#baker number 2

[paceypeternathanslawyer]

One Tree Hill Meme (7/24) Favorite Episodes Favorite Episode Per Episode Number

Season 1 Episode 7: Life In A Glass House

Season 2 Episode 7: Let The Reigns Go Loose

Season 3 Episode 7: Champagne For My Real Friends, Real Pain For My Sham Friends

Season 4 Episode 7: All These Things That I've Done

Season 5 Episode 7: In Da Club

Season 6 Episode 7: Messin' With The Kid

Season 7 Episode 7: I And Love And You

Season 8 Episode 7: Luck Be A Lady

Season 9 Episode 7: Last Known Surroundings

[twistedtummies2]

The Price May Be Right - Number 2

Welcome to “The Price May Be Right!” I’ve been counting down My Top 31 Favorite Vincent Price Performances & Appearances! The countdown will cover movies, TV productions, and many more forms of media. It’s time for our penultimate pick! Today we focus on Number 2: Professor Ratigan, from The Great Mouse Detective.

If you know me very well, this choice and its ranking will not be even a remote surprise. If you don’t me as well…it probably still won’t be a remote surprise. Partially due to the fact it’s a Disney film, and partially due to the time when this film was released (it’s one of the more recent entries on the list), AND partially due to its family film status, this is quite likely the introduction most people my age had to Vincent Price, and it’s very likely how most people younger than me will often be introduced to the long-departed actor’s work in times to come. “The Great Mouse Detective” is also, I would imagine, how many young people end up being introduced to Sherlock Holmes. Because, in essence, that is what this movie is: it’s Sherlock Holmes, but with rodents in the roles. The story focuses on the madcap genius detective, Basil of Baker Street (voiced by Barrie Ingham), on his first case with his future partner, Dr. Dawson. The two have to work together to save a young mouse girl and her father, when they are kidnapped by Basil’s nemesis: the unhinged criminal mastermind, Professor Ratigan, Price’s role in the story. Ratigan plans to use the father’s special skills to help him assassinate the Queen of Mousedom, and then – you guessed it – take over the kingdom. It’s a race against time to stop Ratigan’s evil plan, save the victims, and spare the Queen and the kingdom alike from a hideous fate. This role came fairly late in Vincent’s career, and perhaps that’s what made it so special to him. He said more than once, in his waning years, that Ratigan had become his all-time favorite part…and considering all the incredible movies and characters he played before this slimy, contemptible sewer rat, that’s got to be saying a lot! Price described Ratigan as someone “playing the Great Villain, while also BEING the Great Villain.” There’s a sort of self-awareness to Ratigan and his melodramatic evil that I think makes him so fun to watch: he just so utterly ENJOYS all of his own wicked ways, and seems to self-consciously do things with the intent of making them as nasty and as grand as he possibly can. Intriguingly, there’s a hint of empathy to Ratigan, however: it’s hinted that the reason he’s become so evil is because he’s been prejudiced by society, since rats are seen as scummy, dirty, verminous things. He dresses himself in the finest clothes and puts on foppish manners in an attempt to seem more debonair and sophisticated…but ironically, his twisted nature only furthers the very stereotype he despises. Vincent’s voicework is a huge part of what makes Ratigan so wonderful. You can tell the man was having an absolute ball with every SYLLABLE he utters, and the animation and his voice blend together so seamlessly it’s impossible to imagine him in the booth whenever you watch the character. That’s something that’s difficult for even the very best celebrity voice artists, but the combination of Vincent’s dedicated performance and the artful animation makes it work brilliantly. His Ratigan is the Joker of Disney: a character who can flip on a dime from humorously evil and infectiously gleeful in his villainy…to a genuinely menacing, threatening, and thoroughly despicable character. He’s one of the finest portrayals of the character of Professor Moriarty ever put to the screen; I’m honestly surprised Vincent never played the character in live-action, especially considering both Peter Cushing and Christopher Lee played Holmes himself at different points in their own careers. Maybe somewhere in that big movie studio in the sky, the three of them are putting on the greatest Sherlock Holmes film ever made. Here's hoping a lot of us down here get to see it someday. One last thing: a funny story about Price in this movie. Apparently, when Price found out about the film, he outright called up the management and Disney and asked if he could take part in it. They responded by saying he would have to audition. “If anyone but Disney had asked me to do that,” Vincent said, “I would have been insulted!”   Tomorrow, the countdown concludes with my Number One! Who will it be? What will it be? Stay tuned to find out!

[sandymybeloved]

hilarious to me that david tennant isn't even the first actor to play multiple incarnations of the doctor, he's technically the third

[keeps-ache]

i have learned Linkage :3

[peppertoastuniverse]

pep reads: fluffiest fluff edition

I've just been CONSUMING so many jjk fanfics... here are the softest fluffiest fic recommendations since I think we all need it right now. This list is in no particular order – there's so many talented writers out there! These ones just made me MELT extra hard. Mostly no smut, I just needed to be held.

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆｡･:*:･ﾟ

gojo satoru

☆ only you by Kaiseriin [A03: mini series] [status: unknown] [Cursed speech!reader] Other than Gojo, not many people understand the sign language you use to communicate as a cursed speech user. When some students from Kyoto arrive, one tries to learn so he can get closer to you.

☆ summer skies, winter lies by miyaspudding [A03: long fic!][status: ongoing]

"how cruel was fate? how much had he sinned in his past life, for the woman he loved to belong to his best friend? how little did god love him?"

in which gojo satoru learns that emotions are not weaknesses but consolations; and geto suguru realizes that he's always been a little too late for everything. because the furthest distance is an inch away, and the furthest thing from truth is "just friends".

☆best of luck. by reinerispretty [A03: one shot! part of a mini series] [status: unknown] In which Gojo Satoru shows up unannounced, twice.

☆Ah, you were both equally idiotic by Hiroka [A03: mini series] [status: unknown]

4 times others realized something was going on between Gojo and you, and 0 times you both realized it.

[Oneshots from the Old Beats Cinematic Universe]

☆ For A God, Shopping Is a New Adventure by Bun_sun [AO3] [status: on going!] [Baker!reader]

“Would you like anything else?” “Actually, yeah.” He flashes you a grin that only promises trouble, pushing his sunglasses down with a way too exaggerated flirty expression. “Can I get your number too?” “Haha, really funny Gojo. Now, I have more clients so...” But he's already getting his phone out, as if he hasn't listened to a single word you've said. “...Oh, you're for real.” ~ ~ ~ ~ Reader owns a small cafe with their own baked goods. Gojo comes in one day, and absolutely falls in love with their pastries (and with them).

☆ I Want to Kiss You / キスしたい by arminsumi [A03][status: unknown]

You and Satoru falling in love despite a language barrier.

You've come to visit Japan to meet these two boys you met online. Though Satoru can't speak English and you can't speak Japanese, the two of you still fall in love. There's seems to be romantic tension between you and Suguru, too.

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆｡･:*:･ﾟ

geto suguru

it's so hard to find suguru fics without him being used as a plot device for gojo

☆ gentle glow / deep thought by waffiez [AO3: one shot] [status: completed] "I thought about you, you know." Despite the softness of his voice, it cut through the otherwise silent atmosphere profoundly and made your heart skip a beat. "Is that so?" "It is." ☆☆☆ in which you awake to your best friend suguru asleep at the edge of your bed, having returned from a lengthy mission and only really wanting to see you.

☆ unnamed drabble by @twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat [tumblr: drabble] [status: completed]

comfy fluff w sleepy needy sugu <33)

☆ Wash It Away by @shadowsandshapes [A03/tumblr: drabble][status: completed]

Sometimes you forget Geto is just a guy. But then he shows a sense of vulnerability that surprises you. After a particularly emotionally draining battle, you run him a warm bath and take care of his aches. ☆ Wisteria and Ciabatta by @hayakawalove [A03/tumblr: mini fic!][status: completed, chapter 2 has smut!]

Traveling merchant Suguru has led a relatively tame life thus far. Growing his flowers, baking his bread. One day, when he ventures out further than normal he comes across something more beautiful than all the flowers in the world. You. ☆ the paint doesn't move the way the light reflects by @twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat [tumblr: long oneshot!] [status: completed]

when the king puts you under the supervision of a dashing knight, you promise to make his job as difficult as possible. unfortunately, suguru geto is the patient sort.

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆｡･:*:･ﾟ

bonus!

☆ Digest Your Feelings (DYF) – First Years! by @whalesforhands [A03/tumblr: part of a longer series of fics] [status: completed] new classmates, new life, new friends(?). a look into the life of the dyf au characters in their first year.

[ianyoa]

SOMETHING SUPER SWEET

jjk men x baker f!reader wc: 757 featuring: satoru gojo, suguru geto, nanami kento, choso kamo, yuji itadori, megumi fushiguro, yuta okkotsu.

summary ; jjk men headcannons with a baker girlfriend !

Satoru Gojo LOVES the fact that you can bake. Coming back to a sweet treat is like a dream come true. If you’re having insecurities about trying something new out, he’s the first to reassure you that it’s already perfect on the first go. He loves watching you bake when there’s downtime. Whenever you’re distracted he likes to dip his finger into the batter and have an early taste… which leads into a spoonful, then another, and another. Next thing you know, you’re giving Satoru a slice of cake while he’s in bed with a stomach ache because he insists he’s TOTALLY fine and doesn’t want it to go to waste. 

Suguru Geto claims to be indifferent. He comes over and sees a brownie, he’ll only eat it because “you made them.” Truth is, he loves them so, so much. After a full day of having to take in awful curses, there’s nothing better than having something delicate that his sweet girlfriend made. Maybe one day he’ll vocally express his love for them, but you already tell how much he enjoys them by the look in his eyes when he comes back to the smell. 

Nanami Kento, being the man he is, helps you. He loves coming back to see you midway through baking. Doesn’t matter if he’s tired, he’ll wash his hands and jump right in with you. He loves it when you make bread together. It’s perfect for him to pack it up for his lunch the next day. He doesn’t lean towards sweets, maybe having a bite or two and leaving the rest for you. But the second you make croissants, muffins, biscuits, you name it.. he’s thinking about the perfect time to propose. 

Choso Kamo is amazed. Seriously, like.. how is this possible? He gets a little nervous whenever you tell him to join you, he just doesn’t want to screw up since you always do it perfectly. Choso ends up enjoying it a lot! He gets happy whenever it starts forming together. One thing he loves doing, decorating the cookies after. You give him a couple of piping bags with different icings and a tray of sprinkles and he’s sitting there for who knows how long trying to make it look perfect for you. He loves watching you bake, not just staring at the dough as you make it from nothing to something, but the look on your face once it’s complete and you’re satisfied.

Yuji Itadori takes pride in having a girlfriend who can bake. Every time you make something, you’ll always have to make extras so he can take it for his friends. Gives them to others with the biggest smile on his face saying that you were the one who made them. He’s quite literally your number-one fan. Encourages you to open some sort of shop, even if you claim it’s just a hobby, so he can pass on the delight of these sweets to others. Everyone has to know what a real dessert tastes like! But you always have to make sure that there’s plenty left for him.

Megumi Fushiguro doesn’t mind it. He doesn’t go out of his way to ask for anything but if you offer, sure he’ll take some. As long as it’s not anything insanely sweet, he quite enjoys it. Loves it when you make something with dark chocolate though. He drinks black coffee of course he wouldn’t mind some dark chocolate cookies or something simple like a fruit coated in dark chocolate. Whenever you do manage to get him to eat something a little more on the sweeter side, he never complains. It’s something that you made. He claims to never say anything against it because that would be rude but really, it’s the only sweet thing he’ll ever fully enjoy without complaining. 

Yuta Okkotsu enjoys making sweets for you! It started when one day you gave him a cupcake as a treat for the stress that he’s endured, then the next day he gives you a 2 tiered cake. This man will always give you something in return. Sure he might’ve never considered the idea of baking but once you two started dating and he saw how much you enjoyed it, he started practicing so one day you two can do it together. It slowly became normal for you two to make each other something every once in a while. Sure his baking might be really good, but he claims that he’ll never reach your level. There’s something about your sweets that makes his day instantly better.

⁺ ﹒ ˚ ₊ ‧꒰ა ﹒ ✦﹒ ໒꒱ ‧ ₊ ˚ ﹒ ⁺

notes ; i wrote this because i was watching a baking show LMAOO

[boydepartment]

it’s cold in here - nishimura riki x gn! reader

you and your annoying coworker at the bakery get accidentally locked in the freezer | masterlist | wc - 350 | part 2

nishimura riki was the worst fucking coworker on the planet. he would finish frosting the cake but then not tell you he was done with it. so he would put the cake in the chiller and not tell you it was done, so you would get behind in decorating the cakes and then that would put the orders behind.

the worst part is he would PURPOSELY put you behind so you looked bad. especially to your sweet manager whom you never wanted to disappoint…

but you weren’t any better, you would point out to your manager the mistakes in riki’s frosting job on the different cakes.

today was a slow day and you weren’t doing anything at work, the bakers went home so it was just you, riki, and two other workers who work the front. your manager was out doing deliveries. you grabbed one of the tickets and went to the freezer, you saw the cake was due in an hour and it still wasn’t frosted.

sighing, you walked up to riki, “hey have you frosted this cake?”

riki looked up from his phone, “yes it’s in there. i’m frosting cupcakes right now. leave me be.” riki quite literally waved you off and you stood there in shock

“no it’s not.” you stood there irritated

the tall man looked at you and scoffed, “it literally is. now leave me alone.”

you looked at him, “no the fuck it’s not. now stop making my fucking life harder and show me where it is then.”

riki’s eye twitched and he walked to the freezer and you followed him. he had on large jackets, he was in the freezer a lot getting cakes back and forth.

you stood by the cake rack with him with your arms crossed.

“see it’s not fucking here.”

riki kept looking around and looked genuinely confused, “i swear i did it…”

“i don’t know maybe one of the girls in the front took it.” you took a deep breath, you saw the breath that left you. it was freezing.

“yeah what the fuck ever. i’ll just do another one.” he turned to the other cakes and grabbed an unfrosted one. you mumbled a thank you and turned to leave the freezer.

but the door wouldn’t open…

you blinked and tried to push the door open again…

riki stood behind you and scoffed, “you’ve opened this door a million times- move.”

he gently moved you out of the way and tried to open it, but the door wouldn’t open.

you started to panic and he looked at you, “y/n do not cry in here you need to trust me it’s going to hurt.”

you looked at him your eyes glossing over QUICK. he set the wrapped unfrosted cake down and used his sleeves to cover your eyes. he spoke like he knew you shouldn’t cry in here.

“if you cry in here the contrast from your higher temperature tears might hurt with the cold.” riki spoke, he didn’t sound irritated at you for once.

“we’re gonna die in here! there’s so much i wanted to do, i wanted to travel and get married and have a ton of animals, maybe even get a masters degree and-“

“well you’re doing great with that by working a part time less than minimum wage job.” he spoke very unamused, you smacked his hands away.

“why do you hate me so much!?”

he sighed and took out his phone, he tried to call your manager, jihyo, and she wouldn’t answer.

“do you have the girls who work the fronts number?” he leaned against the side of the wall then immediately stopped because it was too cold.

“no i don’t they just got hired and they’re like 2-3 years younger than me and you.” you deadpanned and looked away shivering. riki sighed loudly and the next thing you knew his jacket was wrapped around you. your head whipped to him.

“wh-“

“don’t.” he put his hand up, “and i don’t hate you. you’re just annoying.”

you looked at him and sighed, opening your phone to text your manager. explaining the situation. riki walked to the over side and took a couple of boxes with baking material in them and sat down. you begrudgingly sat down next to him.

“you can scoot closer to me.” he mumbled, you listened, you were freezing cold so you went right next to him, “i’m more used to being in here than you.” riki said and took a deep breath.

“shouldn’t we be moving around to keep your bodies warm?”

he looked at you funny, “what the fuck are you going to do? jumping jacks? absolutely not you’re going to slip and fall on your ass. then you’re out for a week or two and we lose our best- our decent decorator.”

you looked at him, “best decorator…?” your lips curled into a slight smile.

“whatever. i don’t know how you do it or make those stupid decorations so i have to applaud you..” he mumbled and nudged you.

the freezer fans stopped and it was silent, only cracks from the cold. your breaths being able to be heard just as well as being visible.

“im sorry for not telling you when i’m done frosting.” riki spoke, “it’s stupid and i did it for a stupid reason.”

you looked at him, “yeah i’d get behind and it makes me look bad and keeps me running back and forth and-“

“i just wanted you to talk to me more.” he said and looked at you. his cheeks dusted pink from the cold.

“what..?” you asked and looked confused, you huddled more into his jacket

he took a deep breath and lolled his head back, “i just wanted you to come to the back of house more and talk to me.”

your jaw dropped slightly, “i do go back-“

“yeah you talk to chris.” riki mumbled, “baker bahng.”

“i didn’t think you wanted to talk to me…” you frowned and looked down at your hands, “i get scared to make friends sometimes. and you didn’t look like you liked me..”

“i know, i’ve heard you talking to jihyo about it.” riki said, “i overheard you…”

your eyes went down to your hands, “i’m sorry if i wasn’t welcoming when you got hired.. your first day was a holiday and i was stressed.”

“it’s fine… i didn’t make it any better…”

it was awkward in the freezer after that, you both sat in silence and it didn’t help the fans were on. you got up and tried to knock on the door for someone to let you out.

“i’m sorry if i weirded you out…” riki stood up and walked by you.

you looked up at him and he put the hood over your head, your heart beat sped up a little and your eyes went to the freezer window again, “you didn’t.. i’m glad you told me and we can start over..”

riki nodded and repeated you, “start over.. yeah.. actually no..”

you felt your heart stop. you thought he now truly hated you.

“i don’t want to start over, because i fucked up and it was my fault. i wanted to be your friend and close to you and i thought you wanted nothing to do with me and so i thought you were entitled,” riki took a deep breath, “it was stupid and i’m sorry.”

“you can still be my friend..” you mumbled and looked at him, he really was good looking…

riki looked down at you, his eyes boring into yours, then he started scanning your face, “could i be more?”

a split second later jihyo came in rushing, she apologized to you both and just like nothing

you both went back to work…

[swordsandholly]

Across The Way

Ch. 2: And So It Begins

Retired!Ghoap x fem!plus size!Reader

MDNI

Ao3 | Previous - Next

Word Count: 2.6k

Summary: You go to Scotland with high hopes for your future. After all, you have the bakery you always dreamed of and a whole new life to live. Plus, the men who own the butcher’s shop across the street seem nice.

A/N: I got this out a lot faster than I thought I would. Hopefully my work doesn’t get too insane and I can get the next out in a timely manner - it’s going to be a bigger one!

“You were right.” Simon carefully cuts through the loaf with a serrated knife. He’s never lost his skill with them, despite their uses becoming increasingly more domestic over the years. It’s charming, in a way - the juxtaposition of where they started and where they are now.

“Right about whit?” Johnny asks.

“She is a pretty little thing.”

“Donnae tell me I need tae be worried about ye sneakin’ off at work.” He jokes. Simon would never, of course, but it’s fun to see the way his cheeks heat up at the implication. Without his mask he wears every expression with reckless abandon.

Simon settles his large frame into the seat across from Johnny at the dining table. It’s small, they don’t need much. The chairs always creak under Simon’s weight in an almost threatening fashion. He pushes a plate with two pieces of the bread and some eggs over to Johnny. There’s an odd tug in his chest when he picks up the slice - an urge to be gentle as he spreads butter over it. Gentility is not a compulsion he feels often.

“S’good.” Simon mutters around his bite.

Johnny nods along after taking one himself. There’s love in it - he can tell. A piece carefully crafted with only absolute perfection in mind. How strange that food can carry such a feeling.

“Was a wee bit worried we’d be stuck across from the nicest, worst baker in the world.” He mutters.

Simon huffs out a half laugh.

~~~

Your first week goes by in a blur. For a small town they sure do manage to keep you busy. It’s good, you remind yourself. Better than none. If you keep it up at this rate you’ll be able to hire help by the end of the summer quarter.

By Monday, the first day of your “weekend”, you’re overdone. Head dizzy and body exhausted, you spend the day in bed. It’s a gratifying exhaustion, one you hope to build more of a tolerance for. As of now, though, you elect to remain deeply buried under the covers.

When you wake for a second time the sun is already near setting again. The entirety of Monday slunk by with you in bed. You grumble to yourself angrily like an old man. You wanted to unpack today - to at least get your clothes and kitchen items put away.

“Stupid.” You grouse. At least you still have time to shower, you suppose.

As you stand the world blacks out for a moment, your body swaying in place. You allow yourself to fall back on the bed, sitting while your vision slowly comes back into focus. Blinking away black dots and off squiggles that dance across your eyes. On attempt number two you manage it, making your way to the bathroom.

The work is worth it. The pain is worth it.

This is what you always wanted, after all.

You are happy. You can feel it in your bones. They’re lighter than they used to be - your whole body thrums with excited energy even as you have to lower yourself with the upmost care into the shower seat. Even as you have to scrape one of the cheap fold out chairs you managed to get over to the stove while you cook a late night dinner. Thank god for low counters.

When you were arranging your schedule it took a while to get it perfected. To compensate for your body you have to have time to rest and be able to do a lot of baking preparation before the work week starts. Monday and Tuesday are for rest. Wednesdays are for prep. The shop is closed but you’re in the back working your ass off mixing and kneading and shaping doughs. As well as practicing new recipes you want to add to the store’s line up eventually. Your goal is to sell American biscuits, preferably in batches of six, but those take a lot of work and don’t keep as long. They’ll have to wait until you have hired help.

It’s all chance and whatever you can manage to make happen. You learned to be okay with that, though.

You’ve got plenty of spoons, you tell yourself. Just need to use them wisely.

When you finally close the fridge, now fully stocked with dough ready to proof and bake, you check the clock. It’s still the early afternoon. You finished sooner than you assumed you might. The thought makes you giddy - makes you feel accomplished.

It makes you feel normal.

As you exit into the warm spring sun you take a moment. Ever since you arrived you haven’t been able to just stop. To just take everything in - let the foreign air fill your lungs and the aura of the town sink into your bones.

It’s a lovely little main street that you’re located on. The building to your left is a large family owned pharmacy (very convenient for you) and to your right is an empty brick building. It looks like a former post office, but from what you know the current post office is a few blocks down beside the grocers. It’s quaint, the lot of it.

Your eyes settle on the shop across from yours housed in a simple brick building painted white. The upstairs is an apartment much like yours, you think, but from what you know it currently remains empty. The sign above the door reads A Cut Above the Rest. You wonder if that was Simon or Johnny’s doing.

Would it be weird to go in? You suppose not, after all they came to yours. It’s only fair you give them some patronage as well. Plus you need to ask how the bread was. Hopefully they liked it - you realized halfway through the night that you didn���t even ask if they like sourdough before shoving it into their hands.

That thought kept you up later than you’d like to admit.

You look both ways down the street. This particular spot doesn’t have a crosswalk but the road is so dead even when the downtown is busy you figure it’s worth risking. The lack of danger doesn’t stop you from fast-walking across, though.

The shop’s old-fashioned door bell chimes prettily as you push it open. For a butcher it smells extremely clean - almost clinical. It’s small, with an L shaped display counter and a register at the end nearest the door. Packages of sausage links and the like hang on displays across the back wall. Beside the wooden saloon doors that lead behind the counter is a little dog bed with a very well crafted name plate reading Riley hanging right above it.

So cute.

“Afternoon.” Simon appears from the back, wiping his hands on a rag. You jump a little, so lost in taking in your surroundings you forgot what you came here for.

“H-hi!” You smile. You forgot how intimidating Simon is. His gaze levels you - pins you underneath him like a fly under a swatter. Maybe that’s a bit dramatic. “I thought I’d come check your shop out and ask how the bread was?”

“It was good.” He replies bluntly. Totally monotone. The corners of his eyes crinkle ever so slightly. You decide that’s it’s a smile - whether that’s the reality of his expression or not.

“It’s really nice in here.” You look around. There isn’t much for decoration. The walls are too covered in menus and diagrams of cuts to leave room for anything extra. There’s a shelf of odds and ends opposite the main counter full of high end mustards and condiments. Little things to go with whatever you could think to make out of the varieties of meat they offer.

“Thanks.” Simon nods. “One moment.”

You watch with curiosity and a slight frown as he makes his way into the back. He almost has to duck under the doorway. Old buildings with low ceilings and all that. The place definitely wasn’t made with a six foot plus behemoth in mind. You continue to look around, rocking back and forth on your heels. They have a perfect score on their inspectors plaque. You might not know Simon well, but he seems the type to be absolutely precise about everything. The score doesn’t surprise you.

Yours is almost perfect - some rules are different here than in the US. Next time, you swear you’ll get it top notch! You look across the street at your shop. You wonder if you made the wrong choice with The Honey Bun. It’s bit much now that you see it from afar but it still makes you smile. That’s what matters, you guess.

Simon comes back out with a small, nicely wrapped package. “You don’t ‘ave any dietary restrictions d’you?”

You shake your head and he pushes the package toward you. Your eyes widen - it’s a great cut of high end beef. Like, really good beef as far as you know. Something you’d never be able to afford even if your business wasn’t brand new. You stare between Simon and the little pack in your hands. “Th-this is so nice but I-“

“It’s only fair.” He cuts you off. “Neighbors, yeah?”

You can’t help the grin that splits your face, eyes misting up despite yourself. Kindness has not been a constant in your life - more of a rarity. Something you had to claw and fight to earn. Being given it so freely but such a taciturn man has you reeling just a bit.

“Thank you… I’ve got to head back but, uh, thank you. Really.” You press the small package to your chest. “Tell Johnny I said hi?”

“Course.” He nods.

“Thanks again!” You grin, giving a little two finger salute before practically skipping all the way back into your dingy little apartment. Happily, you pack away the meat to use later. It’s too nice to just make any dish out of - best to save it for a special occasion. Your first gift in your new life. Best to savor it.

