#u gotta flip your bad leg under like he does

[bougiebutchbitch]

such a tiny thing, but I love House’s little one-legged bunny-hop for getting up off the floor quickly! Boioioioing~

(ignore the dialogue; his cellmate is seranading him)

my other joints are too dodgy to attempt this often, but I just tried it out and can confirm it is a v. fun way to get up with a dodgy leg if u are otherwise fit!

u gotta channel the bunny

[hansolmates]

busted in busan 

summary; you’re snowbound at the airport, when the only thing you want is to be homebound. your anxieties heighten as the snow rises, worried that you won’t make it in time for christmas where your fiancé and his parents expect you—picture perfect. when all flights are cancelled due to a massive storm, you have to turn to the hands of an unlikely, hard-headed hero who knows the fastest way out of busan (and into your heart) pairing; jungkook x (f) reader genre/warnings; a christmas detour!au, fluff, angst, slice of life, strangers to lovers, enemies to lovers, pining, this is a total romcom, hallmark movie galore! tw–microcheating (or not however you look at it) mentions of sex, making out, profanity w/c; 10k   a/n; for @suhdays​ holiday hallmark event! this event was totally up my lane, i couldn’t wait to post it! a huge thank u for @eerieedits​ for making this wonderful fic banner! this is totally unedited, i’ll to go back to it tonight but pls enjoy! for those of u who need a little more christmas charm this year, this is for u

if you loved this icy couple, please consider giving it a like n’share!⛄⛄⛄

“The Korean Air 1102 flight from Gimhae International Airport to Incheon International Airport will be delayed six hours due to the intense weather conditions. Please be on standby for any further updates.” 

You’re twitching, fighting the urge to nibble on your nails because you’ve just got them done for Christmas. They’re a sleek champagne gold, because your fiancé insisted that they’re far more mature than your usual red and brown reindeer art. This is awful, and is only going to get progressively worse as the snow builds and builds. Right now the weather isn’t that bad, the snow isn’t even sticking to the ground and—oh. 

Gnawing at your lip, your fingers brush over the cold window, a clear view of the landing strip you should currently be boarding. The touch is icy, and the pads of your fingers are enveloped in little rings of fog at the sudden warmth nudging the glass. Upon closer inspection and a squint of your eyes reveal that in fact, the snow is now sticking to the ground. Big, fat clumps are covering the freeway and destroying your Christmas plans. 

Your fiancé will understand if you’re a little late for their Christmas Eve party, but you’re not sure if his parents will. You’ve been on livewire all week, wanting to at least spend the morning of Christmas Eve with your family back home. Knowing that your fiancé’s Christmas Eve party would run until very late, you booked a noon flight with enough time to get ready and impress his parents. Evidently, it was an ill-prepared idea. 

Immediately falling into your terminal’s line, you hope that you can talk with the receptionist in hopes they could put you at ease. 

“How soon will you announce our flight’s departure?” A sad smile. 

“Is there any way you can put me on the next possible flight?” A shake of the head. 

“Will the weather let up?” A frown. 

Every bit of rejection weighs you down, and you’ve run out of questions to ask. For a receptionist, she’s not very receptive. 

“C’mon lady, you’re holding up the line,” a voice tugs you from behind, “you’re not the only one who’s gotta get down to the city on Christmas.” 

You fight the urge to roll your eyes, wanting to slap the rudeness off this man’s face. Instead of falling back in line, you move to the side to glare at him. He’s unfortunately attractive, albeit in a rugged sort-of way—nothing like your fiancé. The leather jacket that he carries tall is worn and crackly at the collar. Wavy dark hair he constantly has to hold back, a gesture that looks flirtatious and to your chagrin the receptionist is definitely recepting to him. 

“Your refund should be processed in about two to four business days, Mr. Jeon,” the receptionist murmurs, the simultaneously sultry and chirpy voice making you twitch in your spot. Maybe if you drank a cup of tall, dark and handsome you’d be getting the same kind of treatment. 

“Thanks,” he replies shortly, and it’s then you notice the extremely large luggage next to him. It’s the size of you, and despite the broad shoulders under the baggy jacket, he lugs it with careful force, making sure not to bump into anyone as he wheels it away from the counter. 

It seems that your trainers have a mind of your own as you follow him down the terminal. He side eyes you as your feet pick up the pace to match his long legs, but he waits for you to say something first. 

“Why did you ask for a refund?” you ask, frowning at him, “the flight is only delayed.” 

He scoffs, “Do you see the snow? They’re just saying it’s delayed so they can hold onto your money a little longer. Besides, it’s a win-win. I get my refund sooner and some other poor sap can take the ticket and wait until five in the morning.” 

“Five A.M.,” you exhale to yourself, slowing down. 

It would be too late by then, far too late. Your shoulders slump, people start to bump into you without a care. 

“Besides,” you hear his voice say from your stricken form, “I had a backup plan.” 

That’s when your feet start to burn up, and you whip around to pump your legs, catching up with the man who’s already far down the hall. “What kind of backup plan?” you blurt, raising your voice because the crowds are starting to get noisier and deeper the further you follow him. 

He hooks his lips into a confused frown, “You’re awfully nosy.” 

“I’m in a pinch, my fiancé’s parents will kill me if I don’t show up to their party tonight.” 

“Your fiancé’s parents… will kill you?” 

“That’s an exaggeration,” you cough, immediately feeling self-conscious, “they’d kill me with their eyes. They’re really big, really pretty corporate people. They have high expectations for their future in-law.” 

“Ah, and you're the country pumpkin who managed to sweep the rich guy off his feet?” 

“Something like that,” you reply, rocking on your heels, “my dad was his dad’s former secretary, and we grew up together.” 

The stranger with a plan stops in front of a long line. It’s so long that you’re not entirely sure where it leads to. People are piling out the door two at a time, and you can see they’re trying to get through the process as fast as possible. The window leading outside is blurry and caked in white ice. He hooks one leg over his luggage, the metal and plastic case is so high that his feet barely touch the ground. Like a kid with a flat scooter, he wheels himself through the line. 

“These lines are for busses going in the direction of our flight,” he jabs a finger out the door, “if the flight got cancelled I was just going to ride one of these,” out of his pocket he pulls out two tickets, flicking it in front of your face.

“Are there any tickets left?” your eyes bug, and you immediately pull out your phone to reserve a spot. 

“Nah, been booked since last month.” 

It’s then that your eyes zero in on the second ticket he has in hand. Both tickets are addressed to the same name. You lower your phone in your pocket, narrowing your eyes. “Why do you have two for yourself?” 

He pats his luggage as a response. 

“That’s not fair!” 

“It is when you buy it, sweetheart.” 

“A literal human could be in that spot, wanting to go home for Christmas!”

“You’re just salty you don’t have a ticket, don’t take it out on my luggage,” he feigns a pout, rubbing the handle of the heavy container, “you’re hurting it’s feelings.” 

It doesn’t take long for you and the stranger to reach the end of the line. To others in line the two of you look like two companions bickering good-naturedly, but in reality the only thing you want to do is slap that smug smile off his face. 

“You want my ticket,” he states. 

“I want your luggage’s ticket,” you bite back, staring petulantly at where he sits comfortably between the handle. 

Unbeknownst to you, the man’s face morphs into a teasing grin upon seeing you glare a little too hard at the silver and black case. It just so happens that your eyes gravitate to the middle of the luggage, at the apex between his long legs leading up to a pair of black sweats. Despite the soft, baggy fabric you can see how the bulge of his thighs outline the thin cotton, looking large and inviting which—

Fuck. You’re engaged. Why are you checking out some stranger’s thighs? Your fiancé also has nice thighs, think about those! 

“How much do you want for it?” you cough, crossing your arms and turning to the side to hide your flaming cheeks. 

“Who said I was offering?” 

“I’ll pay that and then some.”

“With your rich-boy’s money?” 

If your hands were not digging into your elbows and you weren’t so concerned about your gold-foiled manicure, you’d deck him. Do the holidays normally make this person so snappy? He simply flips his hair, and you catch the shaved ends of his sides. 

“Three-hundred,” he says easily, and if he notices you staring he doesn’t say anything, “including any extra fees for my luggage.”

“Done,” you hold out your hand for him to shake. 

“I’m Jungkook, if you care,” the man named Jungkook adds wryly, practically swallowing your small hand with his larger one. You shortly reply with your name, and he merely nods, “a thank you would suffice.” 

“Thanks,” and it’s then that you manage a scarily pretty smile, one that Jungkook finds both alarming and amusing. It’s a catered smile, one that you’ve trained yourself to accomplish after hours in the mirror in fear of your fiancé’s parents seeing right through you. It’s the smile you give during work when you don’t give a shit but you need to suck it up. It’s a 9/10 success rate. 

“Scary,” he shivers, and then you realize he’s the 1/10. 

The only bus for you two to pile on is one of the smallest. Probably half the size of a regular coach bus, but at this rate you don’t care. You’ll fly by hot air balloon if the weather wasn’t so crappy. 

“Taehyung!” you startle at Jungkook’s sudden belt, and he does a big, beefy-chested bro-hug to the driver. Ah, so he has connections. You watch the two interact from your corner, pulling up your hood to stop the rapidfire snowflakes from pelting your eyes. 

The driver is a classically handsome thing, dark eyes and dark fluffy hair. His paperbag pants look absolutely frigid however, and his teeth are chattering as he regards Jungkook with annoyed eyes. 

“Listen, so plans have changed—”

“As always, Kook.” 

“—and I need you to do me another solid. Do you have room in the compartment for my babies?” 

“The answer is, and always no. That’s why you bought two tickets.” 

“I know but,” he gestures to you with a jab of his thumb, “like I said, plans have changed.” 

“Jungkook,” Taehyung frowns, “trying to do some Christmas miracles? In this snowstorm?” Taehyung shakes his head, eyes flickering to the running bus. Most of the ticket holders are already on it. “I can save you two a three-seater, but there’s no room in the compartment. It’ll be a tight fight but—” 

“It’s perfect. You’re dynamite, Tae,” Jungkook even has the audacity to reach his hands out and squish the driver’s cheeks, much to his distain. 

The two of you are ushered quickly into the bus, leaving you in the very front diagonal to where Taehyung is sitting. The three seats are tiny, it probably barely fits Jungkook’s thighs with the large luggage nestled in the other two seats. The two of you suggest to put the luggage out in the aisle and take turns holding it, but Taehyung interjects that the luggage is a fire hazard. 

“But not a human,” Jungkook decides, and he gestures for you to sit down in the available seat. You’re practically shoved against the window as Jungkook manages to squeeze his gargantuan luggage in the other two seats. He’s tall enough to grab the metal rungs of the bus, steeling himself in the middle of the aisle.

Taehyung doesn’t fight with that, and finally puts the bus into drive. Pulling out of the airport feels akin to leaving the eye of the storm. It’s going to be a long journey, and it makes you worry as to whether you’re going to make it on time or not. 

Your favorite pastime is watching the window on a long car ride, especially when the snowflakes crystalize and melt away through the warmth of the vehicle. However, you’re irked. You thought Jungkook was a bit of a wank, a little too full of himself and far too mysterious for your own good. 

Exhibit A, the luggage that’s currently threatening to wheel over and crush you against the glass. You wonder what’s so special about this luggage that Jungkook so desperately wants to protect, even so far as to buy its own seat. Sneakily, you lean over to smell the zipper. Surprisingly, it smells a little vinegary, the fumes getting you a little lightheaded within seconds. Your eyes dart to Jungkook, who’s currently engaged in conversation with Taehyung. You tilt your head and sniff again, confirming the slightly rancid smell. 

It’s then you take in Jungkook’s form once more. He dresses a little schlubby, his clothes are old, his eyes are sunken in, and his luggage is filled with weird-smelling things. 

Oh no. Is Jungkook a drug dealer? 

Your fiancé’s parents would surely have a fit if this man gets arrested and you come up in the report as an accused accomplice. It makes sense, he would want to make sure that his goods are in his view at all times, and it explains why he so easily gave you his ticket for triple the actual price. 

A giggle interrupts your thoughts. Yes, a tired, yet bubbly giggle. Jungkook’s face is pressed against his bicep, and you catch the fluttering of his eyes as he tries to keep up with Taehyung’s rambling. His grip is starting to loosen on the metal bars, and you’re worried that he might accidentally slip, or not hold tight enough in the event the car takes a sharp turn or slips on black ice. 

“J-Jungkook,” it’s the first time you’re saying his name out loud, tasting it on your tongue as you regard him steadily, “why don’t we take turns sitting? I don’t mind standing for an hour while you sleep.” 

He regards you with a sleepy smirk, shaking his head against the fabric of his jacket. “You’ll be flung in two seconds, besides can you even reach the handles?” 

Good point, but Jungkook is far more muscular and if he does end up flying he’ll crash through the window and further hinder your commute. It’s why you choose your next words carefully, and you convince yourself it’s the only reason as to why you propose your solution. 

“I’ll sit on your lap,” and since it sounds super weird coming out of your mouth, you tack on, “I’ll put your jacket over your lap as a barrier.” 

He slacks, regarding you with a scrunched face. “Is the jacket supposed to make that situation any better? I’m fine standing like this.” 

“This ride is going to take hours and you’re barely on your own two feet,” your point is made when the bus topples over a speed bump, and Jungkook looks awfully small as he moves to grapple the top bar with both hands, “my fiancé doesn’t get jealous, I’ve sat in plenty of friend’s laps before.” 

“We’re not friends,” he blurts with a raise of his brows.

“Yes, I know that,” you’re a little insulted by the curt reply, but he still looks rather horrified that you’re proposing the following, “I don’t like it either, but I’m sitting in your seat and now I’m feeling guilty as hell.” 

It’s a lot of shuffling and shifting after that. You try not to laugh as Jungkook rips off his leather jacket, folding it into a perfect square, ironing out the corners of the crinkly fabric as he gestures for you to take a seat. You try not to take note of how sturdy his thighs are, or how the muscle stretches across the seat so well that there’s no way for you to fall between the cracks. 

“You’re going to sleep anyway,” you try to assure him, side eying him as he presses his forehead against the window, “it’ll be like being with a dead body.” 

“Didn’t know you were into necrophilia, but whatever floats your boat,” Jungkook mumbles, eyes immediately fluttering shut. 

At first it was easy, ignoring the fact that you’re sitting on top of a human. The drive seems endless however, Taehyung driving further and further into a sea of white ice. You force yourself to thread your fingers together, sitting on the very edge of his knees with your back ramrod straight. Eventually, you tire out and relax against Jungkook’s lax body. Your face is centimeters away from Jungkook’s. Long, dark lashes, and a strand of equally dark hair falls in front of his eyes. His cheeks are flushed from the blaring heater, and you let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding in. 

Hm, for a drug dealer, he smells pretty. 

Despite the weird-smelling luggage that looms over the two of you, the white long-sleeved shirt he wears is soft to the touch and smells fresh. 

You huff, and shift in your seat. 

“Stop,” Jungkook mumbles into your shoulder, and you don’t have the heart to look at him. 

“I’m sorry, it’s cramped,” you reply. 

“I get that, but you don’t have to—hike yourself so far up here,” he sounds almost embarrassed saying it, and his hand shuffles to adjust his belt. “Literally can’t sleep because you’re making me pop a boner.” 

“Why, I’m engaged!” 

“God, I know. It’s like your personality trait or something,” Jungkook retorts, “just because you’re engaged doesn’t stop my body from reacting. I’m sure your fiancé has reacted like this, stop acting like a blushing virgin.” 

You tense, your eyes glued to the window in front of you. How do you even make a comeback to that? Wringing your hands in your lap, you feel your palms sweat with nerves the longer it takes for you to reply. This causes the gears to run in Jungkook’s mind. 

“Holy fuck, have you two not—” 

“Shut up,” you hiss, turning your body around to slap him in the chest, “shut up shut upupupshutup!” 

You make seething, burning eye contact with Jungkook. You expect him to have a shit-eating grin on his face, teasing you for your relationship. Instead, Jungkook is wide-eyed, mouth parted open like a confused guppy and his big bug-eyes looking stricken. He says nothing. 

The road starts to get bumpier, and the drive swerves from time to time to avoid black ice. Neither of you are relaxed. Combined with the heart of the storm, your heart is currently wrung on electrical wire, pumping blood with a fervor you cannot stifle. 

“I’m going to put my arms around your waist,” Jungkook murmurs softly, and you lift your arms slightly to see him lace his fingers over your belly button. “Like a seatbelt.” 

You sigh, relaxing in his hold. Now it’s awkward. He feels compelled to hold you to keep you safe, even though he clearly finds it awkward you’ve already put him in this position. 

Jungkook isn’t so bad, you think as you let your gaze linger on his hands. They anchor you to his lap, making sure you’re not jostling during the ride. He may have a razor sharp tongue and gets under your nerves just for the heck of it, but he’s kind of nice. Under the prickly leather jacket, there’s a softness to him you can’t help but gravitate to. 

It’s dark outside, save for the speedily descending flakes and the dim lights of the highway. You’re sitting on the lap of a total stranger, yet it’s a stranger who’s holding your waist like he’s a seatbelt, a stranger who’s making you feel safe to say the words that have been haunting you for the past few months. 

“I’ve tried to initiate sex,” you finally say. “I don’t know why he doesn’t want me, it’s already been two years.” 

Your eyes turn red with bloody horror. Your vision blurred by the insanity of what you’ve just blurted out to this surprisingly kind stranger who’s offered his seat (both times) to you. 

“I didn’t mean to word vomit like that. Forget I said anything—” 

“Must be his loss,” Jungkook cuts you off, and when he says it doesn’t feel impolite at all. However, Jungkook doesn’t continue on, doesn’t give you rhyme or reason, just lets you linger on his reply like a madwoman. 

Maybe it’s because you’re so touch starved, maybe you’re just seeing things, but for some reason Jungkook’s fingers feel more apparent against the seam of your jacket. They tighten a fraction, drum around the metal zipper that holds the thick fabric together. Your palms feel like a fountain, and you try to ignore the burn between your legs, the liquid heat betraying the commitment that sits on your finger. 

You’re engaged to be married, you chastise yourself. All eighteen carats that symbolize that bond glare at you, bright and eager to make you feel guilty. The whole reason why you’re on this cramped bus ride is to get to your soon-to-be husband. Some pretty stranger with strong hands won’t change that. 

“We’re here! Finally!” Taehyung cheers, and you realize now that you’re parked into a tunnel surrounded by other buses. 

Jungkook and you wait until everyone steps off the bus. The pads of Jungkook’s fingers play an unsung tune, absentmindedly drumming to a song you can’t put your mind to. 

“God, you can’t just pay the extra money for someone to take care of this?” Taehyung hauls the large luggage in the aisle seat, and you feel like you’re being revealed under a curtain, doing something you’re not supposed to be doing. 

You hop off his lap, scoop your backpack in your arm and scramble off the bus. The cold, winter air bites into every available pore in your body, replacing the warmth that Jungkook gave in the tiny bus. You hike the collar of your oversized turtleneck higher up your chin, prickling in shivers as you wait for Jungkook. 

“I don’t remember Seoul being this, empty,” you say to yourself, frowning at the lack of humans past the bus station. You peer curiously at the dark, dark road off the terminal. There’s no flicker of light, or a skyline filled with bustling sounds and flickering head beams. 

“That’s because we’re only halfway there,” Jungkook walks past you, luggage in tow. 

“What?” you pull out your phone, it’s already 4PM and it’s pitch dark outside. 

The snow is beating down as you two speed walk out of the hangar, reaching a nearly vacant parking lot save for a pure white minivan. You barely notice the vehicle with all the snow, blending in perfectly as wave after wave of ice beats down on it. The pops of rust by the tires, gaudy orange stripes is the only thing you can focus on as you try to make it to the car as fast as possible. 

“Get in and start the car,” Jungkook practically shoves the keys in your hands, gesturing for you to take the passenger seat. 

When you enter his car, you’re hit with a scent scarily identical to the one in Jungkook’s luggage. You nearly gag when you inhale too much, and your eyes flicker over to the lemon air freshener attached to the exhaust, trying its best to mask the smell. You vaguely remember all the warning stories your parents told you as a kid—never enter the white van. 

Ohmygod, you’re in a white van and all of Jungkook’s drugs are in the back. 

You shake your head, willing the car to start as you arch your back over the console to start it up. You’ve been around your fiancé’s parents too long, letting them fill your head with judgemental gab and crazy assumptions only rich people have about people lesser than them. 

Once the car spurs to life, soft holiday music plays from a pop station. The front window of the car is absolutely covered in snow, you can’t even budge the windshield wipers to scrape the layer of ice off. 

Suddenly, a blanket of ice slides off the window, swept to the concrete. You’re met with Jungkook’s toothy smile and horror-esque stare, and you have this jerk reaction to nervously laugh and jump in your seat. Your nails dig into the cheap fabric of your seat as Jungkook’s scary expression melts into a more softened one, as if happy to have gotten you to laugh in such sucky times. Jungkook continues to brush your windows, meticulously making sure no ice can cause any damage as you two go into the night. 

“Alright, let’s get this show on the road!” Jungkook whips the door open, throwing the snow brush at the space between your feet. 

As soon as he shuts the door, your stomachs growl simultaneously. 

The two of you break into a quick laugh, giggles that overlap the twinkly holiday chimes and the packed snow crunching under Jungkook’s boots. 

“After McDonalds,” Jungkook declares, setting up the GPS for a quick pitstop to the nearest fast food joint. 

Ten minutes into the drive, you pull into a generic food joint, too starved to find gourmet McDonalds. You make it a point to flick your card and lean over his body to meet the cashier, telling him you’re spotting the meal. Jungkook doesn’t complain, and tells the cashier to add in a vanilla sundae for good measure. 

Color yourself impressed, but you can’t help but gawk as Jungkook expertly sets up his food on the dashboard like a five-star meal, with fries in the cupholder and a burger unwrapped perfectly to catch any spills and to keep his fingers from getting greased up. For such a terrible snowstorm, he pulls out of the joint gracefully, a brief intermission in your long journey. 

“So, is my fiancé’s place far from where you need to be?” 

Jungkook shrugs, a stray fry hanging from his mouth. “It’s not far, not close either. I don’t mind, I like driving.” 

“Do you drive around a lot?” 

“Yeah, for work. It’s a little annoying that I have to spend Christmas alone, but it is what it is.” 

Pausing on your speculation, you take a big bite of your burger. You were hoping that your conversation would spur on a little more detail about his drug-esque job. However, all you start to feel is the heaviness of your fast food meal, stemming from your chest and filling your grease-filled stomach. 

“You’re spending Christmas alone?” you say, and you don’t mean to sound so sad saying it, but the thought of him being alone tonight makes you feel pinched with pain. 

“I can practically feel your puppy-eyes,” Jungkook shakes his head, not even needing to look at you as he focuses on the road. “I’m fine, don’t you worry.” 

“Do you wanna come to the party?” you offer, trying to sound as neutral as possible as you throw the suggestion on the dash.

“Not my thing,” Jungkook scrunches his nose, “with my line of work, I prefer to lay low.” 

Trying not to feel a hurt by the sudden (but expected) rejection, you practically eat your burger whole, eyes glaring on the road. You surmise it’s a valid excuse, drug dealers aren’t exactly one for highly-populated areas and with your fiancé’s reputation, you’re sure his parents would smell Jungkook’s reputation in a micro-minute. 

The drive isn’t anything special. You’re sure if it were spring, the foliage would be pretty and the sun would be setting into melty orange hues by now. It’s all black and white, boring shades that are aggressively pelting at the van and hindering your evening. 

“So, what other character traits do you have?” Jungkook cuts through your semi-brooding, as easily as one slices through butter, “other than the obvious that you’re engaged, and that you’re getting married. And oh yeah, you have a fiancé!” 

You scoff at his cheesy joke, folding your arms together. “I like spending time with my family. Watching movies under a weighted blanket. Plants.” 

His stare dips away from the road for a fraction, enough for you to catch that he’s rolling his eyes, “Fascinating. Not a plant person myself. I like those cute little succulents though. Had a bunch of those in college.” 

“I am also a ramen connoisseur,” you say pointedly, turning up your nose. 

“Ah, are you?” you smile a little when you see Jungkook’s eyes light up at the mention of food, “what’s the criteria for good ramen?” 

“Deep, creamy broth. Also, the egg. Gotta look like a custard-y, eggy sunset. It’s just,” you smack your lips together, mimicking a chef’s kiss, “perfect.” 

He chuckles, and goes on to tell you a story about a ramen shop he’s visited on his travels. It’s one he declares that you need to visit, one he still dreams about often. It takes a ferry and it’s a bit of a trek, but he says it’s worth it, and the eggs are as custard-y and sunset-y as you’d like. 

It’s between pockets of his story and pulling yourself out of this little bubble of a van you realize:  are you flirting with Jungkook? 

The longer this trip goes, the more your stares linger. They linger like the snow that sticks to the ground, unable to do nothing but cling. Layer after layer of confusing feelings, building up to a blizzard that you’re unable to quell. 

“So, your family’s also going to be at your fiancé’s party?” Jungkook asks, poking at yet another one of your personal facets. He’s being blatantly nosy, yet neither of you seem to mind. 

“Oh, no,” you shove your hands in your pockets, “they wanted to stay back in our hometown with the extended family. Y’know, the older members can’t really travel as much as they used to.” 

“Ah, so you’re splitting up your time,” Jungkook drums his hands on the wheel, eyes drooped slightly as he continues along the monotonous road, “your fiancé couldn’t make it?” 

“Couldn’t,” you reply lightly, “just, y’know, work.” 

“Been there, done that,” Jungkook replies, “I’m sure he missed out though. What’s your family like? Are they the type to bake cookies until 3 A.M.? Oh, or do they get wine drunk and talk shit about their annoying cousins—” 

“Jungkook,” the words fly out of your mouth before you can even think, “I’m engaged.” 

The weight of your words holds differently now. A whole day has passed with this man, and you’ve developed an attachment that simultaneously scares and thrills you. Not an hour goes by that you have to think to yourself that you’re taken, to the point that you can’t even tell what’s in your head and what’s being spoken out in the air. 

Instead of a snippy comment, a snarky retort of, “I know, I know!” like you anticipate, Jungkook stops the car. 

There’s no human trace for miles, so it doesn’t scare you when he slows down and pulls off to the side. He gears the car into park, roughly pulling the handle. He lays his arm over the steering wheel, turning his body so he can face you fully. The heat in the car suddenly feels too cloying, and you shrink in the seat as he leans in on you. 

“What is that supposed to mean?” he asks, and from the looks of it, he’s genuinely hurt. 

“I—Jungkook,” you plant your feet on the ground, trying to find some power in this situation, “I mean I, we—you just can’t keep doing this.” 

“Do you feel like I’m trying to steal you away? Or, seduce you or something?” Jungkook is starting to talk himself into a stupor, eyes flickering from the window, to you, to behind you, and back to you. It’s almost jarring, seeing how self-conscious he starts to get without the presence of an audience. Gone is the smooth talker that you met at the terminal, willing to haggle it all for your cash. “Are you uncomfortable? Is it weird I have a crush on you?” 

“Wait, you have a crush on me?” 

He reels back, nearly pressing his head against the window. Jungkook runs a hand through his hair, exhaling deep from his lungs. “Adults still get crushes, y’know.” 

“Yeah, but not to people you met eight hours ago.” 

Jungkook arches a brow, “People fall for people in the most unlikely of ways.” 

That singular statement hits you, hard. 

Jungkook looks like he wants to get out of the van. He seems stuffy, and he unzips his coat and shoves it under his legs. 

“You’re cute,” he echoes the statement like he can’t believe that in a short amount of time, he’s attached to you, “you seem to have good taste, you love family, and your personality isn’t half bad,” the last bit is meant to be teasing, a lighthearted way to end his bout of emotion, but it only makes you ache further, “And it makes me upset knowing that you have to keep convincing yourself that you’re in a relationship that isn’t as fulfilling as you hope. This whole drive, you’ve been anxious about going to his parents, worrying that you’re not going to make it on time instead of relaxing with your family. Where you actually want to be.” 

“I also want to be with Jimin,” you say weakly, a half-hearted attempt to defend yourself. 

You never mentioned your fiancé’s name until this point. It makes Jungkook stiffen a little, finally putting a name to the man that’s supposed to have your heart. It makes the relationship concrete, palpable. 

“I’m sure you do,” Jungkook smacks his lips, evidently sealing the conversation to suffocate under the snow. 

Jungkook puts the car into drive, sliding back into your current route. 

“And to answer your question, Jungkook. No, you having a crush on me is not weird,” and smaller, quieter, you reply, “because it’s weird that I might have a crush on you, too.”

You know that Jungkook catches your statement, because he cranks the volume of the radio harder, effectively shutting you out.  

The first thing Jungkook says when you finally reach the Park’s house is: “Wow.” 

His van looks completely out of place, parked on the side as limos and Escalades drop off more and more people into the large estate. It’s pouring with elegant piano music, and the large window in the middle of their home reveals a century-old chandelier, crystals beaming and winking against the hundreds of guests that lie underneath. 

The rest of the way driving was almost painfully fast. After that awkward wave of emotion, neither of you said anything. Well, you didn’t at least. Jungkook attempted to clear the air by singing along to the Christmas songs on the radio, but it only further attracted you because to your chagrin—Jungkook’s a pretty good singer. 

The estate isn’t in Seoul persay, it’s a sizable plot of land that definitely comes from old money. It’s decked up like the North Pole, lit up and tiny crystal lines dotting the expanse of the rooftops. The snow certainly adds to it, and many guests are outside taking pictures of the picture-perfect holiday show. The blizzard has finally subsided, leaving a clean blanket of snow across their yard.

You scoff to yourself. What they find to be a Christmas miracle only derailed yours. 

Jungkook stares at you while you send a quick text to Jimin. You tell him he needs to come fast, because you don’t want his parents to see you all sweaty and dressed like you’ve been traveling for hours. 

“Oh, uh,” you finally take a look at him, and you immediately regret it because you’re getting sucked into his gaze, “I think you put my bag in the trunk?” 

“Right,” he shakes his head, “follow me.” 

He tilts his head down when he’s outside, as if the snow’s going to start back up and drown him. Your thumb scratches the ring on your finger as you hop out of the van, effectively popping the bubble the two of you have been sealed in for the better half of the evening. Is this going to be it? Is the last you’ll see of Jeon Jungkook? 

All those thoughts evaporate when Jungkook opens the trunk. 

There’s no drugs. 

In fact, you don’t even know what to think. The van is absolutely filled, wall-to-wall art supplies and canvas carefully lined up like Tetris blocks to avoid damage. The floor of the van seems to receive the brunt of the messes, and you catch recent paint stains and spray cans stacked to the side. It explains the smell. 

There’s some clear cases in a corner, protecting completed prints that are already framed. Your eyes cling to a vibrant hyacinth, coral and satin blue petals bunching in the middle of a black background. It’s absolutely gorgeous, if it wasn’t for all the paint lying around, you’d think it’s real. 

