#What to do if it Clearly Isn’t Food

[euphoricfilter]

Helping Hands || Min Yoongi

Pairing: Caretaker! Yoongi x Kindergarten teacher! Reader

Genre: Fluff || Smut || Strangers to lovers || Non-idol AU

Summary: Yoongi always had a knack for fixing things, and with producing getting him nowhere, he ends up working for the school his long-time friend Seokjin, teaches at. With his new job, he meets you, and although your first encounter hadn’t been the best; at least not in Yoongi’s eyes, he could have never guessed how your relationship would bloom. And Yoongi gets to show you his hands can do more than fix your faulty heating.

Word Count: 13.3k

Tags/ Warnings: fluffy, smut in the forms of: oral (f. receiving), fingering, penetrative sex, protected sex (because that’s cool), they hold hands while they fuck, boobie play, squirting, boyfriends taekook, namjoon is a bit of an ick.

Notes: this idea was derived from a tiktok, but the original creator has deleted the video :’( but the idea of someone having a crush on you and helping fix up your classroom was too endearing to pass! when i thought about writing this i didn’t think it would be very long, and i thought how on earth am i meant to write a decent story from this vague-ish concept but here we are 13k words of two people falling in love. considering i’ve never had a s/o i don’t think i did too bad… but maybe this is just what i want from someone i like even if the idea of becoming a teacher makes me want to hurl. if there's mistakes, no there isn't.

edit: the tiktok that inspired this fic! thank you @devilonmyshouder for finding it! my savior 🥲

<3 <3 <3

“Have you asked for her number yet?”

“What?” Yoongi releases a long sigh, head turning so his eyes can meet Seokjin’s, who had a sly smile pasted on his annoyingly handsome face. And it’s at times like these where Yoongi wonders why he still puts up with Jin’s bullshit.

“The kindergarten teacher you’ve been staring at since we sat down” Jin points out, watching you as you laugh with a few of your co-workers on the other side of the cafeteria; in perfect eyeshot from where Yoongi sits.

“No? Why would I do that?” said man asks, stabbing a piece of meat with more force than it deserved. Yoongi has to will himself to not let his eyes wander back in your direction; like hell would he give Seokjin what he wanted. Yoongi doubted he had enough patience stored up to deal with the impending teasing that his long-time friend would surely thrust upon him if he were to prove his point correct. Plus, he was nothing more than being a little intrigued by you.

“Because you clearly like her” Jin tuts.

“Do not”

“Do too. You can’t deny your little crush. I’ve seen the way you look at her” Jin exasperates, flinging his arms above his head dramatically, catching the attention of a few other teaching staff scattered across the growingly scarce cafeteria.

Yoongi cringes, eyes squinting in distaste at his friend’s flamboyant antics that seemed to always garner the eyes of everyone around him. But Yoongi supposes with Jin’s face, it shouldn’t come as a surprise the attention always seemed to be on him, even if he was acting somewhat civilised. Yoongi had never thought of Jin as more than a friend, even if he did swing both ways; but, he could see why Jin’s face had such an appeal, even Aphrodite would have a run for her money if Jin were to rock up in those times, stealing the attention all for himself with his aggravatingly perfect face.

“It’s not a crush. This isn’t high school Hyung” Yoongi grunts, shoving his lunchbox back into his bag. Uncaring as he squashes a banana, already a little too overripe for his liking anyways.

You’d have to pay him millions before he dared touch the cafeteria food, in no way, shape or form would he risk growing a third arm from the slop they served. It’s offensive they had the gall to call it food, let alone serve it to the poor children. And he swears he saw one of the chefs spit in the pasta once, he doesn’t care if it adds flavour.

Now, Yoongi didn’t like children. Not in the slightest.

Thought they were disgusting, foul little creatures that had no sense of personal hygiene or self-awareness. With their sticky hands and voices that carried across miles, everything about children made Yoongi recoil.

And that may leave you wondering why on earth is Yoongi working in a school?

Money. That’s the simple answer.

Yoongi had a knack for fixing things, he’s good with his hands (interpret that how you will). And he really needed the money. His little ‘side hustle’ of producing only made him so much money, and as inflation increased, so did Yoongi’s bills, and slowly he had started finding it a little harder to pay bills and food for not only him but Holly; his cute little dog that he refused to believe wasn’t a puppy any longer. Jin had argued that Yoongi spoiled his dog, buying premium food and overpriced treats, but Holly only deserved the best.

Therefore, the job had to change and not his dog’s nutrition.

So, when the same Seokjin who complained about his pampered pup, had told him about the open position in the school he worked at, Yoongi was sceptical to say the least. He’d dropped out of college after a semester, taking on shoddy part-time jobs to pay for his producing equipment and clearly that had only brought him so far. So he couldn’t see any good reason to waltz back into a school.

Not only that, the thought of having to share space with tiny terrors for hours a day, 5 out of 7 days a week, the offer didn’t seem all that worth it. Until he saw the salary.

Not only was he now making 10 times more than he had been, basically teachers wages (still not enough but better than nothing), he got his own little office in the far end of campus, so he wouldn’t have to interact with any sticky babies and loud-mouthed teens unless absolutely necessary.

With his shiny new office, secluded from the crowd of teachers that gathered at lunch, Yoongi had zero intentions of sitting in the crusty cafeteria; even if his Jin Hyung had begged him for the first two weeks of his new job, to come and sit with him and his other teacher friends. He’d never enjoyed everyone gathering in one place to eat, crowds of people sounding more like squawking birds than hushed chatter that always ended up in arguments.

That was until Yoongi had met you. And suddenly the cafeteria seemed like the only place he wanted to be.

Pretty you who looked like a goddess among humans. Even with the splodges of paint staining your dress, and snotty babies clinging to you like nothing Yoongi had ever seen.

Yoongi had only been working at the school for a month, the start of the school year rolling by quicker than he had initially anticipated. And before he knew it, two weeks had passed by; and that second week on the jobs was when he had first ‘met’ you.

‘Met’ was generous. It was more a brief encounter where Yoongi couldn’t get the words off his tongue quick enough and had been left dumbstruck. Worried he had scared you off with how rude he must have been. You’d strutted out of your classroom, a model among the little children waddling behind you like little ducklings would their mother, hot on your tail as you led them to the bathrooms.

Yoongi had been fixing one of the fan units in the hallway, and you’d politely smiled up at him, making sure none of the children would knock the ladder Yoongi had been stood on, worried their little bodies would bulldoze into the wonky frame and Yoongi would be sent flying. And although that would make a memorable first impression, Yoongi didn’t want to be rushed to hospital with a concussion and his pride bruised.

‘Good morning’

Two simple words and Yoongi felt as if his heart would implode; he felt silly, coughing, and then only managing a curt nod as a reply, words sticky on his tongue like taffy. Clogging his throat as he holds his breath momentarily.

You see, Yoongi was prone to worrying, anxiety always laying under his skin like an itch that he could never get rid of, irritating but part of his life whether he liked it or not. And that night he’d laid awake, worried he hadn’t made a good first impression, scaring you away when he hadn’t even gotten the chance to learn your name.

And sure, he could have asked Jin, but that man had enough blackmail material already; he didn’t need to know about Yoongi’s budding interest in the pretty kindergarten teacher. If he hadn’t embarrassed himself enough then Seokjin surely would.

To Yoongi’s surprise you hadn’t seemed too offended by his reply, or lack thereof, as a week later you’d greeted him during lunch; even going as far to hold the door open for him as he languidly wandered into the cafeteria, in search of Seokjin.

This time Yoongi felt a little more prepared, muttering a short ‘thanks’, small smile stretching onto his lips as he points it in your direction. He doesn’t wait for your reply, legs already pulling him out of what could be another embarrassing encounter, a little disheartened that the day he finally decided to eat with the rest of the staff (secretly hoping to see you), your encounter had been so brief.

Yoongi’s easy smile however, remained throughout the course of lunch, heart fluttering like little butterfly wings locked in the cage of his chest; and if Seokjin noticed his friend’s flushed cheeks he chose not to say anything.

The caretaker thought he was sly with his little crush, never mentioning you to Jin, only stealing short glimpses of you from across the cafeteria, that short half an hour a day enough to recharge his motivation to continue this job. And he has the gall to be surprised when Seokjin finally decides to bring it up.

“Might want to hurry up, Jungkookie might beat you to it” Jin calls out, and if Yoongi hadn’t seen a few kids running around the area, he would have flipped off the elder. But Yoongi does nothing more than wave him off, and he may have been worried if he didn’t know Jungkook was already seeing someone.

That someone being Kim Taehyung, the high school art teacher, who occasionally sat at their table at lunch. Most of his time hauled up in the art rooms where students were welcome to work during the lunch hour.

Yoongi wasn’t one to stereotype but Kim Taehyung was the very definition of eccentric art teacher. Style a little unusual, paintings so abstract Yoongi felt like he was on acid while trying to decipher the meaning.

He had seen how Jungkook looked at Taehyung, the little galaxies that shone in his eyes when he looked at his love, where each star represented one thing that Jungkook adored about his boyfriend, his gentle gaze enough to show the absolute adoration they held for one another.

Yoongi had complained, telling them to get a room on more than one occasion when they’d decided to lick into each other’s mouths during afterschool dinners. But truly he was happy they had something so precious, a love like a warm hug, infinite trust between the two of them; something that Yoongi secretly yearned for.

More often than not Yoongi felt a little misunderstood. He never meant to come off as cold or disinterested, he liked the silent company of a person as much as he enjoyed his time alone, you didn’t have to always be talking; silent comfort of another person enough for him.

Yoongi didn’t want to come off as rude, he just didn’t know what to say sometimes, happier to prove his love with acts of service than empty words that even he doesn’t know the meaning of. He doesn’t want to come off as unapproachable, but when you’re tired from work and lacking the energy to act like a ray of sunshine, much like the physical education teacher, Hoseok, Yoongi could only wallow in his own self-pity some nights. Wondering why only a select few seemed to enjoy his company, or why so many romantic relationships have been washed down the drain.

As the first semester of school progressed, the weather had started to get colder, autumn slinking by before anyone could comprehend the unusually warm summer.

Kids starting to layer uniform, and teachers turning to the heaters to defrost their fingers as they arrive early, grass still dewy with air that nips at your skin like little needles.

Yoongi jolts up from his seat at the gentle knock of his office door, his feet flying off the desk from where he’d been resting them; worried that it was his boss coming for his usual weekly check-up.

However, Yoongi was pleasantly surprised to find you stood in his doorway; soft-looking sweater cocooning you in its warmth, nose tinted red from the frosty morning air, tips of your fingers barely peeking out from where you try to warm them up from the confines of your sleeves. And it takes all Yoongi’s will, not to tell you he had more ways than one he would love to heat you up (though he supposes he should take you out on a date before that).

Yoongi thinks you must have been sent from the sky, pretty, even in the dim morning sunlight, kissing your skin like Yoongi would if you would let him.

“Good morning” you smile, nose twitching at the strong scent of coffee that permeates the air of Yoongi’s office.

“Morning. Can I help you?” Yoongi asks, leg bouncing up and down anxiously. He has no time to curse himself for how blunt he must have come off, tone anything but inviting, before you’re opening your mouth to answer him.

“Yes actually. The heater in my classroom isn’t working”

Yoongi nods, pushing himself from his seat, ignoring the piping hot coffee he was moments away from drinking as he picks up his little toolbox that sat beside his desk.

“Lead the way” he motions out of the room, not daring to make eye-contact with you; worried he were to drown in the depths of your eyes, calling him in like a siren would with song.

He watches your back as you walk him to your classroom, fingers itching to hold your hands, help you warm them up as the stupid heater in your classroom couldn’t do its job properly.

Yoongi didn’t exactly know what he expected your classroom to look like, never working up the courage to peek inside and take a look into such a large part of your life.

The flurry of colours was expected, paintings from what he assumes to be your classes over the years hung on the wall, with paints and pens stacked on short shelving by each wall of the room.

Your desk sits at the front of the room, little trinkets lining the edges, papers covering the surface like a blanket. And Yoongi has to stop the smile from pulling at his face from how disordered you are; just like him. And he can somewhat appreciate the beauty in the mess of your classroom, it showed it was loved, enjoyed by more than just the small group of children that spent nearly every hour in here every day, loved by you who clearly spent time lining the walls with letters and drawings all addressed to you, carefully printed and cut letters of the alphabet climbing the walls like vines and fairy lights hung like tree snakes lounging on a branch.

“This one over here” you point to the heaters under the window, and Yoongi cringes at the cool air that caresses his cheeks as he stalks the length of your classroom. Nipping his cheeks like little jaws trying to pull apart his skin.

As he kneels down, pulling his glasses from the front pocket of his hoodie, he takes a closer look at the pipes connected to the main framing of the heater. Yoongi tries not to pay attention to you as you shuffle through the mountain of papers on your desk, he tries not to focus on the way you bite your lip; the little devil that rest on his shoulder whispering for him to just kiss you.

Yoongi distracts himself with your heater, fingers a little shakier than usual as you wander around the room, picking up pots of paints off the shelves, brushes stored in separate drawers and laying them all on the little tables, perfect for the little toddlers you taught. Chairs so small they must have been the first bear’s that goldilocks had thought were too uncomfortable to sit on, they sure looked it; no amount of colour enough to mask the hard plastic they were made of.

Yoongi frowns when he finds the problem with your heater, somehow a bolt had gotten loose; he can only assume one of the children had fiddled with it. Little fingers always having to play with something, another thing he hated about kids. If it’s not meant to be touched, then don’t touch it.

He pulls a spanner out of his toolbox, fingers skimming over a screwdriver. He looks over at shelving unit by the heater, screws glimmering in the slowly growing sunlight that climbs its way over the top of the neighbouring school building.

And that same little devil on his shoulder whispers something a little naughty, something Yoongi knows he shouldn’t do. And maybe Yoongi was a little bit of a hypocrite, after just saying kids shouldn’t touch everything, but the screws looked so shiny, so inviting, a little accident that means he may get an extra half hour with you.

He peers over at you, sat at your desk, typing something on your laptop. And decides that what’s the worst that could happen? He quickly tightens the loose bolt to your faulty heater, turning the knob on the side just in case before he scoots his way over to the shelf that had been holding the paints you now had on the table.

He licks his lips, sucking in a sharp breath before he unscrews a few nails. Silently praying the shelf can hold up until he leaves the room.

You stay none the wiser, typing away on some blank document from what Yoongi can make out. He tucks his glasses back into the front pocket of his hoodie, dusting off the imaginary dust that clung to the knees of his jeans before he’s clearing his throat to catch your attention. You startle, eyes wide when they meet Yoongi’s, who thinks you look a little like a puppy caught doing something they were told not to.

He stifles his laugh, coving it with a cough, “Your heater should be working, I turned it up a little so the room should heat up quicker” he explains, motioning towards the offending object. Your shelves staring at him, and Yoongi worries you can see the guilt swimming in his eyes.

You nod, pushing yourself from your seat, you bow a little in thanks, “You’re the best” you grin, and Yoongi can feel his heartrate pick up; cheeks dusted in rosy red.

You were so pretty.

+ + +

Yoongi waits all day, ears perking up when footsteps echo down his end of the hall throughout the rest of work. Begrudgingly helping a few other teachers that seemed to have had heating problems in their classrooms too; a common theme it seems.

Or, the occasional pitter patter of kids running down the hallway like a heard of wild animals during breaktimes, or teens sneaking off to the bathrooms where they liked to make out, or a few other things if their dishevelled uniform meant anything as Yoongi wandered around for his afternoon walk.

He tries to spot you at lunch, his mood only souring when you never walk into the cafeteria, your melodic laughter not gracing the usual grating sound of stressed teaching staff, that all seemed to have a passion for complaining about their jobs.

Jin had tried to cheer him up, offering to share his homemade lunch just to get even a hint of a smile out of Yoongi, and usually the caretaker would love to bless his tastebuds with actual decent food; but it seemed nothing, but your pretty smile would suffice to sate his grumpy mood.

The minutes before the home-time bell slowly creep up on Yoongi, and on most days he would be ecstatic that he could finally escape this hellhole. He never understood why teachers would willingly return to the place that is designed to fuck over students; especially when the pay isn’t all that great. And most of them seemed to despise their jobs anyways.

Even after the bell rings, startling Yoongi from his own little reverie, he remains sat at his desk; a little quiver of hope still left inside of him that you would be stood in the doorway of his office once more.

He thinks it must be a daydream when you show up, unable to properly comprehend that you were once again stood before him. That would be the second time in one day.

He isn’t at all surprised when you give him a sheepish smile, “Do you have any spare screws? It seems my shelving has broken”

And a small flame of guilt licks at Yoongi’s heart and mind, but the pretty smile that stretches onto your lips when Yoongi only lets out a little laugh, picking up his little toolbox, is enough to expel any of his worries.

He once again gets to stare at your back as you walk back towards your classroom, pretty sweater still veiling your body; and Yoongi licks his lips at what you could be hiding underneath the layers you wear.

A blink of an image flashing behind his eyes of you sprawled across the sheets of his bed, his head tucked in-between your thighs. He knew he’d get addicted to your taste, surely with such a sweet voice, all of you must be just the same. Your arousal thick like nectar on his tongue as he pushes you over the edge to your own pleasure.

“Mr. Min?” you wave a hand in-front of his face.

Yoongi blinks, “Sorry?” he coughs, heat creeping up his neck, pinching the tips of his ears.

You point towards the mess of your bookshelf, paint pots and art supplies scattered across the floor from where the shelf had caved in on itself. A mound of mess that you would now have to tackle once Yoongi acts as your saviour; a dark knight that had secretly put you in this messy situation.

“I was putting the paint pots away when it sorta of just… collapsed”

Yoongi lets out a grunt of understanding, that same guilt from earlier tickling up his spine as he looks over the huge mess you’ll have to clear up once he fixes your shelving. He shouldn’t have taken those few screws that morning and should have just worked up the courage to ask you out instead of making your day harder. But he supposes what is done is done and now he must fix his selfish doings.

You remain sat at your desk, finger scrolling through your phone as Yoongi rummages through his little box of screws.

His fingers dip into the pocket of his jeans, shiny steel nails pricking the tips of his fingers.

“Do you need any help?” You startle the caretaker, worried smile on your face as Yoongi picks up a few of the fallen shelves.

“No, it’s alright” he waves you off.

“Would you like something to drink then?” you ask.

“Black coffee is fine, thanks” he shoots you a quick smile, gums on show.

Yoongi doesn’t notice the bristly heat that burns the soft skin of your cheeks as you wander towards a cabinet in the back of your classroom. Rummaging for the granulated coffee that a few of your co-workers stored by your kettle. Not your first beverage of choice but a few of your friends took advantage of your little drink station.

As the kettle boils your water, Yoongi can see you intently watching him from the corner of his eye; and he feels his palms get clammy from your attention set so closely on him. He would have compared your eyes to those of a hawk if you hadn’t been so utterly soft; tempting Yoongi to wrap you up in his pocket and dote on you.

“How did you get so good at this?” you wonder aloud, awe evident on your face as Yoongi easily slides a shelf back into place.

Yoongi pauses, “Honestly I’m not sure. Guess I’m just good with my hands”

Your tongue peeks out to wet your lips at that; body jumping when the little click of the kettle finishing boiling. You whip back around to finish Yoongi’s drink, said man finding it hard to stop a little smirk from tugging at his lips at your flushed cheeks, pretty even painted in red.  

You place a rounded pink mug on the windowsill by where Yoongi is working, and he mutters a quick thanks before he’s focusing back on holding the panel of wood back into the right place, silver nail balanced between his lips.

“I never got your name” Yoongi says when you take a seat at one of the student’s tables, warm mug of hot chocolate heating your cold hands up.

“Y/n” you tell him, “And you are?” you ask, only knowing of him by his surname.

“Yoongi” he tells you, pushing himself up with the help of your now sturdy shelf.

You push yourself up from the desk, placing your cup of drink down before you start picking up the scattered art supplies. Yoongi follows, tucking his screwdriver into the back pocket of his jeans as he picks up the paint pots that brought him back into your room. The vibrant colours glaring at him; a reminder of his sins.

“You don’t have to, Yoongi” you tell him, but said handyman ignores you; brain replaying how nice his name sounded when it came from your lips, dipped in sweet honey, addictive in the way that makes Yoongi want to beg you to say it one more time. Something about your voice enchanting, pulling him closer like a snake charmer does a snake with its pipe.

