#there’s like three oc’s in my head as i type this

[twice-inamillion]

Yoo Sisters

Smut (Sister bonding, blow job, deep penetration, threesome, creampie)

Chapter 234

Words: 2900

(After Seungyeon walks in on Jeongyeon's ride on OC, she decides to tease her. With her tsundere person, it results in some real fun.)

The next day you wake up and see Jeongyeon on top of you with your cock in her hand and aligned it to her entrance. To your surprise, she seems different from usual, even happy, you might suggest. 

Obviously, you wouldn’t say no to some morning sex and just let Jeongyeon do her thing. She slowly inserts the tip and waits a few seconds before dropping her whole weight onto your cock. 

“Fuck, so good,” and she begins to ride you in a hard but steady manner. She places her head on your shoulder, letting you hear her heavy breathing. 

You close your eyes and whisper in Jeongyeon’s ear all the things you did last night. The more you say, the tighter her walls clench on your cock, and the more sure she gets into a good rhythm. 

Unbeknownst to you, someone was making their way back home after being away for a few days. She unlocks the door and can’t think of anything but take a nice shower and take a nap after a busy week. She notices that her house is off but can’t find what it is. She then looks down and sees a pair of shoes she’s never seen before and her younger sister’s shoes next to it. 

Seungyeon walks around to see a blanket and some clothes on the couch. She has a vague idea of what occurred and smiles. Seungyeon slowly makes her way to her room and hears moaning coming out from the other side of the door. She takes out her phone and quietly turns the handle, and sees her sister in the nude on top of some. 

“Click. Click” 

Suddenly, Jeongyeon turns around and sees her sister standing at the entrance with her phone and flash on. 

“Unnie!” 

“Surprise!”

Jeongyeon rapidly tries to cover herself and gets off of you, “It’s not what it looks like Unnie!”

”I think it does. You’re leaking from your thighs.” Jeongyeon turns around and sees the mess she made on her sister’s bed. Embarrassed, she tries to cover herself with the pillows before Seungyeon teases her and says, “I’ll let the two of you finish, haha.”

The three of you eat silently at the kitchen table, avoiding any type of conversation on what just happened an hour ago. You try to break the silence by asking Jeongyeon to pass the salt, but instead she ignores you. Seungyeon looks up and smiles, “Here you go. Don't be mean to him, Jeongyeon. You need to take care of your man.”

Jeongyeon lifts her head up and shouts, “He's not my man!”

“Well, I wouldn't know what to call, maybe fuck buddies?”

Not wanting to hear her sister's teasing she finishes up her plate and heads to the sink, “I'm done eating. I'll clean everything up.”

“I'm done too.”

“Just drop it in the sink, I'll take care of everything.”

“Okay. Oh, by the way, Seungyeon, can I use your shower?”

“Yeah, go for it.”

“Thanks.”

Seungyeon sits on the couch, watching some television while Jeongyeon washes the dishes and cleans the kitchen. She is surprised that her sister finally lost her virginity. The only thing is that she isn't reacting the way she expected too, like being embarrassed or shy. She knows about her tsundere personality but assumed that she would show some actual emotions. She then hears the water from the shower turn on and gets an idea to tease her.

Seungyeon gets up and quietly makes her way to her room. She sees the bathroom door slightly open. “Should I do it? I haven't seen a cock in a while.” She only thinks about it briefly before making her mind, “Sisters are meant to share their toys, right?”

She quietly tosses her clothes into the hamper and sees your silhouette on the other side. Slowly, she slides the frosted glass door and notices your length. With a slight smirk, she bites her lip and places her foot inside. 

Your eyes are closed as you wash your hair, and you feel a sudden breeze, but you make nothing of it. Out of nowhere, you feel a pair of hands stroking your cock and say, “Fuck, that feels nice. Acting all tough in front of your sister, huh? I knew you couldn't resist for another round, haha.”

There was no reply, but you didn't need any as those pairs of hands continued to stroke your cock. Now, hard, you feel the pair of lips kissing your tip. 

Knowing what's about to happen you unconsciously search for her head and place your hand behind it. Slowly but surely, you move her head closer to your pelvis, making her take your cock in her mouth. 

“Fuck, your mouth feels so warm. Take me in a bit more; I want to feel the back of your throat.”

You feel her mouth take more of your length as you scrape the inside of her palate. Surprised by how willing she is compared to before, you just enjoy it. 

Jeongyeon is done with washing the dishes and turns around and sees the couch empty. She finds it weird since just a few minutes ago, her sister was watching television, and now she is nowhere to be found. 

“Where is she?” as she looks at the other room and the patio. It isn't when she comes back and sees a faint amount of steam come out from the door is when she gets a bad feeling. 

Jeongyeon walks to the room and sees the bathroom door slightly open, but steam is coming out. She walks closer and hears slurping sounds, which immediately triggers her.

Jeongyeon rushes and opens the door wide open just to see her older sister on her knees going down on you. “Unnie!”

Seungyeon hears her name and turns, giving a slight smirk as she releases your cock.

You hear a loud pop and feel the release of your cock. Not yet satisfied, you open your eyes and see Seungyeon down on her knees, turning her head to the side. You turn your head and see a full-blown, angry Jeongyeon standing by the door. 

Your mind is all over the place as you try to understand the situation. You assumed it was Jeongyeon who was sucking you off instead of her sister and try to explain the situation, but then see Jeongyeon begin to undress. 

“Unnie! Get away, I'm using him.”

“I couldn't help myself. I wanted to see what he had since you kept talking about him and how you liked him.”

Jeongyeon turns red, “Eww! I don't like him!”

With a smile on her face, she replies, “Then you wouldn't mind me getting a taste,” as she grabs hold of your cock again. 

Jeongyeon watches as her sister rubs her cunt and takes your cock back into her mouth. She doesn't want to reveal her feelings, but watching her sister and you together make her do something unexpected.

You see Jeongyeon walk into the shower and get on her knees, pushing Seungyeon to the side. She grabs your cock and takes it aggressively into her mouth.

You groan from the rough and sloppy head you're getting from Jeongyeon. “Fuck, slow down. You're scraping my shaft against your teeth.”

She then looks up at you and slows down, relaxing her mouth. Her sister doesn't just stay there; she positions herself better to lick your balls. 

As time passes, the two of them get in sync, allowing you to enjoy the sight of watching both sisters going down on you. 

You decide to be a bit daring and grab Jeongyeon’s hand, signaling her to stand up. You turn her over and place both hands against the shower wall. To your surprise, she's very responsive and doesn't complain about your commands. From behind, you glide your hand against her pucker hole, then her cunt, getting it ready for what's to come. 

Jeongyeon gets a bit anxious and closes her eyes as she feels your body against hers. 

You quickly align your member against her cunt and press your tip inside, causing Jeongyeon to moan. Out of nowhere, Jeongyeon groans loudly as she feels her whole body getting stretched by your massive cock.

“Fuck! Slow down.”

You grab her hair and say, “Why? I want your sister to hear you moan,” and increase the pace of your thrusting.

Seungyeon watches as her sister gets railed in the shower and lowers her right hand to rub her clit. The image of watching the two of you having sex in front of her turns her on.

“How do you like having your sister watch as I fuck you?”

“No, unnie, turn around.”

Instead, she turns to see Seungyeon playing with herself, rubbing her clit rapidly.

“See, your sister likes what she sees.”

You continue to pound her for what feels like forever. “Fuck, I feel like cuming.”

“Don't, don't you dare.”

“Seungyeon, where do you think I should come? Outside or inside of Jeongyeon?”

Seungyeon bites her lips and teases her sister one last time, “If she doesn't want it, then maybe I'll have a taste.”

You decide to play along and pull out your cock from Jeongyeon. Seungyeon grabs your hand, leading you out of the shower and into her bedroom. 

She lays on the bed and spreads her legs wide open, “You like what you see? I haven't had a taste in a while; I'd love to see what you can do,” as she pulls you in closer to her.

You stare at her leaking cunt as you grab your own cock, teasing her by aligning it to her entrance. 

Suddenly, Jeongyeon yells, “Fine! You can come inside of me; just leave my sister out of it.” She makes her way towards the bed and lays down on it, exposing her cunt just like her sister. 

“Damn, both Yoo Sisters. Both of you have nice-looking cunts.” 

Seungyeon replies, “Thanks, I like your cock too.”

“Unnie! Don't say that!”

“Why? I'm just telling the truth; he's big, much bigger than the ones I've had.” She turns to Jeongyeon and says, “You wouldn't mind sharing him a bit, would you?”

“No!”

“Don't be mean, Jeongyeon. Remember that ?”

”No, unnie, he’s mi…”

Jeongyeon is not able to finish her sentence as Seungyeon grabs your waist and pulls you, penetrating herself with your cock. Seungyeon groans out loudly, feeling your length stretch out her cunt, “Oh fuck! You’re huge!”

You’re surprised by her sudden action and can’t believe you’re inside Jeongyeon’s sister, but you can’t complain. You want to tease Jegoneyon a bit more, and if it means getting down and dirty with Seungyeon, then you’re up for it. 

“Come on, pretty boy. Show me what you got. I want to see what the fuss is about.”

Jeongyeon mumbles something, but nothing comes out her mouth as she sees you begin to thrust.

“Fuck, so deep. Don't be scared; you can go a bit rougher.”

You increase the intensity of your thrusting and insert your cock into her depths. It doesn't take long for her Seungyeon to adjust to your length. Her walls clench onto your cock as it moves inside of her, like an internal massage. You can tell that she has experience in these types of things, “Your pussy is tight.”

“Of course, I enjoy milking my fair share of cock” and winks at you.

Minutes pass, and you can't help but enjoy Seungyeon's pussy; you turn around and see a shocked Jeonggeon, frozen at the sight of you having sex with her sister.

“Fuck, I'm going to cum soon.”

Seungyeon lifts her head and says, “You're more than welcome to cum inside me.” 

“You sure?”

“I'd be a waste to do it anywhere else.”

Seungyeon turns and grins at Jeongyeon, teasing her.

“Wait!” 

You turn around and say, “What?” Jeongyeon grabs your arm and says, “Please, not my sister.” You can see the struggle in her face as she tries to say something but musters up the energy and says, “Come inside instead.” 

“Stop, you're not serious.” 

Jeongyeon gets on all fours and uses both hands to spread her cheeks. You see her leaking cunt, understanding how serious she actually is. 

With her face towards the bed, Seungyeon looks up at you and pushes you away, signaling to take her sister instead.

You place your hand on her back and align your cock towards her entrance. In one go, you shove your whole length inside Jeongyeon, making her scream out loud.

“Ohh fuck!”

With your hands around her thighs, you pick up Jeongyeon and place her into a reverse stand-and-carry position. 

“Wait, what are you doing? Put me down.” 

“I think she to see your expression as you get fucked. Isn't that right, Seungyeon?”

“Yeah, I want to see Jeongyeon turn into a dirty mess.”

You lift Jeongyeon’s body and begin to thrust rapidly, churning her sloppy insides. Jeongyeon covers her face, trying to avoid her sister looking at her. 

Seungyeon, on the other hand, masturbates to the scene of a large and thick cock, messing up her younger sister.

“Don't cover your face; let your sister get a good view. Show her how much of a slut you are for this cock.”

“No! Unnie, don't look!”

There's no response; only the sound of flesh beating against each other is heard from the room. 

You walk towards the large mirror on the other side of the room and stand in front of it. “Look at the mirror, see yourself getting fucked.” 

Jeongyeon turns her head and looks in the mirror; what she sees makes her body tighten. “See, you do like it. So much for that strong personality, only to turn a mess when you get some cock.”

You move your hand towards her cunt and rub her clit in between your fingers. Jeongyeon moans loudly, “Ahh, I'm about to cum!”

“What's that? I didn't catch what you said,” inserting your fingers in her already tight cunt and swollen clit. 

“Ima, c-cum.” 

“You know where it's going in, right?”

Jeongyeon bites her lip, not wanting the words to slip out of her mouth. 

You tease her once more, rubbing her clit rapidly until the last second. 

“Ahh, I'm c-cuming…” and release your fingers as well as pull out your cock, denying Jeongyeon of her orgasm.

She then whines, “N.no, I was about to cum.”

Suddenly your cock aligns with her entrance, and you drop her body, penetrating her in one go. “I'm the one that’s going to cum first,” as you burst inside of her in one go. Jeongyeon screams and tightens her body, making her spasm.

“Fuck! I can't hold it!

Seungyeon watches her younger sister pee herself as she gets pumped full of cum. Jeongyeon spasms uncontrollably while being held in your arms. You try to pull out your cock, but her cunt clenches onto your thick rob, not wanting to let go.

“Fuck, you got real tight. Your pussy is so addicted to my cock that it doesn't want to let go, haha.” 

There's no response; you only see a passed-out Jeongyeon through the mirror.  

A loud pop is heard as you pull out your cock, causing a large amount of cum to ooze out of her gaping hole.

“Haha, Jeongyeon is such a mess. You really did a number on her. She's always putting up a serious front, but in reality, she's like everyone else.”

Jeongyeon wakes up and turns to see Seungyeon riding on your cock. She can't see to remember what happened but feels a sense of hotness coming from her lower body. She grazes her hand and sees a large amount of cum running from her thighs. 

“Fuck, I'm jealous of Jihyo. She has a really good husband.”

“I can say the same thing; Jeongyeon has a really good sister.”

“This sister wants you to cum on her face. How about it?”

“I'd love to.”

With Jeongyeon still lying down, she sees Seungyeon on her knees. She watches as you grab your cock and stroke it in front of her sister's face. 

Seungyeon knows that Jeongyeon is awake and decides to tease her once more, “I know you want to feel his cum on your face. Let's show him how close we are as sisters.”

Seungyeon stands up and grabs Jeongyeon’s hand, leading her towards the carpet. They both get on their knees and watch as you stroke your cock in front of them. 

You can’t help but grin at the sight of both sisters right next to each other, waiting for you to cum on their faces. “Fuck, I’m going to cum!”

Jeongyeon watches as her sister sticks out her tongue, looks directly into your eyes, and does the same.

”Take my cum” as you paint their faces completely white.

You see as they swallow the large amount cum pooled on their tongue and ask, “Open wide; I want to make sure you swallowed every ounce.”

”Ahhh,” sticking their tongues out and their faces dripping your thick load. 

[unfortunate-arrow]

𝐀𝐥𝐰𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐓𝐡𝐫𝐞𝐞

A/N: For @hp-12monthsofmagic’s April prompt (“I solemnly swear that I am up to no good”). I saw the prompt and knew immediately that it belonged to the Gryffindorks. Thus, Tadhg’s partners in crime, Teddy and Gabriel, belong to @cursebreakerfarrier and @slytherindisaster.

The wind howled as the rain slashed across the windows, obscuring all visibility towards the outside. Thunder rumbled. Lightning flashed. Inside the warmth of the drafty castle, Hogwarts was surprisingly quiet. Most of its students were in class, aside from the handful of classes that were canceled due to the onslaught of the cold and violent April thunderstorm.

Inside the library, three dark-haired Gryffindors had their heads bent together, poring over a book on jinxes. Their herbology class had been canceled due to the storm, which had suddenly left the three fifth years with free time. They had immediately headed up towards the library, with the intent of studying for their OWLs which were rapidly approaching. But, that had all been left behind when they had discovered the book.

“This one could be quite useful,” Tadhg Lynch muttered, pointing to a jinx whose intention was to turn the recipient into a duck.

“Yeah, but it’s kinda boring, Tadhg. Why turn someone into a duck when you could just use flipendo?” Teddy Ellison replied, tipping his chair backwards.

“It is interesting that there’s a whole section on jinxes to turn people into animals, though. Like who would think to turn their opponent into a duck or a chicken or even a worm,” Gabriel Sapieha mused, looking up from the book.

“My brother would probably make a good worm,” Tadhg mumbled, causing the other two boys to burst out laughing, earning a glare from the librarian.

“Uh, lads…” Gabriel began, elbowing Teddy into the gut.

Tadhg, who was tipping his chair back and trying to get it to stay steady on just the back two legs, looked up to see their head of house and promptly lost the balance that he had gained. The chair, and Tadhg, clattered to the ground with a resounding echo. Gryffindor’s head cast a disapproving look towards the three boys.

“Ellison. Lynch. Sapieha. Just the three I was looking for. Come with me,” the professor said, standing as the three boys scrambled to clear the table and pack their bags.

The walk back to their head’s office was a long and tense one. Tadhg had an inkling that he knew why they had been dragged into the head’s office. Someone had discovered the swamp that they had been growing in a seldom used corridor. Or the professor had discovered who had filled the Slytherins’ bathrooms with frog spawn. Or that they were the ones to enchant all the portraits in the castle to have the most absurd facial hair that they could think of. Or that they had been the ones to make the stairs move… even though Tadhg still wasn’t sure how they had managed that one. Or… okay, so Tadhg didn’t know exactly why they were being dragged into their head’s office.

“Take a seat,” Gryffindor’s head said, gesturing to the three chairs as they entered the office.

The three boys glanced at one another, but one glance at the professor told them all that they needed to know.

“You’ll be happy to know that we have finally put an end to the profanity that was coming from the griffin to Headmaster Black’s office,” the professor began and Tadhg swallowed to stifle a laugh, willing himself not to glance at either Teddy or Gabriel. He had forgotten about that one.

“It was quite a task, removing that spell. And after narrowing down our considerable suspect list, we have determined that you three were responsible. Brava for creativity and not involving Mr. Lynch’s brother this time.”

“Ah, professor, how can you be so sure that it was us?” Teddy asked.

“Answer me this, Mr. Ellison, why are you three always nearby when something happens?”

“Sheer coincidence, professor,” Teddy replied in the most innocent-sounding tone he could muster. Except Tadhg caught Gabriel’s eye at that moment and the dam burst. The laugh slipped out and soon enough the three boys had dissolved into giggles. Their professor let out a long-suffering sigh.

“And without a doubt, you three are clearly responsible. You will serve detention for all Friday evenings until OWL examinations have finished.”

[ashes-of-ailell]

I have been working on more fe3h x acnh stuff btw! apologies for the little break since the last one, was volunteering at a con this weekend so I've been quite tired and taking it easy today.

next one should be up later on - it's the Ashe rabbit! I gave him a little cropped hoodie and I think he looks rather adorable, if I do say so myself. I hope y'all like it when I post it :3

[pitchsidestories]

Good girl gone bad II Ingrid Engen x Mapi León x Reader

masterlist I word count: 1886

a/n: hi, it's based off this request here, enjoy.

warnings: minors dni, 18+, smut at the end, toxic behaviour from OC, jealousy, please don't take this too seriously !

“Ingrid, you played fantastic!”, Mapi waved enthusiastically her little flag, before she jumped into the open arm of hers and your Norwegian girlfriend.

“Oh, thanks.”, the tall woman’s face lit up at the Spanish defender’s compliment.

“Seriously, you filled out the defensive role so perfectly,  I couldn’t have done a better job.”, the smaller player couldn’t stop gushing about her lover’s great performance.

“Just wait until you can play again.”, Ingrid muttered cheerfully.

“Not that long anymore.”, Mapi answered giddily.

“I’ll miss you and your little flag though.”, the younger footballer admitted.

“To be honest, I’ll miss that too.”, she agreed wistfully.

“ I know but there’s no better feeling than playing.”,  Ingrid mumbled, her teammates still running around with the CL trophy in her hand, taking pictures in between the celebratory moves.

The defender who has followed her girlfriends gaze added grinning:”Playing and winning.”

“Exactly.”

From the sidelines you’ve followed their conversation, you were hurt about the fact that you weren’t a part of it as it usually was you three together and not as a pair like in this particular moment.

With every fibre of your being, you felt like the other woman who wasn’t in this relationship even though you were up until now.  The loneliness crept under your skin; jealousy clung to your heart and wouldn’t let you go until Alexia started talking to you.

“Don’t let your head down, beautiful. After all we won.”, she reminded you, while pulling you into a encouraging hug.

“Um, what?”, you gave the midfielder a quizzing look, her words haven’t reached you as you’ve been too busy to listen to your girlfriends’ sweet nothings which didn’t include you in them.

“I can tell you’re disappointed.”, Alexia stated earnestly.

“I didn’t play much tonight, so it’s not really my win, Ale.”, you told her miserably. You hated that tone in your voice. Where was your confident self?

“We’re all in this situation at one point. Someone is always on the bench. But we always win as a team.”, the blonde tried to cheer you up.

“Right.”, you said even though you turned away when you saw your girlfriends were kissing ignoring everything around them as if they were in a movie in which they played the leading roles, while the rest of you were the supporting actresses to help the lovers get to their happy ending.

“Oh, hey, babe. We’re going to the party later. You’re coming too, right?”, Ingrid asked you later in the changing room, finally realizing you were still there after all.

“Yes, of course.“, you nodded.

Ingrids gaze went back to Mapi as she smiled: “Great, I’ll go shower.“

“Me too.“, you said, walking past both of your girlfriends into the showers that were adjacent to the dressing room.

You had hoped that the steaming hot water would clear your mind but the calmness that usually came with a warm shower never set in.

Instead, the pictures of what happened after the game kept repeating in your head. You were never the jealous type, you could not be jealous in a relationship like yours. But you also knew that you deserved better than to be ignored by your girlfriends, so you came up with a plan.

For the party, you decided to slip into a a pair of suit pants and a button-down vest with nothing underneath, drawing attention to your arms and chest with your outfit choice. You curled the ends of your hair and put on some make-up. You looked at yourself in the mirror, satisfied with your looks.

“Are you two ready to go?“, Mapi asked impatiently, looking effortlessly cool as usual.

Ingrid appeared next to her, wearing a tight dress and radiating ethereal beauty: “Yes, we’re ready, love.“

Mapi nodded towards the door: “Let’s go then, babe.“

You reluctantly followed them, already disappointed that none of them had commented on your outfit. You were not exactly pouting on your way to the party but you also refused to talk much.

Arriving at the location, your two girlfriends retreated to a table in the corner with their drinks. They were lost in each others eyes. You were sure they noticed nothing of what happened around them.

As you were nursing your drink at the bar, Alexia appeared on your side: “What are you thinking about?“

“Me?“ You looked at her in surprise.

“Yes.“

You first inclination was to tell her that you felt like your girlfriends did not need you in their lives but instead, you swallowed down the thought and forced yourself to smile: “They’re playing Rosalia. Want to dance, Ale?“

The captain looked at your for a second before giving in: “Only because you look so unhappy.“

“Dancing always helps with that…“, you promised.

“Come on then.“ Alexia reached out her hand and pulled you towards the dance floor.

You immediately fell into an easy rhythm with her. You deliberately pushed close to her during your dance and she let you.

On the other side of the room, Ingrid tapped Mapis arm frantically: “Mapi!“

“Yes?“, the defender could barely tear her eyes from her Norwegian girlfriend.

“Look!“

Only then did she look over in your direction, her eyebrows knitting together: “Y/n is dancing with Ale?“

“Looks like it…“, Ingrid whispered.

“That’s not her usual good girl behaviour.”, the Mapi observed through gritted teeth. Sawing you dance with one of her best friends in the way you did, so intimately and sexy was driving the older woman insane.

“No, it’s not.”, the Norwegian player nodded, she wasn’t able to take her eyes from you and your team’s captain.

“We’ll see and give her a little time to redeem herself otherwise if she keeps behaving naughty like that over the night we’ll take actions.”, the older woman thought out loud.

“Take actions`”, Ingrid looked startled at the smaller footballer.

“Y/n is needy and bratty in front of everyone, so we’ll punish her at home.”, she explained seriously.

“Punish her?”, shock was written all over the younger woman’s pretty face.

“Yes.”

Meanwhile, Ona tipped your shoulder making you turn around to her to look into her eyes, which glanced concerned back at you:” Can I take over?”

“Sure.”, you agreed enthusiastically to her offer, feeling the alcohol more than you wanted to admit. After a dance with you Alexia had returned to her girlfriend to engage into a passionate conversation which involved mostly kisses.

“You’re in a party mood. How many drinks did you have?”, the defender asked you, damn her, she really did notice everything.

“Uhm maybe two.”, you replied, your cheeks immediately turning red.

“Two?”, Ona raised an eyebrow at you. Her voice was full of scepticism.

“Don’t worry about it, Oni.”, you answered with a charming smile on your lips.

“I don’t.”, she quickly reassured you.

“Good.” But you realized your teammate’s her hands were still on your upper arms contradicting what she just said.

“Something’s up with you.”, Ona stated firmly.

“Let’s just dance, please.”, you shook your head heavily.

With a sigh the defender said:” Alright.”

“Thank you.”, you mumbled relieved, that the questioning was over for now. Sweet, innocent Ona was the last person you wanted to trouble with your worries.

“You’re welcome.”

The mix of alcohol and changing teammates made you forget that time was passing by. You were confused when you found the home you shared with your girlfriends was already dark without any lights on.

Nonetheless, you let them know that you arrived:” Hi, I’m home.” A familiar shadow was pressing on to your legs, being clearly happy about your return.  

“And hello Bagheera.”, you added, as you stroke the cat softly who purred loudly to your touches.

“About time.”, Mapi announced sounding very displeased, you shrieked as she appeared from the darkness, her moves scarily similar to Bagheera. Elegant but lurking, why you didn’t understand. Maybe your behaviour had worked out?

“Mapi, Ingrid, here you’re. but why didn’t you turn the lights on?”, you questioned them irritated.

“We were about to go to bed.”, Ingrid responded calmly.

“Great, me too. I’ll just go to the bathroom quick.”, you sighed.

Mapi raised an eyebrow and said cooly: “You have two minutes.“

“What?“ Confused, you opened the bathroom door. Whatever that was supposed to mean, you were now determined to take your time.

“Go.“, Mapi ordered.

You rolled your eyes, disappearing into the bathroom. You only heard Ingrid say: “Good girl.“

You sat down on the toilet and took out your phone, scrolling through pictures of tonight. Only then, you slipped out of your nice suit and left the bathroom in only your underwear.

Ready to go to sleep, you were about to go into your shared bedroom but Mapi blocked your way.

She leaned against the doorframe, her arms crossed in front of her chest: “What did you think you were doing all night?“

“Partying?“, you replied, playing dumb and trying to move past your girlfriend.

“Dancing with Alexia and Ona? You might as well have given them a lap dance.“, Mapi scolded you.

Ingrid appeared next to her, eyeing you closely before turning to the Spanish defender and mumbling seductively: “Our good girl’s gone bad tonight…“

You shot Ingrid a deadly glance: “You think you’re funny? You ignored me all night. I was just having fun.“

“We saw everything.“, Mapi said, her jaw set.

“I’m sure you did, the way you stared at each other all night.“, you rolled your eyes.

“Y/n.“, Ingrid said softly, while Mapi shook her head: “Don’t distract.“

“I don’t!“, you exploded.

Mapi continued: “You were trying to make us jealous all night.“

Ingrid nodded: “Exactly.“

Before you could protest, Mapis hands were on your body and pulled you towards the bed: “Now come here.“

You could feel your back hit the mattress. Your girlfriends climbed onto the bed as well, one on either side of you.

You had no idea what happened but suddenly, Ingrids mouth was on your neck and sucked on the sensitive skin. She slipped a slender hand over your mouth right as you wanted to start to complain. Mapis hands in the meantime rested on your hips.

You were too focused on Ingrids kisses to realize that your Spanish girlfriend had started to pull your panties down with her teeth. Only when she dipped her tongue in, you started to moan into Ingrids hand. She already knew how she had to move her tongue just right.

While Mapi was busy stimulating you, Ingrids mouth wandered across your upper body. Kissing and licking her way towards your breasts. She circled your nipples with her tongue before starting to suck on them. You squirmed under her touch.

Mapi had switched from licking to using her fingers and you could not contain yourself any longer.

Impatiently, you removed Ingrids hand from your mouth. “Stop!“, you whined.

You could see Mapis lips turn into a smirk: “Say please.“

“Please stop.“, you begged impatiently.

And then you finally climaxed, a firework bursting in every part of your body. You moaned.

Mapi rested her head on your stomach as she watched you breath heavily.

Ingrid pressed a kiss to your forehead: “Good girl.“

You knew that this was supposed to be a punishment but right here on the bed, you finally felt seen by your girlfriends again.

[shibaraki]

TO BUILD A HOME ┊ TODOROKI SHOUTO

synopsis: todoroki shouto is the ideal roommate. he is tidy, quiet, considerate, and one of your dearest friends. you almost wished he were a tactless slob. it would certainly make navigating your feelings for him easier.

tags: GN reader, friends to lovers, pro hero shouto, quirk support engineer reader, living together (and they were roommates!), mutual pining, fluff, alcohol, other character interactions, domesticity, jealous shouto, a little angst, minor oc, love confessions, making out + frottage

wc: 14K+

a/n: I wrote a little bonus sequel for this au about their first date which you can read here !! [+4K]

Shouto’s home strikes a dissonant note with you.

You’re a statuesque centrepiece in his living room, staring out his tall standing windows, paneled wall to wall and making for a beautiful view of the city. There’s a soft shine to it, iridescent from corner to corner. A privacy film to block any view into the apartment from the outside, you’re guessing.

Despite your closeness you’ve never had reason to visit until now. There’s far too much space for one man, you think. Jarringly, it’s as if you’ve stepped into a studio display. A picture perfect bachelor pad— but really, what bachelor pad needed three family sized bedrooms?

It feels awfully lonely.

Shouto heaves the last of your boxes onto the kitchen island with ease. The muscles in his arms flex under his loose shirt, fabric briefly tightening. Unfair, you think. He hasn’t even broken a sweat.

Back straightening, you watch Shouto roll back his shoulder and rub at the joint. The movement causes the hem to lift and flash a pale swath of skin, his shorts hung low on his hips. The weight in your arms is somehow heavier with his eyes turned onto you.

“You can set it down,” he says, his tone full of warm mirth. The disbelief must be written plain on your face. Your fingers tighten on the corners as he walks over. Tilting his head, the red strands that have been haphazardly pushed back into white slip over his forehead. You watch his gaze dart over the label scribbled onto the card that reads ‘toiletries’.

“I know. I’m just…” your jaw shifts and you swallow, a frown etched into your brow. “I don’t know. Got a little lost in my thoughts”.

“Feel free to change whatever you like,” his mouth curls into a small smile, scar wrinkling by his eye. You are taken by just how happy he looks to have you here. Shouto seemed the type to appreciate his own space. “I want you to be comfortable”.

“Whatever I like?” you echo teasingly, shucking the box up in your embrace and bumping his shoulder. “Famous last words. Maybe I’ll decide to renovate your other guest room into a mini workshop”.

Shouto exhales a quiet laugh. The air around him is displaced by an ephemeral wave of heat that seeps through your sweater; it cools back to room temperature as quick as it came.

“I wouldn’t oppose it,” he says, and your breath catches. Reaching to poke at the box, he adds, “Do you want me to help you unpack?”

You begin to shake your head. “No, no. I can do all that, don’t worry,” you demurred nervously.

“It wouldn’t be a problem”.

Memories of all the things you managed to salvage in the wreck flicker across your mind's eye. Mugs and plates, a few clothes, oil stained tools and various other inappropriate things you’d rather die than have him accidentally discover.

But he’s staring at you like a restless puppy. You relent, “Maybe you can put away the kitchen stuff then”.

After Shouto retreats you are left adrift to navigate the narrow corridors. The room he directs you to has the biggest guest bed and it shares a wall with his own room. You shuffle in, processing your surroundings. Your linens are freshly washed, tucked in tight at the corners, and they smell like him.

You lower another box on top of the bed and sit by the headboard. The mattress yields. Admittedly it is much more comfortable than your old bed used to be. Soft, you sink into a foamy embrace, smoothing a hand over the matching pillowcases, then reaching up to the shared accent wall.

Reality has hardly set in for you yet. It’s been four days since you lost your home, most of your earthly possessions along with it, and the life you had spent years building. The villain that managed to frisbee a car through your living room had been apprehended but not before destroying half the city block.

Shouto immediately volunteered his own place. You have been close friends for years now, having met during your second year at UA as a support course student. You’d worked with Yaomomo on redesigning her costume for your portfolio and managed to worm your way into their quaint friend group.