Jungkook’s an artist. 

“Holy shit, I thought you were a drug dealer,” you blurt, and you want to smack yourself in the face. 

 “Excuse me?” Jungkook jerks his head towards you, “did you think I was a drug dealer this whole time?” 

“N-no,” you frown petulantly, letting Jungkook loop your arms through the straps of your backpack. “Maybe. You were very shady.” 

He laughs, a genuine laugh. It confuses you, the way he tucks his hands in his pockets and bends his back over to look up at you through his dark lashes. It’s like nothing’s wrong, like he’s trying to erase the past eight hours and leave with no qualms. You don’t know if that comforts you or terrifies you. 

“So, you were willing to let a potentially dangerous man be your travel partner for eight hours so you can make it to your fiancé’s party?” Jungkook’s eyes flicker over to the front door, “you must really love him.” 

“I do,” you say the phrase like it’s second nature. Rehearsed. Practiced. 

“Merry Christmas,” Jungkook pulls out his hand, and you don’t hesitate to grasp it. 

Liquid heat sparks through your skin, one that tingles from where his large palm encases yours, all the way to your heart. 

“Merry Christmas,” you echo, and your feet feel like lead as you back away from him. 

Jungkook waits until you go inside the house, even though the valet is side eyeing him and mentally telling him to leave already. Turning your back to him is rough, like you’re without snowshoes and you’re trudging through snow. 

The goodbye feels rushed. Your heart is cold and heavy. Unfortunately, by the time you realize you haven’t paid Jungkook for his bus ticket and the ride, it’s too late. Jimin has already pulled you in his awaiting arms, and Jungkook has peeled out of the driveway. 

“You look awful,” Jimin coddles you, dusting the invisible dirt off your jacket. You know Jimin means well by the statement, but you can’t help but feel a little unsupported by his words. You did all you could to make it to Jimin in time for this party full of faceless, nameless people. And yet, Jimin inadvertently manages to put you down for finally making it. 

The hallway is relatively empty, save for one staff member who cleans the wet linoleum floors whenever someone with snow steps in. You can easily make out where the heart of the party is, the tinkly holiday music playing from the speakers, along with all the bodies huddled by the extra large Christmas tree that is brimming with presents. 

You do feel like a wet noodle, in comparison to Jimin and Namjoon’s complementary pinstripe suits. Jimin’s deep burgundy suit pops in the endless hallway of marble and light wood as he quickly leads you upstairs to a spare room for you to change. Namjoon’s more muted grey still looks stunning on him, cutting his tall figure nicely. You think it’s cute that Jimin made an effort to match with his assistant, not making him feel out of place in this big party. 

“I hope you don’t mind,” Namjoon interjects softly, gesturing to the garment bag hanging on the boudoir, “I picked out your dress.” 

“I’m sure whatever you bought is beautiful,” you assure softly, stepping fully into the room. It’s an extra bedroom, you’re assuming it might be yours. 

“We’ll give you some time to freshen up and get ready,” Jimin squeezes your arm, a touch you can barely feel due to the puffiness of your down jacket. It’s just an awkward escape of air to you, a sssttt that you catch Namjoon hiding his smile for, “we’ll walk around a bit and bring you some food.” 

“I want cupcakes,” you blurt impulsively, and the two of them laugh on their way out the door. 

Once you’re finally alone, you strip yourself bare. Jacket, shirt, socks, underwear. You make quick work of taking a hot, damp towel to wash your arms and legs, scrubbing your face of any oil and dirt from the day. You wrap yourself in an indulgent fluffy robe, the plush material comforting you as you flop on the bed. 

It’s been a day. 

You take a five minute cat nap, the weight of the day taking its toll on you. When you finally flutter your eyes open however, you see him. 

It’s not exactly him, it’s his art. It’s mounted right atop the headboard, a large blown up painting of a tiger lily. The orange and gold flecks flicker and go perfectly with the decor of the room. The piece is longing, aching for you to go back to two hours ago when you could’ve phrased your words better, balm the situation into something to salvage. This must be a sign, you think. Upon closer look, you see the signature Jeon JK etched in silver in the corner. Who knew the Parks were buying Jeon Jungkook’s work, the world is smaller than you’d originally thought. 

It ignites you. You rip the zipper of the garment bag, pulling on the slinky glittery gold dress Namjoon picked out for you. It’s gorgeous, and you don’t know how he managed to find your proportions, but you figure an assistant of his caliber has access to many things. You don’t have much time, so you slap on some light makeup and swipe some highlights across your eyes. By the time Jimin returns, you’re pulling your hair up and out of your face. 

Jimin walks to the bed with a pretty red velvet cupcake, “You look beautiful,” he says immediately, and you follow to sit with him at the foot of the bed. 

You don’t hesitate to grab the cupcake from his tea plate, nearly shoving it in your mouth. You definitely need a rush, something to curb you over for the plans you have tonight. “Sugar sugar,” you chant like a mantra, and you don’t care that your lipgloss is smudged and crumbs cling to your cheeks. 

Jimin just rubs circles onto your thigh, letting you eat and relax. He knows you’re not a fan of these kinds of parties, preferring to wallflower it, preferably at  a wall closest to the buffet. His touch is comforting, and you chew slower in order to prolong the inevitable. It takes a beat for you to finish your cupcake. 

“I need to talk to you,” the two of you blurt at the same time, and you point and giggle at each other like you’re still five year olds tinkering in the sandbox. 

Jimin pouts, “Can I go first? Mine’s kind of important.” 

“Mine’s also really important,” you don’t mean to invalidate Jimin, but you really need to get this out. “I might explode if I don’t say this now.” 

The blonde scrunches his nose, obviously weak to your unusual distress, “I guess I wouldn’t want that.” 

You clutch his hand, the hand that holds the plain wedding band he picked out for himself two years ago. Your eyes flicker to how your ring kisses his, “Jimin. I love you, like really love you. I can’t imagine my life without you, you’ve been my best friend since we could crawl. But as I traveled down here, I realized that even though I love you, I think I’m not in love,” you wince at how cheesy that sounds, “I don’t want you to feel like you’re not good enough, but the whole trip down here made me realize I don’t think I can commit to this.” 

“Oh, thank fuck,” you gasp, watching relief wash over Jimin’s features. You’re not even done with your whole spiel and he’s already unbuttoning his blouse, “this makes what I’m about to say a whole lot easier.” 

“Jimin,” you trail off, squeezing his palm, “what do you mean?” 

“I mean, I think I’m in love.” 

Your jaw slackens slightly, seeing the sweat that lines Jimin’s slicked back hair. He must’ve been thinking about this all night, waiting for you to tell you this. Your chest aches, weighing in on all the sudden facts. “Who is it?” you ask. 

Jimin shrugs, “The man who does my taxes and makes sure I sleep at least seven hours a night.” 

“Namjoon,” you conclude, eyes moving to the sealed door. You think Namjoon is waiting out there right now, silently supporting you two as you go through this. Of course, Jimin’s parents would be livid if anything would tarnish his reputation. A broken engagement would be sticky to cover up, and Jimin falling for his assistant is a headline right for the books. 

“I’m sorry,” Jimin whispers, despite the room being vacant he feels the need to keep his words short, “You came all this way to hear this. But I guess we’re on the same page, huh?” His soft fingers make a beeline for your ring finger, removing the diamond band, “And by the way, I love you too. Which is why we’re going to come clean in the morning and work this out with my parents, together. I’m sorry if you felt obligated to follow me all this time just because our parents did.” 

“Hey, like you said, we’re in this together. Both in and out,” you chastise, pulling your engagement ring from his grasp and holding it to the light. “Can I keep this? Instead of an engagement band, it can be our best friend band. I’ll even get it re-sized so it can go on another finger.” 

Jimin pulls you into his arms, crushing you. The silky material of your dress bunches and rides, but you don’t care. The two of  you can’t help but be a little crybaby-ish about it, feeling much like your younger-selves when you had to pull each other out of trouble. 

The two of you walk out of the bedroom hand-in-hand, and Namjoon is leaning against the banister in the hallway, a soft smile melting on his tanned skin. 

“I’m so happy for you,” you gush, hugging Namjoon tightly. You’ve only known the man for a few months, but you can tell he’s taking care of Jimin and that’s enough for you. 

“I… really thought you’d be more upset.” Namjoon marvels, patting your back. 

Jimin interjects, “I think she’s found someone hotter than me.” 

“Impossible!” 

You could stay at this party, lay low until you and Jimin have to confront his parents in the morning. They suggest to get all the food they need and sneak out to the home theatre. The three of you hustle it down the stairs to another part of the house, in order for you to make your getaway and avoid Jimin’s family. 

“Hey,” you stop in front of another painting, pulling the two men to a stop. Your eyes lock on a framed droopy peony, tipped with pink dye. You realize you can’t stay here, not when someone’s home alone tonight. “Namjoon, I need you to locate someone for me.” 

Jungkook does not expect to see you at his front door. 

You’re stunning, and look as breathless as he feels. The liquid champagne number that hugs your frame does things to him, and he’s strangely attracted to the fact that you paired this expensive dress with your snow-drenched trainers. 

You showing up at the wee hours of the morning was the last thing Jungkook thought would happen. It’s nothing short of a holiday event, you look like you’ve just walked out of a gala and then ran a marathon to reach him. 

He thought when he said goodbye, it would be the last time you’d cross paths. At first, he was okay with that. After all, feelings come and go, and spontaneity only works a percentage of the time. Seeing you presently however, throws all those half-hearted concedings out the window. 

“Hi,” you finally say, drinking from the fact that you actually found him. 

“Hey,” Jungkook breathes, “you look, beautiful.” 

“Thanks,” you smile. 

“So, is this about you not paying me back for the ticket?” Jungkook suddenly feels guilty, having dipped out of Jimin’s manor once he saw him appear at the door. It was unrightful jealousy, and because of that he needed to drive away as fast as possible. “Because honestly, it was me messing with you. I really don’t need the money.” 

“I figured, from the fact that I had to take the elevator up to the penthouse of the building.” 

“So then why are you here?” Jungkook wobbles on the balls of his feet, unsure of what to do with himself. 

“My ex-fiancé is in love with someone else,” you lay your cards out just like that, and Jungkook’s unprepared to deal.  

“Holy shit, I’m so sorry—” 

“Let me finish,” you cut in gently, “my ex-fiancé is in love with someone else, and that’s okay. We’ve been best friends since we were little, and we want nothing but happiness for each other. And for me? Happiness is right in front of me.” 

You bite your lip, and Jungkook fights down the urge to run up and pull you into his arms. You must be so cold, running out without a jacket and rushing to his home. However, he lets you finish, and he holds himself down by clutching the door frame as casually as possible. 

“I also have a big, fat crush on you,” you say boldly, “and I had to tell you as soon as I could. It took a twenty-minute phone call and some serious leverage from Jimin’s company to figure out where you lived. That receptionist is definitely not letting me use my frequent flyer miles next flight.” 

“You harassed an airport receptionist just for me?” he smiles wanly, placing a hand on his chest, “I’m touched.” 

“You make me excited to try new things, to be spontaneous and do things for myself,” with every statement you take a step further, and soon enough you’re in his dimly lit apartment. The plush couch in his living room looks awfully warm and comfy, and the light music that plays from his speakers is soft and soothing. “So, let’s spend the holidays together and see where this goes. And go to your art gallery tomorrow, because I did research you on the drive and found out you had to rush here because of a big show.” 

“So you’re actually a stalker?” Jungkook teases, tugging you over to the couch. 

He takes the lead, plopping himself on the couch first and inviting you to sit next to him. You take a detour and plant your body atop of him, and with an ‘oof’ the two of you are sinking. 

“A stalker and a potential drug dealer does sound like a promising pair,” Jungkook jests, his hand palming the silky material of your ruched up ball gown. 

“I’m sorry,” you pout, wrapping your fingers around the long tresses of his hair, “can you please stop bringing that up? It was judgemental of me.” 

“I like when you’re judgemental,” he pokes your puppy-faced cheeks, ruddied with embarrassment. “I like picking fights with you and getting you all riled up.” 

“Will you rile me up now?” 

Sexy, he thinks. He figures a vixen has been hidden under you, one suppressed by a complicated engagement and many other factors he’d love to learn about in the near future. The situation at hand however, is far more pressing. Your body is finally warming up, and Jungkook tries to ignore the weight your body is causing, re-igniting an ache he felt hours ago when you two were squished against each other in the coach bus.

“I’m going to kiss you now,” you declare, and you look a little frustrated that Jungkook is taking so long to process this information, “and I hope I take your breath away.” 

You taste like sugar and the softness that comes with the holidays. It’s tender and oh-so comforting, and Jungkook can’t help but squeeze your hips closer as your lips brush fervently against his. The feeling is both new and old, and Jungkook figures you’ve finally uncoiled a flame that you can no longer quell. 

Soon enough your kisses turn hungry, and Jungkook has to remind himself that you two have only known each other for a total of twelve hours, and he isn’t sure of what’s appropriate to jump to due to the speed of your relationship. Once he feels the first roll of your hips, a liquid heat that Jungkook can’t help but return back, he pulls away from your soft lips. Not too far, but a few centimeters apart so that Jungkook and you can catch your breath. 

“We should take this slow,” he starts, trying to make a reasonable impression now that you’re a guest at his home and finally settled from their long trip. “I really, really want to get to know you. And you’re so beautiful and I really do want to have sex but—” 

“Jungkook, I have not had sex with someone in two years,” you speak with a depraved tone, as if it’s been centuries since you’ve been touched. He can’t help but throw his head back and laugh, “a night full of sex sounds like the best last-minute present ever.” 

You bring his hand over to your core, the shiny glassy material of your gown doing nothing to hide the glimpses of pleasure you’re minutes away from experiencing. You whine desperately at the thought, and Jungkook’s a goner. 

“Well, I guess I’m about to pull a Christmas miracle,” he murmurs against your lips, ready to work his magic. 

[grantzarrr]

Just a thing g.d

summary: Y/n and Grayson don’t like labels but they fuck around with each other and feelings are definitely there, but what happens when they are revealed?

warnings: poorly written smut :)

tags: @fangdolan @gothlydolan @onlyyyarii (idk why it didn’t work :(( )

There she is, in her sexiest piece of lingerie that she could find. What was she doing? Well, she was taking mirror pictures for her boyfriend—fuck buddy—? To everyone besides them, they were seemed to just be dating but Y/n and Grayson just didn’t want to put a label on it yet. They never claimed each other but would always deny that they were fuck buddies, they just wanted to enjoy each other without having to feel like there was a need to call- what they have- something. Just taking it slow.

But while she was setting that up, Grayson was in the middle of filming for his podcast with Ethan and Ryan and she knew far and well what he was doing. She knew exactly what time it was, she knew that if Grayson’s phone ‘blew up’ a few times, everyone would be on his case ready to ask questions. And that's exactly how she wanted and what she wanted.

“So gray, are you still trying to figure your love life out or—like what’s going on there?” Ryan asked, being very keen on his relationship.

“Uh, ry you mean fuck partner?” Ethan teased knowing where to push him.

“Oh fuck off e, we’re not fuck partners nor in a relationship—just enjoying each other for a bit.”

Then he felt it, his phone buzzing notifying him that he received a message, he only glanced though, roughly seeing your name and turning his phone back over. But then, that notification went off again back to back. That right there caused some heads to turn as Grayson saw it was you again and going to see what’s up this time. And oh- was he surprised, there you were sitting on your knees in some lingerie, giving him that little smirk he would love to fuck outta you. He noticed the first little remark of 4 that you sent, that one just stuck out more it seemed like you were talking as if you had known what exactly he was doing.

here’s something to talk about on ur little podcast. p.s ik u wanna tell them were together so go on ;)

And that fucked Grayson up, as much as he wanted to fucking call you his just for you to say that did something— but he couldn’t be quite sure. But as he continued staring he started to shift in his seat a little, only staring at your tits in that, looking so perfect for him. Only him. All he wanted to do was to cover them in hickies. Oh, how bad he wanted to flip you over your vanity and force you to watch him through the mirror as he pounded into you miraculously. Then to place you on your knees and shove his dick down your throat until he saw the tears himself.

“Yo gray? seems as if someone got you a little tensed there? You’re shifting bro..” Ethan chuckled, he knew it was you asking to get dicked down or something. He just wanted to fuck with his brother and see how long it would take here. “Oh no, it’s nobody.” He blurted out quickly but he knew for this to stop he had to respond, to at least say something so he did it swiftly as possible.

Y/n you better fucking stop or I swear you won’t even have free hands to type.

He was pissed, aggravated he was so mad that you were getting away with that, and he couldn’t do shit. He had to sit there and film his podcast for about an hour and he just fucking knew you wouldn’t let this go, not even for a second. And he thought everyone forgot until Ethan brought it back up and he had to say at least something they wanted to hear now.

“Is that uh is that your girlfriend? Hm? Is she asking for you to come over again?” Ethan lightheartedly joked but still, he was so determined to get Grayson to boil and steam over like he did every time just on camera. “Jesus e, would you let it go already.” Grayson gritted being so easily tempted to just end the podcast, it's been at least 58 minutes he can firmly say.

“Oh no go ahead, I would like to hear about this so to be fuck buddy, what is it only on Fridays? like a club? because I would love to be invited” Ryan joined in with Ethan on the little joke but he seriously wanted to know about this just in the goofy little way to make of it. But just as Grayson was about to answer, another one of a more scandalous photo sent. This photo made its way to his number one spot on the “Private Folder” of his. Grayson felt like he was gonna explode but the explosive was straight at his dick and his face went beat red. Not of embarrassment but because holy shit— look at you.

It was you legs spread and the camera hovering just where to leave the imagination running wild but still enough to tell you were wet, even if he has already seen it all. It still fucked him up in ways he couldn’t even began to fonder over. And it was just enough for him to say enough of that teasing.

“Yo, um, I gotta go- but finish the pod ok? Alright, I’ll be back...later.” Grayson rushed off quickly. Everyone in the room just watched in silence as he quickly gathered his phone and a few small little things he carried with him and he left. “Yup, booty call- where the fuck is my 10 dollars, Ryan!” Ethan shouted, happy he won this little ‘bet’. “Wow-.” Was all Ryan could say.

Once Grayson got to her house, he didn’t even bother to knock, he knew that the spear key was always under the 4th rock to the left. And when he got in...oh boy was he furious. Talking as he closed and locked the door back, not knowing she was right in the living room getting herself off. “Y/n what the fuck was that!? I told you that I-.” He was stopped dead in his tracks when he heard her wimpier his name softly, he gulped quickly and turning her way to watch exactly what she was doing. “Oh-, I see you’ve started without me—and that’s the biggest mistake of your fucking life babe.”

And with that, he went and grabbed both her hands and held them above her head, diving in with a very heated kiss. Y/n begun mumbling words against their kiss as she tried rolling her naked hips against his crotch for some friction. “You wanna go and send shit like that to me when I’m filming? Then have the audacity to finger yourself? Instead of simply telling me you wanted to fuck—god why are you so risky.”

He tried to not rage at her, there was no point she wasn’t his girl but nor was she a ‘fuck buddy’ well technically yeah, but to them, they weren’t. But the shit she pulls sometimes fucks him up, having him thinking about it for days and easily getting hard at the smallest memory and he can’t say shit or it’ll be over, and boy he fucking loves it, who wouldn’t? The adrenaline is what Grayson Dolan is all about. He doesn’t know if she feels the same or he just really knows how to fuck her right yet. “ Mhmm I did and I’ll do it multiple times until you boil over because I’m your little risk maker.” She smirked—oh did she just say-

“You wanna fuck with me like that hm? Have me thinking about it for days? Well, I’ll show you a good fucking alright.” He growled at her, having a good reason to give it to her good after that claim. He started attacking her neck. Sucking and licking, little nibbles here and there and he then moved down her body. Still having her hands above them. He stopped right at beginning of her pussy.

“Get up and bend over on the couch, now.” He demanded and was very determined to show her what she could have if they were together. He still didn’t quite know if she meant what she said but shit... he’ll take it. As she was getting up he smacked her ass giving her more of a little pep in her step, and she didn’t dare to say anything. As she was getting in the position, he got behind her and started to scrip, he just wanted to see her bend from behind, getting some of the action in. Once he did he started to stroke his cock, eyes fully on her pussy from behind and her ass. Her being impatient and hearing his short little breaths, she peaked from her shoulder at him and God was that a sight to see.

“Does that feel good, angel?” His deep voice rumbling within her, he knew he wouldn’t get anything out of her. His dick is big enough to keep anything but moans and groans from escaping. So all she did was nod quickly. The couch was snacking, she was shaking he was pounding into her giving out everything he had built up. “Fuck, I love the sounds my fucking pussy makes.” He gritted. She already knew face down on the couch, ass up and he hammered, Y/n wasn’t even sure she would be able to walk after this. And oh wait— did he say?

He just filled her up to the brim with his cock alone, the thickness and fullness of it alone would fulfill her. God was he good, gripping a handful of hair for a leverage of their position, “Graysonn, don’t stop, please.” She begged and since she asked so nicely he didn’t stop and wasn’t going to until her orgasm had her in tears. “Come on, baby. I know for a fact that you can be a hell of a lot louder than that.” But she couldn’t, her neighbors recently complained about it since their baby was born. But when he was going at it like this, all she could say was “Neighbor. Babies—FUCK!” He understood completely- on both ends. The neighbors that had their baby and that she was gonna cum, he also felt her pussy clench so he knew for a fact. He was already at the edge of his orgasm.

“Did you claim me?” They both coincidentally said at the same time but who was gonna answer it...

A/N: helloo, hope you liked it!! im gonna drown in holy water now :D

[dewykth]

SWEET SEPTEMBER.

a @periminkle​​​ and @dewykth​​​ collaboration.

synopsis. for many, september symbolizes new beginnings. but for namjoon, this month never fails to send him back into the past. though this time, something seems different.

pairing. kim namjoon | female reader contains. fluff, angst, slice of life au, ballet instructor!reader, single dad!nj  word count. 7.5k+  warnings. death mentions, mature audience

dae’s note. surprise !!! this fic is dedicated to my favourite virgo karla @guklvr​​​​ !! happy birthday bae i hope you enjoy this lil thing me n vira whipped up for u!! (i stress wrote a lot of this ha.) also sry for lying & keeping you up but hopefully this makes u forgive me. but i hope ur day goes amazing ILYSM DUDE !!! <333 and a huge thank you to vira for hopping on board for this idea bc i cld not have done this without her !!! pls give her all the love !!!

vira’s note. KARLAAAA!!! i always gotta scream ur name it’s mandatory to start with a good scream ykno? bUT HAPPY BIRTHDAY GIRL 🥳  i already told u this too many times today but ILYSM !! like that full day without saying a single word to u felt so weird and i kept going into our chat and rereading our mssgs and wishing I was talking to u??? which is weird to admit?? but that literally how much i missed u idk how but im addicted to u so if you leave me I will literally die :))) aNYWAY have the bestestestest day ever and i hope u love the fic bc I ignored all my uni work to finish this !!! (also i feel reallyreallyreally bad about last night sO IM SORRY AGAIN BUT I HOPE THIS IS WORTH IT) 💖

Despite the papers carelessly stuffed into his leather briefcase, the dark coffee stain on his black slacks, and his unkempt locks resembling that of a bird’s nest, Namjoon’s become accustomed to the hectic nature of his mornings.

The kitchen table is practically buried under stacks of files, yet he brushes them aside to allow one corner of the glass surface to peek through. He plops the toddler in his arms onto a high chair before racing to the counter and sloppily pouring some honey nut cheerios into a small bowl, handing it off to his daughter. 

“Daddy?” her voice squeaks, a patient smile stretching across her lips. Her brown strands are tied up into pigtails at the crown of her head with pink ribbons that flutter with the movement of her tiny head. 

“Yes, angel?” He scurries around to their bedroom, peeling the stained fabric off his body and threading one leg through another pair of slacks fresh from the laundry. 

With Namjoon’s focus pinned on checking off the mental to-do list in his head, he misses the gentle, reassuring smile that stretches across her rosy lips. The adoration for her father is clear in her gaze. “You forgot to pour the milk.”

At the reminder, he squawks and hops back to the kitchen on one foot as he maneuvers his other leg through the pant hole. Swinging the fridge door open, he grabs the carton and sloppily pours the milk into her bowl—white droplets leaping out with their newfound freedom and forming perfect domes on the glass tabletop.

Cleaning the mess falls to the bottom of his priorities at the moment, and so he speeds off to the bathroom to ensure that his appearance is presentable for work while Dasom reaches over to pluck a tissue from the box, swiping the milky beads away before diving into her breakfast. She shoves as many cheerios into her small mouth as she can, rushing because she refuses to finish her meal in the car with their wild driver behind the wheel. 

Despite her mere four years of age, she knows from experience that a bowl of cereal and a shaky vehicle is a recipe for disaster.

Namjoon races over to his briefcase with most of his hair sleeked back, only the locks of his bangs hanging out to frame his forehead. As he slips his dark blazer on to complete his form-fitting suit, Dasom scoops the last few brown rings into her mouth and slurps the remainder of the liquid.

“Did you finish your milk?” he questions while cramming the edges of the loose leaves that peek past the seam of his briefcase, hurriedly zipping it up and turning to face her.

Dasom flips the edge of the bowl up to display its empty contents, gulping the last of her breakfast down her throat. As per routine, she scans her father for any inconsistencies in his attire, landing on his odd fitting bottoms.

“Daddy, your pants are on backwards.”

His eyes nearly bulge out of their sockets, glancing down to affirm that the pockets at his sides are no longer at the front of his hips. Hastily, he shimmies out of his slacks once more and twists the fabric around to the proper orientation. 

Dasom hops off her chair, her bowl and wet kleenex in hand as she waddles over to the sink and waits for him to deposit the dirty dish into the sink and the sullied tissue into the trash. Although her short arms couldn’t reach over the countertop just yet, she’ll diligently drink every last drop of her milk in hopes of growing tall enough to take some of the load off of her father’s back.

He hoists Dasom up at the sight of the red car pulling up to the driveway, squeezing into the back seat. Namjoon doesn’t have to tell the driver to book it, as the calm man in front has learned to keep his foot pressed on the pedal. The car weaves through the morning traffic with concerning speed, snaking through the other vehicles littering the road as if they were no more than stationary pylons, simply there for practice.

Dasom remains on her father’s lap with his arms looped protectively around the seatbelt over her torso. She sinks into his embrace, fiddling around with his long, slender fingers as she watches the blurs of colour speeding past the window.

“Did you put your ballet shoes into your backpack, angel?” Namjoon loosens his grip on her, unhooking one hand to rummage through his own briefcase in order to confirm that he had indeed slid his laptop within the chaos inside. To keep her entertained, he playfully extends his digits out of her reach.

“Of course!” she chirps, a wide grin revealing the gaps between her teeth. The pads of her fingertips brush against his palm and tickle the sensitive skin there when she realizes that her arms lack the length required to latch onto his hand. “I can’t wait for class, we’ve got a new teacher coming in today!”

Humming absentmindedly, he sighs in relief at the sight of the silver device and packs the crumpled papers back in. “What happened to Ms. Kim?”

“She’s teaching the older class now.” The pout on her lips can be heard within the muffled lilt of her voice when she continues, “I asked her to stay until my birthday next week b-but she didn’t.”

Namjoon’s breath hitches at the reminder, but attempts to compose himself for his daughter’s sake. “It’s out of her control, angel, plus she’ll probably swing by anyway.”

His mind starts to fog up with the emotions he thought he buried last year–they swarm his every thought and nibble away at his sanity. He knows better than to believe that they would ever disappear. September will always be an insurmountable month for him.

“I might be a bit late to pick you up later, just sit tight and wait for Daddy, okay?”

She eagerly nods in response, noticing the dull red bricks of her school coming into view. “Okay, bye Daddy!”

Namjoon unlocks the seatbelt, wistfully watching his toddler bounce out of his arms and onto the asphalt below. No matter how many times he drops her off, it’s always difficult to be separated from her bright smile, but he reminds himself that it’s all for her; it makes things a little easier to bear.

“Have a good day at school.” He reciprocates her frantic waving through the window, craning his neck to watch her adorable form become smaller and smaller with the increased distance. Her full cheeks and crinkled eyes are engraved into the back of his mind.

Before long, Namjoon finds himself rushing into his office after an earful from his surly boss about everything from the late hour to the long list of meetings scheduled to all the work he’s got piled up. With his lips pursed and his head bowed, he somehow manages to make it past another lively morning.

Namjoon has a habit of overthinking. He figures it’s normal when you have a stressful job and a four year old full of energy to balance all by yourself. Not that overthinking about his daughter does him any good, because that is far from the reality. If anything, it just makes him, what you’d call, a bit... overprotective (over worrisome if you asked Jin). But it’s something he can’t really help. Even when she had just entered his life, so small and so blissfully unaware of the awful and evil things in the world, all he wanted to do was hold her in his arms and shield her from it all as long as he could.

Though he’s very aware of the fact that it won’t be much longer, that won’t stop him from going over every single little thing that could go wrong in the meantime.

So, of course, when Namjoon’s asshole of a boss makes him stay two hours over his shift, all Namjoon can think about is Dasom. Is she okay? Has she eaten anything? Did she drink enough water today? She’s always dehydrated after her classes too. He usually calls Ms. Kim to check up on her, but his calls went straight to voicemail, which definitely wasn’t helping his hectic mind. Perhaps something had happened to her?

Oh god, maybe someone broke in and had injured Dasom?

The doors are thrown open, the sound of the doorknob hitting the wall reverberating through the room. The receptionist wearing her usual polka-dot dress jumps in her seat, eyes lifting from the intense scene on her phone to the entrance of the building. An unsure smile stretches across her ruby red lips at the familiar figure, though a bit disheveled and breathless. But before the customary ‘hello’ can even form on her tongue, the figure is rushing past her, leaving only a gust of air in his wake. The papers on her desk fall to the ground, and she sighs.

Namjoon is prepared to fight the (fictional) person who thinks breaking into a toddler ballet class is a good idea, but the scene in front of him once he pushes past the doors of the studio is one he is wholly unprepared for.

He sees Dasom first, and the relief that fills his body is indescribable. It’s far from the usual sight he’s greeted with when he picks her up late. She’s not sitting on one of the chairs in the far corner of the room. His heart doesn’t feel heavy, which comes with seeing his daughter so glum. This time it’s her laughter that greets him, not one provoked by him but by the figure standing in the middle of the room with her.

Dasom doesn’t seem to be aware of the presence of her dad yet, but the figure twirling her around turns, and her eyes land on Namjoon.

The reaction is immediate. The carefree smile that had been on your face slips off, a look of embarrassment and surprise overcoming your features. Namjoon only catches a glimpse, and somehow finds himself wishing that won’t be the last time he sees it. You let go of Dasom’s hand, quickly making your way to the stereo on the other side of the room. And that’s when-

“Daddy!”

