#pls go back to calling her a gold digger

[the-greendalehumanbeings]

it’s just weird to see so many people constantly bring up the fact that edwina is 1/4 white whenever they compare edwina and kate in anyway. there is definitely the underlying implication that edwina is not brown enough or something. and this insistence to label and quantify how brown a person is not only weird, it is very much based on american-centric race discourse. 

[wonwoonlight]

my daisy / kim mingyu | chapter 9

➝ CEO!Mingyu x Secretary!Reader

➝ strangers to lovers // single dad!Mingyu // fluff // lighthearted // non idol!au // like pls dont expect any dramas here lol // tiny bit of angst ig

➝ series warning: mentions of sex, no smut but there’s implied sexual activities, insecurity (as always jshbdjhsfshbf am sorry), curses, food, let me know if theres more ^^

➝ word count: 4.7k

➝ song rec for this particular chapter: KyoungSeo - Shiny Star (2020) ((yes, like that Wonwoo fic I posted lol))

➝ A/N: wow.. one more chapter and we're done already? how time flies 😭😭 i.. know a lot of you might be expecting something...big but, as i said, this fic wasn't made to be dramatic so i hope it wasn't disappointing to say the least hehe. enjoy and pls dont hesitate to drop by my ask!

when your cousin asks you to be her substitute at SVT Inc. as she takes her maternity leave, you’re pretty sure this wasn’t what you signed up for.

series masterlist

You’re awoken because of the constant banging on your door, and when you try to look at your phone to see the time, you don’t expect to see almost 30+ missed calls and 99+ texts from God knows who. You don't have the time to check just yet, as whoever’s on your door is insistent about being let in.

Your short-circuited brain isn’t even awake enough to consider that you should check through the intercom first. You just straight up open the door, about to scream at Soonyoung—because who else would be banging on your door on this fine Saturday morning?—only to find Mingyu on the other side of your door.

Blinking at the sight of him, you don’t even have the chance to ask what’s going on when Mingyu quickly pushes you in and closes the door behind him.

When you’re looking back at him, his hands are holding on to your arms with panic stricken on his face.

“Why haven’t you been answering my calls?!”

“I… have just woken up?” you answer in confusion. “Did something happen? How did you get here?”

He mutters something about the security guard recognizing him and helps buzz the elevator to your floor before brushing it away and turns back to you. “But you’re okay, right?”

“Of course I am. I told you I’ve just woken up,” you frown, only now registering his heavy breath and tense posture. You pull him with you, sitting him down on your sofa before you take the space next to him. “Gyu, are you okay? Do you want a drink?”

Mingyu shakes his head when you’re about to stand up, gently pulling your wrist so you’d sit back down. He takes a deep breath before he reaches for his phone, and then apologizes in advance which makes the whole thing even more confusing than it already is.

The silence enveloping the two of you is so heavy as you skim through the article, and Mingyu’s pretty certain he’d be able to hear a pin dropping in the room if this keeps up. He doesn’t know what to make of your reaction, there’s a visible frown on your face but you’re much calmer than he thought you would be—though he wasn’t sure what to expect, really. He’s seen not only the blatant comments against you, but also the amount of speculations about who you are and what you’re trying to accomplish by being with Mingyu. Mostly, he’s just really afraid this would drift you two apart and, most importantly, it would affect your relationship with Gyuri altogether.

“Where’s Lili?” is the first question you ask after you’re done looking at his phone, your worried eyes piercing through his. “Is she okay? Her face isn’t exposed, right?”

Mingyu wants to kiss you right there and then, very much in disbelief that you’re first and foremost concerned about his daughter when he knows you’ve read how the comments paint you as some kind of gold digger trying to get his money. Some of them are way too much when the article literally states nothing about you except for the speculation that you might be the mother of this child whose identity is still unknown—there isn’t even an initial. He's also seen ones that say you’re using Gyuri to charm Mingyu and plan to make your way up the social ladder, making all kinds of assumptions about you and the child in the comment section.

That’s also why he has rushed his way here, worried out of his mind because you didn’t answer or even check any of his messages. Almost as soon as he’s finished reading the page, he has quickly washed up and left Gyuri with his mom to make his way to your place. He didn’t tell her where he’s going, but he has a hunch that his mom knows because she’s always been a little too perceptive for her own good.

“She’s with my mom,” he explains, telling you he was with her when he found out about the article. “It was her who told me about it, too.”

Your face falls for reasons that Mingyu’s unsure of, but he quickly reassures that his mom didn’t say anything and has only asked why he didn’t tell her he was dating.

“She… thought we were dating?” you ask, suddenly nervous at the thought of his mom being aware of your existence.

“Yeah,” he gives you a tight smile, as if carefully treading on ice and too afraid that it would break. Before the topic lingers, he quickly addresses the issue at hand. “I’ve asked Seungkwan to contact our lawyer and security team to track this down. You don’t have to worry about your details getting leaked, okay? I told them to make sure your privacy is intact and we’re already planning to sue them over this rumour. Can’t believe they’d dare bring you and Gyuri into this.”

It is then that you truly realize how stressed Mingyu actually is. Not only is his whole body tense, the frown has barely left his face since the moment he’s stepped into your place. His fingers are also balled into fists, even his blunt fingers would probably leave marks on the inside of his palms if he keeps it up.

But you remember how much effort Mingyu has put in making sure Gyuri’s out of the public’s eyes. You remember the amount of time Mingyu has told you about how he rarely brings Gyuri out to the public, that she usually just goes with Jooyeon when she feels like it.

You also remember the way Jennie and Seungkwan didn’t tell you about the little angel at first, pretty sure you’d have nothing to do with her if you’re just going to work there for 6 short months. The way even Kim Jisoo, your own best friend, didn’t mention anything about Gyuri when she found out you work for Mingyu and even after she showed you a picture of Seungcheol, Mingyu, and Gyuri together. That’s how much the people around him help in making sure Gyuri isn’t exposed to the people who don’t matter.

On your last night in Japan, Mingyu finally told you about Gyuri’s biological mother. Someone he accidentally got pregnant out of carelessness. She was just someone he casually shared a bed with from time to time. When they found out she was pregnant, she wasn’t sure she wanted to keep the baby. Mingyu did. Eventually, she agreed wholeheartedly to carry the baby if Mingyu promised he’d take a good care of the child and he’d take care of all the necessities to support her pregnancy.

Mingyu readily accepted her conditions, even agreed with her when she herself said she doesn’t want anything to do with the child once she’s born. They had the agreement signed under the name of law to make sure both parties keep their words to each other. Mingyu simply asked for her to never disclose Gyuri’s identity and relation to anyone but her direct family at any given point unless it’s Gyuri who asked, and she agreed after making sure the compensation of carrying a baby within her for 9 long months is worthy. She even added a clause that made sure Mingyu will raise Gyuri until she’s 21 years old, telling him she doesn’t want this kid to be abandoned just because Mingyu decided to have the baby now.

At first, Mingyu wasn’t even sure why he had wanted to keep the baby. But as time passed by, he couldn’t have been more glad that he gets to have little Kim Gyuri in his life. She’s the best gift he could have ever asked for and he’ll do everything to make sure Gyuri is safe and sound.

Mingyu is borderline celebrity, it’s something that you’ve only noticed after you started working with him. On top of him being the sole heir of one of the richest families in South Korea, the fact that he’s handsome and very much single brings a lot of attention to him in the business world everytime he does something.

That said, you know how hard it must’ve been for him to hide the love of his life all this time. Exposing Gyuri to the public when she’s only three would mean she’d be getting that attention early on, and if there’s anything Mingyu would rather Gyuri not get, it’s that.

To be constantly under the spotlight is tiring, whether or not you’re into the attention. He’s lucky his family is on the low profile side, only indulging the media every now and then so the press knows not to bother them. It’s already a miracle itself that he’s able to hide Gyuri for three years straight, and even though they know better than to reveal her face (though they probably blur her face because the speculation was about Gyuri being your child instead of his), it’s still unsettling for him that there are people in the media who has an idea that Gyuri exists.

“Gyu, drink,” you tap his shoulder softly, handing him a glass of water. When did you even stand up to get it? Nevertheless, Mingyu thanks you and takes a sip out of it, only now realizing his throat has been dry since earlier. “Breathe, okay? It’s going to be fine.”

“I just…” he sighs in frustration as he throws his weight back against your sofa. “I can’t believe how absurd this whole thing is. I’m not even a celebrity, why would they do this?”

“You’re practically one, you know,” you smile a little, trying to disperse the heavy atmosphere. “It’s just that they don’t get a lot of stuff out of you because you’re either in the office, out with Wonwoo and the others, or at home with Lili.”

Mingyu shakes his head at your words, well aware that you’re right. He knows the media would eat anything up. Whether or not he thinks he’s a celebrity, if they consider him a bigshot then they’d take anything they can scrape out of him regardless of the truth. He can think of a few media companies that would do this, as he knows most of them have good relations with his family and would never release anything without confirming stuff with them. The more he thinks about it, the more his anger about the whole thing blows.

“Gyu,” your voice calls for him once more, your hand softly touches his forearm to get his attention. “Talk to me? Maybe it’ll help you calm down.”

“I just really don’t get why anyone would do this,” he repeats his words from earlier. “And even if it’s true, it’s really not their business. But now people are judging you when it’s not even confirmed?”

“Aww, you care about me that much?” you playfully nudge his shoulder in hope it’ll make him take the whole situation lighter.

Mingyu isn’t really in the mood for it, though, instead looks at you pointedly before he says, “I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t.”

“I’m fine, Gyu,” you try to convince him, though you can’t deny the way your cheeks are getting warm because of his words. “My face is blurred and the people who matter know it’s not true, that’s enough for me. But it is concerning that they’re bringing Gyuri into this.”

“Mom says it might be a good idea to deny the story myself.” Mingyu sounds way too tired for your liking, the whole thing probably affecting him more than he’d like to admit. “But I’d rather not make an appearance myself and I truly think it’d be better to just sue them under the company’s name and be done with it. My appearance would just spark more stories.”

For a moment, silence envelopes the both of you and there’s pressure hanging in the air. You know you both have to talk about it, not exactly about the rumour but about how it comes to be. What’s happening between you and Mingyu feels both too fast and too slow. It’s only been barely three months since Mingyu has made his way into your life, and even though you’ve always believed two people with genuine feelings for each other could fall quick and deep and time can’t always guarantee its sincerity, you never thought it would happen to you.

You’ve seen Seokmin fall instantly in love in the span of a month and ended up being in a relationship with the person for a good three years until they ended it on a good note. You’ve also seen the way Jennie only took about six months dating Jaebum and they went straight to marriage not long after, their love still going strong until this very second and you’re a strong witness of that.

But you’ve also witnessed Jisoo and Seungcheol progress from being friends until their relationship turns romantic after years of knowing each other. You remember thinking if you’re going to be in a relationship, you’d rather have one like theirs. Wouldn’t it be better to be together with someone you’ve known for long? Already well aware about the good and the bad from the beginning? Having an idea about the way they think and what might turn into problems instead of fighting about all these along the way?

Three months sounds a bit too fast for your liking, but you know whatever you’re feeling for Mingyu is as real as it can be no matter how much you deny it if anyone asks. It’s the same with how, deep down, you know Mingyu is about in the same wavelength as you are. You’re both lingering, stalling time because you’re too afraid to take the first move and leap just in case you’d fall off the cliff of uncertainty instead of flying high up.

Once, you dare yourself to think about what if it works out? But then you remember it’s not just about you and Mingyu—there’s also Gyuri. Small little Gyuri between the two of you who would be too confused with the situation between you and her father. She knows you already, even likes you enough to regularly call you from time to time when she feels like it; but what would she think if you and Mingyu take the next step? What would happen if you fight and you break up? Then you’d have no choice but to step out of Gyuri’s life and that means she’d have to go through confusion beyond her comprehension.

You don’t know how long you two sit in silence, too deep in your thoughts even though you’re practically thinking about the same thing. But it’s the sound of your phone ringing that breaks the silence between the two of you, and you quickly take the call after you see it’s Jennie who’s calling.

“You alright? Why haven’t you checked my texts? I’ve been freaking out with Jisoo because of you!” she rumbles the moment you pick up, the concern in her voice clear as days.

“Sorry,” you apologize, and Jennie’s tone turns gentle when she hears how small your voice is, making sure once again if you’re okay. “I’m fine. They blurred my face so it should be okay. And Mingyu’s here, that’s why I haven’t been checking my phone.”

“Oh? He’s there? Put me on speaker.”

You blink at her request, confused eyes meeting Mingyu’s. You put your phone down and click the speaker button, telling her you’ve done what she asked you to do.

“Gyu, make sure my cousin’s safe, yeah? You know how crazy these media can be,” she says gently but strictly. “You’ve contacted the company’s lawyer and security team, right?”

“I will, Jen. Don’t worry,” he reassures her. “I’ve already asked Seungkwan to call them and I’ve told him to sue the company no matter what. Not only are they spreading rumors, they’re bringing Gyuri and [Y/N] into this.”

The three of you talk some more after that, because Jennie is a little too worried and you let her be because you know she’d be stressed if you just brush her worry away. The atmosphere is lighter once she hangs up, because if there’s one thing you both are familiar with, it’s Jennie’s tendency to worry over someone like a mom.

“She really loves you, doesn’t she?” he says after the phone call, looking at you with something that you can’t quite decipher.

“Yeah, she’s practically my sister,” you smile fondly, always thankful that you have her in your life. You send a quick message to Jisoo and Seungkwan to tell them you’re fine and that you’d text talk to them later, that they don’t need to worry about anything before you put yourself back down and lean back next to Mingyu. “She’s always the first person to make sure I’m okay once she finds out something might possibly have happened to me.”

“So she’s always been like that?” he turns his body to you, his posture finally relaxing a little.

“Yeah. She’s always been protective over me in particular. She’s always wanted a little sister so I guess that’s a part of the reason,” you explain, suddenly remembering a particular episode during high school. “Once, she tracked down my ex-boyfriend and confronted him for cheating on me, you know? The next time he saw me, he sounded genuinely sorry that it freaked me out.”

Mingyu grins in amusement, picturing Jennie going against some guy bigger than she is to the point where he’s probably traumatized for life. “Does that mean she filters your boyfriends?”

“Basically. But not in a bad way! And only because I asked her opinion on it. She… can read people very well and, more often than not, she’s right when she says she doesn’t like the possible candidate.”

“Does she still do that?” he asks curiously, something crossing through his mind when you nod in confirmation. It’s now or never, he decides. Might as well bring it up now that the topic has arisen. “Did she say anything about me, then?”

At first, it seems like you’re not too sure if he wants to take this seriously or not, which is why he figures you choose to take the safe road of taking it as a joke. “Are you a candidate, Gyu?”

“Am I not?” he asks with his deep voice, his eyes never leaving yours to make sure you know he’s being serious. He sees something within you shift after that, and he lets you take your time answering because there’s no need to rush if it’s not going to give him a genuine answer out of you.

“Do you want to be?” Your voice is small, almost hesitant, but Mingyu understands that it’s not going to be easy talking about this. The both of you have been treading between the line of romance and friendship intensely, never bothering to put a frame on it even though Mingyu himself is well aware that everything he does with you, he never does them with other people.

He’d be stupid to say he doesn’t feel anything for you. But it’s only been barely three months, and it’s been long since Mingyu finds himself being interested in someone that way. He understands your hesitation because he’s deep in it himself.

“You know if… we decide to… try this out, it’s not going to be casual?” he shoots straight to it, surprising you even though it’s not exactly a bad feeling. Maybe, deep down, you’ve always wanted reassurance about whatever’s between you and him.

“I know, Gyu,” you softly reply, a small yet genuine smile gracing your face. “I think we’re old enough not to casually date people just to see where it’d take us at this age. Between the two of us, I feel it’s more appropriate to ask you if you want to go down that path with me.”

“Because I have Gyuri?”

“Mainly, yeah,” you truthfully say, knowing that Mingyu wouldn’t take it the wrong way. “And because you’re literally SVT Inc.’s heir.”

Mingyu looks borderline offended at your words, but he sees where you’re coming from whether he likes it or not. “You know that doesn’t matter to me, right? I told you my mom didn’t even blink an eye over the allegations. She simply asked why I never told her I was dating someone. She’s always been like that.”

“It’s… still not going to be easy, Gyu,” you confess in advance. If you’re going to make it work, you figure it’s best that Mingyu knows the kind of baggage that you’d be holding over yourself. “I’m not… used to your lifestyle. There will be times when I’m insecure because of your… social standing and you might need to convince me over and over again until you’re tired of it.”

“Hey, we haven’t even started and you’re already thinking about me getting tired?” he chuckles to lighten your mood, his hand hesitantly reaching for yours. When you don’t move away and let him be, he securely envelopes your hand in his. “I appreciate that you’re already telling me about it, but I hope you’re not going to deny me a chance to be with you because of it, yeah?”

It’s baffling to think that the Kim Mingyu would be the one saying this. You feel like this should be reversed; that it should be you asking for a chance and looking at him with hopeful eyes instead of the other way around. But here he is, in your apartment that’s probably only as big as his living room, holding your hand as he gently asks if you’d give him a chance.

“The insecurities would go both ways, you know?” he adds as he shifts closer to you. You can see the mole on the tip of his nose clearly and it’s taking you everything not to just reach up and bop it with your finger. “I’d wonder if I can treat you right, because you, of all people, know how busy I can be with work. And then there’s Gyuri, she’s always been my only priority and I’d wonder if you’d feel like I don’t prioritize you enough over her. She’s my child and she’s the most important existence in my life. But, then again, as much as I love her and I’d be fine if I don’t end up finding a new partner, it’s not everyday that I find someone who genuinely cares for both me and Gyuri.”

“Gyu, any sane person would love Gyuri at first sight,” you frown at him.

“That’s the thing,” he says instead. “But what if it’s months later and they decide a kid is too much? Gyuri isn’t going to always be cute. She’s a child; she has needs and she has feelings. I’ve never bothered dating because I know it’ll be a waste of time if they end up not liking Gyuri or the other way around. But you’ve met Gyuri before you even knew she was mine, and she seems to be really taken to you for reasons that I can’t comprehend though I’m glad she is.”

“To me, this is a chance I might not encounter again if I don’t take it right now,” he continues, though his tone isn’t pressuring you at all. His voice is calm and collected, and you can feel the sincerity of it—he’s telling you the ball is in your court, that he’d be fine if you want to back out after this talk. “But if you don’t think you can take both me and Gyuri in the long run, I understand and I’m not going to push you. I won’t hold you against it.”

You stay silent at his words, looking down at your hand that he’s holding on his lap. When did you two move closer again? How come he’s now sitting down right in front of you, his knees touching yours? When did he get this close that you’re able to see all the stars in his eyes and the defeated smile in his face because you still haven’t said anything?

His hand gets tighter around yours and you can almost feel the desperation of it.

“Are you… sure Lili would be okay with this?” you decide to say, prompting Mingyu to release a relieved sigh because he knowsthis is you being hesitant despite wanting to say yes. Plus, he knows it’s a valid reason for you to hesitate over, and the warm feeling inside him couldn’t feel any more content when he thinks about how much you prioritize his daughter.

“You do know Gyuri asks about you everyday?”

“That doesn’t mean she’d understand about our arrangement, Gyu,” you say, trying to be stern even though you’re already in a losing battle the more you lose yourself in his eyes. There’s a sentimental look there that you can’t quite describe, but you know for sure that it’s the reason why a giddy smile is threatening to flash across your face.

“We’ll… take one step at a time, okay?” he settles as an answer. “We can be careful around her as we ease her into the idea of it. We don’t need to prioritize one over the others. We can just… try to go through both at once.”

You bite your lip as you contemplate over his words. You know he’s true and, if you’re being completely honest, there’s no better solution than the one Mingyu is offering. You can’t possibly ease Gyuri into it if you don’t take the chance first, and it’s stupid to try the relationship without easing the kid until she’s old enough to understand. It needsto be parallel.

“Okay then,” you tell him, your voice barely a whisper. Mingyu probably wouldn’t have heard it if he hadn’t been sitting so close.

“We’re doing this?” he asks once more to make sure, no longer bothering to hide his grin.

“Yes, you big baby,” you pretend to roll your eyes out of annoyance even though the smile on your face is betraying you in the best way possible. You squeal when Mingyu suddenly pulls you into his embrace, his arms a little too tight against your figure.

But you can’t really get mad when Mingyu’s soft laugh vibrates against his chest and the warmth of his lips meet your forehead. The both of you stay like that for a moment, basking in the warmth you’re sharing with each other in content. The only thing you can hear is his soft breath mixed with yours along with the steady beating of his heart against your ear.

When he finally loosens his hold, you pull away to meet his eyes. There’s a kind of love that you haven’t seen in a long time reflected there, one that tells you it still has room to grow and you’re excited to find out about. But you don’t really want to ponder about how long it has been since you have someone looking at you like you’re the only thing that matters because it’s not important now. It has passed and you don’t really care anymore.

What you care about is Mingyu’s low voice that gets your heart running once again when it has just finally settled into its usual rhythm, questioning you in a whispered breath if asking to kiss you would be too much. Furthermore, you only care about the way his lips perfectly mold with yours after you shake your head at his silly question, giving him your answer by leaning up first to meet his lips.

The kiss is short, not short enough to be called a peck but long enough to make your head dizzy and your cheeks flush once he pulls away. He’s sprouting a similar look though; his eyes are a little unfocused and you can feel his cheeks heating up against your palms.

Nevertheless, he drops another peck against your lips, and again, and again, and again until you burst into giggles despite his kisses because they tickle and you’re just too giddy about the whole thing.

Mingyu thinks it’s the most beautiful sound he has ever heard in his life.

©wonwoonlight – all rights reserved.

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[ahtsumu]

long shots ; miya osamu

pairing: miya osamu x f!reader

synopsis: miya osamu is the teacher’s assistant for food chemistry i. you can’t stop thinking about him.

tag(s): college!au, slow burn, TA!miya osamu, grad student!reader, fluff, reader is a go-getter!! ; warning(s): profanity, suggestive themes, talk of insecurities and imposter syndrome ; wc: 5.6k

a/n: happy birthday to @starrysamu​! i love u. pls excuse any errors. i’ll weed them out later! btw this fic is not a sugar daddy au LOL

HIS NAME IS Miya Osamu and he always looks like he has it all figured out. Comes in every class with his black hair perfectly tousled, the sleeves of his dark button-up rolled to his elbows, a cup of coffee in one hand and the strap of that black messenger bag in another.

“He drives a BMW, did ya know?” Isla says in your ear one morning. Your only friend in Food Chemistry I gives you a pointed look before sitting back in her chair in the lecture hall with a smirk on her face. “Saw it this morning. Bet he’s loaded.” The two of you watch the subject in question walk across the classroom and settle in his seat at the table in the corner.

“Shut up,” you whisper with wide eyes. A grin–– far from innocent–– makes its way onto your face. “Imagine being Miya Osamu’s sugar baby.”

“He’s not old enough to be a sugar daddy.” Isla looks at her nails disinterestedly. “And that’s too many AUs in one. He’s already the TA, for god’s sake. This isn’t some shitty Wattpad novel.”

A light giggle slips out of your lips. “I can see the title already. My Sugar Daddy is the TA?!”

Now, if anyone had been listening in on your conversation, they would’ve assumed many things about you. The first being that you’re both gold-diggers. This is untrue–– at least, in your case. Isla, you’re not so sure about, given how your friendship only goes back about one month. But she tags you in memes on Instagram so maybe it’s as real as real gets. Their second assumption would be that you have a big fat crush on your TA. That one’s complicated, mostly because it’s true, but only kinda. It all started in the second week of school when Isla caught you staring at Osamu and slipped you a post-it note with both your initials encircled in a heart. And, because you’re shameless with a good sense of humour, you made a show of kissing it while she was looking. And thus began your meaningless but incredibly entertaining, satirical, co-written fantasy about Miya Osamu.

It also didn’t help that on the first essay you got back, Isla’s paper had been marked up with “are you sure?”s and “this is a jump”s, while yours had “excellent reasoning” and “insightful analysis”. You’d even gotten a little comment at the bottom: y/n, fantastic work. you should speak up in class more often. –– OM

But Miya Osamu doesn’t play favourites because the next week you’d gotten another essay back, this time with another comment at the bottom: y/n, not your best work. you could’ve done better by connecting your first paragraph with the second using grant’s reading. conclusion lacked punch, too. all the best. –– OM

Every time you’d read the words scrawled in blue ink, you’d felt a pair of eyes on you. But you chalk it up to Osamu being a careful grader. A good TA. Someone who cares about his students.

Isla calls bullshit on that. You’re not really sure how to feel about her stance.

The classroom door opens and shuts again. You don’t have to look at your phone to know that it’s nine on the dot. Instead, you and Isla straighten your backs, pull out your notebooks, and focus. Your no-nonsense professor says “good morning” in her usual perky manner before jumping right into her keynote presentation.

“Did you all find the reading okay?” Professor Lee asks an hour into the lecture.

A chorus of “yes”s fill the air. You bite your lip, wondering if revealing that you didn’t understand shit will out you as the class idiot. Or maybe your silence is telling enough–– maybe the people in the seats beside you have noticed the grimace on your face and are having thoughts like ‘gee whiz, am I glad I’m not dumb like her’. Heat rushes to your cheeks. Sometimes you really wonder if you’re smart enough to be here. Occurrences like these do nothing to dispel your insecurities.

You vaguely hear her ask something like, “Any thoughts about the reading?” It’s not that you’re actually dumb. It’s just that this class is ridiculously hard for an introductory course, even for a graduate programme. From the start of the semester til now, fifteen people have dropped the class. There’s just twenty of you left. Guess a ridiculously hot TA can’t save a course’s drop-rate.

Before you can make your mind up on what to say, your professor moves on from her question.

As you look off to the side of the room for a break from your thoughts, you find a pair of blue-grey eyes pointed in your direction.

Everything about you, from the expression on your face to the way your muscles tense, makes you look like a deer caught in headlights–– even though he was the one caught staring in the first place. So maybe your shamelessness works on a scale.

Miya Osamu lifts one corner of his mouth.

And as if the exchange hadn’t happened at all, he looks back down at his laptop and continues typing.

The rest of the lecture goes through one ear and out the other.

“Everyone, I believe Osamu has something he wants to say,” Professor Lee says as everyone begins packing their bags.

The raven-haired TA slides out of his seat and sits on top of his desk. “Yeah.” Osamu clears his throat and crosses his arms over his chest. You notice how the muscles in his arms bulge from the movement.

“Whipped,” Isla mutters, grinning mischievously.

“Him for me,” you whisper back, though your eyes do travel back to his face where they should’ve been all along. Osamu catches your gaze and holds it. And then he looks away again.

“Now, I know you’re all Nobel prizewinners in the making,” he begins, garnering a round of snickers and giggles from your classmates. Most people say that cliques dissolve in college. That there’s no such thing as popularity amongst graduate students. That much, you agree with. But no one ever said anything about popular teacher’s assistants. Especially smart, attractive, witty teacher’s assistants like Miya Osamu. “But in case you didn’t understand the reading or would like to develop a deeper understanding of it, don’t hesitate to email me. I’ll try to host a review session all of us can attend.”

Professor Lee smiles appreciatively at Osamu, adding, “That’s a wonderful idea, Osamu. Guys, please take this opportunity if you struggled with the reading. I know eighty pages is a lot, but our next three classes are structured around the concepts in the reading and the mid-term next week will almost exclusively be about it, too.”

Well, shit.

To: m.osamu@hqu.edu

Hi Osamu,

I was wondering if I could get some help with the reading from last class. To be frank, I couldn’t make it past page 15 and I’m lost like a snot-faced five-year-old in a shopping mall on Black Friday. Sorry. Thanks in advance!

Regretfully,

Y/N

MS Candidate

College of Agriculture and Life Sciences

Haikyuu University

From: m.osamu@hqu.edu

no problem. is 5 pm tomorrow at jack’s okay? we start on the concepts from the reading next class so i want to get you up to speed asap. let me know. thanks.

OM

PhD Candidate

College of Agriculture and Life Sciences

Haikyuu University

It’s five minutes to five when you pull into the parking lot of Jack’s Diner. The shiny, retrofuturistic eatery is a university favourite but the empty parking lot tells you it’s completely deserted right now (and rightfully so–– who eats dinner before six?). The black BMW parked a few spots from your car, however, says that you’re not alone.

Osamu’s figure comes into view as you reach for the handle to the front door of Jack’s. The twenty-six-year-old sits by himself at one of the bright red tables in the back, typing away on his dark grey laptop.

His head lifts up at the sound of the opening door. Osamu calls out your name and waves you over.

“Hi,” you greet with a smile, sitting down across from him.

“Hey.”

You look around before leaning forward on the table. “Is anyone else coming?”

“No.” Osamu sits back in his seat. “I thought about hosting one big group, but then I realised that it’d probably be stressful for the staff here.” He nods his head in the direction of the kitchen. “And I had a hunch that everyone would have different questions. Forcing everyone to review concepts they already know is a waste of time.”

At first, you nod. That makes sense. But then you furrow your brows. “So how long have you been here?”

Osamu blinks. He hadn’t expected you to ask about him. “Hmm? Oh.” He taps his phone to check the time. “Just a while.”

Quirking a brow, you ask, “And how long is ‘a while’ to you?”

“Seven hours,” he admits, chuckling lightly when he sees your jaw drop. “A lot of people had questions. They just don’t act like they do. Anyway, time flies. Really, it does.” Quickly, he clears his throat and sits forward. “So, about your email.” He grins. “Not sure if you meant it to be funny, but it was.”

“I’m glad my distress was entertaining for you. Do you TA just to watch grad students suffer?”

“Perks of the job,” Osamu says. His grin widens when you giggle. He’s never heard you laugh before and he realises at that moment that it’s really nice. And then that same grin falters. Gracefully, of course, and imperceptibly to you. But not to him. Is it okay for him to be… thinking things like that? About a student? But you’re not really his student since he’s just the TA. Right? Osamu ignores the weird feeling that comes over him and clasps his hands together at the edge of his laptop. “Back to your email. Can ya tell me what you’re confused about?”

Three hours and two Impossible Burgers later, you suddenly understand everything about food molecules so well that you wonder why you’d even been confused in the first place. But besides that, you’ve also picked up things about Osamu. As a person and not an idea. Not that you’d been actively searching for fun facts about your TA. But they’d stuck to your brain like gum at the bottom of a desk. He likes to slip sarcastic quips into a conversation every now and then. Eats burgers upside down (“The right way,” as he’d said, smirking). Is friendlier than he looks.

“You’re really good at explaining things,” you comment as Osamu shuts his laptop closed.

“Well, I kinda have to be,” he says. And maybe it’s the mental fatigue catching up on him or the fact that he’s real fond of the reason why he can break big concepts down into morsels but suddenly, the rest of his thoughts spill out his mouth like wine. “I have a twin brother with potato salad for brains.”

“Oh?”

And before he can stop himself, he tells you about Miya Atsumu, the pro-athlete you’ve definitely heard of but never gave too much thought. And then you hold onto the fact that they were both on the volleyball team and you ask of which school, so then he tells you about Inarizaki, the high school he attended, and then his decision not to go pro to go to college, and then––

“Sorry,” he laughs, cheeks turning pink. “You probably didn’t need to hear all that.”

“No, it’s fine,” you say–– and you mean it. “Your life is interesting.”

Osamu leans back in his chair. “Well, I’m sure yours is, too.” He holds your gaze like it’s the key to your presence. It’s an invitation. The kind that comes from people who don’t really know if they want you around but also don’t want you gone.

You take it.

Osamu shouldn’t–– he really shouldn’t–– but he wonders about the things you didn’t tell him the entire drive home.

Isla laughs when you tell her about what happened at Jack’s. You lay in bed with your phone next to you on speaker, your face turned on your pillow so that you’re staring out the window at the city below.

