#doesn’t bother them which like sorry but I feel like having to see someone’s brains on the pavement is upsetting | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

kissitbttr · 2 years

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can u please do one where Eddie asks to sucks on ur titties, and he super shy about it because ur his first girlfriend but u ofc let him and I think it’s absolutely adorable

BIG YESSSS oh mannn, he’d get so tittydrunk!! also i changed it up a little bit towards the end <3

eddie has seen tits before. not in real life, though. he’s seen them in magazines and home videos and he thinks they’re absolutely divine.

growing up, he never experienced what dating is like nor sex. he never even had a girlfriend before! does it bother him? not really, but it’d be such a blessing if he was gifted with a woman of his dreams. someone like debbie harry or cindy crawford. yeah, he was pretty unrealistic about that one. i mean, don’t all teenage boys?

and that’s when you happened. soft, girly looking princess who stole his heart with your gorgeous smile and rockin’ body. he admits he was a little shallow at first, but how could he not when he sees you dressing up in small clothings that shows the shape of your perfect tits? he’d drool.

eddie, just like any other hormonal teenager, has dirty thoughts that consumed his brain. but he never really acts on them, seemingly afraid that he’d do something wrong or make you feel grossed. he doesn’t want that.

but god, does he want so badly to touch and suck on your tits. just imagining his hands wrapped around the soft flesh makes his cock twitches.

“you okay there, eds?”

a soft voice pulls him out of the train of thoughts. he blinks rapidly and find your eyes looking at him in concerned. you’re sitting beside him, with legs tucked under your butt and his eyes casts down to see your thick thighs hugged perfectly by the grey cotton shorts.

he’s definitely not looking at your tits too right now. definitely. not

“hm? oh, y-yeah” he chuckles nervously, gliding his sweaty palms against his jeans. is your room always been this hot?

“you sure? you look a little red” as you lean over towards him to brush the sweat coating his forehead, he tenses. maybe it’s because your chest is now pressing against his arm. “did i do something?”

“n-no! you didn’t do anything wrong, princess. it’s just that-“ he pauses to glance down at your tits, gulping at the sight of them almost spilling out of your cami top. “you’re distracting. that’s all?”

raising an eyebrow, you crossed your arms. which isn’t helping the case because your tits only pop out more. “how am i distracting?” he doesn’t give you an answer, only to eye at your chest once again and that’s when you realize,

“are you kidding me? my tits?! that’s why you’ve been acting weird?”

“what? I’m a guy! tits and ass make me hard! and yours are…” he trails off, tilting his head. “perfect—shit I’m sorry, i don’t know why I’m acting like this”

his tinted cheeks just make him ten times more cuter. like a kid getting caught hiding an adult magazine under his bed

“you know, just because you’re a virgin that doesn’t give you the right to be a perv” he knows you’re joking but he can’t help to blush when you say that,

“i’m not a perv! and god—you promised you’d stop making fun of me about that!” he pouts, brows tipping in as he watches his girlfriend laughs,

“i’m kidding” you give him a peck on his cheekbone, staring at the adorable boy who’s blushing like crazy as he looks at you, then a sudden question pops in his mind,

“c-can i… touch them?”

“what?”

“you know—uhm, c-can i feel…your tits?” he points at your chest, voice grows quite and shy when he asks the question. looking over to you hesitatingly as he plays with his fingers. a habit of his when he’s nervous,

“you want to play with them?” a smirk plays on your lips, toying with the material of your top, “fondle a little and make a mess on my tits, baby?”

“god don’t say it like that. it sounds dirty” he rubs his face vigorously with his hands. also to hide the blush on his cheeks so you won’t have to see. “but y-yeah. can i ?”

“you’re so cute. asking for my consent and all. such a good boyfriend” you giggle, and his lips stretch into a smile when you say that. he likes being complimented that way. means that he’s doing a great job and hasn’t done anything to make you feel weird around him,

“of course you can. thought you’d never asked” you shift yourself into a much more comfortable position,

“really? that’s—oh shit—“ he gets interrupted by you plopping down on his lap, legs kneeling beside his. hands going over around your waist to keep your body steady. “okay uhm—wow—princess, god, you’re very close to me.”

your breasts are now at his eye level and dangerously close to them. wouldn’t be surprised if his nose brushes against them.

he feels goosebumps arise on his skin when your hands making their way towards his neck, tugging on his hair to get him to look up. he whines at the sudden contact,

“you can play, eddie—besides” you halt your sentences by giving him a soft kiss. “they belong to you, anyways. right?”

eddie feels a sense of pride inside of him when you mentioned that. confidence grows knowing he’s the only person that gets to feel and see your tits. one lucky motherfucker, that he is.

“y-yeah. fuck yes” he replies almost too shyly. watching you drag the straps down to your shoulders. enough to make your tits bounce free from the material.

eddie’s cock just turns painfully hard.

“they’re so—pretty” he breathes out, eyes locked on your breasts. hypnotized by the fullness of them and perky nipples just begging to be touched by him.

slowly, his shaky hands come up to rest them on your chest. a sigh of relief leaves his mouth when your nipples graze against his palms. he gives them a squeeze, cursing under his breathe by the softness of it,

“you like em?” you tuck a hair behind your ear. looking down at his hands. “how do they feel?”

“fucking amazing” he responds clearly amazed he’s too far gone now and refuses to look at you. “god, baby—they’re so” his hands give another squeeze. “soft and plushy—do they lactate?”

“jesus, eddie. I’m not pregnant.”

“you’d look hot if you were” he mumbles, hoping you don’t hear that but you manage to catch it,

“i’m still in high school dumbass. don’t even think about trying to knock me up” you swat his chest with the back of your hand, making him giggle childishly.

“after graduation then.” he shrugs playfully and he could sense you sending him a glare but chooses to ignore that,

his thumbs slowly drawing circles around the hardened nipples making you moan softly, and hearing it almost makes him cream his pants. eddie thinks you create the prettiest moans ever. plus, it’s an extreme ego boost for him.

“you do know how to make a man weak on his knees, sweetheart”. his voice grows cockier the minute you become putty in his hands. “fucking perfect.”

he’s in a trance at the sight of you. pupils dilating at your body arching back a bit with hands on your thighs. teeth sinking into your bottom lip and eyes screwed shut. making it impossible for him to stop playing with your breasts.

you’re looking like a proper dream to him,

“can i suck on them?”

you chuckle before nodding. “again with the questions? you should know the answers by now.”

“just making sure I’m not crossing any boundaries. trying to be a gentleman here.”

“stop with all the modesty. you literally have your hands on my boobs” with an eye roll, you push yourself back towards his chest. hands link around the nape of his neck. “need a little push maybe?”

he’s about to ask what you mean by that, only to be answered with your hips slowly rolling against his hard cock over the jeans. “jesus christ, y/n—“

“come on, now” you nod your head towards your chest. “do what you gotta do.”

in instant, his mouth is wrapped around your pebbled nipple. you yelp in surprise then giggle after seeing him like that, his hand flies to your ass and pull you close.

“easy, cowboy—i’m not going anywhere”

he can’t focus. you feel so good and soft inside his mouth. tongue messing around the nipple, painting it with his spit. suckling on the soft flesh like a baby with his eyes shut, his other hand moves to give a rough squeeze on your other breast.

“fuck i love them so much” he moans, leaving wet kisses on them. teeth dragging over the skin to mark you. “you have the prettiest of em all, sweetheart—i swear.”

he’s lost in them. truly hooked. and you thought to yourself that he could be just saying that because your tits are the only ones he has ever seen. when he knows for sure, that the others are nothing compared to yours.

“aw look at that. my baby is hooked” you coo at him, who’s resting his cheek on your body with his mouth still not letting go. his soft brown curls tickling the valley of your breasts. “enjoying yourself, my pretty boy?”

you pat his cheek to get him to respond, which he only hums instead while continuously flicking your nipple with his tongue. never wanting to stop. but he can’t stop the fluttery feeling in his stomach when you call him ‘pretty’.

circling your hips just a little harder now, you bury your hands in his hair. massaging the scalp that guarantees another moan from him. sending the vibrations down to your spine and straight to your core. he pinches your nipple between his thumb and fore finger, rolling it ever so gently. brown eyes snap open to see how you doing. smiling to himself when your jaw hangs open in pleasure.

“i have an idea.” your hands turn to grip on his shoulders, giving a firm squeeze before pulling his mouth off of you, making him whine. “how about i teach you how to fuck my tits now, eds?”

he has never felt more excited in his life.

#anon #answered #eddie munson blurbs #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson smut #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson angst #eddie things

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beenbaanbuun · 13 days

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hii bunny! 🤍🤍

i was wondering if you maybe could write something angsty with mingi? like he’s had a long day and snaps at you a little after seeing your clothes on the floor or something.. like it would never bother him on a normal day but it’s just been a long day for him

it’s not too harsh but it’s the first time you’ve ever heard him have that tone with you so obviously it’s a lot for you 🫣 it doesn’t take him long to realize and regret it but by the time he does you’re already outside on the verge of tears and getting some fresh air.. he basically panics and texts you and calls you 😭 there’s no answer for around 10 minutes and just as he’s about to go outside and look for you, not even bothering throwing an hoodie on, he opens the door and sees you standing there with a little bag with his favorite snacks that you bought for him and he immediately starts apologising

sorry if this is quite specific i just hope it helps a little with your ideas! if you want to change anything you can! you can add smut and make it angsty or you can make it sweet and soft.. maybe even both 🤷‍♀️

i feel like he’s so gentle and definitely would love his partner too much, and just the thought of that he’s upset them could kill him

i cried writing this so i hope you enjoy it 🫡

——————————————————————————

to say that mingi’s day was hard would be an understatement. he barely slept the previous night, the constant beeping of the fire alarm begging for new batteries that they didn’t yet have keeping him awake into the early hours of the morning. he thinks it was sheer exhaustion that sent him to sleep at just gone 4am, and he was equally exhausted when san woke him two hours later for practice. he had half a mind to tell his friend to fuck off and just go back to sleep, but then he heard the beep of the fire alarm and decided he had no chance. he was going to have to stay awake.

then came practice, which was never easy, but for some reason was so much worse today. it started with yunho, who was being so much stricter than usual, jaw clenching and eyes filling with fire if anyone even dared to get a single step wrong. with mingi’s tired brain, he wasn’t afraid to admit that most of those glares were aimed at him; intricate footwork is more difficult when you can hardly string two thoughts together, it seems. annoyance doesn’t help with that either, yet with every pointed look at yunho gets him, he feels his blood boiling more and more.

then you have the troublemakers who seemed to make it their sole purpose today to annoy every single other person in that room. san and wooyoung were naturally loud people, but today they seemed to have the dial turned up to twelve. of course, yeosang was dragged into it too, offering quiet, but not unheard, snarky comments to go along with whatever nonsense the other pair were babbling about. mingi wasn’t sure how much more of that high-pitched cackle he could stand before it made his achy head explode.

and last, but certainly not least, there was hongjoong, perhaps mingi’s biggest issue out of his members. he too seemed to be in a bad mood, but unlike mingi who had yet to retaliate to any of the shit show going on around him, hongjoong just couldn’t seem to shut his mouth. someone misstepped? he’d yell at them. someone misspoke? he’d yell at them. it was just a constant wall of sound coming from his leader and mingi wasn’t sure just how much more he could take until…

“everyone just go,” hongjoong groans, anger and frustration laced through his features. “it’s clear no one is taking it seriously today so just go!”

a miracle.

mingi wastes no time in grabbing his bag and running out of the practice room without even a glance back at his members. perhaps later he’ll text them and let them know where he is, but for now he just needs you. he needs your arms to wrap around him and keep him warm as he sleeps. he needs your voice to float around his brain as he drifts away. he needs you.

he’s thankful that you live close because before he knows it, he’s at your door, fishing your key from his pocket. he fiddles with it excitedly, scraping it against the door a few times by accident before finally slipping it into the keyhole. he twists it and pushes it open, expecting to find you buzzing around your apartment like a cute little bumble bee.

instead he’s met with silence and darkness, curtains still drawn and your lively little self nowhere to be seen. there’s pots in the sink, mess strewn across the floor and the trash bag from last night still propped up by the door. mingi lets out a long sigh.

he knows it’s wrong of him to feel annoyed by all of this, and normally he wouldn’t. it’s just after the day he’s had, all he wanted was to cuddle up to you in a nice tidy, stress-free apartment. now he has to take your load on his shoulders as well. he has to pick up your pieces whilst he’s still desperately trying to hold all of his together. but this is it; this is his last straw, and the irritation and frustration he’s been barely holding back all day suddenly bursts free of its dam. he cant stop himself as he kicks off his shoes, not caring where they go (it’s not like it’ll make any difference with the state your apartment in is anyway) and storms his way down the hallway to your bedroom.

your door is already open, and through it he can see you still in bed. you’re curled up under the quilt, just like he has wanted to be all day. just like he hasn’t been able to because he has been busy. for some reason it only fills him with more annoyance, and he steps over the threshold into your room and slams the door behind him.

he can see that the sound startles you, but he can’t find it in him to care. he just stares down at you, a mixture of anger and disappointment twisting his features as you groggily sit up to look at him. your eyes are red, as are your cheeks, but mingi just brushes it off. the painful pang in his chest upon seeing you like that is hardly enough to outweigh everything else he feels.

“really?” he bends down to pick up a t-shirt before holding it up to show you. you stare at it blankly, not sure what he’s trying to get at.

“what’s wrong, mingi?” your voice is strained as if you’d been crying recently. if mingi wasn’t so blinded by everything, perhaps he would’ve noticed how fragile you seem to be. perhaps he’d be able to take a step back and see that you need him to comfort you, not berate you. it’s a shame his head is too full of his own feelings to even consider yours.

“what’s wrong?” he scoffs, throwing his arms up in exasperation, “this! everything!” he gestures wildly around your room as if it explains anything. “i don’t need to deal with this shit right now, baby! i can’t!”

he watches as your brows furrow in confusion, hurt washing over your features. there’s something in his that tells him that it’s enough, that he’s said and done too much already, but there’s still more on the tip of his tongue and he needs to get it out of him before he bursts.

“i have enough on my plate without having to take care of you, alright?” his voice comes out harsher than he means it to, more of a shout than anything else, and by the way your expression tightens, he can tell he’s hurt you.

that’s when it all sinks in for him, when you hum, nodding your head slowly as his words echo around your brain. your eyes look down at your hands, thumbs picking at one another awkwardly. he’s said too much, gone too far, he can understand that now. like, really understand it. he should’ve stayed silent. ignored the shit spewed across the floor and crawled into your bed like he’d been wanting to do all day.

well shit, he thinks to himself, he never meant to hurt you. he doesn’t know what he wanted to do by telling you those things, but this wasn’t it.