Dasom wastes no time running into her father’s open arms, and Namjoon suddenly can’t remember why he was so worried in the first place. “Hi, angel.” he says, just loud enough for her to hear. She pulls back. “I’m so sorry for getting here so late. I promise i won’t do it again.”

But of course, Dasom holds nothing but forgiveness in her heart for her hard-working father. She does love teasing him, though. “Don't say sorry to me, say sorry to her.” she giggles, pointing behind her and Namjoon furrows his brow until he remembers they’re not the only ones in the room.

His eyes immediately move to where you stand awkwardly near the stereo, eyes moving around the room as if you hadn’t been watching the whole exchange. Namjoon sighs, realizing he definitely can’t avoid talking to you now. He stands straight, holding onto Dasom’s hand as he makes his way over to you. You only seem to grow more nervous as he nears, and Namjoon distantly recalls Jin telling him he came off as intimidating to most people. Something about his ‘beefy’ arms, in his own words. (“And that stupid and unfairly attractive face!”) He goes for a smile because it's not like he can control his physique.

“Hi, I’m so sorry about…”

Namjoon stops.

Maybe it was the overwhelming distress before, or the really shitty lighting of the studio, but he hadn’t realized how pretty you were before. But now he’s standing right in front of you and he can’t seem to form a coherent thought. Pretty can’t be the right word. He realizes how creepy he probably looks, running in here like a madman and then downright staring at the (very beautiful) woman who looked after his daughter? Not cool, man.

You clear your throat, before extending a hand to him. “Hi, I’m ____, the new ballet instructor.”

Your voice sounds just like honey.

Namjoon stares at your hand dumbly, before the sound of Dasom snickering (very discreetly) behind him snaps him out of it. But instead of introducing himself, or apologizing, or just taking your fucking hand, he says-

“What happened to Ms. Kim?”

He mentally face-palms.

Not. Cool. Man.

Your face falls, and Namjoon has never wanted the ground to open up and swallow him whole more than he does now. “Uh, she’s instructing the teen class now.” you chuckle awkwardly, dropping your hand.

“Oh-”

“Daaaad,” Dasom's voice sounds annoyed, and perhaps it’s a bit silly of Namjoon to feel like he’s being scolded, but that is exactly how he feels right now. “I told you this. In the morning. Remember?”

He doesn’t. “Ah, right of course,” Namjoon scratches the back of his neck. It wasn’t like he meant to forget, he had just been too busy thinking about the other things every September would bring. “Sorry, I’m Kim Namjoon. Dasom’s dad.”

This time he offers his hand, and he thanks the skies above that you don’t seem to hate him because you fit your hand against his. Warm, like honey. How long had it been since he last made a fool of himself in front of a pretty girl?

Too long.

“I’m terribly sorry for arriving so late it’s just that my boss, who’s a huge-” Namjoon glances at Dasom, who is now in her own world, singing some song she learned in school, “jerk, decided to assign these reports last minute and the printer would just not work and then traffic hour-”

Your hand comes up to cover your mouth, but Namjoon can see the amusement bubbling in your eyes. He flushes a deep red, eyes falling to the floor, realizing he started ranting.

“It’s okay. Really.”

When he looks back up, there’s a smile on your face. Not like the one before, this one was more reserved, but genuine, reassuring. And just like that, he’s sure you don’t hate him.

Namjoon’s not sure he likes this feeling though.

“Straighten your arms out, girls!” you belt over the classical music that floods the studio’s walls, scanning your army of toddlers in tutus whose arms immediately tense at your command. Making your way through the row, you poke and prod everywhere from their shoulders to their ankles. “Arch your back more, Somin.”

Their muscles violently tremble in response to the strenuous routine you’ve introduced, facial features scrunched in concentration and a resolute will to uphold their positions despite the hyperextension of their limbs. A mix of pity and pride swells in your chest at their effort. “Keep your chins up, the annual recital is only a couple of days away.”

Cheers erupt throughout the small room, disrupting the focus and spoiling their perfect form, yet you refuse to quiet excitement because of the renewed vigour buzzing throughout the room. The next hour depletes all of their built-up energy with demi-piles, pirouettes and sautés.

A glance at the analog clock in the corner informs you of the five minutes remaining before the end of class, so you pause the speakers and instruct the girls to stretch themselves out as they wait for their guardians to trickle in. They collectively sigh in relief before dropping to the floor like flies.

You snort at their dramatics with an amused smile playing at your lips. “I said to stretch, not to lay down and nap.”

“Can’t we nap and stretch at the same time?”

Strolling over to the source of the voice, you cluck your tongue at her limp form sprawled across the wooden floor and cross your arms, struggling to keep your giggles from breaking your angered facade. “And how do you suppose we do that, little Miss Dasom?”

She flashes her toothless grin up at you. “Like this!” With one leg bent over the other and her hands looping around to hold her twisted limbs to her torso, she shuts her eyes and exaggerates her snores.

At this point, it’s nearly impossible to withhold your snickers, and the rest of the class joins in your laughter. You pick up on Dasom’s tinkling giggles between each of her heavy breaths. The lighthearted jokes continue as kids are signed out with bright grins on each of their faces.

You wait for the rest of the toddlers to file out one by one, waving goodbye and checking them off your list until, as usual, Dasom is the only toddler left. Her tiny feet still clad in her faded ballet shoes waddle up to you, tugging on your blouse.

“Your pirouette was a bit wobbly today, do you want to go over—”

“‘M tired,” she interrupts, slouching her shoulders with an adorable frown marring her lips. Her exhaustion is justified, since the routine is rather exhausting, and with their recital right around the corner, you worked them to the bone today.

The odd timing of the switch between you and Ms. Kim left you with a little under a week to tweak and perfect their current choreography. A sloppy routine is not the way you want to present your skills to their parents for the first time, thus you were stricter with the kids than normal.

Your sympathy wins out, and so you gather Dasom’s lithe figure into your arms as you head to the closest wall. With your back supported, you spread out your legs and place her in your lap.

“My birthday is this Thursday.”

“Mhm,” you hum, bobbing your head to signal for her to continue her train of thought.

Her back faces you, but when her head tips down to stare at her hands, you know she’s contemplating her words carefully. Rather than encouraging her to speak freely, you wait for her to feel comfortable enough to reveal her thoughts; and surely enough, her shell cracks open just enough for you to peep through. “Do you wanna come?”

“I would be honoured.” A giddy smile splits across your lips. “Is Daddy picking you up again today?”

She flips around in your hold, wrapping her arms around your waist and snuggling her head to your chest. Her words are muffled into the fabric of your thin shirt, but her tone indicates her affirmation.

Suddenly self-conscious of your heartbeat—that Dasom can definitely hear with her ear pressed up against you—picking up pace at the mention of her father, you suppress your thoughts with a guilty conscience. You internally chide yourself for harbouring feelings for the charming, taken, man, defying arguably one of the most important fundamental rules of becoming an instructor.

Do not develop silly crushes on your student’s parents.

“Ms. ____?” her faint question snaps you out of your reverie, attention brought back to the present moment. While preoccupied, your hand took on a mind of its own, gingerly patting the space between the little girl’s shoulder blades at a slow rhythm.

She gazes up at you when you halt your rhythmic movements, sharp eyes boring into yours. “Are you gonna ask Daddy to come see me dance?”

The edges of your lips flip up in what you hope to be an encouraging smile as you nod your head. Subconsciously, you begin to stress over another encounter with Namjoon, formulating a script to hopefully avoid the stiff, tense atmosphere that lingered throughout all your previous interactions.

“Daddy’s always really busy,” she slurs, drowsiness coating her words and weighing down on her lids. Grumbling under her breath about her numb legs, Dasom crawls onto the floor beside you with her head resting on your thigh. “He’s always working hard for me.”

Your eyes soften at the fetal position she’s taken up on the ground; not only was Dasom lucky to have such a dedicated father, but Namjoon was also blessed with a caring daughter. “You don’t think he can make it?”

“It’s okay,” she whispers and you have to crane your ears to listen. You stroke the strands littering her forehead, gingerly caressing the crown of her head. “It’s okay if Daddy can’t come. I know him, he’s trying to do it all because Mommy’s not with us anymore, but it’s okay. I still love him even if I can’t see him lots.”

A knot forms between your eyebrows, a bittersweet ache forming within the creases of your heart. The painful constriction of your chest ebbs and flows with your shallow breaths that can’t seem to make it past your throat. You bite your lip to subdue the plentiful liquid gathering at your waterline.

No more than a croak escapes your lips before the door to the studio flies open, meeting the adjacent wall with a bang!

“I’m so sorry, my meeting ran late and I couldn’t—” the rest of his speech gets stuck in his windpipe at the sight of you, eyes rimmed red and sniffling, with Dasom, ostensibly dead asleep, on your thigh. “Did she…?”

You blink away your incoming tears, although your dignity has been completely thrown out the window, seeing as he believes that his four-year-old kid made a grown woman, who just so happens to be her ballet teacher, bawl her eyes out.

As you go to gently shake Dasom awake, she sluggishly lifts her head off of your lap and starts to scale your torso like a koala on a tree. Your confusion is vocalized through the high-pitched hum in your throat, but your efforts to pry off her limbs, tightly wound around the small of your waist, are futile.

“Uh, Dasom? It’s time to go home now, angel.” Despite his firm words, Namjoon’s tone is unsure and shaky; he can feel cold sweat build up in the lines of his palms. He knows his daughter, and she can be periodically stubborn and insistent the way children are at her age, thus even as you come to stand, she’s stuck to you like glue. “Would you, uh, did you need a ride?”

You mimic the sheepish smile on his face, hoping the flaming blush you feel on your cheeks isn’t as visible as it seems. “Sure.”

With Dasom latched onto you, both of you make your way to the red car outside after you lock up the studio. Namjoon courteously opens the car door for you, what with your arms supporting his clingy toddler; although, with the brute force he uses, you worry for the state of the hinges. Thankfully, they stay intact and he’s able to slip into the backseat after you.

Before an awkward silence can settle, you clear your throat and prepare to ask him about his day, but you’re interjected by Namjoon’s sudden stammering, “D-driving’s such a hassle for me so Jin drives us everywhere. Jin knows how to drive though, so, don’t worry.” He finishes with a deep chuckle that dies off nearly as quickly as it began. Oh, that’s unexpected.

“You don’t to drive yourself?” Rather than being processed in your brain and logically thought through, the question immediately enters your mouth without any prior scanning for dumbass-content. You instantly regret it, feeling as though it’s much too invasive. “You don’t have to answer that, I—”

The hearty laughter that meets your ears is “No, I do. Sometimes. But its easier raising this one like this.” His tone turns sweet at the mention of Dasom as he reaches over to pat her head, and you’re overcome with an intense desire to prod more into his personal life. Why does he have to work so much? Which shirt in his closet is his favourite? How does he like his eggs in the morning?

“I’m not sure if you already knew about the annual recital on Saturday, but Dasom’s been practicing really hard for weeks and the kids are all really talented, so it would definitely be worth your time...”

As he’s gazing at his daughter, galaxies of devotion and longing swirl within his cocoa irises. The cool light of the moon shines through the windows of the car, illuminating his sharp jawline and strong brows. You’re absolutely mesmerized by the sight in front of you. “You must be really busy, huh?”

“More than I’d like to be.”

You rip your entranced gaze away from Namjoon, willing yourself to steady your frantic breaths.

The remainder of the ride still drips with awkward tension, although with a definite lighter tone than before. Jin pulls up to your apartment with your direction and you dislodge a sleepy Dasom from your torso, which is much easier now that her limbs have gone slack with sleep. Handing her off to Namjoon, who practically engulfs her tiny form with his broad chest, you rush out of the vehicle with a quick, “See you!”

You slam the door closed before he can say anything, racing into the comfort of your home with your heart in your throat.

The last thing you had expected to do on a Thursday evening was to go to a birthday dinner. Thursdays are your days off, your in-days. The ones you spend lounging on your couch with a face mask and some wine. And yet, here you are.

When you received a text this morning, the last person you had expected it to be was Namjoon. Much less Namjoon asking you to come over for Dasom’s birthday. You weren’t going to say yes, hell, you had thought of downright ignoring it. It was weird, wasn’t it? But Dasom had quickly carved a toddler-shaped hole into your heart. Truly, you had said yes before the message was even typed out.

And so now you stare at the tall apartment building in front of you, definitely feeling more nervous than before. You knew that Namjoon had to be well-off to afford a weekday chauffeur, but damn did you not expect him to be this well-off.

It seemed today was the day to expect absolutely anything.

You enter the opulent building, signing in at the front desk before entering the large, mirrored elevator. The beating of your heart picks up the more floors you pass, and you can’t help but fidget with your appearance. Namjoon had said it would only be you three, which you guessed was supposed to calm your nerves but really, it did anything but that. The mere thought of eating dinner with Namjoon was nerve-wracking. But now you were about to eat dinner and enter his home; you had no fucking clue what you were getting yourself into.

The doors slide open, and you step into the hallway. A single door could be seen at the end of the hallway, so you quickly make your way over. You stop right in front, taking a deep breath in before pushing the doorbell. A beat, a crash, another beat, then-

The door swings open, and your breath catches in your throat.

Namjoon looks heavenly as always, but seeing him in clothes other than his usual black slacks makes your heart do a cartwheel. God, this is dangerous.

“Ms. ____!”

Before Namjoon can form a hello, Dasom is running past him and wrapping her small arms around your legs. “You came! See daddy! I told you she’d come.” her tongue pokes out of her mouth, aimed straight at her father and you stifle a laugh.

“Did he think I wouldn’t?” you ask, eyebrow arched as you glance at Namjoon, who seems to have a permanent pink hue on his face.

“He said you wouldn’t!”

“Oh, really? What else did he say?”

“He said I had to help him clean either way!”

“Alright, Dasom. That’s enough.” He says firmly, clearing his throat and trying to act as unaffected as possible. His eyes shift to meet yours. “Why don’t you come inside?”

As much as this day really sucked for Namjoon, today had been… different. Not all too much. Of course, getting up was the hardest part, but he had decided to make Dasom her favourite breakfast meal instead of her usual cereal. He had also made sure to get her all the toys she had been wanting, and planned their day out to do Dasom’s favourite things. Namjoon just wanted this day to be special for her. That was all he cared about.

But when Dasom had asked him to invite you, he had hesitated.

Dasom had never spent her birthdays with anyone else but Namjoon. Not that it was intentional, but Namjoon liked to have this day just for the both of them. Because that’s how it’s always been. He didn’t know what it was about you that made his daughter talk about you all the time. Or why she wanted to spend a birthday with you. But how could he deny her? And so, the text was sent.

And now, as Namjoon puts away the dishes while you sit on his couch, he realizes he hadn’t thought of her today. Not as much as the years before. Dinner had been so... nice. It felt nice to have someone else around. Namjoon loves Dasom, but he hadn’t realized how distant he had gotten from everything that had once seemed to be the centre of his life.

Namjoon closes the dishwasher, exiting the kitchen and making his way to the living room. He places the two glasses on the table before pouring the dark red liquid.

“I hope you like Merlot.”

“Oh, please. Anything’s fine.”

You take the wine glass, sending him a thank you before taking a drink. “So,” you lean back, “remind me how to play this again.”

“Ms.____ I told you. You have to take a block without knocking the tower over,” Dasom shows you by pushing a middle wooden block out, “then you have to place it on top, like this.'' She places the same block on top of the tower.

“Ah, right! I just need to make sure if I want to win.”

“You can’t! I’m the best!”

“Oh really? And what about you?” you turn, brow raised and eyes playful.

“Pshh,” he scoffs, leaning forward. “Who do you think she takes after?”

He doesn’t think he’s ever lost a game so quickly.

Namjoon watches as you close Dasom’s door quietly from the hallway before you make your way back to the family room. “She’s out like a light. I guess all that tower building got to her.”

Namjoon snorts. He feels oddly disappointed as he watches you gather your things to go. Was it weird that he wanted you to stay? “Do you need me to get you a ride? I can call Jin to drive you home.”

“No, it’s fine! Really! I already ordered an Uber anyway.” You grab your coat near the door. Before Namjoon can unlock the door, you touch his shoulder. “Listen, thank you for inviting me today. I know you probably wanted to spend this day together instead, but I... “ you inhale, because you aren’t sure of what you want to actually say “thank you.”

Would it be weird to say how much better you made today? Probably. “You don’t… have to thank me. I think I should be the one doing the thanking. I really wanted this day to be special for Dasom and you… you definitely helped. So, thank you.”

The door opens, and the light of the hallway fills his dim flat. “Guess we’re even then.” you smile before turning, making your way to the elevator. Namjoon shuts the door once the sight of you is gone, but the smile on his face remains

“Guess we are.” he whispers wistfully

Perhaps stopping at a flower vendor when you’re already running late was a bad idea, but Namjoon wasn’t thinking about time. He had seen the bouquet of flowers and imagined the huge smile that would stretch across Dasom’s face, and that was all he needed to swerve into the left lane.

Now, though, as he anxiously watches the cars in front of him move a foot forward after thirty minutes, he’s sure he should have just left the fucking flowers alone.

Namjoon doesn’t know how long he’s been shifting his eyes from the traffic to the watch ticking around his wrist, but by a miracle, the cars start moving. Slowly, then he’s speeding down the highway, praying to the skies above he’ll make it in time. Even if he arrives in the midst of the dance, he can’t miss this recital. He won’t.

He sighs in relief when he sees the familiar glass building, though it’s cut short when he sees the parking lot. No available place in sight. Fuck. Namjoon is sure he looks insane right now, swerving around the parking lot in search for an empty spot, or really just any fucking spot that looks like it could fit his monster of a car.

Then the clouds seem to open up, and right near the entrance is a vacant spot. Namjoon swears his mouth almost waters at the sight. Quickly speeding around the lot, he parks, but not before flipping off the angry parent who tries to beat him to it. Namjoon exits his car, quickly grabbing his coat and the large bouquets of flowers from the backseat. He runs to the entrance, practically throwing the shriveled paper at the ticket clerk.

Namjoon slows as he nears the theatre doors, taking a deep breath before calmly opening it. He had completely forgotten to book seats in advance, so he’s not surprised to see the velvet seats filled to the brim. When he looks to the stage, he’s relieved to see that there’s still time until Dasom comes on.

Now, Namjoon knows he’s not the most… balanced person. It’s common knowledge that he trips over his feet and knocks things over sometimes. (Oh, but definitely more than the average person.) Now, if you were to ask Namjoon if he pays attention to his surroundings, he'd say yes.

But if you were to ask Namjoon what he tripped over, he wouldn’t know. It doesn’t matter, because now there’s a furious mother with a horrendous bob cut glaring at him, and what he thinks to be a broken camcorder on the floor. The only thing he can manage is an awkward smile and an even more awkward apology. Namjoon offers to give her the cost for repairs, hell, even offers to buy her a new one. The woman snatches the bills from his hands but she doesn’t go back to minding her business like he thought she would. No, instead she starts to argue with him, in the middle of her child’s recital, no less!

Namjoon can’t do anything but stare at her as she blabbers on about how horrible he is for throwing her camcorder on the floor. (Not like it had much life left, that thing looked like it was from 2007.) She’s damn near spitting on his face, and causing other parents to turn around and glare at them. As if it was his fault. Who knew she had such an attachment to the damn thing!

A hand lands on his shoulder, and for a second he’s sure it’s security ready to escort him out of the building. But when he turns, he’s surprised to see it’s you. Like an angel had ascended from the clouds to save Namjoon from the wrath of a ballet mom. And just like that, you’re leading him away, taking a seat two rows before the stage. Namjoon’s eyes widen at the sight of the empty seat beside you.

It’s that feeling again, and Namjoon’s palms start to get sweaty as he takes a seat. “Jesus, thank you for that,” he whispers, relishing your quiet laughter that follows.

“Of course. She was probably a blink away from going full-blown Karen on you.” you tease.

“Oh, and that wasn’t?”

“Oh, Joon, you haven’t seen how angry ballet moms can get.” you both laugh, huddled together as if you’re sharing a special secret. It seems so natural. As if this is where he’s supposed to be. So much that Namjoon almost doesn’t catch the nickname, but how could he miss it when you say it just like she used to?

The stage lights darken, and Namjoon is grateful for the excuse to look elsewhere. He’s sure if he would have stared at you for just a bit longer, he would have done something completely and utterly stupid. “This is her.” you whisper, and Namjoon buries the thought away.

A blue hue shines across the stage before the soft melody begins to play, filling the room with the sounds of strings and keys. One by one, tiny swans begin to come into view, prancing around the stage. Namjoon catches sight of Dasom, looking adorable in her white tutu and he can’t help the proud smile that makes its way onto his face. He watches with adoration as she does her pirouettes, and maybe there’s some water overflowing in his eyes as they finish their dance, bowing towards the audience.

You both stand, clapping and cheering the loudest, uncaring of the stares from the snobby rich parents because you’re both too damn proud of Dasom to care. For a moment, Namjoon pretends that it’s different, simpler. That it’s not only his child on stage but yours. Ours. He thinks he likes the sound of that too much.

Once the show ends, you lead Namjoon backstage where the buzz of dozens of girls talking fills the air. You tell him that you need to check in on the other kids and disappear through a hallway. He spots Dasom quickly, or rather, she spots him.

“Daddy! You came!”

Namjoon lifts Dasom with his free arm, twirling her around before placing a big kiss on her forehead. Her giggles fill him with delight, and he doesn’t care that his cheeks hurt from how hard he’s been smiling. “Of course I came, angel. I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

He places her on the ground before he grabs the bouquet of sunflowers from his other arm. The sight of her favourite flower makes Dasom jump with joy. She takes the flowers, and Namjoon silently coos at how much smaller they make her look. Then she spots the other bouquet of flowers in his arm. She scrunches her brows together, about to ask who those are for before her eyes catch something behind Namjoon.

“Ms. ____!”

“Dasom!”

Dasom jumps into your arms, and you laugh at her enthusiasm. “You did so well! I’m so proud of that pirouette!” You twirl her around once her feet hit the ground, smiling as you watch her stumble slightly. Namjoon can’t help but smile too.

“Look what daddy got me, Ms. ____! Look!” Dasom lifts the flowers up, almost shoving them into your face.

“Wow, these are very beautiful, Dasom!”

“Look! He got you some too!” she giggles, and you look at her confusedly then at Namjoon. He sighs, looking pointedly at Dasom despite the cherry hue making its way across his cheeks. She giggles once again before running to her friends. “Dasom!” but it's futile.

If it weren’t for the consistent chatter, Namjoon’s sure there would be an agonizing silence to fill the space between you. You walk closer to him, looking down at your shoes bashfully. “Ah, these-” he takes the bouquet from his arm, “these are for you.”

You looked surprised to say the least. Eyes wide and glassy, your mouth falling ajar. “Wow, uh, really?” you ask, glancing up from the bouquet. He nods shyly.

Listen, he had only planned to buy Dasom her favourite flowers. But then he caught sight of these beautiful yellow roses, tips painted a light amber orange. Somehow they reminded him of you. And the way you had left him with his heart feeling lighter for the first time in years the other night. Maybe it was a way of saying thank you. He’ll admit, he didn’t think it all the way through, but the way you’re smiling at him right now makes him think it wouldn’t have mattered anyway.

There’s a moment where it seems to just be you and him, despite the tons of parents and children running around. He’s only focused on you, and the way your eyes drop to his lips, if only for a millisecond. Namjoon wants to say it. God, he wants to say it so badly. “Listen I… I’ve been meaning to ask you,” his voice fades away as his eyes catch yours. Hopeful. Beautiful. Glimmering.

Just like hers.

“Do you, uh, need a ride home?”

And the bubble bursts.

You step away, looking at anything but him and he hates it. He despises it. He wants you to look at him like that again. He wants nothing more than to pull you back and kiss you senselessly, like his mind is screaming for him to do. But he can’t. He can’t do it for some fucking reason and he almost wants to cry in frustration because why can’t this just be easier? Why is it so hard to move on? You don’t deserve this. You deserve so much better than what he can offer you. And that thought keeps him still.

“Uh, sure.”

Quiet.

Say something, idiot! Tell her what you’ve been dying to say! Just fucking say it!

Namjoon hates himself for the next words that tumble out of his mouth.

“Let’s find Dasom.”

The drive to your house is just like it was before, except this time there’s no chatter to fill the emptiness. Dasom is sound asleep in the backseat. You've never seemed more distant than now, facing the window, body pressed against the door. You had almost begged to go in the back with Dasom, and Namjoon doesn’t know why he didn’t just let you.

How did it come to this? This wasn’t what he wanted. This night wasn’t supposed to go like this. Everything should have gone differently.

He doesn’t know how he’ll ever fix this. If things will go back to normal. If he completely ruined it. But he’s too afraid to ask. Too afraid to know.

Namjoon has never hated the quiet more.

The sight of your apartment complex fills him with dread. All he can think about is all he wants to say, all he should have said, all he wants to take back. God, Namjoon wishes he could take it back. If only there was a way to turn back the time. Why had he been so afraid to make a move? Why did it hurt so much? But he knows going back wouldn’t help. Not when he doesn’t know if he would have done it differently.

His car comes to a stop, and the doors unlock. He faintly catches the small thank you before the passenger door slams shut. Namjoon watches as you make your way up the pathway, feet moving briskly and it feels like he’s watching you walk away from him.

You’re shuffling through your bag, looking for your key. And fuck, is he really just going to this go?  Is he that stubborn that he can’t see past himself? He can’t. He can’t let you go. Not like this.

Well do something, dumbass!

The door of his car is thrown open, and before he can overthink it-

“____!”

You still. You turn.

Namjoon shuts the door. He walks up the steps and stops a few feet away from you, but he feels like he’s miles away. You look up at him, questioning. Your eyes aren’t the same ones. Not like you looked at him before. Yet they’re still warm. Inviting. Namjoon is tongue-tied, and all those words he wanted to say are gone now.

“Are we… good?”

“Why wouldn’t we be?”

“I just…” he scratches the back of his neck. “That moment back at the recital. I… I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” you say, simply. When he looks at you, he can’t tell what you’re feeling. You’ve blocked him off. “Namjoon, really. It’s fine.”

But is it really? He wants to ask. But he doesn’t. It’s quiet again, this time the sound of the wind rustling the browning leaves above filling the space. Still.

“I… god, I don’t know why this is so hard. Ever since, you know,” you don’t. “I… I didn’t think I'd ever get an opportunity to…” he inhales, unsure of what he wants to say first.

“I just feel like I ruined it so carelessly.”

You don’t say anything for a few moments. You only stare at him, really stare at him. Like you can see through his mirage, through the walls he’s spent so long building up. You’re taking it all, but there’s nothing he can take back from you.

“You didn’t.” you whisper it so quietly, Namjoon would have thought his mind had taken pity on him. But a smile slips onto your face. Unlike the other ones. It doesn’t fill him with joy. It doesn’t give him butterflies. This one hurts.

And he knows you’re telling the truth.

“This… It might take a while.”

The wind picks up. The leaves rustle. The cold, biting.

“That’s ok. I’ll wait as long as you need me to.”

Your lips are bittersweet on his tongue.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY AGAIN TO KARLA !! ILYYYY <3

[ushiwakaout]

WARNINGS: age gap, student x teacher (platonic then romantic) SPOILERS FOR MANGA CHAPTERS 280+

probably really bad spelling

Ok bitches, it’s midnight and my mind is ROLLING.

This obviously has to do with bakugo. I’m a bakugo kinny so don’t @ me plz.

I really do be thinking that he’d fall in love with his teacher. But like let me explain.

You’re one of his teachers but you aren’t a hero, 100% a vigilante bc you don’t believe in the Hero morals bc you think they are a little twisted. You’re the only teacher in UA who’s not a “real” hero, personally i think Aizawa is a vigilante bc in the beginning we see that he doesn’t like Toshinori and i think it has to do with his Hero ways.

ANYWAYS, getting out of pocket here.

After the UA festival you have a big soft spot for bakugo and midoriya (especially bkg but don’t tell deku). One day he accidentally fell asleep in class bc he’s been having nightmares and you notice. Ofc you do- he’s basically your kid smh. You don’t even bother to wake him and you threaten the ones who try, especially denki and mineta. Your quirk revolves around blood manipulation but u can make it into a physical form (i guess like elsa but w blood/ u can manipulate not just yours) So when they try to wake up bakugo you just put two scary blood creatures beside them and they threaten them for you. If class is over and he’s still asleep, deku looks a little worried but you pat his shoulders and let him know it’s okay.

not you waking him up with a blood figure bc your scared of him 😔 just a lil

he obviously wakes up startled with the blood beside him, unknown to you, it reminded him of the Sludge villain. you rush to his side and start to apologize, stroking his hair but he just slaps your hand away. He’s not used to this type of affection. “Bakugo.... Are you sleeping alright?” He obviously doesn’t crack under the first attempt and decided to leave, calling you an old hag nun the less. He’s muttering “Why should you care?” and “Mind your business old hag.” Mind you, youre only like 7 years older than he is. (Bakugo is 16, aka the oldest of the class making you 23, one of the youngest teachers too) You only stop him seconds before he’s out the door to let him know that he can talk to you when he wants to. Obviously flips u off bc he doesn’t see you like an elder like Aizawa or All Might.

The fourth time Bakugo is distracted or falls asleep, he slips up. You wake him after Iida complained to you about not waking him up, low key threaten him too- u know that he almost murdered stain 💀 shuts him right up. You stroke his hair this time, trying to be gentle and not startle him like last time. You ask if he’s okay again and that’s when he slips up, “Just nightmares n stuff...” He is NOT fully awake or conscious, so he kinda frazzled up again and we are back to our regular program of Bakugo barking in your face to mind your business. But you don’t expect him to say thank you right before he walks out the door. You’re like ????? that’s new.

It’s probably the last time bakugo falls asleep is when he starts developing a crush on you. You run your hands through his hair again and he kinda rubbed into it like a cat being pet behind the ears. Both of you are like 👁👄👁

He BOLTED. No way he had just developed a crush on his teacher. No fucking way. Try’s to distance himself from you. Doesnt sleep in you class anymore. Doesnt ask you for your help or anything. You don’t mind since it seems like he’s getting by better than he was before.

But when he gets captured by the LOV and youre at camp w aizawa as extra help and you don’t see bakugo back with the rest it’s like a piece of your heart was ripped out. ( BTW in this point in time the feelings you have for bakugo ARE NOT ROMANTIC, it’s kinda like Eri and Aizawa situation, you unintentionally took bakugo under your wing and care for him a little bit more than the rest)

You don’t sleep until you find him. You’re at the press conference and you’re blood begins to boil when they said bakugo would become a villain. You spoke over Aizawa “I can assure you that you can drop those theories and accusations of my student. Bakugo Katsuki is talented and strong willed. What you saw during the festival was a mier fragment of who he really is. He’s a good kid who wants to be the number one hero one day... he wouldn’t give that up to be a villain.”