Instead, he brushes you off, “I’ve stayed this late, what more is a few minutes?”

Your nose scrunches at that, “Sorry about that”

+ + +

“Have you asked for her number yet?” Seokjin asks.

“What?” Yoongi feels a sense of déjà vu as he sits in the corner of the cafeteria, you sat at another table with a few other teachers. Though today you seem more focused on your lunch than any of the baseless chatter the others on your table seem to be immersed in.

“You stayed after school with her, had dinner together after that and you still haven’t asked for her number?” Jin gawks.

“No?”

“Min Yoongi” Jungkook shakes his head, “Ask the poor woman on a date or something”

“What if she was just being polite?” he asks the youngest, chewing at the skin of his bottom lip.

“She must be interested; she went out for dinner with you after you’d fucked up her shelves”

Yoongi’s head snaps in your direction, worried you'd somehow heard Jungkook, “She doesn’t know that, keep it down”

Jungkook snickers, “Seriously, ask her out. Otherwise, someone else might” he nods in the direction of your table, a stupidly handsome male laying his hands on your shoulders. Green jealousy bubbling inside of Yoongi as he just watches.

You turn to look up at him with a smile, grateful as he places a bag on the table in-front of you.

Yoongi narrows his eyes, “Who the fuck is he?” he tuts.

“Kim Namjoon, works in the high school”

“Cute dimples” Taehyung pulls out a spare chair beside Jungkook, leaning over to lay a wet kiss on his boyfriend’s cheek.

Yoongi grunts dramatically pushing himself from his seat. His hands slam onto the table, “You guys are going out tonight, right?” he turns towards Jin who only nods, confusion evident on his face.

Yoongi storms over towards the table you’re sat at, and as he draws closer, he can only wonder where this burst of confidence came from; ignition slowly burning to nothing but warm embers as he pushes one foot in-front of the other. But when he makes eye contact with slimy looking Namjoon, a cursed smile being shone his way Yoongi’s anxiety seems to be the least of his worries.

“Y/n” he calls you, endeared by your wide eyes that flit to meet his own, happiness enveloping your eyes as you look up at him.

“Yes?” you stand when Yoongi makes it to your side, still having to stare up at him from beneath the veil of your eyelashes, ones that Yoongi finds very pretty.

“We’re going out for dinner tonight” he throws a thumb over his shoulder towards his table of friends, Taehyung waves, boxy smile an attempt to placate your worries, “And I was wondering if you wanted to… wanted to come with us?”

Yoongi knows you must be able to see the unease that swims in his eyes, and he worries that maybe he looks a little desperate, stalking towards your table unannounced; but with your small group of co-workers all staring at him like he’d grown a second head, he’s seconds away from scuttling out the cafeteria.

“That would be lovely, Yoongi” you smile.

“I’ll meet you at the gate after school?” he asks, eyes brightening in hope. You nod and Yoongi has to bite his lip to stop the huge smile that threatens to pull at his cheeks.

+ + +

“I swear he isn’t always like this” Yoongi shakes his head, turning his attention to look at you.

“I think it’s amusing” you turn towards your new friend, wincing when Seokjin, who had previously been dancing on a chair, falls onto a table. Both your eyes snap towards the eldest of the group, trying to gauge if he was okay or needed immediate medical attention.

Yoongi supposes the alcohol coursing through Seokjin’s veins was enough to help him stagger to his feet like he hadn’t just body slammed into a table, and Jungkook has to wave off a worried bar tender who had already pulled his phone from his pocket, moments away from calling for an ambulance.

Taehyung scans Jin’s body, trying to figure out if he had a concussion or not. And Jungkook tries to ask his hyung if he remembers who he is.

“This isn’t what I imagined dinner to be” you turn back to Yoongi who elegantly brings his glass of whisky to his lips, somehow looking like royalty in such a grimy bar, tucked away in an alleyway.

He hums, letting his taste buds soak in the refined flavour of the liquor before he answers you, “Me neither. Usually, we go to that shitty Italian place down the street”

“I like it there!” you exasperate, “Their dessert is really good”

“I don’t like dessert”

“What?” you breathe, “You devil, how could you not like dessert?”

Yoongi snorts, a little unattractive on his part but he couldn’t help himself, “Why stuff yourself more when you’ve just had a meal?” (Maybe you liked to be stuffed, but you thought it was a bit too soon for that conversation)

“Because you always have a second stomach for dessert” you tell him instead, “Honestly I got that vibe from you”

“What vibe?”

“Dessert hating vibes, I knew the moment you told me you liked black coffee, with no milk, no sugar that you were a dessert hater” you explain, dramatic shake to your head.

“I’m not a dessert hater, doll. I just have priorities”

“Really bad ones. I refuse to accept any dessert slander”

Yoongi opens his mouth, eyes widening a little in shock when you place a finger over his lips, “Uh uh” you shake your head.

Yoongi laughs at that, tongue poking out from between his lips to lick your finger. You recoil, nose scrunching at Yoongi who only laughs. (He had always preferred his own fingers in other people’s mouths, never really enjoying them in his own).

“Okay, lovers, we’re going home” Jungkook pushes between yours and Yoongi’s seats, “Jin’s about to pass out and I’m moments away from leaving him on the streets”

Both you and Yoongi turn to look over at Taehyung who holds up a very wobbly Seokjin, and you nod in understanding. But Yoongi feels his heart sink at the thought of having to go home already, he had started to enjoy your company, slowly peeling back each layer of your very being.

“I’ll walk you home” Yoongi places a hand on your shoulder when the five of you make it out of the bar. You nod, giving Jungkook a quick hug before he helps Taehyung lug their friend home.

You and Yoongi walk in silence, nothing uncomfortable; just the two of you basking in the company of one another.

Yoongi startles a little when you take a sudden hold of his wrist, “Yoongi, let’s go there” you pull him towards the familiar, drab Italian restaurant that he’s spent way too many weekends drinking in.

The lights at the front blink, bare wires hanging on for dear life to keep the neon lights hung about the windows of the restaurant. The fluorescent light momentarily blind the both of you as you wander inside.

Yoongi makes no fuss as you pull him into a booth by the window, encouraging you even, by handing you a menu. You flip it open, “My treat” you say, ignoring Yoongi as he opens his mouth to argue.

“You can treat me, next time”

Next time.

You wanted to see Yoongi again. Maybe it was the alcohol coursing through him, making him that little more delusional that you could feel the same about him as he does you.

“Fine” he drawls, motioning for a waiter to come to the table when you drop the menu with a little smile.

<3

“Did you really have to order only dessert?”

“I got you black coffee as well” you argue, “if you don’t like them, then I’ll eat it”

Yoongi tuts, watching as the waiter brings over your tray of treats. More sugar than the mad hatter had at his tea party balanced on one rusting metal tray.

You wiggle happily in your seat, and Yoongi turns his head to look out the window, coving the blush that coats the skin of his cheeks in dusty red; and Yoongi wonders if this is what falling in love feels like, a new addiction worming its way into his heart. And Yoongi worries he won’t be able to stop himself, fingers itching to feel this again even if it’s only one more time.

“I got you tiramisu, because it tastes like coffee” you push the small plate towards him, eyes wide with wonder as Yoongi take a fork from one of the napkins, everything he does fascinating you as he holds himself with the grace and dignity a lot of people aspire for.

He awkwardly takes a forkful of cake, worried you were scrutinizing him for not eating this right. What if he hated it? And you got offended? What if you were turned off because he didn’t like the same foods as you? Is it a red flag to not like sweet things? God, Yoongi would shovel this cake into his mouth if it meant you’d give him a smile.  

Yoongi thinks you must be able to read his mind, “You don’t have to like it” you remind him, picking up your own fork as you pull a plate towards your body, excitement of a child in your eyes.  

+ + +

“What are you doing for Christmas?” you ask, turning towards Yoongi who dips his paintbrush into the can.

“Probably spend it with my dog” he shrugs, rubbing his gloved hands across his sweats, hoping to warm them up a little.

“You have a dog?” you gape, “Why didn’t you tell me?” you sulk.

Yoongi had told you he’d noticed the paint on your heaters chipping, a potential fire hazard (or so he claims), and that he would repaint them for you with heat safe paint. You’d nodded, offering to help him during the weekend, He’d shrugged, telling you it was your choice, that the room would be cold as you couldn’t paint on scorching hot metal, but you’d only giggled, telling him to pass his phone so you could add his number, and that you’d see him tomorrow. And Yoongi had felt dizzy when you’d brushed him off, determined to meet him that weekend and help.

Now he finds himself with you, both bundled up in coats, and woolly gloves to keep the both of you warm as you paint the morning away. The morning birds haven finished their songs for the day, probably ready to eat as lunch neared, afternoon sun squeezing minimal heat into the classroom through the windows.

“Do you have any plans?” he asks, foot tapping anxiously on the floor.

You shake your head, “I usually visit my parents, but they said they’re sick of white Christmases. So, my dad whisked them off to some tropical island until the end of February when it gets a little warmer”

“You didn’t want to go?”

“It’s not that, I just have a job, and I wouldn’t be able to stay all that long with work chasing me during the holidays”

Yoongi hums, “Want to spend it together?”

Your eyes widen, turning towards Yoongi who continues to paint, acting as if he hadn’t just offered to spend Christmas with you.

“Huh?” you breathe, “Are you sure? I don’t want to intrude”

“On what? Me and my dog? Jin Hyung usually stops by, but I think he secretly has a girlfriend because for the last two years he drops off some cookies and then rushes out the door, without his obligatory kisses”

“What about Jungkook and Taehyung?”

“They spend the holidays together, probably fucking. They can’t keep their hands to themselves” you giggle at that.

“They’re cute” you tell him, happy smile pulling onto your face as you recall the ‘dinner’ you’d had together a few weeks ago. And how much Jungkook and Taehyung seemed to be drawn to one another; you think they must the definition of love. Just pure, unadulterated love between the two of them. Two little lovebirds who are mates for the rest of their lives, always drawn to one another.

Jin had showed up to your classroom with a box of chocolates to apologize on the following Monday, babbling how unprofessional the whole encounter was. You’d waved him off, inviting him for coffee or tea during break times if he ever needed a breather from the swarm of students that always seem to gather outside his office door. All hoping to spend a little more time with the good-looking language teacher, innocent crushes pushing them to work hard in class.

He’d thanked you. Apologizing once more before he’d scuttled away with a sheepish smile plastered on his face. Late for a meeting he had with the head of department, and he had already missed the meeting the month prior.

“They’re cute when they’re not sucking each other’s tongues” Yoongi grunts, nudging the sleeve of your jacket so it wouldn’t fall into the pan of paint, worried it wouldn’t wash out from your sleeves.

“Let them be in love” you whine, wiggling a little in place, “Could you imagine loving someone like they do?”

Yoongi shakes his head, “Never been in love”

“Really?”

“I mean I dated in high school but nothing close to love” Yoongi turns towards you, “What about you?”

Your cheeks flush, “I’ve never uhh—I’ve never dated. Like at all”

Yoongi blinks, “Not even that smarmy dick?”

“Who?”

“Kim Namjoon or whatever his name is?”

Your tongue wets your lips, and then your eyes widen, “God no” you let out a long breath, “He asked me out last year and I said no. Why on earth would a high school literature teacher ask me out?”

“Because you’re pretty?” Yoongi replies, avoiding eye contact by mixing the paint a little.

“That’s shallow of him” you scoff, “He’s a narcissist anyways, I would never be as good looking as he believes himself to be” you tell Yoongi, and the caretaker wants to bash his head against the table behind him with how oblivious you are.

“That’s shitty” Yoongi agrees, though he feels his heart constrict. Didn’t you know how perfect you are?

“You know he told me I should have studied for a more sophisticated profession, and asked why I wanted to work with kids below the age of 15” you frown, “I thought that was a little mean, so I told him to go fuck himself”

Yoongi laughs at that, “I always see him near your table at lunch”

You hum, nodding—“He’s been trying to win me over with cakes and cookies, I only smile so I get free stuff out of him”

“So, you’re leading him on?”

You drop your brush into the paint pan, “Is that what I’m doing? That’s really shitty” you look at Yoongi with guilty eyes. 

“I guess if he’s a bad man then it’s a little more forgivable” he gently places his paintbrush beside your own, “But he doesn’t deserve you if he’s an asshole”

You nod at that, small smile tugging at the corners of your lips.

+ + +

“Please Yoongi” you tug on the sleeve of his jacket, trying to veer him towards the ice rink.

He only grunts, “I don’t skate”

“But it’s Christmas” your shoulders fall, and Yoongi feels as though he just kicked a puppy with your sad pout.

“Fine” he takes your hand, pulling you towards the old woman at the rental booth.

<3

Yoongi can’t help the laugh that bubbles up his throat, having just watched you fall onto your bottom only minutes after getting onto the rink.

“Hey!” you point an accusing finger at him, “It’s not funny”

“Just a little, darling” he tries hard to stifle his laugh, but fails miserably when you try to push yourself to stand; stood more like a new-born doe who hadn’t grasp the concept of walking yet.

Yoongi misses the devious smile on your face when he bends down to help you stand, your cheeks warming at the pretty smile the caretaker had, warm like a spring afternoon.

“When you offered for us to go skating, I thought you’d be good at it”

You cross your arms over your chest, instantly regretting the sudden action as you wobble. You let out something akin to a squeak when Yoongi takes a hold of your arms, helping stabilise you as your stomach tenses.

“My little deer” he laughs, hands skimming down the length of your arms to hold your hands.

You feel heat creep up your neck, burning the tips of your ears; feeling some relief knowing that your nose and ears were already red from the cold, so you only bite your lip, trying not to let your shuddering breath become known to Yoongi.

He, however, sees your eyes glaze over, something he hadn’t seen from you yet. And it only feeds into his little fantasy of you sprawled out across the sheets of his bed, his name clinging to your tongue, dripping like sweet honey as you beg for more. More of what? He has yet to decide. He’s imagined eating you out, sure that you’d recoil, shy, when he tries to go down on you. He wonders what you’d look like, bouncing prettily on his cock, begging for him to help you, legs shaking as he pounds into you, if your moans would be as soft as your voice, if you’d try to cover your mouth with your hands.

Yoongi coughs, bringing his attention back to you who wobbles, another attempt to skate towards him on your own. This time, Yoongi is ready when you stagger forwards, holding onto your waist as you tumble into his chest.

“Sorry” you whisper, “I don’t think I’m very good at this”

Yoongi laughs, “Nothing a little practice can’t fix”

+ + +

“Merry Christmas Yoongi” you beam, handing him the neatly wrapped gift, little cats printed on the paper.

“Merry Christmas” he takes you hand, pulling you into his warm apartment, heat enveloping you, cleansing you from the toe biting cold of the outside world.

You startle at the wet nose that prods your bare fingers, gaze flitting towards the floor where the fluffy little dog sniffs at your clothes, a cute puff of brown.

“That’s Holly” he tells you, placing your gift underneath the small tree into the corner of the living room beside the one he had bought you.

You crouch down, scratching Holly under the chin, giggling as the excited dog circles your legs.

You wander into the living room, not so subtly peeking at Yoongi’s home. You liked it; it was cosy, and ever so Yoongi. You take a seat on one of the couches, Yoongi following suit once he’d turned the tree lights on, green like vibrant dragonflies dancing from branch to branch.

“I hope you’re okay with takeaway, I looked up how to cook Christmas dinner online, and it’s a little too advanced for me”

You smile, “Don’t tell my mother, but I’ve never been a fan of Christmas dinner”

“Perfect”

<3

“You make music?” you gawk, “That’s so cool”

“It’s a nice side hobby I suppose” he shrugs, not delving into how deep his love for music really is; he knew that if he started, he wouldn’t know when to stop. A little too passionate about his producing than he would like to let on, the last thing he needed was for you to leave when he was enjoying your company.

“You’ll have to show me one day” you tell him, nudging his shoulder as you sit beside one another. Knees pressed snug, body heat warming one another up.

Yoongi picks up another slice of beef, placing it on your plate, “maybe” he shrugs.

“You’re very secretive” you point out.

“Private”

You hum at that, “That is a good trait. More for me to uncover”

“Yeah?” he asks, smile tugging at his lips, “What are you trying to uncover”

Yoongi doesn’t miss the as your eyes flit down his body, straying a little at the waist band of his sweats before travelling back to his lips.

“Everything” you tell him honestly, and he can see the naked emotions that swim behind your eyes; raw need.

“I suppose you should get started then” he whispers, eyes flicking between both of your own.

“Right now?”

Yoongi nods, turning his body to face you; his hand coming to cup your cheek. You close your eyes, low moan reverberating up your throat as Yoongi presses his lips gently against your own. And as cliché as it sounds, Yoongi thinks he hears fireworks somewhere in the distance, lips tingling with want as he feels the warmth of you pressed along the length of his body.

Yoongi drinks in every little sound you make, spurring him to deepen kiss, his tongue flicking to part your own. As you both pull away, Yoongi leans in for a quick peck to your lips before he falls back into his seat.

“I guess I also have a lot to uncover, huh?” he whispers, fingers tucking a stray piece of hair behind your ear. “I really like you Y/n” he admits, hands clammy as he gauges your reaction.

“I really like you too” you tell him, and Yoongi smiles at the red hue that coats your cheeks; he can only imagine his match your own.

+ + +

“We should totally go on a double date” Taehyung grins, arm wrapped around Jungkook’s shoulder.

“We’re not dating though” Yoongi grunts, leaning back in his seat. His gaze flits over towards your table of co-workers, you more focused on something on your phone than what they were gossiping about.

“You went on a date, spent Christmas and New Year together, kissed, confessed and you’re not dating?” Jin gawks, astonished by what he was hearing.

Yoongi had asked after your little Christmas escapade, if you wanted to spend New Year together as well. He took you out for lunch, and then the two of you milled around a little market on the outskirts of the city. He’d met a few of your students, their happy smiles when they spotted you, warming Yoongi’s heart. And God forbid he didn’t hate children as much as he used to. (They could be cute sometimes, but only when it comes to you.) As well as conversing with a few parents, more than a few commenting on how cute you and Yoongi were together.

Nothing much more than kissing had happened, and you’d found the excuse for a few more kisses when you’d spotted little brushes of mistletoe hanging from the market huts, left over from the Christmas market that plagued the streets only weeks prior. And who was Yoongi to deny tradition?

The two of you had sat on a hill on New Year’s Day, Yoongi with his coffee, and you with piping hot, hot chocolate, both a little hung over from your little festivities the night prior (with a kiss when the clock hands struck midnight), and the both of you talked about the future. Your individual futures, and the future you want to have together.

You’d both agreed to take it slow, neither of you needed to rush into this relationship. You both knew you liked each other, that much had been established, and there was a mutual understanding that you had all the time in the world to learn more about each other before defining your relationship. You both understood what you had was exclusive, but neither of you felt labels were necessary. The unnecessary shadow that would loom over your shoulders, creeping up on you until your relationship evidently crumbles under the pressure of societal labels and standards of what a ‘good’ relationship is.

“So what?” Yoongi turns towards Jin, “We’re taking it slow”

“Slow my ass, you both act like you’ve been in a long-term relationship”

“Do not” Yoongi argues, feeling stupid that his reply had come off so juvenile.

“Yeah?” Seokjin challenges, and Yoongi knows he shouldn’t take the bait.

But he does, “Yeah”

“Whose lunchbox is that then?” he points at the prettily wrapped lunch that sat before you on the table. New shiny bento box that Yoongi had ordered online especially for you, with enough layers to make sure you would eat a nutritional lunch. With how many sweets you ate, Yoongi worried you spoiled yourself, so he took on the role of your chef; making sure you were eating healthier.

Yoongi coughs, “Mine. What are you gonna do about it?”

“Tease you” Jin laughs, pushing himself from his seat when Yoongi shoots him a hard glare. Waving at the small group before he makes his descent back to his classroom, a small group of students having filled in what was meant to be an easy lunch.  

“I think you’re doing great, Hyung” Jungkook soothes, smiling over at Taehyung who nudges his side.

“Kookie is right, you don’t have to rush into these things. As long as the two of you are happy, that’s all that counts” Taehyung nods.

“Plus, Jin Hyung is definitely projecting, he’s hiding someone. I just know it” Jungkook nods, head falling onto his boyfriend’s shoulder.

