#[ * except if you're her dads or not-son ]

[idolbound]

At a base level, Meredith holds a general dislike towards men, with few exceptions. These reasons are primarily related to sexuality, and her exceptions are given through familial relationships. While this dislike is not necessarily overt (as interacting with men is very much a part of her life), the way she engages with men socially vastly differs compared to women. The reasons below are derived from both canonical events and personal headcanons.

Familial & Interpersonal Relations

As a little girl, Meredith adored her dad. While her older sister Amelia was closest with their mother, Meredith was very attached to their father, spending almost as much time with him as she did with Amelia. While Meredith was very young (around 5 years old) when her beloved mage sister became victim to demon possession and killed their parents and neighbours, she was saved by Knight-Captain Wentworth Kell. In that moment, Meredith saw him as her hero and savior, and it instilled the faith and belief in herself that she too, would become a templar from that fateful day forward. As such, Meredith became an initiate in her early teens, serving as Ser Wentworth's page for a few years. In that time, she learned directly from him, but she also saw him akin to an adoptive father. Over the years, Ser Wentworth began experiencing early symptoms of lyrium-related dementia; prior to his retirement to the Chantry to live out the rest of his remaining days, he named Meredith as his successor to fill the position of Knight-Captain, and in his speech, he called her the "daughter he never deserved." This relationship was pivotal for young Meredith, and in some ways, more painful than losing her own family; she would visit him, watching him and his memories slowly fade away over a two-year period. By the end, he did not remember who she was, and the grief of losing another father is something she has carried with her ever since. In this sense, Meredith's father and adoptive father respected and loved her deeply, teaching her all they knew. She held both of them in high esteem, both as a child and teenager/very young adult. These familial relationships are very important to Meredith, and they are one of the only ways that she finds herself in close companionship to men whatsoever. In a way, she extends this type of relationship later on in her life to Cullen. Taking the older mentor role, Meredith had chosen Cullen to be her Knight-Captain because she felt a sort of kinship with him; like her, Cullen was quite young and deeply traumatized from a mage-related incident. She took advantage of this shared experience to shape and influence his ideology about mages and how to control them in the Circle using strict routines and regulations. In this way, she sought to mould him into her future successor, trusting that he would continue to lead Kirkwall's Templar Order in her footsteps, long after she is gone. In this sense, she has a somewhat maternal relationship with Cullen, seeing him as a pseudo-son; while she would never go quite as far as saying he is the child she "never deserved", she certainly places far more trust in Cullen than anyone else serving under her, and holds a certain fondness towards him.

General Relations

In terms of men more broadly and in a general sense, Meredith has never felt a desire to befriend nor deeply engage with them, mainly for two reasons - both of which are related to sexuality: namely, Meredith's own sexuality as a lesbian, as well as Meredith being seen as someone conventionally attractive to heterosexual men. Combined, these interrelated factors have led to Meredith's general aversion and dislike of most men; she would prefer to have nothing to do with men at a personal level, but works in a male-dominated environment and lives in a heteronormative society, which makes avoiding men in that capacity difficult. In the very least, Meredith finds some salvation in practicing and following a religion that is matriarchal in its hierarchy, even if the rest of society isn't.

Meredith's Lesbianism & Being Conventionally Attractive

Meredith has always been considered a very conventionally attractive person. Even from a young age, she has always been good looking, tall, and strong. Growing up in the Templar Order, she had to live alongside her mostly male Templar brethren in the barracks, and as a result, many of them have tried to flirt with her or even go so far as to pursue a relationship with her over the years. As a young teenager around age 14 to 15, Meredith's interests were strictly on her training and her devotion to the Chantry, seeing herself as nothing but a pure, pious Andrastian, who would likely be upholding a vow of chastity (even if the practice was not mandatory for Templars), or in the very least, choosing to remain chaste until marriage, if there was ever an opportunity to do so. However, as noted in the canon, marriage for Templars requires special permission from Chantry leaders and requires that the non-templar partner must be able to financially support themselves in case the templar is relocated to another Circle.

As such, Meredith often cited her devotion to the Chantry and its doctrine as the main reason for rejecting these boys, but as she grew a little older, around age 16, she started to discover her preference towards the fairer sex. While there had been some... inclinations early on (by way of homoerotic friendships with other girls living under the care of the Chantry), it wasn't until she realized that her lack of sexual interest in boys was not because of her devotion to religious doctrine, but instead, was because of her genuine sexual attraction to other girls. It took time for her to realize that there was nothing about boys that attracted her to them; she lived amongst them, saw them in more personal ways than most other girls her age, and still wanted nothing to do with them at an intimate level. They were her templar brothers, nothing more (despite their efforts to be more than that). This early 'conflict' shaped her ideas about how boys treated her, but felt that she could not express her attraction or pursue relationships with girls without repercussions, and so, for the first few years of being a Knight-Templar, she kept things to herself and still used her devotion to the Order and the Chantry as a reason to reject suitors. As Meredith came to terms with her attraction to the same-sex in her late teens, she soon became quite confident in herself upon entering adulthood. As she inherited the position of Knight-Captain after Ser Wentworth's unfortunate passing in her very early 20s, she was described as having a steeled resolve and being far more charismatic than that of the old and greying Knight-Commander Guylian. This enabled her to bring about changes to the management of the Circle, implementing strict routines and harsh punishments for the mages, without question or doubt from her peers. Even years later, after the incident that led Viscount Perrin to send mercenaries to kill the Knight-Commander, Meredith rallied the templars into a retaliatory charge to the Viscount's Keep in order to arrest him for his crimes; in a similar fashion, not a single templar balked or questioned her orders, and this led her to being named Knight-Commander at the young age of 29. Those who work with Meredith see her as a powerful figure in leadership; between her physical looks and dominant personality, Meredith has established herself as both a competent leader in the Templar Order and an attractive one at that.

Even early on in her career, it was clear to most people that Meredith's devotion to the Order and the Chantry was her utmost priority, but unlike her younger self, she attained more freedom through earning a higher rank, and so, as Knight-Captain at age 24, she began to explore her sexuality and pursue same-sex relations with other women. Mainly, she sought casual relationships with those she knew were like her within the walls of the Chantry itself (again, serving as the only place she can really go to freely outside of the Order). This allowed Meredith to fully find her confidence in tandem with her ascension in the Order, feeling far more comfortable with herself, even if that part of her had to remain hidden from the public, because of her duties as well as the potential for social stigma that could affect her career. Over time, in some ways, Meredith's lesbianism is a little more obvious to those who pay attention. In particular, the templars who have known her and served alongside her for all of their lives have noted her blatant disinterest in, and rejection of, men, and sometimes, likely, the way that she has disappeared after evening prayer and not returned across the harbour until later than most (though for years, when her brethren were still not afraid to ask, she always cited it as 'administrative business', and left it at that). In this time, her love for, and attraction to, women was cultivated, and it played a part in her confidence - which in turn, has played a part in how people perceive her, still, as a very attractive woman.

However, despite all of her hard work and ascension through the ranks of the Templar Order and some of the rumours about her sexuality, some men still believe they might have a chance in pursuing her. This has certainly lessened over the years to an extent as she has gained power and influence as Knight-Commander, and in some ways, because of aging (though that said, many see her as still rather attractive - for example, Jethann of the Blooming Rose referred to her as a "tall, handsome woman" in recent years), but after having to deal with men finding her extremely attractive for all of her life, despite her very obvious disinterest in the opposite sex, Meredith has grown to have a general dislike for most men.  While she generally trusts that the men who serve under her do so at a professional level, she cares little for their personal lives or interests, and only interacts as necessary. Overall, she has very few 'friends', given her position and devotion to the Order, but she holds even less desire to be friends with men. She has no reason to engage with men beyond a professional capacity. That said, though, she does seem to care a lot for Thrask, and is quite upset when she finds out he betrays her, so I like to believe that they were in the same cohort in their youth, training and serving the Order together for many years; in this way, that particular relationship almost embodies a familial relationship, and is most certainly an exception to the rule.

Conclusion

Overall, the social context of Thedas, and Kirkwall in particular, has shaped how Meredith has developed as a person and how her sexuality exists within the constraints of the society she lives in. While Meredith accepts close familial relationships that are based in mentorship, respect, and to some degree, love, she typically rejects general relationships with men outside of that context; as a lesbian woman, she has no romantic or sexual interests in men, but as someone who is considered conventionally attractive by society and ergo, heterosexual men, she has had the unfortunate experience of being romantically and sexually pursued by them. And, because it is not the norm in society, Meredith cannot be open with her lesbian sexuality (again, for fear of social stigma affecting her career), and therefore, cannot establish rejection on the basis of a lack of attraction, but rather, instead, must reject men on the basis of her devotion to her faith. This has led to Meredith's general dislike for men, and preference to avoid interaction if at all possible. Outside of this fictional context and going into real life, a lot of lesbians - myself included - find it more comfortable to decenter men in our lives. This is a process that helps women break free from a compulsory heterosexual society (from Adrienne Rich's (1980) theory that heterosexuality is innately assumed and enforced by a patriarchal and heteronormative society, particularly for women), by way of unlearning and subverting patriarchal norms, and changing gender relations, so that women's worth is not tied to the interests of, nor the relationships to men. Obviously, this process is arguably easier for lesbian women who already lack the romantic/sexual attraction to men and who love and support women. Obviously, for Meredith, this is not as easily attainable in the context of Kirkwall and wider society in Thedas. She spends almost all of her time surrounded by men in the Gallows who serve under her as Knight-Commander, though for the most part, they respect her as their leader. While she cannot necessarily decenter men in the same way as someone like me in a modern world, she finds her reprieve where she can by going to the Chantry for her daily evening prayer where she is surrounded by other women. This is why, if she has the opportunity to meet, work with, or even engage in potential relationships with, more women outside of the Order - as nobles or even otherwise - she will take it.

[thelovers-thedreamers-and-me]

the downside to being a sitcom neighbour sort of person is that when rough things happen and emotionally fuck u up a lil bit, it also sounds completely made up

[jadewritesficshere]

Steve thinks that a part of him may be a masochist. Sitting here week after week, hanging out with you. His second best friend (Robin would kill him if he didn't add the second). Sitting here trying not to look at you, trying not to lean over and kiss you senseless. Week after week, feeling the heat from your body as you sit next to each other on the couch watching movies. Steve can't make a move though, he knows this. You never would reciprocate his feelings. You have always helped him try and score dates, giving him pep talks. You never responded much to his flirting, a few times sure, but other times you just stared blankly at him.

Steve thinks it is a special form of torture when you lean your head against his shoulder. When your hand touches his, and your pinkies overlap. When you steal his jackets and he acts like he's frustrated, when really his heart is beating so fast he thinks he may die and his only thought is how beautiful you look wearing something of his. You're everything he wants but knows he never can have. He would rather sit with you a hundred times like this then confess and have you leave him. He'd rather you be close instead of having you become a stranger.

He wishes he had a chance with you, but not every wish is answered.

[planetallure]

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺ dark!fic recs

CW: once again, these works contain dark and explicit themes that may be upsetting or triggering to some. please use your discretion and discernment.

@cherienymphe : when i first seriously got back on tumblr and got into dark!fanfic, cherie's was one of the first blogs i found. her writing was essentially my indoctrination. it was terrifying how much i loved it/her writing. truly phenomenal. i've read quite of few of her stories (mainly for rafe cameron, jj maybank, steve rogers, and peter parker) but i'll list my faves.

"when the party's over" - its something about this series...i think about it often. if you're into forced pregnancy or corruption tropes, tap in.

"wicked games" - i actually first read this one on ao3 before i discovered her tumblr and was absolutely gagged. another one i think of often.

"amnesiac" - the first series of hers that i ever read. absolutely traumatized me and i sobbed reading it. amazing storytelling.

"the hills" - another bangerrr. a one night stand ends in complete and total blackmail and entrapment. he just wanted to give her a better life *clown face emoji*.

"his father's son" - after ward death, rafe takes over the reins in more ways than one.

"teenage dirtbag" - this series single handedly made me a jj girl. the tension??? yup yup mhm.

"the less i know the better" - ironically my favorite part of this story is readers relationship with rafe but seeing jj slowly and then rapidly descend into madness? yeah.

"claimed" - a/b/o dynamics. brought me back to my wattpad days. still eat it up.

"daddy dearest" - steve meets a single mom and decides to be not the stepdad, but the dad who stepped up.

i'll be honest, i was a non believer in dark!peter but: "she's with me", "one last time." "suburbia" and "basic training" made a believer outta me. hands. down.

@lambtotheslaughterr : it absolutely amazes me the things that come from her mind. the level of creativity and originality needs to be studied. oona, you are criminally underrated.

“rise” - the first series of hers that i read. arguably the best series i’ve read on here thus far. this is the first part to her “the day the world ended” universe and it completely blew me away. i couldn’t believe that something like it had come from some silly little boat show. just brilliant.

“when the bough breaks” - the first work of hers i read. this one for me was a heartbreaking slow burn story, but the smut…makes up for it. yes yes.

“i burn” - sex!addict reader x rafe cameron. need i say more? actually, i will. the smut and tension in this one towards the end? it was shameful how turned on i was.

“one way or another” - buckle up, grab a snack, and prepare for the ride of a lifetime. that’s it.

“something wicked this way comes” - a single mom trying to escape her past, except her past is rafe cameron. this was one very spooky scary la la.

"summit" - the second part to the tdtwe universe. its still brand new but its already feeling like another banger, i mean it's oona. tap in.

@harryspet : rae was also apart of my indoctrination and boy did she do what needed to be done. her perfectly curated moodboards alone did it for me. very mindful, very demure.

"homestead" - what can i say...i'm a sucker for pregnancy stories :( and this series was no exception. absolutely delectable. enjoy.

"well kept" - classic millionaire ceo x reader, my younger wp reading self cheered gleefully. my love language is acts of service and boyy was this one speaking my language. had me at "scheduled braiding appointment."

"bambi eyes" - this one was one of those that made me want to take a good long look in the mirror and ask myself, "is this who we are...is this what we represent?"

@sherrybaby14 : this one is for the mcu girlies. more fics than you could ever ask for. everyone say "thank you, mother!"

"the distraction" - i'm starting to notice a kidnapping/stockholm syndrome pattern here...ANYWAY! work is realllyy stressful for steve and you just happen to be the perfect distraction.

@straywords : she's no longer active but her incredible writings remain so please, peruse. its like a beautiful museum over there.

"a break" - *gasp* another pregnancy story! stucky edition.

@darkficsyouneveraskedfor : an icon, a legend, she is the moment! another infinite library for my mcu girls. roo has all you could ever want or ask for.

@perlelune

"all too well" - yes, yes, another one, its who i am. rafe cameron proving once again that you can't escape him.

"lucky" - best friend!rafe x reader. he didn't know what he had until it was almost gone

"tag, you're it" - never read a scream fanfic before this one but boy did i have fun! chad is so pookie in this too :(

@honestsycrets : back when i was in my miguel era, sy single handedly kept me fed.

"starved | mio" - "mio", in which you babysit mayday and it gives miguel baby fever and "starved", in which he made you a mom...but its left less time for other activities.

"stung" - sex pollen/abo. reader gets bitten by an anomaly causing a reaction that only miguel can cure

"amor y respeto" - he just can't love you the way you need to be. so you and miguel break up...at the worst possible time.

"exclusive" - you and miguel are fuckbuddies. you want more, but miguel can't bring himself to give it to you. so you find company in hobie, who's there for you in all the ways that you need. miguel's not happy about that.

"canary" - you're a singer in the 1920s who's fallen in with the dangerous o'hara brothers.

