#i wouldn’t cut my hair short bc i knew my curls were a lot more defined that way

[riarevenge]

Stupid question from a dumb American. In England is it a thing where white girls who have some questionably dark tans use POC emojis? I feel like I’ve seen that a lot recently from English white girls I’ve run across on Insta. (Also this is not me saying white girls in America aren’t ignorant. Just that the two groups seem to do ignorant differently)

yeah, i see it quite a bit. and really, not to rant, but i just think it’s a marker of other behaviours for most of em. people are shocked jesy nelson still has supporters but it doesn’t shock me, she got away with this for YEARS when poc were the only ones talking about it because it sparks a conversation i think many girls, especially british ones, find uncomfortable. the fact is, it feels like the majority of white girls here tan and/or get lip fillers. and that in itself isn’t an issue, but a very large portion of these girls do this to the point of looking almost racially ambiguous. and for a lot, they’re tanning very dark, to the point it’s problematic, and getting lip fillers but it doesn’t hide the fact it’s clearly a white woman. and i think these girls keep quiet during conversations about jesy nelson, or defend her, because it’s easier to do that than have to examine your own behaviours and inspect if you also are a culprit of stn like this. it’s to the point where a lot of woc are being accused of black/brownfishing themselves, like jade thirwall! because people can’t even tell who’s white half the time here. i have olive skin, (my fam calls my natural skin colour light caramel but i hate the food reference😭), but because i live in a fucking cold country, have severe anemia/vitamin deficiencies and an ED, im a lot paler than usual at the minute and yet, for the most part, people can tell i am not white by my features. these girls that overly tan, a lot of them you can tell, but some get so many fillers and work done that you can’t even discern who is under all of that work. and let me be clear, i don’t care at all about people tanning, getting surgery or cosmetic procedures done but i do care when it makes woc have to constantly explain ethnicities and backgrounds bc nobody can tell who’s white anymore! it’s frustrating because they get to look how they want to look without facing what woc have to because of looking that way. nobody is racially abusing lydia smith from edinburgh because no matter how hard she tries, she’s a white woman! she can still make herself look racially ambigous and not receive the abuse woc get. and like under all that tan, you’re still 👱🏼‍♀️ this! i don’t care if you make it the slightly tanner emoji, the older members of my fam use 👩🏽‍🦱 for all the girls in our family bc they deem it the most similar even if certain ones of us don’t use it ourselves, i have poc friends who use a shade lighter or darker depending on hair colour. but when emily from newcastle and lydia from edinburgh are using 👱🏿‍♀️ instead of 👱🏻‍♀️. that’s weird.

[flusteredloser]

sugar sweet

richie tozier x fem reader

category: fluff, fluff, literally just fluff

word count: 3,3k

content warnings: swearing, stealing, slight nsfw (sexual innuendos... bc it’s richie tozier), a driving scene written by a bitch who can't drive, overbearing fluff, sonia

a/n: hello here’s a lil soft fic i wrote in a hyper state today <3 i had ‘beverly’ by ben wallfisch from the it 2017 soundtrack stuck in my head while i wrote the ending so !! enjoy

🎡

"sweetheart, if you don't put your head back in, i'm afraid i'm gonna have to marie antoinette you."

you laughed dismissively at his empty threat, feeling a grin take over. you let the wind crash against your face and through your hair, the scent of sea salt softly filling your nose. if richie thought that you were going to give this feeling up, oh, was he wrong.

despite what he was saying, the sight of morning sunlight streaking through your flying hair and your torso poking out the passengers' window was one richie wished he could get used to. despite his nagging for the past half hour, ranting about the dangers of vehicular manslaughter and mishaps, he couldn't help but beam at your laughter. 

he almost hit himself in the head for getting all worked up about safety like eddie always did, but it was something he found himself doing often with you. keeping you safe and sound was one of the few things that kept him from staying up all night. besides, you guys were going to see eddie and the rest of the losers in a bit anyways. the designated role of the pedantic worrier would soon be shrugged off richie's shoulders.

keeping one hand on the wheel, richie’s free hand never left the edge of your knee, not once in the hour-long drive. no matter how far you reached your body out his car's window, his fingers stayed glued around you. you never said anything about the gesture apart from placing your hand over his. being his was something you never got used to, but you were far from complaining.

"richierichierichie i think we're here!" you exclaim, ducking your head back inside the car.

"you sure, dummy? the massive ferris wheel and circus tent means we're close to the carnival?"

your hand leaves his to go shove his temple, "fuck off, rich."

"i know i know, you're really excited," he taps your knee, "so am i."

he pulls into the parking lot, expertly navigating his way through the crowded area before finding a space. an empty space which was coincidentally beside a sketchy beat-up minivan painted with "URIS," in fat letters.

richie laughs, "what are the fucking odds.”

his hand moves from the skin on your knee to the back of your seat, his body shifting to face the rear. you subtly eye your boyfriend sitting in the driver's seat and tried not to physically express any of the thoughts firing in your mind right then. dear god, did he look good today. you end up shamelessly staring at him as he strains his neck to squeeze his way through tight space. his knuckles turn to this ghostly shade of white when he flexed them against the wheel, his rings glinting under the sunlight.

once he finally put the car in park and shifted his weight back to you, he catches your gaze. throwing a wink, he pulls out the keys and stuffs his belongings into his jean pockets. 

you’re sure he has zero clue about the effect any of this had on you. sure, he was your boyfriend but sometimes you found yourself feeling scared at how much you liked him. this boy has you wrapped around his finger and he barely knows half of it.

you reach over and run your fingers through his unruly hair a couple more times, enjoying the way the curls bounce back. “you look so good, rich.”

he rolls his eyes at your remark, but you don’t miss the way a small blush reaches tips of his ears. “enjoy it while it lasts, i can’t let the guards recognise me again.” 

“i still can’t believe you got fired and banned on the same day, rich. that’s genuinely so impressive, you know that?"

richie rolls his eyes but you see the hint of a grin on his face, “you going soft on me, sweets?”

“could never.” you ruffle his hair, letting your nails glide along his scalp and you laugh at the way his head naturally tips back. richie had no clue why the feeling of your hands in his hair that made him short-circuit, but he wasn’t complaining.

“do we really have to go see them...” richie groans, grabbing your hand and placing it back onto his head when you pulled away.

“richard tozier. i did not pester you to drive us an hour away just so you could fold at me playing with your hair.”

he side-eyes you. “why did i agree to this again?”

“because every day for the last month you wouldn’t shut up about ‘taking eddie’s slushee v-”

“ed’s slushee virginity, riiiight,” he breaks out in a smile, “jesus, can you believe sonia never let him near one in his entire life?”

you tug his fringe towards you and the rest of his head followed, “well, now that he’s all alone there, someone’s got to be there to guide him through his first time, right?” 

he faux-pouts back at you, the mischievous glint in his eye sparkling brighter. “fine.”

finally, you let go of his hair and he pecks a kiss against your cheek before putting on his sunglasses and tipping his cap further down his face. opening his car door, you sit there dumbfounded as you watch the 6'2 disguised dork clamber out of his side with your tote bag on his shoulder.

he glances back, offering a hand as if you were going to climb out on his side as well, “c’mon, we don’t have all day.” and richie made sure you knew that by dragging you through the park, evading the guards left and right in under a minute. it was only so long before you spotted a group of idiots wandering aimlessly. bev’s bright red hair was the instant identifier, and watching this bill’s lanky frame grab a fistful of stan’s curls to yank it about sealed the deal. 

“stanley, darling,” richie yelled through the crowd, “if you wanted someone to pull your hair that badly you could’ve asked me nicely.”  “shut the fuck up, trashmouth!” stan yelled back. “wait. rich?”

you walk over and sling your arm around bev, “you guys haven’t been waiting long, have you?”  she grins at the sight of you, “no, but if i have to hear mike argue one more time that the high striker is apparently ‘broken’ i’m going to kill somebody.”

“do me a favour and kill me, bev!” stan’s voice cuts through, followed by a shriek when richie too grabs a handful of his hair. 

bev’s hand leaves yours to go smack both boys upside the head. “y’all better stop acting like children before i get fucking fired. i’m not going out like dumbass richie here did.” she eyes the rest of them, who all halt in their tracks.

“yes, ma’am,” the chorus sighed.

🎡

"ed's, i swear on your mother's smokin’ bod that blue is the. best. flavour. there's literally nothing wrong with it."

"you just called blue a flavour, richie-”

"because it can be. it doesn’t matter if blue and red colouring are the same, you can feel the difference.”

"no, i really can't. i don't understand how the colour blue could possibly be-"

richie groans, "fine, eat your mommy's packed lunch like the big boy you are." he teasingly starts to wave his cup in front of eddie's eyes.

"quit it, rich. if eddie doesn’t want toxins in his body, leave him be." ben interjects before sipping his own neon drink.

the boys huddled together around a picnic table they had managed to snatch before the carnival’s lunch rush swept over. richie and bev used to work in the carnival last summer, the two-week period spent with one another supposedly being “worse than the devil’s asscrack.” the comment itself earned richie five slaps, one each from the boys, and a high-five from bev. that was until richie got permanently banned (which you still don’t know how) and now bev carried on by herself whenever they roll back into derry. 

currently, you and bev were on your way back from the concession stands, attempting not to spill anything. you each held at least four bags of carnival foods and drinks in your arms, bev also balancing the few candy bars she stashed under her shirt. teeter-tottering your way back to the boys, richie burst out in laughter at the sight of you struggling. 

“as graceful as a job you’re doing with that, sweets, do you want some help?” he smirks, already swinging his leg over the chair.

“nope, nothing to see here,” you groan at richie’s smug grin. “rich, i swear to god if you come near me i am going to-”

“hurt me, hit me, murder me, mmhm. i’m sure you’ll do a whole lot of damage.” he winks, swiping the bags from your arms.

“freaky.” stan muttered, churning his slushee with the straw. you grumble at richie’s endearing irritating act of heroism and plop yourself next to stan empty-handed. 

“here, you want some?” stan raises an eyebrow, offering his blue slushee towards you.

“thanks stan, but he’s got my...” you glance towards richie, half-expecting to see him distributing the snacks, only to see him aggressively nudge the slushees in eddie’s face. “you know what, i’ll take it.” 

stan scoffed, “what, you thought i was offering this from the depths of my generous heart? i thought you knew me better-"

the sound of plastic crinkling and eddie’s yelp cut through stan’s sentence. 

you look back at the sight of richie threatening to pour the ice into eddie’s hair, eddie shrieking and wildly missing punches at richie. dear god, your boyfriend was such a menace. richie and eddie never spent a day where they weren’t at eachother’s throats though, but anyone with a pair of eyes could see that they deeply loved one another. rich had that effect on people, you think. he was rarely overtly loving, but it’s not like he needed to be. you guys just knew.

ben smiles sweetly between you and your gaze on richie. “you’re staring again, y/n.”

you immediately snap out of it and go to slug ben in the shoulder. “was not.”

“was too.”

"was. not."

"was too!"

you narrow your eyes at ben who sheepishly smiles in innocence. he reaches over to grab a couple onion rings from your bag to which you lightly slap the back of his hand. he groans, trying again from another angle, “just because i pointed out your goo-goo eyes at trashmouth?”

bev snatched a couple rings from across you and threw them at ben. he chuckles gleefully at the perfect catch. “you know, he’s not wrong,” she points out.

“for the last time, i wasn’t staring,” you groan.

“not about that, genius. the way you’re absolutely whipped for that dick.” she smiles. “i mean,” you barely conceal your smirk, “the dick is pretty g-”

"not what i meant," bev sighs while the rest of them groan at your words.

“seriously though,” bill asks with genuine curiosity, “how did you even end up together? how do you even like someone that much?” bev tuts from the other side, “tread lightly there, denbrough.” 

“shut up, you know what i mean. it’s trashmouth we’re talking ’bout here.” bill grins, “it’s a mystery how someone can shut him up so quick.”

you laugh to yourself, thinking about the few times you get to see richie completely speechless. “it’s not that hard, you know?” you shrug softly at the way the losers nod. you may all pretend to hate the life out of him but he always had a special place in each of your hearts. “he cares with everything he’s got, no matter what. he’s always there for you even if you don’t want him to be. i just...i don’t think he’s been anything less than...” 

“-if you say ‘perfect’, i’m going to hit you.” stan says.

you roll your eyes at stan, “fuck off, but... but yeah. it’s so easy to love him and i honestly owe you guys an apology for being so annoyingly whipped for that dork,” you joke.

aside from the distant bickering coming from richie and eddie in their own little world, a silence hung over the six of you. it was too quiet. wondering if you said something wrong, you scan over them, only to be met with six variations of a smirk. more than confused, you chuckle nervously. “i was joking about the apology thing but if you really want-”

“you said ‘love.’” bev laughed.

“what?”

“you said ‘love,’” she repeated. “that you loved him.”

“i... of course i love him, he’s..” not trusting any more of the words coming out of your mouth, you cut yourself off and gather your thoughts.

of course you loved richie. each and every one of you loved your resident trashmouth, he was one of your best friends. the two of you were the closest of friends, an insufferable duo for years before you began dating. it might have only been a few weeks since he asked you out, but it’s not like too much changed from when you were friends. 

there was only more love, more affection, only slightly more sexual innuendos (majority of them were solely just to piss off stan). 

so of course you loved him. more than you did when you were friends. which he’s gotta know... right?

“fuck, maybe i do owe you guys an apology.” you joke.

“don’t think twice about it, this is nothing compared to him. if i took a shot for every time he went on some sort of love ramble about you, i’d be fucking dead.” bev replies, “and then he would carry on.”

you laugh, shaking your head in denial, “c’mon, he does not do that.”

“are you blind?” mike speaks up. “you’ve had him since the first day you joined us at the barrens. i can still see fourteen-year-old richie ogling you clear as day.”

you stammered at your response, tripping over your words. “mike, i think you broke her. she’s become bill,” stan teases.

you go to shove stan again and sorely miss. “anyways, my point is...” 

you avoid their eye contact and go back to churning stan’s slushee. “he has my heart, fuck, he’s got all of our hearts. like, is he an asshole? sure. does he get on my nerves every other day? definitely. will he be the death of me? probably. but i l-”

“i sure hope you’re winding up to something there, sweets.” 

you snap your head up from your dreamy rambling to see richie smirking next to you and eddie squeezing himself next to bill. you feel yourself go bright red at the realisation that he had been listening. 

“i- no. that was it.”  

“you sure? you going off about me... ‘but’...” richie pushes, quoting your words.

“richie, if you genuinely think you have redeeming qualities, i suggest some self-reflection.” stan quipped. “yeah, i was just pointing how much you bother us. no ifs, no buts,” you jokingly agree.

“mean,” richie rolls his eyes, shifting back in his seat next to you.

he’s gotta know... right? 

you wink and stick your tongue out playfully, to which richie raises an eyebrow at. he glances between the blue drink in your hand and your tongue, his gaze on your lips making you nervous. 

“now, what?” you sigh, wiping the ice from your mouth and pretending that you weren’t dying to know what was churning in that brain of his. 

“nothing,” richie shrugs smugly, “just that i’ve always wanted to know how my cock looked blue.”

the comment took you off guard, your instant blush only fuelling richie’s grin. without hesitation, you lean over with a faux-pout, an act that has richie’s eyes wide. “careful there, trashmouth,” you tease loudly. “you keep this up and you’ll see how stan’s looks blue.”

bev immediately gasps with her hand over her mouth, followed by mike’s stifled cackle as he slapped richie’s back. the rest of the group looks frankly stunned, and stan’s face is on a whole different level of red. 

richie doesn’t even look the least bit angry. his jaw is dropped slightly and he runs his hand over his jaw, trying to stop the chuckle that leaves his throat. if anything he looks proud. 

shaking his head with a smile, he slings his arm over your shoulder to pull you closer. “that’s my girl,” he grins.

“yeah, that for sure is tozier’s,” bill says.

there’s no way any of you miss the way richie’s face goes red under that comment and your heart skips a beat when he squeezes your side. when no one’s looking, you lean up and kiss by his ear, absolutely delighted by the deeper shade of red on his face. 

“darl, if you don’t stop that i’m going to go as red as stan,” he whispers into your hair. the both of you look back at the boy who’s trying to concentrate on his slushee and not the blush that’s continued to creep to his neck. “i’m actually getting concerned.”

you giggle, “shh, he’s fine.”

“no really, i give it a couple seconds before eddie pulls out his medical fanny pack,” richie says.

you look up at him as you’re tucked into his side, his arm still slung around your shoulder. his dark hair and eyelashes caught the sunlight, his blue eyes glinting as he glanced back. his lips were tipped into their signature cheeky smile, almost like a cue that he was going to say something out of hand. you felt the swell of your heart grow as he raised his eyebrows, prompting what he knew you were going to say. 

“you know, earlier...” you whisper, looking down to his hand intertwining with yours. “i just... i wanted to say that i... you know... that i-”

“i feel like i should be offended at how hard it is for you to tell me you love me, sweets,” he whispers back, clearly trying to keep a straight face.  fuck.  “oh god please, you know i-” richie shushes you, kissing the crown of your head. “it’s okay, i know.” you can feel the curve of his lips against your hair. “i love you too.”

trying to tame the aggressive blush and stupid smile that reached your face, you follow his gaze over to eddie. just like richie joked, he had this fanny pack laid on the table in front of stan. you weren’t listening to anything they were saying, but you watched the way stan was squirming from eddie, insisting he did not have heatstroke. mike stood right behind stan, pinching his cheeks and periodically wrapping his strong arms around stan to stop him from squirming. bev was leaning across ben and bill’s laps, joining in and poking her fun at eddie and you notice how bill’s hands traces figures along bev’s side. ben gazes at the group of them, chiming in every so often when stan’s quips got too violent. 

it was one of those moments you wish you could freeze. 

after a while, richie whispers into your ear. “do you think they’d even notice if we left for the ferris wheel?”

you break your eye contact from the group to gaze up at him. “nope, not at all. you think you can sneak us some tickets?” 

“please, you think i got kicked out of here for nothing?” he scoffs.

“is this how you’re going to get banned again?” you grin, poking his side, “stealing tickets for your girl?”

with a soft smile, he takes your hand to subtly stand and back away from the group. with stifled giggles, the both of you manage to make it at least twenty feet without the losers even noticing. the second you two were out of earshot, richie wraps his hand around yours and begins to run, “i wouldn't want it any other way."

🎡

[junghelioseok]

clandestine. | 01

↳ forbidden fruit tastes the sweetest.

◇ jungkook x reader ◇ smut | fluff | brother’s best friend!au ◇ 10.3k [1/6]

notes: this fic was originally going to be a oneshot, but i changed my mind and decided i didn’t want to kill tumblr with a totally unnecessary 50k jk fic so 🤷🏻‍♀️ here is part one of a fic that 100% only came about because @puellaigmotum​ coerced me into it like 2 years ago (lmao rip 💀) and also bc i have zero self-control and am hopelessly h*rny for jungkook these days and don’t look at me i don’t wanna talk about it okay??? 🙈

warnings: jk’s massive noona kink, some ~under the table~ action, too much detail about jk’s dumb veiny arms probably, but at least he doesn’t have tattoos bc i started writing this before he got them and i don’t need to torture myself anymore than i already do!!!

⇢ 01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | 05 | 06 

It’s always been easy to spot your brother in a crowd. Passengers flood off the train, jostling around you on their way to the station’s exit, but even in the swarm you can perfectly see Jimin’s golden head of hair bobbing its way toward you, a deep scowl etched across his face. “You’re late,” he says in lieu of a greeting, his honey brown eyes raking over your scuffed suitcase distastefully as he comes to a stop a few feet away.

“And you’re just as impatient as ever,” you retort, coming to a stop before him with your luggage in tow. “Think you can lord it over me since you can drive now?”

“Don’t forget that I’m your ride home,” Jimin scoffs, rolling his eyes. “I could just as easily leave you here to fend for yourself.”

“You wouldn’t dare,” you tell him, raising a brow in silent challenge.

Jimin stares down at you unflinchingly, and you stare right back. The tension stretches between you, taut and heavy, until every passing second feels like a light year. Around you, the crowd slowly dissipates, but still you remain—two motionless statues locked in a wordless struggle. From somewhere overhead, a monotone voice announces the next train departure times.

Jimin’s mouth twitches. You blink, twice in quick succession.

And then your little brother breaks into a grin—one that’s so wide you fear his mouth may detach from his face entirely. An answering smile settles across your face as you watch him throw his head back, dissolving into laughter that you can’t help but echo.

“Damn it, Chim!” you say, instinctively grabbing onto his wrist when it looks like he might fall over. “Your poker face still sucks.”

“I’ve gotten better!” Jimin immediately defends. “I mean, you’ve got to admit that, right?”

“Nope.” You sigh and hold a hand over your head so you can measure your height against his ever-so-slightly taller frame. “Same old annoying kid I grew up with. Seriously, have you grown at all in the past year?”

“Whoa, too far, Noona.” Jimin takes ahold of both of your cheeks, pinching them affectionately. “You’re only a year older than me, you know. Besides, I’ve been taller than you for two years now!”

“I’m pretty sure hitting puberty at age seventeen isn’t something to be proud of,” you reply, pulling away from him with a mock grimace and giggling when he lets out an offended squeak. Playfully, you reach up to ruffle his hair, scrubbing your knuckles just a little too roughly against his skull.

“Noonaaa,” he complains, drawing out the last syllable until he runs out of air. “Jeez, you haven’t even been back for an hour yet and you’re already being mean to me. When do you go back to Seoul again?”

“Three weeks,” you reply, narrowing your eyes. “But I can and will make these three weeks hell for you. Don’t test me.”

Jimin snickers and drapes his arm over your shoulders. He picks up your suitcase with the other hand, and you thank him with another, gentler hair ruffle as the two of you start toward the exit of the train station. “College hasn’t changed you one bit.”

“And senior year hasn’t changed you,” you say, letting him guide you outside and breathing in the balmy summer evening air. Jimin’s brow furrows as he tries to remember where he’s parked, and you kindly take your suitcase back when he nods decisively and heads toward the left side of the lot. “You excited to graduate?”

He sighs, fumbling in his pocket for the keys as the two of you approach the car. “It’s going to suck. Your ceremony was boring as hell last year.”

“Wow, rude.”

Jimin looks up from where he’s unlocking the driver’s side door. “Am I wrong, though?”

You flash him a grin as he unlocks the remaining doors, heaving your suitcase into the backseat before sliding into the passenger seat beside him. “Nope. But afterward, you’ll be done with high school forever.”

“Thank god.” Your brother rakes a hand through his hair, mussing it further as he carefully starts the ignition and checks his mirrors with all the diligence of a new driver. Once satisfied, he pulls out of the parking space, meandering his way out of the lot and onto the main street.

The ride back to your childhood home is a short one, full of familiar storefronts and landmarks that dredge up all sorts of fond memories. You hadn’t expected your first year of university—away from your family and your hometown—to make you quite so emotional. But before you know it, Jimin is making the turn into your neighborhood, and you can’t stop the way your eyes begin to well up when you see your house in the distance.

As if reading your mind, Jimin glances at you as he pulls into the driveway. “Feel good to be home?”

You nod, blinking back tears. “Feels great.”

He grins. Pulling the key from the ignition, he climbs out of the car and grabs your suitcase, waving for you to head inside. Eagerly, you start toward the front door, but you barely make it halfway up the driveway when it bursts open, revealing your father standing there with open arms and an enormous grin. He’s just as tall as you remember, and looks exactly the same save a few more strands of silver lacing his hair. All of a sudden, you’re a little girl again, running up to give him a hug and giggling madly when he tries to scoop you up like he used to do so many years ago.

“Hi Dad,” you greet when he gives up and sets you back down on two feet. “Where’s Mom?”

“Cooking up a storm,” he replies, chortling. Wrapping an arm around your shoulders, he leads you into the kitchen where your mother is hunched over the stove with a spatula, delicious aromas wafting up from the array of pots and pans in front of her. “Honey, look who’s home!”

“Hi Mom,” you say, grinning when she whirls around, startled. The spatula, still dangling loosely from her hand, drips sauce onto the tiled floor, but she barely notices in her eagerness to give you a hug, throwing it down into one of the simmering pots and striding forward to wrap you up in a tight embrace.

“How was your trip?” she asks, pulling back and angling your face this way and that. “Did you sleep on the ride? Did Jimin drive safely?”

The last question draws a protesting whine from your brother, who has lugged your suitcase over the threshold and is now seated at the dining table, fiddling with a spoon. “My driving was fine, right Noona?” he says, his bottom lip jutting out into a pout.

“Yes, Chim,” you agree, laughing at the pleased expression that overtakes his face. Curiously, you walk over to the stove to inspect the food, your jaw dropping as you take in the assorted vegetables and meats. “Wow, Mom. Are you cooking for an army?”

“Jungkook is coming over for dinner,” she explains, following you over and plucking up the spatula again. “That boy has the biggest appetite I’ve ever seen—you remember, right?”

You laugh. “Of course I remember. He and Jimin were always stealing bites of my lunch at school.” Peering over at your brother, you fix him with a mock glare before walking over to the cutting board on the counter and sizing up the pile of onions and peppers sitting there. “It’ll be nice to see him again, though. How is he doing?”

To your surprise, a new voice answers your question—a voice that somehow manages to be simultaneously familiar and foreign. “Why don’t you ask me directly, Noona?” it says, and you whirl around, wide-eyed, to face the newcomer.

This can’t possibly be Jeon Jungkook, is your first thought upon seeing the young man standing in the kitchen doorway. The Jungkook you knew in high school was a scrawny kid—all gangly limbs and a nose that was too big for his face. The Jungkook you knew wore oversized white t-shirts that made him look even younger than he was, a look that was only enhanced by round wire-rimmed glasses that always gave him a look of permanent astonishment. The Jungkook you knew was nowhere near this tall, and definitely not this broad.

But this Jungkook—this Jungkook takes up nearly the entire doorframe with his bulk. Dark eyes stare at you from beneath equally dark hair, his gaze unhindered by his old glasses. A cobalt blue shirt stretches tight over his chest, and you swallow when you notice just how much the buttons are straining to contain the muscle underneath. Black jeans and simple black sneakers complete his outfit, and the entire look is so jarringly different from what you’re used to that you are left momentarily speechless, gaping like a fish out of water. Vaguely, you wonder when he got his ears pierced.

And then Jungkook—or at least, the young man claiming to be Jungkook—takes three steps forward, his entire face melting into a crinkly-eyed grin. You catch a glimpse of the adorably prominent front teeth that always made him look like a rabbit, and that’s all it takes to break the spell.

“Jungkookie!” you exclaim, darting forward to greet him. “It’s been so long!”

“Hi, Noona,” he replies, his grin widening at your approach. In an instant, he has you wrapped up in an embrace, easily lifting you off the floor in a display of strength that would’ve had a lesser woman swooning. His hands curl firmly around your waist, and you have no choice but to wrap yours around his nape, squeaking in protest when he spins you in a full circle.

“Kookie!” you gasp, wriggling helplessly in his grasp and huffing when he only cackles. “Put me down!”

Obediently, Jungkook lowers you back to the ground. His hands linger on your waist until he’s certain that both your feet are planted firmly, and it’s only then that he pulls back to get a good look at your face. “You know I’d never drop you, right?” he asks innocently.

“As if I can trust anything that comes out of your mouth,” you retort with a laugh. “I’ve seen you scam your way out of detention with those pretty doe eyes. Don’t try me, kid.”