~~~

“Afternoon, bonnie.” Johnny appears in your doorway while you sweep up from the Saturday rush, bell chiming upon his entrance. “Hope I’m not a bother.”

“Not at all.” You smile, resting the broom on the counter. “Hello to you as well, Miss Riley.”

She huffs out a quiet bark in reply, sitting dutifully at Johnny’s feet. You don’t have much experience with service dogs - other than the well known rule not to pet them while they’re working. They were always too expensive for you to get and your condition wasn’t labeled serious enough to warrant financial aid. (Despite the fact that you can, and have, passed out and hit your head on something hard.)

“Can I get you something?” You ask.

“Och, I’m a’right. Just wanted tae stop by an’ say hello before headin’ home.” He gives you that dashing, bright grin. “Simon always kicks me out of the shop at close.”

“He doesn’t need help?” You ask. Surely cleaning up a butchers shop is a huge task. You have your work cut out for you with all the flower - you can’t imagine cleaning that amount of blood and mess.

Johnny shrugs. “The cleaning chemicals trigger my migraines.”

You hum. “Well, you’re always welcome to stop by. Actually,” you turn on your heel, “I’ve got somethin’ I’d like you to try, if you want.”

“Never one to say no to food. Especially from a pretty girl.” Johnny says as he follows. He tells Riley to stay in front and she listens - the perfect little lady that she is. You nearly trip at his comment, keeping your back turned so that he hopefully doesn’t see the heat spreading from your face and down your neck.

“I-it’s, uh, you ever had American biscuits?” You ask, praying he doesn’t notice the shake in your voice. You have to get on your tip toes to reach the small basket you made the day prior - carefully lowering it and pulling back the gingham cloth you wrapped them in.

An image of home.

“Aye, had them once on a layover at some chain diner.” He nods. “Donnae think they were fresh, though.”

“Well these are proper biscuits.” You carefully cut one in half with ease. “Sometime I’ll have to make you some gravy to go with.”

“Yer gonnae make us fat, hen.” Johnny chuckles.

“There are worse things to be.” The words come out more defensive than you would have liked. An automatic mechanism - a harshness you've honed over the years.

You hate how easily you wield it, sometimes.

Johnny leans forward over the table, a furrow in his brow. “I dinnae mean-“

“Here.” You cut him off and hold out the biscuit on a napkin, smothered with butter in the middle.

Johnny lets your interruption go. Probably happy for an out. He takes the fluffy baked good slowly, cupping it in his large hand with care. You wonder if he always does that, touches things with such gentle love. Is it learned? Is it just natural to him? Does he touch Simon like that? Gentle caresses?

What’s that like?

Johnny takes a massive, enthusiastic bite. Somehow his blue eyes manage to sparkle even more, grinning as he chews. “Sh’gew!”

You laugh at his attempt to talk around the food. “Glad you like it.”

He swallows roughly. A full body gulp. “Why’d ye start bakin’ anyway?”

“My grandparents raised me.” You fold the biscuits back up in their little basket. “My grandma taught me how. She was the best in town - won the pie contest almost every year.”

“Tha’s lovely.” The smile he gives you is so genuine it makes your chest constrict.

“Mean old bat but she could beat anyone in the kitchen.” You laugh. “We swore she had some kinda magic. Like a green thumb but for cooking.”

“My mum’s like tha’. Can make anythin’ out of nothin’.” He nods along.

You fall into an easy back and forth - never breaching anything deeper than the most surface level of content as he eats. It’s manageable. Johnny doesn’t push and neither do you.

Riley barks from the front of the shop.

“Och, tha’s my queue.” Johnny brushes off his hands and checks the front of his shirt for crumbs. “Take care, aye?”