“And how do you know this fire sure, (hero/name)”

“I know my student better than anyone.”

When you hear that Midoriya, Iida, Momo, Kirishima and Todoroki went on a rescue mission to save Bakugo- you freak out. You paced all night until All might won the battle against AFO. Shota called you in the middle of the night to let you know that Bkg was gonna be in the hospital for the night. You rushed over there and once again your blood began to boil- you overheard the converstantion with him and his mother. Her calling him weak. What kind of mother was she?

you purposely walked in, “Oh sorry... You must be the Bakugos, I’m H/N- his teacher.” Mitsuki shook your hand and so did Masaru. You guys chatted a little before they left. “Your fathers such a sweet guy... how’d he end up with your mom?” Bakugo chuckled, “Old hag basically jumped on him at work.” You two chuckled together.

A very long chat between you too happened. More on how he was feeling and how you worried about him. At this point Bakugo knew that he could confide in you... He looked down at his lap and he began to sniffle. Something you where NOT expecting. “It’s all my fault... All might lost his power because of me... Becahse i was weak.” You heart ached for him UGH. Taking his hand in his, “Bakugo you are not weak... You’re the strongest kid I know. This isn’t your fault. If anything it’s mine... I couldn’t protect you kids fast enough... I’m sorry.” Caressing his cheeks. “It’s getting late. Get some sleep bakugo.” Youre about to let go of his hands but his grip gets tighter. “Don’t make me say it old hag.” He mutters before you chuckle a little and sit back down. You fall asleep you head on the edge of his bed, still in your chair while he finally began to drift to sleep. Your hand now in his.

When he figured out Deku’s secret he has one condition. “We tell L/N”

Deku’s like ??? “You mean H/N??? But kacchan!”

“No buts deku! We tell L/N or i tell everyone.”

“All Might! Do something!”

“I trust her”

“HA! Stupid deku!”

Bakugou’s kinda excited to tell you while y’all have tea and discuss Deku’s quirk but your sipping your tea when they tell you and your like “Oh, yeah i kinda figured that out myself... You guys are really bad at hiding a secret.” Bakugo calls the irresponsible and the rest is history 💀

Also you side intern w a 1-B student Shiozaki bc y’all have manipulation quirks and he gets mad jealous 💀💀 also hates that u intern w Vlad King and hang out w Hawks WAY TOO MUch

If he’s ever around you guys and Hawks starts flirting OH MAN bakugou with start to bark.

Hawks is the first person to notice his crush and he tells you and your like “Pft BAKUGOU?? You’re crazy!” but then you low key begin to notice small things that you didn’t before and your like oh- Oh shit.... this ain’t good

“Bakugo, have lunch with me will you?”

Denki and mineta make dirty jokes and you slap both of them w your shadows before the exit class.

You’re both mid into your bento box as you just blurt it out “Do you fancy me Kacchan?” yes u intentionally call him kacchan bc he chokes on the spici bento u made him. “Oh wow... hawks was right...”

“WHAT DID THAT BIRD BRAIN TELL YOU”

“Just told me you had a crush on me... Didnt believe him until now...” You eat a little more bento and just put it down bc ur don’t like the tension in the room. “Bakugo you know nothings going to happen between us right? You’re my student and i care about you. I obviously favor you but that’s all it’s gonna be.”

“Watch your mouth old hag. I’m 18 in two years, let’s see if i don’t come back and bite you in the ass.”

you burst out laughing and he just barks at you for laughing at him. “You will not my dear bakugo. Unless you graduate top of your class, turn 21 and make an image for yourself, then we’ll talk.”

“Mmm i promise ima gonna follow you till u love me too, L/N.”

“you’re disgusting, eat your bento.”

SPOILERS FOR MANGA CHAPTER 280 and ONGOING

You’re horribly injured. Gashes and blood spilling from your wounds as you watch Midoriya fight a battle alone with Shigaraki. Bakugo is sitting you up between his legs, making sure you don’t pass out. Your blood isn’t regenerating your wounds like it usually would. Your body has its limits and you’ve almost passed them.

But when Aizawa goes out cold, Deku claims Nanas float quirk, it’s up to you and Endevor to keep everyone safe, even if your body is screaming at you to sleep and rest.

There’s a moment when you see bakugo look at you when he sees that his child hood friends is in grave danger. “Don’t... BAKUGO!” He’s already in the air and your blood whips aren’t fast enough to move them. Shigaraki is faster and pieces through his chest and abdomen... It’s like you could feel it. “NO!!BAKUGO!!!” Everyone around you can hear the horror in your voice as you push yourself up in the air w the rest of your energy and catch him in your arms before anyone else does, but your body feels limp, luckily enough Todoroki Shoto is seconds behind you and catches the both of you safely.

At this point you can’t even tell who’s blood is on your hands. “You idiot.... Damn it ... Hey, hey you’re alright, look at me Bakugo. You can’t leave me too kid.” If it weren’t for your regeneration you’d probably be passed out the way he is right now. “We’re gonna get you to safety alright.... You gotta keep your promise... as stupid as it is.”

The second your feet step into a medical, everyone is looking at the both of you in horror. You tears a falling onto him and you just look like a tired mess. “Please take him. No- No not me, him! He needs help not me, please.” The doctors are quick and they try to help you but you keep screaming that it’s bakugo that needs help and when he’s not in your arms anymore and you see him getting the help you need that’s when your body collapses into the arms of a doctor.

Once everything is over and everyone is safe. You’re the last one out of the group who wakes up, which frightens bakugo. He’s in his room and he’s nagging you at his nurse to let him see you (your legit a curtain over) but she keeps saying that you need rest and blah blah. “Let the kid in nurse.” You croak and bakugo almost falls off his bed to get to you.

he regrets his decision. you look pissed. “You could have died.” was the first thing you tell him when you see him. “Do you know how selfish that was Bakugo? You could have died in my arms? Did you even think about that-

“My body moved in it’s own...”

*silence*

“I had to do something...”

You start tearing up, “get over here you stupid pomeranian.”

After that you watch Bakugo from afar, you give up you job in UA. You felt unworthy to have that position especially when you couldn’t save your student for the second time. Sometimes bakugo calls you and ask where you are while he’s on a grocery run. “I’m a lot closer than you think Kacchan, now get home safely, it’s getting dark.” You hang up in him and follows him back to UA, making use he’s fine.

This goes on for two year until he graduates. He’s taking pictures with his friends and aizawa gives him a box. “What is this?” he shrugs. “She just dropped it off.” He walks away leaving bakugo confused.

He opens the box and it’s a picture of you and him that Toshinori may have taken while you laughed together eating your bento. Behind the picture, there’s ink w your hand writing “give it back in 3 years” and inside there’s ring hanging on a necklace, he chuckles while reading the next note “p.s i’m not proposing. i just want something else to look forward to other than your presence”

“stupid hag.” he mutters before pulling the necklace over his head and tucking it into his graduate uniform. his hand is over the necklace and you see his smile from the top of the UA roof. When he looks up, he sees you. You smile softly and disappear when he blinks- he was afaid that would happen.

the next three years go by a lot quicker than he realizes. He’s interning under the agency you created w hawks but your no where to do seen. You’re never. in office.

and when april 20th hits, it’s the first time people see you in the office in three years and you go directly to Bakugos cubicle. You place a white box in front of him and smile “Happy birthday Dynamight.” His eyes widen when he locks eyes with you. Your hair is different, you look more like a woman than you did 5 years ago. he’s speechless and u just chuckle and roll your eyes. “My necklace, Kacchan.”

“I want my birthday present first.”

“What are you talking about, the box is your present now hand over my neck-“

“that’s not what i’m talking about.”

“the what-”

all eyes are on you two when pulls you into a kiss that he’s been holding onto for five years. “This necklace is mine now, just like you are. I promised you didn’t i?”

[seostudios]

middle of the night: all about luv - p.js

ALL ABOUT LUV ‣ MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT

you just needed to pass your classes and you'd be out of this hellhole but of course you couldn't do it alone! it was a two man job with your lifestyle so the school assigned you to the one and only park jisung, clumsy straight a student who you may or may not have now taken a liking to....

pairing: park jisung x fem!reader

genre: angst, fluff

word count: 4.5k

info: rebel!reader, nerd!jisung, strangers to lovers!au, non-idol!au, high school!au

warnings: explicit/vulgar language, mentions of drugs, alcohol, little bit alcohol consumption

a/n: hey omg i can’t believe i finally posted a part to this series, i hope u guys enjoy it and PLEASE tell me if you want a taglist okay? thanks! 

You were fierce, everyone knew. Even those who haven't even seen you and your tricks in-person feared when you attended school. Although you were known to play tricks,  rough-house, and start problems with the other kids who didn't even bother attending school or pursue their actual desires- you had one and was determined to make it come true one way or another. But unfortunately, you were pretty dim compared to the students who roamed the hallways, it never stopped you, Today you decided on approaching your math teacher since she was surprisingly the only one who cheered you on with your aspirations,

"So...I'm passing three of my four courses this semester!?" You eagerly questioned the woman in front of you, "Yes, you are" confirmed with the recent grade updates, you sigh in relief knowing you were passing most of your classes with satisfying marks, so you made your way to the exit. 

However, she pulled you back down to your seat. "You're failing Science Y/n," she added pointing at the 34, "Well I don't even know what's happening in there, how can I pass in such a short time?" 

He stared out the window of the Science lab. He had plans after school, "Jisung? Park Jisung?" an unfamiliar teacher called from the door frame; his attention was mainly towards the girl behind her which sent shivers down his spine.

"Can you meet me in Room 284 after school?" Of course not, he's finally scored a fucking date with Lee Jieun one of the prettiest and popular girls of the junior division, he looked over to Jieun in the back of the class who was listening in on your conversation along with everybody else in the classroom, she looked disappointed but nodded permitting him to ditch their date, he smiled apologetically at the girl before focusing his attention to the door, 

"Sure."

Knocks were heard from the door which made your busy teacher who was marking work signal you to go open the entrance to this quite cold classroom. Roughly around 5'11 probably 6'0 boy is wearing a worn-out white shirt, with a navy blue blazer, pants and a poorly tied tie. His attire was mandatory but his hair was unique, rocking pink-brown hair was not something you see every day unless they were idols. The sun shined passed the windows onto the boy making his rosewood hair turn into a more dark salmon colour. "Jisung!" Your Math teacher chirped to the boy pulling out a chair next to yours indicating you two to sit back down. She took a good two minutes out of your time to finish up on marking and organizing the sheets sprawled across the desk, you and Jisung just sat in silence. In all honestly, Jisung was shitting himself. You and the reputation you had here were most definitely the reason why. Shifting his position every ten seconds, the occasional glances to you, and bouncing his leg. Finally, she turned her attention to the pair in front of her, "So you two are probably really confused."she stated looking at Jisung, then you."Poor Y/n here, my favourite student-"She pauses looking at you with a smile and towards Jisung who looked confused on how,"which is surprising to the staff apparently which I have no idea how...she hasn't been...rebellious in a few weeks since she's trying to pass before the summer break."Clasping her hands together she looks up at you two, "Jisung I need you to tutor Y/n until she gets her final grade in." When I tell you his eyes widened enough for you to see the wrinkles on his forehead form, you did. You smiled accepting the help but it quickly seeing his distressed self, "Are you okay? Do you not want to tutor me?"You asked, and it was your first time ever speaking to the boy he never expected you to sound so soft and gentle; predicting beforehand that you had a rough deeper voice. His facial expression softens slightly at your hopeful gaze piercing through him- hoping he'd tutor you, cause frankly, you needed it more than anyone in your division at this point (Maybe you're being a little selfish but who cares.). Jisung was sitting in his seat, zoned out, probably processing all this. It took him a minute, but he finally looked up from fiddling with his fingers. "Oh Of course I will! I can do Wednesdays after school and Saturday around noon?"It was pretty shocking how confident he sounded ordering you around that second- which made the teacher grin at the shy boy's sudden dominance. Chuckling a little with a small smile plastered on your face you say "Works perfectly, I'll be leaving now. Bye Ms.," You said jolting up grabbing your backpack walking towards the door, but before you leave you gotta leave a nice impression on the boy plus its rude to not say goodbye isn't it. 

"Goodbye Jisung Park."

It was Tuesday and Jisung was sitting in the Music room during lunch eating and catching up on his Health papers when you walked in. This was your usual spot in the late spring when you needed AC and a place to lay down. On a regular day for Jisung, he'd be in the front of the school on the bench working however it was too hot for him today so he opted to break into the already unlocked classroom to eat and study in. Sitting on top of the sink counter you lean to open a window pulling out a cigarette, you came here to smoke and it was a great place since it was deserted. "W-What are you doing?" Jisung asked looking up from his notebook sitting on the carpet. "Do I look like I'm about to jump out the window? no. I'm gonna smoke."You informed sarcastically on the boy. He was slightly taken aback you were so sweet yesterday and today your back with your bad girl reputation still strong. He threw you a quick look before getting up, putting his things in his bag, and throwing out the rest of his lunch. Now, walking towards you he takes the cigarette out your hand before you could even light it and threw it out the open window. "Hey! I wasn't done with that, and I didn't even start with it!" You raised your voice at him which did make him flinch but provoked him to argue back, "Yah! Your smoking is unhealthy and against school rules." He paused but started again, "You want to pass, don't you? I'm helping you pass, aren't I? Get your things together if you want my help Y/n."He spat. Honestly, you didn't think his words would affect you so much but it fueled the fire you started a minute ago. "Shut up Park, stop acting all tough when you know nothing about me, I never needed your help I was just going along with Ms." you argued back before grabbing your backpack and the lighter on the counter before hopping off pushing the tallboy to the side rudely, muttering something about bullshit.

"I was helping her! And she says you know nothing about me Park! like of course I don't butt why does she need to be an asshole when I'm trying to help her out." Jisung complains to Chenle in front of him. "Maybe she's like addicted," Chenle says trying to make the best out of the situation "Look, she'll warm up to you eventually cause you two will be spending lots of time together now." Jisung huffs in disbelief that Chenle is basically on your side here, getting up from the grassy field to join the rest of his gym class in soccer.

From the corner of his eyes, he sees a figure under the bleachers; you. He knows you are upset with him as much as he is with you but he still wants to encourage you to pass Science with his help. "Park! Get your ass over here!" Yedam, his classmate calls him to grab his things on the field before heading into the change rooms.

The school bell rang, you watched students walk out of their classrooms to their lockers, friends, lovers. You were leaning against the wall beside the empty Music room contemplating if you should leave and hang out with some friends by Unjeong Lake Park or stay in with Park Jisung to study for Science. Your thoughts were quickly interrupted by a voice, "Hey." Jisung stood in front of you, backpack resting on one shoulder and a Science textbook in his hand. "Hi," It was awkward being around him after you little tilt.

"Let's go," You trailed behind Jisung watching him take you to an unfamiliar part of the school, the West End. "Why are we here?" You question the pink-haired boy, but all you get in return is silence. At last, he brought you two to the old gym, it hasn't been used in almost 6 years but somehow it looks squeaky clean. "This is my hangout spot after school, I kind of made my friends go down to Unjeong for the day so we could study here until I find a proper place." He explains to you placing his books and bag on the stacked mats, offering to take your bag too, you let him. "So what Unit is your class working on now?" He asked you once the two of you sat on one of the many beanbags in the gym (Probably brought in from his pals), "Well my mom made me take Biology I and I know you are in my class I just don't show up..." You lean back on the beanbag playing with the lighter in your hands "What are we learning Park?" He visibly gulps at you doesn't even know why he's nervous himself, maybe because your scary? Probably.

"Well we're on our last unit of the year and the Unit test and Final Exam are what can get you to pass the class with at least a 60," He said moving to grab his textbook flipping to a page with sticky notes plastered all over. "We are in Unit 5, Plants: Anatomy, Growth, and Function. It's an easy Unit so we could go through it in two months then spend the two weeks before the final exam prep." Jisung finished speaking and handed you the textbook that was on the Unit page, it didn't look hard but you knew better to judge a book by its cover. "Alright, where do we start." You smile at the grinning boy who's suddenly amused by your aspiration to pass the course.

It's 2:45 and you are in the middle of the last period, Science. It was your last day of the Science of the year, technically. You still had to prep for your final exam, but this was the final unit test which meant for the next month you'd be stuck in a silent classroom with your peers all silently studying over and writing recap notes for the final exam. You finish writing the date on your page and adding a little smiley face at the end of your name, flipping your paper over you take out your earbuds, and play music to pass time. 

Good, 15 minutes have passed, and you see students getting up to hand in their papers, this where you tag along and hand it in too. Patting the eraser ends on your skirt off you make it back to your desk sitting then turning to look behind you, a few desks down to a now chocolate haired boy. He was finishing up his test when he looked up to see you basically ogling at him. Throwing you an awkward half-assed smile he looks back to the girl behind him, Jieun. 

Jieun and Jisung took a very bad turn once Jisung agreed on tutoring you. She's ghosted the boy and took a liking to her lab partner, Taehyun. It was disappointing to see a girl get jealous over her date tutoring a very incompetent girl like you. If you were in her position, you might've gotten scared but wouldn't drop the kid; it was rude, and honestly, you were glad Jisung accepted that fate and moved on from her. He played with the end of his test sheet before sighing thumping his head against the desk, okay maybe he wasn't that over her yet but he's doing better than you ever would. Over these four months you and Jisung surprisingly got along well, you've opted to occupy a booth int he back of your town's ice cream parlor for studying instead of that abandoned gym in the West End. 

In all honesty, you felt bad about how you treated the tall boy in the first few weeks of tutoring. You showed up late which strung the classes longer making one hour, two. You complained, never listened, argued, actually punched him once. But after warming up to him you've started to take a liking, noticing his features a little more than you did last week, finding his beauty mark under his lip stunning. Nowadays he seems ten times more charming, appealing, engaging, and irresistible to you, memorizing his favourite things how he looks up to Kai, the teacher assistant for the seniors. And that he actually hates Science and prefers Gym and Sociology class. He likes all kinds of ice cream and tries new flavors every visit, he never writes with a red-inked pen since he prefers the black one and always lets you know that too ("Y/n did you know red ink stains are a nasty stain to get out, always use black ink."). You aren't the only one who's learned to love the newly blossomed friendship as he's learned as much as you about him, on how you've always wanted to become a Veterinarian, that your love for animals is just unexplainable and the only things holding you down is this horrible reputation you've built yourself over the two years of attending. But better late than ever to change your ways and Jisung was absolutely mesmerized by your determination to achieve the new milestones you've set for yourself.

"PARK JISUNG!" You shrieked barging into the empty ice cream parlor to see the boy sitting idling on his device, he looks up at you running towards your booth. "Hey, shhh", he quiets your overly excited self-telling you to sit."I got my Unit Test mark," you stop talking to take your backpack off and pull out your Unit Test which was graded and with a big fat A on it. "Holy shit! Y/n this is amazing!!"He exclaimed eyes going wide seeing the mark, his hard work really did pay off. 

"Now we can start prepping for Finals," Jisung told you after handing your papers back, your shoulders sagged and your smile disappeared, you were hoping to possibly celebrate with your tutor and newfound friend. Shaking your head, you look at him again, "No sorry, I wanna celebrate this tonight," you inform Jisung who looks at you with a somewhat annoyed expression. "Sorry Y/n but one A isn't going to help you get to a passing mark, you need more than that and the only thing that'll help you pass Biology is your Final Exam which is what we need to prep for." What the fuck? Jisung Park, the golden student, and who you thought was your friend basically telling you that your grade wasn't worth all that cheering two minutes ago. That was unbelievable what type of asshole does that, oh wait apparently Jisung Park. You knew you weren't gonna pass with one test, of course not. You might've been dumb but not to that extent, you clench your fists wondering how all that admiration you had for someone just got poured down a drain so quickly. You chuckle heartlessly ' that thought lingered before you look at him and speak.

"Yea of course I know that but do you not understand how big of a milestone this was for me? I am one step behind passing my hardest subject of the semester and you telling me that it's not enough and we need to prepare for a final at the end of a month that has just started is fucking rude Park."You hiss at him now baffled on how he couldn't comprehend after four- almost five months of knowing you. Getting up you grab your backpack and phone and turn to exit the ice-cream parlor. 

You were now outside of the small store, and Jisung didn't even come after you. Sighing knowing you should've known associating yourself with someone with a better reputation wouldn't have been smart. Pulling your phone out, you dial in a friend who you knew would be there for you and who had more free time than most students his age. "Jeno," You stammered through the phone "Y/n? Are you okay?" You smile weakly at his concern, not even a minute into a call."Can you pick me up?" you asked quietly to the older boy. Looking through the big glass window to the back of the shop, you see Jisung sitting there watching you intently, and he knows he hurt you. It wasn't his intent to; he just wanted you to reach your goals and he thought celebrating could've been done another time instead not today, I guess he hit a soft spot seeing your facial expression so fragile.

He saw a motorcycle pull up beside you and a muscular guy go and place a helmet on your head after holding you in his embrace for a moment before the two of you hopping back on the ride driving off to god knows where.

You kick around an empty pop can on the sidewalk waiting for your ride. Jeno knew something upsetting you over the phone so he decided not to question it and get you riled up but to drink a couple of beers and play darts at his crib. A Black 2018 Kawasaki Ninja pulls up in front of you, the driver removes his helmet revealed to be your dear friend, Jeno. He felt your gloomy aura already deciding to just embrace you tightly, "Whatever it is, you did amazing." He assured you before breaking the hug to plop the helmet on you and hopping back on with you behind him seated.

"Great job Y/n, I can see you making it through the year, I just finished putting in your final mark 89 is an amazing score and all on your own is shocking." Your Science teacher complimented you after holding you back to show your improvement to you, Jeno encouraged you to still study hard solo after acknowledging that you didn't want to work with Jisung anymore, hard work did pay off now your officially finished with your junior year and with flawless grades. "Have a great summer break," You tell her before walking out for lunch. Last day of school before the summer break, it's been a crazy weird year but you don't seem to be upset. Jisung seemed happy without you anyways, you've been skipping Music to sit out on the bleachers while he had gym class, and made sure to visit the West End more often. You didn't realize it yet but Jisung looking happy stung more than it should've.

Fuck that bullshit Y/n is on, Jisung is miserable without her. He didn't take note of it but he was more than happy to spend his Wednesdays and Saturdays with you. He liked the way your eyes widened or how your jaw almost touched the floor when he teaches you something new, or when your eyed shimmered when your grades went up every quiz. How your nose scrunched up at a difficult question, the way you organized his pencil case when he wasn't looking because 'it had to be cute like him'. He was too much of a coward to keep you by his side, it's safe to say Jisung Park likes you back. Head over heels in love with you probably, but we shouldn't stretch it that far knowing he's working his ass off to get over you, and of his mind but when does he even succeed. It's the last day of school and possibly the last time Jisung gets to see you roam the halls, watch him in Gym class fooling around with his friends, or just see you until the next school year. No, Jisung made it his goal to win you back. He's never seen you that way, never thought he'd need you, all he wants is to see you, hold you.

"No Park. She's not even here kid," Your friend, Yuna told Jisung who was at your doorstep asking for you. "Just, just tell her to text me." He said frustrated now leaving.

"I thought you said he didn't want anything to do with you?" Jeno asked sitting on the couch of Yuna's living room beside you. "He doesn't, I don't know why-" Yuna was quick to argue with you, "He likes you and you left." Jeno nods agreeing, "I see that happening..." He half-joked. "Listen I know he was a jerk in May, but it's June- July tomorrow! He's not being a jerk right now because what freaking jerk comes to your doorstep BEGGING to talk to you?" Yuna ranted. 

You know he's not a jerk and he meant no harm that day but it hurt. Everyone always sugarcoated things with you so when Jisung was pretty blunt with you, it stung. You whine at all this thinking about Jisung and feelings, plus even if he did like you, there was so much to unravel than just some lame highschooler who wanted to get her shit together. So so much more than just that. Drinking the rest of the alcohol in your plastic cup you sit up straight staring at the two in front of you who were dying to hear your say in this, "Okay so what if we have our happy ending, what'll happen then? He'll figure out how toxic I am and go running back to Jiwoo or whatever name is."Stopping and using a couch pillow to cover your face- did you seriously imagine yourself with a happy ending, you've fucked up so much that it seems impossible to turn back. Yuna notices your heartache and decided to tone down on his jokes and talk to you 'for realsies',"Sweetheart if he leaves you because your teeny issues were too overwhelming for him it's not worth it but from his recent actions it looks like he'd want to be there with you through those issues. Honestly, he could live a little too so dealing with you- and giving me and Jeno here a break should be thrilling."Adding a light-hearted joke was what you needed to place a soft smile on your lips.

“Now go get your man” Jeno says slapping your back playfully encouraging you to leave the house and venture off to him- wherever he is.

"Can I help you?" A boy wearing Yonsei University sweatshirt asked you. 'This must be Jisung's older brother he told me about' You thought to yourself, "Oh Yes, is Jisung home?" You ask him looking up trying to look as innocent as you can. "Oh you just missed him, he went to get ice cream with his friends," he said. Shouting a quick thanks you run down to the only ice cream parlor Jisung probably knows in town.

CLOSED is all you see in front of the ice cream parlor. Did Jisung's older brother lie to me? Now that you think of it, he and his brother aren't close enough to share those type of things from what you heard, and what type of boy would avoid the girl he supposedly likes. You sit down on the curb looking off into the little soccer field, watching kids play with their friends thinking, then it hit you. Did Jisung lie to his older brother? C'mon Y/n think of the one place Jisung and his friends could be...The park? Nah, too crowded. The mall? No, too far. Think Think Think, one place. Where in the world could Jisung- WEST END! God, why didn't you think of that in the beginning, of course, he's there. Getting up off the curb you make your way quickly to the back of the school, remembering Jisung telling you a back entrance to the West End.

Reaching the back entrance you see it open indicating someone (Jisung and friends) was inside. Maybe you shouldn't barge in and ruin their fun...opting to send Jisung a text you search your pockets to find, nothing. How could you leave your house without your phone? You're like addicted to it. "Excuse me?" A deep voice booms behind you, turning around you look up at the man. It's Jaehyun, the volleyball team captain. "Y/n." You know him, through Jisung, of course, why else would he be at the West End or know your name. "Hi," your breath rather softly which throws the older boy way off since he knows you for your snarky remarks or overly confident aura...Today you seem the opposite really. "Can you tell Jisung to come out for a second?" you ask avoiding eye contact and resorting to looking at the chalked up pavement. He gives you a thumbs up and heads in.

"Park Jisung-ah!" Jaehyun shouts for Jisung loud enough for it to echo in the empty gym. Looking up and seeing Jaehyun, Jisung excuses himself from his current conversation with Doyoung, Yuta, and Renjun to jog over to his Hyung. "Your chick is here," He says pointing out the door to you, Jisung's eyes lit up already knowing who Jaehyun was talking about peeking his head out the door to see you looking off into the parking lot, watching the sunset. He was pulled right back in by Jaehyun, "You better fix whatever's been going on between you, Y/n looks like an actual school girl being all shy and soft. I'm actually disgusted I need that spunky girl back before I force you two to kiss or some shit," Really Jaehyun? Some advice you got there.

"Alright kid go get your chick" Jaehyun cheered before pushing him and closing the door loud enough to alert and make you turn back.

It felt like a dream, none of this felt real. It hasn't even bee 24 hours since you last saw Jisung, but it's been a month of not interacting to get your heart racing this much. You looked unreal to Jisung, out of a fairytale actually and he looked amazing, like always. This is when he started to panic, you smiled weakly and started walking up to him. He looked down at his shoes not having the balls to look you in the eye, "Jisung look at me you pussy." You said so calmly but so rudely(?). It was funny and made Jisung giggle which made you short circuit.

Jisung looks up from his feet to see you staring into his brown eyes, taking in all his features again looking at him from head to toe; how fluffy his dark coffee bean hair was or his cheeks- god you always took the chance to pinch them when you could. His broad shoulders you always wondered how his hugs would be, probably so comfy and perfect. The beauty mark under his lip, fuck always wanted to kiss it. Your thoughts were disrupted when you felt two large hands enclose you in a tight hug; reacting almost immediately you wrap your small hands around his waist and rest your head on his chest while he brings his large hand to caress the back of your head. "I'm sorry, I know what I said was wrong and I shouldn't have made you seem so slow-witted when you totally aren't. I think over that conversation almost every night. I'm so so sorry Y/n," He finishes tightening the hug for a moment sympathetically.

You loosen the hug and tippy-toe up to the boy placing a small peck on his pink lips which caused his cheeks to go crimson. "You're forgiven, Park," you say giving him a tight smile. You see the tall boy pout a little and turn his reddened face to the side before mumbling "I was supposed to do that," which caused a fit of giggles from you. 

"You'll have plenty of opportunities in the future Jisung."

[whumphoarder]

Who Needs Disney When You Have Russell Crowe?

Summary: When Peter’s ear infection gets a little out of hand, Tony and Morgan have slightly different ideas of how to help.

Word count: 1,874

Genre: Sickfic, domestic fluff, Whump Lite™

A/N: Thanks to @xxx-cat-xxx for beta-reading and ideas <3

Link to read on Ao3

Peter wakes to the sound of quiet whimpering.

It takes a few seconds for his groggy brain to register where he is, but the warm glow of the bunny-shaped night light on the opposite wall illuminating the Arendelle toy castle and the pile of stuffed animals on the floor gives it away. He’s in Morgan’s room. Morgan, who insisted on getting a bunk bed for her sixth birthday so that she and Peter could have sleepovers whenever he came to visit.

Morgan, who is clearly in the midst of a nightmare.

“Mo...” Peter whispers hoarsely. There are a few more quiet, pained whimpers. “Mo,” he tries again, louder. His left ear is throbbing and it’s ridiculously stuffy in this room—he’s actually sweating. Kicking the tangled bed covers off of himself, he lifts a hand to tap the wooden bed frame over his head. She stirs. “Morgan, wake u-up.” His voice cracks on the last word.

Morgan sits up in her bunk. “Yeah?” she asks drowsily. She leans over the edge of bed to look at him, strands of her long hair falling in her face. “What is it?”

She doesn’t seem particularly upset, which Peter finds strange. “Did… did you have a b-bad dream?” he asks.

In the dim light of the room, he can just make out her curious expression. “I don’t think so.” She swings her legs over the side of the bed and shimmies backwards down the ladder. “Did you?”

“Wh-What?” His ear is ringing, the pain feeling almost bone-deep. There’s another whimper, barely audible.

“You’re crying,” she says simply, perching herself on the edge of his bed. Her brow knits together. “Are you sad?”

Peter wipes the back of his hand roughly across his face and finds it’s wet with tears. It takes a second for his addled brain to realize that she’s right, and then an instant wave of self-consciousness washes over him as he looks into the eyes of the frowning six-year-old. “No, sorry, ‘m fine.” He pushes himself up on his elbows, hurriedly brushing the tears away.