Jungkook snorts. “Kid? I’m not that much younger than you. Plus I’m older than Jimin, y’know.”

“By a month!” your brother protests from the dining room, his blond head popping up from behind the vase of daisies serving as a centerpiece.

“Month and a half,” Jungkook stage-whispers to you, cupping a hand and bringing his mouth to your ear conspiratorially. His breath tickles your cheek, and you swat him away with a giggle that becomes a full-on laugh when Jimin lets out an offended cry and rises to his feet. Striding over, he pokes Jungkook squarely in the chest, his eyes narrowed.

“I invite you over to my house and this is the thanks I get?”

Your dad chooses that moment to interrupt from the living room. “Your house? When exactly did you start paying rent, Jimin?”

Jimin’s jaw drops. “Are you taking his side?” he asks in disbelief, glaring at Jungkook when he starts laughing. “I’m your son!”

“I’m your father,” your dad replies.

“And I’m your mother,” your mom pipes up, brandishing a spoon. “And I’m telling all of you to get your butts over to that dining table in the next ten seconds, or no dinner for any of you.”

Your dad, Jimin, and Jungkook immediately fall silent, cowed by her proclamation. Grinning, you join your mother at the counter, grabbing a handful of spoons and accepting the platter of kimchi she hands over. “Direct as always, Mom.”

She laughs and picks up a bowl of rice. “To deal with men like them? You have to be.”

Food in hand, you make your way into the dining room. The table is set, the steaming food arranged neatly in the center, and you watch as your mother takes her seat next to Jimin and leaves you to sit beside Jungkook on the opposite side. Your father beams from his spot at the head of the table, glancing at each of you in turn before turning and giving your shoulder an affectionate squeeze.

“Look at you kids, all sitting at the same table again.” He sighs, and you’re certain that he’s thinking back to the last time all of you were together—well over a year ago, at this point. “It’s a shame that your parents couldn’t join us, though, Jungkook.”

Jungkook nods. “Yeah, they told me to apologize on their behalf. They have tickets for the theatre tonight, and couldn’t get a refund on them.”

Your father laughs and waves the apology off. “I’m sure we’ll catch them next time,” he says. “Pretty hard to avoid each other when you live next door, isn’t it?”

“Definitely,” Jungkook agrees with a chuckle. Then he turns to you, the silver hoops in his ears glinting in the light from the overhead chandelier. “I’m sure they’ll drop by soon to see you, Noona. Mom wants to hear all about Seoul—I think she’s worried about sending me so far away by myself.”

“Junghyun stayed in Busan for university, didn’t he?” your mom asks.

Jungkook nods. “Yep, he still lives downtown and everything. He wanted to come over tonight, but his work wouldn’t let him take the time off.”

Your mom sighs. “That’s such a shame. Is he at least attending your graduation?”

“He’s driving in the day after tomorrow for the ceremony,” Jungkook confirms. Then he pauses, his tongue darting out to wet his lips. His gaze flickers down to the plate of sweet potatoes on the other side of the table, and before he can even open his mouth, your mother is already passing him the plate. He thanks her with an embarrassed chuckle but digs into the food nonetheless, and everyone else takes it as a sign to follow suit. You’re in the middle of scooping rice into your bowl when Jimin speaks up again.

“So what’s it like living in Seoul?” he asks, his cheeks bulging with pork belly. “You have roommates, right?”

“Suitemates,” you correct. “But yeah, I live with three other people. Namjoon, Hoseok, and Jennie are all great though, so it hasn’t been a problem.”

Jungkook pauses mid-chew to gape at you. “You live with guys?”

“My building’s co-ed,” you explain. “We all have separate bedrooms, but we share a common space and bathrooms.”

Your mother—on the lookout for any potential future grandchildren, as always—perks up. “Namjoon and Hoseok sound like nice boys. Are you friends?”

“Yes, Mom,” you sigh. “We’re friends. Just friends.” And then before she can ask about whether or not any other boys have caught your eye, you quickly turn back to your brother. “So, what’s your plan for next year? Are you and Jungkook living together?”

Jimin hums. “Yep, that’s the plan. Unless you want to live with us too, Noona.”

You laugh. “Why, so I can protect you from all the bullies like I did in elementary school?”

He flashes you a cheeky grin. “More like so I can protect you from all the weird college guys. Who’s this Hoseok guy anyway? Do I need to beat him up?”

“Please don’t beat up Hobi,” you entreaty, giggling when he pretends to crack his knuckles. “Or Joon!” you add quickly when he remains undeterred and makes to stand up from the table to defend your honor. Balling up your napkin, you throw it at him, and both of you burst into hysterics when your makeshift weapon bounces off his forehead and straight into his glass of water. The rest of dinner passes in a haze of similarly playful antics and happy chatter, and by the time the last bowl is scraped clean, it feels as if you’d never even left.

“I’ll do the dishes,” you volunteer, standing up and gathering up the empty platters. Jungkook and Jimin are quick to jump to your aid, collecting any utensils that you missed, and you offer them a grateful smile as they follow you into the kitchen.

“Let me do the washing, Noona.” Jungkook rolls up the sleeves of his cobalt blue shirt to expose a familiar silver watch glinting on his left wrist—a watch that his father handed down to him when he was sixteen, and that had been worn by his grandfather before him. You still remember the day he’d first worn it to school, proudly displaying it even though the band was too loose around his narrow wrist.

He’s grown into it now, you realize. The watch no longer flops around like it used to, and sits snugly in place instead. Your eyes trace the silver buckle on the inside of his wrist before trailing up to follow the network of thin, branching veins in his forearm, admiring the smooth flex of muscle as he grabs a sponge from the wire rack hanging above the sink and squirts some dish soap onto the surface.

“I’ll dry,” Jimin chirps, selecting a towel and brandishing it. “Noona, do you want to help me? We’ll finish faster that way.”

Nodding, you pull another towel out from the drawer and rejoin the two boys at the sink. Jungkook washes quickly and efficiently, and you determinedly avoid staring at the way water trickles along the patchwork veins on his hands as he gives you bowl after bowl to dry.

It doesn’t take long for all the dishes to be washed and dried. The three of you take the time to put them back into the proper cabinets before bidding your parents a good night, heading out onto the back porch. Falling back into old routines feels like second nature, so you plop down onto the steps without hesitation and grin when Jungkook takes a seat beside you.

“Wait, I almost forgot!” Jimin exclaims, bouncing up from where he was beginning to sit down next to Jungkook. “I bought some beer earlier and left it in the trunk. Be right back!”

You watch your brother run off, his floppy blond hair a stark contrast with the deep blue evening sky. In seconds, he’s disappeared around the corner of the house, leaving you and Jungkook alone on the porch steps.

“Chim really hasn’t changed one bit,” you remark with a laugh, turning toward your dark-haired companion.

Jungkook chuckles. “The kid loves his alcohol, that’s for sure.”

“Please.” You elbow him in the ribs. “I know you’re just as bad as he is.”

“Maybe,” he concedes with another chuckle. “But come on, Noona, you can’t tell me you don’t enjoy a drink every now and then. What about all that college stress?”

You hum, leaning back on your hands and staring up at the sky where the full moon is just beginning to rise, surrounded by a smattering of stars peeking through the velvety darkness of night. “I never said that I didn’t enjoy a drink, or five.” Jungkook laughs at your remark, and you smile before letting out a soft sigh. “I’m glad Jimin got the beer, though. Maybe I’ll finally be able to stop stressing out about my internship.”

That sobers Jungkook up immediately, his eyes widening as he peers down at you and lays a gentle hand on your back. “Are you still worried? You already got the job, didn’t you?”

You nod slowly, thinking back to the job offer that you had accepted at the end of the semester. It had been difficult finding a company in your desired field that offered internships to first-year students, but with dogged persistence and a lot of luck, you’d managed to snag a summer position. It isn’t due to start for another three weeks, however, and while you’re grateful for the chance to visit your family, part of you also wishes that you didn’t have to wait such a long time. “I just have no idea what to expect, you know? The only jobs I’ve ever had were in retail and food service, and that was all ages ago. I don’t feel ready at all.”

A strong arm settles across your shoulders, and you look up to see Jungkook gazing down at you with something indiscernible sparkling in his deep brown eyes. “You’re gonna be amazing,” he murmurs, his voice whisper-soft. “You know that, right? You always are. This won’t be any different.”

And you believe him. Every detail of his face is bathed in silvery moonlight—the gentle slope of his nose, the sharp angle of his jaw, the little scar high on his cheekbone—and you wonder how you never realized how handsome he is before now. And maybe it’s the low, soothing timbre of his voice, or maybe it’s the way he’s looking at you—with unspeakable tenderness and gentle affection glimmering in his irises—but you lean in before you can even realize what you’re doing. You don’t look away, and neither does he.

Jungkook’s gaze drops, trailing down the slope of your cheeks until it lands on the curve of your mouth. He hesitates for a split second, his throat bobbing harshly as he swallows and sucks in a breath.

And then his lips are pressing against yours—soft and tentative and just a little bit chapped. Your eyes flutter shut almost on instinct, your body relaxing as he shifts and pulls you a little more firmly against him. Slowly, his arm finds its way to the curve of your waist and settles there. Your fingers curl around his nape, carding through his silky hair.

It’s only when Jungkook’s tongue darts out to run along the seam of your lips that reality comes crashing back down, your stomach plummeting down to somewhere around your toes as you wrench away from his embrace. “Kookie!” you gasp, your breathing labored. “We can’t!”

Jungkook blinks, momentarily entrancing you with the way the stars reflect in his gaze like glittering diamonds. “Why not?” he asks, reaching out for you again. “You kissed me back, didn’t you?”

Squeaking, you bat his hands away. “Jungkook, no! We can’t! You’re Jimin’s best friend, and god, this is all kinds of weird, and—“

The dark-haired young man looks like he wants to protest more, but the sound of footsteps coming back around the house sends both of you scooting back to your original positions on the porch steps. Jimin appears two seconds later, plopping down beside Jungkook cheerfully and dropping a six-pack of beer at his feet.

“What’d I miss?” he asks, seemingly oblivious to the tension lingering in the air as he pops open a bottle and hands it to you.

“Nothing,” you say immediately, accepting the proffered beer. The cool glass bottle is a welcome relief, and you hurriedly take a long sip when your mind unwillingly begins to wander back to just how warm and soft your dark-haired companion’s lips had been.

Jungkook is much slower to respond to Jimin’s question. His shoulders slump as he reaches down to grab a drink of his own, twisting the cap open viciously and taking a swig. “Yeah,” he mutters, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “Nothing at all.”

Luck must be on your side, because Jimin doesn’t seem to notice anything amiss as he grabs a beer for himself and flops backward, resting his weight on his elbows as he gazes up at the night sky. “It’s nice out,” he remarks, looking utterly at ease.

You are anything but. Beside you, Jungkook is sipping pensively on his beer, and you are painfully aware of the heat radiating off his body. Jimin is still chattering away, rambling about whatever pops into his head, and you take the opportunity to sneak a glance at Jungkook. His face is cast in silvery luminescence from the moon, his mouth pulled down into a deep, contemplative frown—and you are once again forced to shake off thoughts of how nice it felt to have his mouth pressed against yours.

This is Jeon Jungkook, you tell yourself sternly. Friend, neighbor, and Jimin’s best friend in the entire universe. You kissed him, sure, but it was a mistake. A moment of weakness. And it won’t happen again.

You repeat that over and over, silently reciting it in your head like a mantra, until, at last, you finally start to believe it.

///

You’re in the middle of brewing a fresh pot of coffee after a lazy morning spent sleeping in when you spot Jungkook outside through the kitchen window. He’s standing in the yard in a sleeveless white tee, wiping at his forehead with the back of his hand as he thoughtfully regards the row of hedges that serves as the property line between your house and the Jeons’ house next door. In his other hand is a shovel, and you can’t help the way your gaze automatically traces his exposed biceps, admiring the way they flex when he finally selects a spot and begins digging.

“Is the coffee done yet, Noona?”

Jimin’s voice yanks your attention away from your gardening neighbor, your vision overtaken by a mess of fluffy blond bedhead as he sneaks into the space between you and the counter and obnoxiously cuts you off from the pot of fresh brew. “Hey!” you protest, but Jimin just gives you a cheeky wink before grabbing a mug and pouring out a generous helping of piping hot coffee. After a moment’s thought, he pours you a mug as well, handing it over with an exaggerated bow.

You roll your eyes, but accept the warm cup nonetheless. Following him into the living room, you make yourself comfortable on the couch as he flops down onto the carpeted floor and turns on the television. Idly, he begins flipping through the channels in search for something to watch, and you endure random snippets of the morning news, a cheesy soap opera, and a series of infomercials before sighing and rising to your feet again. “I’m getting some food. Want some toast, Chimchim?”

“Mmm. Sure.”

Slowly, you meander your way back into the kitchen. Your mother is standing at the counter stirring sugar into her coffee, and you smile as you walk up to join her. “Morning, Mom.”

“Good morning, sweetie,” she says, taking a careful sip of her drink. “Did you sleep well?”

“Like a log,” you reply with a grin. Grabbing the loaf of bread off the counter, you pull out a few slices and shove them in the toaster. “Do you want toast? I’m making some for me and Chimchim.”

“Just one slice for me,” she says, opening up the dish cabinet and pulling out three plates. Obligingly, you hand her one of the two freshly toasted slices and drop the other onto your plate. Popping some more bread into the toaster, you’re just about to grab the jam from the fridge when there’s a knock on the door.

“I’ll get it!” Jimin yells from the living room. You hear the soft pad of his footsteps in the hallway and the low creak of the front door as it swings open—and then your brother is snorting out a laugh at whoever is on your doorstep. “Dude, why are you covered in dirt?”

You’re beginning to have a sneaking suspicion as to who your guest is, and it’s confirmed when your brother’s question is answered.

“I’m helping Mom plant some hydrangeas out back,” Jungkook’s voice explains, his tall figure stepping into view a moment later. “Can you come help me lift the bushes?”

Jimin rolls his eyes. “You could’ve just texted me.”

“Who knows if you would’ve answered?” Jungkook asks, laughing. “Knowing you, you’d just leave me on read. Besides—” and here he glances over at you, dark eyes glimmering with an emotion that you can’t quite pinpoint, “—I wouldn’t get to see two of my favorite ladies if I didn’t stop by.”

Jimin pretends to vomit at the line, but your mother laughs delightedly as Jungkook takes another step into the foyer and flashes her a winning grin. “Good morning, Jungkookie,” she greets him. “Have you eaten breakfast yet? {Name} was just making some toast, and we’ve got fresh coffee.”

Jungkook’s gaze slides over to you again, taking in the flannel pajama pants and oversized t-shirt you’re wearing. “Thanks, Mrs. Park,” he says, though his eyes never leave yours. “I ate already, but coffee sounds wonderful.”

You are beginning to feel increasingly vulnerable as Jungkook continues looking unblinkingly in your direction. Thankfully, your mom pipes up, drawing his attention away with a decisive clap of her hands. “Coffee it is, then!” she says brightly. “{Name}, why don’t you grab Jungkook a cup?”

Hurriedly, you turn toward the cabinets, trying your best to ignore Jungkook as he chats comfortably with your family. Your success is limited though, and you can feel his penetrating stare lingering on your back even as you fetch a mug and fill it up to the brim.

“Noona.” Jungkook’s voice comes from behind you, much closer than you remember him being. “Can I have some cream and sugar, please?”

Somehow, you manage to reply without stammering. “Yeah. Sure.” Dumping some of the excess coffee into the sink, you spoon in some sugar and give it a quick stir. Just as you turn toward the refrigerator for the cream, a strong arm cuts you off.

“I got it, Noona,” Jungkook murmurs, backing you up against the counter as he tucks the little white carton into your outstretched hand. His proximity has your heart skipping several beats, and you almost drop the carton entirely when he speaks again in a husky whisper, his mouth at the shell of your ear. “Just a little bit, please.”

You are acutely aware of the heat radiating off of his body, warming your back and flushing your cheeks. Quietly, you open up the carton and pour a splash of cream into his mug, the swirl of white melding with the dark liquid within. “Is—is that enough?”

Jungkook reaches around you to open up the silverware drawer, grabbing a spoon and giving the coffee a stir. “That’s perfect,” he purrs, his hot breath stirring gooseflesh on the back of your neck.

This close to him, it’s easy to forget where you are and who you’re with, but you somehow manage to regain enough of your senses to wrench away and reclaim your personal space. “G-great,” you stammer, picking up the mug and shoving it into his hands, determinedly ignoring the ripple of his arm muscles as he accepts. “Um. Chim. Did you want your toast?”

“Yes, please,” Jimin says, barely glancing up from where he’s made himself comfortable at the kitchen island, idly playing on his phone.

Your mother pokes her head around the doorframe of the adjoining laundry room, where she has clearly started a fresh load if the sound of splashing water is anything to go by. “Don’t make your sister do all of the work, Jimin. Go help her—it’s your food, isn’t it?”

Obligingly, Jimin hops off the stool and grabs his favorite jar of jam, joining you at the counter. He takes the slice of toast you offer him, slathering it messily and taking an enormous bite. “Thanks for breakfast, Noona,” he says, blowing you an exaggerated kiss. “Ready, Kook?”

Jungkook raises his mug of coffee in acknowledgement. “Ready.” Then his gaze flickers back to you, twinkling with silent mirth. “And Noona—thanks. The coffee’s delicious.”

You can’t find the words to answer. Silently, you watch him disappear out the front door with Jimin, following his dark head of hair as it bobs across the yard. His biceps flex as he gestures for Jimin to help him lift a hydrangea bush, and your eyes linger on the stretch of defined muscle, tracing the network of prominent veins running along his forearm before your brain can caution you to stop. It’s almost as if you’re on autopilot, and by the time you zone back in, your gaze has wandered too far south for your liking. Letting out an audible groan, you tear your eyes away from the mouthwatering view of his thick thighs and return to your now-cold breakfast. And you don’t think about Jeon Jungkook again, pushing the image of his broad shoulders and handsome face into the darkest recesses of your mind.

Or at least, that was the plan. Jimin comes back inside after about an hour, tracking mud through half the house before your mother reprimands him and orders him to take off his shoes. Jungkook, thankfully, chose to return to his own home as well, and you immediately banish the thought of him showering off all the sweat and grime that has no doubt accumulated on his toned body. You shove away the mental image of water slicking his golden skin and collecting in the hollows of his collarbones, and when your mind conjures up pictures of what lies south of his waist, you resist the urge to scream into the pile of freshly laundered pillowcases your mom presses into your arms.

You’re just about to head upstairs to scream into a real pillow when there’s another knock on your front door—a familiar cadence that you heard just this morning. And that’s when you realize—to your complete and utter dismay—that Jeon Jungkook isn’t done tormenting you yet. Not by a long shot.

“You again? You do realize that this isn’t your house, right?” you ask, swinging open the door and thanking whatever gods may be out there that your voice remains steady. Then you raise a brow, glancing down at his change in attire. “Wait, why are you wearing a suit?”

Jungkook gives you an infuriatingly impish grin. “Do I need a reason?” His hair is still damp from the shower, a stray lock flopping down across his forehead, and as you watch him brush it away absently, you notice that he’s holding something in his free hand.

“What’s that?” you ask curiously.

Footsteps sound from behind you, interrupting before he can answer. “Jungkookie?” your mother asks, appearing at the foot of the stairs. “I thought I heard your voice. Are you here for Jimin again?”

Jungkook flashes her a winning smile and raises the garment bag he’s holding. “No, I was actually hoping to get some advice. I’ve got my suit ready to go for graduation tomorrow, but I can’t decide which shirt looks better. My mom likes how I look in blue, but I wanted a second opinion from you and Noona.”

To your utter annoyance, your mother coos and gestures for him to come in. He’s already wearing the blue shirt—a pale periwinkle one that reminds you of a cloudless day—but your mom takes the garment bag out of his hand and unzips it to look inside. “What are your options?” she asks.

“Blue, red, and yellow,” Jungkook replies, pulling each shirt off its hanger and holding them up to his chest in turn. “What do you think, Mrs. Park?”

“The blue is lovely,” your mom says thoughtfully, straightening his collar. “But this shade of yellow looks nice too. A handsome young man like you—you really can’t go wrong with any of these.”

Jungkook grins and scratches behind his ear, trying to hide his embarrassment. “Thanks, Mrs. Park.”

The dryer chooses that moment to beep shrilly, signalling the end of its cycle, and your mother darts off to tend to it, leaving you and Jungkook alone in the living room.

“What about you, Noona?” Jungkook asks, just as you’re about to try and sneak out under the pretense of helping with the laundry. “Which shirt do you like?”

“Does it matter?” you ask. “It’s just going to be hidden underneath those horrible black trash bags they make you wear.”

He laughs. “Sure, but what about before and after? You know my mom’s going to want to take a million pictures.”

“Can’t argue there.” Resigning yourself to your fate, you put your stack of clean pillowcases down on the arm of the couch and cross your arms over your chest. “Show them to me again?”

Jungkook raises the yellow shirt, holding it up for a few seconds before swapping it out for the red. “Well?”

You pause to consider it. “Red,” you decide after some deliberation, pointing at your choice. It’s a deep crimson color—almost burgundy—and you rub the silky material between your fingertips before taking it and replacing it onto its hanger. Jungkook joins you with the yellow shirt, his arm bumping into yours as you both reach for the garment bag, and even though you flinch away from the contact, Jungkook doesn’t let you stray very far. A strong hand clamps down around your forearm, and you inhale sharply when he backs you up against the wall and cages you in with his solid body.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

Jungkook looks thoroughly unfazed as he blinks a few loose strands of hair out of his eyes. “What are you talking about?”

“Jungkook—” you hiss, struggling to see over his shoulder if your mother has returned. “Get off me.”

“Come on, Noona,” Jungkook murmurs. “I’ve seen the way you’ve been looking at me. Ever since you got back—ever since we kissed—”

“A mistake,” you say, cutting him off with a finger to the lips and glancing around furtively to make sure no one is eavesdropping. “That was a mistake.”

Jungkook raises an eyebrow. “Was it? Because I really wanted to kiss you, and I’m pretty sure you wanted to kiss me too. You kissed back, didn’t you?”

“Y-you—“ You clear your throat and try again, cringing at how shaky your voice comes out. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

But Jungkook simply laughs. “Don’t I?” He inches closer until you’re chest to chest, his gaze darkening as it flickers downward and lands on your mouth. Your heartbeat quickens, thudding erratically in your ribcage. It would be so easy to push to your tiptoes and close the distance between your lips.

“God,” you huff. “You’re so—”

His other eyebrow rises to join the first. “I’m so—?” he presses, tilting his head as he awaits your answer. The loose lock of hair flops across his forehead again, and this time you cannot stop yourself from reaching up to brush it away.

“Shut up,” you hiss as your fingers drop down to wind into the soft hair at his nape. “Just shut up.”

And then you’re kissing him—really, really kissing him—pulling him down to your level and sliding your free hand up his infuriatingly toned chest.

“See?” Jungkook’s lips curl up into a smug smirk as he pulls away slightly, his warm breath fanning across your cheeks with every word. “I knew you were into me.”

“God, do you ever stop talking?” you retort, pushing him back until you have enough room to switch your positions and maneuver him against the wall.

Jungkook lets you pin him in place, blinking down at you lazily with his mouth still stretched into that maddening little smirk. “Only if you make me, Noona.” His hands slide down your sides, coming to a stop at your hips in an ironclad grip. “Only if you kiss me like that again.”

So you do. Your fingers tighten in his hair as you crush your mouth to his, and when his lips part you slip your tongue inside. Jungkook—still smirking—relaxes and lets you take control of the kiss, but his hands continue to wander. Before you know it, he’s already snuck underneath the hem of your shirt, rubbing warm circles into the soft skin of your waist. His lips move languidly against yours, his tongue careful and gentle in its exploration of your mouth, and you sigh when he tugs you closer. You’re pressed flush against him by this point, pinning him between your body and the wall, and neither you nor he have any intent to move anytime soon.

The sudden slamming of a door jerks you back to reality. Here you are, standing in the living room where anyone could walk by and see you kissing your brother’s best friend—again. Shakily, you pull away from Jungkook with your heart in your throat, putting as much space as you possibly can between your bodies. “Fuck,” you mutter. “Fuck, fuck, fuck. We can’t do this.”

Jungkook’s chest is heaving, his lips swollen and red. “{Name}—” he tries, but you shake your head and cut him off before he can continue.

“You need to leave,” you whisper.

“But—”

“Please,” you say, your heart hammering wildly in your chest. “Please, Jungkook. Just leave.”

Jungkook swallows, hard. And then, much to your relief, he picks up his garment bag, shoving both shirts back inside. “Okay,” he rasps. “I’ll go.”

Elsewhere in the house, you can hear your mother calling for Jimin. Your father is watching TV in his study—you can hear the low hum of voices and a laugh track. Your entire family is here.

And yet, you’ve never felt more alone as you watch Jungkook stride down the hallway and disappear out the front door.

///

Returning to your high school is odd. The hallways and classrooms are familiar, but they all seem smaller than you remember. And were the ceilings always this short? You aren’t sure. What you are sure of, however, is that Jungkook and his family are currently headed your way, with beaming smiles on their faces and colorful flower bouquets in hand. Greetings and congratulations are exchanged, and it isn’t long before you are face-to-face with Jungkook himself, a tight smile on his face as he meets your eyes.

“Hi, Noona.”

“Hi,” you reply. “Congratulations.”

“Thanks.”

Now that the graduation ceremony is over, he’s taken off his robe to reveal the red shirt underneath. The silky material drapes over his torso and clings to the toned planes of his chest, and your fingers itch to run across the defined muscle. Swallowing down the urge, you instead gesture toward his parents, who are engaged in deep conversation with your own parents while Jimin chats with Junghyun off to the side. “I guess we’re all getting dinner after this, huh?”

He nods. “Yeah, at that one place downtow—“

“Jungkook! Jimin!” A feminine voice interrupts him mid-sentence, and you watch in surprise as both your brother and Jungkook are suddenly engulfed in a massive tangle of limbs. Immediately, you recognize Jisoo and Lisa—two girls you considered casual friends from your own high school days. The third girl in the trio of friends—Chaeyoung—is noticeably absent, but you don’t get a chance to question her whereabouts. “Can you believe it? We’re graduates!” Lisa is saying excitedly, still clutching tightly onto Jungkook’s shoulders. She’s pressed flush against him, her chest molded to his, and the sudden rush of jealousy that takes root in the pit of your stomach takes you aback with its ferocity.

Calm the fuck down, you instruct your pounding heart. Stop it, right now.

“Has Tae told you about the party tomorrow night?” Jisoo asks, breaking you out of your thoughts. “You guys better be there—and that means you, too, {Name}! It’s been forever since we’ve seen you!”

You clear your throat and attempt to smile. “Yeah, it’s been way too long. It’ll be nice to finally catch up.” Unwillingly, your gaze flickers back over to Jungkook and Lisa, doing your best to maintain a neutral expression when you notice the casual way his arm drapes over her shoulders.

Your attempts are in vain. Jungkook notices your stare immediately, a massive shit-eating grin spreading across his face. One eyebrow rises in a silent taunt, and you swear his grip around her tightens. Resisting the urge to roll your eyes, you instead turn back to Jisoo, finally voicing the question that’s on your mind.