You smile. “You too.”

~~~

Johnny’s words keep ringing in your ears. You don’t know why. It’s nothing special. There’s no reason to attach to them. You raise a hand to wipe off the fog and stare in the small mirror hung above your bathroom sink.

Pretty girl.

You scoff. You’re not a pretty girl. You’ve never been a pretty girl. Fat girl. Stupid girl. Sick girl. Tired girl. Sad girl.

That last one you’ve heard more than anything else. Out of all the descriptors of you it stands out as the most used. By everyone from teachers to your own family. Always just a sad, sad girl.

You got it from your mom, they’d say. It’s not like you would ever know.

You rip your eyes away from the mirror and try to let the thoughts melt away as you sink into the comfort of your blankets. Those thoughts live back on the other side of the Atlantic. They don’t get to follow you here.

[thehauntedetheral]

Omg i love your yandere baker so much, he's so cute 😭🫶. We need more of him pls? 😔🙏. How about when y/n start gaining on weight cause y/n keep eating his cake and then she stop going to his bakery for a while and also avoid him a lot cause meeting him means stuffing your face with his cake (dude def love seeing y/n eating his food) and that led to him going crazy 💀

Part 1 : https://www.tumblr.com/thehauntedetheral/757598004742176768/can-we-get-a-yandere-baker-x-reader-pls-thank?source=share

Omg i love your yandere baker so much, he's so cute 😭🫶. We need more of him pls? 😔🙏. How about when y/n start gaining on weight cause y/n keep eating his cake and then she stop going to his bakery for a while and also avoid him a lot cause meeting him means stuffing your face with his cake (dude def love seeing y/n eating his food) and that led to him going crazy 💀

Yandere Baker Pt. 2

Requests are open !

• "Nooooo!!!!" This was your first reaction when you measured your current weight on the machine.

• You have gained quite a lot weight you thought looking at the number on the machine.

• Today at office a coworker said to you that you were looking quite chubby this days and that led you to this checking out your weight.

• You looked at the mirror and thought to yourself that now you have to go on diet as you cheeks looked a bit chubby and your weight increased.

• You didn't want to go on a diet because that would mean not going to your favourite bakery, seeing the cute baker and eating his delicious treats.

• The mouthwatering pastries and cakes are now replaced by veggies, fruits and nutritional food.

• It has been a huge record that you have not gone to the bakery since 5 days.

• Your absence made yan worried about you and sad.

• "Are my baking skills not good now?" He thought while waiting for you but you didn't came.

• He would look at you through bakery glass wall jogging in morning. He would come out and call out for you "Y/n I just baked your favourite pastry, come inside and let's have a taste." While holding the tray with mouthwatering pastries at you.

The aroma, the beautiful texture tempted you but you would just start running away yelling "Next time yan right now busy exercising".

• This made him incredible sad thinking "what will I do now if my y/n isn't eating my pastries and cakes?"

• Will definitely cry for hours in his bakery sitting alone in a corner.

• Going crazy thinking "are my baking skills not enough now? Does she not like me anymore now? I baked her favourite and yet she refused, this is not my y/n."

• Enough is enough he goes to your home one day ringing the bell like a maniac with a box filled with your favourites. Wanting to know why his favourite customer isn't coming anymore????!!!!!

•You opened the door and invited him inside explaining the whole weight gain thing.

• He is just shocked looking at you with unbelievable expression. You and getting fat? IMPOSSIBLE.

• According to him you are absolutely perfect and not at all chubby, fat, skinny or anything.

• Thinks of beating that co worker who made you think you are gaining weight. Even though he is not a violence person.

• According to him you are not gaining weight you are just becoming more healthy with his love which he is pouring on you through his baked goods.

• He tries to convince you that you are not gaining weight and you need to come to bakery as usual.

• But when you don't agree he comes with a plan.

• This man starts a new section in his bakery with title "SUGAR FREE BAKED GOODS" which has no sugar and is made from only healthy stuffs only. Like sugar free bananas muffins, oatmeal cookies which health influencer shows on their channel even though it is totally against his baking ethics. But this man would do anything for you. For you to eat his food. After all this man's love language is feeding you his handmade food.

• His bakery now has oatmeal cookies, apple donuts which is nothing but fruits cutted and some healthy toppings on it. Making all this in his bakery even though he hates it as he loves making stuff filled with cream, toppings, chocolate etc.

• But he will do anything to have you back at bakery and eat.

• His sale increased as he was selling both cream fillied delicious pastries and healthy sugar free things made from apples and berries and oatmeal etc.

• His bakery was all over the internet viral through health influencer videos you followed which made you go to the bakery too.

• You ate the healthy stuff and even complimented him on this new business ideas of his (only if you knew that he started all this for you)

• He was happy that you would come sometimes at bakery for the healthy stuff now.

• But he was not elated as you were not coming everyday and eating those baked stuff which made you happy.

• He would come with you on morning joggings to be near you.

• After a month with your exercise and dieting you loss a good amount of weight. Which made you happy.

• Upon your success in weight lossing he gave you a small cupcake of your favourite icing.

"Come on y/n I made it for your celebration on losing weight. I wanted to make a cake but I know you won't eat it so I made a little cupcake. And come on all the health influencers says you should reward yourself with a little treat after work. And a little cupcake won't hurt." He said manipulating you with his puppy eyes and pretty words.

And the cupcake he made for you looks so tempting that you ate it thinking a little cupcake won't hurt. You ate it and felt like you were in heaven again eating it after a month. You missed all this so bad!!!

• Well you have fallen again now in his sweet baked trap coming everyday eating crossiant, pastry, cake while yan tells you " a little won't hurt y/n you have already loss weight and you also eat the nutritious food I made it's all balance" he says while feeding you his delicious treats being happy that you are back to eating his baked goods.

• Seems like you are never gonna be able to escape his pastries and the good looking baker who makes it.

For more yandere reading :

[drvscarlett]

Let Him Cook pt5

Charles Leclerc x MasterChef! reader

A/N: I'm really so happy with all the love that you have given to this fic. I enjoy writing about it, let me know if you have any blurbs or scenarios that you wanna see. This series will continue on and on

Let Him Cook Series: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5

taglist: @bookstore-of-dreams @barcelonaloverf1life @ririyulife @minseok-smaus @mehrmonga @sltwins @charlesgirl16 @six-call @spideybv28 @casperlikej @weekendlusting @janeholt3 @evie-119 @leilanixx @randomgirlnumber-13 @itsjustkhaos

lec lerc challenge

"As you all know by now, Charles is planning to launch his own ice cream store"you started talking to the camera "And you know what funny story, he didn't even tell me"

Charles, who was by your side, was laughing like a hyena. He actually wanted it to be discovered on the the first day of April so everyone might think its a prank but then he will announce that he is very serious about it. It was an elaborate prank on top of prank. However, the news sites got a hold of it earlier.

"That's another story time. We have to get down to business" Charles reeled the topic back to the video that you two are making.

"Okay so in order to test Charlie's knowledge about ice cream, I have here ice creams that I made myself" you explained.

In front of the two of you were 10 paper cups. They have been covered on top so that Charles won't get a hint about the color.

"So my main task is to identify what's the flavor of the ice cream"Charles confirms "Easy"

"I made some unconventional flavors to throw you off" you informed him.

You can't help but giggle as you remember how you made some weird flavors for the ice cream. But hey, this was supposed to be a challenge to see if Charles' taste buds are working so it doesn't necessarily have to be a delicious ice cream.

"Okay, I am ready to scream for ice cream"

The first five cups were easy peasy. It's common flavors such as chocolate, vanilla, cookies and cream, caramel, and pistachio.

"I'm good at this mon amour"

Charles is pretty confident now. Time to throw the curveballs.

"I'm excited for you to try this"you excitedly give him the cup.

Since Charles is blindfolded as he does this challenge, the first thing he does is smell it. He is usually confident upon spelling but the frown lines forming on his face suggest that he might be confused about the flavor profile.

"This feels strange. I smelled this before but I can't put my name on it"Charles notes.

He takes a scoop from the cup and tasted it. It was evident to his face that he didn't enjoy this ice cream a lot.

"That's so sour, mon amour there are definitely strawberries in that"Charles complained.

"Strawberries and?"

There was a string of italian and french word from Charles as he tries his best to identify it. Finally, he had a lightbulb moment where he remembered the taste of it.

"BALSAMICO" Charles screamed "That is not a flavor I will put in my store, definitely"

Y/NCooks posted a photo.

Y/NCooks turns out Charles is pretty good with his taste buds. Watch me test Charles with his ice cream skills [link]

User1 Atleast we know that Charles is committed to being an ice cream man

User2 Charles_Leclerc you should definitely try the bourbon and corn flakes in the menu

User 3 Highly agree, I would love to try that User4 were all acting like were so close to milan. Babes we live across the world.

LandoNorris do you have some plain ice cream left for me

Y/NCooks i have some but its good to try other flavors every now and then Lan LandoNorris mmm, i'll try that black sesame one. that seems like a good flavor Y/NCooks brilliant. message me when i can see you Charles_Leclerc im amazed how Y/N managed to convince you of different food choices

MasterChefAU is this Charles' entry to master chef blind taste test challenge?

Charles_Leclerc MasterChef Monaco soon??? User4 I'm laughing at the number of sidequest Charles has. SIR you are an f1 driver!!!

Charles the baker

Charles_Leclerc posted a photo.

Charles_Leclerc okay i did all the measurements right. WHY DID THEY EXPAND

User1 I can hear Charles screaming with the caption

User2 Charles is such a mood when I try to bake things

User3 But is it edible tho?

Charles_Leclerc it is but its not as pretty User4 this is an internet highlight wherein Charles is sulking and asking the internet where he went wrong

maxverstappen1 recipe reveal?

Charles_Leclerc no ✨✨ maxverstappen1 don't want it anyways. i just wanted to know what you did so i won't end up like that User5 MAX!!!!! User6 your honor we love the lestappen crumbs

Y/NCooks honey maybe you should consider giving it some space, bread do expand when they get baked.

Charles_Leclerc they do?? Y/NCooks Yes they do. But in all honesty they look so cute, its alright honey Charles_Leclerc love you mon amour!

SebastianVettel maybe we should have a baking session one of these days, I can teach you a lot about baking breads

Charles_Leclerc sounds good, miss you already Seb User7 oh to be Charles Leclerc having the Sebastian Vettel teaching him bread and MasterChef Y/N encouraging him

tiktok pasta challenge

It was a fairly simple tiktok viral recipe and in your mind its something that Charles will be able to follow instructions with. So you set up your camera and told Charles about a cooking challenge that he has to do.

"Today's challenge, Charles will be using his listening skills. Lets see how well he listens to me"you greeted the camera "Are you ready mon amour?"

"More than ever, I look good in an apron"

You stayed behind the camera as Charles stayed in front of the kitchen counter. He was tying up his apron and grabbing your chef hat from one of the drawers.

"First of all, I need you to quarter an onion"you instructed.

Charles was immediately grabbing the onion and you immediately face palmed yourself when Charles started quartering the onion without even peeling it.

"Honey, you are supposed to peel it" you sigh

"Honey, you didn't say anything about peeling it. We have three cameras set up and editors should replay that you said quarter it and not peel it" Charles argued

You raised your hand in defeat, you should have been more clearer.

"Okay, I'm not gonna be vague. I'll make it clear"

The whole cooking went along smoothly until its time for Charles to cook the pasta. He has been heavily stressing to get the texture right this time or else it will further the allegations that he can't cook pasta.

"Calm down Charlie"

"I am very very very calm, I'm just checking" he lifted the lid for the fifth time "They have to be perfect"

"Charles is very honored to be taught by Gordon on a 1 on 1 session"you informed the camera.

The two have exchanged numbers and Charles will often ask his culinary questions to Gordon when you were not available to answer them right away. Gordon seems to enjoy the new friendship with the driver since he often send Charles link for cooking recipe to try.

"I don't wanna be an idiot sandwhich" Charles muttered, stirring the pot of pasta.

Charles got a perfect al dente to his pasta. He pulls out the baked feta and tomatoes out of the oven then mixed it with the pasta. It seems as if the dish looks pretty especially with the garnishes that Charles insisted.

"Plating is also everything"he says to the camera as he grates some lemon zest to the plate "Whatever this taste like, just remember that Y/N was instructing me so if there is anyone to blame then its Y/N"

"Way to throw me under the bus Charles"

Y/NCooks just posted a photo

Y/NCooks The dish vs the chef. I think they are equally yummy [link]

User1 CHARLES CAN COOK!!!!

User2 alternative title charles stressing 10 minutes straight if the pasta is al dente or not

User3 The girlfriend effect on Charles is that he is now able to cook pasta

User4 I really want to try that pasta

Arthur_Leclerc i hope you never get tired of the pasta, its the only thing he will cook from now on

Charles_Leclerc i mean she loves it!!!! Y/NCooks its pretty good arthur, you should try it!! Arthur_Leclerc next family dinner? Charles_Leclerc im on it! User24 oh to be a fly at the Leclerc family dinner

User5 I think everyone ignored the caption, miss maam thirsting over her boyfriend

User6 if i was Y/N i would too Y/NCooks facts only!!! User6 Mother replied to us!!!

scuderiaferrari so charles is approved for a cooking challenge in the channel soon?

Y/NCooks he is born ready User8 kind of missed the c2 cooking challenges

everything i cooked

Charles_Leclerc posted a reel

here is everything that I did to celebrate Y/N's birthday. This isn't a common day, its really special so I have to run at 5 to get the flowers I ordered for her. Then next I cooked up breakfast which is some pancakes, thank you Carlos for the recipe. And then I surprised her with a little bit of breakfast in bed

and then I started making our lunch after clearing the table. Y/N had been craving butter chicken and I purposely did not take her so I could make some at home. Its a fairly easy recipe, I just had to mix some spices, cook the onions then you have the tomato paste and then cream. thanks Gordon I owe you one. She loved it so much.

and then I started early on the dessert for dinner. I didn't do the ladyfingers from scratch, I don't have a lot of time so yes here we are. The tiramisu is in the fridge. And then since Y/N loved the Lady and the Tramp spaghetti meatballs scene. I did my own take on it. Needless to say she loved it. So yes happy birthday once more mon amour, I love you so so much.

User10 I know we have been making fun of Charles but the man can actually cook.

User11 My boyfriend be forgetting my birthday but Charles here is slaving in the kitchen for Y/N's birthday

User12 CHARLES IS THE STANDARD!!! User14 Imagine cooking a whole breakfast, lunch, dinner, with a birthday dessert???!!! GOD I SEE WHAT YOU HAVE DONE FOR OTHERS

MasterChefAU Im glad to hear you are treating our girl well, happy birthday Y/NCooks

User13 OUR GIRL??!!!! Y/NCooks he is treating me well, thank you for all the greetings

Gordongram That's a beautiful dish and effort Charles!

Charles_Leclerc Thank you !!! Y/NCooks he is screaming btw Gordongram

PierreGasly when will you cook for me

CarlosSainz55 and me?? i think there is some former teammate privileges out here LewisHamilton the current teammate is also wondering SebastianVettel you boys are not Y/N. Y/N is special. Charles_Leclerc what seb said!!!

Y/NCooks one of the sweetest gesture anyone did for me. Thank you honey for making this day extra special. I don't need any five star restaurants when I have you in the kitchen.

Charles_Leclerc I love you. You deserve the world User21 Them your honor. User22 Happy Birthday Y/N, you two are excellent for each other

[homeofthelonelywriter]

Of Cupcakes and Skulls | Part 3

(A/N) Time for some angst, baby!

Pairing: single dad! Mafia! Simon x baker! Reader

Warning: angst, threats against Reader

Synopsis: Based on this post by @lunamoonbby

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8

For a moment, you were frozen. ‘You’. Whatever he meant when he said ‘you’, it wasn’t going to end well for you. Your eyes jumped from one man to the next, all of them were bigger and definitely stronger than you. But maybe you would be faster. Slowly, as if not to startle them, you took another step back. And another, until you stood in the doorway to the kitchen. Out of the corner of your eye, you could see your bag, which contained both your phone and your wallet, with Simon’s business card.

“Look…I-I don’t know what you’re t-talking about, but I don’t know anyone by the name R-Riley.”

One more step. One more step and you could quickly grab your bag and run for the walk-in cooler. It hadn’t worked a single day since you had bought the bakery, and you could never use it since the door would jam if you closed it. So it just sat in the corner of the room, the door always slightly ajar.

“Now, now kleines, no need to run away.”

You hesitated. Did he really read you so easily? Or was it just because you were backing away?

“On the contrary. I believe this is the moment to run.”

And you did. Your right hand quickly grabbed your bag, as you spun on your heels and took off in the direction of the cooler. After a moment of confusion, the men took off after you. But that one moment would save you. Just as they reached the cooler, you slammed the door shut, stumbling back and falling onto your ass as the momentum carried you inside.

You heard the men banging against the door, pulling and pushing but it wouldn’t budge. A sigh of relief escaped your lips as you relaxed for a second, the tension leaving your body. But as the men outside started shouting, it reminded you that you weren’t entirely safe.

Without hesitation, you spilled the contents of your bag on the floor, grabbing your wallet and ruffling through it until you found the black card. Picking up your phone, you dialed the number, quietly praying for Simon to pick up. It rang once…twice…

“Who is this?”

Relieve flooded you and you almost cried, tears gathering in your eyes.

“Simon? Help me.”

You whispered his name, not wanting the men outside to hear you. It was silent for a second before you heard the jingle of keys and Simon barking orders. He then said your name, his tone a mix of concern and resolve.

“Where are you?”

“Bakery.”

You heard him bark more orders, voices of men responding in the back as his quick steps echoed in whatever room he was in.

“What happened?”

As you were about to respond, the lamps suddenly turned on, bathing the steel box you were in, in cold light. Cold air immediately began seeping from the vents. How did they turn it on? You thought it was broken.

“Oh, little bird. Put Riley on speaker, why don’t you?”

His voice was loud enough that Simon heard it through the phone. Simon said a name in a low growl.

“König.”

Slow, rhythmic bangs came from the door as you began to shiver, wishing that you had worn your cardigan.

“I said, put. Him. On. Speaker.”

“Do what he says, love.”

Not even registering the nickname, you quickly fumbled with your phone, until Simon was on speaker.

“Listen here you little shit, if you hurt her-!”

“Ah, ah, ah. You really shouldn’t insult me like that…Ghost. Now, I know you like die kleine Bäckerin, so do as I say, ja? Come here, alone, and let me kill you. Then the kleine Maus can go and I won’t hurt her.”

Simon cursed under his breath and was silent for a bit. You started to grow nervous.

“Okay. I’ll come, alone.”

The man, König, chuckled darkly and banged on the door a few more times.

“Good boy. Tick, tock. Tick, tock.”

You put the phone off speaker and raised it to your ear. Before you could say anything, Simon’s voice cut through.

“Listen to me and don’t say anything, act as if I hung up. I’ll be there in five, but you need to stay alive until I get to you, okay?”

You whimpered in response, a single tear running down your cheek.

“I know love, but it’ll be alright. Just keep your head down and I’ll get you out of there. I promise.”

Even though he couldn’t see you, you nodded, squeezing your eyes shut as more tears escaped them and ran down your cheeks. Simon was silent for a few moments before he spoke up again.

“It’s okay. Look, if anything happens, I-.”

You cut him off in a whisper, so quiet he could barely hear you.

“Don’t. Not like this.”

There once again was silence on the other end. But only for a moment.

“Okay…okay. Stay on the call, I’ll be right there.”

You didn’t answer, but you knew that he wouldn’t lie to you. So you crawled into one of the far corners and cowered down, keeping the phone pressed to your ear. The next few minutes felt like hours as the men outside kept banging on the door, taunting you as more and more tears fell and the shivers grew stronger. Simon tried his best to keep you calm, but he knew that he could only do so much. But after what felt like an eternity, you heard his voice again.

“We’re almost there. I’ll hang up and I need you to cover your ears, can you do that for me, love?”

You whimpered in response and Simon took it as confirmation.

“Okay. I’ll see you in a moment, love.”

The moment he hung up the call, you placed your phone beside you and covered your ears. But it wasn’t enough to shield you from what happened outside. At first, there was a lot of yelling, and then the shooting began. You kept your ears covered, pressing your hands against your head as hard as possible while squeezing your eyes shut, trying to shut out the world and whatever was happening in your bakery.

You don’t know how much time passed before the shooting stopped. Slowly, you removed your hands from your ears, glancing toward the door. You could hear loud, hurried footsteps approaching and for a moment you feared that it was König or one of his men, but then you heard the familiar voice of Simon calling your name.

As quickly as you could, you scrambled to your feet and ran to the door, banging against it.

“S-Simon? Simon!”

You could hear him release a relieved sigh and open the door. Of course, it didn’t budge.

“I-It’s j-jammed.”

Now that you knew you were safe, the cold that had crept into your bones by now, finally got to you as your legs gave out from underneath you and you crumbled to the floor leaning against the door. You could hear Simon yelling on the other side and then hurried footsteps leaving.

“It’s alright, love, we’ll have you out of there in a second. Just hold on, okay?”

You didn’t respond, the cold and the absence of adrenaline leaving you weak. Simon kept talking until the footsteps returned and you heard metal squeak as they pried the door open. Not being able to keep yourself upright, you tumbled out of the cooler and landed right at Simon’s feet. He immediately knelt down in front of you, shrugging his suit jacket off, before wrapping it around you and picking you up.

“I got you, love. I got you.”

He muttered something to one of his men, something along the lines of taking care of things. Then he walked out the shattered window front of the kitchen and to a black car, parked in the middle of the street.

As soon as he made sure you were buckled in, he got behind the wheel and sped off, but not before turning the heating on full blast. With one hand on the steering wheel and the other on your thigh, he sped through the streets until he came to a stop in front of a high rise. It was famous, but you never knew the mafia owned it. By then, you were warmed up, but you still felt weak. So you didn’t protest when he rounded the car and picked you up again, gently carrying you into the building and the elevator.

If you had been stronger, you would have marveled at the apartment, but at the moment, all you wanted to do was sleep. And Simon seemed to know that. He carried you straight to what seemed to be his bedroom and gently put you down. With what remaining strength you had, you helped him take off everything except for your underwear, as he gave you a huge t-shirt you could put on instead.

Once you were settled, Simon pulled the blanket over you, tucking you in, before rising to his feet and walking away. But you quickly caught his wrist and pulled him back.

“Stay?”

Simon hesitated, but after a moment, he nodded, quickly shedding his clothes and pulling on sleep pants, before he got into bed behind you, carefully pulling you against his chest. His arms, tightly wrapped around you made you feel safe. And slowly but surely, you drifted off to a restless sleep, the security of Simon around you, not carrying over into your dreams.

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Call of Duty - Masterlist

Master-Masterlist

Tags: @lunamoonbby @distinguishedprincesstrash

Like what you're reading? Buy me a coffee!

[love-strawberry]

we'll be alright

summary : in which they fight but there's no doubt that they'll end up alright.

pairing : sherlock holmes x reader

warnings : slight spoiler for enola holmes 2, ooc!sherlock, slight angst

author's note : so, hi!! i love you, thank you for sticking around, i love you!! <3

tagged : @0oolookitsme

masterlist

navigation

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“sherlock?” 

“enola. what are you doing here?” sherlock questioned, swaying as he tried to focus on his sister. “it’s not safe. there are scary people about”

“yes, let me know when you meet one,” enola sighed, walking towards him and standing close in case he fell over. “brother, are you quite yourself?”

“i’m fine, it was just a disagreement over a glass of wine and whose wine it was,” sherlock waved her off, looking around. “there was another disagreement that i had, not here, no. at home. it quite upset me. very much, in fact.”

“you fought with y/n?” enola asked, her eyebrows raising. she absolutely adored y/n and to hear that her brother and her sister-in-law were fighting was a shock considering they were totally smitten with each other.

“i find after wine, it’s very difficult to make your arms and legs move,” sherlock completely ignored her question, swaying dangerously. enola rushed to support, a wince escaping her as sherlock leaned on her for support. “i don’t usually imbibe but i’m not a case, you see. it’s proven rather tricky”

“cab,” enola called for a carriage, walking while supporting her brother’s weight, losing her footing every once in a while during their very short walk to the side of the road.

“hello,” both the holmes’ siblings greeted the driver, moving to sit inside.

“where are we going?” sherlock asked, looking at enola for answers.

“221 baker street,” enola replied, helping him get in the cab.

the ride to 221 baker street was filled with silence, with enola occasionally trying to ask about y/n and sherlock mindless chatter about his latest case.

the pair of siblings exited the cab, paying the driver and walked to the front door. after opening it, enola stood with sherlock in front of 221a and stopped, looking at her brother for any sort of indication that he was going to open it.

“that’s a and i’m b,” sherlock mumbled, his eyes unfocused as he first pointed at the door in front of them and then at the stairs going to the upper level.

enola sighed, rolling her eyes slightly as she moved over to the staircase. she looked at the number of stairs they’d have to climb before looking at her drunk brother.

“i didn’t know you had steps,” enola mentioned, wanting nothing more than to just sleep and wake up in a week or so.

“one should always have steps to avoid people stepping on you,” sherlock said, his words slurring together as he stood there. “that’s a tip, you should probably write that down.”

“alright,” enola started as she let go of him slightly and helped him lean against the wall, “how about i go upstairs and get y/n and she can help me get you upstairs?”

“y/n?” sherlock’s attention shifted to enola, his head leaning on the wall. “i don’t know if she’ll be here.”

“why not?” enola asked, worry growing in the pit of her stomach. had the fight really been that bad?

“she was quite upset with me,” sherlock spoke, his words stringing together to a somewhat coherent sentence. “i wouldn’t be surprised if she chose to go and stay with her sister for the time being.”

“we’re not at all done with this conversation as i’m very eager to know just how you’ve messed it up with the most loving and caring woman but we do need to get you upstairs,” enola said, her tone of voice sharp as she supported sherlock and guided him towards the first step. “all right, lift your left leg.”

“enola?” a voice questioned from the top of the stairs, making both the siblings look up. “and sherlock? what happened?”

“y/n!” enola exclaimed with relief in her voice, excited to see her sister-in-law and to get some help. “could you please help me in getting your drunk husband in the apartment?”

“y/n, love,” sherlock called out but his voice was ignored by both the ladies, leaving him with a frown on his face.

“oh my, i’m so sorry,” y/n rushed down the stairs, her dress flailing behind her as she went to sherlock’s other side and supported him. “did you get him here all by yourself?”

“had to,” enola informed, climbing up one step at a time. “he was drunk and got thrown out of an establishment.”

“god,” y/n mumbled, ignoring sherlock’s attempts to talk to her. it was obvious that she was angry with him. “i’m sorry you had to see him like this, enola.”

“it’s alright,” enola replied in her cheerful voice, the one that made y/n smile at the girl. the company of three finally reached the top of the stairs and y/n opened the door. “i can hold this incident over his head for years to come. at least, until he does something else.”

“i got him from here,” y/n assured the girl, her hands going over her husband’s shoulders as she supported him. “you go, get freshened up."

“alright,” with that enola went off in the direction of the bathroom, leaving sherlock and y/n alone.

“you should sit down, sherlock,” y/n said to her husband, leading him to the couch in the corner of the room. 

“you’re right,” sherlock mumbled, tripping as he moved across the carpet. “of course you are, darling.”

sherlock sat on the couch with a grunt falling from his lips, y/n’s hand automatically going to his shoulder while the other cupped his cheek, making him look at her. when she realised what she was doing, she quickly withdrew her hands and folded them in front of her, trying to ignore the confused look on her husband's face.

“are you okay?” she questioned, keeping in mind to keep her voice low.

“yes, i’ll be up and running in no time,” sherlock assured, reaching for her hands but stopped when she made no move to take his.

“i was worried when you stormed out and didn’t come back before nightfall,” y/n admitted, her fidgeting with the numerous rings she wore, a nervous habit she had; something sherlock always picked on.

“i apologise,” sherlock whispered, burying his head in his hands, the light from the lamps making his head hurt. “for worrying you. and for other things.”

“that’s alright,” y/n replied, chuckling lightly, though it was weak and she sounded tired. “i think i'll always be worrying when it comes to you. i’ve made my peace with it.”

"you're not mad?" sherlock asked, his voice muffled.