Morgan’s eyes go wide. “You’re bleeding!” she gasps.

“Huh?” Peter follows her horrified gaze down to the pillow he’s been using. It’s covered in something dark and sticky. Alarmed, he lifts a shaky hand to his throbbing ear and feels more liquid trickling down. “Oh – um – wow, uh...”

“I’m getting Daddy!” Morgan declares, jumping up from the mattress and spinning on her heel. “Hang on!”

“Wait, no, don’t freak him—”

But she’s already out of the room.

“...out.” With a small groan, Peter carefully sits the rest of the way up and flips the lamp on. The pastel lilac pillowcase is stained with a mixture of blood and yellowish fluid. Grimacing, he grabs some tissues from the box on Morgan’s dresser and dabs them carefully at his dripping ear, hissing sharply at the stabbing pain it causes.

Within a minute, Morgan is back, dragging the hand of a disheveled but surprisingly alert-looking Tony in after her. “See? He’s crying and bleeding out of his ears!” she blurts.

“Just one ear,” Peter corrects, lowering the tissue down to look at the fresh blood and pus on it. “Gross...”

Tony rolls his eyes. “Oh, well in that case I’ll just go back to bed—you’re perfectly fine.” He moves over to the bed, Morgan following close behind. “Anything you wanna share with the class? You take any good hits to the noggin’ recently? Blow something up?”

Peter shakes his head as much as he dares, which only increases the ringing sensation. “No, nothing like that,” he mutters. He wishes this was something cool and Spider-Man related, but he’s pretty sure it’s just his patented Parker Luck™. “Ear started hurting a couple days ago,” he admits. “Thought it would go away.”

Tony pulls out his phone and flips on the flashlight. “Can I see it?”

“Yeah,” Peter says, wincing. He bites his lower lip and does his best to keep as still as possible as Tony peers into his ear with the light.

“What does it look like?” Morgan asks curiously.

“Ugly as hell...” Tony mutters. He flicks the light off and turns to Peter. “Pretty sure you ruptured your eardrum, kiddo.”

“Ah.” The pain seems to ramp up with the confirmation. That checks out. Certainly feels like someone just bored a hole through his ear. He can feel the fluid dripping out down his cheek.

Tony must notice it too because he grimaces and pulls a couple more tissues out of the box to hand him. “You know, if you weren’t feeling well, you could have told us that when you got here,” he points out. “Instead of waiting until”—he glances at his lock screen—“3:37 in the morning.”

Peter manages a small smirk. “Gotta keep you on your toes. You know, now that you’re retired and all...”

Looking very unamused, Tony extends a hand and helps pull Peter up to standing. The movement only increases the throbbing in his ear and Peter squeezes his eyes shut tightly against a wave of dizziness.

“Alright?” Tony checks, still gripping his arm tightly.

“Yeah,” Peter breathes, the ringing growing louder. “Sorry. Just... really hurts.”

“He can have some of my medicine,” Morgan offers in a slightly hushed voice. “The one Mommy gives me when my ears hurt.”

Tony lets out a short laugh. “That’s nice of you, sweetie, but I don’t think grape-flavored Children’s Motrin is gonna cut it here.” He gestures up to the top bunk. “Why don’t you hop back up there and try to sleep some more while I go get Peter fixed up?”

Morgan sticks her lip out in a pout. “But I’m not tired now.”

Instant guilt comes over Peter at having woken her up, but Tony doesn’t miss a beat.

“Nope, you are, you just forgot,” he says knowingly. He lets go of Peter’s arm for a second to scoop the now quietly giggling six-year-old up and deposit her on the top bunk. “Count some sheep, kid,” he advises, flipping off the lamp and snagging Peter’s ruined pillow to toss in the laundry.

With Morgan situated, Tony guides Peter out of the bedroom and down the stairs. He leaves Peter to clean up in the bathroom before heading to the kitchen in search of some kind of painkiller that might work on an enhanced metabolism.

Eventually, Tony returns with a bottle of Tylenol-Codeine, a glass of water, and an apologetic look. “It’s the strongest stuff we’ve got here. Might take the edge off at least.”

Peter murmurs his thanks and takes the pills, mostly to humor him. They both know it’s a lost cause. He can burn through a dose of morphine in less than ten minutes; there’s no way over-the-counter meds are going to do anything.

“First thing in the morning, I’ll take you to see Bruce,” Tony promises. “We’ll get you on some antibiotics and something better for the pain.”

Peter just hums in response.

Tony sighs. “We can try a heating pad,” he suggests. “That helps Morgan sometimes.”

“Sure.” Peter shrugs, listless. He’ll do anything at this point to make his ear stop aching.

Tony locates the heating pad and gets Peter set up on the chaise section of the couch under a blanket with the heating pad resting on the pillow under his ear. It helps marginally, which is slightly more than Peter can say for the pills.

“Sorry, kiddo. If only you’d known me in the nineties,” Tony says with a sad chuckle. “Could’ve tried all kinds of stuff on you.”

Peter lets out a short, empty laugh. “Yeah, too bad. Sure May would’ve loved that…”

Tony settles down onto the other end of the couch and flips on the TV for distraction. After a bit of channel flipping, he picks a period war drama about a badass sea captain fighting during the Napoleonic Wars, starring Russell Crowe.

(It was that or “My Strange Addiction” on TLC, and neither of them felt like watching a woman eat a couch).

Peter doesn’t exactly sleep, but he closes his eyes and drifts in and out while the movie plays low in the background. He’s kind of queasy—probably a combination of the otherwise useless drugs and the low grade fever he’s pretty sure he’s got going—but it’s nothing too awful. At least the sounds of cannons firing and battles being waged on screen drown out the incessant ringing in his head.

He isn’t sure how much time passes before a new voice joins the mix in a stage-whisper:

“Are they gonna cut his arm off?”

Peter’s eyes snap open. He sees Tony dozing on the other end of the sofa, so he sits up a little straighter and turns around to look at the staircase behind him. Sure enough, Morgan is sitting on the fourth step from the bottom, just high enough to see over the couch to the TV.

“I thought you went back to bed,” Peter whispers.

Morgan shrugs. “Counting sheep is boring.” She stands up and tiptoes down the rest of the stairs and into the living room. “Are they gonna cut his arm off?” she repeats.

Peter looks back at the movie. The ship’s doctor is in the midst of a rather intense amputation scene on a young boy’s infected arm. “Yeah, looks like it,” he says through a wince. He should probably change the channel to something more child-friendly, but Tony’s got the remote balanced on his knee and he’s all the way on the other end of the sofa. Oh well.

Morgan nods at the screen, looking impressed. Then she looks back to Peter. “Does your ear still hurt a lot?”

“Nah, it’s not so bad,” Peter lies. “No need to cut it off or anything.” He scoots over on the cushion a bit. “You wanna sit here with me?”

“Yeah.” She nods and hops up onto the couch beside him, snuggling against his right side. “Did Daddy give you medicine?” she inquires.

“Yeah, he did,” Peter assures.

She nods approvingly. “And did he give you the heater thingy?”

Peter lifts the heating pad up slightly for her to see. “Yep.”

“Good.” She nods again. “And cuddles?”

“Eh…” His gaze drifting to his quietly snoring mentor, Peter smirks a bit. “I think I’m getting too old for those.”

“Everybody needs cuddles,” she says knowingly. Scooting a little closer to him, she wraps her arms around his waist. “See?”

A small smile creeps across Peter’s lips. “Yeah, I see.”

They sit there for a moment, Peter doing his best to focus on the steady pressure of the six-year-old’s gentle squeeze rather than the thumping in his head. It’s almost peaceful.

“Either that, or you need a stick,” Morgan pipes up, breaking the spell.

Peter’s brow furrows. “A stick?”

“To bite down on,” she explains, pointing at the TV. “Like the boy in the movie.”

Peter blinks, then shifts his gaze sideways to the little girl watching nineteenth-century field surgery technique with genuine interest.

“It’s so he doesn’t scream,” she informs.

Peter holds out his hand. “Just give me the remote, Mo.”

X

Link to all my fics

If you enjoyed this story, you might also like: Adventures at the Stark Lake House

[moonlit-imagines]

Headcanons for dating John Murphy

John Murphy x male!reader

warnings: knife/violence mentions

a/n:

prompt: anonymous: “Yay! I forgot to put my mushroom at the end of the ask asking if i could do two requests 😂, but for my first request I was wondering if you could do Headcanon on what itd be like for a Male Reader to date John Murphy? ~ 🍄”

first of all, murphy’s a bit protective and possessive

he’s already lost so much, he doesn’t wanna lose you either

“this is my goddamn boyfriend! if anyone touches him, me and them are gonna have a problem, do you understand?”

ride or die, babey

he’s always touching/holding onto you somewhere

arm, hood, hand, sleeve, shoulder, leg, whatever

murphy teases you all the time but if anyone else does they’re a dead man

he carved his and your initials into a tree

he carves his and your initials everywhere tbh

especially “date spots” where he takes you out to go sightseeing or just get away from all of the crazy

he also kisses you whenever he can

mainly discreetly, like cheek or neck or hand or shoulder

but sometimes murphy says “fuck it” and borderlines makeout session in front of everyone bc he doesn’t give a shit abt making ppl uncomfortable with pda

“you’re honestly perfect in every single way, y/n”

“and you’re getting soft, john murphy”

“cant help it, it’s your fault”

“it is? well i must be the worst then”

“oh, yeah. the worst. i don’t know how i even put up with you”

sarcast lil shit

aw but u love him all the same

murphy and you RARELY split up but oh boy, when you do it’s time for trouble

seriously you’re usually keeping him under control and when you cant it gets...worrisome

“i cant stay away from murphy for too long, guys”

“look, y/n, by now, he’s probably already committed a double homicide. let it go”

running into each other’s arms

sharing a tent

either one of you falls off the cot in the middle of the night and wakes up in the dirt

“murphy?”

“down here”

“oh, okay”

unspoken bond

tbh maybe you’d whittle a shitty comb out of a piece of wood in your free time and brush his hair out

he pretends he doesn’t like it but he’s always hinting he wants more

literally following each other to the ends of the earth

“will you stay with me?”

“that’s a dumb fucking question...yeah, i’ll always stay”

using murphy as a pillow

“y/n, you’re laying right on my bladder, i gotta piss”

“but im comfyyyyy”

going through a lot of scarring shit together but you guys lived to tell the tale and you lived it with each other so nice 👍

murphy always wipes your tears when you cry

“if you cry any more you’re gonna get dehydrated and die”

not always good at comfort but thats okay

after all the stressful shit youve gone through, you got a good 6 years in space without fighting for your life, you’ll always cherish that shit

sleeping in, doing semi-domestic shit, arguing over who’s turn it is to do a chore, dancing around to no music

“you really are the best boyfriend a guy could ask for”

“oh, well i already knew that”

“i’m sure you did, you cocky son of a bitch, now give me a kiss”

returning to the ground to find some unsavory occurrences

“ooooh boy, babe, can we go back to space now?”

“ask me again later”

squishing/poking his face

fighting side by side like a couple of badasses

flipping out when you got separated again bc like,,,,,he nearly died

“you asshole! i thought i was gonna lose you!”

“unfortunately for you, im still kicking it”

✨new planet, new you✨

only this one was kinda fucked

nvm mega fucked

but you’ve never met an obstacle that you and murphy couldn’t get past together

when he died for a moment, he changed his pov a bit, dragged you aside, and explained what happened

“im going to hell”

“huh?”

“y/n, i saw what’s in store for me and i cant die now, i cant handle what’s next, it’s fucking awful and i cant face it. i cant do it! i cant!”

having to calm him down once he gets overwhelmed by his thoughts

hushing him to sleep when hes upset

pretty much never leaving his side on this foreign planet bc you were afraid of what they may do to you or him

especially him, he kept himself latched onto you

but as all good things come to an end, so do that bad things

the reign of evil was over and the two of you were able to hunker down for a moment and take a much needed break, sometimes you wished you never left the ring

taglist: @alwaysananglophile // @cullens-stuff // @johnmurphyisbisexual //

[739337369137371082]

Hey so I found u thru the Halved Live Funnies and I gotta ask... whose Leon? What series these dudes from?

i got this ask and then forgot about it for like 2 days. anyways.

IVE ANSWERED THIS BEFORE BUT. GOD. LEON. ok so like....... long story short last year was when i first played resident evil........ bc we got a copy of re2remake in and.... jesus christ. i hyperfixated so fucking hard for the better part of a year going on into this year. and then i watched hl/vr and well. we know where that went. but now i am once again hyperfixated and now im back to where i was in like.... june of last year LMAO. but anyways i am once again going to ramble under the cut about them <3 (seriously. its very long and doesnt go much of anywhere. also spoilers)

tl/dr:

OK. SO. resident evil. the last time i answered this ask i either hadnt played some of them or just completely forgot the plot of others LOL but now upon beating/playing a large majority of them (besides 6 which i have not touched yet, and 7 is first person and im not rly interested in it rn)...... well others have said this as well but if you like cheesy b action movies you would love resident evil!!! 

the orig 1-2 are more survival horror which is what i like the most. 3 is where it starts branching into more actiony stuff but is still survival horror. but 4 and after is just like..... cheesy action stuff which is fine but not really like.... my thing. altho i do think that they are fun in a “this plot is hilariously bad” type way because i do enjoy horrible things. but people who like resident evil dont like it for the plot they like it for the characters. and for me i latched the fuck onto leon kennedy and tyrant t-00 aka mr fucking x

listen.......... you guys know me relatively well enough to know that i have a type......... and i would define leon as not really fitting under it usually because he is 1. under 6 foot 2. human and 3. very much not a villain. but something about (mostly remake) leon hits fucking different!!!!!! hes kind and means well, thinks about others constantly, looks like an actual fucking person in the in game graphics instead of being some manufactured perfect model, nice voice, etc....... i fucking care him so much. also gameplay wise i find his weapons to be more enjoyable than claires so i always end up playing his route/2nd route the most compared to hers. but i do also like claire :) shes nice and epic

i dont really like the newer leons (4 and afterwards) as much.... i mean a lot of it has to do with trauma and general “growing up” after what happened in re2 but hes just so constantly... snarky? jaded? constantly spouting lines to make him seem cool? when in my head hes very much like... a loser LMAO. i mean dont get me wrong hes a badass. he survives a fucking zombie outbreak and nearly gets murdered dozens of time. thats the definition of badass. but also you cannot change my mind that hes also a anxious loser twunk. there is literally nothing you can do to convince me he is “cool” like the games and movies want to think. this is probably heresy to re fans but this is my truth

https://youtu.be/aVZWuSfGStk?t=129

here is a vid of his cutscenes. obvious spoilers in there but you can skip around and see how cute he is. also yes in his first cutscene he is listening to butt rock. i switch between thinking hes just listening to it because nothing else is on the radio or his taste really is that terrible

also you literally CANNOT convince me that he is straight. the games try SOOOOO hard to get you to ship leon/ada or leon/claire but like...... i cannot see it. he has one of the gayest run animations i have ever seen in re2 remake and i mean... he just radiates gay trans man energy to me. also please look at this small scene from one of the animated movies where a licker jumps on top of him and he wraps his legs around its hips and lifts it off of him to not die. gay king

https://youtu.be/d-VNikxYBPw?t=9

but yes ive basically decided to ignore all characterization from re4 and onwards regarding leon at least. every leon after that is not my leon (except in special cases when im thinking about something like leon/jd from re damnation..... they did jd so dirty and they should have fucking kissed. or how cute he looked in vendetta sometimes)

ANYWAYS. MR X

so basically there are these enemies in resident evil called “tyrants” that are manufactured by the evil capitalist company umbrella that are near indestructible save for like.... rocket launchers or super heavy artillery that youre not buying at your local gun store. and in re2 one of them get sent to the police station where leon and claire are and is told to wipe out all witnesses. (i also do think that 2 or more were sent there... or at least in the area when this happened due to some very obvious plot hole stuff on each route no matter how you play, even tho the devs have come out and said that only 1 existed in the game and that each route is like “a parallel dimension” to each other. i wont go into it more than that but i choose to ignore that)

and well. when i first played it i knew of mr x but didnt like... know much about him other than that he was a monster and Tall (like 7 or 8 feet tall) and that he chased you around. that already sold me on him but then. well. you first encounter him because he lifts up an entire goddamn helicopter and then proceeds to chase you. and it was then that i knew i was in deep shit because he fucking stomped his way into my heart and never left.

mr x basically has serious Side Character Disorder where (even tho the remake made him very cool and epic and did him really well compared to nemesis in re3 remake which is an entire different can of worms) he has LITERALLY no personality or like. thoughts. or anything. hes only there to chase you around and be on screen for like 10 seconds for a couple of cutscenes and then not show up again until the very end of the game for you to fight on leons route. but god. he means so fucking much to me. 

you know how people latch onto random side characters that have no personality and essentially flesh them out more than the creators ever will? thats me with mr x. its gotten to the point where certain songs come on on my spotify and i actually get EMOTIONS or even TEARS because they remind me of him, but its not even really HIM, its the fucking ideas that ive come up with regarding him because all he ever does in game is chase you around and punch you and then die and is never brought up again

but anyways. mr x is a tall monster who chases leon and claire around in their routes but mr x is leons main monster in the game (claire has a different one). he chases leon around, literally never stops looking at him as he chases him, gets hit by an entire fucking car which then explodes BUT THEN chases him down into the sewers and into a secret underground lab just to get to him like a fucking bloodhound who, once he has the scent, will never stop chasing him

(you can see why this made me kind of insane)

just. AGHHH. the tyrants in this series get treated so dirty. i desperately want capcom to give us some sort of tyrant that can actually fucking like.... go against orders and brainwashing or whatever and actually have emotions and thoughts!!!!!!!!!! but capcom would never do anything with it cause its a rough and tough action series and people arent here to see tyrants have some sort of thought process beyond punching and killing and people only want to shoot guns at them instead of thinking about the possibilities of a tyrant that goes against its programming.

i so desperately want an au where mr x got the transmitter shot off of the side of his head (and while capcom never mentioned this ever many re2 fans have since decided that it is what feeds info/orders to him. i flip flop between thinking that it either is near controlling him and prevents free will and thought or that its just giving him orders and that hes just burying/hiding/not showing free will and thought in fear of being killed. either that or someone at umbrella is “piloting” him but also the whole point of tyrants is that theyre supposed to be smart enough to think for themselves somewhat so... eh). GOD!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! PLEASE!!!!!!!!!!!!

ive explained a bunch of this stuff in my other ask about it but just...... xleon means so much to me when it should not and will never be actually canon

anyways please play re2 remake at least, you dont have to know everything about re1 to like it, just go into it knowing that a few months ago in the mountains outside raccoon city claires brother chris and a few members on his team went to a mansion where they discovered umbrella doing shady zombie shit there. re2 remake was hyped up for years for a reason and it is really good, even if its short (altho i do appreciate short games in this day and age cause not every game needs to be like 60 plus hours long). 

maybe one day when its not late and i can actually think i will explain all this better but todays not that day <3

(EDIT: ALSO RE DAMNATION TYRANTS ARE 14 FEET TALL. AND CHASE AROUND LEON AND ACTUALLY FUCKING RUN. FUN FACT! anyways while i do think jd in that movie and leon should kiss i also want leon and a tyrant from that movie to kiss. bye)

[what-is-your-plan-today]

Guilty As Charged

One Shot for @thatfanficstuff​ ‘s Band New U challenge.

My Prompt was “Lawyer AU”

Pairing- Bucky Barnes X (sort of…) Reader Insert. This is my first Reader Insert so hopefully it works out as well as my OFC seems to have done.

Warnings- Bad language words. **my knowledge on US law is limited so humour me**

“We find the defendant not guilty”

You let out a sigh and rub at your temple. Looking over at your colleague, Sam, you shake your head in utter disbelief.

“Y/N this wasn’t your fault…” he begins in a low voice but you simply sigh again and shrug.

“I was sure they’d see through his lies” you glance over to your right where the defence team, headed up by James Buchanan Barnes of Barnes & Rogers Law are shaking hands. Barnes’ face is arranged in the usual smug look that you want to slap right off it. His partner, Steve glances over at you and gives you a genuine, sympathetic smile. He is always the most courteous out of the two.

“He fucking did it Y/N” Sam’s voice is almost a growl “I know he did.”

“Well in the eyes of the law he didn’t…” you state, standing up “Come on, let’s get out of here before he starts…”

You hastily shuffle your papers back into their respective files and pack your briefcase up. Picking up your jacket, you shrug it on, smooth down your pencil skirt and make to leave the courtroom before Barnes can pipe up with his usual smart ass quips. But you’re not quite fast enough. “Commiserations Miss Y/LN, can’t win ‘em all…” the familiar Brooklyn drawl hits your ears “mind you, winning some would be a start.” “Buck…” Steve sighs “c'mon pal…”

You grit your teeth. You know you shouldn’t rise to it, but you just can’t help it. The man is an utter jack ass. Spinning to face him you shoot him your best contemptuous glare, the one you always reserve for those people you really cannot stand, and look at him like he is something you’ve just trodden in.

“You know Barnes, there is such a thing as being gracious in victory as well as defeat…” “Defeat” he asked, looking at Steve with a puzzled expression on his face “no, not sure what that is…” “Eat shit” you mumble before turning to Sam who is stood behind you, watching the exchange. You nod to him and the two of you continue up the aisle towards the exit. The victim’s family are congregated outside and all at once the start barraging you with questions.

“How did that happen?”

“What do they mean the confession was under duress…?”

“You said it was a cert he would go down…”

“What about a private prosecution…”

You sigh and turn to look at them, you’re exhausted. “I’m sorry… ” you shake your head “that new evidence that his attorney submitted… it was just threw too much of a doubt into the juries mind…” you hold your hand up to gently silence them “if you’re serious about a private prosecution then I can meet you next week to discuss…” You and Sam head back to your office, dump the files and then decide there’s only one thing for it. Alcohol and lots of it. 

“Hey Y/N, hey Sam.” Clint, the bar tender greets you “I hear it wasn’t a great day in court for you…” You look up and he is pointing to the TV behind the bar. It’s on a news channel showing a report from outside the court earlier that afternoon which isn’t surprising. The case had thrown up huge public interest ever since the body of the teenage girl has been found in the alleyway in Queens. The defendant confessed but new evidence had been submitted that afternoon featuring a recording that the defence had gotten their hands on as proof the confession was taken under duress. Being totally honest, you have to admit that it didn’t sound great, the officer did seem to be leaning heavily on the defendant but the other evidence was, no, IS overwhelming. But all it needed was that little shred of doubt and the jury couldn’t convict. And now thanks to Barnes and Rogers, specifically Barnes, in your mind a dangerous killer is walking free. As you stare at the screen you see Barnes with the defendant, all smiles and Steve at his side. Barnes greets the press with a raised hand. “Clint turn it over man…” Sam almost pleads and Clint shouts you both a sympathetic look before he points the remote at the TV and flicks it over to a mundane afternoon game show. You order 2 beers, and then settle at the bar on one of the tall chairs, crossing your bare, heeled legs as you and Sam begin to dissect the case. You can’t help it, you always do this, analyse where you went wrong or right. The pair of you get that enthralled in your discussions, that before you know it’s an hour later and you’re 4 beers deep… and Sam is getting a phone call from his wife, Natasha. “I gotta go boss…” he says apologetically “it’s the kids dance recital at 7 and if I miss this one Nat’s gonna hang me out to dry!.” You wave his explanation off “It’s fine, go Sam. Oh, and take the morning tomorrow…that case has had us working all hours and I don’t intend on being there till lunch… Clint, gimme a bourbon please?” “Don’t let Barnes get to you” Sam says “you know what he is like” “Smug, arrogant and annoyingly self-righteous.” You nod “got it.” Sam smiles and drops a kiss to your cheek. “See you later” Clint slides the glass of bourbon over to you and you smile before pulling out your phone to check a few emails, social media… you’re just reading through an article you found on Twitter about a Billionaire who owns a Technology company in Malibu who has designed some kind of metal suit that allows him to fly (because that’s gonna end well) when a familiar voice breaks your concentration. “Can I buy you a drink?” You roll your eyes and look up at Bucky Barnes as he leans effortlessly on the bar, still in his suit, although he has dispensed of his tie and opened his top button. This is another thing you hate about him. He is utterly gorgeous. Like GQ cover gorgeous, especially in his sharp suits and silk ties…and he fucking knows it too. “Depends.” You say, throwing back the remainder of your bourbon “Does it come with a side helping of irritating smugness?” He chuckles “I’m off duty Doll so no.”

Doll.

“In that case I’ll have another Monkey Shoulder.” You say, picking the good stuff instead of the house brand, and you slide your empty glass back to Clint. “Take it you’re not driving home?” Barnes asks, eyes running over your bare legs. “Well if I do I’m sure you can get me off any charges…” you reply sharply, shooting him a look that makes it clear you caught him eyeing you up. And it isn’t the first time either. That’s another reason you clash so much in the courtroom. Sexual tension. Fucking jerk. He barks a laugh “You’re really not happy with me are you?” “Not particularly.” You say, thanking Clint as he slides the glass to you, with a small wink. It’s a double you notice. That should set Barnes back a bit. The man in question takes his beer and after a pull he looks directly at you. “Come work for me.” He says and you groan, not this again. “I’m a district attorney ” you roll your eyes. “Not a defence attorney. I told you that last time you asked. And the time before…and the time before that…” “I’m nothing if not persistent.” He winks, turning in his stool so he is facing you. “Besides, I can teach you the ways of the dark side…” “You’d love that wouldn’t you?” You snort. “Oh Sweetheart you have no idea.” He leans forward slightly, his elbow on the bar and this time he is blatantly staring at the flash of skin that shows above the buttons on your blouse. “My face is up here, ass hole.” With a smirk he raises his steel grey eyes and they lock onto you. Despite yourself you feel your breath hitch slightly. Dammed him and his sex appeal. “Where you always this insufferable?” You eventually tear your gaze away and pick up your drink, glancing up at the TV as an excuse not to look at him. “Ah come on Y/N, don’t be like that…” he says, reaching out to squeeze the hand that is resting on the back of the tall chair you’re sat in. “We could make a great team…” You raise an eyebrow and look at him. “Professionally” he adds, his eyes not leaving yours as he takes another large drink of his beer, as you pull your hand away from under his. “I’d kill you within 5 minutes of us being in the same office…” you glare at him as you take another sip from your drink. He chuckles and eyes you again “to be fair I’m not sure Stevie would be able to function with a beautiful dame such as yourself in close proximity…he still clusters around any woman that isn’t his Peggy” “That’s because Steve is a happily married man.” You look at him. “So am I.” He shoots back. Ah yes, Mrs Barnes… “Your wife deserves a medal. She must have the patience of a fucking saint to put up with you.” You say into your glass. “I have other hidden qualities which mean she’s prepared to overlook my slightly less favourable personality traits…” he quips and you look back to see that lopsided grin on his face that flips your stomach. Behave Y/N. “They must be very hidden.” You muse, and he lets out a bark of a laugh. “You’re killing me Doll…” “Good.” You drain your glass. The liquid burns your throat and you can feel the effects of the alcohol from the last few hours as your brain starts to hum. You look at Barnes who is watching you, his eyes are shining with all the cheekiness and suggestiveness of a teenage boy and you know you need to leave before you do something stupid- like snogging his dumb, handsome face off in the middle of the bar. “I think it’s time I got going.” You say simply, standing up. Barnes nods, draining his bottle “Yeah I should be going too. Wife to see to, you know how it is…” You stand and he does the same, and you realise he is holding up your jacket, ready for you to slide your arms into. Narrowing your eyes slightly at his sudden chivalry, with a small smile you turn and shrug it on. His hands drop to your shoulders and he spins you round gently and smiles with those perfect teeth and it lights up his beautiful face, his eyes crinkling in the corners. “Lead the way Mrs Barnes…” he says, dropping a soft kiss to your lips. “You know it’s a good job I love you” you smile, sliding your arms up round his neck. “Although right now I’m struggling to remember why I do.“  “Well, when we get home I’ll just have to show you some of those hidden qualities to jog your memory…” You bite your lip slightly at the dark flash of desire that flits across his eyes and you lean up to brush your lips across his stubbled jawline. “Unanimous verdict…” your voice drops slightly as you pull back and he smirks again “Guilty as charged” You bid Clint good bye, link your hand into your husbands and he walks you outside into the brisk wind and his arm pulls you close, his lips press a soft kiss to your temple. Yeah, James Buchanan Barnes Defence Attorney might be smug, arrogant and annoyingly self-righteous in the courtroom, but outside it he’s simply your Bucky.

Tags

@thatfanficstuff​

@djeniiscorner​

@the-omni-princess​

@jtargaryen18 @navispalace @chuuulip

[squeiky]

This is kinda a rant about my day and my birthday, moms, and shit so like, ya'll be warned.

I got to hang out with my friend today :)

Its the best before birthday party ever!!

Which is funny, beacuse i usually always enjoy the day before my birthday, and not the day of my birthday xDDD

There was this huge wind that knocked out almost everything on out picnic table xD I BLAME THE PLANES!! THE GIANT METAL BIRDS IN THE SKY! ):O!

And we biked everywhere!! We where so tired xD so we sat down and talked about stuff (but i cant tell you what we said.)

It was a very fun day.

We even watched some tick tocs.

Now tomorrow.. Is my actually birthday. I am not so hyped for that.

I have had a few nice birthday days, but as far as i can remember I only had 2 soo..

Yeah....

I prefer my before birthday days anyways.

Im so tired from all the biking and walking and my mom brought way to much food and drinks...

Ughh and tomorrow i gotta wake up early?! Seriously??! On a birthday?!

Apparently i have to go to church, to pray to god or what not.

The thing is, im not that much of a religious kid. I don't hide it either.

And im pretty sure this is either another one of her get together with her friends or... My one friend that could come over :>

Most likely her friends, and not mine... Not that i dont mind it, but im tired, and my stamina is completely demolished.

And everytime i go to place that has alot of people, indoors, in a place i am unfamilar in..

I get a panic attack. Especially now, during the pandemic and isolation.

My mom made to go to church before, and we had to do all these things, and i dont like it, i panicked untill it was over and most people where gone...

The only thing i like about the whole thing is its lovely echo, and its music(its really a lovely composition, i admire the hard work and talent that's put into these things. A lot of stuff like this gets over looked by many. I don't care if its a gift from God, that shit is a gift and should be appreciated and not overlooked.) Other than that, i wish i just stayed home...

Like, I really don't want to do all these things.

I injured my freaking leg, and im pretty sure im slowly harming myself more and more freuently-

(I had a flipping panic when i didn't hand in a assignment in on the assigned time, despite my teacher giving a heads up that I could chill on it as long as its handed in- what makes you think i can handle 30 people, im a giant ass house of singing and preaching for a few minutez?)

Im super salty about waking up early tho qwq...

I should be happy that I had this cool birthday, but I REEALLY just want alone time.

