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dilucids · 3 years

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ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤCelebrity crush, Genshin boys idol! au

admitting you're their celebrity crush and their reaction to your reaction

includes: kaeya, diluc, zhongli and xiao

( can't stop thinking about idol! au genshin. any type of celebrity but it's hinted that you're a singer in xiao's. )

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ〔 KAEYA ALBERICH ━━ FROSTWIND SWORDSMAN 〕

━━ this man is sooooo fucking slick with it.

━━ he'll slyly bring it up in an interview or a live with a smirk on his face and then act as if it never happened when someone questions him.

━━ his members just stares at him when he brings you up, knowing, that beneath that sly persona and nonchalant act, there was millions pounds worth of fan merchandise in his room.

━━ he would evade the subject and if it's an interview, the host would have to pry answers from his members instead as he sits there proudly with a smile on his face as his members tell his fan behaviour instead of him.

━━ in a live, he would somehow convince his fans they were hallucinating but someone would post the clip and everyone would just go ballistic, it'd be one of those "top ten things i can't believe kaeya managed to get away with: gaslighting his fans into believing they were crazy."

"Who's your favourite celebrity?" Kaeya reads out from the comments passing quickly through his Instagram live, he pretends to think. A smile forms on his face when he 'decides' on an answer, "probably [Name]."

He watches the comments speed through even quicker before changing the subject, dropping the matter as if it never happened. His fans are all freaking out though, wanting to get more details on his crush on the celebrity but Kaeya ignores all comments about the subject. They never die down though, only ending when Kaeya himself ends the live.

━━ you may have ended on the same show some time after him and the host brings it up ( 100% planned for views ).

━━ it makes you smile because you've already been informed about this topic by your fans and kaeya's.

━━ you'd end up thanking kaeya for the support and say that you've also been lowkey a fan of his group but you've never openly stated that to anyone.

━━ his fans and your fans immediately get to work and start tagging kaeya's insta/twitter, group and personal, under the clip of you shyly admitting you're a fan of his also and he goes mental.

━━ probably sits there watching the entire interview with a huge smile on his face, and it doesn't leave, not even after he finishes the interview ( bonus: diluc is very disturbed ).

━━ HUGE ego boost for the rest of the day. kaeya's normally very confident but he's extra confident, like starts strutting around like he's the shit and even had the balls to nod his head at diluc as if to say "what's up" with the largest shit eating grin on his face.

━━ diluc definitely thought he was picking a fight.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ〔 DILUC RAGNVINDR ━━ DARKNIGHT HERO 〕

━━ more likely to come from one of his members than him.

━━ or he'd be very smooth with it, and brings it up rather subtly. it'd be a small "oh, i ingest their content and enjoy it" and he'd just continue about his day

━━ and his fans will still go insane because diluc actually enjoying something seems weird, especially another celebrity's work

━━ this would obviously reach you, who was an open fan of his group, and you'd freak out when you see it but wouldn't bring it up because he only said he enjoyed your work, not he was a fan.

━━ would definitely get questioned if he was being interviewed on a talk show, he wouldn't evade the question.

━━ he doesn't really see a point in lying, so he simply shrugs and tells the host that he is a fan and owns some merchandise.

"Diluc, a few fans are curious about your statement the other day," the host redirects the questions to Diluc, who raises an eyebrow. "Is it true that you're a fan of [Name]?"

The question makes his heart pick up a little, he leans back on his chair and clears his throat, composing himself before nodding. "I am a fan," the host seems happy by his response. The conversation continues to steer in this direction, asking Diluc if he had attended any fan meetings or merchandise, how he would feel if you two collaborated for a project and then finally ending once the host asks other members if they were fans of anyone.

━━ he thinks nothing of it, continuing with his day as usual but when he gets mentioned by your twitter? the man loses his shit.

━━ he sits there staring at his screen like he was hallucinating and literally tunes everything else out, staring at your little: "i'd love to work with you too!" message with a small smiley face at the end.

━━ he checks the account multiple times just in case it was one of his fans trolling him but clicking on the @ takes him back to your account so he gives in at some point

━━ he types out a normal, professional "thank you, i hope a time comes when we can collaborate" and "i look forward to more of your works" but he's still losing his shit.

━━ stays in his mind for at least a week.

━━ fans always bring up the fact that y'all never did end up collaborating.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ〔 ZHONGLI ━━ VAGO MUNDO 〕

━━ the public is very aware.

━━ he's never made an attempt to hide how he is a fan, not even the massive poster in his room or the little keychain that he hangs on his bag nor the red eyeliner belonging to a makeup brand that you became a brand embassador for, also now one of his favourite brands.

━━ so no one is really surprised when he talks about you or your upcoming work, what is kinda surprising is when he straight up says that he says you're his ideal type.

━━ not because it's shocking that you'd be anyone's ideal type but because they didn't expect the out of the blue question from host and it's even more mind boggling when the man doesn't even stutter nor even think before just saying your name.

━━ members are sat beside him literally losing their shit in both negative ( scandals and shit ) and positive ( it's fucking hilarious ) ways as he just blinks.

━━ he doesn't even look the slightest bit worried as he stares dead straight through the host's head.

━━ obviously scandals emerge, there are positive and negative reactions. some people suddenly realise how good you two would look together and others are mad you "stole" their man because we have delulus in all fandoms.

"So Zhongli," the host starts before clearing his throat, obviously a tad uncomfortable under the eldest member's sudden gaze, "who is your ideal type?" The members also seem curious, as they stop their interactions, staring over at their unusually emotionless member.

One member laughs, waving the question off as a joke and as a way to avoid any possible scandals, knowing that Zhongli wouldn't filter his words due to his lacking understanding of social cues. "C'mon, there's no way that he has an id━━"

"If I had to say, then [Name] suits my preferences." The member who tried to wave it off blinks, staring at Zhongli like he just murdered someone and other members laugh. The host seems pleasantly surprised, peering at the camera with a raised eyebrow and a certain look on his face. The entire studio never gets over it.

━━ it's brought to your attention on twitter because twitter is usually where shit goes down.

━━ you've always been aware that zhongli has been a fan but you've never been able to speak up about it due to your management.

━━ luckily for you, your contract with your previous strict company had ended just a while ago and under your new management, you were more free to do whatever you wanted.

━━ so obviously, you quote tweet the video, tag his account and say in a jokingly way that he should take you out on a date first.

━━ he doesn't publicly reply to your tweet because he already got in trouble with his management for answering such a risky question anyways and your tweet is a little too suggestive.

━━ but he also wants you to know he has seen the tweet. so his solution? to slip into your dms.

━━ and all of a sudden, the next time you're both seen together, you're besties? so people started connecting dots and shit, were they good at connecting them. moral of the story: never underestimate zhongli fans because collectively, they may be able to beat zhongli in an iq test.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ〔 XIAO ━━ CONQUEROR OF DEMONS 〕

━━ best believe this man got death threated or held at gunpoint into admitting you're his celebrity crush.

━━ or he didn't do it at all and his members confessed for him just to tease him.

━━ happens on a group live, members are just vibing.

━━ xiao is sat in the back somewhere, scrolling through his phone with his earphones in so he doesn't notice his members shifting the camera to him or jumps onto him whilst holding the camera.

━━ when he does notice though, he takes out his earbud and your song just blARES through his earphone and it's fucking loud.

━━ he immediately turns it down but his fellow member already has this shit eating grin on his face and jumps onto xiao, successfully grabbing his phone and showing the live of 100k+ people.

━━ his homescreen is one of those "boyfriend/girlfriend/partner material" lockscreens of you and it shows that your song had been playing.

━━ xiao literally attacks his members and grabs his phone back, walking off to escape the embarrassment but can hear the echoing laughter as he walks down the hallway and slams his door closed.

Xiao lets out a sudden 'oompf' when his members glomps right ontop of him, grinning widely as they held up a camera to show off themselves and Xiao. Glancing at the camera, Xiao takes off an earbud, freezing when a loud upbeat tune echoes throughout the open area. Xiao ignores the feeling of his face heating up and turns down the song, ignoring the obvious gleeful stare of his member.

Almost on instinct, he moves his phone away but curse his parents for their genes because all it takes is a little stretching for his member to have his greasy fingers all over his phone, ripping it out of his hands and immediately running away to shield themselves from the wrath of all 5" and a bit of Xiao. When they deem it safe, they click on the home button of the screen, grinning amused at the homescreen.

"Look at fanboy Xiao!" And just like that, Xiao's cold demeanour had been shatteres infront of a plethora of people.

━━ you find it one of the most endearing things ever.

━━ literally how could you not? you find pride in yourself to have such a popular member of an idol group enjoy your work and it helps gain a little more confidence in yourself.

━━ it's brought up on a talk show kinda casually where the host is one of your friends so they are slightly teasing you for it all the whilst remaining on the professional side.

━━ and it's obvious to say that you're embarrassed by the way you chuckle and mess with your fingers and hair, but you hold yourself together anyways and manage a sweet "thank you for the support" to xiao when the host asks if you wanted to say something in case he was watching.

━━ and the very next day, on xiao's official instagram, he has a signed album and poster of yours, tagged and everything.

#genshin scenarios #genshin #genshin impact #genshin headcanons #genshin x gender neutral reader #genshin x reader #genshin xiao #genshin kaeya #genshin zhongli #genshin diluc #xiao x reader #zhongli x reader #kaeya x reader #diluc x reader

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tommyspeakycap · 3 years

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Hi love, I adore your writing so much! And as you just asked for some ideas/concepts here’s mine for Jack Grealish from prompts list 2: fluff #11 where he’s asking her (she’s his best friend) to go for a walk cause there’s so much going on in his life and he just needs to talk. fluff #36, angst #31 and a happy ending please? Basically a Best friends to lovers thing as I’m a sap for that…thank you!! xx

Fluff #11; “I know it’s 2 in the morning but do you want to…”

Fluff #36; “because I fell for you, isn’t it obvious?”

hope I did this justice for you!

Fell for you

“Jesus god,” you grumbled with hands aimlessly palming across the mattress for the blaring sound of your phone from its place charging somewhere on the bed. Your next move is an elongated “Ahhhhh,” sound, fatigue still holding tightly onto your body in a way that seals your eyes shut even as you try to shut off the sound your phone was deafening your with. In a wakened state, you might’ve noticed that it was your ringtone that had interrupted your sleep. However as tired as you were you ruled it as your alarm right away and moved yourself into seated position with the duvet still wrapped tight around you and your eyes still shut.

You were suspended in that space between being asleep and being awake, still sitting up when the offensive sound came screaming through your phone once again.

This time, your eyes snapped open in fright and the fatigue-blurred letters of Jack Grealish’s name popped up across the top of your screen.

“How is it morning already?” You protest down the line, a heavy sigh passing your lips to follow. Jack’s chuckle can be heard through the line, “It’s not.” He replies simply, prompting you to pull your phone away from your ear to hold out in front if your face.

02:17am

“Then why on earth am I up?” You mumble, a question more posed to yourself than the man on the other end. “Wait, why are you up? And why are you calling so early?”

“I’m outside your door.”

“You’re what?!” You throw back your duvet and swing your legs over the side of the bed. You’ve hung up the phone already by the time you reach the front door at a tired shuffle. His hair is tousled when you see him, like he’s been running his hands through it over and over, you imagine that he has. He does that when he’s stressed. You have to squint against the street lights and his car headlights outside, still on as it sits running on the street. “Can we go somewhere?” He asks, his voice as desperate as his eyes look when he speaks, begging you to agree. Not that he would need to beg. You’d do anything for that man. Even if it did mean dragging yourself from your bed at 2 in the morning.

“Course.”

No question, no pressure. He loves that from you. He knows you’ll ask him later and when the time is right you’ll force him to tell you of course. Now is not that time yet and you’re nowhere near awake enough to do so much anyway. “Let me just grab my-“

“I have a hoodie in the car and your shoes in my boot.” He cuts in, tugging your arm gently out the door of your house. He knows you better than any other person in this world, so he knows full and well that there’s not much you are going to do in the way of protesting when you’re so soon out of sleep. He’d often teased with layers of worry deeper beneath that he genuinely worried for you living on your own. You open the door to people far too easily, and he will not fail to bring that up sometime tomorrow. For now, he steps into your doorway where you had stood moments before, grabs your keys from the cabinet and pulls the door closed behind him with a click of the latch locking behind him.

The cold paving stones beneath your feet make you shine in protest, shifting your weight between each one to ease the chill. In was in that cold that you look down and make the realisation, or rather come to remember the fact that you don’t have any pyjama bottoms on. “Jack!” You yelp, “I’m not wearing trousers!” You suddenly feel very exposed and rightly so, standing outside your home suddenly very awake in only a long claret and blue shirt that only extended down to the middle of your thighs. “Eh?” He whips around, “You what?”

It’s only now he really takes you in with rosy cheeks from embarrassment, your hair messed up from your sleep. His frantic eyes soften and his heart stops thundering in his chest finally. The sight of you there calms him. You’re there. Right there. His (y/n) is right there in front of him.

“What’s the rush, Jack? Is everything okay?”

Your gentle words and tired eyes bring him back to the ground, the flurry of his racing thoughts only now finally calmed. He often acts on impulse, but you are always able to slow his brain down a few paces. His sits heavily, "I know it's two am but...do you think we could go somewhere. My heads fuckin'... I don't even know." He dips back down to run that hand through his hair once again. His words stoke a bit of a worry in you, head tilted to the side in question. Jack doesn't tend to be the kind who gets himself panicked and all wound up like he has right now. That's more your half of the friendship. You did the worrying, he did the easygoing.

"It's okay, Jack. Of course. Come on then, let's go." You nod your head and he goes around the back of the car to get the shoes and socks he promised you. You very nearly choked up a lung when he presented you with a brand new Balenciaga box. "What the fuck, Jack?" You all but wheeze out, head whipping towards him climbing into the passenger seat.

"Got you a present 'cause I'm leaving soon." He shrugs with a jaw-dropping ease. You list open the lid and inside sit a pair of sliders that cost nearly £400. You physically gawp. "Oh my god."

"What?" Jack asks, drawing out of his parking spot on the street, "Heard you telling your mum you needed new sliders for the summer, do you not like 'em?"

His nerves would be clear in his voice if you hadn't been in such a ferocious level of shock. You're glad you weren't eating anything because it surely would have choked you to death. Of course you had seen Jack wearing brands like Balenciaga, Gucci, Versace and the likes, but you had never owned such an expensive piece of clothing. "I mean of course I love them, J but I meant from Primark or bloody amazon, you shouldn't have spent al that money on me." You protested, but Jack really pays it no mind. In fact, the suggestion that you don't deserve everything luxurious that this world has to offer offends him more than it does anything else. You should know that you deserve everything good that this world can give and he has the means to actually give that to you. He'd count himself an absolute fool not to.

"Gonna pretend you didn't say that." He mutters, eyes kept carefully on the empty road ahead of his car. Your eyebrows are furrowed, a part of you brain still very much trying to a) wake up and b) process the expensive of the gift he handed to you so casually. "Not arguing about it either." His voice cuts you off the second you open your mouth to speak, shutting down your protest before it even leaves you.

As the fatigue of your sleep wears off, your mind continues to be just as boggled as it had been the moment his name popped up on your screen at 2am, if not more boggled now.

"You're acting so weird, Jack. What the hell is going on with you today?" Your insistence is careful with your pressure. It's enough to try to open him up but not enough to make it sound like a confrontation. Neither you nor Jack like confrontation especially with each other. The words make him chew on his lip as he careens the large white range rover through a turn that leads up a gravel road that crunches beneath his tires. The stops when he's met with a with a large gate that prevents cars but a little slot for people to walk through. Jack leaves his door open when he leaves the car with a curtly mumbled "Stay here" as he does. He pushes open the gate with ease before he gets back in the car and follows the path up the hill further.

He stop abruptly in a very small gravel car park without any parking lines to abide and steps out, slamming his door behind him like he absolutely always does; you swear that man couldn't be quiet if his life depended on it. Which was another reason why you were so surprised by his silence. You clamber out after him with that same fear of falling flat on your face that always fills your mind each and every time you leave his car. But Jack is where he has been every time you step out the Range Rover since the first day he got it; standing by your door to hold your hand so you can jump out without a trip onto the gravel beneath. He shuts the door behind you and hands you a spare pair of his loose fitting track pants.

On an average day you might've teased the reason he hasn't worn them was because they wouldn't have squeezed the life out his legs. Today wasn't one of those days, so you slip them on without a word. Followed up by his way too big for you socks and the brand new black slides. Even wide awake, this confuses you to no end. Jack was never quiet and never elusive. He was boisterous, loud, open and confident.

The second you turn around, you realise why he brought you here.

The view of the stars, the sky completely clear. There wasn't a street lamp in sight. The moon provided the kind of spotlight hue that you kind of thought only existed in the enhancement of Hollywood movies. "Woah," you breathe, words stolen by its beauty.

"Yeah," Jack laughs, "Now you know how I feel every time I look at you."

You head turns to him so fast it sends your head spinning a little, or maybe that's just the shock of his words. You couldn't tell.

"What?"

He shrugs his shoulders, scuffing his feet along the gravel to meet up with where you stand. But he freezes before he gets the chance.

"Why are you wearing that?" He asks, a very sudden cold change in his tone that actually makes your body feel colder. "Wearing what? This?" You gesture to the claret and blue shirt you had thrown on in a haste to get to him standing at your front door a short while ago. You turn to see his unhappy scowl and the firm discontented cross of his strong arms. "Yeah that," he grumbles, "And where'd you even get it." He adds with a flare of his nostrils. He looks adorable angry like this, like he's trying so hard to look angry when his emotions lie truly elsewhere.

You look down at the shirt with furrowed brows, before you shift your shoulder forward, crane your neck and pull the material around to view the back as best you could. "What's wrong with it?" You ask finally, attempts to defy the natural state of your body failing to allow you to see your back.