“Yoongi!” you call as you skip towards his lunch table, perking up at your voice.

“Yes?” he pulls out what was once Jin’s chair, pulling you to sit beside him.

“What do you think about these for Holly?” you shove your phone into his face, “I really like the blue one” you mutter.

“They’re lovely, doll” he smiles, taking your phone so the bright screen wasn’t blaring in his eyes, the images more of a blur of colours, messily mixed like paints on a pallet.

“Personally, my favourite is the purple one” you scroll down when Yoongi places the device on the table. He looks down at the little sweater you have on a website that specialises in dog clothes.

“It’s cute” Yoongi agrees.

“But Yoongs, Holly would look good in like red or something” you sigh dramatically, prominent frown pulled at your pretty lips, begging Yoongi to kiss it away.  

Yoongi scrolls up, eyeing the other dog clothes they had on the website, “Why not get both? One for you and one for Holly” he shrugs, “There’s still a few weeks left of winter”

You nod, small smile now tugging at your lips and Yoongi feels somewhat accomplished. He ignores the intruding stares of his two friends sat across the table, kicking Taehyung’s shin when he opens his mouth to surely make a comment on Yoongi’s somewhat soft behaviour. Emotions on display for everyone to see.

“Okay!” you push yourself to stand, “I’m going to find my credit card” you announce and Yoongi grunts at that.

“I’ll pay” he also stands, but you push him back into his seat, shaking your head.

“No, you won’t. It’s my gift”

“Doll” Yoongi stares up at you, and he thinks he sees a crack in your resolve. He smiles when you cover his eyes with your hand.

“Don’t look at me like that” you whine, skin prickling with goosebumps when Yoongi skims his fingers down your arm, blindly seeking out your touch.

“Like what?” he asks, teasing lilt to his tone.

“Like you can tell me what to do”

“Is that so?”

You pull your hands from his eyes, frowning down at the caretaker, “I’m leaving” you tell him.

“I’ll take you out for dinner then” Yoongi calls when you turn away from the table.

“Okay!” you call over your shoulder, “text me later” you wave at him.

Yoongi turns towards Jungkook and Taehyung who have two annoying smiles plastered on their faces.

“Neither of you say a word” he points between them, “Not one”

+ + +

“Y/n!”

You startle, Yoongi using his hand to cushion your elbow before you could whack it on the edge of the table.

Both you and Yoongi turn towards where the honeyed voice came from, and Yoongi let’s out a low grunt when Namjoon saunters towards the table you’re sat at.

Yoongi had asked you out on a little coffee date, nothing too fancy, something to help the two of you wind down from another hectic week of work.

Yoongi had bought you a cake, getting the one that had little cat ears cut from sugar paper, and got himself a black coffee. You got sweet tea, and then you told him everything you’d been up to, talking of parents that had given you gifts at the start of the semester, and that you’d have to give him one of the funnier mugs for his coffee in the morning.

Everything was serene, perfect even. And Yoongi couldn’t have asked for anything more. His favourite girl by his side, with a perfect cup of coffee. Until Kim Namjoon decided to ruin his good mood.

“Namjoon” you greet, empty smile being thrown at the high school teacher.

“Fancy seeing you here” he laughs, inviting himself to your table. Taking a seat opposite Yoongi. Said man places his hand on your thigh gently, silent reassurance that he is there for you just in case this unplanned meeting goes south. And as much as you wanted to tell him to go away, you knew you would see him around work and the last thing you needed was an awkward encounter in the halls, you could feel your skin crawl at the thought of it.

“Yes, funny coincidence” you squeeze out, turning to look at Yoongi who gives you a curt nod.

“And who’s this?” Namjoon motions towards Yoongi, acting as though he was the one who had just barged into his café date. Eyes narrowing in slight distaste.

“Her boyfriend” Yoongi tells him, smug smile unmissable when Namjoon’s smile drops.

He turns to look at you, as if asking for confirmation. You nod, only deepening Namjoon’s frown. Yoongi’s fingers tighten on your thigh, and you feel a dull throb between your legs when he does, squirming a little in place, and if Yoongi notices, he doesn’t make it apparent.

“I didn’t know you two were—” he wags a finger in your general direction, “a thing” he finishes, the words leaving a bad taste on his tongue.

“Not everyone drones on about their relationships, Namjoon” you point out, finding it hard to fight off the smug smile that threatened to show. You see, Namjoon had a track record of bragging about his escapades, either it be a quick fling with a woman who worshiped the ground he walked on (his words, not yours), or short-term relationships where he would boast about every detail of his sex life. Something you had no interest in.

“If you’ll excuse us, I was enjoying my date” you motion to Yoongi beside you, a bored expression taking over his features.

“You heard her” he adds, motioning for Namjoon to leave. Translation: Fuck off.

Yoongi thinks he sees the tips of Namjoon’s ears flush red, slithering its way down his cheeks and neck, and Yoongi feels his heart swell when you lean against his shoulder; Namjoon glaring at the two of you as he stands up.

“Boyfriend, huh?” you ask when Namjoon is out of your general vicinity.

Yoongi turns to look out the window, his silent wish of you not bringing that up clearly not being heard by some higher power.

“Only if that’s okay with you” he mutters.

“Is this you asking me out?” you laugh, head falling backwards, and Yoongi turns, wanting to catch your smile.

“Y/n?” he calls, hand coming to hold your cheek as you tilt your head back down to look at him.

You hum.

“Will you be my girlfriend?”

+ + +

“Okay!” Seokjin claps his hands, “News for this week. Yoongi first”

And all three pairs of eyes land on the caretaker. Now that the weather had started to warm up a little, the sun no longer shying away behind fluffy, cotton candy clouds, lunch times were spent behind the school. Away from students, and the beady eyes of other staff that had a habit of eavesdropping on everyone’s conversations. And then before you knew it, the whole faculty knew about your secrets.

Yoongi places a hand on his chin in thought, “I helped Y/n build a new desk for her classroom and put up some new blinds that she bought. Oh...” he drawls, “And she’s now my girlfriend”

Seokjin’s jaw drops, and Yoongi wants to make a snide comment, being cut out by a loud gasp from his hyung. Jungkook and Taehyung laugh from their spot opposite Yoongi, nodding their congratulations as Jin pinches the bridge of his nose.

“And you didn’t think to text me?” he mutters, mock offense lacing his tone.

“What about your partner Hyung?” Jungkook prods, not missing the wide eyes of the eldest.

“How did you know about that?” he whispers, leaning across the table.

“You were kind of obvious” Taehyung placates, wrapping his arm around his boyfriend’s shoulder.

“So? Who are they?” Yoongi prods, having waited years for his friend to finally spill the beans on this secret relationship he’d been trying to hide (and clearly failed).

“I met her in the town over, she already has a kid, but the father left. We’ve been taking it slow, but I really do like her” he admits, and Taehyung can’t help the mushy smile that takes over his features.

“On the topic of children…” Jungkook trails off, giving a look to his boyfriend, who only nods in encouragement. “We’re planning to adopt”

Yoongi’s eyes widen a little in surprise, it’s not as if the two hadn’t fiddled with the idea of adopting; he just never expected it to be so soon.

“Oh my god” Seokjin cried, “I’m going to be an uncle”

“That’s a really big decision” Yoongi nods, a small smile toying at the edge of his lips.

“It is” Taehyung agrees, “But we both have stable jobs, and a home. Neither of us plan to go anywhere anytime soon”

“What about the wedding?” Jin asks.

“A wedding can happen any time. We both know that we want to spend the rest of our lives together, so there’s no rush really” Jungkook shrugs.

“What about you Hyung? When are you getting married” Taehyung points his attention towards the caretaker.

“He only just asked me to be his girlfriend” your arms wrap around Yoongi’s neck, leaning down to press a featherlight kiss on his cheek.

Yoongi scoots over to make room for you on the bench.

“Not with your friends?” he asks, hand coming to rest on your thigh as you pull your own lunch (courtesy of Yoongi), placing it onto the table.

“Nope” you shake your head, handing him a neatly cut triangular sandwich, “Namjoon came over, so I lost my appetite” you tell him, and he hums in understanding. Muttering a short ‘bastard’ under his breath.

+ + +

Perfect didn’t seem like the right word to describe your relationship with Min Yoongi. It was beyond anything you could have ever asked for. Something that not many people had during their first relationships; trial and error finally pulling you down the path of your soulmate. However, you seemed to hit the jackpot, first try.

Before you knew it a year had flown by, memories floating by like the wind would, caressing your cheek in the morning on the way to school. Days merging into weeks and weeks into months. And even with a mush of weeks and days, Yoongi always made you feel the most special, like you were the only one he had eyes for.

Yoongi had never been the most vocal man, but you’d learnt that he loved you all as much. He would pack your lunches in cute little boxes, and on Friday’s he would slip a little note into your bag with plans for the weekend or a shopping list so you could both wander around the supermarket as soon as the home time bell rigs. He would come to your classroom after school with cold drinks in the summer and overly sweet hot chocolate in the winter.

Although he would never admit it, he really did like the tiramisu from that shitty Italian restaurant at the end of street, and he thought it was ridiculous how many dates the both of you had spent in there. He’d voiced out a concern one evening, you sprawled across his bed like a dream, with your favourite candle lit, and Holly filling the gap between your bodies; he worried he wasn’t doing enough. You had told him you really didn’t care, as long as you were together, even lounging in bed for the day made you happy. And as if to prove a point, you and Yoongi had spent the whole day in bed together, binging your favourite shows (amongst other things).

You walked around fair grounds together, shared secrets between kisses, and it was the small things that he would do for you, that reminded you that Min Yoongi really did love you. Like washing your face of an evening or picking up snacks from the convenience store because he knew you’d ran out.

You remember the evening he opened up about his music, not just a silly little hobby like he had initially told you. He told you about how cathartic it was for him to produce. He showed you notebook upon notebook of lyrics that he had written from his teens through to his adult years; a little window into the man you were dating.

You know he likes dogs more than cats; you know he adores Holly. You know he hates sweet coffee, the bitter taste on his tongue somewhat of a comfort for him. You know he liked to stay home rather than melt within a crowd of rowdy people. And if the two of you ever found yourself trapped with too many sounds and too many bodies, Yoongi would place his hand on the back of your neck, reassurance that he was still there, helping ground you from all the overflowing number of stimuli that were trying to scratch at your brain.

Min Yoongi liked to cook, liked to experiment in the kitchen and he loved it even more when he could cook for you. He liked watching your face light up when you liked something, he liked the way your nose would scrunch up in that cute way when a taste was unfamiliar or too bitter.

Yoongi liked the curtains in your apartment, thin in a way the sun would caress your skin as it woke before you. As he would lay there, fingers trailing over the naked skin of your back, loving the way you’d slowly start to become conscious of the world around you. And the smile that would stretch onto your face, unconditional love mingled with tired eyes as you woke up to the sight of sleep roughed Yoongi first thing in the morning.

Yoongi liked the winter more than he did the summer. Maybe it was because that is when he first worked up the courage to talk to you.

Yoongi liked wearing the colour black, something so simple but looked so good on him. He, however, adored when you’d wear colourful shirts, dresses that complimented the tone of your skin, and he thinks if he were to turn this into a metaphor, you were the one who finally brought colour into his monotone life. An endless cycle of loneliness that he hadn’t realised he was drowning in before he had met you.

Yoongi liked that when you had moved into his home, small parts of you leaked into his, your, living space. Canvases of unfinished paintings, and photos from your childhood. His closet was no longer half empty, overflowing with a concoction of both your clothes. Odd pieces of furniture that you hadn’t wanted to let go of now filling the gaps of his once arguably scarce apartment.

Min Yoongi loved you.

He loved everything about you.

He loved how kind you were, patient in a way that only a kindergarten teacher could be. He liked that with others you always seemed a little reserved, shy in your actions, but with him you had no qualms about what you said or how you acted. Min Yoongi loved you because you always thought of him as much as he thought of you. He would feel his heart flutter when you would leave coffee on the desk in his office or help him pick out what shirt to wear to work.

Min Yoongi loved that you were the last thing he would see before he went to sleep, with his arm slung around your waist, and he loved that from the minute he would wake up, there you were, right by his side.

Min Yoongi loved that you were the last missing puzzle piece of his life. Fitting ever so perfectly in the gap he never knew was missing.

+ + +

“Yoongi, hold on” you gasp, head falling back into the plethora of pillows he had thrown onto the bed.

‘So you’re comfy’ Yoongi had frowned. And if you could think a coherent thought maybe you would thank him. Your head rocking up into the pillow padded headboard; pleasure licking up your spine.

You feel Yoongi’s tongue flick at your clit, a mixture of his own spit and your arousal dripping down his chin like liquid honey. And Yoongi makes sure to try and save every delicious mouthful of your essence. Something so uniquely you, so sweet, something that only Yoongi gets the pleasure to taste; because he had no plans of letting you go anytime soon.

Your boyfriend prods his tongue at your entrance, your legs shaking as his thumb gently brushes over your overstimulated clit. You see, Yoongi had this game, he liked to see how long he could eat you out, and how many times he could make you cum before he fucked you senseless on his cock. Leaving your clit to throb in a mixture of want and denial, swollen from being toyed with.

“One more, baby” he takes a deep breath, wasting no time in diving his tongue into you, molten arousal coating his lips, and as much as Yoongi loved it when your thighs would clamp round his head, today he wanted you bare. Spread out prettily just for him to devour. So, he holds your thighs open, straining them as he tries to push his head as far between your thighs as physically possible, lips pulling into a grin when you thrust your hips to meet his tongue; chasing your own pleasure.

He feels your fingers thread with his hair when he pushes his tongue in a little deeper, thumb still strumming at your clit. And he wonders if he could make you cum from just playing with your clit alone. He’d made you cum just from toying with your nipples once, the picture of you, flushed face, a sheen of sweat coating both of your bodies as his teeth clamped down on your puffy nipples, red raw from his mouth, and he remembers the surprised moan you’d graced him with when you had come.  

“I can’t” you moan, mouth falling open.

Yoongi grunts, pulling his face away from your cunt, his index finger sinking into your entrance.

“Yes, you can” he tells you, fingers delving, eager to find that spot which will make you see stars, groaning at the sound you let out when he sinks a second finger into your greedy cunt.

He uses his other arm to hold down your waist as you try to eagerly buck into his fingers, little whimpers tumbling from your lips, and Yoongi thinks that was his favourite sound. He had asked once to add your moans to a song, your cheeks had flushed, laughing like Yoongi had been joking. And then your boyfriend had fucked you in his home office, with your hand clamped over your mouth, a little game to see how long you could stay silent.

He was surprised how long you’d been able to keep it up, and it had become his own personal goal to make sure you moaned his name every time he played with you.

“Please, please, please” you whine breathlessly.

“Please what, baby? I can’t help you of you don’t tell me what’s wrong” he frowns, tone mocking as he slows his fingers to a gentle thrust.

“No, no, Yoongi faster please” you cry, tilting your head to look at him, and Yoongi leans up to brush the stray tears from your cheeks, sadistic smile on his face.

“Yeah?” he asks, watching as you nod; pitiful as you rock your hips to try and push his fingers deeper inside of you.

Your boyfriend leans down, pressing a gentle kiss to your pouty lips, your sad frown enough for him to finally give you what you want.

He trails his lips down your body, stopping to press a gentle kiss to your nipples, tongue flicking out to toy with them as you wiggle underneath him, shuddering breath reverberating around the otherwise silent room.

“Cum one more time and then I’ll fuck you” he mutters, “Okay, baby?”

You hum, and Yoongi pushes himself off your body.

“Words” he reminds you, and you have to wrack your brain.

“Yes”

“Good girl” he pushes his head back between his legs, something comforting about being here; like Yoongi belonged, sandwiched between your thighs.

Two of his fingers strum at your clit, a breathy chuckle fanning over your sensitive cunt when he laughs as you moan. His tongue lapping up the arousal that had started to dribble from your hole.

“You’re really wet, baby”

You hum, not quite sure you heard him or not. But Yoongi laps up another string of your essence, acting more like a starved puppy than a man, but he supposes he always was a little feral around you.

“Think you can squirt for me?” he grunts, exchanging his tongue for his fingers as the wet muscle in his mouth now plays with your clit.

He suctions the sensitive pearl, teeth grazing it as he sinks three fingers into your hole. You moan into a pillow, thighs once again shaking as Yoongi thrusts his fingers into you in quick succession. He can feel your walls clench around him sporadically, tips of his fingers nudging that spongy tissue as he curls them upwards.

“Cum, baby” he grunts, wrist straining as he tries to keep a steady pace.

He feels his fingers being pushed from your hole as you squirt, his shirt soaking through with your juices. Your thighs shakes as he pushes his fingers back into your cunt, thrusting them in a couple of times before more of your arousal leaks onto the bed sheets.

“How messy” he tuts, pulling his shirt from over his head.

“Your fault” you argue, chest rising and falling, uneasy as you catch your breath.

Yoongi pushes himself up your body, arms flexing as he leans down to press a kiss to your lips; a lot slower, more passionate than those from prior in the evening.

Yoongi brushes a wet piece of hair from your face, your forehead glazed with a thin layer of sweat.

“You did so well for me” he whispers, hands trailing down the sides of your body, an attempt to ground you a little. When he sees a little more clarity in your eyes, legs not still shaking where they rest against his thighs he presses a gentle kiss to your cheeks.

“Think you can take my cock?” he asks, “We don’t have to do anything else if you don’t want to” he reminds you.

You nod, “I’m okay, I don’t know if I can cum again though”

“Guess we’ll have to check” he pushes himself to sit on his knees.

Yoongi ignores you as you eye his sweats, hard shaft hardly veiled by the grey fabric. And you think you are moments away from jumping the man. With how perfect he looked in the orange glow of the lamplight, chin shining in your arousal. It was hard to stop your pussy from leaking, and it would have been a little embarrassing just how wet you were if you didn’t know Yoongi absolutely loved when you got like this for him.

You watch as he leans across the bed, lithe fingers tugging the drawer open. Your fingers toy with the waist band of his sweats, and Yoongi lets out a breathy chuckle when you tug on them.

Your boyfriend sits up, shiny foil packet held between two fingers, those same two fingers that had brought you to your high twice already tonight.

“Can I help?” you push yourself to sit up, biting your lip at the dull throbbing between your thighs.

Yoongi hands the condom to you, scooting himself off the bed to discard the rest of his clothes. You watch as he pulls off his sweats, having foregone any underwear that evening, and your eyes train on his cock.

You think that your boyfriend maybe had the prettiest cock, he took pride in grooming himself; always making sure to be clean. You can only wonder how long it must have been erected for, cockhead an angry red, shiny with Yoongi’s own arousal, little beads of pre-cum cascading down his length.

You lean forwards, taking the girthy cock into your hands, the familiar weight making you salivate a little. You run the tip over your lips, coating it in Yoongi’s pre-cum.

“No teasing, doll” he grunts, and you smile, pulling back.

You roll the latex over his shaft, leaving it to bob uselessly against the skin of his stomach as he climbs back onto the bed.

“You sure you’re, okay?” he checks, helping lay you down comfortably, lifting the lower half of your body by your ankles, his other hand grabbing a pillow to cushion your hips.

He drops your legs back onto the bed, watching as you smile up at him.

“Come here” you tell him, and Yoongi obliges, humming into the gentle kiss you place on his lips, your own cum still staining the taste of him.

He wraps your thighs around his waist, one arm holds him up as he lines himself with your entrance.

Your mouth falls open into a silent ‘o’ when he pushes the head in, and Yoongi always makes sure to watch your face when he finally fucks you; not only as reassurance that you like what’s happening but so he knows just the right spot to drill into you.

Yoongi holds your hips as you try to rock forwards, his own hips stuttering in anticipation; but he holds himself back, liking the intimacy of having you sprawled out beneath him, fully trusting that he’ll take care of you. There had always been something so fulfilling to Yoongi about these intimate moments with you, your bodies joining to become one, your body pliant to his every move.

His hands leave your hips, skimming up your body before lacing his finger between your own.

“You good?” he whispers, unsure if he could utter anything more with how warm and wet you were, cunt clenching rhythmically around his length.

“Yeah” you whisper back, fingers tightening around his own when he gently pulls out before thrusting back into you.

