Washington and Frederick the Great? I’ve seen people talk about him as if he was some tribal leader in the time of Tacitus. European periodization is something I want to embrace ‘under erasure’ so to say, using something strategically for certain advantages while acknowledging its problems. Now there is a history of how the idea of ‘ancient China’ became so entrenched in popular media and I think it goes a bit deeper than just Orientalism, but that’s topic for another post. Right now I’m only concerned with my decision to add European periodization terms.

In order to compensate for the use of eurocentric periodization, I have carried out some experiments in the reverse direction in my daily life, by using Chinese reign years to describe European history. The responses are entertaining. I live in a Georgian tenement in the UK but I like to confuse friends and family by calling it a ‘Jiaqing era flat’. A friend of mine (Chinese) lives in an 1880s flat and she burst out in laughter when I called it ‘Guangxu era’, claiming that it sounded like something from court. But why is it funny? The temporal description is correct, the 1880s were indeed in the Guangxu era. And ‘Guangxu’ shouldn’t invoke royal imagery anymore than ‘Victorian’ (though said friend does indulge in more Qing court dramas than is probably healthy). It is because Chinese (and I’m sure many other non-white peoples) have been trained to believe that our histories are particular and distant, confined to a geographical location, and that they somehow cannot be mapped onto European history, which unfolded parallel to the history of the rest of the world, until we had been colonized. We have been taught that European history is history, but our history is ethnography.

It should also be noted that periodization for European history is not something essentialist and intrinsic either, period terms are created by historians and arbitrarily imposed onto the past to begin with. I was reading a book about medievalism studies and it talked about how the entire concept of the Middle Ages was manufactured in the Renaissance to create a temporal other for Europeans at the time to project undesired traits onto, to distance themselves from a supposedly ‘dark’ past. People living in the European Middle Ages likely did not think of themselves as living in a ‘middle’ age between something and something, so there is absolutely no natural basis for calling the period roughly between the 6th and 16th centuries ‘medieval’. Despite questionable origins, periodization of European history has become more or less standard in history writing throughout the 19th and 20th centuries, whereas around the same time colonial anthropological narratives framed non-European and non-white societies, including China, as existing outside of history altogether. Periodization of European history was geographically specific partially because it was conceived with Europe in mind and Europe only, since any other place may as well be in some primordial time.

Perhaps in the future there will develop global periodizations that consider how interconnected human history is. There probably are already attempts but they’re just not prominent enough to reach me yet. Until that point, I feel absolutely no moral baggage in describing, say, the Song Dynasty as ‘medieval’ because people in 12th century Europe did not think of themselves as ‘medieval’ either. I am the historian, I do whatever I want, basically.

#I was watching an unrelated video about dnd worldbuilding #and out of nowhere someone in the comment section called 1300s chinese people 'ancient asians'#*facepalm*#so I was reminded of this again #rant #colonialism #orientalism #chinese history #historiography

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thisismeracing · 1 year

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King of my heart | MS47 | part. 09

Social media version

Pairing: hamilton!reader (she/her) x mick schumacher

Warnings: curse words, mentions of food and alcohol, fluff, not proofread etc etc. Minors DNI!

word count: 3.3k

part. 08 | series masterlist | part 10 | taglist

Summary: Mick Schumacher rode a lousy wave for quite some time, so when the sky gets cleaner and the sun brighter he just knows something terrible may be in store for him. Whereas y/n was just so magnetic, and the possibilities of life with her seemed better than anything his mind could ever create, that’s why, for the first time in forever, he throws cautious carelessly through the window, hoping to get to the finish line before it catches up on him.

A/n: Just like Mick is doing on this gif y'all may need to put some seatbelts on for this chapter...just saying.

After some days away to tend to the Paris Fashion Week, one of these days with her brother, who had to leave early for media duties with Mercedes, Y/n was back to the travel schedule, now going to China.

“Look who decided to show up,” Charles joked when Y/n stepped into the room, walking closer to their table where Lewis, Mick, Carlos, and some other pilots were just chatting after dinner.

“You’re just jealous she has style and was at a fashion week,” Pierre pokes, and Y/n can’t help but laugh.

“You’re talking as if our work wasn’t as exciting,” Charles grumbles.

“You mean going vroom vroom in circles? The greatest adventure in the world!” The youngest Hamilton pokes fun at the monégasque.

“Still, you’re here almost every race cheering as if it was your national team,” Charles raises his brows and smirks at Yn, who in return rolls her eyes playfully.

“Fair enough. Maybe you have a point.”

It was a series of hugs, kisses, and some more quirky remarks before Yn finally greeted everyone and sat down between Mick and Lando.

“Have you eaten?” the blonde asks after she settles, and Y/n gives him a soft smile that goes unnoticed by everyone but her brother.