“So, where’s Chaeyoung? I saw her during the ceremony, but haven’t seen her around since. She didn’t leave already, did she?”

“No, she’s still here,” Jisoo answers, exchanging a look with Lisa. Curiosity piqued, you watch her gaze dart over to Jungkook for a split second before returning to you, a tiny smile gracing her face once more. “She’s with her family right now, but she’ll be at the party tomorrow.”

“I’ll congratulate her there, then,” you say, returning her smile with one of her own. Silently, you wonder at the uneasy glance the two girls had exchanged, but decide not to press it, chalking it up to some senior year drama that isn’t any of your business.

“Well, we should probably get going,” Jisoo says after another beat. “We’re off to dinner.”

“We should be on our way too,” you agree, glancing over at where your parents are still chatting, having absorbed Junghyun into their conversation at some point. Bidding the two girls goodbye, you sidle over to join them, trying your best to subtly nudge your parents toward the door.

After what feels like an eternity, your parents finally decide that they’re ready for a change in scenery. The drive to the restaurant is blessedly short, much to the relief of your grumbling stomach, and you are more than grateful for the brief reprieve from Jungkook and his knowing smirk. It doesn’t last long, however, and you mentally brace yourself when you spot the Jeons’ car in the parking lot of the restaurant. Upon entering, you are quickly ushered to your reserved table where the Jeons are already waiting, and somehow in the shuffle you end up right between Jungkook and Junghyun, the former’s face dissolving into a satisfied grin as he watches you sit down.

Then he turns to Jimin, who’s seated on his other side. “Hey, man.”

You bristle at the blatant way he’s ignoring you. But two can play at that game, so you turn to Junghyun with a winning smile, laying a hand on his shoulder for good measure. The older Jeon brother is four years your senior, but despite the age difference, you’ve always gotten along well.

“Junghyun, I haven’t seen you in ages! How have you been?”

The elder Jeon grins and leans in to give you a hug. “Good, good—work’s insane, but that’s old news. What about you? How’s school going so far?”

You can feel Jungkook’s gaze on you, hot and heavy. The hairs on the back of your neck prickle under the weight of it, and you resist the urge to shiver. Instead, you give Junghyun’s bicep a final squeeze before pulling away, steadfastly ignoring the way Jungkook lets out a disgruntled hiss from between his teeth.

“School is good,” you tell Junghyun. “I’m trying to get all my general requirements out of the way early, so my first semester wasn’t very interesting. I took some more focused classes in the second, though, which made things infinitely better.”

The elder Jeon laughs. “Guess that means you’re on the right track then, huh?”

“Guess so,” you reply, laughing right along with him.

The server stops by to take drink orders, and your parents take it upon themselves to order food for the table as well. You continue chatting amicably with Junghyun as the server returns with a tray of water, sodas, and soju; beside you, Jungkook does the same with Jimin. The only break in conversation comes when the server—a pretty girl with a chirpy voice and a nametag that reads ‘Mina’—leans over to set a glass of Coke down in front of Jungkook. He thanks her with a crooked smirk and a low purr of gratitude that has her cheeks flushing pink, and it’s all you can do not to gape at him like a fish. The flirtatious quirk of his lips, the seductive tone—it all comes far too naturally to him, and you wonder for a moment just where the old Jungkook has gone. The Jungkook you used to know stammered every time he had to talk to an unfamiliar girl, and had trouble looking even you in the eye despite having known you since grade school.

But now, he’s nowhere to be found. The young man sitting beside you remains as calm as can be, shifting his body toward Mina so that he can request a straw.

“Of course, here you go!” Mina’s gaze lingers on his hand as he accepts the proffered straw, eyes widening when his fingers brush against hers lightly.

“Fast service,” Jungkook remarks, his voice dipping into a low, indolent drawl. “I like that.”

Mina giggles and tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear. She’s clearly about to respond to him—flirt right back, undoubtedly—but your father stands up and taps his glass with a spoon before she can open her mouth. “I want to make a toast,” he says, and you send him a silent, heartfelt thank you when Mina wisely chooses to make herself scarce. “Congratulations to Jungkook and Jimin, our two rad grads!”

An audible groan rises up from your side of the table, where Jimin has buried his face in his hands. “Oh my god, Dad.”

“What?” your father asks innocently. “I really think you’re rad, grad!”

Jimin groans again, muffled by the sleeves of his jacket. “I want the earth to swallow me whole.”

Laughter all around. More toasts are given, and the bottles of soju scattered around the table slowly dwindle down to their last dregs. Junghyun picks up the one closest to him and fills up your glass for the fourth time, drawing a protesting whine from your lips as you try to cut him off. “Wait, that’s not fair! Pour some for yourself too!”

“Relax, we can always order more,” Junghyun says with a laugh, topping off your glass before glancing around to find Mina. Much to your irritation, she’s already headed your way, bearing loaded platters of meat and vegetables and wearing a bright smile that seems to only be directed to Jungkook.

“I hope you’re all hungry!” she chirps, coming to a stop between you and the subject of her affections. You swear she shoots you a dirty look over her shoulder before turning back to the table, her cheerful facade back in place as she smiles at Jungkook. “Where did you want me to put the meat?”

“Anywhere it’ll fit,” Jungkook tells her with a suggestive smirk, keeping his voice soft enough so that only you and she can hear.

Mina cannot hide her answering smile. Likewise, you cannot hide the way your nostrils flare, throat bobbing as you swallow down the ugly feelings bubbling up in your chest. You can feel Jungkook’s gaze roving across your skin, but you refuse to look at him, stubbornly facing the front as Mina distributes food around the table. As soon as she’s departed again—her fingers brushing across the back of Jungkook’s chair in the process—you’re up and out of your seat, heart beating faster than you’d like to admit.

“Restroom,” you say shortly by way of explanation. It’s thankfully empty when you arrive, and you immediately make a beeline toward the sink to splash some cold water on your cheeks.

It’s absurd—this snaking jealousy coiling in your belly and winding up between the slats of your ribcage. Straightening up, you give your reflection in the mirror a stern look, silently willing the feelings in your chest to abate. Gradually, your heartbeat slows into a regular rhythm, your cheeks cooling, and after waiting another two minutes, you decide that it’s been long enough. Drying off your hands, you exit the restroom and wind your way back to the table, keeping your pace leisurely even when Jungkook looks up and catches your eye. His expression is unreadable, and you valiantly ignore his burning gaze as you take a seat.

“How is everything?” you ask Junghyun, picking up a spoon and piling your plate with food from the nearest platter.

Junghyun pauses mid-bite to answer. His mouth opens, but you don’t catch his answer because there is a sudden, heavy weight on your knee. A warm palm caresses the skin exposed by the hem of your dress, slow and sensual and deliberate. Your eyes widen and your lips part, but no sound escapes. The rest of the table’s occupants fade away into the background, conversations and laughter dulling into a low drone. Beside you, Junghyun is still talking, but all you can hear is blood rushing through your ears.

And on your other side, Jungkook is smirking.

The bastard.

Gentle fingertips skim along your skin, leaving trails of fire in their wake. Your entire body stiffens, but Jungkook refuses to relent. He’s still chatting with Jimin, chuckling at a joke you didn’t hear, and you wonder how he can remain so calm when you are anything but. Your heart takes off in a sprint, clattering wildly against your ribcage, and for a few moments you are absolutely positive that everyone at the table can hear. Any moment, one of your parents will look over and see how wide your eyes are and how warm your cheeks feel. Any moment, Jimin will look down and see his best friend’s arm snaking beneath the table and realize what’s happening.

And then Jungkook squeezes your thigh, and all thought flies out of your head, dissipating like fog in the sunlight. He’s growing increasingly bold, his fingers trailing up until he can trace the hem of your dress, teasing at the soft material. Your breath hitches in your throat, and Jungkook’s smirk widens. You can see him out of the corner of your eye, trying to hide his smugness behind his soju glass, and for a moment you’re tempted to throw his drink in his face.

But more than that—more than anything else right now—you want him to continue touching you.

He’s sliding beneath your dress now, inching down to the delicate skin of your inner thigh and tracing nonsensical patterns there. You grip the edge of the table as he trails closer and closer to the lace of your panties, knuckles turning white against the dark wood. It’s a wonder no one has noticed your flustered state yet, and you cast concerned glances at Junghyun and Jimin before Jungkook notices your inattention. Punishingly, he slides a single finger into your panties, snapping the lace against your skin and covering the sound with a cough that he buries in his elbow. He can’t hide the way you jolt in your seat though, your knee thudding against the table. Junghyun gives you a worried look, laying a hand on your shoulder as he asks if you’re okay, and you hurriedly nod. And underneath the table, Jungkook resumes his ministrations, languorous and soft and deliberately avoiding the place you need him most, as if he has all the time in the world.

There’s a growing damp spot between your legs. You can feel it seeping through the cottony material of your panties, sticking uncomfortably to your folds. Jungkook’s touch is whisper-soft, caressing along your thigh until your skin is tingling, and it’s all you can do to swallow down the whimper that’s bubbling up in your throat. He’s thoroughly enjoying this—you can tell—and you’re certain he can feel the way you tense up when he suddenly drags a single finger up your clothed slit. A low hiss escapes your parted lips, and in an instant, all eyes are on you.

“Noona?” Jimin asks curiously. “Something wrong?”

“I—” Your mind whirs, searching for an excuse. “It’s nothing. I’m fine. The, uh, sauce was just spicier than I was expecting it to be.”

You haven’t touched a single thing on your plate in minutes, but no one seems to notice your obvious lie. Conversation resumes, and you determinedly pick up your spoon again, intent on getting something more substantial in your belly than the fluttering butterflies that have taken up residence there.

“You sure you want to eat that, Noona?” Jungkook’s voice reaches your ears—a low, dulcet purr that sends electricity shooting down your spine. “You should probably drink some water to cool down.”

And before you can answer—before you even manage to reach for your water glass—he’s slipped his hand into your panties, the warm pad of his thumb pressing experimentally against your clit. The slight pressure has you gasping, your heart pounding hard enough to leap out of your chest as you drop your spoon. Your hands drop down to your lap—one gripping the edge of your chair while the other finds its way around Jungkook’s wrist, and you aren’t sure whether you’re trying to stop him or spur him on. His arm muscles flex underneath your fingertips, and that’s all the warning you get before he angles his hand, a lone finger sinking inside your drenched entrance.

“Oh, fuck.” You can’t stop the strangled curse that escapes your lips, an airy hiss from behind clenched teeth. Your grip on Jungkook’s wrist tightens, but it doesn’t seem to dissuade him at all as he begins a leisurely pace, sinking deeper into your cunt with each thrust.

Luckily, no one hears your whimper. Sinking your teeth into your bottom lip, you bite back the sounds threatening to spill out and instead focus on maintaining as neutral an expression as you can muster. Beneath the table, Jungkook remains relentless. Even when your mother looks over and addresses him directly, he doesn’t cease his ministrations, keeping both his tone and his pace even as he responds.

“Jungkookie, you’ve barely touched your pork belly. Are you full already?”

“Stuffed,” Jungkook replies smoothly. He punctuates the word by adding a second finger, and you almost bang your knee on the table again, your eyes going wide at his audacity.

Your mother pushes the platter of meat closer to him anyway. “No need to be polite, honey. Here, eat up.”

Obligingly, Jungkook picks out a few pieces with his free hand and piles them on his plate. “Thanks, Mrs. Park,” he says as he brings some to his mouth. “It’s delicious.”

Satisfied, your mother turns her attention elsewhere. Jungkook returns his to you, and you almost groan aloud when his thumb brushes against your clit again, rubbing tight circles around the sensitive bud before he sheathes both fingers inside you once more. There’s a growing heat coiling in the pit of your stomach by this point, lighting every single one of your nerves on fire. Your body is screaming for release, and Jungkook seems more than eager to give it to you. He’s freed his wrist from your grip, leaving you to clutch helplessly at the table as he angles his fingers upward. No doubt he’s searching for the spot that will have you seeing stars, and you know he’s found it when a sudden burst of pleasure spikes through you. Your mouth falls lax, and Jungkook grins, thoroughly satisfied.

There’s something building inside you, something that has your tummy tensing and your toes curling in your shoes. Jungkook’s fingers dig deep, his palm rubbing against your clit with every thrust, and it takes every remaining ounce of your self-control to resist the urge to rock your hips into his hand. A bit more of that delicious friction, and you’ll be falling over the edge. You know it, and so does Jungkook if the smirk on his face is anything to go by.

And then a voice is pulling you back to reality, a warm hand settling on your shoulder. You flinch at the contact, your startled gaze flying up to Junghyun’s, and balk when you see him staring at you with equal parts amusement and concern.

“I—what?” you stammer. “Did… did you say something?”

Beneath the table, you feel Jungkook’s fingers retreat, leaving you empty and aching for release. Out of the corner of your eye, you see Jungkook wipe his glistening hand on his napkin, a frown that can only be described as petulant settling onto his face.

“Whoa, relax!” Junghyun drags your attention back to him, raising his hands in mock surrender. “I just wanted to say goodbye. I have to be up early for work tomorrow, so I’m driving back into the city tonight.”

“Oh!” It takes you a few seconds to process his words. “Right, yeah. Have a safe drive back. It was good to see you.”

“Ditto,” he replies, flashing you a warm grin. “But hey, are you all right? You’ve been a little weird the whole night. Was it the food?”

Gratefully, you seize upon the excuse. “Yeah! Yeah, I’m fine. I think maybe something isn’t sitting quite right in my stomach, but I’ll be okay. Don’t worry about it.”

He nods and leans in for a hug. “Take care of yourself, yeah?”

“You too. Bye, Junghyun.”

With the elder Jeon brother’s departure, everyone else quickly decides that it’s time to disperse as well. You adamantly refuse to look in Jungkook’s direction as your parents fight over the bill, focusing your goodbyes on Mr. and Mrs. Jeon even when he glances your way with a knowing little smirk and a soft murmur of, “Bye, Noona.”

You can’t look at him. Not when every movement reminds you just how damp your panties are, your core begging for relief. Not when he’s waggling his fingers in farewell—the gesture anything but innocent. “Bye,” you warble weakly, before fleeing to the car.

The memory of his fingers burns fresh in your mind later that night as you lie in bed, your hand stuffed down your panties and working furiously to find that sweet, sweet relief.

[bakubros-boo-thang]

Thirty seconds: Cameras & Caramel

Bakugou x ‘model’ reader

Warnings: cursing, sfw, mentioning of body type

Quirk: Stopping time ( limited time and limited amount of people)

Summary: When your roommate kinda pushes fate at your doorstep you end up in bed with Bakugou. That wouldn’t be so bad, except for the pervy director, the spotlights and the fact that you are definitely not used to model. Atleast you can make sure you get your 30 seconds of peace....

Art by : Chocalicia

Bakugou hated these types of things. He knew that being a hero on the rise meant that he had to grow his fanbase. He HAD to be known. He had to show up at random places, on billboards, in magazines and on tv. Not just for the live broadcastings if his fights, but also in random commercials.

He hated those commercials most. With magazines it was just a picture, a second of pretending. With commercials you had to pretend for longer. Professional models were at least professional about it, but those aspiring ones were trying so hard to get more out of the shoot than just a paycheck. They probably went into the shoot just for him. It would be a lie if he never ended up next to a stranger because of that. He had a busy schedule and sometimes he was touch starved. Those moments were the only moments his “work” and private life were combined. The rare private life he had.

You on the other hand had no idea what you were up to. You never wanted to be a model, so you weren’t. You just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. When searching for a “plus-sized” model in the middle of Tokyo you -a foreigner- stood out and when asked for a one time job, you had politely declined until your roommate had said: “You are here for that once in a lifetime moment, get out of your comfort zone, fuck the insecurities and experience that moment”. So here you were. Wearing a sleeveless top and black sleeping shorts. Laying in a fake bed, on a fake set, bright spotlight hurting you eyes and with a blanket only covering your ass and barely covering your boobs (which looked nude bc of the illusion). Since your friend pushed you to do this, she was the one who did all the talking. You just knew that you were supposed to lay like this, act shocked by your male counterpart and needed to smell his perfume. Something about “Comforting and sexy.” It was a stupid catchphrase. You had been living in Japan for a couple months, studying quirks.... you had only chosen that major, because of your own struggle with your quirk and had no real goal with the study, but the chance to finish up the course in Japan was something you couldn’t pass up. Since Japan was the country with the most development of quirks, it was the perfect choice. You worked a part-time job as a barista on the side and you couldn’t complain. But when you saw him you definitely wanted to complain. The first thing you noticed was the spiky blond hair, then his red piercing eyes and since you didn’t want him to catch you staring at his abs, you decided to use your quirks. The room was filled with eight people including the two of you so it wasn’t that difficult to do. And so you just paused everyone. You knew that you could only keep it up for thirty seconds at most, but in those seconds you could take a good look at him. At the bored expression he had, the way he was only wearing low hanging jeans and those rock-hard abs. You had barely fifteen seconds left to just readjust yourself one last time, trying to ignore your insecurities and give yourself the ultimate poker face, you laid in the position. Time went back on an nobody seemed to have noticed the missing seconds. Bakugou definitely looked slightly confused, which didn’t stop him from walking towards you and yelling to no one in particular: “Let’s get this shit over with, I have things to do.” He didn’t even acknowledge you. “Okay let’s get this thing right in the first take. Bakugou you just came home from a long patrol, you walk over to your s/o who is all curled up in bed and you give her a kiss on her cheek, she wakes up smelling your neck and realizes that you still smell like our cologne. She pulls you towards her and then it’s CUT, since we need to keep this safe for work right? We will film the solo clips of you after this scene. Ready? ACTION.”

Bakugou walked towards you. His face looked kind, maybe even loving in some cocky way though. Confidence was more the right word. You quickly close your eyes knowing you have to be ‘asleep’. 20 seconds later your eyes still haven't opened up, Bakugou was supposed to kiss you awake right? “DUMBASS WHY AREN’T YOU DOING YOUR DAMN JOB.” You couldn’t even respond, he scared you with the way he talked, of course you had heard of him. The hero with the terrible temper, but still experiencing it first-hand kinda sucked. “I... I... I didn’t....” The director cut you off. “CUT, let’s try it again.” Bakugou had already gone back to reshoot the scene. “ACTION.” He walked towards you again. This time you knew the camera would only focus on your face when he ‘kissed’ your cheeks, which he wasn’t planning on actually doing. You didn’t know whether it was him being respectful or him hating you, but it really annoyed you so you decided to give him a little payback. As he faked kissing your cheek you decided to use your quirk and pause only him. You didn’t touch his lips. You did however smell him. He didn’t smell like that disgusting cologne. He smelled like sweat and something burning. A light caramel smell. It was intoxicating. You had forgotten that you had only paused him, so the rest of the crew saw Bakugou standing over you with pouted lips not moving at all. When you realized that you were still pausing him, you quickly released the quirk and here he was all flustered, confused and definitely annoyed at himself for losing his cool. You felt a little guilty, but on the other side this was his payback. No one said anything about the rising hero’s pouted lips though, not wanting to trigger the hero’s anger. “Let’s just try it once more. Action.” Before Bakugou walked back to his starting point he whispered “ err... sorry for acting so creepy. I... I don’t know what’s gotten into me.” Now you DID feel horrible. You had to make sure this take worked out.

He walked over to you and actually kissed your cheek. You let go of all your insecurities, ‘Opened’ your eyes and you smiled at him with a smile full of love (mostly due to the fact that you were still intoxicated by his smell and of course his good looks, and maybe that apology did kinda make him seem... likeable), you once again smelled his neck which was far from punishment and the rest was just natural to you. Pushing your hands over to his neck and pulling him in felt amazing. Seeing him lay next to you felt even better and even he couldn’t help but to give you a tiny smile. Probably because you were radiating so much happiness. (Which was definitely not because you were such a good actor). “CUT. This was perfect, there is just one little thing I want to add, but give me two minutes before I explain. You can stay in your positions.” Bakugou looked at you. Just now noticing the way you looked naked. “Are you comfortable like that?” He asked. “Err... not really, but probably because this is my first time doing this.” He clicked his tongue “Tsk you’re not a model?” You shrugged “Nope just a regular barista who’s roommate forced her to end up in this weird commercial for err... cologne right?” Bakugou chuckled, “Yeah goddamn awful cologne.” You couldn’t help but agree. “They made me smell a tester, you definitely didn’t smell like that, fortunately.” He raised his eyebrow “How did I smell then, extra?” But his “extra” didn’t sound as threatening as it usually sounded in the fight videos on his Youtube page. It sounded more like a dare, but before you got the chance to explain the director already started explaining his new idea. “ I know we are not supposed to do anything not safe for work, but sex still sells, so we will just plant a seed.” He couldn’t help but give you a pervy look that made you feel sick to your stomach. “Only thing you two should do is end up under the covers, that's it. Action!” He continued.

“WHAT THE HELL, DO YOU EXPECT ME TO GO UNDER THE BLANKET WITH HER?!” Bakugou screamed. It wasn’t supposed to hurt. You barely knew him, but still hearing him get so angry for having to look at you and sharing that small space with him, definitely did hurt.

“Bakugou, why are you being difficult?” The director sighed. “ Look how you made her look, this girl has never been on a set and you already made her lay nude under a blanket, expecting me to go under that blanket. I’m not a FUCKING PERVERT GODDAMIT!” He was looking so angry, but you had to tell him. You slightly tapped his shoulder. “WHAT?!” He screamed. “Err... Bakugou...” You lifted up the blanket. “I’m not naked.” You couldn’t help but notice the quick scan he gave your body. You couldn’t blame him, especially since you had done the same. “Oh well, still you shouldn’t do anything you don’t feel comfortable with.” You gave him a tiny smile. “Don’t worry I trust you, it’s only for a second right.” He couldn’t help it. You intrigued him. The way you made him forget what he was doing (literally), the way you were sooo out of place, but still seemed to enjoy your time here and the way you just talked to him. “Alright let’s go then ACTION.” And the crew just knew Bakugou’s “action” was just as valid as the director’s.

You continued with the loving looks. Bakugou’s smile was a lot bigger than before, “He can really act.” You thought to yourself. And while you were still holding his neck in your arms, he grabbed the blanket and put it over the two of you in a swift move. Now you were surrounded in the dark. The only thing you could see were his red eyes. “Thanks for making me feel at ease today Bakugou. It was nice of you being cautious whether you should kiss me. Err... I mean kiss my cheek.” You stammered quickly, knowing that this conversation could only take a few seconds. “ No problem Dumbass. I’m still cautious though..” his face was closer now. “About what?” You let out. Feeling butterflies in your stomach, feeling your breathing stagger and your hands getting sweaty. “About whether I should kiss you right now. You’re probably too nervous with everyone around right?” How had he known that you wanted to kiss him? You felt humiliated, but still you had a ace up your sleeve. “Don’t worry about that, I already paused everyone.” You said with a smirk. “WAIT A MINUTE, you DAMN extra were the one to pau...” but he couldn’t finish his sentence. You had already put your lips on his and he had already forgotten all about his anger. That day you found out that you could use your quirk to a much longer extent than 30 seconds.

Authors note: Just a quick story I came up with. Hope you enjoyed it and would appreciate a reblog💚

[ificanthaveu]

Don’t Tell The RA || Shawn Mendes

Description: RA!Shawn asks for your help with studying for your final exam, but an RA should always expect the unexpected. 

A/N: Happy 1st day of my semi-not-really-ficmas! I’m positive I’ve used every winter/Christmas themed fic idea, but I scrounged together a few so here’s the first of the installment. These’ll probably all be pretty short (except for 1 probably bc i have a lot of ideas for it). Also.....if this gif doesn’t look like RA!Shawn trying to get his freshmen boys to stfu so they can start and end the hall meeting ASAP.

Word Count: 2.4k

You were the first person out of the room when your History professor dismissed you, meeting your awaiting roommate Micah across the hall. The two of you started walking back to your dorm without much of a word until she launched into how difficult her calculus exam is going to be.

“At least it’s related to your major. I’m about to fail a gen-ed,” you said as you rolled your eyes. “I’ve never liked History, and this is a literal nightmare.”

“Hey, only one more test, and we’re done,” she reminded you.

Before you could respond to her, you heard your name being yelled from behind you. The both of you stopped and turned around to see Shawn maneuvering his way in and out of people, his tall stature poking out from the rest as you smiled at him.

“Have you started studying for the final yet?” He asked as he fell into step with you and Micah, making your way out of the building.

You practically snorted with a head shake before you said, “Absolutely not. I’ve been so caught up in my biology classes that I’ve barely started looking at this. It’s not looking good for me.”

“We get it. You’re pre-med,” Micah mumbled before you elbowed her.

“Yeah, I don’t think I’ve cracked open the textbook since the first week,” he said.

“Oh, you opened yours? Mine’s still in the plastic wrap,” you said as proud as you could.

That earned a laugh from Shawn as he shook his head at you.

“You may be worse off than I am,” he said.

He paused for a moment, looking between you and where he had to turn to go to the freshman dorms, opposite campus from the junior ones.

“Would you wanna study tonight?” He asked.

You heard Micah choke on her breath as you prayed he didn’t hear it.

“Yeah, I definitely need it,” you replied.

“Can’t do it in our room,” Micah interjected quickly. “Josie is coming over for calc.”

“We can study at mine,” he said. “If that’s ok with you of course. We just might get interrupted by check-out questions.”

“Sounds just fine with me. I could never do what you do,” you said, looking up at him as he shrugged and looked away, the blush almost evident on his cheeks.

“Well, my room and board is paid for, so I’ll deal with throwing up freshmen in the bathroom at 2 am,” he said. “Does 7 work?”

“Sounds perfect,” you said as you turned to go towards your dorm. “See you then.”

Micah followed behind you as you began to cross campus, waiting until you were clearly out of earshot of Shawn.

“You really had to say we couldn’t do it in our dorm?” You asked as you gripped onto her wrist and she laughed. “Now I have to be extra alone with him.”

“That’s the point,” she said flatly. “Don’t act like you haven’t been staring at him all semester. That man is the total package.”

“And we’re studying together, nothing else,” you quickly pointed out.

“Well it may start that way but-“ you cut her off before she could finish.

“Don’t say something that won’t come true,” you said as you swiped into the building and walked up the stairs to your dorm.

“You wish it will though,” she said in a sing-song voice as you unlocked your door and pushed her in.

“So what are you wearing?” She asked as she whipped open your closet.

“I’m not changing,” you said.

Micah turned around and looked up and down at your sweatpants and sweatshirt with a look of disgust.

“Can you at least put leggings on and a clean sweatshirt? Maybe put your hair in a pony-tail instead of that bun that looks like it was slept in - scratch that - a bun that was slept in,” she said as she threw you a pair of black leggings and a school crewneck.

“This is ridiculous,” you mumbled as you changed.

“You’ll thank me later,” she called after you.

It had started snowing by the time 6:45 came around, and you began your trip across campus. You were regretting not wearing a jacket as you shivered and crossed your arms tightly around your chest.

The person at the front desk smiled at you as you made your way up to Shawn’s dorm, scanning the rooms for the one that said “Residential Assistant” on the front.

You knocked twice once you found it, rocking back and forth on your feet and trying to shake the cold. You glanced around at the winter-themed decorations around the hall before Shawn swung the door open.

“Hey,” he said brightly with that big smile that made you weak. “You look freezing.”

“I am,” you said as he welcomed you in. “Big mistake not wearing a coat.”