Something akin to a squeak, tumbles from your lips when Yoongi picks up his pace, hands never letting go of yours as his hips snap forwards, thighs slapping against thighs with nothing more than the music of your bodies filling the silence of your bedroom.

Yoongi can only describe the sounds coming from you as pornographic, his thrusts pushing you up a little on the bed, he feels your nails dig into the skin of his hands, his own grunts mirroring your own pleasure.

“So close, so close” he chants, using whatever strength he has left in his arms to lean down, greedily sucking your left nipple between his teeth, teasing nips sending jolts of pleasure down your body.

Your boyfriend can feel your legs shake as he sucks a love bite just above the sensitive skin of your nipple, your hips bucking to meet his own.

He lets go of one of your hands, “Play with yourself, pretty. Let’s cum together”

You nod, sweat trickling down your neck as you trail a hand down your body. Slicking up your fingers from where Yoongi thrusts into you, your fingers start to play with your clit, jolt of pleasure causing your cunt spasm around Yoongi’s cock.

“Gonna cum” you whine, Yoongi’s teeth clamping around your nipple enough to push you over the edge.

Your legs tighten around his waist, stopping Yoongi’s sloppy thrusts, as you push him as deep inside of you as humanly possible. Your mind a blank slate as it rewires, slowly trying to become conscious of your surroundings.

You feel his cock twitch, his own cum shooting him the condom.

Yoongi collapses on top of you, a rush of air squeezing from your lungs when he lands with a dull thump.

“Ouch” you giggle, not protesting when his arms snake around your waist, flipping the two of over so you lay gently on his chest. 

Yoongi’s fingers brush through your damp hair, “You did so well for me, pretty” he tells you, golden glow of the lamp illuminating him in that post-orgasmic bliss. If you though Yoongi looked good on a normal day, you had been utterly in awe when you’d seen him after he’d came.

“Thank you”

“For what?” he laughs, chest rumbling under your ear.

“Making me cum three times”

“Nothing I like more than my girl feeling good”

You hum at that, trying to push yourself up. Yoongi grunts, tugging you tighter against his chest.

“Yoongs I need to pee, and I feel all sticky” you complain, fingers toying with the divot of his collarbone.

“5 minutes”

“Min Yoongi” you laugh, pinching the skin of his neck.

“Fine but be quick” he loosens his arms. When you push yourself to sit, he pulls you back down.

“Hey!” you complain.

“Need a kiss first” he puckers up his lips, and you indulge him this one time, never in a hurry when it came to kissing your love.

And as you wash up in the bathroom, door slightly ajar where he can see you milling around, his fingers play with the little beaded bracelet you’d gifted him when you spent that first Christmas together.

Yoongi loved you a lot, more than he would ever be able to describe in words. He loved that he could give you a helping hand no matter the situation, and the shiny little ring, hidden away in his nightstand shrouded in a pretty, purple velvet box was his promise to you; that he would stay by your side for the rest of his life.  

[nope-body]

.

[javiersprincess]

tags: fem reader m, fluff, food mention, eating mention, quanxi is flirtatious with the reader, no warnings

synopsis: decades could pass and quanxi still will always want to step on kishibe’s toes. even when in front of you - his new girlfriend.

kishibe introduces you to quanxi - she’s his oldest friend and he doesn’t think much of what will happen. she raises a visible brow at how you wave at her. you’re friendly if not a little quiet, she watches how you immediately turn the burner on and start serving the hot pot to the others at the table. her girls watch eagerly as you give them almost too rare strips of beef - the expensive kind that melts in their mouths.

she watches you smile, a little nervous and shy but incredibly warm; there’s a fondness in your gaze as her girls clamor and chitter excitedly about the meat you served. quanxi turns her gaze to kishibe, a singly dark eyes widening when she sees that hidden behind the palm that he’s perched on the table, he’s smiling. warm and small but still there.

she doesn’t answer when you tentatively call her name - she must make you nervous, she thinks. looking you over she nods and you sort of look like a puppy. you’re pretty in the way fireplaces and knit sweaters are pretty. you hand the meat over and quanxi can smell your perfume cutting through the smell of broth and meat and potstickers.

lavender, bergamot and cedarwood.

it all clicks together. quanxi and kishibe don’t say much - both of their girls are enough to carry conversations. you know a bit of mandarin to get through the moments when her girls don’t know the word in japanese. quanxi says your name, slightly accented by her mother tongue.

“yes? would you like more meat ms.quanxi?” she shakes her head, she isn’t all that hungry really. quanxi simply doesn’t need to be asked twice to spend kishibe’s money.

“no thank you. i just wanted you to know, that if this old dog gives you any trouble, don’t hesitate to call me. i’ll set him straight for you.” you gape at her, looking over to kishibe who seems to be mulling her words over.

“she’s right,” he hums looking over at you with amused dark eyes, “ if you ever want to land a good hit on me just call quanxi, she’s been doing that for over 10 years.”

you laugh slightly, the wrinkles around his eyes deepen as he smiles. quanxi can’t help to think that nothing has changed.

a devious thought is born in her mind.

“another offer - if you ever get bored of him, don’t hesitate to come by my way. me and my girls will treat you just fine if you ever come looking.” she says, putting in a slice of beef in her mouth enjoying the taste. a dark eye surrounded by smooth skin drinks on the scandalizing look of shock on you face before you cast a worried glance kishibe’s way. you’re cute, no wonder he wants to keep you.

kishibe brings an arm to your shoulders, wrapped in his work overcoat the bulk is heavy, warm and comforting. he brings you into his shoulder and you smell his cologne and aftershave.

“you’ve got some nerve to pull the moves on my woman right in front of me.” quanxi doesn’t open her singular eye but smiles thinly all the same.

“just wanted to keep you on your toes.” she confessed, asking you for more meat. you do so, fiddling with the tongs to drop the slices into the broth, clearly nervous that kishibe is upset. he looks over to you, and brings his head to bump forehead with you, the way cats do. he murmurs something into your ear and you smile bashfully. your lips form the words thank you and he gives that same damn goofy smile of his when he’s flirting.

yeah, she knows exactly why kishibe is adamant on keeping you.

the night continues as normal as can be when dining with a harem of fiends, somehow you even manage to bring in some of her girls’ more rowdier moments. every time she looks at her old friend, she seems him smiling even if just slightly. quanxi doesn’t think she’s human enough to feel happiness, it elude hers and escapes her heart like a fog. but she’s glad that kishibe after a very long time can experience it with you.

[prideofcelestia]

❝you are so engrossed in your work that you ignore him without meaning to❞

« characters - mammon, leviathan, satan, asmodeus, beelzebub, belphegor »

« gender neutral reader »

« headcanons »

MAMMON

He’s legit offended. His entry wasn’t quiet, you know? On top of that, he raced to your room before Asmo could come and blabber about how Mammon has a huge crush on you. The moment Mammon makes his appearance, he begins saying how he doesn’t like you, and that you must be too full of yourself to believe that the Great Mammon will ever fall for his servant, aka you. How can you not be concerned about that?! Now, he is worried that you don’t care enough about him to notice his words.

Wait! Are you actually angry at him…?

Letting go of his tsundere nature, he grabs your shoulders, gives you a good shake, and cries about how he truly and deeply loves you. Don’t ignore your first man, human!

LEVIATHAN

You always look and feel so moe! Playing a game beside you is the best! He manages to win a few levels before the silence bothers him, and he begins talking about the latest anime convention he’s excited about. When you tell him to shush without even looking at him, he feels pain equivalent to what an otaku feels at the loss of their most precious figurine. Completely hollow with no will to continue living. What did he do to deserve your mistreatment? Did you not read the manual, ‘The way to act around Leviathan 404’ that he specially wrote and printed for you? Point 100 clearly mentions that the Grand Admiral of Hell’s Navy is fragile and needs to be treated with care, especially when the person concerned is his Henry. You’re still his Henry, right? If yes, forfeit all mortal possessions and love him before he summons Lotan.

SATAN

He’s quick to notice that you’re engrossed in your work, and decides to wait for you to finish before mentioning his business. Being a busy demon himself, he respects that you have your own life outside offering therapy sessions to the brothers. It is only when he sees you grinning at your D.D.D even after a while has passed that he starts hearing a tick in his ears. Surely Satan isn’t so invisible that you can completely ignore his presence even though he’s standing mere feet away from you.

Were you… texting Lucifer? Of course not. That will be bizarre! He tries to calm down and decides to be diplomatic. If his coughs don’t get your attention, hopefully a table-shaped hole in your wall will.

ASMODEUS

He’s followed by a trail of your favourite fragrance.

���Oh [Name], look at me! I look more radiant than I did this morning. Don’t you just want to kiss me? If I could, I would never stop cuddling myself!”

When no answer comes, he pouts and takes a seat beside you. Eyeing what you’re working on, he inches closer to you, wraps an arm around you and whispers in your ear.

“[N-A-M-E] honey, why don’t you look at me for now? I am more attractive than your homework.”

“Not now, Asmo. A failing grade will be less attractive than you too so I must prevent that!”

“But your Asmo-chan needs you!”

“And I need to pass,” you say and push him away.

Asmo is hell bent on starting a line of lipstick that comes with homework notes engraved on the side of the tube. That way, you can admire the product, and more importantly him while also revising for your test.

BEELZEBUB

He drops by your room because he misses being close to you. He’s content being there, munching on snacks that he brought for the two of you. The silence is comfortable and he's happy to see you working hard. It's only when he has consumed his share that he looks at you with sad puppy dog eyes. [Name], complete your work fast or nothing will be left! He doesn’t really want to disturb you because you have a serious look on your face but he can’t control his hunger any longer, so he ventures to ask.

“[Name], here, I brought some food for you. Why don't you take a break and eat first?”

“Beel, did you say something? Sorry bubs, but I am busy. Can we talk later?”

He gulps once before eating all the food. Once you finish your work, you better give him head pats and console him, saying how you don’t think that he’s just a glutton and that you’re not mad that he ate everything. He tried this time. He really did.

BELPHEGOR

He enters your room with a flourish, closing the door shut more noisily than is needed. Look up and invite him to lie on your lap, like you usually do. When you don’t move and continue with your task, Belphie sulks and lies down beside you on the bed. He steals a glance at what you are doing because he’s extremely jealous of whoever or whatever is taking up your time. Time that should have been used to pamper him. Let it be! Sooner or later, you are bound to get tired, and then you will see him and offer to run your warm hands through his hair. When that moment never arrives, he gets up moodily, and tries to lie on your lap by force.

“Belphie, what are you doing?! I am busy right now.”

“And I am tired,” he says and somehow manages to get his head on your lap. Good luck getting your work done with him restraining you to that spot.

[verycherry1]

Pike Roast {Carmen Berzatto | Pt.2 }

A continuation to Pike Roast.

He chewed at the inside of his cheek while twitching his thumbs over the thread of outgoing messages. You were just shy of approaching week 3 on your anti-Carmen Berzatto Campaign, ignoring every text he sent. 

Though, day by day the Carmen Berzatto found himself growing more anxious at the thought of this becoming permanent. He wasn’t anticipating for this to go on as long as it had been. After all, this wasn’t the first time both of you encountered a wrangle amongst one another.

It occurred sometime in your third month of this situationship. He had initiated the idea of cleaning out a shelf for you at his place considering how frequently you had been staying. However, the conversation soon went sour once you suggested the concept of becoming official.

 “No, we’re not ready.” He insisted harshly, refusing to give you anything but a gentle rejection. “This isn’t perfect.” 

“We’re not perfect or I’m not up to your food & wine standard?” You push back vocally from the opposite side of his kitchen island.

There’s a shake of his head, coming prepared with your response. “Never said that” refusing to make any eye contact with you while he dismissed the conversation, he continued to carve up the marinated fillet on the opposite side of the counter. His blue eyes fixated on perfecting dinner, tuning out the choked back wounds you were reflecting.  

“You implied it.” You retort. 

There’s a heavy, aggravated, sigh that leaves his chest. Flinging his knife in the sink out of frustration, he finally gives you his undivided attention. “How am I supposed to be in a relationship with someone whose shift ends when I’m just getting up for work? Enlighten me on that, (Y/L) because clearly, I’m misunderstanding how that’s functional. ” 

“It’s called compromise Carmen.” You retaliate, downing the glass of Prosecco to numb his lack of compassion.

Carmen always had this way of making you feel like you were absurd for inquiring what your relationship was. Every time he took two steps forward while you followed suit, he ran 4 steps back. 

“I take that as you want me to quit my field of work so the both of us can be miserable at a shitty 9-5, right? Hey! While we’re at it, why don’t we pop out a few mouthy cunts to sabotage what we have going on, and then, we can resent each other for the next 18 years? Sounds like a fucking dream (Y/N).”

You let out a defeated, breathy laugh. “God, you’re such a vicious prick” you tell him, snatching up your purse and sliding off the bar stool. 

Before you can make a beeline out of his apartment, he’s got your arm in his grip that tugs you back to him. “You wanted to fight, finish it.” 

“I think you’re fucking selfish. I think you’re so fucking out of touch with reality that when you do decide to mentally clock in, belittling me is the only opportunity to satisfy you so you can make me feel as miserable as you are. You’re fucking mean, Carmen. Finished. ”

---

He’d grown frustrated by your neglect, finally forming up the courage to show up at your place unannounced after one of his shifts. He’d done this dance with you before knowing it was only going to take him to apologize first to put this fire out.

The moment you opened the door to his sudden knock, he immediately led his ‘apology’ with something along the lines of, “M’sorry for being a dick.” 

To which you would berate, “I’m sorry for ever giving yours attention.” 

“That’s fair.” 

“Fuck off.” 

Wedging his shoe between the doorframe before you have time to fully shut it, he quips out, “Wait.” 

“Past my bedtime. Leave.” 

“Not until you let me conclude with what I came here for.”

“Why should I? You through a temper tantrum for bringing you coffee.”

“I asked you to leave several times.”

“And I fucked off. Like you told me too but look where that got me.” 

“I know, I know..” he trails off, “you’re right.” He confesses.

“Welp, I’m glad we concluded that. Have a nice night Carmen” You tell him, making another attempt to shut the door in his face but he’s too quick to prompt it back open with the strength of his forearm. 

“Let me finish.” 

“Carmen, fuck off.” 

“I have a lot going on.” He blurts out, truthfully. 

“Then don’t punish me for it!” You snap, causing his legs to recoil two steps away from the door and into the hallway from your sudden rage. “Don’t discipline me for something out of my control. I get it, I haven’t experienced the concept of grief, or have the same level of responsibilities and stress load as you, but god Carmen, I’m fucking trying to understand. ” 

“I’m sor-“

“Sorry? How convenient that is for you after you embarrassed me. That’s great Carm, please let me know what I can do with your apology.” 

“You can start by letting me inside.” 

“I’d rather choke on an Italian Beef. Now, Goodnight.” Slamming the door in his face, he’s left alone in the silence of your corridor, no longer feeling like a bear, but more like an abandoned cub.

[evansbby]

Pretty please give us a lil something like a drabble of Steve and Omega with Steve Jr??? Maybe cuddling their floofy baby? Please🥹

Oh I love this idea! I debated posting this drabble bc it’s so out of character for Steve… but he’s drunk so I think it’s alright! Enjoy!

Warnings: inebriation, alcohol mention, daddy kink, a/b/o dynamics, fluff

The strong whiff of beer, whiskey and cigarettes hits you almost immediately when the door opens. You instinctively clutch Steve Junior close to your chest, cowering back as the foreboding, 6’6 frame of your alpha stumbles into the room.

“Baby,” Steve slurs, grabbing you and pulling you into him with so much force that he knocks himself back, taking you with him. Both of you crash land on his bed, you on top of him with his arms locked around you as he rubs his nose against yours, “Whoops. Hi.”

You swallow, wrinkling your nose at the strong scent of alcohol radiating off of him, not to mention how dilated his pupils are. Steve had gone to some frat party with his friends (he’d told you to come too but you’d luckily managed to persuade him that you had too much work — which wasn’t even a lie). Clearly, he’d had quite a bit to drink (and smoke, based on his smell).

“You’re drunk.” You say it almost cautiously, a feeling of dread spreading in your chest. Distant memories surface, the smell of alcohol reeking off your mother’s boyfriends, the anger and fear that followed.

“And you’re cute.” Steve echoes you, kissing your nose and the side of your mouth before his glazed eyes shift to Steve Junior who you’re still clutching protectively, “Oh look, it’s your little friend. What’s his name again?”

“It’s Steve Junior.” You answer softly, the fear within you slowly being replaced by curiosity, “You’re the one who named him, Steve.”

“That’s right, Steve Junior.” He snatches the stuffie from you, the motion clunky yet still strong, and you’re too distracted by his drunken demeanour and how different it is from when he’s sober, that you don’t even notice it.

“Hey little guy,” Steve prods Steve Junior in his furry little tummy with his pointer finger, “You been taking care of your mommy while I’ve been gone?”

You feel your breath hitch in your throat, your heart doing somersaults because this is so weird. Always, in your head you’d categorised alcohol as synonymous with anger and violence. But Steve’s being the complete opposite — relaxed, less stoic, less strict than normal. It’s almost fascinating to watch.

“He says yes!” Steve announces loudly despite the fact that you’re literally two inches away from him. His hand meanders down to give your ass a squeeze, “He says mommy’s been a good girl today.”

He gives you your stuffie back, and you hug the little fur-ball close to your chest, loving how Steve’s alpha scent sticks to Steve Junior’s fur. Meanwhile, Steve grabs your face, raining kisses all over your cheeks, nose and forehead. He’s never been this affectionate with you before, and you don’t know whether any moment he’s going to shift gears…

“Have you been good today, omega?”

You nod quickly, “Y-Yes daddy— I mean Steve. Did all your laundry and ironed your clothes for tomorrow too. I also made some pasta if you’re hungry, it’s in the fridge.” That is, if Bucky or Sam haven’t eaten it, you think to yourself sourly. They’re always eating the food you make — which you wouldn’t even mind if only they weren’t so mean to you all the time.

Steve strokes your hair softly, blue eyes fixed unblinkingly on you, “My perfect baby omega,” he croons softly, and you don’t think you’ve ever heard him say anything so softly, “So perfect for me…” He looks down at Steve Junior seriously, “What do you think, bud? Isn’t mommy perfect?”

Steve Junior’s coal black eyes stare coolly back at Steve, unwavering and unblinking, but Steve nods drunkenly anyways, his own blue eyes suddenly widening in glee, “Ha! You hear that? He just told me that he thinks you’re fucking sexy.”

It’s a ridiculous conversation, but you can’t help but indulge both him and yourself. And it’s so crazy how, for the first time in a long time, you feel kind of lighthearted. Your mouth drops open, “He didn’t say that! He’s my baby.”

The mischievous glint in Steve’s eye is almost instantaneous, and he flips the two of you over, pinning you against the mattress, his hard crotch grinding into you, “Want me to give you a real baby?”

You swallow, “I… uh —”

“You’d be even sexier when you’re pregnant.” He continues, and you have no idea what to say when he says things like this. Not that you’re able to say anything at all because the feel of him steadily humping against you has you going weak in the knees and dry in the throat.

“Wouldn’t she, Steve Junior? Wouldn’t mommy be even sexier when she’s pregnant?” He makes the stuffie nod his head, “See? Even our baby agrees.”

Despite the subject matter, you can’t help the butterflies that flutter in your chest at Steve’s light tone, the way he’s talking to your stuffie, the way he said “our baby.” Sober Steve is many things, but silly and playful is not really one of them…

Steve yawns, burying his face in your neck and taking a deep whiff, his body almost immediately relaxing on top of you, “Mmm, can’t wait to knock you up. My perfect little wife…”

He falls asleep like that, on top of you with his arms wrapped around you and face firmly in the nape of your neck, with Steve Junior sandwiched between your bodies. Shyly, hesitantly, you reach up to card your fingers through his blond hair. He looks peaceful and so much less intimidating when he’s asleep.

Maybe he’ll be nice like this all the time now! The omega inside you screeches happily. And you can imagine it: his softness, the laidback jokes, the sweetness, the way he’d spoken to Steve Junior. You can’t help but get giddy, falling asleep holding onto both your alpha and your stuffie, hope swirling in your chest.

A girl could dream, right?