"grande" - sex!worker miguel x assistant!reader. think...a pepper x tony kinda dynamic. except, miguel doesn't take kindly to certain slights. :)

@starfxkrinc : last but certainly not least! moony is a ridiculously talented writer and a mutal of mine. i found her early on during my resurgence on here. this is her new side blog (rip lovesickbrat and starfxkr!!) luckily she was able to salvage a lot of her past works and is back like she never left. i recommend her "western nights" series (really just the trailer park!jj tag in general) and her "ode to eaters" au. a queen of all things taboo. she does it for the girls who are drawn to the dark and scary. the gross and weird. <3

[wonupatootie]

최승철 // Choi Seungcheol [S.Coups] Fic Recsᡣ𐭩 Part II

이야기가 길어지더라도 밤새 계속 네 편이 되어줄게 기대 팔베개로~

Main Recs Masterlist

➣Part I // Part II

MINORS DNI!!!!!!!

Please like and reblog the fics to show the creators love and support~

“AMORTENTIA; Seungcheol [Gryffindor Captain]” (Part of AMORTENTIA Series) by @http-mianhae

Fem!reader || Hogwarts au, fluff, angst, one-sided love || W.C: 17.1k

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･Being head-over-heels for the Gryffindor captain is harder than it seems, especially when everyone knows about your little crush on Seungcheol and he takes it lightly. Until when you’re partnered up and forced to be in each other’s lives on a daily basis, that’s when things take a bit of a turn

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“SONDER” by @jundundun

Fem!reader || medieval au, smut, angst, slowburn || W.C: 14.3k

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･seungcheol is the head knight of the kingdom of nephele. what happens when seungcheol begins to fall for the princess and resident sweetheart, Y/N.

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“Bend & Break” by @whipped-for-kpop-fics

Fem!reader || coworker au, friends to fuckers, smut || W.C: 10k

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･You've recently been hired due to the sunshine personality you showed for an interview, purely with the intention of the company pairing you up with Seungcheol to counteract his grumpy attitude around the office. Nobody realises it's just a work persona of yours and when someone does, it's none other than Choi Seungcheol himself.

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“Heartbreaker” by @hannieween

[Series] || Fem!reader || exes to lovers, angst, smut || Parts: 4 || Total W.C: 65.4k (as of now) || Status: Ongoing

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･Three events made you wonder if you are the unluckiest person in the world. First, the constant hopping from job to job, only to land in a local bar. Second, the revelation that your new boss is none other than your ex. Third, the painful realisation that you're not completely over your him.

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“Troublemaker” by @whipped-for-kpop-fics

Fem!reader || gang au, smut, angst, humour, fluff || W.C: 15.9k

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･You're known for being able to get your hands on anything you want; drugs, weapons, money, cars. Except your boss, he's always been a little out of your reach, until the day you have him handcuffed in the backseat.

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“Crossing Boundaries” by @wonusite

Fem!reader || single dad au, nanny au, smut, fluff || W.C: 8.6k

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･Seungcheol has always demanded that all of his employees keep professional boundaries, but it frustrates him that his son’s nanny is a little too good at keeping things professional.

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“The Pen Pal Project” by @mr-cha-n

Fluff, fluff, and more fluff, tiny angst || W.C: 10.2k

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･Over a decade of handwritten letters later, you can happily say that the Pen Pal Project was your greatest success.

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“Lover” by @starlightxsvt

Fem!reader || sugar daddy au, fake dating, strangers to lovers, smut, pwp, angst, fluff || W.C: 15.7k

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･the worst first meeting and then an uncanny proposition is enough to cause trouble for you. you fall for a man who doesn't seem all that keen on returning your feelings.

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“Exes and Oh’s” by @toruro

Fem!reader || smut, angst || W.C: 15.8k+

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･when your ex-best friend breaks up with your other ex-best friend, you’re stuck between keeping this door (that you never wanted closed) shut tight, and making amends. naturally, choosing to let your heart open to the person who ripped it apart isn’t the easiest of decisions, but then again, life has a funny way of making you choose.

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“Terrifyingly Innocent” by @twogyuu

[Series] || Fem!reader || uni au, older brother's best friend, fluff, angst, fake dating, slowburn || Parts: 19 || Status: Completed

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･Fearful of losing her, yet unwilling to leave; this agreement between Seungcheol and his best friend’s little sister was meant to be casual and temporary, yet he finds himself growing more attached to her day by day.

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“To Boil A Frog” by @seungkwansphd

Childhood acquaintances to lovers, brother's best friend, slowburn, romance || W.C: 15.6k

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･you & cheol go back, like way back. growing up together, you never felt anything more for him than a proximity based fondness, but things are a little different since you moved back to town.

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“Heartbreak Girl” by @nevernonline

Fem!reader || friends to lovers, suggestive || W.C: 8.6k

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･Seungcheol struggles with his feelings for his best friend, y/n, who is caught in a complicated relationship. As he watches her suffer from heartbreak, he finds it increasingly difficult to conceal his love for her.

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“Somebody” by @onlymingyus

Fem!reader || single dad au, fake dating, smut, fluff, angst, romance || W.C: 25.2k

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･When you need someone to help you out of a bind quickly, you pick the first person you see to be your “boyfriend”, you just didn’t expect it to be your single hot dad neighbor, Choi Seungcheol…

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“Cherrybomb” by @daechwitatamic

Afab!reader || Pacific rim au, exes to lovers, angst, smut, fluff || W.C: 19.5k

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･Piloting a jaeger requires a rare ability called drifting - a neural connection with your co-pilot. You and Seungcheol are masters of the drift... until you have something in your head that you don't want him to see.

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“Willow” by @cherriegyuu

[Series] || Fem!reader || marriage of convenience, angst, fluff || Parts: 3 || Total W.C: 15.6k || Status: Completed

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･seungcheol always knew that he was going to marry you, but things only get harder once he does (or in which seungcheol is just really dumb and doesn't know how to show his feelings)

Please let me know if the links have any problems~

[petew21-blog]

Prison visit

Hi, my name is Logan. I come from a quite boring family that includes my dad, my mum and my little brother. Unfortunately our family is now somewhat broken, because my dad decided behind our back to steal some money from the company he was working for. It wasn't a small ammount for all I know, so he was locked up and we all had to got to the trial.

We all had to dress up to represent our family. I hated the moment when the judge sentenced my father for several years in prison. All I could think about was the fact that I was the one, who had to take care of our family now. Which meant that I had to leave the army.

Me and my brother skipped the first few visits, because mom said that dad had to get used to being in prison and he didn't want to be seen in a bad mood. But the first visit was quite nice. Maybe except for the attack. Some prisoner bumbed into momand they both fell on the ground. It must have been a mental patient, because he started crying and screaming, that his body was stolen. Creepy, right?

Mum must have been shocked. She even missed a few turns when we were coming home from prison. I left her to relax and cooked dinner for us. When I went up to get her, the door to her bedroom were wide open and I couldn't believe what I saw.

Mom stood in front of the mirror, naked and fingered herself. Screaming in pleasure.

She turned her head slightly and smiled. I immediately left, hoping she didn't notice me.

I got my brother and told him that mom was too tired to join us.

The following days were really strange. Mom was walking around the house only in her bra and panties. I didn't wanna look, because it's my mom but ut was unavoidable.

One night, I think I heard male and even another strange female voices coming from my parents bedroom.

I eventually had to start taking care of my brother, because she didn't seem concerned, that he didn't have any food to eat etc.

I woke up in the morning to a weird feeling on my body. I opened my eyes and froze. My mom sat on my bed, my chest and boxers were uncovered and she had her hand on my stomach.

I couldn't let out a word, what was happening?!

Mom:"I have such a handsome young son. You really take care of your body, don't you? My son a soldier. How PROUD I am."

Me:"Mom, what are you..."

Mom:"Ah, don't you worry. I am just taking care of my LITTLE boy. But looking at the bulge you're packing, it seems you're not so little. Haha"

Me:"Mom... Stop it."

Mom:"Oh, come on. Don't you tell me you don't like these perfect tits. That you never wanted to touch them. And this pussy. God, you're really gonna enjoy this. And I can't wait to enjoy that dick" she said as she squeezed her tits and touched herself over the pants she was wearing.

As she finished, she quickly sat on top of me, I still couldn't react. She then pressed something against my chest, which hurt real bad. I passed out.

I opened my eyes and realised I sat on top of someone. "What the fuck?" I saw my own face smiling at me, My old hands were now placed on my hips. And I felt something below me... hardening

My body:"So, how do you like those tits... MOM?"

Me:"What the hell?!? What did you do?"

My body:"I gave you a gift. You can enjoy those tits and that tight wet pussy you like to peek on. You dirty WHORE. And unless you want to be fucked by your own body, I suggest you get off, because I am more then ready to shoot."

I moved and fell on the ground. I look down and indeed. My muscular chest was replaced by a pair of big boobs. My mother's boobs. I am my MOTHER

Me:"Mom, why are you doing this? Why me?"

My body:"Ah, you're so naive. I am not your mom, Logan. Or I should call you Cristine, now. Or better yet, MOM."

He started flexing and laughing at me

My body:"The chicks are gonna love this. I can't wait to fuck someone as a man again. Being a woman sucks."

I still sat there in shock, watching my body posing, flexing and enjoying his new reflection.

Only then I noticed the phone next to the mirror. My body noticed it.

My body:"Oh this? That's for me to have a memory. And also an insurance if you won't behave. I recorded what I did in your mother's body and If you won't behave I won't hesitate to use that as evidence to get you in prison. Unless you want to join your father and mother in prison, I suggest you behave. Now, go cook something, woman. I am hungry and now I got a job to do."

I got up from the floor, looking back at my body, feeling up my body.

I need to get help somehow

Prisoner's P.O.V.

Getting this kid's body is like a gold medal. After many years in my overweight body and then being that woman, this is by far the best thing yet.

I took out his phone to snap a few photos.

This kid has an amazing body. I can't wait to put it to test.

A message came to his phone number from LOVE<3. I browsed through the messaged. Fuck, this kid is gay. Nevermind, gonna turn him straight and dump this fucker. There won't be no more gay shit under my watch.

"Jeez. He's like a sculpture. If I had looked like this before, I wouldn't have to steal from all those people. This is amazing. Let's get this body showered and ready for Stacy."

At Stacy's house

Stacy:"Fuck. I can't believe it worked again. I was worried, that you would stay in that woman's body. I couldn't picture us like that back together."

Prisoner:"Don't worry, my darling. I found myself a great body for you to suck and enjoy. Wait till you see the dick that this kid has. Not only it is big, but the head of the cock is so strange, but hot at the same time."

They started making out. The tongues moving from one mouth into another. But there was a problem, that has never happened before.

Prisoner:"Wait. Something is wrong."

Stacy:"It happens sometimes. Remember that you're in other man's body and you're still not used to it."

Prisoner:"It's not that. This kid is gay. I think I can't get hard for you."

Frustrated and bored, the new Logan rested in the living room of his new body. The "mother" was walking around suspiciously, but careful.

Prisoner:"This is bullshit. I can't be gay forever. I need to find a better body to swap."

The younger brother rushed in with his way too loose Spiderman costume to hug his brother, who now wasn't used to it and pushed him off of himself.

Kyle:"Why did you do that?"

Prisoner:"I don't want another man to touch me."

Kyle:"You're funny, Logan. If you wouldn't have a boyfriend, i would believe you."

Prisoner:"Right."

Kyle:"Ok, so byeee."

Prisoner:"Where are you going dressed like that? It's not Halloween."

Kyle:"To Johnny's. We are having a costume party sleepover, while his older brother is gonna look after us."

Prisoner:"Who is the brother? Do I know him?"

Kyle:"Yeah, you do. You played football together. He's in university."

Prisoner:"Hmm. Interesting." I just hope it's not another gay jock like this one.

Prisoner:"Kyle? I have a cool deal for you. Wanna hear it?"

Kyle:"I bet mom won't know a difference between me and Logan. I can pretend to be him easily without her noticing. But I wonder why would Logan do that. It's nice of him that he gave me his body to try the costume, but he went to that party instead of me. I was looking forward to that."

Kyle pulled up the zip of the costume and started doing Spiderman poses.

Kyle:"Hell, yeah. Wait till the boys see how my costume first better then everybody else's!"

[corkinavoid]

A list of things I've done that pissed my mother off, but as Batfam + Team Phantom edition

Bruce: got into a verbal fight and held a year-long grudge at my teacher for not giving me a fair grade at an annual competition, and proceeded to go out of my way to win said competition next year

Alfred: refused to eat her food, got told to cook for myself and did so, ending up with both my dad and sister saying my banana bread was the best thing they've eaten

Dick: swung on the bungee rope over the dry riverbed turned into junk yard, fell, miraculously did not die, went to that same bungee rope the next day

Babs: organized a stake out, found out which neighbor had been messing with trash bins when everyone blamed raccoons, called said neighbor a raccoon for the next three weeks

Jason: kept reading books at night with a flashlight, when said flashlight was taken away, lit a candle and accidentally almost set the house on fire

Tim: fled to a different country across the globe without telling anyone except my sister, who's been 7 at the time, and did not respond to any calls or messages for three months

Steph: picked a dress with glitter for a dinner with her relatives after specifically being told not to, was forced to change, but took my revenge by exploding a glitter bomb in the car when we have already arrived at the relatives' house

Cass: responded with 'sorry I didn't quite catch that could you repeat' to her very long rant, over text

Damian: successfully clawed and gnawed at a classmate's face after they destroyed my painting

Duke: was the leader of school rebellion over the 'no wigs allowed in school' rule in sixth grade, managed to convince two teachers to join, ended up with the rule taken down

Danny: accidentally shocked myself with a tazer I stole from her handbag, cried, when she came to ask what happened, showed her by repeating the accidental electrocution

Dan: pushed my maternal aunt into the pool and watched her flounder, knowing very well she is a bad swimmer, when confronted about it later argued it was the kiddie part of the pool and she could not have drowned

Jazz: told her I was in love with a girl she disliked, when she voiced her opinion on it, made a whole argument about how I'm supposed to learn from my own mistakes and not from her experiences

Dani: zoned out while she was yelling at me, came back to her saying 'you're no better than a pig', impulsively told her 'it's because of genetics' and started oinking

Sam: painted my nails and toes on my left hand and left foot black, dyed my hair purple, but only on the left side, as well as got a piercing on the left eyebrow, while the whole right side was left 'natural'

Tucker: learned to change the wi-fi password and held power over the internet every time she took my electronics away by asking a friend that lived nearby to come by my house and using their phone to change the password

Bonus:

Selina: repeatedly stolen antique jewelry from grandma because she, in turn, stole it from my other grandma

Valerie: turned rogue, teamed up with the opponent team in lasertag and helped them win over my own teammates

Talia: threatened a person I will carve their eyeballs out with a spoon if they ever as much as look at my sister funny again, a month later gave them a decorated silver teaspoon as a birthday gift

Jack Fenton: failed my driving license test seven times, three of which were on purpose

Maddie: ruined her plans of my picture-perfect marriage by friendzoning a son of her friend, claiming I'm saving my love only for the important things like mozzarella

Vlad: scared my sister shitless by telling her a scary story about ghosts under her bed and then hiding under her bed and making 'boo' noizes

Clockwork: purposefully made her experience deja vu by wearing the exact same clothes and greeting her the exact same way in the exact same place for three days in a row

[chrissdollie]

Dad Bakugo x mom reader - I need more children in my life 😭✋🏾

def calls his kid "squirt" and "buddy"

in mY universe, he has a boy and a girl bc he needs the best of both worlds

CALLS YOU "MA" GOODNIGHT

we all know he wakes up really early, earlier than you even, so he's the one to check on the babies/kids every morning to see if they're ok :)

definitely keeps schedules of you and your kids days like exams, report cards, if they're going to a friend's house, etc

yk how most kids tend to be like "ewwww" whenever their parents kiss?? not ur kids nono. first of all, your son is the quieter one. not that he's not talkative, he just has a little bit of a hard time expressing himself. anyhow, his sister is very loud. but either way, they both think its sweet. your daughter even said something like "i hope my husband kisses me like that" once (when she was an older kid tho lol)

your son goes to talk to you a lot. he adores you so so much. but one day when he wanted to hang out with you, you weren't home. you were busy running errands while katsuki was at home watching tv. your son started crying and katsuki was like wtf?? eventually, your son grew accustomed to speaking to katsuki. as he got older, he actually talked to him more than you.