And i know a little girl is coming tomorrow to my party, and her parents practically just hand em too me, cause im good with kids..

But like, im drained. Super drained. Im probably gonna be hella sore too.

God i hate my birthday day, so im just gonna rant/vent about it here.

I know im going to get distracted, or excited, and the adrenalin kicks in and i end up not feeling a single pain or ache in my body.

But I swear, adrenalin will not heal my mental/emotional health that is slowly depleting. And i have fun yeah, but like im growing tired in the end.

Its fun, but I don't get anything out of it.

And the more i think about it, the more i dislike a lot of things.

My mom sucks, she sucks alot.

Man, shes quite the abusive person. But you can never tell. The only way you can is by how i turned out, or what my dad would tell you. (My dad is a good man. I love my dad he is the best. Mom just uses him as a way to "send me away" when im "too much for her.")

And im always panicking when she's near the little girl, that i play with. (She wonderful, and very sweet.)

My mom has told her the terrible things she told me when i was little. The things that made me so anxious and shifty.. Depressive and well... Not in a good state of mind. (I'll just sugar coat that one.)

One of the reasons why i hate my birthdays so much.

It started getting worse the more i grew older, and the more i started to learn about her. And i really dont like her, but if she knew that, we'd argue the same way we have been doing for years of my life. And she would kick me out.

So you see why i hate my birthday days.

Every birthday i dont spend with her? Well its the best time of my life. And im not even kidding on this one.

Im still salty on that one birthday, she invited all her friends, and they ordered a cake i couldn't eat. And kept pestering me to eat it. I moved on from it, i dont bring it up anymore. But im still fucking salty.

And i probably would have ate it too. But the flavor was just..not for me. And the texture?! Come on. Im pretty sure i was just picky that day, or it was an accident but i swear-

I dont even know the diffrence between friendly "check ups" and un friendly "check ups".

Y'know, the ones where its like "aww they are sleeping how cute i love them! "

And

" im gonna bust this door open and slap your ass beacuse you where awake for too long."

I remeber when I was little, she pulled my hair, and fucking smashed my goddamn phone cause she was "mad at me for staying up late"

She had fucking sex in the bed RIGHT NEXT TO MINE- and then lied about it. Bro i was tramutized.

It was with the fucking landlord, where the hell was my mom's mind set when i was younger?! That dude was a total creep, and he smelled like shit! Sex is stinky and i don't like it. (I was fucking 12, what do you expect? I had pillows to block my back so i couldn't look back and see that. But i woke up to this shit, like man im still tramatized. WE ARE IN THE SAME BEDROOM MOM, WTF?! IM FUCKING 12!)

I hate the house now. I don't like walking there either. Im glad we moved. (Bad memories. Always bad memories there. I don't know what the fuck my mom was going through, but she sure as hell took it all on me, i was messed up every since then. Man, i wasn't even emo, i was just some 12 yr old kid would looks out windows dramatically crying beacuse it was my only coping mechanism, and it made me feel better watching the sunsets and looking at trees.)

Man, I hate a lot of things don't i? I have this unrelenting anger, and im so glad i dont use it as horribly as my mom does, and instead used it too better myself and use it like an extra power source beacuse anger is a fuel that is uncontrollable but under the right circumstances can be be used wisely and become very nicely controlled. And i learned to control it. :) well, as good as i can of course.

I forget that I've been arguing my whole life.. So thats why im so good at having *intellegent* arguements.

Fucking expirence.

God damit mom.

I have to show u goddamn books in order for you too understand why black lives matter, or how to not scare tiny 3 or 4 yr olds about how the man down stairs will cut their tounges or how you make deals that never benefit me and i just get manipulated over and over again untill i find a way out of the loop, or why i need privacy and space in my life-

So yeah basically, im done.

I gotta sleep or else shes gonna bust in here and do shit.

[hansolmates]

cherry contact |🍒

summary: jihoon has access to all versions of you - your credit score, shopping habits, work emails, even your terrible tinder history. pairing; fbi agent!jihoon x civilian!reader (f) genre/warnings; fluff, crack, it’s really just that “your fbi agent” meme that caused everyone 8 years ago to put tape over their webcams, questionable viewing habits for an fbi agent, language, dick talk, mentions of sex, jihoon has feelings and is confused, he is a PINER, tw—sexual harassment  w/c; 3.3k  a/n; i can’t believe i finished this😭😭 part of meraki’s job collaboration and i’ve been dying to do a svt collab since the dawn of time and finally today’s the day! it’s been a hot moment since i’ve written for jihoon, glad i managed to get those svt writing muscles going! a huge thank you to @merakiiverse​ and @woozisnoots​ for putting this together. readers pls definitely check back on the masterlist linked above to see more of the other talented cwc writers and their rendition of the job prompt!

if you like this fic please consider giving it a like n’share!🤓🖥🤓🖥

“Kevin, 32, works at Kodak,” you scroll further to the description, “I love being tied up and need a dominatrix, have swing at home—no.” Swipe right. 

“Lisa, 24, works at Infinity Dance Studio,” you definitely are weak for athletic ladies, “My hobbies include cuticle care and online shopping! Looking for a sugar daddy or mommy that can spoil me rotten—definitely can’t afford that kind of relationship.” Swipe right. 

“Hansol, 26, works in an art museum,” sounds promising, you love art, “wait, why are all his pictures of him holding fish? Is he inside a fish? Who the heck finds that attractive?” Swipe right. 

“Billiam, 31, works in finance. Needs a bratty baby girl who can triangle,” you grimace, “what is with these guys and stating their kinks from the get-go? Gotta take a girl out to dinner first, and the fuck is a triangle?” 

You swore off Tinder since the dark ages, also known as senior year of college. However you’re in a particular slump, thirst-trapped between needing some serious dick and a committed relationship. You’d prefer the latter, but after a stressful day at work and the fact that it’s the ass crack o’dawn, you’ll take what you can get. 

“Bye Billiam,” you sing-song into your phone, moving to swipe right. 

Except you accidentally drop your phone between your sheets, and when you pick it up you accidentally swipe left. 

“Fuck fuck fuck me with a fuckin’ fuck nugget!” you cry out into oblivion. You’re so glad you live alone at the very least, it stops you from looking like a crazy person when you talk your potential sexipades out. 

Billiam has Super-liked you! 

“No. Nononono—” you bludgeon your head against your pillow, frowning when your phone opens up a chat for you and Billiam. 

Billiam: hi can u check if my dick is too small

You: please, don’t send me a picture of your dick. 

Billiam is typing… 

You: for fuck’s sake—

“—that’s disgusting,” Jihoon curses, and immediately sends out the screenshot for sexual harassment. 

“What’s disgusting?” Mingyu chimes, swiveling in his spinny chair from his side of the room.

“Don’t look,” Jihoon gags, reaching for a bottle of Coca-Cola from the mini-fridge. “You’ll throw up your fried chicken.” 

“My person is a twenty-one year old nympho who also happens to be a incel,” Mingyu chastises to his screen, closing up the eighth tab of BBC porn he’s seen this week, “he doesn’t know how well he’s avoiding the FBI’s eyes,” Mingyu shakes his head, “so I’ve seen some pretty bad shit, but I’ll take your word for it.” 

“No,” he echoes your name like you’ve done the most heinous thing in the world, “no, no! Why would you swipe left on Jackson? You’re way out of his league! He literally looks like he has a pea-sized brain!” 

“He does look like he has half a brain cell,” your voice reverberates through his noise-cancelling headphones, unknowingly agreeing to Jihoon’s passionate throw of anger, “but I’m deprived and desperate, so!” 

It’s like you can hear his sentiments exactly. 

“Literally, you could have any person you want,” Jihoon chastises through his desktop, glaring heavily at your bedroom camera, “you’re wasting your time with these losers!” 

Oblivious, you let yourself dangle across the bed. The camera isn’t the best quality, but Jihoon watches intently at the rise and fall of your chest as you attempt to fall into a fitful sleep. 

“Some yell at screens for soccer,” Minghao says to the air from his cubicle, “some yell for Starcraft, but Jihoon yells for Tinder like it’s an Olympic sport.” 

“Jihoonie,” Mingyu rolls around his chair, resting a long arm over the backrest, “do you have a crush on your civilian?” 

Jihoon immediately swivels around his hair, meeting the amused eyes of Mingyu. “No,” he says sharply, whipping around to glare at his screen. 

He glares harder the longer Mingyu’s simple question sinks in. He doesn’t have a crush on you, he likes you. Jihoon swallows his sigh, wondering why you would want to go as low as Tinder to look for a potential tryst. From your profile, you’re absolutely beautiful and intelligent. You have simple pleasures that match his—a hot cup of tea right after dark, snuggling under a weighted blanket while watching anime, and sleeping in on Sundays.

Unlike him, you don’t see the world through half a dozen lenses and a plethora of information right at your fingertips. No, you’re lucky. 

“Hey can you grab me my water bottle?” Mingyu asks over his shoulder. 

Jihoon thinks nothing of it, leaving his post for the thirty seconds it takes to get to the mini-fridge and grab Mingyu’s Hydroflask. 

“You got a call,” Mingyu says when he plops the bottle on his desk, indicating to the red blinker on Jihoon’s computer. 

It isn’t until he puts on his headphones does he take care to see why his blinker is going off. 

He’s getting an incoming call. From you. 

You’ve been waiting on the line for about two minutes. He lets two additional minutes breeze by because Jihoon is internally screaming. You’re calling again. There’s a fire blazing in his brain, his fingers hot as he twitches against the spacebar of his keyboard. 

From the monitor he can see that you’ve given up on sleep, hands pawing through your drawer so you can take a final swipe at your magenta-tinted lip balm before nesting yourself in the sheets. You’re kicking around as if you don’t have work at 9AM, smacking your lips to apply the shiny salve while you wait for your call to be picked up. 

“Why is my civilian calling me,” it isn’t a question, it’s a thinly veiled indication that Jihoon is ready to fight whoever compromised him like this. 

Mingyu and Minghao fail to answer. That’s okay, he isn’t opposed to killing both if neither fess up. 

It would be so easy for him to ignore the call, or redirect it to another part of the office. Yet he aches to talk to you, for real talk to you. As if you’re just two regular plain-old human beings with normal lives, and as if he didn’t know every nook and cranny about your daily routine and your favorite breakfast foods.

Call it pride, call it confidence, but Jihoon’s been pretty good at games and he hopes prior experience helps him get over this hurdle. Slipping on his headset, he accepts the call and answers in a controlled voice, “This is the local hotline for sexual harassment reports, are you here to report a case?” 

Okay, so this is the closest thing he can get to having a full-fledged conversation with you, so he’ll take it. 

“Hi,” you mumble your name into the phone, and he nearly disintegrates right then and there. It’s different when he can hear your voice directly in his ears, definitively reaching out to him as opposed to being a fly on the wall, “I received an email that a report was sent out for my previous chat as sexual harassment, but I didn’t send out a report.” 

“Yes,” Jihoon replies smoothly, tapping his nails against his thighs, “it’s a new update.” 

“Oh, well thank you,” you reply, and Jihoon sees from the camera that you’re staring at your phone in curiosity. 

“It’s my job,” he says, and the words hold more weight than you think, “are you okay?” 

“Is it also your job to ask how I’m doing?” 

He smiles wryly, and he looks up at the monitor to see how you’ve considerably relaxed on your bed. Your legs dangle in the air, and you’re hugging a mango plushie with all the love in the world. “Not really, but I figured I’d ask. I don’t think I’d be able to recover from a dick that looks like an unhinged toenail.” 

Your laugh flutters in his ears, and his stomach is flip-flopping with more than just his shitty ramen lunch. Your face curls and wrinkles into happiness at the lewd joke, and you rest your chin on your stuffed fruit. 

“I’m okay,” you finally answer, “it’s not the first time I’ve seen subpar dick. But thank you… what’s your name?” 

“Uji,” he says, a codename that he considers as precious as his actual name, “feel free to call or text this number if you’re ever feeling uncomfortable and in distress.” 

“I’ll keep that in mind, good night Uji.” 

“Good night.” 

That wasn’t so bad, Jihoon thinks as he hangs up the phone. He dims the monitors to let you freshen up and get ready for bed, as per your schedule. After tonight, he hopes he can be sated with his curiosity of you. Maybe he needs to follow your plans and open up a dating account or something, he feels that he’s starting to get a little too engrossed in your presence. 

The waning starts today. 

You: help, i’m feeling uncomfortable and in distress

Uji: what is it this time? 

You: i can’t decide which weighted blanket i should get. Will more weight make me feel more comforted or will i accidentally suffocate myself in my sleep? 

The waning of you did not start that night, in fact it never began. Jihoon’s been on edge for weeks, simultaneously teetering between what he calls the high-school equivalent of the talking stage and an absolute catastrophe. 

It started as an accident, you meant to call your friend’s number for cooking help but since the last call before your friends was his, you called Jihoon instead. To your surprise, he knew how to roll out homemade pasta without a pasta machine. You kept him on the call for the entirety of dinner preparation, and he couldn’t help but feel a twinge of pride when your pasta turned out perfect and you were happy and full for the entire night. 

Weeks later, and you’ve been texting each other for shits and giggles. At first you chalk up your insistence that he’s basically Human Google and has the answers to seemingly anything and everything, but over time it seems that you enjoy your daily interactions with him. Whether it be a simple phone call asking how to unclog your drain or a screenshot comparing two different KitchenAids, he’s at your disposal. 

The burner phone he’s been holding as of late is on silent, but he’s able to pick it up immediately. It’s almost intuition, coupled with the way he notices whenever you seem in a pickle and you need to contact him. However he does not have a chance to formulate a reply, as you’re now calling him.

“Couldn’t wait?” he speaks as if you’re familiar with each other, as if you’re friends. Jihoon longs for that so much, he would love to be upgraded to someone other than the IT guy you text for funsies. 

“Yes,” you say, voice laced with determination, “I’m deciding on whether to just like or Super-Like this guy on Light a Flame.” 

Jihoon deflates a little, but steels himself. You’d never want to go on a date with the IT guy, it seems that you enjoy the anonymity of your recent communications. Your conversations are definitely meme-worthy. 

“Who is it?” 

“His name’s Lee Jihoon, 25, works in the FBI.” 

He chokes on his coffee, precious beans from Argentina, and the liquid is flying across his keyboard. 

Pulling up your phone view, it confirms the worst. In a moment of Weakness with a capital W, Jihoon had caved and made a Light a Flame profile the other night. It’s an app reserved for more serious relationships, which means you’ve finally graduated from Tinder. 

“Are you okay?” he wants to cry when he hears you on the other line, genuinely panicked. “Do you need me to send you his profile?” 

“N-no,” he sputters, rubbing a rough napkin from McDonalds over his dripping chin. He thought he privated his profile last week after he realized there was nothing he could do to let loose of you. Turns out that isn’t the case, because you’re currently pursuing his profile and actually kinda-sorta considering him for a potentially serious relationship. 

“C’mon, Uji,” you tease lightly, “you always seem to know what to do. This is your area of expertise after all, since you work for that kind of department.” 

What should he do, scratch that, what can he do? It’s a complete violation of policy to be fraternizing with his civilian life. Sure, there has been episodes of civilians and agents meeting each other, but only minor violations that both parties forgot about shortly after. He’s so far deep at this point, he can risk being relocated or losing his civilian—losing you. 

“Do you think he really works in the FBI?” you say when he doesn’t reply immediately, “he’s really cute, though. Totally looks like my style, and he likes My Hero as well! C’mon, I just need for you to check as to whether he’s a homicidal maniac or a compulsive liar.” 

Liar. He’s a liar. 

That self-accusation prompts him to slump in defeat, and he mumbles in the phone, “I don’t think he’s worth it. I’d say pass.” 

“Hey, Coups has seniority,” Soonyoung pats Jihoon thoughtfully on the back with one hand, and grilling meat with the other. Barbeque always lifted up Jihoon’s spirits. “Why don’t you give it a chance and meet her for real? And then he can give me your super cute civilian and then he can give my shitty civilian to some newbie.” 

“And if it doesn’t work out, I just lose her,” Jihoon’s eyes are watering, most likely from the excess smoke around their grill, but it does align with his current state of sadness. It was the right thing to do, he thinks over and over as he replays that phonecall from last night. “Hoshi, if you were in my situation, would you have done the same?” 

“Like I said–” Soonyoung—codename Hoshi, waves his tongs around like a magic wand, “your civilian is super cute, so I would be making a beeline to her house and—” 

“Okay, don’t finish that sentence,” you’re his civilian, not Soonyoung’s. 

“Cheer up, c’mon,” Soonyoung’s filling his bowl with all sorts of delicious things, charred vegetables, mixed rice, and pork belly. Jihoon’s favorite is pork belly, so eventually he relents with a timid smile, taking out his chopsticks to appease his friend, “there it is, Uji. Food always makes things better—” 

“Uji?” 

Both off-duty agents freeze, hearing the familiar ting of your voice as it glares holes into Jihoon’s back. It’s you. Since they’re off the clock, he would have no idea you’d be here. Usually that’s fine, it’s early morning and it’s pretty unlikely that you’d run into your civilian considering you’re supposed to know every second of their schedule. It seems that tonight you’ve varied from the norm. 

“Uh, hey?” 

His back is still facing you, and he’s side eying Soonyoung in a panic. He’s wearing a cap and a nondescript hoodie, feeling like a shlub as your familiar voice pings back at him with excitement. 

“I knew I recognized your voice!” you’re unfazed, definitely not realizing the distress the two men are currently going through. “What a small world, I didn’t think we’d ever actually run into each other!” 

“Talk to her, you ass!” Soonyoung hisses, and immediately swivels his chair so he has no choice but to face you.

You’re so, so pretty. Prettier in person, prettier than any crappy 480p screen can give him. You’re definitely not dressed for barbeque, in fact you look like you’re just passing by to pick up a to-go order after a night out. You’re dressed in a silky looking velvet off-the-shoulder top, the cherry red color practically melting onto your skin. The black skirt paired with it has Jihoon salivating for more than just barbeque, and he has no idea how to look away. 

The smile is wiped clean off your face however, and you recognize him almost immediately. “Jihoon?” 

This should be a moment of joy for him, after all it’s far too late to go back at this point. You look a little hurt, your face twisted in confusion as you put two and two together. 

Soonyoung excuses himself to go to the bathroom, although neither party seems to care. The lame, over-distended EDM music that plays over the cacophony of the barbeque place seems to melt in the atmosphere, much like how the smoke hits the fan, and it’s just you two in the room. Jihoon gestures a pale hand to Soonyoung’s seat, and you take a beat to reluctantly sit yourself down. 

You clutch your skirt with both hands, thumbs ringing against the pleats and ironing them out. “So, you’re also Jihoon?” your voice is tiny, small and sad. Jihoon feels liquid guilt inject in his veins, and he wishes he could reach out and pat your shoulder, hold your hand, something. However no matter how much he knows you, he’s a stranger to you. “Why did you lie to me?” 

“It’s… complicated,” you shake your head at his pathetic reply, and Jihoon hates this. He feels like he’s drowning in smoke and mirrors and the cloying scent of pork belly is now sticking to all his senses, immobilizing him. 

With a cross of your arms, you scoff, “It’s always complicated.” 

“Please don’t think I said those things the other night because I don’t want to date you,” Jihoon tumbles the words out like a hamster wheel, wanting to speed up to your pace as fast as he can, “I want to, I really do, but it’s—”

“Complicated.” 

“Yeah.” 

The two of you sit in silence, letting the noise back into your little bubble. Jihoon feels his stare on you, akin to how a teacher looks over your shoulder during an exam. He robotically eats rice, grain after grain as he lets you have your look. 

The slope of his nose, the cotton smooth skin, the lean yet strong stature. You can’t believe he matches the Light a Flame profile perfectly. Other than the frumpy clothes, he matches the man on your phone, a simple picture in a black suit that reminds you strangely of the movie Kingsman. You mentally roll through what you remember from his profile, his hobbies, his likes and dislikes, his occupation—

“Wait,” you pause, your brows knitting together, “so the FBI thing on your profile… is not a joke?” 

Jihoon forgets to chew his last bite, and he swallows a whole two centimeters of meat down his throat. Ouch. 

“It’s—” 

“Complicated.” 

The adjective has a whole new meaning now. It’s crazy how in so little words, so much is exchanged between you two. You might not be realizing it, but Jihoon’s so attuned to you he feels like the pick to your guitar, strumming and humming along your chords like it’s second nature. It really isn’t fair, but anticipating your reactions helps greatly. 

“There’s things you’re not telling me.” 

“Right.” 

“And things you can’t tell me,” you add. 

“Yes.” 

“Then what are some things you can tell me?” 

“I’d… rather not here,” Jihoon’s eyes dart around the room, looking for all the pinholes and micro cams attached to the restaurant. By the bonsai, under the table, in the koi tank, “I need to work out some paperwork before anything.” 

“Paperwork?” 

Jihoon nods mutely, but he looks at you with a litany of emotions in his eyes you’re reeling back in your stool. Why do you feel like this man knows you from a simple five-minute interaction? And why do you feel like you can trust this man with your life? 

“Okay,” you finally say. 

“Really? Okay?” you think he’s cute, the way his eyes perk up and his back straightens. 

“Really.” 

Silence fills the space once more. This time however, it feels more at ease. 

“The only reason why I’m saying yes,” you pretend to nonchalantly play with your fingertips, a manicure reserved for a date you’ve long abandoned for this evening in favor of a new flame, “is because I think FBI agents are kinda hot.” 

A flush blooms on Jihoon’s cheeks, and you can’t help but giggle. 

[ninaahelvar]

The Stakeout (4/5)

Summary: In order to get all the information they can, the detective duo, Bakugou and Uraraka, must go on a stakeout. But close proximity may force some underlying feelings to come to the surface. Also known as “Bakugou had a really bad date and it gives him perspective”

AO3

A/N: please thank @doesitsaysassonmyuniform for all her hard work on this chapter. it wouldn’t be out without her. all the funny stuff was her. i will not take credit for her genius.

There was a heavy buzzing under his head, like a hive of angry bees had infested his pillow. He groaned, rolling over as his head throbbed. He’d drunk way too much last night.

Buzz buzz

Was it his alarm? What time was it anyway? It couldn’t have been that late in the day, not with how his room was barely lit when he’d managed to pry open his eyes. It was a small blessing - if he’d been late for work on top of everything else, he might just kill someone.

Buzz buzz

He didn’t hear his alarm, so it must be his phone. He had vague recollections of the night before, passing out on his bed before he could even get undressed. Had he put his phone on silent?

With another groan, he wrenched his head up out of the cradle of his arms, and fumbled for his phone.  He squinted in the morning light - it was low, but not enough to avoid hurting his eyes - and finally flipped his blankets in frustration. It flew out onto the floor with a thud and he stretched out to get it, his stomach rising into his throat as he moved.

Extremely hungover - noted.

By the time he picked up his phone, it had finally stopped buzzing, leaving a faint ringing in his ears at the sudden silence. Bakugou frowned as he turned on the screen, the blur of notifications clearing as his eyes focused.

Shitty Hair (9 Missed Calls)

Shitty Hair: Holy shit I can’t believe u did it!

Shitty Hair: (10 Messages)

Did what? Why was that fucking bastard calling him at - he checked the top of his phone - six in the morning anyway?  He unlocked his phone and opened his texting app, and was met with a wall of grey message bubbles.

Shitty Hair: Uraraka just txted me!!

(missed call)

Shitty Hair: Seriously dude pick up

(missed call)

Shitty Hair: if ur fkn asleep rn I stg

(missed call)

Shitty Hair:  I can’t believe u did it!

(missed call)

Shitty Hair: It better not be a joke or ill kill u

(missed call)

Shitty Hair: ok I don’t care if ur asleep ill make u answer

(missed call)

Shitty Hair: Dude she’s super freaked rn cause u wont respond

(missed call)

Shitty Hair: look im porud u finally did it but u cant send that and then go silent

(missed call)

Shitty Hair: *proud

Shitty Hair: HOLY SHIT I CANT BELIEVE U DID IT!

Bakugou was starting to have a bad feeling, one entirely outside of his hangover. It felt like something was squeezing his chest, and it was getting tighter and tighter the more he read. He looked at the icon, and winced at the little number telling him he had more unread messages.

From Uraraka.

Shit.

He clicked on the thread, and scrolled all the way up to his last message.

@ 1:37am

You: heyyyy want som fuk??

You: shit no i mean

You: ur hot

You: it pisses me off

You: we should fuck tho

You: aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa

No. No no no no no no. No! Fuck! No! The universe was fucking playing with him, right? This couldn’t be real. Fuck! It was, it was staring him in the fucking face! FUCK! He was going to explode his entire apartment.

Round Face: ...what?

Round Face: Bakugou wtf?

Round Face: Do you mean that??

Round Face: How drunk are you rn??

Round Face (2 missed calls)

Round Face: I’m gonna murder you

In the midst of Bakugou’s midlife - soon to be end of life - crisis, his phone started to ring, Kirishima’s face beaming as his name appeared. Bakugou immediately answered, pressing his phone to his ear as he hung his head between his legs.

“What did you do?” he asked, and Bakugou did the only thing he could think of.

“AHHHHHHHHHHHHH!”

“You fucking idiot,” Kirishima laughed and Bakugou threw himself backwards on his bed, hand pressed to his forehead.

“I WAS DRUNK! I DON’T EVEN REMEMBER!”

“Well lucky for you phones don’t exist and neither does she - oh wait.” Bakugou could hear that smug voice of his radiating through the fucking phone and he wanted to burn it in his hand.

“NOOOOOOOOO!” Bakugou whined, feeling completely beside himself - unaware of how ridiculous he was sounding. He was just having the worst day of his life, and it was showing.

“Hey, at least it’s out there now, right? She didn’t say no.”

“I wanna die. I’m jumping out the window.”

“You are the biggest drama queen I know,” Kirishima laughed, and Bakugou put his head between his legs, a sickening feeling rising in his throat and the overwhelming urge to projectile vomit across his apartment was becoming an almost welcoming idea.

“I will kill you later,” Bakugou groaned, shaking his hand through his hair, over and over again until he felt like he was at ease. He didn’t stop for a while.

“Oh, so you’re actually coming into work?” Kirishima sounded surprised, and it dawned on Bakugou...this day was going to be his last - he was deciding it before it was even over, his last day alive would be that day.

“I don’t fucking know, give me an hour to die first,” Bakugou said, knowing this would be the first time that he was late - and having no other excuse than being a fucking drunken moron.

Bakugou stumbled into work, his clothes a mess, hair barely done, and collar sticking up to hide his face. With every step, it felt like eyes were on him, watching his every move, and it made every hair on his body stand on end - he needed to fight something soon otherwise he’d go stir crazy.

Before interacting with anyone else, a bounding bubble of joy crashed alongside him, knocking him off balance. Bakugou stared back at his partner who smiled like a child - and his heart was racing like an idiot.

Her expression fell, clicking her tongue as she took him in. Why the fuck was he feeling so hot? He felt like he was a rising thermometer, about to burst at the fuckng end. He was a walking infomercial, some fucked up idiot that can’t keep it down.  

“Wow you look wrecked. Sleep well, Blasty?” she asked, a slight pout as she stepped closer to him.

AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

“Not as wrecked as your face.” The two of them frowned at the words. Why did he speak at all? “Anyway, Case!”

FUCKKKKKKKK STOP TALKING!

If a villain could come in through the window and suplex him out of existence right now, he’d be grateful. So. Fucking. Grateful.

Now, Bakugou wasn’t a religious man. He didn’t believe in a higher power. That felt like a mistake - because God was punishing him for his abject atheism. This was a goddamn joke, and God was clearly laughing.

If he got down on his knees and started praying, would it stop?

Uraraka quirked an eyebrow at him, before answering. “Yeah, we had a new lead come in this morning and most teams are on it, you missed Aizawa’s speech.”  

Fuck.  Aizawa knew he was late.

Praying wouldn’t save him now.

Uraraka guided them both to their desks, rattling on about the case -  something about a guy getting into some dark shit with trafficking young kids. In the end, Bakugou found concentrating hard. He would normally listen and make sure to take notes when it came to figuring out who the guy was - but he just couldn’t stop watching her. He watched and wondered why the hell she wasn’t saying anything. Uraraka replied to the messages, she even called - and now it was radio silence.

Normally, Bakugou would yell about it - but it felt wrong to bring it up, it could embarrass them both, and although he didn’t embarrass easy, this was completely new for him. Embarrassment came easier with all that romantic shit. It was stupid and frustrating and Bakugou hated the fact that he fell for it all, after years of denying himself.

Bakugou wasn’t built for this shit, and it definitely showed.

As Uraraka went to talk to eye witnesses - a task that Bakugou was strictly not allowed to do anymore - he went to the kitchen, making himself a coffee and praying it woke him up enough to stop the nagging sensation in his heart and the throbbing in his head.

A whisper then came into his ear.

“Hey, want some fuck with that coffee?”

Bakugou spat out his coffee and it sprayed across the kitchen bench. Kirishima laughed behind him, moving away to grab a donut - the fucking prick.  Bakugou was meant to be safe here, away from her and this fucker had to come and ruin it.  

Bakugou coughed, thumping his chest before turning to glare at the other man. “Could you keep your fucking voice down, Shitty Hair?”

“I don’t know - can you look Uraraka in the eye?” Kirishima quirked his eyebrow and Bakugou stepped towards the pointy haired bastard.

“Want me to rip yours out?”

“Tetchy tetchy. Don’t lash out at me cause you’re not getting any.” Kirishima stuffed the donut into his grinning teeth, and Bakugou tried to burn holes into the fucker’s skull.

“Murder. Expect murder.”

Kirishima only laughed, waving at Bakugou as he went back to his desk. In the back of his mind, Bakugou could only think the asshole was talking about him - gossiping about Bakugou’s idiotic love life and how ridiculous this all was.

Bakugou wanted to fucking die.

The window looked so inviting, calling to him like a siren’s song.

As he sat in the kitchen, looking over notes on the case he hadn’t paid attention to, a loud blaring noise came over the speakers of the precinct. It was unusual for an alarm to go off - on rare occasions when fire alarm detected smoke (which may have been Bakugou - no on proved it was) or emergencies. With the chaos that was soon surrounding him, Bakugou guessed the latter.

“What the fuck is going on?” Bakugou asked as Kirishima ran back towards the equipment room.

“Genzo’s been spotted. We’ve gotta go,” he panted as he ran. He didn’t even stop.

Aizawa burst from his office, his scarf that was rarely off was primed at the ready. “He’s on the move! Everyone get going!” he demanded, stopping short of the door to look back at Bakugou, glaring. “That includes you, Bakugou!” he snapped, and Bakugou sighed, throwing aside his paperwork to head into the equipment room.

Kirishima handed him all his guards and gauntlets, the two rushing out as Uraraka was fixing her earpieces in, rolling her shoulders to prep herself. Bakugou smirked, watching as she worked her magic as she got ready for a fight. Regardless of how much of an ass he made of himself, he still couldn’t get over Uraraka being a goddamn badass at her job.