"It's Ginny's." Jack states as if its the most obvious thing in the world. You just look at him bewildered. "And?"

He huffs as he takes a few more heavy steps up to you, looking like he had a lot of things to say without any way of being able to get them to coordinate from his brain to his lips. "Why do you have Ginny's shirt though?"

You breathe a little bit of laughter at him, shaking your head softly. "it was just a joke. I saw him after a match waiting for you so I jumped out at him and pretended to be a fan for a video and he signed it and gave to me as a joke. I just threw it on when you showed up at my door in the middle of the night. Wasn't exactly a fashion statement."

Jack still grunts in dissatisfaction at your answer, refusing to meet your eyes. "You have plenty of mine to wear though, don't need his." His argues in a disgruntled grumble. You raise and drop your arms down by your side with a sigh. He was really testing your patience now. "Hm, last time I checked you couldn't give me yours anymore because your ex didn't like it." You protest with a wag of your finger, making him turn his head downwards with something like a shudder running through him at the mention of her name. "Yeah well there's a reason she's my ex innit." He mutters under his breath.

"What the hell is the problem with you today Jack?" You exclaim, his eyes jolting to you in surprise. You don't often snap.

"First you show up at my door in the middle of the night and drag me out of my house and then you won't actually speak to me and now you're picking a fight about John M fucking Ginn?" You snap, the anger and confusion he had stirred up showing in your emphatic hand gestures that only come out when you're telling him a passionate story or going off your head at him. "He's your best mate, why would that even bother you?!"

"I'm sorry, I-"

"I'm not done, Jack!" You yell, holding out a hand. "You haven't even spoken to me all week. I found out you made the England call up on fucking twitter Jack, twitter! And your mum told me about you dumping your girl and I can't even get through to you and now you're buying me gifts and bringing me here? I don't know if I'm coming or going here Jack, you have to give me something. We're meant to be friends." You voice breaks on the last syllable and a lump forms in Jack's throat that he can't just swallow away. Any pain, any hurt and any slight sadness of emotion that appears in you shatters his heart. He thought that was a normal reaction until two weeks ago when he realised it only happens to him when its your upset he witnesses.

"I'm sorry." He says, his voice thick and wavering with the same level of emotion. "I really, really am." He stands right in front of you now, so close you're basically chest to chest, faces merely inches apart.

"And I'm scared." He admits, sending a pang through your already aching heart. "Scared because I'm leaving and I can't take you with me." His words tickle your lips as they leave his, clouds of air puffing above the two of you as his hot breath meets the cold night air. "You've done it before, J. It'll be fine." You soothe, hands gently raising to reach up and brush the hair out of his face. His let's forth a content sigh of relief at the feeling of your touch. "That was before though." He confesses with a slight shrug. He watches that furrow sow itself back into your brows.

"Before what?"

"Dance with me?" He suggests, his arms finding their way around you with ease, much less fumbley than you remember from your high school prom. Your head tilts in that adorable confused way that makes a grin form on his cold lips.

"Why?" You query, eyes slightly narrowed in suspicion. He laughs softly. "Because the music is slow and the sky is gorgeous and because I love you."

Before you get the chance to recognise, process or even understand what he said, he's swaying you around the gravel under the stars.

"Because you what?" You squeak, your eyes desperately searching his as you look for any reason this might be some kind of a joke or one of pranks that makes you want to throttle him. He just smiles at you with those crinkled eyes and the love shining right there in his eyes for you to see. Your stomach flutters like the teenager you were when you fell in love with him. His lips dip down to capture yours in the best kiss that your being has ever felt, his hands ringing your hair, stroking down over your cheeks with those warm hands of his.

"Because I've fell for you, isn't it obvious?"

#jack grealish imagines #jack grealish imagine #jack grealish x reader #jack grealish prompt #jack grealish blurb #england national team imagine #england national team #footballer fics #football fics

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janumun · 3 years

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The Pirate's Symbol(s): NSFW Alphabet [IkeSen Motonari]

Game: Ikemen Sengoku Pairing: Motonari/Female Reader

Rated: NSFW/18+ Words: 2.5k

Warnings: stockings fetish, spoilers for Motonari’s ‘condition’, sexual intercourse, mentions of exhibitionism/semi-public sex, (non-sexual) bondage, innuendoes and dirty-talk, masturbation

Author’s Notes: Motonari’s entire self is a joy, his route gave me some much needed, invigorating enemies-to-lovers, and I officially love him! [Totally swiped my heart right up without warning!]

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

Motonari is quick — you’d almost say adept — at sweeping off a cloth, or container, placed by your bedside. Although, your touch and whatever fire you generate in between the two of you does not bother him, he does prefer you both cleaner of the mess and fluids when holding you close in his arms, afterwards.

Wiping up the remnants of your passionate and, often vigorous, activities off of quivering thighs he presses apart, in gentle strokes of damp fibers. Movements of the cloth soft enough it doesn’t shock you into over-sensitivity but not soft enough you relax entirely beneath him, because that scarlet gaze is always fixated on you — your body language. And if you give away even an inch, he’s ready and up for round two (or four). [Bless yer stamina, matey!]

If not, he’s still up and happy to listen to his favorite flower-brained woman’s amusing, outrageous tales she narrates in animated conversation. While he whisks up a quick, invigorating meal for her at the kitchen counter, just as she rests her happy self at the table. Garnet gaze seemingly fixated upon the task at hand — spices being tossed, ladle being stirred, eggs whipped to perfection — but his answers are prompt and alert, although still carrying that insouciant edge. Indicating his attention; equal division in between feeding you and hearing you speak.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

Motonari is fond of his mouth, and before you, he didn’t think of it as much of an achievement as he believes it now, when your jittery gaze seeks immediate relief (and lust) as soon as it lands upon that obvious smirk.

A single kiss and your thoughts are all but handed over to him on an elaborate platter. Your cheeks color dark and wide; restless eyes tracing across his mouth. Your own parting; pink tongue darting quick in a swipe across plush lips: all of you demanding more of him.

Yes, he is surprisingly (or not), in touch with a far more emotional side: Motonari adores your eyes, although you’re never hearing it from him. Your entire body speaks of honesty but the way he reads your thoughts so easy, in your gaze, there’s quite nothing as exhilarating or confounding as the love he captures in them. That quick, tight knot of your brow, your anger flaring in your eyes or the equally prompt melting, when he appeases you in gentle teases. He’s been so long used to not trusting that a person he sees this clearly through, and sees how she trusts; it’s not an entirely terrible thing to feel.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

As mentioned above, the man doesn’t particularly care to leave you a mess post-coitus unless you ask it of him; there is little he’s able to refuse you. So when it does come (…heh) to cumming outside of your pussy, your mouth is a pretty (very pretty too) good substitute for him to ejaculate, without having to think of leaving external stains on you. Your throat clamping, then swallowing, around his orgasm, so he feels that slick slide of saliva and semen around him, as you moan.

Yer pretty darn hot, m’lady.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self-explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

There are times he descends — quick and furious — into an almost juvenile state of petty jealousy [he realizes the immaturity of it, he just cannot! help! it!] and ends up turning that lust on you, instead.

He’d never actually do it but visualizing — in almost exact, murderous details — how he’d like to drag you into an empty room whenever Kicho gets all up in your face, and fuck you so hard your throat tears through screams lough enough Kicho hears each and every single sound and moan.

Or, clasp your chin in his fingers, whenever Hideyoshi’s a little too close for comfort at an Oda banquet, and kiss you senseless and noisy [pirates crave a flashy exhibition!].

He despises making a show of you to anybody, so that idea only stays in thoughts but also it’s mind-boggling, since it does get him hard on the spot.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

Before you, it was only ever through terrible necessity (extremely dire straits) that he — if ever and very sparing — sought casual sex. The occasions hadn’t been plenty and he’d be frighteningly specific about how he wanted to take a woman to bed.

Bathed, no make-up, no perfume, no scented products or jewelry — anything extra that he could accidentally touch and trigger a reaction. A clean, unscented futon he’d provide in a bare room. Any bonds or cloths he could get his hands on (buying his own and discarding immediately after), to tie their limbs, keep their movements limited; Motonari used.

Of course, there’d be the rare prostitute who’d drop immediately after visiting a client, or one who’d perceive his conditions extreme and over-the-top and think they could ‘change his mind’. The moment they’d try and cross the line, he’d fling them off, almost violently, heart racing, sweat marking each inch of exposed skin. Nauseous and barely tapped, before he’d stride out of the room.

He’s also witnessed open and perverse brothels — and corrupt seething dens — where men and women fuck, for all to see, in his line of work, so he’s no stranger to how sex works for others either.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

He’s learning to let go and touch (just you) without the added barrier of gloves and since you so seem fond of his hands on you, Motonari likes any positions that allow his hands to move your body upon his; he isn’t picky.

Palms curved upon your hips so that your ass slaps against his pelvis each time he pulls back, the movements of his cock into and out of your pussy — a place you are both connected and he likes that. Or even when he can spread your thighs wide, press them apart before hooking his hands over your abdomen and just focusing on moving.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

He’s a pirate he’s a vortex of a man and slips all over the spectrum. Motonari’s goading is far softened with minimum barbs, when he’s in(side you) in bed with you. More velvet — than leathery — questions, soft smirk-y and probing,: “Ya like that, flower girl?” —as his mouth hovers just close to your ear, nose barely touching and tucking sweat soaked strands away from your temple. Definitely lands firm and midway between too serious and entirely silly. But he’s all focus on you, make no mistake.

He’s still got a filthy mouth on him, but dirty romantic liners are more his style, in bed (he wants you warmed as well as turned on!), in contrast to the complete indecent filth he threatens you with (a good time!) when the two of you are out and about.

“Pipe down, m’lady. The way yer moaning, they’re gonna think I’m fucking ya, right on deck.” Those eyes are burnished rubies; smile wide, crooked and unashamed, as he ducks close. “But maybe ya feel like putting on a show.”

H = Hair (how well-groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

He’s clean down below (and silver-haired, yes) — he doesn’t go the ‘complete waxed up, no-hair in sight’ route, but rather prefers keeping his hair short-trimmed and well-groomed.

He’s also kept his pubic hair short and neat, for the rare occasions he does have sex, and an unkempt mass down there would leave him more likely and exposed to his partner’s fluids staying on him. He despises that.

Motonari doesn’t mind blood, dirt and grime on the field, nor the brine of the harsh sea sticking to his skin, but as soon as he’s done with — or in between — jobs, he takes the time to wash and clean himself up thoroughly.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

[Also see G=Goofy] Motonari isn’t short with words of love. He isn’t reciting romantic poems but he is quick to let you know, in exact words, how much he loves you — and is loving being inside you — in the moment. Barriers definitely lower themselves — not all down, not completely back up — with this man, in bed.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

(As also mentioned in E=Experience) the man, previously, has sought intimacy only and only out of desperate necessity and when his hand is just not enough for him to relieve himself of his lust. Motonari, before you, jacked off, multiple times within a week, sometimes thrice (or more) in a single day. His desires, usually amped, following a particularly unsatisfying battle or raid.

After you, he still does take time off for some self-lovin’ (remember: stamina for daaays, and you’re mostly unable to match him so he makes do), just not as much as he used to, in the past.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

You and Motonari share a love for (clothing) imports from the seas beyond. He’s always up for sharing and discussing trade secrets, doling out clothing advice and helping you work out modern clothing from whatever fabrics are available to you.

Stockings might be one of his favorite products.

The fabric feeling absolutely exquisite against his palms when he rounds you close into his grasp, stood in between his spread thighs as he observes and hums beneath you, seated. A harmless joke you make, about a stocking fetish and the ensuing explanation soon after, has him grinning and dragging you down to test the material against his teeth.

“Yer sayin’ I got a thing for yer fancy underclothes? Heh, don’t think so. Seeing you in it just makes me wanna tear it all off, meu docinho de côco.”

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

Anywhere you’re afforded privacy; although a little flirting with danger is good and being pinned in between the door and his body. Watching you try and smother your moans into your sleeves, skews that grin wider, that cock harder.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

You. He’s got a dirty mind, it’ll do the rest of the work when its got its catalyst: you.

Nothing gets you results faster than being honest with Motonari, or expressing your affections (even chaste) for him.

Tell him he looked especially handsome, earlier on a job out: with his hair slicked back and how hard it was for you to have held back from kissing him, on the spot. That you love him—

He’s on you so fast.

“That brain’s just gotta keep sprouting its flowers, huh.” He murmurs, tugging at your chin to swipe his tongue into you.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Despite his treatment of you very early on in his route (the collar, the slavery deal), Motonari’s not into putting a collar on a person, romantic or otherwise. Collaring and hearing you call him your Master wouldn’t do much for him, playful or not.

He’s had to live a great chunk of his life as the Beggar Prince; experienced the devastating dregs of human society, including and not limited to being treated as one inferior, and having to watch people around at the very mercy of corrupt lords.

In retrospect, it isn’t something he might take pleasure in, in the bedroom.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Giving or receiving, both take some getting used to within the bedroom. He finds the taste of you pleasant, when he withdraws wet digits from inside you and takes a careful swipe of the clear fluid across his skin. And has expressed interest in, and gone down on you several times.

Receiving gets a bit more gentle coax-y and requires reassurances, with Motonari. He doesn’t particularly like seeing his release all over you. Having to work through those barriers of his mind, but once he allows you, he does enjoy the slow kisses, and the soft slide of your mouth against him.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

His default setting is rough and furious. The two of you are usually frustrated passion by the time you actually get to his bedroom (he likes to prod and poke much too often in public, get you riled) so there’s only one way to go and it’s up. He’s spreading your thighs apart with none too gentle hands as he pushes through and into you, your own hold on him, white knuckled and almost delirious with the way his hips rock into you and his cockhead scraps across your front wall with his onslaught.

At times, however, especially after a high-risk mission; when he’s been close enough to stare Death in the face and survive, he likes to take his time being inside you, just being able to feel you. Once, twice, several times, he’s keeping you beneath, or mounted on top of him, coaxing your hips and your moans.

“Don’t look at me like that, flower girl. I’m alive, ain’t I? Com’ere. I’ll take those tears of yers.”

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

Definitely! Any time he can have you, or get you close enough in private, you’re going to be fucking each other. He loves those little breathy, moan-laughters you make in half-panic/all arousal, each time he drives up to grind your hips close together, stuffed into a hallway closet.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

Semi-public quickies are a thing and the closest to risky as he gets. As mentioned previously, he’s demanding enough over you, he doesn’t like men Kicho touching you, let alone hearing you when you sound like that.

Other kinks, most kinks, he’s down to try with his favorite dirty, flower-brained woman. He does however, draw the line at any kinks that might involve him using harsh, ugly words to degrade you or your body and/or being soiled.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

All I gotta say is: Pirate’s got stamina enough to power his ships through horn alone, over an entire week!

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

Toys translate to external objects. Which are always subject to germs, and need to be (excessively) cleaned by his standards, to keep them useful and usable. That’s far much more work than he’s usually willing to commit himself to.

And he has no need of them. Not when you respond plenty to his touch alone.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

A lot! Motonari’s brand of filthy talk is polished to leave you damp in between the legs. He’s pulling the nastiest most wonderful innuendoes out of the most mundane of tasks.

“Ya like that old weapon?” He might ask of you, as you admire the carvings upon the handle of one of his clan’s katana. “Didn’t know ya liked the feel of handlin’ a sword between yer hands that much, m’lady.”

Leaving your mind reeling and cheeks flushing before withdrawing with a, “What’re ya cooking in that flower brain of yers? Heh... you’ve got a dirty mind.”

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

Heavy, sensual pants against your ears. His groans and grunts enough to fan the fires of your own arousal, to have you ready to come, from just the sounds that can leave his throat. Motonari doesn’t care to be heard outside your boundaries, but he also doesn’t care to withhold his own sounds of pleasure from you.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

He almost swears (but will never tell you, in very direct words): the space in between your bare breasts smells almost sweet like flowers. He likes finding his way up and nosing in between your breasts — just skin-to-skin contact at a place he finds you’re at your most fragrant. Suckling and tugging at a nipple draws those moans and your scent more intense, so he nips and teeths around the place often.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

That beautiful cock — with the evidence of just enough silver at the base — is long enough it fits and curves snug into you, without entering into any discomforting places, deep. But he is thick enough, it takes you time (and many times) to not just hold your breath and tighten up around him on reflex, upon entry.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

(Read: S)

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

You’re almost always the one falling asleep first. Pirates are used to night raids and this one’s no different. He does prefer watching you sleep, late into the night, once you fall exhausted into slumber.

End Notes: Thank you for reading!

♧° Link to Master List °♡

#ikesen motonari #ikemen sengoku motonari #ikesen mouri motonari #ikesen motonari smut #ikesen smut #ikemen sengoku smut #ikesen fanfic #ikemen sengoku fanfiction #ikesen motonari x reader #ns//fw text #a pickle writes

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jalapeno-princess · 3 years

Text

Kiss Me More

Mark Tuan X Reader

Word count: 6.1K

Genre: Very fluffy smut

Warning: Some sexy time in there nothing too extreme (hehehe...or is there?)

Summary: You were confident in the fact that your sex life with Mark was very exciting, wild and fun to say the least. In more or less words, it was perfect. Just your relationship in general was the kind that many people around you would be the envy of. It’s been four years since you began dating and you could honestly say it has been the best four years of your life so far because of him. He was the best boyfriend you could possibly ask for; kind, funny, gentle, considerate, soft-spoken, generous and extremely handsome. He took really good care of you and it was obvious by both his actions and his words that he was madly in love with you. As the two of you are coming down from your sex highs, you grow curious as to why once your love making sessions were over, so is the intimacy. Surely, your boyfriend has his reasons for not kissing you for too much longer as you’re about to go to bed. Right?