teaches your son how to be a man :,) katsuki knew he was bitchy in his younger years and he didn't want either of his kids to be like him. he taught them both manners and how to properly have a conversation.

little pitter patter of their feet ran into your guys' shared bedroom on christmas morning and began jumping your bed. katsuki groaned and rubbed his eyes aggressively. "it's christmas, mommy!" your little boy shouted. "wake up daddy!!" your daughter shouted in his ear. "alright alright you rugrats"

at your daughter's kindergarten graduation (idk if everyone had this but i did lmao), katsuki was tearing up and although he tried to hide it, he had to remain the strong one while comforting you while you bawled your eyes out.

p.s your daughter is the oldest

when she brought home her first boyfriend... ooo chile

i see a lot of people writing how katsuki would act up but tbh in his older years, i think he'd be a lot more mature. he'd greet the dude politely and treat him like he would any of her friends

btw lemme just say: your daughter is a mommy AND daddy's girl. she loves u both insanely

honestly while eating dinner with the boyfriend or something, katsuki would be very blunt and not pay too much mind to him LMAOO he'd be like "'tis is great, doll" as if you don't cook dinner every week and it's only when your daughter brings up how he wants to work at katsuki's angency, where he perks up

"oh shit, no kiddin'?" and you smack his arm lightly.

well this changes everything! he practically gave the kid his blessing. "welcome to the family son"

your son doesn't really care about them together, he just doesn't wanna see his big sis get hurt. lets say that your son is 15 and your daughter is 17. "so, bf/n. have you fucked her?"

you almost spit out your drink like a cartoon. your daughter is shook, katsuki's rage from UA is all coming back to him, and the boyf is scared for his life

you, katsuki, and your daughter have a little talk after dinner

"use condoms" kats stated. "i- WH- nono you can have sex next year." you corrected but ur daughter is like huh?? "wha why next year?" you scoff. "because you'll be a legal adult thats why." "no offense, momma, but that's really dumb. when did you and dad start having sex?" she folded her arms. katsuki shrugged. "like i said, use condoms."

you and your daughter gossip like crazy alr?? ur like the gilmore girls except you're married and didn't get pregnant at 16 (almost)

and this is nothing new to katsuki, he's heard u guys gossip trillions of times. but when he found out you guys talked abouy HIM TOO??

he busts into the room. your daughter squeals and runs behind you. "hi honeyy-" he shushes you, "you guys talkin' shit 'bout me?" "nope" you guys say in unison. "there's this other guy, uh.."

[squoxle]

pls write a jay dad au and wife😔🙏🏻

Well, since you asked so nicely...how about we start your day with a little...

Coffee After Sex ~ P.JS

☕︎ pairing: soft dom!husband!jay x sub!wife!reader | ☕︎ wc: 3.3k | ☕︎ plot: after a recent job promotion, you have been spending less and less time with your husband. | ☕︎ cw: 🔞MDNI!! this fic contains a combo of smut, fluff, crack, and angst with a hot cup of coffee in the morning.

The feeling of Jay's breath on your neck sent chills up your spine as he left soft, wet kisses along your neck.

You felt his warmth against your body, a sensation you had missed for far too long.

Nothing could take the place of him at this moment.

Nothing...except for the fact that this was all a dream and Jay had left you alone in bed hours ago. You looked over to the spot where he laid next to you and brushed your hand across the cool, empty space.

You pulled his pillow to your chest as you laid in silence, the delicate rays from the sun peeked through the blinds hidden behind the floor-length white curtains. Tears rolled down the side of your face, wetting the pillow slightly as sweet thoughts of him flashed through your mind.

You thought back to the last time you took a family vacation, the twins were a little younger at that time, but you still had fun playing in the sparkling beach sand. You rolled onto your back, looking up at the ceiling before climbing out of bed.

The cold floorboards kissed your feet as you walked to a pair of fluffy slippers. A lot of times it was easier to just keep yourself busy, focusing on the present rather than going into a mini depressive state. But you couldn't help it, you missed his laugh, his smile, the smell of him cooking breakfast on the weekends, and the way he'd come up behind you and kiss you randomly...some of the many things you loved about him.

Recently your husband's work schedule has been a lot busier than usual. He left earlier in the morning and came home even later.

You'd hope to spend some time with him on the weekends, but it was hard to balance everything with the twins and all of the other things you had to do around the house. Plus, he spent most of the day in the home office anyway. And by the time he came home in the evening, you were already in bed.

But what could you do about it? "This'll just be for a little while and then everything will be back to normal," you thought back to what Jay told you when he first took this promotion. His fingers gliding across the side of your face, brushing the hair behind your ear as your head hung low. He lifted your chin gently to meet your eyes before delicately kissing your lips.

A little while...a lot of times his absence made you feel like a single mom, but you had to stay positive. If not for you, for the kids. Seeing their mom sulking all day wouldn't do them any good.

Today you took the kids out for a trip to the library and picked up a few books before walking over to the nearby park. You sat on the bench and watched them play around together, chasing each other in a game of tag before taking turns pushing one another on the swings.

You saw Jay sit on one of the swings as the twins took turns pushing him. "Argh! You're too heavy, Daddy," your daughter sighed.

"You're just too weak," your son teased, giggling slightly as his sister puffed her cheeks.

"I am not!" she spat. "Watch," she grunted as she pushed with all of her might. Jay used his legs to swing a little higher. "See?" she smiled, tilting her head to the side as she placed her hands on her hips. "Told ya."

"No, I saw Dad use his legs," Jay burst into laughter noticing that his son had picked up on that detail.

"No, he didn't," she shook her head. "Did you Daddy?"

"No, you're just really strong," he chuckled as he swung back and forth.

"He's lying," your son said plainly, folding his arms as his sister stomped over to him, careful not to get hit by the swing.

"Okay," she huffed. "I'll show you how strong I am," she raised her fist at her brother.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you," he squeezed his fists together, cracking his knuckles.

"Woah, woah, guys calm down," Jay stopped the swing, breaking up the two. "Don't hit your brother, baby," Jay kneeled down to meet her gaze.

"Nah nah," your son poked his tongue out.

"But he just--" she started as Jay cut her off.

"Leave your sister alone. And we don't hit girls in this family, okay," he patted his son's shoulder. "How about I push the both of you? There're two swings."

"No, we wanna push you," they said in unison.

"Well, you gotta play nice, alright," he exchanged looks between the two.

"Okay~" they smiled before running behind him.

"You can push him first and then me, okay," your son said, making a deal with his sister.

"Okay," she smiled. "Hurry up, daddy. Sit down," she jumped excitedly as Jay sat down, waiting to be pushed.

Their little grunts mixed with his laughter caused your nose to tingle as tears gathered at your waterline. It was as if you could see Jay everywhere, but it was all just your imagination trying to fill that void for you.

You used the back of your hand to wipe away the wetness from your eyes before walking over to join the kids in whatever game they were playing.

After a busy day, you finally had the chance to relax after laying the kids down for bed. You ended up reading two of the books you picked up earlier since they couldn't decide on one. You flicked on the carousel nightlight before walking out of the room, leaving the door cracked enough that you could peek in and check on them without disturbing them.

Your husband, Jay, had texted you around lunchtime that he would be working late again tonight, but he'd try to get home as soon as possible.

This had been going on for the past few months and you were starting to miss him more than ever, but you didn't want to stress him out with your feelings so this was something you kept to yourself.

You went over a mental checklist to make sure you took care of everything before getting ready for a bath. You walked to the kitchen and opened the fridge to double-check that you packed a lunch box for Jay before switching off all of the lights and heading back to your room.

You started the bathwater as you shuffled through your drawers to pull out an oversized T-shirt. You climbed into the warm water and thought back to your dream from this morning.

You wished you could spend more time with him like you used to. Wished he could be sitting behind you right now with his arms wrapped around you, kissing your shoulder, and playing with the bubbles that floated on top of the water.

You rested your head on the cool, smooth, acrylic outer surface of the bathtub as music played through your headphones. You closed your eyes and drifted away in your mind as you felt a set of lips leave a kiss on your cheek.

"Jay?" you thought to yourself. You opened your eyes and turned around in the water to see nothing but your king-sized bed peeking through the door. "Must my mind playing tricks on me again," you sighed as you turned around to lay your head back down.

Soon after you zoned out in your music, you felt a hand glide along the side of your face. This time you felt kisses trail from your cheek down to your shoulder. You opened your eyes to see Jay hovering over you.

He was wearing his black work slacks and a plain white tee. You felt his warm hands press into the soft, moist skin on your shoulders. “Hope you don’t mind if I join,” he smirked as you turned around.

“Not at all,” you smiled back, watching as he undressed himself.

“Don’t think you’re getting this show for free,” he chuckled. “A view like this can be pretty pricey y’know?”

“I’m sure I can afford it,” you giggled back.

You loved how your husband liked to joke around here and there. This was one aspect about his personality that made you fall for him in the first place.

You turned off your phone and reached over to place it on the countertop near the sink. Bubbles covered the lower half of your body, but the silhouette was still very visible.

“Nice ass,” Jay smiled as he eyed your naked body. He was only wearing his boxers now, the rest of his clothes were kicked in a corner and balled up.

You shook your head in response as he stepped into the bath water. “C’mere,” he mumbled under his breath as he pulled you close. It was quiet for a moment as you laid against his slightly wet skin before reality set in.

“What’s with the sudden change of attitude? You’ve been so quiet lately,” you toyed with the wedding band around his finger as you laid between his legs.

“I missed my wife,” he said softly, pulling your hand to his lips as he kissed your knuckles. “And my kids.”

“Hmm, well we missed you too,” you hummed.

You listened to the deep, rhythmic beats of his heart as you rested your head against him. Aside from the warmth of the water, you missed the feeling of being wrapped in his arms.

Were you finally getting what you’d been waiting months for? To feel the strong embrace of your husband and the comfort that came with it? Whatever it was, you wanted to enjoy every last second of it.

You felt his breath on your neck as he rested his chin in the crevice of your shoulder. "Hey!" you exclaimed as you felt his fingers rub against your clit. He giggled at your reaction.

"Has it really been so long that my touch surprises you," he mumbled in between kisses.

"No, I just--"

"I'm kidding," he chuckled. "I'd be shocked if you touched me like that too."

A playful smirk grew across your face as you grinded your ass against him, the gentle sounds of the water matching the movements of your body. He groaned slightly as you stimulated him. "Are you shocked yet," you whispered, looking over your shoulder as you met his lustful gaze.

"Almost," he smiled, kissing your lips again. "I wanna see what else you can do," he bit your lower lip before you turned around to face him. He raised his knees up to get a little more comfortable as his back pressed up against the walls of the tub.

You straddled his wet body, the water level at your waist as you leaned over his shoulder. He pulled you closer as he lined his tip up with your opening. You slowly lowered down, taking in every inch as he held you by the waist.

The strokes were slow, but this gave you the chance to watch his facial expression contort as you bounced up and down. You teased his cock as you paused randomly, flashing him a playfully seductive glare.

"Are you gonna be a tease the whole time or are you gonna fuck me like a good girl?" he cooed. "I thought you liked it when I played with you like that," you tilted your head to the side as his lips turned into a smirk. He winced, sucking air through his teeth as you circled your hips around his tip. You pressed your hands into his shoulders as you plopped back down on him, filling yourself with his cock.

The water rocked with your hips, matching your movements, filling the room with its delicate splashing sounds. "Mmm, I do but," he moaned as you took this as an opportunity to pick up the pace.

"But what, baby?" you huffed. "But, I wanna fuck you so badly right now," he groaned. "You'll get your turn," you smiled. "I wanna have a little more fun like this," he hummed as you said these words, you could feel the desperation increase with every movement.

You listened as soft, sweet moans escaped his lips while you rode him. Every so often you would hit his good spot, causing him to throw his head back and lift his hips up slightly to buck into you.

His breathing quickened and began more ragged as you changed the speed and movements of your body. He felt your pussy tighten around him as you both came closer to your highs. You leaned back slightly, bracing yourself against his raised knees as he pressed into your lower stomach.

You felt his thumbs pushing hard into your soft flesh as you nearly toppled over. The overwhelming and increased sensation of dick sent you into a mode of overstimulation as you humped faster. Matching your energy, Jay raised his hips to pump deeper into you as muffled screams hid behind your hand.

You knew you had to stay quiet because you had a habit of getting carried away with the noise. "I've had enough of this," Jay huffed, guiding you off of him as he leaned you over the edge of the tub. You held your position with your palms as your tits pressed into the coolness of the acrylic layer.

You leaned your head across your hands as you waited for him. You were facing the door as you heard the sounds of him moving behind you. Your eyes jumped open as he spread your legs apart. You felt the top of his head bump into your stomach before the feeling of his tongue lapping at your entrance overwhelmed your senses.

"Ngh!" you yelped, in this position it was a little harder to cover your mouth so you just stuffed your face into the fold of your arms. "Ahh!" you gasped as he jammed his fingers into you, coating them in your juices as continued eating you out.

He finger fucked you faster as you leaned more and more over the edge. You were struggling to stay in one spot as he gripped onto your ass, holding you in place as nearly came right on his face. You caught your breath as he ripped his fingers out and climbed out from between your legs.

"I want you to finish with my cum inside of you," he hummed as he lined up behind you. You moaned, faced still stuffed into your arms, as he slammed his dick into you. "Already tightening up?" he cooed as he felt your entrance had tightened up slightly compared to earlier.

"It's my turn now," he hummed, grabbing a handful of your hair in his hand before pulling your head back to face him. "Look at me while I fuck you," he groaned as one hand wrapped around the base of your chin, squeezing your lips together.

You panted breathlessly as fucked into you harder. "Who's pussy is this," he smacked your ass as you moaned with his touch. "Say it," he pushed, taking his free hand to rub your clit. Your body trembled in his grasp "You better say something or I'll stop right now," he huffed.

"It's yours," you yelped. "It's yours, baby," you whined in a shaky voice before he sucked your lips in for a rough kiss.

"Good girl," he grunted as he pushed your head down. You felt his hips smacking into your ass as he groaned in pleasure. He kept up the pace until finally spilling his seed inside of you.

The two of you laid there breathless, panting with your wet bodies, both from sweat and the water that swayed beneath you. It wasn't long before you climbed out of the tub and went straight to bed, naked and slightly damp, especially Jay's hair which got wet when he ate you out.

As much as you enjoyed that little surprise with Jay, you hated the feeling that came over you once he finally fell asleep. You looked over his features, lightly touching his face as you thought about how he'd be gone in the morning...just like always.

Your husband was starting to feel like another part of your imagination, every good moment being tainted by the feeling of abandonment. You closed your eyes looking at him with tears in your eyes as you drifted off to sleep.

Your eyes fluttered open as the colors of the sun danced across your bedroom floor. As usual, you woke up to see the covers pushed back on his side, reminding you that you were alone again. You sat up before swinging your legs over the edge of the bed. You slipped into a pair of panties from your top drawer before pulling a dress over your head and sliding into your slippers.

Interrupting your senses, was the smell of breakfast. You stopped as your hand wrapped around the bedroom doorknob, you listened as the sounds of hushed giggles and food sizzling filled the air around you.

You hoped with everything in your body that this wasn't your mind playing tricks on you again, you weren't sure how much more you could take. But when you opened the door to see the kids huddled over the countertop as Jay swirled a skillet on the stove, you had to blink a few times before realizing that this was really happening.