“I had dinner and took a good nap. The flight was just exhausting.” She explained, grabbing the attention of Charles and now Carlos, who were bickering about something Y/n could not catch.

“Speaking about flight and work, can you tell your friends the launch date of your new shoe collection? I promise I won’t tell the media, but Isa is on my line asking about it all the time. You should see,” Carlos starts a new subject, and Y/n smiles brightly. She never really met Isa, so it was cute that her friend's girlfriend knew about her and her brand and was excited to get herself a pair of shoes.

Soon the waiter was bringing dessert, and before Lewis could suggest she ask for a plate of their vegan cake, Mick pushed his between them in a silent offer.

“You’re the best, Mouse,” she whispered before bringing her chair closer.

The table was the usual chaos of laughter and loud voices talking about anything and everything, but Mick and Y/n were too busy with the intimacy of sharing a treat and a spoon. Schumacher was surprised by the way she seemed unbothered, passing him the silver spoon after licking it. He was even more surprised by the fact that once again, he found something so mundane to be sexy just because it was Yn.

“You saw the new songs I added to our playlist?” she asked, voice low. It was their conversation, their own private bubble after a week without communicating considerably.

“I was listening to it while training, I gotta confess that some of those Taylor Swift bridges worked better than I thought they would with lifting and cardio,” there’s an edge to his voice and he’s speaking all of it with a funny smile on his face, lips curved slightly, dimples showing, brows almost furrowed.

“I think you’re kinda Taylor coded…” she shares out loud, and this time his furrowed brows indicated more confusion than humor.

“Is that a good thing?”

“It’s a huge red flag for me,” she answers, and although he knows it was a joke, Mick can’t help but notice the way there may be a subtle truth to her statement when her eyes dart to the plate instead of keeping the stare at his blue ones. When the German is about to question why, someone calls Y/n asking if she’s going to the party, and their bubble is abruptly gone.

It’s only a matter of minutes before everyone is done with dessert and Ubering to the party. Lewis, Y/n, and Pierre shared a car that, for some reason, took forever to get to the club. So when the group got inside, there was already a line of shots laid down for the other guys. Y/n took the seconds before they noticed their presence to observe Schumacher, how his white button-down hugged his torso perfectly, how it gave a sultry draw to his back, and how the first few buttons were messily open as if he got hot when they arrived. She watched his blonde hair glow under the neon lights and his shoulders relax.

“You guys started the shots without us??? The disrespect, honestly,” Gasly complains, and it’s not even a minute before Y/n finds herself doing double shots with her brother and friend to catch up on the others.

Her body is already sizzling and light, but there’s not much time to consider when a known song starts blasting in the club, and Y/n sees herself on the dance floor with a certain monegásque and his best friend. She waves to her brother to join, and the rest follow along. They jump, drink, laugh and attempt the worst dance moves ever seen until Ferrari by James Hype starts playing.

“Wait! That’s not fair! There’s no club music with Mercedes!!!” Y/n screams over the music, and Charles double in laughter. “Lew, you gotta write a song about Mercedes!”

“He drives a Ferrari too every once in a while, you know,” Carlos tries to reason, and Y/n rolls her eyes with fake disgust ripping off a wheeze from Mick.

Their eyes met for a split second, and it felt natural when Y/n’s body started gravitating toward Mick, especially when she spotted a girl attempting to approach him. She tried to tell herself he was her friend, so she just wanted to be near him, not interrupt or make herself known she was close with the other guys too, after all, she had just danced half of the alcohol in her body with Charles. Admitting, if she saw a girl get close to Leclerc, the odds are high Y/n would not be around. She would give him space. But still, she felt like walking the small distance to Mick, and although she was the one who got beside him, he was the one who grabbed her hand and laced their fingers. Yn’s stomach did a somersault fluttering in a weird and new sensation, and Mick must have seen the tsunami of thoughts somehow because he looked down at her with a small smile on his pink lips, and for some reason, she knew not to worry about anything.

They danced to more songs before Y/n and Pierre dragged some of the guys out of the dance floor and into the bar to order new drinks and another round of shots. Her hands are free of Mick’s for a second, though their bodies still stand close. It’s a chaotic mess of almost spilled vodkas, empty cups, and faces, but it’s just a couple of minutes before they are back on the dance floor, jumping up and down and bending their bodies in laughter about the slight turn of air around.

Life feels brighter, the world lighter, especially because Yn has some of her friends and her brother, who are as happy as her, around, and happiness usually works like that. It sips from others into you, and when you finally stop to take a look, your heart feels warm. Right now, so does her body.

This time, when her cup is empty, and her feet start to feel tired, Yn only drags Mick off the dance floor. The rest of their friends are still dancing or making rounds around the club to talk with old friends. It feels good when their fingers are linked again, and this time Mick’s closer, trying to shield her from some of the wildest partygoers.