They got to the site of Genzo’s attack. He had completely wrecked a transport vehicle, exploded it like an atomic bomb and was causing a fucking disaster zone by the sheer amount of electric power around him.

“Any casualties?” Bakugou asked, tightening his gauntlets and making sure they were ready to go when he needed them.

“Two police officers that we know of,” Aizawa said, going over the short notes he was given by officers on the scene.

“Any officers we know?” Uraraka asked, her voice a little strained as she asked. Bakugou looked over to her.

“None,” Aizawa replied. Bakugou watched as Uraraka sighed. Deku. He knew who she was thinking of, and it made a spot in between his shoulder blades ache. He bound his fists and kept his attention on the chaos. This guy was burning every fuse within his view, drawing all of it to him and sending it back at people.

“Our main priority is to protect civilians, and keep him away from the generators. He probably saw he was close to the power plant - we have to keep him away and out of reach of that power. We have no idea what he’ll do with it.”

And with that, the teams were divided - one person on civilians, the other on containment. Both Uraraka and Bakugou knew their place without even a glance. Bakugou set off an explosion as Uraraka moved a group of worried people out of the way. She was great, when another eruption came through, she’s catch them in time and float them to safety - barely even registering that she’d activated her quirk.

When Bakugou set off an explosion that ripped up the entire road - something he knew he’d get in deep shit over later - he watched as the other agents got into position, preparing for their next move and knowing the reach of Bakugou’s quirk. The ground ripped up and threw Genzo around, knocking him against a building and an audible yell of pain rumbled through the area. It gave them time to evacuate. It’s all they needed right now.

Uraraka went to Bakugou’s side, panting a little as she pointed. “Group, ten o’clock. You got this?” she asking, pointing to the group of huddled people just across from Genzo. Bakugou scoffed at Uraraka’s words.

“Tch, who the fuck do you think I am?”

“Yeah, yeah, just wait for my signal,” she laughed, moving off, touching pieces of rubble that were easy to float. Bakugou smirked, watching as they floated skyward and eventually just guiding her hands on all the rubble she passed with her quirk activated. It wasn’t long before Uraraka found the stuck bystanders and pointed them to a safe route out of the danger zone. But Genzo was quicker than either of them had anticipated, rising from his injured state, rolling his shoulders with a tight grimace on his face.

Genzo roared, sapping the power from a nearby building, the electricity crackling over his skin and bared for a quick release. He wanted to inflict damage and make it count - Bakugou could see it in his eyes. Genzo looked for anything that was moving. The civilians. Uraraka saw it too, and she did something stupid.

She knew it too.

“Get back!” Uraraka called to the civilians, and Bakugou watched in horror as Genzo reacted first - her voice drawing too much attention. Her warning, was an attraction. The fucker moved quick - faster than any of them could have expected, and Bakugou redirected his explosions, trying to counter as best he could to the new position. He set off an explosion behind him, sending him to their location as fast as he could.

He wasn’t gonna make it.

“Uraraka, move!”

She turned her head, eyes widening and arms coming out to block far too late as the energy surge hit her full force. Uraraka was knocked so far back, she’s skidding across pavement like it’s slick. When she stops, she’s flinching, over and over again - her body reacting to the electric current running over her body.

He saw her hands come together, letting the meteor shower rain down, catching Genzo off guard and trying to evade the oncoming onslaught. He wasn’t expecting Bakugou though.

He was only a split second behind.

“DIE YOU FUCKING BASTARD!”  

Bakugou came bounding in, hands directed at the target and firing off two of the most explosive blasts he had ever mustered. It knocked Genzo to the ground, and Bakugou landed over him, his fits binding tight as he repeatedly punched - throwing him about as the bastard laughed. Once Bakugou finally cracked one of Genzo’s teeth, his face a bloody mess of what it once was - Bakugou regained his sense and tossed Genzo off to the side.

In the aftermath, there was silence - waiting for the next thing to fall or the next blast to knock over a bunch of people. But it was just simply silence. In the ash and smoke, Bakugou waded through it, leaving Genzo to whatever fate he had left him in, finding his partner curled  up and in pain.

Bakugou dropped to her side, hands fluttering around her useless as he took her in. This was bad. This was fucking bad. Her clothes were a disaster, the giant hole in her vest giving way to blistered and blackened skin. Some of it had fused to the fabric, and it made bile rise up in his throat just to see it.  He didn’t even know if he could touch her but one look at her glassy eyes made it impossible not to move.  

The ozone in the air made his skin stand on end - and that was the only reason - as he pulled her into his lap as gently as he could. “Hey Round face,” he lightly tapped her cheeks and she turned to look at him. Her brown eyes were so unfocused. “Stay with me, fucker.”

Her face was so pale and her mouth moved wordlessly for a moment before she was able to speak. “You called me Uraraka.”

His throat was tight. “Yeah well you’d kill me if I called you Round face in public, Round face.”

Her lips quirked ever so slightly, eyes looking somewhere over his shoulder. “You just did…ugly.”

“Yeah I guess I did.”

Kirishima landed heavily at their side, and his breath hitched when he saw her chest. “Dude..”

“Genzo?”

Kirishima shook himself. “Right. He’s out - you did a number on him. The police have got it covered. EMT’s should be here any second.”

Bakugou brushed some hair out of her face - it was just getting all tangled and sweaty anyway.  She didn’t even notice. “You with me Round Face?”

“Yeah - but- but my chest feels -” She tried to get up and he had to force her back down.

“Fuck don’t move okay - you’re gonna be fine.” He scanned the street, and couldn’t push down the relief as the familiar jackets of the EMT’s came into view. “Hey! We need some help over here!”

People ran over, moving Bakugou against his will. But in the end, when he watched Uraraka flinch in pain, he knew he wasn’t needed anymore. Regardless of how desperately he wanted to stay. They were fragile with her, placing her gently into the stretcher, and finally into the ambulance. Driving away, Bakugou felt his heart lurch.

Nakamura Genzo was captured easily, given more restraints and heavier security around him. They treated him for his injuries - third degree burns, his entire right side was a mess of broken ribs and bruises, and the left was a little less severe. Bakugou needed to work on his left hook apparently. Genzo had a punctured lung from one of his ribs, and his front teeth were busted, but it didn’t matter to Bakugou. He was taken in - he was completely taken care of. Bakugou just cared about one thing.

~*~*~

Hospitals were always a place of pain - mostly for Bakugou on certain missions, yet now it was different. The fluorescent lights were straining his eyes as he walked through the halls - the constant wailing and crying was enough to keep him away too. Yet, she was there. His partner was laid up in a hospital bed in whatever fucking condition Genzo left her in. Bakugou was told the room number and he walked to it with bound fists at his side.

Flowers were already placed in her room, cards lining the benches with well wishes. Uraraka was already propped up - though there had been a day between her injuries and his visit. The rest of the team had already gone to see her. Bakugou was questioned a fuck tonne in order to explain Genzo’s injuries. He didn’t have much else to say other than “what would you rather me do? Beat him within an inch of his life, or let him kill everyone in the area?”

After that, he was allowed home, where he stared at his phone waiting for an update.

Kirishima texted late saying Uraraka was asking after him.

Bakugou knew he had to go see her after that.

He hung back by the door as Uraraka stopped playing with her phone, smiling down to whoever was contacting her. She looked up and her smile dropped, like seeing him was more of a shock than a surprise. Bakugou’s jaw set tight and his heart felt like it was trapped in between two ribs - unable to beat without causing him pain.

“Bakugou, hey, I was wondering when you’d -”

“What the hell was that?” he snapped, his chest a mess of emotions he would never allow himself to process.

Uraraka sighed, scratching lightly at her brow. “I know I was a little -”

“You were reckless and put yourself in danger for that shitty mission,” he snarled, moving to the foot of her bed. Her once soft expression turned to that of defiance, her brow crinkling in frustration.

“Hey! I’m not as fragile as you -”

“I don’t think you’re fragile, moron! You were putting your life in danger for nothing,” he said, hands gripped tight to the edge of her bed.

“Don’t be an idiot,” she spat back, folding her arms over her chest.

“What?” His brow knit, watching as she stared back at him, anger etched into her features.

“You’re being an asshole, saying you think I can take it, but then say I can’t because I’m weak. I can fucking take it!”

“I know you can fucking take it, but I can’t! Not like this!” The rage let slip the words that were held back - anger and frustration finally touching at the parts of himself he wanted to hide away. His hands bound together, tight fists by his side as his jaw set. If he couldn’t unbind his teeth, he wouldn’t need to answer her obvious question.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

There it was.

“Don’t do it again, idiot,” he replied, voice breaking and pushing himself off the bed, moving out of the hospital room and going home. He had the day off anyway.

It was just mistake after mistake.

Words said.

Actions not taken.

Secrets let slip.

Everything was a goddamn mistake.

With his head in his hands, Bakugou could feel regret gripping him, like a force that bound him to the feelings that made him scared of himself. She made him scared. No one could make him fear the unknown - pain, injuries, death - it was all he ever craved. But she went down, and everything came flooding over him, like a fucking tidalwave, saturating his being until he was as desperate as any other fucker on the planet.

It wasn’t Bakugou.

And it all made him scared. Of Uraraka. For Uraraka.

What did it all mean when everything else was a fucking mess? He hated that he couldn’t piece himself together, unravelling like a perfectly tied up coil coming apart by one tight pull.

Word went around that Uraraka was released from the hospital after two days, and given a week’s bed rest. She deserved more for all the work she did, but Bakugou knew she’d bounce back sooner or later.

Bakugou was midway through writing a report for Aizawa when a booming voice called out through the precinct. “Hey! Asshole!” The whole room turned, seeing Kirishima storming through. He wasn’t the type of dude that got pissed off easily, so it was a surprise. Then, he pointed directly at Bakugou. “Yeah you!”

“The fuck did you just call me?” Bakugou said, standing and standing face to face with the bastard.

“You haven’t gone to see Uraraka, I get to call you what I like!”

Bakugou rolled his eyes, stepping back from Kirishima and going back to his desk. “I don’t have to do shit all,” he replied, only for Kirishima to haul him back, fists in each other’s clothes - the two like gasoline and fire, ready to erupt at any moment.

“She’s fucking expecting you, so go!” Kirishima replied, his features hardening, expecting the fight.

“Who are you to demand -”

“I’m your best friend, so listen to me and go see Uraraka. Tonight!” he yelled. The precinct was silent, and Bakugou suddenly felt seen - that there was something telling everyone about he and Uraraka other than being partners. He didn’t want to be seen. Bakugou shoved Kirishima back, straightening out his clothes as he looked back at the spikey haired bastard.

“Fine! Fuck,” he swore, murmuring curses under his breath as he went back to his work, holding back on his anger.

It wasn’t as though he didn’t care about Uraraka. She’d had injuries worse than this. Fuck, Bakugou had stayed at her house while she had a broken leg and a few broken ribs before - cooking, cleaning, doing her laundry. This was different. She didn’t seem to need him like before.

Maybe he was just…

Scared wasn’t the right word.

He wasn’t ready.

After everything that had happened, he wasn’t ready for her to see him and maybe understand what he said.

But he did have to see her. Check in.

It was only right.

~*~*~

It was weird, holding a bag of things for her as he stood outside her door. It was a crumbly old apartment building with like no space other than the essentials. With most of Uraraka’s money going to her parents, Bakugou understood why she stayed there, but for once he’d wish she’d think about herself.

Huffing, he knocked on the door. It was harder than he anticipated, but it didn’t matter. With barely a second to straighten out his shoulders when Uraraka opened the door. He felt a lump in the back of his throat when he saw her. It had been four days since she left the hospital, and four days since they’d seen each other. She had a few tiny cuts and bruises on her arms and on her cheek, but other than that - she was just Uraraka.

She was in grey tracksuit pants and an oversized hoodie she’s gotten at their time with the agency. It was far too big, slipping off her shoulder as she took Bakugou in.

“Bakugou,” she said, voice a little shaken. “I wasn’t expecting you.”

He gave a vague shrug. “Kirishima.”

“Oh, okay.” Uraraka cleared her throat before she opened the door a little wider. “Come in,” she said, gesturing for him to enter. He followed and went inside, handing her the bag as she walked past him.

“Here,” he grumbled, focusing his attention to the floor. She peered inside the bag before gasping.

“Mochi donuts?! Thank you,” she smiled, tucking hair behind her ear.

“It’s better than the nothing I was going to get you,” he replied.

“But Kirishima talked you into it?” Bakugou returned a vague ‘tch’ sound before he stood back in her hallway and Uraraka was wandering into her kitchen.

“How’s the burn?” he asked, clearing his throat as his arms folded over his chest. He wasn’t sure what the fuck to do with himself. He felt cornered, that the walls might swallow him and he may never be allowed to leave - in a constant state of waiting for her to ask about the texts and what happened at the hospital.

“It’s fine. I barely feel it. Recovery girl really helped the process along so I’m ready to get back to work.” There was a voice she put on - a raise in her chin as she acted tough. A show for him to not think any less of her. He wouldn’t. He couldn’t.

“Good. That’s good,” he said, clearing his throat again and pushing off from the wall. “I only came ‘cause shitty hair made me. I’m gonna leave,” he said, going towards the door, ready to open it.

“What did you mean in the hospital?” she asked, voice quiet compared to earlier. She was scared. His hand was at the handle, inches from turning the knob, but he turned, looking back at Uraraka as she fiddled with the ends of her hoodie.

“What?”

She raised her chin, fingers still at the ends of her sleeves, nervously pulling at them. “I’m not repeating myself.”

He huffed. “I didn’t mean -”

“I’m tired of your shit Bakugou!” She yelled, and he stared across at her in shock. When he didn’t reply, she continued. Uraraka almost charged him as she spoke, getting right into his space and not backing away for a second. “If you lie to me, I swear to god, I’m going to fling you out the window, now tell me!”

She stared at him, a rage that only Bakugou could bring out of her. And in the midst of it, the scared teenager that couldn’t get over a crush was hammering away and begging for his chance. In the end, the man won out, and acted in the only way he knew how to.

Bakugou wasn’t a guy of many words.

So he didn’t use them.

He surged forward.

He didn’t dare to touch her, only kissing her as swiftly as body could allow, towering over her and making her stagger backwards. She gripped into his shoulders, responding with the most beautiful lips he had ever tasted. Then, she pulled back, staring back - no anger, just confusion, written into her features.

“W-what? Does this -”

“Stop fucking talking, round face,” he growled back, forehead resting against hers. He tried to dive right back in, only managing to steal a small kiss before she pulled away. Bakugou froze, watching as a smile grew on her lips right before she stole another. He smirked, knowing the game she was playing.

She tempted and teased, pulling back the moment Bakugou was about to latch his lips to hers, to never part them for as long as his lust would hold out. Whatever she she was doing, she knew the exact way to have Bakugou fall for it - she was going to have Bakugou everyway she wanted him, and he fucking knew it. All the while, it wound him up, like he was a jack-in-the-box, and god, was he ready to spring out and surprise her.

In one swift guide of his arm, he pulled her in by her waist, snaring her lips with his own and kissing her as sharply as he needed. He wanted her, and he wanted her the moment he stepped foot into her apartment. Pressing her up against the wall, she let out a soft gasp against his mouth, but he wanted to surprise her - do everything that every ounce of lust within him wanted to do. Her sweats were still midway down her thigh but they weren’t off, which gave Bakugou every excuse. Turning Uraraka around, her hands pressed against the wall - he bent and took down the remaining parts of her pants, bending down and watching the way her body swayed with each move he made.

Bakugou couldn’t help himself, hand squeezing into her ass, the bounce and shake of it making everything in him rise - adrenaline and lust surging across him. He teeth scraped across one cheek before he bit into it a little harder. Uraraka mewled, hands clawing at the wall - hard enough for Bakugou to hear - and as Bakugou kissed at the spot he not-so-delicately bit into, her hands released, reaching behind her to gently stroke at his hair. She looked over her shoulder as Bakugou took her underwear down swiftly, he wasn’t going to waste any more fucking time.

Gripping in once more, he pushed his face in the crevasse of her cheeks, tongue stroking at her tender lips and immediately making Uraraka rise on her toes. She fell back down, pushing her hips into his face, and holy fuck did he enjoy it. Bakugou held onto her thighs, widening her stance as he lapped up all that she was feeling. Uraraka whined, panting as he kept his mouth on her entrance, delivering his tongue in just to hear her moaning gasps.

“Oh, Bak -” she whined, and his hand snaked from her thigh to taking his tongue’s place, fingers circling her folds before entering her slowly. He slowly rose to his feet, her hand slipping from his hair back to the wall, and he kissed up the back of her neck to have her shiver against him. “Baku -”

“Katsuki,” he whispered in her ear.

“Fuck, Katsuki!” she said, pushing her hips against his hand, forcing it directly into his hips. She may not have known she was doing so, but she rocked perfectly onto his crotch, his cock aching inside his jeans. “Right there, right there! Right there!” she cried, her voice soft and desperate. She spurred him on, fingers working overtime just to hear what it would sound like when she finally came.

Her hips pushed back hard against him, her panting becoming a little harder to control and Bakugou could feel her around his fingers - Uraraka was at the end of her tether. She reached behind herself once more, hand on his wrist as she breathed in heavy gasps. He didn’t know if she was trying to stop him, or was telling him to keep going - either way, she crashed against the wall, crying out a little moan and pushing her ass straight up against his hips.

“Fuck,” he groaned, feeling the strain in his pants. “I’m not going to last if you keep pushing your ass into me,” he said into her ear. Uraraka looked over her shoulder, brushing hair from her face.

“I didn’t say you had to,” she said. Tempt and tease.

“Fuck,” he groaned, tugging on her arm to turn around, “you asked for it,” he warned her before bending down and picking her up into his arms.

Uraraka held onto his face, kissing him as he staggered around her cramped apartment. He fell into walls, struggled past the doorway, and had them falling into the bed. Uraraka giggled, kissing Bakugou before he rolled his hips against her, making her moan a little more. He just needed one more thing before he parted from her. He stood up from the bed, stripping himself of his shirt and kicking off his shoes. Uraraka took the cue and shrugged out of her hoodie and shirt, leaving her only in her bra. As Bakugou snapped off his belt and pushed his pants down, Uraraka unclasped her bra and tossed it aside.

Remembering where he’d seen them the last time - an awkward conversation was had when Bakugou was putting away laundry - he went to Uraraka’s dresser drawer, finding the condoms and tearing at the edge of one. He started to place it on when he saw Uraraka adjust herself slightly. Sitting up, Uraraka moved over to him, her hand gracing over down from his chest to his stomach, fingers tempting to down his length. He caught her wrist loosely, pushing it aside to her confusion.

“What are you doing?” he asked, leaning over her, forehead pressed to her own.

“I wanted to make you feel good,” she said with a flutter of her eyelashes. Bakugou smirked.

“Nah, this is all about you, lie back down.” She did as she was told, crawling her way up the bed and waiting for him to follow after.

Bakugou wasted no time - he could have savoured the beauty of her in all her glory, gaze at her wonder, but he wanted to touch her more than anything. He crawled up the bed, sucking at her skin, nipping underneath her breast and sucking at the edge of her collarbone. All the while she hummed her approval, nipping into his shoulder briefly as they came face to face once more.

Moving his hand down between them, grazing against her most sensitive bundle of nerves, her body arching into his touch. He smirked, the briefest of touches could have her responding, he wondered what more could do for her. When he guided his length inside her, Uraraka’s hands went to his shoulders, pulling their bodies together.

There was only the sound of Uraraka’s panting in the room, but it couldn’t last - Bakugou knew himself too well, he wouldn’t be able to stay still for much longer. He moved his hips slow at first, gaining speed and arching into every thrust to get the best noises out of Uraraka. She obviously hated that she was getting louder and louder. But his ego sure as fuck loved it.

“Katsuki,” she mewled, nails clamped down into his back, raking up as his thrusts came in quicker succession. “Yes! Yes!” she cried, her hand on the back of his neck.

She pulled him down, kissing him roughly, and he enjoyed every fucking second of it. She bit into his bottom lip when she got excited. Bakugou couldn’t help himself, he rocked in harder, taking up the back of her knee. Uraraka arched her back, panting a little harder than even before.

In her movements, he was finally able to look at her without the overwhelming urge to take her. There were scars that littered her skin, some old, some new, following the curves of her waist and hips. Her breasts were round, much like the rest of her, and tempting as everything else - Bakugou kissed down her neck to take one of her nipples between teeth, just to have her push into him again. It worked to perfection, her breast rising beautifully into his mouth, and her hips bucking into his own when he gave a harder thrust. She was perfect to understand, to love and hold in a single moment.

“Ah!” Uraraka said suddenly, her body recoiling in a single beat. Bakugou’s eyes snapped to hers, watching her face contort in discomfort. He pulled away slightly, letting her body fall to where she needed, but never leaving the warm depths between her thighs. Uraraka sighed, laying back into the sheets and looking up at Bakugou with pinker cheeks than usual. He wanted to smile, but he with the sudden halt on everything, he wasn’t sure if the passion had fallen to its wake.

“Shit, are you okay?” he asked, hand ghosting over her side. Uraraka’s hand went to the side of Bakugou’s face, palm to his cheek and guiding him to look back at her.

“I’m fine,” she nodded, “just take it a little slower right now,” she said, a little nervous with a soft laugh to ease her discomfort of their eyes meeting.

“You sure?” he asked once more.

“Yeah,” she replied, Bakugou once again moving his hips, a slow roll to gauge her reaction. Uraraka’s head fell back into the pillow, hand tight in his bicep. “Yes, like that,” she approved, and he smirked.

Bakugou bent onto his elbows, arms snaking behind her back and propping her up into his arms. Uraraka squeaked, the sighing as she sunk down onto his length.

“What are you doing?” she asked, all the while, rocking herself back and forth. Bakugou grit his teeth, breathing out a moan into her chest before looking up at her with a satisfied grin.

“I can’t do all the work, round face,” he said. She leaned down, hands either side of his face, kissing him in a slow, deliberate manner - making them both savour it.

Everything was slow, Uraraka’s pace, soft strides to ease her into it - or perhaps it was the way he hissed everytime she moved, liking the way he sounded, much like he had done to her. Then, she gained confidence and speed, hips jerking in a quicker pace, before she just tried to gain satisfaction by any means possible. She was glorious.

He could feel her unwinding, with every move, and every bounce back onto his cock, he could feel her walls clamping down around him. Whenever she moved down upon him, he’d trust him, making her jump a little in his lap. Before either of them knew it, Uraraka cried out, clutching Bakugou to her chest, hands winding into his hair as she panted out moan after moan.

She sounded like a symphony - gorgeous at her ecstasy. Bakugou watched her move on top of him, her hands stroking through his hair as her eyes looked into his own. He’d never had sex like it - something that made him feel understood, that every movement, all the pace, it was perfect to know who they were between them. Bakugou never wanted to watch anyone else on top of his cock ever again, not unless they looked as beautiful as she did.

In a moment, between his utter wonder and the growing need to come completely undone, Uraraka pulled hard into Bakugou’s hair. He hissed and Uraraka moaned, arching into his new position wonderfully well and he wanted to just take everything he had left in him and please her to every extent he could.

Two could play at that game. He may not have been able to move as fast as he could have liked, but he knew she’d not protest to it. With his hand moving up her back, he took a fistful of her hair and pulled, her neck exposed to him, and fuck he felt hungry for it. His mouth descended upon it, sucking and kissing at her throat, feeling the vibrations of every moam against his tongue. He loved it, and Uraraka knew he enjoyed it too much - especially with every thrust he added to make her close to her next orgasm.

“No fair,” she hissed. Bakugou thrust into her again, and she moaned, pulling at his hair once more, but it was much lighter than it once had been.

“All’s fucking fair game,” he smirked, feeling Uraraka’s hand on his thigh. He thought she may need to lay back down when her finger suddenly bound into his leg, making him jerk upwards into her. She moaned, biting her lip and smiling down at him. “Fuck!” Bakugou groaned, looking back at her.

“All’s fucking fair game,” she repeated his words. Bakugou bit his lip, thrusting into her again, watching as she circled her hips down onto him again.

“If you weren’t injured, I’d -”

“You’d what?” she replied with a smirk, and between his heart bounding like a drum, and his head screaming, he knew he couldn’t stop himself.

“Fuck it,” Bakugou muttered, pushing his weight onto Uraraka’s and onto her back once more, thrusting in one long and hard motion. It wasn’t until after that he thought of his mistake - his lust getting the best of him. Uraraka’s hand went to his ass, gripping in hard with her nails enough to make him hiss. He looked at her face, lip between teeth and chest heaving for more.

“I’ll tell you if it hurts, just keep going,” she begged, forcing his hips closer. When he moved inside her again, she guided him in with a hard pull on his ass. It was harder than he would have, but she enjoyed it all the same - eyes closed and body calling to his like they were magnets that hated to be separated.

His mind told him to go slow, to make sure it all lasted how he needed it to - but he’d be damned if he didn’t chase the sound of her desperate moans to get his own satisfaction. Her next orgasm came over her quickly, her teeth went into his shoulder to suppress the sound, but it did little to help, other than to spur Bakugou on. Her legs went over his hips, heels at the base of his thigh and urging his ass forward with every move he made.

Intimacy was lost on Bakugou, he never liked how he felt being within it, but Uraraka made it all different somehow. When her hand snaked down his arm from his shoulder blade, her caught her wrist, holding it down onto the bed. And he found himself wanting. Like he’d never wanted something so badly in his life. His pressure on her slim wrist went slack, and his fingers slid into her palm, binding into the gaps of her fingers. Uraraka held on tight, their joined hands going over her head as Bakugou continued to stride within her.

She made sure they kissed every few seconds, whining until she could kiss him again, becoming louder and louder to get him to silence her with one of his bruising kisses. Uraraka was using him like a puppet, but he didn’t care - she was heaven to be inside, her body a wonderful combination of sweat and silk and his body was to blame for half of it.

“Oh god,” Uraraka cried, her free hand back in his hair, body moving against his again. He could feel her hardened nipples against his chest with every movement, and he wanted to put his mouth all over her body again. Taste every inch of her. Uraraka whined, hand on his cheek, nails piercing skin behind his ear and on his jaw. “I’m gonna -”

She didn’t even get to finish her sentence, her release rocking through her in waves that made her hips jerk over and over again until Bakugou was following her. He held tight to her hand, the other was gripping tight into her thigh - unable to bring himself to move as he could his release come and go.

“Fuck,” he panted into her chest, trying hard to let her go, but it was no use, he’d drown in her skin before he’d let her move an inch.

Eventually, he had to - lying beside her as she moved to be on his chest. She was practically asleep by the time he’d shifted into his spot next to her.

“You good?” he asked her.

“Hm?” she replied, “Yeah, yeah. Just tired.”

Bakugou shifted, aiming to leave. “Do you need me to -”

“If you move, I’ll kill you,” she warned, hands tight on his body as she held him close.

“Fucking fine, round face,” he said, letting her rest back onto his chest. He smiled, his own exhaustion following hers.

~*~*~

When he woke up, there was hair in his mouth. He threw his head back, spitting it out with a scowl and wincing when it flopped wetly onto his neck. A heavy weight lay on his side, numbing his arm under the pressure. His eyes struggled to open fully, but out of the corner of his eye, he saw the hazlenut hair he was very much used to.

Uraraka.

Holy fucking shit.

Bakugou groaned and slowly pulled his arms back only to stop dead still when she shifted. He waited, tense and holding his breath until she settled back down, soft snores puffing out onto his arm.

He tried again, and after a very slow escape over the next several minutes, he was free. Slipping from the sheets he staggered into the bathroom, took one look in the mirror at his neck covered in hickies, his hair a fucking mess and cheeks flushed - and barely recognised himself. There was no way his eyes should look that bright, or lips that swollen.

He’d had sex with his partner.  

He splashed cold water on himself, and contemplated drowning himself in the sink. He could do this - it was just a moment of passion right? Happened all the time - or so he’d seen in all his mums shitty romcoms.  

He could still feel her breathe against his face, hear the way she’d whispered his name. Feel her nails down his chest and the soft whimpers of her release echoing in his ear.

How the fuck was he meant to work like this?  They were going to have to… to talk about this.

Holy fucking shit was right.  

~*~*~

Bakugou hated quiet, and even with the sound of his pacing footsteps, it was all too much. He had half a mind to wake Uraraka from her sleep, or possibly just sit in her room to hear the fucker snore. Instead, he waited until the pot of coffee had fully brewed and made himself a mug. The rest of it waited for Uraraka to crawl her ass out of bed. It had been nearly two hours since he left, and she was still sound asleep.

He always knew she was a heavy sleeper, but it was like trying to wake to goddamn dead. He had went through most of her things, trying to entertain himself before he had to leave for work, and no matter how much noise he unintentionally made - she stayed in bed. The light of morning was peeking through her curtains, drawing a veil over most of her apartment and casting a glow on Uraraka that was criminal. Gorgeous was not the right word to describe her.

On his way to the kitchen hours before, he picked up his trail of clothes, putting on some as he walked past Uraraka’s. He was unsure of what the fuck to do with hers - was he supposed to pick them up? They were partners and it had been a habit before, long nights and untidy people tend to amount of a clean up when nights were done. But this was different. A line was crossed. They were more than partners.

Regret was something that was new to Bakugou, but he knew this wasn’t it. He stood in her kitchen and came to the conclusion that this was not something he’d ever regret. As far as the sex went, it was fucking great. It might’ve been the best he’d ever had. Maybe it was because he knew her, understood what her reactions could be and learning all new things about someone that he cared for. He wanted her to feel as good as he did.

Yet, what else would come of this? Was there a relationship there? Was he even ready for something like that? It wasn’t like he had one before to gauge what the fuck this even meant. His personality and overall work ethic was a pretty hard thing to deal with for most people. Uraraka was one of the only people that knew him, and still stuck around after. There was a trust between them, a fit that neither of them expected.

What did she even want? Was this all just heat of the moment?

He was about two seconds from marching into her room and finally dragging her out of bed when his phone chimed.

Shitty Hair: U need to come into work. Boss wants to see u

Bakugou rolled his eyes, gripping tight to his phone as he contemplated his next step. He took the remnants of his coffee and poured it down the sink, washing the mug briefly before putting on the remainder of his clothes. When he fixed his jacket over his shoulders, he stopped and saw into Uraraka’s room. She was curled into her sheets peacefully, and Bakugou grit his teeth.

When Kirishima texted again, Bakugou didn’t have time.

He left her apartment and went straight into work.

They could talk later.

He just wasn’t ready yet.