“He wants you,” she sings.

“Or he was just being nice.”

“Methinks not!” Isla giggles. “He’s intrigued, girl! You’re like that cute little new mystery in his life and he just wants to get to know you.”

“I think he was just being polite.”

“Or he’s crushing on you!”

“In your dreams.”

“You mean yours? Boo, you’re no fun today. Usually, you go along with the jokes.” Isla’s tone is playful on the surface but full of implications.

A few silent seconds pass. Yeah, you think, agreeing. I do.

“Girl,” Isla drags out the word in a high pitch, saying it like a scientist says ‘eureka’. “You’re not playing along anymore because it’s real now. You're actually catching feelings!”

“Am not!” you laugh.

“The Y/N I knew would’ve said ‘nah, bitch, he’s catching feelings’ and I think that says all there is to say.”

“Okay, I think he’s cute but it’s not a crush,” you concede, grinning. “And he’s the TA, Isles. It’d never happen.”

“Not while he’s still a TA in a class you take.”

“Isla.”

“Ask him out once this semester ends! Unless you’re chicken.”

“I’m not asking him out.”

“Knew you were––”

“Have you seen me? He’s asking me out.”

Miya Osamu walks through the door at eight-fifty as usual that next morning, dressed in his usual button-up, holding his usual cup of coffee. But this time, as the rest of his tall frame passes through the doorway, Osamu’s eyes subtly scan the faces in the lecture hall, lingering for just a while over yours. The corners of your lips turn up. You hope he saw that.

“Bitch!” Isla whisper-screams. The students sitting around you turn around at the noise and grin at each other when they realise it’s just Isla being… well, Isla. She shoos them away jokingly.

“What?” you whisper back.

“Care to explain why our TA was literally eye-fucking you?”

“That was hardly eye-fucking,” you retort. “Maybe like an eye-handshake.”

“Yeah, a naked eye-handshake where his thang is handshaking your––”

He does it again the next class.

And the next.

And then he doesn’t. Miya Osamu walks through the door to Food Chemistry I at eight-fifty in the morning in a navy blue button-up with a cup of coffee in his hand and looks through the rows of seats in the lecture hall for your face, only to find it missing.

He debates pressing the matter.

To: m.osamu@hqu.edu

hey osamu,

i wasn’t in class today because i’ve been sick with the flu (no big deal, just feel like i’m dying). a classmate sent me pictures of the slides from today so i think i should be fine, but is it okay if i email you with any questions? thank you very much!

miserably,

Y/N

MS Candidate

College of Agriculture and Life Sciences

Haikyuu University

From: m.osamu@hqu.edu

y/n,

of course. sorry to hear that you’re sick. let me know if i can do anything to help you. the midterm is next week. get well soon.

OM

PhD Candidate

College of Agriculture and Life Sciences

Haikyuu University

“You writing that the midterm is next week did not offer me any peace of mind, by the way,” you say, spinning around in your chair as Miya Osamu enters your pod in the library.

He offers you a wry grin. “Hello to ya, too.”

“Was that an accent?” You thought you’d heard one at Jack’s, but you couldn’t be sure because it’d been so spotty.

Osamu slips into the seat beside yours and pulls out the laptop in his messenger bag. You catch a whiff of his cologne–– something spicy and woody, but clean. It suits him. “Nice catch. Yeah, I speak a regional dialect. Took me a while to smooth it over but it still resurfaces every now and then.”

“Why?”

“It just didn’t seem fitting for a PhD candidate, I guess,” Osamu explains, opening the slides from the class you missed. A day after your initial exchange, you’d emailed him again (with a much clearer mind) and asked if he could go over the slides with you in person.

i literally feel like i’ve been given the homework from russian lit, you’d written. except the russian has been translated to hieroglyphs and my task is to choreograph an interpretive dance based on the hieroglyphs.

Osamu had snickered when he saw your email. that doesn’t even make sense. must be the fever talking, he’d been tempted to write. But that strange feeling had come over him again, the one that’d screamed at him to keep it professional, goddamnit, so he’d played it safe instead and sent is eight pm at the main library okay? He hates that you’re getting a watered-down version of his personality. Osamu swears he’s a lot more interesting when he’s not, well, a TA.

“I think it’s fine,” you say, smiling. “I like it. It’s you.” And suddenly, you’re wondering if it’s okay to be complimenting your TA. If it’s okay to say that you like things about him, or if that crosses some grey, unclear line. Is it weird to treat your TAs like they’re your friends? It’s not like TAs are real teachers. Right?

A grin–– wide and genuine and almost excited–– grows on Osamu’s face. He rubs the back of his neck as his eyes flit over to the laptop screen. “Thanks. Really.”

You nod. But you feel like there’s more that he might want to say, so you wait.

“I got a lot of shit for it when I came here for my master’s, y’know. Not to my face, of course, but people would refer to me as ‘the guy with the accent’. A professor once said it made me seem crass. Said it’d hold me back in my career.”

“So you changed.”

“Adapted,” Osamu corrects. “It’s hard to admit but conforming is sometimes all you can do when you don’t have the power to change the system. Can’t really make everyone suddenly respect a dialect.”

“And after you’re finished with your PhD, you’ll go back to speaking in that dialect?”

Osamu looks out the window and smiles, probably imagining the plans he’s already made about the future. “Yeah.”

“What if you have to speak the standard language at your job? Like, your boss is all, ‘hey man, if you don’t speak––”’

“I’ll be the boss.”

“Oh?”

And with a little more prodding, Miya Osamu tells you about the restaurant chain he plans on opening after graduation, the slides about food additives left completely untouched.

The librarian knocks on your pod a few minutes before eleven to tell you they’re closing.

“Shit,” Osamu murmurs, running his hands through his hair. You’re still laughing about something he’d said before the librarian interrupted him–– one of his stories from high school–– and he thinks that you’ve completely forgotten that the reason you came to the library was to catch up on the material you were already behind on. And now you’re behind on that. But you look so carefree right now and, actually, you’re very pretty and you’ve got such a good heart and it’s a lot for him to process but he knows he just wants to see you happy a while longer. So Osamu just slumps back in his chair and laughs along with you.

He says your name as his chuckles grow softer. “It’s pretty late. How’re you getting home?”

“I’ve a bike,” you reply. It’s good for the environment and is a pretty solid form of exercise if you do say so yourself. Sometimes you just don’t feel like driving. 

Osamu presses his lips in a thin line. Would it be too much to offer you a ride? “I can drive you home. It’s really not safe for you to be alone outside, especially near midnight. You can get your bike tomorrow. Or I’ll get it for you.”

He drives fast. Not the unsafe fast that speed demons drive at, but the kind of fast where you know he’s got some edge to his character. You bring it up to him–– especially since it’s nighttime, for god’s sake, he could hit something–– and all he does is remind you how there are lamps as bright as the sun lining the entire road to your dorm. And the fact that you live in the least accessible dorm on campus.

“A twenty-minute drive?” he’d exclaimed when he saw the GPS monitor.

“A bunch of roads are closed for construction. It’s a ten-minute bike-ride because I can cut through campus.” And suddenly feeling a little burdensome, you’d added, “Sorry. I can still bike––”

“No.” He’d held his hand out in front of you, gesturing for you to stay in the passenger’s seat. “It’s not a bother at all.” Because it wasn’t. Osamu was… happy. Not that he’d admit that.

“So this BMW,” you start in a teasing tone.

Osamu smirks. “A gift.”

“Can I guess from who?”

“Sure.”

“Atsumu.”

His brows rise. “Colour me impressed.” He hadn’t expected you to remember anything he’d said about Atsumu. Or maybe he had but told himself otherwise to lower his hopes.

“I’m smart like that.”

He snorts. “Not if you keep distracting me and using your review time to…” hang out with me, get to know me, tell me things about you… “…goof off.”

You grimace. “Yeah. Sorry about that.”

Osamu makes a turn down a familiar street. It dawns upon you that you're ten minutes away from your dorm and suddenly you wish he’d just make the wrong turn at the next intersection so that you could talk to him some more. It can even be about the health benefits of fish or the molecular makeup of kale–– you don’t mind. You just want to be around him longer.

“I think you’re really smart,” Osamu says quietly. “I think you’re not processing the readings because you’re distracted, or just not fully applying yourself. Obviously, last class’s slides are a different thing, since you were absent. But you really are smart. I’ve seen your papers.”

You bite your lip to hide your grin, feeling heat rush to your cheeks. “Thank you.” You look out the window, too jacked on dopamine to think straight. “I think I still need you, though.”

And that innocuous little sentence floats right out your mouth into the air, settling between you like a little wedge before either of you even realise it. Neither of you says anything. You marinate in the awkwardness before stuttering out a clarification. “To, um, to explain things. Y’know, since you’re, uh, so good at… explaining things.”

Osamu clears his throat and chuckles stiffly. There’s a slightly pink tinge to his cheeks. “Thanks,” he says, looking straight ahead. He can’t even look at you. Fuck. It’s so awkward. “I’ll try to keep… explaining things.” Fuck. What does that even mean?

A few uncomfortable minutes pass in silence. The night can’t end like this, you think. It can’t when everything else had gone so well. You still have to see him for a few more months. “Did you know,” you start, catching Osamu’s attention, “that Jack’s Diner has a location in Italy?”

“Oh?” he asks, making the final turn to the street where your dorm is. He actually hadn’t.

“Yeah. I asked the owner about the chain a while back. Have you ever been to Italy?”

Osamu shakes his head. “I’ve been to Paris, though. To see a friend. He’s a chocolatier.”

Now, if Osamu had been your friend, you would’ve said something like well, let’s go to Italy together, except he’s not. He’s your TA and you’ve been reminded that enough tonight. So instead, you say, “When you open that restaurant of yours in Italy, let me know.”

“That’s gonna take a while,” he laughs. He appreciates how you said ‘when’, though. And he tucks that little bit of confidence you have in him somewhere deep in his mind so that it doesn’t get lost.

“Isn’t that just seven hours?” you shrug, grinning. Osamu’s BMW pulls up outside your dorm and parks as he marvels at what you just said. You’re amazing. You unbuckle your seatbelt and turn to face your driver.

“Thank you for driving me,” you say, offering him a smile.

“Yeah,” he replies.

You stretch out your hand. With a puzzled look on his face, Osamu grabs it and shakes it. Firmly. You can’t help but notice how nice his hands are. Calloused for sure, but they feel nice.

“Goodnight, Osamu.”

“Goodnight, Y/N.”

He watches you jog into the building before driving away. And it’s like you’ve possessed his car or something because the smell of your shampoo and perfume is everywhere and it’s too much but it’s also not enough at the same time and he can feel your palm against his as he spins the steering wheel to make a turn and for the first time in his life he doesn’t turn on the radio to fill the silence in his car. Osamu replays everything you said in his head.

But he especially thinks about that part where you said you need him.

Weeks melt into months. You turn in essays after essays for Food Chemistry I, each coming back with detailed commentary in an all-too-familiar blue scrawl. All your other classes go well–– extremely well, actually. You might just end the semester with a 4.0 if Food Chem doesn’t fuck you over. Isla still tags you in memes on Instagram. You still tell her about everything that happens with Osamu.

Speaking of.

“That’s the wrong equation,” he says behind your ear as he settles in the seat beside you. The sound of his low voice so close to your ear sends a small shiver down your spine. “You gotta switch the hydrogens.” Osamu knocks on your skull lightly. “What’s goin’ on up in there? Ya got somethin’ on your mind?”

You laugh and elbow him in the side. “Shut up, ‘Samu.” He’d told you during one of his office hours that he’d gone by that nickname because he had a teammate with a foreign name in high school. It sounded so cool, he’d said, grinning.

I think Osamu sounds pretty cool already, you’d teased.

And he’d replied, Let’s trade. I like yours, you like mine, why not share?

You teeter on the line between friends and less-than-friends and, oddly enough, more-than-friends. Sometimes you still play it safe. Sometimes he pauses between texts and real-time conversations, no doubt to scrap an instinctive reply for something more “professional”. Sometimes you say things that make him look at you with the ghost of a smile at the corners of his lips. Sometimes he calls Atsumu to scream about you.

“S’not a no,” Osamu points out. He’s dressed in a black sweater and grey trousers today. You’re suddenly reminded of how the weather’s been getting colder when someone opens the door to the university café and lets in a gust of chilly autumn air.

“Okay,” you admit, setting down the pencil. “I just… don’t really feel prepared for this next test.”

Osamu frowns and looks down at your worksheet. “Your process is correct, though.”

“Right, but… I don’t know. I’ve just not been feeling great about myself lately,” you laugh, looking down at your feet. “Food Chem’s the toughest class I’ve ever taken. And remember how I completely embarrassed myself in that class discussion last week? It’s not really making me feel like I belong here.”

“Imposter syndrome,” Osamu remarks.

“Correct-o.”

He says your name softly and puts a gentle hand on your shoulder. “Maybe you’re not the smartest, but you’re definitely smart. And you belong here. I’ve seen your papers. They’re just as great as anyone else’s and I don’t hand out compliments for nothin’. You’re gonna do some great things but ya can’t improve if you ever give up.” Osamu searches your eyes for a sign of your understanding.

There’re a lot of things you want to say but you don’t know how to put them into words. “Can I hug you?” you finally ask.

Osamu doesn’t even think about it. “Of course.”

He feels you smile against his chest and wonders if you can feel his heart beat faster.

Isla camps out in your dorm as finals come around the corner.

“I don’t understand shit!” she wails, throwing her notebook into the air.

“Isles, it’s okay,” you laugh, slipping out of your chair and walking over to her nest in the corner. “You gotta chill, dude.”

“Not fair! I didn’t have a hunk holding my hand through this course all semester,” she retorts, humour glittering in her dark eyes. “I had the Organic Chemistry Tutor and his accent’s cute enough but, girl, you had Miya Fucking Osamu!”

“You’re literally the worst.” You giggle and sit down beside her. “Tell me what you’re confused about. I’ll try to explain it to you.” The way Osamu does.

You text him that you’d channelled his brains later that night.

His reply comes seconds later. all you, einstein.

From: osamu

good luck on the exam

you’re going to kill it

To: osamu

would u like to divulge any… information about it? 😏 😏 😏

From: osamu

bye

To: osamu

i was kidding :(

From: osamu

fine. tip #1: write your name

To: osamu

not very helpful. 0/10

From: osamu

keep running your mouth and 0/10 is what your score’s going to be

i’m kidding

you got this, y/n

“Holy fuck,” Isla groans as you cross the street to head to lunch at Jack’s. “If you don’t see me next semester it’s because I’ve gotten my grade back and decided to drop out.”

“What would you do?” you ask, amused.

“Maybe move to New Zealand. Raise some sheep. Marry a hot, blond shepherd and fuck off to a cliffside cottage.”

“Solid plan.”

“What about you?” she asks.

“What about me?”

“Remember that conversation we had at the start of the year? About your man?” The two of you reach another red light for pedestrians.

“We’re friends. He’s not my man,” you laugh. Though it pains you to. Something about being Miya Osamu’s friend doesn’t really sit right with you, but you don’t know how to not be his friend. You don’t know how to move out of the corner you’ve backed yourself into.

“But you wish he were! And now you can finally hit him with that ‘Hey, Osamu, I’ve been madly in love with you since the start of the semester, wanna fuck like rabbits and then open that store in Italy?’ and he’ll be all––”

A throat clears behind you. With wide eyes, the two of you turn around.

Holy fuck.

Miya Osamu stands behind you with his hands in his pockets and an enormous smirk on his face.

“He’ll be all what?” he asks, eyes fixed on you.

Isla murmurs an excuse and starts walking on her own to Jack’s.

“Um.” You swallow nervously and shrink in your coat. “You heard all of that, right?”

“Yep.” Osamu grins. He grins. He’s grinning. He’s smiling like he’s won the fucking lottery and you honestly don’t know what to do with that information.

“So, like,” you look down at the sidewalk and kick at a pebble, “what are your thoughts about that?” God, you could die. “‘Cause I know you’re a TA and it’d probably look pretty bad and I don’t want anything bad to happen to you because I like you and it’s cool if we just…”

Osamu interrupts you with a laugh. “My thoughts,” he says, “are that I want to kiss you.” His fingers lift your chin up. “What are your thoughts about that?”

Well, shit. “I think that’s pretty cool, yeah,” you breathe, eyelids fluttering shut as his face comes closer to yours.

He tastes like mint. And his lips move softly, slowly against yours like he’s savouring the moment. And then you feel his hands snake around your waist to pull you closer–– closer because you both are tired of forcing the distance between bodies that want to be near each other, closer because he’s thought about kissing you just like this for so long, closer because you remember the last time he’d touched you was three days ago and it was just a brush of his fingers against your arm and that feeling of wanting more haunted you for the entire night. But holy shit, Miya Osamu is kissing you. He’s kissing you.

And then he pulls away. His dark eyes flit over yours. “I,” he breathes, “I need your course load next semester.”

“What?” you ask, disbelief written all over your features, chest rising and falling as you try to steady your breathing. You just kissed, for God's sake, and he's––

“I need to know which courses not to apply to TA for,” he grins, cupping your face in his hands. “Can’t be teachin’ in a class with my girlfriend as a student.”

“So we’re official?” you ask, beaming.

“If you want,” Osamu replies with a smirk.

You grab the front of his coat and tug him down for another kiss. “Hell yeah, I want to be official.”

[yeojaa]

( DEVIL IN A NEW SUIT. )

Money’s something that makes the world go around.  There’s absolutely nothing wrong with securing the bag.  You don’t shame anyone for doing what they need to do.  

That is, until you come face to face with the poor guy that’s being suckered out of both his heart and cash.  You simply can’t let it go on.

pairing.  jjk x f!reader.

genre + rating.  idiots to lovers.  fluff, angst, smut.  the holy trifecta, babies!  explicit, obviously.  

tags / warnings.  mentions of infidelity, kook being adorable and sad, reader being a bit of a tactless butthole, a satin playsuit (very nsfw), kook does a 180, smut in the form of: a slight oral fixation, too much spit, overstimulation, pussy slapping, unprotected sex (pls don’t be irresponsible).

wc.  12.2k of nonsense.  pure nonsense, i tells ya. 

beta reader(s).  @hobi-gif​ did what she always does aka read through this and made me a better writer and @yeoldontknow​ dealt with my big dumbass and let me cry about my pea brain to her.  i love you both sm!!!  ✨💜

author note.  the long-awaited fic is here!!  i really hope you enjoy it.  if you do, please maybe leave a comment or something?  i swung back and forth between loving and hating this so it’d really, really mean a lot.  anyway, thanks as always for reading and i adore you!  stay safe and happy and healthy!

He’s a sucker.  That’s what you think of him, despite the fact you’ve never met him.  It’d be impossible not to, given what you’ve heard. 

His girlfriend - or something - is in every other week, flashing his black card like she has something to prove.  Sometimes, she’s by herself;  often, she’s with another gaggle of girls that fawn all over themselves and shriek a little too loudly for your taste.  They’re vapid, snooty in a way that makes you cringe every time they step into the boutique.  Still, you’re nice because this is your job and you have to be.  You can’t exactly tell a paying customer to get lost - even if you think it at least six times each visit. 

“He has no idea.”  It’s always the same thing, a story that pulls at your heartstrings yet has you scoffing in equal parts.  “I told him we were doing a girls’ trip but Hyunjin’s going to meet me on his way back and we’re spending the week at the Ritz.”

How can he possibly be this dumb, you wonder.  How can’t he see past the pretty pink lipstick and perfectly coiffed blonde hair?  It isn’t even that nice of a colour job - too icy and reminiscent of Malibu Barbie. 

(She’d bragged about it once - how she’d gotten an appointment at one of the most coveted salons in the city, spending hours in the stylist’s chair to get this “perfect shade”.  Her words, not yours.)

You figure he must be some lonely schmuck, some poor old sap who can’t possibly get what he’s looking for anywhere else.  Maybe he had some weird spoiling kink - if so, where was your man like that - or he just wanted companionship and found it in the arms of girls who paid him any sort of attention.  Truthfully, you thought a lot of things about him.  Kind of had to, given how often his girlfriend was in, rambling about her exploits and snickering behind his back.

You’d never expected him to be like this.

Jeon Jungkook shows up on a Sunday afternoon, shortly after lunch and with the dopiest smile on his face. 

Your colleague notices him first, nudging you to attention because you, unlike her, actually do productive things while you’re at work like go through layaways and make sure items aren’t sitting in the back gathering dust.

“He’s cute,”  she very poorly whispers, voice carrying because it always does.  She’s a younger girl - maybe a few years your junior, who’d gotten her job through pure nepotism - but she’s sweet enough.  Zero tact, though.  Never notices when she’s being just a little too forceful with her sales but her sweet smile and full rack seem to keep her from getting into any trouble.  You consider her a vaguely annoying sister, someone you love even when you don’t necessarily like her.

You glance up from the iPad balanced in your hands, disinterested.  “Who?”

There’s an older couple striding past the entrance, hand-in-hand with three Hermes bags.  (God, what awful taste.)  There’s another couple standing at the mouth of the Louis Vuitton boutique, bickering about which belt will best match the boyfriend’s tux best.  (The answer is neither, because those belts do not belong with a classic black tux.)

“Him.”

Yejin all but points him out, jerking her chin in his direction.  You don’t know how you hadn’t really clocked him in the first place.  Maybe because he’s so unassuming that you’d just brushed over him, noting his outfit before moving on.  When you look at him - really look at him - you can’t look away.

You think he’s handsome in that off-kilter kind of way, too-big teeth and too-wide eyes.  He’s terribly innocent looking, despite the fact that he’s wearing a gleaming gold Rolex and sleek black boots you recognise from Prada’s 2019 RTW.  Everything he wears is tailored, fitting him to the point you wonder who his seamstress  is.  

But then he speaks, and it’s not the suave, sultry voice you’d expect.  It’s featherlight and almost shy, bashful in its delivery.  

“I’m here to pick up a bag for my girlfriend?”  He upspeaks.  It’s stupidly adorable.

Bless her soul, Yejin throws a glance in your direction first.  A silent ‘yours or mine?’ that’s answered when you step forward, blindingly bright customer service smile in full effect.  “What’s the item and the name it’s under?”  You keep in mind he’s said girlfriend very clearly, even as you can’t help but trail your stare over his shoulders, the dimple that digs itself into his cheek when he speaks again.

“Oh, it’s under mine.  Jungkook. Jeon Jungkook.” 

You’re floored.  This is Jeon Jungkook?  This specimen draped in leather and fine Japanese silk is the poor idiot wrapped around Barbie’s finger?  You’ve got to be kidding.

You wonder whether the surprise is evident on your face.  It must be, given how quickly Yejin interrupts, piping up in that saccharine sweet voice of hers.  “I’ll grab it!  The Box bag in cloud, right?”

Jungkook can only nod dumbly.  He has no idea what he’s there to pick up - only that he needs to because his girlfriend is away on a trip with her two best female friends.  He tells you as much, chuckling at his own ignorance.  It’d be cute if it weren’t so sad, his eyes twinkling like the jewels set in your ears.  There’s so much love in his eyes it’s frankly sickening.  

It comes before you can help it, snapping off your tongue - an oil spill ready to drag him to the depths of hell.

“Oh - you’re Kiko’s boyfriend?  I thought you’d left for Hong Kong already.”  Your head tilts - the picture of innocence as you continue to spew things you shouldn’t, staining the innocence of his expression with each word that drops off.  “She said she was leaving on Friday.”  Even while you’re tearing this poor man’s life apart, you’re racking your brain for the off-handed comments she’d made.  “She kept going on and on about how she was so excited to be staying at the Ritz.”

It’s almost like you gain some sick sort of satisfaction in watching his face fall.  You’ve never seen someone crumble so quickly, every ounce of affection swept up and spat out in the time it takes you to take a solid, proper breath.  

You do feel bad.  Not for saying it, but for being the person to do this.  For hurting this stranger.  (At least he knew?)

“I think you have me mistaken for someone else.”  Gone is the sunny friendliness, the blissful geniality.  He’s very much uncertain, bunny teeth digging into the full swell of his bottom lip.  He’s pigeon-toed and round-shouldered, thick brows drawn neatly over his stare as he focuses on some indeterminate point somewhere by his feet. 

If Yejin were on the floor with you, she’d tell you to knock it off.  Chastise you for getting involved in something you had no business being in.  (She’d be right, but you’ve always been an advocate for tough love.)  As it stands, she’s still in the back finding that stupid girl’s bag and you’re here, shaking your head, weakening Jungkook’s resolve with the edge of your teeth.  “No, she definitely said she was going away with her boyfriend.  Did you maybe give us the wrong name?”

Maybe if he weren’t so upset, he’d be more offended by the insinuation he’s stupid.  Instead, he only falters further, head mimicking yours.  Poor guy.

“I—I think there’s been a mistake.”

Yeah, you dating that gold-digger, you want to say.  Instead, you meet his stare like you haven’t just dug a thousand holes in his foundation.  “Oh, maybe.  I’m sorry.”  The apology is honest, even if the meaning behind it isn’t.  That’s a thing, right?  Apologising to make someone feel better, even when you don’t necessarily agree with it?  

God, you’re an altruist. 

“It’s fine.”  When he stutters, adorable lisp coming out to play, you know it’s not.  You applaud him for his brave face, even if it’s very poorly offered - a makeshift mask you think you could tear off with just another well-aimed word.  (You won’t.)

“Here it is!”  Yejin’s back, bouncing out from behind the counter with the giant white bag in her hands.  If she notices the atmosphere, she says nothing.  You remind yourself to tell her good job once Jungkook leaves - and you know he’ll leave the moment he’s got those silk handles in his hand.  He looks about ready to cry - or ready to fight, you’re not sure.

Once the purchase is passed over, he nods his head furiously and you swear you see a tear go flying.  You don’t have time to ask before he’s hoofing it out of the store.  

He doesn’t even notice he’s left his wallet on the counter.

By the time you snatch it up and round the corner, he’s nowhere to be found.  Probably because running in stilettos is next to impossible and he’s gotten an embarrassed head start.  Well then.

“I guess we’ll have to call him,”  you hum, turning the Prada bi-fold over and over in your hands.  It’s practically brand new, stuffed with large bills, his driver’s license, and few credit cards, including a Hyundai black card.  The same one on file that his girlfriend - maybe soon-to-be ex-girlfriend? - uses shamelessly.

Yejin’s watching you carefully, silently.  You’re counting down how long it’ll be until she asks - because you can see the curiosity swimming in her eyes, practically bulging her cheeks with the effort of keeping her questions caged behind her teeth.

Finally, after a good three minutes, she’s at your side, bony point of her chin digging a grave into your shoulder.  It’s probably not the most appropriate thing but she’s never much been one for decorum.  (You either, but still.) 

“So… what was that about?”

You don’t bother to turn when you speak, back to running through order details and matching them with customers.  “What?”

“You know— that!”  She waves her wrist in a circle, gesturing toward the space Jungkook had occupied not five minutes ago.  “He ran out of here like he was scared for his life.”

“Scared of the truth,”  you correct. 

You hadn’t thought it was possible for her to get more pale - she’s already fine porcelain, perpetually slathered in sunscreen - but she somehow does, balking at your response.  There it is. 

“What?”  There’s a reproachful edge to her words, an uncertainty that tells more than the single syllable. 

“What?”  It’s mimicry and a challenge all in one, meeting her stare from the corner of your periphery.  You can read every emotion that runs through her expression:  shock, displeasure, confusion.  

She retreats a step, bottom lip caught between her teeth.  (She really does remind you of your little sister.)  “So, you told him?”

You shrug, a noncommittal gesture that disrupts the curtain of silk that falls over your shoulder.  You hadn’t laid it out for him but surely he had an idea now.  There was no way he didn’t. 

“I pointed out a few conflicting facts.  That’s all.”  You’re not ashamed about what you’ve done.  You’d want to know if you were him.  Consider it an act of goodwill. 

The silence that meets your ears isn’t surprising but you don’t pay it any further mind.  What’s done is done.  Now he knows, or something close to it.  The chips would simply fall where they were meant to. 

You have to admit - you’re rooting for him. 

Whatever Yejin’s thinking, she keeps it to herself for the rest of the shift.  She knows better than to berate you about something like this, not that she would anyway.  Obnoxious as she can be, you have an understanding.  It strengthens your not-quite-close-friends-but-more-than-colleagues relationship. 

It’s only at the end of your shift that she brings it up again, drifting over to you as you complete your cash count for the evening. 

She holds Jungkook’s wallet in her hand, mouth pursed thoughtfully as she taps it against the edge of the counter.  “You have to call him.”

You almost lose your count, finishing with a pinched expression.  “Whoever works tomorrow morning can call him.”  You’re not brushing off the responsibility - you really could care less - but simply passing it along to the next person.  Sensible. 

As it turns out, you’re the person who works the next morning, called in because another associate has come down with a cold.  

You’re two lattes deep when you remember the wallet, tucked neatly behind the counter with a yellow sticky note posted to the front.  You suppose it’s your responsibility now.  You know if Yejin comes in tomorrow and sees it, she’ll give you her childish brand of hell. 

The line rings twice before it picks up, that oddly familiar voice crackling through the speaker.  “Hello?”

“Jungkook?”  

There’s a beat of silence followed by a careful confirmation. “Yes, that’s me?”  Upspeaking again. How cute. 

“I’m calling from the CELINE boutique.”  You can practically imagine the look on his face, eyes as wide as saucers as he recalls the awful-to-him encounter.  “You left your wallet here and I wanted to make sure you got it back.”

“O-oh, uh—“  It’s like encountering a baby bunny - or deer or something equally adorable and vulnerable.  “Thanks.  I didn’t even notice.  Um, I can come pick it up today?”  There’s another pause, the sound of fingers over a screen, and then he’s back.  “Is that okay?”

Leave it to him to have lost his wallet and yet be worried about putting someone else out.  He truly was a sucker. 

“That’s fine.  We’re open until six tonight.”  

“I’ll be there before dinner.”  As if realizing how vague that is, he continues, words running headlong into each other like he can’t get them out fast enough.  “Before six, I mean.  Um, is around five-thirty okay?” 

You want to tell him to just come whenever, that it really doesn’t matter to you, but that probably isn’t going to help the situation.  Instead, you hum a quiet sound of confirmation.  “Of course.  We’ll see you then.” 

He hangs up immediately. 

The second time you meet Jeon Jungkook, he’s just as endearing as the last.  It’s actually surprising, if you’re being honest.  You’d thought he’d be resentful or mean or any other emotion better fitting someone whose entire world had turned upside-down.

As it stands, he’s just the right-side of anxious, a hundred little sparks of uncertainty flaring beneath his skin and lighting him up in neon.  You can see him from a mile away he’s lit up so bright, seemingly uncomfortable in his own skin.

Your heart aches for him - and then it skips, almost trips over its own two feet when he wanders into the store with his hands dug deep into the pocket of his pants.

How he looks tonight is nothing like how he’d looked yesterday.  Somehow, you like it more.  The undone head-to-toe Balenciaga, the unruly curl of his dark hair.  It’s effortlessly chic - though you think it might have something to do with the fact that he’s just an attractive person.  (Good-looking people could get away with anything - even god-awful fashion faux pas.)

At the sight of you, he seems to further lose steam, eyes widening to such an extent you briefly worry for him.  Surely they’ll fall out of their sockets one day.  

“O-oh.  It’s you.”  The moment the words come, he’s blushing the colour of your red-soled shoes, horrified.  “I m-mean, just—”  He takes a deep breath, finds his footing and tries again.  “You’re the girl that helped me yesterday.”  Spoken like you, the exact girl who helped him yesterday, wouldn’t remember that fact yourself.  

“That’s right,”  you say evenly, expression neutral.  It’s almost as if that surprises him more - as if he’d expected you to shy away from the knowledge.  