You slowly walked into the kitchen as Jay welcomed you with a smile. "Good morning, Mommy!" your kids smiled in unison.

"Morning," you waved as you walked over to them, planting a kiss on each of their heads. "What's all of this?"

"We're helping, Dad make breakfast," your son smiled. "I made your coffee."

"I put all the stuff on the pancakes," your daughter chimed in as Jay placed the eggs and bacon on the place.

"Yeah, but you didn't make them," her brother teased.

"I made one," she huffed.

"And where is it now, huh? Oh, that's right, in the trash," he giggled.

"Well, you put salt in the first cup you made for mom. So now who sucks," she poked her tongue out.

"Calm down you guys, you both did a great job. Especially for your first time," Jay smiled as he came behind them, patting them both on the shoulder before coming over to kiss you on the cheek. "We were gonna surprise you in bed," he chuckled.

"Wait, Jay. Don't you have work today?"

"I did," he started as he walked over to the table, placing your breakfast down. "But I called in. I wanted to spend some time with my family today."

The kids climbed onto their barstool as Jay passed them their breakfast. "Thank you," they smiled before they started eating.

"Jay," you gasped. "You didn't have to do that. What if they needed you at work today?"

"Well, my family needs me more. Especially my wife," he tilted his head to the side as he sat down next to you. "This morning," he started in a hushed tone, "When I was about to get out of bed you grabbed my arm and said 'Please don't leave me again.' Your eyes were still closed so I knew you were sleeping, but there was no way in hell I could go to work after something like that."

He reached over to grab your hand, caressing the back as you lowered your head. "Sorry," you whispered quietly.

"Don't be sorry. If I hadn't been working so hard I would've noticed how this change was affecting you sooner. I already contacted my boss about another position and we'll see how it goes from there, but for now, let's enjoy this moment together. Just me, you, and the kids."

❀ Thak you all so much for reading! Make sure to check out other works on my masterlist!

❀ 𝚃𝚊𝚐𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝: @chlorinecake @mimikittysblog @nikisvanillaccola @wonbinisbabygurl @mrswolfhard3 @laylasbunbunny @sussyjake @furious-eagle @cherrriesss @abbyizzy @weyukinluv @addictedtohobi @thatonenoona @wavykook @givemeyourtmihyun @jaeljn @hoonmywk @valennshit @19-yunalyn @hoonbby @frostedblankets @hoonsyo @no-mannerism @perfectxserendipity @chubbibish @ihrtlix @bunniesforsoobin @thereadersparadise @thatbooknerdfr @aiden2001 @belongstoheeseung @jakeybabe @donut-crazs @rizzhee @nikimeows @woonieees @uarmyxtae @rebecca-johnson-28 @they2luv1naia @isa-2007 @silcry @riverscafe @pearlwhitesoul @nikohiroshi @thatbooknerdfr @wonniewonwon @sughoonieeee @babyy-bambii @adrika04 @sehunsharpasseyebrows @wtfyangjungwon @fr-3-akn-4-stymf @rikiloversworld @shawyle @sunoosrightbuttcheek @uarmyxtae @lovesickxmina @urfavberry @urauntiefaye @breadlover01 @taehyunsfavmoa

[jolalibrary]

1. butterscotch orange

frankie morales x f!reader | chapter one of do me yourself

summary: a meet-cute in a hardware store? impossible, out of the question. except, that's exactly what happens. a need for screws leads you to a broad-shouldered, brown-eyed man who you're sure is about to change your day, never mind your life.

wordcount: 3.3k chapter warnings: [see masterlist for series warnings] meet cute, flirting. fluff. flirting in person and over <redacted>. frankie being a single!dad to a son. coffee date. an: it is finally here! this little thing has rotted me from the inside out and nothing brings me more joy than a romcom. so here we go. buckle in. all hail @secretelephanttattoo for the wondrous idea and support (seriously thank you, i know you know ily, but i don't think I've been this happy writing something in so long). a thank you to @thetriumphantpanda who i forced to read this when we had our sleepover, ily.

key: frankie is in bold, you are in italics [winks]

IF I CAN DO IT, ANYONE CAN DO IT. ALL YOU NEED—

It rings, echoes through your skull.

Has been doing so the whole ride over—your groan doing nothing to dilute it, even as you kill the engine of your car and are welcomed with silence.

There’s an element of regret you feel thrumming in you since discovering that perky voice, her high-pitched excitement becoming the bane of your existence. Forever replaying in your head. Regardless of whether it is actually playing. It remains on a loop in your mind—all light and sweet—grating on you from the amount you’ve had to watch it, just to get to this stage.

Realistically, you know you shouldn’t hate the voice, because it has been helpful—in that effortlessly playful way that’s kind of begun to fuck you off.

But then, you’re not even sure if any voice would fare much better. Because you just don’t feel like it’s just that easy—so possible, all simple and quick to do.

Because DIY apparently isn't that trouble-free for you. The bandaids on your palm, fingers, and forearm are proof of it.

Yet, somehow you’re outside of a hardware store.

One that Google promises will have all you need and more. Not that you know what that is.

The only thing you do know is that it at least gives you another reason to focus on something other than the mountain of boxes that never end. The ones not unpacked. In the home that’s now only slowly beginning to feel more like yours, and not the people you purchased it from.

Eyes flicking over the front of the store, the clutter of things all left outside—in judging various shades of buckets and plastic garden chairs—before your eyes land on the door to Harold’s Hardware.

There’s no breeze, but the door moves ever so slightly. Sitting, slightly ajar, as though once—a long time ago—it fit in the frame perfectly, but now remained warped and unwilling to even try. Then there’s the glass, all smeared and sitting inside (what you assume) would have been a bright-white frame that’s slightly yellowed and has been adorned in scuffs, swinging in its layered overuse.

But, at least it’s visited, you think. Shoving open the door, a bell sounds in some distant corner, ringing, it almost muffled by the voice from the video continuing to play in the space between your ears—a to-do list, a handful of items required, listing themselves on a never-ending loop, the billionth play through since you’d woken up.

It’s so much bigger inside than you banked on. Jaw-ticking to the side, eyes marvelling at the floor-to-ceiling display and the array of things all living and existing under hanging signs that appear worn and peeling.

With each second, more and more of the charm comes to you.

That there’s a radio, crackling away, a song from decades gone by playing with difficulty, as an array of scents swirl, fighting themselves for your attention. But, two stand out, fresh-cut wood and lemon disinfectant. The latter you assume kills dirt but doesn’t make the floor tiles gleam in the way they once did. Scuff marks adorning well-walked paths. But the former, you gravitate more to, wish for it to fill your nose and remain with you long after your visit.

Adjusting the strap of your bag, you glance about again, almost fidgeting your feet in your shoes, before it dawns on you. Slams into you as you flick your gaze from sign to sign—

You haven’t got a clue about where to start.

Listing the things from memory—suddenly distant and difficult to find amongst the dooming overwhelm—as your feet begin moving of their own accord. Choosing an aisle, selecting it—all eeny-meeny-miny-mo.

Because better that, than standing aimless, lost. Watched on some flickering CCTV in the back where you assume the person who works here is.

Dragging your eyes, scanning them up and down, taking in the varying types of paint brushes, different thicknesses, different intentions. Moving from single purchase to grouped, to multi-packs, and landing finally on rollers before you’re turning, heading down an entirely different aisle.

The next isn’t any less overwhelming.

If anything, it’s more, because it’s at least more of what you needed.

Screws, bolts, fixings.

Your brain assessing, attempting to assemble whether a bolt is what you need, a screw or—

“You need a hand?”

It throws you off, the voice.

Cuts through your processing, through the low replays of the video (the ones only in your head) and the cracking radio which has moved into an advert for migraines.

It’s low, a slight gravel that he rids with a clear of his throat as you look over your shoulder, eyes sweeping over the owner of the voice, eventually turning to face him.

And fuck.

He’s broad, dressed in a deep green t-shirt under a tan apron—name badge scratched over, only leaving the lingering marks of a “here to help” and the fading logo you’d seen outside.

You don’t mean to gawk, but yet you do all the same.

Practically swallowing, attempting to whir your brain into gear as you take in the rest of him. The thick loose curls atop his head, the strong nose and the round-brown eyes. His moustache, the wiry facial hair across his chin he slowly begins to scrape at, as he remains waiting for a response.

“Screws.”

“You… you need screws?”

Nodding, you will your brain to work, to function. But, he’s just so—

Lifting his chin, he runs his thumb up and down the underside of his chin, waiting, waiting, until he smiles. “Do you know the kind?”

Think. Think. Fucking think.

And then you do. Somehow able to unspool some thoughts, find sentences. Beginning to explain, in barely-there pauses and animated hand gestures about your move, and your new lease of life, and this video you found and how you felt inspired by it to the point it had led you to order wood cut to size and tools from the internet, but screws, screws and this and that are all that you’d forgotten.

And, he listens. Sliding a hand over the sleeve of his sun-scorched tee as he does. Just nodding on occasion. Thin lines appear along his forehead at certain parts of the story, but nonetheless listening.

“Show me.”

“Show… you?”

Then he smiles. Soft, it slides up in a slow, almost cautious way, but then it’s at his eyes, touching, brushing itself there and sending sparks up into the darker brown flecks.

Licking his lips, he gestures, “The video.”

You do.

A quick shuffle in your pocket, a slide to unlock your phone and then your fingers are brushing his. They’re warm, his. That you can tell.

Heat radiating from them, slowly blanketing yours as his hand and yours cradle the phone like a newborn in an announcement photo.

From there, your chest tightens, more so when you meet his eyes, finding them watching you as intently as you wish to look at him, and it makes your heart stammer, skip—a full chaos of beats following before he’s holding your phone independently.

That’s when a new crisis calls. A new thought is all set to erode your mind.

Because your phone looks tiny in his hand.

The plastic case is almost dwarfed by him as he tips his chin, watching the video, occasionally tapping at the screen to skip ahead before he nods to himself, you all but busy trying not to choke on your own drool.

“I know what you need.”

“You do?”

A foolish question, all escaping without thought or rationale.

He just smiles, in a way that seems to settle your incoming anxiousness.

“I do.”

And he does.

A tilt of his head, his back turned to you, a brief thought crossing your brain at the sight but you quickly rid, and you’re following. Listening as he explains, as he points out things with his long, thick finger, as you nod, as though nothing lives in the space between both of your ears.

It isn’t until you’re back in your car that it hits you. Do you suddenly wish as your engine ignites and your car roars to life, that you had asked for his number—or better yet, his name.

It’s been days, and you’re still wondering if some part of you’d concocted him, made him up—thrown up an illusion of a man and exaggerated how good he looked.

The more you thought about him, the more insane it got. Even hearing yourself explain it to a friend made you question if you'd been dreaming. That maybe you’d let days mould him, shaping perfection in your consciousness.

It has more weight when you walk past the older man at the till, all white hair in a slick-back style and who tips his head and looks more what you’d expect from the decor of the place.

But a part, one fighting, scrapping for a moment to exist, still believes. Hopes.

Forcing your legs to wander down aisles you don’t need, pausing at each corner, desiring to be proven wrong. Hovering, hoping—half-wondering if it was essential that to make him appear, you had to look lost and hopeless—or whether that had just been a coincidence that first time.

With each up and down, you almost give up. Hope almost gone, erasing itself with each step, all but fading.

But there, in the centre of the paint aisle, speckled in dried flecks, it clinging in varying shades—a kaleidoscope dream on his jeans and worn t-shirt—is him. The man you haven't stopped thinking about.

"It's you."

"It's me," you grin, heat flooding your cheeks, growing up into your neck.

Arm lifting, hand brushing the back of his curls not housed in a cap, as he matches your grin. "New project?"

"Something like that."

His gaze doesn't waver, doesn't lessen, not as his grin slopes into a shy smile, before he wipes his hand on his jeans, offering it out. "Realised... I never... I'm Frankie, by the way."

You hand him your name, dropping an octave as you do—all unmeaning, entirely accidental—fingers sliding past his as you shake his hand.

“I don’t… you’ve not got your apron on.”

Glancing down, you find him grinning when he looks up, “Not my day today. Here on personal business.”

“Oh is…” squinting at the paint can in his hand, “Butterscotch Orange on a hit list or something?”

His lips slide into his cheek, a tooth-filled smirk. “Should be, it’s a right bitc—pain in the ass to sell.”

Rolling your lips, you trace your tongue across your teeth as you grin. “It’s no…” eyes squinting. “Mt Rainier Grey.”

His brow arches. “That your shade of choice?”

“I like it—don’t hate the orange though. So, maybe it’s not the paint, but the seller.”

Something twinkles in his eye, lips still cocked to one side, smirk still ever-present.

And it’s a challenge to drag your eyes to look at the floor, you shift your weight. Trying, and failing, to think of an excuse, to leave before it gets weird—before you become too much and ruin this nondescript thing. But, his throat clearing stops you. It forces your chin up. Barely just able to catch it, the whisper, how it’s almost said to the can in his hand than to you.

“You… doing anything right now?”

Shaking your head slowly, you bite your cheek as you grin. “Just talking to a man holding a paint can.”

Tapping his fingers along the top, lips rolling, “You fancy getting a coffee? With me?”

You have to bite your smile, out of fear you’ll show how practically beaming you are. Mouth opening, but he adds an addition of I don’t usually do this that makes your lips curl into a smirk.

“What? Invite random customers for coffee or accost them with paint you can’t sell?”

Biting his upper lip, he shakes his head, tucking a curl behind his ear as your eyes glance over at them. How they glisten under the yellow-fluorescent light.

Letting your heart dance like leaves in the wind. “I’d love to get coffee with you, Frankie.”

It’s nice, the coffee place.

Not a far walk, a few doors down. The charm of it coaxes you in with sounds of crunching beans and strong scents of varying levels of caffeine sliding over and relaxing your shoulders from your ears.

Because suddenly you’re nervous.

A slight shake to your bones, a twitch of your fingers.

“Let me get this.”

Smiling, you find him watching you, not caring to drag his eyes away when you catch him.

“Because you never do this or because you’re hoping to persuade me to buy your unsellable paint?”

Smirking, he traces his eyes over you, “Both.”

The corner of his mouth slides back into his cheek, a dimple appearing, deepening—one you want to brush over with your thumb the longer he keeps looking at you the way he does.

All dark eyes, beedy, but sparkling.

'Who's next?' breaks the spell. Shatters the magic. It forces you both to blink, to focus on the task at hand. Both orders said, whirring and crunching sounding as you admire the place, glaze over the menu until he’s nudging you.

With your order in hand and tucked away in the corner—the large window letting in light and warmth from the sun on your back—you try not to moan at the taste of your drink once it hits your tongue.

Because it’s good. Brilliant, practically everything.

To the point you have to bite back a thank you, one that you feel would be never-ending, a constant swirl of words landing on the circular table between the two of you. Nothing napkins and good conversation could soak up.

Because good coffee is always great, but knowing where to find it in an unknown place is something else.

Distantly, you hear him say your name, chin dipped, eyes focused, realising—in a flood of embarrassment—he’s been talking to you.

“Sorry?”

“I said, I’ve not seen you in the store before…”

Swallowing, you take a steadying breath.

“You don’t have to…”

But, you do all the same. You pour open small bits of truth, words falling, tumbling half-strung together as your history rolls out in a timeline in front of you both. How you’d bought a new place, that it’s a bit run down, seen better days—a determination to prove friends wrong by doing it yourself.

Foolish, you comment with a shake of your head, I know fuck all about decorating.

And he listens—to the fact you’re alone, not even a pet; he listens even as you talk about your work, all boring, not entirely interesting. The two of you simply lost in one another, surrounded by coffee mug swirls and the sounds of sizzling food, coffee shop noises and mumbling daytime talk as you ask him about work, about his love for orange shades.