You scanned over his room quickly as he shut the door behind the two of you. He had white Christmas lights strung along his window, making for a beautiful reflection mixed with the snow. His overhead light was off, but the lamp beside his futon was on. It was surprisingly clean, but you attributed that to him never knowing when someone was going to need to talk to him.

Two mugs were situated on his desk in the corner of the room. He crossed the room and grabbed one and handed it to you.

“It’s mint tea,” he said. “Helps with studying.”

“Ah, of course,” you said, taking the mug and sitting on his, surprisingly comfortable, futon.

“And a blanket,” he said as he pulled it from the back of the couch. “Since you look like you might have hypothermia.”

“Thank you,” you said softly as you wrapped it tightly around your shoulders.

You pulled out your book and binder, flipping to the study guide that was handed out in class.

“Ok, where do you want to start?” You asked as Shawn pulled his slightly crumpled study guide from where it was tucked in his book.

“Well, I know nothing,” he said as he scanned over the paper. “Actually, I know one.”

“Which one?”

“The one he told us the answer for today.”

“That does not count.”

The two of you determined an order to study from as you kept his open textbook balancing on both of your knees, occasionally having to lean closer to the other to take a look at a passage.

Shawn skimmed the page, pointing at a passage and trying to explain it to you as you looked at him. You couldn’t hear a word he said as you watched how into the topic he got, using his hands to try to express his point. You sent the butterflies to the bottom of your stomach by taking a giant sip of the tea and moving onto the next question.

He asked you the next one, taking the textbook from you as you leaned an arm on the back of the futon. You glanced between him and the mini Christmas tree in the corner as you tried to explain it as best you can without the book as a crutch.

You looked back at him, his head cocked to the side and an interested look on his face. A few curls fell onto his forehead as he studied you. You tried to keep talking as his gaze was unwavering.

“Sounds right to me,” he said, his face dangerously close to yours as he also leaned his arm on the back.

“I honestly wouldn’t know,” you whispered. “Were you even looking at the book to make sure I was right?” You teased.

“I had something else I had to look at,” he said at the same volume.

You felt him lean in as you did the same. You could feel his breath fan over your lips as your hand rested on his knee.

Three solid knocks sent you flying away from each other.

Shawn cursed under his break as he stood up and swung the door open quickly.

“What?” He said to the kid in front of him, who was significantly shorter than Shawn.

“Kevin knocked over the-“ he paused as he saw you watching from across the room. “Oh, sorry, Shawn, I didn’t realize you had a girl over.”

You choked on your sip of tea as Shawn shoved the kid out the door and slammed the door behind him.

You pulled yourself together as you could hear Shawn’s muffled voice through the paper-thin walls.

“Why the fuck would you say that with her right there?” He said.

“I didn’t know! I would’ve gotten the RA on duty if I knew you were on a date,” the kid yelled back.

You could hear Shawn huff and could imagine him tugging at his hair.

“It’s nothing, Cade. It’s literally nothing at all,” Shawn said quickly. Your stomach dropped.

“It didn’t look like nothing,” the kid - Cade - teased back.

“Just tell me what’s going on, so I can study, which is the only thing we were doing,” he trailed off as you could hear the two of them walking down the hall.

You tried not to let yourself get too disappointed as you half packed up some of your stuff, not wanting to overstay your welcome if he didn’t see anything here. You felt yourself begin to overthink, wondering what would’ve happened if he kissed you. If he just wanted something quick before break, a finale to your semester together in class.

You waited patiently, your chin resting on your knees as you tried to look at the study guide with no luck.

The door swung open once again as Shawn came back. He shut the door behind him, running his hands through his hair as he looked over at you, noticing nothing but your study guide sitting out. He felt his stomach drop but didn’t say anything.

“Ok, where were we?” He said as he sat down again, dangerously close as his thigh grazed across yours.

Your breath hitched as he looked over at the study guide in your lap, looking at your one newly highlighted point.

You looked up at him as he asked you a question on the point. It was obvious he was looking at your lips.

You tried to answer the question and steady your shaky voice, but he leaned closer. Before his lips had the chance to press against yours, you rested your hand against his chest.

“Shawn…” you trailed off. “I can’t.”

“I’m so sorry,” he quickly said. “I didn’t - I thought - I’m sorry, I thought there was…” he trailed off as he tried to motion between the two of you as he leaned back.

“I just,” you paused as you let out a breath. “I really don’t want to be a one-night thing before you go back home.”

“Why would you think that?” He asked, an upset look clearly on his face.

“It’s nothing. It’s literally nothing at all,” you quoted him as you played with the edge of the study guide.

He looked at you confused as you looked down at the page, trying to distract yourself.

“Why would you say that? I don’t think this is just nothing,” he said.

“Shawn, these walls are paper-thin,” you snapped as you looked up at him. “I heard you telling the kid that this was nothing, and I don’t want nothing. So I’m stopping it here.”

He rubbed his forehead softly as you tucked your study guide into your binder, opening your backpack to put it away.

“I’m not going to tell one of my residents that he just interrupted something,” Shawn said quickly. “They’re my residents. I’m not about to tell them about my love life. I didn’t know you’d hear that. I swear I don’t think this is just nothing. I just don’t want them to know that stuff about me. There’s no reason to. I’m so sorry if it came off as any other way.”

You watched him continue to get flustered as he stayed relatively close to you, his hand almost hitting your shoulder as he spoke.

“I’ve been crazy about you since the beginning of the semester. I don’t just want to kiss you and forget,” he explained, leaning close to you again.

“Really?” You asked softly.

He smiled back at you, his hand almost resting against your shoulder as he draped it against the back of the futon.

“Really,” he replied.

This time when he leaned in, you let him kiss you. His hand enveloped the side of your face as you rested your hands gently on his chest. He tugged on your hip, and you followed his lead as you climbed onto his lap, smiling into the kiss as his hands stayed planted on your hips, gripping into your sides.

You pulled back before pecking his lips once more, leaning your forehead against his so you could see his big smile.

You glanced outside to see the snow getting worse as you let out a sigh.

“I should get going,” you whispered.

“But it’s a blizzard out there,” he mumbled as he pressed a kiss to your cheek. “And you don’t have a coat.” Another kiss at the corner of your lips. “Just stay,” he whispered as his lips met yours again.

“I don’t want to get us in trouble,” you whisper back.

“I know the RA. Don’t worry about it. I can pull some strings if he finds out,” he said with a cocky smile as you rolled your eyes, leaning in again.

“Won’t the residents know?” You mumbled against his lips.

“Let ‘em talk,” he said as his hand rubbed up your side, sending shivers across your body. “I won’t see them for over a month anyway.”

“Well, as long as the RA doesn’t find out, I think maybe I can stay,” you whispered as Shawn flipped you over so your back pressed against the futon and he hovered above you.  

“I’ll make sure he never finds out.”

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[kelieah]

flowers (din djarin x reader)

summary: din attempts to show his gratitude to the one person who’s been by his side all along

word count: 1.5k

warnings: fluff

edited: also pls go easy on me lmao, i’m not following the plot bc it’s just a quick fluffy blurb w a lil bit of background! allsssooo please refill out or let me know if you want to be tagged for my star wars / din djarin fics

a/n: sdjhbfdsfb yay! first star wars fic (not technically but let’s go w it), i’ve been wanting to write for their characters for the longest time and idk what’s stopping me ?? so here we goo

main masterlist | din djarin masterlist

You worked all your life as a mechanic, studied different droids and ships yet here you are now, taking care of a child. The child of a Mandolorian who constantly came to you to have his ship fixed. 

It all began when the two of you first met, he landed in your hangar with his busted up Razor Crest and asked for repairs. You told him you could do it for him with the help of your droids. Although, he was quick to reject your droids and asked for only you to work on it. You obliged in the end when he offered more credits, five hundred credits to be specific, for his request. 

While you were repairing his ship, you had to take a look in the interior as well because of how grave the damages were. But while you were fixing the inside, a faint noise startled you. That’s when you discovered the child, who is also known as Grogu. You and Mando, or who you now call Din, found out not too long ago. 

Your relationship with Grogu came naturally and easily. He grew attached to you immediately as did you. Although with Din, that was an entirely different story. After countless visits to your hangar and getting to know you, he fought with himself to make the decision to ask you to come along. He knew only so much about you but knew about your strong crave for adventure. It was a conflicting decision for him to make, he felt his odd sense of responsibility for you but he also emphasized with your past living and hardships. Eventually he asked you and to his little surprise, you agreed to come along with no hesitations.

Now, here are the three of you on a typical day of resting. Din lets you know that him and Grogu are going to the market. You find it odd that he doesn’t ask you to come along like usually would due to his overprotectiveness and slight trust issues but decide to brush it off. “We won’t be long,” he says while putting Grogu into his side.

“Whatever you say, tin head,” you yawn and turn back to your tinkering. 

He rolls his eyes beneath his beskar helmet at your comment and walks off towards the coordinates of the nearest village. Even though it annoys him, he had to admit he never got tired of your insults and nicknames for him. 

The village wasn’t too far from the ship and besides, he wasn’t really planning to get anything new. If you check now you’d realize you all didn’t need any more food or supplies for another week. He’s actually on the search for a gift. Din’s not one to express himself properly so after a short catch up with Cara Dune, he realizes he should be thanking you more. Not that he doesn’t thank you after you help him all the time, but bigger acts of gratitude. Though what would he know? 

“You really don’t know a thing, don’t you? Look, maybe get the girl some flowers and give her a nice big kiss to show her how thankful you are,” Cara chortled while chugging down the rest of her soup. Din pursed his lips and scoffed in response. “You got something good for you here, Mando. I wouldn’t let it pass,” she teased and patted the table, before dismissing herself. As he watched her walk off, her words remained in his mind for quite some time.

“Do you see flowers anywhere, kid?” he mutters while striding through the busy village. Grogu coos in response and reaches out to an area. Din turns around and glances in the direction he reaches out toward only to see a stand full of flowers. He walks towards the stand and looks around the selection, uneasiness settling inside of him like before when Cara told him to get you flowers. He huffs in annoyance. Why were there so many different types? And colors? And scents? 

This is a waste of time, he briefly thought to himself about to turn around until the merchant speaks up. “A Mandolorian buying flowers? Never thought I’d see that day, special someone?”

He lets out a quiet sigh and turns back around, nodding at her. Special is one way to describe it. He thinks deeply for a moment and stares at the variety of choices, debating which one would suit you best. He shakes his head due to being unable to make up his mind and turns away. He picks up Grogu who was beginning to walk off toward a frog and heads toward the other stands to clear his conscious. Not too long after, he purchases a snack for the kid and you. He eventually comes back to the flower stand and tosses the previous merchant a decent amount of credits. “I want it all,” he says firmly. The merchant gapes at the currency in her hands and glances up at him with a shocked expression. She nods quickly and hurries herself to gather all the flowers.

You start to wonder what is taking the two so long until you hear a series of short grunts and noises of, dragging? You place down your tools and press a button to open the back gate. You walk down to see Din dragging along a floating cart full of a ton of something covered high. Grogu reaches out from his bag and smiles at you. You walk over and scoop him up in your arms, pulling him close. Din turns his head towards you as you raise an eyebrow at him. “What is it?” you hesitantly ask and stare at him oddly.

His lips curl into a slight smile at your confused expression. Your hair’s a bit of a mess and your face is a bit flushed from the work you were doing. Your lips are molded into a pout and the quirk of your eyebrow amuses him. He realizes soon enough that he’s staring and curses himself. “See for yourself,” he steps aside from the cart and fails to keep his eyes off of you. 

You glare at him warningly and hand him Grogu, reaching out toward the cloth. He smirks slyly and holds the child, nodding for you to continue. You mutter incoherent insults that he easily picks up and chuckles inaudibly. You grasp it and begin to pull it down until Din startles you by yelling just to scare you. Grogu giggles at your reaction. “Dank Farrik! Din! Don’t- don’t do that!” you swat at him and huff, finally pulling off the cloth. He chuckles quietly and waits for reaction. Your eyes widen at the crate full of flowers, the scent overwhelming your nose and the vibrant colors blinding your sight. “Oh, stars,” you mutter and reach out for a bunch, gently caressing one of the petals. “What are these for?”

He shrugs dismissively and looks at Grogu to avoid your adoring gaze. “For you,” he states and bounces the little creature in his arms. You smile widely and look back at the flowers with pure joy, sniffing once again to enjoy the blissful aroma. Grogu squeaks to be let down and Din listens, placing him down. Uncertain of what else to say, he only stands back up and observes you taking in his gift.

“Why though? It’s not my bornday,” you bite your lip attempting to contain your excitement due to receiving such a thing from Din Djarin himself. Over the course of months you’ve got to know this stubborn Mandolorian, you knew expressing himself was one of the hardest things for him to do.

“I know.”

“Then?” you take a step towards him and avert your eyes toward the flowers once more.

He exhales and purses his lips, searching his mind for words to put together. “To thank you,” he trails off and notices your look of encouragement for him to keep going. “For everything you’ve done for Grogu and I. For me,” he adds and cringes at his weak explanation. “Look, you mean a lot to the kid, and me. Besides giving you some of my credits, my sleeping quarters, food and—” he begins to list off things he provides you with which should be a given, especially since he asked you to come along. You raise both your eyebrows in unamusement and cross your arms, tilting your head at him. He couldn’t hold back a grin at your sudden attitude and shakes his head. “I wanted to thank you for everything you do, with flowers. Because, they’re. Uh, flowers.”

You press your lips together and nod in acknowledgement, restraining yourself from insulting him like you usually did. For once, you believed this wasn’t the time to. You briefly avert your eyes back and forth between him and the flowers and decide to show him your thanks as well. You jump into his arms and hug him tightly, or at least attempt to hug him with his bulky clad of armor on. 

“Oof,” he mutters and freezes up at your unexpected actions, unsure of what to do.

“Hug me back, laser brain,” you grumble.

He feels an unfamiliar discomfort in his stomach, his heart beginning to quicken and his cheeks starting to warm up. In disbelief of this feeling, something he begins to remember he hasn’t felt in a long time, he smiles at the thought. He hugs you back, pulls you close and rests his chin upon your shoulder while wrapping his arms around your waist gingerly. “Thank you,” he mumbles softly.

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[mandoalorian]

Hi, I was the anon who asked if you could write something because I felt crappy. I didn't mean to put any pressure on you. I was just looking for something short and sweet. I'm having existential anxieties a lot (pandemic hasn't helped) and struggle feeling as if I have a purpose in life. I'm crap at everything I do. I've tried to find comfort in believing that you don't have to have a purpose but it's hard to really believe. I lost my job recently bc of the pandemic and it's been hard finding another.

Any pedro character, although my favourites are Javier, Ezra and Frankie. Don't worry if you can't write anything tonight or don't have time etc. I will be fine and you aren't responsible for any anons that ask you to cheer them up so plz don't pressure yourself. Sorry for asking :/ and being a downer.

Oh my love, this has been in my inbox for a few days now. I’m sorry I’ve only just got round to doing it. Please don’t apologise for being a downer or asking! It’s what I’m here to do :) I hope this helps ease your anxiety and makes you feel better.

Comfort Blanket [Frankie Morales x Reader]

Warnings: mentions of anxiety/descriptions of a panic attack, Frankie is a soft dumb dorky himbo

Rating: PG-13

Your cheeks were painted with your tears, and they glistened under the dull bathroom light. You thanked your lucky stars that this had happened whilst you were home alone. You couldn't deal with having to face Frankie. You knew he'd confront you about this. You knew he wouldn't understand and he'd demand answers. You were always so happy and smiley. Even the guys (Will, Ben and Santiago) said you were such a positive influence on the group. But you were only human, and as you sat against the cold tiled wall, your elbow leaning on the toilet seat, you weren't feeling very positive. You weren't feeling... anything really.

Anxiety had consumed you to the point of sickness, and it was uncalled for. You'd spent hours sobbing, holding your head in your hands and furiously tugging on your hair. It felt like you were choking. The feeling of impending doom swarming your body, drowning you. You couldn't breathe. Your chest felt tight, your vision became hazy and your mouth dried up.

Frankie was just a phone call away. He'd want to know. If you were scared or hurting, he'd want to know. You knew what your boyfriend was like. He loved you so much. But you didn't want to worry him. He'd ask what was wrong and you wouldn't be able to answer him, because you didn't even know yourself. It was pointless burdening him with this. Just for once, you had to be independent. You had to face this alone.

You hadn't even heard the front door lock click open. He'd gotten home early and you were too busy whimpering in the bathroom to hear his usual greeting, "Honey I'm home!"

The words were cheesy, and they often earned a roll of your eyes. But it was yours and Frankie's special thing— and you loved it. Frankie dropped his keys in the bowl kept on the kitchen counter and padded through your small apartment. He was confused when you weren't there to greet him the way you usually were. Sure, he had gotten home from work earlier, but you'd always run into his arms and embrace him the second he walked through the door.

Frankie padded through the living room, down the corridor, thinking you might be in the bedroom. He paused midway when he passed the bathroom, freezing in his footsteps when he overheard your cries.

He stood outside the bathroom. You'd been together for six months and Frankie had never heard you cry before. He didn't know how to approach you. He felt an anger, wanting to know exactly who and what had hurt you. The sobbing stifled for a second and Frankie breathed a sigh of relief. Until you started again. Frankie opened the door.

You looked up at your boyfriend with glazed eyes, feeling your cheeks heat up with embarrassment. He wasn't supposed to see you like this. You hid your face in the crook of your elbows with shame, muffling your sobs.

"What's wrong?" He asked hesitantly.

You let out an even louder and infuriated cry when you couldn't answer his question. You shrugged your shoulders helplessly and let your tears soak your clothes as you held your knees to your chest. "I just... I just..." you gasped for air, unable to get any words out. Frankie understood. He knew how you were feeling.

"One sec." he said, holding up a finger before bolting out of the bathroom.

He dived into your shared bedroom, fell to his knees and stretched out his arms to pull out a box that he kept under his bed. It was your bed too, and yet you had no idea he kept it there. It was a relatively small sized cardboard box, messily stuck shut with strong masking tape. He carried the box back into the bathroom and slouched down next to you. He took a deep breath and passed you the box.

"What's this?" you sniffed, letting your fingers curiously trace the tape.

"It's my panic box. Inside this box is everything I need to help me calm down when I'm anxious or upset. Open it." Frankie urged, nudging you playfully. You giggled at his touch and wiped your eyes, trying to regulate your breathing. Frankie wrapped an arm around you and held you close as you peeled away the tape.

Inside the box was an array of things. The first thing you picked out was a soft fluffy blanket. It looked old, slightly rugged, torn in the corners and even sewn up with patchwork. It had a distinct smell too. It wasn't a bad smell. You couldn't describe it. It just smelled like Frankie. You shot him a questioning look.

"This," Frankie said, taking the blanket from you and opening it up. He draped it over you both. "Is my comfort blanket from when I was a kid. It's been with me through everything. Heartbreak, death, even the times when I was upset for no apparent reason... my comfort blanket always seemed to fix things. The least I can do is share it with you." Frankie smiled sheepishly and he noticed the way your eyes sparkled in delight.

"I had no idea you kept a comfort blanket." You confessed with a shaky exhale. You relished the feeling, grabbing a fistful of the material knowing that the blanket was probably not much younger than Frankie. That the blanket had been there for him throughout everything.

"Well, I do," Frankie shrugged. "But uh— don't tell the guys."

You giggled. "Thank you for sharing this with me." you sniffed, immediately beginning to feel so much better.

"Keep digging through the box." Frankie ordered, taking your hand and rubbing comforting circles into your skin.

You nodded, reaching back into the box with your free hand. Inside was a scented candle, miscellaneous packets of candy and chocolate, an old teddy bear, and what could only resemble something you kept locked away in your nightstand drawer.

"Frankie!" you gasped, taking the device out of the box and turning to him. Your jaw had dropped and you were trying to contain a smile. "What is this? It looks like a—"

"Don't say it!" Frankie said quickly, snatching the pink device from your hands. He flicked a switch and it started buzzing. You slapped a hand over your mouth in disbelief. "I know what it looks like, okay. But it's a back massager." He pressed two more buttons and demonstrated how it changed speeds and settings.

"Frankie... I don't think—"

"It's a back massager!" Frankie exclaimed defensively, cutting you off. Once again, your dorky himbo boyfriend had you lost for words.

You burst into a fit of giggles as Frankie pressed the vibrating device into the small off your back. "Frankie stop it!" you laughed as he crawled on top of you.

"Feels nice, doesn't it?" He quizzed with a smirk. You squealed as he poked his fingers into your side, tickling you, and only making your laughter grow. You had been smiling so hard, your cheeks began to hurt. You pulled the baseball cap off Frankie's head and tossed it to one side so you could tug on his dark curls. He finally lifted off you and switched the ‘back massager’ off. "I'm glad you're smiling." Frankie admitted, pressing a soft and chaste kiss into your cheek.

"Frankie, I love you so much." You admitted, wrapping your arms around your boyfriend. He picked you up, letting the comfort blanket fall to the floor and carried you to the living room. He dropped you on the sofa and tossed you the television control.

"I love you too," he cooed, smoothing out your hair and kissing your forehead. "Why don't we have a movie night, huh? I'll order take-out and bring us a few beers in."

"Okay." you sniffed happily. As you watched Frankie wander into the kitchen, you wondered how you'd ever gotten so lucky.

You knew now that even when you felt like you had to be independent, there was nothing wrong with letting Frankie comfort you. He could make you smile and laugh like nobody else could. He knew the exact way to cheer you up whilst still being considerate and sensitive of your feelings. He loved you so much, and for as long as he was with you, you knew you'd never be alone.

[beauvibaby]

insecure - v.dunn

requested [x] yes [] no

request - could you write something where maybe the reader is a little insecure because she doesn’t exactly look like the guys exes? and she thinks she’s not good enough and distances herself from him and he starts to worry bc he loves her and yea with a fluffy ending!! please i love ur work so so much! with vince btw! 😘😘

a/n: the night I got this abby and I were just talking about how the gf’s always look the same lol

“Babes, you can’t ignore him forever.” Your friend sighed, seeing the way your phone kept lighting up with texts from Vince, “sure I can.” You mumbled childishly, sinking further into her couch, “do you really think he’s just going to stop? He loves you, Y/N.” She retorted, an authoritative tone to her voice as she looked over at you. “I know, and I love him, but I just-“ “can’t get out of your head?” She cut you off, raising a brow to prove a point. “Exactly.” You threw your hands up, watching as she tried not to laugh at your enthusiasm. “I just, he’s never been with someone that looked like me, you know? It’s always been these girls that look like they could be supermodels.” You complained, jumping when she set her wine glass down with force, the noise startling you. “But he’s not with them now is he? You’ve been his longest relationship, doesn’t that show you that you’re different? In all the right ways.” She snapped, frustrated with your stubbornness, you felt like you were being reprimanded. “Sorry.” You mumbled, she sighed pinching the bridge of her nose. “You need to talk to him, and don’t push him away because otherwise you’re going to lose him.” She stood, grabbing her glass and muttering under her breath about needing a refill. You chewed your lip as you stared at your phone, staring at the notifications from Vince.

Have fun tonight baby!

I’m gonna miss you, maybe I’ll stream again lol

Hello?

It’s not like you to not answer, you guys must have busted out the wine early tonight…

Call me before you go to bed, love you

You picked up the phone, typing out a response as you heard your friends feet approaching once more.

Love you, sorry my phone died, I’ll call you soon babe

He reacted to it with a heart instantly, and you sighed a breath of relief, settling back in to watch your show.

***

That was two weeks ago, and you’ve yet to tell him what’s going through your head. And Vince isn’t stupid, he can tell something is bothering you, he just doesn’t know what. Of course he went through his usual list, it wasn’t your period, it wasn’t work or your friends, and he knows he hasn’t don’t anything, simply because he’s hardly been seeing you lately, it felt like you always had an excuse. But tonight, tonight Vince was stubborn, and that led to him knocking on your front door, you totally oblivious to who was on the other side, trudged to the door, looking through the peephole and gasping. “Y/N, I know you’re in there.” Vince sighed when you didn’t open the door, you looked through the little hole once more, Vince was leaning against the door frame, eyes staring at the handle, waiting for it to move as you let him in. You gave in and unlocked the door, slowly opening it, looking up at him with wide eyes, your hair a mess, sloppily tied up, one of Vince’s Blues shirts hanging off your frame and pajama shorts on underneath. “Hi.” He mumbled, scanning over you, smiling boyishly at the sight of you, cute as ever in his eyes. “Hi, uh, what are you doing here?” You questioned, stepping aside so he could walk in.

He made his way inside, watching as you shut the door with a shaky hand, his heart rate picked up, anxiety now filling him too, were you going to break up with him? That’s all that ran through his mind as you turned to face him with an uneasy smile. “What’s wrong? Did I do something? Is-are you just not…” he trailed off, unable to even speak the words. You lifted your eyes to meet his when you heard the uneasiness in his voice. “Vince, am I not what?” You questioned, stepping closer, concern taking over your features. “Are you not in love with me anymore? Because you never want to see me, you’re always coming up with reasons to be doing something else.” He rambled, nervously pulling on his curls, your heart dropped to the floor, tears springing to your eyes. “Y/N, no, don’t cry.” He spoke softly, unsure if you wanted him to touch you. “I love you, Vince, so much.” You assured him, and he still hesitated, feeling like there was a but coming. “You didn’t do anything, it’s me, I swear. I just, I’ve been in my head a lot lately…” you trailed off, gasping softly when he nearly tackled you in a hug. “Oh my god, baby, I was so scared I thought you were going to dump me and-wait, what’s wrong? What’s bothering you?” He cut his rambling off, cupping your face to catch the tears that inevitably started to fall. You sucked your lips into your mouth, trying to find the words to say, suddenly mortified to speak to him. “Hey, you know you can tell me anything, right?” Vince mumbled, barely above a whisper, you nodded, letting your lips fall from your mouth with a sigh, eyes closing for a moment as you tried to reign in your thoughts.

He pulled you in for a quick, gentle kiss, silently telling you it’s ok, but was it really? What you were about to say could change everything.

“Why me?” You blurted out, tensing when he pulled away slightly, he stared at you, trying to figure out what exactly you meant by that. “What do you mean?” He finally asked, hands moving from your face when you shimmied out of his grip. “Why me? I mean you’re you, and everyone else before me was so different, I don’t look like those other girls.” You ranted, refusing to meet his eyes. “Y/N.” Vince sighed, and you froze, thinking this was it, that you’ve scared him off. “I picked you, because you’re not all those other things. I picked you, because you’re you.” He spoke softly, frowning when you wouldn’t look at him. “Baby,” he said again, grabbing your hand and tugging you towards him. “Look at me.” He demanded gently, you hesitated but looked up to his face. “There’s my girl.” He grinned, wiping the last of your tears away, running his fingers over your cheek and behind your ear, moving the loose strands of hair away. “I’m going to sound like such a sap, so you better listen good.” He teased, leaving his hand on your cheek, you nodded, suddenly very intrigued by whatever he was about to say. “When I heard you laughing at that bar, I thought I was going to turn around and see another one of ‘those girls’ but what I got was so much better. You had your head leaned back, mouth open as you absolutely died at whatever your friend had said, and your hair was swinging as you looked back up, and then I saw your eyes on mine and I knew I was done for.” He paused, smiling when you sniffled softly, “everyone always told me, that one day I would meet a girl that changed my life, and I thought they were just fucking insane.” You laughed at his words before he continued, “but you’re that girl. All it took was one look at you, for me to know that I wanted this to be different, I want this to work-I want this to work because I love you.” He concluded, his smile widening when you threw your arms around his neck, tugging him down to meet your lips, you gave him a bunch of little kisses, smiling too much for a serious one.