The two of you stare at each other for longer than is strictly speaking necessary.  Well, you stare at him and he kind of bounces his eyes around the room.  You know he can’t be that interested in the croc stamp Belt bag behind your head or the selection of small leather goods in the glass case.  

He’s so awkward.

(You did kind of ruin his day though, so you can’t blame him.)

“So, um, my wallet?”  He’s made barely any headway, still lingering awkwardly by the front of the store.  You can’t help your smile - it’s more of a smirk - as you raise the item in question.  

“Right here.”

Jungkook glances from it to your face, then back again.  He makes the same trip twice more.  “Can I have it?”  To your surprise, he’s taken two whole steps toward you, brow furrowed.  He’s still terribly soft, rounded edges and innocent eyes, but he’s making progress.  Good job, you think.

“Of course.”  You mirror him, moving out from behind the counter.  Somehow, that’s not the right move, because his features are breaking and rearranging, big bunny teeth worrying a hole straight through his bottom lip.  You’d think he’d be more confident, more demanding, more… everything.  (You quite like that he isn’t - a complete anomaly - but you also imagine it’s also to his detriment.  Too much honey, not enough vinegar.)

This time, he closes the distance with three long strides.  It hadn’t escaped you how tall he was, the length of his gait - after all, you’d tried to run after him - but you’re still a little surprised when he’s in front of you, not a foot away, arm extended.  Palm out, he asks again, all while refusing eye contact.  “May I have it, please?” 

You hand it over with a soft laugh, pressing the grained leather into his hand.  You expect him to retreat immediately and he does - but then he turns and his expression is inscrutable.  Is he going to say thank you?  Berate you for what you’d done yesterday?

Neither, it seems.  “Why did you do it?”  There’s no anger, just an abiding sadness that laces his words, turns them the saddest shade of blue.

“Do it?”  You know what he means.  You ask anyway.

“Why did you tell me?”  Jungkook’s doing that thing again, alternating between biting his tongue and chewing his cheek as he stares at you.  You can practically see the melancholy rolling off him;  it shines dark on the depths of his irises, how his fist trembles just barely at his side.  For all his good looks and leisurely charm, you can see the effort it takes to hold himself together now.

Guilt ascends, starts somewhere deep in your stomach and turns stomach acid to butterflies.  It creeps higher and higher over your spine, locking each vertebrae until you’re immobile, unable to tear your gaze from his.  “I thought you deserved to know.”

“But why?” 

“What do you mean?”  

It’s almost comical, how both your expressions descend into bewilderment - like looking into a fun house mirror.  He’s trying to wrap his mind around your actions and you’re just trying to make sense of his confusion.  

You anticipate a response - can see it tittering on the tip of his tongue - but he seems to think better of it, shaking his head.  It dislodges a wayward curl from behind his ear, silver twinkling with the movement.  

“Thank you” is all he offers before speed-walking away.

You don’t expect to see Jeon Jungkook for a third time.  

He’s waiting for you when you end your shift on Thursday, standing somewhere between the two boutiques, loitering like some kind of gremlin.  (Except he’s dressed exceptionally well, slick black jeans and a Balenciaga tee shirt that rivals the cost of your shoes.  Of course he’d get away with hanging out in the store without being told off.)

“Excuse me.”  For once, he doesn’t sutter.  The lisp doesn’t present itself, either.  Was this the same Jungkook?  You’re not sure until you meet his stare - or try, his own skipping away the moment you make contact.

There he is.

“Yes, Jungkook?”  He flinches, as if he isn’t expecting you to know or say his name.  How can someone so big, so broad across the shoulders with a face that belongs on billboards, look like such a terrified rabbit?  It makes no sense to you.

“Can we talk?”  The stare he levels you with is unfair, too sweet and coaxing for you to even consider saying no.  You’ll still mess with him a bit though.

“We are talking.”

He sputters at that, hacks out a cough that makes you snicker openly.  It’s just so easy with him, like taking candy from a baby.  

“I mean like— talk talk.”  The set of his jaw gives away the whisper of frustration, the fleeting touch of exasperation that doesn’t allow itself to live anywhere else.  His eyes are still soft, round and glossy beneath the fluorescent storelight.  

���Sure, we can talk talk.”  

“Did you, um, want to grab dinner?”

You don’t mean to mock him (at least, not really) but he just makes everything so easy. You hope he doesn’t take it the wrong way.  “Are you asking me on a date?”  

“W-what?  No!”  Despite the immediacy of his response - the look of utter shock that cracks the careful facade - he’s burning bright, cheeks aflame with colour that licks up and over his ears.  “I just— I thought you’d want to talk somewhere else—”

“I’m kidding.  Let’s go.”

You move first, stepping past him and onto the elevator without a backwards glance.  He scampers after you, trails like a lost puppy in the wake of your shadow.  Even while you stand in the corner, waiting for the lift to meet the main floor, he keeps a careful distance, hands jammed into the pockets of his jeans.  

“So, what do you want to talk about?”  It seems you have to take the initiative, throwing him a curious stare as the floor number ticks down.  His gaze is trained on neon digits, unmoving.  You repeat yourself, glancing up at him, half-tempted to nudge him out of his reverie.  It’s almost like talking to a really hot brick wall.  “Jungkook?”

He tears out of his thoughts like a wayward bullet, head swivelling wildly.  “Huh?”  

“What did you want to talk about?”  

“Um—”  He hesitates, not as if he doesn’t know the answer, but rather that he’s hesitant to speak it into existence.  There’s a tidal wave in the depth of his stare, a cresting wave that looks on the edge of breaking.  “—m-me?”

Brows furrow then amusement spills out.  “You want to talk about… you?”  

“That sounds bad.”  The shape of his grow prominent over his bottom lip, his mouth pulling and pursing with whatever maelstrom exists inside that pretty skull of his.  

“It’s fine.  We’ll talk at dinner.”  

He nods.  You think it means thank you.

Sitting across from each other in the Michelin-starred restaurant - a sought after spot that takes reservations weeks in advance - it’s easy to imagine Jungkook is just another guy.  Another bachelor with too much money and not enough sense, eager to sink his teeth into his next victim.  

It’s hilarious how far that is from the truth.

“What did you want to eat?”  He’s speaking into the pages of the leatherbound menu, half his face hidden.  Whether it’s a defense mechanism or just how he woos pretty girls, you’re not sure.  (You have a feeling it’s the former.)

“Whatever.”  Everything here is incredible.  You really don’t mind.

Jungkook’s face falls, folds in on itself like wet paper and you sigh a sound that further breaks apart the pillars keeping his composure in place.  His right cheek is hollowed, interior being shredded by enamel.  You take pity on him then, flipping open the menu with a great flourish. 

When the waitress - a lovely little thing whose gaze lingers on your dining partner for too long to just be polite - comes to take your order, you rattle off your usual order, doubling certain selections.  Soft-spoken as he might be, you have a feeling the size of his stomach makes up for all the mumbling and half-hearted glances.

“So?”  You level him with a stare over the rim of your glass, lavender and lemonade bursting across your tongue.  

He echoes you, wide-eyed and Bambi-like and stupidly cute.  “So?”  

“What did you want to talk about?”  If you’d had a worse day, if you were a lesser person, you might be irritated by having to repeat yourself so often.  As it stands, you’re only curious, your inquisitive nature outweighing your naturally short temper. 

“Oh.”  Poor boy looks like he’s been asked an impossible question, like what’s the meaning of life or the secret to eternal youth.  He fumbles with the edge of his sleeve, turns the plaid over and over in his fingers as if it were a puzzle.  You stare at him the whole time, unflinching, unrelenting.  He’d asked you here so you damn well expect an answer.

You’re about ready to repeat yourself - fourth time’s the charm? - when he finally finds his voice.

“I wanted to say thank you.”

It’s not the answer you’d expected.  It whacks you in the face, smacking your usual confidence out of place and shooting your carefully threaded eyebrows into your hairline.  “What?” 

He’s terribly uncomfortable, unhappy with being on the spot.  You watch the flicker of emotions through his face, the ones that creep into the delicate skin beneath his eyes, the wobble of his bottom lip.  Try as he might, he can’t keep the light from his eyes - twinkling stars that bloom like newly minted stars.

“Thank you.”  It’s just that much harder when he repeats himself, edges he builds with his bare hands and a clearing of his throat.

You’re silent for a long while - long enough for the first few plates to be set before you.  You gather up shredded radish and perfectly charred beef with your chopsticks, chewing thoughtfully on the morsel.  Jungkook doesn’t move - doesn’t even reach for his chopsticks - and simply stares at you.  You might find it off-putting if it were anyone but him.

You get through half the bowl of green beans, well on your way to finishing it, when he finally begins eating, deftly transferring little bites to his bowl.

The only sound is crunching - king oyster mushroom tempura, ice from your cocktail - and you’re pleasantly surprised to find it’s not uncomfortable.  A little different, sure, but altogether nice.  Like dining with an old friend.

You finally answer when half the plates are gone, another three laid out in their wake.  You’re careful not to speak with your mouth open - you notice Jungkook doesn’t either - and take a long sip of your water.  “You’re welcome, I guess.”  

Something tells you you’re always surprising him - whether intentionally or not.  His eyebrows have a tendency to shoot up, making him look even more shocked than he normally does.  (Seriously, how big are his eyes?)  You find that funny but don’t comment on it, opting to pop a silken piece of black cod into your mouth.  Your stare never falters, trained on his face as you chew thoughtfully.

“What?”  He’s had enough of your quiet observation, apples of his cheeks reminiscent of the tree in your parents’ backyard.  

“What?”  You parrot back, shameless, dark eyes twinkling at him.

“Y-you’re staring at me.”  

“You’re sitting in front of me.”

The line of his mouth hardens then, tongue rolling against his cheek in a gesture that stands out.  It’s the first glimpse of something rude, something not doe-eyed and innocent.  Oh?

“You don’t have to stare.”  Said with a speared piece of sashimi, the end of his chopsticks assaulting the poor piece of bluefin tuna like it has personally offended him.  

You reach for the same place, knock ornate wood against his, and quirk a brow when he meets your stare.  “Does it bother you, Mr. Jeon?”  The inflection is drawn out, almost mocking, only softened by the smile you offer.  

“That’s not my name.”  The bite disappears past his teeth.  You expect him to continue three chews later but he only goes for another, filling his plate and then his mouth.

“Sorry— Jungkook.  Does my staring bother you?”

It feels a little like playing with fire - holding your hand too close to a flickering flame, curious what it’ll do.  Juvenile in a way but enticing in another.  You’ve never met anyone quite like Jeon Jungkook.

“It’s rude,”  he reasons, glossy eyes meeting yours for perhaps the fifth time that evening.

“Maybe I’m just rude.”

He shakes his head then - dislodges untamed strands from behind his silver-lined ears - and sets his chopsticks down.  (Perfectly matched up, propped against the provided rest.)  “You’re not.”

You can’t keep the surprise away, the emotion threading through your brows to tie them into a little knot of consternation.  He says it so readily, as if he knows you and this isn’t one of a handful of very short, very unexpected conversations.  He’s not even looking away, meeting your stare with a confidence that surprises you.  

It lasts for all of five more seconds before he clears his throat and sips at his tea.  Anything to busy his hands, you think.

“You don’t know that,”  you finally return, after what seems like too long.

“I do.”  He nods - almost to himself - and continues, matter-of-fact.  “You care about people.  You’re… hard around the edges but you don’t mean to hurt anyone.  You want to do what’s right.  Sometimes it means you have to do things that aren’t easy.”

For once, you’re at a loss for words.  Really and truly silenced, unable to articulate anything that might beat back the kindness he’s offering.  

How the tables have turned.

He likes waffles with chocolate syrup rather than honey.  He doesn’t like whipped cream or citrus-flavoured desserts.  He has a tailor he’s gone to since he was a child, the same elderly woman he sometimes calls halmoni because she’s watched him grow up.  He decorates his apartment with the most random things:  limited edition KAWs figurines and the guitars he still hasn’t had the most practice with, one of a kind paintings from the gallery one of his best friends curates.  He buys the most expensive bottles of wine at any given restaurant not because his palate is so evolved it matters, but because it’s what he’s been taught to do.

He’s been in four serious relationships in his twenty-five years.  All of them have ended poorly, though his latest with Malibu Barbie is the first where he’d been cheated on.  (Somehow, you doubt that but you don’t voice this disbelief.)  He tends to lean towards long-term relationships with women who baby him (your words, not his).  He scoffs when you call him a serial monogamist, insists he isn’t even as you list out all the facts pointing otherwise.

“I just… don’t like wasting my time,”  he insists from behind his coffee cup.  

“You mean you don’t like the potential to be hurt.”  

Jungkook blinks at you then, Bambi eyes so big and bright you almost want to laugh.  “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”  He seems confused - as if his reasoning is solid, irrefutable. 

“High risk, high reward, Jungkookie.”  It’s something your father had taught you years ago, the crazy old sap.  It’s probably why he’s had three divorces since you were seven years old, but you suppose it’s worked out for him now.  He’s been happily married for the last ten years - the longest relationship he’s ever had.  Youngin is good for him, though.  You like her - even if you sometimes wish she weren’t young enough to be your older sister and not his wife.

“You say that a lot.”

“I mean it when I say it.”

He’s quiet then, shoving a corner of his croissant past his lips.  When he speaks - starts to, anyway - his mouth is still full and you level him with a look that silences him until all traces of the pastry are gone.  “Girls are scary.”

You laugh.  Cackle, really.  You can’t help it.  He says it with a pout, the expression so utterly at odds with the offensively revealing shirt he wears, the smooth unblemished skin of his chest almost too much for such a quiet afternoon.  He glares at you across the table, shoves another piece of the flaky golden treat into his mouth, and waits for you to speak.  He knows you’re going to give him a piece of your mind because you always do, rebuffing 99% of the things he says.  (Sometimes for fun, often with good intentions.)

“Heights are scary.  Death is scary.  Leaving your wallet at home when you’re low on gas is scary—”

“Don’t you have Apple Pa—”

“Don’t interrupt.”  He clamps his lips shut, folding his arms across his chest.  From anyone else, it’d be a defensive gesture;  from him, it’s patient.  “Girls aren’t scary.  Having real feelings for people is scary, but that doesn’t mean you should just stay with people who don’t deserve you.” 

“Not all of us have cheater-sniffing noses.”  

You suppose he’s right but the fact still remains that he’s too nice for his own good.  Too trusting, too lenient, too blind to all the red flags.  Like he’s living life in greyscale. 

“Well, that’s what you have me for.”

The look Jungkook gives you then is incredulous, screwing his pretty face up as if he’s about to sneeze.  Instead, he laughs.  “I’m not hopeless.”

“Oh, but you are.”  You’re adamant, insistent.  He’s more comfortable with you now - sometimes teases you in a way you’d never have expected weeks ago - but he’s still so soft.  An absolute marshmallow dressed in designer duds, a heart of gold wrapped up in a bubble gum package.  

You want to protect him, teach him to fly.  Be his wingwoman until he’s soaring the skies on his own.  

You know it’s not his pride that keeps him from saying yes.  He doesn’t have an abundance of that, far too gracious to ever deny help when he really needs it.  He’s just shy, doesn’t know what he wants until it’s staring him right in the face.  

“Fine,”  he agrees after you’ve stared at him for too long.  It’s one of his weaknesses - his inability to handle attention when it’s laser-focused.  It makes him sweat, prompts his nervous habit of chewing at his bottom lip, long fingers picking at the peach fuzz on his cheeks.

“You won’t regret it.”

Jeon Jungkook has gone on six dates over the last ten days.  You know, because you’ve helped him pick out outfits for each of them, seated at the edge of his bed with your knees folded and a bag of white cheddar popcorn in your grubby little paws.

It’s not that he isn’t stylish - you both know he is - but there’s a certain finesse to dressing for dates, to knowing the likes and dislikes of your potential partner and playing to those.  

He, to no one's surprise, does not have this finesse.  If it were up to him, he’d wear his favourite clothes every day, different jeans and joggers in medium-wash denim and impossibly soft cotton.  He’d swap his Balenciaga separates in and out and stick with the finely tailored Gucci suit he calls his lucky ticket (ew).  He’d live in those stupid two-toned sneakers and barely do his hair, allowing it to become a powder puff reminiscent of old Hollywood movies.

The girls would probably still love it.  (It’s easy to love him.)

“What do you think?”  It’s low-cut black, relaxed in the shoulders and flattering in the torso.  It holds him just right, hugging the muscle that threads across his shoulders like armour, coils around his upper arms and makes his tattoos stand in stark relief where the sleeves end, mid-forearm. 

It looks good— but then again, a lot of things look good on him.  He wants great.

You answer honestly, because that’s what you do and that’s what he has you there for.  To knock him down when his (admittedly small) ego gets a little too big, remind him of his hubris like the summer sun upon his candle wax wings.  “Not bad…”

You don’t even need to finish the thought for him to be tugging the shirt over his head, back flexed, ink-strewn fingers gripping the hem.  

Not for the first time, you’re reminded of just how unfair life is. 

How had Jungkook - bona fide dork, certifiable shy guy - been gifted one of the best bodies in human existence?  (You wish you were joking.)  It was utterly absurd, a complete waste on someone who’d only learnt to utilise his good looks in the last five months you’d known him.  

“This one?”  He’s grabbing another hanger, all but thrusting it into your face.  Medium-weight cashmere.  Probably too hot for a night like tonight but you’ve seen it on him before and it hugs him like a lover, displaying his best assets (titties) and drawing attention to the narrow shape of his waist.  It’s the equivalent of a little black dress.

“Look at you go,”  you tease, mouth full of mirth and popcorn kernels.  “Throw that Juun.J trench you have overtop and you’ll be set.”

Jungkook nods sagely, as if your word is law.  You suppose it is.

“Thanks, ____,.”  He says it in that sweet way of his, eyes lost to the weight of his gratitude.  

Your response is a shrug.  “Bring me back some dessert and we’ll be even.”  You don’t know where he’s going tonight but you figure it’s one of the many restaurants you’d recommended earlier in the week when he’d started lining up his various dates.  You know there’ll be something good on the menu.  

He promises he will as he slides the turtleneck on, tucking it into the dark trousers he’d picked up days ago, and redoes the slim black Rag & Bone belt around his waist.  You have to admit - you’ve done another great job of styling him.  Simple yet painstakingly attractive, playing at all the little bits of Jungkook’s best qualities without outlining them in bright red ink.  Understated but elegant, effortless yet seriously hot.  

Maybe you should quit your day job and become the female Hitch.  That was a viable plan, right?

You’re mulling it over when you realise your walking Ken doll is making toward his bedroom door, wallet clasped in one hand and phone in the other.  “Hey!  You’re leaving already?”  It’s polite surprise that colours your words, stare drawn to the screen of your iPhone.  It’s only 6 PM and the reservation isn’t for another hour.

There’s a sheepish look creeping over his features, painting itself in delicate strokes that you spy past the line of his smile, how the skin crinkles around his eyes.  For a moment, he’s the shy Jungkook you’d met in your store and not the one that now bleeds careful confidence, filling his little black book (read: phone contacts) with names as easily as he breathes.  “I was, uh, going to stop and get f-flowers.”  A silver-lined hand scrubs across his nape, dislodges the carefully styled waves he’s settled for.

Flowers, huh?  Well, that’s certainly something new.  Good for him, you think. 

“Jeon Jungkook, going all out.”  It’s heavy on the teasing, playful mockery lending a warmth to your words.  “She’s special.”

Which you’d figured, given he was seeing her.  Repeats were rare for him now that he’d learned how to weed out the bad seeds, held his hand a little closer to his heart (at least, sometimes).  Since he’d started dating again, this would be the first time he’d be going on a second date.  It’s a big deal. 

“Yeah—“  Nervousness sparks across his face, lights up his stare like the stars in the night sky.  “I guess she is.”

You smile fondly, like a proud mother.  “Go get ‘em, tiger.”  

“I will,”  he promises, looking so giddy it makes your heart swell ten sizes.  

You don’t even think anything of it as you follow him out of his room, bag of popcorn neatly rolled under your arm and your socks slid back into place.  It’s only when he levels you with a strange stare, pauses in the shrugging on of his coat, that you return his look.  “What?”

“Where are you going?”

“Leaving?”  

“Why?”

Wasn’t that the million dollar question?  

You don’t normally leave, usually waiting here at home for him until he returns to give you a rundown of his date (and the promised appetizer/dessert/whatever).  It feels somehow wrong to stay, though, as if you’re taking up space that doesn’t belong to you.  He’s going on a second date, after all.  Soon enough, he won’t need your help picking out clothes or deciding on a restaurant.  You won’t get to curl up on your usual corner of his sectional, wrapped up in the obnoxiously soft blanket you’d convinced him to buy one night while online shopping.

But it’s fine.  Totally, one hundred and ten percent fine.  The two of you are friends.  You’d always expected - anticipated, hoped - this day would come.  Baby boy was growing up. 

“Y’know.”  You answer a second too late and he’s still wearing that odd expression, handsome face flooded with something that looks like disappointment.  It flickers in the bits of his stare you can make out past his fringe, partially concealed by the dark silk that you know feels as soft as it looks.

“I know?”  He never tries to read your mind - knows it’s utterly useless.  

You wiggle your hand dismissively.  “Second date and all that.”  

Jungkook giggles - the same deceptively sweet sound he always makes - and finishes tugging his jacket on.  It fits him so well it should be illegal, falling to his knees and ending just shy of the intricate laces of his boots.  “Just stick around.  I’ll drive you home when I get back.”

It’s something he always does - his way of saying thank you for putting up with all of his first date jitters, his outfit changes, his worrying over how to first approach a girl on Tinder - so you don’t doubt him.  “Fine.  I’ll stay.”

He beams, caught halfway out the door.  “Tell me to break a leg.”

“Go break her back,”  you retort to the sound of his laughter.

You’re almost asleep when your phone starts going off, the vibrations jolting you awake.  It rattles across the glass table, won’t shut the hell up until you’re slamming your hand atop it, glaring at the screen as it lights up with notifications.

It’s almost 2 AM and they’re from Jungkook.  This can only mean one thing.

from jeon jungkook:  Hey. from jeon jungkook:  I’m really sorry but I won’t be home tonight. from jeon jungkook:  If you want to stay over, I can drive you back in the morning. from jeon jungkook:  Please don’t be mad.

Leave it to him to apologise for getting his dick wet - to feel bad about having a successful second date.  It makes you laugh as you stare down at the texts, tap a quick response you know will have his heart racing.  (Even after months of friendship, it’s hard not to tease him just a little bit.)

to jeon jungkook:  i officially hate you

The typing notification gives him away immediately, but the moment you do the same, he stops.  Of course.  He hates confrontation - would rather leap off a cliff-face than deal with negative emotions.  (He’d told you that once, over a night of beer and fried tteok.)

to jeon jungkook:  it’s fine!  have fun! to jeon jungkook:  turn her world upside down 😏

He doesn’t answer after that but the read receipt pops up.  Good, you think.  About time he finds someone nice.  You wonder what she’ll be like when you meet her.  

Jungkook’s third date comes with another third - you.

He drags you along to dinner, insisting there’s nothing at all weird about the fact.  He has to repeat it at least four times during the drive there, head nodding like a plastic bobblehead as he weaves in and out of traffic. 

“I want you to meet her,”  he mumbles, like that makes it better.  As if bringing a friend along to a date with that reasoning means it’s totally acceptable and not on the list of Hard No’s When Dating.

“Don’t you think that’s kind of weird?”  He’s too focused on changing lanes to answer you, signalling before seamlessly drifting over.  (He’s an impressively responsible driver, but that’s unsurprising.)  You repeat yourself.

“It’s not… weird.”  But you have a feeling that he knows how odd the request is.  Knows and doesn’t care, unfortunately.  “She wants to meet you too.”

(When had Jungkook turned into this person who argued with you?)

You somehow highly doubt that.  No girl in her right mind would leap at the chance to meet her potential beau’s wingwoman.  It’s something reserved for official status, when the foundation is set.  Still, you play into his hand, level him with a stare he should recognise.  It’s the one you throw his way any time he’s too nice, gives a mile when he shouldn’t even offer an inch.  (It doesn’t come as often anymore, but it still makes appearances once in a while.)  

“What does she even know about me?”

“That we’re friends.”  His vague response speaks volumes.  The look changes - grows into a glare that has him furtively peeking at you from the corner of his periphery.  When he speaks, it feels like a dead giveaway.  “That I really value your opinion.”

You groan, a noise so loud it rattles around in the car and interrupts the ballad playing through the speakers.

“She’s trying to figure out if I’m competition or not!”  Of course.  It’s obvious.  She wants to know what she’s getting into it before things get too serious, determine if her Prince Charming is really all that.  (He is.)  “I’m not coming to dinner.”  

“You’re already in the car,”  he reasons.  

You note he doesn’t deny your first statement, mouth rounding into a pout that should crush your resolve.  Instead, it drives you mad, irritation bubbling in your throat.

“I just won’t go in.”

“____,.”  When he says it like that, it’s hard to deny him.  Jungkook might not utilise his charms often but when he does, it’s lethal.  Undeniable with those dumb Bambi eyes of his.

“No.”

“____,,”  he repeats, almost pleading.  You can’t look at him.  You won’t.  The moment you do, you’ll be sucked into the swirling vortex that makes up his stare - a million pretty little lights caught in the brown of his iris, so many possibilities you’d lose yourself trying to explore them all.

You last a whole ten seconds before his staring becomes too much, those round eyes tracking you in the rearview mirror until you’re relenting, softening in the way that only he can cause. 

“Fine.”  You hate how it sounds rolling off your tongue, terse and a little pissed off.  You’re not actually mad.  Just worried.  You’ve seen situations like this play out - not that you’ve been in this position before - but female friends and potential girlfriends just don’t go hand-in-hand.  It takes a very special kind of person to facilitate a meeting this early and you are not that person.  You’re ragged edges, uneven temperament, distrust that you can’t help.

Jungkook knows that.  Should, anyway.  You’ve grown close over the last nearly half a year.  

When he mumbles a quiet sorry, turns to rest his chin against his knuckles as he drives, you know he means it.  He’d never put you in this position if it didn’t mean a lot to him - if his own happiness wasn’t somehow also on the line.  (Truthfully, it’s your fault.  All that self-love encouragement was coming back to bite you in the ass.)

You grumble an obligatory acceptance as the streetlights fly by.  You’ve got a reputation to uphold. 

“You’re paying for my dinner.”

“Of course.”

How many times have you pictured this same situation, watched it unfold on your television screen as the protagonist gasps wildly, hand at their throat?  How many times have you laughed at the exchange, snickering into your palm as the romantic interest makes some wild declaration of love and wins the protagonist’s heart?

Answer:  you’ve lost count.

Still, it doesn’t prepare you to be thrust beneath the spotlight, half-dreaming and terribly confused.  

“What’re you doing here?”  At any other time, it might be as reproachful as you want, full of disapproval and sleepiness.  Here and now, it’s slurred speech and the lines of your pillow dug into the softness of your cheek, lashes dusted with sleep and breath freshly minted.

Jungkook’s oddly surprised, considering he’s appeared unannounced at your doorstep at the crack of dawn (not really).  “C-can I come in?”

You don’t budge.  It’s not because you’re about to say no, but because you’re still really tired.  So tired you stare at him for a moment too long, zoning out as you drink in his appearance.  He’s wearing the clothes from last night - the same animal-print silk shirt that hangs obscenely low and reveals too much skin.  You recognise it because you’d picked it out for his date.  

(The one where he was supposed to ask Jiwon to be his girlfriend, you fail to note.)  

You repeat yourself around a yawn, ignoring the way your vowels crash into each other and barely make it to the light of day.  “What’re you doing, Jungkookie?”

“Please let me in,”  the doe-eyed prince at your door mumbles, gaze bouncing somewhere beyond your shoulder, over your face, to the wayward strands that’re the result of sleeping too well.  Everywhere but your eyes.

“Fine,”  you huff, stepping back to allow him over the threshold.  You don’t miss the way he smells - his signature cologne and something else.  If you had to guess, it’s her perfume.  It’s distinctly floral, drawing you into a garden of roses.  You don’t know if you like it.

Without a second glance, you’re shuffling away from him, dragging your slippered feet into the kitchen.  

You move on autopilot, spooning coffee grounds into the Chemex filter.  You don’t bother asking whether your surprise guest wants any - assume he does, because the fiend somehow lives on caffeine - and settle against the counter as you wait for your kettle to whistle.

You’re still so tired you feel like you might fall asleep standing up but you think you do a good enough job of levelling Jungkook with a solid stare.  “So?”

“W-what?”  

It’s been so long since you’ve last heard his stutter that it surprises you, recentres your attention from your own exhaustion and has you frowning.  Something’s happened.  Must have.  There’s no other explanation for it - for how he looks at you, so uncertain like all those months ago when you’d smashed his glass house to pieces.

“What’s going on?”  You’re demanding, full to the brim with concern as you round on him.  He flinches away as if your words have burnt him, leaning into the stainless steel side of your fridge.  

(Silly Jungkook - that won’t protect you.)

“What do you mean?”

The early hour has, luckily, dampened your usual aggression.  He’s stalling, you can tell.  You hate when he does this.  You tell him as much, glowering at him as he tries to shrink his nearly six foot frame into something small.  “You’ve showed up at my house unannounced.  What do you mean ‘what do I mean’?”

He looks as if he’s on the brink of repeating himself, biting it back behind his neat white teeth when your expression grows darker, more frustrated.

It’s impossible to stay dressed in red, lethargy swathing you up like a cocoon and softening your edges.  You sigh heavily - perhaps a little overdramatically - and go about completing your coffee ritual.  Patience works best with Jungkook, you’ve learned.  (Though, he sorely tests your own sometimes.)

With a steaming mug in your hand and the other passed over to him, you gesture toward your living room.

He nods once - a small up and down of his head.  

“So.”  You try again, softer this time, warmed by the heat that permeates ceramic and settles your sleep-ravaged nerves.  You’re seated cross-legged on your couch, facing him with your back pressed to the arm rest.  He’s half-turned to you, coffee cup slotted between his thighs.  Feet turned in, mouth wobbling with the intensity of how hard he’s chewing into his bottom lip.

“I couldn’t do it.”  The words rush out too fast, tumble into each other in such a way you have to take a second to comprehend what he’s said.  Couldn’t do… it?

You stare at each other for a long while, you trying to understand and him refusing to meet your stare.  

When realisation dawns on you, you can only imagine how you look.  It must be terrifying by how Jungkook practically tries to crawl into the cushions of your couch, shoulders rising around his ears like a turtle.

“You didn’t ask her?”  It explodes out, a question that demands an answer. 

He’s staring past your head, unblinking.  You’d almost worry he was a robot if his voice weren’t so damned human, full of melancholy and rounded by his lisp.  “I c-couldn’t.  It was just…”  The shrug he offers is half-assed at best, not nearly good enough to excuse him.

“Just what?”  

“Just—”  There’s the wiggly hand gesture you do that he’s adopted, his ink-strewn hand waving through the air like a floppy chicken foot.  He thinks it’ll earn him a pass but your unrelenting glare indicates otherwise.  He deflates, hand falling back to his lap, clutching his mug like it's a makeshift security blanket.  “It didn’t feel right.”

What did that even mean?  Feel right?  

Love didn’t just appear, fully-formed and complete.  It took work and dedication and the understanding it could all come crashing down.  Didn’t he understand that?  Hadn’t you drilled that into his head?

You exhale through gritted teeth, push breath past enamel that acts like a solid steel gate.  

“Jungkook, it’s not going to just ‘feel right.’”  You’re air quoting, all tact thrown out the window.  “You like her, don’t you?”

You expect him to nod immediately.  He doesn’t. 

“Jungkook.”

“Yeah?” 

“You like her, right?”  

“I think so.”