Just as the blonde sat at one of the stools to order, Yn put her frame between his open legs, leaning on him for a bit of balance and rest from her heels.

“You ok?” he asked before placing a hand on her waist to keep her secure.

“Absolutely!” Yn beams, turning to the barman. “Two Moscow Mules extra cold, please,” and then she’s looking at Mick again.

His eyes scan her face, and his free hand carefully pushes one lonely curl behind her ear. The second her lips part to tell him something, his hands still hovering over her face, Lando is behind them with a disposable camera moving his arms aggressively for them to pose. Yn just turns her body to the Britsh and plasters a huge smile that grows bigger when Mick’s chin rested on her shoulder, his hands tightening around her. Yn could almost feel him smiling too. The flash goes almost unnoticed with all the neon lights, but her nose still scrunches a bit with the extra glow.

Lando says something else, and although neither one understood a word, they still posed when the camera faced them again. Now their friend is included in the rustic project-of-selfie the way people would do before the frontal camera or mobile display existed.

“Love you twooooo,” he says before disappearing to register more moments, and Yn is sure of it when she sees the camera light going on again just a few meters ahead.

Yn turned to Mick again, a grin still on her flushed face, eyes staring directly at him. He watched her curious gaze on him. The way her expressions would slightly change every time her eyes landed on a feature he assumed she never noticed. Yn traced his chin, and Mick couldn’t help but smile, which drew her attention to his dimples. She traced them too. He thought she was a work of art, but he was the one being studied as one.

When her lips found his jaw like she did every time she tried to kiss him, standing on her tiptoes, Mick brought her closer just the way he liked. He knew it was probably the alcohol lowering all their inhibitions, he felt half of his mind fighting, but at some point, the German gave up trying to lie to himself or contain his caring actions. And so he kissed her naked shoulder and rested his head there while the whole club seemed to go around their own business. Yn’s hand carded through his mop of blonde hair, and Mick sighed because the way her nails scratched his scalp felt magic.

“You look stunning today,” he tipped his head a bit so his mouth was closer to her ear. They were so close he didn’t even need to scream to be heard over the music, and he was sure she got his words correctly when he saw the goosebumps on her black skin.

“You look way too good too. So much it should be illegal.” She quips, and Mick's fingers squeeze her waist, making Y/n jump slightly and giggle.

Y/n withdraws some centimeters, their faces only inches apart now, their bodies still touching. She takes the time to analyze his face one more time as if she would never get tired of doing so, his flushed cheeks, his pink lips, and the way his blue eyes seemed a bit droopy because of the drunkenness all appeared extraordinary to her. Yn studied everything with gusto again, and this time when their skin met, Mick involuntarily closed his eyes. It was as if he wanted to direct all his senses to that spot, to memorize the way she caressed his face, because now, he realized, she wasn’t examining him anymore; she was giving him affection. And so the blonde took everything she gave. The scratch of her nails, the point of her finger on some spots, the softness of her palm with his jaw. It was only seconds after he opened his eyes again and found hers on his chin, he could almost see the gears running on her head, and then her fingers traced the contour of his lips.

Schumacher wanted nothing more than to grab her neck and bring her closer. To kill the gap that separates their mouths and bodies. He wanted to taste the strawberry lipgloss he saw her reapply. He wanted to know how the combination of it with her lime drink was going to taste. He wanted so many things with Yn that it was starting to physically pain him. The way she stared at him, smiled to him, and not simply at him, talked with him, and made him feel alive was just too much.

Mick wanted her as more than his friend. And so he gave up the war against himself and finally accepted his fate: he was attracted to Yn. His heart somersaulted when he thought that maybe, just maybe, she felt the same.

Mick closed the gap between their bodies and dipped his head to kiss her neck, preventing them from going to anything more compromising or that maybe they would regret afterward. He had no idea if the timing was right if Lewis was watching, if someone was talking, if Y/n really wanted it, or if she had just drunk too much.

“Let’s try not to do it while drunk, ok, Schatz?” he mumbled, kissing her shoulder again and, this time, bringing the sleeve of her black shirt up to cover a bit of her skin.

“Is that a German equivalent to babe?” she questioned, and his drunk mind was confused for a bit before he chuckled.

“Something like that,” he withdraws to take a long gulp of his drink before dropping his eyes to her again.

“Can you keep calling me that from now on?” Yn asked, and he was able to hear it solemnly because he was staring at her lips. It was almost like a whisper as if she was afraid to admit it or ashamed of him denying her.

Y/n wanted Mick to call her babe.

She wanted the guy she met a couple of months ago, her friend, to call her like a partner would call their significant other.

He grabbed his drink again and took another long gulp. Heck, not kissing Yn was going to be harder than he presumed.