***

The end! What do we think? Oh boy… this makes Steve Junior’s fate all the sadder🫣

[obsessivevoidkitten]

Stowed Away

Yandere Alien x Gender Neutral Human Reader (CW: Yandere alien, non-con, forced relationship, blackmail, general yandere themes) Word Count: 350  (Here is a little piece I wrote while I was cooking dinner, the idea came to me when I was playing No Man’s Sky with my friend and they got lost inside a freighter. Just a little imagine/drabble. I hope you all like it.)   Have you ever considered stowing away on an intergalactic ship? And you get caught and brought before the alien captain. And instead of pressing charges and having you sent to prison when the ship docks, which would be bad since the laws in this space age society are draconian, he allows you to pay by doing work on the ship.  You do dishes, clean rooms, bring food to passengers, and all the tasks like that. But the captain takes a liking to you and gets possessive so he starts to have you only do tasks near him.  It starts with you doing a lot of cleaning in the bridge, acting as his assistant, and bringing food to the staff there. Then it turns into you cleaning the captain's quarters, doing his laundry, and prepping his meals, not just bringing them. It was like being a stay at home roommate.  Pretty soon after that though bouncing on his inhuman, long, sleek, prehensile cock is added to your list of duties as well as sleeping by him. Officially this task is listed as "relieving captain's stress." It isn't illegal and if you don't comply then you can always go to the penal colony on Verick III. You were now less like a roommate for the captain and more like a stay at home spouse.  After a while you ask how much longer until you have paid for stowing away. You present the captain with a large list of all your completed duties including hours worked it clearly shows you should be even now.  The captain; however, was prepared for this and counters with a list of his own. A list of fees incurred during your stay. 500 units for the use of recycled air. 1,000 units for the use of physical space. 10,000 units for food!!? The list went on and on, itemizing every tiny little thing. You now owed over 100 times what the transport would have cost in the first place!!  The captain just smirks, he would not have you leave him. You both knew there was nothing you could do though, you were stuck being his little stowaway forever.

[pluviophile-imagines]

Sleeping in the Garden: Part I

in which bakugo katsuki is your next door neighbor, and he’s just gotten custody of two girls he’s far too young and far too inexperienced to be a father for—but he’s bakugo katsuki, so he’s damn well going to do it anyway

bakugo katsuki x fem!reader

wc: 21.5k genre: pro hero au, neighbor au, single dad au, slow burn, kidfic type: longfic (6 parts) reader: fem (she/her pronouns, fem terms, neutral clothing) part warnings: children (7&16 years old), parent illness/death, discussions of toxic relationships (pre-fic), discussions of age gap (pre-fic; 20 & 34) note: this is the first part of my submission to the @mybigbangacademia big bang! this was an incredible opportunity, absolutely full to the brim with such talented writers and authors, and i for one can’t wait to check them all out! i’d also like to give a quick thanks to @phen0l​ and @sipsteainanxiety​ for their incredible beta work ♥️ this fic is a real work from the heart, something i’ve been working on for over a year now, so i hope you all enjoy!

masterlist || part ii ⟹

You sit at your kitchen counter to do your work. It’s not exactly ideal; you can’t see them, and you’re certain your back will ache in the morning as punishment for using the tall bar chair for an hour and a half, but you make it work. The minutes pass, the girls continue to work on their assignments and help each other out when needed. It isn’t until a text chime blares out that you turn around and realize how long it’s been.

Ayame is looking down at her phone, reading the text with her arms still preoccupied with academics.

“Did your father get back to you?” you ask.

“He’s not my father,” Ayame snaps immediately, head snapping over to fix you with a fierce glare. “Despite what he and everyone else thinks, he is not my dad, so don’t call him that.”

You raise your hands in surrender, palms out. “Peace. Understood. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have assumed.”

She seems to startle at that—her glare doesn’t pause but her brow furrows further in confusion and when she speaks it’s muttered more than angry. “Yeah. You shouldn’t’ve.”

“But I need to know he knows where you are.”

“He does,” she grumbles. “He’s stuck in traffic, he’ll be here soon.”

Your next door neighbor is the number two pro hero.

It’s a nice neighborhood—admittedly most of the inhabitants are getting on in years, and at times can be unbearably wealthy, but you’re not about to complain when you inherited your half of the duplex already paid off by your grandparents. It’s an unusual western-style house, connected on one side to a reflected twin, with three floors, three bedrooms (though you’ve converted one into an office), two (and a half) baths, and a shared rooftop terrace with the remains of planter boxes and a run-down little greenhouse that your grandfather once used to grow food; a nice place, something you’d never have been able to afford if you hadn’t come into it by luck.

The leftmost wall is shared with none other than the Great Explosion Murder God Dynamight, though contrary to what the name might suggest he’s actually a pretty okay neighbor. That is to say: an almost entirely absent one.

You don’t see the man very much. Hero work, you presume, keeps him more than busy; when he’s home there’s always a shiny, clearly expensive sports car in the driveway (you have no clue what kind but it looks like something a car nut would drool over) and you definitely see it gone more than not. The older ladies like to coo at him when he shows up—sometimes with another tall, built hero in tow, often with groceries in arm. You’ve only talked to him a few times but he remembers your name, and he gives a brusque little nod of acknowledgement whenever you wave at him in greeting. He’s not exactly known in the news as the friendliest type but you’re never felt entirely unwelcome when you’ve gone over to let him know that you’ll be on vacation for a week, or that you’re expecting a handyman to stop by to fix your sink. And that’s just about all the friendliness one inherently needs from a neighbor, so you’re content with the whole relationship.

That kind of goes out the window when the girls show up, because you’re too meddling for your own good and nobody, not even (or perhaps especially) an incredibly busy top hero, is prepared to suddenly take on two children without warning.

You’re not one to keep up with hero gossip—not one to pour through those magazines filled with blurry photos taken from a distance, speculating about which pros are dating which models and how long they last in bed—but since you’ve moved in next door to Mister Number Two you’ve kept half an ear out for stories involving him.

It’s not as if you’re prying, really, because the whole damn country has been unable to shut up about it since the day Dynamight went into a hospital and came out with an elementary schooler in arm and a teenager trailing behind. Your own grandmother called you a day afterwards to ask if you’d met them. And more importantly you’re there—you work from home and you share an entire wall (and a porch and a roof) with them, so it’s really only natural for you to take notice.

It’s only been two weeks, and things are showing no sign of dying down. You don’t know their names or their ages or even how Dynamight is really related to them—it’s all been conjecture, from what you can tell, and either way you figure it’s none of your business—but it’s impossible not to have noticed the younger’s red eyes. They’re stark in contrast to the other’s dark brown, and they match perfectly with those of the very man they’re living with. The conclusion is less of a jump and more of a modest step.

Today, when you lock up your door behind you with Tadeo on his leash for his afternoon walk, you find that they’re standing at the top of Bakugo’s front stoop. The younger sits pouting on the top step with her head propped in her hands and the elder leans back against the railing with an angry expression, phone held up to her ear as she speaks rapidly into it. You don’t entirely want to impose or assume, nor do you want to seem unapproachable, so as you pass the pair of them you give a little smile and a friendly bow of the head in greeting.

The little one perks up slightly, responding in kind. The older one glances at you, but is solidly preoccupied.

“I’m Riko!” says the girl. “Your dog is cute!”

You give her your own name. “I live next door. It’s nice to meet you. Tadeo is cute, isn’t he?”

Riko nods excitedly. When she opens her mouth to speak again, however, the older girl behind her lets out a huff that startles her into turning around. At the same time, Tadeo yanks you along, eager to continue his walk; and while Riko looks disappointed to see you go, her companion distracts her quickly by bending down to hand her the phone and, you’re fairly sure, giving her some kind of order for what to say into it.

You pay it little mind. In fact it’s dashed from your thoughts quickly as you allow your dog—surprisingly strong for how little and old he is—to lead you down the road, determined to sniff at a fire hydrant and then a telephone pole and then a mailbox. The neighborhood streets are familiar. It’s the very start of spring so the early flowers are beginning to break through the soil and the weather is nicely brisk but not too cold, and you let Tadeo dictate your route according to his own graying canine whims.

Soon enough, though, you’re approaching your house the way you’d left. Thirty minutes have passed—a longer walk than typical, but it seemed Tadeo needed it and it was a pleasant enough day that you hadn’t minded—and that’s why you’re mildly concerned when you come up to the building to find Dynamight’s two mystery wards still hovering on his front porch. Riko perks up once again at your reappearance, pulling her head out of her hands.

“Ayame,” you hear her hiss, turning around to tug at the other girl’s pleated skirt, “Ayame she’s back.”

Ayame looks up from her phone, looking terse and annoyed, and glances down at Riko before zeroing in on you.

“Hey!” she calls out. “Can my sister pet your dog?”

You smile, pausing right in front of the stairs. “Yeah, sure thing. He’s friendly. And old, so don’t let his excitement fool you—he’s about to go in and take a nap until dinner.”

The girl races down the steps like a bullet, falling to her knees on the sidewalk right in front of your dog and reaching out to pet his face. Tadeo responds in kind, hindquarters swaying frantically to keep up with his tail and barking excitedly as he puts his front paws up on her knees to get closer.

“Riko!” Ayame scolds immediately. She puts away her phone and comes down the steps herself to stand over her sister with hands on her hips. “Don’t just sit on the ground like that, you’ll get dirty.”

Riko only laughs as your dog licks at her face. Ayame’s nose wrinkles in distaste. You can’t help but smile at the pair.

“He’s so cute,” Riko coos. She looks up at you with a grin—there’s a gap where she’s missing a tooth in the bottom row. “My dad says dogs are messy and too much work and so we’re not allowed to get one unless we’ll be taking care of it.”

“That’s a reasonable rule to set.”

“My dad’s a hero so he’s really busy.” Her attention is back on Tadeo. “But I think he’d like a dog anyway.”

“You think?”

“Mhm.” She nods. Her hair is pulled up into a pair of pigtails, tied by two sparkly pink bows, and it sways back and forth with the motion of her head. “He always goes on runs and he keeps asking Ayame if she wants to join him. I think he gets lonely.”

“He is not asking me to come with him because he’s lonely,” Ayame mutters.

“But if we get a dog he’ll just take it and you can stay behind!”

“Yeah, maybe.” It’s absent-minded, a little dismissive; she’s returned her attention back to her phone, clearly wanting to drop the topic and equally clearly disagreeing though she doesn’t outright say so.

“I don’t think staring at your phone is going to make daddy come home any sooner,” Riko says matter-of-factly. Then she leans forward to whisper to you, in that loud way little kids do when they don’t understand how to be quiet yet, “Ayame forgot her key.”

“Which wouldn’t be a problem,” Ayame snaps, “if he would answer his phone! Or act like the guardian he’s supposed to be!”

Her tapping is furious as her thumbs fly in a flurry across her screen. When she puts the phone to her ear, she shoves her free hand in her pocket and glares off in the distance as she waits.

“He’s just—ugh.” She huffs and shoves the phone into her pocket; you’re pretty sure it had immediately gone to voicemail. “He turns off his phone when he’s on patrol so the only way to contact him is his earpiece and his secretary says this isn’t an emergency.”

“Well, it’s not!” chirps Riko. You’re pretty sure it wouldn’t be received well if you agreed.

Ayame just huffs again, this one a bit more growled. She bites her cheek, glaring off at the distance for a moment—surely cursing Bakugo out in her head silently—before letting her eyes roll back, heaving a big sigh, and then turning her attention to you curiously.

“You live next door, right?”

“Yes. I’ve been meaning to come introduce myself, but I didn’t want to intrude. I’m glad to have the chance today—even if the circumstances are less than ideal.”

“That’s an understatement,” Ayame grumbles under her breath, but she holds back the eye roll that you can tell has been building up and instead gives you a short bow of introduction, stating her name.

You give her your own in turn. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“Now we don’t have to keep calling you Miss Sunny.” She snickers a little, not entirely cruelly but certainly with the kind of vaguely derisive tone only a teenager can manage. You don’t take it to heart.

“Miss Sunny?”

“‘cause of the sunflowers!” Riko pipes up from where she’s still doting upon Tadeo. He’s relishing the attention, rolling around on the street with his tail valiantly putting up an effort to keep wagging despite being pressed into the pavement. Looking up at you and beaming, she points over at the meticulously kept flower boxes you’ve managed to fit along your stoop and down the sides of the stairs, filling up every available space in front of your house. And the balcony above, the leaves lush and full and spilling out down the railing.

The boxes are painted with bright, pretty sunflowers. You can see how they made the connection.

“I’ll take that as a compliment. Sunflowers are one of my favorites, actually,” you tell them. “I can’t grow them year-round but when they’re in season I keep as much as I can. And when they’re not, well. I supplement.”

“Did you paint them?” Riko asks in awe.

“My mother did, actually, when I first put them in.”

“She’s a really good painter.”

“They’re just sunflowers, Riko,” Ayame says.

Riko pouts at her. “But they’re nice.”

“Anyone could do it.”

“No, I bet you couldn’t!”

“Uh, yeah, I could.”

“No you couldn’t.”

“Yeah, I could.”

“Then do it.” Riko finally stands from where she’s been petting Tadeo to fix her sister with a baby-cheeked glare and put her hands on her hips.

“We can’t get inside our house, Riko. Where are you expecting me to find paints?”

As if on cue, before you can decide whether to intervene or not, Ayame’s phone begins to ring again from her back pocket. She answers with such speed you might think it was her quirk. The conversation is short, barely a few sentences exchanged, and when she hangs back up she’s somehow notably more agitated.

“He has to stay out longer,” she says, now so angry she’s moved past shouting and turned monotonous. Or, perhaps, moved past the anger stage of grief and launched straight to depression. “It’ll be another hour and a half, Riko, I dunno what to do.”

The statement gives way to another huff. She glares down at her phone like that’ll somehow make it light up with a response saying he’s five minutes away.

“Ayame,” you say kindly, and her head snaps up immediately to look at you. “Do you want to wait for your father at my house?”

For a moment, more anger flashes across her face. She blinks it away, frowning, then glancing over at Riko not for advice but rather to check-in. “Are you sure? I wouldn’t want to intrude.”

“It’d be irresponsible of me to let you two stay out here when I live right next door and can let you in. C’mon, or Tadeo will get impatient.”

She nods. Riko jumps up, following you closely as you lead them both up the front stoop. Tadeo leads the charge, excited to return and have his dinner. He scratches at the base of the door as you pull out your key to open it, and he sprints in with you tripping behind him the moment it opens; Ayame and Riko follow after you. You find your large guest slippers easily, and your smaller guest slippers with much more difficulty—you don’t have children over particularly often, admittedly—but soon enough you’ve pulled off Tadeo’s harness and leash to hang up and are leading them further into the house.

“Here, make yourselves comfortable.” You gesture to your dining room table. “I’m sure you both have work to do, I can help if you need. Do you want any food?”

They both shake their heads, though Riko hesitates and waits for Ayame to respond first. You choose not to check a second time with her.

Soon enough the girls are sitting around your dining table. Riko has her homework pulled out, and so does Ayame, but Ayame’s work is long forgotten as she’s sidled over next to her younger sister and is bent over the younger’s work, helping her. From your kitchen, where you’re fetching yourself a glass of water, it makes a sweet sight.

“Ayame,” you realize suddenly, “you should text your father and let him know you’re here.”

She glances up at you. Again that anger passes across her face like a shadow, but when she speaks it’s calm. “Oh. Yeah. Probably a good idea.”

You watch as she slides herself back over to where her things are, including her phone. Her work is organized cleanly, papers and notebooks stacked by subject with only a few on the table while most remain in her bag. In contrast, Riko’s side is a mess; she has fewer papers but despite that has more supplies. Three pencil cases, all different shades of light pink with varying baby animals on them, have been opened and half their contents strewn about the table and even the floor. Despite this, she’s dutifully working on a writing assignment, face scrunched up and tongue poking out the corner of her mouth in concentration.

You sit at your kitchen counter to do your work. It’s not exactly ideal; you can’t see them, and you’re certain your back will ache in the morning as punishment for using the tall bar chair for an hour and a half, but you make it work. The minutes pass, the girls continue to work on their assignments and help each other out when needed. It isn’t until a text chime blares out that you turn around and realize how long it’s been.

Ayame is looking down at her phone, reading the text with her arms still preoccupied with academics.

“Did your father get back to you?” you ask.

“He’s not my father,” Ayame snaps immediately, head snapping over to fix you with a fierce glare. “Despite what he and everyone else thinks, he is not my dad, so don’t call him that.”

You raise your hands in surrender, palms out. “Peace. Understood. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have assumed.”

She seems to startle at that—her glare doesn’t pause but her brow furrows further in confusion and when she speaks it’s muttered more than angry. “Yeah. You shouldn’t’ve.”

“But I need to know he knows where you are.”

“He does,” she grumbles. “He’s stuck in traffic, he’ll be here soon.”

“Thank you! Okay,” you nod, making up your mind about how to proceed. “Okay, let’s pack up now so you’re both ready to head out when he arrives. We can watch some TV or something.”

Riko perks up at the mention of TV. She’s already packing up her things before Ayame can agree; it takes them both little time at all to gather everything and fit it all back into their school bags. Soon enough they’re both seated on the couch with a brightly colored hero cartoon playing on the screen.

Ayame is on her phone; Riko is enraptured by the television. You have work to do still, so you sit at the table facing the kids with your laptop before you.

Soon enough Ayame is standing, announcing that “Uncle’s home!” mere moments before a harsh knock raps on your door. Both the girls follow you as you head to the door and open.

Bakugo is there. He’s scowling—though admittedly, you’ve often wondered if that’s the only facial expression he’s capable of. He’s gruff when he greets you, gruff when he greets the girls, and gruff when he tells them it’s time to go.

“Y’have fun?” he asks, seemingly to Riko, though his eyes end up on Ayame as he says it.

“Yeah!” Riko bounds up to him, already in her outdoor shoes. “Miss Sunny’s great!”

The grunt he gives in return is pleased. “Good. Comin’ home with me, though, right? No fuss?”

She shakes her head, pigtails flying across her face with the notion. “Nuh-uh!”

He nods at the bright pink bag in her hand. “Y’want me to carry that, kid?”

Her expression falls. She clutches it closer, face scrunching up, and stares up at him with a look that isn’t quite suspicious or accusatory but certainly doesn’t seem inclined to take his offer.

The low puff of air he lets out is something like a sigh, perhaps disappointed, though you don’t think it’s quite at her. He lowers himself to her height—lower, crouched down with arms braced on his knees to look her in the eye. When he speaks it’s startlingly placating.

“Ya don’t gotta say yes. Was just tryin’ to be nice, yeah? C’mon. I’ll walk you in. You can carry it.”

Then he rises to his feet, and holds out his hand, and Riko’s hesitance disappears as she takes it. In fact she’s beaming. She doesn’t look back as she follows him over to his door.

Ayame hovers in the entryway, leaning through the open door watching Bakugo lead Riko into his house. Once they’re out of sight, she turns to you.

Her eyes are cast downward, a little to the side. She seems to rock on the balls of her feet slightly, almost as a comfort, and is clearly working up the nerve to say something. You wait, letting her take her time.

“I, uh. Earlier, when you called Uncle my dad…”

“No worries,” you assure her. “I shouldn’t have assumed, and I’m sure you get it a lot and I know it’s been a stressful day, so really. It’s fine. If anything, I’m sorry.”

“Nobody’s ever… apologized before,” she mutters. “Not for real, anyway. It’s always—like, they all start saying uncle all rude and condescending like I’m not well aware they’re still calling him my father in their heads. But you apologized and you haven’t called him that since, so… I dunno. I ‘preciate it, I guess. It feels like you’re the first person who’s really listened to me in a while.”

You give her a quiet smile. “I’m sorry, that sounds difficult to have to go through.”

“I just said you were the best one to respond, y’don’t gotta apologize more…”

“But I upset you,” you counter. “I do regret it.”

“Right.” Her shoulders heave, not really a shrug. “Well. I better go off then. Thank you for helping us.”

“You’re always welcome.”

She turns and heads to her own door. You wait for her to get inside, too, before you shut your own and make your way back to your office. You have a little more work to get done before you can start making dinner.

Not five minutes later, however, you hear a knock on your door again.

Bakugo is standing there when you open it, fist raised to knock a second time. He lowers it immediately, letting it fall to his side aimlessly.

“Did Riko forget something?” you ask, thinking back to the messy array of writing implements and assorted school supplies—all glittery or pink or shimmering—that she’d strewn about your living room, certain she must have misplaced one or two beneath a pillow or a rug.