You want to tear your own hair out.  Instead, you press the pads of your fingers into your temple - apply pressure in hopes of alleviating the tension that settles there.  “So, you like her.”  It feels a bit bad, condescending in a way;  you don’t mean it in any way but supportive.  You just want him to be happy.  “But you couldn’t ask her out because it didn’t feel right?”

“She’s not you.”  

He’s looking at you now, looks like he might have a heart attack if he does so any longer.  But he doesn’t tear his gaze away when you meet it, entire expression warped into something you don’t recognise.  Hope, maybe?  Fear?   

“What?”  You wish it were hard rather than feather light, almost lost to the cacophony in your head.

The hollow of his cheek is thrown into stark relief, the line of his jaw clenched tight.  He repeats himself even as you’re the one looking away, shaking your head as if that might will away the irksome answer.  (It won’t.)

“Don’t say things like that.”  

It’s hurt that flashes through his expression and strikes you right in the centre of your chest.  His face crumbles, brows knit together beneath his mop of shiny hair.  He looks so terribly sad - a kicked puppy, an abandoned deer.  Bambi, through and through.

“You asked why I didn’t do it,”  he reasons in a voice far more solid than he looks.

“I didn’t think you’d say something so ridiculous.”  It’s cruel.  “You’re making a bad choice.  You’re into this girl.  Don’t be dumb.”

His features rearrange, then so do his limbs, entire body lifting from his seat in jerky, disjointed movements.  “I’m not dumb.”  There’s a reproachful quality to his words, a distaste he doesn’t bother to mask.  It’s not something you’ve ever faced, surprising you enough to draw your eyes to his face.  

He doesn’t look like the Jungkook you know.  

When he leaves - sets his cup in the sink and storms out the way he’d come before you have time to stop him - you wonder if you ever knew him at all.

“Okay.  Spill.”

Yejin’s tired of your abrasiveness, tired of having her head bitten off every time she tries to approach you with a question.  You can’t blame her.  You’ve felt like shit the last week, sleep-deprived and generally pissed off.  

All because of a doe-eyed idiot.  

“What?”  It’s less snark, more sigh.  You’re counting down the minutes until you’re free, until you can curl back up in your bed and try to sleep like you’ve done the last four days.  

“What’s going on with you?”  

“Nothing.”  

“Bullshit,”  she hums, trailing after you as you move behind the counter.  “You’ve been in a bad mood all week.  I’ve never seen you this upset like, ever.”  She’s right, of course.  You’ve always been very careful to keep business separate, pushing the customer service agenda no matter what.  “Did something happen?”  

You grit your teeth.  An expletive careens off your tongue when you slam the tip of your finger within the drawer you’d just shut.

“____,”  she tries again, concerned.  

“Nothing happened.”

“See, I don’t believe that because like, look at you!”  She gesticulates wildly, adorned wrists clinking loudly.  “You look like hell—”

“Thanks.”

“—and you’re being clumsy and like, I think I know you well enough.  So just tell me?”

You hate that she’s right.  It doesn’t mean you’ll relent, too caught up in your own strange brand of strength to unload.  (Maybe it’d be helpful.  Probably.  But you’ve never found comfort in other people.  At least, not like this.)

“Yejin.”  Her name stops her in her tracks, hurried and insistent as you pull your coat on.  “It’s fine.  Really.”  You’re swallowing your pride - practically choking on it - as you offer what you hope is a reassuring smile.  “I just need to get some sleep.”  And figure out what the hell to do about Jungkook, but that’s a can of worms you refuse to open and certainly not here.

Maybe at home, over a glass of wine, fueled by liquid courage.  

The bottle of Côtes du Rhône has aided you more than you’d hoped, offered an armour that slinks over your shoulders and drives your fingers to action.  It’s prompted something - started the ball rolling.

(Idly, you think that might not have been a very good idea, but it’s too late to care now.)

“You’re here.”  You being him and him being Jeon Jungkook, hair damp and imposing frame draped in an oversized sweater.  He looks terribly uncomfortable standing in your doorway - more so than he had days ago - hands shoved into the kangaroo pouch of his hoodie, dumb sneakers pigeon-toed as if he’s ready to take flight.

“Y-you asked,”  he mutters, refusing to meet your stare.  At least, you think he’s refusing.  It’s a little hard to focus when there’s this fine film turning everything hazy, the bitter taste of wine heavy on your tongue.  

“I didn’t think you’d come.”

He looks at you like you’re crazy then, though he never quite meets your eyes.  It’s a smart tactic - level you with a look then immediately bounce it away.  It has you coming back for more, eager to refocus his fretful gaze until it’s locked with your own.

“Will you come in?”  You sidestep, give him enough space that he can enter without feeling suffocated.  He still hesitates, takes a second too long in deciding.  “I won’t bite.”

You don’t miss the better promise that comes under his breath.

“So.”  This feels oddly familiar, him backed into the corner of your couch again while you settle across from him.  He hums a noise but offers nothing further.  

This is how it’ll be then.  Fine.  If he wants to be this way.

“You like me.”

He sputters - doesn’t mean to, by how big his eyes go.  He hadn’t expected it to come barreling out of your mouth.  “I—  I don’t—  I didn’t say that.” 

If it were anyone but him, you’d take his reticence as rudeness.  

“Tell me why.”

The poor boy blinks, stares at you full on now.  Can’t look away, locked in the intensity of your stare.  

“W-what?”

“Tell me.”  You sip carefully at the liquid in your glass, swirl it ‘round and ‘round.  “You said that girl wasn’t me but you haven’t made a case as to why that matters.  What have I got that she doesn’t?”  

“You’re serious?”  

“As a heart attack, Jungkookie.”

The brunet swallows, Adam’s apple bobbing with the motion.  You think he might say no, outright refuse.  You don’t expect him to start rattling things off like the list lives in his head, answers printed against the darks of his eyelids.  

“You’re funny.  You’re honest.  You speak your mind.”  You don’t mean to scoff but his reasons are so shallow - so easily found in other people.  He must read the doubt in your expression, pushing on to cut you off from doing the same to him.  “Y-you care about people even when you pretend like you don’t.  You’re just as scared of being hurt as I am.”  

For the first time in a long time - in years and years - you feel seen.  As if he’s pulled back the cover of your unpublished draft, memorised the redlines and notes in the margins.  

“I don’t—”

“You have this face you make when you’re proud of me.”  He’s turning his own fingers over in his lap, knuckles white from the strain of locking them together and undoing them again.  “When I do something you approve of or when I make you laugh.”  

There’s something thick in your throat.  

“You make me want to try.”  He clears his own, speaks so softly you have to strain to hear it.  “Y-you make things not so scary.”  

It grows heavier, harder to breathe as you stare at the man sitting across from you.  He’s focused wholly on his hands, too caught up in his words to help the way he plucks at his skin, fiddles with the silver chain that loops around his wrist.

“You know what I need, even before I know myself.  You make me laugh.”  He laughs, an almost choked sound that fizzles and rattles bashfully. “You look really, really good in your work skirt.”  You know the one he means - all black, pencil-fit.  Makes your legs look a mile long, despite the fact that they aren’t.  

You can’t help but join him, a little breathless, with a strange sensation behind your ribs.  Like sunshine on a cold day, filtering past the walls you’ve put up, streaming through the windows that’d replaced drywall when Jungkook had waltzed into your life with his fluffy hair and boyish laugh.

When you speak, you don’t even believe your own words.  They come of their own accord - a defense mechanism.  “I can’t.”

As if he knows - as if he’s got a polygraph going, Jungkook shakes his head, meets your eyes and holds you there with the intensity of his attention.  “Can’t or won’t?”

“I—”

“I’m not asking for the world here.  Just a chance.”  He’s got a peculiar look on his face.  “Don’t you think you owe it to me?”

“Excuse me?” 

All of a sudden, he’s close.  Closer than you’d expect, far closer than he should be.  There’s nothing beyond his expression, the way his eyes twinkle under the dimmed apartment lights as he stares you down.  The scent of his cologne is cloying now, the fading nectarine hint of his shampoo making your mouth water.  

“You kind of ruined my life.  I think this makes us fair.”

You sputter, gasp, make sounds that careen off your tongue and fill the air with nonsense.  You’d ruined his life?  (You’d made it better - made him see the light, you thought.)  You’re working to find your voice, ready to tear into him for this abrupt accusation.

Then he’s giggling, nose scrunched and delight filtering past his teeth.  

“I’m kidding.”  

It feels like whiplash.  You’ve created a monster.  

“But you do owe me, I think.  So why not?”

You only have yourself to blame when you say yes, conceding to his pretty eyes and sweet smile.

Dating Jungkook is easy - as effortless as breathing.  He’s a bona fide dreamboat plucked from your wildest dreams. 

He texts when he says he will and picks you up every night, stamping a kiss to your cheek the moment you’ve clocked out.  He holds your hand and refuses to let go, rubbing soothing circles over your wrist when you’re tired or stressed or annoyed.  He brings flowers to every date - insists on them even when you tell him they’re a waste of money.  He knows your coffee order, has learned the art of the pour over when he wakes up before you.  

You understand now, why he’d stayed with women who were terrible for him (to him).  If you were them, you wouldn’t have let him go either.  Would lock him up in an old tower like your own personal Rapunzel.

(You say that because you’ve been on a Disney movie binge.  He is, unsurprisingly, very into these sorts of things.)

“Open it,”  he pleads, pushing the luxurious pink box towards you.

You stare down at the lid, the Agent Provocateur label glaring back at you.  You can’t help how you laugh, sound bouncing around his bedroom.  “Are you trying to tell me something, Jungkookie?”

Your lover - not boyfriend, because you haven’t had the talk and it’s still new and you’ve never been this careful before - rolls his eyes, pushes the box closer with a huff.  It’s adorable.  

“Just open it.”

You finger the soft bow strapped across the top, play with the neatly cut ends.  You can feel the impatience radiating off Jungkook, feel those pretty doe eyes boring holes into the top of your head.  You take your time even more now, unravelling the ribbon with slow, measured twists of your wrist.  

Whatever you’d expected to find nestled among the tissue paper, this isn’t it.  

You’d imagined he’d be into something feminine, all pristine white lace and scalloped cups.  Something he could brush his cheek against, run his fingers over.  

Tucked within the box is something that doesn’t even earn the title of lingerie, a few flimsy straps bonded together.  Blush pink satin and dressed with buckles, you turn it over in your hands, trying to make sense of the way it all connects.  Surely there’s more to this.  Surely, darling innocent Jeon Jungkook doesn’t expect you to wear just this?

“Do you like it?”  You can sense the eagerness in his voice, that desire he has to please that seems to never go away.  

“What is it?”

“It’s a playsuit.”  

“A playsuit?”  You’re no stranger to experimenting in the bedroom but this— this looks like it’s meant to harness a dog in.  Would it even fit?  Soft as it is, it seems terribly restrictive, made for someone with model proportions and no body fat at all.

He nods, round eyes so bright, so hopeful, you can’t voice your concerns.  “Will you wear it?”

It fits you better than you’d expected.  Or at least, you think it does.  If Jungkook’s reaction was any indication, it’s heaven sent - the perfect gift wrapping for a present he’s been dying to claim. 

The buckles you’d studied earlier - that had taken you too long to strap together - dig into the tender flesh of your hips, the shape of his fingers imprinted along the metal.  He grips you so tight you think you might bruise, left with a reminder of his love for weeks.

“S-so wet,”  he groans, sound dropping into an almost whine as the swollen mushroom head of his cock brushes through your folds.  The satin of the playsuit has been long since tugged aside, stained with your arousal as it cuts into the softness of your thighs.  He repeats the motion once, twice, coats your clit in pre-cum that leaks out of the slit and adds another layer of slick.  “So ready for me, aren’t you, sweetheart?”

You nod dumbly, drool around the two fingers he’s got slotted against your cheek, ring finger pressed down over your tongue.  

“Use your words, gorgeous.”  As if you can, as if you’re not riding the high of your last orgasm and about to come apart beneath his playful teasing.

The palm of his hand meets your overstimulated clit with a sharp smack, the cold of his teeth bared against your neck.  He doesn’t like when you don’t answer - much prefers to make an effort even if it’s indiscernible.

“What did I say?”  

Something garbled comes, a plea as much as a sob.  Another hit lands, just shy of the pearl that throbs with need and pain, landing instead on the sensitive, already red skin of your inner thigh.  He soothes it this time around, massages your own wetness into the roses that bloom beneath his touch.

When he speaks again, it’s so utterly sweet, tender as can be.  The Jungkook you’ve known for months and not the devil in disguise.  

“You like this, don’t you?”  His kisses are searing, laced with reverence that feels at odds with the way he forces your gag reflex, taps his curved cock against your pussy.  “You like what I’m doing?”

“Y-yes,”  you cry, spit pooling past the sides of your mouth, dripping lewdly across your breasts.  The hand cradling your chin is all but drenched, dark ink thrown into stark relief by the way it slides over his skin.  Jungkook hums against your cheek, licks a fat stripe from shoulder to ear.  

“Good girl.”  Two fingers spread across over your heat, pointer and index sliding over your lips.  You’re spread obscenely - can see it in the mirror that rests against the far wall.  Can see how the head of his cock peeks between your thighs, runs the same path over and over with each languid, slow roll of his hips.  “Such a good girl for me.  My perfect girl.”

Your shoulders shake with the effort you put into nodding, throat clenching on reflex when the three fingers in your mouth flatten over your tongue, hold you steady in place.

“Pretty girl wants more, doesn’t she?  Wants me to fill her up?”

He’s teasing you, the bastard.  Dragging his aching erection against your cunt as you writhe against him, desperate.  It’s amusing to him - you can read the delight in the reflection, see it shining bright like a beacon when he pulls his hand away and recentres it across your chest.  Digits tease at the already pebbled buds, swollen and sensitive from how hard he’d sucked them into his mouth earlier.

“Say it.  Say you want me.”

You do, without hesitation, without fear.  You know he’ll catch you.  “I want you.”  

He sinks into you the same instant the words fall, holds you tight against him when your entire body begins buzzing and threatens to do the same.  Your walls feel like a vice grip around him, greedily sucking in his cock as he slams home, ruts into you like a wild animal.  

Strong as he is, he’s weak to the noises you make - the broken sobs that spill off your tongue and make up the prettiest sound he’s ever heard - and how you feel absolutely perfect, wet and warm.  The muscle in his thighs strain, pleasure vibrating up the notches of his spine, setting every nerve ending alight with its ascent.

“B-be mine,”  he returns, practically begging as he spreads you wide, making you take everything he has to offer.  Heart and soul and stupidly huge, perfect cock.

“I am.  I am.  I am,”  you chant, tears welling along your lash line.  They fall when his rhythm stutters, when the heat overwhelms and you’re coming for the third time that night, crying his name like it’s the only word you know.  

They continue to pour, carve trails down your reddened cheeks as you reach nirvana, wait for moment he’s right there with you.  It doesn’t take long - a few more punishing thrusts into your fluttering heat - and then he’s found his bliss, crying into the silk of your hair, spilling inside you. 

It doesn’t happen how you thought it would - a shy question poised over dinner, sealed with a sweet kiss on the way to the car - but it means just as much.  Breaks you apart as it rebuilds you, fills you up as it splits your seams.

You’re his and he’s always been yours. 

tag list.  @neverthefirstchoice @youwannabelostandnotbefound @snackhobi @codeinebelle @shaybtsforever @we-found-wonderland-in-1989 @justanothergirlfromeurope @jalexad @bonnyskies @coffeeismylife28 @haeilove @purplespaceymermaid @sunsetsnsirens-blog @beingbeings​ @veronawrites​ @notmontae97​ @papillonsgf​ i’m really hoping i didn’t miss anyone e___e

[earthgirlmd]

So I’m watching Cinderella and the Four Knights on Netflix and I’m slightly obsessed.

Thoughts in no particular order, up through episode 5:

(I don’t think I am getting the read more break to work, pls let me know if you have suggestions for mobile)

:readmore:

- Ha-won’s family is terrible??

I mean, yeah, it’s a Cinderella variant, of course the step-mom and sister(s) are terrible.

But once I figured out her dad was alive, I was like... where the fuck is this guy. What is his deal

Oh ok, he’s a truck driver. But still??

But then oh fuck was he nasty to her when he finally showed up

I think the scene with him in the truck looking for tips on a missing person might mean he’s Up To Something, and either the whole thing was an elaborate ruse to get Ha-won out of that house for her own well-being (but onto??? The street? Listen I didn’t say it was a smart plan) or he’s still a dick, just one with extra secrets.

There’s also an outside chance the Chairman did it to manipulate Ha-won into taking the job (Jesus fuck what is this paragraph spacing, Tumblr)

- speaking of manipulation:

The Chairman has some fucking amends to make, like what the hell. Why are we focusing on getting the guys to eat together and go to memorials when he’s out here playing games with their lives

Like did he ever apologize to Ji-woon for letting him languish in an orphanage all these years? Or at least?? Explain??

(There is an outside chance that Ji-woon’s not related at all and Grandpa just wanted an extra potential heir to ~spice things up~)

Telling Ji-woon he had to drop his friends/found family or else he wouldn’t be a suitable heir, Ji-woon saying “cool, I didn’t want this job anyway” and then the chairman saying “wait but you can’t quit, I will destroy every relationship you ever had so you come crawling back to me” THIS IS SOME BAD SHIT

Ha-won you are barking up the wrong tree girl, get this kid to therapy. And maybe yell at the chairman, idk

- which leads me to Lee Yoon-sung, aka The Only Normal Person Around Here (except the housekeeper, the housekeeper is dope) aka the Fourth Knight

I live for how awkward he looks in all these bizarre situations. The birthday party scene? I died

The looks he gives Ha-won while he tries to wrangle the grandkids are extremely “do you see what I have to put up with??”

One of only a handful of people who actually fucking talks to Ha-won and doesn’t seem to be playing games with her

One of like two people to actually notice Ha-won’s needs and care for them, so basically I love him now

Except he has also been the one carrying out all the chairman’s fuckery against Ji-woon so... #problematic

I think there’s a decent chance that he sees the way of goodness and light and calls the Chairman out at some point

Buuuut he also shared an awkward interaction with the Chairman’s Fifth Wife (Who Is Up to Something) so there’s an outside chance he’s plotting with her

- and then you have Hyeon-min

What the fuck even is this guy’s problem

At first I was like “get Ha-won out of her awful family’s house, let her go have Fruits Basket-style shenanigans with these rich dudes in their nice house” but by the end of the third episode I was like “nevermind, get Ha-won to a house where no one is playing fucking games with her”

I don’t understand why he insists on pretending she is his fiancé?? I understand even less why she is going along with it

I deeply dislike the way he is always pushing her boundaries

And don’t even get me started on how he treats Hye-ji

Like what even is your deal? I know your mom is terrible and your dad is distant and you were shipped off to boarding school where you apparently had no friends but that is not an excuse, young man

(Hye-ji, girl, you’re very cute, I promise you can do better, the way you’re hanging on is not healthy)

- I already kind of got into Ji-woon so I will just say I don’t like how mean he is Ha-won, he’s pretty much accused her of being a gold digger like five times now, and he tries to intimidate her with his physicality way too much for my taste.

He also seems extremely willing to use her in whatever weird pissing match he has going with Hyeon-min over Hye-ji

Just admit it, dude, you are very in love with Hye-ji but she is stuck in her childhood crush, maybe take some me time

- and then you have sweet, dim Seo-woo

Of the grandkids, the most well-adjusted, despite being a k-pop sensation

Actually talks to Ha-won, knows what’s up with her family, tried to throw her a birthday party

The only one of the three boys to not be completely useless when all of Ha-won’s possessions fell in the pond, although he did ask her why she didn’t just buy new stuff

Doesn’t try to force Ha-won into romantically-charged situations and therefore is my favorite

- finally, Ha-won herself

Girl, I would die for you, but also I extremely question your methods

These boys need lots of therapy and a reckoning with their shitting family members, and also possibly your genuine friendship, not getting brow beaten into Family Bonding

You should probably also consider therapy (once you have the funds to do so)

This job feels very morally suspect but hell if I were 20 and had literally no support network and had just been kicked out by my shitty family I would probably do it too

Everyone keeps trying so hard to Pretty Woman her and she keeps resisting, girlfriend loves her matching sweatsuits

Knows some kind of judo and isn’t afraid to use it on a sassmouth playing games with her, which I respect

Since her biological father is this big mystery, there is an outside chance she’s a long-lost cousin and will end up being the heir or something (good thing there’s a no dating rule)(it would be kind of rad for Cinderella to inherit the kingdom instead of marrying the prince)

- bonus section: in which I reveal my ignorance as an American

I genuinely can’t tell if all the restaurant scenes all take place in the same restaurant or if there are a lot of restaurants that have the same “high end cafeteria in a modern art museum” aesthetic in South Korea

TIL that high school seniors are 20 instead of 18 (btw, should she be in school?? Or is this all taking place in a gap between the end of school and graduation?)

TIL that urns can be displayed with photos and flowers - I’ve always seen mausoleums that just have plaques and little drawers where presumably the ashes go, and even that’s much more rare than an inhumation cemetery here.

I’m sure there will be more to come.

[flooffybits]

What About Us?

Idol: Jennie Kim (Blackpink)

Anon: hii! can i request a jennie scenario wherein she read a lot of comments/tweets about her fem s/o about how her s/o is only using her for her money/fame and bc of that she kind of believed it and grew distant and her s/o overhears her calling her a gold digger in front of the other members while they were hanging out and s/o gets hurt and just leaves and try to give back all jennie's gifts or something like that? angst with fluffy ending pls!! i love your scenarios always!!

Author’s note: I went too angsty with this and I had no idea how to make it fluffy, but it doesn’t end too sadly hopefully

pretty sure she doesnt even care about jennie

shes obviously dating jennie because shes in blackpink

such a fake

Jennie’s frown deepened when she saw the many malicious comments online. Of course, she’s used to people sending her hate and having rumors spread about her. But this time around, the hate was not directed at her, but rather her girlfriend.

It’s been half a year since she’s come out to the public and introduced you to the world, and even with the various support she’s gotten for having the courage of coming out, the backlash of it was the people attacking you with so many hurtful words.

Jennie knows you’re aware of them, but you’ve never spoken up about it that she wonders if you find them bothersome or not. It’s made her think.

Were you only with her because of her fame? Did you really love her?

Lately, she couldn’t help reading such comments. When she first introduced you to the public as her girlfriend, she kept watching, wanting her fans to be accepting towards you and having the same respect that they had for her. But the longer time passed, the more assumptions were thrown at you.

And your dismissive behavior did not help in easing her worries.

As a result, she’s been pulling herself back whenever the two of you were together, always eyeing you when you spent time with her and trying to notice the way you would react to her every time. Were you being sincere to her or not?

She hadn’t even realized how much she let the comments get to her head.

“I just don’t know.” She sighed once when she was with her members, eating breakfast. You were sound asleep in her bed when she left you, so she decided it was the best time she could talk to her friends about the mess that was going through her head.

She didn’t think talking to you about it would help her because obviously, she think, you’ll defend yourself.

Jisoo pursed her lips at her friend when she lowered her fork. “I don’t really think Y/n is like that.” She stated. “I mean, she’s been with you longer than the public knows. You haven’t had these thoughts before.” She added and Chaeyoung nodded. “She’s right. Y/n is a sweet girl.”

“Maybe when in public? You know that gold diggers pretend to be nice to get what they want.” Jennie reasoned and this time, Lisa cut in, a deep frown on her face. “Hey, that’s not fair. You’re not sure if she’s being genuine, but that doesn’t mean you should be calling Y/n unnie a gold digger.” She retorted, making Jennie sigh as she rubbed her temple.

“Then how am I going to tell? I can’t flat out ask her because that’s obviously too forward.” She huffs, unknowing of your presence lingering by the door.

You had woken up a little after Jennie left the bed. And in your tired state, you didn’t get up right away, only when your stomach grumbled. But as you neared the kitchen and heard more of the girls’ voices, your sleepiness began to evaporate and your heart started to crack when you heard the things your supposed girlfriend was saying about you.

The moment she had called you a gold digger, tears had already fallen from your eyes and you quickly but quietly left for her bedroom to collect your things. You switched out of the clothes Jennie had lent you the night prior, tossing them in the basket, and then slipping on your hoodie and jeans. When you had everything, you hurriedly left her a note on her nightstand, making up the excuse that something came up before silently leaving the dorm after making sure that all of the girls were still in the kitchen.

"Unnie, if you can't trust Y/n, then what's the point of being in a relationship with her?" Chaeyoung couldn't help but ask and Jennie quickly quieted down, staring at her plate. "If you're having thoughts like these, I don't think it's fair for you to be doubting her like this when she could possibly be with you without the thought of money or fame."

"Chaeyoung is right. Personally, I doubt she's ever really thought of doing that to you. She's been sweet and loving to you, we can see that when you're together." Jisoo frowned. "It's just sad that you're letting other people's opinions cloud your view of your own girlfriend."

That made Jennie wince as she dropped her head and just stare at her plate, no longer hungry when she realizes that her friends were right. You’ve been together for years, and yet she only began to doubt you because her fans refused to trust you.

She just couldn't seem to shake off the doubt that was implanted into her brain after all the things she's read for the past few weeks.

"In my opinion, break up." Lisa says sternly, pushing her chair back as she brought her empty plate to the sink. "If you don't trust her, there's no point in staying."

Chaeyoung sighed as she looked to her best friend. Of course, the younger girl was right and she understands why she's upset, but they had no right interfering with Jennie's relationship because it simply wasn't their business. The best they could do was listen and give her advice, the rest was for Jennie to deal with.

"I'll go talk to her." The blonde murmured, quietly exiting the kitchen and leaving the two older girls alone.

Jisoo eyed Jennie from across the table and kept her arms crossed, her lips pressed into a thin line. She wanted to help her friend. But she also wasn't very happy with the way she had quickly discarded all the struggles you went through together before this moment.

She was your friend, too, and it would be a lie if she said she didn't care for you as much as she did for her members.

"Why don't you get ready? We have a shoot in a few hours." She tells the younger girl and Jennie sits there for a few more minutes, contemplating if she was capable of looking at you after everything she's just said about you.

Eventually, she does go. Quietly, she heads to her room, wondering if you were still asleep since you haven't come out yet. But when she peeks inside, she's surprised to see no one there.

The bed is made, the clothes you used were put properly away and then everything else was as she left it except for the piece of paper that was left on her desk.

Upon further inspection, she recognizes your handwriting and furrows her brows at the message. It makes her suspicions grow, but at the same time, her stomach churns. She was unaware of you hearing her conversation with them, girls so she doesn’t give it too much thought, simply sending you a text to say you should text or call her when you were free before she proceeded to her closet and pick out her outfit for the day.

..

Jennie doesn't hear from you for the rest of the day, which confuses her.

You've always texted her throughout the day to see how she was doing, always asking her if she's eaten or drank enough water. So, now that you weren't checking up on her has thrown her off the loop.

It was already evening and she was checking her phone in case she missed a text or call, but found none.

Instead, when she arrives back with the girls, she's surprised to see you leaving her room, hands tucked in the pockets of your jacket with your head down.

Something about it sets her off, and without thinking, she scoffs at you while crossing her arms. "What the hell do you think you're doing?" She asks you, and you're surprised to see that she's already home.

"So, you ignored me for the whole day because you had something "important" to do. And when I come, I find you trying to, what, steal from me?"

"Jennie." Jisoo calls warningly while Chaeyoung and Lisa looked worried when you refuse to look at them.

But Jennie didn't mean to say those things. In her fear of finding out that you were using her, her emotions blinded her and had forced the words out, her heart pounding against her rib cage before she's watching you finally bring your hand out of your pocket and show her the spare key she had given you for the dorms.

"I came to drop this off." You try to keep your tone even, but it's so soft and fragile that the worry in the girls worsened. Jennie's expression even softened, but the confusion set in at your words. "What?"

You lift your head and Lisa gasps when she sees the tear tracks and red eyes, a clear indication that you've been crying. But before any of them could say anything, you were already dropping the key on the table.

"I'm leaving. Don't worry, I didn't touch anything."

"Y/n-" Chaeyoung tried calling for you, but you only shook your head and walked to the door, but Jennie tailed after you, latching onto your hand right before you could leave.

But before she could say a word, you yanked your hand away, whirling around to glare at her despite the hot tears that were already cascading down your face. "Don't fucking touch me." You gritted out, pain laced in your voice as Jennie stared at you in disbelief.

"Y/n, what is your problem?" She snapped back, your attitude setting her off from being ignored the whole day, but instead of backing out like usual, you glared back at her. "You left without even a proper goodbye, ignored me the whole day, and suddenly you're in the dorm without telling anyone, then you have the audacity to be angry?"

At that, you scoff before stepping closer to her. "I have no reason to explain myself to you." You say while stubbornly wiping your face. "The only reason I wasn't replying to you was because I was looking and packing everything you own and then dropped them off here."

At your words, Jennie's anger vanished and she looked at a loss. Her things?

You stared at her for a while before shaking your head, defeat on your features as you step away once more. "I'm not gonna stick around with someone who'd rather believe what everyone says instead of trusting me and calling me a gold digger, where her friends were the ones who defended me behind my back. I'm done."

Her heart jumped to her throat when she realized that you'd heard what she said to the girls. With the sudden revelation, she isn't quite sure what she could tell you.

"I just... I thought-"

"That the people who don't know a damn thing about me were right? That the person who stuck up for you every single time would actually treat you like a fucking toy?" You guessed for her. "They're my fans!" She defends and you frown at her, seeing clearly just where she held you.

"Yeah. And what did that make us?"

You knew that some fans wouldn't accept the fact that Jennie was dating, much more a girl, but you didn't really think that she would choose them over you, especially like this.

"Forget it, Jennie. All of your things are in your room. Goodbye."

But Jennie wouldn't let you leave when she moved to shut the door just as you opened it. "Can we talk about this?" She pleaded, panic running through her veins despite her earlier anger.

"Talk about what? Jennie, you called me a fucking gold digger because your fans said so?" You shot at her. "Do you realize how that makes our relationship?"

“I’m sorry!” She yelled back, refusing to budge as she blocked your only exit. “I know that it was dumb of me, but please, let’s talk about it.” She tries again and you try so hard to fight your tears back with the inner turmoil that was inside of you.

You wanted her to be sorry, you wanted her to take back everything she’s said behind your back, but you know that once words were let go, there was no turning back. The damage was permanent and there was no changing that no matter how many times she apologized.

Yet your heart was so damn stubborn that you couldn’t outright deny her request. So, she saw that and used it to her advantage, no matter how wrong she knows it is.

Leading you back to her room, she had noticed that her members all disappeared to their own quarters and she just hopes that they can leave things to her. That is, if she can handle what’s about to happen.

Entering her room, she spots the two boxes at the foot of her bed and she inhales sharply, seeing the necklace she had given you for your first anniversary sitting at the top of them. Only now did she notice that you weren’t wearing it, knowing fully well that you never took it off once she gave it to you.

“Y/n, I know that this is messed up, but please just... we can work this out, I swear.” She starts and you stare at her in disbelief. “What can you do to make this work? What did I do to make you even think of me like that, Jennie?” You ask in a broken voice that makes her heart crack.

“You know me. I have not once asked you to spend a single dime on me or this relationship. I have never demanded that you get me gifts or to pay for me when we go out. You know that I argue with you on who pays the bill. So, why?”

For the first time in her life, Jennie didn’t know what to say. She was always so sure of herself and the things she wanted, but now, staring at you while you desperately tried to understand where things have gone wrong has rendered her speechless.

You stand, staring at each other, and your tears refuse to stop as you covered your face with your hands and let out a shaky breath. Jennie withers at the sight of you looking so weak, so vulnerable, because of her. So, she doesn’t hesitate as she steps forward to wrap her arms tightly around you.