“sorry,” is all you say when you toss the comforter off your legs. you’re dressed in the same clothes that he saw you in yesterday; had you slept in them? “i, uh… i’ll get out of your hair for a little while, mingi. it seems like you need a little alone time… you’re stressed.” and with that you stand up. mingi lets you, unsure of what to say to you as you grab your wallet from your nightstand and push past him. your hand feels like a hot iron pressed against his shoulder as you side-step him, and he almost, almost, goes to catch it.

before he can, you’re gone, and all he does is stand there as he listens to you open the door and walk out of the apartment.

your apartment.

he sits on your bed, twisting his hands into the comforter as he tries to ground himself. he’d kicked you out of your own apartment because of what? he doesn’t even know himself. he can’t wrap his head around the sudden burst of anger that washed over him like a tsunami. there was no escape from it until it passed, and now he’s left with with aftermath; the pain of upsetting you.

he knew from the moment he stepped in your apartment that you weren’t doing well. the drawn blinds, the pots left over from last night; he’s seen it time and time again and he’s never been upset at you for it. there’s been no anger or frustration there. no cross words or disappointment. nothing except sympathy and the desire to make everything okay for you again.

so, what? he got jealous because you were allowed to sit and wallow in your bad mood and he wasn’t? he got mad that coming to your apartment wasn’t the perfect whirlwind of softness and affection that he’d hoped for? god, he feels pathetic for how he treated you. even more so at the fact that he still feels so desperate for your comfort. he knows he doesn’t deserve it, but holy fuck does he need it.

he lets himself sit there in the pain for just a little while longer. perhaps if he lets himself hurt enough, he might deserve to have you back in his arms. if he repents, everything might be okay again. you’ll forgive him for what he said to you and hold him gently like he needs. you’ll whisper sweet words and kiss his head like he wants. you’ll be kind to him despite the fact that he hasn’t been kind to you. you’ll let him rest…

when he feels enough time has passed, he slips a hand into his pocket to grab his phone. there’s a message or two from his members asking where he went, but he ignores them. they can wait, you can’t. he locates you contact, pressing his thumb against the call button and letting it ring. a few seconds pass before he hears it loud and clear; your phone in the other room. he perks up a little—maybe you’re still here! his legs carry him faster than he can process. he swings the door open with little care about the way it slams against your dresser, and tumbles into the kitchen… where your phone is abandoned… with you nowhere to be seen.

mingi’s heart plummets even further. you’re gone, and now he won’t even have a way to know that you’re safe. it’s still daylight outside but what if you get lost? what if you stay out too long and it gets dark? what if you need him? he lets out a cry of stress, hands flying up to grip his bleached locks tightly in his hands. he feels fucking useless.

for just a moment he lets himself play the blame game with himself. it’s his fault. all of it is. anything could be happening to you and it would be his fault. he upset you and he let you leave! it’s all him, him, him… that makes it his to fix too.

he doesn’t let himself think as he walks over to the door. he doesn’t bother with a jacket, his brain telling him it would take too much time to slip it onto his shoulders. hell, he barely bothers with his shoes! just slips his feet in, not sparing a single thought to the way his feet are currently crushing the backs down. that’s the least of his worries, anyway. he can buy new shoes, he can’t replace you.

his hand reaches out to grab the door handle. it’s just centimetres away, almost close enough to grab it. his fingers begin to curl around the metal, but someone else gets there first. the handle dips down, and the door creeks as it opens just the tiniest bit. mingi gasps, moving at the speed of lighting to pull the door even wider. he knows exactly who’s on the other side, and his desperation to see you can’t be contained. he barely even looks at you before scooping you up into his arms.

“ouch, mingi,” you squirm as he holds you tighter than you think you’ve ever been held before. “you’re trapping my hair! let go, you giant oaf.”

he doesn’t, but he does loosen his grasp just a touch. not enough to let you fully breathe again, but just so you can save your hair from being pulled from your head. you’re grateful for that, at least, but it doesn’t stop you from trying to wriggle free. “let me go,” you reiterate, body still moving as he holds you against his broad chest, “i need to give you something but i can’t when you have me trapped!”

“you don’t need to give me anything,” he pouts as he presses a wet kiss against your hairline. it’s all very sweet, but you can’t help but feel like now is not the time.

“yes i do!” you twist your body in a way that makes it impossible for mingi to keep hold of you, gasping in a dramatic fashion as if you’d been starved of oxygen completely. mingi can’t help but smile at your performance, even if his arms do feel a little too empty now you’re not in them. you are absolutely adorable, after all. “i need to give you this because it’ll melt otherwise.”

that’s when he notices the clear plastic bag in your hand. if he looks carefully, he can just about make out the pint of hazelnut ice cream and the bag of shrimp chips; his favourites. confused, he brings his gaze back up to your face, noticing the shy smile that rests on your lips as you raise the bag up for him to take. “for me?” he asks. you only give him a quick nod in response. “but… why?”

when he doesn’t take the bag, you roll your eyes and stomp past him to the kitchen. it hits the counter with a thud, and mingi flinches. are you angry with him? of course, you have every right to be but if he’s being honest, he’s rather that you weren’t. he really needs you right now. he slinks up behind you, watching as you busy yourself with taking the snacks out of the bag. his arms ache with the desire to be wrapped tightly around your waist, but he somehow manages to hold himself back.

“because you’re obviously not doing good,” you say as you yank the cutlery drawer open to grab two spoons. it doesn’t go unnoticed when you pull out the flat one with the thin handle alongside the deep one with the heavy handle; his and your favourite spoons, respectively. his chest aches with love as you, actually rather violently stab the container with both of them. he always has loved your silly little antics.

“yeah, well you’re not doing good either,” he tries to argue, but you shut him up with a glare.

“me not doing well doesn’t mean i can’t try to help you when you’re not doing well,” you shrug as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “my feelings don’t negate your feelings and i love you, so i want to try and help you.” whether it’s a loaded statement or not, mingi can’t help but understand the irony. either you’re trying to teach him a lesson or the universe is. judging by the look in your eyes, he thinks it’s safe to assume that it’s you.

“i get it,” he nods, “i’m sorry for being a dick, you don’t deserve that.”

“i don’t deserve it, but i do understand it and i’m not going to torture you for it when it’s obvious you’ve been torturing yourself,” you point a finger up to his messed up hair, “what i am going to do is get in bed with you and eat a shit ton of ice cream, capeesh?”

“yeah, baby,” he smiles, “capeesh…”

#ateez x reader #ateez fanfic #ateez oneshot #ateez fluff #ateez scenarios #ateez fic #ateez angst #mingi fluff #mingi x reader #mingi angst

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candlewaxandp0lar0ids · 11 months

Text

jealousy, jealousy || Lee Know x Reader

Summary: "Sure, Minho missed an opportunity to spend more time around you in a relaxed setting, but is he upset about it? Does he get annoyed when he hears you talk with the guy behind him? Does hearing you chuckle at the guy’s stupid jokes, probably just to be polite, ‘cause he’s not that funny, make him want to claw the dude’s eyes out?

Well. Yes."

Or: You're working with a different partner for a group assignment, and Minho's totally chill about it.

Word count: 4.9k

Genres: college AU, coffee shop AU, strangers to lovers

Warnings & Tags: jealousy, kissing, minor language, tooth-rotting fluff, seriously this is so fluffy, reader is implied to have social anxiety, Thunderstorm

series masterlist

A/N: This is the second story I've written where Lee Know's a barista and cats are involved. It probably says something deep about me, but what? I hope you'll enjoy the fic, please consider letting me know your thoughts and reblogging the fic if you do~

Minho doesn't know exactly when he noticed you, or when you started appearing in his life. It’s kind of annoying actually, because he knows he noticed you because he kept seeing you around, but he has no way of pinpointing it. What he does know is that you started showing up at the coffee shop where he worked, twice every week. That wasn’t that big a deal, you were far from being the only one the only one, but it was a shop that was pretty out of the way, near an old building that was only used for a few classes, as far as he knew, so it wasn’t that frequented.

In fact, you could almost say that the people who bothered to come here were the weirdos who wanted to avoid the other permanently full coffee shops on campus. Which was fine by Minho, who wasn’t paid enough to deal with that sort of crowd.

Anyway, at some point, Minho’s brain had to have put together he was seeing you around quite a bit, and finally he managed to figure out that it was because you were in one of the classes he was rudely forced to take outside of his major. In his defense, it took him so long because he didn’t really like people, as a rule, and he paid as little attention to them as possible. His friends were enough of a hassle to deal with already.

It makes it all the more frustrating that he can’t tell what it was about you that caught his attention. It has to have been something. Once he starts trying to understand it, more things come to light. Like the fact that your lips move but your voice doesn’t come out when you thank him for giving you your order, or the sigh of relief you always seem to heave out when you let yourself fall at your favorite table, the one in the corner, where you sit with your back to the window.

Actually, from what he can see, you appear to do your best to stay out of people’s way. It’s a multitude of little things, from how you always sit in the middle of rows in the amphitheater and wait until everyone’s cleared out to leave, to how you keep close to the walls in the hallways, eyes usually on the floor, to how, on the couple of occasions when your voice can be heard in class, it’s only after the professor’s been waiting for an answer for an increasingly embarrassing amount of time.

The first time it happens — the first time Minho notices it happening, anyway — he has to make you repeat yourself louder, and it seems almost painful for you to raise your voice.

Then there’s that time when someone accidentally backs into you and the books and papers you’re carrying spill onto the floor.

“Shit, sorry,” they say, and you reply immediately, like it’s a reflex, “Oh, it’s nothing, don’t worry about it”, but afterwards, as you kneel next to the papers, you let out a defeated sigh, just staring at the mess for a few seconds. And that’s when Minho can’t stay in place anymore.

“Oh, thanks, you don’t have to do that,” you say, again, with that cadence that makes him feel like these are sentences that pour out of you without you getting much of say, so deeply ingrained in you that you can’t control them.

Then you glance up at him, and your eyes widen, little mouse caught in the cat’s gaze. He feels his lips curving into a grin. You recognize him, and you’re being very obvious about it too.

Cute.

“Thank you,” you repeat, taking your stuff from his hands and dipping your head to stop looking at him once you get control of yourself again.

“Vanilla latte, right?” he asks, and he probably shouldn’t be this amused by the way your head snaps back up and you freeze, but it’s— It’s kind of adorable. Though you’re obviously trying to reign yourself in, there is something so sincere about it that he can’t help but be enticed by it.

“Um,” you say. “Yes.” And then you visibly search for something to say next, rolling your lips together as if they’ll figure something out of a list of socially acceptable answers. As fun as this is, Minho decides to put you out of your misery.

For now anyway.

“I’ll give you a discount on the next one,” he says, and then he’s gone before you can start saying “You don’t have to do that”.

He actually slides the next one to you over the counter and tells you that it’s ‘on the house’. You hesitate for a few seconds, and he thinks you’re going to refuse, before you bow your head politely and thank him for it. You don’t quite look up at him after that, but a bright smile has spread on your lips.

Cute, he thinks, again, and then he doesn't think of it much at all. A part of his brain was intrigued by the novelty that you represented, and that part has been satiated now.

At least, that’s what he assumes.

You get his attention again a few weeks later. It’s fairly early in the morning and, as Minho does whenever he gets a chance, he’s behind the half abandoned building near the café, setting up some food for the cats that have taken residence here. It’s something he’s not really allowed to do, but also he’s never asked permission, so no one's told him that yet, which means that he’s not not allowed to do it either.

Still, when he hears footsteps approaching as he’s surrounded by a chorus of meows, there’s a part of him that considers making a run for it.

But then he’d have to run.

Which he doesn’t like doing.

You appear at the corner of the building before he’s made his decision. When your eyes meet, he half expects you to turn around and pretend you haven’t seen him. He’s pretty sure you’ve done that after a class, recently. You swallow, but you keep walking towards him, kneeling by his side and petting the cats as the braver ones rub themselves against your legs.

Whoever said that the surest way to a man’s heart was through his stomach clearly wasn’t obsessed with cats, because liking cats is maybe the most important requirement for Minho.

“Hi,” you say, at a surprisingly normal volume, and then, cadence a little too fast, “I have some cat food.”

Is it weird that he finds that attractive? It’s probably weird.

“Have you been stalking me?” he says more than he asks, vaguely aware of the fact that there’s something ironic about him saying those words.

Your eyes widen and you quickly shake your head.

“No! I— have classes in there,” you point at the building, “and I’ve— seen you come around here. We’ve been told we couldn’t feed the cats,” you add with a slight pout. “We still do it when we can get away with it, but it's good that someone is also taking care of them.”

And you break the law for the sake of cats. Isn’t this amazing.

“I can help you buy food,” you say. “If you’d like.”

He doesn't reply right away, and when the silence stretches a second too long, you start speaking again, faster and your voice lower now.

“Or not, you know, I don’t want to impose anything, I mean, I didn’t want to intrude—”

On the one hand, that seems more like you, based on the glimpses of you he’s been getting, and on the other, he’s not sure how to shut that down. The truth is, he can barely fit the expenses in his budget. He literally can't afford to refuse your help — but he doesn't think he’d do it if he could.

“You can help,” he says, interrupting you in the middle of a sentence where you’re basically apologizing for existing, and that seems to knock the breath out of you.

“Oh,” you say, “that’s good.”

He wonders if you walk into interactions with a prepared set of sentences and panic when anyone goes off script. That sounds kind of exhausting.

“I’ll bill you,” he adds, and the feeling he gets when you let out a light laugh is one he can’t quite explain. There’s a sense of pride in it, but also some much deeper satisfaction at the feeling of having gotten you to let that guard slip, even for just a few seconds.

“I have to go to class,” you say, getting up while you rummage through your tote bag to hand him a package of dry food. “But I’ll, uh, see you around?”

There’s an expectancy to your tone, a hope even. He wonders if you’re aware of it. Either way, that sincerity, which he’d noticed before, remains pleasantly refreshing.

“Sure,” he says.

The next time you show up at the coffee shop, Friday a few minutes after six, like always, he has your vanilla latte ready.

After that, Minho finds it fascinating to see how differently you react to him, depending on the situation. Every now and then, you meet him behind the building, usually early in the morning, before there are too many people around. They would probably recognize you, and then you’d get in trouble, you explain. Your voice is lighter then, your body more relaxed. You manage to chat with him, to make small talk.

‘Manage’ really is the word for it, because your behavior is worlds apart when he sees you in class. It’s clear by now that this just isn’t your element, so you stick to your script, and Minho just isn’t a part of it. He doesn’t take it too personally, considering that no one else seems to be either.

It’s obvious to him that you get there with the objective of being in and out of the building as efficiently as possible, and with as little interaction with others as you can get away with. He does approach you still on a couple of occasions, one of them being when the classes before yours ran late and everyone was waiting in the hallway. You're focused on your phone then, and you jump when he says your name.

“How are you doing?” he asks, leaning against the wall next to you.

“Oh,” you say, which he thinks is just your filler word to give yourself time to figure out what to say next. “Um. Good. How are you?”

“Good.”

Someone else would bristle at the awkwardness of the exchange, but Minho is mostly amused by it. After a few seconds of very visibly searching for something to say, you come up with “…and how are the cats?”, though your tone is hesitant, unsure.

“They’re good too,” he grins. “Went to visit them this morning. Also, I might have found an association that could them spayed.” He certainly can’t afford to pay for it.

“That’s great,” you say.

This time, he’s the one who takes it upon himself to save the conversation, casually pulling his phone out of his pocket.

“Wanna see my cats?”

You light up at the question, and Minho feels the same sort of pride he does when Dori jumps into his lap to ask for pets — instead of ungratefully evading him like the little shit he is.

It doesn’t last long, the class before yours ends soon, and after that you get back to your ‘just getting in and out’ state. It’s almost physical when it happens. The smile disappears from your lips as you press them together, you straighten your back, but the most impressive change is the way your eyebrows tighten, a small line forming between them. Minho almost wants to reach out to wipe it from your forehead, but he doesn’t. Baby steps, that’s what you need, not him invading your personal space by that much.

He doesn’t ask himself, even for a second, why he’s willing to go through that much trouble to get closer to you. He just goes with the flow, as he always has, and that works fine for him.

He doesn’t sit next to you in class, thinks it would only stress you out more, make you too aware of his presence and of how you react to it. Instead, he takes a spot right in front of you, where he can’t see you but can easily check on you if he wants to — which he does. He refrains from doing it too much though, because on more than one occasion, he caught you looking at him, and you averted your eyes quickly, acting a little too invested in your note taking.

He still thinks it’s cute, but he doesn’t want to make you go in hiding, so he holds himself back.

Which comes back to bite him in the ass, rudely, when the teacher announces that he wants people to work in pair for an assignment.

He turns around to ask you to work with him, and sees, right in front of his eyes, as the guy sitting next to you asks you the same thing in a casual manner. You reply too fast, one of your knee-jerk answers, he can tell, but it’s still done before he even got the time to open his mouth. He also knows, instinctively, that you’ll feel embarrassed if he asks you now, so he doesn’t, turning to his own neighbor while holding back the strange urge to hiss at the guy.

…maybe he spends too much time with cats, actually.

Minho’s fine with the situation. He is. He still gets to be around you some mornings, and you now look him in the eye when you place your order at the coffee shop. You also don’t recoil as much as you used to when he leans over the counter, ostensibly to flirt with you — though he’s like, 98% sure you haven’t realized that’s what he’s doing. He’s making progress in getting you to feel more comfortable around him.

Sure, he missed an opportunity to spend more time around you in a relaxed setting, but is he upset about it? Does he get annoyed when he hears you talk with the guy behind him? Does hearing you chuckle at the guy’s stupid jokes, probably just to be polite, ‘cause he’s not that funny, make him want to claw the dude’s eyes out?

Well. Yes.

He’s been moody about it for days, to the point that Jisung pouted at him, asking him “what was wrong with him these days”, and Changbin looked him dead in the eyes to ask him if he needed help to get a girl, because he clearly needed to get laid.