Your initial crush on him all that time ago burgeoned into something you’re too anxious to put a name to. When he first suggested you live with him while the city fixed everything you’d wanted to refuse. So far lack of proximity has been your only saving grace.

But you really had nowhere else suitable to stay. A hotel would be too costly in the long run. Your other friends are scattered across different prefectures and those who are in the city are too far from work.

Shouto practically sparkled when you agreed, plucked right out of a shoujo manga.

You remember this as your fingers curled into a loose fist and gave the wall a quiet knock. All the tension accumulated in your shoulders relaxes at the dull sound. “Atleast it isn’t thin,” you mused.

There’s a large closet adjacent to the bed, deep enough that you could crawl inside comfortably. Windows that stretch above your head and overlook the busy streets. You notice that same iridescent sheen, alongside a large blind connected to the control pad fixed by your doorway. They roll down as you fiddle and remind you of those old school projectors from the pre quirk era.

The walls are almost entirely bare. Your imagination drifts to the countless books and photo albums you managed to bring, envisioning them taking up the empty space. It makes you wonder what Shouto’s room looks like. You squash that thought.

When you rejoin him he stands with his back to you, blades shifting under the material as he plays with a small round object held between his fingers. Closing the distance you realise it is one of your stress balls.

His expression is entirely relaxed, bright with a little child-like satisfaction. He pulls at the flexible rubber, rolling it under his thumbs, flattening in between his palms. Your novelty mugs are lined up in the open cupboard right beside his own, entirely forgotten.

As not to startle him you call out gently, “Hey”.

Your voice stalls his movement. Shouto pivots and meets your eyes; they widen as you laugh, amused by his forced nonchalance. He clears his throat, “Hi. Are you happy with the room?”

Humming an affirmative, you sidle up next to him and poke at the ball. “It’s fine, thank you. Nicer than my old place”.

Redirecting his attention to the ball, he squeezes it so hard the foamy rubber protrudes through the gaps in his fingers and lets go, smiling as it retains its original shape. “I liked your old apartment,” he murmurs. “It suited you”.

“Because I’m a mess, you mean?” drawn back into Shouto’s orbit, you lean against his left side. He mirrors your weight until you are like two pillars braced against one another, standing uselessly in the middle of his obviously unused kitchen. Your heart aches recalling all those nights he spent at the agency doing unnecessary overtime. Maybe he just hadn’t wanted to come back here.

“No,” Shouto huffs lightly, passing the ball hand to hand. He doesn’t elaborate. Instead he bumps you with his hip, “Come with me. I’ll give you a tour so you know where everything is”.

You are guided back to the genkan; it’s gorgeous, modernised with a calligraphy feature wall that breaks up the light colours. There is a narrow door leading to a coat room and two white cabinets under a granite countertop housing a small decorative bowl painted in Deku’s colours. Inside are your keys and his, the chains entangled.

Very quickly you realise Shouto doesn’t even know where ‘everything’ is. He opens the cupboard doors hesitantly, in a way that suggests he had no idea what is in them. One filled by his shoes and slippers, the other left empty.

The coat closet holds a few jackets you only ever see him wear in winter. He pinches the waterproof puffy sleeve between finger and thumb with a curious sound. Quietly, “I forgot that I had this”.

“You wore it once and Bakugo said you looked like an ugly toasted marshmallow”.

“That’s right,” a smirk pulls at his lips, mouth thin to restrain his laughter. You dip your chin to hide how infectious it is. “He hated it. Maybe I should take it with me tomorrow and wear it around the agency”.

“Please don’t. He’s coming to see me later in the day and I need him in a good mood”.

Shouto glances at you from the corner of his eye, sunlight reflecting through the blue iris. You would recognise that air of mischief anywhere. “I mean it, Shouto!”

“The day after, then”.

“As long as I’m not in the line of fire,” you snort, itching absentmindedly at your forearm where the skin feels tender. Probably bruising after carrying everything up. “Antagonising Pro Heroes should be listed as a hobby on your wiki page”.

You fall in line with his footsteps once more and keep pace until he stops by another door. There’s a laundry room and a separate toilet by the genkan, first door to the right. Upon opening the door the white toilet lid lifts.

You gasp and clutch his bicep, far too excitable to register how firm it is. “You never told me you have a happy toilet. What the hell, Shouto?”

Still nestled in his palm, you notice Shouto squeezes the stress ball until the foam is straining under the stretchy skin but you say nothing of it. He swallows and echoes your words, “A happy toilet?”

“Yeah, ‘cause it's happy to see you! Isn’t it cute?”

He turns with his cheek between his teeth, exhaling a warm puff of air through his nose. “Yeah,” Shouto rasps. “It’s cute”.

The entrance leads to a hallway, opening at the end to an open plan living area and kitchen. A black and white palette, dark stained wood flooring from room to room. You stand by and watch fondly as he opens every half empty drawer. The sectional couch is a welcome splash of colour— deep royal blue, huge, L shaped and plush, facing a 60 inch TV held up by a cabinet with a few books and photographs inside.

You toe at the fluffy grey rug laid out under the coffee table. His place is spectacular, sure, but it isn’t Shouto. While left unspoken it seemed you both knew that. There’s an abashed pinch to his expression that’s endearing, yet sad; you thought he might be embarrassed by how threadbare his home life appeared to be.

“You ever use that thing?” you ask, pointing to the TV. Predictably, Shouto shakes his head.

“Not very much. These days it feels like I only come here to sleep,” he leans over to pick up the remote from between the cushions and balances it on the arm of the couch. “Every few months Uraraka and Midoriya will visit to order food and watch movies with me. You can use it whenever you want”.

The bathroom is opposite your bedroom doors. He taps his own in passing but does not open it. You step into a bright, white tiled room with a double vanity sink and murmur in awe. Above are ceiling lights that give a soft glow, giving it a warm toned hue. Behind a glass door is a bowl shaped bathtub, big enough to fit two.

“Damn…” you whisper, running your fingers over the control pad connected to the tub. There’s a big bath cover propped by the wall. “A sauna button, too?”

“Not that I need it,” he muses, standing by the doorway, hands loosely interlocked as he observes you navigating his space. Intuitively, you get the sense that this is the beginning of a true paradigm shift. His offer had been the fork in the road and your agreement took you down a path soon to be irreversible.

You could survive seeing him at work or out with the mutual friends you shared. You’re not sure how you’ll weather the domesticity that comes with living together.

The reflection in the mirror shifts awkwardly and you grimace at how hard you’re trying to act like a normal human being. This is just Shouto: your good friend and longtime supporter. Just the man you might possibly be in love with.

“We should probably talk about ground rules and stuff,” you begin, hoping it’ll wipe that gentle look off his face before you say something stupid.

“Ground rules?” Shouto pushes off from the door frame with his back straight. He tilts his head, sight following you closely as you scoot past him back into the hallway.

“Like a chore rota and stuff. Rules so we can live in harmony or something. And you still need to let me know how much I’m paying you”.

“But I don’t want you to”.

You pause mid step and turn to stare at him in soft incredulity. “Why not? It’s only right I contribute”.

Steadfast, he holds your gaze and bluntly says, “I have a higher income than you. There’s no need for you to pay me rent”.

“Way to rub it in”.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” you laugh at the rare wobble to his voice and knock your hands together as a sign of forgiveness. His eyes squint into a smile. “It just feels unfair for me to ask that of you”.

The hallway falls dim as clouds gather, casting shadows that make the private bubble you’re in seem that much smaller. “But I want to,” you reassured him. “Come on— forty percent?”

“Thirty”.

You hold out three fingers up on the right and five on the left. You try again, “Thirty five?”

“Thirty,” he doubles down, covering the entirety of your left hand with his own. You feel his thumb skim your inner wrist and your resolve breaks.

“…Fine”.

Shouto grins boyishly and you do not acknowledge the flutter in your stomach.

The first few days are cautious despite your desire to behave as normal. At night you found yourself acutely aware of Shouto’s presence behind the bedroom wall. Your senses latched onto every muted bump and creak; the quiet drew thoughts you so valiantly avoided the surface and you could do nothing besides parse through them.

It made sleeping difficult.

You’d wondered if Shouto was having the same issue but the drowsy gait and hair plastered to one side of his head only ever spoke of a good night's rest. He wears loose silk pyjama pants to bed, low on his hips and an inch or so longer at the leg so they always caught under his heel as he walked.

Seeing him relaxed and fumbling like a fawn before his morning tea felt as if a big star was fizzing in your chest. It’s strange, in a tentative way, not an uncomfortable one.

The dust settles and a chore rota is scribbled out on a white board and pinned to the refrigerator with a worn All Might magnet. Your hours are less hectic so you offered to do the weekly shopping. Shouto volunteers for the laundry— his sister set the machines up for him when he first moved and he hasn’t moved the dials since— and taking out the garbage. Together you build a precariously clumsy peace, a mimicry of home.

Things started to change.

A kaleidoscope can take on an entirely new pattern with just the subtle turn of the lense. Weeks lapse. You stopped asking for permission and he no longer sought reassurance that you were happy. Existing parallel to one another, your lives fit seamlessly, though not without effort.

You’ve never known him to be a tactile type of guy— back when you rushed to hug him at graduation he’d brandished his diploma like a weapon before noticing it was you. Now, Shouto playfully hip checks you in the kitchen, he sits closer than he needs to on the couch and texts you at random throughout the day. He brings you a treat if his route overlaps your commute, keeping it hot in his left hand. He even greets you by the door on the rare occasion he finishes a shift first.

Your heart is fatter than ever and you aren’t quite sure what to do with it or where to put it down. After the city has rebuilt your apartment block and deemed it safe you’ll be returning to a normal you don’t recognise anymore.

You’re finalising the upgrade for Dynamite’s summer gauntlets when your phone buzzes on your bench. The vibration carries it closer to the edge and you scoop it up before the inevitable fall, cursing at the oil smeared around the case. The screen lights up.

shouto : 1 minute ago

There’s an image attached with no explanation. You are met with the open skyline, dense clouds of every shape and size dotted across a blue canvas. Shouto’s arm is in the shot, finger pointed towards one cloud in particular.

You squint at it. Zoom in on your phone, tilt it to the side, flip it in the editor and outline it— and nothing rings a bell. It’s a white blob. 

Another notification drops down at the top of your screen. You wipe your hand against your overalls and open it. 

shouto : just now 

ヾ(=^・ｪ・^)

Your nose wrinkles as you glance back to the photo. Granted, it does have two pointed edges that could be interpreted as cat ears if you squinted. Maybe. This isn’t new — he burned his toast three days ago and took a picture simply because it looked vaguely feline. 

you : delivered 

aren’t u supposed to be on patrol? 

The message turns to ‘read’ quicker than expected. You panic and click off the conversation, setting the phone face up on your workbench and reading from your locked screen. Lately, despite living together and seeing one another every day, Shouto seems to have more to say to you than ever. 

shouto : just now

Divine intervention. We should get a cat. 

The use of ‘we’ pings around your head like a pinball. Ever since the initial dubitation smoothed out he's become much more flippant about things— treating your situation as though it were permanent. 

An intern shuffles into the workshop with a thick binder. Not one of yours, you realise. One of Mei’s. They blink curiously as your phone buzzes again, loud where it clatters on the hard surface, and you bite down on your inner cheek, hard, keeping your feelings at bay. 

When handed the papers you breathe in recognition. They’ve been coordinated into two groups, and you’d know that logo anywhere. “The costume applications for the upcoming UA students! I wondered why they hadn’t come in yet”. 

“Yes, for 1A and 1B. Hatsume-san said these ended up on her desk,” they said, gesticulating nervously, “and that I— I should give them to you?”

“Well If not for you I’m sure these would’ve ended up buried under all her discarded prototypes,” you demurred, offering what you hoped was a reassuring smile. “Thank you”. 

Abruptly, your phone gives another violent jerk and disrupts the moment. The intern squeaks, rigidity returning to her posture, and scurries out with a rushed goodbye. You sink into your arms, forehead pressed to the cool metal. Surely you aren’t that scary.

Turning the screen, you read the texts and sigh fondly.  

shouto : 4 minutes ago

An older cat would be nice. 

shouto : just now

Should we order tonight? 

My treat. 

Your gaze lifts to find the time at the top of the screen. It blinks back at you, the hour changing. Not long until you can head out. 

you : delivered 

it isn’t a treat for me if it’s more cold soba. give me variety or give me death (งಠ_ಠ)ง

The cursor flickers. Your thumb hovers over the keyboard, hesitating on the final letter. Something so minor that feels bigger than it has any right to be. 

“Stop being ridiculous,” you mutter, sending it before your mind can change. 

you : read 

be safe ok? I’ll see you at home. 

When he doesn’t reply you figure he’s returned to his job, thus you return to yours. 

Dynamite was once again trusting you with his gear. Bakugo had been extraordinarily protective over his initial design in highschool. Great bulbous things strapped to each wrist, grenade-like appearance, so big that his arms became pendulous and swung away from his body as he walked. The shoulder strain was immense. 

You fought tooth and nail to get him to accept your adjustments. Now every summer you remodelled the gauntlets to be lighter and ventilated, and in winter you added in insulation and flexibility. 

Respectively, the gauntlets still weigh a lot without additional stored nitroglycerin. You lift, bending at the knees and groaning as you lower them both down into a protective case, slotting into foam padding for protection. No doubt they’d end up rough on the first day but you still wanted them to arrive without a scratch. 

Evening draws near. Closing the lid, it gives a satisfying click. You fiddle with the lock pad and calibrate it to open only for Bakugo’s thumb print before lugging the case to the built-in vault in your workshop, where it’ll be kept over the weekend. 

Mei’s lab is directly opposite your own. Despite the dense soundproofing and reinforced steel concrete the jarring screech of a saw echoes throughout the hallway. You press your hand to the towering door, muscle fibres wracked by vibrations. Bidding her goodbye would be futile— she’s been working on a new patent for months now. The rest of the world fell away when she got like this. 

Heading through to the main lobby, you greet those passing by with a nod, exchanging hurried words. It was always as though time didn’t exist here. People worked all hours, any hours. Flexibility was a point of pride for your company, and seeing someone eat breakfast after midnight wasn’t uncommon. 

You preferred a regular schedule. Routine keeps you moderately sane. A cool breeze gusts through the sliding doors as you duck into the street; you hiss at the immediate change in temperature. Patting down your coat pockets you dig out your phone, sending a one-handed text to Shouto while you slip in your earbuds. 

Cacophonous bustling of the streets now muffled, you scroll through a playlist and click at random. An upbeat melody carries you to the station, scooting through the throngs of people and tapping your card at the barriers. 

You pick up the pace, scurrying onto the train right before the doors close. A stranger glares, looking over your dishevelled state with judgement. You find a narrow corner, left standing on the far end of the carriage, squashed up against the window to make room for other passengers. 

Conscious about the volume. you turned down your music a tad and sank into the confines of your coat. Shouto’s apartment is miraculously closer than your old one, meaning the commute is much shorter, and your time spent in bed is much longer. Three stops pass and the sky begins to bruise. Purple hues blend gently into red, the sun a fiery hearth on the seam of the horizon that blinks abruptly between the passing buildings. 

When you reach home Shouto still hasn’t texted back. You bend to arrange your shoes, coat hung beside his terrible winter puffer. The floor is cold under socked feet, pottering through to the living room in search of the TV remote. 

You flinch as the newscaster's voice blurts out of the speakers. Shouto must have left it on the news channel this morning. Watching the scene unfold on the screen you feel your heart climb your throat. 

Shouto is a hero— a number of your friends are. Villain fights are not only inevitable, they’re a requirement. The truth of it doesn’t make reality any easier to swallow. Uravity is a welcome sight. She’s fighting diligently alongside Shouto, up against multiple villains seemingly working in tandem to destroy the area. 

You always thought villains were a good example of how versatile and powerful even the most innocuous quirks can be. Topspin can morph their limbs into a whirling top, and with years of training has gained the ability to form small tornados using momentum. Another you recognise is Cryo, a woman capable of making her body intangible similarly to Lemillion— though she is able to freeze you temporarily if she phases through your body. 

There are others, too. Criminals you don’t recognise. It’s been a long time since a big group tried to organise in this manner. You worry at your lip, bracing against the back of the couch for support. What you find most concerning is they don’t seem to have a goal. Just mass destruction, plain and simple. 

“Come on,” you think anxiously, nails digging into the cushion as you watch Shouto brace a falling building with his ice, creating an emergency slide for those left inside to escape. You’ve always marvelled at his parallel processing skills— Deku, too. Their thoughts must be running a million miles a second. 

The cameras switch to highlight the other heroes and you realise you’ve been holding your breath. You exhale, physically deflating, feeling the weight of your phone in your pants pocket. Clean up would take a while once the battle is won; curry night is off the table. 

That’s fine. You could forgive it as long as he came back in one piece. 

Evening sinks into night. Shouto comes home after you’ve retired to your bed, though you aren’t asleep yet; you took to staring at the ceiling, waiting for a call from the hospital that you hoped wouldn’t come. 

The distant sound of his boots hitting the floor has relief flooding through your system. You strain to listen as he makes his way through the apartment, deliberately quiet. You hear him head straight to the bathroom. The echo of running water muffles after the door closes with a soft click. 

You check your phone once more, scanning over the recent updates and not finding much. You consider leaving him alone. Villain fights are hard on the body and the heart. Shouto likes space to process things before he speaks on them, and so you don't want to overstep. 

That sentiment dissipates steadily. Five minute intervals that feel like hours. Shouto is in the bathroom for a long, long time. You are seated on the edge of your bed with the covers pulled back when he finally comes out. 

Warm light streams beneath your doorway. Muscles clenched, you daren’t move an inch as a stretch of shadow moves across. Shouto stands outside your room and you stare, silently urging him to knock and give you an excuse. 

After a beat, Shouto turns away. He flicks off the bathroom light and shuffles down the hallway, away from his own bedroom. Your feet tentatively touch the floor and you slide off the bed with hands held out, careful not to knock into any furniture on the way. 

Goose pimples raise across your forearms. You’re in sleep shorts and a ratty old shirt on a cool spring night. No wind and no clouds, the moon hung high and bright. You have never seen the city so eerily still at this hour. 

The air always retains the warmth of his body for a while, and you feel it lingering when you step into the hallway. 

Voice kept to a whisper, you softly called for him, “Shouto?” 

You find him sitting in the middle of the couch. The blinds are up, moonlight flooding in. Shouto is a solid silhouette outlined in white. 

“Did something happen?” 

The fight ended up dragging on for a while, so you’re in the dark. Details about casualties were steadily being released to news outlets as the heroes dug through the remaining rubble. You’ve yet to hear of any deaths, civilian or otherwise, which is a relief. 

He lifts his head, “I’m fine. Sorry if I woke you”. 

“You didn’t,” Shouto’s gaze follows as you shuffle towards him, footfalls loud on the hardwood floor. “Are you sure everything’s okay?”

The silence is suffocating. Your vision adjusts to the darkness, stuck on the downturn of his mouth and pallid eyes. “We’re friends right? Friends share their burdens,” you try again, awkwardness leaking out with every syllable. “I’m here for you”. 

He looks away. There’s a dark, disquieting bruise blooming on his jaw. Subconsciously, Shouto presses a finger onto the bruise and the blood beneath it recedes, paling and returning like the tide. 

You don’t sit too close— worried proximity might be suffocating. The couch arm is firm under you, feet propped on the seat cushion. Shouto wets his lips, as if to alleviate the gravity of his words. 

“A group of school children were in the theatre when it collapsed,” he rasps. His hand curls into a tight fist, sparks of fire diminishing between his knuckles. “They were young. No older than ten”. 

“You blame yourself”. 

Turning to you, light casts softly across half of his face, pooling in his left eye. “I was a second too late and now—” he stops, the words caught in his throat. 

“Because of my mistakes those children are stuck with the traumatic memory of being trapped under all that rubble. I... I could hear them screaming”. 

You gulp and slide down onto the couch, guided by the urge to touch him, “Hey. But you got them out safely, yeah? They’re okay, Shouto”. 

His eyes crinkle a bit, if only a trick of your own, and you take it as permission to reach over. One by one you unfurl each finger, massaging your thumbs into his palm to smooth away the crescent marks. 

“We got them out,” he amends quietly, taking a brief pause to find the right words. You spend it appreciating the nicks in his skin, scars and rough edges, proof of his tenacity.

Shouto closes his hand around your own, staring dolefully at the point where your bodies meet. You see it for what it is— a request for comfort — and your palms kiss as you realign your fingers, holding on tight. 

“You know what I think?” 

He hums, curiously peering up through his damp bangs. 

“Those kids? They won’t just remember the bad stuff,” you smile, as tender as you feel, “I think they’ll remember how at ease they felt when Hero Shouto opened the way with his ice to save them. And now they know a hero will always come”. 

The strain bleeds from his bones and his expression opens up in quiet wonderment. “Really?” he asks, his voice small, mouth finally curling. Your heart gives a squeeze. 

“Really,” you affirm, knocking your knees together. Shouto’s smile widens, chin tucking to hide it. “Are you hurt anywhere?” 

“No. Just bruised up,” he says. An idea clicks into place. 

“Good. I’ve got something we can do to make you feel better,” you scramble to your feet, weight shifting as Shouto’s stare lingers on your bare legs. It feels as though the moon is casting a spotlight, and you resist the urge to pull your shorts down. 

“What is it?” 

“Mug cake!” you exclaim happily, bringing your hands together. Adding an afterthought, “and a movie, too. One you haven’t seen yet”. 

Shouto tilts his head, amused, but stands with you all the same. You notice then that he's changed into a pair of sweatpants, cuffed at the ankles. The t-shirt he’s wearing has a Pinky logo branded across his chest in bubble font. 

“Mug cake?” he repeats. 

“Cake in a mug,” you ribbed, poking at him. You start toward the kitchen. “Come on, it’ll only take like five minutes, tops!” 

“Do we have cake ingredients?” he muses, following close behind. You flick on the recessed light over the stove and root through the cupboards, trying to ignore the natural warmth of his body beside yours. 

“We have everything,” you insist. “I would know. I do the shopping, remember?” 

Hovering unnecessarily close by, Shouto leans back against the counter and observes you with fondness as you list off the ingredients under your breath. It shouldn’t be so magnetising— you can feel something in your chest being drawn in, as though you were two unlike poles meant to come together. 

Meeting his gaze, you look away and try to tame your giddiness. “Quit staring and find me two big mugs”. 

You breathe a little easier when he does as you ask. Two large ceramic mugs are placed on the counter— a hideously priced vintage All Might mug gifted by Midoriya, another with cat ears on the rim and a tail curled into the handle. 

“Will these do?” he murmurs. You startle at the closeness of his voice, nearly dropping the teaspoon in your hand. 

“Yeah,” you clear your throat. “Yep. Thank you”.

He nods, satisfied. “Tell me what else to do”. 

You grab another teaspoon and hand it to him. The joy in his eyes gleams, so pleased at the opportunity to help. “First we need to put four teaspoons of flour and caster sugar in our mugs, then add two teaspoons of the cocoa powder. You follow?” 

Shouto mirrors each action, always glancing back to your movements to check he was doing so correctly. It is unbearably endearing. 

“Now we add an egg in each— one sec,” the fridge light bursts through the dimly lit kitchen, and you squint, grabbing two eggs from the tray. You give him an egg. “Now crack it into the mug and stir”. 

You’ve ended up with the All Might mug. Using it is nerve wracking; all you can think of is how expensive it was, but the cat mug is Shouto’s clear favourite. Gently, you tap the egg on the counter. A hairline fracture forms on the shell. You push your thumbs in, prying it apart over the mix, letting the whites drizzle. 

Shouto is… faring well enough. There’s clear viscous liquid all over his fingers, and his shell is broken in three, but the yolk made it in. 

You laugh quietly at his sheepish expression as you pass him some tissue. He wipes his hands, leaning to observe while you add three teaspoons of milk and vegetable oil. “Where did you learn to make these?” 

“During my apprenticeship,” you admit. Graduation hadn’t led to immediate incredible offers like it had for Shouto. You needed to get your foot in the door first, which meant working awful hours with shit pay and little recognition. “I was trying to save up back then, so I ate a lot of crap like this”. 

“I’ve never tried it,” he says, repeating the steps as you had shown him. Your fingers brush with a pass of the milk. “I wasn’t allowed treats as a child so I guess I didn’t develop much of a sweet tooth”. 

“That’s just like you,” you grin, tearing open the bag of chocolate chips and shaking them in his direction. “Always gotta drop depressing lore in the middle of a nice moment”. 

The truth about the Todoroki family had been outed during your first year, right before the war. It’s a subject Shouto can joke about now that time has mostly healed over those wounds. Granted, his relationship with his father was cautious at best, and his older brother was locked away in a private facility for a good few decades, but things were better. 

“Did you hear me?”

You blink, startled out of your reverie, “What?”

“I said I have plenty more material but you zoned out,” Shouto raised a brow, dipping into the bag of chocolate chips and sprinkling them over his cake mix, “Where did you go?”

“Ah…” you take his mug and set it beside yours inside the microwave, turning the dial to the two minute mark. “I was just thinking I kinda want to kick your dad’s ass”. 

Your heart leaps. You will never be sick of Shouto’s laugh; it’s like hearing his soul. The sound is rich and warm over the loud hum, glass plate turning, mixture bubbling. 

“Don’t worry about that,” the laughter tapers off into an affectionate murmur, body naturally leaning into you, “he’s been kicking himself for years now”. 

“Good—!” the microwave pings, and your soul jumps out of your skin. “Jesus. Why is it always so much louder at night?” 

The mugs are still hot. You press a kiss to your stinging fingertips and step aside; Shouto takes each cake out one at a time with this left hand wrapped around the mug. “Show off,” you pout. 

A sweet aroma fills your senses. They’ve risen well. You lightly scratch the top with your spoon, pleased by the firmness. “We did pretty good,” you chirped. 

“Smells good,” Shouto notes, cradling his mugcake to his chest as though something precious. “Are we watching a movie?”

“Yeah. Let’s pick while it’s still hot”. 

You cast a fleeting look at the counter before you walk around the kitchen island, putting the minor mess to the back of your mind. Bouncing back onto the couch, you run your free hand down the cushions in search of the remote. 

“Where’s the—” Shouto sits to your right and passes it to you. “Did you pull that out of thin air?” 

“Yes. I have a third quirk called ‘remembering where I put things’,” he grins, dodging the half hearted swat you send his way.  

“You’re a real comedian. Just for that I’m picking what I want to watch”. 

Infuriatingly, Shouto looks happy about that, “You know what I’d like anyway”. 

In the end you choose Ponyo because he had not yet watched it— a fact you deemed criminal. You watch his expressions soften at the vibrant scenery, idly pushing the tip of his spoon into the cake. He scoops out a piece and brings it to his lips. 

You try not to beam when he visibly freezes, eyes widening with his spoon held in his mouth. Slowly, Shouto starts to chew. He makes a happy little hum. Three words crossed your mind, travelled down to your heart and diffused throughout your body. You feel them restless in the tips of your fingers. You don’t say them. 

Only then do you let yourself eat yours. The spoon sinks into the sponge, a faint waft of heat bursting from the centre where the chocolate chips have melted. It’s just the right side of fluffy. 

Comfortable silence hung over your heads, masked under the clinking of your spoons against the mugs. 

After the soft thud of an empty mug meeting the table, breaking through the quiet, Shouto speaks. 

“Bakugo mentioned you today,” he says. “Asked me to pass on a message”. 

You hum to indicate that you’re listening. “He said ‘hurry the fuck up or kiss my sponsorship goodbye’, verbatim”. 

“I’m not sure I like those words coming out of your mouth,” you laugh, shoulders shaking with it. Shouto tips his head back, lips twisted to hold laughter of his own. “What a bullshitter”. 

Bakugo liked working with you too much to pull out. Even if he didn’t, the man was a hard nut to crack and refused to trust anyone else with his gear. 

“Are you almost done? Working on his gauntlets, I mean”. 

“They’re finished,” you responded, cheek resting on the heel of your hand. Shouto repositions his hips, turning his body to face you in your periphery while you watch Sousuke and Ponyo eat ramen. “Good and ready for the summer. Now he won’t level half the city when he sneezes”. 

“Thank you for your hard work,” comes his mirthful reply. “Oh, and Uraraka says hello. She wants you to go to the get together tomorrow night”. 

“You know I haven’t got a clue what you’re talking about, right?” 

He huffed a laugh through his nose. A soft sound that has satisfaction singing through your veins. “I wasn’t planning on going so I forgot to mention it”. 

You run your tongue along your molars. There’s still a lingering chocolate taste. “You aren’t going to go?” you ask, tone trended downwards, plainly implying your disappointment. It wouldn’t be so odd. While you’d befriended Momo and some of class B before ever meeting Shouto, you’re not sure you want to be there without him. 

“I will go if you do,” he eyes the way your shoulders relax at that, attentive to a fault. “They can pick on you instead of me”. 

You roll your eyes with exasperated affection and arms crossed over your middle. “Tomorrow?” mhm. “Is it at that place Denki likes?” mhm. “Thought it might be. Guess I can be your buffer for a few hours”. 

“I’ll let them know,” Shouto murmurs. Colour dances across his skin, shadows moving with the picture on the screen. Ponyo dunks her head into the depths alongside Sosuke and the room is suddenly awash with vibrant blue, and you witness an unwelcome epiphany cross his mind. 

Stated like a huffy accusation, he says, “You know, you’ve worked on most of my friends gear, but never mine”. 

“You never asked,” you reminded him. “And you had connections in my industry already because of your… Endeavor. But I would’a jumped at the chance to get rid of that first costume you designed”. 

Cheek pressed to the cushion, he smiles. “What, was the glacier too much?” 

“It was so ugly Shouto,” you bemoan, leaning closer with your dramatic outburst. “The worst part was it covered up half of your pretty face. Now that’s just bad for branding”.

A soft intake of breath. Shouto’s lips part and you are caught in his awestruck stare. His voice deepens as he asks, “You think I’m… pretty?” 

You swallow and muster up an easy grin, nudging his thigh with your foot. “Everyone thinks you’re pretty, you goof”. 

His eyes lower, pensive for a moment, and then flicker back to the movie. Ponyo is sleepy, and the boat has shrunk, and Sousuke has big tears rolling down his cheeks. 

You can’t help thinking it was the wrong thing to say. 

Eventually the noise settles into static; the kind that makes the shadows seem a little darker, dense branches spreading across the ceilings and walls into a daunting canopy. You burrow into your hoodie, pulling the collar up over the bridge of your nose as Sosuke and Ponyo are reunited with his mother in a vast underwater paradise. 

The earlier exchange weighs on you. Stealing a quick glance at Shouto, you feel your anxiety chip at the expression on his face. Somewhere there, beneath the scar tissue and laughter lines and eye bags, is a small boy watching in awe. 

Neither of you speak until the film comes to an end. Your head bobs along to the final song, drawn into a bubble of nostalgia. Through the thick of it, you hear a whisper. Shouto says your name and there’s barely any strength behind it, uncharacteristically timid. Blinking away the haze, your eyes adjust. You can see an inviting, wide open embrace, his left arm now outstretched, the intention clear. 

Shouto looks right back. Your vision has sharpened enough to make out the small smile on his face. You crawl across the couch cushions and curl under his arm, turning your cheek to watch the credits play out.  

“You looked cold,” he belatedly adds. “Is this ok?”

You hum in agreement. Compared to his body heat, you’d say it had been freezing. Despite all the hard earned muscle over the years Shouto is pliable when he’s relaxed, doughy, and he yields when you begin to adjust your shared position. 

Swallowed by warmth, you guide his arm down to cinch around your waist and nestle against his chest. You can feel his heart beating like a wing beneath your palm. 

“Better?” he murmurs, breath tickling your ear. A final shiver dances the length of your spine as the faint tremors dwindle and your bones thaw. Fatigue creeps up, making your eyelids heavy. 

Quietly, “Better”. Then you mumble, “And I do think you’re pretty, Shouto”. 

“Hm?”

“Was bein’ a bit of a coward earlier,” you continue, a sleepy drawl to your words. A yawn pulls at your jaw, nose flaring with it. You think you could sink right into him, like a hot bath. “Shouto’s pretty… all… all the time…”

Your weary eyes gave in to the rhythmic stroke of his hand, consciousness drifting away. Soft dreams undulate, drawing you in, pushing you out. There’s a familiar face. They turn into your palms when you cradle them. Your stomach clenches at the sudden weightlessness and you grasp at their shirt, worried you might float away. 