A/N: Based on the song “Kiss Me More” by Doja Cat and Sza. I am obsessed with this song and I knew I had to write something based on it so I hope you all enjoy! (I don’t really care for how the ending turned out but whatever).

We hug and yes, we make love And always just say "Goodnight" (la-la-la-la-la) And we cuddle, sure I do love it But I need your lips on mine

Can you kiss me more? We're so young, boy We ain't got nothin' to lose, oh, oh It's just principle Baby, hold me 'Cause I like the way you groove, oh, oh

Boy, you write your name, I can do the same Ooh, I love the taste, la-la-la-la All on my tongue, I want it (la-la-la-la) Boy, you write your name, I can do the same Ooh, I love the taste, la-la-la-la-la All on my tongue, I want it

“Ah—shit, shit—baby, I’m going to need you to slow down. Please—we have the whole night, I just—y/n—fuck. You’re so fucking sexy—“ Against your boyfriend’s pleas, you only sped up your pace to rile him more than he already was.

“The whole night? We’ve been at this for three hours baby. I think I’m gonna tap out here soon. Aren’t you tired?”

The devilish grin that immediately rose on his face at your confession confirmed that no—he was not tired or if he was, he still had enough energy to keep pumping in to you. You were currently bouncing on his cock; sinking up and down on him like it was your life duty to do so.

Your walls were clenched around him deliciously; his hardened length filled you up to the hilt with every thrust. The tip grazed along your nub; flicking it with every pump and it was quickly driving you to the brink of insanity. Honestly, you didn’t think you’d find yourself in this position tonight.

The two of you were exhausted beyond belief; you were at school since six in the morning up until four in the afternoon earlier today. You had finished two midterms and one very important exam you’ve been studying almost an entire month for. Tired wasn’t even a good enough word to describe your current state.

Your boyfriend was just as much in bad shape as you were. His boss had him doing multiple errands today on top of completing his own assigned work. He only arrived home a little over an hour ago. When you heard the front door of your shared apartment gently open, you had to prevent yourself from running towards him and embracing him with all the power you had in your tiny body.

You were confident that he was probably worn out and wanted nothing more than to go to sleep. From previous experiences, sometimes your boyfriend would go straight to bed upon arrival—being too fatigued to care about eating or taking a shower even.

Although you were just as tired and in more or less words; overworked to the bone, seeing your boyfriend slumped while his dark circles grew more and more prominent every day, you mustered up enough energy to iron his clothes for the next day, prepare the clothes he’d wear to sleep, pack him a lunch and even get some of his toiletries ready if he felt like wanting to rinse off just a bit.

To your surprise, as soon as he made his way towards you—before you could even open your mouth to ask your boyfriend how his day was, his pretty, heart-shaped lips that you loved so much were fervently smashed against yours. He gave you no time in preparing yourself for what was to come next before he roughly grabbed you at your thighs and wrapped your legs around his waist.

His mouth never left yours as he led the two of you to your shared bedroom. It boggled your mind that he was giving you his full attention; gnawing and sucking on your lips while he carried you to the room without bumping in to anything or tripping on the rug. Maybe he’s gotten used to doing so since the two of you have been in this exact same scenario more times than you can count on both hands.

There were so many thoughts running through your mind and questions on the tip of your tongue—concerning the sudden affection and lust he was currently showing you, but whatever you wanted to ask him no longer mattered the second he shoved his tongue down your throat and squeezed both your ass cheeks before slapping them hard.

“Mark—babe is everything okay—“

“Work was shit—complete and utter shit. I missed you so fucking much like I do every single day I’m at that shithole and so I logged on to Snapchat and to my surprise—and delight, my beautiful girlfriend sent me a few snaps of her pretty outfit today. Don’t play innocent baby, you knew exactly what you were doing as soon as you hit send. You are well aware of the fact that I was seconds away from calling in sick this morning and fucking you in to oblivion right against the kitchen counter when you walked out in to the living room. Ah—there was so many things I wanted to say. Don’t get me wrong, you look breathtakingly beautiful in every single thing that you wear, but my dress shirt and that pencil skirt that hugs you in all the right places and leaves little to the imagination? Tsk tsk—it’s like you wanted me to rearrange your guts tonight.”

You looked at him in curiosity; it took you a few moments to pin point exactly what photos he was referring to. Since you were so busy today, you completely forgot about sneaking to the bathroom and taking a few pictures of yourself. This last week has been extremely busy for both you and your boyfriend—and so the thought of being intimate with him felt like a fever dream.

Sex with Mark had to be one of your favorite activities not only as a couple, but just in general. One thing about the older boy that you admired was the fact that he was very talented in each and every single thing he put his mind in to. Baseball, volleyball, football, golf, tennis, soccer, martial arts—it wasn’t even only sports.

Mark was exceptionally intelligent; he was one of the only people you knew that was good at both reading and math. He also could finish a Rubik’s cube in under two minutes which was quite the impossible task. Every single thing your boyfriend did never failed to impress you. However, you felt as though he was the best at blowing your mind in more ways than one.

The older boy was extremely generous; he always bought you cute little gifts that reminded him of you, he’d pay for every single date against your pleas no matter where the two of you would go, he’d sacrifice his time and work his schedule around yours so he could pick you up and drop you off wherever you needed to go. When it came to the bedroom, he always put you and your needs first. Mark always made it his main priority to make sure you came first, that you were genuinely having a good time and overall he wanted to do whatever he possibly could to make you comfortable.

Some days, he’d be so focused on eating you out that he found pleasure and got his full strictly by sucking on your pussy. If you were having a rough day, he’d prepare you a bath and get you all your favorite snacks in attempts of cheering you up but not before finding his place in between your thighs and dragging his tongue along your slit faster than you could actually handle. Mark was the king of overstimulation; one of his kinks was driving you crazy and not giving you a chance to do anything about it.

He was extremely good at sex— and his body was handcrafted by God. Every single thing about him was annoyingly perfect; he wasn’t the most muscular man but he wasn’t exactly skinny either. He had just the right amount of muscle, a six pack and he was well endowed. Although you considered penises very unattractive before you met Mark, something about his was so pretty and it always made your mouth water.

You weren’t sure if you preferred having it buried deep inside of your cunt, or filling up your throat—both felt so phenomenal. Out of all the positions you and Mark experimented in during your four year relationship, your favorites had to be doggy, missionary and the one you were currently in right now. In most of your love making sessions, Mark took the lead and dominated you—not that you ever objected.

A dominant Mark—degrading, rough, animalistic was the sexiest Mark—well, next to jealous and overprotective which usually led to the passionate and extremely freaky sex the two of you’d have. But there were times where you would take control because Mark was the definition of a switch; and something about him submitting to you and whatever you told him to always sent your mind in a frenzy.

Mark was very vocal about how he came faster whenever you would find yourself riding him specifically because watching your breasts bounce, getting to see your gorgeous face and observing your pussy swallow his cock whole—your juices coating his entire length, the sensation was lethal. His hands gripped on your waist all but gently; you might have been the one on top but your boyfriend was a powerbottom. He never allowed you to do things on your own, especially during sex.

“Nope. I’m like the energizer bunny whenever we make love. In fact, I could probably fuck you for a solid four more hours. I know sex isn’t everything in a relationship and there are so many other things I love to do with you—but damn, you’re a fucking dream y/n. We have sex almost every single day and it always feels like the first time. If you’re exhausted baby, you can get off. As much as I particularly enjoy and get off on the feeling of your ass clapping against my balls, I’m sure it’s pretty tiring.”

You had to stifle back a laugh at his choice of words; when the two of you first became intimate with one another, there was a lot of laughter and playful banter in the duration of your sexy time to which you didn’t think was normal. Then again, your relationship with Mark was never normal from the start. Your relationship was the envy of a lot of the people around you.

It’s been over four years yet somehow—maybe it was the deep, passionate love you held for one another, but you were still surprisingly in the honeymoon stage. Neither you or Mark could get enough of each other. Sometimes, whenever the two of you would tumble in to bed together, some jokes, corny pickup lines and even riddles would be thrown in while Mark would be railing you and on some occasions, he’d say things at the wrong time, but you still had so much fun nonetheless.

“I’m not too tired, I just don’t want to be immobile for the next week. My thighs are jelly and I have work in the morning. I’ve called out three times already in the last month because you fulfill your promises of wrecking me and I’m sure my boss is aware of the fact that it’s not possible for me to get food poisoning that many times within days of each other—“

“I mean, I have no regrets honestly and if I remember correctly, you’re always the one telling me to “go faster” and to “fuck me harder daddy”—ow! What? I’m just stating the facts—“

“I know, but it sounds weird when you say it.”

He playfully rolled his eyes before stealing a sloppy kiss from the corner of your mouth and motioned for you to get off of him. As much as you were reveling in his many wanton noises and lustful facial expressions, you could feel your legs giving out and you were in no position to be calling out sick again. At least not for another week or two. You let out a whine at the feeling of him slowly pulling out of you; you weren’t ashamed to say you were a huge fan of how it felt to be full of your boyfriend’s cock.

Cock warming was another favorite kink of yours. Mark on the other hand, would have to mentally prepare a few minutes prior to staying inside of you. It was hard for him to stay idle—he’s told you this many times. As much as he wanted to do whatever you asked of him and wanted to please you no matter what it was you desired, the feeling of your tight, wet and warm walls clenching around him was too much. He allowed it to happen, but not for too long. He could be the one to tap out, but a couple minutes of cockwarming could lead to another round of sex and in many cases; it did.

“What a baby, can’t even go a couple of seconds without my dick inside of her—“

“Shut up, I can go in to the bathroom and finish myself off if I wanted to—“

“We all know your fingers aren’t enough to get you seeing stars princess. And that stupid dildo you bought when I was away in Taiwan last year can’t do shit for you either.”

Thankfully, he didn’t take too long in throwing you against the bed and lining himself back at your entrance. You were seeping of your essence at this point and he swiped himself along your folds so that it would be easier for him to slip back inside. He brought his face up to your ear and his breath was hot against your jaw as he leaned in to whisper naughty words that had your eyes rolling to the back of your head in pleasure.

“Only I can bring you to sheer ecstasy. Only I can get you to see white—only I can get your head spinning. My fingers; we both know how much my fingers are one of your favorite body parts of mine.” He wrapped one hand around your neck gently, making sure to glide his thumb along your pressure point while swiping some of your juices with his index finger and bringing it up to your mouth.

“Taste yourself baby. I want you to experience the euphoria I go through whenever I eat out this pretty cunt of yours. Well—back to what I was saying, my tongue, I know exactly how to use it as we make out, when I suck on this pretty little neck of yours or when I suck the life out of your pussy—so even if you were to finger yourself like the dirty girl you are, you’ll never reach the mind blowing orgasm only I can give to you. Now, I think it’s time I teach you a lesson for speaking out against me.”

You bit your lip in anticipation for the excitement that was to come; whenever Mark would get jealous or whenever you were bratty and went against whatever he commanded you to do, that’s when he would fuck your brains out. How the two of you were still going at it with such a rapid and forceful pace had yet to really process completely in your mind, but you didn’t question it. A muttered groan fell from both your lips and his as soon as he found his place back inside of you.

Immediately, he placed his face in the crook of your neck for what you were accustomed to him trying his best not to moan loudly. He dragged his teeth along the juncture of your nape before sinking his teeth in and leaving a dark love bite in its wake.

“Mark!”

You swatted his arm once you felt the spot begin to throb. Sure, you found it extremely sexy whenever he’d mark his territory because it proved just how possessive and overprotective he was over you but at the same time, hickeys were difficult to cover up and you were confident the purple mark would be on display for your professors, classmates, coworkers, boss and clients to see.

“Sorry baby, I couldn’t help myself—I’ll help you put some makeup on it tomorrow. It’s just that—ugh, how the fuck are you always so damn tight? We have sex on a daily basis, you should be stretched out by now.”

“You men obviously don’t understand the anatomy of a woman. You’re lucky you’re attractive and very sweet, you’re lacking intelligence—“

“Hey—“

“Just fuck me already asshole.”

You didn’t have to ask him twice. He went straight in to ramming his cock in and out of you. There was no time to be soft or gentle; the two of you were just moments away from your releases. You preferred the softness and romanticism that came with making love, but right now all you could think about was how amazing it felt when the tip of his cock reached your cervix.

“Feels—“

“So fucking good.”

Your breasts were bouncing up and down with every thrust and to your delight, your boyfriend cupped one of your mounds in his hand; flicking your nipple all but gently and earning himself the sexiest growl he’s ever heard in his life. He wrapped his lips around your other breast and swirled his tongue around your nipple—bringing the nub in between his teeth and nibbling on it.

“Such pretty titties—so soft, so big—your body belongs in an art museum. You’re a masterpiece. Everything about you—I can’t even wrap my head around your beauty. You’re really a sight for sore eyes you know that?”

Slowly, you shaking my brought your palm up to his face and cupped his cheek feather lightly. You brought your free hand in to his hair and softly tugged at his curly, brown locks.

“I—I love you Mark—“

“Mmm—I love you more baby girl. So much more. Every time you say those three words, I feel like a little kid who’s crush complimented his outfit. You do wonders on my heart. What did I do to deserve you?”

Out of no where, he lifted up one of your legs and placed it on his shoulder. This position allowed him to reach deeper inside of you which you didn’t even know there was more of you for him to reach.

“Shit—shit, just like that Mark—“

“You like that baby?”

You nodded in agreement fervently; he needed to know the effect that this position was having on you. Something about having him on top of you, even if missionary was a position that most people considered boring and ordinary—you felt like you were going to burst in to flames at any moment. The sound of his pelvis clapping against your ass cheeks sounded off throughout the room. It only heightened the sexual desire that already filled up the atmosphere. His grip on your lower waist tightened as the two of you grew closer and closer to your ends.

“So tight—so wet—so perfect and all mine.”

He brought your other leg up on to his shoulder and you could fill your orgasm right at the edge. A loud moan fell from his lips and he tried to conceal it by smashing his mouth against yours, but you only felt the vibration on your tongue as he hummed in contentment.

“Mark—I can’t—it’s too much—“

“I know baby, I know. I’m almost there too. Can you hold on for just a little longer?”

With all the energy you could muster, you nodded against his chest and allowed him to reconnect your lips together; his speed was relentless and with the way the bed was creaking, you knew that there was a huge chance it would break soon and you would get yet another noise complaint. Probably the seventh one in the last month. You were secretly hoping that he was closer than you were and that he was only holding on as long as possible so you both could continue your late night romp.

Your boyfriend was a nymphomaniac; sex might not have been the most important part of your relationship, but after a long, stressful day at work, he found relief in releasing his anger and frustration on your body. Making love was even better—but it didn’t matter how the two of you were intimate, just having your skin against his and your tongue battling for dominance with his, the sensation never failed to turn his sour mood in to a much happier and lighter one.

He was happiest being one with you. Just by the way he let go of your hips to intertwine your hands together, you were confident that he was about to cum. Whenever he was at his end, he’d stop whatever he was doing to hold your hands and leaned back so that he could get a better look at you. Seeing your fucked out state; sweat dripping down your neck and chest, cheeks flushed with warmth, hair sticking to your forehead, mouth gasping for air—knowing that he was the cause behind your beautiful glow, it brought him confidence and glee.

Soon, you were being filled with his warm creamy liquid in spurts—the sensation of being full of his sperm was one that you still haven’t gotten used to. It was just that mind blowing. Your orgasm followed in suit just seconds after. It felt like a tidal wave swallowing you whole, you were drowning but in the best way. It was hard to describe; but it was a high you never wanted to come down from. You were speechless; there were no words to describe just how on top of the world you were currently feeling.

Mark called it a sex high. Whenever you and your boyfriend would find yourselves tangled in the sheets, you felt like you were in another world. Maybe it was just a high off of Mark himself. He was hot; there was no doubt about it and honestly you could stare at him all day if time permitted you to. For a couple of minutes, there was a peaceful silence.

All you wanted to do was calm your rapid heartbeat and to get your breathing under control. Mark’s heart pounded against your chest and his dick that was once hard as a rock was now soft and limp inside of your cavern—neither of you moved; he was pressed up against your breasts and his head was smashed up along your collarbone. Your mind was too hazy to really feel the stickiness of his sweaty body, but if this were under different circumstances you probably would’ve pushed him off.

Less than five minutes later, Mark leaned back enough so that he had a better view to look at you. He gently brushed back some of your hair and glided his thumb along your cheek—bringing it down to your bottom lip. The soft smile he was giving you as you placed a kiss amongst the calloused digit sent electricity through your veins. In times like these; where you were bare, not just physically but spiritually and mentally and in the comfort of your boyfriends arms, you always felt so safe—so at ease, so serene, so loved.

You might have just did something so naughty, yet you couldn’t help but blush timidly. No matter how many times the two of you relished in your love for one another, you always felt so shy with his wandering eyes gazing all along your body. Even if he’s seen you naked at least a hundred times, you still found yourself turning red under his stare.

A few sweet kisses were placed against your mouth as what you assumed was a distraction because as he began to nibble on your bottom lip, he slowly pulled himself out from your slick walls. The two of you groaned at the feeling of emptiness; you gave him a glare—upset that he pulled out so soon especially since you told him earlier that you were in the mood for cockwarming.

“Mark—“

“I know, I’m sorry baby. I just want to clean you up and get us ready for bed. I think your pussy puts me to sleep a lot more often now. But if you want to take a bath, I can go prepare one for you—“

Something about the thought of fucking Mark to exhaustion made you giggle. Especially because moments ago, he was wanting to continue having sex for much longer. “No, I don’t think I can walk you asshole. I’ll just take one in the morning before my shift. But thank you. Am I wearing you out Tuan?”