[hermannsthumb]

Hey dude!! Never done this before so I’m sorry if I screw it up but love the prompts you reblogged and thought I’d give it a try. Newmann wedding fics are the cutest things in my opinion so I thought possibly write a combination of 16, 7, and or either 2 or 9. Your newmann fics are the absolute best, I read them whenever I’m having a really bad day and they always cheer me up. Your a fantastic writer and you have such and amazing personality! I Hope you have a lovely day

16: Weddings, 7: Beach, 1: Fireworks, 2: Sunburn AND 9: Stargazing, 

from summer prompt memes here

combining yours with @francissaintgermain​ for a double whammy of wedding...AND THANK U BOTH for the really sweet words :’)

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

“Seems a bit of a hassle, if you ask me,” Hermann says. “All this bloody planning, and money, and effort—”

“It’s not a hassle,” Newton says. “I mean, it is, but—it’s gotta be worth it, you know? It’s romantic.”

It takes Hermann a great deal of effort to not roll his eyes. Newton’s idea of romantic includes necking on the couch while Ghostly Encounters plays on the television set and showing Hermann how many pieces of sushi he can cram into his mouth at once. (His record is ten, and he would’ve kept going if Hermann didn’t remind him that they were in a very nice restaurant and he paid quite a lot for the reservation.) It isn’t what Hermann meant, anyway. “I’m not talking about weddings in general,” he says. “I mean this sort. With all the—” He waggled his hand vaguely. “Extravagance.”

Extravagance did not fully encompass everything this wedding was. Hermann’s cousin and his fiance—wife, now, Hermann supposed—-had rented out a massive chunk of beach for it, with all the trappings of the sorts of things you’d expect for a beach vacation. Bouquets of tropical flowers. Bridesmaids in flip-flops. Seagulls swooping down every few minutes. Tiki torches at the end of each aisle of chairs, one of which had nearly caught the sleeve of Newton’s gaudy Hawaiian shirt (“I have to dress for the theme, babe,” he insisted) on fire when he passed it. It would’ve been nice if they hadn’t set the damned thing at midday, with the sun broiling overhead and making everyone squint and almost certainly burning Hermann alive, despite the long-sleeved linen shirt and sunhat he donned, and the fine layer of sunscreen Newton took a bit too much sensual pleasure in applying to him back in the hotel room. None of the other Gottliebs (genetically predisposed to pastiness) appear to be faring much better: Hermann spies his aunt a few rows up, who’s beginning to resemble a surly, dark-haired tomato.

Still. Hermann’s the only one of his immediate family to be invited, and his cousin paid for their airfare and hotel room, which is in some outrageously expensive resort with a spa and mimosas at the complimentary breakfasts that Hermann thinks Newton would call bougie, and they’ve got it for a week at that, so Hermann can’t bring himself to complain too much. It’s not as if he’s had the chance to go on many vacations in the last decade. The break is well-deserved and nice.

Newton leans in close with a grin and a nod to the front of the aisle, where the bride and groom have taken each other’s hands. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen a Gottlieb that happy in my life.”

“Nonsense,” Hermann says, and then realizes Newton does make a fair point: it’s not just Hermann’s aunt on the groom’s side of the aisle who’s surly. (Genetic predisposition to pastiness and melancholy, he supposes.) He goes for a different approach. “I’m certain I looked that happy on our wedding day.”

“You were kinda just crying the whole time, dude,” Newton says.

Hermann flushes. He had cried a little bit. “It was—er—overjoyed crying.”

“It was cute,” Newton says, grin softening out into something a bit dopier. He slings his arm around Hermann’s shoulders, and Hermann can’t help but lean in to his touch and smile back.

They both startle a moment later when the crowd suddenly begins clapping; the couple have finished reciting their vows, it appears. “Thank fuck,” Newton whispers. “I’m starving. I hope they have those tiny cream puff things at the reception.”

They don’t, but they have plenty of seafood (apt for the theme). Newton settles on filling a plate with a comical amount of jumbo-sized shrimp and some crab legs. The reception is likewise on the beach, under a great big tent lit up with lanterns and more torches only a short walk down from where the ceremony took place, and Hermann has to admit he’s beginning to see the appeal of the extravagance of it all. The oppressive heat’s dissipating, finally. The sea breeze’s picked up enough to ruffle the ends of Hermann’s hair and even make him shiver (and lean in a touch closer to Newton). The sunset’s gorgeous on the horizon. Even the live band is pleasant, and Hermann recognizes one song as something Newton’s played for him on the guitar before.

After dodging a fair number of his relatives, most of whom give Newton (with his tattoos and ear piercings and tiny Godzillas patterned on his shirt) side-eyes even before he lunges in and catches the bride’s bouquet, only to guiltily throw it back when he realizes it’s for the unwed partygoers, Hermann and Newton find their assigned table at the edge of the dance floor and sit down to watch the fireworks show overhead. Because of course the wedding party sprung for fireworks. “God, I fucking love this,” Newton says, beaming like an overeager child. “We should’ve had fireworks at ours.”

“Ours was indoors,” Hermann reminds him.

“I didn’t mean inside the building,” Newton says.

He downs a third of the frozen daiquiri he got from the bar and offers the rest out to Hermann, who shakes his head. “Do you wanna dance?” Newton says. His lips look sticky, vaguely red, and terribly inviting, so Hermann steals a quick kiss before he bothers responding.

“In a bit, perhaps,” he says. His hand drifts up to cup the side of Newton’s face. His cheeks are rougher than usual: he forgot to pack his razor, and they haven’t had the time to find anywhere that sells disposable ones yet. Hermann doesn’t mind it, though it’d tickled like mad in bed last night when Newton tried to kiss his throat. “I think I’d like to go for a walk.”

Newton nods and unhooks Hermann’s cane from the back of his chair, then, almost as an afterthought, crams several of the shrimp from his plate into the top pocket of his shirt. Hermann makes a face. “No use in wasting them,” Newton says. He holds the cane out to Hermann.

They walk, arm-in-arm, far enough down the beach that the tent becomes a dim glow and the music barely audible before they ease themselves down on the sand and spread out. Above them, stars are beginning to appear. The night sky is far clearer and far more devoid of light pollution out here than anywhere else Hermann has been before; Newton, excitedly, points out three shooting stars before Hermann’s even made himself comfortable. (Another pleasant benefit of this all.)

Newton’s shirt is unbuttoned enough to give Hermann a glimpse of the kaiju piece that spans across his chest. Hermann used to hate it. Hermann used to hate a lot of things about Newton. “I ran into your uncle at the buffet table,” Newton says. “Mustache. Looks just like your dad. He didn’t believe me when I said I was your husband. What constellation is that?”

“Hercules,” Hermann says automatically. “Do you regret it?”

Newton turns to frown at him. “Do I regret what?”

“Our wedding,” Hermann says. “It wasn’t very—flash.”

It’d been quick. In and out. Courthouse affair barely even two months after they closed the Breach. Newton wore a bow tie borrowed from Tendo, Hermann slacks with a coffee stain on the left leg. They didn’t even have a honeymoon. It seemed romantic at the time, almost as if they were eloping—they loved each other, after all, they had in silence for a decade, they saved the world together, they drifted together. They’d been in each other’s heads. It seemed foolish to wait.

“Oh.” Newton laughs. “Of course I don’t regret it.”

“You wouldn’t have preferred all this?”

“Dude,” Newton says. “We have, like, two friends, and you hate half your family. Who would we have invited?”

“Fair point,” Hermann says, satisfied.

“Besides.” Newton rolls onto his side and drapes his arm over Hermann’s waist, and he rubs his scratchy cheek against the crook of Hermann’s neck. “You gotta know I would’ve literally married you anywhere.”

“Ah, Newton,” Hermann stammers, “stop—”

“Nope,” Newton says, mistaking Hermann’s reticence for bashfulness over the public display of affection, and nuzzles and kisses at him this time. “No way. Anywhere.”

“‘S not that,” Hermann says, and winces in pain, because Newton’s stubble is suddenly feeling a hell of a lot sharper, “Newton, it’s—sunburn—”

Newton rolls off of him, giggling madly. “How?” he says. “I put a whole fucking bottle of sunblock on you. You were wearing that stupid hat.” He prods at the sunhat, resting on the sand a few inches away with Hermann’s cane.

Hermann ghosts his fingers over the skin of his neck gingerly; it’s hot and tender to the touch, as is the skin of his shoulders and upper arms through his clothing. Bloody figures. If it’s this bad already, mere hours after the ceremony, he doesn’t even want to know what it’ll be like tomorrow. “I certainly don’t know how,” he says.

The kiss Newton leaves on his reddened skin is far more delicate this time, without a hint of his stubble. “Poor baby,” he says, with a mocking pout. It turns suggestive in seconds, aided by the hand that he slips up under the hem of Hermann’s linen shirt and massages circles with over his abdomen. “I’ll just have to rub aloe all over you when we get home tonight, yeah?”

“Mm,” Hermann agrees, eyelids drifting shut. It’s nice, more than nice, and, for a moment (there’s no one around to see, after all), Hermann is considering indulging Newton in some light touching and kissing in return. Then he wrinkles his nose. “You smell like shrimp, darling,” he says. It’s killed any lust that Newton may have been inspiring in him. Newton retracts his hand.

“There’s still one in my pocket,” he admits.

[jungshookz]

Ooo Christmas drabble with tae, getting bby fever when you see him with your baby cousins on xmas day and playing with them a being an overall daddy (ahem pun intended) but getting slightly and playfully jealous cause (one) your cousins like him more than you and (69) he's giving your cousins too much attention. Time for the attention attack!

🎄 pairing: kim taehyung x reader

🎄 genre: boyfriend!taehyung, very vERY soft hours aka the fluffiest fluff, tae is SO good with kids, your baby cousin lowkey hates u

🎄 wordcount: 2.9k

🎄 notes: i.,,.,. this is,., probably the cutest thing i’ve ever written in my entire life,, i wanted to add more at the end but i thought the ending was perfect?? idk!! enjoy!!

(gif isn’t mine!)

“peekAboo~!” tae gasps as he moves his hands away from his face

he crosses his eyes and sticks his tongue out and you can’t help but snort at how dumb he looks as you watch him play with your baby cousin

you and tae are at your family’s annual christmas party and the minute you got the invite tae was like okAY time to buy an ugly christmas sweater

so here is his wearing an obnoxiously green christmas sweater that’s supposed to be representative of an elf’s uniform

it has jingle bells on them so you know you won’t lose tae at the party because you’ll be able to hear him every time he takes a step

you and tae have been together for two years now

last year when he came to the christmas party everyone loVed him unsurprisingly

and you were feeling pretty proud because u were like yA this is the mans i’m dating can u believe it

anyways

everyone’s waiting for the turkey to finish roasting in the oven

so you’re in the living room sitting on the couch next to tae and the baby

you’re curled up in one corner and tae’s curled up at the other end so you’re both facing each other

of course there are a couple other relatives in the room but they’re all in their own world

you don’t even know where your aunt went she just dumped the baby on tae even tho u were like heLLo i’m her cousin why don’t u give her to mE

“peekaboo!!!!” tae’s fingers dig into her chunky sides gently and he wiggles them

your baby cousin squeals in delight and gurgles at him

her chubby fingers wrap around his pinky and he coos before leaning in to plant a kiss on her chubby cheek “ooh you’re sO CUTe!!!!”

you feel your stomach do a flip

o

oh my what is this feeling

o god

u suddenly want a baby

u want a baby SO bad

more specifically u want tae’s babies

you can already see it

you can already see it

“she’s still not sleeping?” you rub the sleep out of your bleary eyes and let out a yawn

the baby fusses in tae’s arm and he makes a small sound of pity as he looks down at her “oh, i know, you’re so tired! you’re so sleepy… daddy’s sleepy too…”

he glances over his shoulder at you

“mhm, not yet. we’ll get there soon - i can feel it.” tae whispers as he paces back and forth while he rocks the baby - your guys’ baby - back n forth in his arms

the bedroom lamp casts a warm glow over his skin and you can’t help but run your eyes over the expanse of his bare back  

he hums a lullaby and the sound of his soothing voice fills the space in the room

and finally

peace

and once he does that he places the baby gently in the bassinet and tip toes back to the bed

he crawls into bed with you and pulls the covers up

his arm wraps around your waist and he pulls you into his chest and presses a kiss to the back of your shoulder

end of y/n’s baby fever dream

you let out a dreamy sigh before taking another sip of your punch while keeping your eyes trained on tae

“let me fix these tiny pigtails…” tae mutters as he adjusts the little pink bows around your cousin’s pigtails

he’s so perfect

you don’t know how you got so lucky

“there isn’t much to fix it’s not like she has a lot of hair” you comment and tae scowls playfully at you before covering your cousin’s ears

“don’t listen to your mean old cousin. you have so much hair!!” he rubs her baldish head before bouncing her up and down in his lap

“she’s BALD i don’t even know how those pigtails are-“

“taetae! can we play hide and seek?? can you seek??” tae turns his head when a grouP of your younger cousins run up to him with wide grins

um

excuse me

you’re always always the seeker

and ya you love tae but you’re not letting him strIP that title away from u

“uh! i’m usually the seeker, aren’t i?” you gasp and press a hand against your chest in mock pain

they all look over at you and by the looks on their faces they’re all like oh hey y/n we forgot u even existed in the first place

“.,,.,,but we want tAe to be the seeker!!”

“sorry, jagi. gotta listen to the people” taheyung lifts the baby up and you take her from him but you’re holding her like an arm’s length away from your body

she’s kind of just dangling there

tae blinks down at you and chuckles “she won’t bite, y’know”

“she’s teething - she’s definitely going to bite” you mutter

you’re HURT

your ego has been shattered because apparently you’re not good enough of a seeker!!!!! but taetae is!!!!!!!!

“you guys have 30 seconds to hide and then i’ll come after you. if i find you i can proMIse you’ll get a visit from the tickle monster!!!” all the kids squeal in a mixture of delight and feAR before scurrying off in all different directions

“you don’t wanna play hide and seek with us?” taheyung pokes your arm and you raise a brow “i’ll even help you find a hiding spot!!”

“i don’t hide. i seek - exclusively.” you huff playfully and turn your attention back to the baby

tae can’t help but roll his eyes at how childish you’re being

“taetae!!!!!!!”

“coming!! all of you better be hiding!!!” he turns and looks back down at you “duty calls”

“i’m just gonna hang out here with my nEW best friend” you wiggle your fingers under the baby’s armpit and she doesn’t laugh or crack a smile

in fact she looks.,, very unimpressed

huh

she was laughing up a stoRm when tae did it

even the baby hates you

“alright! don’t have too much fun without me!!” he leans down and gives you a kiss before running off “i’m coming!!!”

and then you pull your legs up so that the baby can lean back against your thighs

your toes are hanging off the edge of the couch but as long as the baby is comfy you’re fine

you look at the baby and she blinks up at you with wide eyes

you’re good with kids but you’ve never really been good with babies

“so… how’s your night going?” you ask the baby and watch as she shoves her fist into her mouth “you seem to like taetae a lot, don’t you?”

her drool drips onto your lap

“mhm. me too, girl.” you tsk and rub her little belly

it’s so rotund

so soft n round

hm

you poke it and she shrieks and you swear your ears start bleeding

jesus christ

babies are so loud

“oH- okay, sensitive spot, i won’t do it again” you raise your hands and she leans back against your thighs satisfactorily

she shrieks again when you pinch her tiny big toe

“you can’t scream every time i touch you. and don’t suck on your fist. it’s dirty.” you pull her fist out of her mouth with a pop and her bottom lip starts quivering and her round eyes start watering “well, you don’t have to cry about it!!” you scoff and shove her fist back into her mouth and she hums happily

babies are so weird

all of a sudden you hear laughter coming from down the hall

you recognise tae’s boisterous laugh immediately

“why don’t we go see what your boyfriend’s up to?” you ask the baby and she squeals before ripping her fist out of her mouth and flinging spiT all over your shirt “…taking that as an enthusiastic yes!”

you stand up and prop the baby up against your hip and step out into the hallway to see

o

oh god

ur icy heart grows ten times bigger in a millisecond

the kids are piling up onto tae as he tickles the youngest one out of the group “i told you the tickle monster was coming!!!” he laughs

“again, let’s play again!!!!” they cheer enthusiastically as they climb off tae’s back

“round 2?? you have 30 seconds!!!!” the kids immediately scatter and tae lets out a breath and leans back against his palms as he pants heavily

god

he’s sweAting up a storm

he sees you standing at the end of the hallway leaning against the back of the couch fully immersed in a conversation with the baby and he can’t help but smile

the baby gurgles and squishes her cheek against your shoulder and you coo and pinch her cheek and tae winces when the baby shrIEKS

his mind can’t help but wander to thoughts of you carrying his baby

you’d be a really good mom even tho you don’t think you’d be a good one

woW he wants you to have his babies

oOf suddenly he’s feeling a little overwhelmed by his love for you

“y/n!” tae calls for you and you look up

“look!! look at taetae!! look how tired he is and it’s only been one round!! taetae is weakweak!!!!” you mock his baby voice and taehyung rolls his eyes playfully

“why don’t you play a round with us? we’re having a lotTa fun!!”

“i told you i only seek-“

“y/n, why don’t you go play with the kids?” your aunt appears next to you and the baby immediately reaches for her

you’re low-key offended because you thought you and the baby were having a good time but whAtever

“i’ll take the baby, it looks like someone’s getting sleepy!!” your aunt coos and you nod before handing the baby to her

okay

obviously you have nothing better to do so

you’ll play one round

but if you’re going to hide you’re going to be the beSt hider and tae’s going to find you last OR he’s not going to find you at all and you’ll die in your hiding spot (hopefully that doesn’t happen)

you’re starting to realise why you liked being the seeker all these years

it’s because being in the dark by yourself surrounded by nothing but silence and accompanied by your overactive imagination is completely and utterly terrifying

you decided the closet would be a good hiding spot mainly because

you’re too big to squeeze under the bed

you’re too big to hide behind the curtains

hide and seek is a game for tiny CHILDren that’s why

but now that you have a moment alone

the first thing you think about is tae

you’re ecstatic that your entire family loves him

you love that the kids love him

you love that the baby loves him

you love him

you love him so much

he’s the sweetest guy ever

he’s so generous and thoughtful and alwAys helps other people before he helps himself

he’s adorable and devastatingly sexy at the same time

he’s well-spoken and well-mannered

and you can’t help but think about your future with him

you’re not planning to break up with him anytime soon and you hope he’S not planning to break up with you anytime soon

you wonder how he’ll propose to you (and little do u know tae’s starting to think about marriage too)

you wonder what your wedding will be like

you wonder how he’ll react when you become pregnant with your first child

you really don’t know how you got so lucky

there’s a big dumb smile on your face and you sniffle as you sit in the frickin closet

you realise that you’re literally crYIng just thinking about your boyfriend u emotional piece of shit

you reach up to wipe at your tears and-

“seriously, the closet?? i thought you were more- hey, you okay?” you can barely see tae but some light from the hallway floods into the bedroom and you can see his eyebrows furrowing in concern

he steps into the closet and shuts the door behind him

he turns the closet light on and frowns because it’s pretty dim but it’s better than nothing

he slides down the wall and sits down next to you

it’s a lil tight in here

“what’s the matter, jagi?” your knee nudges against his as you turn to face him

“nothing! nothing’s the matter, that’s the problem.” you giggle and wipe more of your tears away that for some reason can’t stOP falling

“…do you want me to create a problem?? will that make you feel better??” tae asks and he’s genuinely confused because whAt are you talking about why are you crying!!!!!

he cups your face in his hands and wipes your tears away with his thumbs

you smile and reach up to grip at his wrist “how did i get so lucky to land someone like you?” you whisper

tae’s heart flutters in his chest

“you’re right, you should be the seeker next time. if we make you hide you just end up thinking about how much you love me.” he teases and shuffles a little closer to you

you snort and roll your eyes

“shut u-“ tae leans forward and presses his lips against yours and you kiss him back instinctively

your heart pitta-patta’s in your chest when tae continues pressing soft kisses to your mouth

and at this moment

in this closet

you can’t help but thank the gods

because you are the luckiest gal in the world

here’s a bonus baby drabble that didn’t fit into the drabble but i still wanted to show u guys lol

you’re starting to think your older cousin might like him a little too much

she’s the same age as tae

you’re a year younger than her and because of that she’s always treated u like a baby even though it’s literally juSt one year

and don’t get it twisted

you love your older cousin

she’s really great!!! she always looks out for you and takes care of you and you love that and you guys have a really good relationship

but of course

sometimes she becomes a little,..,., extra

and right now is one of those times because she is blatantly flirting with your boyfriend while you’re in the kitchen grabbing some food for hEr because she asked you to and you weren’t doing anything so why not

“you’re so good with kids” she sighs and slides a finger down tae’s arm and he freezes for a second before clearing his throat and spooning another thing of mushy peas into the baby’s mouth

she babbles and some of it spills out and drips down her chin and tae uses the spoon to scoop it back into her mouth

“thank you! i love kids, so it works out” he shrugs

you poke your head out a little and you watch as her eyes flicker over to tae’s untouched plate of food and you narrow your eyes

she wouldn’t

“oh you haven’t eaten yet! you have to try the mashed potatoes - i made them.”

is she

this binch is fEEDing your boyfriend right in front of u

well

technically she doesn’t know that you’re watching them

“oh, um-“ tae takes the spoonful of potatoes into his mouth quickly and swallows “thank you, but you really don’t have to feed me, hah. the potatoes are really good! you should probably eat, too. where’s your-“

“here’s your plate of food!!” you practically appear out of thin air and the baby squAwks when tae jolts and yanks the spoon out of her mouth

you hand the plate to your cousin with an overly sweet smile “i didn’t give you a lot of green beans because we all know how gassy you get”

her face flushes and she glares at you

meanwhile tae’s about to bite his bottom lip off from how hard he’s trying to noT burst into laughter right now

“excuse me” she clears her throat and gets up off the couch and you smile satisfactorily before plopping down next to tae

there’s a beat of silence as you pick at your mashed potatoes  

“y/n’s jealous, isn’t she? she’s so jealous even though she doesn’t need to be!” tae speaks in his baby voice and wiggles the spoon in front of the baby “she’s being silly, isn’t she? so silly!” he squeals 

🎄the twelve drabbles of christmas! 🎄

❄️do you have a special christmas request? ❄️

[outofcontextgamersagainstgaming]

evil dead fanfiction

evil dead fanfic written by 7 people, roughly one line at a time. enjoy

Evil Dead Fanfiction Chapter One

Paceholder

Ashley Williams drives in his car to his outpatient treatment for his ballsack replacement. Finally, he can have a chainsaw down there too.

 Evil Dead Fanfiction Chapter Two

It went horribly wrong.

 Evil Dead Fanfiction Chapter Three

He exits the hospital, takes a deep breath of fresh air. He has his whole life ahead of him, him and his chainsaw ball sack. (I thought it went horribly wrong? It got better)

John Damnit with an N meanders towards the shrubbery outside the ball sack outpatient treatment hospital plant hospital. Suddenly, John Damnit died. John Damnit got back up. “Ahhhh I’m a deadite” says John Damnit, “but… something in me still burns. A soul in me still burns. Oh my, who’s this?”

Ash Williams throws up. Out comes the baby. John Damnit races over and tries to say “o my god are u alright?” but it comes out as “AJKGNJNKJG” (because he’s a deadite)

The talking heads

And then Ash screamed for ten minutes. The Eraserhead baby cries on the floor. (Norman Osborn three men and a baby)

Ash and John Damnit decide to enter this strange world of parenting together and remove the baby from the ball sack premises to raise together. Ash Williams looks lovingly into John Damnit’s general deadite-faceness and notices a striking similarity to famed actor Jon Hamm (Baby Driver, Mad Men, Baby Driver, Bad Times at the El Royale, Ben Ten). John Damnit’s tongue falls out. And then Ash Williams picks up the tongue and makes out with it.

As they’re making out, no longer at the outpatient treatment, they hear a voice go, “Ahem. You sirs look like you could use a hand.” It’s Norman Osborn on a summer jog, wearing very short shorts. He is only wearing shorts. No shoes, only toesocks. The shorts are green with JUICY written on the ass.

Evil Dead Fanfiction Chapter Four

John Damnit and Ash stop making out. “Hi gayboy,” they greet Norman.

Norman Osborn points at the baby on the ground. “Is that your fucking baby? Crying on the ground?”

“I guess!” says both John Damnit and Ash at the same time. They haven’t even looked at the baby. Or named it.

The baby says “sup”

“Who are you?” says Ash Williams very assertedly, and sexily. (To norman? Or the baby?) There is a soft whirring sound coming from his pants.

“have you ever wanted to keep your baby safe while you’re making out with a deadite, ash evil dead? then buy my sonboytube” Norman said.

Norman continues, “And just in case you were thinking what I said was wrong, I said sonboytube, not suckboytube.” Norman looks at the camera directly and says “Leota it’s not your turn and I didn’t say suckboytube.”

“Did you say…. Sonboytube?” says mr ashley Williams evil dead.

Norman says, “what?”

John Damnit tries to say “suckboytube question mark?” but it comes out as “AJKHGJLLKH”

AshleyWilliams Evil Dead leans down and picks up the Eraserhead baby and says “anybody got any fucking baby food? This boys hungry.”

“Whoa man,” norman interjects, “you shouldn’t use that kind of language around an infant. And also, wht’s that strange sound coming from your pants?”

Ash replies, “what sound”

“Nevermind that.” Says Norman. “Follow me.” He puts a single finger on the foreheads of Ash Williams, Jon Hamm Damnit, and the eraserhead baby and they all teleport.

Ashley Williams slowly opens up his eyes. And he notices a surprising amount of things around him are made of chalk. “You bastard… you brought us into the Chalk Zone, didn’t you?

Suddenly, Snap (from chalk zone) shows up and is like “ayyy. Im snap. Who the fuck are you?”

“You bastard! You set us up!” He yells and busts out his chainsaw nuts, preparing for battle. (one nut tiger one nut gun) oh geeze the surgery mishap is visible. One of his nuts is a tiger, while the other is a gun!

Snap says “whoa there pal. Put that shit away. You wanna find out why they call me Snap?” and they can see the glint of the infinity stones behind his back.

The infinity gauntlet suddenly floats into view and launches towards the baby at high speeds. The baby catches it, puts it on and says “okay. Now this is epic.”

Ash Williams motions at him and goes “whoa slow down there tiger.” And then the tiger that is his ball whirs and hes like “NO NOT THAT TIGER”

And then Dante, from the Devil May Cry series appears! Knuckles is dead in canon.

The Eraserhead starts teething on the infinity gauntlet.

“Yo yo,” says Snap “somebody get that damn baby under control before it kills us all!”

The Eraserhead baby screams and then Snap’s head explodes, like a blueberry.

Dante goes “Ill handle that!” and flips his hair and does little flippy flips with his little legs and starts constantly shifting ages every second. The eraserhead baby starts to cry.

Ash Evil Dead looked at Dante. “Did you just make the fucking baby cry?”

Dante reaches into his pockets and pulls out bath toy ducks, for like ten minutes. For the next ten minutes, he is pulling out ducks.

The Eraserhead baby inadvertently snaps the infinity gauntlet and half the rubber ducks disappear.

Norman pulls out a handkerchief and starts dabbing at the sweat on his forehead. Dante dabs very quickly. Willem Dafoe

“I say I do declare” Norman pulls out a glock from his shorts. “Yeah Im packin. I keep that thang on me.” He levels the gun at John Damm. “I brought you into this world, and I can take you out.”

Jon Damm looked at Norman Osborn with the gun pointed at him “oh my god I love infamous second son!” And then Norman shot him.

Evil Dead Fanfiction Chapter Five

Dawn of the first day. Seventy two hours remaining.

Ashley Williams sits alone in his hotel room, holding the box of his lover’s cremated ashes(chalk dust). He forlornly looks around the room, and admires the beautiful chalk artwork on the wall. In the background, on the hotel tv you hear his favorite show, Storage Wars.

“Don’t worry babe” Ash turns around, but instead of it being the sexy age-shifting dante there, it’s Norman Osborn. He’s not wearing clothes but he’s got a sock on.

Norman Osborn is now fully clothed. He teleported his clothes on.

The Eraserhead baby rolled in and said “Ash you gotta draw something!” (this is what Snap would have said if he were here rest in peace.) The baby is glitching and making Sonic dash sounds and Half Life objects colliding sound. It’s also making Windows error sounds.

Dante busts through the wall and he says, “Ashley I have got to inform you of some terrible news. IT turns out when your son, the eraserhead baby, killed Snap by head explosion, it made Rudy mad……. and now he’s got the chalk.”

Norman walks back into view and now he is only wearing a sock. “Sounds like you need the power of my …. Sonboytube.”

Dante says, “your suckboytube?”

They feel something growing on the horizon.. something distant… dark… cold. They feel the ground shake a little bit.. more than the shit that was coming from Ash’s pants (now contained.)

“He’s coming,” Dante whispers, “Rudy’s on his way…”

Ash said “oh my god that’s horrible.” And norman teleported clothes back on his body. And then Norman looked directly at Leota and said “Stop trying to get me naked.”

Ash looks at Norman and says “why did you put your clothes back on?”

Willem (Dafoe the actor) says “Oh my shift is over, I’m not getting paid for this so I put my regular clothes back on. Norman is my dayjob. At night I am Willem Dafoe”

Ash and Dante share a really confused look. Ash says “Can I have the sock?” ahurrhh

Willem Dafoe says “fuck no, this is my actual sock. I’m not walking out here with only one sock.””

Ashley tears up. “So is nothing that we had real?”

Willem put a hand on his shoulder. “No, I still wanna put your son in the sonboytube. Don’t worry about that. Don’t you fucking worry Ash Evil Dead.”

Everybody stops because they hear a strange sound in the bathroom. Out of the toilet crawls Rudy, and he has the chalk!

Willem says “oh shit what the fucks that?” takes out his glock and shoots Rudy. Rudy crumpled like a sack of paper.

“I had that handled,” said Ashley as he pulled out his chainsaw arm which he’s had this whole time by the way.

Eraserhead baby says “ah” like the peanut butter baby.

Rudy uses the chalk to uncrumple himself and says “that wsnt very nice. You think you can kill me? You think you can kill a god, little man?” Rudy’s eyes glint with a devious, dark power.”

Willem Dafoe looked down at his glock. “I mean yeah, I thought if I shot you you’d die.”

Rudy starts doing the floss.

Snap comes back and says “thank god my head exploding was only a coverup when I escaped to grab the sonboytube” and traps rudy in the sonboytube.

“Wow that was fucked up. I wish jon hamm/damnit didn’t die so he could see this” says Ash very sadly.

Everyone expectantly looks at the door expecting him to walk through, but he is actually dead.

As everyone stares at the door, a tinier John Damnit crawls out the glock.

John Damnit tries to say “I’m here for you ash and I still love you” but it comes out as “hjksngjksnjk”

Ash starts to tear up looking at the tiny John Damit. “Don’t worry, I know exactly what you’re trying to say” and they kiss for ten minutes.

And then they got married for ten minutes! Love Wins!