“Hah?” His brow furrows at the question. “No. What, did you find somethin’?”

“No.” You snort a laugh. “Why’d you come back, then?”

“I wanted to thank you.”

It’s gruff, low, said without meeting your eye.

“For letting them in? No worries. I couldn’t just let them wait around out there for you.”

His eyes narrow. When he speaks the tone is defensive, the words slightly growling. “We‘ve been looking for some new sidekicks to pick up the slack so I won’t be working so late anymore, but it’s a process ‘n we’ve only just started.”

“Whoa, hey, I’m not judging you here. You’re a busy man. I get it,” you rush to say. He’s still glaring at you a little, and admittedly it’s probably one of the most intimidating glares you’ve ever been on the receiving end of. “I get it, really. It’s been sudden. They’re great kids, I was happy to have them over for an hour or two. The company was nice, actually. It’s usually just me and the dog during the week.”

The words soothe him. Or maybe he realizes he’d been overreacting—either way, his shoulders relax and the tension eases. Though he doesn’t quite seem like he’s no longer glaring, you’re coming to realize that perhaps he never does look very relaxed. At least you’re no longer feeling like he’s attempting to send you flying back into your home with a single, very intense glare.

“They’re welcome any time,” you continue. Steer away from need and help, you decide. And anything too critical. “If they want.”

He grunts in what you decide is appreciation. Better, then, than the other attempt. Could be even more coherent, if you tried at it a bit—but you’ve already made the appeal to Ayame, so you suppose she can pass along what you told her. In the meantime you choose to change the subject.

“Hey, do you mind if I ask… why’d Riko respond like that when you offered to carry her things?”

You’re not sure he’ll tell you, really. But he surprises you. He sighs, long-suffering and annoyed, and says, “Ayame told her I’d take all their things when they moved in with me. She hasn’t quite stopped believing it.”

There’s an attempt made at biting back your laughter. It’s a failed attempt, but an attempt nonetheless. Your stifled giggles earn you another glare, but this one seems less serious.

“Don’t fuckin’ laugh.”

“I’m not laughing,” you lie through stuttered puffs.

“It ain’t funny.”

“It’s kinda funny.”

He rolls his eyes. “You ‘n fuckin’ soy sauce face…” he mutters, and you don’t know who soy sauce face might be but he sounds like he has a good sense of humor. “Don’t go laughin’ in front of Ayame, it’ll only encourage her.”

“I promise I won’t laugh in front of Ayame.” You do mean that—you really don’t want to encourage her.

“Good,” he grunts, then pauses momentarily. “You said it was just you and the mutt during the week?”

“Over the work week I don’t get many visitors—I mean, I’m single, no roommate. My family lives about an hour away by train, not a trip anyone’d wanna make on a work day. My friends have careers.” You pause after that spiel, realizing finally what he likely meant by the question. “I work from home. Have an office here.”

His brow furrows. “The fuck do you do, then? As a career”

“I’m an accountant,” you reply easily, getting used to his mannerisms. “Freelance. Clients are mostly small businesses, a few tiny companies. Most of my work’s done in my office. So, yeah, here pretty much all day, save for the occasional in-person meeting. Those only happen a few times a year.”

“So, what, just some fuckin’ hermit?” It’s not entirely derisive, the way he says it. More just surprise, a little curiosity.

“I have friends, Bakugo. I go out for drinks, the occasional girls’ trip. I visit my family and they visit me. Perfectly healthy, I promise. Not a hermit.”

He grumbles at that, but clearly you’ve convinced him that you’re annoyed by the implication, because he mumbles out a, “sorry,” afterwards and sounds genuinely apologetic.

“It’s fine. Nothing wrong with making sure. I’m just offering for if you need it. I’m sure you have plenty of options, but. If you think of me. I gave Ayame my phone number; you should have it already, from when I first moved in, yeah?”

Nodding at first, he pauses, and then frowns. “Actually…”

“What, you lost it?”

He looks a little sheepish, somehow. Still surly and cross, but apologetic. “I got a new phone. Lost all my contacts. Was about a month ago. If you’d’ve texted me I’d’a figured it out, but…”

“No worries.” You reach into your pocket and take out your phone. It takes a moment to find his contact—the pair of you really haven’t spoken beyond the initial exchanging of numbers and one incident where Tadeo had gotten loose and Bakugo had found him for you—but you send off a quick text once you do, and are filled with amusement when his own back pocket immediately plays the sound of an explosion.

He doesn’t acknowledge it, so you don’t either. You wonder if he even knows how funny that is (endearing, even, if you were to be bold) or if he thinks it’s completely normal. What he does is pull out that phone (which looks downright tiny in those huge hands… it’s the same model as your own, your mind is left spinning a little) and, clearly, add you to his contacts once more.

“Perfect. We’re all set, then? Just text me if you need me. Yeah?”

A nod, a low grunt of approval; his phone is back in his pocket quickly, and then he’s turning to go. You shut your door right as he opens his own.

The next time you see him afterwards is a week later; he’s locking his door on his way out of his house, you’re on your way in from your morning walk with Tadeo.

“Bakugo!” you call out as you make your way up the front stoop.

He turns to you as he pockets his keys, gives a curt nod and a low rumble of your own name. “Mornin’.”

“This is great timing, actually. I needed to talk to you.” Pausing, you take a moment to take in his attire and recall that it’s a Tuesday and he’s almost certainly headed off to work. “I promise it won’t take long.”

He raises an eyebrow, not exactly kindly but not altogether brushing you off. “Spit it out.”

You shift the leash in your hand to the other one. The process tugs Tadeo over to your other side, crossing in between you and Bakugo, and it draws Bakugo’s attention to your dog, who pauses briefly to sit and beg at his feet. To your surprise it works—your neighbor squats down, raising a hand to scratch at Tadeo’s ears. He looks at him for a moment, and that stern look softens just a bit.

Then you remember what he’d just said. “I was thinking about starting a garden,” you say quickly.

Bakugo pauses, looking up at you and then rising to his feet to regard you fully. “A garden?”

He seems to be sneering, and you bristle.

“Yeah, my grandfather had one back when he and my grandmother lived here—”

“The fuck’re you telling me for?” he interrupts. This time you recoil, pursing your lips.

“It’d be up on the roof, which we share,” you say slowly. “Wouldn’t it be rude of me not to check with you first?”

You might add that you hadn’t bothered to ask when you’d made your little flower garden in the front—it’s on your side entirely—so you haven’t exactly made a habit of asking him about unimportant things, but that scowl softens a little, replaced by a slightly furrowed brow and a seemingly sheepish breaking of eye contact as his eyes dart to the side.

“Do what’cha want. I don’t care.”

You nod. “Okay. Thank you. And if Ayame and Riko—or you, I suppose—want to help out at all, I’m sure I’ll need it.”

At mention of the girls, he finally seems to register exactly what you’re saying. He nods finally, expression relaxing, and though you almost feel it’s too little too late you’re pleasantly surprised—and appreciative—when he apologizes.

“Sorry. That’d be good for ‘em. Real good for ‘em. Thanks for reachin’ out.” He pauses, seems to hesitate, then clears his throat and tells you, “Their mom had a gardening quirk, y’know. They’ve both got ‘em too. I dunno if they told you.”

You blink. “No… I didn’t know. It’ll be a team project, then. If they’re interested, anyway.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I’ll let ‘em know.” He’s nodding, clearly having convinced himself. “When’re you gonna start?”

“Mmm, next week. It’s still a little early to start planting but I’ll probably head up to clear out the space and make planter boxes this weekend. You’re welcome to join for that but it’ll be tedious stuff. Next week I’ll start planting, though.” You purse your lips. “The greenhouse is too broken down, I’ll have to completely remake it, but we shouldn’t need it for a while yet so I suppose I can put that off…”

You trail off, realizing that you’re thinking aloud and rambling at Bakugo far more than he cares about. But when you turn your attention back to him, from where you’d been staring absently off to the distance, you find that he’s regarding you with an amused look.

“That what that mess up there is? A greenhouse?”

Frowning, your response is indignant. “My grandfather built that ‘mess’ himself, I’ll have you know.”

“Not very well, clearly, seein’ as it collapsed like that.”

Your jaw drops. Coming from someone else, you might interpret his words as teasing—but he’s so blunt, and gruff, and his expression hardly shifts to indicate that he’s anything but serious, so you blink at him in almost shock.

That makes him tense. “What?”

“Was that a joke? I didn’t know you were capable of humor.”

“Hah? I’m funny as fuck.”

“Mmm. Very.” You purse your lips, playing at disinterest, but the smile tugging at them does you no favors. “Making fun of something my grandfather poured his heart and soul into… very funny. You’re a real upstanding hero.”

“That damn greenhouse fell down weeks after he made it, ‘n when I offered to fix it up he refused every time. Stubborn old man insisted he’d get ‘round to it. Never did. Obviously.”

“You offered to help?” you ask in shock.

He raises an eyebrow at you, clearly indignant. “I worked on that garden for months after his back gave out. Your grandmother wouldn’t stop nagging me when I missed too many days, said he got restless and wouldn’t leave ‘er alone. ‘course he only ever watched me by then, but I get it. ‘n she fed me in return, always reminded me of that when I slacked off.”

Bakugo had moved into the house next door during the five year stint between graduating university and your grandparents moving out that you spent living in an ever-changing series of small apartments further in the city. You’ve known that he’d had a good relationship with them, but you hadn’t known that he’d helped with the garden at all.

They ask you about him, fairly often in fact, though you’ve never been able to give them the detailed report of his current status that they always want. You’ve always thought that at least part of them giving you the house had been some convoluted attempt at setting the pair of you up together. Perhaps that’s why he’s always kept his distance. Perhaps it’s your other theory—that he just likes old folks. Or maybe he just makes more of an effort to be there for them. Considering his heroic choice of career, it’d make sense if he felt obligated. But it’s undeniable that he’s always reached out more to the elderly in the neighborhood over the younger corporate executives and trust fund kids who otherwise populate it—understandable, frankly, considering how unbearable the latter kind of person tends to be even in the best of circumstances.

Though, you admit, you’ve also lucked into your own property through inheritance. Perhaps you shouldn’t be so quick to separate yourself.

“They ask after you, you know,” you tell him in an effort to break the silence that’s fallen over the pair of you as you’d ruminated.

“Don’t s’ppose you had much to tell ‘em.” He chuckles, then pauses. “‘til Riko ‘n Ayame showed up, anyway.”

“Trust me, I didn’t have to tell them about the girls. Grandma called me the moment she saw them on the news.”

Anger crosses his face when you say that. You tense when you see it, wracking your mind in an attempt to figure out why he might be suddenly pissed at you, but when he growls out, “fuckin’ paparazzi, damn shitty gossip magazines, waste of fuckin’ space,” you realize it’s about the fact that you mentioned the news.

“Oh. That’s… an understandable response. To that photo.” You hadn’t quite put that together, but it does make sense. Dynamight has always been known to be especially private regarding his personal life and even antagonistic towards the press; he has an infamously bad attitude towards reporters out in the field and is rarely interviewed, and when he bothers it’s always abundantly clear that his manager has forced him to. “Really intrusive, actually.”

“No fuckin’ right to take photos of my fuckin’ kids when their damn mother just fuckin’ died.” The scowl on his face is heavy, and you’re very happy that it’s not directed at you. “Wish I could blow up every damn copy of it.”

“Yeah… yeah, I get that. I guess it’s lucky that others haven’t been spread around…” Or their names, you think. Names and ages and life stories—none of that is out there, which is frankly surprising, but good.

“Luck’s got nothin’ to do with it. My team knows how to stop that shit before it spreads.”

“I’m sure it doesn’t hurt to have the threat of number two hero Dynamight coming after you to stop it, too.” You shoot him a grin.

He doesn’t return it. The topic at hand, you think, bothers him far more than he’s even letting on; now he’s silent, and you hover awkwardly, not entirely sure how to continue the conversation. It isn’t unbearable exactly, but considering you’re holding him up from going to work you decide the silence is better off broken.

“Hey,” you say, “I’ve been meaning to ask, actually, and because you mentioned them earlier I might as well. What are their quirks?”

“The girls’?”

“Yeah. They haven’t told me—well, I never asked them, anyway. You said they were related to gardening?”

“Riko’s is called Boom Bloom. She can speed up the growth of flowering plants ‘n when they bloom they’ll explode. Ayame’s is similar—’s called Bloominescence, hers glow. Takes a lot out of ‘em, though. Can’t do it often.” He pauses for a moment. Then he adds, “I expected ‘em to be real filthy tree-hugger types when I learned. Figured there’d be fuckin’ flowers everywhere. Thought the petals ‘n leaves’d get all over the damn place. Thank fuck they ain’t like that, think I’d go insane.”

You bite your lip. “Sounds like something you’d hate.”

He snorts. “Let that be a warning, then, yeah? Don’t go trackin’ dirt around my place. If ya turn ‘em into that shit I’ll never let ‘em visit you again, y’hear?”

“Loud and clear, Dynamight, sir!”

You get another snort of laughter for the dig. But then he falls silent, looking at you pensively. That crimson stare regards you as you twist the leash in your hand a few times, a nervous tick. The way he’s looking makes you feel a little raw—like he’s taking you in, pulling you apart, seeing what makes you tick. And the silence is heavy, palpable.

“What about you?” he breaks it suddenly.

“Hm?” You know, and you stiffen despite yourself. You know what he’s asking, and you only have two options: the truth, or evasion. You’re giving him one last chance not to ask. He doesn’t take it.

“Your quirk. You haven’t told me what it is.”

It’s not an altogether unexpected question, not when you’ve just asked about the girls’ quirks, but it’s one that you hesitate answering nonetheless. And you could refuse to—it’s personal, though not technically rude most people understand when you choose not to say.

But you don’t really want to, not the least because the man before you is a pro hero who could most certainly look it up on his own time; if he’s going to cut whatever this relationship is brewing into short because of your answer here, then you’d rather know now than months down the line.

So you roll your shoulders back, look him in the eye, and tell him you’re quirkless.

Dynamight isn’t known for being the most understanding of pro heroes. In fact what he’s known for is a certain level of ruthlessness; a resolve to win fights while on duty and a lack of patience for anyone who he butts heads with, professionally or otherwise. Where no.1 hero Deku is considered the modern Symbol of Peace—all charismatic smiles and diplomacy, having learned well from his late mentor the great All Might—the man you’ve just informed of your quirklessness is colloquially called the Symbol of Victory, and weakness is hardly something you’d assume him to be particularly accepting of. Despite your logic telling you it’s ridiculous to be concerned, there’s a little nagging worry in your mind that he’ll turn away, get in his car, and drive to his agency and you’ll never talk to him or his girls again.

But Bakugo doesn’t do that. He hardly reacts at all, in fact. Instead he nods, purses his lips as if in thought, and grunts out, “a’ight. Good to know.”

Somehow he’s managed to give the best possible response. You have to give him credit; you never would have assumed that from the interactions you’ve been having with him all week.

“I can garden despite that, though,” you assure him with a smile. “In fact I can’t say it has a single effect on my gardening ability whatsoever.”

“Mmm.” He grunts. “And carpentry? Can you rebuild that fuckin’ mess of a greenhouse up on that roof?”

“Well, I’ll have you know it isn’t my quirklessness that makes my carpentry skills suck. It’s a lack of practice. And there’s no better time to start than the present.”

Bakugo wrinkles his nose, brow furrowing in tandem. “Don’t fuckin’ think I want you to practice with a big ass structure made of glass that my girls’re gonna be goin’ into.”

“Mmm that’s understandable, I suppose. Maybe you should find me a good carpenter to help me out, hm? Since you’re so—”

Before you can finish the sentence, Tadeo begins to bark frenziedly, lunging at the end of his leash and tugging you towards your front door. You stumble that way for half a step, unprepared for the sudden attack, before you manage to steel yourself and brace against his forceful jerking.

Bakugo, however, takes that as his cue to leave.

“‘m runnin’ late already,” he tells you. “Don’t build that greenhouse without supervision, I won’t have it collapsin’ on my fuckin’ girls.”

Then he nods in farewell and then turns to walk away, off towards that sleek, flashy car sitting parked waiting to take him into the city where his countless sidekicks and managing staffers and support technicians await his return to work.

You turn back to your front door and let Tadeo drag you inside.

The roof, when you first go up, is a mess.

You’d expected it. You’d experienced it first-hand before, even; you’ve often gone up with intent to clean it since you’d inherited the home and moved in, yet it’s always been too looming of a task to tackle on a whim and a mere weekend of time.

But there’s nothing quite like outside pressure to make you buckle down and take on such a challenge, and doing something for other people is precisely the pressure you apparently needed. It takes you a little longer than a weekend—in fact, in the week between you beginning the project and the roof being ready for planting, you spend most of your long, agonizing meetings with your laptop set carelessly on the concrete floor amongst the dirt and rotting wood, and a bluetooth headset in your ear as you advise your various clients about their finances.

It’s a good process. Mind and body moving, allowing for each to operate at a better capacity. You barely realize that you’re making progress on the roof until your daily alarm goes off alerting you of Riko and Ayame’s potential arrival, and then it’s a mad dash to get down to your house and shower off all the dirt and grime accumulated by your efforts. You often return up there the following morning, when the wind is biting cold and nipping at your cheeks and ears, to admire your handiwork with a new eye.

There’s an end in sight, eventually; by the time most of the old planter boxes are gone and you’ve reclaimed what you can of the greenhouse Bakugo had once called a mess to pile up in the corner for what will eventually become your own, it’s Friday, and you’re ready to start making new ones.

You’d created a plan weeks ago, complete with growth times and when to plant so that you’ll be able to harvest throughout the spring and summer and on into autumn. Now you take the time to design the layout, easy to see now that the space has been cleared out, and spend a day assembling salvaged wood and new supplies—helpfully brought up for you the evening before by, you’re informed but not present to witness, a small team of Bakugo’s pro hero friends—into the calculated sizes, shoving them into the designated spots, then filling them with soil.

The plants you choose to take on for the first year are simple, relatively easy to care for; carrots and zucchini, tomatoes and chard, cucumbers and potatoes. You’ll add more as time goes on, expanding and improving, especially if Ayame or Riko (or, ideally, both) take to it enough to reliably help you.

They both certainly enjoy it enough that first weekend to show up the second day early in the morning. Ayame has more of an attention span than Riko, naturally; Riko will help for a good fifteen or so minutes at a time, then wander off to do her own thing. That’s solid, you think, for a seven year old.

They help you out more than you anticipated; a few hours every weekend, in Ayame’s case at least, and in Riko’s often passing the time with you after school when she’s done with homework. For the first couple weeks after your initial meeting, they’re around more often than you entirely expect (though you’re happy about it, to be honest).

Ayame has her key past that first day. You doubt she’ll make that mistake again. But it’s hardly fair, in your opinion, to expect her to take care of Riko in Bakugo’s absence—especially when you’re around and more than capable. So they both spend much of their time at your place during the hours before dinner that he isn’t around.

He hadn’t been lying that first day. Once the new sidekicks are hired, he’s back long before dinner, often right when they’re getting home from school, far more consistently, and it becomes less frequent for the girls to stop by out of need for an adult; Ayame is more than capable of being in charge for the hour or so between their arrival home and Bakugo’s, but you always keep an ear out and often end up answering the door to one or both of the girls at some point during the day.

Riko takes, almost immediately, to paying visits to your door and no further just to stand outside and talk to you; Ayame stops by as well, though she’s far more abashed and taciturn about it, and tends to come in entirely with the excuse that she wants a quiet place to study. You enjoy both forms of visitation. There’s no shortage of occasions where Bakugo is unexpectedly required to stay later or go back in after returning home, however. You’ll get yourself a text on those days, curt and straight to the point and a bit crass—though you wouldn’t expect anything else—asking you to let them in, though more often than not the knock comes before the request and they’re already settled.

Ayame soon joins an after-school club, however. She’s cagey about what it’s for but it has her staying later at her high school three days a week, which leaves Riko with nobody to watch her on the occasions her father cannot.

You’re the natural pick to fill that role. And you like it. What you’d said that day still stands, the break from your typical workday is appreciated. Riko is good company for the hour or two she tends to spend with you. You’ll make her something light to eat and help with her schoolwork for much of it, then take a break and do something else for the rest of the time. Sometimes she wants to watch TV—there’s a show she adores, a cartoon called Twinklestar after the titular character who is, naturally, a pro hero and princess of a deserted human colony on Mars—but sometimes you can get her to garden with you, or help out with things around the house.