When you wake up you are in your own bed again. It returns to you in fragments— Shouto’s arms around you, his rumbling laugh, the tangible intimacy that had hung over your heads. Realising he must have carried you to bed you turn over to groan into your pillow. 

Eventually, what draws you out into the open is the smell. Rubbing the sleep from your eyes, you pad out into the living room, searching for Shouto. Leggings, your mind whispers. He’s milling about the kitchen in his workout clothes; a little pair of shorts overtop and a green hoodie. 

“Morning,” he says, placing a small plate onto a tray. You notice two bowls have already been prepared. “I made breakfast”. 

The greeting dies in your throat when he looks up. A stream of dewy morning light illuminates the room, reflecting on the pale surfaces, creating an ethereal view. He combs his hair back with his fingers, tucking the longer strands behind his ears. Your gaze strays from the bruise on his jaw— now turning a sickly shade of green— to the food on his tray. 

“Wow,” you mumble, feeling hunger twist in your stomach. “This actually looks edible. What’s the occasion?” 

It’s a traditional breakfast. A bowl of rice, miso soup with some vegetables, a rolled egg and a plate of grilled fish. Shouto sets a pair of chopsticks down. “No special occasion. I just wanted to cook for you”. 

“God. You are so…” you wave your hands at him, too overwhelmed by the sudden flush of tenderness. 

He blinks, a twinkle of mirth in his eyes. “You just gestured to all of me”. 

“I just woke up and there’s a prince using my shitty old rice cooker. Forgive me,” you remarked groggily. It feels as if your entire being is a soft spot that he won’t stop prodding at. 

Gathering the tray in your grasp you avoid his stare and make way to the dining table, his quiet chuckle close behind. You sit, unnerved by his presence and fighting off dregs of sleep. The seat is cold under your thighs. “Thank you for the food,” you murmur. 

Chopsticks tucked in the crook of your thumb and finger, you pick up a rolled omelette. The egg tastes sweeter than expected— mixed with more sugar than required, you think, but it’s good, and you finish in the next bite. 

“Are you not leaving for work?”

Shouto hovers across from you; his hands rested on the back of another chair, and stood silently. “How is it?” he deflects. 

Your teeth sink into a tofu cube, umami flavours bursting on your tongue. You hum your approval, making a show of it. “It’s delicious. Thank you, Shouto. Really”. 

Over the years you’ve come to learn that Shouto reacts to praise in subtle ways, and often smiles without his mouth. You can hear it in the lilt of his voice and see it in his spirited stride. You watch as his shoulders straighten. He’s alight, peacocking his pride, and you’re not sure he realises it. 

“There’s a secret ingredient”. 

You pause mid chew, swallowing thickly. “If you say love I’m moving out”. 

Shouto tempers his amusement with a shake of his head. Stray hair falls forward to frame his cheeks.  The chair reclines back on two legs as he leans. “My mother told me that making a meal for someone is a simple way to show gratitude,” he continued. “Thank you for taking care of me last night”. 

Heat simmers under your skin, all buzzing energy and jitters. The sincerity is disarming. Had this been a dream you would’ve kissed him. 

Shoving another tofu cube in your mouth you chew it down to fine paste, vying for time to formulate a coherent sentence. “Don’t thank me for that,” your initial playfulness softened to reciprocate some of his vulnerability. “I know I’m not a hero but I’ll always be there for you in whatever way I can”. 

Whatever his response is, you don’t hear it. Shouto murmurs inaudibly, eyes falling closed with a long exhale. Your only respite is the warmth in his gaze when he looks back at you. “I need to leave now if I don’t want to be late. But I’ll see you tonight?”

You hum an affirmative, nodding around the white rice pinched between your chopsticks. It falls apart gently on your tongue. Covering your mouth, you say, “I’ll be there”.  

Shouto steps away with some finality, readjusting the hem of his shirt. The fabric hangs loose around his hips, emphasising how tight his shorts are. You mentally kick yourself. 

“I’ll text you, then”. 

The day passes frustratingly slowly after Shouto leaves. You technically could be sifting through the new student’s designs, but all you can think about is how charged the atmosphere had been this morning. Retiring back to your room to scream into a pillow or two, you eventually find yourself getting ready. 

Shouto let you know he would be going straight from the agency. He had clothes in a locker here— casual, some jeans and a sweater, which at least allayed the fear of being underdressed.  

You pull on one of your nicer jackets, holding the lapels close to your chest as you step out into the cold evening. Dark cumuli gather in sparse clumps across the darkening sky; as mercy has it, the wind is pushing them in the opposite direction.

The place isn’t far. You don’t frequent it very often but liked it well enough despite management being a bunch of rich guys playing dive-bar dress up. The low ceilings, vintage mismatched furniture and dim red lights created an intimate atmosphere. 

People loved the idea of finding a hole in the wall that nobody else knew about. The catch was everybody knows, but not everybody can get in. 

Flashing above the door in green neon lights is a sign grimly reading ‘The Love Shack’. The first thing you notice is the strong woodsy smell masking the faint scent of alcohol. There’s a floral tinge to it that you have trouble pinpointing. 

You head inside and greet the bouncer standing by the entrance. He’s a big guy, standing around 6 feet 9, mutton chops swallowing a great deal of his face. Resting on his bald crown are a pair of comically small sunglasses. 

Before he can ask for your name it is being hollered across the bar. A few heads turn and you dip your chin to shield from prying eyes. Uraraka is bounding over, Mina hot on her coattails. The pair topple into you with canorous laughter clear over the music. 

“You’re here!” Uraraka effused, grabbing at your shoulders and shaking them. “I haven’t seen you in so long! Shouto has been keeping you all to himself”. 

Mina slumps against you, echoing Ursraka’s words with a slurred whine. “Holy shit. Are you guys already tipsy?” unsteady on your feet you try to keep them upright. 

“No,” Mina tittered, pink lips jutting into a pout. She pokes at your cheek. “You’re just too sober!”

You startle. Another hand, large and hot, splays at the small of your back. The bouncer grunts and encourages you in the direction which they came from. That appears to spur the girls on— you’re dragged to the far end of the bar, a wide booth nestled just around the corner, hidden from view. 

You’re met with a chorus of cheers. Kirishima, Jirou and Shinsou beckon you forward. Bakugo is nursing a pint, offering you a wordless nod. Momo shakes her head as Denki attempts to climb out and greet you despite being trapped by the table, patting his back when the effort is fruitless. 

“Alright, alright. I missed you too,” you grin, helplessly charmed by your friend's excitement. Uraraka ushers you into the booth. You scoot up beside Momo, the group packed in like sardines to make room. 

Mina bends to press a wet kiss to your hairline. It leaves behind a sticky impression of her lips. “Let me go grab you a drink, babe!” she chirps, skipping off toward the bar and immediately draping her upper body over the black countertop to wave the bartender over. 

The conversations resume, an easy atmosphere settling over your group. Though you aren’t entirely from their world they do well to involve you, asking for your thoughts, trying to make you laugh. Jirou blushes under the red lights when you bring up her latest album, sending you an appreciative grin. Mina returns holding an impressive amount of drinks, her fingers slipping dangerously on the condensation. 

You are one strawberry daiquiri in. There’s a muted yet pleasant buzz under your skin, no doubt aided by the good company. Still, you cast an anxious glance around the room, curious about Shouto’s absence. A soft tap to the knee draws your attention. 

Momo turns to whisper in your ear, “Shouto said  he’ll be here on the hour,” answering that unspoken question. Your cheeks fill with an indignant breath, embarrassed by your own transparency. 

“We aren’t attached at the hip, you know,” you rasp childishly. It’s a lie— you’ve lived with Shouto for only three weeks and you have already forgotten where he ends and you begin. Momo laughs, hiding it behind the back of her hand. 

“Could’a had me fooled,” Bakugo interjects, scoffing behind his drink. The glass tips and he drains the last of it. “Your name is all I hear outta his mouth these days. Starting to think he doesn’t know any other words”. 

You hold up an accusing finger, “Quit reading our lips, dickhead”. 

The other bares his teeth, gums and all. He moves his hands in recognisable patterns at a deliberately slow pace, as if talking down to you. ‘Fuck you’ he signs. 

“Oh!” Kirishima claps abruptly. You startle, almost knocking over your drink. He’s so big that it rocked the table. “Check this, Bakugo. I’ve been learning more signs, you gotta tell me if I’m doing ‘em right!”

“Fuck do I look like to you?”

“Like my handsome best bro,” is his smooth reply. Cheeks red as his hair, a cocksure grin flashing his sharp teeth; Bakugo softens, clicking his tongue in feigned annoyance, betrayed by the twitch by the corner of his mouth. You think Kirishima is like an overgrown stray that manipulated Bakugo into being his human. 

Whatever he clumsily signs must have been obscene, because Bakugo roars with laughter.

“Who the hell taught you that, shitty hair?” 

The hour comes and goes. Rings of water collect under the glasses. Shouto is five minutes late. You displace the group, accepting Uraraka’s loose lipped complaints as she is forced to scoot back out the booth. Pinching the fat of her pink cheek, she’s placated by the promise of another round on you. 

“I’ll come with,” Shinsou offered with a lazy wave. 

“Thanks,” waiting for him to get to his feet, you smile. You liked Shinsou well enough. Working as an underground hero meant you didn’t get to see him too often. 

You approach the bar. The man working behind it has gossamer insectoid wings on his back, sprouting from two long slits in his fitted shirt. They glint in the light, colours refracting iridescent, reminding you somewhat of a church window. 

He comes over as he catches your eye, wiping down the sticky surface. You’re honest enough to admit he’s handsome. Rugged with a baby face, hair falling over his forehead in loose curls. There’s an easy air about him, and when he flashes a crooked grin you feel the alcohol a little too thick in your veins. 

Tattooed forearms brace against the bar and he leans into your magnetism, “What can I get ya?”

“They’ll have the same as last time,” you reply. “I think the tab should be under Kaminari’s name?” 

He nods, eyes skimming over your form, “Won’t be long”. 

You turn to find that Shinsou is staring, kissed by a reddish glow. His mouth downturns into a smirk. “I don’t think he even noticed I was here,” he drawls. 

Defensiveness prickles over you. “Don’t think anyone has,” you lightly knock your arms together. “You’ve been quiet tonight”. 

“Not my scene,” Shinsou sinks forward, propped up by his elbow, and rests his chin in the cradle of his hand. His heavy lidded eyes never stray. “But I can’t say no to free drinks”.

The barman works the taps in your periphery but you remain focused on Shinsou. There’s a new scar across his cheekbone, right where his persona mask ends. Another over his mouth, a thin line of rough tissue that cuts through his five o’clock shadow. The mass untameable hair on his head has been cut shorter, tapering around his neck. 

“Leech”. 

“Look who’s talking,” his smirk widens. You watch his gaze slide over your head and dread swirls in your stomach at the gleam in his eye. “I think your nepo baby boyfriend just got here”. 

“Not my boyfriend,” you hiss under your breath. He holds his laughter between his teeth. “And don’t call him that!” 

Shinsou laughs into his palm, low and rumbling. You hear the fond invocation of your name as the heat of another body appears at your back. Met with brilliant teal and stormy grey, Shouto greets you both apologetically. 

Perking up self consciously, you say, “You made it!”

“Hi. Sorry, I got caught up and lost track of time”. 

You’re happy to see him. He’s in fitted jeans and a dark button up shirt over an old black turtleneck. Heterochromatic eyes slide from your smiling face to Shinsou’s own disinterest, then drawn to the drinks that have steadily begun to accumulate on the bar counter. 

“Ah, let me get you a drink—” you wave over the guy who served you, though it is hardly necessary when he’s already observing. He saunters over with a pint of lager, setting it beside Mina’s garish rainbow concoction. 

“Everything alright?” 

Squinting at the messy kanji on his name tag, you think you can make it out. Kei, it reads. “Would we be able to add another to the tab? Our friend just made it”. 

For some reason Shouto crowds in closer, the cool press of his left side seeping through your shirt. Kei barely pays him any mind. “No problem,” a cold flush crawls across your back when he winks. “Anything for you. What’ll it be?” 

“I’ll have a highball,” Shouto interjects. You frown at his sudden sharp demeanour, and lean your weight back in hopes of comforting him. The air warms up. 

Kei’s enthusiasm fractures imperceptibly, “Alright. Let me get started on that for ya”. Shinsou snorted, his head dipped to his chest and shaking; you think you aren’t nearly drunk enough for whatever this is.

“Shit. You really are petty,” Shinsou speaks up after Kei departs to the other end of the bar. “I always thought Midoriya was exaggerating”. 

“Petty?” you echo, squinting at your roommate with a soft pout. Shouto fixes his gaze to the bottles lined across the wall and looks as though he wants the earth to swallow him whole. 

“Highballs are tedious to make,” Shinsou turns his back to the bar, leaning against it with his drink in hand. “You definitely chose that on purpose”. 

“I didn’t,” Shouto monotoned. “I like whisky”. 

“I’ve never seen you drink whisky,” your voice lilts into suspicion. Shouto narrows his eyes, pointedly avoiding yours. A terse beat passes, and you inhale with defeat. “Oh, whatever. Go say hi to the others while we bring the drinks”. 

Shouto blanched. “I can help—”

“I’ve already got a big strong man here to help me,” Shinsou scoffed. There’s an umbrella resting on the lip and a purple straw in his mouth. You put a hand on Shouto’s bicep and squeeze, “You need to let Momo know you’re here before she sends out a search party”. 

The contact visibly placates him. You watch after him as he makes his way to the booth. Slurred over the low music, he turns the short corner to be met with a cheer in much the same way you had. 

“You two are ridiculous,” Shinsou murmurs, amused exasperation clear in his tone. Splitting the drinks into two groups to carry, you ignore his remark and the fondness swirling in your chest. 

Kei appears and sets the highball down. A tall glass of liquid gold, three carved ice cubes fizzing at the bottom, a lemon garnish on the rim. “Thank you,” you tell him, pleased when he reciprocates your sheepish grin. 

You let Shinsou take it— your hands are already full and slipping. The others have pulled Shouto into the booth and sandwiched him between Denki and Mina, whose distinct voices are overlapping as they try to get a word in. 

Denki stops mid sentence as Shinsou slams the drinks onto the table. You do the same, albeit much more carefully. He lists them off one by one, sliding the glasses over to their persons. Shouto’s comes last. 

“And in a surprising turn of events we have Todoroki with a japanese highball”. 

Shouto accepts the drink with his right hand and a straight face, ignoring the harmonious ‘ooh’ that reverberates around the booth. 

Bakugo points his pinky at him, “And since when do you drink whisky?” 

Petulantly, Shouto mutters, “Since now”. 

Ultimately deciding to pull up a chair, Shinsou sits at the head of the table while you are squeezed on the end beside Bakugo; he side glances, raising his brow in acknowledgement. 

“Dude, now that we’re all here, let's have a toast!” Denki exclaims, literal sparks of joy bouncing from his crown. Everybody groans. 

“I’ll hear your toast bro,” Kirishima lifts his pint, the wonderful enabler that he is. Shouto meets your gaze across the table and raises his own with a shrug. 

“I, uh…” Denki shrinks under the pressure. “I dunno what I was gonna say”. 

“To a quick death,” Shinsou proposed, halfheartedly holding his sake in the air. 

“Hear hear,” muttered from beside you, Bakugo’s eyes fell closed. You snickered, alcohol weakening your inhibitions as you hook your chin over his shoulder. He allows it. 

Momo voices her disapproval and tips her glass, “To good health”. 

“To Chargebolt,” Jirou adds, a grin splitting her cheeks, laughter already bleeding into her words. “Seen him at his best, seen him at his worst, and still can’t tell the difference”. 

“Oi!” 

“To a livable minimum wage!” Uraraka hiccups. All the blood in her body seems to have rushed to her face; expression comically determined, betrayed by her spasming diaphragm. Everyone lifts a glass. 

The night crawls on. Another round, then two. Kei refills your glass, never without a flirty comment. You feel thawed from the inside out, a silly smile fixed to your lips. Your cheeks hurt from laughing, from the too-forceful kisses given by Mina, the rough pinch of explosive fingers. 

You might as well be engaged in a game of musical chairs; the only one refusing to surrender his spot is Bakugo. Jirou and Momo slink away somewhere private— ‘private’ being behind the vintage jukebox right by the bathrooms— and Kirishima scoots over to wrap you up in a side hug and pushes all the air from your lungs. Uraraka drapes herself across your front. Shinsou surrenders as Mina sits in his lap. Being with them is as innate as breathing. 

Maybe you didn’t fight a war together but they still embraced you as their own. And Shouto watches with that terrible, awful, shoujo twinkle in his eyes; you flush hot whenever you catch him, inundated by the desire to reach across and kiss him.

Your pulse is quick and movements slowed. A pleasant buzz circulates around your body. After the third round Shouto begins insisting that you stay put. “Okay,” you conceded tipsily. “Tell Kei I said hi”. 

Shouto leaves with a vaguely constipated frown. 

Bakugo cackles and refuses to tell you what was so funny. Momo returns to the sight of you clinging to the stubborn hero’s arm, cursing his name. “What are we laughing at?” she muses. You notice a few things first: there’s a fresh bruise on her neck, a button on her dress undone, and a glass of water in her grasp. 

Disheveled Momo is a rare treat. You’d tease her about it, if Bakugo did not immediately jump at the opportunity to tease you first. “Just gearhead and halfie being oblivious idiots,” he surmised. Another snort bursts from his nose. “‘Tell Kei I said hi’. Shit. Should’a seen his face”. 

“Bakugo,” Momo chides, attempting to disguise her own amusement. “Go easy on them”. 

He clicks his tongue, shaking you with a rough shrug of his shoulder. “You should tell him how you feel and fuck already”. 

Your mood tumbles, dampening as you sulk, “Shouto doesn’t want me like that”. 

“Yeah, right. And vice prez didn’t just get fingered by the jukebox”. 

“Bakugo!” Momo’s voice is stronger this time. She whips her head toward the other patrons and back, embarrassment flooding her cheeks. “I did not get… fingered,” she protested with a sharp whisper. 

“What’s that?” you feign ignorance, drowsy and loose lipped. “Momo got fingered?!”

Making Bakugo laugh feels a little like winning the lottery; having him throw an arm around you as he does it leaves you dizzy with accomplishment. You curl into his side, shoulders shaking. You mouth an apology across the booth and Momo stretches to take your hand, stressing her forgiveness. 

Shouto shatters the jovial atmosphere. He returns stiffly, his glare set in stone, and places a drink you did not order in front of you. After a quick sniff you realise that it’s water. 

“Once you’ve drunk that we should head home,” he says. It’s posed as a suggestion but you hear the instruction. Not wanting to irritate him any further, you begin to sip. 

Momo’s brow pinches with worry. “Is everything alright, Shouto?” 

He breathes harshly through his nose, coming out in a puff of cold air. ”Yes, everything’s fine. I’m sorry to cut the night short, Momo,” his face softens. “It was good to see you”. 

Astonishingly, Bakugo says nothing. His arm snakes from around your back. You finish the water with a big gulp, resurfacing for air. “Done,” you wipe the back of your hand across your lips. 

Shouto steadies you while you awkwardly scoot around the booth. Momo gathers you both into a hug, her kind hand stroking the length of your spine. “Text us when you get home”. 

“We will,” you promise, saluting as you’re gently pulled away. “See ya on Monday, great explosion murder god dynamite, sir!” 

The others have dispersed amongst the small crowd. You mourn not being able to say goodbye to them all. Shouto cinches around your waist and guides you to the door. You can’t complain— instinctively sinking into the embrace, surrounded by his cologne— but you do wonder what the hurry is. 

You waded through the mass of people until you both finally made your way out into the open air. The breeze encourages you closer to his front, cold and refreshing in your lungs. Already you feel as if some of your drunken enthusiasm is dissolving. 

“Shouto?” his pace slows mercifully, coming to a stop underneath a streetlight. The bulb blinks in five second intervals, dousing him in sickly orange. “Are you mad?” 

A warm hand hooks your chin, forcing you to look him in the eye only to avoid looking back. His lips part to speak, and when nothing comes they close. “I’m not mad,” he intoned quietly, thumb skimming over the line of your jaw. Your breath catches. 

He seems so… guilty. 

“I think you are,” you observe, wrapping your fingers around his wrist. You bring his hand down and intertwine it with yours. The alcohol must be making you brave. “But if you’re not ready you don’t need to tell me”. 

Some colour returns to his skin. Shouto huffs a disbelieving laugh. “You’re so—” cutting off that train of thought, he tugs you forward and wraps you into a hug. The crook of his neck shields you from the cold, and for a few short moments all you can hear is your heart beating in your ears. 

“…Have you ever felt like there are things you want to say but there’s something that always stops you from expressing them?” 

You take note of how his grip tightens, warm nose squished into your cheek as if he thought you might run. Shouto is nervous— rather, he’s making himself vulnerable to you. “I have,” you murmur. 

He bows his head to burrow into your shoulder, “Then, would you give me the chance to say them?” 

What you hear is: will you be patient with me? 

“Now?” you ask gently. The light overhead flickers again and your vision swims. You’re realising now that his impulsivity might simply be because he’s drunk. “Don’t you want to talk at home?”

Shouto shakes his head. “If I say it now you can change your mind and go back”. 

That’s worrying. You chew nervously on your bottom lip, “…Okay”. 

You expect him to let go but he doesn’t, though he does loosen his hold, as if giving you the chance to leave. Following a deep inhale, Shouto solemnly admits, “That guy at the bar. Kei. He asked me to give you his phone number”.  

“He did?” 

“Yes,” he says. 

“So where is it?” 

Dread and fatigue curdled in your stomach. You hear the moment Shouto swallows his caution. The atmosphere sours as he admits, “I burned it”. 

You step back, leaving his arms limp at his sides. He looks betrayed. Like you’re testing the strength of a promise you don’t recall making. This was not a good time nor place to talk about this. 

“My feet hurt,” his eyes widened in confusion. “I’m cold and I’m drunk and my feet hurt, Shouto. I want to go home”. 

The request registers slowly. You watch his face fall, gathering a facsimile of a smile. “Okay. Then let’s go home”. 

Your chest aches. You want to cry. You scramble for his hand and squeeze it tight, hating the despondent tone in his voice. “We’re too drunk. We’ll talk about this in the morning,” and that seems to lessen the rigidity in his bones. 

From then on, the walk is done in heavy silence. Your thoughts are muddied and loud, emotions bouncing back and forth between resentment and uncertainty. 

Underneath all of it is a seedling of hope that you daren’t nurture. 

The atmosphere clings, following you all the way home, suffocating as you stand a metre apart in front of your respective bedrooms. You bid him goodnight, hand lingering on the handle. Anticipation sits like a stone in your chest. 

You lie in bed waiting for him to knock. 

He doesn’t. 

Next time you open your eyes you wince at the throb behind them; it pings around the inside of your skull and you groan into your pillow. 

There’s movement in the apartment. Shouto had always been an early riser. Cold relief washes over you at the confirmation that he was here. Last night filters through your mind. One scene after another you try to make sense of it all. 

Kei had been genuinely flirting— you didn’t really think to take it seriously at the time. It was harmless fun, and you figured he was just the type that enjoyed teasing. 

Shouto must’ve realised it early on. That was the reason he stepped in and kept you away from the bar. But that didn’t line up right with the reality you knew, because the only reasonable explanation for his behaviour would be that— 

You shoot upright, kicking off your covers, and immediately feel it rebound. Thumbs pressed to your temples, you massage firm circles into your skin until the pain dulled. 

Holy shit. Shouto was jealous. 

A strange blanket of exhaustion settles back over you, as though your muscles have atrophied. You slide down the headboard and stare up at the marks on the ceiling, all sprawled out like dropped skeins of yarn. Suddenly your bedroom was a refuge from an inevitable relationship altering conversation. 

Shouto had been jealous of a man vying for your affection. Your Shouto: gentle, placid, considerate, patient, funny, beautiful Shouto. 

“Fuck,” you whisper into the emptiness. You can hear the coffee machine brewing in the distance. You’re torn between screaming into your hands and jumping on the bed. 

You settle on getting up. Slowly. It’s clear you had been drunker than you thought; your pyjamas are on back to front. You tremble as you slip your arms through the sleeves and right the collar, padding over to the door. 

Shouto wanted to talk last night and you stopped him. Guilt gnaws away at you. All that courage was shot down. Pretending to forget about it isn’t an option— you had to do this. 

The plan to be stealthy is squandered by the hinge on your door. A harsh squeak reverberates through the apartment. You huff, lowering from your tip toes, and walk towards the kitchen. 

Another body enters the hallway. Shouto turns on his heel and nearly drops his mug as you almost collide. Reflexes hammered into him, he catches it in one hand and manoeuvres you away from the hot splash with the other. 

“Shit. Did it burn you?” he breathes, bringing your hand up to his mouth. A chilly puff of air blows over your skin and you shiver. 

You clear your throat and try to find your voice. “I think you got it. Thank you, Shouto”. 

The sound of his name pulls him out of his reverie. You try not to feel hurt when he drops your hand like hot coal. “Sorry,” casting a forlorn look at the half empty mug and the small coffee puddle at his feet. Lips pressed into a thin line, he says, “I was bringing you some coffee. Thought you might need it”. 

Delicate tendrils of steam dance and dissipate into the air. You gently cup your hands around his and receive the mug, a small smile pulling at your mouth. His eyes are keen and searching as you take a drink. 

“I definitely needed it,” you tell him between sips. The coffee paves a hot path down your throat to your stomach— the warmth spreads, seeking to fill the spaces between. All the earlier fear is washed away.

The time you spend observing one another feels like a short eternity. You watch hope visibly thread into his features, brighter; the way he always should be. 

Softly, you ask, “Do you think we could talk about last night?”

“Yeah,” the word comes in a whisper. Head inclining, Shouto nods in one slow motion. Then, louder, “I should clean up, first. Where do you want to…?”

“Where?” you repeat. The thoughts in his head are written plainly across his forehead and you longed to rid him of them. Tilting and raising your brows suggestively, you tease, “Bedroom?” 

Shouto gives an amused huff and the remnants of caution are blown away like seeds in a dandelion clock. His steps are lighter, a subtle bounce to them. Light filters into the living room and your spirit is buoyed by giddiness and wonder. 

What had you been so afraid of? 

You wait in the crook of the L shaped couch, legs curled beneath your body, facing the tall standing windows that overlook the city. Your headache has lessened into a quiet echo. 

While he mops up the coffee you finish off the last drops in your cup. You take a moment to appreciate your surroundings. The emptiness you once felt in this room no longer exists. Blankets strewn across the cushions, small crochet coasters, pictures put into frames, books left face down to save the page, things out of place— it felt so lived in. 

It felt like home. 

You sit up when footfalls approach. Shouto is pretty in the late morning light, under eye shadows and all. “Did you even sleep last night?”

“Not much,” he confesses. His weight shifts before he finally decides on sitting beside you, turning to mirror your posture. “I thought I might’ve messed things up”. 

You stretch to put your mug on the coffee table and his eyes follow attentively. “Shouto, you didn’t mess anything up,” he wrings his hands together in his lap, searching your face for dishonesty and finding none. “Though you probably shouldn’t have burned up that guy's number”. 

“Probably,” he affirmed. The hair on his left side is pressed flat to his head. You count the creases on his cheek, stopping at the healing bruise on his jaw. The movement of his full mouth draws you back, “I am sorry for that. It was childish of me and I took away your choice”. 

You hum, shuffling closer on your knees. Shouto’s expression is beautifully open, and you understand it, because your heart beat is thrumming just the same. “Next time, give me the number so I can ask you to burn it myself”. 

Shouto’s fiddling halts. It’s a relief. You thought if he pulled at that hangnail any more he might unravel in front of you. A crease forms between his brows, “What?” 

“I don’t want anyone else’s number. I…” losing some of your strength, you close your eyes for a second. Inhale deeply, continuing on an exhale, “Last night, you were jealous”. 

It’s not a question. Shouto nods, his hand making an aborted reach for your own but thinking better of it. 

You slide your palm against his. Your fingers fill the spaces between his knuckles. Shouto holds on tight and you ask,  “…Why?” 

A nail traces random shapes into his skin. You watch him watching your finger, mouth curled into a small, wobbly smile. He steels his resolve, an internal monologue you aren’t privy to. With spine tingling cadence, he says, “Because I’m in love with you”. 

You’re not sure what you anticipated. There isn’t much that could prepare you for such a long awaited admission— for something you’d only daydreamed about hearing. The hunger in your heart rears its head, seeing his words as permission to want. To take. 

Shouto carries on, incognisant to your plight. “I made peace with my feelings a long time ago. It’s not something I wanted you to worry about”. 

“You’re doing it again,” you tell him. “Deciding things for me”. 

“I don’t want you to make peace with them. I want you to share them. With me,” Your eyes meet as he peers up. There’s a stray kiss curl by his temple, white and soaking up the sun. He shudders when you twist it gently around your finger. “I love you too, dummy”.  

Heat prickles at the back of your neck, feeling the shift in atmosphere. “Oh,” is his eloquent reply. A slow blooming grin pulls at his mouth as the reality sets in. 

“Yeah. Oh”. Giddiness bubbles in your chest like water in a wellspring and you let go to cup his face. Shouto leans into the cradle your hands form, eyes fluttering closed as your thumb skims over the scar tissue. His ears are warm. 

Guided by fleeting impulses you press a quick kiss to his left eyelid, and he sucks in a shaky breath. You move lower, nose bumping his cheek, to press another to the corner of his mouth. 

“Is this okay?” you whisper, feeling like you were on the delicate precipice of something incredible. His mouth turns to chase yours, bicoloured eyes peeking beneath his lashes. 

“Kiss me,” he murmurs, and it comes like a puff of steam. “On the mouth this time”. 

Your lips tremble as you try not to laugh, aligning with his. You kiss him, petal soft and gentle, and feel it when he smiles. Tentative, derived from uncertainty and unfamiliarity. 

Shouto’s cool fingers slide around the nape of your neck, holding you in place. Don’t go anywhere. You answer in kind— hands sliding down to his chest to guide him back into the cushions and feel his heart racing as you settle your knees either side of his hips. You barely part for air, and Shouto follows your lead. 

“Again,” he mumbles. 

The intensity grows. Shouto kisses like it’s his last. Strong arms wrap around your waist, wandering hands mapping out the topography of your body. Somewhere between, your tongue dips into the seam, biting his bottom lip and plucking a whine right from his mouth. Heat flutters low in your abdomen; hips squirm between your thighs, his chest pressed to your own. 

“Shouto,” you groan, pushing harder, needing to be closer, threading into the soft hair at the back of his head. Fingers curl into the fat by your hips, they pull, rocking you into his lap. Invigorated, Shouto nips at your lips. Arousal spikes through you at the cool exhale— his tongue slides over your own and along the grooves in your teeth, wet and cold. 

“Fuck, is that—” you pant, head falling back as he begins to leave a trail of hot kisses down your throat. “S’that your quirk?” 

He hums an affirmative. The sound is resonant, deep in his chest and satisfied. Smug. You feel the impression of his smile against your jugular. Static fills your brain. Your thighs clench, rutting forward to relieve the ache between your legs, imagining all the things his mouth could do. 

At some point you part to catch your breath. Your foreheads come together, sharing awed laughter. Shouto cheeks are pink and there’s a soft smile on his swollen, kiss-bitten lips.  His hand moves to cup your jaw, rubbing small circles into the cheekbone.

“We should… slow down…” his chest heaves, eyes swallowed by his pupils. They fall to his lap, right where you’re pressed to his cock. You file away the lazy slur in his voice and wonder if that’s where all his blood went. “…I want to do this properly”. 

Figures that he would have more willpower than you; though you get the sense if you pushed, he’d give, and every surface in the apartment would see you laid out. Gathering your thoughts is made much more difficult as he kneads at your thigh, heedless to your struggle. 

“Okay baby,” you murmur, leaning up to press a chaste kiss to his brow bone. His ears turn red and you’re alight, “You like that?” 