“Yes and I’m not afraid to admit it. I think five orgasms in less than two hours would do that to someone. You’re so fucking sexy and so damn good to me there’s no point in trying to conceal my feelings for the sake of my pride. I’d shout it at the top of my lungs if I had to—I’m completely whipped for you and I have every intention on keeping it that way for the rest of our lives. Now, I’ll be right back okay?”

With a couple of kisses against the corner of your mouth, he disappeared in to your bathroom. It was only natural for you to snicker to yourself at the sight of his cute little butt as he quickly walked over to get a warm wash cloth and a bottle of water. You decided to take that time to reminisce on tonight’s escapade.

Every time you thought about your love making sessions with Mark, your stomach would swarm with butterflies. In the beginning of your relationship when you were just beginning to learn more and more about each other, the sex the two of you would experiment in was exciting, fun and intoxicating—not that it wasn’t like that anymore.

But now that you were both so madly in love with one another, it was more passionate, more meaningful and a lot more desirable. You always had to be touching him and without even having to ask him, he’d always have his hands on you too. The bed sank and before you could even comprehend what was going on, a wet towel was gently being brushed along your lower body.

He first got in between your thighs, making sure to wipe up any excess cum that might have dripped from your entrance. Then he brought it up to your navel, making sure to rid visible sweat—then finally he cleaned your folds and with the way a tingling sensation began to develop, you knew he was purposely taking his time to mess around with and to get a rise out of you.

Right as you were about to whine in attempts to get him to stop, he got another washcloth and wiped your face. Mark was well aware of how your skincare was very important to you. He’d watch you take the time to put on moisturizer, toner and sunscreen on in the mornings and right before bed.

It was the little things that he recognized that made your heart swell; no matter how many times a day he’d tell you that he loved you, he professed his love just a little bit more through his actions. Once he was done, he helped you put on a clean pair of underwear and one of his t-shirts—a reoccurring act of affection he did not too long after you came down from your highs.

With a sweet kiss on your forehead, he went back in to the bathroom to prepare for bed; brushing his teeth and putting on a pair of sweatpants before taking his spot next to you under the covers. By instinct, you were pulled up against his chest and his arms snaked around your hips. He left wet kisses all along your face; making sure to steal a few pecks from your lips as he smiled against your mouth.

“That was mind blowing as always. My pretty—pretty baby, you’re so fucking perfect. What did I do to deserve you? God, I can’t believe it’s been so long since we’ve made love—“

“It’s been three days Mark—“

“Exactly. That’s a long time baby. Especially because I crave you every second of the day. I can’t get over how wonderful you are. Literally flawless. Rest up baby, once you come home tomorrow I’m having you again and again and again—“

“Oh God, how I’m not pregnant at this point is still a mystery to me. Horndog.”

He let out the most adorable little giggle while turning your body so that he was spooning you. He’s told you many times that as much as he loved being able to see your face, he was more comfortable in this position. You were confident it was because he’d get to feel your ass pressed up against his length, but you didn’t want him feeling embarrassed if that was the real reason behind. Besides, you felt so safe and protected in this position.

However, you’ve been contemplating on voicing your feelings about how nights would end right after you and your boyfriend would tap out from either exhaustion or overstimulation. Sure, you loved the cuddling and being held by him, but that was pretty much it. He’d kiss you a couple of times and then he’d say good night. If you both had even the tiniest amount of energy, you’d stay up and talk about whatever it was that your hearts desired.

You wanted to kiss him for much longer than the fleeting kisses—you fantasized about spending a little more time with his soft lips on yours. Maybe he saved the makeout sessions for the bedroom. But even during sex, the kisses were hot and wild—in the heat of the moment, but you were too busy focusing on being penetrated to really enjoy kissing him.

“Well, I mean my pullout game is the best—“

“You literally just came inside of me that’s a joke right?”

He let out a scoff of disbelief and although you couldn’t see him, he playfully rolled his eyes. “I mean, well, you know—yeah whatever. The thought of impregnating you is a huge kink of mine. You’re stuck with me for the rest of our lives. You’re going to be the best mother one day and the cutest little pregnant lady. I can’t wait to see you swollen with my baby and I’m even more impatient in finally starting a family with you. You really are the love of my life. Look at how sappy you’ve made me. Mmm, I love you, I love you, I love you. Sweet dreams my love.”

Hearing him confess all that he did about his love for you and the future the two of you had together—you couldn’t stop the smile from taking over the entirety of your face. Almost every single thing Mark said—no matter how naughty or straight up cheesy it was never failed to make your heartbeat increase. You were soon feeling silly for worrying about such a minuscule thing and you wished it could have been enough for you. Yet, the question was on the tip of your tongue; you were mentally battling with yourself.

There had to be a reason why the kissing stopped once you both reached your fill. You didn’t want to seem too clingy or overdramatic—maybe you were overthinking things. Your mind kept telling you to leave it alone and that he had his reasons, yet you couldn’t stop the tiny voice in your head that begged you to continue to pry at him. Mark looked down at you in curiosity when you turned around to face him. He lifted up your chin and furrowed his brows in confusion.

“Everything alright y/n?”

“Why don’t you kiss me more?” Your question was muffled since you were too shy to ask him out right and hid your face in the crook of his neck.

“What was that? I couldn’t quite hear you—“

“I want you to kiss me more.”

“Wait, what? What do you mean? Where is this coming from baby?”

An exasperated sigh fell from your lips and you were soon regretting actually asking him the question that’s been weighing heavy on your mind for months now. It was extremely silly now that the question was actually out there but the reason why your relationship with your boyfriend had been so healthy all these years is because conversation was one of the most important keys to making sure you were both on the same page.

The last thing Mark wanted was for you to be uncomfortable or to feel as though you had to hide your feelings for his sake. Which is why you weren’t surprised to see him looking at you worriedly, waiting patently for you to go in to further detail.

“Right before we go to bed, whether it’s after sex or just once we’re done doing whatever it is after we both come home from work, you give me a few kisses and then we cuddle and fall asleep. Don’t get me wrong, I really enjoy doing those things. I just—I want more. I love kissing you if you didn’t already know that by now. Kissing you is one of my favorite activities that we do because your lips are so addicting. But we only ever passionately kiss during sex and when we make out it usually leads to love making and theres really nothing wrong with that. I just wish we could kiss without having it end up or only be during sex.”

Although the lights were off and you could barely see him, you could tell he was wearing a blank expression on his face. He continued his ministrations of gliding his fingers along your sides but he stayed silent for a few moments. You wanted nothing more than for the ground to swallow you whole; you were so embarrassed but this was your boyfriend.

He needed to know how you felt if your relationship was going to continue as beautifully as it currently was. To your surprise, he lifted up your chin and reconnected your lips together in a very passionate kiss. His hands cupped either sides of your face and he roughly nipped and sucked on your lips; leaving you breathless as he deepened the kiss further.

It was only natural for you to smile against his mouth; you were hoping you didn’t upset him and that he was only kissing you like this to please you. You were hoping he too was finding some enjoyment in kissing you right now. As his lips continued to attack yours, he took that chance to flip you on top of your back and stole a couple more kisses before sucking on your sweet spot right below your ear. This was what you wanted; it felt so wonderful and you felt even more closer to him than you felt a little over half an hour ago with his cock buried deep inside of you.

“How was that? By that gorgeous smile of yours and the way your lips are swollen I’m assuming you quite liked that.” You nodded in agreement and stole a few kisses from the corner of his mouth.

“I’m sorry if I made you feel as though I’m not interested in continuing our intimacy once we’re about to go to bed. Trust me, kissing you is my favorite thing to do with you too. You drive me fucking crazy. I’ve actually questioned myself about this numerous times too but I just assumed you were tired and I didn’t want to press you in to doing something just because I wanted to do it. Plus—“

He led your hand down to his sweatpants and your cheeks grew warm at the feeling of his hardened cock. It never failed to make you laugh seeing as how easy it was for him to grow horny at just the simplest touch. “This is why our make out sessions lead to sex and why I was hesitant about telling you that I wanted to be more intimate with you rather than the small pecks and holding you before falling asleep myself. It’s just going to lead in to another round. God, I sound like such a nymphomaniac but I’m proud to say that I am. I got a very sexy girlfriend, who could blame me for wanting to relish in our love at least once a day? Well, now that I know how you feel y/n, I would love to kiss you more. A lot more. why don’t we experiment a little tonight and see where it leads tomorrow?” You beamed up with him and with all the energy you still had left inside of you, flipped your bodies so you were on top. It obviously riled him up and the cheeky grin he was giving you sent warmth to your core.

“That sounds like a plan. Now kiss me.”

“With pleasure.”

#got7 imagines #mark tuan #got7 mark #got7 #got7 scenarios

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peppertaemint · 2 years

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I'm just really annoyed and need to bitch lol If I hear one more person say how young New Jeans are, I am gonna lose my shit. I usually don't listen to gg but New Jeans caught my attention and I think they have a bright future. I just hope their parents stay close by and they have people around them that will look out for them and protect them from predators but I would feel that way with any young group. I felt that way when Enhypen debuted but that's my problem. Aside from that Cookie debacle and the woman who founded them, they're not the first young group to debut. Hell Taemin was 14 when he debuted. JK was 15. Ni-Ki from Enhypen was 14. I never ever hear how young they were being brought up over and over and over again. Is 14 ideal? No, imo no I think they could wait until 16 or 17... ideally 17 lol but there are so many talented teens in the lower bracket, and as long as they dress and sing songs that are age appropriate, it's somewhat acceptable. They need a strong support system to help them with the pressures of fame, money and I hope with all my heart that they will be taken care of but the amount of "This song is great but they're just so young that's the thing" that I have seen is mind boggling. It has to be because they're girls. That's the only thing that sets them apart from other boy groups who had young members as well. Not saying that people didn't comment on how young Taemin was or Jungkook etc etc but the big deal being made that I personally have seen is bordering on absurd. A 14 yr old, a 16 yr old, a 17 yr old, one soon to be 18 yr old and an 18 yr old is hardly ground breaking in the young department for a group. Look at New Edition, New Kids on the Block, N'Sync, BSB.... I don't think people were harping on how young all of New Edition were or Justin Timberlake, or Joey McIntyre, or Nick Carter were... oh and look at how young the JoBros were but no that was cute. It's just ugh lol

Hi NewJeans Anon!

Here's my opinion but keep in mind it's just my opinion, not gospel. Lol. I don't think it's too young. A lot of kids start chasing their dreams young. I had a typewriter when I was under 10! As longs they're able to keep up with some studies I think it's great thing to be able to do with your life. Traditional school is basically daycare anyhow so why not get out and learn from the school of life?

That being said, there is a huge duty of care here. And the Cookie song was completely inappropriate. The question comes down to do I trust Hybe? And not exactly. The creative director Min Hee Jin is super sus, even though she's trying to deny it and act like the people calling her out are the weirdos.

What it comes down to is whether the company can provide a safe environment for these girls to grow up in. Will the people around them have their best interests at heart? I have to hope so.

I think their look is fresh and in most photos completely age appropriate. 14 year olds don't dress like nuns. I remember wearing crop tops in elementary school (lol the 90s)! These things are not inherently "sexy" - it's about the perspective presented. I chose the photo above because it's a really striking image of teenage girls being girls and looking their age. Unfortunately, despite her weirdness, Min Hee Jin is superb at putting together stunning photography. She's responsible for iconic shots of Taemin.

I think the difference between the shots above (of a young adult) versus these shots below are obvious.

Do I think they're being treated and judged differently as girls? Of course. But people LOVE to pretend Taemin is a victim of horrible abuse because he debuted as a teen so this victim mindset is nothing new (newsflash: he's not!)

Overall, it's a wait and see for me, but I'll root for them to do well and for the company to keep the concepts appropriate. BTS rarely do anything too "adult" in that sexy sort of sense let's hope NewJeans keeps the same vibe and drop the gross sexual innuendos.

#new jeans ask #hybe ask #really like the teen photos new jeans have done #really lovely and fresh

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nct-oli · 3 years

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I haven’t talked about Lovely Writer on here at all I think, but I really am loving it so much. It took a while to grow on me, especially given how attached I have been this year to A Tale of Thousand Stars (it was hard to open my heart to another show lol), but I really do look forward to each episode, and I’ll be genuinely so sad when it ends next week.

I’m incredibly critical of the media I consume, and I think my standards are quite high when it comes to specific aspects of that media. I think the BL industry romanticizes a ton of toxic bullshit in their series, and fans eat it all up without ever recognizing the problems at play. I can’t 100% blame fans for enjoying the media that is blatantly presented to them as positive and not automatically finding the faults, but it’s a really toxic relationship between BL creators and BL fans. The supply and demand for really problematic content is so high.

A Tale of Thousand Stars and Lovely Writer, in my opinion, have been so refreshing as someone who was getting honestly really tired of BL series recycling the same toxic tropes over and over again. Neither of these series are perfect (that should never be the expectation), and they both have elements I’d still deem controversial or troublesome. But in comparison? Absolute standouts.

A Tale of Thousand Stars was able to tell a beautiful queer romance without the coming out drama, without the homophobia, without the oversexualization, and without the bland, two-dimensional characterization you too often see with queer characters. The only coming out scene was tastefully done and perfectly fitting with the story, and the rest of the series could play out as a mlw romance, if you were to replace one of the characters with a woman. Queer people deserve those romances, the ones that center around two people simply falling in love regardless of gender. Queer people have been asking for those stories for ages. There’s nothing wrong with the cliches, but the creativity shouldn’t stop there every time. A Tale of Thousand Stars was, at base level, just two people finding love in the mountains, and I’m so grateful for that. On top of that, the show also avoided so many toxic tropes (i.e., power differences, violent jealousy, romanticized SA). Add phenomenal acting, ridiculous chemistry, beautiful scenery, an interesting plot, and P’Aof to all of that and you have my favorite BL drama and one of my favorite general series to ever exist. Yes, I said it. (I add P’Aof because he’s an actual queer man who cares so much about portraying realistic and beautiful queer relationships, and I am so grateful to him for taking his talents and efforts into the BL industry. I think he is and will continue to be such a force for needed change. I appreciate that man so much and will be watching every series he creates.)

But then we have Lovely Writer, which I appreciate for somewhat similar but relatively different reasons. Sometimes I’m not even sure to what degree it’s all intentional, but the COMMENTARY on the BL industry is *chefs kiss.* I mean, the stark contrast between the gentleness of Nubsib and Gene’s real relationship versus the romanticized aggression of the fictional relationship within Gene’s novel is so important to me. I get so uncomfortable watching the scenes where they are filming the series because the comparison is so obvious and it’s mind boggling that so many people find the abusiveness so attractive and romantic. That’s such a huge issue in the BL industry, and I love how blatantly obvious they make it in the show. In addition, the series has highlighted the facade that is fan service, the fetishization and oversexualization of mlm relationships, and the issue of BL stories never being written by queer men. And most recently in episode 11, I think they really showed how the BL industry loves making money off of the queer community but doesn’t give a shit about queer people in real life. What I mean by that is, Gene is forced to write BL novels despite his own wishes, no matter how inauthentic they are to him as a writer, because the company believes they are marketable and profitable. But when Gene and Nubsib’s real life relationship comes to the surface, they are treated like dirt for the sake of the company and the show… for the money. There were other solutions to that issue, but the easiest in the company’s eyes was throwing them, actual queer people, to the side and telling them to essentially get over it. Sure, that’s just capitalism, but it really is a massive issue in the BL industry that needs changing. So to see that portrayed within the show is incredibly satisfying. They’re really bringing to light so many problematic aspects of the industry that have been hidden or downplayed for too long.

And then both of them are telling stories about actual queer people, which I love more than I can explain. And by that I mean characters who actually use words to say they are not straight. I’m so freaking tired of the blatant avoidance of the word “gay” or even the words “I like men” (plural men) in BL. And I’m especially tired of the “I don’t like men. I just like x” trope. I really, really appreciate both A Tale of Thousand Stars and Lovely Writer telling queer stories by making their characters actually queer. (And this isn’t at all about those who choose to not label their sexualities. That is absolutely valid, but unfortunately in the BL industry, the avoidance of any words indicating sexuality is generally done to separate the show from the actual community being profited off of, not to avoid labels for empowerment.)

I’ll stop rambling, but I just finished ep 11 of Lovely Writer and I had so many thoughts. 2021 has started off really well with both of these shows airing, but it also means my expectations are so high now… welp! Looking forward to the Lovely Writer finale next week. I’m really glad a show like this exists, and I hope it makes even just a few fans realize how they may be participating in toxicity or just a few creators realize they can have a successful series without romanticizing problematic behaviors.

Thank you to A Tale of Thousand Stars and Lovely Writer for restoring some of my faith. I’m grateful to you both.

#olivia rambles #a tale of thousand stars #atots #1000 stars #lovely writer spoilers #lovely writer #I know there are a couple other shows I need to check out that people have said are pretty good in these regards as well #looking forward to those too #I’m tired of shows like [redacted] getting all of the spotlight when they’re toxic af #I feel kind of funny invading the lovely writer tag lol I was active in the atots tags but I’m a nobody in the lovely writer fandom 👀

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ouyangzizhensdad · 3 years

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Hey, feel free to ignore this, but I'd love to hear your grievances against Bridgerton? I saw some of the fashion posts you rbed, but I'm especially intrigued by the "fails on all aspects" parts? Thanks!

Hi there,

There is honestly so much that could be said and analysed in finer points but the short version of it is just that it is a bad story wrapped in the glitz of high production value but surprisingly little good technical execution despite all the money shoveled at it. Bridgerton is the type of show where the petty, mean side of me would delight in a detailed and cutthroat list of all of its flaws but for which I do not care enough to be actually invested in hating it. It’s just a thing to be puzzled and petty about: people think Bridgerton is good. Wild.