A conversation he got out of by replying “do you want to die”, which is a card he’s maybe been playing a little too much these days.

He’s been in a good mood today, though. He’d seen you in the morning, and you’d helped him try to make a small shelter for the cats, because it had been announced that there would be heavy rain over the whole week-end. It had been a fun time, and maybe he’d used the opportunity to get closer to you than usual, enjoying how flustered it made you. Just brushing against you as he grabbed some planks you’d sneaked out of the building, totally accidentally touching your hand when you handed him something, that kind of things.

He had somewhat ruined the effect by accidentally dropping a plank on his foot, but that had made you laugh, so, it was— No, it still wasn’t worth it, he didn’t enjoy pain, but it made him slightly less annoyed about it.

So, as he waited for you in the coffee shop, as the skies outside darkened and fewer people than usual showed up, he wasn’t in as bad a mood as he’d been lately.

It started to rain at around half past five. He would have loved to run to get you with an umbrella, but he, unfortunately, needed his job. He did get a towel ready to hand to you, in case you didn’t have anything to protect yourself from the rain.

And then you came in.

Under an umbrella.

Which was in the hands of the one guy that was your partner in that one class.

Violent thoughts of murder flash before Minho’s eyes.

“Hey,” you say as you walk to the counter, giving him a bright smile, “this is Jooyeon, he’s in—”

“Class with us,” Minho completes with a smile that’s very much fake, “yes, I recognize him.”

Actually, technically, Jooyeon hasn’t done anything wrong, but it doesn’t help that he’s been looking at you and following you around like a damn puppy. What annoys Minho the most is probably the fact that you seem a lot chiller around him, a lot more natural than you are whenever Minho’s around. That’s— upsetting. He wants to see these sides of you, too, and not just from afar.

One vanilla latte and an americano later, you and Jooyeon sit by the window, in your usual spot, and Minho can’t stop himself from glaring. Jisung, or anyone, really, would call him out on it in a matter of seconds, because he’s not being subtle about it, but there’s no one around right now. The room, which is rarely full, is emptier than usual because most people rushed to get home to try to avoid the downpour.

That means that there is nothing to distract him from the intrusive thoughts that are trying to convince him to just throw something at Jooyeon. Anything would do.

When it starts becoming a little too tempting, and considering that he doubts anyone would brave the rain that’s falling at the moment, as thick as a curtain separating the coffee shop from the outside world, he decides to grab his computer and try to get some work done.

Of course, because some divinity out there must have decided to target him today, he’s just getting started and finding his rhythm when the lights flicker above him. He glances up. In the distance, the thunder rumbles.

There’s a flash outside.

And everything goes dark.

Fuck. His. Life.

With a sigh, he pulls out his phone to turn on his flashlight. At least, in this day and age, most people in the shop have the same idea, and soon enough he can see what’s happening.

“It’s probably just a power cut because of the storm,” he announces loudly, because it’s his responsibility to reassure the clients — if that had been something they’d tested for when he was interviewed, he would never have gotten the job. “Lights might come back on soon.” Or not, how would he know. “No reason to panic.”

He scans the faces of students, though he’s not sure what he’s looking for. Some people look worried, others, no doubt those who know that this happens semi-regularly on campus when there’s a storm, because why would your tuition pay to ensure that you have reliable electricity in here, just seem prepared to wait it out. Someone’s already gone back to tapping on their keyboard, though the sound of it is swallowed by that of the rain.

But then, he does a double-take, just to check on an impression that he had, and that confirms what he thought.

You’re not in the room. Most likely explanation is that you’re in the bathroom, but he has to imagine that it’s a pretty freaky experience, when all the lights turn off without warning and you’re all alone.

So, without thinking much about it, he makes his way in that direction. He’s hesitating in front of the door when it pushes open, and he’s suddenly blinded by cellphone light.

“Sorry!” he hears you apologize before he can make out your face. “I, uh, is the power out?”

“It looks like it,” he answers, and then his tone softens. “Are you okay?”

There’s a few seconds of silence, and he can’t quite discern your expression, because you’ve both lowered your lights. He resists the urge to reach for you, to inspect you to see for himself that everything is fine.

“I’m fine,” you answer. “I just—”

Then there’s the crack of thunder, and you jump, gasping, before closing your eyes in obvious annoyance.

“Fuck,” you say, and he wonders if it’s the first time that he’s ever heard you swear. And if it’s weird that he’s kinda into it.

“You scared of storms?” he asks, trying his best to contain the amusement in his voice.

“No,” you protest, a little defensively. “I don’t like being surprised— Fuck!”

Minho knows he shouldn’t laugh, that making fun of you could ruin the trust he’s been trying to build this past month, but at your annoyance for letting yourself be taken by surprise, and considering your obvious lack of fear, he can’t help it. It comes out higher than his usual pitch, a little airy. You roll your eyes at it, but you don’t seem to miss the humor in the situation, because a smile forms on your lips as well.

At that point, because he isn’t one to let an opportunity slip, he reaches out to take your hand in his. Your palm is soft, if somewhat calloused on the spot under your fingers, and after the first moment of surprise, you squeeze his hand in response.

“It’s okay,” he says. “It should be over soon.” Then a pause. “Or maybe we’ll be stuck here until we have to decide who we’re going to eat.”

You laugh at that, brief and light, and as cliché as it is, Minho thinks that is quickly becoming one of his favorite sounds in the world. Especially when he’s the one making you laugh, and not that jackass Joo— Ah, the kid hasn’t technically done anything, and it feels silly to blame him when you’re here with your hand in his.

So he’ll let it go. For now.

As much as he would like to stay here with you, in the dark, away from everyone else, Minho unfortunately has stuff he needs to take care of right now.

“Wanna go back with the others? I think I have to keep an eye on them.”

“Sure,” you say. You don’t attempt to take your hand from his, and so he pulls you along with him. He’s not going to let go if you won’t.

Things in the café are still quiet, and people don’t pay a lot of attention when the two of you come back, except for Jooyeon, who gets up from his seat.

“That must have taken you by surprise,” he says with empathy. “Everything okay?”

“All good,” you reply warmly, and there’s a pinch in Minho’s chest again. “I think we’ll have to postpone the session though. I’ll let you know when I’m free, if that’s okay with you?”

Ugh. Minho tunes Jooyeon’s response out, only waiting for an opportunity to whisk you away. He probably shouldn’t feel this strongly about it, is aware that you’re entirely within your own rights if you want to pick Jooyeon over him, but from his perspective, that doesn’t mean he has to let it be an easy decision to make. He’s not the type to lie down and just watch as that happens.

So the second Jooyeon’s eyes flick back to his computer, Minho’s taking you towards the counter with him. He checks the register once he’s there — which he definitely shouldn’t have let unattended without verifying that it couldn’t be accessed without electricity, oops, his bad — and after having confirmed that everything’s fine, his eyes go back to you.

The spike in his heart rate when he finds you already staring at him surprises him a little. He supposes that he can’t be that jealous without also having that sort of reaction to you. It’s not… unpleasant, actually, though the strength of it surprises him. It’s not the kind of emotion he usually welcomes, he’s used to them feeling less sharp, duller. But he doesn’t reject that one.

Gently, he rubs the back of your hand with his thumb, enjoying the feeling of your skin against his.

“Is there an issue between him and Jooyeon?” you ask, voice soft.

Ah. For someone who’s so completely oblivious about his interest in you, you were sure quick to notice that.

“You could say that,” he replies, and you frown.

“I didn’t know that,” you say, words coming out slow, like you’re figuring out what to say as you go, instead of defaulting to your usual pre-built answers. “Can I ask why?”

Minho raises an eyebrow. Then, wordlessly, he shifts himself so that you’re against the counter, with him standing in front of you. It’s interesting, because he’s almost exactly in the spot where he is every day, and every time he steals glances at you to make his day marginally better. He puts his hands on either side of you, hears you take a sharp breath.

“Is it okay if I kiss you?”

His voice comes out soft and muted, and as he asks, he feels something squeeze at his heart. Maybe because he’s not sure of what you'll answer. Maybe because he could have misread you, thought that you were oblivious when the truth was that you weren't interested. He could be keeping you away from your one true love, Jooyeon, who you’re going to go on to marry and have three k—

“Yes,” you squeak.

Ok, never mind.

Technically you’re in public, but it’s not like anyone’s looking your way, or like they'd see something other than silhouettes when he leans towards you.

It feels so natural when he kisses you. You lift your arms to wrap them around his neck, his hands find their place on your hips. Much to his surprise, you’re the one who presses yourself into him, lips moving softly against his, and it sends a jolt of electricity through his body. Suddenly there’s urgency running through his veins, desire, and his fingers dig harder into you. He kisses you with more intensity, like he’s trying to get rid of any space left between the two of you, and the soft sigh you let out only spurs him on further.

He’s seconds — fractions of seconds — away from doing something stupid when laughter and claps fill the room.

He parts from you, feeling his ears and cheeks turning red already, and discovers that the lights treacherously turned back on, and everyone is looking at the two of you. Protectiveness rushes through him, and he’s about to say something snappy, thinking that you’d be uncomfortable with it, when he realizes that you’re doubled over in laughter. Yes, you look a little embarrassed, but mostly, you seem fine with it.

Which is good, because otherwise he thinks he might have lost the shop a number of customers.

Everyone looks amused and happy for the two of you. Even Jooyeon’s grinning, though the look he gives Minho says, essentially, “Oh that was your problem”. It doesn’t capture people’s attention very long, but there’s something very sweet and human about the moment and how happy it seems to make everyone. Some regulars even exchange glances that seem to mean ‘I told you so’. Ha, he didn’t think he’d ever become campus gossip.

Once there are fewer eyes on the two of you, Minho leans towards you.

“I’ll take you on a date anywhere, as long as it’s not to get coffee.”

Your face lights up.

“I’d love that.”

Working at a coffee shop is not something that Minho finds very fun. Someone who enjoys human interactions more than him might, but it just feels very repetitive to him. Doing the same movements, asking the same questions, having to deal with the same issues from asshole customers who are different but also fundamentally the same person. The ding of cash register, the one of no contact credit cards, the buzzing of the coffee machine. It’s repetitive, but in a way that fills and numbs the mind.

There’s just one sound that he minds a little less now, and it’s the one the door makes when it opens.

Because, every now and again, it means that you’ve just come in.

“Hey,” you say as you reach the counter. You’re smiling so bright, and he loves it because he knows that it’s another one of those things that you can’t help. You’re smiling because he makes you happy, and isn’t that the best thing in the world?

“Dating the barista doesn’t entitle you to free coffee,” he says as he slides your vanilla latte over to you, though he has used his employee discount on everything you’ve ordered lately and he would very much give it to you for free if you didn’t insist on paying for your own stuff.

“We’re still on for tonight?” you ask, taking the coffee from the table.

“You think I’d let you get out of it?” he replies, and you laugh, before taking off to go to your usual table.

After that, he keeps going, keeps doing the same movements, asking the same questions, hearing the same noises. But sometimes, he glances in your direction and finds you focused on your computer, biting your lower lip as you’re deep in thought, or looking at him with a smile, and it makes it all more bearable.

Because you give him something to look forward to.

Taglist: @lethallyprotected @jisuperboard

#stray kids #lee know #lee know x reader #minho x reader #stray kids imagine #skz #lee know imagine #skz imagine #stray kids x reader #skz x reader #skz fanfic #stray kids fanfic #lee know fanfic #lee minho x reader #lee know fluff #skz fluff #stray kids fluff #candywrites

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ghouljams · 7 months

Note

Does Liebling ever get possessive or jealous if people flirt with Konig? Maybe of other fae or seers?

The short answer is yes absolutely, but the long answer is König makes sure she knows they aren’t threats, by getting rid of them.

You always wonder what other people must see, or not see, when they look at König. You know roughly how his hood works, the slippery feeling of not being able to quite look at it, but surely someone sees something. They must, the way he draws attention. You can’t walk down the street without someone staring at him, and it’s sort of fun to know people are scared of the menacing figure that follows you. It’s a lot less fun when he’s noticed for other reasons.

Reasons like now, when you sidestep a woman who purposely bumps into König. He stops, and blinks down at her. As surprised as you that a human is going out of their way to notice him let alone interact with him. You’ve been told that some people are too magically inert for obscura to work on, just seeing whatever human shapes their brain wants to fill in. You assume it’s related to intelligence, the way she bats her lashes at a man that’s so clearly with someone.

“Oh my god I’m so sorry, I didn’t see you there,” The woman touches his arm, and you can see a shiver go through the obscura. You roll your eyes, you've always thought this song and dance was sort of demeaning.

"It's alright," König tells her, attempting to step away. The woman keeps her hand on his arm, squeezes his bicep.

"Oh my god, is that your muscle? You must be super strong." She strokes a hand down his arm, König's eyes dart to yours. You raise your brows, and give a quiet 'wow'.

"I am," he nods. The woman coos over your boyfriend, measuring her hand against his and running the gamut of flirting techniques. König doesn’t seem eager to tell her to fuck off, which is bothering you more than you thought it would. He almost seems curious as to what she’ll try next, studying her movements and reactions.

You aren’t really the jealous type, or you didn’t think you were, but you’re getting agitated standing around waiting for this woman to… fuck, notice you? She must know you’re standing right there.

“Excuse me,” You cut in, the woman glances at you, and continues talking to König. You feel your brain stutter, overloaded with the sheer amount of question marks that it conjures. You have never been so thoroughly or efficiently brushed off.

You know what? You don’t have to stand here and wait for your dumbass boyfriend to turn her down. You’re out, you’re gone, you are going home. König can show up when he’s done with whatever the fuck he’s doing. Maybe he’ll follow her home and be out of your hair for a while. Stupid bastard.

You turn and stalk down the street, resuming your walk home. You don’t know why you stuck around so long, but the next time this happens you’re leaving him high and dry.

“Oh. That’s too bad,” König sighs, looking over her head at your storming off.

“What’s too bad?” The woman asks, clearly thrown by the immediate loss of interest from König.

“You’ve upset my, hm,” He thinks for a moment how to quantify his relationship with you, future wife? Beloved? Pet? He supposes you call him your boyfriend, it’ll have to do. “My girlfriend,” He finishes.

“What? She doesn’t trust you?” The woman purrs, obviously trying to say something. König isn’t particularly interested in whatever game she thinks she’s playing.

“No,” König wraps a hand around her throat, the lustful surprise in her eyes turning to terror as his grip tightens and he lifts her off her feet, “but not for the reasons you think.”

He squeezes hard, let's his teeth bleed through his hood, to call him threatening would be an understatement. This isn't a threat, this is a period on the end of a promise. The woman's voice dies on her crushed larynx, her hands scrambling against his wrist, nails digging into his skin. It's really too bad she'd stuck around so long trying to get his attention. Well she had it now, whether she wanted it or not. Her feet kick out at him, trying to land a blow with the last bit of fight pumping through her blood. König can smell it, hear it, her blood rushing through her veins, fear tainting the meat. Heart, lungs, liver, so many snacks, so little time.

You're walking further away from him every second he spends squeezing the life out of this stupid person. He'll cut the thrill short. His claws sharpen and drag, digging into the woman's neck before he tugs sharply, ripping the carotid and severing the windpipe. The twitching. Hm. He should've severed the spinal column, he hates the twitching.

König crouches next to the soon-to-be-corpse and drags his tongue over his teeth for the corpse’s viewing pleasure, her eyes wide and fearful in the last seconds before death. He likes killing the humans that can’t see him properly. There’s always that wonderful moment at the end when they realize the world holds horrors they’d never imagined, a sickening pallor comes over them every time, and sweetens the meat.

Humming, he makes a neat Y incision, and pulls free the pieces he wants. Heart, lungs, he eats the liver as he catalogues what else might be good. He can't exactly take it to go, but he doesn't want to leave you to sulk too long. König feels his spines twitch in the cool evening air, his claws clicking as he spears kidneys to pop in his mouth. You're going to be upset anyway he may as well finish his meal.

#cod x reader #x reader #könig x reader #könig cod #könig call of duty #könig #könig mw2 #König x oc #cod x oc #x oc #oc: liebling #tw gore #tw violence #König goes home and Liebling is just “I assume you ate her”#König: i did eat her yes #Liebling: alright will go shower you smell like blood #and try to look a little more human your spines are scratching my ceiling #fae!König #1fae1

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standfucker · 1 year

Text

The Break

Characters: Kid, Killer

Reader: GN, they/them

Word Count: 7.5k

CW: Gore, graphic description of injury+pain+first aid, hurt/comfort, confessions, highly oblivious reader

Summary: You knew you were bad with feelings, but the fact that it took a severe injury for this to come to light was maybe a little concerning.