That’s what you’re doing now.

Ayame is still at school, at her mystery club. Riko has been with you for nearly an hour now. After an episode of Twinklestar, you’d convinced her to come join you outside while you hang up a suncatcher that a friend had sent you while overseas, and she’s been entertaining herself with a little keyring game that she’d found squirreled away in some drawer in your house. You’re not really sure where you got it, or when—it’s probably a holdover from your uni days, there’d been times when you’d hoarded such little pockets of joy and played them under your desk during lulls in lectures; low on brain power and high on dopamine—but it’s age appropriate and she’s been well absorbed while you work, so you’re not going to complain.

Your biggest worry now, frankly, is the very real chance that Bakugo will arrive home and witness you in your currently failing attempts to set up the suncatcher. You’ve brought out a step stool, and you’re perched at the top of it, hammer in hand as you stand on your tiptoes to put the nail in place and pound it in as a peg to hang the decoration. You’re just barely too short. Really what you ought to do is go back in and retrieve the taller step stool from the kitchen, or the ladder that you keep folded up under your stairs, but somehow that feels like admitting defeat.

Instead you balance precariously atop the one you first brought out, tapping at the nail far too lightly so as not to knock yourself off balance and hoping to whatever might be listening that your dour, captious neighbor doesn’t arrive home to lecture you about setting a good example for his daughter and not doing something so needlessly dangerous. He’d probably startle you—for how big the man is, he’s annoyingly quiet when he wants to be. Then it’d be his fault if you fell, really. For scaring you. Some hero he’d be.

Of course that’s when your foot slips. It’s only fair. Punishment from the universe for getting angry at something Bakugo hadn’t even done yet, a swat on the back of the hand.

And it’s your fault, really; hardly even a slip so much as your ankle rolling and your legs being thrown from under you. Though the stepstool you’re perched upon is small, your life flashes before your eyes; you imagine dashing your head on the concrete steps, breaking an arm or a leg at the very least, already trying to figure out how you’ll call an ambulance and what you’ll do with Riko—send her across the way to stay with Ms. Rose or Ms. Tulip for the remaining few minutes before Bakugo comes home? You certainly wouldn’t bring her to the hospital—when, rather than slamming into the hard ground, you’re suddenly caught by a pair of big arms.

It’s effortless. They hold your weight without struggle, having found purchase on your form with practiced ease. You’re left reeling, wide-eyed, and unable to do much beyond staying limp within them in an attempt to reorient yourself.

“Whoa, there!” your savior says good-naturedly. He doesn’t hold you any longer than necessary, placing you down on your own two feet before you can even fully register what had happened. “You okay?”

“Uh, yeah.” Still a little dazed—understandably so, you should think—you shake your head in an attempt to clear it as you regard him.

The man who’d caught you is someone you really ought to recognize immediately, though in your defense you’re a little too busy thanking everything that you haven’t fallen and busted your head open (or at least broken a limb) to register his face until he sets you down.

He’s absolutely massive, towering well over you and boasting an equally impressive width, with a mane of bright red hair and a warm grin exposing a mouthful of sharp teeth. Another point in your defense for not recognizing him: he’s out of uniform, dressed in casual clothes, and you are not nearly versed enough in pro heroes to recognize even the top ten without those brightly colored and intricately decorated hero costumes.

It’s Red Riot, sturdy and robust, not even batting an eye as he subtly inspects you for injury. You brush yourself off a little self-consciously.

Up where she’s been hovering near the door, Riko squeals in excitement. Your attentions are both pulled to her as she darts down the stoop and flies past you, making a beeline for Riot. His face lights up as she approaches.

The moment she’s close enough, he grabs her from the ground and swings her up, pulling excited giggles from her lips as he sets her up on his shoulders. “How’s it going, kiddo? Being good for your sister?”

“Ayame isn’t here,” Riko whines a little, pouting, and though he can’t possibly hear her at all the evidence is plain in her voice. “She’s joined a club after school.”

“Really, now?” Riot is even better than you, you realize; he sounds even more interested than you do without even a hint of condescension. He’s always been known for how well he works with kids—even you’ve heard that—and it’s evident in full force as he interacts with Riko. “What club?”

Riko wrinkles her nose. You watch as she rests her elbow on his head and braces her chin in the palm of that hand, pouting, in a pose reminiscent of a grouchy adult lost in thought.

“She won’t tell me.”

“Oh?” Riot laughs good-naturedly. “Well, everyone gets to have their secrets. I’m sure you have yours.”

“I don’t,” Riko says flatly, in a tone so confident and annoyed that it makes both you and Riot burst into laughter. Luckily she takes it as a compliment; grinning wide, even joining in on the laughter though you doubt she quite knows what’s amusing.

“You must be the neighbor, yeah?” Turning his attention to you, Riot says your name, and at your nod, he gives a quick bow, Riko still perched on his shoulders and giggling wildly as she holds onto his neck. He does most of the work, keeping a hand on her legs to ensure she won’t fall even as his head bears most of her weight. “Kirishima Eijirou. Red Riot.”

“Pleasure to meet you.”

“Bakugo had to stay behind at work, something came up. He asked me to come relieve you of duty.”

“How valiant of you.”

“Just doin’ my job as a hero, ma’am. And, uh, hey.” He gives you a warm smile now, softer than the victorious smirks after won fights and beaming grins during awards ceremonies that you’ve always seen in the press. You think you might be a little flattered to be receiving it. “In case he hasn’t said it himself, thank you for helping Bakugo out. You’ve been a lifesaver more than you know. He really appreciates it, though I’m sure it might be hard to tell.”

You snort. Clearly he knows his friend well. “He’s said it, actually, but I’ll say again that it’s no problem. We have fun. Right, Riko?”

“Yeah!” Riko cheers with hands thrown up in the air carelessly, prompting Kirishima to again grab her legs to keep her stable before she can fall the impressive distance to the ground.

“Good to hear it!” he gives back the same energy, even uses his hands to kick her feet against his chest, drawing out more giggles from her. When he says more, though, it’s aimed directly at you, voice amiable. “What were you doing up on that death trap, anyway?”

“It’s just a step stool…”

“How can I help?” he clarifies. The corners of his eyes wrinkle a little as he smiles at you.

You gesture back at the mess behind you. You’re not even sure where the hammer went, you’ll have to go searching before you go back in, but it’s okay; you’d managed to get the nail in deep enough that it’s in no danger of falling, so it’s mostly the unhung suncatcher lying in a heap on the stoop that draw Kirishima’s eye.

He whistles at the sight. “Pretty.”

It does look pretty lying there, crystalline prisms tied together with fishing line. It’ll look even nicer hanging up where the morning sun will catch it and cast rainbows across your front doorway. You think that’ll be a nice way to start the day, out on your porch after you’ve walked the dog, laptop in hand to begin working.

“It’s a Prism Prison.” Riko bends down and leans over so that her mouth is right near Kirishima’s head, and speaks in a stage whisper, eyes wide like she’s telling him a secret.

“Like from Twinklestar?” he asks without missing a beat, and with just the right amount of awe in his tone.

“Uh-huh!”

“Does it have any villains in it?”

“Yeah, yeah! Miss Serpent and Gunk Guy and Novagleam!”

“Novagleam?” Twinklestar’s greatest nemesis—her evil clone, created by a mad scientist, determined to hunt her down and steal her quirk for herself. It’s wildly endearing that Red Riot recognizes the character immediately. “Well, then, we’d better set it up, huh? Otherwise the villains might escape!”

Riko gives a horrified gasp. “Oh, no! We gotta, we gotta!”

She starts squirming around from her perch; Kirishima’s grip tightens on her legs as he chuckles and approaches. A nod from you to the suncatcher takes you a moment to decipher, but as he gets to the first step you realize he intends to help Riko put it up herself and is asking you to hand it up. You dart up ahead of him and by the time you’ve retrieved it he’s moved the step stool and had his hand held out.

Handing it over, you watch as he passes it up to Riko, and with how tall he is—and, therefore, how high up she is on his shoulders—it’s no struggle for her to hook it onto the nail you’d put in mere minutes ago.

She cheers when it settles, and Kirishima whoops in turn, stepping back enough to make sure she won’t hit the very thing they’ve just hung up as he finally sets her down.

“There,” he says. “Now we’re all safe, yeah?”

He casts his gaze over to you, and gives a subtle nod at the step stool to let you know exactly what he’s really saying. It makes your face heat up a little—embarrassed, but only slightly, at the mess of an introduction and his apparent self-assigned duty to make sure it won’t happen again. Maybe you shouldn’t befriend any more pro heroes.

“All right,” he says assuredly, turning over to Bakugo’s door and fiddling with the knob, clearly to open it. “Riko, Daddy wants me to bring ya back to his work to have dinner in the city, we’ll stop by on the way and pick up Ayame from school. Why don’t’cha head on inside and grab somethin’ to play with for the ride? I’ll be right with you to help you pick.”

Riko, like all little kids, jumps at the prospect of visiting her father’s workplace. Squealing, she bursts into the house just as Kirishima pushes the door open and you hear the sound of her footsteps as she sprints up the stairs to her room. You stifle a laugh. She’s probably already dumped all her toys out of her toy chest and is sifting through all the options on the floor.

“Bakugo’ll have your head if he comes home and her room’s a disaster,” you tell him when he turns back to you.

“Ah, but he’ll clean it up anyway, and he likes taking care of things. I’ll be doing him a favor if I leave him a mess.”

You recall, distantly, what you’ve heard of their history together; that they’d been in the same class at UA along with a record-breaking number of other top heroes. Unprecedented, you remember all the reporters saying, even back when they were all first breaking out onto the scene at eighteen and nineteen and twenty. A monster generation of pros, all coming off a war in their first year, trained by All Might himself.

Living right next to you. Helping you put up your suncatcher. Dropping little bombs about the quiet interworkings of their friends’ minds, learned from years of camaraderie.

Best not to ruminate on that too much.

“Don’t think he’d take too kindly to you spilling his secrets, either,” you tease.

“He’ll forgive me.” Kirishima waves it off. He leans against the frame of Bakugo’s front door, one big hand around the edge of the door and swinging it absent-mindedly. “We should exchange numbers, by the way. Odds of this happening again are pretty high, would be good to be able to text you so you can tell Riko what’s happening.”

“Ah! Yeah, sure.”

“Gimme your phone, I’ll call myself.”

You reach into your back pocket to retrieve it and unlock it to hand it over without question. That hand that’d been swinging the door around abandons it, letting it close on him without so much as a jolt to his body, and reaches out to take the device from your outstretched grasp. He looks down at it, finding the phone app easily.

“How’s the garden treating you, by the way?” he asks conversationally as he types in his number.

“Hm?”

“The garden,” he repeats, glancing up. His thumb presses the call button and you hear his back pocket begin to chime with a ringtone. “I helped bring up supplies a few weeks ago, how’s it going?”

“Oh! Thank you! I would’ve struggled getting all that up there without you guys, you helped a lot. It’s going well! Things’ve been sprouting and some are beginning to blossom, we’re gonna plant for the summer sometime soon. I could probably give you some if you want. You like zucchini?”

“I will adore any homegrown vegetables, dead serious.”

He certainly sounds dead serious. You smile. “Perfect answer. I’ll have Bakugo bring you some of the next harvest.”

Grinning, those sharp teeth on full display, he hands back your phone and you take it. “I look forward to it.”

Where Riko’s visits tend to be requested by Bakugo and done mostly out of necessity (no less welcome, though, of course), Ayame’s occur during much the opposite times. Often she’ll stay behind after he comes and picks up Riko, claiming that she works better at your place. She’ll also show up at your front door later in the afternoon, backpack slung over her shoulder, complaining about her house being too loud with Riko watching shows or Bakugo helping with her homework. You invite her in every time.

Then she joins that club, and for three days a week she doesn’t come home until after Bakugo has. Her visits drop in frequency at first. Then after the first two weeks they increase; she’s compensating, you think. If you didn’t know any better you’d say she missed you. She’d never tell you that, though.

There’s a concept known as parallel play—two toddlers playing adjacent to each other, not quite interacting with one another but undeniably playing together. Ayame’s visits remind you of it. She’ll unpack her bag onto your dining room table and set to work silently while you do your own work, typically on your laptop sitting at the couch or across the table from her or up at the counter bar in your kitchen. You’ll venture into your office to take phone calls, or excuse yourself to the back terrace, but you tend to stay on the main floor with her.

At first she rarely holds more than a few conversations with you, and they’re often little more than you offering food or help with schoolwork and her turning you down. By the time she joins her club she becomes a little more talkative—often about her work, sometimes about her day. The latter you tend to have to probe for.

You ask if she wants to stay for dinner every time. She’s yet to accept. As the weeks go by, however, she grows more hesitant to reject the offer; soon enough, you think, she might just do it.

Today she’s been particularly quiet. It’s been three weeks since she joined the club; even you can’t tell how much she’s enjoying it and how much she’s merely done it to get the adults in her life off her back. You’re pretty sure she likes it okay.

Her teachers, you know, had been pressuring her to join an extracurricular. There’d been leniency for the first few months of the semester, a general understanding of and sympathy for her situation (it’s hardly easy to transfer to a new school so suddenly, let alone as a result of one’s mother passing and being forced to move away from one’s childhood home to live with a man you’ve never met before) allowing her some time to breathe, but life doesn’t stand still no matter how much one feels it ought to. Teenagers might be distinctly lacking in forethought, but Ayame has enough sense to give in on certain matters.

You haven’t pushed her to tell you about what she’s doing. You know she’s wary of you, worried you’ll go running to Bakugo immediately, and you can respect that. Frankly you’re also just not as interested as he and Riko are—you figure if it’s something embarrassing then you’d just feel bad if you wheedled it out of her, and it isn’t as if you think she’s doing something wrong.

So you haven’t so much as mentioned that Riko keeps asking you about it, even if you find it amusing. Ayame, however, is notably more suspicious than thankful.

“You haven’t asked me about my club,” she says as you sit down across from her after making yourself tea. She’s been working for nearly two hours with you; you’d just had to step out to take a call. “Why not?”

You shrug. “If you wanna keep something a secret that’s your right, I’m not gonna try to pry it out of you.”

“Oh…” The tension in her shoulders eases a little, defensive posture loosening as she sits up straighter. “Thank you. I thought for sure you’d be curious.”

“Well, I’m not not curious,” you clarify. “But my curiosity doesn’t trump your comfort. I’m okay never knowing if you never want me to.”

She doesn’t seem to know how to respond to that. She stares at you, mouth slightly agape, but doesn’t say anything; instead, after a few moments and with a light dusting of pink across the bridge of her nose, her head snaps downward and she returns her attention to the papers before her.

You do the same. It’s silent for some time, a few minutes, as the pair of you work sitting across the table from each other. But then Ayame speaks, suddenly, voice wavering a little with hesitance and bashfulness and unable to meet your eye fully.

“It’s cooking,” she says. You look up from your laptop and raise a brow, silently asking her to clarify. She does. “The club I joined. I wanted to join the cooking club at my old school but… I never had the chance to. I always had to watch Riko.”

“Ah.” You nod in understanding. “I’m glad you have the chance now. It’s an important skill to learn.”

“Don’t tell Uncle,” she demands curtly. “Or Riko, because she’ll tell Uncle.”

Now you lower your laptop, just slightly. Her shoulders tense from the motion. You ask anyway, though you know it’s at the prospect of the question you’re about to pose.

“I won’t, I promise. But… can I ask why not?”

For a moment, you wonder if she’ll answer at all, or if she’ll stubbornly ignore the question and remain silent for the rest of the visit as she has so many of the other times you’ve pushed for explanations like this. She surprises you instead by sighing, and tapping her pencil rapidly against the table, and then answering.

“Because he’ll get pissy.” It’s sullen, and she obstinately refuses to look up from her work, but she responds. You give a warm smile of encouragement, and she sighs again. “He’s, like, really particular about cooking, okay? But if he knew I wanted to learn from someone else he’d get all… y’know. Pissy. ‘Cause he cares or whatever.”

“Or whatever,” you repeat, not entirely mocking but rather in agreement. “Is he bad?”

“At cooking? No. He’s good. Really good.”

“So..?”

“So that’s the problem. It’s intimidating being in the kitchen with him and not knowing, like, how to cut things or what temperature to cook at. He’s always judging, and yelling at me when I mess up.” She hunkers down where she’s seated, crossing her arms. Her next words are quieter, and you might call them petulant if they weren’t clearly laced with hurt. “He never yells at Riko when she makes a mess…”

You wish you could comfort her more. Maybe Bakugo does yell at her, and maybe he doesn’t yell at Riko, but in your experience even his normal voice sounds irritated and you’d probably wager a guess that she’s misinterpreting, and whether or not that’s the case it certainly doesn’t help the way she feels about it. So you take a different approach.

“It’s very mature of you to find an alternative way to learn, then. You must care about this a lot.”

It works. She perks up at the praise.

“Mom was always busy… she never had the time to help me learn. Or cook much at all, anyway. But I’ve always wanted to know.” It’s the first time you’ve heard her talk about her mother, you realize. Her tone is melancholy, a little wistful. She swallows, shakes her head, and adds, “And—and when I go visit Grandmother, I’d like to have some skills beforehand, so that I can focus on learning the recipes and not the basics.”

“Well, your secret’s safe with me. And…” you hesitate, not entirely sure how she’ll take it, but say it anyway. “I’m willing to teach you some things, too, if you want.”

Her head snaps up to you, eyes wide with excitement. “Really?”

“Of course! You’re always welcome, and I’m always making something.”

“Thank you!”

“In fact,” you start, “do you wanna help me cut strawberries?”

“Like… right now?’

“Yeah. I’m making a strawberry shortcake later this afternoon.” You look down at where she still has schoolwork scattered across the table. “Oh, if you have to keep working that’s okay. We can do it another time, too—”

“No!” she exclaims, already jumping to her feet. “I’m okay. I wanna help! But I do have to go back soon, Uncle’s gonna be making dinner soon and he’ll probably want me home so I can make sure Riko doesn’t interrupt him.”

Nodding, you stand up after her. “Understood. We’ll be quick, then. But not too quick, because we’ll be cutting things, and I’m pretty sure if I send you back to Bakugo with fewer fingers than you had when you showed up then I’ll get arrested or something.”

The joke gets you a little laugh. You think it might be pity, but you don’t really mind.

The strawberries are in the fridge. You direct Ayame to get out two cutting boards as you rinse them, dropping them into a paper towel lined bowl and setting them down in between the two cutting boards she’s laid out on the counter.

“Knives are in the knife block next to the sink,” you command her next. “You want a small one, a paring knife, not a really big one.”

She nods. It’s not until she’s pulled out an older one that you realize the one she ought to be using isn’t in the block at all—you’d used it this morning and cleaned it by hand, so it’s on the drying rack where you’d put it to let it air dry,

“Mmm, sorry, not that one.” You reach over to take the knife from the drying rack and slide it over on the counter for her to use. “This one’s sharper. Safer.”

Ayame’s brow furrows. “Wouldn’t that be more dangerous?”

“The opposite, actually. A dull knife can still cut you easily, but you’ll struggle more with cutting what you want to cut, so accidents are more likely. A sharp knife, however, will cut things far easier, and do what you want it to do with less force.”

“I see…”

“Now. Let me cut one.” You pull out a strawberry, one big enough for her to see what you do with it. “Pull off the leaves, throw those out. Then we cut it in half, put the flat side on the board, and cut out the center white part with the stem. Other half, and now we’re done.”

You hold up the cutting board to show her more clearly what you’ve done. Then you pick up both pieces and drop them into the bowl you’ve set up in between the pair of you.

“Now you try.”

“Okay,” Ayame says, clearly more to herself than to you. She pulls the leaves off, then holds out her knife and begins to follow your lead, cutting the fruit in half before setting the flat side down. “Cut out the center.”

“Careful, don’t point the blade at your fingers like that. You could slip really easily and chop off part of them instead of the strawberry.” You reach out slowly, trying hard not to startle her, and move the knife and her fingers into a far more safe position. “There, see how your fingers’ll be out of the way even if the knife slips?”

She nods. “Yeah… Okay, yeah. Lemme try again.”