Shouto tucks his grin against your shoulder. Like before, he locks both arms around your back and holds you close. You comb your fingers through his hair, overlapping white and red, a long tender moment passing. 

“You love me,” he whispered apprehensively. Then again, thick with wonderment. “You love me”.  

It’s unbelievable to him— and that’s unbelievable to you. Shouto is easy to love, moreso than anyone you have ever met. All clandestine glances, soft spoken words and inside jokes; a book of every witty little thing you’ve said, keeping your words close, giving importance to the things you enjoy; he’s gag gifts and thoughtfulness and open arms, the reason all your hot drinks never go cold, he’s the cream that never melts. He’s home. 

You cradle him to your chest with no intention of letting go. The sun crawls higher, casting a warm blanket over your shoulders. 

“I do,” you reply. “How could I not?” 

[minisugakoobies]

It's You - Choi San | 3 AM

Pairing: San x Reader Genre: smut, crack, fluff, angst, roommates to lovers, BFF’s Lil Bro!AU Series Rating: M (18+) Drabble Warnings: sneaking around, sloppy making out, lots of cuddling and kissing, honestly this is super soft, drunk San is a whole different type of menace, a little angst on OC's part, pet names deployed as weapons (baby) Word Count: 2.1k Disclaimers: SFW, obviously I don’t own ATZ - they just inspire me

Summary: He was only supposed to be a temporary roommate. Your best friend’s little brother, crashing on your couch for a few weeks. That’s it. How did this happen?

A/N: This started with talking about drunk San with @minttangerines and @kiestrokes, and then @moni-logues made me miss this couple, so boom! New vignette! I should warn you that I wrote this over the course of 2 days, entirely between the hours of midnight and 5 am because I've been staying up wayyyy too late to watch the Coachella livestreams (can we talk about Chellateez?! because holy shit!), so it's probably a mess and it's unbeta'd, so… blame any typos or incoherency on my fucked up sleep schedule! 🥱

Lyrics are from "Moondance" by Van Morrison, inspired by that one toktoq of San singing that song, which absolutely killed me.

Taglist is open! Reblog, comment, or send me an ask to be added! You can also send me any ideas/thoughts you might have for a future scenario - who knows, it might end up in a drabble! 💕

It’s You Masterlist 🐈‍⬛ ATZ Masterlist 🐈‍⬛ Main Masterlist

It’s three in the morning, and you’re wide awake, at your desk, working frantically on an article whose deadline is mere hours away. For not the first time tonight, you curse your natural inclination towards procrastination and scrub your hand down your face, wishing you’d chosen a different career. 

There’s some noise outside your door and you realize San must be home. He’d been down at the Blue Bird with Hongjoong, drinking and hanging out with Wooyoung as he bartended. From the way San’s shuffling around, it sounds like Woo had been his typical kind self and given San more generous pours than he should have. A loud “oof” resonates, and you hear the armchair scrape the floor a bit, as if he were setting it back in its place. You wince, hoping he didn’t wake his sister, who has an early shift and needs to be up at dawn.

“Noona. Nooooooona.” Tap tap tappity tap. “Are you up? I can see - I can see your light.” 

San raps on your door, calling out to you in a voice that’s hushed but maybe not quite as quiet as he thinks it is. From his spot on your bed, Nero lifts his head off his paws at the sound, then blinks at you with his bright green eyes. 

“I know. He’s loud as fuck, isn’t he?” With a cluck of your tongue, you quickly hop up and open the door. San must’ve been leaning against it, because suddenly you’ve got a mountain on top of you, a loose-limbed one at that, eagerly but clumsily wrapping its arms around you. “San!” 

“Hiiiii,” San coos into your shoulder, where he’s buried his face. You shudder slightly as his breath tickles your skin exposed by the tank top you wear, and stagger away from the door enough to close it quietly as you can, not an easy task to do given the giant mass of man hanging his dead weight on you. 

“You know, your sister is sleeping just on the other side of this wall,” you remind him, but he doesn’t respond, too busy lathering the column of your neck with tiny kisses. “San. Come on, sit down.” 

With some stumbling from San and a not insignificant effort on your part, the two of you make it over to your bed. Your attempt at coaxing San into a sitting position fails miserably as he promptly splays on his back, pulling you on top of him. Nero hops off the bed in a huff. 

You go down like a sack of flour, not a gram of gracefulness in your fall, but San appears not to notice when your chin bounces off his sternum or your knee rams his thigh. He sighs contentedly, wrapping his arms around your back, tucking you against him.

“Mmmm. So nice,” he murmurs, resting his cheek against the top of your head. 

It’s three in the morning, and you need to finish this damn article. Except that right now, your body is telling you that what you really need is to stay exactly where you are. Because the minute the warmth of San’s embrace surrounded you, your stress melted away. The steady rise and fall of his chest calms you, makes your own breathing slow. You close your eyes, nestling closer to him, sliding your own arms around his waist. You could so easily fall asleep like this. 

But he can’t sleep here. 

“San. San, are you awake?” 

“I’m awake,” he replies, but with closed eyes, which doesn’t really give you a lot of confidence in his response. “I am,” he insists when you shake him, rolling his head away, but he still doesn’t look at you.

“Don’t fall asleep,” you warn him sternly. “I mean it!” 

San smiles, the one that tells you that he knows you’re going to give in to him, which is the smile you tend to see him flash the most often, because you’re weak for him and always giving in. But this isn’t one of those times when you can indulge him. No matter how much you want to. 

“Wish you’d come to the bar tonight. Wanted you there.” 

You knew that. He’d told you as much when he’d texted earlier. Unfortunately, you had to turn him down for the sake of remaining gainfully employed. He’d tried to convince you otherwise at first but finally said he understood. And then sent you a series of sad selfies, each one more pathetic than the last, lips puffing to an extreme. Because he understands the power that pout holds over you.

It’s embarrassing how bad you’re down for this man.

San’s fingers dance idly down your spine, and you sigh, eyes slipping shut again as you speak. “Believe me, I would’ve rather been there with you.” 

He hums, fingertips quickening their light minuet. He mumbles something into your hair, low and unintelligible from the way his lips are smushed against your head, so it takes you a few seconds to realize he’s not talking, he’s singing. 

“... marvelous night for a moondance, with the stars up above in your eyes…” 

“San,” you begin, but before you can warn him not to get any louder, he does so anyway, raising his beautiful voice a little, starting to get into it. 

“A fantabulous night to make romance, 'neath the cover of October skies…”

“Shhh!” Your shushing is cut short by your giggling, as you clap a hand over San’s mouth. “Oh my god, now is not the time for this!” 

This is one of San’s more notable habits - when a song gets stuck in his head, you’ll hear him singing it for days, just walking around the apartment humming the melody or, if he has an audience, belting out the lines. He knows how much you love his sweet tenor. Another fact about you he’s filed away to devastate you with at the most opportune times.

Like when you need to kick him out of your bed. 

He continues singing despite your hand pressing on his lips, slurring the words directly into your palm. His eyebrows are working overtime, top half of his face playfully conveying whatever lyrics are being smothered against your skin. He’s so ridiculous, so over-the-top, even at three in the morning when anyone else would be exhausted, like you felt before he walked into your room, since his energy is infectious and perked you up better than the multiple cups of coffee you downed in your desperate attempt to stay awake. That’s San for you - he’s always giving you something when you need it - his time, his help, his energy. 

So you decide to give him something back, and replace your hand with your mouth, drawing him into a tender kiss, imbuing it with all those things you feel but never say. His muffled singing becomes a hum becomes a moan, at first surprised, then pleased. One of his hands drops to your thigh and with a bit of urgent tugging, he maneuvers you on top of him, chest pressed to chest.

His kissing is only the slightest bit sloppier when he’s been drinking, wetter from his tongue caressing yours with somewhat less skill than usual, but it’s never bothered you. You like seeing this side of him, looser with his inhibitions, with whatever holds him in place - or holds him back. One day you’ll ask him to show you more, when you’re both sober. 

And when things are different. Less… ambiguous between the two of you. 

If you reach that point. 

“Noona.” San whispers, thankfully pulling you from the heavier thoughts threatening to sink you right out of the moment. You open your eyes to look at him as he pecks your cheeks.  “I like kissing you.” 

You grin, letting your forehead knock against his. “Yeah, I kinda noticed.” 

“Aren’t you going to say it back?” The look he gives you would melt the hardest of hearts. This is why you’re not afraid to be needy with San. There’s no reason to be, not when he’s just the same. 

“I like kissing you too,” you declare, kissing the tip of his nose, laughing at the way his eyes cross as he follows your lips. “But now’s not the time for that, either.” 

“Then what time is it?”

Laughing, you gently guide him into a sitting position, keeping your arms looped over his shoulders. His lust is morphing into sleepiness, eyelids drooping as he gazes at you, and your heart goes so soft at the sight of him. 

“It’s time for you to go to bed.” 

“Okay,” he chirps, immediately flopping onto his back again. 

“Ohhhh no, not here. You gotta go. I still have to finish my work, and you…” The words stick in your throat. You can’t be here. You don’t want to say them. You want him to be here. Tonight, and tomorrow, and on and on. 

But that’s a conversation for another time. Not three in the morning.

“You have to go,” you groan, sliding off the bed and grabbing his arms, less gentle and more insistent this time. “Come on, get up!” 

San lets out a whine of protest. “But baby, why can’t I stay here?” 

Oh, he would drop a ‘baby’ now, slipping it in so casually, so naturally, like there’s nothing unusual about him calling you that. As if it’s not something new he only started doing the other day, happening maybe a handful of times since. 

Since the two of you have been doing this undefined thing, there’s really only been one unspoken rule. You sleep in your bed, and he sleeps on the couch. Even on the nights when Haneul’s working the late shift, or she’s over at Jongho’s. You never know if she’ll come home early, so you don’t risk it. It’s just easier this way.

Doesn’t mean you like it, though. 

“Because. If Haneul catches you coming out of here - “

The sound of a door opening makes you freeze right down to your tongue, leaving your sentence unfinished. Your head swivels towards your own door. A pair of feet pad down the hall, getting closer, then fading away, until you hear another door being closed. The bathroom. 

“Noona.” 

You turn to find a sober-looking San staring at you. He reaches out, hands settling on your hips, holding on to you as you stand between his legs. Clinging again. 

“She’s in early today, right?” 

The two of you probably know Haneul’s schedule better than she does. You nod.

“Then I’ll just stay in here. She’ll think I never came home.” 

He makes it sound so simple. So reasonable. He’ll stay here until she leaves. Why didn’t you think of that? Is it because you don’t like thinking of San with someone else, even if said person is an imaginary person who exists solely to provide an excuse that will allow you to get what you want? And if you get what you want now, it’s only going to hurt more when you can’t have it anymore?

Yeah, that’s probably it. 

“I don’t know…” you bite your lip.

“Come on,” he wheedles, drawing you into his lap again, cupping your face with both hands. “Let me stay with you. Don’t you want me?” 

And there it goes, the last remaining bit of your resistance. 

“Okay.”

San seems a little shocked, face lighting up in delight, and you wonder if it’s at how quickly you agreed, or that you agreed at all. Maybe both.

“But we have to be quiet. So, you know…” You trail off, gesturing wordlessly. 

“No moondancing?” He emphasizes the word heavily, lifting a brow, and you roll your eyes but grin as well.

“Right, none of that.”

“Just cuddles?” 

As if he needs to ask. You nod. “But I’m not coming to bed until I finish my work.” You reclaim your seat at your desk, folding your arms over the back of it, trying to give the appearance of someone with a solid backbone, since yours is apparently made of pudding. 

“That’s okay,” San says, already tugging his shirt off, then his pants, until he’s only in his boxer briefs. He peels back your comforter, sliding into the soft sheets, and again the action is so natural, so normal, like he does this every night, that something in your chest constricts. “I’ll just wait for you.” 

Your first thought is that you should inform him that he’s going to be waiting a while, but then again, maybe he won’t. 

You’re feeling suddenly inspired. 

(It’s three in the morning, and you’re falling in love.)

If you liked this fic, please consider reblogging! Likes do not help it get seen by other readers. 💕

Taglist: @sweetnspicy-noona @krystal-a @jennylychee @hiefisch

© 2023-24 by minisugakoobies. Crossposted to AO3. Please do not copy or repost. I do not allow translations of my work.

[kookslastbutton]

Those Eyes Chico ༓ myg (m) | chapter one

✑ Summary: As the new marketing director for Min Yoongi’s upcoming D-Day album & tour, you’re expected to bring your expertise to the table. This shouldn’t be a problem—you’re the best in the business and you’re used to drawing a strict line between your professional and personal life. But what happens when the lines you’ve fought to keep as separate blur for the first time?

pairing: idol!yoongi x plus size!poc!reader

genre/AU: angst, fluff, smut, slowburn, coworkers2friends2lovers, winter setting, forbidden love,

word count: 6.5k+

warnings: oc is 28, Yoon is 30, oc is not originally from South Korea, oc has light brown eyes, swearing, mentions of alcohol consumption, mentions of anxiety, panic attacks, body insecurities, fear of being blacklisted, emotionally restrained yoon, unstable parental relationships, conservative parents, rude Hybe executive that should be fired, bestie!tae is wonderful support 🥹, and cute yoon and oc interactions bc yeah....its thier first time actually meeting so it must be cute!

now playing: Sweet Dreams by The Last Shadow Puppets

a/n: YAHHH chapter one!! Ok i apologize if the meeting is so long and drawn out...I really tried to make it fun but so much info is needed too haha. Anyway this series is dedicated to my wonderfully crazy friend and sorta beta, Gloom @theuselessdaydreamingidiot, and to all our fellow Yoon lovers bc we miss our sweet man SO MUCH 🥺 Enjoy! 🥰 Also huge thank you to @itaeewon for designing this beautiful series header! Love it!!

Series Masterlist | next chapter >>

Winter in Seoul feels like stepping onto the set of your most beloved holiday film.

As the brisk air wraps around you, delicate snowflakes gather atop your head, urging you to cocoon in your finest wool trench coat. Yet, despite the chill, the sight of frost-bitten trees basking in the morning's golden rays offers a source of warmth and delight. Perhaps the most radiant tree of them all is the towering Christmas tree that sits proudly in the heart of the city. Adorned with shimmering red and gold baubles, the giant evergreen catches the eye of every person that walks by–both tourists and locals alike.

Nearby shopping malls buzz with holiday fervor too as shoppers scour for treasures, couples engage in friendly competition to find the ultimate gift, and children line up to take their picture with Santa. But the best part is when night falls. The whole city comes alive with joy and laughter as loved ones meet one another on the ice-skating rinks, while karaoke bars echo tipsy renditions of timeless songs sung by overworked professionals, each with a bottle of soju in hand.

Yes, Seoul is a place for making memories and you’re in the thick of it.

Having been in the city for three years, one might assume you’ve become well accustomed to the energy of the season. You've really grown to love it here. But adjusting to the new environment is still proving to be a challenge, the most outstanding being the prevailing beauty standards.

Massive billboards featuring stunning models serve as constant reminders of the type of beauty one should aim to achieve as you commute to work. Impossible to miss are the shining examples themselves – iconic k-pop groups Seventeen, Red Velvet, EXO, BlackPink, Mamamoo, TXT, and of course BTS plastered on the side of every flat surface imaginable. You’re not exactly complaining about that aspect as you’ve helped design a good handful of them as a top marketing and advertising professional. But the strict image of what constitutes a beautiful and worthy individual weighs on you more than you’d like.

While a conventional body type isn’t what you’ve been given in this life, you don’t consider yourself to be completely unattractive either. Having high cheekbones, a strong jawline, striking light brown eyes, good enough ass, and a full chest shouldn’t classify as undesirable. Still, you wish you’d adopt this more body positive mindset rather than your current overthinking one. It’s easier said than done, being that you not only see idols everyday on the streets in digital form but at work as well.

You continue further into city until a set of tall, glass doors meet you mere steps away. You tilt your head back to catch the name of the skyscraper before nearing the building’s sturdy, silver handle.

BigHit Music.

Feeling its cool metal under your fingertips, the door swings open with an easier pull than imagined to welcome you into the bustling lobby. You feel a rush of confidence return to you upon entering– this is your domain, this is where you truly shine.

“Did you get the files I sent to you?”

The woman nods her head in affirmation while sweeping a few pieces of her long, silky hair behind an ear. To strangers, she appears to look about 24 which is only four years younger than yourself but nonetheless she’s the same age as you. Hei-Ran is her name, meaning “graceful orchid” according to Korean translation.

Hei-ran is one of Hybe’s newest hires and based on her experience, a near perfect fit to being South Korean boy group Tomorrow X Together’s new marketing manager. Until about three months ago, this had been your job.

You never imagined giving up the position after three years of working in the role. But with December right around the corner Hybe had other plans for you.

"Graduated summa cum laude with a bachelors degree in BTech in Electrical and Electronics Engineering and a MBA in Marketing from NYU Stern. You worked two years as a brand manager for U.S record label Atlantic Records immediately after graduating, and are now working at BigHit Music as a marketing manager for TXT including liaison with their global marketing team.”

You recall Bang PD's voice vibrate in the back of your mind from mid-August. You thought you were called into his office to discuss details of TXT’s latest promo, so having your resume read back to you was a sweeping curve ball. Your determination must have far exceeded the heaviness you felt in your chest because before you knew it you, you were shaking hands with your boss in acceptance of your role – the new marketing director for Min Yoongi’s upcoming D-Day album & tour.

The tedious knot that’s formed in the nape of your neck reminds you that as surreal as the situation might be, it’s undeniably real.

Months spent drafting a comprehensive marketing proposal for D-Day; often until the wee hours of the night, inevitably takes its toll on even the mightiest of warriors. An entire new team of fifty people, all of who you’ll be in charge of orchestrating for the next eight months, doesn’t provide much to relief either.

You’re excited nevertheless. Working with one of the most respected artists in the music industry is an opportunity you couldn’t let slip by, especially since the album’s rock-inspired genre aligns closely with your own music taste.

“Thank you so much for helping me get settled __,” Hei-ran’s gentle voice returns you to the present. “I appreciate the time you’ve taken these last few months to train me despite the tight deadlines you have.”

Smiling, you shake your head. “It’s no problem at all and if there’s anything you need in the future, feel free to give me a call or stop by my office.”

“On the 16th floor right?”

“1656A. Take a left off the elevator and walk to the end of the first hallway. The door on the right is mine.”

Referring to any room on the 16th floor as your own is something you don’t take lightly. For one the offices are double the size of any other office spaces in the building. Yours in particular has a giant skyscraper window draped with heavy white curtains. Secondly, the floor above is the 17th floor which is exclusive to Hybe artists only.

"How's the proposal coming along, by the way?" Her curiosity is palpable, genuine in its nature. You’ve always appreciated that in an individual.

“It’s done,” you respond. “Only thing left to do is to prepare for our meeting with C-suite executives next Monday. It’s nearly perfect as is, but the presentation could use a bit of refining in terms of organization.”

Hei-ran is silent for a moment longer than usual before her next inquiry, which is undoubtedly the question on both of your minds. “I can't help but wonder what it'll be like to meet him for the first time,” she muses.

You don’t bother asking for clarification on who the “him” is; you’re already well aware that it’s Min Yoongi. The same subject has managed to intrude your own thoughts more and more as the date of meeting him draws closer. It's peculiar honestly, considering you’ve encountered him before.

Granted, it was only a small handful of times the hallway, both heading in opposite directions. Min Yoongi typically greeted you with a hoarse 'Good Morning' those instances, along with a curt nod of his head. You would nod back with a brief 'Morning' yourself. Deep down you feel he'd make a quality friend, though it's only a premonition. It’s not like you actually know much about him beyond those small exchanges.

"I'm not sure what to expect, honestly," you admit. "I imagine it'll be similar to previous professional collaborations—composed, focused, and intense. D-Day is poised to become a global sensation for the next year, so it's going to need our full, undivided attention."

Hei-ran gives a knowing nod. “Good luck __,” she wishes you well as you head towards the elevator doors. Breaks over, back to work.

After another late-night prep session for Monday’s D-Day proposal, you trudge through your apartment door well past 8:30 pm with an empty stomach and a throbbing headache. Good news is that your graphic design team seems to be well on track with their album mockups ready to present.

The same can’t be said for your U.S. promo team however, who required additional guidance on their projects. The social media team was in a similar boat. Somehow several of their members lost track of time and were convinced the proposal was still two weeks away.

Despite the hiccups, you managed to tie up the loose ends, but it meant that none of you got to leave early.

When you finally get to curl up in your fluffy sofa, a loud, exasperated sigh leaves your lips. Your lids flutter shut too as you rest your head against the soft cushion. Silently, you make one last mental rundown of all the tasks you checked off today.

Did you miss anything?

D-Day is the most crucial project you’ve ever taken charge of—you need it to be flawless.

When nothing pressing comes to mind, you grab the tv remote from your dark oak coffee table and aimlessly flip through the channels. You’ll unwind for an hour and then call it a night.

Ten minutes into an episode of Brooklyn Nine-Nine and the light chime of your phone's notification bell catches your ear.

Tae 💚: Haven’t heard from you all day. Everything alright?

Taehyung, your best friend. You smile fondly at his message as your thumbs hover over the reply button. He's always checking in on you. You and Taehyung have been friends ever since you first moved to Seoul and started working at Hybe. You didn't expect your friendship to become this strong, but both of you are sociable individuals, which led to discovering several unexpected commonalities. One of those is a shared love for jazz, which has been one of your all-time favorite genres for as long as you can remember.

You: yeah, I’m good. Just tired. Been working on D-Day's proposal for months and finally got it fully prepped for.

Tae 💚: Well, that's amazing news! You feel good about it?

You: I don't know. I’m definitely ready for this project but I’m also starting to feel a little burned out. The proposal is only the beginning you know, and it's already taking the wind out of me.

Tae 💚: Sorry to hear that 😞 I'm sure it must be draining, but I also know this is your territory. No one is more fit to head this project than you. Everyone thinks so. How about you take the weekend to rest?

You: Yeah...I'm watching B99 rn

Tae 💚: B99?! Without me?

You can't help but giggle. Somehow over the course of three years you've roped your best friend into becoming obsessed with your mindless sitcoms. You've done more than a handful of binge watching together, until all hours of the night.

You: Wanna come over for an hour?

The company might be nice.

Tae 💚: Be there in 20 🏃

Your door bells rings exactly twenty minutes after you and Taehyng finish exchanging texts. He's so prompt it scares you sometimes.

“Hey.” His deep, baritone voice greets you first, along with a friendly hug. Taehyung slips his snow covered boots off upon entering your apartment and hangs his wool jacket on your coat rack. His limited edition Gucci scarf is next. Taehyung loves the winter as it’s the time he can wear his most luxurious clothes.

“What’s this?” You peak inside a brown paper bag that Taehyung has conveniently set on your kitchen countertop. He flashes you a playful grin and gestures you to open it. Naturally, you're suspicious but it all washes away when a new, unopened bottle of whiskey presents itself. “Oh my god, you didn’t!" You swat his arm in a rush of excitement.

“I had to!" Taehyung opens a kitchen cupboard and grabs a glass from the top shelf. He's been in your apartment enough times that he’s grown comfortable with your place. That and he's also your best friend.

"With all the recent events you've had going on, I think it calls for a celebration." Taehyung expertly pours you a glass of the smooth, rich liquor and offers it to you.

“Thank you, Tae," you say, taking the glass from his hand. "Come sit down. Jake's about to sing I Want It That Way with the police lineup.” Taehyung pours himself a glass of Pinot Noir and follows your lead.

After about forty minutes of sitcoms and booze with your best friend you begin to feel yourself relaxing. Whatever challenges lies ahead, you know you'll be able to handle them one whiskey at a time.

All stream of thought is interrupted when your phone dings off again. It's now half past 9, who on earth is trying to reach you?

Fuck.

You tighten the grip on your phone as soon aa the message appears. Taehyung, previously occupied by the end credit scene, catches the sudden shift in your demeanor and calls your name but he's inaudible to you.

Mom: It’s been almost two weeks since we last heard from you. We know you're busy but your father and I want to know if you’ll be coming home. The holidays are coming up right? Why don't you use some of that time to come see us? There's someone we want you to meet.

"__, who is it?" Taehyung's voice manages to break your intense concentration.

“Just my mom.” You answer briefly, still averting eye contact.

“What’d she say?”

“She wants me to come home for the holidays.” You shut your phone off in an effort to calm yourself.

Unlike Taehyung your relationship with your parents has always been rocky. Expectations are set high from birth and you never see eye to eye. Likely, the only accomplishment that's earned genuine praise from them was when you accepted your initial job proposal with Hybe. A respectable career is only second to health to them after all. Your father was more torn with the news that you’d be moving hundreds of miles away than your mom however, not that you’re surprised.

Of course while having a healthy and respectable career is priority for your parents, there is no mistake that their greatest wish is to see their daughter married. A stable man with ample resources to provide her a secure home and healthy children is preferable.

You love your parents and you'll always be there for them, but you must admit that their traditional outlook is one you can never live up to. They tried setting you up dozens of times before, and tonight's request to have you come home "for the holidays to meet someone” is simply another attempt to marry you off.

Yes, you would like some sort of companionship in your life and you hope if you find it that they’ll approve. But giving your hand in marriage to the first notable suitor isn't your forte. You consider yourself to be an independent woman with a tender heart, and you'd rather be single for the entirety of your life than be forced into another obligation.

Preserving your independence is highly important to you. So no, you draw the line when it comes to relational affairs.

If only you could be firm and repeat all the above to them aloud, rather than within your own head— if only.

“So are you gonna go?"

You don't respond immediately, still weighing out your options. "Not sure," you murmur. "I don't really want to but maybe I should. I haven't gone home to see my parents since last year."

Taehyung recognizes the growing tension in your voice as well as the flushed expression playing on your face. He wishes he could take it all away but instead he moves closer to your side of the sofa and lets you rest your head on his shoulder.

"I'm sorry." He's silent for a moment before continuing. "Why don't you tell them you can't go because of work? There must be a number of things you'll need to get ahead of for Yoongi's album."

"True. But it's too easy, they won't buy that. I have to go."

"What if you say I invited you to celebrate with my family this year? We're going to a nice, cozy cabin a few hours north of here for Christmas."

The offer is temping and you know he means it but it's also not enough.

"No," you reject. "They'll think we're dating and ask to meet you."

"I'll do it!" Taehyung's voice lifts into a more playful tone, earning a soft chuckle from you.

"Very cute Taetae, but no. Neither of us are going to say 'that was a good idea' in the end, trust me. I'll have to make this decision on my own."

Taehyung grimaces slightly at your last choice of words. "I really think you should consider telling them you can't due to a full schedule. We don't get that much time off at the company any way. Don't your parents live at least 7-10 hours away? Come on, spend the holidays with me and the guys. Plus, it'll be my birthday soon. I want you there at my party."

When you look at your best friend to gently scold him for not so sneakily using the guilt tripping technique, he's pouting. Like a baby. Not even you can resist him with that face on.

"Fine. I'll think about it."

"Good," Taehyung chirps and snatches the tv remote to flip through episodes of Brooklyn Nine-Nine. "I want you to be around those closest to you, especially around the holidays. You're my badass best friend who deserves more than some stupid forced marriage to a guy with an unhealthy alpha male complex. Should we top the night off with one more episode by the way?"

You nod and Taehyung hits play on the remote. "Thank you," you coo, feeling a tad better.

The weekend is a blur at best and you’re back at the office before you realize. Of course this is no ordinary work day however, given that today signifies the day you officially start work as D-Day’s marketing director. You’ve been perfecting every detail of the proposal like a madman since the beginning, meticulously obessing over every element. Your new team members must have a pretty eye-opening understanding of what it’ll be like having you as a lead for the next year–you pity them to be honest.

Between your fingers clutches a small tube of lip balm, berry flavored with a faint tint to match. You love chapstick for some odd, inexplainable reason and you felt the need to apply a generous amount of it on your lips for good luck.

“No one’s here yet,” Yi-joon, one of the members of your graphic design team, speaks first upon stepping foot into your assigned conference room. Others hum, unsurprised. Being the ones leading the presentation, you’d be startled if anyone actually arrived beforehand.

A grand mahogany table, seating up to 14 individuals, boasts itself to you in the middle of the room with every chair lined in genuine black leather. Traditional seating arrangements have one chair at the head of the table, but today’s meeting has two, both positioned to face the wide presentation screen at the opposite end.

Undoubtably, they’re reserved for Bang PD and Min Yoongi.

A momentary shiver courses down your spine, yet fades quick when one of your team members asks if anyone's seen the remote to the projector. There’s no time for nerves to be acting up, you remind yourself calmly. Only 15 minutes remain until every C-suite executive in Hybe congregates into the room.

With a composed demeanor, you swiftly gather your thoughts and respond, "Try checking inside the podium. It's likely close by, but if not, we can always power it on manually." You then start delegating tasks to the rest of your team, mentally rehearsing key points of the proposal between each instruction.

Time appears to have vanished in the blink of an eye because in a matter of seconds a gentle breeze slips through the conference door, accompanied by the arrival of several Hybe executives. You offer a polite "good morning," which is briefly reciprocated as they take their respective seats around the conference table.

You count twelve at the table in total, including your own team.

"Sajangnim should be here in about–"

Hybe's Chief Finance Officer doesn't get to finish his sentence when an older gentleman in a freshly pressed suit walks through the door, fully immersed in conversation. The person following close behind him is none other than the man of the hour himself–Min Yoongi, fitted in a clean white dress shirt that's unbuttoned at the collar and sleeves rolled to the elbows. His soft, raven hair falls gently in front of his eyes, framing his face a little too well.

Unexpectedly, both your gazes shift from Bang PD and onto one another. His dark, intense eyes pierce through you as they observe you from the opposite side of the room. You're certain he recognizes you from your previous shared encounters, though you don't have the slightest clue what he's thinking. Min Yoongi has been known to be many things, but an open book isn't one of them.

He then walks in your direction until he's directly toe to toe with you for the very first time. Completely against your wishes, you feel all the tiny hairs on the back of your neck stand straight. You've never officially met before.

"It's nice to finally meet you __-nim. Those nods we give each other in the hallway hardly count as a proper introduction." He extends a hand to you, offering you a sturdy handshake which you accept.

"Absolutely, it's a pleasure to meet you as well Min PD-nim," you say, smiling warmly. "I'm looking forward to working with you on your new album. I truly appreciate the opportunity."

For a split second, Yoongi allows his professional demeanor drop. "I should be the one thanking you. You'll be the one leading this whole operation right? So I'll be in your care."

You want to respond with gratitude, but you're not given the chance due to an authoritative voice speaking up from behind.

"Min PD-nim," Hybe's Vice President calls out to the man in front of you, requesting his attention.

Yoongi is hesitant to leave you mid-conversation but you assure him that it's alright. "Please, feel free to take a seat," you offer. "The presentations will begin soon."

A small, subtle smile graces Yoongi's lips before he turns around to take his seat beside Bang PD at the head of the table. He engages in small talk with Hybe's Vice President who's conveniently seated across from him. Yet despite their conversation, he's only half focused; his eyes repeatedly wandering back to you. At this point, however, you've already stopped looking at him.

"Good morning, all," you address the room when the time comes to commence the meeting. "We'll be getting started now that everyone's here. I'm sending down samples of the album design our graphics team has created for D-Day. Please pass them along." You hand the stack of copies to Hybe's Chief Technology Officer who smiles courteously.

"On behalf of my team and me, I want to thank you for joining us today to discuss our marketing strategy for Min PD-nim's upcoming D-Day album. Our agenda will be as follows," you guide everyone's attention to the presentation board, which provides a rundown of all the points you plan to cover for the remainder of the meeting.

"Let's begin with introductions. My name is ___ ___, I hold a Bachelor's degree in Electrical and Electronics Engineering from NYU Stern, as well as an MBA in Marketing. Over the past five years, I've worked in the music industry as a marketing manager. Three of those years were spent here at Hybe. The recent promotional campaign for TXT's The Chaos Chapter was lead by my previous team and me, resulting in a positive return on investment. Now, with a new team, I aim to achieve similar success with Min PD-nim's D-Day album."

Once you finish your introduction, you introduce each member of your team. This is soon followed by a brief introduction from each c-suite executive.