Ao3 Link

There had only been two moments in your entire career as a pirate where you didn’t live up to your “Slippery” epithet. The first time was when Eustass Kid had bested you in combat. Rather than killing you, he offered you a place on his crew, which you had accepted–partially in the hopes of becoming stronger, and maybe also because you kind of found him incredibly attractive. That was three years ago.

The second time was right now. The enemy’s weapons consist of giant, metal crab claws, one of which snaps shut around your forearm with the force of an industrial machine before you can shave away. You’re pretty sure the whole battlefield heard the snap. A few things run through your brain in quick succession:

One–that’s going to hurt really, really badly in a second. You only have a short amount of time to counterattack.

Two–this was karma for that conversation in the mess room a few weeks ago, where you taunted the others over your having never broken a bone.

“I grew up on a dairy farm. My bones are like iron. Don’t compare it to the shortbread you all have for a skeleton.”

“You just haven’t battled enough, Slip.”

“Wrong! It’s because no one can catch me. They call me ‘Slippery Y/n’ because I’m too fast.”

“Yeah, yeah. But not fast enough, since you’re with us now!”

“Fuck off!”

Not fast enough indeed. But at least, now, you’re within striking range of the enemy. He doesn’t block in time; your scimitar opens his throat like a cut purse and sends him to his knees, gurgling. Your arm is released and you collapse on the ground, but before you can get back up, the pain hits with an intensity that immediately rips an agonized scream from deep in your lungs.

It’s like your arm’s been doused in gasoline and set on fire. Burning and sharp, sharp, sharp, so overwhelming you’re nauseous. You make the mistake of looking at your arm, and the flash of white sticking through the skin nearly makes you vomit on the spot. Seeing it for what it is somehow makes the pain worse, leaving you breathlessly curling over yourself on instinct, unable to move. Somewhere next to you the body of your enemy thuds onto the ground, dead.

The battle against the opposing crew is almost over. Though it’s not much longer before the last enemy is slain and someone rushes to your side, it feels like an eternity.

“Slip, are you okay?” You hear Hip’s voice before you, high-pitched with concern. It drops once she notices your injury. “Are you–oh. Oh, fuck. Um, guys! Hey, you guys! Slip is really hurt!”

Footsteps, more voices. One by one, crewmates converge around you.

“Oh, ew.”

“Oh, shit, Slip!”

“Slip!”

“Get out of the way!”

That last one would be Kid. You look up in time to see him push past a crewmate, face taught in what seems like anger but you’ve since learned to recognize is worry. Most of his deeper emotions are like that, sitting in the shadow of enmity but easily discernible if you knew him well enough.

“Are you hurt anywhere else?” he asks, unable to assess your full state with you hunched over. The gruesomeness of your injury doesn’t seem to bother him. You shake your head, and relief softens his expression. “Okay. I know it hurts, but you’re gonna live.”

“I can’t get up,” you gasp, breath coming out short.

“Then I’ll carry you to the ship. Doctor’s on standby.” Kid crouches down next to you, flesh hand resting on your good shoulder. “It’s gonna hurt. Sorry in advance, Y/n.”

He’s the only one who doesn’t call you by your nickname. It makes sense, as he’s the one who caught you in the first place–it doesn’t really apply to him.

“It already hurts,” you reply, stupidly inviting more karma. Kid must think the same thing, because he frowns at you.

“Oh, just wait,” he mutters, and scoops you up as carefully as he can. The movement tears fresh hell through your arm, and you shout before you can even think to hold it in.

At least he doesn’t say ‘I told you so.’ It would only be salt in the wound, and you’re already in so much pain you can barely think. The walk back to the ship is its own trial, every step jolting your arm again, even with Kid’s best efforts to move smoothly. You tell yourself to be tough for about three seconds before it goes out the window. Frankly, you don’t deal with it well at all–you’ve never had a strong pain tolerance, it’s partly why you learned to be quick–but you manage not to scream with every step, so that’s something.

It’s a terrible shame that you’ll only remember this as excruciating–under any other circumstance, you would have cherished being held by Kid like this.

You glimpse your injury again, a wave of queasiness rising in your stomach, and press your face into Kid’s shoulder so as not to look. “I’m gonna throw up,” you say weakly.

“Since when does gore bother you?” Kid says under his breath, but you hear it.

“Since it is coming from MY BODY!!” you snarl. For once, Kid pities you enough not to scold you for talking back.

You’re shaking by the time you get to the infirmary. Most of the crew has come out of the battle unscathed, or with only minor injuries. The ship’s doctor is only concerned with you, and getting your bleeding to stop. But to close the rip…

“I have to reset the bones, first,” he says.

That was obvious to anyone with eyes, but you didn’t really think about it until just then. Your guts turn to stone at the thought, heavy and sinking as your heart starts to race. The lightest movement to your body is already enough to make you want to quit life on the spot; you are not prepared, capable, nor willing to see what it would feel like when the bone itself is directly touched.

“You can leave it as-is,” you say, not joking in the slightest, not caring if it sounds cowardly, not even caring that half the crew is surrounding the exam table to hear it.

Kid takes one look at the fear in your eyes and turns to the rest of the crew. “Get out,” he commands. Everyone complies without question, only Killer staying behind, the unspoken exception.

Once the last person closes the door behind them, Kid focuses on you. “Y/n–”

“I can’t do it,” you cut him off, eyes welling up with tears. “I–I don’t want to.”

“Tough,” Kid snaps. “This is what you get for getting caught.”

“Kid,” Killer says, a warning to go easy on you.

It’s not necessary. You can see right through Kid’s harsh exterior. He always gets upset when a crewmate is hurt badly. What he’s really saying is ‘this is what you get for making me worry.’

“No time for discussion,” says the doctor. “I’d like to get this done before any more blood is lost. Hold them down, would you?”

Before you can protest, Kid and Killer secure you in place: Kid’s metal hand presses down on your legs while his flesh one wraps tightly around your good arm, and Killer pins your torso to his from behind.

“Wait, wait, wait!” you cry out quickly, but you can’t budge against them both.

Kid nods at the doctor. “Do it.”

The disinfectant comes first, stealing the breath from your lungs, like acid on your exposed flesh. The doctor gives you no time to process the first action before he moves onto the second–rationally, you know it’s to minimize the amount of time you’ll be in pain, but you are incapable of viewing his actions kindly at the moment. He immediately forces the bones back to where they should be in one firm, expert motion.

The world goes white. Nothing exists anymore except for the pain in your arm, unimaginable and all-consuming. You don’t perceive anything else, blind and deaf to any stimuli that isn’t sheer agony. Later on, you’ll realize that you must have screamed, if the soreness when you speak is any indication, but you don’t remember it.

The intensity eventually wanes enough to restore your senses, though your head is still swimming from the assault. Your sight returns first. Instead of the cold infirmary, your vision is entirely filled by Kid, his face so close you’d be staring into his eyes if they were open. His forehead is pressed to yours, and he’s saying something, but you don’t process it until your hearing comes back a moment later.

“...did good, Y/n, you did good. You’re okay. Easy, you’re okay.”

Kid… you think dimly, followed by, huh. Have I seen him do this with anyone but Killer?

You don’t question it beyond that thought, hanging onto his every word. The closeness abates the hurt, even if just slightly, and you bask in it, taking any mercy you can get. Kid and ‘comfort’ aren’t things that generally go together, but to you–scared, in pain, and maybe just a little bit hopelessly in love with him–it’s everything.

Killer smooths your hair back. His solid chest against your back is grounding, helping you stay present through the haze of misery. You’re suddenly grateful he’s there, too, his presence equally as soothing as Kid’s, the degree to which triggering a new realization: It’s obvious in hindsight, but you’ve never been great at analyzing your own feelings, and as such, it only just dawns on you that you’re down just as bad for the first mate. The revelation would have been panic-inducing if it wasn’t for the pain currently demanding all of your attention.

“They still with us?” Killer asks behind you.

Kid’s eyes open, meeting yours. You’ve never seen them this close before. The irises are an orange-gold, reminding you of smoldering embers. Your breath leaves you once more, but you’re not sure pain is the cause this time. Though it must have left you delirious, because your mouth moves before your brain can catch up.

“You have pretty eyes,” you mumble.

Said pretty eyes widen, Kid pulling back in surprise. He glances at Killer. “...That answer your question?”

Killer hums, gently rubbing your good arm. You go limp, leaning your full weight back against him without shame, hurting too much to care right then. He doesn’t seem to mind, anyway.

There’s a faint tinge of pink on Kid’s face, and he smirks down at you. “Better be careful there, Y/n. You can’t blame what you say on a head injury.”

“Whatever,” you huff, knowing you can get away with being rude without repercussions for now. “I don’t–” your words break into a gasp as the pain in your arm spikes so intensely that spots dot your vision.

Kid’s smirk instantly falls. You try to look at your burning arm, but he turns your head back so you’re watching him instead.

“Don’t look. He’s stitching it now. Keep your eyes on me, okay?”

Another wave of pain has you fighting back a sob, barely able to keep it down. You instinctively go to look again, but Kid keeps your head from turning with a steady hand cupping the side of your face.

“Look at me, Y/n. There you go. Just hold on a bit longer.”

You try to do as he says, focusing on his eyes rather than the current torture, but it’s impossible. “Hurts so bad,” you whimper.

“I know,” Kid says softly. “We’re right here.”

The curved needle hooking through your skin isn’t the problem, nor is the nauseating sensation of the sutures sliding through the layers of flesh. Both, while admittedly sucking hard, are tolerable. The problem is that even as careful as he is, the doctor is still moving your arm with every stitch.

“Almost done,” Killer says, “almost done. You’re doing great.”

Am I really? you want to ask, but you’re currently unable to form anything more coherent than groans and curses.

The final trial is the splint, more unbearable movement to your arm that has you gripping the edge of the exam table so hard your knuckles turn white. Killer takes notice, peeling your hand from the table to hold in his, instead. Despite his hand being twice the size of yours, you’re pretty sure you crush it with the strength of your grip, but he doesn’t complain.

“I’ll apply a proper cast once the swelling goes down,” the doctor says once he’s finally, finally fucking done. “Rest in one of the patient beds and keep your arm above your heart as much as possible. You’re to sleep here until further notice.”

You’re helped into one of the beds, and once the doctor’s applied ice packs to your injury, Kid dismisses him. The three of you are left alone, Kid and Killer pulling up chairs next to the bed. Lying back, you stare blankly at the ceiling, catching your breath, humbled and terrified at the human body’s ability to feel such all-consuming anguish. Adrenaline still courses through your veins, making you jittery and hyper-aware, and you’re sweating, but at least the pain in your arm has simmered down to a dull, throbbing ache. While it still feels like the bones are screaming at you, you can endure it quietly, though it does make your eyes water.

With the diminishing of the pain comes just enough clarity for you to feel utterly and totally disgraceful. You don’t think you’ve ever heard anyone on the crew scream like you had, and plenty of them had endured their fair share of awful injuries. So why couldn’t you handle it better? How could you call yourself a pirate after such a display? All of that, and still visibly on the verge of tears now that it was over? You’d be more embarrassed about crying in front of them if you hadn’t just spent the enitre past fifteen minutes acting like a complete bitch.

Kid may have said you couldn’t blame your words on a head injury, but you think the pain alone is enough to make you loopy, because you find yourself laughing shortly at the thought. It’s more of a huff and a grin, really–anything more would jostle your arm.

“Y/n?” Kid asks, concerned.

“It’s just,” you glance at him, then back at the ceiling, smiling ruefully. “I wanted to be tough, if you can believe that. But I couldn’t manage it… Pitiful, right?”

“What are you talking about?” Kid scowls. “That pirate broke your arm and you still killed him.”

“Only because I didn’t feel it right away. It doesn’t count. When push came to shove, I couldn’t handle it at all. I’m a Kid Pirate–I should be tougher. And yet, I…” You blink, and the tears gathered at the corners of your eyes break free, running down your temples. “I didn’t have it in me.”

“Y/n…?”

You look between Kid and Killer. Kid’s worry is evident behind the tension in his face, and while Killer’s expression is hidden, there’s nothing in his body language to suggest he’s upset with you. Your smile wavers, chest getting tight. The next wave of tears has nothing to do with pain.

“Aren’t you ashamed of me?” Your voice cracks, as if you couldn’t be any more pathetic.

“Don’t,” Kid says stiffly. “Don’t do the self-pity thing now. It doesn’t suit you.”

“But I–”

“Look,” Killer says, “everyone’s different, with different tolerances for pain. You don’t need to be unfeeling to be a capable fighter.”

Easy for him to say–Killer had the highest pain tolerance in the crew. Still, you don’t miss the compliment, mentally clinging to it like it could redeem you.

“You think I’m a capable fighter?” you ask, voice small.

“I invited you onto my crew for a reason, okay?” Kid says. “I saw potential. I still see it. You’ve gotten stronger since we first met.” Kid looks away. “...I haven’t once regretted my decision.”

“Oh…” Self-doubt tells you that Kid’s just saying those things to make you feel better, but experience has you discarding the thought. You know him better than that. Kid has always meant what he said, he wouldn’t make such claims lightly. The words are real and sincere, threatening to make you cry harder, but you force it down. He’s never liked dealing with tears.

Kid won’t meet your eye. From your angle on the bed, you can see a blush spread across his cheeks, darker than before. Maybe that’s why he makes to leave, pushing his chair back and getting up, Killer following suit. Or maybe he just means to check on the crew. Regardless, a surge of objection rises in your chest, every bit as selfish and puerile as a child protesting their parents leaving them in daycare.

“You’re going?” you ask before you can stop yourself.

They pause, Kid turning back to you. “Do you want us to stay?”

You don’t look at him when you nod shallowly, ashamed. But you don’t want to hurt alone. Rationally, you know you’re going to be in pain for a long while, and they can’t be at your side the whole time. Still, if they’ll let you, then you’ll be self-centered for just a bit longer.

Kid and Killer sit back down.

“Thanks,” you say quietly. Then, even quieter, “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t fucking apologize,” Kid grumbles. “I told you to knock that shit off.”

You swallow a lump in your throat. He could be so rough about it, but there was genuine care behind his refusing to let you wallow in self-pity.

Killer takes your hand. “Is this the first time you’ve been injured like this?” he asks.

You nod.

“Listen... Sometimes, when you’re hurt bad enough physically, it messes with your head, too,” Killer says. “You feel vulnerable and insecure. Helpless, even. So,” he squeezes your hand lightly, “it’s okay if you’re more sensitive than you normally would be. No one's going to hold it against you. You came out of the battle alive. That’s what matters.”

Damn him and his tenderness, you’re trying not to cry. You pull your hand away, lower lip wobbling, and take a shaky breath, holding it down. You glance at Kid. He’s staring hard at your broken arm. Suddenly his ire stops being transparent–just like when you first joined the crew, you’re completely unable to discern what he’s really thinking. All you see is the discontent, so close to disapproval that it makes you uncertain.

“Are you, um,” you say nervously, “are you mad at me?”

“No,” Kid says, but it comes out a bit stiff. “At least, not for the reason you think. I’m proud of you for taking out that pirate. He was twice your size and faster, but you still won.” He taps his nails against his metal hand. “Y/n… When Hip said you were really hurt, I feared the worst. I thought you’d been fatally injured.”

“Can’t get rid of me that easily,” you joke.

“Shut the fuck up!” Kid snaps, glaring. He’s gritting his teeth, eyes hard and angry, but then there’s a break, a crack in his expression. It’s just a glimpse, but for the first time, you see fear behind the fury. “Don’t you ever scare me like that again. Got it? Or I’ll break your other arm.”

Despite the harsh words, emotion swells in your chest, fuzzy and light. You feel yourself tearing up again. “Yes, captain.”

“You’re a real pain in my ass, you know that?”

You smile slightly. “Yes, captain.”

Kid leans back in his chair, arms crossed, scowl etched deep. You watch as Killer touches Kid’s arm briefly, reassuring. With the worst of the pain behind you comes the presence of mind to start overthinking, and you dive right in: They have each other. It’s clear that they care about you, but it will never be in the way you want.