“I love you.” You whispered, finally pulling away from him, but stayed in his embrace. “Are you done crying now? Because I feel like you just stomped on my heart.” He mumbled with a blush, but not caring enough to be embarrassed because it got you to smile, and that’s all that mattered, that’s all that ever mattered.

taglist: @starkeysdunn​ @vincecdunn​ @kempe​ @literarycharleton​ @wtfkie​

[satendou]

⟼ distance

⍣ 365 days of sun series | next | 1/2

・‥…━━━━━━━☆☆━━━━━━━…‥・

⇢ pairing: iwaizumi hajime/reader/oikawa tooru

⇢ au: 365!au, poly!au, college!au, pro!oikawa

⇢ summary: prequel to 365 days; oikawa goes to argentina, leaving you and iwaizumi behind

⇥ masterlist

⇢ warnings: pre-relationship, cursing, fluff, mild angst

⇢ word count: 6757

・‥…━━━━━━━☆☆━━━━━━��…‥・

⇢ a/n: a few things. 1) i did not particularly care for how correct the timeline is or how correct the actual offer, signing, etc happens. 2) the cut is a little weird bc i when i wrote this, i wrote as one fic but it turned out to be 18k words so...no. 3) i love this whole fic sm so i hope you guys do too!

“I’ve had an offer.”

Oikawa’s voice cut through the sound of your and Iwaizumi’s playful arguing and the sound of video game music that filled the room.

“That’s great news, Tooru!” you exclaimed, looking up at him leaned against the door. Your smile fell when you met his eyes, a pained mix of happy and uncertain. It was such a rare look that you couldn’t place any moment in recent memory that you had seen it.

“What?” you asked, setting the controller on the table. The sound playing from the TV cut out without warning, and Iwaizumi shifted on the couch beside you, leaning close enough that you could feel his warmth through your sweater. It was mid-winter in Tokyo and you had stayed home after classes were cancelled, choosing to hang out together rather than frolic in the snow. “Tooru?”

He bit his lip as he considered the news he had just been delivered. It was an actual dream come true, exactly what he had wanted all this time. But then why did it feel like someone had just punched him in the stomach? “The offer is for um, a team down in--” He sighed. “--in Argentina. It’s one of the top teams in the world, and they want me to be first string.”

“Oh.”

You said it at the same time as Iwaizumi, both staring at Oikawa’s pained expression.

“Then you need to take it,” Iwaizumi continued, his sharp words cutting through the tense air like a knife. He knew what Oikawa was thinking, what he was worried about, and couldn’t let him think no one would support him. He’d be lost without his best friend, but this was Oikawa’s chance at his dream. “And Argentina is far enough away that we won’t have to deal with you anymore. We deserve a break from your drama.”

You smacked him on the arm for that, but Oikawa chuckled.

“Don’t worry, Iwa-chan. I know you’ll actually really miss me, you adorable tsun. I’ll come back to visit, so don’t give away my room,” he said, and you were relieved to see his expression lighten. He kicked off from the door and plopped down on the couch beside you, slinging his arm around your shoulders. “And I know our dear _____ is going to be so lonely without me.”

You mimed throwing up into Iwaizumi’s lap. “Like hell. It’ll be so peaceful without you here. _____, my girlfriend broke up with me for the third time. Iwa-chan, why hasn’t she texted me back it’s been two minutes.”

“_____, can you bring me an ice pack? My dumbass overdid it again and my knee hurts,” Iwaizumi mocked, and Oikawa yelped in indignation.

“I do not sound like that or say those things,” he said, pulling his arm from your shoulders to cross them over his chest. There was a warm glow in his heart as the three of you bantered, stemming from the undying support the two of you had always given him in the pursuit of his dreams-- even if you were really mean to him while doing it. “Thank you, guys.”

You stopped laughing at him, both you and Iwaizumi turning to stare at him before you smiled. “You sap. Of course we’re going to support you no matter what! We’re gonna miss you, though. Like, bad,” you answered, and your throat tightened a little at the thought of him being halfway around the world. The three of you had been inseparable for years, even ending up attending the same college in Tokyo, though that had been because it had the best courses for the majors you and Iwaizumi wanted and Oikawa loved their volleyball team. It was a no brainer to get an apartment together when you found out you’d all been accepted either.

“Speak for yourself, _____. I’ll be glad when he’s gone. And don’t expect us to run all over the world chasing you, either,” Iwa said, picking up the controller off the table again and unmuting the TV. As soon as he unpaused the game, his character died. “Goddammit.”

“You really deserve this, Tooru. More than anyone,” you said, bumping against his shoulder. 

Oikawa looked down at your face, eyes lit up with happiness as you smiled. He hid his face in the top of your head, inhaling the scent of your shampoo with a grin, warmth bubbling in his chest all over again. He was finally going to live his dream and he had the two people he loved most in the world at his back. He couldn’t imagine anything better than that.

So many words danced on his tongue, his thoughts a jumbled mess and he opened his mouth to let them spill out.

“Yeah, I guess I do, don’t I?” You groaned as Iwaizumi reached around you to smack the back of his head, and he snickered into your hair, his arms squeezing you into his side. “I love you guys.”

Picking up the controller, you let him cling to you like the monkey he was as you rejoined the game. “Yeah, sure, Shittykawa. We love you too.”

--

There was a lot of planning after he accepted the offer, outside of what the agency would take care of. He just had to find an apartment within his budget and they would take care of securing it for him before he arrived, and travel was taken care of. 

Naturally, what was his responsibility became yours.

“Don’t you own anything besides basketball shorts and sweatpants?” you asked, holding up what had to be the sixtieth pair of shorts in the last thirty minutes. You were helping him pick out what clothes he was going to be taking to San Juan with him, leaving the rest in his room in Tokyo for when he visited. They all smelled like him, the light and breezy cologne he wore that seemed to stick to everything, including you. 

You were struck by the realization that when he left, that smell would fade from everything, including you. And the idea that you would never be teased for smelling like Oikawa again caused your heart to clench.

Your face must have twisted because Oikawa’s happy babbling cut off.

“_____? What is it?” Setting the longsleeve t-shirt he held in his hands aside, he turned to fully face you while you turned fully away from him. He gripped your shoulders, trying to force you to turn to look at him, which you resisted at first. When he heard the light sniffling though, he wasn’t going to take no for an answer. “Hey, what’s going on?”

Fast as lightning, you turned and threw your arms around his neck, hiding your face in his shoulder. Without hesitation, he hauled you closer, rubbing your back as you cried into his neck. Between sobs you managed to choke out, “I’m gonna miss your stupid face so much. And what am I gonna do when the apartment stops smelling like your cheapass cologne? Am I gonna have to wear it?”

Your fingers twisted in the soft white t-shirt he wore. You hadn’t meant to cry, really you hadn’t, because you knew things like this would only make it harder for him to leave. And as much as you did want him to stay here with you, you also knew he would never be happy unless he was in the spotlight playing volleyball. But your tears soaked his shirt anyway as you tried to stifle your sniffling.

He burst into laughter at your childish whining, rocking you back and forth in his arms.

“Awe, I already knew that, princess. Everyone’s going to miss me,” he said, putting on that smug air that came so naturally. He was just trying to cheer you up though, and you could see through him like a window, laughing into his shoulder.

One hand curled into your hair, holding you close as he took in your warmth and your sadness. It was a mirror to his own, tempered by a cautious enthusiasm that his future-- and his dreams-- were about to take off. He was being selfish throughout all of this-- selfishly keeping you close while selfishly leaving you at the same time.

That warmth he always felt whenever you were close welled up again, and he smiled.

“I’ll miss you too, you know,” he whispered into your hair, and felt your arms slide back up around his neck, squeezing so tight he thought his breathing would stop. “You and Iwa, more than anyone.”

“Well, you’ll come back,” you whispered back, resting your cheek on his shoulder, facing away from his neck. “You’re like a parasite. We’ll never be rid of you.”

Oikawa’s shoulders shook underneath your head and you smiled.

--

“Help me pick apartments,” Oikawa demanded, folding himself into the empty seat beside Iwaizumi. He had his laptop in hand, a dozen or so tabs open to different apartments near the stadium his new team called home. He would be leaving in a few days to check them and the stadium out, and likely to sign the contract while he was down there. Truth be told, he was nervous.

“Don’t you have any manners, you damn brat?” Iwaizumi asked, even as he set his phone to the side. He’d been surfing through DoorDash, looking for something to get for dinner. You would be home from classes soon and no doubt starving. “I’m ordering dinner.”

“Oh, don’t worry about that. _____ said she was going to stop and pick up something for us. I requested takoyaki, but she said she wasn’t feeling it,” Oikawa answered with a pout. 

“Probably,” Iwaizumi said as Oikawa flipped to the first tab and he turned the screen to show him, “because she’s been doing labs with crustaceans in biology all week.”

It was a 3 bedroom, 2 bath with an open floor plan and a lot of windows. Newly refurbished and expensive. Not that Oikawa wouldn’t be able to afford it.

Iwaizumi shrugged. It wasn’t terrible, and definitely Oikawa’s style. He liked lots of natural light for his Instagram photos, and that apartment definitely provided.

“I should’ve waited for _____,” he grumbled, but flipped to the next one anyway.

Another 3 bedroom, 2 bath, smaller than the last and darker, in both light and color scheme, but no less expensive. Instantly Iwaizumi grunted and shook his head, and there was a small gratification as Oikawa instantly X’d out of the tab, letting it get lost in the void.

If there was one thing Oikawa valued above a volleyball player’s skills, it was your and Iwaizumi’s opinions. You knew him just as well as he knew himself, and better, in some ways. If Iwaizumi thought that apartment wasn’t good enough, then it wasn’t good enough.

The next few went much the same way. 3 bedroom, 2 bath, too dark or too small, too old-school or too extravagant. Each and every time Iwaizumi said no, Oikawa was secretly relieved to click the X button. A lot of the apartments he’d found weren’t to his taste, but he also knew his tastes were dramatic, hence the need for Iwaizumi’s down-to-earth opinions.

“Hey, I have a question,” Iwaizumi said when apartment number nine was bookmarked. It was a close contender with number one, the only other one he had agreed with. He knew Oikawa would never be happy living in a closed in, dark space. He was a lot like a plant.

A really mouthy, annoying plant. Like that tentacuwhatever from Harry Potter. Clingy and needed attention nonstop or else he’d cause trouble. What was he saying?

Oh right.

Oikawa paused his scrolling to look up at Iwaizumi, who had settled back into the couch, his arm slung across the back just above Oikawa’s shoulders. With his leg pressed to his, Oikawa was practically tucked into his side as they fought to both see the laptop screen. 

“What’s that, Iwa-chan?”

Iwaizumi leaned back in, his cheek right next to Oikawa’s. “Why are all these apartments three bedroom?”

In response, Oikawa spluttered. “Well, I mean, you know, it’s for if-- if friends want to come stay for a while or-- or you know. Geez, Iwa-chan, I do have those you know. And I’ll make more in Argentina. Might even replace you, if you aren’t careful.”

Iwaizumi’s arm curled tight around Oikawa’s neck then, his voice dangerously low as he growled, “No one will ever put up with you like I do, so good luck.”

Smirking, he pulled away and settled back down into the couch, picking his phone up again to see a text from you, asking if soba was alright for dinner. Typing his response, he said to Oikawa, “Soba is for dinner. And you may as well close out of the other tabs. I think the first one is the best one. Think we could come with you and pick out our rooms for ourselves?”

Oikawa choked.

--

The day of his permanent departure finally arrived.

 To all three of you, it felt too quick and sudden, like you had blinked and the time had disappeared while your eyes were closed. All that morning, the three of you skirted around the topic as you dealt with the last minute details.

“Hey, you want this shirt right? You better--”

“Yeah, thanks.”

“Oi, Shit-- Tooru, you’re forgetting these, dumbass, and I’m not mailing ‘em to you.”

As the time whittled down to nothing, you found yourselves standing in the living room, staring at each other. You had sworn up and down that you wouldn’t get sappy or cry or do anything to make it any harder on Oikawa than it already clearly was. But the tension in the air, the strange, manic sparkle in his eyes as he stared the two of you down broke whatever resolve you had and you threw yourself at him, tears welling in your eyes.

His fingers, previously wrapped around the handle of his suitcase, found their way into your hair, his other arm winding around you as the suitcase hit the floor with a clattering of plastic, squeezing you tight enough to force the air from your lungs. And yet it wasn’t close enough, one arm around his shoulders and the other around his back, pressing yourself even closer, until there wasn’t an ounce of space between you.

Against your will, the tears spilled over and wetted his shirt, but he paid it no mind, too lost in breathing in the smell of your shampoo and the feel of your warmth for close to the last time. 

Behind you, Iwaizumi sighed, turning his eyes up to the ceiling, thankful that Oikawa’s eyes were closed so he couldn’t see the glittering in his own. Much as he might like to give his friend hell, he was going to miss him. A lot. More than he liked to admit.

Another set of arms came around you, completing the missing piece as you stood there and cried into Oikawa’s chest. You could feel tears in your hair and it only made you squeeze him tighter. The urge, the need to ask him to stay, just for another day, welled up so strong you had to bite your tongue to keep the words in. Truth be told, you weren’t sure if he would say no, but no way were you going to put him in that position.

“We’re gonna be late, Oikawa,” you whispered into his shirt and felt him nod against your head, but no one made a move to pull away. 

It took all your willpower-- and a few elbows in a few ribs-- to pull away from them. Oikawa’s lips parted, his hands still reaching out for you, and you took one while Iwaizumi picked up his forgotten suitcase.

“Oi, Lazykawa,” he barked, “I’ll get this, you get your carry-on. _____, make sure he doesn’t get lost.”

At that, Oikawa gasped in mock outrage, placing his free hand over his heart and affecting a hurt tone. “How could you think so low of me, Iwa-chan? Do you think I’m so stupid?”

From the hallway, a very deadpan, “Yes,” rang out and you snorted in laughter.

“Really, Tooru, how could you not see that coming?” you asked while he picked up his bag. His fingers stayed laced with yours while you locked the door behind you. Doing it one handed was difficult and took longer than if you’d had your other hand, but neither of you were inclined to let go.

Iwaizumi was waiting impatiently outside the taxi, his foot tapping arrhythmically against the snowy pavement. His fingers were freezing and his eyes narrowed as he watched the two of you walk down the stairs hand in hand, both wearing sad smiles as you looked back at him.

“If you two take any longer he’s gonna miss his flight,” he snapped, holding the door open for both of you. His mood settled when you patted his cheek before sliding in beside Oikawa. It was a bit cramped with two 6’ tall athletes wedged into the tight space, but frankly there weren’t a lot of other places you’d rather be.

Now if only you weren’t stuck between them on your way to the airport to see one of them off to the other side of the freakin’ world.

The ride, in typical fashion when doing something you don’t want to do, took both too long and not enough time. You filled it with jokes and memories as each held one of your hands, mostly about what you thought San Juan would be like and of games he and Iwaizumi had played in while you cheered your heart out in the stands.

Their number one fanatic, they affectionately called you. A lot of your highschool career was spent with them just because there was so much jealousy among the other students that you were so close to them. You were grateful to them for so much you couldn’t even begin to list them all, but you could at least say number one on the list was loving you the way they did. 

Oikawa was met at the airport by some diehard fans and his family, all teary eyed and clamoring for his attention, and you looked at Iwaizumi. He shared a resigned, grateful expression with you, glad you had said your goodbyes in the privacy of your apartment. There was no way you were going to get it here, surrounded the way he was.

While you stood on the outskirts, watching Oikawa smile and simper for everyone while making his way further inside, he looked back and his smile changed. From polite and sweet, it morphed into something genuine and deep, and even from a distance you could see the glitter in his eyes.

He laughed and said something, and the tone of the crowd changed, dispersing slowly until it was only his family left. Something was said to his mother, who was clinging to his hand with tears streaming down her cheeks, then he was making his way towards the two of you.

“I’ve only got a few minutes before I have to check in so I…” he said, but trailed off, scratching the back of his head. The words were stuck in his throat, too hard to say to the two of you. He could put on a show for the crowd all day, playing the part but as soon as he was placed in front of you, it was like someone had corked him. “I’m really gonna miss you guys. Who’s gonna cheer me on at games now?”

A sigh rode on the tail of the laugh that escaped you while Iwaizumi’s eyes narrowed, looking very much like he was going to kick Oikawa into the luggage carousel. 

“Oh, I don’t know, you dumbass. Maybe the thousands of adoring fans you’re going to gain with your face plastered all over national television?” he asked, his fingers flexing with the restrained urge. It was muscle memory at this point, he couldn’t be blamed.

Oikawa’s face fell, though Iwaizumi’s voice held no bite and Oikawa wasn’t really upset. Setting his hand on his hip, he pointed at Iwaizumi. “It won’t be the same and you know it. You better watch every game. I’ll know if you haven’t.”

Iwaizumi scoffed and rolled his eyes. “How are you gonna know, idiot?”

Oikawa’s arm snaked around your shoulder, still pointing to Iwaizumi as he tugged you into his side. The smile he wore was somehow both fake and so genuine it almost hurt to look at. “Well, our little _____ will tell me if you haven’t, won’t you?”

Before you could answer, the loudspeaker sounded, announcing his flight was ready for check-in, and all the humor left you in a breath.

“Tooru,” his mother called, beckoning towards him with her hands.

“Just a minute, mom,” he called over his shoulder, and his typically playful eyes were soft as he stared down at you. One hand took yours while the other met your cheek, thumb wiping away the tear that had managed to escape without your notice. “I’ll call you when I land. And text you every day. And you better not let anyone take my room, I’ll need somewhere to sleep when I come back to visit. Lord knows I won’t be able to stay with them while I’m here.”

“Tooru,” his mother called again, sounding desperate now. You couldn’t blame her, Oikawa had spent an altogether longer time saying goodbye to you than he had with them since he’d arrived. Besides, the place his family held in line for him was moving forward rapidly-- as rapidly as the time you had left with him was shortening.

“You better not forget us, Tooru, or we’ll come down to Argentina and kick your ass,” you said, all three of you stumbling towards the line. He ducked under the rope, still holding your hand in a death grip, still unwilling to let go. “Or Haji will. I’ll keep a lookout so we don’t get arrested.”

At that, all three of you burst into laughter, the action causing the dam to break and then you were all crying too. In a split second decision Oikawa couldn’t explain, he leaned down and pressed his lips to your forehead in a chaste kiss, letting it linger there as he said, “I could never forget you. Either of you. My best friends and the people I love the most.”

“Love you too, Tooru. Give ‘em hell,” you whispered into his chest before pulling away.

“Go, before your family has a shit fit,” Iwaizumi said, pushing at his shoulder. But Oikawa’s hand covered his for a fraction of a second and squeezed with strength that only came with practicing serves for hours on end. Some unnamed emotion flitted in his eyes, but Iwaizumi nodded in understanding. “Come see us soon, alright?”

Oikawa’s throat tightened until all he could do was nod. With one last look at you, he turned and walked towards the front of the line, becoming obscured by the throngs of people.

An arm came around Iwaizumi’s waist and he instinctively curled his around your shoulders. He could feel the tears wetting his shoulder, where your face was pressed into his shirt. His own throat was sore as he held his tears back and he rubbed your arm as he fought to catch just one last glimpse of the last third of his trio.

But he was gone, off to the other side of the world and away from you. Some cynical part of Iwaizumi said he was gone forever, that in typical Oikawa fashion he would get down there and completely forget about the two of you. That wasn’t what the more rational side said, though. That side said he was being completely unfair to his friend, and he was inclined to agree with it more.

Leading you back out to the entrance, he hailed a taxi and helped you in, where you wrapped yourself around him again, causing him to laugh.

“It isn’t forever, you know,” he said, petting your hair. Of course, he would never tell you what he had been thinking just a few minutes ago. It wouldn’t help, even if it did turn out to be true. “We’ll see him again, probably a lot sooner than we’d like.”

As if to prove his point, both of your phones pinged with a new notification.

When you swiped them open, you found a message in the group chat that was so typical of Oikawa that Iwaizumi snorted before you both burst into laughter.

‘First class sucks without anyone to share it with. And the wine is bleh. I miss u guys :(‘

Each of you answered, Iwaizumi with a typical ‘you’re an idiot’ and you with an ‘i miss u too bby :’(‘. 

You received one last text, telling you he had to shut his phone off and then you settled your head on Iwaizumi’s shoulder to stare out the window. The scenery passed by in a blur while you focused on Iwaizumi’s rough thumb rubbing circles on the back of your hand. 

After a few minutes, you hummed thoughtfully. “What should we get for dinner?”

“How does takoyaki sound?”

--

It was several months after Oikawa had left and both you and Iwaizumi were coming up on a small break from school. Since he’d left, Oikawa’s texts and calls had been spotty at best, though he made the effort to send a goodnight text into the group chat every night. When he’d first realized that he was failing in his promise, he’d apologized while telling you he would try harder.

Iwaizumi had shut that down real quick and you could imagine him tapping on his phone furiously during study period, wearing a scowl that would have had Oikawa cowering in the corner if he’d seen it. 

‘Shut up, idiot. You’re training, right? Then train. We’re adults. We understand, right, _____?’

In your biology class, you had snuck a quick response. Even as adults, your teacher was a real bastard about using phones in class, and being caught could end in a pop quiz.

‘Yeah, you brat. Stop stretching yourself so thin or they’ll kick you out and you’ll have to come back to Japan and start all over,’ you typed, having to erase the word ‘home’ in favor of something less...that. Sometimes the way Oikawa talked, when your schedules lined up and you could talk on the phone properly, he sounded like all you’d have to do was ask and he’d be on the first plane out of San Juan. Even he still slipped up and called it home, often correcting himself afterwards as if to convince himself.

After that, he stopped apologizing, but he also stopped responding nearly as much. That didn’t stop you from using the group chat. You could see where Oikawa had read and reacted to certain messages and knew that even if he was busy, he was still there. And that in itself made the separation easier.

Two weeks before that break started, you received a long text in the group chat, both of your phones going off on the table. Only Iwaizumi picked his up, already knowing who it was from-- the chat had a special tone, so you knew whether to pick it up immediately or not.

‘Hey guys, I know this is sudden and a little short notice, but you have that break coming up, don’t you? I’m going to have my first game down here during that time so I was wondering if you’d want to come down and visit? Ik it’s only been a few months but you know how much i miss your stupid faces, and san juan is so pretty this time of year. I can pay for the tickets down here (obviously) and your rooms already have beds so you can stay with me! Isn’t that great? I have to go, but let me know!’

Iwaizumi stared at the text, a vein ticking in his forehead, while you read over his shoulder. It was clear Oikawa was excited at the prospect, but planning a trip like that in only two weeks was going to be hell.

“Does he even realize how full of himself he sounds?” Iwaizumi snapped, crossing his arms over his chest after you took his phone. “‘I can pay for the tickets’-- my ass. I’m gonna beat him senseless when we see him.”

“So…” you said, already typing away on his phone, “does that mean I should tell him to buy two tickets, since he’s so kindly offered?”

He caught sight of your smirk and followed it up with one of his own, belatedly realizing what he’d just said. “Well, since he can obviously afford it, may as well let him.”

You sent the text out without making any changes and Iwaizumi didn’t know if he should kiss you or smack you.

--

Oikawa was a lot more active in chat over the next couple of weeks, talking nonstop about how excited he was to see you. Iwaizumi was taking the blow up with more grace than you had ever imagined, and then you realized why. 

“Haji, aren’t you excited to see Tooru? And I never thought I’d actually go to Argentina. I’m kinda nervous,” you teased one night over takeout and beers. A movie Iwaizumi had picked up while he bought snacks at the store played in the background, though it was so bad neither of you were really paying attention.

He looked up from his phone, where he was no doubt texting Oikawa, looking thoughtful. You expected a huff or a denial, but he surprised you-- a lot, actually.

“Yeah, I’m really excited. It’s been...too quiet without that brat around,” he said, and frowned. “I miss him.”

You set your fork in the takeout box, staring blankly at the TV while you processed that admission. Iwaizumi wasn’t much for talking about his feelings. He was very action oriented, as you and Oikawa knew too well, so to hear him say it meant something.

“I really miss him too, you know,” you murmured, playing with your fingers. It wasn’t something that bothered you too often, but Iwaizumi’s confession had brought it to the forefront of your thoughts and you allowed yourself to wallow just a little. “I can’t wait to see him.”

“I can’t either. I know I don’t say it nearly enough, but I love you both,” he said, his ears heating up at the admission. It was only easy to say in the dark, when he could focus on his phone instead of the embarrassment the words brought. It wasn’t something he said very often, no matter how much he thought it. 

You giggled, flicking a fry you had been about to eat at him. “You’re such a sap. Tooru really is rubbing off on you, Haji.”

Throwing it back at you, he playfully snapped, “Don’t compare me to Shittykawa, _____. I’m nothing like him.”

“You’re right. You’re much smarter than he is,” you replied, chucking the fry back into the top part of your takeout box. 

It felt so good to just relax and hang out with Iwaizumi. Your schedules had both been so packed with classes and work, and even when one was free the other rarely was, that you hadn’t had a spare moment with him in weeks. It was the first night that you had free since Oikawa first invited you down and, though you had been flooded with requests to go out to bars or clubs, you just wanted to stay in. Expecting to be alone that night too, you were pleasantly surprised when Iwa had shown up with two takeout boxes and a six pack of beer. It felt like all the tension you had been carrying over the last few weeks had dissipated and that things were normal.

Shitty movies, shitty beer, and Iwa. All you really needed was Oikawa, and you would have him in a few days. 

Your heart fluttered in your stomach, your chest tightening at the thought of seeing him again. It felt like years had passed since he left, between your hectic schedules and sporadic texts. More than once you had come home exhausted and wanting to just go to bed, maybe cry a little from the stress, and you were suddenly overwhelmed with the feeling of something missing. The little negative voice in the back of your head would nag as you laid awake, staring at your ceiling, hoping your phone would light up or Iwa would walk through the door and fill the silence of the apartment.

It was nights like that that made you wonder if everything you were doing was worth it, if you were somehow losing Iwaizumi and Oikawa, and the doubt hurt more than anything else. It was a constant tug-of-war with yourself; you knew that eventually you would have to let them go, but only when you were good and ready, and ready you most certainly were not.

There was hope that this trip would help ease some of your doubt and fears, that seeing Oikawa in his element might prove to you that everything the three of you had accomplished made all the long days and sleepless nights worth something. But there was a part of you that was nervous that going down there would prove that the gap you were afraid of truly existed, and then what would you do?

“You know,” Iwaizumi said carefully, watching your face. “I really needed this. I’ve missed you too.”

He didn’t know what you were thinking exactly, but he could see you were well in your own head and that the thoughts weren’t pleasant. The both of you had been under a lot of pressure lately, with finals and jobs and projects over the last few months, and he could tell it was getting to you. Besides that, he had missed you fiercely in the interim, often coming home to find you already asleep or still out. Sometimes you had left him something to eat but other times he was the one leaving you food. Little sticky notes adorned the fridge with thank you’s and other endearing notes to each other as well, reminding each of you that you weren’t alone.