Now let me first say that I have no inherent problems with anachronistic creative choices, or the idea of a contemporary take on period dramas. After all, all period dramas are inevitably told through a contemporary lens, to different degrees. It’s also not like they were the first big production to do it either: has everyone just forgot about The Great Gatsby? or tumblr’s favourite Hamilton? I honestly think this kind of mixing already has so many cool outcomes when it comes to music (like this, this or this and this), I do believe we could get something really interesting out of creative anachronism in mainstream visual media. I’m also more forgiving with newer forms of experimentation, because sometimes new ideas need to be worked out before they reach their full potential. But the way Bridgerton does it.... so clearly lacks a clear creative vision and dedication to the concept imo that it makes it harder to excuse the ways it fails since the failures seem to originate from that lack of vision and dedication to storytelling. For instance, there is seemingly no logic as to when the diegetic music will be an instrumental cover of a contemporary song or not--which does not even broach the topic of how bad those ‘classical music’ arrangements for modern songs were? Honestly embarrassing how lazy those arrangements were: hire a good composer (or any at all), you cowards. And then the costumes... once again, a lack of internal logic seems to permeate the choices presented in addition to a lack of care in its execution: so many of the dresses are ill-fitted, the characterisation through the outfits were all over the place (like the mom who wore a silhouette that no one else wore and had no basis in any fashion of the era) and so many of the fabrics/jewellery looked the opposite of expensive (kind of looked like a lot of it was polyester and plastic tbh), which is sort of a problem when you are trying to sell the fantasy of "The lives of the rich and famous but make it regency” imo although I suppose a portion of the audience just doesn’t notice lmao. Honestly I find that a lot of ‘costume historians’ who made video essays on Bridgerton were too nice with the show, perhaps in order not to come off as seeming to hate the costumes on the basis of them not being historically accurate, and as a result were way too forgiving imo. And this lack of real creative vision is also something we see in the cinematography and direction which.... seems often confused about the way it wants to make things feel fantastical and ends up dropping the ball on the execution of these meant-to-be extravagant or over-the-top shots.

But, again, the cinematography is just... middling at best, made only worse by the editing which is just plain bad. I guess you’ll have to just take me on my word on this because I am not willing to do an autopsy of all I find off about it, but lord jesus mary and joseph it was painful to watch at certain moments.

Bridgerton is not the first show to do colourblind casting, although I’d say it deserves recognition for fucking it up for no reason at all. Like, sure there are criticisms to be had about how it remains still a very white story that falls into certain tropes wrt darker skin characters or the glaring lack of south asian representation considering what the contemporary UK looks like, etc. but what I’m gesturing at is the totally unnecessary but mind-boggling “royal love solved racism” twist we get in the, what, fourth episode? (Broey Deschannel covered the topic quite well imo) The audience would have accepted that there were no in-world explanation for the colourblind version of the already-made fantastical regency that had them dancing to Ariana Grande songs. The colourblindness, racism-free society would have just been another aspirational aspect. They literally did not need to do this.

Honestly I don’t feel like I need to get into why the story itself is not very good or well-executed since it feels very obvious. I won’t begrudge on principle the show for using well-worn tropes and common-to-the-point-of-farce character archetypes, but I have to object to the way it uses them and in the service of what story. And not to make myself in a plot-hole-ding kind of person-who-has-thoughts-about-media, but this is not a story that holds up well to scrutiny or logic, let’s say. And any type of social or political commentary it tried to include was dumb to the point of farce: the Feminist Character Who Wants to Read not Go Dance was just.... a masterclass in bad, embarrassing writing. I am surprised at how unlikeable and boring the vast majority of the characters were, but perhaps less surprised at how a series that planned on having multiple seasons already sold the twist of Lady Whistleblow’s identity at the end of the first season, for what seemed to be no narrative reason at all. That being said, I have to give credit where it’s due and acknowledge that there is a skill in being able to produce stories that get extremely popular and well-loved.

(Do I need to mention the performances? So many underwhelming or embarrassing performances. It’s hard to tell sometimes whether it’s the actors themselves or the directing that’s the issue, or a mixture of both, but.... oof).

I guess in the end Bridgerton’s biggest transgression is it sits for me in the uncomfortable middle where it is neither trashy or campy fun nor is it an interesting work of fiction. Differently put, it is simply neither good nor fun.

#cherryblossomshadow #long post #brine corner #i suppose #not mdzs

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cloudywriter · 3 years

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i never got to say i love you - 3

honestly no idea how this actually worked out but i did find it in me to pick it up where i had left off. i’ll keep working on this story and see where it goes but i think i have a few ideas. it’s not very long but it’s a start ya know. it looks nice right now too but don’t worry the angst will be there soon. xoxo

masterlist, main masterlist, AO3

~~~

From that fateful night on, Feyre spent all of her free time in the art building’s studio not even returning to her dorm until long after dark. Quite frankly, she was a little embarrassed. She showed up outside of Mor’s door fully prepared to ask her to please quiet down only to be reminded of how ridiculously dressed she was and then to top it all off after that all she did was stare at Rhysand until she ran off stuttering like a fool which was so unlike her.

She had a close call one afternoon in the dining hall but was able to make a speedy escape.

Of course, the one time she decided she should work and study somewhere that wasn’t the art studio she ended up in the library. It had been fine until they strutted in, strolling down the center of the library as if it it was a catwalk. A group of girls next to her looked up at them, giggling and blushing, and quickly averted their gazes when Cassian shot them a swift wink.

Feyre just kept her head down, trying to concentrate on the book of art history in front of her but just knowing he was in the same room as her, that she was in his vicinity had her mind unable to comprehend anything but that fact. Should she just stand up and leave? Would that draw more attention to herself?

She quickly deduced she could not wiggle her way out of this one.

Feyre propped up her textbook in hopes it would shield most of her face while she finished up the chapter and then she promised herself she could make her leave.

The scraping of a chair across the tile floor informed her she was not going to be so lucky. She zoned in on the words in front of her, she was not going to look up.

“Art history,” a voice read aloud.

Feyre looked up and arched an eyebrow at the man in front of her. “Congrats, you can read.”

“Are you an art major?” He asked, leaning back in his chair.

“I could be or maybe I just enjoy a little art history. What are you majoring in making obvious observations?”

“Is that a new major? Because I’ll admit I’d love to take it up,” Cassian commented, crossing his arms and tucking his fist underneath his chin.

Feyre didn’t deign to respond instead she leaned further back in her chair once again focusing on the textbook.

That was until the remaining members of the trio wandered up to Feyre’s table as well.

Cassian turned around a little and gestured to Feyre, “Hey guys, I’m just hanging with my girl, Fey. You know, the one who came to yell at us last week and then drooled over Rhys.”

Feyre slammed her book flat on the table, “I did not drool!”

Cassian shrugged, “I don’t know I think I had to whip up a few drops after you left.”

Feyre just knew her bright red face betrayed her.

Rhys only laughed, a deep, sultry laugh that sounded the way expensive velvet felt. “It’s alright Feyre, darling, I’m used to it obviously.”

“Oh, don’t call me darling,” Feyre sighed, burying her face in her hands. Rhysand only smirked in response, drumming his fingers on the edge of the desk.

Azriel and Cassian were hunched over, studying something on Cassian’s phone while Feyre desperately tried to pretend they weren’t there. Rhys kept on drumming his fingers, completely disrupting Feyre, to be fair she was dyslexic and she required quiet in order to sit and read.

Feyre reached out her hand, holding a pencil, and wacked Rhysand’s fingers. “Stop it!” She whisper-yelled at him.

“Feyre, darling, you wound me,” he purred, leaning back to slip his hands into the pockets of his leather jacket. On almost anyone else Feyre would’ve thought the leather jacket looked stupid but it just worked on Rhysand.

Rhysand was quiet for a moment when he spoke back up, “What does one do with an art degree?”

Feyre lifted her eyes from the page in front of her, “Gods, you sound like my sister.”

Rhys cracked a smile at that, “I don’t mean it in a negative way, of course, just curious.”

“I just want to spend the rest of my life doing something I love and I happen to love painting. I know it's not the standard but I wouldn’t be happy in a 9 to 5 desk job,” Feyre explained.

Rhys nodded, he looked as though that statement had resonated with him.

At that moment both Cassian and Azriel stood up, “Hey, Rhys, Mor is texting us that she wants to meet at Rita’s for lunch. You coming?”

Feyre glanced up, making direct eye contact with Rhys, “No,” he says in a husky voice, still looking into her eyes, “I think I’ll stay.” Feyre concentrates on her book again, a small, secret smile poised on her lips. Cassian and Azriel make their exit with knowing glances passed between them.

Cassian and Azriel had only been gone for around five minutes, Feyre was trying her hardest to appear unruffled by Rhysand’s presence, her eyes glued to her book though they weren’t reading a thing. Rhys then broke the silence, “Are you hungry?”

Feyre raised an eyebrow, “Are you?”

“Famished.”

“Strange, pretty sure I saw you turn down an invite to lunch a few minutes ago,” she replied simply.

“I go to lunch everyday with Az, Mor, and Cas, but I don’t go to lunch with you, Feyre, darling. I thought I might switch it up.”

Feyre gave him her best unimpressed expression even though her heart was pumping in her chest. “You’re a shameless flirt.”

“Well, what do you say?”

Despite Feyre finding Rhysand annoyingly attractive she was hesitant to accept his invitation. She had just transferred schools, she was in the market for some friends, but the haunting memory of her failed relationship crept in like a spider knitting a web of doubt.

Feyre banished that spider, “Fine.”

+++

Rhys had taken Feyre to a cute little coffee shop that served the best sandwiches in Prythian as Rhysand had claimed. Feyre didn’t have any room to disagree. Their conversation came easy, it felt natural, not stiff like the beginning of most budding friendships. They argued, joked, and even poked fun at each other the entire time.

Rhysand continued with his brazen, flirty attitude and persistent usage of the endearment ‘darling’ much to Feyre’s dismay. It was irritating but charming, it just seemed to be wholly Rhys.

Now, Rhys and Feyre were walking side by side back towards the dorm buildings. The conversation proceeded to flow easily. When they were about to enter the courtyard adjoining the separate dorm buildings, Rhys flopped onto a bench just a little ways off the sideway. Feyre raised her eyebrow at him.

“Sit, darling. All this walking after eating and I’ll get a cramp,” he reasoned.

Feyre rolled her eyes, it certainly wasn’t that but she entertained him. She took a spot a little bit down the bench from him and leaned her head back, staring up at the tree overhead and the afternoon sun beaming through its leaves.

A question popped into Feyre’s mind and she pivoted towards Rhys, “What are you majoring in?”

Rhys’s beautiful face turned into a grimace as he turned his attention from the same tree back to her.

“Business,” he finally supplied.

“You seem disappointed by that,” Feyre commented. Rhysand looked away as his head bobbed in a noncommittal yes.

“I wanted to major in English, really. I love books, stories, even poetry as mind boggling as it may be sometimes,” Rhys let out a small chuckle, mostly to himself. “I love language too, the way you can manipulate and articulate it, it’s remarkable. I would be more than content to pour over books the rest of my life or share my passion for stories and language with others.”

“Then why do business?” Feyre knew she was probably prying but her curious nature always got the best of her.

“My father,” Rhys admitted. “He’s a businessman you know, convinced it's always the way to go whether you truly enjoy it or not. Doesn’t matter if you’re happy if you have a stable job and are making good money in his eyes. Not to mention, he demands I work with him at his company after school. I lost the will to fight him on it, just easier to appease him at this point. Books will still be there.”

Feyre let the words hang in the air between them. She knew, of course, the feeling of being unsupported but still her family hadn’t forced her hand. Feyre reached out, resting her hand lightly over Rhysand’s in silent support while still giving him the option to pull away.

He didn’t. He wrapped her small hand in his own and turned his head toward her.

The wind tousled his black hair back and forth with each turn of its direction. In the sun’s light his eyes were bright, framed by thick lashes. Feyre wished she could freeze time and pull out her paints to capture the image. The overwhelming desire to do so took Feyre by surprise. Since leaving for Velaris that deep yearning to paint a particular scene, a moment of inspiration so strong it paralyzed her, hadn’t been prominent. Truly, it hadn’t been there for a while. She usually had to force out a drawing or painting for an assignment.

Then Rhys gave her a gentle smile, it looked how Feyre imagined touching clouds would feel. It brought a funny feeling to her stomach.

“Do what makes you happy, Rhys, always,” she added so quietly she thought her words might’ve been blown away by the breeze before they even reached his ears.

Yet, Rhys squeezed her hand the smallest bit.

~~~

well this is for you @maybekindasortaace

let me know if you wanted to be added to my feysand taglist or my rowaelin taglist or both, ya know

#feysand au #feyre x rhysand #feyre and rhysand #feysand fanfic #a court of mist and fury #a court of war and ruin #a court of frost and starlight #a court of thorns and roses #acotar fanfiction #acotar au #acotar #rhysand #cassian #azriel #morrigan #feysand #feysand fluff #feyre x rhys #i never got to say i love you

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boop-le-snoot · 4 years

Text

PARTY FAVOURS I CHAPTER 18

First time reader click here

TWs/Summary: We stan ✨women in science✨. Bruce uwu. Twitter social media AU nobody asked for. Stephen and Tony are dicks and I'm not talking about their anatomy. Setting up mood for Bruce smut, ngl. PTSD makes things spicy. I'm depressed so please be kind ✌🏻💀🙃

"I really do wonder how can you two fit those egos of yours in your pants," I kept my tone forcefully casual, cheerful even. "Why don't you just fuck already?"

I was met with stunned silence. Suddenly, the room seemed far too large and the people in much too quiet, staring at me with various expressions of horror obvious in their faces. As the strange friendship began developing between me and the team, my "outbursts" - how Steve liked to call them - lessened considerably. I had no need to provoke them into giving me attention, just striking up a casual chat was enough. The Avengers were great conversationalists, to my surprise.

Tony and Stephen, when paired, were the exception. I could count on one hand the amount of times they successfully came to a conclusion without fighting like cats and dogs. It was like each man had made it a personal mission to verbally top the other, more often than not resulting in a thirty-minute shitshow ending with one storming off in a dramatic flourish. It was mind-boggling how two supremely intelligent men could not find a way to communicate efficiently without infuriating the rest of the team.

Plus me. One way or another, I was almost always around. In the beginning, it was hilarious to see the free circus but it got old really quickly when they couldn't decide on dinner or a movie, leaving the rest of us starving and bored. Or the great Cloak debate - that one lasted days and the fussy thing was so upset, it point blank refused to part from Peter for a substantial amount of time. It's pretty fucking creepy that a semi-sentient, ancient piece of outerwear watches you when you sleep - just sayin'. I personally interjected with my own snark and sass whenever Tony and Stephen got too heated, successfully drawing the attention to myself. The fight broke up and I had amazing sex with Tony later, it was a win-win scenario.

Yet, Tony and Stephen didn't stop. To me, their way of "talking" (and I use that term loosely) looked a lot like unresolved sexual tension. Stephen frequently used his greater height to tower over Tony in a childish attempt to establish dominance; the engineer was no rookie and responded with extravagant peacocking such as "subtly" tapping the bracelet that hosted his nanotech suit or parading at dinner in a $30,000 custom made designer outfit. Because Tony could.

I was pleasantly surprised when Natasha started laughing at my remark. Full-blown, belly laugh. Those were rare, coming from the Widow, her usual mirth was quiet, sophisticated, just like her. Deadly (adorable). Bucky followed suit, snorting together with Clint and Loki.

Steve looked none too pleased with me. But then again, was he ever? "Doll, don't be rude."

"Brat," Bruce said at the same time, palming his face.

"People always call me a brat. And guess what, Steve?" I popped my hip, twirling a cotton candy pink coloured Dum-Dum between my fingers. "What can you do about it? Nothing," I shrugged, leaning my head against Bruce's shoulder affectionately.

Steve just shook his head in disappointment. "Can we get back on topic? Please?"

"Captain, I think that Stark..." Strange began talking with Tony dramatically groaning in the background and I instantly tuned out the useless babble. Steve should've been smarter and revoked speaking rights from Tony and Stephen. Or asked Loki to magically render them both mute for ten minutes.

"You're not wrong," Bruce quietly whispered next to my ear. "Ten bucks says Wanda meddles and those two finally work out their frustrations," The scientist hid a grin against my head. I felt the amused, giddy energy radiating off him like a plasma beam.

"I don't even have to bet," I rolled my eyes. "If she doesn't do it, I will."

Both Tony and Stephen were throwing me equally infuriated glances. One promised me a good, hard fucking and the other saw me a short, poisonous lecture on appropriate behaviour in the nearest future - you can guess which is which. If I had it my way, I'd skip the lecture and go straight to a hot, filthy threesome with two men twice my age. I wasn't blind, Strange was hot as hell and could be decent and even nice once in a blue moon.

He could, but he wouldn't be. I wanted that raw, unadulterated lust, tension so concentrated it walked the razor's edge between violent craving and repulsion. Ever since the incident with Clint, I had this ugly mess inside of me, like a live wire about to snap. My brain was constantly racing, darting between how utterly useless I am in a group of supers and embracing my normal-ness, amplifying it by hosting game nights and spending time trying to convince people to start a dungeons and dragons campaign. Or something.

My sleep was like Swiss cheese, riddled with holes where I stayed awake for one or two hours at a time in the middle of the night after waking up sweaty, with my heart hammering out of my chest. Sometimes I dreamt of Clint's lifeless, sickly white body, sometimes the whole room flooded with blood and I couldn't stop it no matter what, there was so much of it, I drowned in it, I startled up with the taste of it in my mouth. Rarely, the worst of it came - the one where Clint was alive as millions of millions of little fluorescent, poisonous jellyfish burst out of him and he screamed and screamed and screamed...