The whole room falls silent when you begin diving into the bulk of the proposal; every measurable objective, goal, and market analysis is shared for D-Day. When it comes time to present the brand guide and album design, you invite your graphics team to speak.

"You'll notice that we have two versions of Min PD-nim's albums on the sheet in front of you," Yi-joon refers to the mockups you handed out earlier. A few executives nod quietly as they study the proposed album packaging while Yoongi leans over to Bang PD. He's whispering something but you're far to distant away to hear. His expressions aren't telling either.

Does he like it? Does he not? You don't know.

Nevertheless, you give a subtle smile to Yi-joon as encouragement to continue.

 "We've opted for a sleek, pitch-black design for the first version, and a dusty brown for the second. The first version symbolizes the past, characterized by societal expectations and internal struggles, while the second represents the present and future, conveying a message of liberation. To complement these themes, we've selected a bold and daring font to exude the album's transparency. This design consistency extends to the album's contents; for instance, lyrical cards will reflect the respective color and style of the version they belong to."

Hybe's Chief Marketing Officer appears to be in approval with the entirety of the plan so far, yet it's short lived when a low voice interrupts.

"I think the vision of album's design aligns closely with mine, so I like what I see in front of me." Yoongi pauses and places the mockup on the table. "There's one aspect that I'd like to discuss in hopes of some insight however. I've been mauling over it for a while now."

"I'll do my best to–" Hybe's Chief Marketing Officer opens his mouth to respond yet closes it immediately when he notices Yoongi's gaze sharply shifts to you. It's a signal that it's your insight he specifically requests.

"Please go on," you reply.

"Regarding the name under which the album should be released, should it be 'Agust D' or 'Suga'? I'm personally biased towards Agust D because it holds more weight for me. It's close to my heart and the stories I have to tell as Agust D are heavier than those of Suga, right? The D even stands for Daegu, my hometown where I grew up and where my parents still live. Suga on the other hand is my stage name, which I have some identity in as well."

You don't answer immediately, preferring to carefully process everything he's said. Your team has already proposed to release the album under 'Agust D', yet he makes a valid point that 'Suga' is also a part of him.

"I understand that releasing the album under 'Suga' has its merit. However, I still support the original idea of releasing it under 'Agust D'. As you've mentioned, the name carries a deeper meaning, evoking memories, emotions, trials, and tribulations. I'd also like to emphasize that by releasing D-Day under 'Agust D', you can showcase who the real Agust D is. The collaboration with IU in People Pt. 2 already has you one step in that door."

Like you, Yoongi considers your words cautiously, weighing them in his mind. "Thank you ___-nim," he finally speaks. "Your perspective is reassuring. We'll proceed with releasing the album under 'Agust D'.

Following your short discussion, the graphics team continues presenting their design materials. Minor comments are made by Hybe executives, but Yoongi doesn't comment again until half-way into the social media segment.

"Why do we need to schedule this many Weverse Lives? People might get tired of seeing my face after so many in a row. ARMY will read, 'Min Yoongi started a live' and say to their friends, 'This is the fifth time in a row, is he in love with his own voice or something?'." His joke sparks a light in the room as Bang PD gives a chuckle.

"I don't think that's going to be an issue for you Yoongi," he replies. "Don't you know the strength of your own fanbase?" Bang PD's statement is undeniable. Everyone in the room is well aware of Min Yoongi's international fanbase who willingly stay up all hours of the night just to catch a glimpse of him. In fact, rather than seeing less of him, they hope to receive his live notifications more, as Yoongi isn't as active on Weverse as other idols.

It's clear that compliments like these aren't easy for Yoongi to take though, judging by the flushed look that subtly sweeps over his face. You'd react the same way to be honest.

"If I may Min PD-nim," you speak up, deciding to offer an alternative plan. "Leveraging Weverse Live to help promote D-Day will draw significant international engagement. We know that time differences pose to be a challenge which is why we proposed an increase of live sessions per week. However, we understand that going live this often might be exhausting. Would you consider reducing the frequency to once or twice a week instead?"

"I'm open to once a week but didn't we film the 'Suga: Road to D-Day' documentary for a similar reason? Won't it be too much to add more than two Weverse Lives throughout the entire promotional phase?" Yoongi's challenge is met with an unanimous hum of support from his fellow executives. You'd feel intimidated if you didn't already have a justification mapped out.

"The objective behind releasing 'Suga: Road to D-Day' on Disney+ differs from that of Weverse Lives," you rebuttal confidently. "While the documentary presents a structured behind-the-scenes view of D-Day's development, the Lives focus on building hype among your existing fans who know you well, will spread the word to their peers, and will likely pre-order the album. As you're aware, Lives are more personal and stripped down, allowing your fanbase to feel closer to you."

Thinking of no further objectives, Yoongi, still somewhat unsure, accepts your suggestion. "Once a week will be fine then. While we're still on the topic, do we know when 'Suga: Road to D-Day' is set to release on Disney+?"

"Our digital marketing and promo team will be reviewing the specifics of that soon," you inform. "Right now we have the documentary releasing April 23 of next year. The poster for the film will release a week and a half earlier on the 12th."

Rather than furthering the discussion, Yoongi sends an understanding nod your way which allows the social media team to resume their portion of the proposal. Recording more Weverse Lives than usual remains a pain point for him, but he's willing to move forward if it means connecting with his fanbase.

Alast, after what seems like three hours of social media; followed by financing & budget talk, the last team to present their material takes lead of the meeting.

"We'd like to provide a timeline for D-Day's promo schedule as a way to wrap up today's proposal," So-hyun from your digital marketing and promos team explains. "Promotions will begin April 10, 2023 and will run until April 25th. During this time the album's track list, concept photos, MV Teaser, and official MV will drop. As far as concert schedule, we're proposing April 26-June 24. These dates include U.S, Asia, and Korea Tours."

"We might need to rethink concert dates but for now I'm on onboard." Yoongi remains brief in his interjection, allowing So-hyun to continue.

"As far as other marketing channels, we plan to implement both print and digital methods including billboards, banners, paid search ads, and YouTube. We'd also like to reach out to a variety of magazines like Rolling Stones Magazine for interviews. If we want to extend our global reach even further, we can book a time slot on the Jimmy Fallon Show. Bare in mind that if we go this route, we'll need to decide fairly quick, as slots are in high demand."

You notice Bang PD whispering amongst Yoongi and his Chief Finance Officer when Jimmy Fallon is mentioned. Yoongi seems the least interested. Perhaps he isn't fond of being front and center of talk shows, you guess.

"When will we need a decision for the Jimmy Fallon Show?" Bang PD inquires for the group.

"No later than three weeks from now," So-hyun answers. "It's a tight deadline but it can been done if we get the official go."

Bang PD directs his attention to Yoongi who's chosen to be silent in this conversation. "What do you think, Yoongi? It's your call."

"Maybe," he says, "give me a day or two to think on it."

Another ten minutes of productive overview with your promos team pass and soon, you're standing up to adjourn the meeting. You have to admit that out of all the proposals you've given in your career, this goes right to the top.

Your team was phenomenal today, and despite the the fact that several Hybe executives are biting at the bit to finally go on their lunch break, you feel confident that everyone is leaving on the same page.

"Min PD-nim."

You're ears inevitably pick up the conversation in front of you as you make your way out of the conference room. Yoongi and his Chief Financial Officer are running through some quick numbers only a few steps steps ahead, but with everyone simultaneously rushing in the same direction, neither must have realized you were within earshot.

"There's no doubt that she's good at what she does," Hybe's Chief Financial Officer continues. "Still, it's hard to believe that she's only 27 or 28. A person should take better care of themselves don't you agree? Like our Eunchae for example."

If there was a way to erase what you just heard, you'd do so, because in an instant, all previous successes you felt from today's proposal shatters to the ground. You're no stranger to receiving these sorts of comments about your appearance, yet it leaves your confidence fleeting, along with any amount of resilience you've built.

Blinking back the tears that threaten to spill, you exit the conference room the first chance you get. You have no desire to stick around for Yoongi's reply.

Not long after you leave does you phone ring off.

Tae 💚: Hey! How's the meeting going? Still available to get lunch this afternoon? I'm heading to the cafeteria as I type this.

You: It went okay. But I don't think I'll be coming to lunch, just a lot to do. I'm also not that hungry.

You second-guess how convincing your message is, knowing that it's your best friend on the other line. Regardless, it's the only words you can come up with right now. You really do have a lot of work ahead of you though, at least that part is true.

Tae 💚: Are you sure? I was looking forward on hearing how the meeting went! Wasn't there something you had to give me too?

The meaning of the last line suddenly dawns on you as you make your way down the long hallway. How could you forget? You made Taehyung one of his favorite foods to surprise him for lunch; Japchae, a sweet and savory dish of stir-fried glass noodles and vegetables.

You: Right, sorry it slipped from my mind for a second. I'll meet you in the cafeteria to give it to you.

"Why won't you stay and eat with me?" Taehyung devours the homemade Japchae you made for him with delight, a pair of chopsticks clamped in his hand.

"I don't have much of an appetite, Tae."

You've already told him this twice already, clarifying that you'd be heading back to your office once you deliver his food. Evidently, he's not letting you slip away easily.

"Then take a break with me instead, even if it's only for ten minutes." You watch as your best friend swiftly pulls out the chair next to him from under the table, gesturing you to sit. "Tell me what's got you down," he says. "Did Yoongi say something to you? He can be a bit too outspoken with his opinions sometimes."

Feeling defeated, you slide into the chair. "No, the meeting was fine. I'm just overthinking something that happened."

You then proceed to explain what you overheard Hybe's Chief Finance Officer say about you from earlier, that you didn't look healthy enough for your age and using Eunchae as an example. The scowl that appears on Taehyung's face as you retell the incident is unmistakable–he's clearly pissed.

"First of all," Taehyung starts once you finish, jaw clenched. "Eunchae is 17 and is a part of a Korean girl group. She has an entire team dedicated to making sure her appearance is flawless. It's the idol life; trust me, I'm well acquainted with it, so it's not a fair comparison. Secondly, Hybe's CFO is an asshole who I'd replace in a day. I don't want you letting him make you feel insignificant just because you don't conform to his narrow idea of how a woman should look."

You appreciate Taehyung's efforts to cheer you up, though you remain unaffected. Besides, he still isn't aware of Yoongi's involvement since you purposely left that detail out due to their close friendship.

"Yeah, I don't know. We don't have to talk about it anymore." You decide to dismiss the topic entirely and reach for your phone, along with a pair of earbuds bundled in your pocket. "Wanna listen to something?"

Music has always bonded you and Taehyung's friendship, as you've frequently found yourselves fully immersed in timeless songs from King of Leon and Led Zeppelin together. Taehyung nearly accepts the offer to listen with you once again, but then he freezes all movement. An eager grin follows close after.

"Hyung!" His voice echos though the room, earning the attention of Min Yoongi who's just entered the cafeteria. This time, you feel nothing but discomfort when the man looks your way.

"I have some material I need to review from my promo team. I'll text you later, okay?" You leave your best friend no time to reply as you quickly rise from your chair, stick your phone in your pant pocket, and head for the nearest exit. Yoongi attempts to make eye contact with you on your way out, but you avoid it completely.

When he approaches Taehyung, he acknowledges your semi-odd behavior. "I didn't mean to make her leave," he states, joining the younger at the table.

Taehyung offers a light shrug in response. "Don't worry, you didn't. She had other matters to get to. Something with her team members I think."

Yoongi grabs a fresh clementine from a nearby fruit bowl and beings peeling it little by little. "You two must be pretty close if you're having your lunches together."

It's not hard for Taehyung to read between the lines of what his member is insinuating.

"We've been friends for a while," he clarifies. "Just friends, nothing else."

a/n: Hope you enjoyed! Lmk what you think 🥰

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no reposting, copying, or translating my work– © kookslastbutton

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The Danger Zone (Part 14) - Hangman

Pairing: Hangman / Fem!Bradshaw!Reader | OC

Word Count: 4.8k

This work, all my works, and my entire blog are 18+ ONLY.

Warnings: Unplanned Pregnancy; Military Inaccuracies; Daddy and Mommy Issues Galore; Arguing; Crying; Angst; Screwed Up (Seresin) Family Dynamics Discussed; Use of "You," No Use of Y/N, No Set Physical Description

Summary: You and Jake spend some time apart. Maverick offers his help.

Series Master List

Master List

You called out of work the next day, knowing that you were in no shape to go. Closer to lunch time, after you'd wallowed for a time, Maverick drove you over to Jake’s apartment and packed up a few things while Jake was out. You didn’t take everything, just a few days' worth of clothes and necessities, before heading back to Maverick’s house to wallow some more.

Burying your face into your pregnancy pillow, you looked up when the door to your room opened. You sat up when you saw Penny standing there. And when she walked over and sat on the edge of your bed, you couldn’t help but latch onto her.

Penny pulled you close and rubbed your back as you cried, sharing a worried look with Maverick. He leaned against the doorframe, looking like he didn’t know what to do. Penny gave him a look, glancing down at you, before returning the same look to Maverick.

He nodded and walked away to make a call.

While Penny led you outside, Maverick stood on the front steps with his phone to his ear. He knew that it was the middle of the day, but he was still hoping that there was a chance.

“Hey, Mav, what’s up?” Javy answered calmly after a few rings.

“I’m assuming that you’ve heard,” Maverick stated bluntly, causing Javy to sigh.

“Yeah, I’m putting out my own fires over here,” Javy stated, glancing over at Jake’s office.

Jake was furiously writing away at forms and typing paperwork into his computer, barely taking a moment to blink. He looked like he hadn’t slept all night and hadn’t eaten anything, save for three cups of coffee. He was in no shape to do anything. Javy would tackle him to the floor himself before letting him into a plane in this state.

“How’s she doing?” Javy asked Maverick.

“I haven’t seen her like this in a long time. And I don’t ever want to see her like this again.” Maverick glanced back at the house before turning back to the street. “What happened, Coyote?”

“His mom wrote him a letter.”

“And?” Maverick pressed a bit more, not seeing the connection.

“Jake doesn’t really have a traditional relationship with his parents. And for good reason on his part. And he needs to tell her about it, but he’s not exactly the most emotionally intelligent guy.”

Javy gestured for Fanboy to carry in another stack of files into Jake’s office. Jake didn’t look up, working through the paperwork in front of him like a robot on rocket fuel. Fanboy hesitated for a moment but with another sharp look from Coyote, Fanboy turned to Jake.

“Hey, Hangman, we’re kind of falling behind, so I was wondering—”

“—Just put it on the pile, Fanboy,” Jake stated, not even looking up.

Fanboy dropped the stack and walked out, shooting Javy a thumbs up that Javy returned. Glancing worriedly at Jake again, Javy turned away to continue his conversation with Maverick.

“He’s not anywhere near a plane right now, right?”

“No, I’m making sure of that," Javy promised him.

“It might be a good idea to keep Rooster away from him too.”

“Already on it,” Javy replied, watching his wife march Rooster down the hall to go and teach lessons today. Far away from Jake. “I’ve got it handled here but I’m worried about him when he gets off.”

“I should warn you that we went over, and she took her stuff.”

“She’s already decided to move out?” Javy asked, starting to panic.

“No, she just needed some time and some of her things for now. But I'm worried that if he sees her stuff gone, it might set him off.”

“Alright, I’ll drag him home with me and Phoenix.”

“Actually, Coyote, I was wondering if you think that Jake would come with me for a drive tonight?” Maverick suggested, causing Coyote to pause for a moment. “If you think that he needs more time, he needs more time. I trust your judgment.”

“Tomorrow,” Coyote decided after a moment. “Come to my house in the morning. Before he has a chance to get worked up.”

“Alright. Keep me updated, Coyote.”

“You too, Mav.”

Hanging up the call, Maverick walked back inside the house and paused when he saw you and Penny out on the back porch. You seemed to have stopped crying, but you looked so broken that it felt like a direct punch to Maverick’s gut.

You were the little girl that Goose and Carole hoped and begged for. You were the little girl that Goose continually sobbed over when he got a photo of you from the hospital, having missed your birth. You were the little girl that he then proceeded to sob over at the airport in Miramar when he got to hold you for the first time. You were the little girl that Goose swore up and down that he’d protect and love and definitely not let you anywhere near naval aviators.

And when Goose died, Maverick took up that mantle in his place. And he wasn’t going to let you, or Goose, or Carole down.

They were going to fix this. Someway. Somehow.

~~~~~

Bradley, as soon as he saw that something was off with Hangman, knew that something was probably off with you too. And when you didn’t answer his call, he went looking for you after work. He drove by your apartment and after a quick scan of the parking lot, moved on.

And when he saw your car parked in Maverick’s driveway, he pulled in. Getting out of the Bronco, he walked around the back and entered through the side door. Rooster spotted you standing in the kitchen, pouring yourself a drink. You looked up at the sound of footsteps before looking right back down, defeat written all over your features.

“Where’s Mav?” Bradley asked, looking around.

“He went out to grab dinner. Did you need him for something?”

“No, I came to check on you.”

“Why would you do that?” you asked, adding some ice cubes.

“Well, Hangman seemed off today.”

“Did he?” you questioned quietly.

“Yeah.” Bradley waited a moment before asking, “What happened between you guys?”

“Why? So that you can run off and yell at him?” you scoffed haughtily. “Or make some comment to him tomorrow in front of everyone and watch him bite his tongue? Or finally explode?”

“Are you okay?” Bradley asked you worriedly.

“Yeah, Brad. I’m really fucking peachy,” you snapped, causing him to wince. “Look at how okay I am. I’m living out of a bag in Mav’s house after having a massive fight with my boyfriend while I’m nearly six months pregnant with his baby. And one of the things that we were fighting about just so happened to be about how hard my family was on him. Comparing him to my ex. Making him feel like he wasn’t good enough to be with me. Telling him that he was going to be a shit dad.” Placing your hands on your hips, you glared at your brother. “Does any of that sound familiar, Bradley?”

When he didn’t respond, you grabbed the paper towel roll off the holder and threw it at Bradley’s head. And when that bounced off his arm, you reached over and yanked the dish towels off the oven and chucked them at him too. Bradley walked around the cabinets and grabbed the loaf of bread before you could throw it at him too.

“Just put the bread down,” Bradley tried to coax you, worried that you’d grab a knife next.

“Why the fuck did you say that shit to him!?” you yelled, pushing your brother in the chest.

Bradley called your name softly, but you kept pushing him away or trying to hit him. And when he grabbed your wrists gently, you finally broke down. Bradley, not sure what to say, just pulled you in for a hug. You didn’t fight him on that one.

“I love him, Bradley,” you sobbed, your whole body shaking. “Why’d you say that to him?”

“I’m sorry,” Bradley replied a few moments later.

“Are you? You wanted us to break up and now he’s probably shut down completely and is packing up the rest of my stuff in his apartment as we speak.”

“No, he’s not.”

“How do you know? Do the two of you talk now?”

“After your last appointment, he showed the whole squad and about half of the department the ultrasound. I had several people ask me if he had an identical twin brother playing a prank on everyone because he wasn’t acting like his usual asshole self.” Bradley paused for a moment before adding, “A man who’s that excited about his baby isn’t just going to walk away after a little fight.”

You slowly stopped crying, but you didn’t let go of your brother. And he didn’t let go of you. It kind of reminded you of when he came back home to grab some more of his stuff after his fight with Maverick. You were home and tossed everything but the kitchen sink at him for not calling you to tell you that he was alright.

“Everyone has fights. Emma kicked my ass out onto the couch before. We got through it. You’ll get through it too.”

Maverick walked in with a bag of food, not surprised to see Bradley standing there with you. You and Bradley slowly released each other, and you reached to grab a tissue, but paused when they weren’t at their usual spot. You must have thrown them at Bradley.

“I found them,” Maverick called, grabbing the box from behind the kitchen table.

~~~~~

Jake stared at the ceiling of Javy and Nat’s guest room. He hadn’t slept for more than three hours before the nightmares woke him up. You still hadn’t reached out to him, and he took that to mean that you decided to break up with him and the next time that he’d get to see you was in court about child support.

Well, at least he wasn’t crazy to assume that it could all blow up.

Getting out of bed, Jake got dressed. He usually went for a run after he woke up, but he didn’t even care anymore. He just wanted a coffee. But with his current streak, he’d fuck that up too. Not even bothering to shave, Jake headed out to the kitchen. He heard Phoenix and Javy already up and talking.

But when he turned the corner, Jake was surprised to see Maverick standing there.

“Morning, Jake,” Javy greeted him, placing a cup of coffee down.

Jake walked over quietly, reaching for the coffee. He didn’t respond verbally and simply stared down Maverick, waiting for him to explain his presence.

“Morning, Jake,” Maverick repeated in greeting.

“What are you doing here, Mav?” Jake asked, a bit defensive, but mostly exhausted.

“I came to ask if you were free for a chat,” Maverick replied calmly.

“Do I have a choice?”

“Of course, you have a choice, Jake.”

“Should I bring my photo ID? Or would you prefer to make it a little difficult for whoever drags my body out of the ditch to identify me?”

“You can bring whatever you want.” Maverick glanced between Jake, Javy, and Phoenix before moving to leave. “I’ll wait out in the car.”

Jake turned to Javy and Phoenix, who stared at him with encouraging looks as Maverick walked out of the house. Jake took a sip of his coffee before setting the cup down.

“Did you call him?” Jake grumbled, causing Javy to sigh.

“He called me because he’s worried about her.”

“What do you mean? Is she hurt? Is the baby hurt?” Jake asked urgently, but Phoenix quickly shut it down.

“No, just emotionally.”

“You talked to her?” Jake asked her.

“I texted her,” Phoenix answered honestly. “She responded, but not much.” After sharing a look with her husband, Phoenix added, “And she asked me about you. So, if you want to repair your relationship with her, go for the drive with Maverick.”

“You have nothing to lose by doing it,” Coyote added, causing Jake to look to where Maverick’s car was parked in the driveway.

~~~~~

Jake didn’t know what to think about Maverick taking him for a drive. He just sat and stared. Maverick started driving up the coast, letting Jake stew in the silence, before pulling off the coastal road. It was a random barren pull off with a stretch of sand beyond the pavement that wasn’t even a body length wide.

Jake guessed that Maverick wanted him to swim with the fishes.

They walked to the edge of the lot together, though they made no move to break the silence. Jake stared down at the dark waves, waiting for Maverick to speak. But Maverick was too busy staring off into the distance.

“What is this place?” Jake asked quietly.

“It’s the closest point to where my accident happened. The one that ended the life of my best friend. And the maternal grandfather of your child.”

“Why’d you bring me here?” Jake questioned quietly, sounding like he was walking on eggshells. “Do you even bring them here?”

“I brought Bradley here once. Not long after their mom died. But I never brought her here. I’m sure that Bradley mentioned it to her, but she never asked me to take her here.” A breath of silence passed between them before Maverick added, “I come out here to reflect. I guess it’s a type of therapy for me.”

“Why did you bring me here?” Jake asked again.

“You’re having a baby with my goddaughter. That means that you’re part of our unconventional family now. And despite what you may think about us, we know that we’re not perfect. We’re far from it.”

Maverick stared out at the waves, lost in his thoughts for a moment.

“My father died in Vietnam. He was a pilot and crashed after a dogfight. The State Department ran his name through the mud and sent my mother into a downward spiral. She died less than a year after my father. And then I went into foster care.”

Maverick turned to look at Jake out of the corner of his eye, though Jake did not return his stare.

“The only point that I’m trying to prove to you is that whatever you’re worried about sharing with her about your past, she’s not going to care. Your parents don’t define you. Their lives don’t define yours. And they’re not going to change how she feels about you.”

Maverick turned to Jake, his serious expression hidden by his sunglasses. Jake didn’t return his gaze directly, but his body did tilt more towards Maverick to show that he was listening.

“But she mentioned that you told her that you were trying to ‘protect’ her from your parents, which, as her godfather, raises some concerns.” Maverick folded his arms behind his back. “I don’t need any specifics. All I need to know is whether my goddaughter and her child are in any kind of physical danger.”

“They're not”

“Then what are you referring to?”

“My parents, the type of bullshit that they would try to pull would be financial. They would try to stop the transfer of any of my assets to her and the baby. At least ones that I inherited. They’re not the mafia, just some old money assholes trying to keep their wealth.”

“And the baby? They wouldn’t try any bullshit with the baby, right?” Maverick asked seriously.

“They wouldn't fight for custody. We’re not married and she’s not a choice that they would have ever made for me. They’d probably try to prove that the baby isn’t mine or do something else to cut off any sort of inheritance or child support from me or my estate. They wouldn’t want anything to do with the baby beyond that.”

“We can work with that,” Maverick stated calmly. “But you need to tell her what you told me and even more. If the two of you are going to raise a baby together and deal with whatever your parents throw at you, you need to be on the same page. And we’ll support you through it. All three of you.”

Jake nodded slowly, staring out at the waves in the distance before he looked down at his shoes.

~~~~~

You sat out on Maverick’s back porch in the shade, reading a book when you heard a car pull into the driveway. You assumed that it was just Maverick.

But when Jake came walking around the corner, you completely forgot about your book. Jake slowly walked over to you, stepping up onto the deck, and slowly sat down in the seat across from you. The two of you stared at each other for a moment in silence until Jake finally bucked up the courage to speak.

“Can we talk?” Jake asked softly.

“Yeah,” you returned quietly, shifting in your seat. “Of course, Jake.”

“How are you feeling today?” he awkwardly asked.

“Can we please cut past the small talk?” you inquired, causing Jake to pause, looking a bit surprised. A bit embarrassed, you rephrased your sentiment. “Sorry. I just really want to talk about our fight. It’s been eating away at me since I left.”

“I get it.”

Jake pulled out the envelope that set off a bomb in your relationship. He stared down at it for a moment before leaning over and holding it out to you. You started to reach out but hesitated.

“Read it,” Jake insisted, leaning further forward.

“Are you sure?” you asked quietly, gently taking the envelope from him.

“I want you to read it.”

You slowly opened the envelope and pulled out the card. It started out as a normal card would. But there were a few lines that jumped out at you that were distinctly odd. And by the end of it, you were more confused than you were when you started. You looked up at Jake and handed the card back to him. He placed it on the table between you and stared down at it, getting ready to begin his speech.

“I haven’t talked to my mom in five years. I wasn’t lying about that. But she has sent me a few cards, usually for my birthday, since then. Similar to this one. I’ve ignored them because I was happier without them in my life.” Jake slowly turned back to you. “And the reason why I stopped talking to my mom is because she is an extension of my father.”

Jake looked away for a moment, thinking over his next words carefully, before turning back to you. You were sitting calmly across from him, hands folded in front of your bump.

“My father is the type of guy to make his own kid call him ‘sir’ around the house. He wasn’t caring. He wasn’t ever there for me, except when I won an award or did well. And I caught him cheating on my mom at least three times myself.”

“Does she know that he’s cheating on her?” you asked softly.

“She’s known since the first affair. He’s not exactly a discreet guy. But she’s stayed with him for three reasons—her image in their community, her religion that preaches that divorce is a sin and a bunch of other bullcrap, and because he’s manipulated her into thinking that she owes him.”

“What does she owe him for?” you asked, growing more confused and concerned.

Jake paused, rubbing his hands together. He turned back to you and straightened up.

“Because she could never give him the biological son that he wanted more than anything else in the world,” Jake stated, causing you to blink rapidly.

“But . . . you . . .”

Jake let you fumble for a moment before finally dropping the bomb that he had held inside of him pretty much every day since he found out the news himself all those years ago.

“I’m adopted,” Jake explained calmly. “And you’re only the second person that I’ve ever told.”

“Jake, I never would have cared if you were adopted or not,” you reassured him. “And if I ever did, I’m sorry.”

“You never did. And I wasn’t scared to tell you that I was adopted. I was worried about explaining the story that comes along with it.”

Jake rubbed the back of his neck slowly, trying to figure out the best way to tell you.

“My parents tried to have a baby naturally for three years to no success. My father threatened to divorce my mother because she couldn’t give him a baby. And the bastard never stopped to consider the fact that he might be the problem.”

You sat back quietly, hearing the anger build in Jake’s tone and giving him the space to let those thoughts out.

“He never got any of his mistresses pregnant. If he did, he would have divorced her in a heartbeat and claimed that kid as his true son. And he could have easily pulled it off with a paternity test on me. No one else knew that I was adopted. He would have claimed that my mom got pregnant with another man’s baby and he probably would have gotten away with it. Maternity tests aren’t exactly common outside of adopted children and my mom was never going to expose the secret to the world.”

“There wasn’t any paperwork to say that you were adopted? Nothing?” you asked curiously.

“No, because my manipulative father and desperate mother did it all under the table. They found a woman who was unexpectedly pregnant. Vulnerable. Desperate. Apparently, she couldn’t tell her family about the baby and the father was gone. My mother took her to a doctor and paid for an ultrasound. Discovered that the woman was pregnant with a boy. And so began the sham.”

He couldn’t bear to look at you, afraid of what he would see in your eyes. But now that he had started, he wasn’t sure that he could stop until it was all out there and in the open.

“They took her in until she had the baby. They hid her away with my mother away from everyone for months to build up the story. And after I was born . . . they coerced her into giving me up. They told her that they would give me a better future than she ever would. They offered her money for her troubles and to write a letter to sell whatever story she told her family. And two weeks after I was born, she left.”

Jake stared at the ground for a long moment and only looked up when he heard you move. Picking his head up, Jake watched you as you slowly walked over to him. You hesitated when you drew close, but Jake didn’t pause when he reached out for you. Finding your seat in his lap, you wrapped your arms around his shoulders.

“The only thing that I can think to say . . . is I’m sorry,” you whispered, causing Jake to pull you closer. “That’s awful, that’s-that’s . . . psychotic. Criminal. Absolutely disgusting. I—” You cut yourself off, focusing on Jake in your arms again. “I’m so sorry, Jake.”

The two of you sat there for a long moment, just processing your conversation. You focused on rubbing Jake’s back and slowly combing your hand through his hair to try and soothe him. You could feel how tense he was and had to wonder how much he had worked himself up to tell you those dark secrets.

Jake didn’t say anything, keeping his face buried in the juncture of your neck. His arm was solid on your back, keeping you supported and close with his hand curled protectively around your bump.

Feeling Jake pick his head up, you turned to meet his gaze, letting him set the tone. He took another breath, leaning back and pulling you further into his lap and you had no qualms about curling up against his chest. You didn’t even realize how much you missed the simplest details about him.

“I don’t plan on ever inviting them back into my life,” Jake began, causing you to nod supportively. His voice cracked a bit as he continued, “And I know that you pictured a life with a guy who didn’t have such a fucked up family and past and—”

“—Jake,” you cut in, tears building in your own eyes. Cupping his cheeks with your hands as a tear slipped down Jake’s cheek, you let a few fall yourself. “I don’t care about any of that. It doesn’t matter what I pictured before I met you. You’re my baby’s father and you’re the man that I love and I don’t care about how your family is. I just care about you.”

“You love me?” Jake asked you softly.

“I love you, Jake Seresin,” you repeated with more confidence in your tone.

“You’re not going to leave me for being a complete asshole to you?” Jake added, his voice breaking again. “Because I hate myself for that. I hated that I said that the second that those words left my mouth.”

“Of course, I’m not leaving you, Jake,” you practically sobbed, tears quickly streaming down your cheeks. “I love you. I don’t want to leave you.”

“I love you too,” Jake returned softly, surprised by the amount of emotion in his voice. “I love you. I love our baby. And I don’t want to do anything else to jeopardize it and risk losing you. Because I can’t lose you. I can’t lose either of you.”

“You’re not,” you promised him, pulling him in for a tight hug again. “We’re not going anywhere.”

“I was stressed and I shouldn’t have taken it out on you. I just—when Cyclone told me about my promotion, he told me that there was a higher chance that I could get deployed over the next few weeks or months.”

“Jake,” you whimpered softly, drawing your fingers down his cheek. “It wouldn’t be your fault.”

“It would feel that way.”

“But it wouldn’t be,” you told him firmly. “I know that you want to be there, Jake. I’m not going to hold that against you. I knew that was a possibility. And I don’t want you to hold that against yourself, alright?”

“But—”

“—Alright,” you pressed more.