"we'll talk later, sherlock," y/n spoke, her voice sharp as she took a deep breath. "you make it hard to be mad at you, when you're in this stage."

“i suppose i don't make it any easier," sherlock asked, a small smile on his lips though y/n couldn't see it. "being me."

"you don't," y/n looked away, choosing to look at the portraits on the wall. "but that's okay."

sherlock was about to say something else when enola's voice sounded from their bathroom.

"i better go and see what she wants," y/n spoke though she made no move to leave. a moment passed between the couple before y/n moved towards him and pushed him to lay on the couch by his shoulders. "you, rest. please."

"if i must," sherlock said, leaning into her touch and craved it when it was gone. he settled and closed his eyes. "is she to stay the night?"

"yes," y/n spoke sternly, leaving no room for argument making sherlock grumble but he didn't object; knowing it would be fruitless.

y/n moved through the living room, making her way to the bathroom and knocked twice before waiting for enola to open the door.

"a moment," enola called from the inside and half a minute later, the door was thrown open and y/n was pulled inside.

"is everything alright?" y/n questioned, looking at the teenager whose hair were down, strands falling in her face.

"could you do my hair, please?" enola questioned, a pink tint on her face. "i usually just throw them in a bun and that does the trick but i love how you do your hair and since i'm here and you're here, maybe you could do my hair?"

"of course i will!" y/n exclaimed as she pushed enola's hair out of her face. "you shouldn't ask, enola. you're like my sister. i basically raised you."

"still, i felt the need to ask," enola shrugged, handing her the brush that was on the counter and turning around.

"you shouldn't," y/n reassured her, brushing her hair softly. "i'd never refuse."

"i'm glad to hear that," enola smiled at her, looking through the mirror in front of her. "is sherlock okay?"

"he's resting," y/n mentioned, starting to braid small braids. "at least, i hope so."

"did you two have a fight?" enola questioned, no longer being able to control her curiosity.

"he told you about it?" y/n asked, mild surprise on her face but still, she smiled at the girl.

"he wasn't sure if you'd be home when we reached here," enola spoke, wincing slightly as her hair got caught in one of the many rings y/n wore, the latter apologising profusely as she untangled them. "said you might've chosen to go to your sister's house. and he also mentioned something about a disagreement at home when i first saw him outside the bar."

"oh, um, we did have a fight," y/n admitted, a small frown on her face as she recalled the harsh words that were thrown around. "but i'd never just leave."

"did he apologise?" enola questioned, admiring the braid y/n had finished. "please tell me he did."

"he did," y/n assured the younger girl. "i wouldn't be here any longer if he didn't."

"that's good," enola smiled, her fingers twirling around the braid. "you're both good then?"

"i don't think it works like that, darling," y/n spoke slowly, her eyes trained on her hair, a sad smile on her face as she refused to look at her in the mirror. "it's not just a simple 'sorry' and then everything is fine."

enola stayed silent as she thought about what y/n and finally after a couple moments, spoke. "what do you mean?"

"i mean, you can't just hurt someone and then realise that what you did was wrong. you can't apologise and expect everything to be okay, that's not how it is," y/n spoke, her voice calm and controlled but her mind was filled with the words that sherlock and her had spoken—yelled at eachother. "the person you hurt, they're not just going to forget and forgive you."

"then, what are we supposed to do?" enola spoke, her voice a whisper as she watched y/n finish off the last braid and tuck it neatly with the others. "if we apologise but they don't accept it, then what? we're supposed to keep on telling them?"

"we need to show them," y/n corrected her, turning her around to she could pin up the strands that kept getting in her eyes. "with actions, not just words. with what we do, with gestures. they need to know that we cherish them, that we're thankful that they're here, with us, they need to know that we love them and that we're sorry."

"sherlock does that?" enola asked, her eyes on her sister in law.

"he does," y/n whispered, looking down as she felt the familiar burning in her eyes and the floor became a mosaic. "he really does."

"then why are you both not okay?" enola asked, comforting y/n as she rubbed her arms.

"because i'm so worried," y/n started, her breathing heavier and her voice choked up. "i'm so worried, enola. it's starting to affect me physically. he's taking on dangerous cases everyday, the next one more dangerous than the last and he goes out without any sort of protection and i'm so scared that he's not going to come back home to me."

"he's always going to come back to you," enola spoke, her hearting hurting when she heard y/n sniffle. "he's sherlock and you're y/n. you'll always find eachother."

"last night, he didn't come home until midnight and i had stay up waiting for him because i hate it when he comes back and there's no one greeting him and he had a cut on his upper arm and i freaked out," y/n rambled, her hands clutching enola's, the latter not letting go even for a second, "and we had a small argument about him coming this late and coming home hurt when i've told him many times to take someone from scotland yard with him but it ended in a big fight and we both went to bed angry, it was the worst. in the morning, i brought it up again and he just—yelled at me and i yelled at him and he just stormed out."

"i—i don't know what to say," enola breathed out, her hands still onto y/n's. "except, let me go out there and smack some sense into him."

y/n let out a shaky laugh, letting go of enola's hand to wipe her eyes.

"letting all of that out felt good," y/n admitted, sniffling slightly, twirling enola as she looked over her hair. "i needed this, thank you, enola."

"of course, y/n," enola smiled, her eyes sparkling under the lamp in the corner of the bathroom. "thank you, for doing my hair."

"don't mention it, love," y/n waved her off, her heart feeling lighter. "the guest room is neat and clean, you should get some sleep."

"ah, yes," enola spoke, looking at herself in the mirror before smiling at y/n. "i'll see you in the morning."

"of course," y/n smiled back tiredly, her head hurting.

"good night," enola called as she walked away from the bathroom and towards the guest room, her voice drifting as the door closed.

"good night," y/n whispered, knowing that there was no way she heard her. she looked at herself in the mirror, taking note of the year stained cheeks and how anyone could tell that she had been crying. her hair was a mess, flicks restricting her view.

she sighed, before opening the faucet and washing her face, cursing at herself for not doing it earlier as it already made her head feel less heavy.

after drying her face with a cloth, she made her way to the living and spotted sherlock in the same position in which she had left him. he seemed to have fallen asleep, with how even and deep his breathing was and how he was still and peaceful. there was no furrow of his eyebrows, y/n noted as she admired him.

"sherlock?" y/n called as he leaned over him, her voice barely audible as she didn't want to startle him. "we should head to bed."

sherlock groaned as his hands covered his face, moving slightly but he made no indication of sitting up.

"sherlock, please," y/n spoke, her hand on his shoulder. "let us go to bed."

"hm?" sherlock hummed, opening his eyes a fraction before closing them.

"sit up," y/n ordered, her voice still light. sherlock pushed himself up, looking up at her with tired eyes and y/n had to resist the urge to kiss his forehead.

“come on, let’s get you in bed,” y/n spoke softly, holding onto sherlock's shoulder as he stood up. she lead him to their bedroom, his body swaying slightly at the movement, making y/n grip onto him a bit tighter.

“that sounds nice,” sherlock mumbled, his hands holding her waist as he walked into their bedroom with her support.

“it does, doesn’t it?” y/n sat him on the bed, removing his coat, tie and vest. “have some water before you fall asleep. here.”

“i’m not going to fall asleep,” sherlock huffed before drinking the water y/n from the glass on the bedside table with a small ‘thank you’, “i’m not tired.”

“sure you aren’t, love,” y/n muttered, helping him get under the covers and adjusting the pillow under his head. “do you need anything else?"

"huh?" sherlock asked, his head falling against the pillow. "no, i suppose."

"alright," y/n moved towards the dressing room to change into her night gown. "i'll be back in a minute."

y/n only got a hum from him in reply as she made her way into the small attached dressing room and changing as fast as she could into her night gown. folding the dress as neatly as she could, she opened the door to find sherlock sitting up with his back to the headboard.

"sherlock?" y/n asked, confusing evident in her voice as she made way towards him. she sat on the edge of the bed, her worries increasing as sherlock stayed silent for the better part of a minute.

"i'm sorry," sherlock spoke, his voice small as he closed his eyes and leaned his head back. "for yelling, for storming out, for worrying you, everything. all of it."

"it's okay, love," y/n didn't even notice the term of endearment fall from her lips. "we can talk in the morning. you need to rest."

"no, it can't wait," sherlock argued, opening his eyes and looking at her with utmost seriousness. his hands clasped hers, holding them with a firm grip. "i have only just realised how much worry i cause you."

"sher—"

"if you were out there, i don't know what i would do," sherlock continued speaking, the words falling from his lips effortlessly. "and i realise that i have been selfish, worrying my wife about my well being, coming home late and sometimes even injured."

"darling—"

"i'll work on that," sherlock nodded, not noticing y/n trying and failing to speak. "i'll talk to lestrade about getting a constable with me on dangerous cases."

"love—"

"we already went to bed angry at eachother yesterday," sherlock spoke tiredly, his eyes dropping and his grip on her hands going lax. "i didn't want you to be mad at me tonight. i love you and i'm sorry, y/n."

"i love you and i'm not mad, not anymore," y/n shook her head, smiling as she leaned over and kissed his forehead, stroking his face with her thumb. "i just worry about you, a lot."

"and from now on, i won't give you a reason to," sherlock promised, leaning into her touch.

"good," y/n dropped another kiss to his forehead, smiling when he looked up at her and leaned in to kiss her on the lips. she smiled as she met him halfway.

the kiss was messy, with y/n leaning over him and sherlock's hand supporting her. y/n's hand found the front of his shirt, pulling him even more closer while sherlock's hand circled her waist, tracing small circles on her hips as he kissed her back with fervour.

they broke apart, their breathing heavy as they smiled at eachother, hearts beating fast.

"you need to sleep, mr. holmes," y/n reminded him, pulling away from him and moving towards her side of the bed. "you're tired."

"no," sherlock denied, watching her as she got in under the cover. "maybe, yes. god, am i tired."

"told you," y/n smiled at him with satisfaction. "sleep."

sherlock watched as she leaned over her bedside table and turned off the lamp settled comfortably, shifting slightly. he waited until she was fully settled in before moving close to her.

he laid his head in the crook of her neck, his nose touching her collarbone as his breath hit the exposed part of her neck, making her shiver. her hands automatically went to his hair, running her fingers through it.

minutes passed as y/n laid in bed, staring at the ceiling and running her fingers through her husband's hair.

"sherlock?" y/n asked, her voice barely a whisper.

after hearing no answers from him, she shifted lightly to get a good look on his face and smiled as she noticed that he was fast asleep. his mouth was parted slightly and each exhale of breath made y/n shiver and get goosebumps. his grip on her was relaxed and the look on his face was so peaceful that it made y/n feel at peace.

kissing the top of head, y/n inhaled deeply, closing her eyes and sending a prayer to whatever force that made him hers.

sure, they had their disagreements, both big and small. their difference of opinion cause a rift every now and then but still, there was no doubt.

we'll be alright, she thought before falling asleep with the love of her life.

----------

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[asvterias]

𝖫𝖺𝗓𝗒 𝖣𝖺𝗒 & 𝖫𝗂𝗏𝖾 𝖲𝗍𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗆𝗌 ~ 𝖣𝗂𝗈𝗋 𝖦𝗈𝗈𝖽𝗃𝗈𝗁𝗇

dior masterlist

warnings: none!!

pairings: dior goodjohn ✘ black!fem!reader

genres: reader is an excellent baker, dior calling reader mamas (OMFG- 😩) cocky!dior, reader is VERY squeamish around snakes, gym!dior (JUST BCS), just cute sweet fluff between reader & dior, dior’s fans LOVE the couple

summary: spending a lazy day with your actress girlfriend while sometimes being involved on an instagram live is your favorite way to bypass quality time. wanting to help soothe your girlfriend’s stress from the production of her first song, ‘Focus’, so you decided to bake dior’s favorite cookies.

word count: 4.5k+

tag list: @addil244 @onxlyficcharacter @wtafaidh @mymyapplesigh @444-polar @sinmalssimp @silent-phantom120 @glwmcres @f4riedimples @babyzzlove @lov3rgirllll

author’s note: kinda a self-indulgent fanfic ngl. also if dior says she doesn’t like fanfictions about her, then i will delete this. i don’t wanna overstep any boundaries and make her uncomfortable.

Being bored in your house alone wasn’t as entertaining when you actually had the energy to make it enjoyable. Your parents and older brother had gone out for the day and your little sister, Leah spent the afternoon with her friends Walker and Aryan. Unfortunately, Dior was unable to keep you company as well, tending to her schedule. Since your girlfriend was occupied at the studio with the producers, practicing for her new hit single ‘Focus’, she couldn’t just ditch and be with you. She had her own life, consumed by other priorities that didn’t involve you.

Now, you weren’t an actress like your sister and girlfriend, yet you had a decent lifestyle despite Dior trying to spoil you endlessly with gifts from famous name brands.

Dior Goodjohn, there were so many words to describe her. Beloved multi-talented actress, who’s been a doting affectionate girlfriend of 2 years and overall a great girl in your life.

The car ride to your girlfriend’s apartment was a simple 30-minute drive and the entrance into her apartment was even easier. For your 1st anniversary gift, Dior gave you a spare house key, trusting you enough with that, telling you to come over whenever. She didn’t mind your presence beside her as she always admires your surprise visits.

It was her with the suggestion of you two living together, but neither of your parents ever allowed it, considering you’re still minors. Although you two were disappointed in their final decision, the couple made the extra effort and hosted as many sleepovers as possible.

Deciding upon doing an Instagram live whilst you waited for your girlfriend to arrive back home. Supposedly, she was busy with her first new single on the way called ‘Focus’ and you understood everything. The late nights returning back home, her exhausted state, all of it, you witnessed and supported her all the way. Whenever Dior needed you, you were there at her beck and call, helping her relax when the impending stress became too overwhelming.

An hour ago, she had sent a text, reassuring you that she’ll be home soon. By the time she’d reached home, it’d been almost nightfall, the evening disappearing.

Once you’ve started the live, you greet the fans with a quick wave and smile, observing the number of fans joining your live. At first, you didn’t keep the conversation short with them, updating them on your whereabouts.

Walking into the kitchen, you took the ingredients for chocolate chip cookies and grabbed the materials needed. Tending to the chocolate chip cookie dough as you silently read over the simple recipe placed on the counter.

Just in time, there was loud shuffling heard outside the front door and you squealed in excitement. Your beloved girlfriend had finally reached back home. Dior has been consumed at the studio, all with the anxious release of her first new single ‘Focus’. Sometimes your girlfriend invites you over to the studio to preview her song with her and honestly share some helpful insight on it.

When she walked into the apartment, her tensed shoulders relaxed and her droopy eyes lit up at the sight of you. There you were in all your glory; her beautiful girlfriend to the rescue, providing her that gorgeous smile and unlimited cuddles of comfort. She’ll always cherish her moments with you, no matter how long time will grant. Closing the door and locking it behind her, she sends you a cheery smile, discarding her bag on the floor.

Very tiredly, she staggered over to the kitchen where you were.

“Hey mamas,” She greets you, eagerly accepting your inviting hug, giving you a soft short kiss on the lips.

“My wifey is back home!” You grinned, shoving her presence in the camera, hugging her tightly.

“How was your day?” She asked.

“So boring until you arrived.”

“Hey guys,” she waved with phone in hand and her other hand still wrapped around your waist, keeping you secure in her grasp. You felt the beads of sweat on her forehead, cheeks flushed and her breathing seemed erratic. Her outfit was quite appealing to the eye, wearing a black Nike gym outfit and the kitchen light glared onto her toned stomach, causing you to be flustered.

Probably just redressed in her backup gym clothes and finished a late-night gym workout to help ease her worries. She always did so whenever her nerves got the better of her.

Often, she’d be gym buddies with Charlie but not tonight, looks like she wanted to be alone.

“Go take a shower,” you whispered in her ear, scrunching up your nose when she boops your nose, “You’re all sweaty and shit.”

“I was planning to.”

You nodded assuredly and released yourself from Dior’s hug, watching your girlfriend leave the kitchen, heading to her bathroom to take a nice shower. Staring at her figure until she disappeared behind the door, your back facing the camera and you redirected your attention back to the live.

For the time being, you comfortably sat on the kitchen counter, gaining a sudden sweet tooth, and munched down on the chocolate chips while answering the viewer’s questions. After you got a toothache from the sweetness of the chocolate chips, you balanced it out with warm water. Suddenly you gained the random urge to bake cookies, rather than continue your process of it. For some reason, you started creating the cookie dough, but ultimately got distracted and impatient…and also bored of doing so. As a matter of fact, you remembered snacking on the chocolate chips and answering questions on your live not even 30 minutes ago. You shake your head at the recent memory, amused by your own tactics, and now determined to surprise your exhausted girlfriend with a hot batch of delicious cookies downed with a fresh glass of milk.

Everything about this was the perfect timing. To help soothe your girlfriend and impress her fans with your amazing baking skills. Mostly, it was to help your stressed girlfriend.

You leaned forward, one hand still holding the mixing spoon, and squinted your eyes as you read a live comment, “Where is Dior right now?”

“Ummm….she’s in the shower because she just recently reached home.”

That statement sparked brand new questions for fans to ask:

‘Do you like Dior’s body build?’

‘Are you two gym buddies?’

‘Bet you absolutely love seeing Dior work out! 😉’

‘Where’s your little sister Leah??”

“Of course I do, everything involving Dior I’m obsessed with! Absolutely not, I can’t work out to save my life, and no I’m not my sister’s bodyguard!” You chuckle, applying the dry ingredients into the mixing bowl.

‘What are you making?’

You showed the camera the mixing bowl filled with raw cookie dough, which lacked the chocolate chips yet.

“Chocolate chip cookies, they’re Dior’s favorite,” You said, “She’s such a sweet tooth.”

@: ‘Aww, Y/N’s soo sweet.’

@: ‘Wish I had a gf to bake my favorite treats!’

“Good thing, Dior always has a spare chocolate chip bag around here.” You bite your lip, “Just need to get my hands on them.”

Deeply invested in your baking, you didn’t recognize how quickly time passed by when Dior appeared behind you, instantly going for your warm touch. She inhales your scent, hugs you from behind, and peppers your face and neck with innocent kisses, enjoying the erupting giggles from you.

“Never mind you guys, Dior’s here.”

Your head sashays with every movement making your braids tickle her skin lightly.

Paying no attention to her presence, you stirred the pot listening to her low humming while rocking you side to side. These were the days that Dior loved, a chance to catch a breather and soak in relaxation days with you.

Her eyes analyzed the Instagram live on your phone.

“Where did you hide the spare chocolate chip bag?”

“Like, I’d tell you,” she scoffs, “Last time I told you where I hid the chocolate chips, I heard you in the middle of the night, snacking on them. We had an unprepared visit to the dentist the following morning and we both know you hate going to the dentist.”

“That was an inconvenience!”

“No, No! That was karma, I warned you multiple times to not eat so many sweets at one time. You’re just a stubborn girl.”

“Yeah, and so what I’m your stubborn girl,” You leaned closer towards her, noses hovering over the other as you stared into each other’s eyes. “Which makes me your problem!”

“Oh, you’re a problem, alright.”

“Yeah, your prettiest problem too!”

She huffed as you consistently pestered about the other hidden bag of chocolate chips, finally being convinced by your whining. You beamed in excitement, gripping the fresh bag as you sauntered back over to the mixing bowl.

Another buzz feed of comments was spiraling your girlfriend’s way.

@: ‘The cutest couple to ever exist!!’

@: ‘Couple goals fr!’

@: ‘How long have you and Y/N been dating?’

Dior informs them, “We’ve been dating for 2 years, our anniversary is coming up soon.”

“What you gonna get me?”

“It’s a surprise, my love.”

“I do love surprises,”

“I know you do.”

“Just don’t pop up with no snake.” You said, your sweet tone disappears.

“Someone popped up with a snake thinking it’ll be funny.” You referred to Dior with an unimpressed look.

“Update it was.”

“Show up with a snake again, and I swear someone is getting punched.”

“You wouldn’t punch me, my face is too pretty for that kinda damage.”

“Well, I’m obviously not punching the snake!”

“You wouldn’t punch me.”

“If you bring a snake I just might,” Obviously, you were kidding. You’d never do that to your sweet beloved girlfriend.

She frowns slightly, rethinking her upcoming words.

“Last time it wasn’t funny! Everyone knows I don’t fuck with reptiles, especially snakes.”

“That just means she likes you!” Dior insisted.

“I don’t care, that goddamn yellow snake can like me at a safe distance behind a glass cage at the petting zoo!” You shout, “Either that or nothing!”

“You guys see what I have to deal with on a daily,” Dior points to you, sarcasm laced in her tone, “Such a drama queen.”

Nodding along to your girlfriend’s statement as you applied the chocolate chips to the batch of raw cookie dough.

“Yet, she loves this drama queen,” you retorted.

Dior scans some more of the fans’ comments.

@: ‘DIOR PLEASE POST THE SINGLE OUT NOW 🙏🏾🙏🏾!!’

@: ‘OMG HOW IS FOCUS GOING??’

@: ‘CAN WE GET ANOTHER TEASER??’

“Sorry guys, I already said when Focus is getting released and unless you’re my girl, you don’t get a preview.” She confirms with the viewers, “Also it’s going really well.”

@: ‘Omg they’re so cute, it’s not even funny!’

@: ‘When will this happen to me??’

@: ‘How was the preview Y/N??’

“It was fucking awesome,” you answered the last commenter, “Like her voice is so beautiful, like I fell in love with her a million times over again, it’s completely outrageous.”

“We can’t wait for you guys to hear it!” Dior cheers.

“All of your ears will be certainly blessed after hearing her magnetic voice, I know I was.” You agreed.

“Aren’t you quite the flatterer.”

“I’m just being a supportive girlfriend who’s always honest with you.”

“Never said I didn’t like the compliments,”

“Baby, can you preheat the oven to 350 degrees for me?” You gently asked her.

Dior remained quiet, complying with your request, walking to the oven, and preheating it. She skipped back over to you, arms wrapped around your waist, continuing to hug you from behind, gazing at you. You started to ball the cookie dough, your tongue sticking out slightly in concentration as the silence in the atmosphere was turning palpable.

“Why are you so quiet?” Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion, turning to the curly-haired girl, pausing your movements.

“Nothing…it’s just you’re so beautiful.” She murmured, taken away by your beauty. “Gimmie a kiss…” she puckered her lips, leaning into you.

Instead of giving in to her demands, you swipe a decent amount of remaining flour on your finger, smearing it across your girlfriend’s cheek.

“Did you just—?” her eyes widened in shock, glancing at the flour placed on her cheek.

“I did!” you giggled, applying another ounce of flour on her other cheek, “And I’m not even sorry,”

@: ‘You can’t tell me they aren’t in love, like just look at them!’

“You’re lucky you’re so cute and adorable,” she pouts, swiping an ounce of flour on your nose.

“Not the only reason you’re letting me off so easy,” you whine as she places her head into the crevice of your neck, still placing tiny kisses there.

Her voice was muffled. “We can always order in, you know that, princess.” you turned off the stove, leaving Dior’s fingers lingering on your stomach.

“I know,” you sigh, turning around to face your girlfriend and her hands immediately redirect on your waist. you tried to avoid eye contact, in hopes of getting your point across without being distracted but her hazel eyes remained on you. “I just wanted to do something special for you cause you deserve it and I wanted to help brighten your day.” Finally, you manage to gaze into Dior’s eyes only to find her already admiringly staring back.

You never took in her outfit, eyes slowly trailing down at her body. She wore a white Nike sports bra with gray shorts and her hair was still damp from the shower.

You didn’t realize you were checking her out until Dior pointed it out.

“Gorgeous, my eyes are up here.” She teases, chuckling slightly at your reaction towards her clothing.

“I don’t need a fresh pair of my favorite cookies to know that you love me. Just you being here brightens up my day and I want you to know that.” her fingers glide over your cocoa-brown skin, drinking in your skin tone with her delicate touch. “I appreciate every single thing that you have to offer, because, believe me, I’d be a damn fool if I ever let you go.”

You chuckle and caress her face, slightly stroking her cheek. “I love you so much, Dior.”

“I love you too, mi amor.” she leaned in for a kiss and you complied, making her hum and deepen the kiss. completely mesmerized by the passionate kiss, you didn’t react when you felt two arms lifting you by the thighs, throwing your body onto her shoulder like you weighed nothing. She patted your hips twice, turning to the phone and sending the viewers a wink before carrying you over to the couch.

“No!! Babe, Dior…put me down!!” you mercifully pleaded with your girlfriend but it was rendered useless when she finally dropped you out of her hands…and right onto the couch which was nearby. The Instagram live was able to see you two, only at a farther distance.

You end up lying upside down on the couch as your braids hang over the floor and your legs dangle in mid-air. Dior’s laughs fill the atmosphere and the butterflies flutter in your stomach, due to slight embarrassment and amusement.

“Alright jokes over, help me up now, Dior.” you held out your hand, eager for reliance.

“Oh no, that’s the oldest trick in the book. I’m not gonna fall for that one.”

You roll your eyes, pulling yourself up using your elbows as support, and hastily grab her shirt and pull her down with you. A shocked gasp left her lungs as she tumbled down beside you and once she’s recovered from her fall, she turned to look at you.

With your hand still gripping her shirt, and instead of another sudden ambush, you pulled her in for a soft kiss, gently pecking her lips and giving her the widest grin you could’ve displayed.

“Now we both know that you could do better than that.”

Your harsh grip on her sweatshirt loosened, and this time Dior leaned in and kissed you tenderly, highly content that you reciprocated the action back. The brunette pulled away, “Great, now can we order in? You know, you’re my girl and all, who I wholeheartedly adore, but I don’t want to be sick for the rest of the week.”

You feign shock, shoving her in the stomach as she dramatically acts being hurt, clutching onto her stomach, and falling on the floor. You were truly offended at your girlfriend’s words while she just laughed boisterously.

“I could so cook!” You argued.

“I love you gorgeous, but no you can’t.”

You throw the couch pillow, hurling the item towards her face. Much to your dismay, Dior’s reaction time was faster, stretching a hand out to block the flying pillow and catching it.

“Guess you’ll be on a kissing ban.” You cross your arms and twist your nose in the air.

“No, I won’t.”

She stood up menacingly, stalking closer towards you, making you look at her and unfurl your folded arms.

“Oh yes, you will,”

“You’re gonna seriously ban me from your kisses all because I said you’re a horrible cook.” Dior defends herself, “You’re an excellent baker now.”

“I’m petty as hell, don’t forget it.”

“I thought you meant pretty as hell,” Dior smirks.

“That too!”

“You bet your ass you are.” She pinches your thigh.

“Wow, thanks for the compliment, d,” You roll your eyes.

“No problem, princess.” she kissed your knuckles before trailing up your arms and halting at your collarbones, “You drown in my compliments, and I love to see it.”

“Yeah, yeah whatever,” you murmur, a fond smile tugging at the ends of your lip.

Her hot breath fanned over your ear. “Come on, babe.” she groans against your skin, pressing a chaste kiss behind your ear, missing the way you squirmed lightly from her ticklish lips. Her energetic eyes met yours once again as she spoke, “Let’s order takeout, Chipotle, your favorite, it’s all on me.”

“How can I say no to that?”

She shifted her weight from you, allowing some space since she was lying on top of you, making you escape much easier from her embrace.

Keeping you on her watchful gaze, you venture to the dining room table to retrieve the Chipotle menu.

“Or how can you see no to me?” She states when you returned back to the living room.

“Real smooth, Goodjohn.” your sentence rolls off your tongue with ease. You swore you witnessed Dior shudder at the sultry tone of your voice, mentioning her last name. The vulnerable sight of your cocky girlfriend made a smile widen across your face.

“Isn’t that how I’m dating you? You were swooned by my alluring charm?!” she questioned, staring at you, curious for the answer. “Or unless,” she gasps shockingly, causing you to resist the temptation of rolling your eyes, “You’re only with me for my body and popularity,”

“No no you were a sexy dumbass and I was your smart savior,” you reaffirmed her accusations. “You being an uprising celebrity is just one of the many advantages,”

“Whatever, you fell for me and my charms, regardless,”

You huff, crossing your arms as you avoid Dior’s gaze. “I like you because of you,”

“Damn right you did,” she pulled you in closer by the waist, “And I know you wouldn’t change me for anything.”

“I hate it when you’re right,” you scoff.

“Oh but I love it when I’m right,” Dior chuckles, bringing your lips onto yours, pouting slightly when you refuse the kiss. “Makes me feel like I’ve beaten you at something,”

Her mood brightens when you change your mind, settling for a quick peck on the lips.

Anything was better than nothing, Dior supposed, but then immediately disagreed. She grew irritated at the lack of your attention, at this point feeling it was better if you didn’t reward her with a kiss anyway. Snapping her eyes at you, sending a glare of irritation, observing the cocky grin on your face.

This sneaky little vixen, Dior thought as she maintained eye contact with you. Of course, you were fully aware of Dior’s total hatred towards light kisses, and to give her a peck was so wrong in many ways. Clearly, it meant you didn’t love her anymore and that peck was the first sign of you losing interest in her.