And your eyes glance down at his phone, how it’s turned over—his all undivided attention given to you—yet your eyes linger on the phone case. The one with a drawing, likely in pencil, a man in a hat on a hill, a child next to him and a sun with a smile on its face.

“I… I have a kid. Luca—shared custody,” he says, nodding, tongue peeking out between his teeth, hands leaving the table and wiping back on his jeans in slow slides up and down. “He… he made it me.”

It’s the grin that makes your heart swell.

Makes your hand cup your mug a little tighter so you don’t offer it out to him to hold, a thing which feels so natural, no thought required. Except you don’t know his last name—barely know a thing about him.

Yet, your body practically leans forward as you mirror the smile—all soft, as another piece of a missing puzzle sliding into place.

“Does he like drawing?”

Laughing, his palm slides along his jaw. “Loves it.”

“How old?”

“Five—does that… does that bother you?”

“That you’re a dad?” He nods, and you lick your lips, you make sure to hold his gaze. “Not in the slightest.”

You smile, watching him mirror you this time. It rushes out, kissing across every bit of his face—a shyness soon fluttering over him before he clears his throat.

“So, you freelance? You like being your own boss?”

“Not especially, but it does mean I can work at night.”

Nodding, he slides his hand around the white porcelain, hand practically dwarfing the mug. It makes you want to ask him to hold things, to see if IKEA pencils or children’s eating utensils look more ridiculous than your iPhone and a regular coffee mug.

“Prefer the night?”

“I prefer the quiet of it... to think. It’s why… why I began trying to do something in the day, needed to still be busy.”

“Sitting still not an option, Rainier Grey?”

Shrugging, you smile. “Says you Butterscotch and your three tins of unsellable paint in the bed of your truck.”

“You got me there.”

“I just… like to be busy, and with the new house, no partner—commitments, I thought why not try a bit of DIY.”

Nodding, he lifts his mug, and takes a sip—eyes remaining fixed on you as he does, as though it buys him time, lets him think up an opinion, an assessment. It makes your skin warm, but for all the uncomfortable reasons, the panicking ones—parts of you beginning to catastrophise that you’ve said the wrong thing.

“Open up your Instagram.”

You stare, blinking.

“Trust me.”

And you do. With another fumble, another slide of your phone screen open, and you follow his instructions as you type in the spelling he gives you. When you click the page, it’s hard not to grin, to not have your face explode into a smile so large it cuts into your cheeks.

“I don’t like to sit still either,” Frankie adds, as though the thousand photos and videos, the tutorials and follower count don’t say that on their own.

You’ve fallen down a hole—willingly.

It cracked open the moment you’d sat on your couch, drink in hand, blanket half over your body.

The moment you’d begun your scroll, you discovered you couldn’t stop. Starting with the latest and moving back, until you realise you’d rather see the story in the way it happened.

Choosing a moment, almost nine months ago, before you work your way forward to the present.

You were cautious, more careful than needed, to not like anything too late—to not give away how deep into his page you’d gone. Even if you were in awe, a little proud—your cheeks a little warm and lips turned up into your cheek—as you saw in real-time his confidence grow. The way he’d look at the camera, began experimenting with angles, all in all being smoother, more happy.

You suppose that’s why you type a comment under one picture:

Is that butterscotch orange in the flesh? 🟠

Stalking me are you?

Getting some tips from Mr DIY himself.

I know you went back some months, Rainy.

How do you know that?

Because as soon as you commented that’s what I did. You looked nice at the beach.

Now who’s the stalker, Butterscotch.

Me. Clearly. I’m being very upfront about it.

Out of interest, do you tutor at all? Give hands on help to beginner DIYers?

You genuinely asking or flirting?

Big-headed much?

I can help you with something if you need it.

I think I do.

Then I’m yours. Don’t worry, I promise to only snoop in your drawers when left alone.

Think we should get food first, show you what I’m thinking—make sure you’re up to the task.

You asking me on a date?

No. But if you keep showing off tools topless I’ll be tempted to ask you.

Knew you’d gone back further than a month.

FRANKIE’S INSTAGRAM 🌝

NEXT CHAPTER

an: you do not understand how giddy i am about this series. the chapters have flown out of me. i hope you enjoy it half as much as i'm enjoying writing it. see you soon xx

[rie-092]

LITTLE SIBLING.

⟡﹒yandere! older brother x fem! reader

summary : your older brother thinks that your boyfriend wasn't good enough for you.

during his childhood, yohan davis really wanted a little sister. a sweet little sister that he can protect and adore forever. but, that dream was shattered when his dad died and he had already accepted the fact that no matter what happened, he won't be able to have a little sister. because he can't force his mom to remarry just because of his selfish desire after all.

and let's be honest here. with yohan's handsome face and those captivating (e/c) eyes of his. even when he was a child, everyone adored him. and maybe that was the main reason why he became like— this. uh, a spoiled son who was able to get whatever he wanted? aside from little sister, of course.

but then, when he reached the age of 15, his mom got remarried. he was excited, for his mom and for the chance that he can achieve his dream through his new dad. yep, he knew how obsessed he was with having a little sibling. everyone, except his mom (since she thinks that it was a cute thing but clearly it's not) has pointed it out to him. but he didn't care since in his eyes, it was unfair for him that his friends had little siblings that they could adore and spoil.

and yohan fucking celebrated when he got the news of his mom being pregnant a year later. he basically ran to his new dad and hugged him tightly and started to thank him and his ehem, let's forget about the last part. anyway, after that sudden revelation, yohan had started looking for good names that he could give to his younger sibling. he also looked for some cute toys and clothes but let's forget about it.

yohan, during his little sibling's birth stayed at the hospital. he didn't give a fuck about what other people were saying when he did all of his homework at the hospital while waiting for his parents and his new little sibling. and boy, oh, boy. yohan teared up when he saw you for the first time. you were so cute, so precious, so adorable and the most innocent thing on this planet.

“ so, how about you give her a name, son? ”

that was what he was waiting for. with a smile, he kissed your forehead as he told them the name that he had come up with after the 9 months that he spent thinking a name that suits you. (first name), his little sister. don't worry, your big brother will give you everything that you want and he will do everything for you.

expect that this guy will be quite overprotective when it comes to you. don't complain if you aren't able to play with your peers or if he doesn't let you go out and lock you at home. he was just worried! you're too innocent! what if you got kidnapped when he wasn't looking?! oh, and when he realized that you're allergic to (insert food here)? that day, you weren't able to see that thing inside your house again since yohan really threw a fit in front of your parents exclaiming that if they served you that kind of food again, he would run away and he will bring you with him.

but aside from his obsession, overprotectiveness and overbearing personality. yohan was a good older brother for you. he was much better than your classmates' older brothers. when the truth is he just engraved the 'he's the best older brother in the world' idea on your mind during your early childhood so that you will stay with him forever

anyways, much to his disappointment, when you became a teenager you found yourself a boyfriend. and that angers yohan. i mean, why do you think that boy deserves you? gosh, he was the one who raised you and he knew that boy wasn't deserving of you! he did his best to make you dependent on him. he cooked for you, washed your clothes and even made sure that you didn't know how to do housework! do you think that boy will do that for you? yeah, no.

expect that yohan will always roll his eyes when you mention your boyfriend whenever you are with him. this guy shamelessly stalks you when you are on a date, and when he sees that your boyfriend is about to kiss you? he will immediately call you to cut off that dirty romantic atmosphere that disgusting guy created. that guy bought you a gift? don't worry, your brother will give you a more extravagant the next day.

he will do anything to make you see that you made a wrong choice of getting into a relationship with someone. look, he knew that his obsession with his little sister was because his friends and bandmates always pointing out to him. there was some point when they asked him if he romantically saw you but that only disgusts him. the hell are they talking about? why would he romantically see his little sister? do they think that he's a sick freak? that's disgusting.

sure he stalks his little sister, sure he makes her dependent on him, sure he manipulates his younger sister that he's the kindest soul alive, sure there are some points that he commits crime for you. but anyways— he only did that because you were his little sister. his innocent and fragile little sister that he needs to protect!

and when the news about your boyfriend cheating on you reached his ears. he was fucking happy! see? he told you, that guy wasn't good enough for you! oh, his poor little sister. the only thing that he did when he saw you go home crying was to hug and comfort you but of course, while he manipulates you thinking that other guy aside from him and your dad was like that. a fucking freak that will only hurt your feelings.

ah, of course! do you think that he'll forget about that ex-boyfriend of yours? of course, he won't! because yohan, with a 'little talk' made sure that guy won't be able to approach you again. oh? you're worried when he came home bloodied and had a bruise on his cheek? this guy will tell you that your ex suddenly punched him out of nowhere when he talked to him when the truth is he beat that guy half to death. hehehe, and seeing you believed him made him smile widely. ah, it seems like you're really stuck with him from now on. and yohan was willing to sell his soul to a demon just to make sure this would last forever.

“ big brother's doing this for your sake so listen to me, okay? ”

[blueblossomrose]

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, SATORU GOJO! 🎂

Pairing: Satoru Gojo x Fem!Reader

Content: Fluffy, Gojo is a dad, female reader, is implied that reader is younger than Gojo,

Notes: December 7 was Gojo's birthday and I wanted to give my man a present 😩 but I was uninspired 😐 really nice, so, belated happy birthday, Gojo! 💗

Comments and reblogs are very welcome ♡

It was almost three-fifteen in the morning.

The soft light from the bedside lamp in the room barely illuminated the room. The low, rhythmic sound of the baby monitor, a muffled noise at first, soon became impossible to ignore for Satoru, who woke up with a frustrated groan.

He was lying in bed, where he had fallen asleep wearing only a crumpled t-shirt and sweatpants. A messy strand of his white hair fell over his eyes as he sat up, rubbing his face with his hands.

"That brat is going to kill me one of these days…" he muttered softly, his sleep-hoarse voice full of sarcasm but with a hint of genuine exhaustion.

[Name], who was lying on the right side, was also awakened from her sleep by the noise of the baby monitor. She was about to get up to go to the baby's room, but Satoru stopped her.

"Let me…"

"Are you sure?" She said, soft and worried.

"Yes, I can handle it. Go back to sleep,” he replied, giving a tired half-smile, before getting up from the bed.

He stood up with slow and somewhat clumsy steps as he walked down the dark hallway of the house to the baby’s room.

Little Kazuya was standing in his crib, holding onto the bars with his tiny fingers, his big, sleepy eyes looking straight at the door. His white hair, which he had inherited from Satoru, was all messy, and his red little face indicated that he had probably been crying for a while.

“Huh? What now?” Satoru grumbled, trying to sound serious, but failing miserably when he saw the innocent and curious look on the baby’s face.

As he approached, the boy stretched out his arms in an automatic gesture, a silent plea that Satoru could not ignore. He leaned over and picked the little one up, feeling the warmth of the trembling little body against his chest. The baby let out a soft sob, the crying finally subsiding now that he was in his father’s arms.

"Do you know what time it is?" Satoru whispered. "Three in the morning, young man. Do you have any idea how important your old man's sleep is?"

Kazuya, of course, didn't answer. Instead, he let out an adorable yawn and rested his head on Satoru's shoulder, causing the sorcerer to let out a long, resigned sigh.

"Tsk, that's what happens when you have my genetics... you can't even sleep like a normal child."

As he murmured, his tone was softer now. Satoru began to rock the baby with slow, rhythmic movements, walking in circles around the room. He ran his free hand gently over his son's back, feeling him slowly relax. Silence returned, except for the distant sound of the city sleeping outside and Kazuya's increasingly slow breathing.

Satoru looked down at the sleeping face of the baby, who was now fast asleep in his lap. The constant arrogance disappeared, replaced by a tender gaze.

"I don't know how you did it, brat... but it seems like you're starting to soften me up," he whispered, before carefully placing Kazuya back in his crib. He straightened up and stood there for a moment, watching his son sleep. A part of Satoru wondered how he, someone so used to living on the edge between strength and pride, now found himself surrendered to such a fragile and small creature.

"This world doesn't deserve you."

Walking back into the room, he saw [Name] there. She was half-awake, her face illuminated by the dim light of the lamp, her expression soft and restless.

Satoru looked at her and sighed. He lay down on the bed next to her. They stared at each other in silence for a while, before she spoke. "Did he fall asleep?"

"Yes." He mumbled. "After making me spin around with him for 7 minutes."

[Name] laughed softly. "I consider that pretty quick for his sleeping patterns."

"Oh, sure..." Satoru rolled his eyes, but soon smiled when he heard her laugh.

It wasn't just the sound itself, but the fact that she was more comfortable, more at ease than when he had known her. When their paths had crossed, [Name] had been as shy and reserved as a flower before spring. The memory of her back then — her eyes always downcast, her fear of speaking her mind — still haunted him. But there, in the dim light of the night, as she smiled softly with a light humor, he saw how much she had changed. And, perhaps, how much he had changed too.

"Tomorrow is your birthday," [Name] says, her eyes fixed on his, a warm expression lighting up her face.

"Hm? Oh, yes," Satoru answers absently, as if he had forgotten, but the slight glint in his blue eyes indicated otherwise.

"I want to make you a cake."

"A cake, huh? What flavor?" he asked, arching an eyebrow curiously, his tone slightly playful.

"It's a secret! The flavor will be a surprise."

Satoru tilted his head with a mocking smile. "If it was supposed to be a surprise, there would be no need to even talk about the cake, right?"

[Name] laughed, covering her mouth with her hand, as she did whenever she tried to be discreet. "Satoru, you are a silly!"

Satoru. The sound of his own name did something strange inside him. Not in a bad way — quite the opposite. It had been a while since anyone had called him that, by his first name, and the feeling remained funny, almost unsettling, like a distant memory of the intimacy he was no longer used to having.

He couldn't remember the last time someone had called him Satoru so naturally, without reverence, without fear or weight. It was strange. But it was good.

When he was at home, with [Name] and his son, he wasn't the strongest jujutsu sorcerer Satoru Gojo. He was just Satoru. Just Satoru.

That small realization made him smile softly, without notice it. When [Name] noticed, she laughed again, for no apparent reason, just because the lightness of the moment seemed contagious. Satoru accompanied her laughter with a muffled sound, almost a laugh, but low, careful not to wake little Kazuya in the next room.

He looked up at the ceiling, his body relaxing further against the mattress. Satoru lightly squeezed her hand, still intertwined with his.

He didn't need to be the strongest one. He didn't need to prove anything to anyone.

The house returned to silence. The only sound was the calm rhythm of their breathing. When he finally closed his eyes, still holding her hand, Satoru felt that, for the first time in a long time, he was not alone in the world.

And that was enough.

[vivwritesfics]

Lando Norris Masterlist

All of my Lando imagines, blurbs and series can be found here

NAVIGATION

Series (I have a lot of Lando series to be written)

Rich Kids Club

(Oh My God) They Were Roommates

Set The World On Fire

Imagines

Petit Monstre

Lando Norris + Y/N Leclerc = In Love LandY/N + Charles Leclerc = One very angry big brother

Lando Norris HC's

Exactly what it says on the tin

Horse Girl

High school sweethearts Lando and Y/N are very in love (she also happens to be Flo's best friend and they met through their yards)

Saying Goodbye

This is another one for the horse girls. A social media AU dealing with Y/N losing her horse and the grief that follows

For You Page

Lando finds his girlfriend TikTok, it isn't what he expects

On Stream

While Lando streams, his girlfriend tries to study. Except she couldn't study, not when her boyfriend was so damn distracting (and he was really trying his best to be distracting)

Rockstar GF

lando is obsessed with his rockstar girlfriend. His rockstar girlfriend is obsessed with him

Hurry Up Little Norris

Lando and his wife are expecting

Little Pig

Lando, his girlfriend, and their unconventional pet

Three Apples Tall

Lando and the readers son is insecure about how short he is. But he got his height from his dad and it was one of the reasons reader fell in love with him.