I had PTSD. Yay, me. As if my uselessness wasn't enough of a burden, my brain decided for me that it wasn't good enough that I saved Clint and now it was punishing me for being close to a group of people who routinely saved the WORLD.

I contemplated my usual habits - going to a party, getting trashed and dancing until my legs were numb. I just wanted to shut my brain off for a moment, give it a hard reset so-to-say, but with Tony on my back like a jet-pack, I didn't doubt he'd show up to the place and drag me out of there even if I was kicking and screaming. And he was a Stark, a billionaire, so visiting my dad in Cali wouldn't be possible on my own. Tony would gas up the jet and the rest of the team would find and excuse to tag along, too. As much as I loved being the baby menace who could get away with anything, I hated the way they all herded me, like I was an actual child. I couldn't get away from myself, not even for a moment.

I had the backup-backup plan and I was going to have to execute it. Desperate times, desperate measures. "I don't doubt y'all enjoy listening to Tony and Steph flirt," The nickname escaped unmoderated from my lips before I could catch myself. "But what are we doing for Halloween? I need to know if I gotta get a costume," Bruce chuckled next to me and wrapped an arm around me, happy for the distraction. Unlike me, the scientist was obligated to listen and participate in the avengers-themed discussion. Which was difficult because the engineer and the sorcerer constantly bickered, inadvertently taking over the talk.

"Halloween?" Steve groaned.

"We should do something," Bucky side-eyed his boyfriend. "For the children." Something told me he wasn't thinking of the children, at all. The man was positively leering, probably thinking about what kind of a tight suit he could convince Steve to squeeze into.

"A party!" Tony immediately exclaimed, interrupting Stephen mid-setence.

"Tony, no," Steve stated firmly.

"Tony, YES!" Clint perked up. "A snack bar. A bar-bar."

"I will not be helping you all if you get alcohol poisoning," Stephen crossed his arms.

"So it's a party," I stated firmly, throwing a contemplating look at Wanda and Pietro. The twins looked unsure but excited. I knew I could count on fellow young people to support my decision to have fun, dance a little, drink a little. Let loose. To nail my point, I turned to Bruce with a mischievous smirk. "Fifty bucks says Stephen is too stuck up to show up in costume."

"Beg pardon?!" The sorcerer exclaimed. His eyebrows threatened to meet his hairline.

"I think you give him too little credit, Princess," Bruce winked at me and we solemnly shook hands. It was great having a fellow partner in mischief. Loki's approving smirk just sealed the deal for me.

"It's not my fault you sometimes act like you have a stick up your butt," I gave in the way of explanation, shrugging my shoulders innocently in Stephen's direction. "I'm just pointing out the obvious."

"I don't dare to imagine what's been up yours," The sorcerer retorted dryly, in an uncharacteristically childish fashion, arms still crossed. It almost looked like he was pouting.

"Tony," I simply said, leering salaciously at the man.

"Ooh, kinky," Clint reached over and we promptly high-fived each other in the wake of multiple embarrassed groans emanating around the room. "Strange, you're a boring old man, get over it."

"And you regularly end up in dumpsters, Barton," Strange retorted quickly. "Not my idea of fun."

"You wouldn't know fun if it hit you in the face!" Tony grinned triumphantly, confident in his superiority over Strange. Look at that, the team was doing the work for me and I didn't even have to try.

"I'll show you fun," Stephen retorted darkly. It was obvious the man was planning something.

"Ok, boomer," I raised my eyebrows in muted satisfaction before turning around and grabbing Bruce to drag along with me. "I'm confiscating your best scientist to amuse myself. I am bored. We will go and do actual science whilst y'all argue. Bye."

My patience had run out. We were examining the parasites we found in the murder-anthropods-from-space, codename MAFS, courtesy of yours truly, and their amazing properties to penetrate cell membranes and feed on metals in organic life forms. Without Bruce's help I understood maybe half of it but he had the patience of a saint and dutifully and understandably explained to me the finer points of studying aliens. Signing half a dozen NDAs was never more worth it.

Steve's sigh consisted of 99% suffering and 2% disappointment. Natasha face-palmed silently in the corner, clutching a mug of coffee, a poster child for existential dread.

"Wait for me," Tony whined, going for the door and promptly being stopped by Steve pointing out the team needing his input on one mission or another. The engineer sighed. "Baby girl, don't let the green mean to start any experiments without me." Tony instructed, pointing an accusatory finger in our direction.

I clutched at Bruce dramatically, feigning hurt feelings and was rewarded with a swift motion of his arms. I shrieked delightfully at being thrown over the scientist's shoulder as he hastened his pace towards the elevator, hightailing it out of there. "I'd never snitch on science daddy," I wiggled my eyebrows in Tony's direction, sticking a hand down the back pocket of Bruce's pants, dangling over his shoulder like a happy sack of potatoes.

The lab smelled strongly of alcohol and bitter chemicals, the solution that Bruce developed to ensure the optimal state of the alien pathogens. The man's genius never ceased to amaze me: Bruce came up with the needed formula in the span of a few hours while running low on sleep, post a Hulk-out session.

We put on our protective gear - "science onesies" I called them - along with a respirator and goggles and set to the segregated part of the lab where the specimens were kept under a blue light. The glass wall between Bruce's and Tony's lab was dimmed; I reflected in it, looking positively futuristic in my double-stacked white platformed boots and white hazmat suit.

"Wait," I motioned to Bruce to come over.

"Oh, right, our music," He was already half-way to being in total Science Mode. "Friday, please put on the "Get Schwifty" playlist, 60% volume."

The playlist that me and Bruce came up with for our lab sessions. The man was such an adorable dork. Thirty percent my music, thirty percent of his indie rock shit and forty percent 00's bops. In other words, utter perfection.

I finally managed to fish out my phone from my pants. "No, let's take a selfie," I struck an impressive pose and pointed the camera as Avril Lavigne sung the first verse to Sk8r Boi.

Bruce laughed but abided by the request, giving me bunny ears in the photo, tapping the fingers of his other hand on my waist to the rhythm of the song.

"He was a skater boy, she said see ya later boy!" I sang along, switching my Instagram to stories and posting the short clip of us just vibing with the caption #sciencetime, Bruce laughing openly behind his respirator. I looked cute and silly in my outfit.

"Send the video to me, I'll post it on my Twitter," Bruce requested. I indulged him then put my phone away, ready to conquer the world of microbiology. Or die trying. Science was calling...

THE TAG LIST IS NOW OPEN! @another-stark-sub @mostly-marvel-musings @vozit @littlegasps @pilloclock @shereadsinquiet @downeyreads @hermione-grangers-wife @individualistfem @sleep-i-ness @capbrie @lillsxd @agustdowney @dee-vn @justanotherblonde23 @fanngirl19 @persephonehemingway @softie-socks @schemefrenzy @letsby @cutenessloading @romeo-the-cactus @jelly-fishy-babie

#stephen strange x y/n #bruce banner x y/n #tony stark x y/n #stephen strange x you #bruce banner x you #tony stark x you #stephen strange x reader #bruce banner x reader #tony stark x reader #party favours #bun writes #avengers social media au

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sarah-writes-marvel · 4 years

Text

Interogation: Avengers x Fem!Reader

S.S: This one is a little cringe worthy, its got a lot of Pintrest writing dialouge in it so just caution of that! But hope you enjoy!

Warnings: Knife, Blood (kinda), cringe.....

Word Count: 1,624

MASTERLIST

-----------------------------

I settled onto the couch, in my plush baby blue PJ pants and an oversized sweater, and my wet hair still dripping onto my shoulder. The team had just returned from a rather difficult mission and everyone was exhausted. Slowly one by one, each Avengers walked into the room, decked out in their own pajamas, and freshly showered.

“What are we watching?” Tony inquired as he took a seat in his chair.

“Something funny. I need a laugh.” Clint insisted.

Nat took the remote from my hands, most likely growing impatient with my slow picking and ran through the movies, clicking on one of the funnier ones that we had all seen once or twice.

“I hate to interrupt.” Fury’s voice traveled through the living room, eliciting groans from everyone. “Don’t worry I just need Agent L/n.”

“For what?” I question, from my slumped state on the couch.

“An interrogation.”

“You can’t get someone else to do it?” I asked peering over the back of the couch to see him dressed in his usual trench coat.

“Already had our best people try.” He admitted. I toss the blanket that I had snuggled under off onto Bucky who sat next to me.

“Alright, let me go change,” I grumbled.

“Wait, if your best guys have already tried, why send in Y/n/n? No offense, but isn’t she a little inexperienced in that category.” Nat questioned.

“Gee, thanks. I’m not just a good shot Nat. I’ve got tricks.” I smirked before walking back to my room to change from my cozy jammies. I could hear the questions through the hall and Fury staying silent, causing irritation amongst the group.

I was quick to change into black high waisted jeans, a light blue shirt tucked into the waistband, and shrugged on my leather jacket and pulled on my heeled black combat boots, slipping a small pocket knife between my ankle and leather. Adding mascara and running my hands through my wet hair I decided I was good to go.

I was never one to look or be menacing. I was the sweetheart of the group, I wore bright colors, found the silver lining of everything. I did my best not to focus on all the bad around me, which was maybe power in itself considering what I’ve experienced.

“Alright, let’s get this over with.” I groaned walking into the living room.

“Wow. You should wear black more often. You look good.” Sam commented.

“Thanks but it’s not really my style. Unless it’s needed.” I informed. “Y’all coming or something.”

The group was standing next to Fury, each had their arms crossed or their hand placed on their hips.

“Yes. We want to make sure you’ll be ok.” Steve stated.

“I just want to watch. It’ll be entertaining.�� Tony chuckled, I assumed because he believed that I’d walk out of the room defeated.

“Alright, but no intervening with my interrogation.” I laid the ground rule. Each nodded, some after a little bit of hesitation but agreed nonetheless. “Good.”

--------------

We stood on the one-sided mirror, looking into the culprit. A hydra operative, who looked disgruntled, to say the least. Fury handed me the file with a grimace.

“Do you worst. Anything to get him to spill.” He instructed. I nodded in understanding before entering the room.

“Hello.” I greeted, looking through the file. “What’s your name?”

“Why don’t you just read it from the file?” his thick german accent spit.

“Because I dont like conducting interviews like that. I like to see other perspectives first.” I informed, with a small smile.

“Atticus Kahl.”

“I’m Y/n L/n. You can call my Y/n if you would like, or agent if that suits you.” I say as I take a seat across from the man. “I assume you probably know why I’m here talking to you.”

“I will never tell Hydra’s secrets. My loyalty lies with them.” he sneers.

“Alright, we’ll just see about that,” I say with a sickeningly sweet voice. “So I see here that you were a top officer. That must’ve been a lovely privilege.”

“Yes, it was.”

“I’ll bet your wife was proud, to know that you had a commanding officer position amongst Hydra.”

“I don’t have a wife.” he sounded hurt, which he should be.

“Oh, oh I missed that here. It says you volunteered her for experimentation.” I looked at the file. “Oh my, and she died under the needle. I’m sure that was awful.”

“Yes. It was a tragedy, she would’ve been a wonderful asset.” He reminisces.

“I’m sure. Women tend to be very strong-willed. Perfect for the army, things like that. You never questioned your loyalty after they had essentially killed your wife?”

“They didn’t kill her, she was too weak. A woman on her own is weak, I was helping her become more.”

“So are you insinuating that I am weak?” I question his misogynistic view.

“Unless you have a serum running through your bloodstream, yes.” his dark green eyes pierced mine.

“I love it when people underestimate me. It makes my job so much more fun.” I smiled. “Let’s continue. So you sacrificed your wife for experimentation, meaning Hydra is continuously trying to find the right serum.”

His eyes shifted away, giving away the obvious answer.

“Alright. So you want to let me in on that. I mean you were captain. I’m sure you got to see every failed attempt correct.”

“Like I’ve said before. I won’t betray Hydra. They will come for me.”

“Ya, and when they find you I’ll bet you that they kill you on the spot. Im sure they’d take me instead.” I laugh.

“What makes you believe that your life is worth more than mine?” He questioned leaning towards me.

“What makes you believe that your life is worth anything at all?” I reciprocated his actions. “You’re a pawn for Hydra. They gave you the responsibility of captain, expecting you not to fail and get captured. But here you are, sitting in front of me, spilling Hydra secrets chained to a table.”

He jerked towards me, expecting me to flinch at his immediate action but instead I smirked at him.

“That’s so cute. You think your scary, cause you work for Hydra. But sir, I’ve seen scary… and you ain’t got his smile. Now tell me more about the experiments and Hydra. I love learning.” I insisted.

“Go to hell.” he seethed.

“Sorry, I can’t. Satan still has a restraining order against me.” I retorted propping my feet onto the table. “You’re losing my interest and that’s very dangerous so I suggest you spill the Hydra secrets before I take drastic measures.”

We sat in silence for a solid five minutes before I took the knife from my boot, slamming into the table.

“Since it seems that you people respond best to displays of violence, the next time I set that knife down it’ll be through your hand,” I said pointedly.

“Awfully confident arent you?” he chuckled.

“Yes, my momma raised me to be confident. She taught me which dinner fork would be the most effective for killing a person. It was quite enlightening.” I threatened.

“You’re a psychopath.”

“I prefer creative,” I said as I flipped the knife and stabbed it through his hand. His ear-piercing scream rang out. “Now talk. And think before you speak,” I hissed “the last person who lied to me got more than a stab to the hand. And I’m sure you’ll want your tongue so you can negotiate your life with your commander.”

The man paled and his terrified features caused a rush of adrenaline through my system. He immediately nodded his head, fear coursing through his veins.

“Good, let’s start from the beginning.”

--------------------------

A confession, diabolical plan (if you could call it that), and 30 minutes later I walked out of the interrogation room, facing the in awe Avengers.

“Here you go. Hope it’ll be enough. Just because he was a captain doesn’t mean he was let in on every secret.” I told Fury, handing him the file and the notes I had made.

“I realize that. It’ll be a start. Thank you. You all can return to your relaxation.”

“Dang I forgot my knife.” I groaned, staring into the room seeing my knife still stuck in the operative’s hand. “Oh well. Alright, movie time?” I asked turning back to the Avengers.

“Who the hell was that in there?” Nat questioned, in awe of my immediate change of personality.

“Uh, me. I dont understand what your asking.” I looked at her curiously.

“That is seemingly impossible. You are the definition of joy.” Thor added. I scoffed.

“Seriously, that person in there was terrifying,” Bucky stated. “It wasn’t you.”

“If you all could even begin to comprehend where I’ve come from, you’d be terrified of me. So it was me, just a side that I dont show often.” I admitted. “Now, you guys can bombard me with questions another time but I’m really not in the mood for anything but pj’s and a movie.”

“Ya, I dont want to get on your bad side after seeing that,” Tony confessed. “Let’s go watch the movie and get some sleep. God knows we could use it.”

With that, the team walked back to the compounded conversation about anything but the interrogation and mission were being discussed.

“I’m sorry but it boggles my mind that you switched your personality so quick. Who taught you that?” Clint asked, breaking the streak.

“Clint,” I said in a warning tone. “Not now.” And with that the rest of the walk was quiet, minus the hurried and slightly annoyed click of my heels in the hallway.

------------------------

Thanks!! Hope it wasnt too cringe worthy!!

#marvel #marvelfanfic #captainamerica #wintersoldier #ironman #thor #hawkeye #blackwidow #readerinsert #femreader #fluff #avengers #badass #steverogers #buckybarnes #tonystark #natasharomanov

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nctzendreamz · 5 years

Text

Little Things — Mark Lee

Mark loves so many things about you, but he’ll never let the words slip out of his mouth.

Pt.1 Pt.2 Pt.3

“Mark Lee!” The voice was clear, and echoed repeatedly throughout his newly purchased apartment. It was also expected, as he knew your creative nature couldn’t withstand the way he decorated his new home.

He probably should have been focused on how he could please your complaints, or more so take in your deep lecture about how his plain white walls had to be the justification on why he couldn’t sleep at night, or how his simple bed set up was definitely the reason that he couldn’t stop catching midnight leg cramps, but he was in a daze.

His eyes started on the small of your back. Even though you currently wore what you taught him to be “high waisted jeans”, the bright orange crop top you spotted still exposed your gentle skin, and Mark wanted touch it. He just knew it was softer than any pillow you would buy him today. It would relax him more than the most expensive bed sheets.

“Are you even listening to me?”

Your voice broke through like waves, but he felt the farthest from sea sick. He actually had never felt better, a feeling that he believed would always be foreign to him. Mark hadn’t had much experience with humans in general, other than his members, but he would always think about it. He would wonder just how nervous he would get when he finally fell in love for the first time. Would he be able to create puddles of sweat with his shaky nature? Would he feel his heart practically beating out of his chest when his love made eye contact with him? How deep would he love? Would it be the kind of passion where they did no wrong in his eyes, and he was constantly looking like a immature child whenever someone tried to call him out on his blindness?

The truth of his feelings for you, was that he didn’t get nervous. He was never scared to slip in light touches to your safe places, and when you looked into his eyes, he gained confidence. All of a sudden, the Mark Lee that everyone else thought they knew would dissolve, and he would feel like a man. A man who wanted to give you the whole world. He wanted to be the one putting a smile on your face.

His friends were constantly betting their bottom dollars on when he was going to finally break down, falling to his knees and confessing his undying love for you.

The answer to that question was never.

Maybe it was because he was enjoying himself too much right now. The privilege of being your friend came with so many benefits; solid, irreplaceable benefits, that he had no problems staying in the friend zone. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t want to slip in the fact that the reason his bed was so lonely and uncomfortable was because you weren’t ever going to be in it. That his walls were purposely plain and dry, as he needed an excuse for you to come and drag him out.

But couldn’t he just keep it too himself? They were just little things.

He observed you deeply as he watched you stroll around his room, blabbering about different color schemes the two of you could scrounge up. You emphasize the word “pop” with a smack of your soft lips, and your hand began to gently graze his colorless wall as you finally turned around to face him.