The ache in your arm seems fitting, a backdrop of physical pain behind the emotional. Liking Kid is stressful enough, but now that you were aware of your feelings for Killer, it was compounded, growing like a chemical reaction into something huge and overwhelming. As a trusted crewmate, you pretty much have front row seats to the small intimacies those two exchange. How are you supposed to go on watching and not be eaten alive by jealousy?

Maybe you should leave. Maybe this was your sign that the good times had run out, and it was time to strike it out solo again. You don’t want to go–crushes aside, you were fond of the crew, having come to see them as family–but could you handle living with Kid and Killer now? The unrequited desire was already burrowing under your skin like a grass seed, threatening to travel and lodge deep into your heart. Cutting ties now would spare you more hurt in the long run.

But first you had to heal from this injury, something better done with the security of a crew protecting you.

Then, unprompted, Killer reaches over to wipe the sweat from your forehead, and you start reconsidering even that notion. If they were going to be gentle the entire recovery period, you were really gonna lose it. The compassion was too close to intimacy, a taste of what you couldn’t have.

"The next few months are gonna blow," you say, the true meaning of the statement masked.

"Just wait until it starts itching under the cast," Killer says lightly.

"Ugh. And I'll hardly be able to move." You grimace. "I'll need help even with basic tasks… You're right, Killer, it does feel helpless."

"It'll be fine," Kid says. "You have us and the crew."

He's still frowning, but you can read him again. Not that you need to with the frankness of his words.

"At least there's a bright side," you smile impishly, "if you're gonna be soft this whole time."

"Watch it," Kid warns, but his lip curls up just a bit. "Don't get used to it."

Too bad for him, you fully intend to abuse your power. It’ll be interesting to see how much you can get away with, and you might as well have some kind of outlet for these awful feelings in the meantime.

“Nah, I’m gonna enjoy it while I can,” you say, “because it’s not gonna happen another time. I’m gonna get even stronger, so I’ll never go through that again.” You wipe away the gathered tears with the back of your hand. “I’m gonna surpass even the shave technique. I’ll be uncatchable.”

Kid and Killer exchange glances–an impressive feat considering Killer’s mask, but that’s just the kind of wavelength they’re on–and then they look at you, Kid wearing one of his rare serious expressions. “I know the last half hour was rough, Y/n. But you won’t get any better as a fighter if fear is your motivator.”

That makes you pout, mostly because you know he’s right. Arguing that it had worked out for this long was pointless, because it really hadn’t. You only survived the fight with Kid years ago because of his whims, and today’s battle had ended in agony. You wouldn’t be forgetting it anytime soon, but maybe that was better. Maybe a reminder that you weren’t invulnerable was what you needed. So long as you didn’t succumb to fear, like Kid said.

“I guess it wasn’t entirely miserable,” you muse, thinking back to how Kid carried you to the ship. That was a lie–you were hurting far too badly to enjoy the contact–but the thought that it happened still made you kind of happy, in a messed up way. Maybe you were more touch-starved than you thought. “I got to be held. Can’t remember the last time I was that close to someone.”

Kid looks surprised, and then his expression slowly morphs into something smug, an arrogant smirk plastered on his face. “If you wanted to be close to me, Y/n, you could have just asked.”

Your cheeks instantly flare hot, caught so off-guard all you can do is stare in dumb shock before you turn your head away. What the hell was he doing? Why would he say that? Now there was an ache in your chest as well as your arm.

“Is that what this was all about?” Kid continues gleefully. “Did you let yourself get hurt so your captain would come take care of you?”

No, no, no. Don’t do this to me. Regardless of what he meant by the teasing, it felt like a weight was sitting over your sternum. And really, he was such a fucking jerk, taking obvious pleasure in your flustered response. Honestly, why did you even like him?

“We’re right here.”

Your brain plays the memory back like a traitor, impressing the reason. Why did he have to be so damned nice to you? Why couldn’t he have been cold or stern or even harsh, like usual? This would have been so much easier if he just told you off for screaming, or called you a pussy or something, but no. He had to hold you and reassure you and now you didn’t know what to do.

“Stop it,” you say, but it comes out small and feeble. This was all too much, especially now. Killer had a point–you were in a delicate way mentally. The walls weren’t up, you couldn’t buffer any of these feelings. “Talk to me like that and I’ll leave.”

Kid pauses. “What do you mean, you’ll leave?”

“I’ll leave the crew.”

“What?!” Kid grabs the arms of his chair, leaning forward like he didn’t hear you right the first time.

“Slip?” Killer questions.

You avoid their eyes. “I can’t–I can’t do this. I can’t be around you if you’re going to be like… like that.”

“The hell are you talking about?” Kid demands.

“Slip, what’s wrong?” Killer asks. “Was it something we said?”

“No! I mean, yes!” you say, tugging at your hair with your good hand. “I mean… I…”

“Where’s this coming from all of a sudden?” Kid says hotly. “What the hell is your problem?”

“I’m in love with you!” you shout. “That’s my fucking problem, Kid!”

Oops. Well. It was out now. Might as well go all-in. You cover your face as you add, “Killer, too. I love you both. I’m sorry.”

The shame settles like rot in your stomach, as nauseating as the physical pain was. There was no taking it back now. You expect shocked silence, or even Kid getting angry.

What you don’t expect is Kid, as casually as if discussing the weather, responding, “Oh. Yeah, I know.”

It takes a minute to process what he said, mentally flipping the words over in an attempt to parse them. Your hand slowly drops from your face, and you fix him with a look that manages to be both pointed and baffled. “...What?”

“I already knew that,” Kid clarifies.

You stare a hole through him. “...What?”

“What exactly are you not getting? I’m telling you I already knew.”

“Fucking excuse me?!” It finally processes, crashing over you like a boiling wave, drenching and searing all at once. “Since when?!”

“Since we met, you idiot.”

Your jaw drops. He had known all this time? For three fucking years? He knew?

“You’re not a subtle person, Y/n,” Kid says, then grins. “You got really, really worked up when I caught you that one time. It wasn’t hard to figure out.”

“You knew?” You look between him and Killer, at a loss. “The entire time?”

“Y/n, the whole crew knows.”

“What?!” You sit up so quickly it jostles your injury, sending a hellish jolt of pain through your arm that makes you hiss.

“Easy,” Killer says, gently pushing your good shoulder to prompt you to lay back.

“Don’t tell me to take it easy!” you snap, but acquiesce, letting him push you back. “What the hell do you mean, you knew… The crew knows… Oh my god…”

“There, there,” Killer says, but you can hear the amusement in his voice.

“Anyway,” Kid says nonchalantly, “you don’t have permission to leave.”

Ordinarily, you would say 'I wasn't aware I needed it,' but you're currently too stunned to reply. All this time. And the crew knows.

What are you to make of that? Kid doesn’t look upset. Killer doesn’t sound upset. They’re fine with your crush? Did such things really not bother them, or did they… No. There was no way. You can't wrap your head around the implications. There was no way. Right? Because if they liked you back, wouldn’t they have said something by now?

You have to find out. Living on this ship with that hanging over you is beyond what you can handle. And with months of recovery ahead of you, now would be as good a time as any to shoot your shot.

But you only get out "Do you–" before your voice catches, the query dying in your throat. You can't say it, can't bring yourself to ask. Something in your head is as broken as your arm, refusing to form the words.

Kid and Killer are listening, waiting for you to continue, but you shake your head. “Never mind.”

The answer to that question would hurt, and you’ve had enough of that for a good, long while. But without it comes the uncertainty, which almost feels worse. Unable to reconcile how you feel and exhausted from the aftermath of the adrenaline, you find you just want to be close to them again. Maybe you’re too much of a coward to ask the crucial question. But you aren’t above taking advantage of your current state to seek out a bit of comfort.

"Back when I was a kid," you say, "and I had to go to the doctor, my guardian would take me to get a treat afterwards. Like ice cream or something."

"Yeah?" Kid says, grinning wide. "Is there something you want from me? What could it possibly be, I wonder?"

Suddenly you're tongue-tied. You didn’t expect him to cotton on so fast, but underestimating Kid was why you had lost to him in the first place three years ago.

When you don't respond, Kid rests his chin on his metal hand, having the gall to look even more smug. "You need to say it out loud, Y/n."

Fucking jerk. Fine. "Um…" you start, fresh heat warming your face, "well, uh… Can I have, uh… A hug…?"

Kid looks surprised at that for some reason, raising a brow. What was he expecting? Still, he rises from his seat, and you sit up in anticipation. This was enough for now. Just to be held, one more time. You could figure out the rest later.

“That’s really all you want?” Kid says, looking at you like he can’t figure you out. He leans over you, towering, your height difference exacerbated with you being seated. “A hug?”

“...Yeah?” you respond hesitantly, unsure of what he means by the question.

Kid regards you for a moment, searching your eyes. Then he smirks. “I’ll do you one better.”

Before you can register the meaning of his words, Kid tilts your chin up, leans in, and presses his lips to yours in a firm and intent kiss.

Suffice to say, your brain promptly short-circuits. For a moment, not a single neuron fires. Then there’s a storm of activity, a thousand different thoughts and feelings screaming all at once. At the same time, a soft sort of tingling spreads throughout your whole body, fluttering and warm, so pleasant that you could cry. And, for just a second, like something out of a fairy tale, you don’t feel any of the pain in your arm. (You can never, ever tell this to Kid–he will hold it over your head for the rest of your life.)

While you’re too shocked to reciprocate, once Kid pulls away, you find yourself leaning forward, chasing the contact. He notices, if his widening smirk is any indication.

“Better than a hug, right?” he says, self-satisfied.

“Um,” you respond cleverly, still bewildered by the action. “Uh… Kid? Do you… Do you like me?”

Kid pinches the bridge of his nose. “Y/n, I literally just kissed you. What the fuck do you think?”

“Wait, shut up. Hold on. Wait.” The fact that Kid doesn’t react to your telling him to shut up is a testament to his going easy on you, and you make a mental note of it for later. “If you liked me back, why didn’t you do anything about it?”

“What are you talking about? I’ve been flirting with you for years!”

Your eyes bug out at him. “You have?”

“For someone who thinks so quickly in battle, it’s amazing how slow you are on the uptake,” Kid says, exasperated. You frown, because rude, but he keeps going. “At first, when you didn’t respond, I thought you weren’t interested. But the way you acted around me and Killer proved otherwise. It was confusing as hell! Then, a few weeks ago, the crew was at a tavern, and you were approached by that bounty hunter–you remember?”

“Yeah… What about him?”

“He started flirting real heavy, and it all went right over your head. It was incredible to watch. I realized then that you weren’t sending me mixed signals on purpose, but that you were really just that fucking oblivious.”

You blink. “He was flirting with me?”

“He bought you a drink!” Kid shouts, throwing his arms out in frustration and nearly knocking over another bed with his metal one. Killer covers his mask over where his mouth would be, as if that would help him suppress a laugh.

“I thought he was trying to sucker me out of information.”

“He was trying to sucker you out of your clothes.”

“Oh… So that’s why you nearly killed him.”

You stare down at your lap as you try to process all the new information. Kid liked you back. Not only that, but he had been attempting to show it pretty much since the beginning. You knew you were bad with feelings, but the fact that it took a severe injury for this to come to light was maybe a little concerning. And what about Killer? He wasn’t nearly as open as Kid, so even if he had been showing similar signs, you would have never picked up on it.

“Does, uh,” you say, looking up at them, “does Killer also…?”

“Yeah,” Kid says, “Killer too, though he never flirted with you over it.”

“I kind of did,” Killer speaks up, “here and there, but I stopped when it seemed like you weren’t into it.”

You think back, trying to recall any times where that might have happened. While Killer seemed outwardly stoic, he was surprisingly affable toward crewmates, so you never thought twice about any lingering touches or supportive words coming from him.

“Um… Wow. I’m sorry,” you say, “I didn’t mean to be confusing. I guess I just never thought it was possible that anyone would like me that way.”

“Why would you think that?” Killer sounds genuinely confused, and you tense, the question dredging up a host of bad memories. That was one traumatic can of worms you didn’t need to open, so you just shrug it off.

“Uh, no reason…”

“You’ve never been in a relationship?” Kid asks.

“Not really,” you say, rubbing the back of your neck. All of this was new territory, the revelation that they were both interested leaving you stumped. “...What do I even do now?”

“Whatever you want.”

You stare at Kid, then glance away, cheeks growing warm in embarrassment before you even say it. “...I want you to kiss me again.”

“You really think you deserve it after all that you’ve put us through?” Kid grins, but despite what he says, he leans right back in to grant your wish.

The second kiss is softer, even tender. Your eyes close as you cup his cheek, and his hand covers yours. That fluttering sensation returns, prickling across your skin like you’ve sunk into a warm bath, enveloping and soothing.

When Kid breaks free this time, you can’t help but look at Killer afterwards, the longing in your expression making your thoughts evident.

“What, I’m not good enough for you?” Kid accuses, but you can tell he’s teasing.

“No,” you say brightly, safe in the knowledge that he won’t retaliate while you’re injured. Or so you thought–Kid pinches your cheek (with his flesh hand, at least,) harder and harder until you apologize. You rub your sore cheek, pouting. “I swear I’m not complaining or anything, but, uh… You don’t want to, Killer?”

Killer turns his head away, quiet for a moment. “...I will… Once you’ve recovered, and the cast comes off.” He looks your way again. “So you have the motivation to heal quickly.”

Later on, when you’ve gotten to know him more intimately, you’ll look back and realize that the ‘motivation’ line was complete bullshit, and that he was just covering up his shyness. But right then, you accept him at his word, though you’re a bit disappointed.

“Sure. Okay.” You lay back in the bed, a smile slowly stretching your lips. “I can live with that.”

Today was a one-two punch in staggering experiences. First you went through the worst physical pain you’d felt yet, then Kid revealed that he and Killer both liked you back. You were ecstatic, of course–but the fact that you never had to go through breaking your arm to learn of it made you more than a little mad at yourself.

“We can talk about all this later,” Kid says. “You need to rest.”

“Yes, sir.”

Kid looks at you sharply, and you get a funny feeling in your gut. Did… Did he like that? What a stuck-up asshole. God, you love him. Which is why you’re going to use that against him later.

“Try and get some sleep, if you can. The next island we’re stopping at has a pharmacy. Once we raid it and restock our medical supplies, you won’t be hurting so much, so just hang on until then. Okay?” Kid touches your cheek.

“Okay,” you reply, trying not to show how giddy the simple action makes you.

But given that he knew of your attraction all this time, he can probably tell anyway.

“I can’t believe you didn’t say anything!” You glare at the crewmates sitting around your bed. The doctor will only let a few people in to see you at a time, so right now, it’s just Heat, Wire, and Quincy, the latter currently signing your cast. “Some nakama you are! Why didn’t you tell me?”

“It would have interfered with the betting pool,” Wire says.

“Betting pool?!”

“After a while,” Heat adds, “it just became kind of a social experiment.”

“Betting pool?!” you reiterate.

“Relax,” Quincy says, capping the marker. “If you get worked up, the doc will kick us out.”

“Fine.” You scowl, but relent, shoulders drooping.

“So how’d it go down?” Heat asks. “Did you tell Kid first, or did he tell you?”

“I said it first.”

“Damn,” Wire mutters, fishing a thick wad of cash out of his pocket and passing it to Heat.

Your eyes widen at the blatant exchange. “I will fucking strangle you both!”

“With one hand?” Wire asks, and the three of them burst into laughter.

You throw your medicine bottle at his head.

After months of waiting, you’re eager to finally have the cast off, but a part of you will miss looking at everyone’s signatures. Heat even drew the crew’s jolly roger on it.

“Some pain and stiffness afterwards is normal. Your range of motion will be limited. After months of being immobile, the muscles are weakened,” the doctor explains. “You are to wait one week before any exercise or heavy physical activity with that arm. Understand?”

The moment the cast is removed and the doctor releases you, you go find Killer on the ship.

“Hey, Killer!” You wave at him with your newly-healed arm, though you find the action is more difficult than you expected, just like the doctor said. “Cast is off, big guy. Time to pay up.”

When Killer doesn’t respond right away, you think maybe he’s forgotten what he said months ago. He looks around at the other crewmates on deck, then takes your hand and wordlessly leads you elsewhere.

“Killer?” you ask as you follow, but he remains silent.

Killer takes you all the way to the captain’s cabin, closing the door behind the both of you. Kid is currently there, sitting at his desk and looking over a map, head turning to you as soon as you enter.