The two of you latched onto each other, letting your tears dry and fade. You felt Jake press a kiss to your neck and leaned into the touch when you suddenly jolted in his lap.

“What? What’s wrong?” Jake asked you quickly, causing you to smile.

“Nothing’s wrong. They’re just moving again. They scared me.” Moving Jake’s hand to rest over the side of your bump that your child was active around, even though he wouldn’t be able to actually feel them, you rested your head on his chest. “They weren’t moving around as much when I was here.”

“Do you need to go to the doctor?” Jake asked, staring worriedly down at your bump.

“I called yesterday. They said just to monitor them and to relax a little bit more. And they were right because now our child’s moving around again.” You leaned back against him as he curled his arm around your bump. “They’re going to be a handful? Aren’t they?”

“More than likely,” Jake agreed, sharing a smile with you before turning back to your bump. “But stop scaring your mom. Do you hear me?” After a moment, Jake turned back to you. “Can they hear me?”

“I think so. At my last appointment, they said that the baby should be responding to sound soon.”

Leaning down more so that he could speak directly to your bump, Jake repeated his earlier message, causing you to laugh. He picked his head back up and turned to you, smiling softly. You leaned forward and pressed a kiss to his cheek. He, in turn, pressed a kiss to your lips that you happily accepted.

“Do you think that you’re ready to come home with me?” Jake asked, causing you to nod quickly. “Then let’s get you packed.”

Jake got you packed in about ten minutes and as you pulled your snacks out of the cupboards, Maverick came walking back inside. He paused by the door, hanging up his keys, before walking over.

“You’re heading home?”

“Yeah. Thanks for taking me in for a little bit,” you replied softly.

“You’re always welcome.”

You pulled Maverick in for a hug and whispered your thanks again. Maverick gave you a squeeze and looked up when Jake came walking around the corner with your bag. Releasing you, Maverick stepped aside and let the two of you out the door.

“Drive safe.”

“We will,” you promised him, smiling over your shoulder at your godfather.

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[saturnville]

stolen moments, major john egan

pairing: major john "bucky" egan x black fem oc (amelia mae egan)

content: john manages to call amelia after not hearing her voice for weeks.

an: this was the top choice in the poll so far. I've been anxious to write so we knocked this off the list first lol. enjoy!

“Are you alright, Major?” 

They’d just arrived at a new station. It smelled like sweat and fear. Men streamed throught the doors like a school of fish. Their deep voices shook the brick walls as their conversations bellowed throughout the building. Dozens of men struggled to keep their composure. He was one of them.

He was overwhelmed. Tired. Desparate. His clothes felt tight against his body. The scent of gasoline and fumes clung to his vest. His hat damp and chilled against his forehead. His shoes were coated in black soot.

John’s eyes caught the telephone in the corner of the station. It was secluded from the rest of the quarters, in a corner, protected by a frosted glass divider. John's shoes grazed the dirty floor as he strode purposefully towards the telephone.

“M’fine. Head in and get your rest. Long day in the morning.” He didn’t know how he was able to make out coherent sentences. Gale stepped in, noticing his friend’s disheveled state and guided the men to the resting quarters. 

John’s shoes kissed the dirty floor as he stood long strides to the telephone. He shrugged off his backpack and slid it by his feet. His hands trembled as he plucked the phone off the hook and typed in the number he had engraved in his heart. 

It rang. And rang. And rang. His heartbeat was in his ears. His nails scratched as the black paint around the phone as he succumbed to his anxiety. He sent a silent prayer to God above. 

Then he heard it. “Hello?” John’s forehead tapped the frosted glass as he rested against it. Relief washed over him like a tidal wave. He’d never been particularly sensitive, but he was overwhelmed with emotion, good and bad, and hearing her sweet voice made his eyes well with tears. 

The words were stuck in his throat and all he could release was a heavy sigh. That seemed to be enough for her to identify the caller. “Johnny?” 

He shut his eyes. A lone tear fell from his eye. “Hey, Rosie.”

Amelia let out a soft cry. “Oh, thank God! I-I thought something happened to you; I hadn’t heard from you in weeks. Are you okay, where are you now? Is Gale alright, when are you coming…” His first instinct was to cut her rambling short, but the sound of her voice was the choir-like song his soul ached to hear. 

He’d gone three weeks without hearing her voice. It was the most tortuous three weeks of his life. For 21 days, he survived by remembering the last words she said before they hung up, Whatever you do, do not die on me, do you understand? I love you, John. I love you. I love you. I love you. It kept his heart beating.

A small smile tugged on his lips. “I’m okay, baby, I promise. Things got a little rough; didn’t stay in one place too long. I didn’t mean to scare you.”  

“I’m just happy to hear your voice…are you okay?” 

His stomach churned at her question. A feeling of despair threatened to creep upon him. Thirty men lost. A plane in the middle of the ocean. An uneasy stomach and even more uneasy mental state. His head pounded, his body shook with unwanted adrenaline, and his hands craved the feeling of her hot skin. He was not okay. 

“No,” he replied honestly, rubbing his eye with the stump of his palm. “I’m not okay but I will be. Especially because I get to talk to my favorite girl. Tell me about your day..”

He heard her heavy sigh. “Deflection won’t rid you of what you’re feeling.” 

“Talking about it won’t do too much good, either. It’s…it’s hard, Rose. I just.” John’s jaw clenched as he struggled to articulate what he felt. “I just can’t talk about it right now, Amelia. If I do, I don’t think I’ll be able to keep it together.” 

Silence stretched on, interrupted only by the sound of her shuffling on the other end. She was probably sitting at the edge of her bed. He imagined her, looking pretty in her long-sleeved pajamas and satin scarf, with a blanket tucked under her chin.

“Then how about this,” she started. “You make it home in one piece to tell me about it later, yeah?” 

“Always making demands,” John laughed. The first genuine sound of joy he’d made all day. And it made her smile. So wide that her cheeks were sore and her dimples made an appearance. “But you’ve got a deal.” He readied himself to speak again, but a tap on his shoulder interrupted him. 

Gale. Meeting with the CO in five minutes, he mouthed. John nodded. He ran a hand through his dirty hair. “Darlin’, I’ve got a meeting in five minutes; I’m sorry.  If I don’t call in the morning, know I love you, alright?” 

“I know. I love you, too. Don’t apologize. Just make it back to me.”

“Always.”

[constantinerkives]

PAIRING: Swim Team Captain! Yoo Jimin x Photojournalist! Fem reader _________________ WARNINGS: College AU, tsundere Karina, strangers to lovers trope, and fluff. OC is Pisces-coded but has a Capricorn rising sign and Capricorn Mercury because I am too, random I know but anyways, profanity, Jimin is aloof but cute and I like it, profanity, that's pretty much it, I guess. _________________ SYNOPSIS: Who knew falling into the pool was one surefire way of getting the swimming team captain's eye. _________________ A/N:

You asked I shall deliver. I based this one-shot on a song: Rose, by Taeyong and Seulgi. Have fun reading!

"Will it be okay for you to fill in Ryujin's stead?" Wendy, the senior EIC of the school paper, asks with her fingers knotted atop her office desk. "She got sick two days ago. I know it's sudden, and I understand if you don't-"

"I'll do it," You tell the older girl with a polite smile, "If my memory serves me correctly - she was assigned to take pictures of the inter-school competition of our swimming team, yes?"

Wendy mirrors your smile, albeit warmer. Her posture relaxed. "Yes. Yes, Y/N. And it's this weekend." 

You recount your task, "Then you're in luck, Wendy. I'm free this weekend." 

The brunette heaves a sigh of relief, "Good. That will be all, Miss Choi. You can go." You bowed your head in acknowledgment before exiting her office and proceeded to the university library to meet with your friend and confidant: Yunjin, who needs a copy of your captured photos for the school paper. 

"There you are," You whisper and sit next to the younger raven-haired beauty who's busy typing on her laptop. "What did Wendy want from you?" The latter inquires without tearing her eyes from the screen. "A substitute for Ryujin," You answer her as you lean next to her; eyes following the sea of words that showed events during the last competition. "Are you almost done?"

The raven-haired beauty mutters something decipherable, and you just let her be. 

"Okay," She stretches her back and gestures an open palm toward you. "The USB?"

You arch a brow at her, "Please?"

She mirrors your expression, "The USB, please, Y/N?"

A teasing grin graces your lips as you fish for it in your jacket pocket and give it to her. "Jeez," The latter grumbles before plugging it into her laptop. "Where and what?"

"Here at our university. I'll be taking the pictures of our swimming team." 

Finally, Yunjin tears her eyes off her screen and blinks at you. "A sports-based competition?" She muses, "That's a first." 

Indeed, for years that you've been a photojournalist, you were assigned to academic-based competitions. "That means you get to see Yonsei's pride." 

"Younsei's - what?"

She gives you a look, "For a journalist, you're not updated with the times here, Y/N. What would Wendy say?"

You scowl at her, "You can't blame me for being assigned to Academics, Yunjin." You brush her off, "Anyway. What about Yonsei's pride?" She curls her lips to a sardonic smile before typing away and presenting you with a photo of the team wearing Yonsei's varsity jackets and swimming trunks. There are four of them, and three of them are familiar to you: Sungchan, the first one on the right. Hyunjin is first on the left and Minjeong who's standing next to Hyunjin. 

You're familiar with the three of them. All except one. A girl standing in between Minjeong and Sungchan. The girl possesses fair skin, a small face, a V-shaped jaw, big yet fierce dark brown eyes, and a lithe physique. "So the team is the pride of the university?"

"No," She zooms in the photo of the girl. "She is. That's Karina Yoo, their captain." 

"She looks mean," You observed, and Yunjin chuckled, "You're not wrong."

Your jaw slacks, "Really?"

The latter hums in agreement and pauses. "A bitch is an appropriate term, bestie." You frown at her, "That's a bit too much." 

She scoffs at you, "Try interacting with her this weekend, and we'll see." 

"Whatever," You huffed and eyed your USB, "Are you done uploading my pictures to your folder?"

Yunjin unplugs it and places it atop the table. "Yep, thanks, girl." 

You observe the team from the bleachers with your camera in your hands as cheers ricochet against the walls of the spacious gym upon seeing your team make their appearance from the ground floor. Yonsei's team wore their signature swimsuit with the university's logo placed on the left lower front area of the men's swimming trunks, while for the women: it's located on the right upper breast of their partial bodysuit. 

You're not too far to get a clear shot. 

The girls of your university squealed when Sungchan flexed his toned body. Although impervious to such behavior, you can't help but admire the body of the swimmer before moving your gaze onto Minjeong, who waved at her fellow peers. Both men and women cheered for the auburn-haired girl while Hyunjin put his arm around Sungchan, who also waved to Yonsei's students.

"That's three of them," You tell yourself amongst the noise, "Where's the captain?" 

As if the universe answered, she finally appeared, and you swore you were about to go deaf due to their screams and cheers amplifying. 

Your eyes followed their gaze, and your jaw slacked. 

Karina Yoo's photos did not do her justice; she's drop-dead gorgeous in real life, and her lithe body is just a bonus to the grace that the girl exudes. You examine the captain. She couldn't be older than twenty-three.

"KARINA! KARINA! KARINA!" The students chant as she stands beside Minjeong - awaiting their opposing team while she converses with her team by huddling them. You take it as an opportunity to take their photo. 

But as you take another shot, Karina's eyes flicker in your direction.

Did she? Uncertainty and confusion seep into your thoughts as if you were shamelessly caught. 

You instinctively put your camera down. 

She returns her gaze to her members and continues speaking while they nod. You zoom the lens and take their photo. But this time, you don't put your camera down when Karina's sharp eyes look in your direction. There's something about her gaze that makes you fix your relaxed posture; as if she's looking through your camera, and it makes you feel small - that intense gaze of hers. 

You didn't take a picture and instead put your camera down. Perhaps the captain's sharp, piercing gaze meant that was enough as she and her team moved away from each other, but she stayed next to Minjeong and leaned close to the shorter girl's ear. The auburn-haired girl's eyes flicked in your direction before saying something to the taller girl. 

Paranoia creeps into your body. It's not like you have done something wrong, right? You were merely doing your job as a photojournalist for Yonsei. You tear your gaze from the pair and see the team they're competing against. 

You take it as your cue to descend from the bleachers as Karina's team makes their way to their assigned benches, leaving Hyunjin alone with his competitor. 

While descending from the bleachers, you can feel someone's eyes following you as you make your way to the indoor pool with your camera ready. You didn't dare look in fear of seeing that intense gaze as the referee blew his whistle for the two representatives of the opposing team, and make their way to the edge of the pool's ledge. 

"On your mark!" The referee bellows, "Get set. Go!"

You ready your camera. 

Sometime later, it was the captain's turn. 

Your peers chant the captain's name as she made her way to the pool's ledge. 

Due to your proximity to the pool's side, you locked eyes with her, and you swallowed harshly under her harsh gaze. 

"Jeez," You mutter as you tear your eyes from the older girl. "What's her deal?"

"On your mark!" The referee once again bellows, "Get set. Go!"

True to her title, Karina Yoo is Yonsei's pride. And so is the other members - they won and will be competing for the nationals three months from now. 

After the game, your peers went down to take pictures with the winning team. By this time, they change into dry clothes with towels draped over their shoulders, and you are standing next to the pool, checking your shots, when you hear your female colleagues scream Karina's name from behind. Out of curiosity, you look back to see a group of them running toward you - correction, you look in front to see the captain approaching them, leaving you beset on both sides.

Before you can react, one of them pushes you aside. Your eyes widen, and you instinctively put your hand where you're holding your camera up as you fall into the pool. 

"Oh no!" One of the students yell as you surface up with a gasp, look at your dry camera, and sigh in relief. "Are you okay?" One of them asks as they approach you intending to help. 

"Yes," You gasp, "Take the camera - be careful with it, please?" The student nods in compliance and takes your camera. 

You can feel holes burning on the side of your face, and without thinking, you look to the source and see Karina standing at the edge of the pool with wide eyes, her posture stiff and rigid, as if repulsed by the sight of you violating their pool. 

You flush under her gaze and reluctantly take the students' hands as they help you out of the pool and hurriedly take your camera from the other student. 

"Thank you," You tell them with a flushed face as you hastily exit the gym - facing burning with shock and humiliation. 

"Told you," Yunjin sneers, "A bitch." 

A whine leaves your lips as you slam your head against your desk. "Shut up - at least the students helped me." It's been a week since the minor incident, and you told Yunjin after you change into dry clothes in the university dorm. 

"Yeah," She snorts, "While the captain just glowers at you as if - what did you say?" She snaps her fingers, "Ah, as if you contaminated the pool." Then, she snickers. You glare at her while her lips curl to a teasing grin. 

"Whatever," You poke your tongue at her, and she relents by putting her hands up in mock surrender. "Look at the bright side," Your friend counters, "At least your camera's safe." 

"Yeah," You half-heartedly agree, "But I think I'm traumatized."

"Should I book your therapy?" She quips, "Oh wait, you're broke."

You scoff at her, "And? So are you." She stares at you, and you mimic her reaction before you two giggle as more students occupy the lecture hall. 

"Alright, students!" The professor says aloud as soon as he enters the room. "Take your seats - we have a new student joining us this semester." 

Murmurs echo while you and Yunjin share their curious looks as the older man looks at the entrance door. "Come in and introduce yourself." A familiar figure enters the room, and the class erupts with cheers and yells as Karina stands before all of you in casual wear in all-black: a cardigan with white accents, a tube top, denim jeans, and chunky sneakers, her hair is styled to a low, neat bun as she eyes the class, her gaze instantly meeting yours. You flinched and looked away from her and at Yunjin, who, in turn, looked at you. Both faces express surprise. 

"The fuck?" Yunjin mutters while you return to the new student, gaping. 

"I'm Karina Yoo," She announces, her voice is steely and attention-grabbing. "But most, if not all of you, know me as Yonsei's pride." 

The class yells and whistles in agreement. The professor holds his palm up, and the class quiets down. "Alright," Your professor gestures a hand at the vacant seats, "Thank you, Miss Yoo. You may take any seat." The captain bows her head and ascends to the elevated rows of seats with each student eyeing her expectantly for her to sit next to them. 

You quickly turn to Yunjin and grumble: "Just when I thought I'm finally free from what happened last week." She snickers at you, "Sucks to be you, my traumatized friend." 

A muffled pained groan reverberates from your lips, but you quickly stiffen as the captain walks past your row and takes a sit two seats above you. You sigh in relief and return your gaze to your professor preparing his presentation. 

"That bad, huh?" Yunjin observes as she takes out her laptop. 

"Yeah," You whisper. 

There it is again, that familiar burning feeling; as if someone's burning holes in the back of your head - it's the same feeling. But you chose to ignore it. Thirty minutes into the lecture, you couldn't ignore the feeling anymore and slowly peer over your shoulder. You almost jumped from your seat upon locking eyes with the swim captain. Her notebook lay forgotten. Instead, she was looking at you while the side of her face rested against her fist. Your skin prickles at the intensity, and you can feel your face flushing as her lips visibly curl upwards before slowly moving her gaze to the professor.

You quickly looked away from her and tried to focus on the discussion. But Professor Lee's words came and went out of your head. All you could do was mindlessly take notes and pictures of his slides and promise yourself that you'll go over your notes tonight. 

It went on for days; you could've been used to it now. But you're not. 

"I'm not being delusional, right?" You lock eyes with your friend, looking for reassurance. "I mean, it's not like I did something bad. I fell on the pool, for fuck's sake." You vent while the latter closes her laptop and sighs. "Have you tried asking her what's her problem?" 

You give her a look, "Are you kidding me?"

The raven-haired girl shrugs nonchalantly, "I mean - if you want an answer from her, just ask her directly." 

"Easier said than done," You mutter while she yawns. "I'll just ignore it, I guess? I mean, no harm, no foul, right?"

"Yeah," The latter looks at you, her relaxed expression turning serious. "But if she does something that makes you uncomfortable. Tell me immediately." On cue, the microwave dings. Dinner's ready. You're currently in her apartment; you can work together on your paper for the interschool competition due tomorrow. 

"I will," You smile at her and stand from her couch to grab your dinner. 

"Oh - come on!" You yell as the copies of the printed announcements; the latest news regarding the competition get whisked away by a couple of rushing students late for class. You put the other documents down on the floor, but not without putting your phone on top to ensure it doesn't fly away as you begin picking them from the floor. 

"Hey," A slightly deep feminine voice calls your attention, "You missed this last one."

"Oh?" You turn around and freeze as the captain of the swimming team holds the copy for you. You gawk at her while she moves her line of sight to the paper she's holding. 

"I look good in this photo," She remarks before looking at you. Her voice sounds softer this time. "Not bad for a picture taken from quite a distance." 

"Thanks," You smile politely at the older girl as you grip the papers you're holding to calm your nerves. She raises her brow and gently flaps the paper. "My hand's getting tired. Aren't you going to get it?"

"Right," You stammer and wince at the sound of your voice as you tentatively take the paper from her, and the latter walks away without saying a word. 

You let out a breath you didn't know you were holding as you looked at the paper she gave you before putting it with the rest. And as you continue your day, you couldn't help but replay the odd interaction you had with the captain. 

"Weird," Yunjin muses as you take your designated seats for your proceeding lecture which is in ten minutes - but something's out of the ordinary. 

There's a rose atop your desk with a pink ribbon tied around its stem. 

The taller girl looks at you with a playful grin, "Someone's into you." 

You roll your eyes at her and sit down, "Must be for another person." You say as you carefully examine the rose to ensure there's a tag - and that it's for the right person. You freeze in your seat, and Yunjin bends to read the tag in perfect handwriting and snickers. "It's yours, Y/N." 

A frown creeps in your features, "But who-"

"Keep it," She shrugs and leans closer, "What else does it say?"

"Nothing," 

The raven-haired hums and takes her seat next to you. "Anyways, keep it."

You look at her with a questioning look, "Why?"

"As evidence that someone has a good eye and chose my BFF, duh?"

You let out an exasperated groan and playfully pushed her shoulder. "Oh, shut up." 

Yunjin was about to say something when she closed her mouth, and her expression became guarded. You furrow your brows and slowly follow her gaze, "What's the matter-" Your words die in your throat as Karina takes her seat next to you. Your eyes widen to the point that they were about to pop out from their sockets and snap your neck in Yunjin's reaction; eyes asking for her aid. 

"Karina," Yunjin softly clears her throat, "What's the sudden change of places?"

"So I can see better," She answers curtly. Yunjin arches a brow, "You don't seem to have a problem being two seats away for the past couple of days?"

You sit there awkwardly while the two exchange cold pleasantries. 

Karina shifts in her seat and looks past you, "I'd like to sit here so I won't miss any key points in the professor's lecture. What's it to you?"

Yunjin opens her mouth, but you look at her, head shaking sideways. 

The latter huffs, "Alright then, enjoy the view." 

"Thanks," Karina monotonously replies as more students pile into the lecture hall. You look down at the rose and shrug, "Alright Yunjin," You delicately pick up the rose and insert it into your tote bag carefully. "I'll keep it, my bedside needs decorating anyway."

From the corner of your eye, you can see Karina looking at the rose before tearing her gaze as the professor enters the venue. 

"Alright students, settle down and prepare your books, notebooks, laptops - whatever you need to keep notes. We'll begin shortly."

Forty minutes into the lecture, you missed the previous slide. 

"Crap," You mutter, and just as you're about to ask Yunjin if she copied the previous slide, Karina slides her phone next to you. 

The screen showed a picture of the slide you missed. "Here," She whispers. You blink at her while she continues to take her notes. She must've sensed your staring and sighed, "Are you going to copy that or what?"

You snap from your reverie, "Right, right. Sorry - thank you." You whispered to her and copied the slide she pictured before sliding her phone back to her but made no move to put it back in her bag. 

"I saw that," Yunjin whispers, and you jump from your seat.

"Next slide - is everything okay up there, Miss Choi?" The professor calls. Your cheeks redden as all the students, including the captain, turn to look at you. Your cheeks burn, "Yes sir, sorry." 

He hums, "Moving on..."

Sometime later, it was lunchtime; you and Yunjin decided to eat outside of campus. 

"So Chaewon recommended this restaurant," She opens the door for you while you carry both your laptop bags, "They sell good meat here and noodles here." 

"You've been mentioning her a lot," You comment as you take a vacant table. The latter makes a face at you before looking at the menu displayed above the counter, "What do you want to eat?"

"I'll take spicy chicken and jjajangmyeon." 

"Cool. Sit here. I'll go order." 

You open your laptop, "And I'll pay you later." The taller girl hums and goes to the counter while you work on your task. "Do my eyes deceive me?" Another feminine voice speaks from the side. You look up from your screen, "Giselle," You greet the captain of the debate team with a smile as you close your laptop. The Korean-Japanese mirrors your smile as she inserts her hands in her jacket pocket. "It's been a while, Y/N. Are you going to eat alone?"

"No," You gesture a hand towards Yunjin who looks back and sends the other a wave. "Yunjin's eating with me. How about you? Are you going to eat alone?"

The brunette shakes her head sideways, "No, I'm also going to eat with someone." The door opens, and Giselle looks back. "There you are, Karina." 

You fought the urge to drop your smile as you locked eyes with the captain of the swimming team. "Giselle," The captain regards, "You invited someone for lunch too?"

"No, no." She chuckles and pats your shoulder, "This is Y/N, the photojournalist who came with us four months ago for the nationals." She then gestures a hand towards her friend, "Y/N is this-"

"Karina Yoo," You finish for her with a polite smile, "We're classmates in Professor Lee's class." 

There's a look on Giselle's face that you couldn't decipher as her eyes lit up.

"Ah, I see." She looks at Karina, who seems busy looking at the menu, and then looks at the two of you. "I'll order for us." 

"Alright, alright." Giselle agrees, "I'll go get us a table." Without another word, Karina left. The debate captain looks at you with a knowing smile as Yunjin arrives at your table with iced tea, "Hey, Gi." Yunjin greets her with a grin as she puts your drinks on the table. "Hey Jen," She gives you another pat, "I'll see you two around campus, yeah?"

A hum leaves your throat as you watch the latter take a sit two tables away from you and Yunjin as more people enter the restaurant. "So," Yunjin clears her throat, "Care to tell me what was Karina sharing with you during Professor Lee's class?"

You shrug and sip your beverage, "Nothing, it was just the slide I missed." 

"Okay, but what about the time your documents flew away?"

A frown graces your lips, "She was just helping." 

Yunjin hums, and you lean closer. "What? What is it?"

"Nothing," She nonchalantly replies, "It's just that Karina's overall mean attitude seems to tone down with you, that's all." 

"Astute observation, Yunjin." You roll your eyes at her, "Maybe she's just being a decent person? We're classmates, after all."

"Oh, yeah?" She challenges, "How come she doesn't give a damn about others?"

You open your mouth, but no words come out to your defense, and Yunjin's smirk makes you close it. 

"I don't know," 

"Be observant, Y/N." She clicks her tongue, "Who knows, maybe you got the Yoo privilege." 

You look at her incredulously, "I beg your pardon?"

"Yoo privilege," She snickers, "You like it? I made it while I was making my astute observation, and by that, I mean you have the privilege of her toning down her attitude toward you. I mean, she could be the one who placed the rose on your desk three days ago." 

You know where this conversation's going. "Are you saying that she likes me?"

"Maybe," She grins, "Observe her, Y/N. Observe how she acts with others; how she acts with you. Then you'll know."

You consider that as the waiter arrives with your order. You sense a familiar from the side of your face. You look up from your food and meet her dark brown eyes.

And this time, you didn't flinch.

You took Yunjin's advice and observed the captain. 

It wasn't hard to observe her. She was never far from you, which made it easy to detect whether she was looking at you before talking to her friends. 

But that still doesn't account for the roses on your desk. You tried, but with the number of deadlines piling up in journalism, you had to put your observation on pause. 

"Jesus!" You snap as one of the student's coffee spills on your shirt. Murmurs echo in the hall upon witnessing an incident. "God - I'm sorry-"

"Forget it," You snap at the student as you pull the drenched fabric away from your skin and gesture for the student to go away, "Just go." 

"Sorry again." The man says before awkwardly walking away while the others lose interest and walk away. "Fuck," You swore as you run your hand through your hair. "How the fuck am I supposed to go to the press conference looking like this?" You hiss as you swing your bag to the front to get your wipes. You hear footsteps approaching you and you scowl thinking it's the man who spilled coffee on you. 

"Man," You sigh without looking in their direction. "You don't need to come here and-"

"Y/N," Your ears perk at the familiar tone, and you slowly turn around to face Karina standing before you with her fist securing her monogram jacquard jacket. 

"Karina," You greet with slight surprise, "What are you doing here?"

She shakes her jacket, "Wear this." 

"I beg your pardon?"

Instead of frowning, she keeps her face calm and uses her other hand to gesture at your shirt. "I can see the outline of - well, you know..."

You look down, and your face flushes, and with your other hand, you cover your upper body while the other takes her jacket. But you stop upon seeing the logo of her jacket, and sheepishly look at her. 

"What's wrong?" She inquires. "I can't take this - it's expensive." 

Karina shifts her weight on the other foot. "You'll be late for your press conference if you don't take it, Y/N." She tells you with a tone that leaves no argument. Without another word, she leaves the hall, leaving you with her jacket. 

A frustrated sigh leaves your lips as you look at the expensive article of clothing before delicately donning it. 

"Woah," Yunjin muses upon seeing you enter the venue. "I know that isn't yours, Y/N. Whose is it?"

"Karina's," You take a seat next to her. The latter let out a mock gasp. "Yoo privilege." 

"Shut up, Yunjin." 

After the conference, you stop by the EIC's office only to be greeted with roses and a freshly brewed ice latte on your desk. 

"There you are!" Wendy grins as she stands next to you, "I receive our handler's feedback. You and Yunjin did a great job on the inter-school paper!"

"Yeah," You answer distractedly, "Who brought these on my desk?"

"Ah," Wendy frowns, "I didn't catch her name." 

Her?

You turn to your EIC, "Can you describe her for me? What was she wearing?"

The older girl pauses in thought. "Well, she was wearing a brushed ribbed knit top, white denim jeans with a beige tag on its left pocket, and black boots."

Exactly what Karina wore when she gave you her jacket. 

"I see," You mutter, and Wendy's face contorts with curiosity, "Why'd you ask?"

You brush her off, "It's nothing, thanks, Wendy." 

The latter smiles, "No problem," She then turns to leave the room. "Enjoy your iced latte!"

Once the older girl is out of sight, you quickly take the rose with a tag on it, it read:

I'm rooting for you at the press conference; I hope you like iced latte to savor your victory. 

-yjm

"YJM?" You move your line of sight to the iced latte, and beads of cold water slides down from the plastic cup. A smile creeps on your lips as you bring the cup's straw to your lips and take a sip, allowing the iced beverage to slide into your throat smoothly. You sigh in refreshment and place the drink on your desk. Your hands take the roses, careful from the thorns that could prick you as you study the delicate flower. 

"Yunjin will hear about this." 

"No way," She cackles, "So she lent you her jacket and even sent roses and an iced latte to the office? Damn, Y/N. You won in life." 

You carefully pick up the jacket and raise it, "How do I clean this?"

Yunjin takes the clothing from you, "Leave it to me. I know a place where they clean luxury clothing." 

"Alright," You sigh and collapse on her couch. "Oh, and Y/N?"

"Yeah?" You answer aloud as Yunjin makes her way back to the living room. "Did you know Girl's Generation is having a concert in Gocheok Sky Dome?"

Your ears perk, and you sit up straight, "No? When?"

"Two days from now," She tells you and frowns, "You didn't know?"

You give her a look, "I'm not updated - I've been busy." 

"Right," She sighs, "Why?"

"Chaewon got a ticket for me - I can give it to you if-"

"Woah, Yunjin," You stop her by grasping her shoulder. "She gave it to you. You're the one she invited to go with her. It would be rude if you gave it to someone else." 

Her features remain concerned, "Are you sure? Chaewon would understand-"

"Yunjin," You exasperated a sigh, "It's fine. She invited you."

A genuine smile graces your lips. "I'll be fine. Just remember to make a fan cam for me, yeah?"

The next day, Yunjin gives you Karina's jacket: freshly cleaned and neatly pressed. 

While conversing on your way to Professor Lee's class, your eyes shift to the entrance only to be greeted by Karina leaning her back against the wall next to the door. 

"Oh shit," Yunjin snickers quietly, and you nudge her by the elbow. "Sh,"

"Karina!" You call out and was about to give her jacket back when she cuts you off. "Just give it to me after Professor Lee's class." 

Confused, but you comply as she enters the room. You and Yunjin follow suit as your peers begin to fill the lecture hall. 

While the older man is discussing, Karina slides next to you, startling you with a jump as she ducks her head and drops her voice an octave lower. "I have something for you after class. Is it okay if we remain after everyone else left?"

You tear your eyes from the presentation to look at her. Your cheeks heat up as you meet Karina's soft, warm gaze, but her attractive face swims with uncertainty at your would-be reply. 

A soft smile creeps on your lips, "Sure, Karina. What is it anyway?"

Her features soften, and surprise etches on your face as her lips quirk to a playful smile. That's a first.

"It's a surprise," She winks before returning to her original position. 

You gape at her, surprised by this new side of her. You can't wait to know what she has in store for you after Mr. Lee's class. 

Fifty minutes later, the older gentleman dismisses the class. Everyone left except for you, Karina, and Yunjin. 

"You go first," You tell the raven-haired girl. Yunjin flashes you a grin before getting her bag, but not without whispering: "Yoo privilege" against your ear before leaving.

You huff at the latter as you get the paper bag containing Karina's jacket and hand it to her. "Here you go, Karina." 

The older girl looks at the paper bag and smiles. "Can you stand up?"

How odd, "Sure." 

You comply with her innocent request and hand the bag to her. "Here you go," 

Her lips tugged to a downward smile and retrieves the bag. "Thanks, Y/N."

You let out a hum while you two stand in silence. A sigh leaves the older girl's lips before she laughs lightly - and it sounds pleasant like chimes in the wind. 

"Ah - this is not what I envisioned it." She guffaws and scratches her nape. You can't help but chuckle at the older girl's disposition. "Take your time," You assure the raven-haired beauty as she inhales sharply. Is she new to this? How adorable, you thought to yourself as she closes her eyes and puffs her cheeks. 