Best Dad Ever

Lando is the best girl dad. When his little girl wants to ride horses, he makes it happen

Little Terrors

Lando Norris wants to jump his wife's bones. She has to remind him of the consequences of unprotected sex

What Could Have Been

Lando Norris is dead. He isn't human, he doesn't remember being human. Well, he didn't remember, not until he saw her. Until he saw her and her baby bump.

Rock The Ship

Pirate Captain Norris has something very special in his possession. Until its stolen from him. He'd do anything to get it back, and I mean anything

Amateur Dramatics

Lando Norris joins the Amateur Dramatic Society. You're playing Juliet in this years Shakespeare performance, he better be playing Romeo

Blurbs

Heartbreak boy

Comatose P1

Comatose P2

Comparative

Smitten

Colours

Home Cooked

Had Enough (the burnt out student)

Lando and bimbo reader

Lando's too big

Lando's girlfriend has tattoos

Finger sucking with Lando

Reader Finds out she's a bet

Aftercare with dom lando

jealous lando x musician reader

best friends drunken mistakes

dom lando against his car

lando sneaking reader out of the house after one night stand

verstappen hears them fucking

there was only one bed

sex injuries

horny chocolates

migraines

Lando and his pr manager

lando x bookwork reader

lando's girlfriends have cats

Lando x sick reader

baby = papaya

First time together

magnet collecting

lando isn't aware of his own strength

hufflepuff!lando

lando + situationship

Little spoon lando

lando's girl can drive

they're defo not sleeping together who said that

drunk lando

can't fall asleep

jealous lando

period

the bracelet thing

lando x volleyball

lando x horse girl

phone sex

verstappen

Fuck everything else

Ferrari fan

throatpie

teasin'

lando win thing (fluff)

choking kink

post race blowy

moving

waking up in the same bed

supportive Lando

Little Lando Norris

demon lando

play fighting

friends to lovers

grumpy

scary dog privileges

Frat boy! lando 3+1

original frat!

nipple piercings

dick suckin'

nudes

private jet sex

frat lando

[otakuworks]

Hiiii may I request a fem! Reader x husband! Leon where they watch their daughter play on the playground not until some small boy who creating paper rose and give it to her. The reader is in awe mode while Leon was in protective mode (⁠ ⁠◜⁠‿⁠◝⁠ ⁠)⁠♡

❛ 𝐃𝐀𝐃 𝐌𝐎𝐃𝐄. oneshot

feat. Dad!Leon Kennedy x Fem!Reader | wc. 0.9K

sum. dads are always protective to their daughters, leon is no exception.

note. leon be taking out his guns for this—

main m.list re m.list

The scene in front of Leon is more intimidating than any zombies he has fought in his life and this man has been long acquainted with them.

"How miserable I would be and my daughter if her father were to be thrown in jail for attempted homicide." Your satire quip earned you defeaning silence from the man, who merely watches the whole scene plays out, but his hands are undeniably twitching to click something dangerous.

"Your concerns are misplaced. And even if I'm guilty, the President would undoubtedly pardon me."

"Darling, you couldn't possibly be thinking of murdering an innocent boy."

A week ago, you had new neighbours settling in with their cute boy just a year older than your daughter, you took the initiative to warmly welcome them in the neighborhood with your daughter in tow. They were just as sweet as their son, who's a lot more vibrant than your daughter.

Her personality is a carbon copy of her father— quiet and observant. Though it wasn't a hindrance for her to make friends, she just doesn't have the initiative. You're partially glad the boy is unwittingly helping your daughter to socialize more.

"He gave her roses. Those things could be dangerous." He refuted.

"Paper roses, Leon. Are you afraid of our daughter getting a paper cut?" You deadpanned.

"He could be dangerous."

"How could you say that to a cute boy?" Out of disbelief, you gesture your hand as if emphasizing the innocent display of friendship between younglings.

He raises an eyebrow. "Back in Spain, there was a time I had a young boy as my enemy. Believe me when I say he was far from cute."

You cross your arms, glaring indignantly. "And believe when I say he's harmless."

Leon sighs and glances at you, inquisitive. "You seem to be familiar with that boy."

"Duh, he's our neighbor's son. Which explains why he and our daughter will get along just fine."

A flash of emotion passed his eyes, he hummed. "...Makes it easier for me to—"

"Dad! Dad!"

His girl came running with the paper roses, the wide grin on her lips makes it seem like it's impossible to turn upside down. Even in your peripheral vision, Leon's rugged look softened drastically at the sight alone. Murder plan? Gone.

He bend down to pick her up in his arms. "What is it, sweetcheeks?"

"Look! Caelus gave me roses as thank you gift from the cookies last time."

"Cookies?" He blinked.

She nodded, revealing her uneven teeth as she presents the paper roses. "Me and mom went to them and gave them cookies."

"As what a good neighbor does." You added, giving Leon a pointed look. "Did you say thank you to Caelus, sweetie?"

"Yep! Ohh... Mom, let's introduce Dad to him!" Her face brightened significantly as she wiggles out of her father's hold and came running back to her friend, who's waving at you as a greeting.

As you wave back to the young boy, Leon stood there dumbstruck. "She hasn't even come of age yet I feel like I'm meeting her boyfriend." He murmured to himself.

You elbowed him. "Oh, come on. Are you not happy with our daughter having friends?"

"I am, and I'm not against it. But why does he have to give her roses of all things?" He seems exasperated at the idea.

"Do you prefer a Boquet?"

"No, I..." He sighs, clearly exasperated.

You merely rolled your eyes. When you first met him, he gave you the impression of a strong and unwavering man, undeterred by any distrubances. Yet here you are, a sole witness of a possible murder.

"Dad, meet Caelus! Caelus, meet my Dad!"

The said boy beamed at Leon despite being unsure how to approach an unapproachable looking guy like him. "Hello, it's nice to meet you."

Leon looked hesitant but mirrored the greeting with half assed enthusiasm. "Be kind to the child, Leon. Or you're sleeping on the couch." You whispered with a tight smile.

"Not the couch." His satire response has you slapping his arm jokingly.

©otakuworks | 2024

[jiminrings]

fail-safe (2)

pairing: yoongi x reader

wordcount: 8k

glimpse: yoongi got everything he ever wanted and you've heard nothing about it, so you're thankful.

alternatively, yoongi reminds you of home in more ways than one.

[ part one, intermission, part two, intermission 02, finale ]

[ a Lot of angst, brother's best friend AND single dad au, eventual fluff, a lot of yearning but For What, they reunite but at what cost rlly, jealousy, self-loathing, unrequited love (initial), deja vu but in the worst possible form, eventual redemption in the next parts ]

notes: i am So sorry for this .

as always, lmk what you think <3 send in feedback n love to my askbox anytime!! even reading ur thoughts in the tags give me life :) | series masterlist

FIVE YEARS LATER

The trip back home wasn’t as rough as Yoongi expected it to be.

Somehow, there’s a huge difference between sitting in economy seats versus first-class seats, even if they’re situated on the same aircraft. When he left, Yoongi was irritable (amongst other things) to keep bumping elbows with everyone else; now that he’s back, he almost misses the ruckus in the cabin that’s far too cramped for everyone who could afford it.

Yoongi used to hate people like himself — atleast the version that he is now. He hated bastards sitting upfront in seats that reclined all the way back and ate off plates instead of noisy, flimsy plastic containers. Back then, deep down to his very core, he wanted that lifestyle for himself. To become bigger and better than he could ever imagine for the life ahead of him was always the goal.

Now that he’s at the peak, maybe even being the peak himself, he feels weirdly homesick.

“You need to bundle up all the way, Haneul. They’re gonna scold me if you’re not covered from head to toe,” Yoongi playfully chides his son, the insecurity and nervousness underneath his tone flying right over his head. It’s not even that cold, but still, a huge part of Yoongi worries.

He worries everyday if he’s a good dad to his four-year old. He worries if he’s good enough to be a solo parent because after all, he’s the one who has main custody of Haneul anyway. He worries and worries, but there’s nothing quite like the trepidation he feels being back home with everyone who has ever known him prior to all this success, suddenly seeing him come home.

It should be the opposite way around, that’s what everyone says to him. Yoongi had been queasy the whole flight back home despite the flight being one of the smoothest trips he’s ever been on in his life. He’s nervous to be back where he had been born and raised and he doesn’t know what’s that supposed to mean, except for the fact that he has an inkling of what the weight in his chest pertains to.

He’s back because it’s your mother’s 60th birthday. He’s back because her and Namjoon had asked him to, and he obliged without even thinking about it. Yoongi had offered numerous times to throw a party for the woman who had practically raised him alongside his closest friend, and even if Namjoon had backed him up on the grand idea for such a large milestone, she said no. All she wanted was for everyone to be back home, and Yoongi couldn’t say no.

Neither could you.

Yoongi is not the most modest person alive, but he is at his humblest when he drives the long way home just to delay the inevitable. He’s happy to the point he could be sick. He can’t tell if it’s the joy or the anxiety in his chest that makes it tighten, almost unbearably so, that he makes Haneul reach up to his forehead to check if he has a fever.

Yoongi’s home.

Not Los Angeles home, and not New York home. Not his home with a closet that’s the size of his childhood house’s living room, and not his space with the big windows and concierge downstairs.

Yoongi’s home — where the streets are narrow and the stairs are creaky; where this time, it’s all of him and none of you.

.

.

.

Enduring is different than working.

You’ve realized that the two concepts are drastically different as soon as Yoongi left, leaving you to survive the remaining years of your degree before you had to face the reality that you had to work to the bone for the rest of your life if you wanted a shot at living an average, food-stocked-in-the-fridge kind of life.

You didn’t know anyone who was connected to someone of importance one way or another, your family had zero ties, and you graduated from a university that raised more eyebrows in confusion than it tilted heads in awe. Your degree does havehigh promises as far as everyone in your town was concerned — it does and it should be, if only you were born and raised in different circumstances.

There’s not one acclaimed and high-profit company that would ever accept the likes of you. You worked hard and even if there were no exchange student agreements and Latin honors to show for it, you really did. You gave your best to graduate with a degree you never really liked and was only forced upon you, all for the promise of a future. It didn’t matter if it was extremely good or bad — everyone else just said you had to have one.

Your misfortune is what it is. It’s empty and haunting and the two weeks you had spent in the city right after graduating is truly something you never want to relive.

In hindsight, gambling the rest of your pocket money on a bus fare in your last day of job-hunting in the city at the time was a stupid decision. It was impulsive and irresponsible and everything your family scolded you for, what Yoongi hated you for, but it ended up being the single best gamble you’ve ever made, even above entry-level lottery tickets.

The same circumstances that held you back from where you’re supposed to head ended up propelling you to somewhere far, far different. Your degree became completely irrelevant, and the fact that you had nobody of significance in the city– no person to pass malice and gossip onto— made you a manager.

It had been a gamble to go work for an unknown entertainment company, much more a sinking one. It was an insult to have busted your ass back in your hometown, studying and working at the same time, only to work professionally in the city for a field that you didn’t even study about.

Your fate is what it is. You’ve endured and worked hard enough to the point that you had finally lucked out. Being the manager of someone who had later turned out to become the biggest actor in the industry, even in Hollywood, became your biggest break up to date.

Your way back home feels like an embrace you’ve denied yourself for far too long. You’ve mainly stayed in Seoul apart from the several hundred times you had to come with Jungkook for filming outside of the country, yet you could only count on one hand the amount of times you came home without anyone telling you to.

Coming home had become foreign to you as much as leaving it had become familiar.

“I’m near, Joon,” you hum to your phone, taking a quick glance at the cake you’ve strapped to your front seat. “It’s only us, right?”

“Yeah. Just us.”

Maybe it’s your fault for changing what us meant throughout the past five years, but Namjoon’s definition never changed. Maybe it’s your fault for not clarifying what he meant when you’re still kilometers away, when you can still leave, but nonetheless, you were cornered.

Us meant what it used to be when you were a kid in your childhood home — when Yoongi was still in the picture and you didn’t hate him for it.

In the grand scheme of things, you realize that Yoongi was right — nothing valuable was left for him in your hometown anymore. He was as right as you were wrong every time he went on a monologue of how he thinks there’s no problem in him admitting that he’s full of envy. He had been right for being bitter that there’s people who have and get much more than him, more than what they deserve, by not even putting a fourth of the effort that he does.

In the same way that he was right, you were wrong for thinking each time that Yoongi would soon outgrow his ambitions and instead, see things for what they are. You were wrong for thinking Yoongi would stoop down to your page, much less ever think of it.

Yoongi was right for saying that his stomach’s made of steel, and you were wrong for trying to convince him otherwise. He’s always had the appetite for more, the digestion of whatever life throws at him coming easy. Yoongi can choke down the reality of leaving Namjoon, your brother, who’s been buddies with him even before they could talk. He could forgo the only brother figure he’s ever had in his life if it means making something of himself.

He doesn’t get constipated from the reality of no longer having the homemade meals your mother would make that the younger, more innocent, and less ambitious version of him would literally jumps fences for. In fact, Yoongi’s palate craved something more foreign and sophisticated; not familiar, hearty meals served in dinnerware dulled from years of routine.

His stomach doesn’t turn thinking about how the skyline he said he’d never get tired of, wouldn’t appear in his new side of the world. The little, unassuming, and far too comfortable version of him who used to chase sunrises with his bike as a child and chase sunsets with his car as a teenager, doesn’t feel like he’d be poisoned if he were to see the sunlight in a high-rise instead of a run-down pavement.

Yoongi’s right when he said he had a tolerance because he doesn’t even get heartburn when you cry for him to no longer leave. You’re not in the position to beg him to stay (and you probably never will be) because as you’ve come to realize, he would only stay for the big things.

The only thing that would anchor Min Yoongi into place and dissuade him from chasing more is by being the most. One would have to be extremely significant, even bigger than Namjoon’s brotherhood, your mother’s impact, and what your hometown has to offer. You can’t even hold a candle to the aforementioned.

In Yoongi’s grand plan that’s as big as the galaxy, you’re merely a speck of dust that had the luck of hovering around him. You realized it back then when you blew over and fought with him right before his flight; right when Yoongi was clutching his one-way ticket, right when one foot was already out of the door.

“But the future that you want is not easy, Yoongi!” you gritted through your teeth, the grip you had on his suitcase too visceral that it bends under the pressure. Yoongi snatches his luggage from you in a blink, nostrils flaring in annoyance.

“Of course you’d be the first to say that,” he seethed, eyes wild and unforgiving. He drills his finger into his temple, inching towards you with an anger he had never shown before. “You don’t work as hard as I do, Y/N! You always settle. You always go for mediocre. You never put your head into anything because you’re too immature for any of this shit!”

“I’m not immature, you asshole!”

“Yes you are, you dipshit!” Yoongi scoffed, throwing his head back. “You cave and you bend and you let the whole world fuck you over, then you come running to me whining. You don’t have a passion in life, Y/N! You’re begging me to stay in the same predicament that you’re in now, what’s not immature about that?”

“When you leave now and decide to come back one day, Yoongi,” you spat with resentment, the tears that pour down your cheeks no longer out of sadness but instead, out of promise. “Nothing will ever be the same.”

“Good,” Yoongi clipped, turning his back on you for the last time. “Good for me.”

In the grand scheme of things, you realize that when Yoongi left five years ago, he also took the large chunk of your soul that had been shaped over and over again the entire time that he stood by you. He’d gotten his hands on the security and contentment you used to take pride in, weaponizing them against you.

You’re unsure if you have to thank him for that, the uncertainty being on par with the insecurity you had felt when he left you with his truth.

When you visit your mother for her birthday and see Yoongi emerge from your childhood bedroom, hand-in-hand with a toddler that looks like an exact carbon copy of him, you’re unsure of what to do either.