“I know that I was wrong to believe them.” She mutters when she feels you weakly pushing against her, but she holds on tight, refusing to let you go. “I was  just so clouded with what everyone was saying and I was scared of talking to you about this.” She closed her eyes when your pushing started to weaken. “You’re right. I made our relationship look like an absolute joke for trusting someone who isn’t you and you have every right to be pissed at me. But please, I’ll do my best to be better at this. I should have known better, and you deserve so much more than what I put you through.” She could feel her own tears start to fall, but she doesn’t bother them.

You’ve stopped resisting her and just let your hands grab a fistful of her shirt, sobbing into her chest. “Please, just give me one last chance. I promise, this won’t ever happen again.” She whispers and the room is only filled with your sobs.

You’re both on the floor when Jennie feels your legs giving out. She holds you because she knows that you’re in pieces.

“Why did you have to say it?” You cried into her chest and she kisses your head while frowning to herself. She shouldn’t have done it, but all she could do now was make up for it.

She’s ruined three years in a single moment. But she swears that she’ll spend the rest of her life making up for it, even when you move past this and maybe forget about it happening.

“I’m so sorry.”

[artnouvwaudisaster]

Parent trap au! With bkdk so basically bakugou and deku got together some time after becoming pros they even got married and had twin girls(quirk,a/b/o, mpreg,idk up to you) both had red eyes and a dusting of freckles across their cheeks. However deku got offered a job he couldn’t refuse in America and bakugou refused to leave his spot in Japan as he was so close to number one so they break up it was ugly. They decide to each take a twin and raise them and haven’t spoken in almost 10 years. Cut to 13 year old twins meeting at a summer camp for pro-hero kids- they but heads instantly. Baku’s twin I’m gonna call her Akira(my head cannon name) has her little bakusquad with her pulling pranks on Mido’s twin call her Sayu, makes friends with iidachako kid and some others and they respond in kind to Akira. They get forced to stay in the isolation cabin and they find out hey we have the same birthday and oh wow we have matching photos of our parents holy shit were twins! So now to pull of the switch so Akira cuts her hair and Sayu pierces her ears and bam they switch. Cue the shennagines they get up to but uh oh bakugou is engaged to some gold digger(make them whoever) so they revel that the switch so now bakudeku have to meet to switch them back but damn if the chemistry isn’t still there, anyway Baku breaks up with gold digger and him and deku get remarried and move back to Japan where the girls go to UA together... someone pls write this I would cry

[tomthesoftie]

Can u pls do a tom imagine with prompt 2, 12, 15, 20, 48

for the best

a/n: depending on how this does, i will make a part 2 to it, so stick around... this is the first richkid au i’ve ever written and it doesn’t really feel much like it, more so like mob but not really... enjoy my lovelies xx

pairing: richkid!tom x reader

warnings: a pinch of fluff in the beginning, AnGsT, heartbreak, );

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2. “Close the door.”

12. “You’re never going to let that go, are you?”

15. “Watch me.”

20. “I want an answer, goddammit!”

48. “Walk out that door and we’re through.”

The Hollands hosted a weekly party on every Friday night, and you, being Tom’s girlfriend, always attended by his side. He spoiled you with piles and piles of luxuries, all to which you declined. You didn’t want to seem like a gold digger. Your family wasn’t as rich as the Hollands, but your family was in the upper-middle class. 

Tom always gave you a new dress to wear to the party, making excuses to convince you to accept it. Usually he would use money, but ever since you slapped some sense into him, he never touched his wallet around you unless it was to necessary. 

This week, he gave you a red satin dress with a deep v-neck and a cinched waist. The skirt flowed to the floor, a slit decorating the front. Although the dress looked like it would be a hassle to put on, it slipped onto you as easily as a glove. You wore nude heels and dangling diamonds earrings Tom had given you to tie the outfit together. You curled your hair to perfection and placed a section over your left shoulder.

“You ready, love?” Tom knocked on the door.

Looking at yourself once more in the mirror, you added a light layer of setting spray over your bold makeup look and replied, “Ready as I’ll ever be.”

You heard the door click open, “Wow,” a soft voice spoke.

Turning around, your eyes met your lover’s dilating pupils. You blushed at his reaction and made your way over to him.

“So, lover boy, are we going or are you going to keep ogling me?” You asked seductively, gently grazing his chest as you walked past him.

“I can’t help it, love,” his voice was hoarse with lust, “you’re absolutely stunning.”

Rolling your eyes, you responded, “I just know how to put the right pieces together, silly. Now, let’s crash this party!”

You swayed your hips as you walked over to the ballroom. The dress added a seductive effect, making Tom feel his pants tighten. He readjusted his tie and gulped, turning a faint red.

“Get a grip, Tommy,” you laughed at the hormonal boy, “you’ve got guests to entertain.”

He rushed to pull the door open for you, politely bowing and signaling for you to enter. Thanking him, you entered the room, gaining a few stares and glances from the guests. Tom walked in behind you and placed a hand on the small of your back, urging you forward.

“Oh,” Tom caught sight of his family, “I’ve gotta go, love. Stay safe, alright?”

“When am I not?” You smiled up at him, placing a gentle kiss to his cheek before letting him walk away.

“Y/N L/N,” a voice spoke from behind you.

Your hair elegantly flowed as you turned to face the familiar voice, “Hazza?”

“How’d you know?” He chuckled.

“You’re so stupid,” you giggled.

“So, Tom left you all alone again?” He grabbed two champagne glasses of a passing waiter’s tray, handing a drink to you.

“He has to. Besides, it doesn’t bother me, especially since I know some people here, like you,” you smiled gently.

-

An hour passed and Tom was still going around and talking to the guests. This wasn’t the longest amount of time that he left. Luckily, Harrison was kind enough to stay with you the entire time.

You and Haz were in a conversation, talking about your golfing fails it was mostly Haz laughing at you. The sweet accented voice of your boyfriend lightly met your ears but what he had said was incoherent. That was until he moved closer.

“Welcome, Aurelia, darling. It’s been a while,” his voice cut off.

Harrison noticed your sudden change in mood. He looked around to see if there were any hints to the difference, and when he saw Tom kissing Aurelia’s hand, he realized why you were suddenly so cold.

Aurelia and Tom had a history. They were past lovers and initially arranged to get married, but you changed both the Hollands’ and Beaumonts’ plans. Aurelia grew to dislike you. In the Beaumonts’ standards, you weren’t rich enough to have any of their attention. Tom was truly in love with her, but you were something else. Tom would feel euphoria whenever he was with you. Aurelia thought that she and Tom were meant for each other, so she was absolutely heartbroken when she found out they wouldn’t be getting married.

“Tommy! Let’s have a drink. Just you and me, lover boy,” you cringed when you heard her call Tom the nickname you called him only hours ago.

“Alright,” his sultry voice responded.

You felt a twinge of betrayal hearing his response. You couldn’t help but be jealous of his past relationship with her. They were in love, accepted by all.

Tears pricked your eyes. You ruined their relationship selfishly to give yourself something that was never yours to take.

“Y/N,” Haz breathed pitifully, seeing your eyes gloss over.

Blinking away the tears, you plastered a fake smile onto your face, “It’s alright, Hazza,” you said with faux serenity. “Please excuse me.”

You made your way over to Tom and Aurelia, the fake smile still plastered across your face. They were laughing and enjoying themselves,

They really did look like the perfect couple.

“Pardon me, Aurelia,” you said quietly from behind the couple, “may I borrow Tom for a minute or two? I promise to return him as soon as I’m finished talking with him.”

Tom turned around to face you, eyebrows scrunched in confusion. Aurelia had a look of hatred and jealousy on her face when she saw you.

Faking a giggle, she kindly replied, “Of course. There’s no need to worry, I’ll be here waiting.”

You silently thanked her and dragged Tom to the bathroom.

“What’s wrong, love?” Tom asked, looking concerned.

“Close the door,” you whispered.

“Alright, but we can’t do anything just yet. I still have more walking around to do tonight. Unless, do you want me to-” you raised a finger, silencing him.

“i’m sorry,” you sniffled, eyes avoiding Tom’s gaze.

“What? What are you sorry for?” He asked a panicked tone in his voice.

“You and Aurelia are made for each other,” you said, eyes locked to the floor.

“What? Aurelia? You’ve got it all wrong. We,” he signaled to the both of you, “We are made for each other. We’re soulmates.”

“No, we’re not! Aurelia is. I was being selfish, and I broke apart your perfect relationship,” tears rolled down your cheeks.

“Y/N-” he began.

“Don’t. You have a future with her. I wouldn’t get you anywhere. Besides, you have a history with her,” you sulked, saying the last bit with a pang of jealousy.

“You’re still going on about that? Are you never going to let that go?” His voice rose with anger. 

“I won’t let it go because if it weren’t for me, you’d still be together today, wouldn’t you be? Hell, you’d probably married her by now. I’m right, aren’t I?” Your faux serenity began cracking.

He didn’t reply, now avoiding your gaze.

“I want an answer, goddammit!” Tears flew from your eyes.

“Y/N-” he tried.

“Stop avoiding the question! Just answer it,” you snapped.

He couldn’t look at you. You were right after all. He would probably be married to Aurelia now if it weren’t for you, but you were a blessing in disguise.

“Just as I thought,” you sighed, “I’ll return all of your gifts to me as soon as I can.”

“W-What do you mean?” He asked, fearing what you would say next.

“I’m leaving, Thomas. Enjoy your evening,” you reached towards the doorknob, but his hand gripped your wrist.

“Y/N, if you walk out of that door, we’re through,” Tom said, hoping you’d stay.

“Thank you for the memories, Thomas, but watch me.”

And with that, you ripped your arm from his grasp, leaving him to sulk alone in the bathroom.

It’s for the best.

[supermanshield]

A Weekend in Smallville

Summary: Amid a town coming together in the aftermath of an alien invasion, Bruce meets Lana, learns a little bit more about Clark, and reflects on his place in Clark’s life and rural Kansas.

Or: Bruce in Smallville. Goes about as well as you'd expect.

Words: 7,217

Rating: Teen and up for like one swear word and mentions of sex.

Read on AO3 or continue reading here!

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Dinner had been put away and Bruce had once again taken his place at the table, papers and laptop laid out in front of him. Various people from town, and eventually some Leaguers (and shouldn’t that raise some suspicion? No one paid attention here) had been walking in and out all day to get a bite to eat. The old wooden floorboards were littered with dusty footsteps, but Martha Kent was on the couch, too exhausted from providing for everyone all day long. Jonathan wasn’t much better off after driving around town and helping his neighbors. Bruce would sweep up the dust for them when he was done working and before he flew back for the night.

“We’ve rebuilt what we can right now, with the available materials. It’s not much, but at least people will be able to sleep in their own home right now.” He must be tired too if Clark could sneak up on him like that.

“It’s something,” he sighed. “I’ve been on the phone with contractors all day to procure the necessary materials and workforce. The more elaborate structures might be repaired within the month.”

Clark grabbed a glass of water and slumped down in the chair across from Bruce. Even he seemed tired, which should be impossible, but seeing your hometown in shambles and its people in distress all day will do that. Even to Superman.

“Rest of the League?” Bruce asked.

“Barry and Hal helped all day. They went back home just now. J’onn went back to the watchtower and Diana had other matters to attend to.”

Bruce nodded. It was time he got back to Gotham as well. With a bit of luck, he could charter a jet to fly back tonight and still get a couple hours of patrol in. He told Clark as much and started putting away his papers, but Clark grabbed his hand when he went to close the laptop.  “Bruce, wait… It’s Friday, why don’t you stay the weekend?”

A weekend in Kansas, with nothing to do but help at the farm… While he loved the Kents, that wasn’t Bruce’s idea of a productive time. They still had to figure out what had led the aliens to Smallville of all places, and what they wanted. No, he could be of much more use elsewhere.

Before Bruce could reply though, Jonathan shot over his shoulder from where he was sitting in the living room, “We got that queen size bed for your room, Clark,” and Martha added, “You’re more than welcome to stay, Bruce dear.”

Great. Clark looked at him expectantly, still holding his hand. “It’ll be fun. And wouldn’t it be easier to start investigating here what those aliens wanted?” Clark knew exactly what to say to keep him around. He had other obligations, though.

“You know I can’t.”

“Aww, come on, Dick and Tim can watch over Gotham. And they’ll have backup from Cass, the Birds of Prey…” Clark’s voice faded, his eyes drifting down. “And you have to let those ribs heal properly. Finally.”

Something in Clark’s voice said he would just keep Bruce here if he threatened to fly back tonight. Bruce sighed. The only appealing thing about the queen size bed was the fact that he and Clark didn’t have to literally sleep in each other’s arms all night like before. Although it was going to be another warm night so he might just kick Clark out anyway. He could sleep floating in the air for all he cared.

“Fine,” he grumbled. “I’ll just have to make some phone calls to set things in motion back home.”

--- 

The new queen bed stood proudly in the middle of Clark’s small room, with Clark seated on the edge now, observing Bruce put his things away and taking off his jacket. At least Alfred had packed one extra set of clothes.

When he was done, he turned around and looked at Clark, who looked as if he was debating a life or death situation, and as always, Bruce wondered what he would ask. It didn’t take long.

“Wanna go out tonight? Have you ever been to a real midwestern bar?” Bruce only knew of one bar in Smallville, and it was in no condition to operate right now. Still, he felt a vague sense of excitement at Clark asking him out in his hometown. They hadn’t done that before. Every time they had been in Smallville together so far had been for something serious. Clark’s parents, Clark’s temporary loss of powers, Kara, Conner, and even once for Damian, to recover from a nasty concussion.

“It’s open? Didn’t half the roof and the back wall get blown up?” he asked Clark.

“Already boarded up. And yeah, there’s a lot of people there. Something about celebrating your whole town surviving an intergalactic attack, maybe, who knows.” Clark shrugged.

“Hmm. They got karaoke?”

Clark’s eyes shot wide open. “Yeah!”

“One of those bull-riding things? Because I would beat the crap out of everyone.”

“Sorry to disappoint, but no. There’s another bull you can ride though,” Clark grinned and hooked his fingers through Bruce’s belt loops to pull him close. He felt his heartrate spike and really, this is why they should’ve just gone back to Gotham.

“Not here.”

“Jeez, no, of course not.” Clark kept looking up at him though, still waiting for an answer. He was truly tired, but also mildly curious to Smallville nightlife. If anything, Clark would make it more fun. Maybe he could beat him at pool or darts or something, and then maybe they could make everyone and themselves believe that they were normal and just have an average date night out.

“Alright, just not too long. And I’m gonna beat you at whatever bar games they got,” Bruce grinned.

“At karaoke?”

“Maybe we’ll do a duet, who knows,” He winked and freed himself from Clark’s grasp. The other man stood up and hooked his arm through Bruce’s offered one. “What say you, Clarkie? Let’s get to that bar o’ yours,” he continued in his worst midwestern accent.

“Not like that you aren’t. You’ll stand out way too much in your dress shirt and Armani pants.” To his horror, Clark turned around towards the closet in the corner of the room. Oh no, whatever he kept here was probably worse than the rainbow cacophony of shirts he had in Metropolis.

“Short sleeves or long? It’s pretty warm.”

Bruce debated his options. Better get this over with quick and hopefully painless. “Long, and I’m keeping the pants. I am not wearing your old jeans.”

Clark threw a shirt at him. “This one has the most black I think.” It had black alright. And red. Straight-up lumberjack. At least the fabric felt nice. “I’ve also got an old blue and white Henley, but it’s pretty worn down. What do you think?”

“I’ll go with the lumberjack,” Bruce mumbled.

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

"Lana, Pete! How are you?" Clark hugged his friends in the middle of a loud, crowded bar, filled with the continuous strings and drums of country music. They had been here for just over an hour and Bruce was on his second beer, something he didn’t do all that often. They kept getting interrupted by people that knew Clark, and Bruce was enjoying himself less and less. Lana he hadn’t met before yet, though, and he had to admit to a quiet curiosity, with the way Clark talked about her and all. (Clark’s enthusiastic ‘My friends are your friends’ from earlier rang in his ears and he forced his mouth into a smile. He would do anything for that man.) His train of thought got interrupted by Clark’s warm hand on his shoulder. "This is Bruce!"

Lana was dressed in jeans and a blue t-shirt that didn’t completely cover her shoulders, her auburn curls doing that instead. Bruce grabbed her hand to shake it, but it got answered swiftly by a peck on his cheek. He introduced himself to Pete as well, a scrawny guy, who was somehow allowed to wear a crisp white dress shirt, unlike Bruce. He was starting to feel like maybe Clark had played him and shot him an accusatory look.

Lana turned back to Clark. "We came over as soon as we heard you were in town! Couldn't pass up the opportunity you know?"

"Great to see you Clark,” Pete joined in. “And, you know, Smallville could really use some extra hands right now.”

Clark laughed awkwardly. “Yeah, gee, what did you guys get yourselves into this time?” Before the alien invasion became the talk of the day, he quickly changed the topic. "How's little Clark?"

"He's great! We’re lucky we could get a babysitter this late, but... Are you still here tomorrow? You should come by to see him!"

"We’d love to, yes.”

The conversation carried on for a while, as Clark and his friends obviously had a lot to catch up on. Bruce felt strangely intruding. He considered to start looking for that darts game, right as Lana turned to him.

"So, Bruce, how are you? You from around here?"

"Gotham.”  

"Oh, one of Clark’s city friends! What's it you're doing all the way out here?"

"Bruce is my boyfriend," Clark said and grabbed his hand.

"Oh, Clark... Really? That's awesome!" She turned to Bruce. "I've heard him drop the name a couple times… Didn't know you were so handsome!"

"And I'm a billionaire, too!" Bruce chimed, automatically kicking into Brucie mode. Clark rolled his eyes.

“Wait? Bruce Wayne? The Gotham pl… philanthropist?”

“That’s me.”

Lana’s whistle got lost in the music, but the look she sent Clark said it all. "Wow, Clark, not becoming a gold-digger are we...?" Clark put up his hands in defense, but she continued quickly. "How did you two meet again?" Clark’s flat "work"  got lost in the music too, and Bruce didn't hear anymore after that, because he could see the wheels turning in Lana’s head as she turned back to Clark and made some joke about journalistic integrity. Her whole expression had changed though, and Bruce turned away from the bar to start walking towards the exit. Fresh air. Did he make a mistake? Slip up? Maybe it was the beer. He needed fresh air. The door was too far and it took too long to push through everyone, but eventually the stars looked down at him, the door slammed shut and the music got abruptly replaced by late-night Kansas silence.  

Bruce looked around himself and quickly regained control of his breathing. The parking lot was half-empty, Clark’s beat up truck tucked away in the far corner. He’d be out here soon. He was probably making excuses to Lana and Pete right now to start looking for Bruce.

It wasn’t long before he heard the old rusty door slam shut again.

“She knows.” The calm in his own voice surprised Bruce. 

Clark walked up to him. “She's the first person I ever told."

"You saw the look in her eyes, she's putting one and one together right now, and I…"

“Bruce, stop. You don’t know that, and besides, I trust Lana.”

“You could have at least told me, warned me.” Trust was a burden in Bruce’s life, and an unnecessary slip-up had revealed who he was. He should have asked Clark who they could have run into, a stupid mistake. "I'm walking back to the farm," he said resolutely.

“Hey, what? It’s fine. Stay.” Clark grabbed his hand, but Bruce quickly pulled away. He really didn’t have time for this.

“I’m done here. This was a mistake,” he bit back, and turned around to start walking towards the exit of the parking lot.

"At least take my car? Bruce?"

"No."

Clark was beside him before he could blink. "Bruce."

"I'm walking to the farm and taking my car back to the airport and to Gotham. I'll have Alfred prepare some documents and have a hefty sum of money send Lana's way."

“What? Bruce, baby no, you don't have to do that,” Clarks hand were on his shoulders and he was forced to look straight into those blue eyes. Unobscured by glasses. Idiot. “Lana is my oldest friend. I trust her. Look, I’m sorry this happened. But maybe she hasn’t figured it out and we can still…”

“It’s too late for that. All I can do now is make sure nothing else gets compromised.”

“For fucks sake, Bruce, I’m trying to tell you, it won’t.”

“Until it will.”

Clark let out a huff of breath and closed his eyes. “At least talk to her.”

If it were anyone other than Clark, he would have just walked away. But alas, here he was, with Clark in front of him. The only man that could convince him to do something as ridiculous as wearing a lumberjack to a midwestern bar, and reason his way into Bruce’s mind just like he had wiggled his way into Bruce’s heart. Bruce crossed his arms. “Fine.”

“Good.”

“I’m still walking back to the farm.”

“No karaoke?”

“Forget it, Clark.”

“Ok, whatever, you’re tired. Get some rest. I’m gonna hang around here a bit longer. Here,” Clark pressed his car keys into Bruce’s hands and kissed him on the cheek.

When Clark was back inside the bar, Bruce debated walking back anyway and tossing the keys somewhere in a field for Clark to find. Exhaustion soon enough took over his anger though, and the adrenaline dissipated. Clark should consider himself lucky.

 ---

Clark’s ‘I’m sorry’ and chaste kiss on his forehead woke him up briefly barely an hour after he’d gone to bed.

“Still mad.”

He heard Clark flop on to his back and chuckle quietly. “And still here.”

“Quite the observation you made there.”

“Well, I learned from the best.”

“Obviously.”

Whatever Clark said after that was lost on him, and he turned around again to face the other way and closed his eyes.

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

The next morning, as Bruce walked down the creaky stairs, hair still damp from his shower, the smell of fresh coffee approached him pleasantly. There was a lot more work to do in town, so Bruce had really made an effort to get up early, but he still found Clark at the kitchen table with a half-eaten stack of pancakes before him. There was toast, yoghurt and fruit laid out for Bruce. Martha knew him well.

“So, what’s the plan for today?” he asked Clark as he took his seat. Jonathan walked in through the kitchen door, his brow already covered in sweat.

“Dang dust is making it so much harder to clean,” he said as he wiped his handkerchief over his forehead.

“Oh shush Jonathan, you need to eat something and drink plenty water. The boys will be there to help soon.”

“I’m staying all week, pa,” Clark clarified.

“Alright,” Jonathan said after he gulped down his water. “Just came back to get some more tools.” Martha walked him to the door and Bruce heard her say to slow it down, especially in this heat and Jonathan’s yes, yes you know me probably sounded funny to himself, but clearly not to Martha.

Clark looked at him over the cup of coffee he was pouring for Bruce. “So I take it you’re staying?”

“If you’ll have me, yes.” He still wasn’t sure how to feel about what happened last night. It seemed like something so avoidable, something Damian would definitely pin on him for being careless. And his son would be right. As much as he wanted to blame Clark, it was largely his own fault. The wrinkles disappeared from Clark’s face as he smiled and passed him the coffee.

“J’onn contacted me about the aliens this morning. They’re Zandrian. He’s been interrogating them, and it seems as if they were looking for some signal here.”

Here, as in Smallville. “Your Kryptonian ship.”

“Most likely, yes.”

“And why is it still here?”

Clark swallowed his bite. “Thought it was harmless. It’s never sent out any kind of signal, not now either. Nothing I can sense at least.”

“Radiation?”

“Perhaps. So, that’s what we’re doing today. I’m taking the ship to the north pole and I wanted to ask you if you could take a look at the barn.”

That sounded like a plan. Something where Bruce could be useful. “Okay. I’ll need some instruments from the cave though.”

“I’ll pick up whatever you need. But first… Baby time!” Clark grinned. Bruce nearly choked on his coffee. “Eat your breakfast. Lana’s expecting us.” Clark got up and started putting things away, clearly way too excited for this.

“I have to see her right now?”

“Yes.”

“Good.” He quickly drank the rest of his coffee. “The sooner, the better.”

“No scary batshit, Bruce,” Clark pointed a finger at him. “We’re there for the baby.”

 ---

Lana and Pete’s place was another old farmhouse, not too far from the Kent’s, so they walked there. Lana inherited it from her aunt after having lived with her most of her life, Clark told him. Bruce had sweat stains under his arm by the time they reached the house. Maybe he should have opted for one of Clark’s t-shirts and ugly cargo shorts today.

The breeze blowing through Lana’s living room and being out of the sun helped though, and Lana served them lemonade with ice cubes. Bruce sat down on a chair and Clark took his place on the large couch.

“I’m sorry Pete couldn’t be here, you know how he is with the store.”

“Is it bad? We can go help if he needs,” Clark offered, verging on apologetic.

“He’ll be fine. I’m sure you both have more important matters to attend to.” She looked at Bruce when she said it, and he cleared his throat.

“Just. Make sure he asks if he needs. We can provide,” He settled on, hoarsely. The bat was barely audible in his voice and Clark should be proud. He nodded at him from where he was sitting on the couch. It could wait.

They got startled by a baby’s cries, and Lana disappeared out of the living room. She came back in with Clark (the name still irked Bruce, even though Clark had told him the child wasn’t named after him but after Martha’s maiden name – because yes, that made it less weird somehow). “Look who’s awake!”

The child on Lana’s arm looked around drowsily, clearly unsure how to feel after waking up from his nap and being greeted by two strange men. 

Clark reached out his hands and Lana placed the baby in his lap. Bruce knew he was around 5 months old. Clark had been there for the birth but hadn’t had much opportunity to see him after that. Lana sent him many pictures and videos though, that Clark would show Bruce late at night in bed, and they would laugh at the child’s antics and giggles. The learning curve of young people was incredible.

The child was slowly waking up in Clark’s arms and started making more sound. Not crying, he was content, and Bruce wondered if he knew instinctively that Clark’s arms were the safest place on earth. “He likes me,” Clark grinned up at Lana when the baby grabbed his fingers.

“Of course.”

Bruce felt stuck in place, captivated by the sight. Clark looked so incredibly at home, so natural with a child in his arms that held on to Clark’s pointer finger with a force as if he did it every day and was decidedly not named after Clark. Bruce quickly swallowed around the lump forming in his throat before his thoughts would betray him anymore and moved from his chair over to the couch to sit next to Clark.

When Lana walked back into the living room with pie, she took a picture of them, and that would probably make this day a lot harder to look back on later, but right now Bruce didn’t care. The baby was on Clark’s lap, looking up at both of them and laughing. Definitely at Clark sticking out his tongue and making cooing sounds. Bruce didn’t do that. Until he found himself mimicking the baby and trying to get him to laugh. Damn mirror-reflexes.  

He tried not to think about what he had missed out on with Damian. What Damian had missed out on. Instead he put a hand on Clark’s back, and held it there while they both continued to make ridiculous sounds and faces at little Clark.

 ---

When Clark left to take the rocket ship to the North Pole, Bruce went to work on the barn. Though, not before he did change into Clark’s old Henley and cargo shorts. Alfred would kill him if he got any more dust on his nice clothes.

The hatch in the floor of the barn was open, and the space underneath now empty. There had been some radiation coming off of the ship itself, but it was faint and not nearly enough to hurt anyone. Bruce doubted he would find any more in the rest of the barn, and considered other forms of signals the aliens could have picked up. Lower frequency wave lengths, maybe.

Nonetheless, he went around the hole in the ground methodically, scanning every scrap piece of metal, rock, and dirt. He swept it clean too, and took any tools that were still there out to examine them later in the barn. There was a large box, all the way at the back, that he skipped at first, but knew he eventually had to get back to as well. Getting it out was no problem, he could lift it over his head and slide it onto the barn floor easily, but he had a feeling what might be in there.

After cleaning the other tools and logging anything of interest he could find on the metal and rocks, he went back to the box and opened it. Sitting on the floor, he stared down at pictures of Clark, a baseball and bat, scrap of red fabric, a pair of extremely worn down and no-longer-white converse.

“Haven’t seen that thing in a while.” Jonathan’s voice startled Bruce as he walked into the barn and took his cap off.

“Hmm. Sorry, I was cleaning, we thought…”

“I know. You don’t have to apologize. I’m sure you know what you’re doing.”

“What happened to the baseball?” Bruce held up the ball, split clear in half and its threads loose.

“Was the first one Clark hit clear across Smallville. I looked for it for six months on the other side of town,” Jonathan answers proudly. “The shoes are from when he first outran the car.”

“That must’ve been something,” Bruce huffed. He got up. “So this is a reminder. Of what he can do.”

“Oh, I don’t need to be reminded of that,” Jonathan Laughed. “But I kept the memories because I knew he could never belong to us. Never belong here. He belongs to everyone, out there.”

Bruce thought about that. In Smallville, Clark was clearly at home. “I don’t know. I think he belongs right here, in the center of it all. I haven’t seen him so relaxed and… happy in a long time.”

“Bruce, son. As much as Clark is still a small-town boy - and will never not be -, I know he is happy right where he’s supposed to be, with you.”

“How do you know?”

“Because he told me.”

As Jonathan left the barn again, Bruce felt in the back of his mind the creeping feeling that he could never give Clark what he had left behind here. That he could never be what Clark truly wanted. Because as much as he hated Smallville’s openness and missed the gothic stoicism of Gotham, this place was everything Clark stood for. It was everything Bruce was not. Somehow, somewhere along the way, a mistake had been made, one that Bruce would have already undone were he a stronger and less selfish man.

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

Bruce would never tell the man as much, but Martha’s sandwiches were far superior to Alfred’s. Maybe it had something to do with working outside all day that made the sandwiches waiting for him taste just that much better.

He had considered multiple times during the day to beam up to the watchtower, but he didn’t have his suit, and finally settled on just contacting J’onn about his progress with the aliens and the mediocre findings of his work in the barn. Maybe it could help, as J’onn was still in contact with the creatures after they had quickly been escorted away by the Green Lanterns. Hopefully, some negotiations were all that was needed to keep them away.

 ---

As the day progressed, and Clark didn’t return, Bruce worked himself to a sweat multiple times. In Smallville, he wasn’t expected to be Brucie Wayne, because no one knew who that was. But he wasn’t Batman either. It was as if he was back in training, another nobody working long days in the sun, sweat forming a sheen on his skin, and exhaustion putting him to sleep in the afternoon heat on the porch. No, he decided, this was as far from his training days as possible, and allowed himself to relax.

As the sun started setting, he ended up in the kitchen with Martha to prepare dinner. She knew he wasn’t very skilled around the stove – courtesy of Alfred’s warnings -, so he was put on vegetable cutting duty. That was fine. He used to do it all the time with Alfred as a child and still did sometimes. The methodical slicing of the bell peppers, potatoes and onions kept him focused and calmed him down.

Just as dinner was almost done and they were cleaning up the kitchen, a familiar sound followed by creaking floorboards and the opening of the screen door made Martha jump. Bruce smiled. Maybe the smell of dinner had made Clark fly back a little faster.

“Oh, Jonathan! He’s back!” Martha shouted while putting her tea towel down and practically skipping towards the screen door. “Hey, ma. Pa,” Bruce heard from his place in the kitchen.

“Are you okay? We got worried, you stayed away so long…”

“I’m fine, ma. Just some miners in South-Africa that got stuck.”

“Told you the boy was fine, Martha.”

Bruce washed his hands and was drying them when he walked out of the kitchen and into the hallway, where an adult, 6 foot 3 tall man in a Superman suit was hugging his aging and tired parents. Bruce felt painfully out of place, but it quickly subsided when Clark looked up at him. “Hey. Little detour there.”

“So I heard.”

Clark walked over to him and kissed him chastely on the lips. It was the kind of kiss you give your significant other in front of your parents or your children, or when you return home from work after a long day. A type of kiss they had shared many times, to the children’s (and especially Damian’s) horror, but that here, in Smallville, made Bruce feel as if they were normal. As if they could be normal. As if he always helped Clark’s mom with dinner and worked long hours in the sun with his dad. Though, as quickly as the kiss ended, the feeling fleeted and Bruce felt like himself again. They broke apart and Clark looked him up and down.  

“You look dashing in that ensemble Bruce, who picked that for you?”

Right. He was still wearing the Henley. And the ugly shorts. A pair of his own limited edition and now-brown sneakers to top it off. “Oh, thank you, just a simple get-up I found in the dumpster here.” He made his way over to the stairs, and Clark followed him with a grin.