"Ok," She opens them and clears her throat. "I'm afraid that I've made a bad impression when we first met, Y/N." She sighs, "Which is why I'm going to change that tomorrow."

Tomorrow? What does she mean?

On cue, she brings out a bouquet - well not really. More like two tickets wrapped in pink silk with a pastel ribbon secured around it. 

"I hope you like concerts, Y/N. Especially Girl's Generation."

My, did your heart skip a beat?

"Will you be my date for the concert, Y/N Choi?"

"Yes," You breathe, and Karina's smile morphs into a delighted grin. 

"You just made me the happiest girl, Y/N." 

Fin.

[anothertimdrakestan]

Hi Elle!! Hope all is well 💕💕

Can I request a headcanon or fic of where Dick and y/n have been in a serious relationship for a few years and OC has become a “mom figure” to all the other batboys. So when the batboys misunderstand Dick and OC getting into a big fight somewhere, they both come home (either to their place or to the manor) to find that the batboys have moved/thrown out all of Dick’s things because they love OC that much??

Thank youuu ☺️

Ahhh this is such a cute little idea!! Thank you so so much for the request it’s lovely to see an old friend <333

Found Family - Dick Grayson x Reader

Steph gave you a sympathetic smile as she poured the rest of the wine bottle into your now empty glass. “What’s wrong hun? Because if it’s boy troubles I will personally castrate Richard if he hurt you.” Which only made you sigh as you nodded. Her eyes widened, you and Dick never ever fought, and this foreign emotional territory was a shock to you too- hence the wine.

“Dick asked me to move in with him, but I’m not ready to leave my place! I love Gotham, and I’m not sure Bludhaven is where I’m meant to be. But I also know I could never leave him. I just told him I needed more time to think and I think he took it really personally. It’s not that I’m not ready to live with him, I’m just not ready to leave my life here even if it is just a town over.” You said, happy to put into words the emotions swirling in your chest.

“What?! You are NOT leaving Gotham anytime soon. What on earth would I do without you here?” Steph exclaimed, putting down her glass to pick up her phone, fingers typing frantically.

Less than a minute later, Tim was jogging into the Manor kitchen, “Dick’s tryna take Y/N from us? Over my dead body.” And before you could tell him otherwise, the young hero burst out the room, clearly on a type of war path.

“No! I love Dick and you guys, Bludhaven is great! I just need-”

“Taking down Richard has always been on my bucket list.” Damian’s snarky voice echoed through the manor as he stalked out the same door as Tim. You scrambled up and after him, but Steph side stepped in front of you, “don’t you dare try to fix this, we’ve got it!” Which only made you more nervous for the future of your relationship.

Before you knew it, another bottle was opened, and the colors of the Manor living room were awfully fuzzy. You were pretty sure you’d seen Jason, Tim, and Damian zipping in and out of the manor, each repeatedly promising an increasingly violent demise for your boyfriend, who’s radio silence was only making you more anxious. Steph, while physically with you, was terrifyingly glued to her phone, sending text after text- even taking the occasional call, but she was speaking quiet enough that your tipsy-mind couldn’t process the words flying out of her mouth.

You truly weren’t sure how much time had passed when Dick burst through the manor shouting “Stephanie Brown where the hell did you hide her!” And before you could shriek with excitement, Dick appeared in front of you, his eyes frantic until he saw you were okay.

“Dickie!” You cooed, outstretching your arms so he would scoop you up into a hug. And he did. He was breathing heavy, burying his head in the crook of your neck as he took a deep inhale. You were just giddy to see your handsome man, squeezing him tighter, wrapping your legs around his waist, happy to be carried as you weren’t sure you could stand in your current state.

“What on earth did they do to you sweetheart,” Dick mumbled, walking back towards the kitchen so you could place you on a counter, you leaned back to look up at his eyes. He swiped a hand over your cheek, you assumed you were still warm from the alcohol.

“She’s. Fine. Can’t say the same about you you selfish monster,” Steph slurred her speech, pointing an accusatory finger at Dick who gave you both a confused look.

Almost like a sitcom, the three other boys burst into the room, as if on cue.

“Step away from the woman Grayson!” Jason shouted as Damian lobbed the nearest manor antique he could get his hands on at Dick, who of course caught it effortlessly, setting it down next to you on the counter.

“What the hell is going on?” Dick raised his voice, but Tim was already in between the two of you, pushing Dick backwards as Damian hopped up onto the counter next to you, silently handing you a glass of water which you graciously took, enjoying the plot unfolding before you.

“No questions at this time Richard, as Y/N’s personal advisor I’m here to state the case.” Tim began, Jason and Damian nodding in agreement. Steph had her phone out, clearly filming the entire argument.

Tim continued, “it has come to our attention that you intend to take Y/N from us.”

“I asked her to move in with me?” Dick looked exasperated but intrigued by the way his brothers had turned on him in your name.

“And in doing so, you’d be removing her from Gotham, and therefore the four of us!” Tim concluded, and at the statement, Jason, Steph, and Damian mumbled angry agreements.

Dick scoffed, “I’m sorry, I thought she was my girlfriend, and you guys love coming to Bludhaven! With Y/N there it’s more reason for everyone to spend more time over there.”

Damian piped up immediately, “we hate Bludhaven Richard, Y/N is the only thing that makes it manageable.”

Jason snorted, “ever realized we only go over for dinner when Y/N is visiting you? Or that Steph only wants Sunday bagels in Bludhaven cuz Y/N spends the weekends there? Did you seriously think we just went over for you?” You cringed as the harsh tone, but Dick didn’t look offended, rather, proud?

Dick opened his mouth to retort, then closed it. Tim spoke up again, “Don’t worry Richard, I’ve already mended the problem at hand.”

Now Dick spoke up, “what the hell did you brats do now”.

“To the Zeta Tube!” Jason called, scooping you and Damian up in one arm and sprinting towards the teleporter, with Dick screeching for him to put you down following close behind. For once, Damian wasn’t squirming out of Jason’s grasp, rather he had quietly grabbed your hand, saying “I hope you love your new home” to you right before the Zeta Tube activated.

When you came through, Jason set you and Damian down happily, and you were situated in a fully furnished apartment. Furnished with your and Dick’s combined furniture. You froze for a moment, feeling like you were in a different dimension until you notice the window in the apartment. You recognized the block corner instantly.

“We refurbished an old safe house! It’s south west Gotham, so close enough to Bludhaven that Dick can’t whine too much, but only a couple minutes drive, or instant Zeta Tube to the manor!” Tim exclaimed excitedly.

Damian piped up, “we stripped Dick’s apartment to the ground to furnish it! Not like either of you will be needing it anyway!”

Dick had been silent, drinking in the new view. But he came up beside you to stare out the window, “I think they just made a compromise for us, but I do want you to love it. What I should’ve said earlier, is that I don’t need to be in Bludhaven, I need to be with you. You’re my home Y/N.” He pressed a kiss to your temple and you leaned back into his chest.

You spoke up, “I love it, and I love you, and I especially love you guys,” you turned around to face your family. Steph was grinning, Jason was nodding knowingly, Tim was off slightly adjusting furniture placements, and Damian was- wiping away a tear. Not worth pointing out, because he’d deny it anyway, but your heart was bursting knowing the little guy wanted you near just as badly as you wanted to be close to him.

“Tim! Get over here, it’s group hug time!” Dick called, throwing an arm around Jason and Steph while you scooped up Damian, who for the second time that day, wasn’t fighting back. Tim crashed into the hug and your swore you could feel your heart beating out of your chest with pride in your found family.

Tim’s phone vibrated and he shouted “Dick! You’re rich! The Bludhaven apartment just sold!” And Dick shrieked, “You put my apartment up for sale in a day!!” To which Damian shrugged, “not like there was anything in there after we were through.” Jason nodded in agreement saying: “yeah, you don’t even wanna know what plan B was if you said no to this place!” But Steph shushed him before he could divulge any more, most likely violent, secrets. You couldn’t help but grin knowing your family had your back no matter what, even if Dick was slightly concerned over his brother’s undying loyalty to you, it made staying in Gotham that much more worth it to you both.

“As your realtor I will be taking 15% of the profit! Gonna go meet the new tenants!” Tim called, beelining to the Zeta Tube before Dick could even try to tell him no. You gave Damian’s hair a ruffle, which he immediately tried to fix, as Jason and Steph nodded, knowing they could be over whenever, but you and Dick probably wanted a moment to get used to the new place.

And suddenly, it was quiet. The bustle of the Gotham streets was faint, and you walked through the apartment which was truly designed perfectly, imagining the dinner parties, late night adventures, and peaceful mornings you’d get to have in your new place.

“As much as I hate to admit it, they did good.” Dick broke the silence. You nodded in agreement, unable to wipe the heartfelt smile off your face, you gave him a peck and said, “They sure did, it feels good to be home.”

~

I hope you enjoyed!! Thank you again for the request!

[muniimyg]

SAUDADE // JJK

once found, now lost; it’s a love that lingers and struggles to find closure

+ 

jungkook and oc attempt to be friends after a break-up

navi | m. list | ask me ! |

pairing: (somewhat) badboy jk + oc 

au/genre:

post-break up au 

one shot

angst, smut, vibes...

warnings:

mentions of blood, drinking, smoking, and drunk driving

smut ! creampie ! 

self loathing / bad habits 

miscommunication 

note: dedicated to @joonsjuice because she flew to meet me & all we did was laugh abt my fics 😭 my biggest fan frfr … i promised her i’d write so… surprise !!!

🏷️ permanent taglist: @joonsjuice @taetaecatboy @pb-n-juju @miss-rainy-days @firesighgirl @whoa-jo @vantxx95 @pamzn @kakixaku @casspirit0705 @tae165 @prdshobi @sopebubbles @leefics @ggukkieland @bebebutbetter @yoongimentita7 @boraength @era-genius @heem145 @4ksj @vampcharxter @miss-jupiter @floweryjeons @taegijns

Tonight was no different from the other nights Jungkook would waste away. 

At least, it began like a regular Friday night party. It was the usual routine of getting high as he made his way to the party, some beer pong, and downing some shots of hard liquor, before stepping out to take a cigarette break. Soon, the night would be a blur and a pain in the ass of a headache to deal with the following morning. 

Except, tonight, the people Jungkook usually ignores were extra irritating. So irritating that one guy came up to him mid-puff and asked; “are you still fucking ___? Heard she dumped you and shit, so she’s up for grabs right? She’s here tonight and I heard that she was a virgin before she met you… My guy, did you fuck her out or is her pussy the type to be just as tight as it was when you first fucked her?”

It’s no surprise what happens next. 

A little cussing, a little shoving, and a little punch here and there… Suddenly turned into a full-blown fight with other people intervening and pulling Jungkook’s body off the imbecile. 

That brings him here. 

Jungkook struggles to fit his keys into his apartment locks and stumbles his way to his bathroom. There, runs a shower and steps in. He cleans himself, scrubbing the smell of his vices away. Blankly, he watches as the blood from his hands drips down and goes down the drain. When he finishes, he turns the water off and dries himself. Yet, his knuckles continue to bleed and for a split second, he sees how deep the cut is. His knuckles are absolutely busted. He wipes his foggy mirror and sighs at the sight of his face. 

His lip is also busted. His eyebrow piercing is messed up and his eye will probably bruise up by morning. Honestly, he didn’t lose the fight.. But, it sure came with a cost. 

Perhaps his adrenaline begins to wear off because his injuries begin to hurt like a bitch. He rummages through his cabinets and hisses, “fucking shit.”

He had no bandaids. 

He barely has any ointments to tend to his wounds. 

Jungkook winces at the pain as he runs water over his bloody knuckles. He’s been in fights before and even injured his hand a few months ago, but for some reason, this pain hits differently. It aches, it throbs, it feels like it’ll probably scar.

This stresses him out.

If the physical pain wasn’t bad enough, suddenly a million and one thoughts were flooding in and his heartbeat instantly begins to race. He could feel all his emotions come up and it made him nauseous. His head was spinning and before he knew it; his heart was beginning to ache. 

He was truly hurting. 

He had been thinking of you nonstop these days. It’s not like he ever got over the break-up—how could he? It’s only been three months since you. You two had been together for almost two years at that. How could he suddenly just be okay after three months of no you? If anything, he was only beginning to process the absence of you. 

It’s not like he cared if you were at this party or not. If anything, he was happy to know you were around him. Even if you’d probably ignore him or offer him a generic greeting; he’d take it. It didn’t bother him that you were here… What bothered him was the mere idea of you taking one step closer, one fingertip brushing against his as you two bump into each other in the crowd; one moment. One mere second where you’d look at him a little longer than you should. One mere second where you’d smile at him the same way as you used to and then it’d be over. 

He’d fall down to his knees and do it. 

He’d beg for you.

He’d make promises, fully knowing he’d probably break them within the week. He’d cry and then he’d loathe himself for the rest of his life. 

And loathe himself he does the minute he hears a knock on his door. 

Quickly, he puts on his grey sweats and makes his way to answer. Without much thought, he swings the door open and it reveals a barefoot you. 

“I figured you wouldn’t have any bandaids,” you hold out a plastic bag filled with First Aid materials. “We threw them out, remember? Because you promised me you wouldn’t get into fights and get hurt.”

“Where are your shoes?”

“M-my shoes? Oh. I had heels on. I think I left them at the pharmacy. I ran here.”

Jungkook sighs and shoves his hands into his pockets. He hangs his head low and mumbles, “I’m sorry.”

“I knew you were a bad boyfriend,” you choke, trying your best to keep it together. “But you didn’t need to break your promise.”

He looks up and is instantly wrapping his arms around you as you bury yourself in his chest. In between light sobs, you curl your fists and hit him. “I hate you.”

“I know.”

“I hate you so much,” you utter with as much annoyance as you can. “I really hate you, Jungkook.”

“I know, baby.”

“Don’t call me baby.”

“I—okay. Whatever you want.”

You take a deep breath and lift your head. You sniff as let him wipe your tears with his thumb. Swiftly, you take hold of his wrist and analyze his hands.

“I’m okay,” Jungkook promises. “It’s not that bad. Might need stitches but I’ll just go tomorrow morning. It’s kinda late.”

You roll your eyes at him. It’s just like him to neglect his health and well-being. “Hospitals are 24/7, Jungkook.”

“Yeah, but you’re here.” 

A beat. 

“So what?”

“You brought me bandaids.”

It feels weird being in Jungkook’s bathroom again. 

All you can think about are all the times you two stood side by side, brushing your teeth. How you’d flush the toilet while he was showering or how he’d barge in while you were taking yours. The slow morning back-hugs and the irritating haste of running late to plans.. It’s all in here. It all happened here as silly as it sounds.

Though it’s only been three months, it’s a bit painful to be sitting on the floor with him and patching him up as if the bandaids were going to fix anything. His cuts ran deep and the bandaids only covered the damage. Yet, you two sit there in silence and pretend like this is a solution. Like sticking bandaids on a wound that clearly needs stitches wasn’t an excuse to just be with him again. 

“This isn’t the you I know,” you comment, half-heartedly trying to pick a fight.

“It’s the me I’ve always been. I mean, isn’t this why you broke up with me?”

“No,” you shake your head in disagreement with his vile words.

Jungkook bites the inside of his cheeks. “I’m sorry for bringing so much shit in your life.”

“You didn’t,” you reassure him. “You don’t.”

You don’t say anything further. Could you even? The situation is already as horrible as it can be. Now, it has this awkward yet intimate pull on you. It just burns. If anything, you want to say it. You want to spit it all out and tell him everything. 

Tell him that you broke up with him because you would’ve stayed through it all. You would’ve bailed him out of every charge pressed against him. You would’ve forgiven him every time he forgot a important date. You would’ve gotten into the car even if you knew he had been drinking. You would’ve skipped every morning class to sleep in with him. You would’ve loved him more than your own life and that horrified you. 

Nonetheless, he was always good to you. You just wish he was good to himself. Though you believe him when he told you he loved you; you couldn’t wait for him to change. As much as you love him as he was—the essence of youth, anticipation, and longing he carried soon turned into a mess of anger and fuck ups. 

But how could you ever think that as he sits in front of you, hurting, and still completely in love with you?

Jungkook breaks the silence. “Thank you… For this.”

“Don’t thank me,” you say sternly. Peeling another bandaid and eyeing it to perfectly cover his wound, you encourage him; “just do better.”

“I’m trying,” he says softly. 

Your heart sinks. 

“I know,” you take out an ointment and squeeze a bit on a q tip. Tilting his face, you reach up and apply the medicine to the cuts on his face. “I believe you.”

It’s the truth. 

You do.

Jungkook can’t help himself. 

He wraps his hands on your wrist, causing you to pause. There’s a look in his eyes—the kind that makes your heart feel utter heartbreak and relief at the same time. It’s devastating… To love someone and want them so bad that it hurts. 

“J-Jungkook… Don’t,” you croak, trying your best to keep it together. “Don’t ruin this.”

“Ruin what?”

You push away. “This. I’m trying to be a friend, Jungkook. Don’t make it any more than it is. We broke up—”

“You dumped me,” he corrects you. “When did I ever say I didn’t want to be with you?”

“Jungkook—”

“Please, ___, I’m sorry. Believe me when I say that, okay?” He begs, bringing your hands to cup his face. “I can’t do this anymore. I hate not being with you.”

Your eyes tear up and your walls come crashing down. You hate the way he sounds right now. His voice sounds so desperate and honest. You’ve never heard it sound like this before.. Even when you dumped him, he was silent. This… This is new. 

“I don’t know what to say,” you admit. “Why are you sorry? How did it get this way?” It’s the most painful thing you’ve managed to say to him tonight. Your heart continues to break as his breath hitches. 

“I’m no good for heartache, baby.”

Your mind spins. 

Your stomach feels like it’s just been hit with a gust of wind so strong that you’ve lost all the words and thoughts you gathered before coming over. It’s like every reason you made up on your way here is just being tossed out the window. 

“You’re the only thing that ever made sense to me.”

Then, it hits. 

You remember exactly why you stayed for so long. Regardless of how much the break-up needed to be done, the truth remains; you and Jungkook have always understood each other. In any language and in any universe, that’s the most romantic feeling to ever encounter. To have the privilege of loving someone and understanding them runs deeper than any cut. 

You two stay silent for a moment, trying to process and convince yourselves to take your words back. Anything. Take anything back. 

But your attempt fails. 

Self-betrayal takes place as you lean in and close your eyes. Jungkook dips his head low and kisses you. Little drops of water fall down the side of your face because of Jungkook’s wet hair. Honestly, if someone had told you it was your tears; you’d believe them. At this point, did it really matter? 

For the first time in three months, Jungkook feels at ease.

His sheets still smell the same. They feel the same too. Soft, clean, and just so him. 

At first, Jungkook attempts to take charge. Just like before, he had you lie down to take care of you. Unfortunately for him, because of his condition, he wasn’t able to do much. Instead, he hovered on top and took his time kissing you. His hands wandered around your body, ultimately settling for the spot in between your neck and cheeks. 

Your hands traveled down inside his pants. 

“Calvin Klein boxers are still by far the hottest look on you,” you claim in between kisses. He smiles into the kiss and mumbles; “yeah, yeah.”

You laugh as he attempts to slip his fingers down your panties. He hisses in pain and groans. “I fucking hate this.”

“Oh? I can go—”

“Shut up.”

“Meanie.”

He rolls his eyes at you. “I’m literally trying to get you off and you’re insisting on leaving. Do you resent me that much?”

Shaking your head, you digress. “I don’t resent you.”

He kisses you in response. As he sinks into it, you put your hands on his waist and catch him off guard. You shift your weight and bring yourself on top of him. Making yourself comfortable, you roll your hips on top of his bulge and lift your arms. He sits up halfway and helps you take off your shirt. Without hesitating, he unclasps your bra and wraps his arms around you. He brings you down and kisses you so deeply. Slipping his tongue in and even biting your bottom lip as he breaks away for air. With as much strength as he can, he feels around your breast. 

God, this was the worst fucking time to have busted hands. 

“It’s okay,” you tell him as you take his hands off your breasts. “Let me take care of you.”

Jungkook gulps but nods and agrees with you. In all honesty, he was tired. He wants you so bad and this was helping him feel relieved. However, it was just too painful and inconvenient to part-take the same way as he used to. He’s glad you understand and are comfortable enough to take over. He’s glad he feels safe and that his ego wasn’t being jeopardized. 

He was no less of a man for letting you love him the way you do. If anything, it made him feel another level of security with you. 

You lift yourself a little and take his length out. On top, you continue to grind on his velvet skin. It feels so good even with the fabric of your panties. Jungkook moans, beginning to feel the tingly feeling arise. He hooks his thumb on one side of your panties and pushes the fabric aside. He pushes it just enough for your folds to come in contact with his cock. 

Oh, it felt so fucking good. 

You gasp a little before giggling. “Feels so good.”

Jungkook sharply inhales. “Baby, I’m gonna cum so fucking fast if you don’t start riding me.”

You laugh, but listen to him. You lift yourself up once again and this time, you sink into his throbbing cock. 

The precum from grinding on him makes it a little easier for you, but it still burns a bit. You stay still, trying to process the feeling and Jungkook takes a minute to calm his mind. He would literally bust a nut if you moved. 

“Okay,” you huff. “I’m good to go. Do you still need a minute?”

“Fuck you,” Jungkook breathes. 

“That’s a yes,” you tease. “I need to move or I’ll start to feel icky. You have ten more seconds.”

Jungkook glares at you. “Generous timing. Thank you, baby.”

“Aren’t I just the best?” you laugh, moving closer to him. You squish his cheeks together and place a kiss on his pouty lips. “Times up. Gonna ride you now.”

He takes a deep breath before placing his hands on your hips. You take that as the signal to begin. Also, you can’t help but love this view. 

His bare chest and tattoos are displayed so perfectly for you. His damp hair adds to his needy look. If you were standing, your knees would have buckled. Instead—and God bless—you’re here. On top of him, ready to ride the shit out of him. 

Easily, you begin to ride him. Every time you sink into his cock, you shift your body. You feel him inside you get harder and harder and love the way you can feel him hit your walls from various angles. It just feels so good to be with him again. 

As you ride him, you two fall into the perfect pace. The high kicks in and suddenly the view of your breast bouncing, you throwing your head back, and the way your wet pussy eats him up—he creams inside you. 

Satisfied, Jungkook lets out a breathy moan and watches his cum leak out of your pussy. You continue to ride him, but your hips move slower and you lift yourself up higher. Jungkook lifts his hips at one point and thrusts as you bounce. You gasp, unable to fathom just how fucking euphoric this feels. 

“Ohhh my god!”

You hit climax and cum.

After all that, your body practically trembles and falls on top of Jungkook. He holds you, runs his fingers through your hair, and tells you how much of a good job you did. As you catch your breath, your breathing stabilizes but also welcomes the sleepiest relief. 

As your eyes flutter close and your body fully collapses on Jungkook, he kisses the top of your head and murmurs; “you’re still the one, baby.”

When the sunlight seeps in, Jungkook slowly wakes up. 

Immediately, he feels a sharp pain in his hand. He looks over and sees that you’re holding it. His hand is kept close to your chest and quickly recalls the night. 

Though he feels a bit embarrassed that he had been that desperate for you; he’s glad it got him here. Yet, a feeling of sadness lingers because he was no idiot. 

Though you wake up next to him in the morning, bare and tangled in his embrace, Jungkook knows that deep down; even here—at the very end of you and him—you are you and he remains him.

The sad truth is that Jungkook understood it. He understood you. Which is why, he’ll never tell you why he got into a fight that night and also why he’ll continue to fight for you until the end.

“Even if it’s the end for us.”

[jm-2406]

Just a ring.

Pairing - Tommy Shelby X reader; Male OC x reader.

Summary - “he has asked me to marry him but I had to come here first. I need to know if you feel anything… anything at all for me.”

Word count - 2.1k (longest I ever wrote)

Note - flashback in italics.

Warnings - infidelity.

Cursive words made their way across the document as he led the pen from left to right, every movement a study in perfection. A famous business man like Thomas Shelby who hid his real business behind that of gin production and bookmaking, couldn't afford anything less than perfection. He pursed his lips as he focused on getting his signature just right, reading the already typed composition. Mergers, especially one as important as this one needed to be dealt with utmost care, and a very carefully crafted ‘brown nosing’ letter never hurt anyone.

He was feeling very pleased with his efforts when a loud noise from outside his office startled him. Throwing an angry glare towards the closed door, he cursed the person who disturbed him.

“You can't go in there Miss. He's very busy.” His secretary's voice reached his ears. “To hell with his schedule. I don't care.” The other voice responded sharply and he knew who that other person was. He mentally prepared himself for the upcoming drama, tiredly rubbing his eyes.

“I'm sorry Mr. Shelby, this—this Woman refused to make an appointment. Should I escort her out?”

Tommy eyed the girl in front of him; she stared back defiantly, challenging him. He wouldn't throw her out but that didn't mean that he couldn't make her sweat. The young woman in front of him started to fidget nervously the longer Tommy kept staring at her without a word. “It's okay George. You're excused.” The woman heaved a sigh of relief at his words.

Tommy turned to her and said coldly. “Now, to what do I owe the pleasure? What is it, [Y/L/N]? Say your piece and spare me. I am too busy right now.”

[Y/N] scoffed, wrapping her arms around herself as if she was trying to protect herself from his coldness. “Wow. So you can speak more than three words at a time and just my luck that you use them to dismiss me. ‘[Y/L/N]’, ‘my piece’... You are so intolerable Tommy.”

“Then why are you here, love?” He retorted flippantly but her next words made him stop his work.

“He knows…”

“Who knows what, [Y/N]?”

“Robert… he found your waistcoat under the bed… the one you forgot to put on because of some ‘important’ business.” She confessed, her voice shaky. She paused and then opened her mouth to continue, her voice cracking. “He didn't even ask who it belonged to. He said that it didn't matter. He blamed himself, you know…For being gone so often.”

Tommy kept staring at the papers on his desk, completely still. He didn't know what kind of response she was expecting but his mind went blank. He was about to say something when she dropped the final bomb. “He's asked me to marry him.”

Her eyes finally rose up from the floor. He could feel her willing him to look back at her; willing him to show any emotion. But the man kept staring at his desk, forcing himself to pick up the document and continue his letter.

“I haven't answered him yet.” She admitted, “I had to come here first. I had to see you, but you've been avoiding me and… I just need to know if you feel anything, anything at all for me.” She waited for him to respond, waited for any sign from him but he was as cold as ice and just as frozen as he signed his name at the end of his letter.

He continued his work robotically and took a breath only after hearing her footsteps shuffling closer to the door. “I meant what I said that night… I still do.” She whispered and then she was gone, missing the look that crossed his face.

After crying her heart out, [Y/N] kept staring at the end of the room blankly, her mind still stuck on everything that has happened in her life recently. “I am stronger than this.” She whispered to herself. Her head fell against the back of the couch, and she curled a leg up beside her, wrapping her arms around it as she glanced out the window.

It never should have happened, she knew that now, but she still couldn't bring herself to regret that it had. It had all started about six months ago, she and Robert had been having a lot of arguments around that time.

“You promised!” She raised her voice, fed up with his attitude.

“I know babe but this is urgent.” Robert said softly, trying to pacify her but it made her angrier instead.

“Fine. Go wherever you want to. Do whatever you want. But I am not going to keep changing my plans according to you every time. I am going to attend the Christmas Eve party… with or without you.”

“No. You can't do that [Y/N]. What will they say? My reputation will be thrashed.”

“Oh I can and I will. If you care about your ‘reputation’ then come to the event with me.” She asked one last time but only got a shake of head in return as Robert took his briefcase and left.

There at the party, [Y/N] found herself in the company of none other than Thomas Shelby, the Birmingham gangster turned businessman turned politician. Though she didn't trust him, she couldn't disagree that the man was charming. A few drinks later, she found herself up against a wall in one of the vast deserted hallways, moaning and thoroughly enjoying herself with a man that most definitely was not her boyfriend. That was how it all started.

Secret correspondence and casual meetings followed. Every time she would receive one of his notes or calls, she would hesitate and every time she gave in. She couldn't stop herself; he made her feel passionate, naughty, and desirable. It was everything she never felt with Robert thus she became addicted.

Over time, their Pattern seemed to change. It started with simple words after they were intimate and soon she found herself spending nights in his house. It went to a point where she would see Robert maybe once in two or three weeks for a date and spend almost every other day with Tommy.

After sometime she realized that her feelings for the two men had begun to change. Tommy had become her confidant and lover. On the other hand she found herself forgetting about the dates with Robert, arriving late when he called her, zoning out when he talked to her. She was figuring out what to do when the unexpected happened.

They were lying in his bed, quietly content after a night full of activity when her lips, engaged by a sleepy mind, betrayed her. “I think… I am falling for you.” Time froze. In one swift movement, her lover had stood from the bed and had placed his robe around his shoulders. He turned his back to her, making it clear that he didn't want to talk.

She remembered how she had sat there; hurt and humiliated beyond belief. It had taken all the strength and courage that she could muster to get dressed and leave that night. That was two weeks ago.

Truth to be told, when Robert had found Tommy's waistcoat under her bed, she felt relieved. Everything would be out in the open, she could move on but once again reality turned out to be quite different than her thoughts. Robert opened up to her about his behaviour and promised to work less, be with her more and that he wanted to marry her. Before she could blink, he was down on his knee, proposing to her.

“I… I need time, Robert.”

Now here she was, lamenting unrequited love and cursing her fate.

A week later -

[Y/N] pushed open the door of her flat with a tired sigh. She tossed her shoes into their space in her coat closet with one hand as she released the clip that held her hair with the other. Moving towards the kitchen cabinet, she uncorked the wine bottle and took a sip directly from the bottle.

“Long day?” A deep voice asked her.

She turned on her feet and observed the man in front of her. Tommy was sitting on the couch as if he owned the place. “What. Do. You. Want?” She asked slowly, proud of the bitterness in her voice. “Tommy…”

He didn't verbally respond; calling her to him with a gesture of his hands. She wanted to shout at him but she couldn't. He made her weak. He reached up with his fingers for her left hand, his thumb brushing over the diamond that sat there.

“I'm engaged…” She tried to stop the teasing fingertips from continuing their journey of exploring her body.

“Well… you're not married yet. It's just a ring.” He whispered, holding her face to make her look at him. She felt the pads of his fingertips gripping the ring on her third finger and slowly sliding it off. A metallic clink resonated in her ears as the ring fell to the floor.

The fight drained out of her as she sunk into her lover's arms. Her knees folding under her as his lips joined with hers. She knew that this night would be their final goodbye.

“Where is your engagement ring?”

“I… I must have forgotten it.”

“Forgotten it? On the night of our engagement party?” Robert questioned incredulously. They were interrupted by some other guests and they easily fell into the conversation, saving [Y/N] from trying to come up with more lies.

“How are you doing, Walker?” another voice interrupted the couple. Robert cursed seeing the person who disturbed his conversation with his fiancèe.

“How did you even enter Shelby? This is an invitation only party so kindly leave.”

Thomas smirked, raising his closed fist over [Y/N]'s glass of champagne. One by one he uncurled his fingers, dropping something small and shiny. Robert had a look of confusion and shock on his features as he realized that in the glass was [Y/N]'s engagement ring.

“I know I wasn't invited Walker, but I am here to collect what's mine… don't look so shocked. She hasn't been yours for a while.”

Before she could think, Robert punched Thomas, hard… and a fight started between the two. Robert's parents changed the topic and sent the guests on their way to save their image of respectful people. It wasn't until [Y/N] physically pulled Tommy back that he stopped. Even though Robert was a few centimetres taller than Tommy, he was no match for his muscles and strength.

“When did this… this thing start? Tell me everything, [Y/N]… honestly this time.” Robert pleaded.

“Six months ago. I was angry at you and I know it is wrong but… when I did go to the party, alone, no one paid any attention to me. Didn't even greet me with a simple ‘hello’. I felt as though I was only someone if I was with you. I felt so worthless. Tommy was at the party. He annoyed me and I took my anger out on him… I don't know how but the next thing I remember is kissing him; one thing lead to another and here we are… I am sorry Robert. I don't deserve you.”

Robert scoffed. He left immediately after throwing the ring down. His mouth did not say a word but his eyes conveyed the anger and hurt he was feeling.