You’re not hysterical in the same way you stood before him when you even considered ripping up his plane ticket, but on the other hand, Yoongi’s inconsolable in the way he flounders before you.

“Y/N,” he says breathless, the lump in his throat even bigger than the tiny fist that grips his hand. “I… I-I didn’t-…” Yoongi tries again, his mouth dry at your appearance. “You came home.”

“I’m only visiting,” you answer, the curt smile on your face that Yoongi recognizes to be the one you’d give to strangers making his blood run cold. “I don’t plan on staying.”

.

.

.

You’re numb if that’s the word for it.

Your chest buzzes emptily the same way your fingers clench around nothing. You look at everywhere and everyone but Yoongi and his son. It’s nauseating to even think that everyone’s eating dinner as if everything’s okay; what’s even more sickening is that somehow, you’re willing to settle for it.

Yoongi is your mom’s cross-stitch project of a teddy bear that she hung up in your room one day when you were in school that you never took off by the time you came home. He’s a dent at the corner of your gate that could’ve only been made by Namjoon when he was practicing his soccer skills. He’s a Snellen chart that nobody really uses, stuck to the side of the refrigerator that you walk past.

Yoongi’s here, there, and everywhere, but you don’t question it. He’s simply there in your orbit and even if he exists, you don’t follow up on him.

You stay quiet at the talks of the sleeping situation because it turns out that Yoongi’s family had long sold their house. You never knew that throughout the several times you came down to visit.

Frankly, you’re relieved to barely know anything about Yoongi these days.

“You and Haneul can take my room,” you half-heartedly offer, not because it’s Yoongi who tugs at your heartstrings and demands your pity, but his child instead. The two, three (?) year-old baby (read: you’re too hesitant to ask what his age is because if it’s anything higher, then that meant Yoongi had moved on earlier than you did) you didn’t even know existed because you’ve completely cut off Yoongi from your life and refused to listen to Namjoon every time he talked about him, will be sleeping in your room; it just happens that he’s with his dad.

Yoongi’s awed at your preposition but he’s even more worried. He can’t tell a single thought that’s going on behind your eyes nor a single hint behind your tone. You’re formal; neutral. You’re detached even when you utter Haneul’s name and gesture them to your bedroom as if he hasn’t spent years and years of his life in your home.

“Where will you sleep?” he furrows his brows, his hand that had been rubbing circles on Haneul’s back faltering.

He’s asking because he doesn’t know anything about you at this point. He can’t tell if it’s the indigestion he has from resisting to talk your ear off at the dining table (like he’s always did when you were young) because you barely even spoke to him, or if it’s the overwhelming feeling of being back home with everything feeling familiar but you — either way, Yoongi thinks he’s gonna be sick.

“I’ll sleep at my mom’s,” you purse your lips, leaving him at that.

Between the yearning, demanding looks you get from Yoongi, the nosy and concerned glances from Namjoon, and even the guilt that you get from keeping all of your emotions from your mom when you used to confide in her religiously when you were younger — you’re drained. The urge to wash off all your anxiety can’t be done in your childhood home’s small bathroom. You can’t with the faulty water heater (you have to keep one finger pressed on the button at all times to keep it running) because you can’t even cry in peace under the either scorching or freezing water.

You can’t evade everything by grabbing a drink from the fridge that runs loudly as if it’s excavating oil from underneath your floors. You can’t curl up on the couch that’s become worn with age because there’s dents of you and Yoongi, the only two people who had sat on it the most every late night for years on end. You can’t romanticize any of the things in your home that have brought you joy all your life at this point in time.

To sleep under the same roof with your mother and brother again after so long feels foreign. It’s a language you can perceive but can’t translate and the frustration that comes with it seeps into your bones. There must be some common ground between the three of you; it should be anything and everything. With Namjoon being a world-renowned football player and you being somewhat accomplished and decorated in your field, you’ve managed to retire your mom early.

The three of you are doing fine. Not one interaction in the past five years has ever felt this tense and unfamiliar, but if you could pick just the odd one out, the very reason why you feel like falling to the floor and crawling your way out of your own home because you feel like you don’t belong to it — it’s Yoongi.

You feel awkward in your own four walls, whereas Yoongi finds your nightlight that you keep tucked in your closet without breaking a sweat.

Namjoon tugs you right when you’re about to call it a day in your mom’s room, his hushed whispers taking you back to when he pleaded for you not to rat them out whenever he and Yoongi crashed at the couch drunk.

“Give them this,” he shoves the can of bug spray into your hands, your immediate reaction making him wrestle with you just to push you closer to your own bedroom.

“No, Joon. You give it.”

“Y/N, no. You give it,” he whines, purposely having given Yoongi extra sheets and blankets earlier without the bug spray so you’d have something to take to him.

“I don’t wanna see Yoongi,” you whisper, trying to pathetically regain your footing even if you know your attempts go futile against an athlete for a brother.

“You think I don’t know that?” he snarks, giving you one last shove with a stern finger. “We’re gonna talk about whatever the hell happened between you and him, but right now, you’re gonna offer him bug spray like the gracious hosts that we are!”

You crash too far to your door that it could be mistaken as a knock, making you hiss because you know you can’t retract it. You actually knock this time, being met with nothing but a quiet Yoongi behind your own door.

Even when he opens it fully, even when it’s your own room — you enter hesitantly.

Yoongi’s already made a home out of your room. He knew where your nightlight was, knew which good extension cord (that didn’t spark every time it shifted) to plug into the wall, and even knew where you kept the magazine that you had to wedge between your windows whenever they didn’t fully close.

“Namjoon told me to give you this,” you put your hand out, looking at everything but Yoongi. You could look at Haneul who’s sprawled in the middle of the bed, but it isn’t any different than looking at his dad himself.

Yoongi, on the other hand, can’t see anything but you. He feels like an intruder who just happened to know the confines of your life almost better than his own, holding bug spray and the remainder of whatever recognition you have left for him.

“Will we ever be alright?” he whispers, not for the sake of keeping Haneul asleep, but for the sake of his sanity. If he makes his voice any louder, he’ll spill all his grievances and question if he had ever meant anything to you.

“We’ve always been alright,” you smile tightly, wrapping your hands around your back.

“You know what I’m talking about,” he pleads, swallowing the lump in his throat. “When did you ever give me bug spray? When did you have to knock on my door, o-or when did you ever have to treat me like I’m some guest and not a huge part of your life?” Yoongi stumbles over his words, correcting himself with a huff. “Most of your life.”

The sarcasm that coats the last of his words makes you twitch, the clench in your jaw being unmistakeable. Yoongi almost forgot what you looked like whenever you argued with him — talked to him, even. “Why are you only bitching about this to me and not to Namjoon? He’s the one who told me to give you the bug spray.”

“This is not about the bug spray!”

“What is it about then? Is this, is this some sort of long-winded euphemism that involves bug spray? What is it Yoongi, are you gonna hound me for an essay about it?” you spit, exhaling heavily. Haneul twitches in his sleep from the corner of your eye. “You grew up and so did I.”

Yoongi flinches like you’ve shot him.

“Don’t do this to me, kid. Don’t do this to us.”

You flinch because anything is better than to have him dig up his old nickname for you as if he’s close; as if he’s still the Yoongi that you chased, as if you’re still the Y/N he looked out for.

“Don’t call me that.”

( ♡ )

Yoongi’s in the kitchen with your mom.

He looks domestic this way, hair tousled and pajamas loose. Even if you have unbridled internet access (courtesy of the high-speed package you split with Namjoon for your mom even if the most she does online is repost motivational quotes, reels of Namjoon and his team, and clips of Jungkook where you’re seen), you can’t muster the courage to search Yoongi’s name and what he’s made of himself.

You’re too scared to search up articles about his success as a producer because if you do, you’re terrified by the thought of accidentally clicking a link that leads you to a page of him and his ex-wife.

You’re too weak to search up the songs he’s had a hand in (that is if you hadn’t heard them before) because you fear that if you even listen for a single second, you might hear how perfect his life has been ever since he left behind everything that he’s ever known.

Even now, you’re too uneasy at the sight of him. He’s in your home and he looks like the version of himself that had never left. The Yoongi in front of you, sitting on your seat at the dining table and peeling tangerines with your mom, resembles the Yoongi that would top off your glass with water whenever you ate with him.

It’s as if you’ve always been in touch for the past five years; it’s as if Yoongi has never aged and you never drifted apart.

“You’re awake,” he remarks, greeting you first before your mom could even register your presence.

“You’re still here,” you reply, the exhale that leaves you making you deflate in reflection. Breakfast isn’t ready yet, but Yoongi’s already slid over a plate to you.

“There. Just how you like them.”

There’s tangerines with barely any pith on them, and iced tea that had more ice cubes in them than there are in the freezer.

Yoongi smiles at you like you’re the old you again; the one who is more forgiving, and the one who is more hopeful.

( ♡ )

If it wasn’t for your brother guilt-tripping you into joining the impromptu road trip, you never would have come.

You didn’t want to come with them in the first place because the very thought of hanging out with Namjoon and Yoongi like old times, this time with the addition of the latter’s son, was too close; too familial. The three already knew each other and had kept in touch and you’re the odd one out. You’re the only planet out of the system and once you’ve come to think of it, that bit of their galaxy never failed. Whether you were in it or not didn’t matter — atleast that’s what you thought.

Yoongi got everything he ever wanted and you’ve heard nothing about it.

You blocked his number and on every social media account he had to his name. Even with Namjoon as a prominent variable, you’re amazed to how you’ve heard little to nothing about Yoongi ever since he left your hometown. You still talked to your brother, of course, but there was an obvious difference to how your conversations went because none of them ever went to Yoongi.

You didn’t tell him to not talk about Yoongi at all. You didn’t instruct him to never utter a single word about his closest friend whom you also grew up with. You never told Namjoon anything concerning Yoongi and what unfolded between the two of you before you left, and yet, it’s almost as if he had already been in your mind and knew exactly what to do.

You’ve come to realize that the prospect of growing up never used to be in your cards. The whole concept of it sat at the very back of your mind, the only times you used to pay attention to it being whenever Yoongi picked at your brain.

You thought your world would have ended when you were 19. You didn’t think you would grow up and see past high school. You didn’t think you would finish college, much less pick a degree to pursue in the first place. You didn’t think of having a future — you didn’t think you’d be living it now in this way.

“Joon,” you mutter, voice barely being heard at the expanse of the balcony you’re in. It’s his balcony in his vacation house he barely stays in, overlooking the waves by the beach he isn’t even that fond of to begin with.

Yoongi and Haneul are already asleep, the father-son duo knocking out way ahead than everyone else. They stayed with the two of you in the balcony hours ago, the bug spray in both the adult and kid edition being proof of it.

Tonight, alone, felt different. It’s as if the younger version of you was gazing out to what was supposed to be your future, except neither the past nor present variant of you could have ever had it for yourself.

“Hm?” he hums, sipping the last of his drink while he’s sat at the far end. You know about each other’s presence, and while years ago, the two of you would’ve been giddy staying in a house as grand as this whilst drinking behind your mom’s back, you and Namjoon grew up. You didn’t fight or anything — you simply grew up and grew apart.

“I never said it before, but thank you,” you exhale, clenching Haneul’s towel as you try to warm your hands. You may have spent the better part of the day not even acknowledging his dad, but you did fawn over him like you would with any other child. “Thank you for not telling me a thing about Yoongi.”

“You’re welcome,” Namjoon finally speaks as soon as he grasps what you were talking about, the smile on his face only lasting for a second. “If it were up to me though, I would have told you everything.”

“Good thing it’s not up to you, hm?” you laugh uneasily, running your hand through your hair. You didn’t know how much you had to be grateful for until Yoongi came back and reminded you of how little you knew about him.

Namjoon breathlessly laughs, looking up at the sky to try and condense everything that has happened through his words before you leave again. “I would have told you that he confessed what happened that time you ran away from home a couple years back, and I beat his ass. We didn’t talk for like, I don’t know, three months? Even when I was still training in the US that time.”

Your lack of a reply is what makes him take notice, the stunned look you have on your face making him snort.

“What?” he questions, eyebrows furrowed as he throws a stray bottle cap at you. “Why are you so shocked? I love him like a brother, but you’re my actual sister,” he confides his loyalty to you, yet you don’t even have a second to express your awe before he opens his mouth again. “I would have told you that I became the best man at his wedding. Even mom was there.”

“You can stop telling me these things now.”

Namjoon exhales, already feeling deep in his chest that you’re gearing up to leave. He wants to get the last word in, not to prove himself, but to try and vindicate you and the quiet suffering you endured without telling anyone.

“I would have told you that Yoongi kept trying to come back to you.”

( ♡ )

Haneul wakes up before Yoongi does.

You’re confused for a second because the moment you hear the lightest footsteps that you ever could pad along the kitchen, you become completely disoriented. There’s a child that looks like Yoongi, wandering off to where you are.

For the briefest second, your heart drops because the whole situation resembles a vignette. In another lifetime, it could’ve been your child, your Haneul, waking up before his dad, trudging to the kitchen where you are is if you’re his mom.

He’s an observant kid, far too trusting unlike his dad who used to scold you to hell and back for even entertaining strangers that asked you for directions. He’s friendly to you; to someone Yoongi had introduced as appa’s close friend. There isn’t even a single hint in how he introduced you to Haneul that the two of you stopped being close. Yoongi didn’t leave the faintest indicator to him that you most probably hated his guts and would probably choose a lifetime where he hadn’t even been in your life at all.

Haneul is innocent to yours and Yoongi’s history and it’s going to stay that way. You don’t meant to change whatever he introduced you as because by the time your mom’s birthday week is over, or by the time Yoongi takes the hint and leaves your hometown again, you would be a fleeting persona in Haneul’s life.

You’re not his mom. You’re not anyone of significance to either him and his dad.

“Good morning,” he greets shyly, his diction telling of how just attentive Yoongi is as a dad. You mostly listened to whatever Namjoon told you last night anyway, tuning out the parts where he rounded to how Yoongi had been miserable not having any contact with you (you don’t believe that at all), and instead zeroing in on the large details that you’ve missed. “Auntie.”

You smile tightly, patting the empty seat beside to you to which he climbs effortlessly.

Haneul doesn’t know you, but you do know him. You know that his dad is a doting, slightly paranoid one whose current dilemma is whether or not enrolling him in kindergarten early or waiting for one more year. You know that Yoongi doesn’t want him to know about the existence of iPads for probably ever, so he spends almost every waking moment talking to him to the point that Haneul’s eloquent at speaking for his age. You also know that Namjoon’s his godfather, and that he had looked after him for a whole day by himself when Yoongi went to settle his divorce.

Haneul doesn’t know you, but you know his parents. You know Yoongi is his dad, and more importantly, that Hyewon is his mom — the same Hyewon who had been with him in your room before, and the same woman Yoongi shared his success with when he made it big.

“Hi,” you greet him softly, handing him his bottle for him to drink from. It’s a warm, domestic vignette for a split second. You’ve watched Yoongi far too many times at the corner of your eye to know where he gets the distilled water. “Why are you up already?”

“Uncle Joonie promised yesterday we can watch the sunrise together,” he says in between sips, letting you comb his hair into order unconsciously. You didn’t even think of it before your hand sweeps the strands scattered on his forehead, the hum you have at the back of your throat pausing when you realized what you’ve done.

“He’s still sleeping right now. He had uh, a long night,” you mutter, at a loss for a child-friendly alternative word for hangover. You keep your hands to yourself because you fear falling into the domesticity that isn’t yours to relax into; if you think about it for a second longer, you’d think that Haneul is yours and Yoongi is the final piece to your puzzle.

“Oh. But I, I wanna watch,” Haneul frowns, brows softly furrowed at your revelation. He’s not close to throwing a tantrum, but the upset expression on his face keeps tugging at your heart to cave.