“Everything okay?” Kid asks, then, noticing your cast is off, he smirks. “Oh, I see. Went for it first thing, huh, Y/n? You must have really been looking forward to it.”

“Shut up, Kid!” you say, face growing hot.

Kid rises from his seat, coming to stand behind you, and rests his flesh hand on your shoulder, squeezing in threat. “Careful, Y/n. You don’t have that injury to protect you anymore.”

Despite the warning, something about the way he says it, voice low and smooth, makes your stomach knot.

“Alright, alright, fine. Yes, I’ve been looking forward to it, okay? I’ve been thinking about it every day since,” you admit, swallowing. “But, Killer, you don’t have to if you don’t want to.”

Killer is silent once more. You scan him anxiously, trying to get a read on his body language. He seems tense, so it takes you by surprise when he quietly says, “I want to.”

“Oh.”

Killer steps closer, right in front of you, so you’re sandwiched between the captain and first mate. Belatedly, you realize he’ll have to take off his mask, which you didn’t think about before. You’re not sure that even Heat or Wire have seen him without it, and you’re suddenly nervous that you’re violating some boundary by asking him to kiss you.

Then, Kid moves his hand from your shoulder to your face, covering your eyes from behind. You hear a faint noise like rustling hair that must be Killer removing his mask. Unable to see, you can only wait, heart pounding. It feels like forever before you feel his breath on your face, not making contact yet–he’s hesitating. And then, finally, after months of patience, he closes the gap, soft lips capturing your own.

Just like that, all your nerves melt away, fading behind the static that seems to spark through your body. You reach out for Killer blindly, hands landing in his hair before they slide down to hold his face, pulling as if you could draw him even closer. He sighs into your mouth in response, making your knees grow weak.

After far too short a time, Killer pulls away, and your grip on his face tightens in reluctance.

“Wait, wait,” you mumble, “again. Please, I–”

Your protest is muffled by Killer’s mouth closing over yours again, swallowing your words and your sanity all at once. He’s firmer this time, indelicate and needy, large hands grabbing hold of your waist. The little whine that slips out of you is involuntary, and you hear Kid chuckle behind you.

Eventually, Killer breaks away, leaving the both of you stunned and flushed with endorphins.

“You have no idea, Y/n,” Kid whispers into your ear, raising goosebumps on the back of your neck. “How much he’s talked about this.”

“Like you haven’t been talking about them?” Killer says defensively. “The sheer amount of grievances I’ve had to listen to the last few years… Where do I even begin? First, there was–”

“Okay!” Kid cuts him off, uncharacteristically flustered. “I get it.”

You snicker, and Kid immediately wraps his metal hand around your hip, gripping just tightly enough so as not to be painful, but still securely enough so that you’re trapped in place. It’s huge in comparison to you, the pinky sinking into your thigh while the index presses into your stomach. You gasp, going rigid, the position intimately familiar–this was the exact way that Kid had caught you three years ago.

“You know, Y/n,” Kid says, his tone soft with warning, “you’ve been a real piece of work these last few months. Smart-mouthed. Insolent. Talking back to me. Thinking you were so safe because of your injury.” He’s speaking into your ear again, breath hot on your skin, and your heart starts to race. “I hope you enjoyed it while it lasted, Y/n, because I’ve been keeping track. Every comment, every cheeky little quip, I committed to memory, waiting for this moment. I think it’s time I paid it back. Wouldn’t you agree, Killer?”

“Definitely,” Killer responds without hesitation.

Heat courses through your body, collecting at the apex of your thighs. Still blinded by Kid, you can’t see Killer move, but you feel his rough fingers tracing your throat a moment later.

The third time around, you are perfectly okay with not having lived up to your epithet.

#one piece imagines #one piece x reader #eustass kid x reader #killer x reader #reader insert #zen writes

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box-of-roses · 3 months

Text

.⋅ ۵♡۵ ⋅. Letters to Skin .⋅ ۵♡۵ ⋅.

♡ Synopsis: Everything you write or draw on your skin shows up on your soulmates skin; What happens when drawing on your skin results in someone becoming your best friend and then something more.

♡ Characters: Akaashi, Y/N, Kuroo, Kenma, Yaku

♡ Possible Warnings: talks about divorced parents

♡ Words: 2k

Pt. 2 | Pt. 3 | Series Masterlist

When people feel most alone they talk to themselves. Rationalize to their brains why they would possibly feel like this. In this world though soulmates exist. No one should ever feel alone, should not will. See, when you feel the most alone the universe decides to let you have a connection to your soulmate. The connection doesn’t go away just becaus you stop feeling alone either. Both people don’t have to feel alone, that would just cause someone to feel worse. I mean you try to connect to someone and they can’t respond? The universe isn’t always that cruel.

It doesn’t promise you speak the same language, it just makes sure you are able to connect. Y/N is the first to feel alone. Your soulmate is apparently having it a bit better than you do at this moment. Your parents had just told you they were divorcing. They had already signed the papers, all week you had thought you were just moving to a different house. Well, you were. Not all of you though. Because your mother travelled so much for work you would be staying with your father. You ran to your room and locked the door. They hadn’t even come after you. Looking back it was probably because they wanted to give you space to think everything over. To your little mind right now though it was the worst thing they could have possibly done.

Suddenly you felt a tingling in your arm. Oh how funny the universe was. You reached for a pen and scribbled some words down. ‘Hello, sorry to bother you.’ You waited a few minutes. Nothing. Maybe the universe hadn’t thought you were lonely enough yet. What was that weird tingling then? You tried to tell yourself it was just your imagination. Maybe your parents had lied to you. Just as you start going down that path your arm tingles again.

‘I’m sorry for replying so late’ another tingle. ‘I was in the middle of eating dinner. I’m Akaashi, what’s your name?’

‘Y/N’

‘Why are you so sad?’

‘My parents are getting divorced.’

‘I’m sorry, I hope you can become happier. Do you want to talk about it?’

‘Not really. Can we talk about something else?’

‘Of course.’ The words stopped appearing. Maybe Akaashi got held up again. You after all weren’t expecting that your soulmate would just drop everything to talk with you. ‘What’s your favorite book?’ Funny how even the smallest of things can make a person feel less alone. Make someone feel appreciated, loved, cared for. Those words can be synonymous but not always. Right now? They were applicable. Those words were always synonymous when you were talking to Akaashi, he always makes you feel loved and cared for and appreciated.

The two of you sat miles apart talking about books, flowers, anything other than the lingering sadness. Since the connection started it hadn’t gone away, as you were told it wouldn’t. You still worried though, your parents were soulmates. That didn’t stop them from falling apart though, as protection to yourself you hadn’t told anyone you had met your soulmate. You weren’t sure if he had done the same thing. Part of you was hoping he had done the same as you so there wouldn’t be an unfortunate meeting. You both decided not to talk too much about your personal lives. You would talk about school but not which school. You had stated early on why you were so scared of finding him.

He accepted your reasons and never pushed you to tell him anything that you didn’t naturally tell him. To fill the silence he would tell you about himself. The more you learned about him the less you cared if he hid you as his soulmate. You told him you would even feel proud for people to know you were his soulmate. You knew that he played volleyball, a setter, and that he wanted to be a manga editor when he graduated. You knew he had a best friend that he would often have to leave you on ‘delivered’ to go deal with. You laughed when he told you how mercilessly his teammates teased him when they found the writing on his arms.

The more you grew up the less it bothered you that people knew of you being his soulmate. You had told him that he could tell people if he wanted to. You still refused to tell others though. Maybe it was the lingering trust issues causing you to pause whenever you were going to tell your friends something sweet he has said. You didn’t fully know why you couldn’t say it. You loved talking to him, he was so sweet. He always managed to cheer you up whenever you felt down. You knew so much about him and you hadn’t even told him that you joined your volleyball team as a manager to see him. You knew it was stupid to think that you would find him like this. You had new friends though. Friends you were starting to trust enough to talk with them about your soulmate. The incident started at lunch. You were sitting with Kuroo, Kenma, and Yaku and you felt your arm tingle. A smile grew on your face as you felt it. He rarely ever talked to you during school, unlike you he tried to pay attention in class.

Even though you were the manager you had yet to be able to make it to a practice game. Luckily they didn’t get too mad, this time you were going to be sure to be there. You cleared your throat. You didn’t want to make a big deal out of it but you knew the boys were going to. “Yes Y/N?” Kenma was the first to notice you were trying to get their attention.

“So…I know I’ve never talked about it before but I’ve already contacted my soulmate. I don’t want to make a big deal out of it, even though it kind of feels like that’s what I’m doing right now, I just wanted to let you guys know because I trust you.” You put your head down not wanting the potential backlash.

“That’s great Y/N! Do you know what their name is?” You nodded your head. The boys around you just seemed to get more excited. “Are you gonna tell us?’

You shook your head, “sorry. I trust you I really do but in case you know him. I’m just not ready to meet him.” Now you are more worried. You trusted them enough to tell them you had a soulmate but couldn’t even tell them his name. God you felt pathetic.

“It’s fine that you don’t want to tell us his name, really.” Your smile grew, you pulled out your pen and rolled up your sleeve. “Do your parents know?” You shook your head again. “Do you want to tell us about him at least?”

“Give me one second to reply and then yeah!”

‘How’s school going? I know you said you were anxious about it today.’

‘It’s good, I just told my friends about my soulmate. They want to know more about you. I’m surprisingly excited. I hope your day is going just as good!’ You drew a little heart for good measure. “Okay, he’s literally so sweet. He just wanted to check on me because he knew I’ve been anxious recently.”

“He seems like a good guy so far. I don’t want to push but…You’re not telling us his name because he plays volleyball right?” Your face grew hot as you nodded. Kuroo smiled mischievously, a glint of scheming in his eyes.

“Whatever you’re planning, stop it right now. I said I wasn’t ready to meet him yet.” You glare at him as you finish your drink.

“Are you ever going to be ready to meet him?” It felt rude but you knew it was true. He was pretty good at reading people. If it had taken you this long to tell them that you even had a soulmate how much longer until you finally wrapped your head around meeting your soulmate.

“Fine, I’ll let you pick one team to practice against. One. That’s all the scheming you get.” He smiled even more at that. One of his favorite activities was getting people to comfortably leave their comfort zone to do things that were good for them.

“I’ll just have to pick right then. We have some planning to do and you have a class to get to.” he grabbed the garbage from the table and got up to throw it away. Kenma usually walked with you to class since you both went to the same place.

“You know if you tell him you're uncomfortable he won’t go through with it right?” You smiled at Kenma’s concern.

“I know. He’s right though, I’ve known about my soulmate since my parents divorced and you're the first people I’ve told.” Kenma paused at your words.

“You’ve told? Has he told people?” You nodded sheepishly.

“His friends have known for a while. I wanted to tell you guys earlier but I was nervous.”

“I’m not upset, I’m just surprised. I figured if you hadn’t told anyone it was because he didn’t want to either.”

“This may seem silly but the more I learned about him I got excited at him telling his friends about me.”

“That doesn’t seem silly at all. I’m sure most people feel that way. Or at least I hope they do. I’m proud of you for feeling comfortable enough to tell us.” You had reached the door to your classroom and put the conversation on hold for the time being. As you made your way to your seat you got out your set up of colored markers. You drew all over yourself- and by extension Akaashi during this period. He had told you once before that he loved looking down and seeing the doodles over his skin. Since then you have made it your job to leave messages and doodles on your hands to make him feel happy.

Akaashi usually ended up with doodles over his hand and arm during this period. He knew that it was your least favorite class so despite wanting to pay attention to his own class he stares at his hands. He sits there and smiles as he watches little swirls etch themselves onto his skin. Hearts and stars are the most common. He would end up with a ring on his ring finger which made him smile. He hoped to meet you one day. He loved the interactions the two of you had even when you weren't writing to each other. It was getting close to the end of the day and he hated how when you two finally got to sleep at the end of each day that the drawings and sweet words would disappear.

He wanted to focus on his studies he really did but the thought of you feeling alone always made him pause for a moment. He picked up a pen of a different color and started drawing his own little doodles. He hoped they made you feel as special as your’s made him feel. He was already happier than usual because you had told your friends about him. That was a big deal to him, especially after you had confided your fears to him. He knows he’s going to have a smile on his face for the rest of the day and have to listen to the team’s comments. He didn’t care all that much though. He would roll his eyes and laugh along knowing how lucky he is to have you as his soulmate. Maybe one of these days he’ll meet you, at least he hopes you’ll ask him to meet eventually. He doesn’t want to push but he really needs to see your face, to confirm what he already knows. That you’re the most beautiful person he’s ever had the pleasure of knowing.

I hope you guys enjoyed! My askbox is open if you have a specific request and so are the taglists for any part of this series. If you enjoyed this work feel free to check out my other works here

Likes, comments, and reblogs are always appreciated <3

Taglist: @lifesucksweswallow

#haikyuu fluff #hq x reader #haikyu x reader #akaashi keiji x reader #akaashi x reader #hq akaashi #haikyuu akaashi #haikyuu x reader #akaashi x y/n #akaashi x you

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sugarsnappeases · 27 days

Note

fnvjfnbjgnjb I really hope this isn't weird but I am actually so desperate to hear some of your rosekiller headcanons (the more fucked up the better < 3)

hello!!!! i am. actually…. would you guys murder me if i said i didn’t think about rosekiller like all that often….. when i do think about them it’s normally prompted by things that saints @foursaints (lord and saviour of the rosekillers) posts. but. just for you, my dearest futurequibblerjournalist, i’ve been racking my brain for some vaguely interesting things to say. so:

to start off, in terms of characterisations, in my mind, barty is a ‘worshipper’ and evan is an ‘investigator’ if that makes sense - like my barty (and again this is heavily influenced by my whole barty michelangelo variant thing which i never shut up about) is someone who will completely offer himself up to, in this case, evan, like he’s trying to get under evan’s skin both idiomatically and literally, there’s this whole kinda masochistic self-dispossession thing going on which is him just entirely putting himself in evan’s hands, at his disposal, a ‘whatever rosie wants, rosie gets’ kinda thing (and all the things that rosie wants are a little fucked up… like evan wants. a rib, let’s say, and barty is immediately offering his up, like take mine please take mine i have a few to spare, and they do the surgery, no anaesthetic, lots of eye contact, and it’s the most romantic thing that’s ever happened to either of them… evan likes to run his fingers over the stitches before they’re fully healed up, maybe pull a few out, just to see….)

anyway i digress but also kinda not a huge digression bc that leads me on to evan as ‘investigator’ - disclaimer!!! evan as a character is a lot more nebulous to me than barty, like i feel like i haven’t entirely grasped him yet so allow me some wiggle room please and thank you but. evan is curious, that’s his central characteristic in my mind, he just wants to like… see, to understand. i think he doesn’t care much for people in terms of them being like actual people, he cares more about. how they work i guess biologically, like how their bones connect to allow them to move in particular ways, how the neurons in their brains do things (i’m really not a steminist i’m sorry guys) to make them say things and act in particular ways. his like. life mission. or whatever. is to figure out how ‘humanity’ works if that makes sense….

and barty is a bit of an aberration in some ways bc he doesn’t interact how he’s supposed to interact and he doesn’t move how he’s supposed to move and evan is curious, bc he normally doesn’t allow anything to bother him but barty is just. a bother. like in general. and evan wants to crack barty’s head open and get a good look at his brain, prod at it, investigate it, and barty would let him. barty would genuinely actually let him and that sort of power, someone being that devoted to you, is a little heady in a way that evan has never really experienced and barty would do anything bc he sees evan and he sees someone who wants to dig deep beneath the surface of him, someone who wouldn’t flinch away from whatever ugliness their digging revealed, bc both of them are so rotten at their cores imo, and he sees a sort of ascension, a higher purpose maybe… it’s absolute body and soul devotion, it’s ‘he could physically cut my heart to pieces and put it under a microscope and that would be divinity’

#apparently i had more to say than i thought….. whoops lmao hopefully this makes sense…#also please don’t hate me… i just think im more of a rare pair girly than a rosekiller one…. like i love them a lot and they definitely wor #in my mind. but i’m always just more interested in the slightly more rogue pairs… something about bartylus… something about bartylily…#something about lilyrosekiller actually which ig does include rosekiller in it. but anyway. hope this was good and interesting and sexy #thank you so so much for asking i love getting asks and it’s not weird at all bless your socks <333 #asks <3 #rosekiller #barty crouch jr #evan rosier

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blainesebastian · 2 years

Text

the benefits of getting stood up

words: 2,329 ship: austin butler x reader summary: (request from @stylesmendeshearted ) set after the Elvis hype settles down, you meet Austin for the first time in a dive bar in Los Angeles notes: this one was fun :) thank you! reminder that my masterlist is linked on my sidebar. warnings: none tag list: @killerqueenfan, @karamelcoveredolicity, @elizabethrosecresswell

Moving through the crowd in a dive bar in downtown Los Angeles, you hike up your black slip-dress just enough so that it doesn’t get caught on the stool you’re attempting to sit down on. You figured it might be busy but this is where your date wanted to meet so…you’re adapting. It’s been a while since you’ve been to a place like this, where the music is just slightly too loud and the people are a little too drunk to be enjoyable. Slipping your leather jacket off, you hang it up under the bar on the little hook and let out a breath, shaking out your shoulders.