Dior shook her head, disposing of those thoughts, knowing she was being a dramatic queen right now.

“Keep this attitude up and you’ll be sleeping on the couch,” you snarled, hoping your demanding tone would encourage Dior to oblige. Oh, Dior loves your confidence, but not when it was used against her.

It was necessary to humble you, right then and there, or else you’ll never learn your lesson. After all, you were a very smart girl and not a stupid one, it wasn’t your tendency to make frequent mistakes like this.

Without saying a word, she squeezes your stomach, her hands slithering their way upwards against your chest and you release a tiny squeal of shock. Dior had her gaze locked down on you during the whole time. You refused to look your girlfriend in the eyes as you closed your eyes, internally cursing yourself for being so submissive to her actions. and rather, a very simple action at that too. God, you thought you had more pride than you let on.

Guessing it was Dior’s way of saying; don’t bite off more than you can chew.

“No, I won’t, and I know you won’t do that. You’ll miss me too much,” she admitted, grinning at the scowl appearing on your lips. your girlfriend shuffles slightly on you, keeping her warm hands underneath the hoodie you wore, “Baby, don’t scowl, it promotes ugly wrinkles.”

That comment earned Dior a flick to her forehead and you pushed her to the floor, giggling at her dejected groans of pain.

You looked at your phone, grabbed it, and flipped the camera, showing your girlfriend sprawled out on the floor. Her beautiful curls spread across the carpeted floor as she squints her eyes at you.

On Instagram live, comments and viewers flooded in alike, observing the sapphic couple.

“Look at this dumbass,” You stated, bringing the phone closer to her as you straddled her lap. Instinctively, her arms rest on your hips, lightly tracing imaginary patterns on the clothed flesh. Limbs tangled together, constant swooning with each other through quick stares, and the faint giggles erupting from both of you filled the quiet atmosphere.

“Not too close,” she warns, puckering her lips, “My lips are all yours.” Out of the camera, your girlfriend kisses your cheek and then

“Gimmie a kiss and a real one this time!” Dior demands, mumbling it to you.

You pressed her lips against yours softly, seemingly making the kiss sweet and innocent. Tugging one of Dior’s loose curls that dangled in her face, you pulled it behind her ear as your lips moved as one. You adored Dior’s hair, thick voluminous curls flowing down to her neck and you couldn’t resist playing it in when she was close.

She could kiss you a billion times, and that still wouldn’t suffice for you, Dior made sure you know that on numerous occasions, often being the one to overextend your kisses. You felt your girlfriend’s smile in the kiss as she deepened it, her grip on your waist tightening.

It was one of those slow and steady kisses that you cherished with her. There was no need to rush your makeout, a calm chaste kiss sealed the deal and got the point across. Dior was just drowning in your lips, never reluctant to refuse your kisses, moving on one accord.

She couldn’t go on with another minute without your loving kisses. Those kisses shared with you, your soft and sweet lips, were like nicotine to her, a special type of drug, stupidly yearning for your lips even more. You were Dior’s drug and she was your addiction. Insanely addicted to your lips making her act crazy, practically begging on her knees for an ounce of your attention, wondering if you saw her in the same light she perceived for you.

Sucking in a breath as the kiss intensified, one of Dior’s hands traveled to your lower back as the other remained on your hips, lightly squeezing the flesh there. You moaned in the kiss, spurring your girlfriend further on as she tugged at your lower lips, biting down gently, hardly enticing any discomfort from you.

Dior gave you time to adjust yourself again as she stared at you in contentment. Your hand teasingly runs down from the crevices of her breasts down to her toned abdomen and her breath hitched at this. However, she gains dominance as her hands grip the flesh of your thighs, squeezing down on them as you shuffle slightly.

Eventually leading up to the risk of getting insanely high, and resisting the temptation to become sober. Never take the risk of being sober if it means that she gets to be high off of you every day, obsessed by everything you achieved. Like hell was your girlfriend was gonna waste the chance of losing your touch once more, she’d be crazy enough to beat those allegations.

“I’m your….” Dior clarified, lips swollen from the intense making out. The camera frame caught onto her loose curls and barely the side of her face, “Sexy dumbass, you said so yourself,” She nods reassuringly, smiling slightly at your laughter.

“Think that’s it for today, we’ll see you later!” You concluded, and gave Dior your phone, displaying her presence on the live, “Say goodbye Dior!”

“Bye, you guys! Love ya!” Dior blows an air kiss at the phone screen. She ended the Instagram live and placed the phone on the coffee table as you both sat upright.

“Damn, baby,” she chuckles, wiping away the flour from her cheek. Her gaze never left you, peering at the flour mess on your face too. Your girlfriend smirks at you, “Looks like we’re gonna both take a shower sooner than expected.”

likes, comments, and reblogs are highly appreciated!

© asvterias, 2024. please do not copy, repost, or translate any of my works onto any other platforms without my permission.

[junghelioseok]

miss taken.

↳ you pride yourself on being a professional, but sometimes your students' parents really test your patience.

◇ jungkook x reader ◇ fluff | smut | teacher!au | single parent!au | e2l ◇ 20.3k [1/1]

❛❛ our kids are bitter rivals and the only time we ever meet is when we’re both called to the principal’s office and whatever maybe i think you’re kind of cute but your kid’s a monster and ALSO someone keeps buying the last everything bagel at my favorite coffee shop 2 minutes before i get there in the morning and has heard about my plight and has started leaving me bragging notes about it ❜❜

notes: fic number two in the serendipity series is here at last!!! this took me like a million and a half years to finish because Real Life happened but here we finally are! also, i changed the type of bagel that the story is centered around, because i honestly didn’t come to like everything bagels until relatively recently and i will still only eat it if it’s part of a bagel sandwich because? just having cream cheese or whatever on an everything bagel feels kind of unhinged to me! but that’s neither here nor there and no one is here for my bagel opinions so! hope you enjoy the story!!! 💕

⇢ series masterlist. | inspired by this post.

warnings: dilf!jk, some kissing and hand stuff, ✨sexual tension✨ but nothing too terribly explicit tbh

Silence has never sounded louder. 

You drum your fingers against the armrest of your chair, nails clacking against the cheap plastic. On the wall, the second hand of the clock completes yet another revolution, and you glance over when your companion sighs, plucks off her reading glasses, and sets them down on the desk beside the placard that houses her title: Principal Pamela Baker, Hybe Academy. 

A woman nearing her fifties, Pam has sandy blonde hair cut into a neat bob and an enviable ability to pull off any lipstick color, no matter how bold. You’re lucky enough to call her both a friend and a mentor, and when she mutters a curse under her breath, you chuckle. “Late again,” she huffs, offering you a wry smile before leaning back in her seat and casting her gaze skyward. “Typical.”

“You know what these corporate types are like, Pam,” you reply, rolling your eyes. “They have zero regard for anyone else’s time. He was twenty minutes late to our parent-teacher conference last semester, so don’t take it personally.”

“Believe me, I know plenty of men like Jungkook Jeon,” Pam says with another sigh, this one heavier and longer than the last. “I even married one, you know. But that was before I came to my senses and divorced his ass. Best decision of my life, right after getting my tubes tied.”

“Three kids was enough for you?” you tease, and Pam snorts out a laugh. 

“More than enough,” she replies. “What about you, though? Thinking of having another kid anytime soon?”

“I don’t think so… well, not anytime soon, at least. Ask me again in—” 

The sound of a doorknob turning stops you in your tracks, and a moment later, the door to the office swings open with a dull click. 

“Principal Baker. Miss {L/N}.” Jungkook Jeon is standing at the threshold in a wool coat the color of charcoal, the buttons of which are undone to reveal the undoubtedly designer suit underneath. His dark hair is parted neatly across his forehead, still sprinkled with lingering snowflakes from his journey here, and you bite back the urge to remark on his tardiness. Instead, you stand when your boss stands up, mustering up every ounce of professionalism you possibly can.

“Mr. Jeon,” Pam says, giving his hand a firm shake before gesturing to the empty chair beside you. “It’s nice to see you again. Please, take a seat.”

You incline your head in Jungkook’s direction as he lowers himself into the plastic chair, the legs scraping against the tiled floor in protest as he adjusts his position. “Hello, Mr. Jeon. Thank you for finally joining us.”

If Jungkook notices the snarky inflection of your tone, he doesn’t let it show. He merely levels you with a cool gaze, blinking lazily before turning to your boss. “Excuse my tardiness,” he says, smoothing down the lapels of his black jacket and straightening his slate blue tie. “I got here as fast as I could. Where is my daughter?”

Pam gestures toward the door. “Daeun is down the hall in the library, under Mr. Kim’s supervision. I thought it best if we spoke without the children first.”

The dark-haired man hums. “What happened, Principal? You were rather vague on the phone.”

Pam nods, and you exchange looks before she turns her attention back to Jungkook. “Yes, well, as I explained on the phone, there was an incident. Daeun forcefully took her classmate’s book during the free reading period, and refused to return it when asked.”

At that, Jungkook casts you another glance. “I see. And I presume the classmate was Miss {L/N}’s daughter?”

“It was,” you confirm, taking care to keep your tone even despite the irritation simmering in your belly. “This is the second time Trixie’s been targeted by your daughter, Mr. Jeon. Do you think that’s a coincidence?”

Jungkook’s eyes narrow, his lips twisting into a displeased frown. “I'm not sure I like what you’re implying, Miss {L/N}.”

The iciness in his voice is unmistakable, but you have fifteen minutes’ worth of annoyance festering in your belly—annoyance that has amplified with every second that he made you wait. That, combined with his behavior last semester is enough to stir that annoyance into full-blown anger. He’s been short with you every time you’ve called to talk about his daughter’s progress in class, and you very nearly canceled his eight o’clock appointment to meet with you during December’s parent-teacher conferences. You remember pulling up his contact information nineteen minutes after eight, thumb hovering over the call button on your phone when he finally burst into your classroom. No preamble, and no apology. He just sat down, as if nothing was amiss, and began asking about Daeun’s grades in math.

It’s no wonder you’ve never heard so much as a word about a Mrs. Jeon. The nosy part of your brain wonders about Jungkook’s home life on occasion, and the more vindictive part relishes in the fact that he’s no doubt a single parent. Any woman would have to be a saint to put up with Jungkook Jeon, you reason, because as far as you’re concerned, he’s the devil. 

The devil dressed in head-to-toe Armani, who is currently fixing you with a look that could temper steel. 

“Mr. Jeon.” Pam, as always, is quick to diffuse the sudden tension that’s settled over her office. “No one is implying anything here. We just want to have a frank, civil discussion about Daeun’s behavior, and see if you can think of anything that may be causing her to act out. A recent change in her life, perhaps? Something new that she hasn’t quite adjusted to yet?”

You take a deep breath, releasing it through your nose before putting your professional mask back on. “Her shift in behavior was extremely sudden,” you chime in, watching out of the corner of your eye as Pam inclines her head in agreement. “Laughing when Trixie and another classmate slipped and fell on the ice, and now this? I don’t believe for a minute that this change came out of nowhere—something must have caused it. Daeun is a smart girl, Mr. Jeon. She’s outgoing and a little rambunctious, but she’s always been kind to her classmates in the past. Today’s behavior was incredibly out of character for her.”

A beat of silence passes, as your words fade into silence. Then Jungkook shifts in his seat, crossing one leg over the other as he turns his full attention to you. “We keep talking about Daeun as if she was the only child involved in this incident, Miss {L/N}. Why don’t we talk about your daughter instead? Trixie, is it?”

And just like that, your mask begins to splinter at the edges. “Trixie was reading quietly at the table when Daeun approached her,” you reply coolly. “She didn’t instigate anything, Mr. Jeon.”

“Oh, and I’m supposed to take your word for it?” Jungkook huffs out a humorless chuckle, leaning back in his seat. “I think you, of all people, might be a little bit biased.”

Fury flares in your belly, hot and bright. “I am a professional, Mr. Jeon,” you manage between clenched teeth. “I care about all of my students equally, and treat them as such. But I don’t expect you to understand that.”

Jungkook opens his mouth to retort, but your boss stops him before he can utter a single syllable. “I think that’s enough for today,” Pam says, rising to her feet and stepping around her desk to shake Jungkook’s hand. Even in heels, she only comes up to his chest, and you would have laughed at the height disparity if it weren’t for the rage still bubbling through your veins. “Like I said before, the girls are just down the hall with Mr. Kim. If you’ll follow me…”

Pam ushers Jungkook out of the office, chattering mindlessly about the cafeteria renovations that are underway—funded in large part by Jungkook himself, you’re certain. As much as you’ve grown to dislike the man, you know that he cares deeply about education and donates a rather large sum to your school every year. Trailing after them by a few paces, you listen as Pam points out a row of plaques hanging on the wall, honoring distinguished students and teachers alike.

The library, when you reach it, is empty save for three figures seated at one of several rectangular tables that occupy the middle of the room. Taehyung Kim, the copper-haired librarian, springs out of his seat upon your arrival, and you wave tiredly as he approaches with a warm, affable grin. 

“Welcome!” Taehyung says, adjusting his gold-rimmed glasses before extending a hand for Jungkook to shake. “You must be Daeun’s dad. I’m Taehyung Kim, the librarian here at Hybe.” 

“Jungkook Jeon.” Then Jungkook’s gaze flits past him to where the two children are seated opposite one another. Daeun is a slender, petite girl with dark hair braided neatly down her back and round, brown eyes that are narrowed in concentration as she colors in a picture of a lion. Quietly, Jungkook strides over to his daughter, kneeling down beside her chair until he’s eye-level. “Hey, Daeun,” you hear him murmur. “What happened today, hmm?”

You, meanwhile, join your own daughter at the table, sitting down in the chair Taehyung abandoned and taking in the paper and coloring utensils scattered across the surface “Hey, jitterbug,” you murmur. “Were you nice to Mr. Kim while I was gone?”

“Tae read us a book about butterflies,” Trixie replies, shrugging her little shoulders. “He taught us about migration.”

You chuckle. “Migration, huh? That sounds interesting. You want to tell me all about it on the drive home?”

Trixie nods, her pigtails bobbing in time with the movement. Then she glances over to where Jungkook is instructing Daeun to pack up her backpack, tucking books and notebooks neatly inside while Daeun collects her crayons and puts them into a sparkly little pink case. “Are we going home now?”

“Soon, bug,” you promise. “I just have to finish up with Mr. Jeon and Principal Baker, okay?”

“Okay,” Trixie says agreeably, returning to her drawing. Pam gestures for you to join her and Jungkook near the library doors, and you meet Taehyung’s gaze as you brush past where he’s pulling a few books down for a display. Good luck, he mouths, and you suppress the urge to make a face. Instead, you mouth a quick thanks back, offering Daeun a quick smile as well before joining her father and your boss at the door. 

“Mr. Jeon,” Pam says, casting a surreptitious glance toward Daeun and Trixie before lowering her voice. “I don’t think you should ignore this behavior from your daughter. If there’s something in her home life that is making her act out, I can recommend a few counselors who would be more than happy to speak with the two of y—”

Jungkook shakes his head, a lock of dark hair coming loose from whatever gel he’s used to style it. “With all due respect, Principal Baker, I don’t appreciate my parenting abilities being called into question. I think it’s probably best if Daeun and I take our leave.”

Pam sighs. “Mr. Jeon, I don’t mean to offend. But Daeun did take a book out of Trixie’s hands.”

“And I’ll be sure to discipline her for that,” Jungkook replies. “But if this is all over a book, Principal, I think the solution is simple. I can easily buy her whatever book she needs.”

“I’m not so sure it’s about the book itself,” you point out. “Tae—I mean, Mr. Kim—has multiple copies of Charlotte’s Web available for the students.”

Jungkook hums and turns up the collar of his wool coat, pulling it snug around his throat. “Nonetheless, I think we’re done here. Daeun, we’re leaving.”

The six-year-old looks up from the book Taehyung has checked out for her and immediately runs over to grab her father’s extended hand. “Are we going home?” she asks quietly, and he nods. 

“Yeah, we are, sweetheart. Come on. Say bye to your teachers.”

Obediently, Daeun waves to you and Taehyung before bidding Pam goodbye as well. Jungkook offers you a stiff nod, and Pam resignedly offers to walk the duo out. They depart together, and you watch as they disappear around the corner of the hall before turning to Taehyung with a heavy sigh. Trixie is still engrossed in her coloring, and you lower your voice as you join Taehyung where he’s begun re-shelving books from a cart of returns. 

“Thank god that’s finally over,” you murmur.

Taehyung glances both ways, ensuring the coast is clear. “Yeah. That Jungkook guy is a total wang.”

///

By the time you pull out of Hybe Academy’s parking lot, rush hour has well and truly begun. Silently, you curse Jungkook’s tardiness as you merge onto the main road and almost immediately come to a complete standstill amongst the traffic. Glancing back in the rearview mirror, you take in the sight of your daughter, buckled neatly into the backseat with her face pressed against the window.

“What color are we looking for today, bug?”

“Red,” she replies, her nose scrunching against the glass. Every day, your daughter picks a color and counts the number of cars she sees in that particular shade. She’s taken to keeping a running tally on the refrigerator—working toward the answer to a research question that only she understands. Her work is accompanied by a variety of figures and diagrams as well, which she’s plastered across the remainder of the refrigerator door and are slowly encroaching on the freezer door as well. You’re pretty sure she’ll need a larger surface soon enough—the wall of the hallway leading to the bedrooms would probably suffice—but until then, you have no plans to interfere with her creativity. If anything, you sometimes wish you could see the world through a child’s eyes again—to view every new experience as an adventure, and delight in the simple things. It’s one of the many reasons you love working at Hybe, even if you do have to deal with the occasional entitled parent.

Unwillingly, your mind wanders back to Jungkook Jeon. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t find him attractive, even if you’re reluctant to admit it and refuse outright to say it aloud. He’s blessed with the kind of face that angels could rhapsodize about—his dark, expressive eyes set above a strong nose and an enticing mouth. His jawline is sharp as a knife, and you’re fairly certain the devil himself sculpted his thighs. Even beneath the drape of his expensive suits, you can see the definition of his musculature as clearly as if he wasn’t wearing anything at all. You wonder—more often than you’d like to admit—how his workplace hasn’t deemed his suits obscene. Maybe he needs a dress code, you think to yourself, easing off the brake as the cars in front of you begin to inch forward. Baggy clothes only from this point forward. The more skin covered, the better. 

“Oooh! Found one!” Trixie exclaims, tapping the glass vigorously. “And look, there’s another. It’s a darker red, though.”

You hum and nod toward the traffic up ahead, where you can glimpse the corner of a cherry red bumper. “What about that one up there? That makes three, right?”

In the mirror, you see your daughter nod. A few minutes pass, the two of you calling out when another red car is spotted, and traffic eventually eases up enough that you can continue your way home. 

“So, what did Mr. Kim teach you about butterflies?” you query as you make a right turn. “Something about migration?” 

Trixie nods absently, still fixated on the cars driving by in the opposite lane. “Yeah. They go south for the winter to stay warm.”

You glance at her reflection in the mirror again. “Must be nice.”

“Yeah.”

Up ahead, the light turns green. You hit the gas, debating whether to bring up Daeun or not, but your daughter speaks again before you can dwell on it any further. 

“It’s weird,” Trixie says, her face still pressed against the window and her breath misting the glass. “Daeun was never mean to me before. We weren’t friends, not really. But now it feels like she’s picking on me on purpose and I don’t know why.” 

Something in your chest splinters at the tone of her voice—subdued and small. She’s dragging a finger through the fogged up glass now, tracing the crooked outline of a butterfly, and you take a moment to collect your thoughts before speaking again.

“We’ll figure it out together, then, jitterbug. Now, why don’t you start thinking about what you want for dinner?”

///

Mornings are always a little chaotic in your home. Trixie is sprinting around the entirety of the two-bedroom apartment looking for her favorite scrunchie, a half-eaten piece of toast clutched in one hand and her backpack swinging from the other. In the kitchen, you’re going through a mental checklist of all the places your daughter could have possibly left the accessory while sipping on your morning coffee. The mug nearly slips from your hand when your pet cat, Taco, slinks past your legs on her way to her food bowl, and you hiss out a sharp curse.

“Fuck!” Hot liquid dribbles down your knuckles. The calico cat gives you an unimpressed look, and you glance both ways to make sure Trixie is out of earshot before wagging a reprimanding finger. “Manners, Taco. You’re better than this.”

Taco merely flicks her tail and turns back to her own breakfast, rebelliously batting her water bowl with a paw before settling down to eat. Sighing, you finish the remainder of your coffee and rinse out the mug, listening as Trixie darts in and begins rummaging through the silverware drawer. 

“Bug, I don’t think your scrunchie’s in there,” you remark, earning yourself a shrug in response.

“Can’t be too careful,” she says in a startlingly accurate impression of you, and you can’t decide whether to laugh out loud or roll your eyes. Coming up empty, your daughter runs off again, and you return your attention to your bag, rifling through the folders and assignments within. “Aha!” you hear in the distance, and smile. Trixie comes bounding down the hall a few seconds later with a sparkly holographic scrunchie in hand, and you obligingly help her wind it around her ponytail as she wriggles in place with excitement.

“Ready to go?” you ask once finished, and she nods eagerly. “Have all your homework?” Another nod. “What about those books you have to return to Mr. Kim at the library?”

Trixie heaves a dramatic sigh and fixes you with a look. “Yes, Mom. Can we go now?”

You chuckle and extend your hand for her to take, heaving your bag onto your opposite shoulder. “All right, all right. Let’s go.”

Locking the front door, you and Trixie take the elevator down to the ground floor of the building and exit out into the wintry air. Your car is parked on a nearby side street, and immediately, you see that the windshield is coated in a light layer of frost. Sighing inwardly, you head toward the trunk where you store the ice scraper. Trixie releases your hand when you pop open the lid, and you turn to watch as she skips her way down the sidewalk. “Sure you don’t want a ride to school?” you call.

She stops, her nose wrinkling. “It’s lame to go to school with your teacher, Mom.”

You feign offense, slapping a hand to your heart. “Oh? I’m lame now, am I?”

“Don’t take it personal,” Trixie replies, shrugging. “All adults are kinda lame.”

With that, she waves and darts the rest of the way down the sidewalk, making her way to the bus stop at the end of the block. You watch her go, waiting until she safely joins the other half-dozen kids clustered on the corner beside the stop sign, before turning back to your car and climbing into the driver’s seat. 

There’s something calming about your morning commute—something about the low hum of the engine and the whir of wheels against asphalt that soothes your soul. The route downtown is a familiar one, and you navigate it with ease. A glance at the clock on the dashboard tells you that you have just enough time to grab some breakfast, and at the next intersection, you opt to turn left instead of right. Three minutes later, you’re pulling up to your favorite coffee shop in the city, snagging one of the few remaining parking spaces on the street and braving the chill one more time as you head for the brightly painted front door beneath the cheery sign that reads, Bean There, Done That!. 

The smell of warm cinnamon and vanilla washes over you as soon as you step inside the coffee shop. There’s a relatively short line, and you pull out your phone as you join it, scrolling through news articles and notifications until you reach the counter. “Good morning, Bonnie,” you greet the middle-aged woman working the cash register, before waving at the man who’s already brewing a fresh espresso in the corner. “Morning, Jin.”

“Hiya, {Name},” Jin replies. As the owner of the shop and a dear friend of yours, he knows your usual order like the back of his hand. “Got your coffee going right now.”

Bonnie smiles at you, nodding as Jin plops your finished drink down and joins her at the counter. “Morning, hun. You’re too late again, I’m afraid. Can I get you something else?”

You glance over at the glass display case where all the baked goods are housed, disappointment sinking into your stomach when you see the empty row in the bagel section. “No cinnamon streusel? Again?”

“Some guy beat you to the last one,” Jin answers as Bonnie rings up your coffee and slides it across the counter into your waiting hands. “Same one as last week, actually. He comes here pretty regularly.”

Your eyes narrow. “You mean the same jerk has taken my bagel three times now? How is it that I haven’t run into him yet?”

“I dunno—dude’s an early riser, I guess. You missed him by about ten minutes this time, but sometimes he’s in here even earlier than that.” Jin shrugs and jabs a thumb toward the back where you can just barely see the kitchen through a small window. “We’ve got more bagels going right now though, if you can wait five minutes.”

The time on your phone’s screen tells you that you cannot. “Sorry,” you tell him. “If I don’t leave now, I’ll be late for school.” Turning, you nod at Bonnie and drop a few bills into the tip jar. “See you both tomorrow.”

“Wait!” Jin pats down his apron pockets and fishes out a crumpled napkin from within. “I almost forgot. The guy—he left a note.”

“He left… what?” You frown. “Why?”

Awkwardly, Jin clears his throat. “I, uh, may have let it slip that he kept beating you to the last cinnamon streusel bagel on Friday. And then he asked if he could leave you a note, so….” Uncrumpling the napkin, he extends it toward you. “Here.”

You can’t help it—curiosity roots in your belly and winds its way to your fingers as you carefully accept the note and smooth it out on the countertop.

Better luck next time ;)

“That prick.”

Jin winces. “Yeah, I know. I mean, he does always leave a twenty in the tip jar, but yeah, totally. I’m with you. Guy’s a wang.”

You’re barely listening. Scowling, you fumble for the pen in your purse, taking the napkin that Bonnie wordlessly hands you and scribbling out your own note so fiercely you nearly rip through the papery material.

Game on, mister.

///

The rest of the week seems to drag by, until Friday arrives at long last and shepherds with it stormy gray clouds on the horizon. You’re already feeling rather grumpy—no doubt thanks in part to the collection of snarky napkin notes you’ve accumulated over the past few days—and the sun’s absence only serves to exacerbate your foul mood. Even worse, you had an unfortunate run-in with one Mr. Jungkook Jeon yesterday, meeting with him in the principal’s office following an incident where Daeun took and hid Trixie’s favorite holographic scrunchie. Thankfully, it was recovered quickly, but even now the mere thought of Jungkook Jeon’s stupid, condescending face is enough to tank your mood. Scowling, you lock your car and head in the direction of Bean There, Done That!, carefully eyeing every person who exits in an effort to discern whether they might have purchased a cinnamon streusel bagel and hoping that none of them have snagged the last.

You’re running a full forty-five minutes early today—all in an attempt to beat the damned bagel thief. Half an hour hadn’t been enough—you found that out the hard way yesterday, when Bonnie had greeted you with an apologetic smile and Jin had wordlessly doubled the usual shot of espresso in your coffee without charge. Looking back, your initial attempts to be a mere fifteen minutes earlier were feeble at worst and laughable at best. But today, you think, today will be different. 

The bell over the door jingles pleasantly when you step inside the coffee shop, and you immediately deflate when Jin catches your eye and shakes his head. He’s there to greet you when you finally reach the front of the line, and you sigh as you accept the folded napkin he hands over. “He beat me? Again? Does this guy not sleep?”

“He was super early today,” Jin replies with a shrug. Groaning, you unfold the note and smooth it out on the counter, sucking in a breath when you read the words scrawled there. 

What’s that saying again? Something about the early bird always getting the worm? ;)

“That fucking asshole,” you grit out. “I’m gonna kill him.”

“Testy,” Jin says, clicking his tongue. “What’s got your panties in a bunch today?”

You sigh. “School stuff, mostly. I had to meet with the father of one of my students yesterday, and he’s a real piece of work. And then I was up late grading homework.”

“You could always assign less,” Jin offers up unhelpfully, which earns him a snort and an eye-roll from you. Relenting, he instead begins pouring your coffee, chattering on as the hot liquid splashes into your cup. “So, about this guy’s impending doom. How exactly do you plan on murdering a man when you don’t even know what he looks like?”

“Stop being logical,” you groan, rubbing the bridge of your nose. “I don’t want to hear it.”

Just then, the coffee shop door flies open, letting in a gust of chilly wind. You turn to see Bonnie bustling inside, wearing a bright pink woolen hat and ushering along her eleven-year old son, Caleb. “Hi, hun,” she greets you, her nose scrunching when she sees your frown. “I take it you still haven’t found your mystery bagel man?”

You heave a sigh, shaking your head. “I don’t think I can get DNA off of his notes, so no. I have no idea who this guy is, which means I have no way of tracking him down and giving him a piece of my mind.”

Bonnie tuts sympathetically and pats your arm. “Sorry, hun.” Giving your elbow an affectionate squeeze, she slips past the counter and into the back room to grab her paycheck. Jin finishes up with your drink, and you thank him as you take a long sip. Then you turn to Bonnie’s son, who’s taken a seat in a nearby booth and is doodling on a piece of scrap paper. 