“I’m sorry—what did you say?” He immediately questioned, scratching the back of his head which was in dear need of a haircut, all so he wouldn’t have to look you in your eyes just yet.

“I said did you have any colors in mind? And why are you looking at the floor, hm? Do I make you nervous?” You taunted, and without even looking at you he knew you wore your familiar face. The one where you bit your lip playfully, and your cheeks widened just enough to get him weak.

“No.” He responded quickly, staring right into your orbs. “You’re just scary.”

“You don’t mean that.”

“Oh, but I do.” Now it was him stepping closer to you, and as he realized much earlier, he wasn’t nervous. His chest tingled, and his stomach was tossing and quenching, but that was simply because you were too beautiful. The fact that you were standing here so casually, as if you weren’t the most perfect human being inside and out was mind boggling to him, and it would make any human being nervous. “You make me feel so stupid.” He joked, but he saw the way your eyes quickly softened from their playfully flirtatious state, and now your hand was holding his own.

“No—I don’t want you to feel like that? What did I say? I’m so sor—

“Y/N, I’m kidding.” He chuckled lightly, almost in synch with the ticking of his newly installed air conditioner. “You know you’re too good for this world.”

Mark could sense you still didn’t believe his honest words, so he did the only thing he could do, which was to rub the back of your hand in a caring manner. Even still, it wasn’t enough.

“I don’t want you to think I’m trying to take over your life. White is just too plain, and I wanted to spend time with you today.”

Your words were short and sweet, but he couldn’t help himself. He brought your hand right to his lips, kissing it just as quick before placing it back where it was usually stationed and letting go.

“Mark—

“You ready?” He questioned, wanting you to ignore his mistake. He was so helpless when it came to you. Why the hell did he just do that? Maybe he had watched too many movies.

“Okay.” Was all you whispered in a quiet tone.

You always enjoyed large stores like this. “Superstores” to be exact. And Mark always loved adventuring in then with you, because of the image he always got to see. It was always the exact same.

You’d be pushing your buggy, or what you called a “basket”. This was a frequent argument between you two, but that doesn’t matter for now. Your eyes were always up high before the looked down to the lower aisles, as “the good things are always on top.”

Right now, you two were in the paint aisle, and he knew any minute now you would notice that he wasn’t paying attention to any of the so-called dazzling colors; holding the key to his house becoming a home.

“Mark, you keep doing that.”

“I keep doing what?”

“Ignoring me. If you want to take a drive or something take my keys.”

He could sense your frustration with him growing, and he felt so guilty. He didn’t know what was wrong with him today. Usually, the two of you would talk for hours without end, and truthfully he would be able to push his feelings aside, or at the least—focus on his favorite thing in the whole wide world. He was so focused on details today. He didn’t know what was happening.

“No no. Starting now, attention on.” He snapped three times against his forehead, before coming up behind you with a hand on your lower back. Your response was nothing as you continued to stroll against the newly polished floors, looking from row to row.

“Blue, Mark. Are you feeling blue?” You looked up at him now, and he looked right back at you.

“Are you painting my room, or your room?”

You crossed your arms infront of your chest, although you were laughing too. “First of all, my room is black.”

“Which I think you regret.”

“No. Your room color should match your soul. You know this.”

“Well in that case, I think you should take my room.”

And now your eyes were slowly disappearing, because that’s exactly what they did when you were just too amused. When you were around someone; or something that made you incredibly happy. While he didn’t take his eyes off you, he subtly snuck the blue paint into the cart.

“Are you saying I’m an angel, Mark Lee?”

“Sha-la-la-la.” He sung, referencing his own song. So corny, but you loved him anyway. That’s what you always said to him when he made horrible jokes like this.

“Cute.” You mumbled, and he couldn’t help but silently peep the smirk that rested on your features as you saw the paint for yourself. “My favorite shade.”

“Well, I figured you might as well like the color too considering you’re going to turn my room into yours.”

“I am not.” You scoffed, even though the evil simper on your features told a completely different story.

“Yeah?” As you continued to walk, Mark skipped some so was just ahead of the cart “Then explain why half of your wardrobe was in my dorm room. Hm?”

Your silence informed him that you knew this a battle you couldn’t win. He also couldn’t help but notice the way your eyes couldn’t match with his for long, quickly drooping back onto the bucket. Your left hand also moved to the back of your waist, resting on the curve. “I’m hungry.” You whispered.

Deflective. That’s what Johnny taught him. When he would spend his nights cooeing about you, and force his estranged members to analyze your every reaction and touch, this is what Johnny said was your coping mechanism for your feelings for him.

“How come you can never look at me for long?”

“What are you talking about, Mark.”

“I’m talking about the fact that I want to see your pretty face. It’s been a long week.” His hand reached for your chin, forcing you to stare him down.

“I’m not pretty.” You shooed his hand away.

This was the one thing he couldn’t stand to see, but quite often had to handle. Your hatred for yourself. He always wondered how it would feel to love someone so much, even though they hated themselves. Hate was also such a strong word, but it was the word you used.

“And I’m not fishing for compliments.” You interrupted before he could even speak. “I just don’t see it.”

“Well, you know how I feel.”

It was a simple combination of words, but it was also an obvious trigger to memories from two weekends ago. Your drunken confession that he had to pretend he didn’t hear over the loud music that raved throughout the abandoned building. Oddly enough, he could still smell the dusty couch you two sat on, trying to escape from the noise.

You had obviously drunk too much, as you begged for him to find a secluded area for the two of you. For what felt like hours did you two just sit in silence, you continuously nuzzling into his chest.

His focus was on the moonlight that he could see out the high-placed window.

“I love you, Mark.”

Nothing unusual. Although, the words did make him freeze for a mere second, only to unfreeze before you could notice.

“I love you too.”

“I don’t think you get me.”

“Sleep.” He chuckled lightly, truthfully thinking you were just babbling as you always did. You needed to relax, and not upset your stomach even more from constantly using your diaphragm to yell over the tunes.

“No.” You whined, a familiar noise that indicated something was truly bothering you. Something that hadn’t even been uttered to him. Your head made a sad attempt to lift from his now built chest, thanks to the age of twenty. “I love you.”

“And I love you too.”

“No, Mark. Damnit.” You sighed, slapping your cheek. It truly wasn’t a pleasant sight to see you so irate, and he hated to admit that he truly didn’t understand what you were trying to convey. Maybe because he didn’t believe it to be true. That was only a mere fantasy. Or maybe he just didn’t want it; his friend zone preaching getting the best of him.

“I want you, Mark.” You began to press drunk, sloppy kisses on his thick neck.

For the first time, he couldn’t breathe. His heart had stopped beating completely, and all he could do was relish in the feelings of your lips finally on his body. He always craved this. He always wanted this.

But no. Not like this. “Y/N, stop.” He grabbed both of your arms in a stern voice. You might have thought he had a disorder from the way he quickly switched zones, but it was simply because he had come back to reality. It was you, and you weren’t you right now. You were intoxicated, and he could never let anything happen between you two because it’s wrong.

“Take me home, please.” Your eyes were filled to the brim with liquid tears, and as much as Mark wanted to fight this, how could he? It’s what you needed anyway.

And then the next day came. And you were hungover, but in your right state of mind. So badly did he want to address the previous night, but he couldn’t find the words as you walked out of the bathroom from a clearly refreshing shower, avoiding his eyes now. Something that he, at the time, was unfamiliar with.

“You okay?” Was all he could fathom, falling in love with you all over again as you lotioned yourself down with the scent he gifted you just a few months back.

A slapping sound filled the room. “Mhm.”

You were far from okay, and your purposeful negligence of your previous action let Mark know that it wasn’t a joke, or just your drunk concience talking. It was real.

“I—

“No.” You whispered.

“I was just gonna—

Your phone blasting through your speakers, which you seemed to forget were connected based on the way you jumped in utter fear interrupted such a picture perfect scene.

And neither of you had mentioned it since.

Your face practically went pale, if your skin color could even allow it. It was more like a sick feeling he could obviously see hitting your features, and he felt horrible.

“Let’s check out.”

“Y/N.” He sighed, reaching out for you. His heart basically shattered when you moved to jump away, now upset. And it was all his fault.

The ride home was silent. And not in a good way like it usually was. It was mind-eating, and so badly did he want to say it. That he loves you too. And that he wants to give you the world, and then some. And most importantly, that you were the most important, and beautiful, and priceless being on the earth, and he was sure, although he had never traveled else where, the whole galaxy. You were his world, as awful as he showed it.

You pulled up to his house, but he noticed you didn’t move a muscle to get out of the car.

“Don’t make me paint by myself, Y/N. That’s too cruel.”

Even though he saw your hand moving to wipe what seemed to be a tear from your eyes, he was still able to make your smile break through. His superpower; you called it.

“The answer is nothing right?” You questioned barely audible.

“What do you mean?”

“When you told me that I know how you feel, it’s nothing, right?”

The way the golden hour was hitting all of your perfections right now caused him to freeze. Even your tears were glowing, and his lips couldn’t move. He thought he couldn’t get nervous around you. He thought he was done with that. Why couldn’t he open his damn mouth.

“I thought so.” You chuckled. “I thought so.”

And so you stopped the car, taking the paint out of your trunk, explaining this method as you didn’t want it to burst open and ruin your seat. “Let’s go paint.” You mumbled, sniffling once again before moving past him and walking up the stairs to his apartment.

#nct #nct 127 #nct mark #mark lee #mark #nct imagine #nct imagines #mark lee imagine #nct scenario #nct scenarios #nct angst #mark lee angst #omg #i suck #kpop #kpop mark

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c-optimistic · 5 years

Text

ally

She was led into an office and left alone with a cup of lukewarm coffee for nearly fifteen minutes before the door opened to reveal Maggie Sawyer.

Lena couldn’t exactly help her eye-roll.

“Correct me if I’m wrong, detective, but I was under the impression your job involved investigating aliens in National City, not just Luthors.”

“Brr,” Maggie said, grinning as she sat down in the seat next to Lena. “You know, I’ve heard of the world famous icy Luthor charm, but damn if those descriptions don’t do you justice.” She leaned back in her seat, arms crossing over her chest, still grinning—much to Lena’s annoyance.

“What are you doing here?”

“You may find this hard to believe, but I’m here for you.”

“Funny, I do find that hard to believe,” Lena said, leaning back as well. “Can you tell me what’s going on at least?”

To Maggie’s credit, she looked conflicted for a moment, like she was actually debating on telling Lena the truth.

“I can tell you that I really want to be here to see the look on your face,” she finally said, shrugging a little. “And also because I promised my friend who works for social services that I wouldn’t leave her alone with you.”

“Social services? Why would—”

She was interrupted when the door opened again, a small woman with short hair entering the office with a vaguely worried expression on her face. It was obvious she was the friend Maggie had mentioned, if the tiny smile Maggie gave her was any indication. Lena watched her settle into the only empty seat left—across the table from Lena and Maggie—and clasped her hands together, sitting up straight and meeting Lena in the eye.

“Ms. Luthor,” she began, her voice gruffer than Lena expected. “My name is Sarah Wilkins. I work with Child Protective Services. I’m here to speak with you about Ally.”

Lena blinked, not following at all.

“I’m sorry, who?”

“Alexandra Peters, your niece.”

The laugh that escaped her wasn’t her fault at all, though judging by the look on Maggie’s face, the wince and then frown, it likely wasn’t appropriate. Thoughts of this being one grand joke were immediately replaced by the nagging suspicion that her life would be upturned once again by something Lex had done.

“I’m afraid you’re mistaken. I don’t have a niece. You see, my brother is in maximum security, and his chances of having a child are, well, low.”

Maggie and Sarah exchanged a long look and Lena shifted uncomfortably in her seat.

“Ally is six months away from her second birthday, Ms. Luthor. She was born before your brother was put away.” Or, Sarah didn’t say, Lex had plenty of time to have a child. Rather than speak, Lena continued to stare at Sarah, waiting for her to get to the point. “About a month ago, Ally’s mother, a Gwen Peters, died in a car accident—”

“Was it…?” Lena trailed off, unable to even finish the thought. To her shock, Sarah seemed to understand, her eyes even softening.

“It seems to have been just an accident. A tragic one, of course, but an accident all the same.” She stressed it enough that Lena found herself believing her. “Ally was placed in the care of her maternal grandparents, but CPS has recently discovered…well, to put it bluntly, the Peters are not fit to raise a young child. Which is where you come in.” She blinked, pausing long enough to needlessly straighten her blazer and to tuck a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “In Ms. Peters’ Will, in the event that her parents are unable to care for her daughter, she names you as Ally’s guardian.”

“I don’t even know Gwen Peters,” Lena protested immediately, shaking her head.

“That’s not actually true,” Maggie interrupted, placing a hand on Lena’s shoulder briefly. “You might not remember her, but she apparently worked with you in R&D at LuthorCorp for nearly two years before you began taking over your brother’s responsibilities after your father passed away.”

“And more to the point, Ms. Peters was quite adamant that Ally remained with family in the event of her death. And Ms. Luthor, you’re all the family Ally has left.”

Lena gaped at the two woman—at Sarah’s calm expression and Maggie’s suddenly concerned one—and shook her head again.

“I’m—no. How do we even know she’s actually Lex’s daughter? And why would—was the woman mad, wanting a Luthor raising her child?”

Sarah and Maggie exchanged another look and this time Lena could read the sadness in Maggie’s eyes, the reluctance in Sarah’s.

“Let me put it this way, Ms. Luthor. Without you, Ally will find herself in foster care. Is that something you want for your niece?”

(She thought about her own upbringing, raised amongst a father who paid her very little attention, a mother who hated her, and a brother who eventually left her. She thought about her loneliness, her ineptitude with anything relating to emotions, and the fact that everything she touched slowly wasted away.

But most of all, in a voice that sounded suspiciously like Kara’s, she thought about how she could never leave family behind—even a niece she hadn’t known about fifteen minutes ago, a niece she hadn’t even imagined could exist.)

“No,” she said, voice not shaking despite the trembling of her hands. “So? What do I have to sign?”

“You know, I looked her up,” Lena called out, childproofing the last of her cabinets, smiling slightly at her finished work.

“Looked who up?” Kara asked from where she sat on the ground, surrounded by all sorts of screws and pieces of furniture, an adorable crease between her brows as she studied the instructions for the crib. “By the way, Lena, I’m ninety percent positive that there’s at least three pieces missing.”

“Gwen Peters,” Lena said shortly, walking over to Kara and studying the crib. “I’m ninety percent sure you attached the head to the wrong piece.”

“Oh for the love of—” Kara cut herself off, unscrewing all her hard work and resigning herself to starting from the beginning. “So? What did you learn about Gwen Peters?”

“She was smart. It’s no wonder Lex liked her enough to…” She trailed off, not quite sure what she was trying to say. Kara kept fiddling with the two pieces she had in her hands until she realized that Lena had gone silent, looking up worriedly. Whatever she saw on Lena’s face spurred her into action; in one quick movement, she’d abandoned the crib entirely and was on her feet, approaching Lena slowly (as if she didn’t want to spook her).

“You did the right thing, Lena,” Kara said softly, and Lena nearly laughed, wondering how on Earth Kara had understood what she was actually trying to say (how Kara had heard the I can’t raise a kid, don’t you think Ally deserves better, what am I doing? in between the admiration she felt for Gwen Peters and the reignited anger she felt for Lex). “And it’s not as if you’re going to be doing any of this alone.”

“Sorry?”

“What? You thought I’d let you deal with something this big by yourself?” Kara rolled her eyes and reached out to squeeze Lena’s hand before turning on her heel and crouching back down next to the mangled remains of the crib. “Maggie claims she’s great with kids, and Alex is a doctor, and James can soothe any baby it’s practically magic I’ve seen it, and not to brag but Winn and I are greatbabysitters, we only lost Carter for an hour tops—”

“—you lost a child?” Lena tried to interrupt, but Kara was on a roll and didn’t seem to be listening at all.

“—so really, between all of us, Ally won’t even have time to feel lonely.”

(She talked as if they’d all be around when Ally was much older, when she knew enough about her family—her father—to feel sad.

Kara talked as if she and her sister and her friends were accepting responsibility for Lena’s niece as well, and it was overwhelming.)

“Kara…you can’t—I don’t know how much Maggie or your sister would appreciate being dragged into this mess,” Lena said, staring at Kara’s back, clenching her hands into fists in order to hide their shakiness.

Kara waved her off without even turning to look at her.

“Well, you’re my friend,” she said easily, picking up one of the pieces of wood and studying it before dropping it back down. “And by extension, my friends are your friends. And friends help out.” She turned her head, gracing Lena with a small smile. “I’ve said ‘friend’ too many times, but the point is you’re not in this alone, Lena. And if I have to spend all night figuring this crib out for you to accept it, then I’ll do just that.”

Lena laughed, recognizing a lost cause when she saw one, and crossed over to sit down next to Kara, hands finally unclenching.

“You know, I gave you the easy job.”

“The easy job, says the engineer,” Kara huffed in mock annoyance. “Fine then, show me how it’s done.”

“She sort of looks like him,” Lena said, head tilted to the side as she studied the slumbering Ally. They’d brought her home—and that phrase in and of itself boggled Lena’s mind, she brought her niece to her home, two words she never thought she’d think in relation to herself—earlier that morning, all the paperwork finished, Maggie’s friend Sarah long gone. “Doesn’t she?”

“I was going to say she looks like you,” Maggie called from the kitchen, busy digging through Lena’s fridge, searching for something to eat. Lena wasn’t quite sure how to feel about the familiarity Maggie presumed, but she didn’t comment on it. Even if it was unnerving, it was nice. “The dark hair, the pretty eyes. She’ll end up with that strong Luthor jaw too, just you wait.”