“I can do whatever you want me to, babe.” It was his time to almost whisper, and she smiled. A big happy smile. His body nearly slipped to the ground like a puddle.

“Will you stay with me tonight?”

“Of course, Schatz,”

Y/n rested her head on his chest and enjoyed the feeling of his fingers playing with her curls, the way every once in a while they would travel to her neck and shoulders, and how his other hand would keep her secure and close to him. The lights in the club kept glowing neon around them, the music was still louder, and people were chatting and drinking, but Yn felt as satisfied as ever only watching everything from her spot with Mick.

“We ran out of ginger juice, restock is on its way, but I could only get one for now,” the barman profusely apologizes, and Yn just smiles without much care before declaring it was no big deal.

“Do you mind sharing?” she asks Mick once he is up and ready to follow her to the dance floor. To anyone looking from the outside, he looked like the puppy boyfriend happily following his girl.

“If you don’t, then I don’t.”

“Smart answer,” she quips before lacing their fingers, and they start the track to the packed dance floor.

They find part of their group again, and it’s a couple of songs before some of them are ready to sit for a bit. Most are high on alcohol, laughing and smiling at anything and everything. Mick drops someone drinks while they’re walking to their secluded space, and after apologizing profusely he’s laughing hysterically with Pierre and Yn.

Now, sitting at the foam seats, one arm across the back of the seat supporting Yn’s head, Mick starts an excited conversation with Charles and Esteban. Yn drags her body closer to his, draping her legs over his lap and sipping her drink while watching the lights flicker over the dance floor down the stairs. Eventually, her attention goes to the button of his white button down, and then her eyes found his golden chain playing with it for a second before Pierre mentions a new topic, and she dives in with them chatting nonstop.

It's hours and many drinks later before both of them start getting sleepy, and bid their goodbyes to half of the group that decided to stay. Yn cannot find Lewis to tell him she’s leaving, so when she and Mick walk outside to wait for their Uber, Mick snaps a picture of them to send the older Hamilton a message telling him they’re on their way to the hotel. Now when it comes to coming and going, some things got a bit easier since people discovered Yn was a Hamilton which means she would stay at the same hotels without the fear of being discovered.

“What did he say?” she asks after getting inside the car.

Mick turns his screen to her, and Yn frowns, “I think that’s not the messaging app, Mouse.”

The blonde stared at his screen searching for answers, “Fuck, I posted on Instagram,” he drunkenly cursed before Yn burst into laughter.

“Here, give it to me,” she extends her hand, and he hands her the phone before dropping his head at the seat rest and closing his eyes.

“Sorry,” he mumbles again, and she just pecks his cheeks before deleting the picture from Instagram and sending a text full of drunk typos to Lewis.

“It’s ok. I think now he got the message.”

The drive to their hotel is fast, and the Uber driver is nice enough to stop at the back entrance, though chances were low of any fan standing there in the middle of the night. The pair walked hand in hand to the elevator and, in seconds, into Mick’s room. He switched the lights on and Yn made her way to the bathroom. He dozed off and woke up to Yn wearing one of his shirts and speaking about him showering. The German agreed with everything, although his mind did not process every sentence. Mick made his way to the bathroom and tripped on Yn’s clothes on the ground only to catch himself on the marble counter.

He did everything from core memory, undressed, brushed his teeth, and got into the shower. When he emerged from the bathroom, Yn was sound asleep on his bed. He smiled, and his drunk mind still thought about how cold she would be with only a shirt, so he dropped the covers on top of her body and took one from the wardrobe for him.

Mick remembers lying on the couch in his room. He remembers watching Yn for a second and then finally falling asleep. That’s why he’s confused when he feels a weight on his chest.

“If you’re not coming to bed, then I’m sleeping on the couch with you,” she states, and Mick chuckles. “I feel like an asshole, Mouse. If you’re not coming, then I’m going to my room. I won’t let you sleep on the couch in your own room,” he can feel the touch of sleep in her voice, her body cold against his.

There’s not much for him to do, not much thinking. His sleepy mind is foggy, and it gives too much space to his wishes, and right at that moment, his biggest wish was just to hold Yn and get some sleep, so he stands up with her, and they get comfortable on the bed.

Her body against his feels like a natural fit again, and he holds her close before both doze off. Now, after the whole day sharing small items, they shared the biggest one, and not because of the size of the bed, but because of the size of their trust in one another, the size of the courage they had to be vulnerable, and especially the size of the warm feeling engulfing their intertwined bodies.

I hope you guys like it 💜 make sure to like and reblog, and feel free to let me know your thoughts on this chapter (and the whole series) in the comments or my inbox. feedback is highly appreciated and makes me more excited about writing and posting 🥹. thanks for all the love on the past chapters!!! *mwah*

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