“You can take your dad with you,” you offer, willing to knock on Yoongi’s door if it meant his son smiling again.

Haneul shakes his head at that, looking up at the ceiling as he recalls the events of last night before being tucked in. “Nuh-uh. Appa had a long night too. He just kept crying.”

A part of you wishes that Haneul didn’t speak so clearly.

“What?” you clarify, heart skipping a beat the more you replay his words in your head.

“Crying?” Haneul repeats, tilting his head as he tries to figure you out. He says it again for a third time as if you needed any clarification of the word and not because of your disbelief that his dad was capable of it. “Like this,” he adds, pretending to bawl with his hands wiping at his eyes.

The scene before you is your brief moment of reprieve, making you chuckle breathlessly as you try to regain your senses. Whether or not Haneul was sure of what he was saying, if Yoongi had cried, it’s most probably not because of anything that has to do with you.

“Oh. So that’s what it means. Thank you, Haneul,” you laugh lowly, patting him on the head until you retract your hand again in realization.

Haneul thinks nothing of your trepidation; he thinks nothing of the yearning behind your eyes, and thinks nothing of the tremble in your voice.

“Can we watch the sunrise together?” he asks, eyes looking up at you as if doing so would be the equivalent of hanging the stars up for him in the sky.

(Read: it probably is, and in another lifetime, or in the far-shot that it happens in this one, you’d do it if he asks you to do so.)

You want to ask Haneul why it’s you who he wants to accompany him, but you don’t. You can wake up either Yoongi and Namjoon to go with him instead, but you won’t.

In another lifetime, this would have been your son, your Haneul asking to watch the sunrise with you. There’s a Yoongi-shaped hole and a Haneul-shaped vacancy in your chest, but you don’t prod about it further.

You don’t question what’s happening, and maybe, just maybe, there’s a tiny part of you that wants to fully accept it instead of hesitating to do so.

“Okay.”

Haneul puts his hand in yours, but you don’t pull away. You just hold him tighter.

( ♡ )

A large part of you forgot that for as long as Yoongi’s here, he’ll treat every interaction you have with Namjoon as an open invitation for him. He had always been this way; for as long as you could remember, he’ll include himself even if he isn’t needed nor wanted.

You can’t count the amount of times your mom had berated Namjoon for something and oddly enough, Yoongi also happened to be there. Whether it was to rat out on his own best friend or being at the receiving end of said scolding, Yoongi jumped at every opportunity to come along as a package deal.

When you asked Namjoon to drink with you at the balcony two days ago, Yoongi butted in and asked what brand of alcohol he should buy you at the convenience store. When you were on the way home and asked your brother what he wanted from the rest stop, Yoongi said he wanted the biggest can of coffee you could find.

And when you asked Namjoon what time you should come to the stadium to watch him practice, Yoongi said he’ll pack you an extra cap while Haneul bonded with your mom.

Sometime long ago, you and Yoongi saw each other eye to eye. You can’t determine when and how exactly, but there was a point in your life where everything you had to say to each other was what the other was thinking all along. Nowadays, you can’t even look at Yoongi in the eye while all he wanted was for you to return his gaze.

If there’s just one thing though, one single variable that remained unchanged between the two of you, it would be Namjoon.

The way Yoongi engages you in conversation this time around is not to trap you and to ramp himself up to apologize again, but purely, it’s to talk about your brother. Namjoon’s a lot of things, and one thing you pray would remain unchanged is the love you have for each other.

“Who would have thought, right?” Yoongi nudges, asking you sincerely. “Who would have thought that the Namjoon who had knockoff cleats years ago would become this world-famous athlete?” he chuckles, shaking his head as he once again tries to digest the fact that this very stadium in your hometown had been built and refashioned in his honor.

You laugh genuinely, the sound being the first he’s ever heard in such a long time.

“Abibas.”

Yoongi has his lips parted, shocked that you were even answering him.

“Abibas. That was the brand of his knockoff cleats,” you chuckle, bowing your head as you try to contain your laughter. “He could’ve bought the original with his allowance and everything, but he split it so he could also buy me knockoffs.”

Yoongi laughs at the memory you jog up in his mind, remembering distinctly how Namjoon kept asking for his opinion repeatedly on which colorway of the knockoff pair he should gift you.

Even if things are still tense between you, even if Namjoon is the only salvation that Yoongi could bring up in a conversation to which you don’t run from, nothing from the past five years could ever take this moment away from you.

The three of you have grown up. Some faster than they’d like, and some because they had no choice but to — nonetheless, in this moment, it’s the three of you back at home like it used to be.

“Namjoon was always meant for greatness. Even from the start,” you murmur, your attention waiting on Yoongi’s response even if your eyes were on Namjoon in the field.

“You are too,” he interjects quickly, voice defensive at the lack of your name to your own sentence.

“No I’m not,” you snort, crossing your arms. You’re not angry when you say it; in fact, you’re calm as if you’ve always seen it coming. “You told me I’d amount to nothing.”

You’re calm, seemingly at peace with what you just said and what Yoongi had ingrained in your head before, but he’s the furthest thing from it. His mouth hangs open, chest tightening impossibly as he shakes his head eagerly.

“I never said that!”

You’re about to counter him when you hear a familiar holler reach you at the lower section of the bleachers, eyes perking to see a familiar figure who isn’t blood-related to you.

“Y/N!” Jimin runs up to you faster than to whenever he passes the ball to Namjoon, engulfing you in a massive hug that forces you up to your feet before you know it.

“Oh my god, Jimin! I didn’t know you were gonna be here!” you awe at the sight of him, unwilling to break away from the embrace until he does so. It’s been ages since you’ve seen him, the second-best player in the team (you’re biased because of course Namjoon had been the best player to you since you were kids) being the closest member to you out of everyone.

Jimin doesn’t care for Yoongi. He knows of the guy and he doesn’t want to know any more than he already does. He doesn’t even acknowledge the guy’s presence; all he does is squeeze you tighter and twirl you briefly in his arms.

“Fuck, me neither. Heaven must’ve healed my ankle quicker so I could come here and see you,” he flirts playfully, earning a well-deserved eye roll from you.

“And you know, play for Korea.”

“Eh. That too, I guess,” he shrugs, sitting at the seat beside you. He looks straight at you and only you — Jimin only pauses to snort to himself when he notices that Yoongi’s squirming in his seat, beyond annoyed and frustrated.

( ♡ )

On the fifth day of Yoongi staying over at your house, there’s a power outage.

The sound of everything shutting off together in sync makes you jolt, the collective groan you hear outside from the neighborhood comforting you in solidarity.

You can only make out a grunt from Namjoon and a gasp from your mom until you hear the trembling voice of Haneul, the sound of a cry that crawls up his throat putting everyone on their feet.

“Oh baby, it’s okay, it’s okay! It’s just a little dark, that’s all,” Yoongi pipes up instantly, scooping him up in his arms without having to fumble for where he is because he could practically locate his son in his sleep.

You didn’t want for it to be a power outage, but oddly enough, you feel sorry that it happened while you’re here. “It’s okay, Haneul,” you whisper as consolation, the dark of the night shielding you from how Yoongi’s eyes widen at your cooing for his son. “Mom, where did you put that generator I got you?”

“About that,” she sheepishly shrugs, turning on her phone to illuminate her shyness. “I donated it last year to the public school nearby.”

“It’s gonna get so hot,” Namjoon groans, the sound of him clumsily feeling around for the lights alerting Haneul briefly. He comforts him instantly, finally turning on the torch in his phone instead of relying on his instincts. “Don’t cry, Haneul, alright? Uncle Joonie’s gonna get the candles and the flashlights.”

“I’ll go try to find a guy,” you get up as soon as Namjoon hands you a flashlight, your contribution to help instantly being shut down.

“You can’t just try to find a guy, Y/N. That’s dangerous,” Yoongi scoffs, putting a hand on your forearm to pull you.

“I meant on my phone, Yoongi,” you grit. “I was gonna go outside to try and look for a signal.”

“That’s still dangerous,” he narrows his eyes at you as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

“Give me a break,” you mutter, removing his hold from you. You’d save your pride and actually go outside if not for your mom interjecting that she knows an electrician from her contacts.

Namjoon comes back after his quest for battery-powered fans and flashlights, unaware of how Yoongi’s protective streak for you practically never disappeared; in fact, it came back twofold. “Whole neighborhood’s out. Must be a broken transformer or something.”

Your mom consoles Haneul in her arms.

Namjoon waits by the gate for the electrician.

You and Yoongi clean the fridge up before anything spoils.

In between getting food out and embracing Haneul every now and then who insisted on obediently sitting atop the counter so he’s closer to his dad, Yoongi holds your hand.

“That’s my hand that you’re holding,” you murmur, assuming that he had mistaken yours for Haneul’s as he’s always chuckled how yours always seemed to be small against his.

Yoongi only hums.

“I know.”

( ♡ )

You’re falling back into your old routine.

Maybe it’s how your mom has to shake you awake because otherwise, you’d sleep through the afternoon and would therefore be unable to sleep through the night. On the other hand, it could be Namjoon who either hounds you to hang out with him or tell you off for clinging to him too much.

Maybe, it’s just Yoongi. It’s him who’s tricking your brain into thinking that has nothing changed with the way he keeps peeling fruits for you and telling you to be safe even if you’re only buying ice cream from the convenience store.

It’s only been a week and a half of almost normalcy, save for the fact that there are certain things and connections you can neither reverse nor rekindle.

You’re convinced, almost fully convinced that history is repeating itself except for the bitter, ugly parts of it that you never want to pop in your head again.

Like the past, Namjoon blocks you for whatever reason in his head but this time he does it to you while you’re on the way to your room, on the quest to retrieve your charger for your phone that you barely even used for work purposes.

“It’s my room. Why can’t I go in my room?” you furrow your brows at him, your amusement turning into annoyance the more that Namjoon pushed you with actual strength instead of playfulness.

“Are you hungry? Let’s go out for dinner,” he changes the subject quickly, turning you towards the stairs.

You shouldn’t have questioned him further — you should’ve left it at that.

“I guess? I’ll just get my purse,” you concede, dodging his attempts to haul you downstairs.

“I’ll pay,” Namjoon insists and although it’s not out of the blue for him, his franticness is what keeps you on edge.

“I still need my-…” you counter, being interrupted when he holds you firmly as you attempt to walk towards your door. Namjoon grips you with a silent plead, one that you can’t even decipher. “What the fuck is going on with you?”

You finally break off his grip at once, walking into your room with a renowned determination.

It’s not only your routine that falls back into place, but it’s your whole worldview that does.

Love is terribly human. It’s a loose thread on your shirt that gets snagged on your doorknob. It’s a coat in your closet waiting to be worn for the supposed perfect time, and when you do, you realize that it no longer fits you.

Love is terribly human, and it is terribly Yoongi, Hyewon, and Haneul.

Love is terribly human and fragile, and it’s Yoongi, Hyewon, and their son sleeping on your bed.

[mintmatcha]

tw: implied abuse, no curses au

"Can I ask a question?" Yuuji digs his heel into the wood chips as he swings, digging a growing trench behind him. "You don't have to answer."

Ash falls from the end of Choso's cigarette. He leans against the anchor of the swing set, cheek against cold metal, and sighs. Twilight has passed and the streetlights have turned on, giving the playground a hazy, barely lit glow. Yuuji's guardian will start calling soon, but Choso decides the extra time together is worth the future ire.

"I already told you that I'm not giving you a tattoo."

"Aw, damn-" Yuuji clicks his tongue against his teeth. Ever since they met, he's been dying for a tattoo of his own, throwing out wild new ideas almost every day. One day, when he's eighteen and likes an idea for more than a month, Choso will bring him to his studio and comply.

But, not yet.

"That wasn't my question though," Yuuji says.

"Then go for it."

The younger boy takes a deep breath, then lets it out even slower, pulling the tension longer and longer until it snaps.

"Why weren't you... around? Like, when I was a kid and stuff."

Choso takes his own breath.

"Your mom-- our mom." The taste of that sits bitter on his tongue. He never called her mom, even back then. "She was different for me."

And for our other brothers, he adds silently. Yuuji doesn't need to carry that weight yet, the knowledge that he was the exception to it all.

"Why?" Yuuji pumps his legs a little softer, the back and forth motion of the swing slowly dying out.

"I dunno." Choso wishes he had the answer to that. "She was sixteen, did bad things. Don't worry about it."

Finding out about Yuuji wasn't a shock, somehow. Years after Ken had surrendered her children to the state, Choso had received noticed that she had died. The news felt overdue. No tears were shed, no love lost; the group chat of siblings had all agreed not to go to any service, but the day of, Choso had changed his mind.

He had put on his nicest outfit -some thrift store pants that didn't fit and a shirt he stole from foster dad three- and went expecting to be the only one there, the only one willing to say goodbye.

Choso hadn't known about her new family. They hadn't known about him either. It was typical of Ken to leave a mess in her wake.

Turns out, through a series of lucky breaks, the woman had clawed her way out of poverty and into the arms of a rich, but nice man. Her life was easy and sweet, filled with luxuries and love, including a son ten years younger than her eldest.

No one knows why Yuuji was different than the others, why she decided to be good to him and no one else. Mental illness is strange like that, picking and choosing how it pleases.

Yuuji huffs, gripping the metal chains tighter. "But-"

"Yuuji." Choso drops his cigarette and crushes it under his boot. Then, he thinks about the child that will play there tomorrow, shoveling wood chips into their mouths like idiots, and decides to pick it up. He jams it into his pocket. "You have good memories of her. Don't ruin that."

He used to resent how much Yuuji loved her. He was eight when she died, the same age Choso was when he first had to dial 911 for her. That anger had long faded, replaced with a strange amount of pity.

"But I want to know. What she did and stuff." Yuuji's voice jumps high with emotion. "I'm basically an adult, I can handle it."

"You're sixteen."

"Well, mom was doing this stuff at sixteen, so-" Yuuji is seething suddenly, brow furrowed and teeth grit.

"So?"

"So, she was old enough to be doing bad things and I'm not old enough to know about it?" He stands and the swing clatters behind him. He's stocky, yet tall, bunched with muscles that he's built from baseball. On one side of his cheek, there's a bit of chocolate stuck there, a remnant from the ice cream Choso bought him. Below it, there's a rosy hickey on his neck, a remnant of the boyfriend he hasn't told Nanami about yet. He thinks they're having sex, maybe, but doesn't know how to broach the topic without scaring his brother into never talking about it again.

"And you had tattoos at my age, by the way!"

Choso lets him stew in it, huffing and puffing. The blown out edges of first tattoo peek from under his sleeve, the image barely legible now. An older woman gave it to him at fifteen, in the basement of her house. It became so insanely infected that he ended up in the ER a couple days later.

"I'm not a kid. I can handle it." Yuuji states, calm and clear. "I'm not a kid."

A car passes, it's headlights stretching and pulling the shadows across the park. In the changes, Choso can see his mother in his brother, those soft eyes and thin lips and the same slightly crooked nose that Choso has himself. He thinks, maybe, if time was kinder and his father was better, they'd look more alike each other, but then the moment is gone and they no longer even look like siblings.

"Okay."

Yuuji untenses a bit. "Okay?"

"Okay."

"Like, okay, this conversation is done, or okay, I'll tell you?"

"I'll tell you," Choso says, jamming his hands in his pocket. The cigarette butt is there, mushed and still warm against his knuckles. "But not tonight."

"What?!"

"Next time, I promise."

Choso doesn't understand why Yuuji insists on rushing away from innocence, but he knows that he can't stop him. Yuuji will find out about the abuse, the neglect, the other brothers, and the other horrors in some way or another and then things will never be the same.

"Stay a kid just a little longer." Choso resists the urge to ruffle his hair. "For me?"

"Yeah, sure," Yuuji sighs. "One more day."