“You boys be down soon, dinner is ready and I’m setting the table outside,” Martha warned as they made their way upstairs.

In Clark’s small bedroom, they both changed into something more appropriate, and Clark combed down his wind-swept hair. Bruce turned to look at him and waited for him to be done.

“Your ship?”

“Buried it next to the Fortress.” Bruce nodded approvingly. Clark set down the comb, but as he did so he stared out the window into seemingly nothing, his brows furrowed and drawn together. The miners. Bruce walked over to him and put a hand on his shoulder.

“You okay?”

“Yeah,” Clark sighed, but still pulled Bruce into a hug. “Thanks for asking.”

Clark hugged him with an intensity that made it clear that it was needed much more than the kiss from before. “Just… It was stressful,” he sighed. “Those miners. I couldn’t just drill them out, it took hours.”

Bruce nodded and angled his face towards the crook of Clark’s neck. He smelled like dust and a vague hint of sea-salt, and definitely needed a shower, but the crisp clean t-shirt was all Martha’s laundry detergent. As they stood, Bruce felt the tension leave Clark’s shoulders and his grip loosen, and he looked back up at him. Clark’s eyes had regained their usual shade of blue and the lines had disappeared from his forehead.

Bruce tried a smile and grabbed Clark’s hand. “Come. Dinner’s waiting.”

 ---

After dinner, Clark somehow got them excused from doing dishes and took Bruce by his hand out into the garden, and to the barn. Bruce thought about telling him about the box he found, but didn’t. Instead, Clark asked if he wanted to for a walk and grabbed a picnic blanket.

Their walk was laced only with the sound of cicadas, and took them away from the farm uphill where the low grass gave way to bushes and trees. They stopped at the top of the hill.

“I don’t know why it is you’re taking me here,” Bruce said as Clark laid down the blanket on a patch of very dry grass.

“I thought we could enjoy the night together. Just the two of us.” Clark’s smile was much too innocent as he sat down and patted beside him for Bruce to sit.  

“We had a fight.”

“Yes. And I love you. Please tell me you haven’t been thinking about that all day. I thought we were okay just now.”

Bruce sighed. “My secret identity got exposed. I’m not okay with that.”

“You wanna talk about it? Did you get a chance to talk to Lana?” Clark prompted.

“Not yet. But I’m… sorry. For the way I reacted last night.” He sat down next to Clark on the blanket.

“I’m sorry too. I should have let you know.”

“Does Pete know?”

“Yes, although he doesn’t really acknowledge it. We barely talk about it.”

Bruce huffed out a breath of air. They were surrounded by small, green trees that gave way to a view of the corn and grain fields below. The sun was inching closer to the horizon and it had finally started to cool down a little bit. Next to him Clark was looking at him, but he wasn’t sure what to say.

Clark shifted and settled behind Bruce, trapping him in between his legs and large arms, which Bruce allowed. It was painfully clear that Clark knew just what Bruce needed, and where that used to irk him to the core and make his skin crawl, he now welcomed it, leaned back, and let himself relax. It was easier to talk when you didn’t have to look the other person in the eyes.

“That should have been you, Clark,” he started. “A house in Smallville, wife, child... sometimes I don’t understand why you left this place at all.” This whole weekend felt like the first time he was really in Smallville and had seen what made Clark, Clark. A reality that he wasn’t a part of and only allowed a glimpse of, by some miracle.

“So you do like it here,” Clark said. When Bruce didn’t say anything to that, he continued: “I knew I had to give that up a long time ago. And, just between you and me, I'd say we have the most awesome family in the universe.”

“But we'll never have that. A child all our own. You could have.”

“I know,” Clark whispered into his hair. “Is that something you would have wanted? If…”

“Even if it was technically possible, the moral implications are just... I wouldn't want to bring a child into this world. Into our world,” Bruce mused out loud.

“But It is technically possible. Conner.”

“Conner is a clone. And we’re lucky we found him when we did.” He had turned into a wonderful kid, a good crimefighter even, but he had his unpredictability. They didn’t know nearly enough about his physiology, his lifespan, his unpredictable moods. Clark squeezed his hand.

“And if we were normal?”

If they were normal, Clark would have stayed in Smallville, and they would have never met. And Bruce, as a rule, did not think in hypotheticals. Not like this. Yet, he heard himself answer without hesitation.  “Yes.”

“Me too,” Clark’s lips were on Bruce’s ear in a way that was not quite a kiss. It was an affirmation, taking Bruce in, this moment, his scent mixed with that of Kansas, and a gush of breath that ghosted through Bruce’s hair. Clark’s breathing was grounding, a dull constant in the midst of the song of the cicadas, the feeling of dead grass under his toes and the Kent’s old picnic blanket under his fingers. It was all wrong.

“Don’t you wonder what would have happened if you had stayed? With Lana?”

“Once or Twice, a long time ago. But I left here to find myself. I never fit in here, never really belonged here. You know that.”

“You do, though. You’re much happier here. Yourself.” Bruce turned to meet Clark’s blue eyes, the smile lines visible even on Superman’s perfect skin. “And I don’t,” he breathed in. “I don’t fit in here. With you.” The smile lines disappeared.

“Bruce… Why would you think that?”  

“I feel like this is the first time I’ve ever really been in Smallville. Stopped and looked around. Like I’ve finally seen the last piece of the puzzle that is you.”

“And everything else completes it. You complete it. I belong to you.” Clark put a hand over his heart. “And you belong to me. Don’t you ever forget that.” Clark’s blue eyes under his furrowed brows pierced right into his soul, something he had discovered a long time ago he could not ignore.

In a different life, Clark might have stayed in Kansas. As it was, they had found each other elsewhere amid their hectic lives, in some twisted inescapable fate. An alignment. 

“Hn. You’re still a Kansas boy at heart.”

“And you like that.” Clark’s smile was back. The one that regardless of the Kansas sun or Gotham greys or Metropolis shine brightened up his life and Bruce found himself smiling back in return.

“Can’t say that I don’t.”

“So… now that you’ve got me completely figured out…”

“Hmm?”

“Where do we go from here?”

“We have sex. That is why you brought me here, right?”

“Bruce!” Clark covered his mouth with his hand in a fake gasp. “I can’t believe you think of me that way.”

“But you did.”

“Can’t say that I didn’t,” Clark smirked, put his hand on the back of Bruce’s neck, and kissed him.

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

In the middle of the night, the queen bed was too big and Clark should be right on him, spooning him, and cooling him with freeze breath. So Bruce rolled over into his space, and Clark – half asleep – happily put his arms around him. He could be a selfish man if Clark was too.

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

On Sunday morning, the clouds started gathering and simultaneous to the electric tension of a storm building in the air, the people of Smallville let out a collective sigh. Soon, they would get some rain.

After a quiet Sunday breakfast and Clark’s parents had returned from church, it was off to town in Clark’s old truck. Jonathan had taken his newer one, full of materials and tools, and Clark and Bruce would do clean-up together and haul away rubble to a nearby depot. Main street already looked more lively than the day before, with most of the rubble gone and gathered in piles. People were walking around and making small talk, a stray door was being hung back into its hinges. The few buildings that had any structural damage had been taped of, and shattered windows had been boarded up, but the wind had picked up and blew the dust away, clearing the air and everyone’s mood.

 On the way to and from the depot, Clark rolled down the windows and sung along with the songs on the radio, missing some of the words and looking over at Bruce every now and then.

He watched Clark, sunshine ever present in his skin and smile. How he was in such good spirits while literally cleaning his hometown after an alien attack was lost on Bruce. But then again, Clark was usually in a good mood if he was able to help someone. Even though he was doing it as Clark Kent now, and couldn’t use his super strength to haul stuff into the truck, or maybe because of that.

“It’s fine, B.”

Bruce hummed in response.

“I hope you had a good time here, despite everything.”

“I’m still having a good time now.” He immediately regretted saying that, because Clark mistook it for him liking his singing and continued on for the remainder of the ride. Really, it was Clark’s enthusiasm that made it tolerable. Bruce felt content to just watch, and breathed in the Kansas air, and tried to store away this memory forever.

 ---

When they were back in town, Clark stayed to help Pete at the store while Bruce went to the local hardware place to get some more supplies. He found what he needed and was waiting in line when he felt someone approach him from behind.

“Hey, Bruce.” He turned around to face her.

“Lana. Hello.”

“You got something that needs fixing?” she smiled at the small box of screws and plugs in his hands. He looked at the people in line behind her, all getting something, even if it was just a nail to hang up a picture that had come off the wall during the attack.

“More than one thing, I’m afraid.”

Lana huffed. “Smallville will be fine. I hope you’ve been enjoying your weekend here at least?”

“It’s been…” Eye-opening. New. Necessary. “Different,” he settled on.

“Ha! I believe that, coming from the big city and all.” That obviously wasn’t what he meant, but he assumed Lana knew that.

It was Bruce’s turn to pay. He put down a 20 and accepted his change, stepped aside to let Lana pay. “Walk with me,” he commanded when she was done. They reached Clark’s truck in the middle of the sunlit parking lot. Bruce held on to the keys in his pocket and missed the protective confining warmth of his cowl.  

When Bruce didn’t say anything, Lana cleared her throat. "The way Clark talked about the bat always made me think he was in love with him. Glad to see it worked out." It was a good thing Lana was just as blunt as Clark. Something about rural Kansas, he thought. He couldn't help but feel a smile tug at the corner of his mouth.

"Sorry, it just wasn't hard to connect the dots. You’re him, right?”

Without hesitation. "Yes." The things this town did to him were beyond his understanding. Small town life brought out the truth easily. Here, there were no covers required, no masks. It’s the same reason why he could have found the last piece of Clark, only here.

"Look, Bruce. I know how important the whole secret identity thing is to Clark. Think he can count on one hand the people that really know him."

"More like three hands now with my children and the league." There was that incessant tug at the corner of his mouth again.

"You're a father."

"Not in the most traditional sense of the word, but yes." He leaned against the door of the car. Lana seemed to think about that. Batman and Robin. What it implied. Bruce braced himself for the passion of a young mother, but it never came. Instead she swallowed.

“I did love Clark once, but I knew I could never be what he needed. I’m glad he found someone,” she paused. Looked up at Bruce with her brows drawn together. "Your secret is safe with me Bruce."

That was the issue, though. No secret is ever safe with anyone, because then it wasn’t a secret anymore. He gritted his teeth, swallowed. He thought of Clark, how he would put his warm hand on his shoulder if he were here right now, how he would say once again that it was fine, Lana could be trusted. Clark’s closest friend, first love, and the person that knew him best before he became who he had to be. Lana was to be trusted. Bruce sighed.

"I just need you to sign some documents, and get your contact information in case something gets compromised."

Lana nodded. "Sounds fair."

He opened the car door and climbed in. Lana put her hand on the open window. “It was nice meeting you, Bruce.”

“Likewise.” He paused. “I’ll make sure Clark gets you those documents.”

“Alright,” Lana laughed and waved at him as he started the car. He wondered how much of Clark had rubbed off on her during their childhood friendship and dating through high school. Or maybe it had been the other way around. Clark probably wouldn’t be who he was today without her, or without anyone here for that matter.

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

The jet was placed imminently in front of them, Smallville and its normalcy reduced to a memory on the far horizon. Bruce turned around and looked at Clark, his hair windswept and glasses placed awkwardly back on his nose. Here to see him off to Gotham.

“Thank you for having me.”

Clark laughed. “Thanks for staying.”

“I would almost say it would be acceptable to do this again some time.”

“Almost?”

“Well.” Bruce shrugged. “Minus the alien invasion.”

“Of course. 4th of July? Bring the kids?”

“That could turn out worse than an alien invasion,” his own laugh surprised Bruce.

“I mean… we’ll have Alfred to keep them in check,” Clark argued. “Ma would love having all of them over.”

“I’ll give it some consideration, then.”

“Hmm, so that’s a yes?” Clark grabbed his waist and brought his face close to Bruce’s. His triumphant, beautiful grin was the most annoying thing in the world that Bruce could only wipe off with a long, slow kiss. 

Behind him, the engines of the plane roared and it was really time to say goodbye. To Clark, if only for a couple days. To Clark’s parents. To Kansas. Godawful, unpredictable, and beautiful Kansas. Just like its most important (former) inhabitant.

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

Out of the window of the jet, he watched Clark, the town, and finally the cornfields disappear, and he sighed contently. Smallville. His secret was safe here.

[dearosamu]

DESPERADO - AGAPE

SYPNOSIS: she, a dancer with personified problems all the while more that intrigues osamu dazai who came into her life amidst the chaos that is [name] [last name].

WARNING/S: cursing [if i forget to put warnings, pls be reminded this fic has mature themes!]

two - three

"what the hell are you doing here again you bastard? still trying to get into [name]'s pants?" chuuya greeted dazai and oda rather bitterly, directed at dazai mostly.

"he's still hung over [name] and i'm here for ango." oda pushed dazai slightly as the brunette only stuck out his tongue at chuuya.

"odasaku, you very well know that-"

"well damn. you don't even know how much [name] hates your guts, shitty dazai." chuuya crossed his arms, staring dazai down with disapproval. "i just don't get why you still force yourself on her."

dismissing chuuya's last comment, dazai frowned. "why would she hate me?"

"i can give her whatever she wants. she gives me what i want and i give her what she wants."

"it doesn't work that way, dazai. [name] doesn't think that way."

"i can give her more money if she wants. anything her heart desires." dazai pouted.

chuuya exhaled through his nose sharply, shaking his head. "she ain't a gold digger. do you really think that low of her?"

dazai shrugged nonchalantly, irritating chuuya even more.

"sure, she works for the money but she isn't going to throw away her body just for more cash. especially to a bastard like you."

oda sighed heavily from dazai's left, placing a hand on dazai's shoulder and shaking him. "that's what i keep trying to say, but he won't listen."

dazai's frowned deepened. "it's not just money i'll give her, you know. she can get whatever she wants just as she repays me equally as well. preferred for something more..intimate."

"she's not a fucktoy, dazai."

"i didn't even imply that-"

"sounds like you did."

the brunette and ginger glared at each other, seemingly a telepathic disagreement between the two men. oda only shaked his head at this.

he placed his hands on both male's shoulder's and broke them up as he could tell one of them may really kill the other.

"you two are grown men, so act like one and stop your childish antics. chuuya, just give dazai what he wants, otherwise he really won't leave."

chuuya thought over it for a moment before reluctantly agreeing. "..fine. it's not like i can do anything about it, he's just too persistent," he grumbled.

"alright, now that it's settled, let's get a move on!" dazai returned to normal and pushed oda up front eagerly.

oda only sighed once again.

--

"why the fuck are you here again?" [name] hissed as dazai merely smirked at her before placing his hand on the arm chair, raising another brown envelope with wads of cash.

"i want another show, dear. i can pay you double," dazai waved the brown envelope with a significantly larger amount of money in which where [name] eyed it eagerly, biting her lip.

"what makes you think you can buy me with money?"

"i see the way you look at it. i can tell you're desperate for money."

"you don't know that!" she snapped at the bandaged male.

"i know you do. you need the money."

"what makes you think that, huh? is it because i work here?! is it because i-"

"you need it for yourself and a family member whom you live with in a shabby apartment. i'm not sure if my hunch is correct, but the landlord demands you a larger amount of money to pay for rent. am i wrong?" dazai cuts her off, looking at how she faltered.

"i don't like you," [name] spat. "i hate your stupid tricks. will you just fuck off and stop stalking me?"

"but i'm right, are i not?"

"it doesn't matter whether you're right or wrong," she squinted at the male. "you're an asshole for taking advantage of me and i hate that. i'm not gonna blow you for a few thousand yen."

dazai seemed to have not been paying attention or just completely dismissed it changed the subject. "i wonder why a lot of people have been calling me an asshole lately."

"oh really? i wonder why." was [name]'s snarky reply.

"well, you don't have to blow me. you can just do what you did yesterday."

"what i did yesterday?"

dazai nodded, humming as he waited for her response.

the woman stayed silent, debating whether or not to agree to fulfill his request. she heaved a sigh, (something oda has been doing lately since he and dazai went there the other night) running a hand through her [h.c] locks.

"how much do you have then?"

"five hundred sixty-five thousand."

her eyes widened a fraction. "you're willing to pay me that much money for a measely lap dance?"

"i can miss the money, you need it for yourself."

"stop treating me like i'm pathetic and in need of help from a higher-up like you. i can work for my own money! and we especially don't need your sympathy!"

"i'm not pitying you. it's called kindness," dazai raised a brow. "what's wrong with it?"

"everything." she growled.

dazai stared at her for the longest time, never breaking their eye contact.

[name], who grew tired of their stare off, rolled her eyes and snatched the brown envelope aggressively. "listen, i'm not taking this because i need it or because i'm a whore who just throws herself at men," she narrowed her eyes. "i'm taking it because i want to, got it?"

dazai only hummed before he was dragged back to the place he and [name] were the night before.

"let's just get this fucking over with."

--

it became a regular thing.

dazai would double up the amount of money he'd pay [name] with each time he'd drop by. the money kept the female on a leash, confirming his suspicions of her desperate need for cash.

he'd try to convince her to go home with him every time, and every time she'd refuse. dazai doesn't understand. he had a nice place and he was filthy rich, though he knows she isn't a gold digger, but why?

he wanted to know why she refuses to go home with him and his question was answered when he had ran into her in the mall.

he was hurrying to buy a suit for an upcoming celebration for his company's twenty-forth year anniversary. he was just walking around calmly around the mall before a child with black and white hair ran into him, making him stumble back.

"omph--!" the child let out a small disgruntled noise before looking up at dazai with..the most strangest eyes he has seen. a shrill of a female broke the child's trance before hiding behind dazai, gripping on his black trench coat tightly.

"yumeno! where are you little brat- oh you have to be fucking with me right now." [name] came into an abrupt stop as she had been running to look for yumeno. her neutral expression turned into one of annoyance as she had spotted black and white hair from behind dazai.

she snapped her fingers. "yumeno, come here right now."

the child immediately let go of dazai and ran to [name], giggling quietly to himself. "you found me, onee-chan! haha!"

"are you hungry? here," she handed the multicolor haired child twenty five yen. "you can go buy any sweets you like for now."

"mhm!" yumeno happily walked away to a nearby candy shop. once he was out of sight, [name] turned to dazai, furious.

"do you follow me every where??!"

"no. we only met by coincedence. who was that kid by the way?"

"he is none of your business. now, if you'll excuse me-"

"i'm afraid you're not going any where, love." dazai took a hold of her arm before she could walk away. she whipped her head back, her brows furrowed in annoyance.

"what do you want now?"

"i won't tell anyone here that you're a stripper and work in an exoti-" a hand clamped his mouth shut before he could finish his sentence.

"will you shut the fuck up? people can hear you, you know," [name] hissed at dazai. "look, i'm a dancer, alright? a dancer, not a stripper. i pole dance, lap dance. i just dance okay?" dazai nods his head as he is unable to speak for it will come out muffled by her hand.

"also, do you know when to ever keep your mouth shut? people here still respect me, so don't go fucking that up for me." she removed her hand from his mouth, looking at it with disgust before wiping it on his expensive coat.

dazai turned to look at the multicolor haired kid that hid behind him earlier who was now talking to a worker on an ice cream parlor.

"is he your son?"

"what he is to me doesn't matter, just stay away from him."

"he's a cute kid."

"pervert."

"what?" dazai turned to her with a questioning look.

"i don't want you to be anywhere near him," heaving a sigh, she continued. "just leave him alone at least. you already torment me enough by working for you."

"is he the reason you keep coming back?"

"me? coming back? please," she scoffed. "you're the one who keeps coming back to me and ask for more with enough money as it is."

"then why don't you send me away?"

"i'm pretty sure you're smart enough to figure that out," she huffed. "now fuck off."

"onee-chan, onee-chan!! help me with this!" yumeno ran back to her holding two pieces of candy- er, shall say a pack of lollipops and a pack of gummy bears.

"can i buy both?"

[name] softened her expression and kneeled down to yumeno's height, smiling at him gently. "i'm sorry, yumeno. we can't buy both. you can only pick one."

"i know that, but i don't know which one to pick.." yumeno stared at the two packs of sweets on his hands, silently playing 'eeny, meeny, miny mo' between the two.

"hey mister," yumeno looked up to dazai with a small impish grin. "which one do you think i should buy?"

dazai placed a hand on his chin as he thought about it over. "well, i bet you can save a bit less of money if you buy the pack of lollipops."

"what are you doing?" [name] said through gritted teeth, disliking the fact that dazai interacted with yumeno.

"it has more pieces than the pack of gummy bears, plus it only costs two quarters if bought single," dazai made small calculations on his fingers. "it can cost you half a bill if you buy the lollipops instead since you could buy a small pack of gummy bears instead."

"oh wow," yumeno's eyes glistened with amusement. "onee-chan, he's smart!"

"i thought i told you not to go near him or talk to him?"

"i didn't. he asked me first and i have to be polite and answer."

[name] only growled at pulled yumeno closer. "let's go yumeno. i'll pay for your lollipops instead."

"no, no let me pay for him," dazai stopped the two before going to their side.

"i'm already paying with the money you gave me." [name] deadpanned.

"no, you won't use that. it's for you. i insist i'll pay." dazai repeated. "i won't take 'no' for an answer." he continued, crossing his arms childlishly.

the female crossed her arms and huffed. "fine, whatever."

yumeno walked silently with the two adults who bickered back and forth (though it was one-sided), his eyes lit up and he tugged on the hem of his caretaker's shirt.

"onee-chan! how about we invite mister.." he paused. "hey mister? what's your name?"

"his name is dazai," [name] answered for him. "call him osa, he loves that." dazai scoffed at the nickname and rolled his eyes. he'd have to live with it for now.

"osa-chan, how about you join onee-chan and i for dinner?"

"yumeno i believe osa-chan is busy with his own-"

"i'd be glad to join you for dinner." dazai cuts her off, smiling at the child who returned the same expression. though his smile curled up way too much in dazai's opinion.

"dazai, no--"

"onee-chan! please let him come to dinner with us! please?" yumeno pouted at his caretaker who was hesitant to let the brunette join them for dinner. it seems yumeno really liked him for some reason and who was she to deny the child's request.

she could only sigh and nod. "well," she faced dazai, a tick mark showing on her forehead. "it looks like you'll be joining us for dinner tonight."

dazai grinned and gave her a thumbs up. "can't wait!"

"i really, really don't like you."

"aw, i like you too, [name]-chan~"

a yelp that came out of dazai's lips signified him that he should definitely learn when to shut his mouth.

[moonlightpur]

Ok so I made this playlist on my phone called "songs about momo" and I thought it would be nice to go through the songs in this playlist.This is my personal interpretation of these songs.I hope you're ready, because this is going to be the longest post I've ever made.

1.Karma by Marina (2019)

This is probably one of the most recent songs on here. I think this song can talk about how Momo is always trying to play the victim.

"So vicious, this cycle

When you live in sweet denial

But, you'll be sorry when you're coming down, down, down"

This part of the lyrics is probably about Momo thinking that she treats Richard right, and when someone calls her off,she tries to play the victim.

"And when your world comes crashing down (It won't save you)

All of the money in this town (It won't save you)

Won't save your reputation now (It won't save you, ooh)"

And for these,it means that when finally Richard dumps her manipulative ass,she will probably try to go to her gold digger ways and try to seduce some other rock star, but people know about her manipulative ways. Her reputation is not what it used to be.

2.Diamant by Rammstein (2019) Yes,this song is beautiful and it's the shortest in Rammstein's current catalogue. The song's about a woman who is beautiful on the inside, but has a very ugly personality. And that's why it's perfect to describe Momo. She's apparently beautiful, but her personality is probably the ugliest.

"Wunderschön wie ein Diamant

Doch nur ein Stein"

3.I Can't Live With You by Queen (1991)

I think this song is about how Richard might feel about Momo,or at least what Momo made us believe.

"I can't live with you

But I can't live without you

I can't let you stay

Ooh but I can't live if you go away

I don't know just how it goes

All I know is I can't live with you"

4.You Don't Fool Me by Queen (1995)

This is one of my favourite songs by Queen and it basically resumes the Rammfandom's opinion about Momo,because yes,absolutely every single fucking member of the Rammfandom seems to dislike her,and yes,she deserves it.

"You don't fool me - those pretty eyes

That sexy smile - you don't fool me

You don't rule me - you're no surprise

You're telling lies - you don't fool me

Mmm, mama said be careful of that girl

Mama said you know that she's no good"

5.I Hate Myself for Loving You (Halestorm cover,originally by Joan Jett & The Blackhearts,song's from 1988)

"I hate myself for loving you

Can't break free from the the things that you do

I wanna walk but I run back to you that's why

I hate myself for loving you"

I have the feeling that Richard knows about all the bad things that Momo does and he probably wants to break up with her,but he loves her and he might feel guilty about it.

6.The Beast (Inside Of You) by Lena Katina (2014)

"The sun breaks through

I see the beast inside of you

So not cool

The heartache that you put me through"

Ok,so this song is probably about the type of relationship that Richard and Momo have. Not a very healthy one.

7.Familiar Taste of Poison by Halestorm (2009) This is probably one of my favourite songs.

"I tell myself,

That you're no good for me

I wish you well,

But desire never leaves"

Then again,this song is about Richard and Momo's on and off relationship,from Richard's point of view.

8.Eyes Fade Away by Emigrate (2018)

This song includes,apparently,Momo's favourite line from Emigrate's discography. That's why I included it here.

"If I could only drain you from my veins..."

This says a lot about what Momo apparently wants to do with Richard, and that is abusing him emotionally. REESH FFS BREAK UP WITH HER ASAP AND GO INTO TILL'S HUGE ARMS PLS

9.Is It Me by Roger Taylor (1998)

There's two parts of the lyrics here that seem to resume Momo's and Richard's relationship pretty well.

"How many times can we drive ourselves mad

End up just feeling sad with a love turning bad"

"How many pleas does it take to appease

When you're down on your knees

Seems that nothing can please"

10.Let Me Live by Queen (1995)

{Fun fact: I have this single on CD}

The whole song is about a relationship that it's on its final moments, when one of the people in the relationship is sick and tired of the other person's ways. What if that's how Richard truly feels?

"All you do is take

And all I do is give

All that I'm askin'

Is a chance to live"

11.Uncomfortable by Halestorm (2018)

"I did it all to shake

every single one of your emotions and just to make you

Uncomfortable

I love to make you

Uncomfortable"

I can't help but wonder if this could be about the comment that Momo made in one of Richard's IG posts. I guess we'll never know.

12.Love-Hate Heartbreak by Halestorm (2009)

"Between love

Between hate

Shake this silence back 'fore it's too late

And it haunts you

And it haunts you

It's a love-hate heartbreak"

This could be referring to a (let's hope) possible future when Richard cuts Momo out of his life for good.

13.Better Than That by Marina (2015)

There's this line in the song that describes Momo's character and her intentions perfectly:

"Got a sour face like a poisoned fruit

That the boys can taste 'til they're out of use

And she'll network 'til her dreams come true

Even if it means getting into bed with you"

14.i love you by Billie Eilish

Momo herself has used this song on her IG stories when she tried to blame Richard for something that she does (again,she's making herself the victim. Pathetic.)

"Maybe we should just try

To tell ourselves a good lie

I didn't mean to make you cry"

15.Can't Shake Loose by Agnetha Faltskog (1983)

"I can't shake loose

I try and I try but it ain't no use

I could go like I did before

But these old shoes keep walking to your door"

This is about how Richard keeps coming back to Momo despite of how bad it treats him. Ugh.

16.Dangerous by Depeche Mode (1990)

"Dangerous

The way you leave me wanting more

Dangerous

That's what I want you for

Dangerous

When I am in your arms

Dangerous

Know I will come to harm"

Yep,you guessed it. Momo made us believe Richard only wants her for sex. Or at least that's how I see it.

17.Corrupt by Depeche Mode (2009)

There's two lines that describe how Momo acts the victim.

"You think you're so special

Think you're so sweet"

"You'd be calling out my name

When you need someone to blame"

18.Scum by Depeche Mode (2017)

Not necessarily about Momo,this is more like a question for her.

"What are you going to do when karma comes

A' calling

And you're falling

And there's nowhere left to run"

19.Poison Heart by Depeche Mode (2017)

"From the moment we met

You know we have to break up

You'll always be alone

You know you've never ever been a friend

Now we're closer to the edge"

This,again,is about a possible future about Momo and Richard's relationship. I swear, if they break up for good,the whole Rammfandom is gonna party like there was no tomorrow.

And finally....

20.You by Marina (2019)

"I know what you're about (You)

But I need you now (You)

'Cause it's all about you (You)"

Since there's more than one song in here about the same topics,I'm just going to say that it's very clear about who is this song about.

And that's it! I apologise if I had repeated myself way too much during this post.And Richard, please, listen to your fans. They want nothing but your own happiness.

Enjoy the tea!

[0nlythrowharrybeaux]

4 & 19 pls 🤪

Here goes!

4. “Nobody’s watching, we’re good.” & 19. “I’d rather be shot than see you.”

Being friends with benefits with someone is hard enough, but when that person happens to be thee Harry Styles, it seems impossible. Y/N isn’t sure how she fell into this… she just worked on the tour with him and they got on and then one time they kissed and he wanted it to happened again, and so it did, and then she was giving him blowies and he was rubbing her through her panties, and by the next few times, he was holding her up by the thighs in a broom closet fucking her before a show.

Now that tour was over, they weren’t sure what would happen, but as it turns out, he was living in LA and he made time to see her, so they just kept on going until the holidays. Y/N was fine being on her own, there wasn’t any special attachment to him or anything, but she missed him, she was used to him after being together so often, so when she saw his name (well, his codename) lighting up her phone she practically leapt out of her seat and rushed to the hallway, answering just before it stopped ringing.

“Hey!” She said quietly, glancing around to make sure no one followed her, he smiled as soon as he heard her voice.

“Hey petal, how’s it going?” He asked smoothly and she smiled, the sound of his voice settling low in her tummy, awakening the myriad of butterflies that seemed to be hibernating when he wasn’t around.

“S’going good, how was your Christmas?” She asked back.

“It was really good, had loads of fun. Christmas is always nice for me.” He assured her and she smiled, “How was it for you Mrs. Grinch?” He teased and she rolled her eyes.

“The same as always… family, dinner, presents, crying babies…” she explained and he chuckled.

“It’s Jesus’ birthday, you should at least be enthused about that.” He responded and she chuckled.

“Jesus was born in April… we don’t do much, like my family isn’t into games and stuff like yours, we just kinda sit around for a few days.” She mumbled and he hummed.

“Well I’m sorry you find it lame.” He said and she chuckled.

“Yeah, thanks. So what are you calling about?” She went straight to it and he bit his lip.

“Right, well what are your plans for the next few weeks?” He asked and she smiled.

“Ummm, I actually don’t have any… was just gonna stay home, be in bed by 10:30, the ‘uzhe’.” She explained and he smiled.

“Well, how would you like to come to Japan for a few weeks?” He asked and she smiled.

“Sounds… interesting.”

“It’ll be fun, m’working on some stuff for the Met and uh, just a few meetings with loads of free time…” he trailed off.

“Are you there now?” She asked.

“Mhm, been here since the end of December, I’ll be back in two weeks. So… whatta y’say?” He asked and she smiled.

“I will look into it as soon as I get home.”

“Not necessary.” He said and she rolled her eyes.

“I have a job, H. Don’t need you to “take care” of me or whatever you say.”

“I do, though! I’m inviting you, petal.” He reasoned, “Besides, I knew you’d be bored and missing me so I got your ticket already.”

“Harry!” She whisper-shouted, “We’ve talked about this.”

“Merry Christmas?” He asked and she rolled her eyes.

“I’m Venmo-ing you.” She said sternly and he chuckled.

“Nonsense.” He argued and she sighed.