“Hey, Caleb. How’s it going?”

The boy, normally quite talkative, just shrugs. Taken aback, you decide not to press the issue and instead turn back to Jin, who’s wiping down the espresso machine and whistling something that sounds vaguely like “Never Gonna Give You Up” under his breath. Bonnie returns then, and you give her a quizzical glance as she pours herself a to-go cup of coffee and adds two generous pumps of caramel syrup. Is something up with Caleb? you mouth, and watch as confusion flits across her face before realization dawns.

“Don’t worry about him,” she whispers, approaching you so you can hear. “He’s just a little bummed from yesterday. Misspelled ‘serendipity’ in the school spelling bee, and it cost him the win in the end.”

You wince. “Ouch. That hurts.”

“Yeah, that sucks real hard,” Jin chimes in from his spot at the espresso machine. “Little guy didn’t even try to steal a cookie from the display like he normally does.”

Bonnie chuckles. “I’ll grab a couple to-go, then—a double chocolate and a snickerdoodle, if you please. But then we’ve really got to head out. School starts in twenty.”

At the reminder, you pull out your phone and glance at the time. “Yeah, I need to leave soon too. Give my best to Caleb, okay? There’s always next year’s spelling bee.” Turning to Jin, you hand over your credit card to pay for the coffee before grabbing a pen and a napkin. It takes you a few seconds to figure out what you want to write, and then another few to scrawl out the note:

Don’t forget, the tortoise always beats the hare in the end.

Straightening up, you hand the napkin over to Jin, who accepts it wordlessly and tucks it into his pocket. And once he’s handed your card back to you, you wave goodbye to both Jin and Bonnie before heading out.

It’s typically a five-minute drive to Hybe Academy from the coffee shop, but this morning, it takes you almost ten. Every red light in the city has seemingly teamed up in order to make you late, and you make it through the door of your classroom with mere minutes to spare. Thankfully, the first bell hasn’t rung yet, and to your surprise, Taehyung is still lounging in your desk chair when you enter the room. The two of you have a longstanding tradition of having breakfast together in the mornings—even if breakfast just turns out to be two extra-large cups of coffee with anywhere between zero and four shots of espresso added in. Taehyung occasionally brings in some of his kitchen experiments as well, and you’ve had to politely decline his offer to share on more than one occasion. 

“Hey, there you are!” Taehyung grins and props his feet up onto your desk, crossing one leg over the other. “I was just about to leave.”

“Really? It looks like you’ve made yourself pretty comfortable,” you reply, dropping your bag onto the floor and collapsing into the chair he’s pulled up beside him. “Must be nice, not having to worry about being on time for first period.”

Taehyung nestles deeper into the back of your chair and lets his eyes drift shut. “Sure is.”

You snort and take a sip of your coffee. “Jerk.”

“I’m rubber, you’re glue,” he replies without missing a beat, his eyes remaining staunchly shut.

Shaking your head, you instead direct your attention to the tupperware container that’s sitting on the desk in front of your friend. You can see what looks like some kind of pastry inside, and prod curiously at it before poking Taehyung in the shoulder. “So, what’s this? Don’t tell me you tried to make croque monsieurs again.”

“Excuse you, those weren’t even that bad,” he defends, his eyes flying open. “And no, I didn’t. I made quiche this time.”

“Right,” you say suspiciously. “And what’s in it?”

“Bacon, cheese, onions,” Taehyung lists with a shrug. “Oh, and a few baby carrots I had on hand. I didn’t really know what else to do with them.”

It’s far from the strangest combination your friend has come up with—a sentiment you voice aloud as you pry open the edge of the container and accept the fork he hands over. “This feels shockingly normal.” Cautiously, you dig into an edge and bring it to eye level so you can examine the filling. “Are you sure you’re feeling all right?”

“I’m going to start force feeding you if you don’t stop teasing,” Taehyung threatens, grabbing a fork for himself and helping himself to a generous bite. “Seriously, give it a try—I promise it’s good. I didn’t even drop any eggshells in it this time.”

Laughing, you bring the quiche to your mouth. The pastry is flaky and the filling is smooth, and you’re pleasantly surprised by the harmonious balance of seasonings that you taste. Taehyung watches in satisfaction as you go in for a bigger piece, and pushes the tupperware closer when you nearly drop it. 

“Told you it was good,” he says smugly, and you can only nod your agreement and raise your coffee in silent commendation. 

The two of you eat in silence for a few moments—until you remember the napkin shoved in your pocket and pull it out with a grimace. You’ve ranted to Taehyung about your new nemesis on more than one occasion by this point, and he doesn’t even blink as he flattens out the material and scans the words scrawled there. “I’ve gotta say, the guy’s got good handwriting,” he remarks, and you immediately fix him with a scowl. 

“Really? You’ve got to say that?”

Taehyung holds up his hands innocently. “Just an observation,” he says. “How many of these notes do you even have now? Three?”

“Five,” you grumble. “And I’m still no closer to figuring out who he is. I don’t suppose you have access to a police database or anything, right? Some way to match this guy’s handwriting?”

“I’m pretty sure it doesn’t work like that,” is Taehyung’s blasé reply. “Besides, it’s not like you’re going to do anything, even if you do figure out who he is. You’ll just keep stewing until something else comes along, so why even bother with the manhunt in the first place?”

You sniff. “I’m raising Trixie to be a strong, determined woman who can accomplish anything she sets her mind to. What kind of example would I be setting if I can’t do this one thing?”

Taehyung doesn’t even bother trying to disguise his snort of laughter. “You’re so full of shit. Jesus Christ.”

The bell rings, then—signaling that students have five minutes to make their way to their classrooms. You sigh, and Taehyung wordlessly stands up and begins gathering his tupperware back into his bag, tucking the cutlery in last and grabbing his remaining coffee as he turns toward the door. 

“Catch you later,” he says at the threshold, and you wave him off before brushing a few stray crumbs off your desk. Finishing off the last of your coffee, you pull your planner from your bag and absentmindedly shove the napkin note in its place—putting away any and all thoughts of your bagel nemesis as students slowly begin filtering into your classroom. Trixie briefly catches your eye as she files in with a couple of her friends, and you smile as you rise from your seat and begin outlining the day’s lesson plan on the chalkboard. 

There’s no doubt that Fridays are your favorite. Friday afternoons at Hybe Academy are dedicated to the arts, and listening to the soft strains of music coming from the orchestra room and the various solo instruments taking lessons brings you boundless joy. You love seeing the new paintings on the walls the following Monday too, and often stay a while after school lets out on Friday to hang up the pieces produced by your own class. 

But this particular Friday—it isn’t going as planned at all.

You’re beginning to think that this morning’s strike from your bagel thief was an omen. Up until two hours ago, it’s just been the usual inconveniences and minor drawbacks—a misplaced pencil here, or a spilled bit of juice there. But now, halfway through the schoolday, you feel like you’re drowning. Your stomach is growling and your hair is in disarray, and it’s all thanks to the fact that you currently have twice the amount of students you normally do occupying your classroom—all of whom are seemingly intent on covering every available surface with splatters of paint. 

You can’t blame Miss Kumar, of course. Family emergencies are just that—emergencies. They can’t be predicted or controlled, and when she was called at lunchtime with unexpected news, you understood that she had to leave immediately. In an unfortunate turn of events, none of the Academy’s usual substitute teachers were available, and you soon found yourself haplessly watching on as her first-graders filed into your room with chairs in tow, taking up residence two to a desk alongside your own students. 

And even though you’re doing your absolute best to maintain some semblance of order, you know you’ve lost when one of Miss Kumar’s students—Nicholas, you think his name is—upends a little plastic canister of paint onto his desk and splats both hands into it. Blue paint goes flying in every direction, and as he giggles, the other children quickly begin to follow his lead. 

“Guys, no, wait—” you try to say, but it’s too late. A fully fledged paint fight has broken out, and you watch in horror as Daeun flings a dollop of yellow paint straight onto Trixie’s Hercules shirt. 

If there’s a bright spot in all of this, it’s that Principal Pam Baker works fast. You’d called her mere minutes into the fight breaking out, and she’d done her part by calling the parents of the students you’d named as instigators of the fight. Those who could came in right away, and once you managed to settle everyone down, you brought their kids down to Pam’s office so that she could have a group meeting with both the parents and students alike. The remaining children you took to the library to be watched by Taehyung while you cleaned up your classroom. It’s an absolute disaster zone, and you’ve only just begun spraying down the first desk when the door flies open.

“Most of the children are at the library,” you say without turning around, scrubbing at a particularly stubborn bit of red paint on the corner of the desk with a wet wipe. “If you’re looking for your child, you’d best head over there.”

“Actually, I’m here to speak to you,” a familiar voice says, and dread pools in your stomach as you turn and find yourself face-to-face with none other than Jungkook Jeon, his dark eyes unreadable. On his wrist, just barely concealed beneath the sleeve of his charcoal overcoat, you can see his expensive silver watch glinting in the fluorescent light.

“Mr. Jeon,” you manage once you’ve found your voice again. “How can I help you?”

For a few long seconds, Jungkook remains silent. He steps over the threshold and into your classroom, taking in the paint-splattered walls and the chairs scattered haphazardly about. Then his gaze settles on you, his nose wrinkling slightly as he speaks again. 

“It smells in here.”

“It’s the paint,” you answer shortly, stepping over an upended cup of brushes and making your way to the window. Fumbling with the lock, you struggle for a few seconds before finally managing to heave it open, letting in a welcome gust of cool wintry air. 

Jungkook watches all of this in silence. Then he hums, faint amusement lacing his voice. “I see that.”

Irritation blooms in your belly at his blasé tone. “What did you want to talk about, Mr. Jeon? If you’re looking for Daeun, I’m afraid she’s down the hall in Principal Baker’s office.”

“I’m well aware of that.” Jungkook takes a step forward, the heels of his sleek black oxfords clicking against the tiled floor. “This is the second time you’ve lost control of your classroom, I believe. And tell me, Miss {L/N}, why has my daughter been sent to the principal’s office two days in a row, now?”

You glance up from where you’ve begun wiping at a spot of hot pink paint on the windowsill. “With all due respect, Mr. Jeon, I think that’s a question that only Daeun can answer.”

“Daeun.” There’s outright laughter in Jungkook’s voice now—but it’s the humorless sort that makes the hairs on your neck stand on end. “Right, of course. The blame is always on my daughter, isn’t it? Never any of the others. Never your own.”

For a moment, you can only stare at him. Then, without even fully realizing what you’re doing, you begin walking forward. First one step, and then another—until the tips of your sensible block heels are mere inches from the tips of his oxfords. Emotion is building steadily in your chest—a cocktail of exhaustion and anger topped off with the day’s frustrations—and all of it comes flooding out as you raise your chin and look Jungkook Jeon square in the eye. 

“Unlike you, I saw what happened today, Mr. Jeon. Several students were responsible for instigating and perpetuating this fight, and unfortunately, Daeun was one of them. I don’t appreciate you implying that I favor any of my students over others, and I certainly don’t appreciate you questioning my ability as a teacher.” Your chest heaves as you pause to take a breath. “I am a professional, Mr. Jeon. Maybe you don’t think so, but I am. I’ve been teaching for nearly a decade, and I’ve spent almost every day with these children for the past year. You don’t get to come in here and disrespect me in my own classroom. I don’t care how much money you give to this school. I’m not beholden to you or your money, and I’ll thank you to not come in here with unnecessary attitude and finger-pointing.”

Your blood is rushing in your ears by the time your speech comes to an end. Jungkook is silent, staring down his nose at you for three long seconds before he deliberately raises a dark eyebrow. “Are you finished?” he asks. 

You shiver as his hot breath fans against your cheeks. “No.” And then, in a surge of stupid, adrenaline-fueled bravery, you add, “I kind of want to cuss you out, to be honest.”

The other eyebrow rises to join the first, as a huff of wry laughter escapes his lips. “Oh?”

You deflate slightly, your bottom lip finding its way between your teeth. It shouldn’t be so easy for a parent to get a rise out of you, but Jungkook seems to do it so easily—and so often. “I’m not going to,” you murmur. 

“No?” Jungkook’s gaze darts down to your lips, then up to your eyes, and then down to your lips again. “That’s rather disappointing.”

Unwittingly, you’ve drifted even closer to him since you first started talking. You can see each fleck of amber in his irises, and could probably count each of his individual eyelashes if you so cared. This close to him, you can see that one of his eyebrows is pierced—his dark hair brushed back just enough to reveal the silvery metal embedded in his skin. You don’t pull away though, and neither does he. If anything, he seems to be willing you closer—his lips parting and his tongue darting out to moisten them.

And then he blinks, and you pull back as if burned. “If… if that’s all, I should really get back to cleaning up,” you stammer, hating the wobble in your voice as you return to your desk and grab a fresh wet wipe. “Principal Baker’s office is down the hall on the left.”

“I remember. I was there yesterday, after all.” The faint amusement has returned to his tone. Straightening his tie, he begins making his way to the exit, only to pause in the doorframe and glance at you once more over his shoulder. “Oh, and Miss {L/N}?”

You look up. “Yes?”

“You should really look in a mirror. It looks like a Smurf exploded on your face.” 

///

Saturday brings with it clear blue skies and a sweet, sweet reprieve from the chaos of the week. You’d promised Trixie that you would make ratatouille together over the weekend—just like in the movie—and now you’re making good on that promise as you push a shopping cart around the grocery store with your daughter skipping happily by your side. “Ooh! We need these, right?” she exclaims, pointing at a display of zucchini, and you nod, watching as she carefully selects two and plunks them into the cart. 

Together, the two of you finish up in the produce section and head for the aisles that house all the baking goods. Trixie peruses the shelves as you stock up on the essentials—flour, sugar, and a couple boxes of baking soda. Then you grab a package of chocolate chips, laughing when Trixie immediately perks up at the sound of the bag crinkling and whirls around to look at you with wide, eager eyes. 

 “Can we do chocolate chip and peanut butter cookies?” she asks, clasping her hands in front of her chest. 

“I think you’re pushing your luck, young lady,” you tell her, but relent when she selflessly offers to bring the extras to class on Monday to share. 

Ten minutes later, you’re heading toward the checkout line when you suddenly realize that you’ve forgotten something. “Tomatoes,” you say aloud, glancing down at Trixie apologetically. “Totally slipped my mind. Let’s go grab some, bug.”

Trixie sighs dramatically, but turns toward the produce section nonetheless. Faster than you can blink, she trots off, leaving you to trail after her with the shopping cart. Maneuvering around a particularly tall display of onions, you pull out your phone to check the grocery list one more time—only to be interrupted by the metallic clang of your shopping cart hitting another. Immediately, you open your mouth to apologize, but stop short when your eyes meet the owner of the other cart.

“O-oh,” you stammer, your head spinning as you try to recover your full vocabulary. “Mr. Jeon. I… I didn’t see you there.”

Jungkook chuckles. “That much I gathered.” Then he nods toward Trixie, who you can just barely see two aisles and a crate of watermelons away. “Doing some shopping, Miss {L/N}?”

You don’t respond. Your brain is in overdrive, struggling to reconcile the Jungkook standing in front of you with the one you’d seen just yesterday in your paint-splattered classroom. His dark hair isn’t parted neatly across his forehead for once—instead, it falls in soft waves around his face. Rather reluctantly, your brain acknowledges that he looks good—irritatingly so. You’ve never seen him in casual clothes before—only neatly pressed suits that cost more than your entire paycheck—and the change is jarring to say the least. His purple sweatshirt is baggy and his black joggers are just tight enough to show off the definition of his thighs, and—

—hang on, is he wearing Birkenstocks?

Trixie, thankfully, comes to the rescue as you gape at Jungkook’s feet for several seconds too long. “Is this enough?” she asks, lugging a plastic bag bulging with at least a dozen heirloom tomatoes. Still a little shellshocked, you look down at her, blinking dumbly before bursting into laughter.

“That’s plenty, bug. In fact, we probably need to put some back, unless you want tomatoes in your cookies too.”

“That doesn’t sound too bad,” Trixie says thoughtfully, pursing her lips. “Or we can make marinara and have spaghetti and meatballs tomorrow!”

Jungkook chooses that moment to huff out a laugh of his own. “Spaghetti and meatballs, huh? Great minds must think alike—Daeun suggested the exact same thing for our dinner tonight. Only thing is, we’re apparently making everything by hand, even the spaghetti. And we’ve never made pasta before, so…” He chuckles. “You can imagine how well that’ll probably go.”

You glance around the nearest visible aisles. “Daeun’s a proper little chef, I see. Is she here with you?”

The dark-haired man gestures toward the back of the grocery store. “I tasked her with grabbing some milk and eggs while I get the onions. She won’t go near them until they’re cooked, so I figured this would be most efficient.”

You grin. “Divide and conquer, huh?”

“Exactly,” Jungkook answers with a surprisingly boyish smile. You note with amusement that his front teeth are more prominent than the rest, just enough to give him the resemblance of a rabbit. Rather unfairly, it somehow manages to work in his favor when put together with the rest of him. Your cheeks warm when you register again just how handsome he truly is, and you quickly suck in a deep breath as you search around for a distraction.

You’re in luck. Daeun rounds the corner of a nearby display of cantaloupes with a wide grin, a gallon jug of milk and a carton of eggs in either hand. Her grin widens when she spots you, and you chuckle as she tries and fails to raise her jug-bearing hand to wave.

“Hi, Miss {L/N}!” she exclaims as she comes to a stop alongside Jungkook’s cart and deposits her goods inside. “What’re you doing here?”

“Dae,” Jungkook chides gently, but you laugh and wave him off.

“Hi, Daeun. I’m doing some shopping with Trixie, just like you are with your dad. Speaking of which—you probably have a lot of cooking to get to.” You return your attention to Jungkook. “I mean, I know we do. Somehow, I was talked into making two types of cookies this weekend, so we should really head out and get started.”

“Wait—hang on a second.” Jungkook speaks again, and maybe it’s your imagination but you think you hear a tinge of desperation in his tone. “I’m actually glad we ran into you today. We were going to do this on Monday but since you’re both here, Daeun has something she’d like to say to Trixie. Isn’t that right, Dae?”

Daeun’s gaze drops to where she’s scuffing her sneakered feet against the tiled linoleum floor. Jungkook reaches down, giving her an encouraging nudge, and she hesitates for a second before looking back up and glancing between you and Trixie. “I’m sorry,” she begins shyly. “I shouldn’t’ve thrown paint at you. Or taken your book.” And when Jungkook nudges her again and lifts an eyebrow, she continues again. “And… I’m sorry for laughing when you fell down on the playground. It wasn’t funny, and I wasn’t being nice. I’m really sorry, Trixie.”

There’s a beat of silence, as Daeun falls silent and looks at your daughter hopefully. You glance between the two girls, then up at Jungkook, who still has a hand on Daeun’s shoulder and seems to be holding his breath. Trixie, for her part, looks to be deep in thought, her face scrunched in contemplation as she taps a finger against her lips. Vaguely, you wonder if you should say something, but decide against it.

And then Trixie beams, toothy and bright. Daeun’s answering smile is still tentative, but it transforms into full-blown giggles when your daughter rushes forward and clasps one of her hands in both of her own. “I forgive you,” she says shortly, giving her hand a shake like a little businesswoman. You and Jungkook watch on as the two girls proceed to skip off, hand-in-hand and singing “Baby Shark”. 

“Wow,” you remark, turning back to Jungkook. “I have to admit, I’m a little surprised. What brought that on?”

Jungkook begins to look rather sheepish, scratching at the back of his neck. “I actually have a bit of a confession to make. Not to mention, I owe you a huge apology. I talked to Dae last night, and… well, you were right. She wasn’t acting out for no reason. She… she was actually jealous of Trixie."

You frown. "What?"

He nods. "Yeah. See, I got promoted at my job a while ago. Right after the holidays, I had to start working longer hours, which of course meant less time at home with her. And I guess all of that took its toll, especially since I had to stop taking her to school every morning.” He sighs. “She didn’t adjust very well to that. I tried my best to make things work, but there’s only so much I can do, you know? Eventually I had to set up a morning carpool with some of the neighbors. And I tried to ease the transition as much as I could, but…” He trails off with another sigh. “Guess I did kind of a shit job there.” 

Your mind is reeling at all of this new information, but you manage to find your voice again after a few moments. “You did your best,” you tell him, resisting the sudden urge to reach out and touch his arm. “And you’re still trying. That’s all that matters, you know. You’re trying to make things better. Daeun can sense that, and believe me, it’s paying off.”

Jungkook chuckles. “I think you’re giving me too much credit, but thank you. I’m just glad that Dae has a good school and good teachers. Actually, you’ve always been her favorite, did you know that?”

You didn’t. “Really?”

“Really.” 

You aren’t sure what to say after that, so you opt to look around instead. At some point—you aren’t sure when—the two of you must’ve started walking around the grocery store again because all around you are shelves full of bread and baked goods. Mindlessly, you grab a bag of everything bagels and smile when Jungkook follows your lead and drops a bag into his own cart.

A few minutes of meandering later, you find Trixie and Daeun together in the snack aisle, deep in discussion about their favorite candies. The conversation winds down as you and Jungkook approach, and you decide not to comment when Trixie not-so-surreptitiously slips a package of chocolate caramels into your shopping cart.

“We should probably get going,” you say instead, pulling out your phone and glancing at the time. “Gosh, there really aren’t enough hours in the day. You ready, bug?”

“Yep!” Trixie replies cheerily, turning to wave goodbye to Daeun and Jungkook. “Bye, Daeun! Bye, Mr. Jeon!”

“See you Monday, Trixie! You too, Miss {L/N}!” Daeun exclaims. And as you and Jungkook exchange smiles and farewells of your own, you feel lighter than you’ve felt in days, as if an invisible weight has lifted.

///

Like clockwork, Monday morning finds you at the counter of Bean There, Done That! with an apologetic Jin offering you your usual coffee in a size larger than the one you’d paid for. “Again?” you exclaim as you accept the cup and take a generous sip. “I can’t believe this. You opened like, twenty minutes ago.”

The corner of Jin’s mouth twitches. Then, with a dramatic flourish, he produces a full tray of cinnamon streusel bagels from somewhere beneath the counter, picking out the best-looking one before sliding the tray into its spot in the display. “I just wanted to see the look on your face,” he admits as he slips the bagel into a paper bag and hands it over. “These are fresh—still pretty warm, in fact. Surprised you didn’t smell them when you came in.”

“I did smell them,” you tell him, wagging a finger. “But the blueberry bagels are always kind of overpowering and this whole place tends to smell like vanilla anyway, so excuse me for taking you for your word when you said you were out.”

“You know, a simple ‘thank you’ would’ve sufficed,” Jin sniffs. Then he gestures to the stack of napkins next to the cash register and waggles his eyebrows. “Care to leave a snarky note of your own?”

A slow grin spreads across your face as you start fishing in your purse for a pen. “Abso-fucking-lutely.”

///

The rest of the day goes smoothly, and you’re pretty sure it’s all thanks to the cinnamon streusel bagel you’d had the time to truly savor this morning. You’d even bought an extra for Taehyung, who for his part contributed a tupperware full of bacon strips and a pitcher of mixed berry smoothie to your breakfast. For lunch you’d made sure to eat a healthy dose of vegetables, and as you head into the final period of the day, you feel more than ready to give a room full of children their next big assignment.

“All right, class,” you say as your students filter into the classroom and start taking their seats. “We’ve been learning about the animal kingdom for the last few weeks, and it’s finally time to put everything we’ve learned so far together. I’m going to go around and hand each of you a card. Take a look at it—you’ll either see a picture of an animal, or the name of an animal.” Grabbing the stack of cards off your desk, you begin distributing them, slowly making your way up and down the rows of desks. “Then, I want you to get up out of your seats and find the card that matches yours. If there’s a picture of a zebra on your card, you want to find the person with ‘zebra’ written on their card. And that person will be your partner for this project. Does that make sense to everyone?”

Nods and exclamations of affirmation all around. Satisfied, you hand out the last of your cards and return to your desk, gesturing for your students to stand up and find their partners. You watch as the children mill around, exclaiming happily when they find their match. Much to your satisfaction, you see that Daisy—a little girl who always has her blond hair corralled into a neat braid—and Josiah—a well-mannered boy with a different-colored polo for each day of the week—just so happen to be partners. You hadn’t planned it that way, but you’ve always gotten the feeling that there was a hint of a little crush there.

Another pleasant surprise comes in the form of Daeun, who’s plopped herself in the seat beside Trixie and is animatedly gesturing at her card. Even from your spot in the front of the classroom, you can read the big block letters that spell out “penguin” and see the corresponding line drawing on Trixie’s card. And as the girls begin to chat, it’s as if the issues of the last few months hadn’t happened at all.

Your class spends the last few hours of the school day in the library, working on their newly assigned project. You’ve set up shop at the table nearest Taehyung’s desk, which you’ve always kind of envied. Perfectly round and situated in the center of the room, it allows for a 360-degree view of the entire library if he so much as spins in his chair. “Honestly, I could get so much done if I had one of these,” you lament to him as you watch Josiah sharpen Daisy’s pencil for her out of the corner of your eye. “I’d set up the best frickin’ assembly line you ever saw.”

“You sound like a workaholic,” Taehyung replies, doing yet another lazy revolution in his seat. “Or a lunatic. Same thing, really.” 

Resisting the urge to stick your tongue out at him, you settle for rolling your eyes instead. The final bell of the day rings, and you shepherd your students out of the library with your friend on your heels. As the children disperse to their lockers, you trail after Trixie and Daeun, waiting for the two to say their goodbyes so you and your daughter can walk to the car together. It’s still odd seeing the two getting along so well, but you aren’t about to question it as you and Taehyung follow the girls to their lockers—which happen to be in the same section of the hallway—and then out and into the bright afternoon sun. Smiling, you listen to them chattering excitedly about the project even as Taehyung launches into a tirade about his latest rent increase.

“Seriously, I should just move at this point—it’s fucking ridiculous. I don’t even use the conference center, and the indoor pool is just a waste of space when there’s a public one that’s twice the size three blocks away. And that one even has a hot tub! Not to mention—”

You sigh, cutting him off mid-sentence. “Jeez, Tae, just move. You’ve been threatening to for over a year now, and it’s not like anyone’s forcing you to stay. You don’t even like the neighborhood, for god’s sake. I don’t know why you stuck around for that long.”

Taehyung sniffs. “Moving’s just such a hassle, you know? I really wanted to avoid it, but I guess I can’t this time around. A 22% rent increase… fucking hell. You’ll help me pack, won’t you?”

“I’d rather not.”

“But you’re so good at packing! And you have all that bubble wrap and the box of styrofoam peanuts hoarded in your closet—”

“Stored in my closet.”

“Whatever,” he says dismissively, waving you off. “I’m not here to debate semantics with you.”

“No, you’re here to guilt me into helping you move,” you reply. “What’s up with that, anyway? I thought you swore off of renting U-Hauls for good after last time. You were googling moving companies and getting quotes for weeks.”

“Yeah, I definitely lost that spreadsheet,” Taehyung admits. “Besides, money’s a little tight right now. Every last bit of spare change we have is going toward Jimin’s new pilates studio. We’re saving wherever and whenever  we can.”

You nod in understanding at the mention of his fiancé and his new business venture. “How’s all that going, anyhow? I know Jimin’s been super busy—we haven’t been to bar trivia in weeks.”

“Yeah, it’s a whole thing,” Taehyung says, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Starting a business is hard—who knew?”

“Who knew, indeed,” you echo. You’re about to say something else, too, but any semblance of coherence flies out of your head when you glance at the girls again and see that they’ve come to a stop. There’s a sleek black Mercedes-Benz idling at the curb, and leaning against it is none other than Jungkook Jeon—dressed in a sharp navy blue ensemble with his hair slicked back and dark sunglasses perched on his nose. It’s impossible to tell whether he’s seen you yet, and it’s all you can do to tear your gaze away before you get caught staring. Turning back instead to Taehyung, you raise a hand in farewell. “Well, it looks like this is my stop.”

“Seems that way,” your friend hums, casting a curious glance at Trixie, who’s enthusiastically greeted Jungkook with a Hi again, Mr. Jeon! and is now giggling with Daeun about how they can see their reflections in his car. “See you tomorrow. Don’t get into too much trouble!”