“You think I have pretty eyes, Sawyer?” Lena asked, focusing on only a single part of Maggie’s comment, blinking and turning to look at the detective. Someone snorted indignantly in the living room, where Kara and Alex were arguing in whispers over how to use a camera James had given Lena earlier in the week (calling it a peace offering, an apology, a gift he’d thought she could use what with having a child in her life), and Lena found herself smiling.

“I’m right here, Maggie,” Alex deadpanned, though judging from the way she was looking at Kara, she hadn’t been the one to snort. “And everyone knows you have pretty eyes,” Alex continued, not looking away from her sister. “Wasn’t there an article about it in the last issue of CatCo Magazine? Kara?” she prompted when Kara seemed much more interested in the camera than in the conversations around her.

“Who knows really? Maybe. Laurie might have pitched it. She might have spent over a day looking at photos of Lena, asking for everyone’s opinion for which picture showed off her eyes the most. I might have accidentally—” Kara stopped suddenly, clearing her throat and looking up, eyes flitting over Lena’s face briefly before throwing Alex and Maggie a dirty look—one that Lena hadn’t really known Kara was capable of making. “I mean, I was on assignment. Reporting the news. Doing my job. You know…writing.”

“Are you having a stroke, Kara?” Maggie asked casually, abandoning her search for food.

“She doesn’t look like him,” Alex informed Lena, ignoring her sister and girlfriend entirely. Sparing her sister an odd glance, as if silently promising a future (and private) conversation, Alex focused her attention on Lena. “She just looks like a kid. Because that’s what she is, Lena.”

(And Lena knew what Alex was actually trying to say, even if she didn’t know the elder Danvers as well as Kara, even if she was sometimes slightly intimidated by Alex. She knew that she was telling her not to worry, telling her to forget the nature versus nurture debate, telling her to remember that Ally was just a child who needed a loving family, that the sins of the father did not extend to Ally.

She was telling Lena to relax, that she could do this, and Lena marveled at the fact that Alex could say so much in so few words. She thought it might have been a sibling thing—or maybe just an Alex thing.)

“You’re right,” Lena whispered, eyes falling to Ally again, still slumbering peacefully in the crib Lena had suggested they leave out in the open where she could always see it, at least for a while (a part of her still thinking this was just a dream and she’d wake up and find she’d imagined the whole thing). “She’s just a kid.”

She reached down to gently smooth back some of Ally’s dark, curly hair, and without thought, warning, or preparation, Lena Luthor promptly fell in love with her niece.

She wasn’t going to call Kara, she told herself determinedly, huffing a breath and tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear as she took in her niece’s red face. This was okay, this was manageable, she did notneed Kara. The fact that Ally had finally stopped crying gave a little bit more credence to her argument, but her soaked clothes and disaster zone of a bathroom spoke otherwise. But Lena did not need Kara.

At least, she didn’t think so.

“Come on, Ally,” she practically begged, dropping to her knees next to the bathtub and looking at her niece carefully. “You need a bath.”

Ally, standing shakily next to the bathtub, glared—yes, glared—at Lena, her blue eyes a little bit too fiery for Lena’s comfort.

“No,” she said resolutely, accentuating her point with a firm shake of her head.

It was undeniably frustrating and inconveniently endearing.

(In the past week, Lena had learned a great deal about her niece, first and foremost being that she inherited her parents’ intelligence, something Lena wasn’t sure she was entirely glad for yet. For example, though Ally didn’t speak more than a dozen or so words, it was always quite clear she understood everything that was said and done around her. She couldn’t confront Lena, tell her she knew that Lena wasn’t her mother—that she wasn’t even familiar—but she managed to convey those feelings by refusing simple tasks, like bath time, glaring at her food suspiciously, refusing to sleep until she literally passed out from sheer exhaustion.

In fact, most times it was only Kara who could coax Ally into doing anything—changing, bathing, sleeping, eating, it didn’t matter. Kara claimed it was because she just had ‘one of those faces’ but Lena wondered if her niece felt the same thing she had felt the day she first met Kara: an inexplicable pull, an undeniable trust.

Most obvious, however, was that Ally was full to the brim with what Maggie liked to call ‘the charming Luthor stubbornness’ something Lena found less and less charming every day.)

“Ally, please.”

“No,” her niece repeated, eyes actually narrowing.

(She’d been reading extensively about children and development and all the ins and outs of raising a child that wasn’t even yet two. She knew she had to be firm, knew that children took advantage of leniency, knew that she had to set boundaries as the adult. And yet…

She remembered her own harsh upbringing, the cold glances from nannies, the disinterest from Lionel, the outright aggression at times from Lillian. She remembered not feeling wanted or liked or even tolerated, and though she knew she had to be harder on Ally—put her foot down, so to speak—she just didn’t have the heart, even if she knew it wouldn’t be the same, that she’d never go too far.

She didn’t want to be a Luthor with her, even accidentally—even just out of habit. She didn’t want her to have the same childhood Lena suffered through.)

“What if I told you a story?”

(It was a last ditch effort, she didn’t think Ally would go for it.

Lena resigned herself to calling Kara yet again.)

Just as Lena made to get up, reaching for her phone, Ally held up her arms, finally acquiescing to her bath, allowing Lena to pick her up and place her in the tub. And Lena, woefully ill prepared for an impromptu story-time, cleared her throat and began to talk about the one thing she knew Ally would love—a tale about Supergirl.

By the end of bath-time, as Lena was drying off her niece, she earned the one thing only Kara had managed to coax out of Ally thus far: a smile.

She was in a meeting when it happened, arguing with some arrogant, narrow-minded old man who believed he knew what was best for her company. She was in a meeting, one she told Jess not to interrupt under any circumstances (wanting to put the old man in his place, needing the time and the privacy to do so), one she hadn’t expected to drag on quite as long as it did.

She was in a meeting when Ally was rushed to the hospital.

(Later, after she waved away all the apologies from the woman who ran the ridiculously expensive daycare, after she assured Jess she was right to contact Kara, after the doctor had smiled at Lena and swore up and down that Ally was fine—“She’s a child, Ms. Luthor, this sort of comes with the territory of being a parent”—and Alex and given Lena a sympathetic look, Lena collapsed in one of the uncomfortable hospital room chairs, head in her hands, body trembling.

She was in a meeting, she was rolling her eyes at the words of an insignificant man while her niece was struggling to breathe—because Lena hadn’t known Ally was allergic to peanuts.)

“How’re you holding up?” It was Kara, Lena could tell by the sensible shoes that were suddenly in her line of sight, and judging from the smell of coffee that wafted towards her, Kara had been successful in her quest for what she called a ‘pick me up.’ After several seconds of silence, Kara let out a soft sigh and knelt down, placing the coffee cup on the ground and then using the tips of her fingers to gently coax Lena to look at her. “Lena, it’s okay.”

“Is it?” she snapped, regret flooding through her immediately when Kara’s eyes flashed with hurt for an instant before she managed to mask it. “Do you know what could have—” Lena began, tone considerably softer, “—she could’ve…Kara, she could’ve—”

“—she’s fine,” Kara said gently, taking Lena’s hands into her own, squeezing a little, as if to ground Lena to the moment. “She’s been laughing at Maggie’s faces.”

It was Kara’s soft voice, the sturdiness of her presence, the fact that she could still somewhat hear Ally’s giggles as Maggie continued to make faces, Alex watching the whole thing clearly torn between amusement and fondness, that Lena found herself confessing everything to Kara.

“She deserves better than me,” Lena said, voice cracking, the truth of her words sending a stab of pain through her chest. Because it was true but oh she didn’t want it to be. “She deserves a family like yours. Something normal Maggie or Alex could give her. With me—with me she’ll always be a Luthor.” Lena thought about nights waiting up for her father to return home, of falling asleep in her father’s study, tucked in his leather chair and breathing in the smell of tobacco. She thought about afternoons meant to be spent with Lillian that she just spent alone, the days she waited for Lex to call when he went off to college and left her behind. She thought about how she’d learned—barely even a teenager—that the best way to gain her father’s attention was to drag herself to LuthorCorp every afternoon after school and watch him work, eventually wandering off to R&D when Lionel barely acknowledged her presence. “She’ll end up like me, Kara. How could I do that to her? How could I let her become like me?”

Kara leaned up, pressing a lingering kiss to Lena’s forehead.

“Ally could do a lot worse than become like you,” Kara whispered against her skin, not moving away, the heat of her hands finally—finally—beginning to warm Lena’s.

“Kara,” Lena chastised, not really in the mood for false platitudes, but she came off sounding less peeved and more amused, because Kara chuckled and pressed another kiss to Lena’s forehead.

“Fine, I’ll admit it. You’re right,” Kara began slowly. “We don’t want her like you. We don’t want her to grow up kind or generous, funny or intelligent. I especially don’t want her to be health conscious like you, for her to care about others, for her to be so willing to love—to be so good, in spite of everything terrible that’s happened.” Kara pulled back a little, just enough that Lena could meet her blue, blue eyes, a smile on her lips.

“She would be better off with a real family,” Lena argued.

“I will always be grateful for the Danvers, Lena,” Kara said, releasing Lena’s hands and cupping her cheeks instead. “I love them for taking me in, for giving me so much love, for being my family—for accepting me despite everything I put them through. But,” Kara’s smile turned sad, her thumbs wiping gently under Lena’s eyes, erasing the evidence of Lena’s tears, “I will always be heartbroken and will never understand why my own family—all I had left—sent me away.” The comment was loaded, heavy with untold truths, and though Lena burned to ask—knew that Kara would tell her anything in that moment—she just swallowed, attempting and failing to shake her head. “Don’t give up on her, Lena,” Kara whispered, sounding a little faraway, lost in her own thoughts for a moment, “she needs you, and she’s too young to know it yet, but she’ll want you, too.”

“And you?”

(Two words, that was all Lena was capable of saying. Two words, and yet Kara understood anyway.)

“She’ll always have me. And so will you.” She wiped at Lena’s cheeks once more with the pads of her thumbs then smoothly stood up, smiling down at Lena with her glasses slipping down the bridge of her nose. “Your coffee got cold,” she informed Lena simply, gesturing to the cup that was left forgotten on the ground. “It’s probably a good thing, Alex said it was really bad.” She held out a hand. “Come on, I know a great café not even five minutes away from here. We can even get Maggie a bagel.”

“But—”

“Alex and Maggie are hovering, Ally’s perfectly safe. Come on,” she repeated. “let’s go for a walk.”

And to Lena’s ultimate surprise, she found herself taking Kara’s hand, accepting the tacit offer of help.

“So, Luthor,” Alex said cheerfully, licking her fingers clean of chocolate icing, “when did you and my sister start dating?”

Lena very nearly dropped the eggs in her hand, resulting in a moment of stupid juggling that had Ally pausing her search for grapes in her fruit salad long enough to giggle.

“I’m—what—we’re not dating,” Lena said, putting the eggs aside and helping Ally out by swapping her fruit salad with a small bowl of grapes. She seemed terribly pleased by the turn of events, clapping her hands together and shouting wape—what Lena assumed was Ally’s attempt at saying grape.

“Yeah, that’s what Kara said too. But with more stuttering. And blushing.” Alex grinned widely. “And head ducking, which means she’s hiding something.” She pulled the chocolate icing towards herself, clearly intending to get another taste, but Lena’s face must’ve showed her disgust more clearly than she thought, because Alex sighed and wiped her hands on a towel in defeat, abandoning the icing entirely. “Fine,” she said, choosing embarrassing Lena over sampling everything in sight. “So you’re not dating. Do you want to be?”

“Why are you here, Alex?”

“Seriously? I offer to help bake Ally’s birthday cake and that’s how you treat me? I’m hurt,” she said, going as far as to place her hand over her heart in mock-distress.

Before Lena could bother to point out that Alex hadn’t helped at all, Ally threw her now empty bowl of grapes towards Lena.

“More wapes!” she demanded, making Alex laugh.

“No more grapes for you,” Lena said, knowing her stern voice was off because Alex just laughed again. She turned around to check the oven—still rather unfamiliar with baking despite practicing as much as she could over the last few months—unsurprised to see Ally snacking on more fruit the second she turned back. “Seriously?” she asked Alex, raising an eyebrow.

“In her defense, she said wapes, which could mean anything, really.”

“You’re spoiling her,” Lena said flatly, though she couldn’t help her smile as Ally happily searched through her grapes, picking out the biggest ones and popping them into her mouth. “I’ll blame you if she becomes an intolerable teenager.”

“Brr,” Alex said, mimicking Maggie’s teasing—something that had, unfortunately for Lena, caught on in the past several months—and grinning. “Isn’t that right, Ally?” Alex said cheerfully, stealing one of Ally’s grapes, something that had Ally’s mouth dropping open in shock.

“No!” Ally said, eyebrows rising and hands flying, reminding Lena so much of Lex in that moment that she thought her heart would stop. For a moment—a brief second—Lena was almost sure her older brother would pop his head out of the guest room, gesticulating wildly as he excitedly told Lena about his latest experiments, begging her to shut off her music for just a moment so that he could concentrate. She was so busy feeling overwhelmed by Lex’s sudden non-physical presence that she nearly missed Ally turning to her, looking a little bit betrayed. “Mommy, say no!”

“Did she—?” Alex started.

“No, no she can’t have,” Lena finished, eyes wide. She was barely aware of Alex calling Kara—telling her to put out the fire as quickly as she could—and only blinked blankly when Ally repeated the word that put Lena in this state in the first place.

“Mommy!” Ally said, trying to get Lena’s attention. “Mommy!”

Ally’s birthday party—something Maggie had rolled her eyes at, wondering what the point of throwing a two year old a party even was—had devolved into an impromptu comfort session, James putting his ability to soothe any child to good use while Lena sat on the ground, back against the wall and legs stretched out in front of her. Someone, likely Winn, had brought her cake earlier, but it sat forgotten as the minutes turned into hours of silence.

“You want to talk about it?” Kara asked, speaking for the first time since she arrived—still covered in soot from her fire rescue—and slid down the wall to sit next to Lena, cape and boots looking rather out of place in Lena’s apartment. She was being so patient, so good, and to be perfectly frank, Lena couldn’t deal with it.

“No,” she snapped. “I’m not her mother,” she immediately added.

“I know that.”

“Why would—why are—how are you so calm?” Lena suddenly felt the inexplicable need to cry. And Luthors…Luthors did not cry.

“She didn’t call me her mom,” Kara pointed out unhelpfully, chuckling when Lena could do nothing but groan.

“This is serious, Kara. Why would she think I’m her mother?”

As one, their eyes shifted towards the living room, where James was sitting with Ally in his lap, the two of them seemingly completely entranced with whatever was playing on the television. Winn was on his phone, sneaking not-so-subtle glances at James and Ally every few seconds, not-so-subtly taking photos. Not for the first time, Lena marveled at how normal it all felt, having friends at her apartment—having her niece giggle and play with James Olsen’s camera, James bravely hiding his anxiety as a two year old manhandled expensive equipment—talking, laughing, eating, generally enjoying each other’s company.

Six months she had this, the support, the friendship, the knowledge that she had people she could count on—that Ally could count on, years down the line—and it was only now, with Kara’s shoulder brushing her own and Alex and Maggie arguing over proper tackling procedures (which Lena hadn’t been aware existed), that she finally, finally, believed she wasn’t in this alone.

As soon as that thought registered, she felt calmer.

This would be okay. She’d get through this—with everyone at her side.

“For the last six months,” Kara began slowly, making Lena turn to her in surprise, unsure how to feel about the careful way she was measuring her words as she spoke, “you’ve been everything to Ally. It’s natural that she’d become attached to you. I became attached to Eliza.”

“Did you ever call her mom?”

“Well, no. But I was also much older.” She bit her lip, dragging her gaze away from James and Ally and looking and Lena instead, eyes full of a sadness that had only ever been hinted at before. She smiled, but it only served to make her seem more broken. “I was…I was really hard on Eliza and Jeremiah,” she explained softly. “I felt guilty that I was able to be happy with them. That they could make me smile and feel as if I was home. I worried—I still worry, sometimes,” she amended, laughing mirthlessly. “I worry that if I’m not careful I’ll forget about Krypton, that the love I feel for Eliza will replace what I feel for my own mother.” She knocked her shoulder gently against Lena’s, ducking her head as if she was trying to hide the extent of what she was feeling. “I lashed out at Eliza. Especially in high school, when she had to give me those talks usually reserved for your own mother. But even though I’ve never called her my mother, she’s been my mom in more ways than one.”

“But letting Ally think I’m her mother—she’ll find out the truth eventually. Should I lie until then? Should I try to tell her the truth?”

Kara laughed in response, taking Lena’s hand in her own.

“She’s too young to worry about all that anyway. That’s a problem for future us,” she said with a grin. “Right now we just need to worry about potty training. I called Eliza about it, she mostly just laughed, so I assume it’s not fun.”

Lena stared at Kara fondly for a moment, thinking of her use of the words us and we, the fact that she reached out to her adoptive mother for help, and she thought her heart might stutter right out of her chest.

“I think, when she’s old enough, I’ll ask her if she wants to be a Luthor. Alexandra Peters Luthor, it’s a good name.”

“The best,” Kara agreed immediately, smiling when Lena dropped her head onto her shoulder, leaning heavily against Kara’s soot covered suit. “I think I smell like smoke,” she added when Lena breathed her in, took in her warmth.

Lena closed her eyes and buried her face in the crook of Kara’s neck.

“Doesn’t matter,” she said, voice slightly muffled. “I think you’re perfect.”

It wasn’t much of a surprise that Kara just laughed, hearing Lena’s tacit confession. And it wasn’t much of a surprise when she squeezed Lena’s hand reassuringly in response, wordlessly letting her know she felt the same way.

#fanfic #supercorp #kara danvers #lena luthor #old

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