He looked forward to those and the passing moments he could see you in the morning before classes or work. It was the only time you had, sipping coffee as you chatted about meaningless things before rushing around to get ready because you had wasted too much time talking, but you would do it again the next time anyway.

“Same,” you said, smiling. There was an odd feeling in your chest, like you had drank too much coffee, your heart racing far too fast for your liking. 

Iwa quirked a brow at the strange look on your face, like an amused grimace, and laughed when you poked your lip out. You glanced at him and the look morphed to one of happiness, and he rolled his eyes. “Come here, stupid. Let’s put Netflix on and watch Wipeout or something.”

He grunted at the impact of you launching yourself at his chest. The couch bounced as you cackled, squirming around until you could lean back his side and he pushed at your head in response, scowling.

“What’s wrong, Iwa?” you asked as you made yourself comfortable, pulling his arm down around your shoulders in a familiar manner. Tilting your head back, you continued to grin maniacally at him. “You seem annoyed.”

“Yeah, that’s because I have a bratty ass roommate who seems intent on aggravating me. Thought I’d seen the end of it when Shittykawa left,” he grumbled, but the corners of his lips turned up, a soft look in his eyes as he scowled. “Guess not.”

He flipped through the Netflix menu, looking for something to watch. They had removed Wipeout, but the search menu pulled up similar titles, and you pointed at the third one down.

“Guess not. What’s ‘The Floor Is Lava’? It looks similar,” you said, and he clicked into it. It was close enough so he hit play. “Anyway what’s new with you? What about that girl from your uh...chemistry class…?”

He had mentioned her a few times in the morning when you were supposed to be getting ready, but her name escaped you. Talking about her brought that same strange feeling back into your chest, and you squinted as you tried to recognize it. It was familiar somehow but foreign too, like you had experienced it before but it was so long ago you had forgotten. 

“Oh,” he said, and shifted uncomfortably. “Yeah it-- eh. I didn’t have time to spare and we kinda drifted apart.”

He didn’t tell you that most of the free time he did have was spent with you. At first he had been really into her, but as his schedule became more packed and he spent less time at home, he had had to make a choice. It was one he wasn’t even aware of making until she had pointed it out to him.

“I know she’s your best friend and all, but you spend more time with her than me!” she had griped one evening over video chat. It was the only time he really saw her anymore, and he squirmed at her accusation. It wasn’t incorrect and it left him feeling guilty because it wasn’t fair to her. When he didn’t answer, she scoffed. “Maybe you should date her instead, since you’re so up her ass!”

She had hung up and he had mulled it over for days afterwards, when he couldn’t push it from his mind. It felt wrong to consider you in that way, like he was doing something dirty, and the next time he saw you he felt almost sleazy. Her words flooded his brain again, causing his face to flush, turning away to continue fixing your coffees. It was a while before he felt settled again after that, his heart picking up speed every time your name flashed on his phone-- because of course he didn’t see you for days after that.

He had to tell himself it was normal to want to spend time at home with you rather than go out to bars or crowded restaurants after spending days on end coming in late from classes and work. Because it was normal right? To want to be with you in the comfort of the apartment than out with anyone else?

The tightness in your chest eased at his words, and you giggled, fiddling with his fingers. “Guess that explains why you’re here with me instead of out with her, huh? Kinda sucks, being so busy. We have no free time to do anything.”

Iwa nodded, pinching one of your fingers between his and squeezing, listening to you squeal playfully. It felt good to be spending time with you in a way he never felt with anyone else and he tried not to overthink it. “Yeah, but in a few days we’ll be responsibility free.”

“True. I can’t wait. ‘M gonna shut my phone off and let everyone assume I’m dead,” you said as you picked up your phone to scroll through your Insta. Oikawa had posted a new photo just before he went to bed of him mid-set to one of his team members, his tongue poking out between his lips as he concentrated. It was gorgeous, his skin much tanner than he had been while living in Japan and he was so pretty it almost hurt. You clicked the heart beneath it, one of the thousands already there. 

Part of you expected to be introduced to a new girlfriend when you arrived, and you weren’t sure how you’d feel about that. Picturing an unknown woman hanging around made you grimace, and you were gonna murder him if he did that.

Iwaizumi laughed, patting your hand. “Let’s not do that or they might send someone after us, and I for one don’t feel like being chased through the streets of San Juan by Matsukawa and Hanamaki.”

“Yikes, you’re right,” you said, turning your attention from your phone to the TV, where a trio of people were currently navigating what appeared to be a bedroom. A comfortable silence fell, broken only by the sound of the TV and you passed the rest of the night that way.

⇥ masterlist

⍣ 365 days of sun series | next

[masonscig]

water

wayhaven summer fic #5

pairing | nate x ramona

word count | 2.1k

warnings | mention of sex, an innuendo

author’s note | i tried to figure out how to get around nate’s aversion to water, and i hit a wall so... i dug around it and decided to write an actor!au !!!! i’d seen a comic months and months ago by @/pvnkvampr and another one that i can’t seem to find again, but i wanted to take that and apply it to nate and ramona! nate’s the type to fall in love with his costar after years of working together and you can’t convince me otherwise. also, to clarify !!! the beginning of the fic is supposed to be like nate x ramona’s romance route so any of the exposition centered around their relationship being fleeting/him being deeply in love with her is nate the character rather than the actor! (you’ll see lmao i’m definitely overexplaining) this is a bit of a stretch bc they’re on the water... and ramona drinks water. but whatever it works !!!!!

•─────────────────•

She was standing on the edge, looking out at the glimmering water, the sun, high in the sky, skipping off of each wave like a smooth rock.

The wind whipped her hair, tossing her short curls until they were unruly, and she was smiling.

Her grin was wide, eyes closed, as she inhaled, drinking it all in – the sunshine fueled her.

Half of Unit Bravo were under the deck, quietly stewing in annoyance. They’d given up complaining to Ramona, though. Frankly, she didn’t care.

Farah was passed out on the floor underneath a sliver of shade at the top of the yacht, chest heaving as she slept soundly. Ramona had taught her how to swim earlier, and she’d used all of her energy flailing around determinedly in the relentless July rays.

Nate watched her as she held her arms out to her sides, fingers outstretched, chin tipped towards the sky.

She was unbridled joy held together by the strings of her bikini, and she radiated a warmth that could rival even the summer sun itself.

So unrestrained that changes didn’t phase her – most conflict rolled off her shoulders in a way that startled Nate, a being who’d existed for hundreds of years and had seen the best and the worst of it.

Nothing baffled him more than this part of his existence.

The way love fell into his lap and he didn’t have to try anymore. 

But despite it all, he’d deluded himself into thinking it was permanent – they were permanent. And they weren’t. And that was okay.

“Oh, you’re back!” She grinned, stretching her arm out until her fingertips grazed his bare arm, her palm warm against his skin. “I was wondering what you were up to.”

“I had to do a quick wellness check of our crew –”

“– Oh my god, are Adam and Morgan still seething down there?–” She asked, cutting him off with a laugh.

“– Very much so, I’m afraid,” he said, his mischievous smile betraying his tone.

“I thought a tiny little shindig would be better than a huge shebang, you know?” She turned in his grip, back against the railing, his arms curled around the bare skin of her waist.

“You’re still trying to stump me? Give it a rest, love,” Nate laughed into the thick mess of curls at the top of her head, pressing a kiss to her sun-warmed strands.

“I will say a phrase you don’t know and then you’ll owe me some juicy Agency secrets,” she giggled, snaking her arms around his neck.

“Like what?” He asked, lips straining at corners, his grin threatening to falter.

“Like how the hell does Morgan wear jeans and no underwear? That’s something I can’t for the life of me wrap my mind around,” she all but shuddered.

“That’s an answer you’ll have to coax out of her, unfortunately.” He said, a bit distracted.

“You know you can keep your Agency secrets, mister secret agent. I have no need for ‘em,” she stuck her tongue out, still stained bright red from the margarita she’d finished hours before.

He must’ve looked puzzled, because she continued, inching in closer until he could feel her everywhere and it wasn’t in the least bit appropriate.

“We both know you have even juicier secrets to spill,” she said, before leaning in to whisper the last bit, her fingers tangled through his hair.

“And I’ll lap up every last drop of ‘em,” she murmured, kissing his earlobe.

The pads of his fingers were sunken into the flesh of her hips, and he tried desperately to anchor himself to spare the others, but he couldn’t get a grip on anything but her warm, warm, sunkissed skin –

He blanked.

His thoughts were scrambled and he couldn’t form words. Couldn’t recall the words he needed to say. But he could see the paper so clearly –

“Line?” He mumbled, feeling her go limp with disappointment in his arms.

Farah groaned from across the deck.

“Cut!” The director yelled, and all but stormed over to him. “What happened out there? You were on a fuckin’ roll! The chemistry was insane. God, I wish you could’ve been watching –”

“Don’t make him feel like shit over it, Craig,” she gently warned, stepping forward just a bit until she’d angled her body between them. “I flubbed my lines all last week and he was so patient with me.”

Craig sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose, the wrinkled skin between his brows crinkling even further. “Alright, alright, I get it. Not gonna hound you over one take, but I need you to get it in gear, man. We’ve only got a couple more hours of sunlight in this godforsaken shitheap, and we’ve gotta wrap this part up so we can film the sunset kiss –”

“I understand. I won’t mess it up this time,” Nate promised, glancing over to his co-star with an apologetic smile.

Ramona shrugged, waving his statement away. “It’s fine, seriously. I’m totally okay with running that again.” “Speak for yourself! I’m dying out here,” Farah called from across the deck before turning back to the hair and makeup people, pursing her lips for more lip balm and sunscreen. “Please get it right this time, Agent Sewell.”

“That’s just the name of my character –”

“I’m well aware of that,” she yelled, cutting him off. “Method acting. You get it.”

His co-star shook her head, patting him on the back. “Don’t mind Miss Hauville. She’s just upset she was dragged out here to lie down on a hot sundeck like a dead body for half of an episode.”

He laughed at that, relieved that his co-star was keeping things light.

Truth be told, he’d had a rough time getting his on-screen family to cooperate with him, much like the character Nate Sewell.

Adam’s actor was a notoriously nice guy, but he had a knack for intense method acting, so he’d been a stoic asshole for months – there was no getting through to that guy when he was in filming mode. Morgan’s actress was a bit of a wildcard. She was fucking the executive producer and everyone except Craig knew it.

Farah’s actress was arguably the biggest success of them all – she was constantly booked and busy and effortlessly making headlines. And it was becoming increasingly obvious that she was only there as a favor, not because she wanted to.

She was a film star who never touched TV, but hell, she was half the reason millions of people tuned into the pilot episode.

The Wayhaven Chronicles wouldn’t be the same without her, or Ramona’s actress, the fan favorite. Yeah, she was the protagonist, but the cast, crew, fans, and everyone alike loved her.

And he had a bit of a crush.

He was aware that on set romances usually fell apart before they could really begin, but he couldn’t help it.

Not only did he spend nearly all of his free time with her running lines and hanging out in her trailer, but to make matters worse his character was canonically falling for hers, and… he found himself enamored with her, too.

He’d never admitted it out loud, and probably never would, but it was getting harder and harder to push those feelings away when they had to share an on screen kiss.

Season one wasn’t too bad, considering they were just testing the waters to see who the fan favorite love interest was out of the four of them, but by the end of it, social media had all but rioted to lock in the “Natemona” romance plot.

And there they were, well into season two, a handful of kisses shared (a lot more than that considering the reshoots and the practicing) and a plot decided.

And he was into her – way more than he’d like to admit.

The rest of filming went pretty smoothly. He got over his nerves and kissed her like a champ, and they got patted on the back for their realistic chemistry by all the execs and producers on set.

When they finally broke for a quick food break, she followed him to his trailer.

“People are gonna eat this episode up, huh?” She asked, closing the door behind them and grabbing a water bottle from his fully stocked mini-fridge.

“Surely they will,” he agreed, stepping around her to grab his salad from the fridge. “If they were rallying for the relationship before, they’ll be vindicated this episode.”

She laughed into the rim of her bottle before chugging it. “So why were you frazzled today? Something at home?”

He eyed her, raising a brow.

She held her hands up in mock surrender, before plopping onto the couch across from him. “You don’t have to answer, dude, I’m just lending my ear.”

He chewed thoughtfully, trying to choose his words wisely. He swallowed, took another bite, chewed.

His mind was just as blank as the deck scene.

He shook his head before setting his food down. “I’m sorry I’ve been off today.”

“I don’t care if you’re not feeling like yourself. It’s normal to have an off day. I just wanna know if you’re okay,” she said with a tenderness that he’d never heard from a co-star before. 

“To be quite honest, you’ve been distracting me,” he admitted, timidly.

She pursed her lips. “What can I do to fix it?” 

He squirmed in his seat. God, this was a lot harder than he thought it’d be.

“It’s, uh, nothing you can really fix. It’s all me.”

“Well, what can I do to help?”

He shook his head again, glancing away from her.

“Look, I know Craig’s been rough on us this week, but don’t let it get to you. We can practice more –”

“It’s not that, I promise.”

She waited, sensing that he had more to say. He took a deep breath, then continued.

“It’s something I don’t want to admit to you. It’s embarrassing.”

“Honey, my last job involved waxing places that would make your grandmother gasp. I promise nothing phases me,” she joked, running a hand through her hair.

“There’s… quite a few lines Nate says this season that I’ve resonated with,” he started, trying to figure out what he was gonna pull out of his ass.

She sipped her drink, waiting.

“Things like… ‘I care for you, Ramona’ and, uh, ‘You’re important to me’,” he said, twisting the ends of his summery button up shirt between his fingers.

“Yeah, same here. We’ve become really close –”

She stopped abruptly the moment she noticed the look in his eye. And the subtext hit her like a truck.

“The things Nate feels for Ramona… I find myself feeling for you,” he admitted, hesitantly, looking anywhere but her face.

“If you don’t feel the same, that’s okay. I’ve just developed a bit of a workplace crush that I can’t quite shake, and that’s my fault –”

She stood from the couch, and he glanced up at her, finally, nervous to see how she’d taken it.

And before he could register what was happening, her lips were on his – a sweet tender kiss. 

One that, scarily enough, felt exactly like the last time they’d kissed. And the time before that. And the time before that. And the time before that. 

When she pulled away, she cupped his cheeks with the softest touch in the world, gazing down at him with an expression like she’d gotten the best news of her life.

“Those kisses weren’t just practice to me, either,” she whispered, stroking the pad of her thumb across his stubble. “I just wasn’t sure if you felt the same.”

He blanked. Again.

He couldn’t find any words, so he did what Nate would do. What he wished he’d had the courage to do for over a year.

Gently enclosing his arms around her waist, he tugged her down to the couch with him, planting kisses across her face, cheeks, nose, lips, over and over and over, revelling in the broken giggles that erupted from her.

Maybe allowing the essence of Nate Sewell and how he loved pervade his life over the past year and a half of filming was the right step. It’d gotten him the girl, after all.

[damerondala]

🍒 Okay tub time with Kix? 😗👌🏻 Exquisite. So good. Where do i find such a caring man ugh and a clean bathtub chores suck

New Cherry Thot of the Week… This one’s hella self-indulgent but don’t worry bestie, i’m dragging you along for the ride too… Picture it: The Marauder, 19 BBY (did i spend 3 minutes looking that up for this dumb joke? yeah…) Somehow, you and I have joined up with the Bad Batch on some kind of mission. Details don’t matter because the important thing is we’re sharing a tiny spaceship with 5 hunks. 🥰 But obvs we have our favorites… I’m going with Wrecker for you (i know you love Hunter too, but just hear me out, this thot has a purpose) and Crosshair for me.

But here’s the thing. We somehow figure out they like us back (maybe Tech spills the beans), AND they have a bet going… Who can win us over first? Because these 2 are always competing over something with each other right?

And like hot damn, but also ohh there’s so much we can do with this info 😈 We both start teasing our respective guys, leading them on a little, not giving in to their flirting or anything so they can’t say they’ve won the bet for a while. They get more frustrated. More… pent up… And… well… so do we…

Uh oh. Maybe we can’t play this much longer. Maybe one day it’s too much, and one of us races to our crush prepared to just kiss them silly, only to find they had the same idea. And then afterward we try to find the other, and discover they couldn’t hold out with their guy either 🙈 And maybe it’s awkward, maybe Wrecker and Crosshair argue over who actually won forever, but it was kinda weirdly fun anyway. We’re happy, and happy for each other. /EndofSappyStory 🍒

cherry. my love. my life.

this might be the best thing that you have ever gifted me holy fuck the way i BLUSHED while reading this??? whooooooo jesus i love this so much!!! 😭 okay lots to unpack here:

1. excellent golden girls reference again. made me giggle and i appreciate the research tech would be proud of u hehe

2. you and i being bffs in this thot made me so happy aw

3. EXCELLENT CHARACTER CHOICE FOR US OMFG i couldn't stop thinking about the "don't worry wrecker you'll top him next time" "no he wOnT" while reading bc omfg those lines applied to this kind of bet????? AAAAHHHHH IM HAVING A CRISIS

i'm gonna write this in sections, actual encounters with the boys happen in sections 3 and 4 with our sexy murder toothpick man being up first! also this is gonna be pre-omega but post-echo joining the batch 

self indulgent filth and fluff in the form of some reader insert thots below ;) 

18+ as always kiddies. i really hope you enjoy! this was so fun to write 

section 1: the bet 

so i imagine this happening right after you guys joined the squad

and it certainly didn't take long for crosshair and wrecker to realize their feelings for you two beautiful women, although one was more brazen about his feelings than the other

one day when hunter had sent you and your friend into a market to pick up a short list of supplies, they got to talking 

crosshair made an offhand remark about his girls’ ass which made wrecker fidget, he never was very composed when it came to pretty girls and this caused all the other members of the batch share knowing looks and smirks

“wrecker if you’re trying to be discreet about your feelings for ___ you’re going to have to do stop fidgeting.” tech noted, rolling his eyes when wrecker started stuttering out excuses but he was cut off by echo

“give ‘im a break. at least he isn't as vulgar as crosshair” 

“you’re just jealous she doesn't flirt with you, mir'osik” (i had to search up insults in mando’a and this one means shit for brains and when i tell you i died laughing okay anyways sorry)

this made echo roll his eyes, deciding it wasn't worth it to fight over whatever stupid insult the sniper threw at him

wanting to stir the pot juuust a bit, hunter proposed a challenge for his vod. he should be the good influence on his brothers, but he couldn't help but want to see where these crushes would take them

he could hear the girls’ heartbeats intensify around their respective crushes anyways, so he had a pretty good feeling that they felt the same about his batch mates

“don’t know about the rest of you, but i want to see who can win his girl over first” this was met with a smirk from crosshair, a blush from wrecker, and side glances shared between echo and tech

“easy.” crosshair drawled, he knew he had this in the bag

he may be quieter than the others but boy was he was observant, taking note of the way her words had a hard time flowing out of her pretty mouth when he was in close proximity of his girl

wrecker on the other hand didn’t want to make her uncomfortable, in his eyes she was just so sweet. innocent, really. she wouldn’t want the same treatment he knew crosshair had in mind for his girl

the peering eyes of his squad made the large man cave with a sigh, “fine.”

section 2: the slip up

weeks had gone by since the boys established their little competition and you, your friend, and tech were working on some small repairs around the ship

you and your friend had noticed some increased...flirting from your respective guys

crosshair paid more compliments and lingering touches that seemed genuine

and wrecker flirted the best way he knew how; lifting too heavy objects and reaching for items in the tall cargo holds, handing them down with a gentle smile

tech, being the most blunt member of the squad, commented on the whispers you exchanged, dropping a surprising truth on both of your ears:

“well of course they are trying to flatter you. how else do you settle a bet to win each of you over the fastest?” 

tech watched the two women freeze before him, sharing shocked looks before turning their attention to him, realization hit his gut like a crate of durasteel, and he swallowed under your stern gazes

“what do you mean, goggles?” 

“they...like us?”

tech’s cheeks burned red hot, was his brow beginning to sweat? maker, it felt like it 

this was the one time he didn’t feel like explaining himself, instead choosing to coyly excuse himself from the two pairs of watchful eyes

he left you and your friend to stare at each other before both rolling your eyes, “well now we know who spills secrets the easiest” your friend chuckled, shaking her head 

after a few moments of silence you both spoke up, deciding there wasn’t that much harm in playing along with the two members of the batch. you were fond of them, after all

you both continued chuckling about the situation, mostly out of disbelief that the flirting and teasing wasn’t just a hopeful facade your minds made up

once the repairs were completed, you both retired to opposite ends of the ship, minds full of deliberation of how you would handle this new information 

section 3: the gunport 

you were sat in the gunport, musing the situation you found yourself in, hands picking at your fingernails in an effort to curb your nerves 

on one hand you didn’t want to ruin the bond you had with the marksman

what if he was just flirting out of pure boredom? there isn’t much to do in a confined ship like this anyways, he might as well pass the time flirting with a woman in his general vicinity 

but it just had to mean something

no way the whispered compliments - most of them accompanied with a wink, no less - meant absolutely nothing to him 

you decided that you had enough, this was going to eat you alive if you didn't get to the bottom of what was going on in that head of his

with a huff, you stood straight and turned around to exit the space

but you were met with a silver haired man climbing up the ladder

you both froze, both internally freaking out at the basically forced confrontation

oh gods what is he doing up here? did he read my mind??

...shit what do i do i forgot everything i was going to say to her 

you nervously chuckled, figuring that you were going to go talk to him anyways so might as well get this over with

“crosshair... um i need to ask you something”

“no, i need to tell you something cyar’ika. i’m tired of sitting here and watching you walk around all day, not being able to show you how i feel.”

now that left you speechless, mouth slightly hanging open in shock to which he deeply chuckled at, “hope this isn't the first time i leave you speechless.” 

there it was, that smug attitude that made you roll your eyes but also ignited a heat in your lower abdomen

with a smirk, you decided to play it back to him. two can play at this game, lanky

“well it’d be pretty rude to not demonstrate what you had in mind, trooper”

this was the green light crosshair needed, quickly heaving himself up the last few rungs of the ladder, his hands immediately finding your waist and snatching you close, pressing a firm kiss to your lips

your hands flung up to catch the sides of his sharp cheeks, humming at the feel of his scruff under your palms as you coyly push your tongue through his lips, hoping he’ll welcome your tongue into his mouth

he does, and you are exploring each other in the most delicious way, causing soft moans and sighs to leave both of you

while you were entranced by crosshair’s mouth on yours, you didn't realize he was pushing you back onto the chair of the gunport until you were sat down and he was kneeling in between your legs, his nimble fingers clutching your thighs and hips

in a matter of minutes crosshair had managed to get your bottoms completely off, your slick panties hooked on one ankle, and your thighs over his shoulders

for a man who could run his mouth, he sure proved it 

expert fingers entered your weeping cunt while his tongue prodded your bundle of nerves with sharp, quick strokes

he’s beaming at the way you’re trying to support yourself on shaky arms and trapping his head to your cunt with the backs of your calves, the sight of your head thrown back and the whimpers coming out of your mouth making him harder than he had been in a looong time

his fingers and mouth brought to your orgasm quick and hard, nearly screaming his name as your toes curled in bliss 

he took his time in working you through it, making sure he could draw it out. he could get used to this.

when you can finally open your eyes and look him in the eye, you’re kissing him again, enjoying the moan he lets out at the feel of your tongue tasting yourself on him 

you decide it’s his turn, and you’re pushing him into your previous spot, smiling at the way his eyes slightly widen at the way you took charge 

crosshair wants to say some sexy remark, something that he knows will get you to sheepishly smile and look away but he can’t, not with the sight of you sinking down to your knees and slowly pulling down his blacks, keeping eye contact and granting him a playful glint in your eye

you can't help but want to tease him just a bit, running your tongue over the bulge in his blacks

he tries his hardest to not be loud but maker, is he loud when you finally take him into your mouth and down your throat 

you’ve quickly found that he enjoys eye contact while in this vulnerable state, nearly shaking when he sees your eyes brimming with tears trying not to choke on his length 

one hand sneaking down to alternate cupping his balls is what pulls him over the edge, crying out with your name living on his tongue 

you swallow his release, again utilizing eye contact to your benefit and drawing out another prolonged moan from him 

it makes you smile in pride, loving how this hard, unyielding man turned into such a mess while you had your way with him 

crosshair pats his lap and expectantly looks at you, waiting for you to perch up onto his lap, straddling him 

despite being a skinnier guy, crosshair wraps you up in the warmest, most secure-feeling snuggle you have honestly ever experienced 

after sharing such an intimate moment with you, he began whispering sweet nothings into your ear, about how gorgeous he thinks you are, how much he cares for you 

it’s honestly kind of shocking but welcome nonetheless, cross can be kind when he wants to and you are very glad that this was the outcome of your dancing around each other for months 

section 4: the interruption 

you retreated back to your room, honestly just wanting to sleep and get your mind off the day

it was becoming harder and harder to not just pounce on wrecker, but you didn't want to just give it up so quickly 

and to be honest, you had a bad feeling that tech was full of it

you struggled with self esteem issues for as long as you could remember, so it was difficult to believe the 'genious’ of the batch when he said that wrecker had feelings for you 

despite your trepidations, your mind couldn't stop thinking about him, his broad shoulders, toned arms, huge thighs...

your hand slithered down your torso, slipping underneath the waist band of your bottoms and slowly circling your clit as images of wrecker effortlessly lifting anything that crossed his path filled your mind, honestly wishing it was you he was lifting

perhaps lifting you to brush your pussy on his nose, his tongue exploring your womanhood enough to make you shout his name

but apparently that last part was not all in your head

although you didn't shout it, wrecker definitely heard the way you whispered out his name in a moan in the dark room

he really hadn’t meant to barge in, but after a few knocks with no answer  he began to worry

he came by to tell you how he felt with absolutely no expectation of sleeping with you. truthfully, he gave up on trying to get into your pants, he was willing to lose the bet with crosshair, he knew he wasn’t as smooth as his brother anyways 

while he obviously would never be opposed to making love with you, he figured that you deserved to be courted beforehand, and he thought there was no way you’d want to share your body in such an intimate way with somebody like him 

but the sight he was greeted with was enough to prove himself wrong

you, spread out on your bed with your hand moving diligently under your thin lounge shorts and you moaning his name made him subconsciously let out a loud gasp 

that you absolutely heard, eyes snapping open and hand coming to an abrupt halt, ripping out from under your bottoms

“wr-wrecker! what are you doing here?!”