“I hate this… you know it.”

“Fine then, I can always ask someone else… a proper gold digger to come instead of you.” He threatened, an empty threat, but a threat none the less.

“When do I leave?” She asked and he grinned, his thumb running over his bottom lip.

“Saturday at 6am, I’ll e-mail it to you, yeah?”

“Alright…” she hummed and he chuckled.

“Don’t sound so enthusiastic about it, Y/N!” He said sarcastically and she smiled, “You know you miss me as much as I miss you.” He bit her lip, “Fuck, petal, miss you so fucking much.” He groaned lowly and her eyebrows raised when he exhaled loudly, a little whine to his voice and she bit her lip.

“Harry, are you…?” She glanced around once more, “Are you getting off?” She whispered and he nodded his head.

“Mmhm. Sound so fucking nice over the phone and like I said t’ya- mmm, fuck!” He groaned, “Miss you, miss you so much.” He gasped. “Fuck, can’t wait t’have you here, fuck baby, we’re gonna have a real good time.” She bit her lip, starting to get wet between her thighs and moaning at the mental image.

“Har, what’re you thinking about?” She whispered.

“You, your hot little mouth, ‘member that one time on the plane? Everyone was asleep and you rode me so fucking good? Took all my fucking cum, didn’t you petal?” She was growing hot, her heart beating fast and walls pulsing with need.

“Yeah, yeah I did.” She whispered.

“Send me a picture, yeah?”

“N-now?” She asked, looking around again.

“Yes, Y/N, please, so fucking close to cumming.” He panted and she hurried into the bathroom, shutting it and biting her lip.

“What do you wanna see?” She asked and he groaned.

“Let’s see those pretty tits, wanna cum all over them, then lick ‘em clean.” He grunted and she pulled off her shirt and unhooked her bra, snapping a picture and snap chatting it to him and he smiled when it came in, “Oh fuck, can’t wait t’have you here, petal. Get yourself off fo’me.” He begged and she huffed.

“I’m at a friend’s house, Har!” She whined into the phone and he groaned.

“Even hotter.” He rasped out, “Talk t’me then, petal. M’right there, sh-shit!” He grunted once more. She whimpered, upset that she wasn’t there and that she couldn’t see, but she pulled through for him.

“Fuck Har, I’m so sad I’m not with you, let you fuck my mouth until you’re cumming down my throat.”

“Oh fuck, you love swallowing don’t ya? My little cum slut, aren’t you?” He groaned and she whimpered.

“You know it, Har. Rub your thumb into your slit for me,” he moaned, doing as he was being told and she smiled, “Fuck, that’s it, just like I do it t’you, love it don’t you? Especially when I do it with my tongue.”

“Yes fuck, petal, feels so good, love it when you suck my balls and bite my thighs!”

“Yeah, fuck wait ’til I get there, H, milk you for every fucking drop. C’mon, cum for me. Cum as if I were fucking you right now.”

“Yes Y/N, fuck, fuck, fuck!” He panted, she could hear him jerking himself faster until he was gasping, “Oh, oh, fuck!”

“Fuck, sound so hot, Har! Cum, for me, all over your hand yeah?”

“M’cumming, petal! Yes, Y/N, fuck meeee.” He whined until he was spurting warm, white streams down his fist, breathing hard on the line as he worked himself down. “Came so fucking much for you, fuck, should see it, Y/N.” He panted and she bit her lip.

“Send me a picture, I’ll use it later, yeah?” He moaned.

“Fuck, call me when you do, yeah?”

“Okay, I will.” She promised, “Alright, need to go, H.”

“Alright petal. Call me.”

“Oh trust me, I will.” She smiled and he chuckled.

“Bye.” He said once more and she hung up, redressing her top half and then hurrying back out to dinner with an uncomfortable stickiness and throbbing between her thighs. She wanted him.

******

Once she arrived in Japan, dinner  with Gucci was first on the itenerary (and probably a club or bar after he had said). Dinner was phenomenal, Harry was right, they did end up going to a club and well she got on with someone while Harry talked business. Harry wasn’t going to say the guy wasn’t good-looking, but he was taller and more muscular than the guy she was dancing with. He also happened to be one of the creative designers for his MET outfit, Harry’s jaw was clenching and unclenching as he watched her dancing, she was keeping it as clean as possible, but this guy was getting handsy. He was grabbing so low on her back and he was angry because only he touches her like that. She belongs to him, only he can kiss her, and grab her, maker her cum… he stood and headed over to them.

“May I cut in?” He asked a frown at his face and posture straight and menacing as he tapped his shoulder and the guy smiled and nodded, waving to her before he grabbed her hips, “He was all over you, petal.”

“Jealous?” She smirked and he frowned.

“No. Just… concerned.” He masked terribly and she smirked.

“S’okay, I’m with you, I know that. M’all yours, no?” He couldn’t fight off the smile creeping onto his lips as he tried his best to refrain from nodding, “Don’worry, H. Only here for you, you still owe me, let’s go.”

“Petal, can’t yet.”

“But I’m so tired from traveling.” She batted her eyelashes and he grinned.

“Oh, that’s right…” he hummed and she leaned into his neck, smelling his delicious cologne, her head swimming with need for him.

“Let me go to the bathroom and I’ll meet you back at the VIP lounge?” He nodded and squeezed her hip before she headed off.

*******

The drive to the hotel was quiet until he spoke up.

“You’re kinda hot when you’re all squared up like tha’, all pouty and jealous.” He grinned softly.

“Kinda?” He questioned, brows arching up and she smiled.

“Okay, fucking sexy. Never seen you so… dominant.” He glanced down to her at her choice of word.

“Dominant? Could’ve broke him in half.” He tried and she nodded.

“Fuck, I know you could take him, but I’m glad you didn’t.” She said, “Look a lot hotter not bruised up.” She said and he chuckled.

“Yeah, maybe you’re right.” He said and she smiled, bringing his hand up and kissing his knuckles.

“I am right.” She stated and he smiled, “Can we try something new today? Can you be a little more assertive with me? Tell me what to do? Fucking use me t’get off, just been needing you to fuck me for so long.” She said as she placed little kisses on his finger tips, his body becoming covered in goosebumps as she slipped his middle finger between her lips, sucking the digit gently.

“Fuck, petal, such a filthy little thing, aren’t you?” He muttered, feeling her warm tongue lapping around his digit, becoming impossibly tight in his trousers.

“Only for you.” She breathed and he bit down on his lip, watching her take a second finger, her eyes fluttering shut as she sucked at him gently. He couldn’t help but imagine it being another part of him stuffed between her lips as she suckled softly.

“Fucking hell, petal.” He groaned, hand coming down to rub against the bulge in his pants, moaning as she slightly sunk her teeth in, scraping them along the length of his fingers until they were out of her mouth.

“We’re here.” She said and he took a few deep breaths.

“Stand in front of me, only you can see this.” He said of the tent in his trousers and she smiled, so she walked in front of him, guiding him into the foyer, a few fans were waiting outside and he smiled and waved, not stopping for any pictures though. They made a beeline for the elevator and she smiled once the doors shut and he put in his key card for the top floors, for the suites only and he pressed her up against the gold metallic wall. His heavy hands travelled down to her ass, kneading and giving a slight spank when she raised her hips to his.

“Nuh-uh, said I was gonna tell you what t’do tonight.” She pouted and glanced up at him.

“Regret it. I take it back.” She huffed and he smirked.

“Don’t lovie, you’re gonna get it so good. Fuck-” he panted as her hand scratched down his chest, “Wanna mark me?” He asked and she nodded, “Am I yours to mark?” He inquired and she bit her lip, not sure how to answer, but she nodded, looking up into his eyes.

“You’re just as mine as I am yours, yeah?” She asked and he grinned, a twinkle in his eyes as he nodded in agreement.

“Good answer, petal.” Just then, the lift signaled their stop and they stepped out, hurrying to his door and barely making it through before they were a moaning mess.

*****

He fucked her at least four times and twice before they had to leave for his Gucci thing. She was sore, simply put. There was an ache between her legs from the girth she had lost her familiarity with.

“I can hardly walk.” She whined to him in a whisper and he just smirked smugly. He knows he’s a big boy, loves the effect he has on her too. She’s like a flowing fountain for him, always ready for him. He’d go as far as saying that Y/N’s the best partner he’s ever had because she’s just so easy and pliable for him and always makes him cum loads. He bites his lip when he spots a love bite right at the joining of her shoulder and neck and he grins at the memory…

“Harder?” He grunted and she nodded.

“Yes, fuck, Har, m’right there.” She whimpered, face on the bed as he rammed her hard from behind. He smacked her ass hard, making her whimper and as she tightened around his cock.

“You’re my good girl aren’t you? Helpin’ me get off any way I want?” She nodded, “So fucking tight for me, petal. Saving yourself for me all these months, huh?” He groaned, yanking her head up by her hair, neck stretched out, “Answer me.” He growled and she strained out a ‘Yes, Harry!’ Before he pulled her up all the way, thrusting up into her, feeling so close to bursting.

“May I cum?” She sobbed and he kissed her shoulder.

“Yeah petal, soak my fucking cock.” He rasped and she moaned so loud he felt it in his own chest and he bit down between her neck and her shoulder, sucking hard as he felt her drenching his cock, “Fuck, fuck, Y/N.”

“Give it to me, fucking fill me, Har.” She whimpered and he stilled in her, shooting his cum deep into her until she was trembling and his cock was going soft. He was panting against her, licking at the mark he left and hummed tiredly, “A purple little petal for my petal.”

“Har…”

“Hmmm?” He asked looking down to her and she was holing a little room open for him and he stepped inside.

“Your dressing room.” She said and he nodded, thanking her as she lingered in a seat outside. He was about to try various outfits on for the MET and he definitely wanted Y/N there. So a half an hour went by and he had been in two different ones, one of which Y/N really liked, but he was too busy seeing that bruise on her neck, fighting the urge to pop a stiffy at the idea of sinking into her and giving her another on the other side.

“So you like this one?” Ellen, one of the outfitters asked of the second outfit and he nodded profusely, knowing Y/N like it too, “Okay, I have your notes, let me ask if we can make the adjustments you’ve suggested, I’ll be back in a little!” She said and he nodded as she closed the curtain and hurried off.

“Y/N?” He called from behind the curtain and she hummed in acknowledgement. He peaked out to see her scrolling on her phone and he grinned, popping back in and letting his mind grow wild. He rubbed at himself a few times, growing hard in his undergarments and snapping a picture, sending it to her and he heard her gasp.

“Harry! What the hell?” She called out and he peaked out again, smirking.

“Im really worked upper you.” He admitted and she groaned.

“Ellen will be back soon, get un-hard.” She scolded and he bit his lip and shook his head.

“We’ll be quick, c’mere.” He whispered and her eyes widened.

“No way!”

“Please! Look what you’ve done to me.” He showed his full body and frowned, “S’not fair.”

“You did it to yourself!” She whispered and he huffed.

“If you don’t come in, I’ll come out. Think of how fun s’gonna be.” He grinned and she was tempted. The soreness between her legs wasn’t hindering her. If anything, she wanted it more prominent, she wanted to last until she went home so she had enough naughty memories to last her however many months she’d be without him again. She stood up quickly and hurried behind the curtain, pressing him up against the wall and crashing her lips onto his.

“You have five minutes.” She said and he scoffed.

“Five?!”

“Five.” she said sternly.

“Nobody’s watching, we’re good.” He assured her.

“If we get caught by Ellen or even worse, Alessandro I wi—”

“Petal, relax and let me fuck the worry away.” He mumbled smugly and unbuckled her pants, dragging them down to her knees as she got his cock out from the boxers he was wearing. He moaned as his tip became slick with her arousal, “Always so fucking horny for my cock aren’t you?” He grinned and she nodded pathetically, of course she was. Who in their right mind wasn’t? “Ready fo’me t’stuff ya’full?” He whispered against her mouth and she nodded.

“Please please, H.” She pleaded and she slicked over her once more, tapping his hard prick against her entrance a few times before angling up and spreading her little hole with the thick head of his cock and he moaned as he watched himself disappear into her pretty, pink folds. “Shit petal, still so fucking snug in ya’.” He whispered as he finished sinking into her, resting there before pressing her up against the wall and drawing out about half way.

“Haaaaar.” She whined and he kissed the corner of her mouth, grinning smugly.

“What’s the magic word?” He teased.

“Please fuck me.” She asked quietly and he flipped the switch, slamming in and out of her at a rapid pace. He loved to feel the sting of her nails digging into his shoulder and scraping down his back, loved to see her mouth agape and eyes rolling back as he fucked hard into her g-spot. “Yes, keep going like that!” She squeaked and he remained in the same force, picking up the speed as she clenched her walls around him and he gasped into her neck.

“M’gonna cum so hard for you petal, paint you white inside.” He muttered into her ear quietly, grunting with every thrust he delivered. Lucky men, she was struggling, they had no time.

“M’not gonna cum.” She whined and he shook his head.

“You fucking will cum.” He said and she shrieked loudly as his fingers rubbed at her clit.

“Oh my fucking-” she gasped as he fucked her faster, they were rattling the tiny dressing room, “Feel so good inside of me, Har. Such a delicious, thick, cock, you fuck me so good!” She moaned a little too loudly.

“Let go for me, petal. Can feel you squeezing.” He groaned, “Gimme. Your. Cum.” He grunted with every thrust and she was gasping, head knocking against the wall, mouth in an “O” shape as her body became covered in goosebumps, her toes curling and nails burying themselves against the muscles on his shoulders, “Fuck, that’s it, petal, fucking soak my cock!” He praised, “Such a juicy little cunt, always cum so hard fo’me.” He encouraged as she throbbed around him and finally he was there. He was bouncing her on his cock until he was gushing streams of his warm cum deep inside her. Moaning softly into her neck at how good it felt to finally get what he wanted, “Your little pussy’s so good, always have me nuttin’ so hard.” He mouthed at her neck, kissing and nibbling as he came down.

“Ummm, sorry, Mr. Styles?” He heard Ellen faintly and Y/N’s eyes grew wide, pushing herself away from his hold and landing on her wobbly legs. He had never seen her so mortified.

“Uh, yeah, Ellen?” He rasped out, a bit embarrassed himself, chest sweaty and cheeks flushed.

“We can do the adjustments and uh, do you want anything for lunch? Miss Y/L/N as well?” She asked.

“Please. Whatever Y/N gets, I’ll have the same.” He called out.

“Miss Y/L/N? Care to choose something? It’s Buffett style.” She informed, probably just as embarrassed as she was and Y/N was crying inside.

“Honestly Ellen, I’d rather be shot than see you.” Y/N called out,  “I am so, so, so sorry. Fuck…”

“It’s alright, it happens. I can wait for you to get dressed.” She said and Y/N sighed, Harry was trying not to laugh.

“Yeah, yeah, give me a sex- Sec!” She corrected herself and Harry burst into laughter and she shoved him against the wall, making him lose his balance and fall, even from the floor he was wheezing from laughter and she groaned as put on her undies and pants, then her shoes. “I fucking hate you.” She seethed, “I told you it was a bad idea!” She whispered and Harry just kept laughing.

“I fucking love you.” He panted and she forced away her smile.

“No more sex on this trip for embarrassing me.” She warned and he rolled his eyes.

“We’re too good together, no way you hold out for more than a day.” He teased and she groaned.

“Well, whatever you love that I do for you, no more that!” She said pointing a finger at him sternly before scurrying out of the little dressing room. Facing Ellen with such shame. He’s going to get it when they get back to the hotel.

[lovely-bangtan7]

Find Peace In Me | 1

Pairings: BTS x reader

Genre: Mafia!Au, Smut, Angst

Words: 3,4k

Warnings: Blood, Smut(?), Swearings, Violence

Summary: What happens, when You, top member of Kim Namjoon’s Mafia gang fall in love with a normal young boy? Who will die, who will live?

A/N:It’s so good to be back! I am so sorry that I am inactive, but lately being on Tumblr and writing is kinda ??? idk (eventhough I have no hobbies) I have no idea whats wrong, but I am trying to be more active <3 Anways! Have fun with the first chapter of my Mafia!Au! The prologue was “New Home”, but the story will be called “Find Peace In me”. I really hope that you will enjoy this chapter! 

Ps: The Prologue is included in this chapter! So pls don’t be confused. The Prologue will be in a curved writing!

Broken furniture, broken glass, blood and dead bodies were lying everywhere in this hall. It was the wedding of your aunt, it was supposed to be a beautiful day and a cheerful evening, with laughter, music and dancing but all you g was screaming, shooting, blood splattered everywhere and death. Where there once was happiness, is now sorrow. Everyone was dead, shoot or torn in pieces, but you.

You cowered behind a pillar, trying to hold your breath, too scared that it was too loud and that someone would find you and kill you. You were crying, your cries muffled because of your hand covering your mouth. Your vision was blurry from the crying, you only could see the outlines of a woman’s arm, covered in blood. It was your mother’s arm. Her delicate arm, her nails painted a deep red, covered in blood, lying in front of you. The picture in front of you burned into your head, never in your life would you forget that sight and as more time you saw the red nails, you started to hate the color red. You would never look at this color without feeling the disgust and sadness inside you.

10 years old and your life took a big turn. From this day on, you were an adult, left alone in this bitter cold world.

Your eyes started to grow tired and slowly closed, but then you heard a loud click sound.

Your head shoot up to where the sound came from and saw a tall man with black hair, wearing a suit and gloves pointing a gun at you. His face looked bored, there was barely any emotion. He didn’t felt sorry for you and showed no mercy for you, he just wanted to kill you, his cold heart wanted to kill as much as it could. The man lied his finger on the trigger, ready to pull it in any second.

“No.” a voice said. A very young voice in fact. The man turned around and there was a young boy, maybe 12 years old, also wearing a black suit, his hands in his pockets. Cold brown eyes burned into your head, plump lips turned down. The young boy took a step forward, causing you to backup, your head hitting the cold stone of the pillar, a sharp pain shot through your head and you held your head, face buried in your knees. You just wished that they would kill you, giving you an opportunity to escape this bad dream.

Unfortunately, they didn’t kill you.

You looked up again and found the boy crouching before you and offering you his hand. You weren’t sure how to react, but as you looked into the boy’s eyes again, you saw a glint of kindness in his eyes.

“Sir, what are you doing?” The man behind the boy asked. Sir? Who was Sir? The boy?

“Come, take my hand and let’s go home.”

And with these words, you laid your hand in his warm, his hand clenching carefully around yours, as if you were made of porcelain.

And then you went home.

“45 years old, banker, married… 2 children in the age of 8 - 12.” You said to yourself, staring at the pictures, tucked in the document in your hands.

11 years later, you were 20 years old now, soon turning 21. Number one killer of all women and number three of them all. You were good, very good, the competition among the members was no big deal for you, even if you didn’t care for that bullshit.

You weren’t sure, if the people here hated you or loved you, but one certain person loved you, that was sure enough for you.

It’s that certain person who brought you home 11 years ago.

Kim Namjoon.

He loved you, he protected you, he lead you to your new home, he showed you how to live, he lead you to this life. The exact life that killed your whole family. Back then, when he took you home, he offered you this life, he offered you a complete new and different life and you figured out, after losing your family and old life, that you should accept his offer. You were alone anyway, you wouldn’t have survived alone, that was your only chance to live.

Everyone saw you as Namjoon’s little sister, he oh-so cared for and didn’t let you get hurt in anyway. In the past few years you grew to a strong, beautiful, but cold and deadly young woman. The men were after you and the women hated you, you loved your new life.

You stared at the picture a few more seconds, before you shoved it, along all his informations written in the documents, in your drawer next to your bed. The man was a banker, he could have had a good life with his payment. $6.795 per month. Working in america’s biggest bank must be a blessing, many people wished for his job but this man was eager. A gold digger. A man in debt. He wanted more money and that’s how he found his way to Namjoon, the richest mafia boss on earth, the most deadly mafia boss and the coldest mafia boss alive.

This stupid man, asked for money, 900k dollars, in fact. No one knows what for and where the money went, all you know is that it’s not back in Namjoon’s hands and now you have to simply kill this man.

What an idiot. He knew the rules. You either pay back the money, or your life.

“You have one year.”

Namjoon said and the man agreed, with blabla in his eyes. God, he was pathetic to believe that he could get away with the money, you had to laugh out loud.

The next day you will take a plane, fly over to Los Angeles, where the man is hiding, kill him and comeback. That was your plan for this week, simple. You were lying on your king sized bed, in your white painted bedroom, the moon shining brightly inside, filling the room with a beautiful bright light.

11:45 pm. You will get 8 hours of sleep before you have to wake up again, 9 hours before you head out to the airport and 10 hours before you board the plane. But it was hard for you to fall asleep, too excited of the following week.  Your heart filled with joy at the thought of killing this pathetic man, you couldn’t wait for it. The feeling you have in your stomach, when your victim’s eyes are filled with fear and sorrow as their life slowly get taken away by our hands, is better than the a sinful orgasm after riding someone’s hard and long cock, the heat in your core and the sounds created by two humans grinding at each other.

You turned on your stomach, only seconds before your alarm went off. Time to get ready for your job. After your daily routine, you made your way to your car, your trolley dragging behind you. You were about to drive from the parking lot, when someone had entered your car.

This cheeky smile, which lifted his cheeks up to his eyes and decorated them perfectly, which you hated so much, but loved at the same time, was beaming in your direction. You knew what this smile meant.

Jeon Jungkook will join you on this trip.

Outside you were groaning, but inside you were filled with lust and adoration.

You adored this boy, he was cute, charming and good looking, actually he was a walking god, in your eyes. Not only was he good looking, but well skilled. He was number 2. A good fighter, well with handling weapons and a god damn flirt. He knows how to wrap man and woman wrap around his finger and-

“That’s going to be fun!” He said in a cheerful tone, making it himself comfortable in his seat next to you.

“Why are you here?” You asked him in a short sentence.

“Last minute decision.”

“Oh god.”

You found yourself in front of a 40 year old man, looking you up and down. You felt disgusted under his eyes practically undressing you and watching you as if you were his dinner for tonight. This man borrowed money from Namjoon to come to LA, to have a good time. He had no shame in telling you that, while his wife and 2 children were waiting in Seoul for him to arrive back and continue their life as a happy family as 4, but little did they know that soon they will be a family of only 3.

You wanted to shoot this man right here, in front of the hotel bar that was on the other side of LA, but you had to go on with the plan, that you and Jungkook made.

Step1: Approach him and talk to him - you did

Step2: Lure him to the VIP area

Step3: Endgame

Jungkook was watching the scene from afar, sat in a booth and drinking a whiskey by himself. He was ready to step in, in case something might get wrong but he is sure that you are capable of handling things on your own.

He watched the way you wrapped the target around your finger, he could see the dirty smile on the man, staring down on your body covered in a tight dress.

Not even 5 minutes later you were leading the man to VIP area, a signal for Jungkook that he will step into the game very soon. Before he made his way to the room, he gulped his whiskey down and moved himself to the said room.

From outside the room you couldn’t hear any noise, the music in the club was drowning the screams and pleas  from the man. It only lasted a few minutes to finish your mission and you had to admit that even though it wasn’t a big and important mission you were satisfied. You were glad that this man, who left his family alone to go on parties, get drunk and hook up with many women. It’s what he deserves.

Back in your hotel room you jumped, still in your clothes you had on in the bar, on your bed your high heels still on your feet. You really wished to get some rest for the night, you were tired from the drinks your target had bought you. The mission itself wasn’t tiring, but the preparations, the still ongoing jet lag and the alcohol made you tired. But as you were lying on your stomach taking in the calm that layers in the room, you notice that Jungkook was still standing in the doorframe.

“What is it Jeon?” You called out, your face pressed on the mattress. Instead of answering you Jungkook closed the door and moved himself next to you on your bed.

His handsome but boyish featured appeared stronger in the dim light, the lanterns from outside the hotel window lightening only part of his face up.

-

Days later you were in a small coffee shop in Seoul. You were supposed to watch someone, again some man who was in debt with Namjoon but even after 2 hours you couldn’t find this man. You thought that he would be here, in this coffee shop, almost outside of Seoul. It was very quiet there, only 3 others were drinking their coffee in peace and reading their newspapers.

You let your gaze wander around, catching glimpses of an old man reading his newspaper, the sports article, a young woman around your age was on her phone typing furiously and another woman reading a book, sipping from her tea from time to time. You had also ordered a cappuccino and made it yourself comfortable in a the corner of the room on a small couch, your laptop on your lap with the documents of your new target open.

You were waiting for a 27 year old male, who was living in this area. Quiet young to die soon, but he knew the rules, he has gotten many chances.

$25k … hmm

You continue to scroll the man’s profile. Your research and his information has led you to this small coffee shop, you first thought it would be easy but since you have arrived no male came here that has looked like your target.

Christian Yu, 27 years old, born in Australia …

Your attention to the screen of your laptop was interrupted by the sound of glass shattering on the ground and the screaming of an man and a young boy.

You looked up to the sight the two employers of the coffee shop. The boy must have dropped a cup of the older woman’s tea, he was trying to clean everything up while the older employer scolded him. The young boy was embarrassed and kept apologizing himself by his co-worker and the woman, even though she told him for the third time that i wasn’t a big deal for her.

While the young boy, who had black hair, wide eyes and a perfect sharp nose cleaned the ground with a brush gazed over to you but quickly turned around with a red face after your eyes have met.

You decided to turn your attention back to your laptop and started to your research about Christian Yu again. Maybe you were at the wrong place, could it be that you made a mistake? You a mistake? The number 3? Bullshit! You thought. This must be the right place, that must be the coffee shop were Christian Yu comes by every Saturday to buy himself a small Americano, usually after his workouts, but after 2 hours he still hasn’t showed up in this damn coffee shop. You grew angry at this guy for not showing up and ruining your statistics. You cursed at him and the lust to kill him grew stronger from minute to minute. He will not only pay for the debt but also for letting me wait 2 hours like a damn fool and for ruining my image, you told yourself already imagining the way you will take his life away, your heart jumping in excitement and the smell of blood already forming in your nostrils. His death will be satisfyingly, you couldn’t wait for this moment to come.

You got distracted by the sound of glass once again, as the young boy who had dropped a glass before took your now empty cup. Your eyes wandered to the face of the boy, who was now smiling apologizing down at you, for interrupting him. Dimples were forming on his perfectly shaped face while he was smiling. He was cute, really cute. You send him a small smile, dying as soon as you looked back down on your laptop. What were you thinking about again? You lost your trail of thoughts but your gaze went back to the coffee shop boy who carried your with red lipstick covered cup away. You took in his features, tall, slim but through his white shirt you could see that he was well build, you liked that sight there. Maybe you should go on an adventure, maybe you should order another cup of coffe.

-

“Listen here, I don’t care how old you are or-”

“Where is Namjoon?” You cut the man off, who was going to explain you something. Namjoon took you to his huge Mansion after he had found you and wants that you get trained as an Assassin. They gave you one day to settle in, get familiar with the new house and the people you will live from now on. After that your training will start.

“He is busy. You have to listen to me now.” The man said with a cold stare.

“I want to see him!” You argued back.

“He can’t-”

“But I want to see him!” A slap in your face followed after you screaming. The man’s face turned from the cold stare to an angry red face. He grew impatient with you.

“Listen here you little brat, I don’t have any time for your bullshit. We will start to study this damn thing-” he shook his Pistol in front of your face that he wanted you to explain how it works and how use “in my hands here and then I will have finally get my peace back and don’t have to deal with you little kid!”

“Looks like you need another job then, Johnson.” Namjoon had entered the room u heard and listened to the conversation between you and Johnson. The man in his 30’s went suddenly all shy as soon as he heard Namjoon’s voice.

Namjoon was only 12 years old and was already feared and respected by his father’s men. He wasn’t their boss yet, but Namjoon already got the permission to command the men in this gang, preparation so he take over his father’s place soon.

You immediately rushed over to Namjoon’s side, tugging on his arm. After your parents death you started to act like a toddler, always wanting to be hold and always wanting to be by Namjoon’s side. You didn’t wanted to leave him, since you felt protected with him. For you, there was no one else than Namjoon, you didn’t accept any other people, not even the women in the gang. You just wanted to be with Namjoon.

“N-no. I mean, I am sorry. I am just tired-” stuttered Johnson, his face went completely pale and small droplets of sweat started to form on his forehead.

You studied Namjoon,s expression, his brows were furrowed and his lips pressed in a thin line. He showed with his face that he was disappointed with Johnson’s behavior and Johnson already knew what that meant.

“Oh, tired? I guess you should take some rest, hm? Father doesn’t want his men to be ‘tired’.” Namjoon started and Johnson immediately fell on his knee’s. The impact a 12 year old boy could have on a grown man was unbelievable. The please of Johnson didn’t affect Namjoon at all as he continued to stare at the man in front of you. “You should go home then.” Namjoon turned around, took your hand and went out, but before he went through the door he added one thing to Johnson.”Before someone makes you go home with force.”

-

It has been 2 weeks since you started to visit the small coffeehouse, each day at the same time, the same place, the same order. Your first intention was to lure on  Christian Yu, but recently you visited it, because of the boy working there.

It all started with you writing your number on a napkin that you have left on the table with a note saying ‘call me’. On the same day he called you.

You learned that his name was Jung Hoseok, 24 years old and he was a student at the Seoul University.

Every time you visited the coffeehouse Hoseok had already prepared your coffee, serving it with the brightest smile he could offer you. First you two were only chatting via a messenger, during your time in the coffeehouse you only spoke a few sentences and shared a two or three glances at each other, sending smiles and winks. But after 4 days Hoseok actually invited you for dinner and there you were, sitting in a fancy restaurant somewhere in Seoul, with your best dress, your hair in soft curls and neat makeup chatting and laughing with Hoseok- or ‘Hobi’, his nickname. He told you that all his friends call him that name and wished that you would call him like that.

“So Hobi.” You began, tracing your fingers over his soft hand. “What do you search in a woman?” Your question startled Hoseok, he tilted his head a bit to the right and you chuckled softly at the man sitting in front of you. “I mean what is your ideal type.” Hoseok joined in laughing with you, slightly embarrassed that he failed to understand that you were trying to flirt with him.

“Well, it’s actually really basic. I am attracted to a woman who is kind, sweet…” As Hoseok kept talking, you overheard another voice. A man laughing too loud for a second, but hushing immediately. Your attention went from Hoseok to scanning the room and a familiar face came into your sight. On the other site of the restaurant, that was packed with many other guests talking, eating or drinking, was your dear friend Jeon Jungkook sitting with another man. Christian Yu.

[footbaliimagines]

gold digger (an aaron ramsey imagine)

Summary: they ain’t saying she a gold digger…oh wait- they definitely are

It was like a Pandora’s box.

Everyone told you that reading his Instagram comments section was a seriously bad idea. His teammates’ girlfriends were quick to shoot you wary looks and raised eyebrows and rattle off horror stories, and even he had once told you it probably wouldn’t be the best idea.

(“Don’t want you getting those kind of ideas in your head, babe. It’ll just make you feel bad about yourself.” Aaron had informed you with a self-assured nod, and you’d hummed a short ‘sure’ in response.)

Plus, Calum’s girlfriend had once warned you, with wide eyes and a shudder, of that one time a fan followed her private Instagram under a fake name to share her photos and commented that she was a ‘filthy slag’ on all her posts. “Yep. All 128.”

That didn’t stop you from scrolling through his timeline to find the photo of the two of you he had posted the past weekend. It was a mirror selfie and you were trying (and subsequently failing), in fits of laughter, to give him a piggy back. You had thought it was a cute photo. A photo that showed you weren’t some unattainable-hot-leggy-model-stereotypical-WAG on a red carpet but a normal 25-year-old woman who wore Disney pyjamas like the rest of the world and didn’t care too much about how she appeared on the internet.

But the comments section below seems to disagree.

‘Can’t help but think she’s just a bit of a gold digger. Am I the only one?’