You roll your eyes at the flagrant wink Taehyung sends your way, surreptitiously flipping him off from behind your tote bag. Then you make your way over to your daughter, who’s still engrossed in conversation. Coming to a stop behind her, you lay a hand on her shoulder, smiling as she looks up and flashes you a big grin. “All righty. You ready to go home, jitterbug?” you ask.

Trixie juts her bottom lip out into a pout. “Can I go to Daeun’s?”

You raise an eyebrow, glancing up at Jungkook, who’s now scrolling through his phone. Then you return your gaze to your daughter, taking in her eager, bright eyes. “I don’t know, bug. Have you asked Mr. Jeon if you can come over?”

Daeun pipes up then, her pigtails bobbing with every word. “He says it’s okay, Miss {L/N}! Since we have a project to work on and all. He even said we can order takeout for dinner!”

Again, you look at Jungkook. His expression is unreadable behind his sunglasses, but when he feels your gaze he glances up, tucking his phone back into his pocket and pushing his sunglasses up onto his head. “Dae’s right—I did promise the girls takeout. Sorry to catch you off guard with last-minute plans like this, Miss {L/N}. If you’d like, you’re welcome to join us as well.”

You blink. To say that the invitation has caught you off guard would be a massive understatement, and as your brain races to catch up, you suddenly realize that he’s willing to let you come to his home. You would be in his space—where he lives, eats, sleeps. The thought is simultaneously terrifying and exhilarating.

“I—I don’t want to impose,” you finally manage after what feels like an eternity. “I’m sure you’re busy, and I have a lot of homework to grade, and…” You trail off, hesitant, and Jungkook waits a beat before chiming in.

“No imposition at all,” he says, offering you a small smile. “Honest. I’ve spent two of the last three weekends hosting sleepovers for Daeun’s friends, and I’m not convinced I remember what adult company is like anymore.” Then his smile widens—just enough to offer a glimpse of his endearingly prominent front teeth and crinkle the corners of his eyes. “Remind me?”

You aren’t sure if you’re imagining the flirtatious edge in his tone, but you push the thought to the very back of your head and straighten the hem of your blouse before grasping for the phone tucked in your bag. “I… I suppose that would be all right,” you begin hesitantly as you pretend to check for new notifications. “You’re sure it won’t be any trouble?”

“None at all,” Jungkook reassures. “Here, I’ll give you my address for your GPS, but it might be easier if you just follow me. Where are you parked?”

You gesture toward the staff parking lot, which is usually separated from the main lot by a row of neatly manicured hydrangea bushes that bloom in bursts of pink and blue and purple during the spring and summer months. Right now, there are only a few sparse yellow daffodils, pushing up through the dirt and signaling that spring is not far off despite the lingering chill in the air. “I’m about three rows in. I can drive over and meet you here, if that works?”

Trixie chooses that moment to pipe up, instinctively raising her hand like she’s still in class. “Can I ride with Daeun and Mr. Jeon?”

You hesitate, glancing over at Jungkook, who shrugs as if to say fine by me. Turning your attention back to your daughter, you nod and reach down to adjust the glittery pink scrunchie in her hair. “Be good,” you order. “Don’t distract Mr. Jeon while he’s driving, okay?”

“Mmhmm,” Trixie hums, already turning toward the sleek black Benz and tugging on the door handle. “See you there, Mom!”

You wave, watching as the girls climb into the backseat before turning and making your way to your own car. Unlocking the door, you slide into the driver’s seat and take a deep breath. Then, you take another. And a few moments later, you take a third.

Even as you mentally play back the events of the afternoon, you still can’t wrap your head around how it came to this. Here you are, about to drive to Jungkook Jeon’s house. You’ve seen his address in your files, and you know from the street name that he lives downtown, in the part of the city that’s dominated by high-rise buildings and five-star hotels. It’s an area that you don’t visit often, having no reason to unless there’s a particular restaurant that you’re looking to try out—and have the money for. It feels odd inputting his address into your phone’s navigation app, but you do so nonetheless, watching as it calculates the optimal route. 

Steeling yourself, you start up the ignition and ease up on the brake. As you pull out of your parking space, you crane your head to see if Jungkook’s car is still where you’d last seen it, which it thankfully is. Slowly, you make your way over to where the Benz is idling, pulling up alongside him and giving him a little wave. Jungkook has donned his sunglasses again, but he lowers them when he sees you and nods in acknowledgment. Ready to go? he mouths, and you nod even though it’s a lie. You aren’t ready. You aren’t sure you ever will be. But Jungkook is already pulling ahead and out of the parking lot, and you’re forced to push aside your intrusive thoughts and follow. 

The first stretch of the drive is easy. Jungkook is a measured driver, and you can tell that he’s taking care to turn only when there’s enough room for both of your vehicles. The second stretch, however, proves far more difficult. Now that you’re downtown, there’s an abundance of one-way streets and pedestrians. Traffic lights sit on seemingly every corner, alternating between red, yellow, and green at random, as far as you can tell. You nearly lose Jungkook twice on particularly short green lights, and only narrowly avoid hitting an overeager dog dragging its hapless owner into the crosswalk before the walk sign has changed. 

The third time, it finally happens. Dismayed, you watch as Jungkook’s sleek black Benz cruises past a green light, just before it turns yellow for a split second and then flips to red. You’re forced to brake far faster than you’d prefer—way too fast to be safe, for sure—and watch as Jungkook disappears around the Starbucks on the next corner. Muttering out a quiet curse, you drum your fingers impatiently on the steering wheel as you wait for the light to change again. Thankfully, you’re only about two minutes from your destination. 

After what feels like an eternity, the light finally turns green. Releasing your foot on the brake, you take the turn that Jungkook had taken, glancing between your phone and the surrounding buildings to identify your destination. There’s a string of restaurants, a pharmacy, and a post office. You cruise past a dentist’s office and a few dry cleaners, and then your phone is directing you to turn right onto a street that boasts a long row of glass-fronted office buildings. 

Two blocks later, you’re pulling up to a tall, sleek chrome building. The first floor is occupied by a seafood restaurant and the second and third seem to be a gym, but as you crane your head upward you can see that the floors above that seem to be condominiums. Letting your head fall back against the headrest, you glance down at your phone one more time, confirming that this is indeed your destination. Then you take a long, deep breath before you begin following the little blue signs that claim to lead to a parking garage beneath the building.

To your relief, the garage itself isn’t difficult to find. You take a ticket from the machine as you descend down the concrete ramp, keeping an eye out for any open spots that are designated as guest parking. Seconds pass, and then minutes. Your heart flutters nervously in your chest as you descend deeper into the parking garage, seeking a break in the rows of cars that never comes. You’re seconds away from giving up and turning around, when finally, you see an open spot. It’s a little cramped and it’s right next to a concrete pillar that’s just a little too close for comfort, but you manage to squeeze into the space. Heaving a deep sigh of relief, you turn off the ignition and tuck your keys into your purse, taking a moment to gather yourself before exiting your car and locking it behind you.

That’s when you encounter your next obstacle: figuring out how, exactly, to get out of the parking garage. You can’t find a single sign to guide your way—only a locked dark green door that you assume is some kind of mechanical room. Groaning, you spin in a full circle, taking in your concrete surroundings. Maybe if you just start walking, you’ll find a sign that will point you to the elevators. You’d even consider taking the stairs at this point, no matter how many floors down you are (you’re pretty sure it’s seven or eight). 

Just then, your phone begins to buzz in your pocket. Pulling it out, you see Jungkook Jeon (Daeun’s Dad) emblazoned across the screen and immediately swipe to answer. “Hello?”

“Hey,” Jungkook says, obvious relief coloring his tone. “I’m sorry I lost you back there. Where are you now?”

“I’m in the parking garage below your building,” you reply, idly scuffing your foot along the concrete floor. “I’m parked pretty far down, and now I can’t seem to figure out how to get upstairs.”

Jungkook hums thoughtfully. “Yeah, I’ll admit the signage isn’t great down there. Let me see… can you see any doors?”

“Just this green one, but it’s locked.” Reaching out, you try the handle again to double-check. “Other than that, nothing.”

Another hum from the man on the other end of the line. “Okay, walk away from that door. Try and head toward the middle of the garage—that’s where the elevators are. There’s four of them, and they’re in this big concrete circle. Can you see them yet?”

“Maybe?” You can see a break in the rows of cars up ahead, and a rounded concrete wall in the distance. Speeding up, you make your way around the edge and blink as a bank of elevators comes into view. “Oh, wait—yeah! Huh. Weird. I didn’t expect the doors to be orange.”

Jungkook chuckles. “Each floor’s color-coordinated, yeah. Orange means you’re near the bottom, though. Didn’t you see the guest parking on the first floor?”

You blink. “No, I don’t think so. Did I miss something?”

That draws another chuckle from him. “Probably. There’s a row of spaces off to the right as soon as you enter the garage, but it can be pretty easy to miss if you don’t know to look for it. I should’ve given you a heads-up.”

“It’s okay,” you tell him as you enter the elevator and hit the button for the thirty-fourth floor. “I could’ve asked.”

Bidding him farewell and assuring that you’ll see him soon, you hang up and tuck your phone back into your pocket. The elevator ride is relatively short despite how high you’re going, and before you know it you find yourself standing in front of a navy blue door with a polished brass knocker. Raising your hand, you’re about to knock when the door flies open, revealing Daeun and Trixie standing there with identical grins.

“You’re finally here!” your daughter exclaims, bounding forward to take you by the hand and lead you inside. “Mr. Jeon said we had to wait for you to get here. He says he’s gonna give us a grand tour!”

“It’s really not as exciting as they’re making it sound.” Jungkook’s voice comes from around the corner, and the man himself steps into view a moment later. He’s taken off his jacket and removed his tie, leaving him in navy slacks and a crisp white shirt with the first few buttons undone. Your gaze lingers a little too long on this newly exposed sliver of chest, but you forcibly tear your gaze away when Trixie gives your hand a squeeze. 

“Come on, Mom! You can see everything from the window. It’s like you’re on top of a mountain!”

Laughing, you follow your daughter deeper into the apartment. She points to the closet off the foyer, where you obligingly hang up your coat next to her periwinkle one. Then she leads you to the far end of the foyer, where it opens into a wide hallway. On the other side of the hall is an archway that leads to a spacious kitchen with white cabinets and polished granite countertops. You take note of the bright yellow bar stools at the kitchen island, chuckling when Daeun loudly declares that she picked them out—and that Jungkook had caved to her despite wanting boring gray ones instead.

As you continue your tour, it becomes abundantly clear that Jungkook has caved to his daughter on multiple occasions. The furniture in the living area is neutral—shades of beige and dark wood that pair well with the polished floorboards and modern floor-to-ceiling windows. But scattered throughout the space are pops of color and quirkiness that you can confidently attribute to Daeun—having graded several of the art pieces that you now see hanging on the wall and adorning the sleek glass coffee table. There’s the lopsided clay vase painted with streaks of hot pink and specks of bright yellow, and there’s the papier-mâché snowman with his jaunty orange hat. You see more and more of Daeun’s influence everywhere you look—the watercolor butterfly paintings on the wall, and the red floral accent chair that you’re sure Jungkook didn’t pick out himself. 

“That’s Daddy’s room,” Daeun says, pointing to a nondescript white door beside the bookshelves that flank the flatscreen TV hanging on the wall. Then she points down the hall, past the kitchen where you can see a few more doors. “And that’s my room down there, next to Daddy’s office. Do you want to see?”

You nod. “I can’t wait. Lead the way.”

Cheerfully, Daeun gestures for you to follow after her as she skips toward the door at the very end of the hall. She opens it with a flourish, allowing all of you inside, and as soon as you step past the threshold you’re transported to a fantastical world. Daeun’s bedroom walls are painted to resemble an enchanted forest, complete with delicate fairy lights wrapped around the wooden four-poster bed. A white desk and an accompanying green chair sit in front of the floor-to-ceiling window, the pale pink curtains opened to let sunlight stream in. Along the sill is a collection of stuffed animals, ranging from a tiny butterfly to an elephant that you’re pretty sure is taller than Daeun herself. Opposite the bed is a gallery wall, composed of colorful floral prints and Daeun’s own art—a charming, eclectic mix of animal paintings and landscapes. It’s the kind of bedroom that you would’ve loved as a child, and your daughter is equally taken with it if her awed expression is anything to go by. 

“This is so cool!” Trixie runs to the window to peer out at the city below, before twirling in a circle to take in the art on the walls. “I can’t believe you live here. It’s like a magic forest!”

“It’s a beautiful room,” you remark, nodding your agreement. “And all of these drawings are amazing, Daeun. You’re a talented artist.”

Daeun flushes at the compliment, thanking you with a shy smile. Then she and Trixie are off again, speeding down the hallway to look at something else in the apartment. You and Jungkook trail after them slowly, until he opens another door off the hall to reveal his office. It’s smaller than Daeun’s bedroom and far more simplistic in its decor, but it’s a cozy and inviting space nonetheless. One wall is lined with mahogany bookshelves, and a polished wooden desk is pushed against the opposite. A plush burgundy armchair with a matching ottoman sits in the corner beside a tall potted plant, creating the perfect space for reading, and you can tell from the indentation in the seat cushion that it’s been well-loved over the years.

“I’ve definitely been bringing my work home too much lately,” Jungkook admits. “I’ve been cutting back though. Ever since Daeun’s behavioral problems…” He trails off. “Well, you know all about that already. And I do want to apologize for giving you a hard time. It’s just… I guess it’s not all that fun being told that you’re failing as a parent.”

“You’re not failing as a parent,” you reply, laying a hand on his arm before you can think to stop yourself. “You’re doing your best. It’s all we can do, isn’t it? Do everything we possibly can for our children?”

He nods, but he isn’t looking at you. He’s looking down at your hand on his arm, and you blanch inwardly as you quickly pull back and pretend to brush invisible dirt off your skirt. “We should go find the girls,” you murmur. And just like that, the tour is over. 

The two of you rejoin the girls in the kitchen, where they’ve begun assembling themselves a snack of peanut butter and crackers. Jungkook slices up an apple and a banana for them to share, and they barely take the time to thank him before disappearing into Daeun’s bedroom to work on their project. You and Jungkook find yourselves alone in the kitchen, and when the silence between you has stretched on for just long enough to be awkward, you decide to speak. “So. I guess I should probably grade some homework while I’m here.”

Jungkook blinks and shakes his head a little, as if coming out of a trance. “Right, of course. I’ve got a few things I need to wrap up myself. Please, make yourself comfortable. You’re free to work in the office, if you’d like.”

Immediately, you shake your head. “Oh, no. I don’t want to intrude.”

He nods, then gestures out toward the dining table, which sits in a little nook between the main living area and kitchen. “Well then, feel free to make use of the table. Or the kitchen island. Or even the couch, if you’d prefer.” He pauses. “Wait, where are my manners? I haven’t even offered you anything to drink! Did you want anything?” 

“Oh.” You hesitate. “I’m okay.”

Jungkook begins making his way to the refrigerator, regardless. “Seriously, it’s no trouble. I have coffee, tea, banana milk, and I think there’s probably a carton of apple juice in here too. What do you usually drink when you’re grading?”

“Tea,” you admit. “Any kind. I’m not picky.”

“Tea it is.” Jungkook sets about grabbing two mugs. “Go on, make yourself comfortable. I’ll bring it to you.”

For a moment, you wonder if you should ask if he needs help. But he’s already preoccupied with the kettle, his back to you, and you have to force yourself to look away from the way his broad shoulders taper into his slim waist. In an attempt to distract yourself from gawking, you walk back out to the dining table. Pulling out a chair, you settle your bag on the floor beside you and take a seat. And by the time Jungkook comes out of the kitchen with two steaming mugs of tea, you’re already halfway through grading the first math worksheet in your pile.

“Here you go.” Jungkook places a mug by your elbow, and you glance up at him with a grateful smile.

“Thanks.” “No problem.”

To your surprise, he takes his mug to the opposite side of the table and sets it down. Then he disappears into the kitchen, returning a few seconds later with his laptop in hand. You try not to stare as he sets up shop across from you, a loose lock of dark hair flopping across his forehead as he logs in and begins reading something, his dark eyes flitting across the screen. His piercing in his eyebrow glints in the sunlight streaming in through the nearby window.

Ripping your gaze away, you force yourself to focus on the homework you need to grade. And after a few minutes, you’re fully immersed, thumbing through sheet after sheet and writing down your notes.

Before you even realize it, two hours have passed. You only become aware of how late it’s getting when Jungkook shuts his laptop with a click, stretching his arms overhead and working a few kinks out of his neck. “It’s almost dinnertime,” he remarks, glancing out the window where the sun is steadily dropping closer to the horizon. “Did you have any thoughts about dinner? I can order some pizza or something.”

“Oh, I don’t think—” you begin to protest, but Daeun and Trixie choose that moment to dash in like mini tornadoes, whirling around the dining table. 

“We can still order takeout for dinner, right Daddy?” Daeun gazes up at Jungkook with pleading eyes, clasping her hands in front of her chest. “And Trixie and Miss {L/N} can stay if we do, right?”

Trixie looks at you, lower lip already beginning to jut out in a pout. “Please, Mom?”

Jungkook gives you a meaningful glance across the table, and you can only shrug and relent. “Yeah, all right. Since takeout was already promised, we can stay for dinner. But we’re going home after that, okay? It’s a school night.”

The girls burst into cheers. After a brief discussion on what kind of food to order, you all settle on Jungkook’s initial suggestion of pizza. As he puts in the order, you begin tidying up the dining table, clearing it of your graded homework. Daeun points out where the plates are kept, and together, you and the girls set the table for dinner. 

“Estimated delivery time is half an hour,” Jungkook says as he tucks his phone back into his pocket and joins you at the dining table. “What should we do while we wait?”

“Let’s play Candyland!” Daeun exclaims. 

Trixie gasps. “I love Candyland!”

And just like that, it’s settled. The four of you settle around the coffee table for the game—you and Jungkook making yourselves comfortable on the cream-colored sectional while the girls sprawl out on the shaggy rug on the floor. The pizza arrives just as Trixie reaches Candy Castle, and Jungkook goes to answer the door while she celebrates her victory. Then, the four of you sit down for dinner.

It’s strange, sitting in Jungkook’s undoubtedly expensive apartment and eating pizza. But even more strange is how okay it all feels—natural, even. You aren’t sure when you became so comfortable in his presence, but you aren’t about to question it. You’re grateful for the lack of awkwardness.

An hour later, the last slice of pizza is finished. You volunteer to do the dishes, and Jungkook clears the table while you take up residence at the sink. You’ve tasked Trixie with gathering up her things so you can depart after you’ve finished in the kitchen, and can hear her giggling off in the distance with Daeun. “Thanks for hosting us today,” you murmur to Jungkook.

He chuckles, waving off your gratitude. “It’s no problem, seriously. I had a good time.”

You smile at him before returning to the dishes. Just as you’re putting away the last plate, the girls run back into the kitchen—Trixie with her backpack in tow. 

“Can Daeun come to our house next time?” she asks, and you laugh.

“Sure, jitterbug. You’re welcome to come over whenever you’d like, Daeun.”

And with that, you and Trixie say your final goodbyes. You slip back into your shoes and grab your coats from the closet. Jungkook gives you directions for the easiest route out of the parking garage, and you thank him for what feels like the umpteenth time.

You’re barely listening to your daughter’s ramblings as you climb into the driver’s seat and turn on the ignition. All you can think about is Jungkook and this strange, newfound warmth that stirs in your belly whenever he seeps into your thoughts.

///

“You wiped that part of the counter already.”

Trixie’s voice barely registers in your mind, but the washcloth in your hand slows nonetheless. It’s a beautiful Saturday morning with hardly a cloud in the sky, and Jungkook and Daeun are due to arrive any minute. You’ve been cleaning for the past hour, and even though you know you’ve already gone through the kitchen, you can’t help yourself. This is the first time Jungkook will be seeing your humble abode, and you—ostensibly—want to impress.

“Bug, can you set the table?”

Trixie sighs dramatically, but complies nonetheless. Grabbing four plates, she places them down carefully before returning for four glasses. You join her at the table with a pitcher of freshly squeezed orange juice, straightening out one of the striped blue placemats as you set it down beside the vase of flowers that serves as a centerpiece. 

You’ve just started frying bacon when the doorbell rings. “Got it!” Trixie calls, darting to the door, and you listen as she enthusiastically greets your guests. A few seconds later, Jungkook rounds the corner with both girls, decked out in jeans and a gray cable-knit sweather and carrying a plain white cardboard box in his hands. 

Curiously, you tilt your head. “Mysterious box you’ve got there.”

He laughs. “Hello to you too.” Then he puts the box down and pops open the lid. “I brought my favorite bagels—I hope that’s okay. Didn’t want to show up empty-handed.”

You smile at him. “Of course it’s okay. I was just planning on making some toast, but bagels are way be…” You trail off as the bagels in question come into your view. 

Perfectly golden, with a dusting of cinnamon sugar and streusel crumbles on top. You’d recognize them anywhere. 

“{Name}?” Jungkook sounds concerned. “Are you all right?”

You blink and shake your head, mind still whirring. “Are these from that coffee shop downtown? Bean There, Done That?” 

Jungkook nods. “Yeah, have you been?”

You nod. “This… this might sound crazy and I might be way off base. But do you stop there every morning for a bagel?”

Jungkook blinks. Then he blinks again, his lips parting wordlessly. A beat passes, and then another. “Wait,” he finally manages, his voice a croak. “Hang on. Is it… I mean, it can’t be… can it?”

You reach into the drawer next to the stovetop and pull out a wad of pen-stained napkins. “Did you leave me these?”

For a few seconds, it seems like Jungkook can only gape at you. “Holy shit,” he finally breathes, before slapping a hand to his mouth with wide eyes and glancing around to make sure the girls aren’t within earshot. “I was leaving you notes this whole time?”

You can only laugh in disbelief. “You were the one taking my cinnamon streusel bagels?”

“Hey, I wouldn’t have taken them if you’d gotten there earlier,” he teases. Chuckling, he picks up a napkin note and uncrumples it, scanning across the text. “Damn. Small world, huh?”

“The smallest,” you agree, mind reeling from this new development. Still chuckling, Jungkook steps past you to get to the stove, and you belatedly remember that the bacon is still sizzling in the pan as he picks up your tongs and carefully flips each strip. 

“I kept your notes too,” he says after a moment. “I shoved both of them in my glovebox.”

You huff. “Both. Yeah, okay, you beat me to the last bagel way more than I beat you. You don’t have to rub it in, Jungkook.”

“Oh, come on.” He grins, toothy and bright, and you’re momentarily distracted by the endearing prominence of his teeth. “I think I have to rub it in a little.”

“Hmph. As long as it’s only a little,” you concede as you join him at the stove with another pan and begin scrambling eggs. Together, the two of you finish making breakfast, piling eggs onto one plate and bacon on another. You grab the bowl of fruit salad you’d prepared last night out of the fridge, and Jungkook grabs the box of bagels and calls for Daeun and Trixie to come eat. Then, he surprises you by sitting beside you, leaving the girls to sit next to each other on the opposite side of the table.

Breakfast is a relaxed affair—even if Taco keeps trying to jump up on the table to steal some bacon. You’ve eaten several meals with Jungkook and Daeun since that first dinner—usually at Jungkook’s apartment, but also once at the food court in your local natural history museum, where you took the girls to see the ocean exhibit’s penguin display. Since this is the final weekend before their group project is due on Monday, you’ve promised to take them to the zoo to see real, live penguins and complete the last of their research. Both girls already have their backpacks packed and ready to go, and you task Jungkook with checking to make sure they have all their notes while you clean up in the kitchen. 

Twenty minutes later, you’re on your way to the zoo. Jungkook has volunteered to drive, and you can’t help but gape a little as he unlocks his sleek black Mercedes-Benz and opens up the passenger door to reveal cream-colored leather seats and shiny silver hardware. “Wow,” you remark, catching his eye as he walks around to the driver’s side. “This is like the Batmobile or something.”

“Hardly,” he says with a laugh. “I wish I had rocket boosters and ejection seats. That’d be cool as hell.”

“Daddy!” Daeun gasps, scandalized. “That’s a bad word!”

Jungkook has the decency to look properly abashed. “I’ll put a dollar in the swear jar when we get home,” he promises before pretending to zip his mouth shut and throw away the key. Satisfied, Daeun clambers into the backseat with Trixie on her heels, and Jungkook shoots you a conspiratorial little wink as he takes his own seat and starts up the engine.

The drive to the zoo takes only about fifteen minutes. It’s already beginning to get crowded by the time you get there, but Jungkook still manages to find parking with little difficulty. Together, the two of you usher your daughters out of the car, reminding them not to run too far ahead when they immediately make a beeline for the entrance. 

After a short wait in line to buy tickets, you finally make your way past the lion statues flanking the front gate. The wide concrete pathway leads to an open plaza where people are milling about—some looking at the directory located at the far end while others rely on the colorful signpost in the center, reading through the various directional arrows before heading off to their destination. Along the edges of the plaza are a multitude of stalls—selling everything from footlong hot dogs to stuffed animals to cotton candy. There’s a couple of artists painting faces, too, and Daeun only has to give Jungkook one wide-eyed, pleading look before he caves and pulls out his wallet. Aghast, you try to protest, but he waves you off and sends them both off with some cash in hand. 

“Consider it payment for all the bagels I’ve deprived you of,” he says, and you relent with a laugh.

Slowly, the two of you make your way around the plaza, making sure to keep a watchful eye on the girls at all times. Half an hour later, Trixie and Daeun come skipping back your way, their faces bright with colorful paint. Daeun has an intricate pink and blue butterfly, while Trixie has opted for the distinctive orange and black stripes of a tiger. 

“Do you like it?” she asks, and you nod, bopping her fondly on her painted black nose. 

“I don’t just like it, jitterbug. I love it.”

Pleased, she rejoins Daeun, who has successfully diverted Jungkook to the cotton candy stand. Following after her, you hand the vendor your credit card to pay for both snacks before Jungkook can get a word in edgewise. Reluctantly, he tucks his wallet away, laughing when you stick your tongue out at him.

Once the girls have had their fill of the main plaza, the four of you head off in the direction of the penguin exhibit, stopping to look at the zebras and giraffes along the way. Photographs are snapped, and Trixie even flags down a nearby couple and asks them to take a photo of all four of you together. The girls jostle into place in front of the giraffe enclosure, and you suddenly find yourself standing shoulder-to-shoulder with Jungkook, the warmth of his body radiating off of him like the sun in the sky. Your resulting smile feels forced—especially when the girl starts taking multiple photos from different angles—but gradually relaxes. And now, even as you enter the penguin exhibit, you can’t stop sneaking glances at the last photo. 

Because in it, you and Jungkook look like couple. You’re standing close enough that anyone who saw it would construe it as a family photo, the two of you beaming with your giggling daughters in front of you, their arms draped over each other’s shoulders.

Swallowing, you let your phone screen go dark and tuck it back into your pocket. You’re coming up on the penguin exhibit now, and the girls can barely contain their excitement as they run ahead to the outermost edge of the enclosure where a massive glass wall allows for a clear view of the penguins swimming about underwater.

“They’re so fast!” Trixie exclaims. She stops at one of the numerous placards lining the glass wall, her little face scrunching as she slowly reads it out loud to Daeun. “It says here some can swim over twenty miles an hour!”

As the girls pull out their notebooks and begin taking notes, you and Jungkook find an unoccupied bench near a rocky outcrop occupied by several bronze penguin statues. “Look,” Jungkook says, patting one of the upright penguins. “You can see how many people have rubbed this little guy’s head. It’s turned gold.”

“Must be good luck,” you remark, running a finger along the golden beak of another penguin. “Or maybe I should make a wish? I don’t really know what this situation calls for.”

“I’m pretty sure you make wishes when you throw a coin into a fountain,” your companion replies, brushing a dark strand of hair off his forehead. “Actually, I think I saw a fountain back there. Should we check it out later?”

“I don’t think I have any change on me,” you reply, peeking into your purse to make sure. “Seriously, who even carries coins anymore?”

“Not me,” Jungkook agrees. “I do usually have at least a little cash on me, though. It’s nice to have sometimes.”

“Mm, yeah. You never know when you’ll need it.”

Just then, Trixie and Daeun run up, gesturing toward the brown building at the very back of the enclosure. “There’s a penguin movie playing over there!” Daeun says. “Can we go see it?”

“Sure,” Jungkook says. “How long is it?”