“i- uhhh- i didn’t see anything! erm, i'm sorry, mesh’la”

by now you had your blankets covering you, despite being fully clothed, and were looking at him with mortified eyes

wrecker still stood in the doorway, unsure if he should let this opportunity pass him by

if you had told him to leave he would, he’d do anything you said, but the fact that you made no move to force him into leaving made him linger

“i'm...sorry if im overstepping mesh’la but i just- i can't stop thinking about you. and well,” he gestured to your form, still cradling the blankets to your heaving chest, “i think you think about me too”

of course you couldn't deny it, he had just seen you pleasuring yourself and moaning his name, what the hell kind of excuse could you come up with? none, that's what 

his sheepishness made your heart soar, realizing he probably was just as nervous as you

deciding to cut him some slack, you slowly rose up, blanket falling to the ground as you sauntered over to his frozen frame

whispering, “you're right. do- do you want to stay?” 

you had the poor man at a loss for words, eagerly nodding at your proposition and allowing you to take his hand and lead him to your bed, pushing him down so you could straddle his lap

his large cock bulging through the thin fabric of his blacks and pushing against your already hot cunt made you cry out

pure adrenaline coursed through both of you, hushed moans leaving your mouths as you steadily ground down onto him, his hand tangled in your hair and the other kneading your breast

your lips broke away from his mouth and you smirked at the look on his face, absolutely fucking giddy that this was finally happening, he had been dreaming about this moment since he first saw you

the sounds he made while you sucked on the sensitive skin of his neck encouraged you to slip a small hand down the front of his blacks and pull his thick cock out, heat flooding your body at the hiss he let out when you started slowly jacking him off 

your legs were in the perfect position for him to push your shorts down and over your ass, fingers picking up where you left off and circling your clit, working you open to take one of his massive fingers

the more you squeezed his throbbing shaft, the louder wrecker became 

and not wanting anybody to hear you two fooling around, you glued your mouth to his, tongues mingling in heat

the excitement of the entire situation made it not last very long overall, but you both had intense orgasms regardless

wrecker curled his - now two - fingers inside you just right, and your continued squeezes and strokes of his cock made him finish, his cum coating your palm 

both of you were shaking, muffled groans and gasps filled the room until you were coming down from your simultaneous orgasms

after coming back down to the moment, wrecker chuckled and flopped down on his back, bringing you with him to crash onto his chest

you both giggled like a couple of smitten teenagers who were experiencing their first love, relishing in the butterflies in your stomachs, we just did that

“been waiting a long time to do that, doll” wrecker’s big hands rubbed up and down your curves, closing his eyes and smiling at your laugh, “i know”

his head shot up at that, “you know?” the way his eyebrows furrowed up made your chest tighten with admiration, smiling cheekily down at him, “of course i do. tech told us gals.” you leaned down to place a peck on his chin, “you think you won the bet?”

“dunno. but I feel like i just won the entire galaxy.” 

it honestly didn't make much sense in your post-orgasm daze, but the endearing tone made you smile and kiss him once again

section 5: the hallway 

after your respective encounters with your boys, you ran to your friend, bumping into her in the hallway, the tight space echoing your giggles and shrieks of excitement throughout the entire ship

you both were so flustered and giddy that you were talking over each other, just needing to tell her about what just happened 

“i just sucked-”

“you will not believe-” 

you both stopped and laughed even harder, holding onto each other for support, then your friend took a deep breath and smiled, “you first.”

the sounds emitted from you two not only made your boys smile and their chests swell with pride but also coerced some chuckles from the other members of the batch 

they all knew how long these...events were in the making and how eager cross and wrecker were becoming 

and in all honesty they were glad their brothers had found happiness in two girls like yourselves 

nice, funny, and obviously in love with their brothers

they really could’t have asked for better women to take care of their family 

~

taglist! (fill out this if you’d like to be added): 

@djarrex, @pastelpanda19, @rebelpitstop, @sageislostinspring, @shiny-mando

[gallivantingheart]

the proposal pt.2

who?: jeonghan x (f)reader

word count: 1077

genre/s: fluff and a bit of fun

warnings: one - maybe two - swear words

synopsis: jeonghan has never been confused on how you feel about marriage - now it’s just a matter of how to do it.

a/n: just a fun diddy bc i love this sleepy man - no, not based off that movie with sandra bullock. also! part two!

You look out to the living room from the little backyard, where the music has suddenly been turned down. It’s not even nightfall yet - had someone already made a noise complaint? What a buzzkill. Turning back to face Jeonghan, you find him smiling right at you and your question dries up on your lips. It’s bright and rare, something that most don’t see often. You return the expression with creased brows. Everyone has gone a little quiet, adding to the confusion.

“‘Hannie...what’s going on? What am I missing?” you murmur, leaning close.

He laughs, grabbing your hand to swing it gently between you. In the corner of your eye you can see Jun brimming with energy and his partner whispering to calm down. He’s so excited and you can feel the tension rise. Mingyu has his camera out and it panics you a little. Jeonghan twists a little to fish something out of his jacket pocket.

“You know how I hassled you for a party for your new client?” You nodded. “Well, I kind of lied. That’s not what this party is for.”

Your eyes find his free hand and you shakily gasp at the sight. A little navy blue box only seen in jewellers. Jeonghan giggles a little as he shifts to kneel on one knee. You suddenly feel too underdressed for the moment, your long floral summer dress something better for a beach day than a damn proposal. You’re glad it’s a small audience though - well, as small as it can be for Seventeen and your lot of friends. His glittering eyes haven’t left you and despite the moment of quiet, you’re filled with good nerves.

“I know you’re not one for a big fuss, so I’ll try to keep this short, huh?” Jeonghan chuckles nervously for you. “I love you. So much. I wish I could write songs better because then I might be able to make how I feel make more sense. How your best days are mine. And you can ease my mind so simply. No matter how much you might confuse me and I might annoy you, we’ve been there for each other for a lot. And I want to be there for each other for the rest of our lives. Get a cat - or two or three, maybe even a dog - have kids with my smile that you like so much but your eyes and your laugh because that’s what told me I was in love with you. I want my future to be love with you - with us. So darling, will you marry me?”

By now you’re sobbing, the hand not laced with his wiping away sniffling streams of tears. But you’re smiling and so is he. Your glassy gaze pulls away from the simple ring as you hiccup a laugh.

“I-I-I, fuck.” Everyone laughs as you curse to get yourself together. “Yes. Y-Yes I’ll marry you, Jeonghan. Of c-course. But why’d you have to make me cry?”

He giggles again as he finally lets your hand go for the first time to slip the ring on your finger, pushing just to make sure it’s snug. There’s cheering but you ignore it in favour of stooping down to press a soft, maybe a little wet, kiss to his lips. He pulls back to stand, dotting a kiss to the knuckles by your ring before dabbing your cheeks dry.

“I’m sorry I made you cry, I didn’t mean to.” He only half-lies, mock pouting at your teary expression. “But, I love you.”

“I love you too.”

You move your arms around his shoulders to lace your fingers through his hair, which he insisted needed a cut to kiss him again, longer than the others. Your sigh is still a little wobbly against his mouth but he doesn’t make a note of it, too engrossed in you. He glows happily, the setting sun amplifying it and the two of you don’t realise till much later that it became one of the moments that Minghao chose to photograph from that evening. (He puts it together for you two later in a little Instagram post that makes you cry, again.)

Chaewon as well as your gaggle of friends swarm you, gushing over the engagement ring as if they’d never seen one before and the members congratulate Jeonghan on a job well done for the party.

He doesn’t let go of you for the rest of the party though, which you don’t mind at all. That night, curled up in your bed, the two of you admire it as it glimmers in the sliver of moonlight peeping through your bedroom curtains. Somehow the weight feels right - like you had been waiting for it. His eyes are drowsier than usual but warm as he turns his head to press a kiss wherever it can land.

“I love you.” he says again.

You hum. “Love you too. I’m so afraid I’m gonna lose it though. I’m going to have to get it on a chain or something.”

Jeonghan makes a gravelly noise of surprise, sitting up as suddenly as he can to dash out of the room. You sit up too, twisting to turn a lamp on, confused again - it wasn’t like you to be so unclear on things. When he pads back in, his striped pants dragging the floor, he holds the ring box again. Your fiancé flops back under the covers and opens the box, pulling the ring cushion out. Underneath is a snaking string of metal with clasps.

He smirks proudly. “I knew you were going to say that, so I thought ahead and brought one of those too so we wouldn’t have to later. Here, pass the ring.”

You chuckle, wriggling the white gold band off. The blonde strings it on, holding it up for you to inspect. It’s not too short that it’s uncomfortable, instead long enough to slip underneath a collar of a loose blouse or shirt. 

“I’m impressed, Hannie. Thinking ahead. But, I should have expected nothing less, huh?”

“Yeah. Turn?”

You do so and feel the cool metal rest against your skin and the end of the chain drop to the base of your neck. Lying down again and turning your light off, you exhale to yawn.

“Ah, okay darling. Big day.” You hear him say in your hair. “Good night, soon-to-be Mrs Yoon.”

“Huh, ‘night soon-to-be Mr. L/N.”

“Hey!”

“We’ll discuss this tomorrow. You’ll see.”

[side-effect-of-the-meds]

PLEASE write about Andrew & Jean being chaotic and bitter bffs on the same team the power they would have the intimidation level the fashionable goth energy,,, w ow also I want Andrew to learn French so badly which we all know he would if Jean started insulting him in French

IT WON’T BE UP ANY TIME SOON but I’m writing a fic about Andrew visiting Renee’s for winter break in his final year of college in which he’s forced to spend the week sharing a space with Jean. 

Over the course of said week, they form a tentative alliance that’s essentially that We’re Not So Different You And I bit by John Mulaney 

Anyway, that’s like mid-way through Andrew’s fourth year. They don’t speak again until a little before Andrew’s graduation. The Foxes have just won the Championships they made it to finals last year and lost the last  game :’( and so they’re having a party. Andrew needed some air so he stepped outside and, a little while later, he hears footsteps on the porch behind him. Jean sits down, leaving some space between the two of them so as not to crowd Andrew, and just sort of slides a piece of paper over. Andrew keeps up his cool guy facade for a while, assuming Jean will break first. He does. 

“Would you just look at it?” Jean snarled. Andrew flicked him a cool look before, picking up the paper painstakingly slowly. He held it up to his own face, not bothering to actually read it. “Illiterate too, I see.” Andrew could barely keep the scowl off his face. He squinted at the stack of papers he picked up. 

“Why?” he asked. 

“Our goalkeep is, how you say? A piece of shit.”  

“You’re giving him more credit than he deserves,” Andrew cut in, his lips curling in a sneer. 

“I’m getting tired of being the last line of defense. It’s hard not having anyone to watch your back,” Jean said, shooting a meaningful look at Andrew. He elected to ignore it in favor of taking another drag of his cigarette. Jean muttered something that sounded like a curse before standing up and disappearing back into Abby’s house.

A month later, Jean stepped out of his apartment wondering which horrid little monsters the Cardinals had signed now. Turning towards the stairs, he found his answer waiting for him. 

“There’s no point in both of us driving down there. You make breakfast and I’ll drive,” the gremlin said. It wasn’t an offer or even a demand. He said it as though he were stating a fact. 

“The arrogance of Americans never fails to amaze me,” Jean shot back. 

“You’ve got dual citizenship, Frenchie. I’m sorry to say it, but that makes you one of us.” With that, the little monster turned on his heel and headed down the stairs. Jean muttered a steady stream of curses as he followed Andrew out to the Maserati

Having Andrew on his team is literally the worst. All he ever does is laze around. Sometimes, he’ll just lay down in the middle of the goal and stare at the ceiling. Jean gets a lot of shit for it bc he’s the one that recommended him for the line. It’s the day of their first game and tensions are high at practice when Jean loses his temper. He picks up an exy ball and hurls it at Andrew. Without even looking up, Andrew catches it with one hand. He stands slowly and throws it back so fast that Jean doesn’t have time to react. The ball wedges itself into the grate of his helmet, the force of it knocking him off his feet. Everyone assumes that Andrew isn’t going to play that night or will just be his asshole self but, when Jean finds himself struggling to hold the line, Andrew gets sent out and he’s an absolute monster in the goal. Every shot that comes his way gets deflected all the way down the court. The last goal of the night is made in the final seven seconds when Andrew slams a shot all the way down the court into the opposing goal. It lights up red and the crowd loses their shit. Exhausted, Jean collapses on the floor. 

“It’s hard not having anyone to have your back,” Andrew said as he passed by. By the time Jean found his voice, Andrew was already gone. Catching a ride home with one of the strikers, Jean felt a tightness in his chest. Andrew was an annoyingly lazy little bastard but Jean should have trusted him.

Jean doesn’t know how to apologize. Words are wasted on the likes of Andrew so he says nothing. He wakes early to make breakfast the next morning and says a silent prayer. Andrew is never late to anything but, when 6:30 rolls around and he isn’t there Jean’s heart plummets. He leaves the plate out on the counter while he eats. The ticking of the clock is deafeningly loud. At 6:47 there’s a knock at the door and Jean nearly faceplants in his hurry to answer it. 

“Your food’s gone cold,” Jean blurted out. Andrew turned a glare on him but said nothing as he shouldered his way into the apartment. Dark circles rimmed his eyes. His shoulders sagged, weighed down by exhaustion. There was no way he’d gotten a wink of sleep last night. 

“Moreau,” a voice said from the door. Jean whipped around to see Matt Boyd standing at the door. How he’d missed such a tall person standing in his doorway, Jean didn’t know. “Mind if I come in?” Jean stepped aside and Matt moved in. 

“Are you hungry?” Jean asked, haltingly. Boyd was the starting backliner for the Virginia Cavaliers, a whole state over. What the hell was he doing here? 

“I could eat,” Matt said brightly. He grabbed hold of a chair and dragged it over to where Andrew sat. 

“Not out of my plate,” Andrew snapped when Matt made to steal his eggs. Jean made his way to the kitchen to fix a third plate. From the dining room he could hear Andrew’s voice and Boyd’s laughter. Handing the plate over to him, Jean took his seat at the far end of the table. For the next quarter of an hour, Boyd rambled on about something or the other. If you asked Jean what he’d talked about, he wouldn’t have been able to say. He was far too absorbed in watching Andrew. 

The usual tension that pervaded his form had fallen away. Despite the obvious lack of sleep, Andrew seemed far more relaxed than usual. Every now and again, Jean saw his lips twitch up into the barest hint of a smile. From what he’d heard, Andrew had never had a good relationship with any of his teammates save Josten. But that made sense. Neil was his lover. What was it about Boyd that softened him so much? 

As soon as breakfast was finished and the plates cleaned, Jean disappeared back into his room to grab his phone. By the time he’d returned, both Andrew and Boyd were gone from the dining room. Jean found the pair blocking the open door. He stopped short when he heard Boyd’s voice. 

“I’ve missed you so much, Andy.” His words shook Jean to his core. 

“Yes or no?” Andrew asked quietly. Jean watched in stunned silence as Matt leaned down, mumbling yes a hair’s breadth away from Andrew’s lips. The second the word left his mouth, Andrew closed the distance between them. A soft moan slipped from Boyd’s lips and Jean watched in horror as he tangled his hands in Andrew’s hair. “Stop staring, Moreau,” Andrew said as he broke the kiss. 

“I thought that you and Josten-”

“We are,” Andrew cut in dismissively. “Matt is too.”

��Oh,” was all Jean could think to say. Back at the Nest, there had been no exclusive relationships. While most relationships in the real world weren’t like that, Jean had heard there were still a few. Boyd said his goodbyes before heading down the hall to the back stairwell. Andrew started off in the other direction. Jean had to run after him once he’d locked the door. Neither of them spoke in the car. They never did but there was a weight to the silence now that Jean didn’t know what to do about. A thousand small talk topics flitted through his head but he knew Andrew wouldn’t appreciate any of it so he kept his mouth shut, contenting himself to stare out the window. 

Jean is ready to run by the time that they pull up at the court but he doesn't. He needs to prove that he’s going to have Andrew’s back so he stays with him. 

It’s kind of awkward for a while. Andrew doesn’t like having Jean towering over him from behind bc it makes him feel vulnerable so he’s always really tense. 

The turning point in their relationship is when a striker from another team tries to start a twitter feud with Andrew. He gets asked about it in an interview and the interviewer pulls a Kathy Ferdinand and reveals that the striker is backstage. Jean is sitting with Andrew for the interview and when they try to start shit live on air, Jean snaps. He cuts the striker a new one, roasting them within an inch of their life and the interview is forced to end bc the striker throws a punch. Andrew steps in front of Jean, catching the punch with ease and judo flipping them. 

Neither of them really acknowledge that it happened but, when Andrew comes to breakfast the following Monday, he brings a loaf of sweet bread that he baked over the weekend. 

Things kind of settle after that. Sometimes Andrew leaves recipes for foods he wants and Jean starts filling their silences with something other than the news. He complains about Americans and moons over Jeremy and starts teaching Andrew French too. 

Jean has his own tiktok and most of his vids are of himself cooking and have Andrew reacting at the end but there’s a few subsections tho. One of them is Andrew and Jean and their baking escapades. It’s always super messy. Another is their ‘date nights’. On the weekends, the two of them get a little extra dressed up and go out to sample new restaurants.  They’re both massive foodies so they like to try new restaurants together. Andrew is a surprisingly picky eater and listening to him critic food is the most Jean has ever heard him speak. Platonic dates are actually incredibly nice n more ppl need to indulge in them. 

The final subsection is fashion/makeup. Jean likes to do makeup bc… why not? Sometimes, he manages to convince Andrew to let him be his model and does some really interesting looks on Andrew. Those videos never see the light of day but it’s something they do and it’s very important to Andrew. There’s something very intimate about letting Jean touch his face for hours on end but it also kind of feels nice. Also he loves the way Neil and Matt fawn over him when he skypes them with his makeup done. The fashion videos,  however, do go up. The two of them go to the mall p often and take turns styling each other. They do style challenges too where they’re both given the same horrible item (something like crocs or a really ugly sweater) and they have to make the other person look good in them. 

They do little nice things for each other. When Neil has a game against Bluefield, Jean gets Andrew front row tickets for him and manages to convince Matt to come down too. Andrew learns how to make french pastries that he leaves on Jean’s counter pretty often bc it reminds him of home. He also gets Allison to help him pull some strings and arrange for Jean to spend Christmas break in France with Jeremy. Jean doesn’t cry but he does tear up a little bit. 

Andrew is still a menace and you see that on his tiktok. He rigs ridiculous pranks like setting up a tripwire to dump glue and feather on him or wrapping all his stuff in plastic wrap.

[yeontanismypresident]

Blushing Bride | myg

a/n: sorry it’s so short and took so long. it seems my inspiration and motivation to write is still not at its fullest. hopefully i’ll get it back soon and i’ll come back and edit this. i also have only been to one wedding and that was like when i was 13 so i have no clue how they really go so sorry it’s not accurate lol.

pairing: min yoongi x reader

word count: 2.4k

genre: slight angst, fluff

warnings: doubts about marriage, implications of sex, fluff fluff fluffffff, marrying yoongi bc uwu

Those six months passed by in a blur, and before you knew it, it was a week before your wedding. A week before you both state, “I do.” You could feel your nerves getting increasingly worse. Thoughts of whether Yoongi truly wanted to marry you were swirling around in your head. What if he was having doubts? If he didn’t want to have you as his wife anymore? Luckily, Yoongi was always there to get rid of those insecurities.

One night, as the two of you were cuddled up on the couch watching a movie, you voiced these insecurities, “Yoongi, are you sure you want to marry me?” He looked at you with confusion plastered on his face.

“Of course I do. I wouldn’t have asked you in the first place if I didn’t,” he mumbled, holding you closer to him. He didn’t know where these thoughts were coming from, didn’t know if you were the one starting to doubt it. 

Sighing, you placed your chin on his chest and gazed into his eyes, “I just- what if you regret proposing to me? What if later on you realize this was a mistake and want a divorce? That I’m not good enough for you? Not skinny or pretty enough? You always said you didn’t care for marriage." 

He could see the fear in your eyes and heard the way your voice started breaking. Yoongi felt his heart clench at the sight, and he pulled you into a chaste kiss, effectively cutting off your panicked rambling. 

"Hey, none of that. I’m in love with you so fucking much and I never want to lose you. I should be the one worried. You’re literally so perfect and deserve so much better,” Yoongi said calmly, his gaze locked with your own.

Pressing his forehead to yours he whispered “I will love you no matter how you look, baby. You’re perfect to me, even with all the flaws you think you have.” His sincere words had tears sliding down your cheeks as you leaned up to kiss him tenderly. 

“I love you too,” you muttered against his lips, sighing as he deepened the kiss and tugged you to lay on top of him.

Shaking your head, you cleared your thoughts and focused back on the task at hand. It was now four days before the wedding, and tonight was your bachelorette party. Yoongi would be staying at the dorms while your friends came over to your shared apartment. There were drinks - lots of alcohol - and snacks on the table. A pile of movies was also arranged next to the refreshments. You’re making sure you have everything ready when you hear the doorbell. Walking over to your security system, you see the girls at your door, and you push the button to let them enter. 

“Y/n!!” Jinwoo shouted, pulling you into a hug. 

Chuckling, you pulled away from her “Hi, Jiwoon.” The others bring you into their own embraces, all stating how they’re ready for a night of fun. 

“I still don’t get why we weren’t allowed to hire a stripper,” Minsoo pouted as she crossed her arms. 

You giggled, leading the way to the living room where everything was, “Cause when Yoongi heard about it he got jealous and firmly stated there were to be no strippers." 

"We can still have fun without all of that, Minsoo,” Hana said, and you gave her a smile of gratitude.

If you were being honest, you didn’t even want an adult dancer. You were perfectly fine with a quiet night in. When the maknaes had told you they were bringing one to Yoongi’s bachelor party, you were the one to be jealous and put your foot down. So imagine your shock and anger when you receive a text from Jimin. 

Jimin: Sorry, Y/n. We couldn’t resist (; *image attached*

Inhaling a deep breath, you clicked on the message. A snort escaped you when you saw the picture. There Yoongi was, sitting on a chair with a bright red face. Someone was sitting on his lap with a flirtatious expression. It seems the ‘stripper’ they hired was actually Hoseok in short shorts and a crop top. 

“What are ya laughing at?” Jinwoo mumbled around the spoon in her mouth. There was chocolate sauce smeared across her lips and on her fingers. How the fuck did she already make a mess…?

You handed her your phone, allowing them to see the text “Apparently, Yoongi is getting a lap dance.” They all giggled, handing your phone back. The night went on, and you all had tons of fun.

The night before your wedding you were a shaking mess, worried for the next day. Once again Yoongi was spending the night at the dorms while the girls stayed with you. They could all see you were nervous and they didn’t know what to do to calm you down.

“Y/n, are you okay?” Hana asked you, her voice quiet. You hummed, leg bouncing, only stopping when Jinwoo placed her hand on your thigh. 

Glancing at them, you could see their concerned looks, “I’m fine. Just worried and excited for tomorrow. What if I trip while walking down the aisle? What if he’s not even at the end waiting?” You worried your lip between your teeth, leg starting to bounce again.

“Please, Yoongi is so whipped for you, and so in love, he’ll definitely be there waiting for you,” Minsoo stated, distracting you as Hana pulled out her phone. 

Jinwoo grabbed your hand, “Yeah, you’re the love of his life, babes. I mean, c'mon, he’s literally getting married to you when he doesn’t care for an official marriage." 

Before you can say anything, Hana handed you her cellphone. When you gave her a perplexed expression she nodded to it. Looking down at it, you could see an ongoing call with Seokjin and brought it up to your ear.

"Hello?” you asked, not expecting Yoongi’s voice to come through. 

His voice is soft and full of love, “I hear you’re nervous? Is it for the same reasons, or is it something different?" 

"I’m just…scared I’m going to trip, or you won’t be there waiting for me…” you trailed off, knowing he wasn’t going to like your words.

Yoongi sighed, “Baby, I promise you, I will be there waiting because you mean the world to me. And if you trip, then I’ll be there to catch you. You don’t have to be scared, love." 

"Alright…I love you,” you breathed out, a small smile on your lips.

He chuckled, and you could tell he had a huge grin when he spoke, “I love you too, princess. I’ll see you tomorrow." 

You hung up and handed Hana her phone back, thanking her quietly for what she did.

"Y/n, how do you feel?” Minsoo asked as she curled your hair. It was finally the day of your wedding, and your friends were helping you get dressed. 

You grinned, “I’m still anxious, but I think it’s more of an excited anxious.” She looked at you with happiness, glad you were feeling relaxed. 

“Oh, honey, you look so beautiful,” a soft feminine voice spoke. Glancing behind you in the mirror, you saw your mom and dad standing at the door. Minsoo backed up and allowed you to move around her. 

Quick to tug the two into a hug, you gave a soft greeting. “Hi mom, hi dad.” They returned the embrace, tears in their eyes as they took a closer look at you. 

“Oh, sweetie. You look so grown up. Yoongi is a lucky man,” your mom told you as she fluffed part of your skirt lightly. Your dad nodded, showing he agreed with his wife. 

A bashful smile appeared on your face, “I’m the lucky one.” Once you were dressed and ready to go, you all made your way to the doors you would be walking through. 

As soon as the pianist started playing the wedding march, Yoongi could feel his hands become sweaty. He wasn’t having doubts, no, he was just afraid you wouldn’t be there, or that he would mess up his vows. He’s so caught up in his mind, that he doesn’t notice you making your way down the aisle with your dad. Only when Hoseok nudges him does he look up from the ground. 

His breath hitched in his throat and liquid gathered in his eyes when he saw you in your wedding dress with your makeup and hair done. You looked absolutely gorgeous, and he was so fortunate to be the one marrying you. His gaze was solely focused on you, and when your eyes met, he couldn’t stop the gummy smile that spread onto his face. 

When you saw Yoongi standing there in his black tuxedo with glassy eyes, you felt your heart beat faster. In just a few moments, you would permanently be his. You’d be Mrs. Min. Min Y/n. Yoongi’s wife. Your father handed you off to Yoongi once you reached the altar. Placing your hands in his, you gave him a shy smile. 

“You look so beautiful, princess,” Yoongi whispered so just the two of you could hear. 

A bright blush coated your cheeks, “Thank you, so do you.” He gave you his gummy grin and looked back to the priest as he started to speak. 

“Dearly Beloved, we are gathered here today in the presence of these witnesses, to join Yoongi and Y/n in matrimony commended to be honorable among all; and therefore is not to be entered into lightly but reverently, passionately, lovingly and solemnly. Into this - these two persons present now come to be joined. If any person can show just cause why they may not be joined together - let them speak now or forever hold their peace.”

Yoongi let out a loud sigh of relief when no one stood up or spoke. The guests laughed, causing him to blush with a shy smile. 

“From what I can understand, you two have your own vows you’d like to say?” the priest asked. 

Yoongi gulped, “I do- I mean yes, we wrote our own.”

Hoseok - his best man - laughed. Everyone could tell Yoongi was nervous, and you giggled, squeezing his hands. Once the priest gave him permission, your soon-to-be husband took a shaky breath in. God, please don’t let him mess up.

“Here I stand in front of you, the love of my life, to show you that you mean the world to me. Ever since I first saw you that night at the convenience store, I knew you were the one for me. You were sitting there just slurping up ramen - quite messily if I do say so myself,“ Yoongi started, teasing you at the end, earning chuckles from the guests. 

He fondly smiled at you, "I never really thought I would get married, it wasn’t that important to me. That is until I met you. As we grew together and became closer throughout the years, I realized that I would go through with all of this if it meant I got to spend the rest of my life, and even after it, with you by my side.”

“Y/n, you may now say your vows,” the priest turned towards you.

You cleared your throat, “Yoongi, I love you with all my heart. You are my best friend. Today I will give myself to you in marriage. I promise to encourage and inspire you, to laugh with you, and to comfort you in times of sorrow and struggle.”

“I promise to love you in good times and in bad, when life seems easy and when it seems hard, when our love is simple, and when it is an effort. I promise to cherish you and to always hold you in the highest regard. I will always love you, no matter what, for the rest of our existence,” you said, unadulterated love in your gaze. 

A tear makes its way down your cheek and Yoongi raises his hand to gently wipe it away. You let out a teary giggle, sniffling as your thumb rubbed against the back of his hand.