Relax, dates are supposed to be fun, remember?

You feel yourself grimace in response but…are trying to remain positive. At least there’s a great selection of drinks and your feet aren’t sticking to the floor anymore because you’ve found an open seat at the bar—small victories.

There’s not enough room for…you glance at your messages, Nick, right, Nick. Because right when you turn to claim the stool next to you, someone else takes the seat. You don’t really look at his face, only the fact that he’s got black jeans on and long legs, which…nice, and you notice a pair of black booties to complete the look because one of them accidently knocks into your seat.

“Sorry,” He apologizes over the music, “Small spaces.”

“I know,” You smile a little, “Swear they design bars like this on purpose—tin can.”

A laugh rumbles in his chest, “I think in L.A. they call that ‘aesthetic’.”

You pillow your chin in the palm of your hand as you watch the bartender make his laps back and forth across the bar, making and taking drink orders, closing tabs. It’s a busy night, so you’re going to stay patient until you can order a beer. Besides, Nick isn’t here yet anyways.

“Oh yeah?” You turn a little bit towards the guy you’re talking to so it’s easier, “What do they call the sticky floors?”

He smiles, “Character.”

Your eyes tumble over his form a moment because…he looks really familiar, but you can’t quite grasp why. It’s like…recognizing a shape on an inkblot test even though you keep second-guessing yourself at what you’re seeing. Your brain tries to run through a bunch of scenarios, dreams, interactions, old friends, lovers, God—past dates but nothing seems to ring a bell. He’s tall, you’ve established that, slender but not in a ‘too skinny’ type of way, his clothes fit him well, hug where they need to.

There’s blonde curls whisped on top of his head like he’s done it on purpose and yet you have a feeling he probably just looks like this because some people are just naturally attractive. He seems like one of those people. Defined jaw, great cheekbones, a depth to his blue eyes, cupid bow lips. And yet you still have no fucking clue why you feel like you’ve…met, spoken or seen him somewhere before.

It's gonna bother you all night.

You’re about to pull the ‘you look familiar’ card when your phone buzzes. Pulling it out of the pocket of your dress, you blink at the message you’ve gotten from Nick but don’t really comprehend it, even after reading it three times.

Is this dude really standing you up?

“For fuck’s sake.” You mumble under your breath, texting back a few different responses before finally deciding not to say anything at all. Whatever, you were so-so on Nick, it doesn’t actually bother you that he’s not going to show up.

But this is like, the third time this is happened since you started trying to put yourself out there. “God, don’t ever sign yourself up for online dating—it’s a trap.”

And you have no fucking clue why you’re opening up to the guy next to you other than the fact that you’ve talked about interior bar designs and that he seems nice—and that he hasn’t randomly gotten up to find a different stool or moved on from the counter.

There’s a laugh there, sudden and sharp, like he…can’t quite believe what you’ve said. But he hides it against a sip of beer and wow, you obviously missed the opportunity to order with the bartender because you never even saw him come by, Jesus this night is shaping up to be terrible. You’re definitely not leaving without a drink.

You reach your arm out and attempt to softly wave at the bartender but he doesn’t see you (or doesn’t want to) and continues filling orders at the other end. You crinkle your nose, the handsome stranger next to you clearing his throat,

“I’ve never done online dating but I don’t think I would.”

You hum, pursing your lips. “Yeah, if I had your face I don’t think I would either.”

And interesting, you don’t expect there to be a blush from that compliment but there is, just lightly, along his cheekbones. He seems like the type to wear compliments well, like an armor, or preening like a sunflower towards the sun. But he doesn’t, there’s this boyish coyness to him even though his eyes tell a different story—like he could flirt with a beer glass and get something out of it.

He watches your pathetic excuse of an attempt to get the bartender’s attention one more time, “Don’t tell me you got stood up.” And then flicks his wrist and somehow grabs the dude’s attention in record time.

“What can I get you?” The bartender asks, super attentive and…yeah, that’s nice.

“She’d like to order a drink,” Handsome stranger says, “It’s on me.”

You raise your eyebrows and sputter for a few moments, not expecting that but then hurry up and give your order because the bartender is waiting and the last thing you want to do is hold him up when he’s got other things to do.

“Uhm—just whatever sour beer you have on tap, please. Anything fruit-wise works.”

He nods and grabs a pint glass and you turn on your stool to better face who you’re sitting next to, “You didn’t need to do that.” You tell him as another 90s pop song begins to play in the background.

“I wanted to—you clearly got stood up.”

Huffing out a bit dramatically and fluttering your hair along the edges of your face, you say, “I don’t need a pity beer.”

He smirks, “It’s empathy beer.”

You roll your eyes but you’re smiling as it’s set down in front of you. Tugging it a bit closer, you take a long sip and…well, free beer is free beer. So you air ‘cheers’ him in thanks and take another sip.

“Should probably know the name of the guy who’s buying my sympathy beers.”

Again, there’s that look on his face, a soft amusement that’s almost gone as soon as it appears. “Austin.”

“Y/N,” You offer a hand to shake and he smiles, your fingers brushing in gentle squeezing and—nice, he wears rings on his slender fingers. That’s attractive.

Then you sort of blink because Austin and it takes about three seconds before the backlog of information that you were searching for before frontloads your brain. That’s why he looks familiar? Because this is who you think it is, right? That guy from the Elvis movie, the one you saw plastered all over billboards and subways and in the banner of your HBO Max profile for, like, two weeks. The name kinda puts everything together, connects the dots, and the longer you look at him the more you’re sure he’s exactly who you think he is.

The universe really said ‘forget about Nick or whatever his name is from finance, here’s Austin Butler at a dive bar in downtown Los Angeles’. No wonder he’s lookin’ at you like you’re not from planet Earth—while the Elvis hype has significantly died down, there’s still some cities that are showing extended runs in theaters and Austin himself has become a particularly public icon.

And yet here he is, talking to you about failed online dates. Maybe you’re being Punk’d.

“Y/N,” You like the sound of that, way too enjoyable hearing him say it, “You been stood up before or?…I just wanna know how many beers you expect to order.”

“Do I have a limit?” You laugh softly, taking another sip of your beer, “You gonna start runnin’ up a tab on me?” He shakes his head, smiling, but before he can say anything you add, “Nah, this was the first time,” And hopefully the last, you’re probably gonna delete the app after this, “Should have known when Nick said he was an ‘entrepreneur’ as his job experience,” You crinkle your nose, “That’s always suspicious.”

“What kind of work do you do, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“I don’t,” You smile a little, “But only if you tell me what you do too.” Even though you know, obviously, but…it’s not necessarily a test of sorts but, you want to see what Austin will say. He has to know that you know at this point, right? Even though nothing’s been said?

He doesn’t say no, however, or shy away from the question.

“So I work in an aquarium,” You smile, straightening your shoulders a little. It’s a bit of preening, you’re very proud of the work you do, and you love it. “I do a lot of the tours, like guide students around or visitors, but I’m also studying to be a marine biologist. So it’s a lot of juggling.”

Austin purses his lips and he seems intrigued? Or maybe impressed, it’s hard to tell. Either way, you can’t stop thinking about what it’d be like if he stopped by your work, the reflective blue water casting pretty shadows on his skin, in his blonde hair, how much deeper his eyes would become. It’s a sight that gets trapped in the front of your mind for a few moments.

“What’s a one-liner from your tours—I know you got one.”

You grin, turning towards him a little until your knees knock together, but neither of you move away. The weight and heat of one another’s skin felt through the fabric of your clothes, “’Octopods have three hearts and the female octopus tends to eat the male after mating.’”

He chokes off a laugh as he sips his beer, “Seriously?”

“Seriously,” You laugh softly, “They just take no shit, definitely don’t let dudes named Nick stand them up at dive bars.”

Austin shakes his head—this man absolutely didn’t think he’d be talking to a stranger at a dive bar about sea creatures. You have to wonder how he’s kinda end up here though, why he’s by himself, why he’s at this bar compared to so many others that most likely don’t have sticky floors and not enough stools for the counter.

You chew on your lower lip, opening and closing your mouth as you process this question before finally just going for it, “What kind of work do you do?”

There’s a playfully dramatic breath out of his lungs as he looks over at you, “It’s not nearly as exciting as spending time with octopods all day.”

You laugh, that’s far too smooth, “Sometimes it’s sharks, you know. Jellyfish,” You crinkle your nose, “Sea urchins.”

Austin smiles and there’s a slight pause there, turning his beer glass in a half circle before finally, “I uh, I’m in film.” And there’s this…air to his voice where he seems to appreciate being able to answer for himself. That regardless that you’re past the shared point of knowing who he is, you’re not jumping down his throat with assumptions and questions.

“Film,” You repeat with a warm hum, “Do you like it?”

“I’m learning to love it.”

And that’s…not a response that you really expected from him if you’re being honest. It’s open, a bit vulnerable and interesting considering how far he’s come with the film’s popularity.

“That’s good, seeing as how you’re pretty great at it.” And you hope that’s not coming on too strong—just feels like he deserves that compliment, because you have seen a handful of his stuff. You still have yet to watch Elvis, despite how much it’s been in theaters and advertised…waiting for one of those weekends where you have time to yourself.

But you’ve seen clips and…from that alone? You know what you’re talking about.

He smiles, dipping his chin a little, “Thank you.”

You’re about to say something else when your phone buzzes and it’s your roommate, chewing on your lower lip as you read over her message. Damn. You look back up at Austin and…you don’t want to leave, but,

“That’s my roommate, she locked herself out of our apartment.” Taking one final sip of your beer, you slide off your stool. You’re about to pull out your card but then remember Austin picked up the tab for this, “Thanks again for the drink.”

You find yourself hesitating as you pull your jacket on and grab your purse…wondering if it’d be totally off the wall to give your phone number out to a celebrity but…wouldn’t be too crazy right? You have been sitting with him for the past hour, drinking and talking. Gathering up the courage, you turn and begin to speak,

“So I was wondering—” at the same time he says, “I think—”

You motion for him to continue and he clears his throat, “I was just sayin’, wouldn’t hate if we did this again, minus the Nick stuff.”

You raise your eyebrows, unable to stop a smile from tugging the corners of your mouth, “Oh you mean like a date? No one standin’ me up?”

“I won’t stand you up,” Austin smiles, “Promise.”

And that’s the thing, you’re gonna have to put yourself out on the line, trust him, see where it goes.

But suddenly? You’re feeling a lot more optimistic about dating.

Thank you for reading, commenting, liking, or reblogging! Appreciate it :)

#austin butler #austin butler x reader #austin butler imagine #austin butler drabble #austin butler fic #elvis 2022 #mccall writes things #tbogsu

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caspercryptid · 2 months

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OMG! The cooking prompt was so cute! I loved the way they were both so insistently tugging on the pot but are also like "You work so hard!" "No, you." ROFL It was great.

Also, sorry about overwhelming you with prompts! I got excited!

Drunk Gale and drunk Wyll at the tiefling party being silly (maybe a little sad at some points), maybe sharing a kiss, and then passing out next to each other (maybe in their arms?)

This one next?

Don't worry about overwhelming me!! I don't mind getting multiple prompts at a time, I just prefer to get them in separate asks so I can put the request fill in the reply individually, so feel free to ping me another couple, I'll reply to whichever ones i've got the brain for. —

“I have decided,” Gale says, tone serious, “that I hate you.” Wyll looks up. Gale is beautiful in the firelight, shadows dancing across his features, his robes swaying in the faint shifting air of people passing by and the waves of warmth from the fire, sound cushioning them both— distant laughter, revelry, the general hum of joy and people. The party was, however, starting to wind down, so it wasn’t quite so loud that Wyll could miss what Gale just said.

“I beg your pardon?” he says, anyway, because surely. Surely Gale of waterdeep did not just say that.

“I am here to tell you that I hate you,” Gale says, “You are distracting. A distraction. I missed a fire bolt today, and it’s on account of you.”

Wyll. squints. A little. His mind is moving a mite slow- he’s had a few drinks, passed enthusiastically into his hand by his friends and the tieflings, but holding this conversation up against similar conversations with gale to see if it makes sense is coming up with nothing. There doesn’t seem to be a context he could place this in. “Did I.... do something wrong?” He asks.

“Yes,” Gale says, and then fails to elaborate, which is frankly very unlike him. Wyll waits. Gale continues to fail to elaborate.

“—come and sit down,” Wyll decides.

“No,” Gale says, petulant, “I wouldn’t want to— keep you from your. Evening’s diversions. Although frankly it’s unprofessional.” “Unprofessional,” Wyll echoes.

“Yes, unprofessional. Lots of people make careers out of adventuring, and even if we were thrust into it, we could— follow professional standards. Of conduct.” “We could,” Wyll agrees, slowly, trying to see a way out of this conversation, but that seems to be the wrong answer, because Gale puffs up like a pigeon. Actually, it’s rather cute, the way he sticks his chest forward. Wyll always thought it was funny when people did that in fights. Trying to make themselves look bigger, as though size was ever an indicator of how well they were going to hold up in a fight. Wyll had fought some halflings, it really really wasn’t.

“You,” Gale says, and then fails to elaborate.

“Me,” Wyll agrees.

Gale open and closes his mouth, and then he says— “Lae’zel.” “—Yes?” Wyll tries.

“You’re— fornicating. With her.”

“...fornicating,” Wyll echoes, and then, hastily, “I know what it means, I just— um. No.” That seems to throw Gale off.

“...No?” He repeats.

“No,” Wyll repeats. “Uh, or, I did. A little while ago. We’re done. I’m not expecting a repeat performance, so if it bothers you—” He trails off, trying to understand what Gale’s expression is doing.

“Oh,” Gale manages. “Oh, I suppose that’s—-fine, then. She’s— not suited for you, anyway.” “Seems she agreed,” Wyll says, baffled.

“You ought to have someone more suited to your temperament,” Gale continues, “kinder, perhaps. Or. More understanding. Of you. More... like. Me.” Oh.

Wyll laughs, he can’t help it, but before Gale can get up in arms again he extends up his arms.

“Come here,” He says, encouraging, and then lets out a little Oof as Gale just sort of crumbles, landing on top of him and knocking him from his sitting position onto the ground. “Oops,” Gale mumbles. “Perhaps none of that is what I meant to say, perhaps i meant to say— something else—” Before Gale can invent a better lie, Wyll kisses him.

“—That’s better,” Gale says, when he comes up for air, and Wyll grins at him.

“It is,” He agrees, and decides he’s going to learn from experience not to run his mouth too much, and kisses Gale again.

#bladeweave #wyll ravengard #bg3 Wyll #bg3 Gale #gale of waterdeep #gale dekarios #gale x wyll #wyll x gale #casper's haunted fic tag #bg3

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beenbaanbuun · 2 months

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Hey bunny! Sorry for bothering you when I'm sure you're in the middle of perfecting the addams!matz fic, but I have a kinda specific request I'm not sure I'd trust anyone else with.

I've been feeling kinda low on the self esteem/body image scales, but whenever I look for comfort fics I find that a lot of them cater towards chubby or curvier readers, which is great! I'm really happy that authors are doing that... but as someone who has the figure of a crayon, and is insecure about not being curvy or "feminine" enough, or worse that I appear child-like, it kinda just serves as a reminder some days T-T

So would it be too self indulgent to request a comfort/body worship fic with either Mingi or Yeosang with an s/o who's not curvy and is insecure about it?