“I think it runs every twenty minutes,” you reply when Daeun frowns and scratches her head. “Come on. If I’m remembering correctly, we should be able to see more penguins inside too.”

Daeun and Trixie beam. “Cool!” they exclaim in unison, before galloping off and leaving you and Jungkook to follow after them as quickly as you can manage without breaking into a run yourselves.

Your memory proves correct, as you enter the brown building and immediately see that the walls inside are glass as well. A penguin dives off of a rocky island and into the clear blue water, and you watch as it goes all the way to the bottom of the pool before coming back up for air. 

After doing a lap of the building, Daeun and Trixie decide to go into the theater to see the fifteen-minute short film. Meanwhile, you and Jungkook find a quiet little alcove near the entrance, chatting softly while watching the penguins behind the glass on the opposite wall. 

“I haven’t been to the zoo in ages,” Jungkook admits. “Dae’s mom used to always take her, though. They always came back with a stuffed animal from the gift shop—you might’ve seen them in Daeun’s room, actually. She loves them.”

You nod. “I remember, yeah. It’s quite an impressive collection.” Then you hesitate, gnawing on your bottom lip as you consider your next words and debate whether you’re being too nosy. “Daeun’s mom… can I ask what happened between you?” You pause, then quickly speak again. “And feel free to say no, obviously! You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to. I’m probably just poking my nose where it doesn’t belong.”

Jungkook smiles at you, but there’s a faraway quality to his gaze that wasn’t there before. “Nah, it’s okay. There’s really not much to tell, if I’m honest. Evelyn and I, we started dating when we were nineteen. We got married at twenty-three, had Daeun a couple years later, and then one day we realized that we’d become entirely different people and that we weren’t really in love anymore.”

“Oh.” You aren’t sure what else to say. “I-I’m sorry to hear that.”

He shrugs and sighs, tilting his head back to look up at the ceiling. “No need to be sorry; it was a mutual thing. Totally amicable. We’re still friends, and we’re a pretty kickass co-parenting team too.”

The conversation continues, and you find out that Evelyn’s job took her overseas last year. According to Jungkook, she currently lives with her new boyfriend, who’s a little pretentious but completely harmless. And despite the six-hour time difference, Evelyn still finds the time to FaceTime Jungkook and Daeun every Sunday afternoon. Because of those calls, she’s apparently heard all about you, too—you’re her favorite teacher, remember? he’d said with a laugh.

“What about you, then?” Jungkook glances over at you inquiringly, his eyebrows raised. “Is it my turn to pry?”

You can tell from the melodious lilt in his tone that he’s teasing. “My story’s far less interesting than yours,” you answer, fiddling with a stray thread on your jacket sleeve. “I don’t have an ex-partner or anything like that. I’ve just always wanted to be a mother, so one day I decided that I was going to do it. I used a donor, got pregnant, and here we are.”

Jungkook takes this in slowly, nodding. “Do you… I mean, do you know who your donor is? Have you met him?”

You shake your head. “No, it was an anonymous thing. I got a profile and some information about his appearance and hobbies and stuff, but not much beyond that.”

“I—” Jungkook begins, before trailing off. “I’m sorry. I’m asking too many questions. I don’t know a whole lot about the sperm donor thing, but I’m glad it worked out for you. Trixie’s an amazing kid.”

“She is,” you murmur. “I love her more than anything.”

“And you’re an amazing mom.” Jungkook’s voice grows softer, and when you turn to look at him, he seems closer than he was before. “I don’t know how you manage it all, teaching and parenting. But you do, and it’s incredible. You’re incredible.”

You aren’t sure who leans in first. All you know is that one moment, you’re staring into Jungkook’s earnest brown eyes, and then in the next, you’re kissing him.

It starts soft. Cautious, even. His lips press against yours gently, once, before he pulls back for a breath. You can feel him exhale, the warmth fanning your cheeks. And then you pull him back in by his collar, fisting one hand in the knit material and finding the soft hair at his nape with the other. 

Time slows to a standstill. Jungkook groans against your lips, and you feel the way it rumbles through his chest, the sensation sinking into your skin and settling straight in your core. His hands find your hips, and you wind both arms around his neck to pull him closer. 

And then, just as suddenly as it had stopped, time starts ticking again. Reality crashes down around you in the form of familiar, boisterous voices rapidly heading your way. You and Jungkook only barely manage to untangle yourselves before Trixie and Daeun round the corner of the alcove, chattering excitedly about all the new penguin facts they’ve learned. 

“Can we go to the petting zoo next?” Trixie asks, seemingly oblivious to your lingering embarrassment at nearly being caught.

Awkwardly, you clear your throat. At your side, Jungkook is faring no better, shuffling his feet and refusing to make eye contact. “Yeah, sure, bug,” you finally manage when you find your voice again. “Lead the way.”

///

Monday dawns cloudy and gray. The weather app on your phone promises thunderstorms later in the afternoon, but that isn’t enough to dampen your mood one bit. Instead, you thumb back over to your messages, your heart skipping a beat when you see the text still sitting at the very top.

[6:54am] Jungkook Jeon: Make sure to stop by bean there, done that before school. Left you a surprise ;) 

Taking a deep breath, you type out a response:

[6:56am] You: I’m a little scared. Should I be scared?

His answer comes in immediately. Nah. It’s a good surprise, I promise.

[6:58am] You: Sure it is… 🤨

Biting back a grin, you tuck your phone into your bag and head toward the front door of your apartment, nearly tripping over Taco along the way, who has chosen that moment to start slinking between your legs. 

“Really, Taco?” you ask the unperturbed calico cat at your feet. “What if I fell and cracked my head open? Who would feed you then, huh?”

As usual, Taco merely gives you an unimpressed look before flicking her tail and wandering off. Sighing, you call for Trixie to hurry up before turning to check your appearance in the mirror leaning against the wall of the entryway. It’s a large, vintage piece—a gold-framed, flea market find that you treasure dearly and swear makes you look good no matter how awful you might feel.

Satisfied, you hike your bag higher on your shoulder and smooth down the lapels of your coat. Trixie rounds the corner and gives herself a quick once-over too, and you give her a thumbs-up. “Ready, bug?”

“Yup!” she replies, tightening her grip on her and Daeun’s project—a carefully constructed shoebox diorama that shows a group of penguins in their natural icy habitat. 

“Let’s go, then.” Opening the front door, you let her through before locking it up behind you. Together, you head out to the car, and Trixie ensures that her diorama is completely secured in the seat beside her while you check your mirrors and turn on the ignition.

The drive to Bean There, Done That! takes only about ten minutes. Jin waves cheerily when he spots you walking up to the counter, but his face positively lights up when he sees Trixie is with you. He absolutely adores your daughter—Trixie loves him too—and on the occasional instance you’ve had to call on him to babysit, the two of them always end up stuffed with food on the couch and giggling over bad puns.

“What can I get you, ma’am?” Jin asks, directing the question at Trixie, who beams at him before turning to look at you with pleading eyes.

“Can I have a double chocolate cookie?”

“That… actually sounds really good,” you admit. “Make that two. And Jin, did someone leave something here for me earlier?”

Jin grins. “Thought you’d never ask. This here is from one Mr. Jungkook Jeon.” Reaching beneath the counter, he pulls out a box and watches as you open the lid to reveal half a dozen cinnamon streusel bagels with a neatly folded napkin on top. Unfolding it, you can only laugh at the words written on it:

Hope you have a mug-nificient day!

“Just so you know, he stole that line from me,” Jin says with a sniff. “I’m not letting him take the credit.”

“Duly noted,” you tell him, trying and failing to hide your smile as you look down at the note again. After a couple beats, Jin clears his throat, and you glance up to see that he’s grinning like the Cheshire Cat. 

“Sooo,” he begins slowly, dragging out the single syllable, “I imagine you want a fresh napkin and a pen, unless… are you going to see Mr. Jungkook Jeon at some point?”

You shrug, feigning nonchalance as best you can. “Trixie was paired with his daughter for a school project, so we’ve been meeting up for the past few weeks so they can work on it. Now that that’s over with… I don’t really know. We’re both pretty busy.”

Jin scoffs. “That’s a lame excuse, especially since he’s clearly flirting with you. And—”

Unfortunately, Trixie interrupts before he can finish his sentence, skipping back over from where she had been examining the pastry display cases along the wall. “Can I have a lemon bar?”

You fix her with a stern look. “You already asked for the double chocolate cookie, remember? The lemon bars can wait until next time.” Then you turn back to Jin, reaching into your bag for your wallet. “We should probably get to school, anyhow. What do I owe you?”

“Not a thing,” he replies, handing over a paper bag with your cookies and a bottle of apple juice. “It’s already been taken care of.”

From the wink he sends your way, you know that it must have been Jungkook who doled out the extra cash for your breakfast. “Thanks, Jin,” you reply, handing Trixie the cookies and juice before accepting the cup of coffee he hands over. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Pleasure doing business with ya,” is his response. Trixie waves goodbye, and together, the two of you head back out to the car. It’s started drizzling since you arrived, and you thank your lucky stars that you’d managed to snag a parking spot right up front.

Your daughter seems to be deep in thought as you help her buckle her seatbelt, her lips pursed in concentration. Then, out of nowhere, she asks:

“Do you like Mr. Jeon?”

You nearly choke. “W-what?”

“Mr. Jeon,” she repeats patiently, and you’re thankful that she’s not looking at you—instead, she’s focused on the raindrops splashing against the window and racing each other down the glass. “You spent a bunch of time with him when Daeun and I were doing school stuff. What’d you do?”

“Adult stuff,” you reply, before cursing inwardly at the potential implication behind your words. “Mostly, I spent my time grading homework. And he had some things to do for work, too.”

Trixie hums, apparently satisfied with this answer. “He’s nice,” she declares. “He buys us food and he has a cool house.”

“Sure,” you agree. “He’s a very nice man.”

And with that settled, you finish buckling her in her seat. Shutting the back door, you suck in a deep, calming breath before circling around to the driver’s side and setting off on the familiar route to Hybe Academy.

///

“... Miss {L/N}, are you listening?”

You blink and sit up a little straighter in your chair. “Yes, of course. Please go on.” Hastily, you scribble down a few random words, hoping that will placate the parent sitting across from you. It’s parent-teacher conference week—and you’re beyond grateful that it’s Friday night as Mrs. Greene rambles on and on about how the school isn’t doing enough for her precious baby boy. She’s talking about how the school day should be extended now—or at least how teachers should watch after the children whose parents can’t pick them up right at three-thirty. I don’t understand why it’s so difficult to understand. I mean, my husband is a very busy man, and I have my own business to run. I can’t be expected to drop everything in the middle of a client meeting to come pick Derrick up…

It takes everything in you not to snap at her. You know for a fact that her “business” is selling bejeweled keychains on Etsy—and that they’re incredibly poorly made, if the reviews are anything to go by. Instead, you bite your tongue—hard enough to taste metal—and remind her that the school’s operating hours are not for you to decide. 

After what feels like an eternity, the clock strikes seven, marking the end of her reserved time block. Standing up, you shake her hand and wish her a pleasant evening before opening your planner and checking to see if you have any more meetings. Your parents have Trixie for the night and there’s a bottle of wine on your kitchen counter calling your name, and you cannot wait to get home and relax in the bath with a glass. Maybe, you think, I’ll even do a face mask.

The final name written in your planner stops you in your tracks. You haven’t seen him in over a week—not since that Monday when he left you half a dozen bagels at the coffee shop. The girls had insisted on meeting up that evening to celebrate turning their project in, so you’d all gone to a popular taco joint. 

And then there’s a knock on your door, the three raps pulling you right out of your musings.

Silhouetted there in the doorframe is Jungkook Jeon, decked out in a polished charcoal suit and wearing a smile that makes your insides lurch dangerously in your chest. His dark hair is parted on the side, and you catch the slightest glimpse of his brow piercing glinting behind the hair that’s loose across his forehead. “Hi,” he says, his voice low, and you have to remind yourself that it’s impolite to stare as you find your voice.

“Hi yourself.”

He grins, baring the adorably prominent front teeth that you hate to admit you’ve grown rather fond of. “You look like you weren’t expecting me.”

“Oh, no. I just wasn’t expecting you on time,” you retort, gesturing to the plastic chair sitting across from your desk. “Your track record is questionable, at best.”

Jungkook grimaces. “Yeah, sorry about that. I made sure to leave plenty early this time, just in case I ran into traffic. Or if Bobby decided to corner me in the elevator again—that guy really doesn’t know when to shut up.” He pauses. “Wait, I told you about him, right? Works on the development team, owns one singular tie? Balding but tries to hide it with a bad combover?”

“That rings a bell,” you reply. “The tie is red and Christmas-themed, right?”

“Sure is.” Jungkook chuckles. “I thought they might’ve been polka dots the first time I met him, but nope. Christmas ornaments, even in the middle of July.”

You laugh. “Odd fashion choice.”

“Seriously. Don’t even get me started on the rest of his clothes,” Jungkook says, shaking his head. “Here, let’s change the subject. Have you eaten yet?”

You gesture around your classroom, artificially lit with fluorescent light even as the sun begins to dip closer to the horizon. “Nope. I mean, I had about twenty minutes between the end of the school day and the start of my first meeting, so I scarfed down an apple in the break room. But that was hours ago.”

“Perfect.” At your look of disbelief, he chortles and quickly amends his phrasing. “Sorry, I just mean that I’ve got you covered. Here, look.” And he begins pulling things out of a paper bag that you hadn’t noticed him carrying before. Crackers, sliced baguette, an assortment of cured meats and cheeses, grapes. He produces a bottle of wine next, and you very nearly start clapping. 

The last thing he pulls out is a single red rose, his smile soft and warm and dizzyingly affectionate as he presents it to you. “I—wow.” You aren’t sure what to say. “Thank you. I… I feel like I should’ve prepared something. Stolen an apple for you from the teacher’s lounge, at least.”

Jungkook snorts. “Well, here’s something you can help me out with. I don’t actually have glasses for the wine. Totally spaced and forgot that we’d need them. Any ideas?”

You’re on your feet before he can even finish asking. “I teach elementary schoolers, Mr. Jeon. I always have cups.” 

Making your way to the cabinet by the window, you grab a box of little paper cups and pull out two. Jungkook accepts them when you hand them over, and you watch as he unscrews the cap on the wine bottle before pouring out two generous helpings. Together, you lay out the food he’s brought, spreading it across whatever empty space there is on your desk. “Cheers,” Jungkook says once you’ve both taken your seats again, raising his paper cup to tap against yours.

“Cheers.”

For a moment, there is silence as you both take a drink. Then Jungkook speaks, glancing up at you as he carefully begins crafting himself a mini salami and cheese sandwich. “So, where does Trixie stay while you’re doing all these meetings? Do your parents have her?”

You nod, taking another much-needed sip of wine. “Yeah, my mom picked her up after school. They actually have her until Sunday—my dad’s going to teach her how to fish tomorrow, and then I think they’re going to build a pillow fort.”

Jungkook chuckles around a mouthful of gouda. “I love a good pillow fort. Dae insists on building one at least once a week, and at this point, I’m honestly surprised there isn’t one permanently in her bedroom.”

Grinning, you reach for a cracker and some cheese. “Taco manages to destroy every pillow fort Trixie and I try to make. She either decides it’s a trampoline, or that it’s a good time to start scratching everything she can reach. We can’t win.”

“Sounds like you need better defenses,” Jungkook replies, waggling his eyebrows. “That, or you can come over whenever you need a pillow fort fix. I’m sure Dae and Trixie would create something truly epic together. I mean, that penguin diorama was pretty fucking cool, wasn’t it?”

“Very fucking cool,” you agree, and both of you burst into laughter.

Deep blue twilight settles outside as the two of you continue chatting over your makeshift meal. The cheese begins to dwindle, only a few lonely grapes remain on their stems, and when you go to top of your wine, you realize there’s less than a quarter of the bottle left. 

“Wow, we really put a dent in this thing,” you remark, holding it out for Jungkook to see. “And it’s already dark out. The time kind of got away from us, huh?”

“You won’t catch me complaining,” Jungkook replies, tipping the last of his drink into his mouth. “I’m enjoying spending time with you.”

You can’t help but smile at his earnest honesty. “Me too.”

There’s a beat of silence, and then you rise from your seat. At the same time, Jungkook stands up from his chair on the other side of the desk, making his way around to meet you halfway. And then his mouth is on yours, warm and firm in a way that makes your heart do a backflip before plunking straight into your churning stomach.

Jungkook’s hands find your hips, palming along the flowy material of your dress before finding a resting place just above the soft curve of your rear. Your fingers delve into the soft hair at his nape to tug him closer, and he groans against your lips when your nails rake across his scalp. Slowly, he begins trailing kisses from the line of your jaw down to the column of your neck, pausing to lavish attention on any spots that make you gasp or squirm in his grasp.

The growing hardness against your lower belly is growing more and more evident with each passing second. Deliberately, you slide one hand down his chest, admiring the toned ridges of his abdomen that you can feel through his white shirt, before making your way down past his silver belt buckle. Jungkook inhales sharply when you cup his hardening cock through the charcoal material of his slacks, and, emboldened, you thumb across the head and relish in his resulting groan.

Any caution you may have had is thrown to the wind. Adjusting your grip, you shiver when you realize that he’s now fully hard beneath your fingertips, his erection thick and hot through the fabric. You try and visualize what it looks like underneath it all—the color of the flared head, the veins that run along it, the curve of the shaft, if there is one. And then you realize that you don’t have to imagine—you can look. You can rip his clothes off and explore every inch of his body in the way you’ve been itching to since you first kissed at the zoo last week. Your hands scrabble for his belt buckle, fumbling with the silver prong embedded in its notch.

“W-wait.” Jungkook’s hand lands over yours, and you note the breathlessness in his voice with satisfaction. “I… this is probably cheesy, but this isn’t how I pictured this happening. Not that I don’t like what’s happening, but I just… I’d like to take you out first. On a proper date, I mean. Without our girls in the next room, or down the hall, or in the museum playplace wreaking havoc.”

“That does sound nice,” you admit. “Actually, I’d really enjoy that. I haven’t been on a proper date in years.”

“Let’s do it, then,” Jungkook says. “My babysitter’s already been paid to watch Daeun until midnight, and your parents have Trixie. This is kinda perfect.”

You can’t help it—you drag your thumb across the head of his still-hard cock again and revel in the way his breath hitches just a little bit in his throat. “Midnight?” you query with an innocent tilt of your head. “Were you expecting something to happen tonight?”

“Hoping,” he replies with a cheeky grin. “And wait, let me ask you out properly. It just wouldn’t feel right otherwise.”

Confused, you let him stand from his seat and slip around you to retrieve the paper bag on the ground. Understanding dawns when he reaches inside and grabs a napkin, and you watch on in amusement as he takes a pen from the cup on your desk and begins writing. And after a few seconds, he wordlessly presents this to you:

Drinks? Dinner? Maybe dessert? ;)

And you can only laugh. “Game on, mister.”

[physics-of-one-piece]

Timezones in One Piece World

I am back with a physics post! Well, more meteorology/geography post!

I was inspired to create a timezone map after reading the newest chapter of Doflamingo's Marine by @moonbaby26 where a timezone difference was mentioned, which was a great detail! I remember thinking about timezones in OP world but never got around to it but I did now. So it made me wonder just what timezone is Dressrosa (my fav island 🤗) in, what timezone are the other islands in?

SO!

I pulled a grid of irl timezones, simplified it, and put it over the One Piece World Map! (You can see some parts where I was like, no keep it simple, simplify it).

HERE IT IS!

UTC is coordinated universal time, aka time in the center of the world. Anyway, here are the islands + locations and I'll put some ANs for some cus some are interesting.

Paradise:

Reverse Mountain [UTC -1]

Red Line Center [UTC -1]

Twin Cape [UTC 0] Greenwhich Mean Time,

📍Iceland

I find it PERFECT the exit from Reverse Mountain into Grand Line are the ones in the center of the One Piece World, not the Red Line Itself.

Cactus Island [UTC 0] Western European Time (WET)

📍irl ex: Reykyavik, Iceland

Little Garden [UTC +1] Central European Time (CET)

📍 Italy, Spain

Drum Island [UTC +2] Eastern European Summer Time (EEST)

Alabasta [UTC +3] irl ex:

📍

Jaya [UTC +4]

Skypiea [UTC +4]

Long Ring Rong Island [UTC +5]

Water 7 [UTC +6]

Amazon Lily [UTC +7]

Enies Lobby [UTC +6]

Florian Triangle [UTC +9] Japan Standard Time

Sabaody Archipelago [UTC +10]

Impel Down [UTC +8]

Marineford [UTC +9] Japan Standard Time (JST)

Holy Land of Mariejois [UTC +9] New Zealand Standard Time

Fishman Island [UTC +10]

New World

New Marineford [UTC -8] Baker Island Time (BIT)

Punk Hazard [UTC -8] Samoa Standard Time (SST)

Dressrosa [UTC -7] Pacific Daylight Time

📍 Los Angeles

It used to be in Hawaii, it fit so much, whyyyy 😭😭

Totto Land [UTC -5] Eastern Standard Time

📍irl ex: Florida, U.S.

Wano Country [UTC -4]

📍irl ex:

Uf, I think that's all the big locations. I recommend using just the UTC and then you go minus or plus just so you don't have to go converting everything. The One Piece world most likely just says "Universal Time + (number)" or sth.

So, for example, if it's 17:00 (5 pm) in Marineford (UTC +9) on a Monday, it will then be 1 am on Monday in Dressrosa.

17 - 9 (to get UTC 0) = 8 am Monday (UTC 0)

Then another -7 hours, you get Monday 1 am (UTC -7) in Dressrosa. So Dressrosa is 16 HOURS behind Original Marineford.

Interesting how Doflamingo settled in Dressrosa, which is the entire 22 hours behind Holy Land by time, symbolising how his family abandoned the privileges of Celestial Dragons. Nice.

Also, for the Blues, regarding seasons:

North Blue & East Blue = North Hemisphere such as Europe & U.S. (winter months - December, January, February)

West Blue & South Blue - South Hemisphere (like Australia & New Zealand) so the winter months are June, July, August.

The seasons are interchangable in the Grand Line depending on the islands!

Taglist: @fanaticsnail

[https-milo]

the baker's daughter - a wild todoroki!

synopsis

Y/n L/n works at a small bakery owned by her parents. One day, a pro hero in training shows up asking for 400 cupcakes

Chapter 2 - a wild todoroki!

prev. / m. list / next

TAG LIST..!

@aejabba

Three days have passed since Todoroki came into the shop. Right now I am currently on an afternoon mission. A mission to get all the ingredients needed for 400 cupcakes by the U.A School Festival. The wind felt therapeutic as it brushed past me, I smiled warmly at the feeling. I walk to the closest store, enter it, and greet the workers with a wave. I grab a basket and walk over to the baking aisle.

"Cocoa power... Vanilla extract... Sugar... Flour... Don't we already have most of this stuff?" I groan in annoyance. I scoop everything I need into my basket. I walk to the noodle aisle and see soba - my favorite. There was only one left, so I quickly grab it. I hear a sigh from beside me and turn around. It was Shoto Todoroki.

"Oh! Hello, Todoroki," I greet. "I hope you weren't trying to get the soba..."

"I was actually, but it's fine. I can just go out to eat somewhere," Todoroki explains.

"I'm sorry, if you want it, you can have it?"

"No, it's fine. Thank you."

"Okayyyy, well I've gotta get to the bakery... It was nice seeing you!" I say. Being close to him made me flustered, and I did not like that. I rush away from Todoroki, barreling towards the cashier.

"L/N, hold on," He said.

I was halfway to the register, almost free from embarrassment. "Uh yes?"

"Would you like to join me in getting soba? I figure you'd prefer it fresh and not prepackaged," Todoroki asked.

"Uhm, me? Like me-me?" I look around, trying to find anyone else he could be talking to.

"Yes, you. You don't have to, of course. Just thought I'd offer."

My eyes widen, "Yeah! Of course, I wanna go with you, but I kinda have to run these to the bakery first and change -" I look down ashamed at my 'no-one-will-see-me' outfit. "I'm sure you don't wanna be seen with someone who looks like this," I vaguely gesture to my outfit.

"I don't care what you're wearing. But if you want to change, I'll wait for you."

"Come with me in line?" I ask. He nods and catches up to me, from there we walk to the register. I place the ingredients on the conveyor belt. The worker scans my items.

"That'll be 10,000 yen," the worker explains. I wince.

"Mom is so going to kill me," I joke. "My budget was 8,000..."

Before I can say anything else, Todoroki takes out his father's credit card and pays for the ingredients. "To-Todoroki!" I stutter. He looks at me confused as he enters the PIN number.

"What? I don't want you getting in trouble."

"It was a joke, Todo. My mom wasn't actually going to kill me," I sigh as the worker bags my items.

"Oh."

"Thank you though, I really appreciate it. But now I feel bad!" I pout.

"Don't feel bad, my father has enough money," Todoroki replies. "Let me help you." I nod and he takes a few bags out of my arms. We walk out of the store.

"What're you doing out here anyway? I thought you'd be in school?" I ask.

"We had the day off today. I thought it would be nice to head into town, and I was right because I ran into you," he said this so easily I thought he was joking.

"W-what?!"

"I enjoy your company," he shrugged.

"We just met... like literally the other day."

"I know, but I was never allowed around other kids when I was younger. I didn't have a single friend before I started attending U.A., so I don't really know what it's like to have one. But after we met, I couldn't stop thinking about you. So I figured I just had to meet you again, and I was right. I think that's what happens when you want someone to be your friend."

I didn't think I could get any more flustered. But, of course, a quirk user just had to prove me wrong. "I enjoy your company too. We should talk more! You know, outside of the cupcakes," I smile at him - trying to ignore the bubbly feeling in my chest.

We walk in silence for the rest of the way to my bakery. It wasn't uncomfortable, I honestly enjoyed it. "I'm home!" I shout as we enter the bakery.

"Welcome back, Y/n," my dad says. He's rubbing his face with a rag as he enters the front of the store. Once his eyes open, they narrow in on Todoroki. I wince and look between the two.

"Dad, this is Todoroki Shoto, he's the customer who requested the large order. Todo, this is my dad," I introduce. That doesn't help the one-sided tension. Todoroki looked confused as he looked between me and my dad. I gestured for him to speak.

"Good afternoon, sir. I came across L/N-chan in the store, I offered to take her out for lunch... if that's ok with you?" Todoroki greeted with a bow. My father grumbled.

"Come with me while Y/N changes, bring the groceries," Dad instructed.

"Is that really necessary?" I groan.

"Yes," Dad firmly said. I roll my eyes.

"Don't worry, L/N. I will be fine," Todoroki replied.

I look between the two and hesitantly make my way upstairs after handing Todoroki the remaining bags. I head to my room and hastily throw on a pair of jeans and a band shirt. It had been 7 minutes since I left the storefront, and if I'm being honest; I was scared of what I was going to walk in on. Pushing my fear aside for the sake of Todoroki, I walk downstairs. Surprisingly, I see my dad engaged in a friendly conversation. I quirk an eyebrow at this. With just as much prejudice quirk havers give us for being quirkless, my dad gives the hatred tenfold toward quirk users. So imagine my shock when I see him shaking Todoroki's hand and thanking him.

"Soooo can I go with him?" I ask.

"Yes. Take care of my daughter, Todoroki," my dad says.

"Of course, L/N-sama," Todoroki replied. He nodded toward me and we made our way out of the bakery. "Did you know my favorite soba place is only a few blocks away?"

"I know of a soba place a few blocks away, but obviously I didn't know it was your favorite," I tease. I swear I see a faint smile on his face. "What did my dad say to you?"

"He started asking about my intentions for hanging out with you. I told him you were good company. Then he started saying how you three were quirkless, but that wouldn't stop him from hurting me if I offended you in any way. I told him that wouldn't be a problem because we were just getting Soba," Todoroki explained. I could tell he was either keeping something from me or some part of what he said was a lie. "I didn't know you were quirkless."

"It's not something we go around telling everyone. There's really no pride in being 'normal'," I shrug. This was the conversation I was dreading.

"Well, I think being quirkless can be just as great as having a quirk," Todoroki calmly said. I look at him ridiculously, not believing what he said.

"How so?" I asked. I figured he was just trying to be nice to me, he didn't actually believe that. I mean, who would?

"Well, if the majority of the world relies on quirks and quirk users, the fact that quirkless people can get through the day without using a power is remarkable. Your parents built that bakery themselves, right? They didn't need quirks to do that and the business they built is incredible. I guess quirkless people just don't get enough credit, I think we forget there was a time we didn't use quirks," Todoroki explained.

"And you mean that? Like you're not just trying to be nice or whatever?"

"Yes, I mean it. Why wouldn't I?"

"Not many people share the same sentiment. I'm used to being thrown into lockers and bullied, not appreciated," I chuckle.

"My friend Midoriya helped me see quirkless people how I currently view them. My father told me they were defenseless and weak. I let this sentiment slip during a hangout once while we were watching a movie, Midoriya paused it and went on a whole rant. I hate my father for the way he made me see people, quirklessness is not a disability as everyone makes it seem."

"Well, tell Midoriya I appreciate him showing you the light," I joke. Todoroki smiled faintly.

"Well, we're here," Todoroki said.

© https-milo. please do not repost, steal, copy, or modify my works!

Thank you so much for reading <3