“We will now have the exchanging of the rings,” the priest said as Hoseok holds out the rings.

Yoongi grabbed a your ring as the priest asked, “Do you take Y/n as your lawful wedded wife, to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better or for worse, for richer or for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and cherish until death do you part?”

“I do,” Yoongi grins, placing the ring onto your ring finger. 

The priest looks to you, “Do you take Yoongi as your lawful wedded husband, to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better or for worse, for richer or for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and cherish until death do you part?" 

"I do,” your voice is filled with happiness as you place the band on Yoongi’s ring finger. 

He smiled at the two of you, “You may now kiss the bride." 

Yoongi grinned, his eyes closing as he put his hands around your waist. tugging you into a passionate kiss. You kissed back, letting your mouth part when his tongue licks your bottom lip. The two of you are too caught up in each other to hear the sounds of clapping and the rest of the members shouting. 

The reception after the ceremony was filled with laughter, jokes, and dancing. Yoongi and you had multiple people coming up to congratulate you on the marriage. All of the members were tipsy on the fancy champagne. Jungkook was busy stuffing his face with food, Taehyung and Jimin were drunkenly dancing on the dance floor. Namjoon and Seokjin were seeing who could take the most shots. Hoseok was discussing the honeymoon with your husband. God, it felt so nice and made you feel bubbly calling him that. 

You were so caught up in your head, that you didn’t notice Yoongi coming up behind you until he had his palms on your sides. He leaned down and whispered into your ear, "Hey, princess. Are you ready to head out? We have to catch our flight in an hour.”

“Yeah, yeah I am,” you said, voice breathy as you felt his warm breath on your neck. 

He placed an open-mouthed kiss on your throat, his voice in a growl, “I can’t wait to see this wedding dress on the floor of our hotel room, baby girl.”

“I guess we should go then, huh?” you gasped, tilting your head to give him more room.

Yoongi smirked, “Yeah, let’s go, baby.”

[miraculoussage]

Breaking Out

Sorry for the lack of formatting regarding this section. My laptop charger broke so I’m currently stuck with mobile, and I am not great at mobile text organization. Also sorry for the lack of a read-more. Once again, mobile :(  fixed bc i have a laptop again B)

Rating: General

Characters: Adrien Agreste/Chat Noir main character; lots of other characters making an appearance, lots of Plagg, Marinette/Ladybug, and Gabriel

Relationships: Light love-square (pre-relationship)

Other tags: Trans boy Adrien, mostly closeted trans Adrien, transphobia (no transphobic violence), mentions of a dead name but no actual use of the dead name, misgendering, mentions of Dysphoria; supportive friends, Gabriel Agreste is a soggy tissue, minor mentions of diet control, minor redesigns of LB and CN costumes, major redesigns of civilian Adrien bc closet trans. Use of the word queer as an identifier and not a slur.

Part 2

♪~ ᕕ(ᐛ)ᕗ

The worst thing about being a popular fashion model, Adrien thought, was his image pasted all over the city. He had to see himself in the mirror enough as it was; seeing himself dressed up in the most feminine clothes his father could design, his long blond hair professionally styled into curls and braids and up-dos, and with enough makeup for three circus clowns made his skin itch. All of Paris, all of the world saw him as he was on the billboards and posters, in heavily edited magazine photos, set on backgrounds of flowers and butterflies. Everyone saw Adrien as a girl, Gabriel Agreste’s beautiful model daughter. Everyone except himself.

He had thought about coming out to his mother and father before, but while he was trying to find the nerve or the right moment, he overheard his father firing one of his models for coming out as trans. After that, his anxiety grew. He could never tell his parents, especially his father, not until he was living on his own and not relying on his modelling career and his father for survival.

Even when he went to school for the first time, he had to introduce himself as his dead name and endure the misgendering. He had considered coming out to Chloe, too, but while she didn’t seem to be transphobic, he didn’t trust her enough to keep it a secret. She thrived on gossip, sometimes even at the expense of her friends. Whether or not it was on purpose didn’t exactly matter to Adrien in this situation.

Plagg was the first person he ever came out to, not entirely on purpose. When he transformed into Chat Noir the first time, he actually cried for a few minutes. He felt different and he felt right and when he caught his reflection in a mirror he saw exactly who he wanted to be. Aside from his inhuman eyes and the strangeness of the costume, of course. His hair was short and messy and the makeup his father insisted he wear every day was entirely gone.

His costume was thick black leather, covering his whole body up to his neck where a bell sat at his collar. There was soft padding on his shoulders, elbows, and knees, barely visible under the leather. He had black combat boots with green soles that reached half way up his calf, laced with bright green laces, and lined with soft material if the same colour. His gloves, too, were black leather with soft green lining, claws on the fingers. Over the black bodysuit, he had a sleeveless hoodie; the fabric was looser and lighter than the leather, it almost seemed like cotton except it was sleek and waterproof. The pouch pocket was bright green with a single black paw print in the middle. All of the lining was the same bright green, visible in the hood and extending to the hems of the shirt. The hood itself had spaces cut out for the leather cat ears on his head, and fit loose and comfortable without falling over his eyes. Most importantly to Adrien, his chest was entirely flat without pressure.

After the first Akuma was stopped and Adrien transformed back, Plagg was suddenly gentle where he wasn’t before. “So what was that, then? What are your pronouns? Got a different name than the one I know?” After answering the questions and having another emotional moment, Plagg was back to being aloof and snarky, seemingly only concerned with cheese.

Adrien warmed up to the little cat-god fast. It felt more than amazing to be called the right thing for once, and Plagg at the least acknowledged his angry and frustrated rants about anything related to his gender that he’d never been able to share with anyone before. “As long as you keep giving me cheese,” Plagg had said, but somewhere along the way the meaning of the sentence changed to “always”, unspoken but genuine.

At school, things started out nice despite the rough start from being Chloe’s friend. The misgendering and dead name weighed down on him, though, and soon his new friends shared their concern about him. No one had any idea what it was about. It could be anything from his father to his mother to his modelling to just not getting enough sleep, but he’d hidden himself enough that no one would ever guess what it truly was about.

Nino was good about (sort of) silent comfort, offering to talk about it but relenting easily and moving to sharing music, food, memes, stories, and just a comforting presence. Alya always tried to figure out what was wrong and when she came to her own conclusions she would give him advice, though it was never the advice he needed. And Marinette...

Though Marinette was shy and got flustered easily, when her friends were in pain, she would stop at nothing to help them feel better. When he sighed about going home at the end of the day, she would invite him over to do homework, which usually ended up actually being video games. It became almost a routine by the spring, the two of them (and sometimes their friends) hanging out in the Dupain-Cheng apartment, snacking on yesterday’s left-over pastries while they played games, watched movies, talked, or rarely actually doing homework. Marinette’s parents were incredibly kind to Adrien, he was even envious that Marinette had such a supportive family. She was open about her biromantic identity, and never suffered for it at home.

As a result of their time spent together and Marinette’s own tendencies to not back down from helping her friends, she was the second person he came out to. It was a mess of tears between them, and Marinette apologized profusely for the misgendering, despite having no idea she was doing it. It made Adrien laugh, which made Marinette laugh, and then they were both laughing and crying at the same time. When Sabine came up to check on them, Adrien found he didn’t care that she was seeing him like this, and didn’t try to hide his identity from her anymore. Then, Sabine was crying with them, hugging Adrien close and giving him all the affirmations he never got from another human. (It was then that he decided he was now Adrien Dupain-Cheng, and she and Tom were his new parents.)

They all understood how important it was to keep this new information a secret, from everyone. If it got to his father or, gods forbid, the media, everything would go to hell in a hand basket. Marinette helped him fix his makeup before he left, apologizing even more about him needing to wear it. As usual, Sabine snuck some fresh pastries into his bag while he pretended not to notice when she hugged him goodbye. On the way out, Tom stopped him. The bakery was empty, just closed for the evening minutes before. “Adrien,” the news had reached him earlier via Sabine, “if you ever ever need a place to go for any reason, you’re always welcome here. No questions asked, any time day or night.” He had to hand a napkin to Adrien, tears gathering in his eyes again. As Adrien’s car pulled up to the front of the bakery, they said goodbye for the night, and Adrien was on his way back to the mansion. It wasn’t home, not anymore.

He came out to Ladybug third, but he didn’t know if it counted as third when he was Chat Noir. It was a rather casual interaction, against all expectations. The two of them were jogging across rooftops, keeping their eyes out for any sort of problem, just a regular Saturday patrol. They were talking about TV shows, sharing their theories for the next episode and the rest of the season; Ladybug theorized that one of the characters was a trans man, and Chat Noir seized the opportunity without a second thought. “Oh, like me,” he said, and Ladybug didn’t even blink. She just smiled at him, and he smiled back. Before they parted for the night, she thanked him for trusting her with his secret and promised it was safe with her. “I know, my Lady, I wouldn’t have told you if I thought you wouldn’t.” Nothing even changed between them after that, though Ladybug did seem to talk more openly about queer subjects when they came up.

He came out to other classmates and friends on a case by case basis, with Marinette there for support every time. Nathaniel, Alix, Nino, Rose and Juleka, Kagami. People he could trust entirely to keep it a secret and that he knew weren’t queerphobic from their time knowing each other. He always had some anxiety about it anyways, but with constant unspoken support from Marinette and her parents, it didn’t seem as daunting as before. Nathaniel drew pictures of him with different styles of short hair and more masculine outfits, “for when you’re able to choose your appearance”. Marinette had helped Nathaniel design the outfits, and she had plenty more in her own sketchbook designed just for Adrien. Alix and Nino casually called him “dude” and “bro”, a way to affirm him without actually outing him, since the terms were so casual and usually neutral.

As his support outside of the mansion grew, Adrien realized day after day just how terribly he was treated by his father, and Natalie and the other staff by proxy. Aside from his father’s thinly veiled queerphobia, he also controlled Adrien’s diet, his schedule, his social life, his career, his finances, and almost every aspect of his life. Before going to school, he thought most families were like that. It wasn’t until Alya complained about being saddled with babysitting again and the others lamented with her that three evenings that week was a bit excessive that Adrien realized most of his classmates actually got to decided what they did in their spare time without having to beg for permission. They got to choose what to eat for lunch, some even got to make their own food, and they didn’t have to follow a strict diet. They weren’t constantly afraid of their parents punishing them at the slightest mistake.

He spent more and more time at the Dupain-Cheng’s, at home, they even gave him his own key. More than once they’d woken up early to open the bakery, just to find him curled up on the couch in his clothes from the day before, the throw blanket wrapped tightly around him. Marinette made plenty of casual clothes and loungewear for him, until half of her closet was his. They almost always had a plate of leftovers from dinner with his name on it in the fridge. One afternoon, they surprised Adrien; the room that was formerly the office was converted into a full bedroom with his clothes moved into the closet already. The room was even decorated, soft green and light grey, paintings on the walls, a desk with a silver cat paperweight next to a lamp. Plagg seemed even more excited about it than Adrien was, which was saying a lot because Adrien was over the moon. They really were serious about the “anytime, no questions asked”.

After three years of school and crime fighting, Adrien made the biggest decision in his life. He talked to the bank and a lawyer. He had his rightful savings moved from the account under his father’s surveillance to a brand new private account. He had his friends and real family at his back. And then, he came out to his father. It went about as well as he expected; Gabriel threw a fit, accused Adrien of acting out for attention, and ultimately ended up locking Adrien in his room and forbidding him from going to school. Fortunately for Adrien, he had an escape plan in the form of a magical ring.

He was across the city in a matter of minutes, detransformed, and contacting his lawyer. His emancipation was officially in process. He texted the Dupain-Cheng family chat letting them know he told his father and it didn’t go well, but he was not in the house and he was safe. They were the only ones who knew about his plan, given they were part of it all. Though the idea of living full time with Marinette gave him butterflies, he could ignore his crush for everyone’s comfort.

Before his father or Natalie had a chance to suspend his access to his accounts, he made an Instagram post. A photo of himself, no makeup and his hair pulled back into a bun so it wasn’t so visible, wearing one of the more formal outfits Marinette made for him (a blue suit with a white undershirt and a pink bow tie). It had been taken a few days earlier, in front of a nondescript grey wall in his bedroom, unable to be linked to any location. As the caption, he wrote “Adrien Agreste, he/him, proudly trans! Stay strong, and know you are loved.” He posted it in as many transgender and fashion tags as he could, and was happy to see screenshots of it spreading almost immediately before it was taken down from his own account and his access was cut off. He texted Marinette one last time to tell her he would be unable to contact her over the phone, then turned the phone off, left it on a nearby cafe table, and disappeared down an alley. Thirty seconds later, Chat Noir was vaulting between buildings, headed nowhere in particular.

Stick around for part 2! ♪~ ᕕ(ᐛ)ᕗ

[zigtheeortega]

as good as gold

✿ pairing: mal x mc

✿ word count: 2971

✿ tags: @roguemal ; @violinet ; @nickyvalentinos ; @adrixnrxines ; @senatorraines​

✿ author’s note: okay so this is honestly the weirdest coincidence... i started working on this fic back in early march, and i abandoned it bc it was originally going to be smut, but i just never got around to finishing the actual smut because i wasn’t feeling it, and i wasn’t that confident in the plot. i totally forgot about it, until i read today’s chapter... and i saw parallels between this fic, that i’d abandoned, and the diamond scene/elite skill scene today with mal.

it made me a lot more confident in this because it made me feel like i genuinely understand mal’s character more than i ever thought? (there are parallels between his list of favorite things, stealth, the sneaking around, etc.) anyways, i wrapped it up and thought i’d post it; thank u andrew for writing one of my favorite characters ever and confirming actions and dialogue i thought he’d do ! andrew stans rise. (hope u enjoy pls lmk if u liked it!)

“Thank Gods they sent us. I’m dying to stretch my legs,” Mal said, tossing the gold coins in the air, the clinking of the metal ringing out against the walls of the abandoned safe house.

They walked towards the entrance, the fresh air hitting them, and their lungs were grateful for the relief. The mildewed stench had been unbearable, but they had to suffer through it. The bounty on their head was enough to turn anyone against them.

Their collective rations weren’t enough to keep them fed. With Tyril being the perpetrator, they agreed it was safe enough for Mal and Zilyana to visit the marketplace, as long as they laid low.

“You’re telling me,” she smiled, inhaling deeply. The scent of the damp, mossy alleyway was incredible in comparison to the moldy smell of their hideout.

She shielded her eyes, squinting at the intense light. They had not seen the sun in days, so the warm blanket was a semblance of hope. She’d rescue Kade soon enough; the warmth on her face proved that all hope wasn’t lost.

They walked in silence, weaving through the alleyways towards the marketplace. Mal stopped abruptly at the end of the alleyway, bracing his forearm against her chest to keep her from going any further.

She caught herself gaping at him as he peeked around the corner a couple of times. His windswept hair framed his face beautifully, curling around his defined jaw, the tips resting neatly against his beard.

He glanced at her from the corner of his eye, a smirk on his face. “Caught you staring.”

She averted her eyes, looking upwards. “Was not.”

“The blush in your cheeks betrays you.”

There was no hiding the violet heat creeping across her face and ears. She’d been drawn to his charismatic nature, his carefree, adventurous attitude one that she envied. He owed nothing to anyone, and he never thought twice about his perception to others.

But underneath the snarky, flirtatious facade, lurked layers of melancholia that she wanted so desperately to uncover.

He cocked his head towards the opening, signaling the coast was clear. “Thought I heard something. We’re safe.”

She scoffed, following closely behind him. “Your definition of safe is ‘not currently being chased’?”

He laughed breathily, and shrugged. “You hit the nail on the head. I’m like a honey trap for trouble.”

The sound of bartering shoppers hit them before the smell of fish and sweat did. “What’s the plan? They might recognize us,” she whispered in his ear, acutely aware of the proximity of their bodies.

She noticed him pocket the gold Tyril had given them for the food. “Mal, what –”

“Just trust me on this, kit. I’ve probably stolen as much food that’s in this marketplace, twice over. I can get us the food and we can keep the loot.” He tried stepping forward, but she grabbed a fistful of the back of his shirt.

“Or we could just stick to the original plan and use the gold for our food and go,” she said, tugging him backward.

“As long as we can have a quick escape route, it’ll be seamless,” he said, turning to meet her eye. “Trust me, Zilyana.”

And she did.

The mischievous look in his eye was enough to send her heart into a tailspin, but his mention of her name was what sealed the deal. It was a rarity that Mal traded in her nickname for her real name, so when he used it, she knew he was being honest for once.

She didn’t know what part of her compelled him to take her under his “wing”. Maybe he was tired of being alone. Maybe he was desperately crying out for someone to get to know the real him. Maybe he’d been calling out for so long, and she was the first to answer.

“I trust you, Mal.”

His eyes softened. She knew he hadn’t heard that in a long time. “Follow my lead.”

At the end of the last alleyway, there was a large fabric trade stand, with various cut and uncut fabrics of different colors and materials, finished garments hung from a clothesline.

He tossed a dagger into the wooden scaffolding holding up the stand, startling the old man at the booth. When he stood to inspect it, Mal snagged two black cloaks.

“These cloaks serve as both a disguise and a red herring. If we’re caught, ditch the cloaks as fast as you can. Then we can walk freely without anyone knowing what we looked like in the first place,” he said, slipping his hood on. “It’ll be a piece of cake.”

“And we’re distracting them and snagging their food? Seems cheap,” she said, putting her hood up, annoyed at her ears poking into the fabric.

“You’re distracting them, and there’s a reason old tricks still work, kit.”

----

Zilyana used her natural seduction to trap a few unsuspecting suckers, and Mal snagged the food, storing it on the roof of a taller building, just high enough to not be spotted from other rooftops if they laid down.

“I’ve never had an apple before,” she purred, stroking the vendor’s arm with the tips of her slender fingers. It was a horrible lie, but it was working.

“Y-you haven’t?” he stammered, clearly flustered.

“I’m not from around here,” she smiled, leaning forward, exposing just enough of her collarbone and the top of her breasts to reel him in.

“I don’t normally do this, but this one is on me,” he smiled timidly, handing her a bright red apple. Little did he know, Mal had been snagging item after item from his stand behind his back.

She took it from him, brushing her fingers across his knuckles. “You’re too kind. I owe you.” 

He blushed furiously, looking anywhere but her face. “I wouldn’t mind taking you out to my favorite tavern down the road––”

“Oh, I’m leaving town tomorrow,” she pouted, batting her eyes. “I wish we could’ve spent more time together.”

Mal emerged from the alleyway, watching closely. She didn’t know if he was capable of jealousy, but his nonchalance vanished when the vendor asked her on a date.

“I’m closing up shop soon, if you’re willing to wait for me.” He said, the blush still lingering on his cheeks.

“Balmed is that you? Oh my Gods, it’s been so long!” She exclaimed, looking at Mal, who still watched from the shadows.

The vendor turned quickly, noticing no one was there. He looked back at her, then double-taked, scrutinizing his stand of apples. “Hey…”

She sprinted past him, kicking the back of his knees so he crumpled, but it didn’t stop him from yelling, “Thief!” at the top of his lungs.

Mal grabbed her hand, whisking her down the dark alleyway. The sun had dipped just below the buildings, making the alleys a perfect getaway.

They rounded the corner, ready to discard their cloaks, but they spotted guards barreling towards them from both directions.

“What do we do?” She practically cried, gripping his shoulder.

“There’s two of us, and four of them, kit. You do the math,” he smirked, unsheathing his dagger.

“But that makes it sound like we should run–”

He whipped his arm forward, sending a dagger into the nearest guard’s shoulder before decking the other in the jaw.

Zilyana knew that Mal’s sheer dumb luck was part of the reason he was a notable thief. He somehow managed to survive in every situation, like a rodent.

She drew her sword and slashed the guard in front of her in one fluid sweep, kicking the other in the chest, sending him sprawling.

“That was a little too easy,” she trailed off, her senses sparking. She had no control over her elven senses, but they usually came to her when she needed them most, similar to a fight or flight response.

“I think the guards have us cornered but we haven’t met them yet. I can hear footsteps.”

Mal’s eyebrows rose. “We’re completely surrounded?”

“Yes.”

“Alright.”

“Alright? What are we gonna do?” she asked, hysteria begging to burst through her calm demeanor.

“The rooftop where we stashed the goods isn’t far away. I’d say five buildings or so over. After they pass, we’ll have to jump from roof to roof –”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa. I’m not even in the right garments to jump right now,” she shook her head, gesturing to her casual dress.

“You’re just gonna have to flash the entirety of Port Parnassus,” he teased, turning to the wall next to him, covered in mossy vines.

He grabbed onto a vine and started climbing, her on his heels. The footsteps were within Mal’s hearing range by the time he got to the rooftop, so he extended an arm for her to grab.

She gripped his forearm, pushing herself off of the wall. It sent her flying into Mal, the momentum too much for the short distance. They fell over, her landing on top of him, chest to chest, their noses nearly touching.

She could see a snarky quip forming on his lips, but it never came. She watched his smug grin dissolve into admiration, his gaze softening as he glanced back and forth from her eyes to mouth. The lingering rays of sunlight struck their rooftop, hitting Mal’s face, transforming his dark brown eyes into a stunning liquid pool of amber, flecks of gold she’d never noticed before reflecting the light.

He reached up, pressing a gloved hand on her face, gently stroking her jaw. She leaned into the embrace, closing her eyes and sighing just low enough for him to hear.

A low growl rumbled through his chest, the vibrations passing through her own. He watched her, transfixed, through half lidded eyes.

“Have you always been this beautiful, kit? Or have I just been too stupid to notice?” He whispered, tenderly gripping her chin with his thumb and pointer finger.

She smiled, holding back a laugh as they heard the guards clamor down an alley nearby. “I don’t know if I’d say you were stupid…”

With his eyes trained on her lips, she leaned down, closing the distance between them, her parted lips meeting his. He could’ve frozen up – he could’ve pushed her away. Instead, he tangled his gloved hand through her hair, deepening the kiss.

He snaked his arm around her waist, his grip firm and commanding. He tasted sweeter than she could’ve imagined, his scent even more intoxicating up close.

He pulled away, searching her features. She couldn’t tell if he was thinking she’d regretted it that fast, but she was determined to ease his mind. Zilyana recognized the walls he put up; they were familiar because they mirrored her own. 

“Anything we do from this point on, I won’t regret. Don’t worry,” she whispered, stroking her thumb across his beard.

He looked at her like he was truly seeing her for the first time. Like he was safe with her. Like he wanted her too. 

The guards passed through the alleyway next to them, the clanking of their armor drowning out Mal and Zilyana’s labored breaths.

He pulled her close, tucking her underneath his head, his arms circling her protectively until the guards passed.

They stayed in the same position, embracing, until the sun set, making way for the midnight skyline freckled with glimmering stars.

After the street lanterns were lit, and the residents of Parnassus were tucked into bed, they were momentarily safe enough to discard the cloaks and sneak back to the rooftop where their food was stashed.

Once they were on the rooftop, Mal gestured to her to walk towards the edge of the building. She looked out at the edge of the port city, the vast body of water rippling, the waves flicking calmly against the docks, the water reflecting the moonlight.

“I never get tired of views like these,” he sighed, snatching an apple and taking a bite. “I love gold, but I love a pretty view more.”

She eyed him, brows furrowed. “Alright, I love gold more. But scenery is a close second.”

“Mal the Magnificent is getting candid? Color me surprised,” she grinned, watching his expression match her own.

“What can I say? You’ve grown on me, kit.”

And that was all the validation she needed. She was chipping away at his facade brick-by-brick, and one day his defense would crumble. 

She’d be the only one to witness the beautiful destruction.

She crossed the distance between them, facing him while he chewed and swallowed his mouthful of apple. Juice dribbled down his beard, and she wanted so badly to taste the sweet flavor of his lips again.

“You’ve grown on me, too,” she said, reaching for his hand with her own, hooking a finger around his. She used the other hand to delicately swipe her thumb across his facial hair, drying his face of apple juice.

He watched her in awe, looking at her as if she were the only being in the world.

“We should probably get back,” she whispered, refusing to break eye contact. “They might be worried.”

“Yeah, they might be worried,” he repeated, still staring at her, squeezing her finger with his own. “But I think it’s better we stay the night.”

“Why?”

“I don’t want to miss a second of seeing the moonlight on your skin,” he said, eyes roaming over her face.

Her face heated, breaking eye contact first. She knew the violet tones in her cheeks would betray her calm exterior once again.

“I could look at you for hours…” he trailed off, stepping closer towards her.

Their bodies were barely touching, their faces close enough so that the wind made the tips of his hair tickle her cheek.

He took his leather gloves off, revealing his scarred, calloused hands, likely from the years of training with blades. He cupped her face in his bare palms, the heat from his hands counteracting the chill of the sea breeze.

It was the first time he touched her with his bare hands, and she relished in the contact. It was a feeling of intimacy she hadn’t felt before.

She’d been abandoned by her birth parents and adopted by a human family. When they passed, she felt not only the tremendous loss of her parents, but the longing to be wanted by those who willingly left her before.

She saw so much of herself in Mal. The classic signs of abandonment issues were blatant in his personality. He wouldn’t admit it to her then, but he’d grow comfortable with her and come around. And she’d be there for him.

She watched as he leaned in tentatively. She closed the gap between them, pressing her mouth firmly against his, wrapping her arms around his waist.

He melted in her grip, a low groan coming from his throat at the initial kiss. She parted her lips, begging to taste him again.

She drug her hands around his torso, meeting at his belt buckle, unlatching and untying until they fell to the ground with a clank. She slid her hands underneath the tail of his tunic, pulling upwards. She was met with the firm muscles of his stomach, a soft tuft of hair from his navel to the waist of his pants.

“Zilyana, I…” he breathed, eyes half lidded.

“I want you,” she finished, pulling back just enough so that she could meet his gaze.

His hair had become unruly, whipped by the sea breeze and the momentum from running through the alleys of Parnassus. Loose strands framed his face like vines on a stone wall, begging for her hands to wrangle them.

“You sure you want this? We can pretend like it didn’t happen when we go back,” he said. She detected a twinge of uneasiness in his voice, like he didn’t know what he wanted from her.

“We can work it out later, Mal,” she whispered, running her hands farther up his chest.

He groaned, both because he was trying to maintain responsibility and his body was responding to her touch. “You’re right. Fuck it.”

He kissed her fervently, ripping at the laced-up ribbons on the back of her dress. The air between their bodies crackled, their unbridled sexual tension finally reaching its climactic end.

She tried helping him out of his clothes, but stopped after a few failed attempts. “For a simple guy, you have a complex wardrobe.”

He laughed, the deep bass of his voice barely audible over the sound of the waves. “I can be flashy when I want to be.”

He stripped his tunic off, then his boots, before helping her slide out of her dress. Her undergarments were thin, just thin enough so that he got a glimpse of her naked body underneath.

He rested his hands on her waist, pulling him towards her. She grazed her fingers across his stomach and lower back, lightly touching the dozens of scars. He had a story behind each scar, and she wanted to hear every one.

He eased her onto the stone, gently, like she was as fragile as a priceless heirloom.

“Look at you, Zilyana… so beautiful,” he whispered, a hint of a smirk on his lips. “I told you I like a pretty view.”

She searched his eyes, the trace of golden flecks gone with the sunlight, and she smiled internally. She was learning to love gold, too, as greedy as it sounded.

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