No hard feelings if that's outta your comfort zone tho! I geddit ^^

Have a good day bunny, hope you have nothing but happy, snuggly, cozy vibes <33

~Lyra

i get where you’re coming from completely!! i feel like as a curvier girl i’m very lucky because it’s fairly easy to find fics catered towards me. i guess due to my own ignorance i haven’t really taken notice of a lack of fics that don’t cater to me but now you point it out i can see that it’s definitely true! i hope that i can write this perfectly for you because i feel like everyone should have fics that include them!

so i’m under the impression that mingi does not give a fuck about body type in the slightest

i mean we’ve all seen his fan calls - the man flirts with anyone regardless of body type and he’s so real for that!

but despite your boyfriend’s love and affection, sometimes your own brain gets to you a little

and sometimes the time you spend picking yourself to pieces in the mirror increases to a level that’s become concerning to mingi

he’ll catch you from time to time, just standing there and running your hands over your form

and, sure, he may be a little oblivious sometimes, but he isn’t dumb; he knows that it can’t be anything good

it’s not really a surprise when the two of you are getting ready for a date night and he catches you doing the exact same thing

he doesn’t say anything as he crawls on the bed, choosing to relax as he waits for you to finish, but that doesn’t mean he isn’t worried

still, even with him wondering whether or not you’re okay, he can’t help but admire how pretty you look in that dress

the way it elegantly hugs your body, stopping at mid-thigh to reveal just enough of your pretty legs to draw him in, but not enough to send him feral

well, even more feral than usual that is; you could be dressed in a pair of ratty old pyjamas and that man would still find something to make his dick twitch

“mingi,” you say after a short while of him admiring you, “do you think i look alright?”

his brow furrows and he scoffs in dismay

he’s almost offended in a way because how dare someone say something like that about his girl?

then he remembers that you are his girl and the fact that you’re saying it should probably be more cause for concern than offense

“you look better than alright, princess,” he says, “you think i’d be sat here undressing you with my eyes if i didn’t?”

you send him a glare through the mirror

“that’s not the point, mingi,” you grumble, “i know you think i’m hot but…”

“but what?” he asks, voice thick with worry, “you’re not worried about what other people think of you, right?”

you begin to shake your head, although you feel like your denial isn’t necessarily true

so instead you shrug, and with a sigh you tear yourself away from the mirror so you can go and sit on the edge of the bed next to mingi

he budges his legs over, making space for you to perch yourself on the mattress

“i mean i guess so?” you say, “i just… i don’t want people thinking i look like a child or something, y’know?”

mingi doesn’t know - the last thing he thinks of you is ‘child’, but that doesn’t necessarily mean he can’t try and sympathise

he shifts one of his hands from behind his head to rub against your arm soothingly

“i don’t think you look like a child,” he says, “i think you look like my girlfriend; my very pretty, very sexy girlfriend, very mature-looking girlfriend.”

and while you appreciate his words, you can’t help but feel like they don’t mean much coming from him

it makes you feel bad, of course, but your boyfriend telling you you’re hot just doesn’t fill you with confidence about what everyone else thinks

“you don’t count,” you pout, “you have to think i’m hot.”

you don’t see the way mingi rolls his eyes before shoving himself into a sitting position

he shuffles his way over until he’s right behind you, close enough to swaddle your upper half in his overly-lengthy arms

he squeezes tight, just how he knows you like it

“i don’t have to think anything,” he kisses the spot just below your ear, “i think you’re hot because i have eyes and i can see that you’re hot.”

you can’t help but giggle as he nuzzled his nose into your neck, puffing out blasts of warm air against the sensitive skin

he always could find a way of making you laugh, even if in this situation, you’d personally class it as cheating

“well,” you say through your giggles, “i also have eyes and my eyes say the opposite!”

“yeah, but i don’t trust your eyes,” he kisses you, wet and sloppy and soft, against where your shoulder meets your neck, “they’re connected to your brain and me and your brain aren’t the best of friends.”

his hand move until they’re flat against your ribs, thumbs smoothing over the fabric of your dress

he almost wished the dress wasn’t there at all, wanting to feel the skin to skin contact, but he hardly thought now was the best time to ask you to strip

“you love my brain,” you counter, “my brain is me and you always tell me you love me!”

he smiles; you feel his teeth brush against you

“true,” he says, “but your brain is also mean to you, and anyone who’s mean to my baby is my enemy, okay?”

it’s a silly argument, but you can’t help but nod along in agreement

“good,” he says as he feels you give into his compliments, “now we have two choices; we either go out on the date, or we lie here and cuddle. it’s up to you, princess.”

you know which one he’d prefer; the way he’s stuck himself to you back like a limpet is enough evidence of that

but you can’t quite decide for yourself

one one hand you’re already dressed and made up, plus the fact that you’ve been wanting to go to this place for ages now and tables are really hard to book

on the other, taking the uncomfortable shoes off and crawling into bed next to your overly-clingy boyfriend seemed just so tempting

perhaps the choice isn’t that hard after all, you realise as you lean over - boyfriend still very much attached to you - to grab your makeup wipes

“pick a film, then,” you instruct as you take one out of the packet and begin to rub at your face, “and make it a good one!”

#ateez x reader #ateez fanfic #ateez oneshot #ateez scenarios #ateez fluff #ateez fic #ateez headcanons #mingi fluff #mingi x reader #mingi fanfic

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bonfireheart · 2 years

Text

title: Not Enough Time, Too Many People

blurb: the one in which Scarlett doesn’t mean to ignore you, but all you want is your mother. (Teen!Fem!Reader)

warnings: swearing, yelling, fighting, sexism, high school violence/bullying

“Rose! Get off!”

I struggled against my little sister as she wrestled herself on top me, hitting me across my face and chest in the process.

“Play with me!”

Her voice wavered, sadness intwined into her tone as she stared at me with the best puppy dog eyes she could muster in attempt to convince me to indulge in her game.

“No Rose, I’ve got work to do. Go play alone in your room!”

We tussled some more before I accidentally shoved her a little too hard and she fell to the floor with a large thud. And as quickly as she had been to run into my room and start bugging me, the waterworks turned on, filling not just my room, but the whole house. Her wails were loud and deafening.

I looked up to see my mother running into the room, with Colin in tow, concern written over their faces as they made their way towards the source of the noise.

“Oh my munchkin, what’s happened here? Shh it’s okay.” She spoke as she bundled Rose into her arms, and sat herself on my carpet at the child’s level.

With a shaky finger and jutted lip, I was pointed at like a deer caught in headlights. The two adults stared at me with disappointment etched on their aura and face.

“Wait hold on! I know how this looks but really-“

“Don’t. You should know better, Y/N. She’s just a kid.”

‘I’m a kid too…’ filled my brain but that might cause more harm than good if I say it out loud. I just awkwardly huffed and mumbled a “sorry” under my breath, watching as the three of them walked back out of the room. I heard faintly some promises of “Cuddles”, “Sisters a meanie” and “Ice Cream”.

Should I have pushed my sister that hard? No. But it’s not like I meant to. It feels like the worlds been piling on top of me lately, school, assignments, the family name and trying to start my professional career in soccer. I used to have it so under control, but now it seems like everyone wants everything from me and I’ve not got time to even remember myself. I feel useless because I can’t do what’s asked of me, mom manages to keep up, so why can’t I? Rose coming in here and messing around with my work, and hitting herself against me threw me over the edge. It’s been a long time coming, my stress was just waiting for someone to tip the ship.

Normally, I’d go to my mom for when I needed a break from life, or advice but it seems that every time I try she’s just too busy, tired or annoyed. Furthermore, it’s not like I want her to worry about me. She’s got enough to deal with. Alas, I’ve tried, and will continue to try. I just don’t know what it will take for her to finally remember I’m her child and not a colleague or friend.

•/\•

“Hey mama, can you just look at this tactic I’ve been working on real quick? I could use another opinion on it.”

“Oh uh, I’m sorry, I’ve got to run over to Chris’ house, he needs help with a script. Definitely show it to me later though!”

Front door slammed shut.

“Don’t bother…” I spoke out to the now empty house.

•/\•

“Mom, do you think we could watch a movie together? We haven’t spent time together in ages.”

“Y/N my love, I’d really love to, but mom is really tired right now and I’m in desperate need of sleep. Do you think you could help Rose with her homework? Thanks.”

“…no proble-“

Her bedroom door shuts in my face.

•/\•

“Ma, could you drop me at my friends house? I’ve got a project I need to work on for school.”

“For heavens sake Y/N, can you not see I’m absolutely swimming in work right now? I’ve been in and out calls all day and you think I’ve got all the time in the world? Go bother Colin, or better yet, walk.”

I ended up catching the bus that day, which was met by its own swarm of problems. And by problems, I mean paparazzi absolutely surrounding the bus at each stop, waving cameras into the windows, desperately searching to get pictures of me.

•/\•

“Johansson! You’re late. Five laps!”

“Yes coach! Sorry coach!”

I internally cursed myself as I began to pace around the field. Why can’t I just do anything right recently? Everything just isn’t going my way at all, and I don’t know what I did in my past life to deserve what has happened to me over the past few weeks.

By the time I had hit my fourth lap, I cringed as I saw the boys’ team slowly making their way to practice. This never ended well, ever. I saw them snickering as they watched me run.

“Hey Y/N, coach got you running because you’re so useless at soccer?”, “How’s the whole famous mom thing working out for you now?”, “God you are shit at soccer, but look at those tits bounce!”.

“Shut the fuck up Theo!” I slammed to a stop.

“Yeah, no.”

“Well, ‘those tits’ are not attracted to you, or your tiny dick. Or tiny brain, for that matter.”

“Fucking bitch! Think you’re so tough? I’ll fucking show you tough.”

I readied myself as he came charging toward me, knocking me to the ground. We fought on the floor for a bit, he threw punches at me, I threw some at him. The pair of us rolled around for what felt like forever before both our coaches had untangled us from each other.

“The principals office, now! I’ve had it up to here with you two constantly!”

•/\•

“A fight, seriously Y/N? I did not raise you to be violent.”

I side glanced my mom from my highly uncomfortable place in the passenger seat.

“I had to leave the office to come get you. I was in a meeting about new products and was interrupted by a phone call from your damn school. Do you know how embarrassing it was to try and keep a straight face in front of my own staff?”

I slightly shuffled nearer the door, and laid my head back against the cool, black leather.

“You know, a sorry wouldn’t be out of order right now!”

I watched as her grip on the steering wheel got tighter.

“Aren’t you going to ask me?”

“What would I possibly ask you right now?”

“Why I fought him…”

I grumbled lowly and I’m more surprised she wasn’t getting more annoyed at my attitude. This is the first time in ages we’ve actually had a proper conversation, granted it seems pretty one sided right now, but still. The car pulled into the houses driveway, her eyes bore into the side of my head. I refused to look at her. I knew if I did, I would just start crying.

“You are a Johansson. I know you didn’t ask to be born one, but it’s too late for that. You have a name to keep, and you are damn lucky for it too.”

I scoffed and turned my head even further away from her. Of course that was her go to, ‘you have a famous name, so don’t jeopardise my job’. I bit my lip and roughly shoved my seatbelt off of me. My bag was already sat on my lap, and so I hastily got out of the car and paced towards the front door.

I could quickly feel her coming from behind me, but I didn’t bother to hold the door open for her, instead letting it slam shut just before she had reached it. I marched into the kitchen where Colin and Rose were situated, him making lunch whilst Rose sat and watched.

“How dare you! You do not walk away from me young lady, especially not in this situation. And go to your room! I’ll talk to you when you decide to act like your age.”

Groaning, I shoved my way past her, brushing against her shoulder lightly.

“I hate your job, I hate myself and I hate being a fucking Johansson!”

I saw as her face registered what I said, and it dropped significantly. I was too emotional to care, and instead stomped my way upstairs to my room, banging the door shut and throwing headphones on, blasting music to take my mind off of life.

•/\•

Three hours had passed, I was kicking a football against the wall, watching it bounce back to me and then kicking it again.

I’d turned off my music a while ago, hearing a completely silent house, and thus I’d presumed the three of them had gone out without me. Suits me.

Creak.

My bedroom door opened softly and slowly, I watched as my mom slowly emerged from behind it. Her tearful face alarmed me, and made me feel even more guilty and deflated than before. She had a tray with two cups of steaming liquid and a bowl of cut up fruits with two forks.

“No balls in the house in the house, you remember what happened last time sunshine.”

And though I was anxious at her being here and possibly annoyed, I couldn’t help but let a small smile fall onto my features. It’s like my heart was completely betraying my brain. I don’t know if it was the memory of me accidentally putting a ball-shaped dent in the kitchen wall, or the fact that she used a nickname I once knew all too well that I haven’t heard in ages. It’s been months since she’s mentioned it, but it still falls so naturally from her lips. It brings me comfort, a feeling a warmth that nobody else could ever give me.

I let the ball come to a stop as she pushed her way further into the room, placing the tray down on my side table and sitting cross legged on my bed. She stared at where I was stood, a glint in her eyes showcasing her silent plea for me to come sit down in front of her.

I accepted the invitation and took place in front of her, letting my legs hang loosely over the side of the mattress. A silence lulled over like a wave in the sea once again, and I could tell she was struggling to get words out, perhaps not even knowing how or where to start.

“You know I am so proud of you, right?”

Good choice. My heart welled at her praise, it’s the only thing I ever want. The whole world could hate me, but as long as mom is on my side, I could take on everything. A sheet of tears blurred over my eyes instantly, and I inhaled a sharp breath. I didn’t think I would break this easily, but here we are, the first sentence of this conversation and I’m already about to cry.

“We are going to talk after, but first you are just going to listen to me and what I have to say.”

I nodded, waiting for her to continue.

“I’m so proud of you, ok? My Angel, you were my gift from the heavens above. I don’t say it a lot, and I’m sorry. I started acting when I was very young, my world turned upside down and nothing felt right anymore. Until I had you. It felt like my heart was whole for the first time in years. I know I haven’t been showing that to you lately, and that’s my fault. I haven’t given you the attention you deserve recently, and I wish I had a reason good enough to explain why. But I don’t, nothing will ever justify my actions. You are my child, and you always will be, not matter how old you get. Sometimes I get worried that as you get older, you won’t want to be around me as much anymore, and I guess my way of dealing with that was just helping speed up the process. I want you to know that I will never make you feel this way again. You are so beautiful and talented, and anyone who makes you feel otherwise is blind. I love you more than life itself, sunshine.”

A stray tear fell down her cheek, clearly demeaning her attempts of keeping her emotions at bay, and she learnt forward to carefully pull me into her arms. I hadn’t even tried to stop myself from crying, all the emotions of the past few weeks was coming to head, and I manoeuvred myself right up against her. I don’t care how old I am now, I forgot how nice it was to just sit in her arms. They are the most comforting blanket ever made. Even though I’ve grown, I’m taller than my mom now and I’ve built myself up playing sport, I knew I looked so feeble cuddling into her. This is all I’ve been craving for.

We simply sat like that for a while. The only noise were the occasional sniffles from either of us, just desperately holding on to each other as if one was going to leave.

“You wanna tell me how you ended up in a fight?”

“…”

“Ok, I don’t want to ruin this moment, but I will go back to strict mom if you don’t.”

I grumbles under my breath as the image of Theo filled my mind, taking me back to the past events of today.

“Just Theo…”

I laughed as I saw the look of distaste appear on mom’s face at the mention of his name. She knew everything about him. If she could pick me up from practice, or if she’d managed to sneak away from work to watch one of my games, she’d always take me out for a milkshake and fries. It was our thing. I’d sit and tell her about my day which would inevitably involve the teenage douchebag.

“I know you tell me to just ignore him but I just couldn’t this time. He was saying stuff about you and then about my body…I had to retaliate.”

She didn’t say anything at first, instead she just studied my face. I shot her a confused look and she reached forward to cup my chin in her hand, pushing it upwards and to the side.

“You’ve got bruises forming on your nose and eye…”

“If you think I look bad, you should of seen him.”

Mom struggled to hide her smile at me, as she jokingly slapped my arm. Without another word, she pulled my face back into her and she cradled my head whilst stroking my hair.

“If you ever feel like you are starting to not like yourself, I want you to come to me, ok? Straight away, without fail. I promise I’ll listen from here on out.”

I nodded into her from where I was situated. Her floral scent filled my nose and it just felt like home.

#scarlett johansson x reader #scarlett johansson #Scarlett johansson x teen!reader #Scarlett johansson x kid!reader #marvel cast #marvel cast x teen!reader #natasha x reader #natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff x teen!reader

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