[Y/N] turned to Tommy. “Well. It was a long day. Thank you for ruining my engagement party. Now I think we should go.” She stood from her chair but Tommy pulled her back by her wrist, making her sit on his lap. “What is it?” She asked him.

“You asked me that day, if I feel anything at all for you. The answer is, I don't. I feel everything for you, Miss [Y/N] [Y/L/N].” He said cupping her face in his hands and pressed his lips on hers.

She smiled in their kiss knowing for sure that the man whom she gave her heart to would do everything in his power to keep her safe and happy now that he finally realised what she meant to him.

THE END.

Find the Theo version here.

[doukeshi-kun]

𝙣𝙞𝙠𝙤𝙡𝙖𝙞 + 𝙗𝙚𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙖 𝙙𝙖𝙙

featuring ⨳ nikolai gogol, gn!reader + oc!daughter

contents ⨳ fluff, slight slight angst, reader isn't mentioned a lot, established relationship, the daughter is oc

notes ⨳ this is from the conversations in discord with friends who have collective baby fever and thirst for dad!nikolai in one random day

Nikolai is more than happy to pick up his daughter from kindergarten. Usually, you would pick her up since you have a small break just enough time for you to grab your daughter, buy her food and send her home. Nikolai's not home usually at four, busy with his shady business. So when you call him to go and pick up his daughter, he is over the moon.

He is already waiting by the car, eyes looking for his adorable daughter walking out from the gate. He is just casual, with a white button-up, rolled-up sleeves and a pair of black pants. But that's still enough for some people to take several glances at him.

Nikolai ignores their attention — he's only thirsty for the only person he loves the most, his beloved — you.

After about five minutes of waiting, he finally sees his daughter walks out of the gate. She is looking at the ground. Her white braid is hanging low and her green eyes are dull. She is clutching her red schoolbag, a bit tense.

Nikolai is a sensitive person — especially when it comes to emotions. So he certainly notices his daughter is acting weirdly. Yes, she's visibly distraught with her thoughts when she accidentally walks past Nikolai's car.

“Mari,” he calls.

His daughter, Mari, flinches out of her thoughts and turns around. Nikolai smiles and before he could crouch and opens his arms for her, she already runs straight into him, bumping into his legs.

“Papa!”

Nikolai chuckles, smiling affectionately. He pats her head — she is short, obviously, just reaching his knees. Nikolai crouches and hugs her, giving a smooch on her cheek.

“Papa pick me up?” Mari asks as her tiny hands hold his face. Nikolai coos, overwhelmed with the adoration in his heart. He nods.

“Yes, malyshka,” he replies as he pinches her cheek, making her whine in annoyance. Nikolai only laughs before he stands up again and opens the car door. He bends to help Mari to take off her school bag. There's a charm of red pompom hanging on her bag, similar to Nikolai's hair tie.

He puts the bag under the seat and then he picks her up, getting her onto the seat. He reaches for the seatbelt, putting it on her. “Comfy?” he asks and when she nods, Nikolai smiles proudly to himself. Before he closes the door, he kisses her forehead once.

He gets into the driver's seat and turns on the engine. He drives out from the kindergarten area, sometimes taking a glance at his still disturbed daughter.

“Rough day at school, malyshka?” he asks.

“Hm...” she nods a bit, stroking her braid sadly —that trait is very similar to what Nikolai would do when he's sulking towards you.

“Wanna tell me?”

“Papa... am I... am I ugly?” she asks, lips quivering and Nikolai almost brakes abruptly at the question. He frowns and immediately parks his car on the side of the street, looking at his daughter.

“No. No, you aren't ugly. What nonsense! Mari, you are the cutest girl in the world! The most adorable, the prettiest, the most glamorous!” Nikolai says. “Who said that?”

She's smiling at her dad's words but she's starting to sob. “T-These boys in my class... called me ugly and weird... They say meanie things! And... and then they touched my cheeks and...”

“They what?” Nikolai grips the steering wheel and has to internally exhale a deep breath without sighing out loud to his daughter.

“They say bad words to me... And they touched my cheeks...”

“.... Did they hurt you?”

“O-One of them... like... pinch it...”

“Does the teacher says anything?”

She shakes her head.

“Do you know their names? The boys?”

She says three names.

“Alright.”

Nikolai takes out his phone and types something in it. But not long before she tugs his sleeve. He turns to her and she looks scared.

“Papa... are you angry...? Y-You're scary now...”

Nikolai purses his lips — bad habits come up again. He suddenly remembers the frustrated words from his colleague — “Gogol, can you behave well? Your whole presence is scaring my customers. My God, why are you here in this casino anyway?”

Nikolai swallows hard. Of course... He was a very dangerous person several years ago. He made horrendous, gruesome and grotesque crimes. He killed people left and right. All to just reach his extreme ideals.

And now he's here, almost ten years later, having a family. Does he deserve this? After murdering a lot of people, taking them away from their families — and now he is having one, himself. Does he even deserve to have a family? Is he deserving of this future he's trying to live in when his past is constantly trailing in his shadow? Will this guilt follow him to hell and eat him slowly from inside? Will he find himself caged again? Will the freedom be out of his reach?

“Papa!”

Nikolai jumps at Mari's high-pitched scream. He looks at her and she's crying — she looks worried and she is panicked when she sees her dad being silent. She doesn't know why but she cannot help but feel a very scary feeling from his silence.

“Papa, a-are you sick? P-Please, I'm scared..!” she cries and Nikolai's heart breaks at her tears. He realizes he just daydreams about his inner chaos while his daughter needs him. This feels just as hurt when his beloved spouse is crying to him. Nikolai unbuckles her seatbelt and carefully picks her up to sit on his lap.

He hugs her, kissing her head.

“I'm okay... I'm okay, shh... Don't cry, okay? I'm not sick, alright? I'm just distraught.” his voice is soft and soothing as he strokes her hair — just the same as his. Her eyes are also just like his, except her face resembles her mother more.

“I just don't like what the boys did to you. I promise, I promise they won't hurt you or touch you or call you names anymore.” Nikolai looks at her and she stares before slowly nodding back. He smiles at her again.

“If they touch you anymore, you say what?”

“I say 'No'.”

“Good. Then, what else? What did papa teach you?”

“Then... you say.. uh.. I have to... kick their balls!”

Nikolai laughs and his laugh is contagious enough for the spirited girl to giggle. “Yes, you got it right! And then, if they touch your cheek, you will do this...” Nikolai forms a loose fist and slowly gestures it to her cheek, poking her skin with his knuckles. “Pow.” he says, playfully.

She grins, looking at him contently and follows his step. She clenches her tiny fist and pushes it to Nikolai's cheek. Though Nikolai does not even feel a thing, he purposely turns his head sideways, according to the direction, just to show Mari that she 'punches' him.

“Good girl! Yes, like that. And do it harder to them! Like really hard! That's called, a punch.”

"A... pun. Pun!”

Nikolai cackles, eyes almost close at how hard he smiles at his daughter's cuteness. “Okay, malyshka. That's close enough. Now, do we wanna get desserts? To cheer you up? Ice-cream or waffle?”

“Both!” she claps her hands excited. She's already imagining a thick waffle with drizzles of chocolate sauce, and two scoops of vanilla ice-cream topping the delicacy.

“Okay, let's go! I know bestest place for a waffle and ice-cream! Anything for you, okay?” Nikolai says before he puts her back to the seat and buckles her seatbelt.

BEEP!

“Goddamn!” Nikolai looks in the mirror, seeing a car honking at him before passing him. He clicks his tongue. “What the hell is his problem, dude?”

Mari gasps and slaps his hand. He looks at her, pouting, already he can listen your voice scolding him for saying bad words in front of the kids. “Bad words! Baddie words! Papa cannot say that!”

“I did not say anything.”

She gasps. “Gaslighting!”

“Where the hell did you learn that?”

©doukeshi-kun 2023 — do not copy, plagiarize and repost my works to any platform, more @cherikolya

if you like my works, consider buy me a ko-fi!

[tip-top-cloud-surfer]

To Be a Man - Hangman

Pairing: Hangman / Wife!OC (Sophie)

Word Count: 2.2k

This work, all my works, and my entire blog are 18+ Only

Warnings: Secret Marriage; Non-Traditional Family Dynamics; Mentioned Death of Minor OCs; Marriage of Convenience/Necessity; Mentions of Type 1 Diabetes; Third Person POV, Named OC kids and Wife, No Physical Descriptions of Any OCs

Summary: Hangman is married. And it’s no one else’s business.

Prologue Part 2 Part 3

Master List

A.N. Disclaimer - I don’t have Type 1 diabetes and so this is purely based off of a little research and what I’ve seen my friends with Type 1 do.

“You’re married!?”

Hangman turned around at the accusation to find the rest of the Daggers, save for Coyote, who he was talking to before they were so rudely interrupted, staring at him like he had grown a second head. He scoffed and rolled his eyes, not sure why it was any of their business.  

“Yeah, what’s it to you?”

“Who the hell are you married to?” Rooster asked, earning a condescending smirk from Hangman.

“My wife.”

“Well, no shit Sherlock.”

“Where’s your wedding ring then?” Payback questioned, leaning on the table to inspect Hangman’s left hand. “I’ve never seen you wear one around.”

“It’s on my dog tags, dipshits,” Hangman replied, pulling out the chain to show them, even though he didn’t have to do that. “That a crime?”

“Why do you flirt with other women then?” Bob inquired, sharing a look with Phoenix. “Two women gave you their numbers last night alone.”

“Did you see me calling either one of them?”

“Well . . . no, we didn’t, but—”

“—When did you get married?” Phoenix intervened, tilting her chin up and narrowing her eyes a bit. “And where is she?”

“Two years ago. And she’s driving here right now,” Hangman stated, checking his watch. Pulling out his phone, he looked up his wife’s location before turning back to the Daggers. “She’s about five minutes away, if you want to be specific.”

“She’s staying here with you?”

“For a while, yeah. Like anyone else’s spouse would,” Hangman retorted, getting a bit annoyed with all of the questions. “Why?”

“Well, we’ve got to meet Mrs. Seresin,” Rooster drawled, folding his arms across his chest. “Since we’ve heard so much about her.”

“Do you even have a picture of her?” Fanboy questioned, causing Hangman to shoot him an annoyed look.

“Yes.”

“Well, are you going to show it to us?”

“No,” Hangman snorted, shaking his head. “No, I’m not.”

The Daggers continued to list of questions that Hangman half-answered, half-gave bullshit responses, before Hangman spotted a familiar silver car rolling into the lot. Ignoring the Daggers, he set his drink down and got up from his seat, slipping around the railings on the back porch of the Hard Deck to greet his wife. Coyote was about to take a sip of his drink when he found five sets of eyes trained on him.

“I’m not telling you guys anything,” Coyote stated, shaking his head. “They’ll be here in five seconds.”

“So, you knew the whole time that Hangman was married?” Payback questioned, causing Coyote to nod in return. “And you never thought to mention that?”

“Not my business to tell.”

“Jake!” a shrill voice that definitely belonged to a little kid broke through the air.

The Daggers all quickly pivoted from Coyote to the boardwalk where a girl, probably around six, sprinted down the wooden path. Hangman picked up his pace and scooped her into his arms, lifting her off the ground effortlessly. And if the Daggers weren’t confused and befuddled before at Hangman’s personal life, they sure were now.

“He’s a dad!?”

“What the hell is he doing with a kid!? This is Hangman we’re talking about, right?”

“She called him Jake, dumbasses,” Phoenix pointed out, though she watched the interaction closely. “What kid calls their dad by their first name?”

Hangman kept walking with the girl in his arms, chatting excitedly with her. Then another kid, a boy probably three or four years old, jumped up onto the boardwalk and raced towards Hangman as well. The Daggers grew even more confused. Hangman leaned over and scooped him up like he weighed nothing, pressing a kiss to the side of the boy’s head.

A woman finally stepped out from in between two cars and pulled Jake in for a tight hug, which he tried to return as best he could with two kids in his arms. The Daggers watched their interaction like hawks but gave each other confused looks when the woman, who they presumed was Jake’s wife, pulled away with just a kiss pressed to his cheek.

“That’s his wife, right?” Rooster asked Coyote, who nodded. “They’re not that affectionate?”

“Maybe five strangers staring at them makes them a little uncomfortable,” Coyote suggested, taking a sip from his beer.

Hangman eventually led his family to the back of the Hard Deck, dreading the conversation that awaited him. Jake’s wife glanced up at the Daggers, who were clearly waiting for them, before turning to Jake. Nudging him gently with her hip, she jerked her head in the direction of his squad.

“Did you tell them anything?”

“Nope,” Jake replied, shaking his head. “Not a single thing.”

The family of four made their way up to the back deck. Setting Leila on the ground and taking her hand as they walked up the stairs, Hangman finally turned to face the stunned and even more curious Daggers. Leila hid a bit behind his leg, always a bit shy around strangers, but he rested a hand on her shoulder to remind her that he was there and that it was all alright.

“Everyone, this is my family. Family, these are the Daggers,” Hangman introduced, half-assed, earning an immediate poke in the side from his wife. Gritting his teeth slightly, Hangman restarted. “Daggers, this is Leila and this is Tyler and this is my wife, Sophie”

After Hangman introduced her, Sophie waved politely in greeting to the Daggers, who awkwardly waved back to her. Withholding an eyeroll, Hangman started on the introductions in the other direction.

“Guys, that’s Bob, Phoenix, Rooster, Fanboy, Payback, and you already know Coyote,��� Hangman listed off, pointing at each Dagger as he spoke.

“Javy!” Leila called, running over to greet him.

“Hey, Firecracker,” Coyote joked, picking Leila up and setting her on the stool that Hangman had been sitting on before.

From there, the awkwardness slowly dissipated. Very slowly, but it did dissipate just a bit. Leila and Tyler were running around on the back deck, laughing and stretching their legs after the long car ride down from Lemoore. Hangman had switched his beer for a water and returned from inside the bar with a drink for his wife, whose order he knew from heart.

They were in the middle of a conversation, though Hangman thought that it was bordering on an interrogation with some of the other Daggers when Sophie’s phone started to buzz with a weird ringtone. In an instant, Jake turned to where Leila and Tyler were playing.

“Tyler, come over here,” he called, causing them to stop.

Hangman picked up his wife’s phone and tapped it, causing Tyler to pout. Tyler begrudgingly trudged over to where Jake and Sophie were sitting and Jake quickly scooped him up and sat him on his lap. Meanwhile, Sophie had been rifling around in her purse, pulling out a separate bag.

“Fruit snacks or the granola bar?” his wife asked Tyler, holding out both items.

Tyler quickly leaned over and grabbed the fruit snacks before turning around to hand them to Hangman. Taking them without hesitation or delay, Hangman ripped the package open and poured the fruit snacks into his hand for Tyler, who started to slowly eat them one by one. The other Daggers seemed a bit confused, though Bob instantly recognized the situation.

“He’s Type 1?” Bob guessed, causing Sophie to nod sadly.

“Yes, he is,” she replied, checking her phone again. She showed Jake her screen, causing him to encourage Tyler to eat the remaining fruit snacks in his hand, before turning back to Bob. “You know someone with Type 1?”

“No, my dad has Type 2. My sister has the same set up on her phone,” Bob explained, causing Jake’s wife to nod slowly.

Tyler seemed a bit upset, though resigned to his situation, but Hangman did his best to try and make it enjoyable for him. Teasing Tyler for his choice in fruit snacks, hiding them and pretending to find them in random spots, and other very un-Hangman-like actions that caused most of the Daggers to grow even more confused at the situation, Hangman blocked all of that out and just focused on Tyler.

“Alright, just hang on for a second, bud,” Jake told Tyler, who clearly wanted to play again.

After they were sure that Tyler’s glucose levels were stable, Hangman set Tyler back on his own two feet. Leila, who had been chatting loudly with Coyote and Fanboy, let out a shriek and started to run after her brother again as if nothing had happened to disturb them in the first place.

“How long have you known that he has it?” Rooster asked, watching Leila and Tyler play.

“About two years now,” Sophie explained, folding her arms underneath her as she rested them on the picnic table. “He was only a couple months old when his doctor suspected something. Took some time to get an official diagnosis.”

“He doesn’t seem to let it get him down,” Payback commented, watching Tyler laugh and run around Coyote.

“No, he doesn’t,” Sophie replied with a soft smile. “He’s like my sister.”

“Your sister has Type 1 too?”

“No . . . she didn’t,” Sophie stated softly, her tone earning a few confused looks.

“Leila and Tyler are her niece and nephew,” Hangman supplied, gently resting the outside of his thigh against his wife’s own to remind her that he was there for her.

“My sister and her husband died a few years ago,” Sophie continued quietly, shifting a bit in her seat. “I got custody after they passed and after Jake and I got married, he adopted them.”

And suddenly all of the pieces were starting to fall into place.

Leila eventually came running over, asking if they could go down to the beach. Sophie got up to take them down herself, not trusting two kids who grew up in desert territory to know anything about ocean water safety. And when they were gone, all eyes fell on Hangman. After a long, drawn out sigh, he slowly narrowed his eyes at his squad mates.

“If any of you fuckers even think about going to the brass about it,” Hangman vowed, pointing menacingly over at the gathered Daggers.

“Dude, no one here is looking to take insulin from a little kid,” Fanboy stated quietly.

It wasn’t exactly uncommon for service members to get married for the benefits. And hell, you would have had to have been a completely selfish, heartless, brown-nosing government lapdog to try and get someone in trouble for making sure that a kid with a treatable condition lived happily without bankrupting his family.

“How did you meet your wife then? You knew her before the kids’ parents died?”

“Yeah. We were in a long term . . . situation-ship at the time,” Hangman recalled, earning familiar looks from his teammates. “And she told me that it was a lot to handle and she didn’t expect me to hang around, especially because I was deployed at the time. I came back home to visit her and saw how stressed she looked—she was crying, Tyler was still in the hospital at that point, Leila was barely talking . . .” Jake trailed off, a dark expression coming over his face. “I didn’t think. I just told her to marry me and I’d get it figured out. And I did. They live up with me in Lemoore now.”

“And you guys have an open relationship?” Rooster guessed, earning a sharp glare from Hangman immediately.

“No,” Jake replied bluntly.

“Not even a little?” Rooster asked, alluding to Hangman’s flirtatious personality.

“No,” Hangman stated, folding his arms in front of him. “We’re not.”

“But you’re not in love, are you?”

“That’s complicated,” Jake responded, loosening his posture a bit sheepishly.

“Yes, they are,” Coyote called back, earning a look from Hangman.

“Yes, they are what?” Sophie called out, strolling forward with Leila and a soaked Tyler beside her.

“What happened?” Jake asked, standing up from the table.

“Leila thought that it would be funny to push her brother into the ocean,” Sophie returned, shooting her niece a look. “She thought wrong.”

“He kept pulling on me!” Leila whined, stomping her foot on the ground. “I told him to stop! And he didn’t listen!”

“Well, that’s no reason to try to drown him. Go, sit on the bench right there. Now,” she ordered, causing Leila to huff but follow her order.

“I’ll take him,” Jake offered, walking forward to grab a soaked Tyler from his spot next to Sophie. “Come on, Ty, let’s get you dry.”

Jake reached out his hand for the keys, which his wife handed over without even a look in his direction. It was that smooth, that natural. Jake held Tyler, who had started to shiver despite the warmth, in his arms, not caring in the slightest that some of the ocean water was now soaking his own clothes. Coyote seemed rather amused at the shocked expressions on his teammate’s faces, which Jake blatantly ignored as he strolled away.

“What?” Sophie asked, spotting their confused expressions.

“Nothing,” they all echoed back to her.

Prologue Part 2 Part 3

[onlyswan]

summary: in which jungkook doesn’t understand you sometimes.

> fluff, suggestive / wc: 2.8k

> warnings: making out, oc likes calling him baby boy okayyyy

note: protective boyfriend jungkook i love you

—

with a sigh, you pull a sweatshirt over your head as the neighbor’s landline telephone continues ringing like it has been doing for the past hour. you shove your wallet in the deep pocket of your sweatpants, holding your phone as you shut the front door of your apartment.

the chilly air of the night engulfs you, and it makes you yawn again. you sniffle and wipe away the shallow tears at the very corners of your eyes, shivering like a leaf.

you feel a sense of relief wash over you when the familiar lights of the 24-hour convenience store appear before your eyes. the bells ring as you push the door open. there’s a few people inside, most probably looking for a cheap and quick late night dinner or snack.

you come back out with the tip of the watermelon slice popsicle between your lips. you skip along the quiet road, freely crossing to the empty playground illuminated by the warm streetlights. you make sure the swing is not dirty nor wet before sitting on it, pushing your feet on the ground to make it rock back and forth gently.

you scroll through instagram mindlessly, double tapping without even looking closely at the pictures appearing momentarily on your screen. celebrities. tattoo shops. art accounts. best friends. friends. friends you don’t talk to anymore.

your popsicle is halfway finished when the contact name ‘my baby’ pops on top of your screen.

my baby: Just got off work.. It was fun but tiring :( I hope you’re sleeping well. Goodnight I love you♡

you read it over and over again, a smile spreading on your lips. while jungkook constantly updates you throughout the day, it’s more often that you wake up to his goodnight messages. you happily start typing up a reply until your smile drops when you realize that you should be asleep on your bed, not riding a swing at almost two in the morning.

you slowly tap the backspace to delete one letter at a time, just as the popsicle dissolves on your tongue slowly as well. he scolds you when you go out of the house late at night, but the neighbor’s telephone and your own thoughts became too unbearable, and you just had to get some fresh air outside to maybe help you get a more comfortable sleep later, albeit late.

“oh fuck,” you curse with a wince when your phone plays a familiar ringtone, your boyfriend’s face and contact name shoved infront of your face. you have no other choice but to answer his call now.

“hey, baby. why are you still up? can’t sleep?” he sounds sweet and tender, voice quieter than it usually is as if he’s afraid of waking up. you’re fully awake right now, though.

it makes you smile again as you carry on with finishing your cold snack. “how did you know?”

“the three dots . . .” he trailed off with a laugh, and you can already imagine him shaking his head at you. “i always leave my phone open to our convo when i’m driving and they kept appearing and disappearing.”

“why the hell do you do that?” you whine, embarrassed by the way that you got caught in the headlights.

“incase there’s an emergency. so i can see it right away. it worked just now, see?” he answers proudly.

you kick your feet on the ground to express the giddiness he never fails to make you feel. he still surprises you with his thoughtfulness. “me having a hard time sleeping is an emergency?”

“of course, that’s not healthy! i can hear you eating ice cream, too. hmm, or is that a popsicle?”

you leave the remaining small piece of watermelon inside your mouth, the wooden stick hanging between your lips, before putting your hand over it in surprise.

“baby, what did i tell you about not going out alone at night? you should’ve called me.”

the thing is jungkook scolds you in such a tender manner that you immediately feel guilty for being stubborn. sure, you’ve had small fights here and there, but he has never raised his voice at you. while it’s true that he doesn’t want to scare you in any way, it’s really more that he can never get that upset or angry with you. he never projects his anger with others to you either. when he’s in a foul mood, he explains it to you and takes his time to cool off before spending time with you again. the usual remedy for this is boxing, and he lets you tag along and watch him train slash release the negativity in his body when you have the time. boxing, gaming, cursing movie or show villains. those are the only times you can recall seeing him angry on different levels.

“it’s so late. i didn’t want to bother you because i know you had a late schedule.” you confess, words slightly slurred because of the melting popsicle in your mouth. you quickly jog to the trash bins to throw away the stick before going back to your previous spot on the swing.

“just call me no matter what, baby, please? you know that i’m proud of you for being fearless, but i’m not.”

his pleading voice tugs at your heartstrings, and it takes everything in you not to squeal because there is currently no pillow that can hide that eardrum-shattering sound. “yah, what is this? why are you the sweetest boyfriend ever?”

“i am, aren’t i?” he answers cheekily, chuckling as you come into view. “then be good for your boyfriend and stop swinging so high like you’re riding the vikings.”

“how the fuck did you-” you stare at your phone in offense when you get cut off by the sound of the call being dropped. and then a familiar car parks only a few meters infront of you. out jungkook’s favorite stompers go before the rest of his body follows. huh, you thought these kind of scenarios only happened in the dramas.

he speed walks towards you, strong hands grabbing the chains to stabilize the swing that made you feel as though you were flying in the sky. well, it was nice while it lasted.

“hey, i was having fun.” you look up to him with a pout.

he roughly tugs at his black face mask to take it off, revealing the rest of his face to you. your pretty, bare-faced jungkook.

“how else will i kiss you if you keep on swinging like that?” he asks rhetorically as he hungrily eyes your glossy lips shaded red from the popsicle you consumed. he bends to connect his lips with yours, securely holding your face in his hands. his tongue begs for entrance, and you indulge him with rapture.

he licks his lips as he pulls away, the refreshing flavor heavily similar to your favorite lip balm and fruit shake order. “you’re making me addicted to watermelon.”

“i bought it to celebrate.”

“hmm, celebrate what? did i miss something?”

“i got a failing grade in chemistry!” you share with a delighted grin, and his mouth hangs open in utter confusion. he squats down to level with you as he tries to piece together the information he just learned and your bright enthusiasm about it.

“it’s not like i did it on purpose, you know? i really tried my best. but like, so this is what it feels like to fail! ah, i can’t believe it that i keep laughing when i think about it.” you slap your thigh as you hunch over in laughter. your forehead falls on his shoulder as your body shakes, and he shifts his weight to accommodate yours as well.

“baby, are you okay? isn’t this the denial stage? you-you can cry it out, if that’s what you need. it’s okay.” he strokes your hair comfortingly, pressing a small kiss on where your neck and shoulder meet.

he clearly recalls you crying a month ago, rambling about how you don’t understand anything about the subject because your new professor is a condescending asshole. that is the same reaction he is expecting, if not worse.

wait, isn’t it this the worse? has my baby succumbed into insanity?

you pull away with wide eyes, and he finds you so adorable he can’t help but to give you another kiss on the corner of your mouth while you talk. “no, no- i’m really okay. instead of sulking about my failure, i’m celebrating the new experience!”

“why do you look happier than when you get good grades?” he finds himself copying the same amused smile painted on your face, astounded by the mindset you’re choosing to go with. he has learned a new thing from you today: how to see life from a fresh and insightful perspective.

what a tender spirit you are, one he swears to cherish and protect.

“i don’t know either. why do i find it so funny?”

“i’m just glad you’re not beating yourself up over it.” he tucks your hair behind your right ear, gazing at you lovingly. his touch grazes down until it reaches your chin, tilting it down so his eyes can meet yours. “you’ll do better next time. i should help you study! we will ace it!”

“i don’t think i will.” you admit with a giggle, throwing your arms around jungkook. he stumbles back a bit until he hangs on the chains of the swing for balance. “but i won’t turn down the chance to spend more time with you.”

your words make his expression soften, and he buries his face in your neck to inhale your natural scent. “right after i sent my text i decided to turn around and come over to your place because i miss you.”

“oh, that’s how you found me then?”

“i didn’t have to find you. you stand out more than you think.”

you pull away, leaving your wrists limp over his shoulders. “like in a good way?”

“in a dangerous way. who rides the playground swing like an amusement park ride at this time? only you.” he quirks an eyebrow, hand squeezing your face to make your pout pop out.

after your boyfriend spelled out what you were doing before he arrived, your expression darkens in realization of how dumb you must’ve looked all alone in the playground.

“that sounds more like something you’d do. you just rubbed off on me.” you remark with a huff, holding his wrist to push his hand away.

“whatever helps you sleep at night, baby. let’s go home so we can cuddle.” he stands up to tower over you once again.

you frown in response, getting annoyed as the ringing sound plays in your head again. “don’t want to. the neighbor’s phone might still be ringing.”

“again?” this is the third time you’re complaining about it to him. “my place then.”

he chuckles when you spring on your feet swiftly, tugging him towards his car like a child forcing their parent to the toy store.

“wait, i’m craving that watermelon popsicle. let’s go there first.” he points at the deserted convenience store on the other side of the street.

you halt on your tracks, looking back at him with sad puppy eyes. “am i no longer enough for you? now you need the real thing?”

he scratches his head, caught off guard. “babe-”

you hide a smile, entertained with his reactions when you play around with his feelings. “okay, fine. my treat, since we’re celebrating.”

the cashier looks up from his phone to be greeted by a familiar customer purchasing the same item they did only thirty minutes ago. the only difference is that there’s a tattooed arm hanging on your shoulder this time around, which also smoothly leads you outside after you pay.

jungkook pulls you on his lap before you can even take a single step towards the chair facing him. an arm securely wraps around your waist as he devours the celebratory sweet treat you bought him. he poses for your front camera, making his doe eyes appear bigger as he bites off the tip of the watermelon slice. the red bumper light of a car passing by shines on his face.

he offers you a taste after, letting you suckle on it as he holds it up for you because you’re too preoccupied with checking the photos that you took. and as corny as it may sound, it hits him there and then. the epiphany that love shouldn’t be as difficult as he originally thought.

it shouldn’t be intense that it messes with his head, leaves him unable to function. it shouldn’t give him the same rush as driving a race car. it shouldn’t be crying and screaming and begging. he doesn’t need to slay a dragon, or sacrifice a part of himself. it takes work, but it doesn’t take away from him. because this, this trivial moment fulfills him in magnificent ways he can’t even dare to comprehend. because you have occupied all the space in his heart and made a home out of it— staying put through droughts and winters. because- god, because you redirect his hand to his mouth and mumble an affectionate my love, it’s yours and suddenly he wants to write you another love song on the spot.

“are you sure that you’re okay?” he checks up on you again, concerned that you might just be pretending to not be affected by your grade to avoid worrying him.

“i am. i really am!” you laugh, not tearing your eyes away from your screen as you scroll through instagram again. “i know i did the best i could at the moment, and that’s enough, because i can’t be the best at everything. i found my weakness as an imperfect human. i was bound to fail something at some point. it’s just the way life is. if i dwell on it too much, i’ll just end up failing my other subjects too.”

you may not be perfect based on your dictionary, but to jungkook, you are. so perfectly human, so perfectly you. your favorite flavor exploding sweet fireworks in his mouth. it’s so perfect how it’s so you.

“but if you ever feel sad, just remember that i’m by your side, okay?” he rubs your stomach, resting his chin on your shoulder to subtly take a peek of your instagram feed. huh, someone is on a honeymoon at greece. should he add it to his list since you liked the post?

“i know that you are, baby. besides, some did even worse than me so that helped me move on faster.”

his breath tickles your ears when he chortles at your confession, and you flinch with a giggle. “then should i help you study to do better than everyone? i’ll behave this time, i promise.”

you turn to look at him with a challenging look. “then that means none of that one right answer, one make-out session game again, right?”

he pouts at the mention of the game that got him banned from your study time months ago. “i’ll follow the rules this time. just a peck.”

you roll your eyes. “yeah, i don’t trust you.”

truth be told, you don’t trust yourself more.

“just behave and i’ll kiss you after we study, baby boy.”

he sighs in defeat, a hopeless case once you refer to him with the pet name. “can i have kiss right now then?”

you bite off the last piece of popsicle on the stick before sharing a french kiss with him. you caress his face gently, feeling the dips of his dimples as his tongue dances with yours. he pulls away with a satisfied hum, heart beating so loud he can feel it in his ears. with you, he never knows what he’s gonna get. he swallows down the remaining piece of the dessert, about the size of a pebble, that somehow ended up in his mouth. your hazy eyes follow the way his adam’s apple bobs, licking your lips unconsciously.

your shameless act doesn’t escape him. he chuckles as he wipes your wet chin with his black shirt. “you’re a messy eater.”

“but you like it when i’m sloppy-” you squeal when he covers your mouth with the cloth supposedly covering his abdomen, giggling uncontrollably as you paw at his forearms until he releases you.

you stand up to leave and he smacks your butt before following you. “you’re such a menace.”

“hurry! it’s so cold, i’m dying.” you complain, lacing your freezing hand with his.

he clicks his tongue, thinking about how questionable you are for eating a popsicle when you’re freezing your ass off. more so if he includes the fact that you bought it to commemorate your failing grade.

“wanna eat ramen at my place?”

—

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