‘All she seems to do is take photos with him and leech off his money. My left arse cheek would do a better job as girlfriend.’

‘Does she even have a job?’

And you wish you could respond to the last one with a firm, obstinate, in-your-face-fuck-you-actually ‘no’ but then you remember that you spend 5 days a week sitting at a cramped desk opposite a middle-aged man who looks at you far too often for your liking and picks his nose at his desk, and you have to face the wrath of the London underground at rush hour twice a day, and refrain from commenting back.

You hear the door open and promptly shut, and see Aaron sling his bag to the floor and come over to where you’re sitting on the sofa. He’s home from training and wearing grey sweatpants that hang low on his hips, and an Arsenal sweater that’s potentially crossing the line into too tight territory. You smile at the sight of him walking over and feel yourself breathe out in bliss when you remember that his man, this gorgeous man who knows you like the back of his hand and you’re pretty sure would jump off a bridge if you asked, is all yours.

(And the thought kind of makes you want to kick yourself, but you realise that the sight of him at this precise moment in time would probably turn any sane, moral woman into a gold digger.)

“Hi, my love.” He approaches you, smiling lopsidedly and leaning down to kiss your cheek. You lock your phone and throw it across the sofa swiftly and then lean up to kiss him back. “What are you doing, babe?” He raises an eyebrow at you. “That wasn’t suspicious at all.”

“Nothing, nothing,” You squeak. “How was your day?”

“Were you watching porn?” He asks incredulously.

“How is that the first conclusion you jump to, you silly twat?”

“It’s what I’d be doing.”

“Because you’re still a 12-year-old boy at heart.”

“Come on, you’re the one acting suspicious.” He pouts and threads his fingers with yours. “What are you doooooing?”

“Just reading. Stuff.”

“Reading what?” He presses. “Aaron Ramsey fanfiction?”

“Jesus Christ, are you always this annoying?”

“You’re the one who’s been with me for the past three years.” He reasons, which elicits a snort from you. Then he gasps, and looks at you in mock horror, “You must have bad taste. Unless- God forbid- you’re only with me for my money?”

It strikes a nerve and it’s as if he can read your mind, and instead of laughing in response, or firing back with another remark, you groan and cover your face with your hands. “Apparently, yes.” You mumble against your hands, and it comes out muffled and quiet.

“What?”

“Apparently, I’m only with you for your money.”

“According to who?”

“Um, 90% of your fans?”

“You know I don’t care about what other people say.” He insists. “If I listened to all the comments on my Instagram I would have retired about 3 years ago, because I apparently have the pace of a slow horse and can’t pass to save my life.”

“I know that, but- but…” You trail off, unable to properly quantify how you feel.

You weren’t even sure if you knew you felt, to be frank. On one hand, you didn’t care about what people on the internet were saying (as he had reasoned, “they didn’t know the real you”) but at the same time the thought of so many people thinking badly of you kind of made you want to cuddle up in bed with Gossip Girl and never leave your room again.

(You had always prided yourself on having a thick skin. But there was something about so many people believing such abhorrent lies and crafting this false image of you that was wearing away at your self-esteem and questioning how strong you thought you were in the first place.)

“Talk to me.” He says softly.

“I know they’re all just chatting shit, but…”

He presses a delicate kiss to your cheek and says softly, interrupting you, “But it doesn’t matter at all. I know you’re not really with me for my money, because if that’s all you were truly interested in you’d try it on with Mesut or Alexis, not me.”

It forces a smile and you suppress a laugh. Aaron continues, “Please don’t listen to what these people are saying. They don’t understand our relationship, and I know it sucks to read what they say but at the end of the day it doesn’t really matter.” He murmurs against your cheek, pressing his lips against your skin to punctuate each sentence. “Let them think what they want. Let them think that you’re a ruthless gold digger and that I’m stupid for believing you. Let them think that we’re superficial and boring and arrogant. The important things are that they’re not true and I don’t care.”

“I know, I know.” You sigh. “It’s just annoying that people are so quick to jump to conclusions and assume shit that isn’t true.”

“It’s not worth your time.” He smiles sympathetically and you exhale. “I know what you need.”

“If you say sex, I’m going to slap you, Aaron.”

“I was going to say Chinese takeaway.”

“That would be nice, too.”

“And a dance party in the kitchen.” He smiles at you smugly and he’s so confident and charming and able to make you smile regardless of how shitty you feel.

(And he’s in overwhelming agreement with you that kitchen dance parties are the perfect cure for everything.)

He pulls you to your feet and leads you by hand to your kitchen, his fingers skating over your knuckles and his face fixed with a smile. Aaron walks to plug his phone into the speakers, tapping the screen and walking up behind you again to wrap his arms around your waist. You feel him kiss your shoulder and his stubble graze your cheek and feel yourself relax instantly, the tension leaving your neck, as the speakers begin to blare ‘Gold Digger’ by Kanye West. 

“God I want to DIE.” You groan, and he laughs, a deep throaty chuckle that rumbles through his chest. “You’re not funny.”

“Can’t help it you’re a massive gold digger.” He murmurs, peppering your neck with light, delicate kisses. “And that I’m possibly the funniest man to ever come out of Wales.”

“Shut up.” You moan.

“Evidently you must be with me for the money, then. Have I hit a nerve?” You feel his teeth nip at your skin and your cheeks flush as your head lolls back in pleasure.

“Clearly just with you for the sex.” You smirk. “And-“

“And?” He effortlessly spins you around and grips one hand at your waist and the other on your bum.

He leans in and ghosts his lips over yours. He’s so close that you can see every pore and every eyelash and feel his breath over your lips, so close that you can feel his chest heaving against yours. “And even that’s subpar at best.” You whisper teasingly.

His eyes had closed just before your lips had met, expecting a sultry comment and an excuse to take you in his arms, but your sarcastic quip catches him off-guard. “What?”

“You heard me.” You sing-song.

“I hate you.” His arms wrap around your middle. “But you do have an ass like Serena.”

“Oh Kanye.” You sigh with a smile that he’s eager to return.

“My Kim.”

“I’m definitely more of a Kourtney.”

“Kim’s the one that got famous from sucking a celebrity’s dick though, so we’ll have to agree to disagree.”

“You are awful.”

“And you’re a gold digger. I guess we’re all unearthing new things today.”

“You learn something new every day.” 

And the way he’s looking at you, as if you hung the moon, eases all your stress and makes it all kind of worth it. They could call you a gold digger all they wanted because in the end, they’d at least got one thing right.

You’d definitely hit the jackpot.

 ---

A.N.: long time no post ........ finally wrote something for aaron ramsey!!!! not my favourite thing I’ve ever written but I hope you all liked it nevertheless!!!! also I played with the narrative/perspective that I write with and went with a ‘you’ rather than a ‘she’ (if that makes sense) so let me know what you think/if its worse than before/if I should play around with it and carry on using it etc.!!

songs I listened to when writing this and are kind of relevant:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Gb0zSG0kwZ8

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6vwNcNOTVzY (obviously)

send in requests pls and come and say hi!!!! xxxxx <3

[keepyourpantsongohan]

Ayesha Liveblogs Fairy Tail Zero

Mavis is six years old why are people so horrible

I guess we know now why they created a non-aggression treaty 

“I’ve always been so mean to you, why are you helping me?” “Because you’re a person, that’s all that matters” Mavis knows more about human compassion at six than most adults

Yuri’s introduction is falling out of a boat I think I’m going to like him

How do they have clothes appropriate for their size did they learn to sew on this deserted island?

I’m loving Yuri being schooled by Mavis at his own game

“How old is Zera anyway?” 👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀 is Zera going to be Makarov’s mom?

I like that they haven’t known Mavis for more than a day or two but they already trust that she’s smarter than both of them combined

“That creep you’re running off with seems like bad news to me,” said Zera, in clear earshot of Precht and completely accurately

Precht is so socially awkward it’s painful to watch

I can’t believe Precht is going to adopt Mavis 

Fucking plot twist I thought Mavis was going to learn magic in her travels I didn’t think she’d already know it 

“Yuri caused trouble” Mavis is so overjoyed at Yuri’s mistakes

Fairy Tail calling out climate change lmao

Warrod and Precht already care too much about Mavis to take something that she cares about

“In the end, all I ask is that you stay by my side” The atmosphere of this chat is mimicking Jellal and Erza’s reunion I’m not saying it’s gay but it’s very Gay and I love it

Fairy Tail philosophy at its finest:

Yuri: We can’t just take on a wizard guild

Yuri, two and a half minutes later: You’re definitely gonna pay for what you did to little Miko!

“Let’s go pound his ugly face in,” I guess Yuri has decided it’s go hard or go home 

I guess that explains the eye patch 

Zeref the Teen Demon Lord has no concept of modesty

All of the animals of the forest are gathering around Zeref this is some Disney ass shit

Yuri glaring at Zeref like ‘excuse you I’m the pretty one’

I can’t believe that Fairy Tail wizards originally learned magic from the Lord of Darkness

Yuri’s magical hop is pretty adorable 

“I’ve always wanted to train under a waterfall” lmao living the dream

This actually gives some fascinating insight into how magic works in-universe and proves that people are predisposed to certain types of magic rather than just training under particular kind of master

“Perhaps I was the reason she met such a tragic end after all” I know her body is preserved at 13 but do you have to be so ominous

“Things sure could get wild if you wanted them to” is this yelling blacksmith going to found Quatro Cerberus

“Even the citizens, you monster” I’m detecting some hypocrisy Genie

Also in true Fairy Tail fashion: Destroying a town they were attempting to help

And in the end, the real treasure they were hunting for was friendship 

[Precht as Kanye voice]: Now I ain’t say he a gold digger

I’m glad that Mavis is going to live even if she is a perpetual child this explains a lot actually

“I’ll be beside you for life” I think if Mavis had been able to grow Yuri would’ve eventually fallen in love with her

I WAS VERY WRONG ABOUT ZERA OH MY GOD

Oh my god the boys saw her reacting to Zera for months and they just went along with it so as not to upset her

They’re so thoughtful they founded Fairy Tail to bring stability and peace

“Might I suggest we call ourselves the Precht Brothers” Precht pls

I’m glad they include something to set up the next arc for when the story returns

What an unnecessary and weird battle but I guess they can’t start the Fairy Tail reunion tour until they bring back more episodes

 No proper on-screen appearance of Gray or Wendy or Erza ngl I am hyped for when this show returns

[maryenette-writes]

Request List

I made this list so people could see what requests I have in my inbox. If you requested but don’t see your request down here, please tell me so I could add it. Also, please tell me if I made any mistakes!

Last Updated: 27/03/2017 Masterlist

I M A G I N E S

Requester: Anonymous Pairing: Tim Drake x Reader Request: “could you do a song request with Ruin by Shawn Mendes and with Tim Drake??” 

Requester: Anonymous Pairing: Dick Grayson x Reader Request: “Could you do a Dick Grayson x Reader where they're dating but Bruce doesn't like the reader (he thinks that she's a gold digger) and he's sorta rude to her but then one day he goes to Dick's apartment to talk to him about a mission and he sees the reader and Dick being super cute (maybe cooking or something) and realizes that they really love each other and later apologizes to the reader”

Requester: Anonymous Pairing: Terry McGinnis x Reader Request: “Can í please request one where terry and the reader meet for the first time at the manor and bruce disapproves because that's his grandbaby

Requester: @dc-comics-imagines Pairing: Dick Grayson x Reader Request: “Okay. So since I've seen some stories with reader with small boobs going around and since I'm in the itty bitty tiny committee myself I was wondered if you could write something with Dick about it. I don't know if you want to make it nsfw or not.”

Requester: @dc-comics-imagines Pairing: Jason Todd x Reader Request: “So reader is an artist and she has an assignment to draw someone so she asks Jason”

Requester: Anonymous Pairing: Dick Grayson x Reader Request: “Okay, so I'm a little nervous to request this. I don't know how you'll feel about this. Please, please, PLEASE don't feel that you have to write it if you feel uncomfortable. I totally understand, really I do. The last thing I want to do is make you uncomfortable. But could you write a Dick Grayson x Reader story where the reader and Dick are on patrol and the reader gets shrunk by a chemical explosion, and they're freaking out, so Dick has to calm them down and there's fluff? Thank you!”

Requester: @justmandothings Pairing: Dick Grayson x Reader Request: “Hello again! I didn't know if requests are still open, but I utterly love your writing and had a cute idea. Could you write a Dick Grayson x Reader where either Dick and the reader are making food and there's cute little shenanigans that go on between the two while they're cooking? Such as Dick dancing to music playing in the background and trying to get the reader to dance, while she's trying to crack an egg and giggling over how adorable he is. The typical 'putting food on each other's face' thing, etc. Any cute fluffy food related thing you can think of. Thank you so much if you can! I love your writing so much.”

Requester: Anonymous Pairing: Jason Todd x Reader Request: “Can I request Jason and it's his wife's first time while they're on their honeymoon? Like fluffy with a tiny bit of NSFW”

Requester: Anonymous Pairing: None Request: “Would you be able to write a batsis imagine where the boys go to see her perform for the first time as the prima for her ballet company?”

Requester: Anonymous Pairing: Dick Grayson x Reader Request: “Could you write an imagine about one of the boys s/o (you can choose whos), where they are a figure skater and try to teach the boys how to figure skate at the request of Bruce to help them get along after they all had a falling out?”

Requester: Anonymous Pairing: Tim Drake x Reader Request: “Okay, so I know you want a head cannons for requests, but i was wondering if you could write some sort of thing between the reader and tim where his s/o challenges him to a chess match and it just gets more and more intense as the game goes on?”

Requester: @hellomgann1296 Pairing: Terry McGinnis x Reader Request: “If it wouldn't trouble you, could I request Terry McGinnis and reader? Reader is a new crime fighter going by the name Sparrow. People assume she's the new batgirl though because she's always around batman but her excuse for that is always the same, "I fight WAY better than him". But in reality, they're completely smitten w/ each other. But when they met they agreed to keep it platonic for safety/scheduling reason. Friends may have taken a turn to friends with benefits... ...but they don't reveal their identities (domino masks). But one day after a particularly rough mission where reader or Terry is really cut up, the other takes the wounded one back to his or her apartment and while they are being stitched up, they take of his or her cowl/mask. The other person is shocked but the wounded person is like "I think the person I'm madly in love w/ should know that I'm more than just a pair of lips." The other does the same, they share names, and a sweet kiss.”

Requester: @alicerozenju Pairing: Jason Todd x Reader Request: “Hi! I'm still on Disney mood, and I was thinking on a prompt where Roy (or the Bat Boys) just saw the Beauty and the Beast (The original animated version of course :D) and thought on Jason as the Beast and the S/O as Belle, and when they saw them cuddling or being all lovey dovey the guys start singing or humming the Beauty and the Beast theme...”

Requester: @dc-comics-imagines Pairing: Jason Todd x Reader Request: “So Jason and reader broke up, because as he said he didn't feel anything anymore not even by kissing her and abandons her. Reader calls him a little time later to tell him she's pregnant and he is really mean to her, saying the kid is not his or that maybe there's no kid at all and that is her way of forcing him to come back. +  I just had this idea where she died during childbirth because she wanted Jason by her side and the stress of being alone made her weaker. And during the entire thing she was calling for Jason but he wasn't there. +  I feel like she has to be seem by Jason. Could that be a dream of his? That makes him feel more guilty? +  this dream makes him realize that he should be there for the kid.”

Requester: Anonymous Pairing: Dick Grayson x Reader Request: “Could you write about one of the boys s/o having a bad day and they try to make them feel better and it ends up with their s/o painting their nails and doing their make up with glasses of wine and shitty chick flicks playing in the background? You can choose which boy.”

Requester: Anonymous Pairing: Damian Wayne x Reader Request: “I don't know if you do song fics, but if you do, could you do one based on 'Say You Won't Go' by James Arthur for Damien?”

Requester: Anonymous Pairing: Jason Todd x Reader x Cassandra Cain (Platonic) Request: “Can I pls request a prompt with Jason ft Cassie? Reader is also a hero and likes to train a lot w/Cassie so she's around the mansion a lot. Jason develops a crush on her but doesn't know how to approach her so he starts involving himself in training.”

Requester: Anonymous Pairing: Damian Wayne x Sister!Reader Request: “Maybe something about Bruce's older daughter going mom mode when Damian has a problem in school, like, fear her, she can hurt you worst than the other Waynes. Even Alfred is scared, Barbara is her best friend and brings popcorn for the other girls.”

Requester: Anonymous Pairing: Jason Todd x Reader Request: “Can you do one with Jason where you end up protecting him. You gained powers from the particle accelerator (tying in the flash here) that surfaced when jay was in danger? Maybe the reader has elemental manipulation. Thanks!!!”

Requester: Anonymous Pairing: Barbara Gordon x Fem!Reader Request: “Okay is there anyway I can get some fluffy Barbra Gordon?? It can be when she was batgirl or oracle. Maybe she teaches her s/o some of her skills??”

H E A D C A N O N S

Requester: Anonymous Character: Dick Grayson & Jason Todd Request: “Hi love, could you do a NSFW head cannon (about anything in general about their sex life) for Jaybird or DICKBUTT pls? ❤️” 

Requester: @dc-comics-imagines Character: Batboys Request: “GOING CAMPING WITH THE BATBOYS”

Requester: @dc-comics-imagines Character: Batboys Request: “Headcanons on batboys with stubborn kids”

Requester: @dc-comics-imagines Character: Batboys Request: “HEADCANONS ON BATBOYS TRYING TO RAP AND FAILING MISERABLY?”

Requester: @minchen0897 Character: Batboys + Bruce Request: “Congrats on the 500! You deserve it - and many more :D Now, i saw you asked for Headcanons? I love Headcanons. So...how about the s/o of the Batboys being a soldier, and after being mia for...a year, maybe? They come home. Reactions, please? (Also, older Damian of course, otherwise it wouldn't make sense. And i would absolutely adore it if you would include the War Veteran Alfred too, because he IS a Grandpa to all of them, i am ready to fight everyone on this.) Thank you so much!”

Requester: @minchen0897 Character: Batboys + Bruce + Alfred Request: “Congrats on the 500! You deserve it - and many more :D Now, i saw you asked for Headcanons? I love Headcanons. So...how about the s/o of the Batboys Batsis being a soldier, and after being mia for...a year, maybe? They come home. Reactions, please? (Also, older Damian of course, otherwise it wouldn't make sense. And i would absolutely adore it if you would include the War Veteran Alfred too, because he IS a Grandpa to all of them, i am ready to fight everyone on this.) Thank you so much!”

Requester: @justmandothings Character: Batboys + Bruce Request: “Okay, here's a headcanon ask! Since it's snowing where I'm at, how about how Bruce and the BatBoys act around their s/o's when it's snowing outside and what snow fun things they might do out there. :D”

Requester: Anonymous Character: Dick Grayson & Jason Todd Request: “HCs for Jason/Dick dating a famous actress/singer? 😁”

Requester: Anonymous Character: Batboys Request: “Can you do HCs when the Batboy's s/o gets kidnapped by the Joker or any DC Villain? Tysm ☺😘”

Requester: Anonymous Character: Dick Grayson & Jason Todd Request: “Hc on how dick and Jason would handle their gf feeling really jealous/self conscious/low self esteemed about their previous relationships with Kori?”

Requester: Anonymous Character: Batfamily Request: “Headcannon for the batfam with their smol s/o or a road trip with the batfam and you're with one of them ? :) xx”

Requester: Anonymous Character: Batfamily Request: “Any headcanons when the bat family goes into a haunted house? >u<”

Requester: Anonymous Character: Batboys Request: “Same anon from a bit back where batsis comes home with a girl instead of a boy, could you write headcannons around that? Like how the family would react to batsis coming home with a girlfriend, and how they would react if it was another heroine, like Kara Danvers or Cassie Sandsmark?”

Requester: Anonymous Character: Jason Todd, Roy Harper & Kori Request: “Head cannon or a imagine of being part of the outlaws and what life is like living with them (Jay, Kori and Roy)?”

Requester: Anonymous Character: Batboys Request: “Head cannon for going on vacation with the boys (Dick, Jason, Tim, Duke,and Damian) ? Thanks Mary! :D”

S H I P S

Requester: @royslittleharper Request: “Can I please have a ship? i'm 5'8 ginger w dyed black hair & brown eyes. i love video game & fantasy/comedy genre. I'm trash for reality tv & sitcoms too. i'm cheeky & dorky at times but can have days where i just want to crawl into bed and use escapism to cope. i'm very protective and sarcastic and ready to go mumma bear at will. I struggle with some cues with people so i tend to be careful and hold onto grudges which I'm trying be better with. i'm addicted to coffee and i'm a sinner. Thank yo”

Requester: Anonymous Request: “Hey there, if you're still accepting ships, could I have one as well? I'm Val (short for Valerie). I'm 5'4, half white/Asian, with greyish blue hair, brown eyes and tan skin. I love travelling, reading, playing video games, and going online. I do not like having attention on me, can be a loner, but love being around people I care about. I'm always willing to put others first before myself, am sarcastic as hell and have a witty sense of humour. Thanks love if you do this!”

Requester: Anonymous Request: “Can I have a ship please? I'm a bi Latina. 5'3" with wavy, brown hair and eyes. I have an average/curvy build. I love cooking, movies and hiking. I struggle with anxiety. Right now I'm working towards becoming a psychiatrist bc I want to help others.”

O . C .   S H I P S

Requester: Anonymous Request: “Here's my OC: her name is Jennifer R. Morgan! She is from Vancouver, BC (so she's Canadian), is half white and Asian (Filipino), is the middle child (one older sister and one younger sister). Her father is a very powerful mob boss around the west coast and her mother is a bio chemist. Parents are divorced due to her father's line of work becoming too dangerous for the family. Kind of the black sheep of the family since she's very shy and isolated due to certain events in her childhood. Jennifer lives with her father and has recently began to partake in his line of work, much to her mother's and siblings knowledge; but then decides to leave that life. She later becomes a vigilante in her area, basically doing what the batfam does. Has light brown eyes, light olive skin, is 5'6 and shoulder-length raven black hair. Has a rose tattoo on her right shoulder, a Gemini zodiac symbol on her left hand (on her middle finger) and many little ones all over her body.  Her family is pretty well-off, but never has she ever taken advantage of that. She's rather 18-20 (I couldn't make up my mind lol), but appears younger for her age. Very close with both her siblings and close to both parents, but since their divorce, has distanced herself from them bc of their continuous custody battle over her younger sister (older sister is 4 years older; younger sis is 8 years). Jennifer's personally is much like Jason's and Tim's. She's also in uni.”

Requester: @batlog Request: “Maia is a 5’6 Brunette and is the daughter of the Asguardian's Skadi and Odin, but believes she is human, with no memories of her past after a prank gone wrong by Loki. She is outgoing and flirtatious and usually in prank wars, but can also ice people out when she gets hurt by them badly and cools off by shooting her bow. She's also very caring and gentle but can be extremely protective stubborn and gullible. Her favourite things to do are eat, tinker with gadgets and exercise. Thank you”

Requester: @pinkiepie125 Request: “Hey! Would it be okay if I sent in an OC ship? My OC's name is Stella and she's what many would call broken. She hates the feeling of helplessness but yet, it's the one feeling that she finds herself suffocating in. She wants to see the happiness in the world but it's too far for her, she can't achieve it and honestly, she doesn't see the way out. She doesn't even think that she could ever be happy. Hope this is enough information for the OC ships, this is my first time doing this! Thank you! <3″

Requester: Anonymous Request: “My oc is Hanna she's Russian and a magician, is mute, parents abandoned her at an orphanage, is a hard worker, not really good at expressing herself, loves reading, adores flowers, is ready to help and protect her friends.”

Requester: @i-n-v-e-r-n-i-s-m-o Request: “Intelligent girl that looks angelic but is sassy and ironic when you get to know her. Kinda mysterious because she doesn't say much with words but her eyes says everything. Fearless and her curly hair is as wild as she is in her heart. Sounds confident. Has so much love inside her that she doesn't know what to do with it, so she just pretend that all this love is dead. Loves deeply or doesn't care at all. Likes to be alone and is independent. Doesn't let people tell her what to do and is a bit dramatic sometimes but won't admit it. Loves horror movies and laughs while watching them. She tries so hard to be happy by herself but sometimes she needs someone. Too proud and cunning. Never felt real love before and act like she doesn't believe it but she's waiting for her love to show up. Doesn't want to be sweet princess because she's already a freaking queen. She can't forgive and forget. Has a golden heart that is damaged, but that's okay because aren't we all a bit broken?

Her name is Mel. Her father was French and her mother Brazilian. She was born in Brazil but moved to USA when she was a child. She always loved to read and learned things really fast. Her father was part of a small "gang" of thieves and was murdered after stealing from the wrong people. Her mother died trying to protect her husband and child. The same people who murdered her family "adopted" her as a symbol of victory to scare people who tried to steal from them. They were really agressive towards her but would never miss a chance of showing her off to look powerful. She spent years secretly training to scape and studying with the help of one of her father's partners that managed to survive but got locked up by the same family, he was her only friend. Years later her friend died and she escaped. She trained for months with no pauses while living in the streets and became a warrior so she tracked down her "family" and killed them, that day she became shadow, a antihero. She took over her "family's"  business and is the leader of their "mafia" but she always make sure that they're not hurting the wrong people.”

Requester: @ifthisislove-loveiseasy Request: “now about my OC: her name is Alma Markovich. she has 20 years old, has long black hair, she is 5'7 and she has brown light eyes, she never had a boyfriend, that's why she's a flustered mess around boys and she is a little clumsy and stubborn but its a good sweet girl. she moves to Gotham to finish her studies of nursing, she doesn't know about her parents since they died when she was little, so she lived all her life with a middle old lady until Alma decided to move to another city. Alma not only know about nursing, she also know speak English, Spanish, Portuguese, Russian and French, also know about close combat, about astronomy and she can cook very well. Her style is very casual but if she want she can be a total femme fatale. Her hobbies are watch the stars, read, play with any dog or cat, play the piano and help to anyone who need it.”

Requester: @nabilaqmr Request: “Hii maruthor! Can I please get an oc ship? My oc's name is Natalie, she's a very stubborn girl who tries to get things done her way and she doesn't take a no for an answer but when it came to the person she loves the most she'll *shyly* give in and agree to let things done their way. She has a habbit of seeing the good in others and always ended up getting hurt but thats one of the things that made her strong and she believes everyone deserve a second chance, she can be a savage if she wants to be and can be a little bit agressive when she's angry. She always put other's needs before hers and she would gladly sacrifice herself for her s/o she's loves to joke around and have fun but also knows when to be serious. That's basically it I hope it's not too long 😅 

So Natalie is 5'1, she has dirty blonde hair with bright green eyes, her favorite color is any shades of blue and green. She's a summer lover but she's also down to winter only for the hot cocoas and cuddles so she would probably wear a lot of tanktops or jackets. I wanna add a few more things about her that I forgot to mention, she's also Oliver Queen's daughter (forgot that detail _ _') she loves her father but she hates how much of a playboy and a flirt he, and probably any other guys she meets, she doesn't go for guys who are already taken by other women/men because she hates being the cause of a broken relationship. She also sees Dinah Lance as a role model and a mother figure so she learned a thing or two about how to defend herself in rough situations. And also she has this love hate brother sister kind of relationship with Roy but she loves anyways.” 

Requester: @schninner Request: “Hi there! I just wanted to start by saying that Red was amazing and yet it killed me a the same time, so kudos to you! I also saw that you were doing OC ships and was wondering if you could do my OC? Her name is Makayla Fray and her alias is Red Comet. She has wavey dirty blonde hair that is always in her face and Red eyes. Powers- she can fly, and when she does there is a red haze around her ( i always picture the tail of a Comet or the light that radiates from it) her body tempurature is normally 115-120. She has something sort of like a plasma blast and has super strength.  Although her powers mainly relate to heat/fire, she can't really use them to their full potential; because,  like a comet (which is basically like a dirty snowball), whenever she gets to hot or uses her powers to much she starts to deteriorate. So she has to drink a crap ton of water. Personality- she is fiercly loyal to her friends, she is clumsy as hell and in no way near graceful or sneaky. She blushes quite easily and gets flustered/embarrassed  whenever someone compliments her. She not really one for people and tends not to make friends easily, but the friends she does make, she loves them wholly. She is sassy and sarcastic when first met, but can be a real sweet heart when she needs to be. She is not really one for authority and can occasionally be a loose cannon out on the field I think I covered everything... But if you need to know anything else I'll be here! I hope you can work with my OC, but if not I understand. Thank you!💜”

Requester: @dc-comics-imagines Request: “I want you to ship him with a female...Okay so his name is Beau and he is 6'6. With long platinum blonde hair (almost like bleached) that he likes to keep in a half ponytail. He also has sandy colored eyes and a scar across his left eye and lower lip. He's warm witty and funny and very loyal. He always chases down the good chances whether it is for love or anything else. He is too devoted to his emotions but knows pretty well when they should be locked deep down in his heart. He rarely gets angry but when he does people fear him. He's too tall and he's either too clumsy or too smooth. He works as a cop and does well with all his colleagues. He likes to workout so he doesn't look like a huge walking straw. Also he avoids dating blondes because almost everyone in his family is blonde and he's kind of bored of that. He'd like it of his s/o appreciated his family, because he has two other sisters; His twin and the youngest members of the family who he protects with all his might and a total respect for his parents.” 

Requester: @dc-comics-imagines Request: “Okay so Lyla is Beau's little sister. She's brunette with natural blonde highlights here and there, since almost everyone in her family is blonde, except her dad. She's loyal, like her brother but sometimes she too damn dump. She has severe depression and she hates to admit so. She's constantly on her own little world, she's an artist and she actually studies art. Her dad forces her to become a cop just like her brother so they can have an eye on her. She decided that she should join the police academy after she had an affair with her professor at the college. (She was forced in this affair by him though, with blackmailing and stuff). Her old relationships hunt her, nobody has ever been too good to her and they seem to always take advantage of her insecurities. She loves her family too, but maybe not as much as her brother. She wants to get away from everyone and everything and be her own self. She doesn't want anyone to control her, she wants to be free and not to have to dye her hair blonde or black to fit the standards of others. she somehow needs someone to order her around. Sometimes she's feisty but she instantly regrets it.”

Requester: @dc-comics-imagines Request: “Taylor is my main oc. She's got dark brunette hair with forest green eyes. She's got mental abilities that she used to struggle to control. Her mother gave her to the Amazons because she couldn't take care of her. There at the age of four she killed an Amazons with her powers. The other Amazons expected Hippolyta to kill her or give her back to her mother but Hippolyta choose to help her gain discipline and with the right amount of practice she became a manhunter, working especially for the Amazons. Later on she came to men's world to go after Diana. But things were difficult because she didn't know the language. Being in the men's world though made her want to know about her biological parents.  After long fights with Diana she decided to stay in the streets. I won't brag about it much, but it was Dick who helped her learn English and helped her settle, and overtime she fell for him. Once she was rejected she was reminded that she was a monster, who only killed people and maybe that's why she wasn't able to be loved. But overall, she never does anything without being ordered too. She might appear as extremely pretty or fierce, as a woman so badass you have to fear, but she's so weak inside. But being an Amazon means she has no single insecurity. She always tells forward for those who indeed have and tried her best to protect the weak and clear her killer name”

Requester: @womenofjustice Request: “Thank you so much Rebecca Baxter Age: 25 Owner and founder of Baxter Technologies. Daughter of Trigon older sister of Raven. Lived in London but moved to Bludhaven build her business. Goes by source when she is fighting crime. Is a nerd. 6'8 dark skinned and plus sized. Sassy and a hard working woman but behind closed doors a weird nerd and geek who loves making Cosplay(s) and weapons. Has a weapons named monster metal that is a metal that she can change into any weapon she wants using her powers to charge it. Hopefully this is enough”