She does it perfectly the second time around. You tell her as much, watching as she swells up with pride, and then turn to your own cutting board to take your half of the strawberries and start hacking through them. She doesn’t need any more help past what you give to her at the start; you’re still faster by leagues, certainly, but it’s to be expected. You’ve had far more practice.

Soon enough you’re finishing not just your own portion, but half of Ayame’s that you stole as well. She’s nearing the end of what’s left in her bowl; in fact, just as she finishes the last one, her phone lights up. You pause in your own work, glancing over as she checks the message.

“It’s from Uncle,” she says, attention fixated on the phone screen. “He wants me to go help Riko with her homework while he works on dinner.”

“Then you’d better head back over.”

She looks up to meet your eye. She seems hesitant—a little dejected. “Yeah. I’ll, uh… I’ll help clean up? I’m sure it can wait a few minutes…”

“No need, you were already helping me by cutting. I’ll bring over some of the shortcake when I’m done with it, sounds good?” You wink at her. “The best part of cooking is getting to eat the fruit of your labor, we wouldn’t want you to miss out.”

“Okay.” She’s smiling now, nodding at you, clearly excited by the prospect.

“And if you like it, I could send you the recipe. It’s fairly easy, good for beginners.”

“Yeah! Definitely! See you after dinner, then.”

With that promise, she’s heading for the door, pausing only momentarily to nab a cut strawberry to pop in her mouth as she’s leaving.

Spring gives way to summer. Your days are occupied with the garden and with work; the end of the semester draws near for the girls, Ayame is busy preparing for exams which, ironically, means you’re seeing more of her. She studies late with you now, staying for dinner on occasion, and she even helps you make it sometimes, finally confident enough after weeks attending her cooking club to allow herself more freedom in the kitchen.

You find it surprisingly nice. There’s a certain kind of pride that comes with aiding her, helping her along and cheering alongside her when she does it properly for the first time. And with seeing her become more and more comfortable cooking, and by extension with you.

That isn’t to say she’s entirely open. She still locks up sometimes, goes quiet when you say something that reminds her of her mother or pry a little too hard. On very sparse occasions she’s had to leave and go back home—you look on the bright side when that happens, that she’s comfortable enough at Bakugo’s (or, perhaps more accurately, with Riko) that it’s a place she can go to calm down when she’s feeling too much.

Riko, meanwhile, eagerly awaits summer break. She’s made countless friends at her new school, and she talks at length about every one, excitedly telling you about how they’ll see each other every day while school’s out and play when they don’t have to do schoolwork. She’s expressing a bit more interest in the garden, too, after a day where her teachers explained how good for the environment household gardens are.

In the last remaining weeks of the first semester, a large plant appears in a pot in the corner of the roof.

You certainly didn’t plant it, nor did you bring up the pot or the soil or anything else. But it’s meticulously cared for, large and thriving, and though you don’t mess with it too much you do pay enough attention to notice when it begins to flower and then, slowly, bear fruit.

It’s a pepper plant. Not a bell pepper, certainly—hot peppers. Thai chili peppers, you’re fairly certain; they’re the right size and, as they continue to grow, your little inspections begin to leave your fingers feeling itchy with the telltale sensation of capsaicin.

Where before you thought it might have been Ayame’s pet project, the realization of what they are has you assuming a new culprit. And that assumption is proven correct a few days into the girls’ summer break.

Now that the weather is sweltering, and the midday sun is borderline unbearable, you shift your gardening time to after dinner when the sun is lowering. Of course that does very little for the bugs, and it leaves you with fading light, but you prefer it over the heat.

Bakugo apparently does too. Or perhaps he just doesn’t have the time otherwise. Either way, when you climb up the metal steps to access the roof, you find him crouched over the mysterious pepper plant.

For a moment, you watch. He’s solidly occupied by it, with his own set of supplies at his feet and his attention solely on the plant. You can’t quite see what he’s doing, but he’s definitely looking at the peppers; you get small glimpses of his face and he looks, you think, strikingly serene.

The missing scowl almost throws you for a loop. You’d have thought it’d be permanent by now, but clearly it isn’t.

And you’ve had enough of your creeping. You clear your throat, walking up onto the roof to catch his attention. “Lovely evening for gardening, huh?”

He looks up. The serene expression is gone; you almost wish you could bring it back yourself.

“I was wondering what that plant was,” you say, undeterred by his silence. “Should’ve figured it was yours. Dunno why Ayame would be growing chili peppers.”

“I’ve had it for years, actually.”

His voice, when he finally speaks, is nice to hear, even if it’s gravelly and curtt. You cock your head at the admission.

“Really? Kept it indoors?”

“Balconies, mostly. The terrace for a bit. Too shady, though. Full sun up here’s better.”

“It seems to like it.”

“Yeah…” Bakugo looks back down at it, clearly proud. “Been usin’ this plant forever. You like spice?”

You shrug. “Normal amount.” Then your eyes narrow as you give him a side-eye. “Something tells me my normal is different from your normal, though.”

He snorts. “Probably. S’okay, just means we won’t be competin’ too bad for these things.”

“True enough, I suppose. How long have you had it?”

“‘bout a year. Give or take. Longer than I’ve had this house, that’s for damn sure. Lugged it all the way to the back terrace when I first showed up, dirt ‘n all.”

“You take good care of it.”

He puffs at the compliment, just slightly. Not much.

“‘Course I fuckin’ do.” He stands, rolling out his shoulders and loosening himself up from squatting for what you’re sure is a long while. Meanwhile you pick a spot and kneel next to it, pulling out tools and other supplies from the tote you use to bring it all up. “I better head back down before the girls drive each other insane. Enjoy your gardening.”

“Mmm. I will.”

He goes to head down the stairs, but pauses, turning back momentarily to look at you. “Oh, one more thing.”

“Yeah?” You lean back to look at him, just in time to see his eyes jump up from what you’re pretty sure is the spot under your legs. You look down, where your thighs are taut from your position and bulging where the tiny shorts you have on are pressing into the skin, and move them to check beneath. “What were you looking at?”

When you find nothing, you return your gaze to him, and he’s pointedly looking away; it’s difficult to tell in the fading light but you think he might be a bit pink.

“Nothin’,” he mutters, barely audible from how far away you are.

“But—”

“Nothin’!” he says again, louder, as he raises a hand to rub down his face in exasperation. “Just—forget it. Didn’t see shit. Wasn’t even what I wanted to tell ya.”

“Okay…” you draw out the word in confusion. “What did you want to tell me?”

“We’ll, uh. We’ll be taking a trip to see my parents next weekend.” He’s flustered, you realize; voice gruff as always but less assured than normal, stumbling over his words just slightly. It’s endearing, though you’re still perplexed by what brought it on. He clears his throat. “Just… y’know, figured you should know.”

“Oh? Have fun.”

“We’ll be back ‘round Tuesday.” His attention snaps over to the pepper plant. “Peppers should be ready to harvest ‘round then… ‘ll be able to grab the early ones ‘n the late ones, but go ‘head ‘n nab the rest if I’m gone.”

“Sure thing.”

“Don’t let ‘em go to waste.”

“I make no promises except that I’ll try.”

“‘kay, y’got me there. Night, then.” He pauses, a little frown, eyes off in the distance as, despite saying goodnight, he still hovers. That red gaze darts back to you. “Don’t stay up too long.”

“I won’t.” You raise an eyebrow. “Don’t fall on your way down.”

This time he huffs out a bit of laughter. And rolls his eyes, taking the hint as he turns to really leave. “Fuckin’ won’t. No nagging needed.”

Before you can retort that he’d nagged you first, he’s gone, and you stare a little dazedly at the place he’d just disappeared. Had he been dawdling to keep talking to you? You couldn’t tell.

Shaking your head, you turn back to your plants. No use lingering on it.

Ayame shows up at your door unannounced one Tuesday morning directly after they return from their trip to Bakugo’s parents’. You find her leaning up against the side of your house, right next to the door, as you return from your walk with Tadeo’s leash in hand.

She greets Tadeo eagerly, though that’s easily overshadowed by his own frenzy. His tail wags so enthusiastically that his whole butt shakes, and he attempts to jump on her once—she puts a stop to that by pushing his paws off her thighs and giving him a stern “no” before bending down to his height to pat his head.

“Good boy,” she coos to him, then looks up at you without letting up from her affection. “Morning.”

��Morning! You’re here early.”

She’s dressed fashionably, in distressed jean shorts with fishnets beneath and a ripped-up black t-shirt with a skull on it. The bright pink band on her wrist might ruin the aesthetic, but she makes it work; Riko gave it to her. At your words she stands to look at you fully.

“I know, I…” She frowns, looking away and shoving her hands into the pockets of her shorts. “I dunno. I needed to talk, I guess? And you were… my first thought? So here I am?”

“Here you are,” you repeat. “You’re always welcome to talk with me, whenever you want to. Come inside, I’ll make you some tea.”

“Thanks.” The tension in her shoulders eases at your words. She follows you quietly when you open your door and gesture for her to join you. You haven’t set out your guest slippers for her—this visit, after all, is unexpected—but she’s seen you take them out enough times that she finds them with little prompt before you can finish taking Tadeo’s harness off. He sprints off to wait by his food bowl the moment he’s free.

“Have you had breakfast?” you ask as you walk into the kitchen. “I usually make mine now.”

“Um… no, but I’ll be making breakfast with everyone this morning. Uncle’s up but we’re waiting on Riko, she’ll probably wake up in an hour or so. Thanks, though.”

You nod in acceptance. “Let’s just have some tea, then. Let me know if you change your mind, though; we have time and I have plenty of food.”

The first thing to do is feed Tadeo—you direct Ayame to do that, turning your own attention to brewing a pot of green tea for both of you as she scoops kibble into his bowl. Predictably, he sets about devouring it as soon as it hits the metal, and without you asking her to, Ayame has already removed the water bowl from the raised tray to dump and refill it.

It’s quiet as you prepare the tea. You decide that if she wanted to talk now, she’d have initiated it; instead she leans herself back against the countertop and watches as you pad about the kitchen. She might not be eating with you but you take the chance to start the rice for your own breakfast, rinsing it and turning the cooker on while the water comes to temperature.

Once the tea is steeping, however, you send her to sit at your dining table; she seems a little stiff still, but better. Hopefully even more so as she gets more comfortable. You join her quickly.

Sliding her cup of tea over the table and hugging your own as you sit down, you give her a warm smile. “All right, what’s up? Is this about your trip?”

She’s been stressing about it, you know. Worried that Bakugo’s parents will reject her.

“No. It’s—” Ayame cuts herself off with a sigh. Shoulders tense, she stares down at the steaming cup in her hands with a strange look on her face. “It’s a boy.”

“Oh?”

Her nose wrinkles. “If you’re gonna be weird I’m not gonna talk to you.”

“I won’t be weird, promise. You sound like you’re very conflicted.”

“Hayao’s his name. He’s the first guy who’s ever been interested in me and he’s, like… I dunno. One of the cutest guys at school. All my friends were so jealous when he asked for my phone number.”

“Yeah? Sounds flattering that he was interested.”

“It was. Is! I mean, he really is cute… They say he was on the hero track in junior high, but his parents refused to let him do something that dangerous. And he’s pretty smart. He asked me to help him study for our literature exam at the end of the semester, which is how I knew he was, like, into me? Because he didn’t really need the help, yanno? Which was cute. And—yeah, flattering. He asked me out on the last day of the semester, right before break. I thought it’d be nice, getting to go on dates and stuff when school’s out. But…” She trails off. Her gaze falls to her tea before her, and she traces the rim dejectedly with the pad of a finger.

“But?”

“But, I dunno. It’s just not really working? He kinda ignores me whenever we hang out as a group and his friends kinda laugh when I try to talk to him. And he lets other girls hang around him all the time—people don’t really know we’re, like, together, so I don’t blame them but I mean he should tell them right? I dunno. I feel kinda sick when I see him now, or when I might see him, or when he texts me. Like my stomach drops and I almost wanna throw up? My friends say it’s probably butterflies but I really don’t think it is. I think it’s anxiety? I dunno.”

“I see.” You nod sagely. “We do not like this boy. Message received.”

“No, it’s—” She cuts herself off with a huff and her eyes cut to the side. Still cradling her teacup, her knuckles go white with a self-soothing grip. “The truth is I don’t think he really likes me.”

“Oh.”

“Like…” Ayame’s shoulders slump. “My friends are like ‘just go along with it, you’ve never been asked out before’ but I’m miserable. All he wants to do is talk about school and Dynamight.”

That makes you pause. You hadn’t quite thought about it, but it makes sense in hindsight—people wanting to get to know her and Riko because of their connection to the number two hero. Especially stupid, shallow teenage boys with no understanding of how much that might sting.

“Well… okay. Firstly, I have to say I disagree with your friends here. No guy is worth feeling miserable for.” You pause, and she snorts, but doesn’t disagree. So you continue. “Do you wanna work out what you think you should do? Or just vent, because I’m here either way.”

“I… dunno what I can do.”

“Well, you could always break up with him, no shame in that. Or,” you add quickly when she opens her mouth, “you could talk to him about it, communicate what’s wrong. If he’s the kind of boy you should stick it out for, he’ll be receptive to that.”

She’s silent for a moment, staring dejectedly into her tea before her. You let her think, process your words, while you sip on your own and watch as Tadeo, done with his breakfast, waddles over to his favorite armchair and hauls himself up to settle in for the morning.

Then you turn your attention back to your visitor.

“What’re you thinking?”

“I…” She sighs. “I don’t know if he’ll be receptive.”

“You never will unless you try.” You take a sip of your tea and give yourself a moment to arrange your thoughts. When you can order them into the right sentences to get across what you want to say, you lean in, lacing your fingers together on the table in front of you. “Look, Ayame, relationships are hard. They take work, even when it’s the right person. I’m not going to tell you if this boy is right or wrong, you’re the only person who can decide that. But no matter what, none of your choices here are going to be easy.”

Ayame squirms in her seat. That, clearly, had been the wrong way to go about it. You can practically see her shutting down at the prospect. A new approach, then—you lean back instead, bracing yourself on the floor with your arms and looking across the table at her.

“You know, the first guy who ever expressed interest in me was the school delinquent when I was a second year. Real cute—though he’d take issue with that description—very charming, got in a fight for me. I liked him a lot, I really did. But..” You let it linger, hoping to create intrigue.

It works; she looks up at you, tilting her head in question. “But?”

“I wasn’t ready.”

She ruminates on that for a moment. Her face is pensive, her gaze unfocused. “How’d you figure that out?”

“I melted down two days after he first asked me out and my mom had to break up with him for me on my phone while I was crying my eyes out on our living room floor.”

Ayame gives a burst of laughter, then covers her mouth. You shake your head and laugh, too.

“It’s okay to laugh, it’s funny. Really!” you insist when she shakes her head in disbelief. “She read the text out loud and I was wailing, absolutely bawling, rolling around on the floor begging her not to and then begging her to just send the message. I swear, that woman had so much patience for me…”

“How’d your dad react?”

The question, admittedly, takes you aback. You tilt your head, trying to gauge Ayame’s intent—it’s an odd jump to make, you think, but she’s looking a little expectant and you realize she’s fishing. You haven’t talked to her about your father before. So you decide to be candid.

“I don’t have one, actually. Had a stepdad for a bit when I was really young but he left… when I was about Riko’s age, maybe a bit younger. Then it was just me and my mom—at least, until I got accepted to university and my grandparents offered to put me through it.” You smile softly, hoping to get across your affection instead of letting Ayame feel awkward or ashamed for asking. It only kind of works.

“Oh.” She deflates a bit. “Sorry, I didn’t realize…”

“It’s okay, it’s not something I try to hide. And you didn’t know either way. Besides,” you gesture between the two of you, “we gotta stick together, yeah?”

If you weren’t looking for it, you might have missed the way her lips quirk up slightly at your declaration. “Yeah.”

“Good. So I wasn’t ready—that was my point. Who knows what would’ve happened if I’d tried to force it; maybe I would’ve been miserable and come to resent him, and he didn’t deserve that. The way it worked out was better for both of us.”

“How?” She sounds a little desperate. You think you understand. It must be hard to believe that her situation can work out. Maybe that’s right—maybe this specific boy really can’t—but that doesn’t mean it’s permanent.

“How’d it work out? Kenzou and I stayed friends—well,” you hold up your hands to do air quotes, “‘friends,’ because admittedly we were both still pining—until graduation when I kissed him and we started going out for real. And that lasted a good long while the second time around. I don’t regret taking a little longer to date him, because it meant that when I was ready it was a much more successful experience. And trust me, if a boy really likes you, he won’t care.”

“You mean he’ll wait for me?”

You tilt your head. It’s more difficult than you anticipated, walking the line between encouragement and setting her expectations too high.

“If he likes you,” you settle upon saying, because it’s safe. Safer than telling her this boy will wait for her; you honestly doubt that, from what she’s been telling you. “And if he’s the kind of person who’s satisfied with that. But if he doesn’t, it’s not your fault. There’ll be other boys who do like you and who are the kind of person who’ll wait for you, if needed.”

“I guess.”

“Just trust me on this. It’s true.”

“I… okay.”

She doesn’t believe you, that much is obvious. It’s never going to be easy to convince a teenager that life continues after high school—never going to be easy to convince them that what’s before them right now might not be the ultimate happiness they think it is. Maybe you should have just told her that he’s a jerk and she shouldn’t waste her time.

But no, it means more if she comes to that conclusion herself. All you can do is finish your cup of tea and hope she takes what you’ve said to heart.

“How’d he get in a fight for you,” Ayame asks suddenly.

“Who, Kenzou? My high school boyfriend?” You chuckle. “Teenagers tend to be a lot more subtle than younger kids, but I still got picked on a lot for being quirkless. He caught some boys stealing my stuff—one of them was levitating it up above me so I couldn’t reach it—and stepped in.”

“And beat them up?” She’s excited now, a little starry-eyed at the concept.

“Oh, soundly. Used his quirk to overpower them—he was a hero prospect, too, once upon a time, though he’s always been too critical of the hero system to become one, even back then. ‘Course quirk usage got him in a world of trouble with administration, but… he always said it was worth it to meet me. I learned later on that he’d liked me for a while, actually, just didn’t know how to approach me.”

“Wow, that’s… so romantic. I wish a guy would do something like that for me…” A sigh, wistful, and you’re reminded that the girl before you has never had a relationship before. She deserves a first boyfriend like your own, you think. “I can’t believe you’re not still together.”

You snort. “Well, our lives just diverged. We’re still friends! He visits me whenever he’s back in Japan.”

“Back in Japan?” The awestruck tone has returned tenfold. “Where does he go?”

“Oh, all over the place. To tell you the truth I hardly know what he does. Something about quirk research, it’s all a little over my head honestly. But he comes back about twice a year to see his family and stops by when he has the chance. I’m sure you’ll see him someday.”

Just as you finish the sentence, in the kitchen behind you, your rice maker gives a little chime to indicate it’s done. You pause to look back at it, and—prompted by the music—Ayame glances at the clock on your wall.

Her eyes widen as she takes in the time. “Oh! I should probably go back, Riko should be up now.”

She jumps up from her seated position, careful not to rattle the teacups on the table. You follow after her, albeit more slowly, as she removes the house slippers (you should get a pair just for her, you think; Riko, too) to change back into her shoes.

“Thank you!” she says as she opens the door to go, turning back to give you a small bow that makes you grin from where you hover just inside. “I don’t know if I’ll break up with him… but your advice helped. I’ll see you this weekend? For the garden?”

“This weekend,” you assure her, and with that she runs off to catch her train.

The following morning, as you return from your daily walk with Tadeo, you find your neighbors (plus one) gathered at the front stoop.

The addition is a teenage boy. A little taller than Ayame, dressed in the most unremarkable teenage boy outfit you think you’ve ever seen, he hovers near her and seemingly refuses to take his attention away from Bakugo, who he’s intently talking to. Riko stands at her father’s side, hand in his, while Ayame is turned away with her arms crossed over her chest and a frown gracing her lips.

Riko is the one who notices you, turning and waving with her free hand as she tugs at the other one to get Bakugo’s attention.

“Miss Sunny! Miss Sunny!”

You give a little wave, gesturing for her to return her attention to her father, and intend to pass on by without issue. Unfortunately Tadeo has different plans.

He goes certifiably insane as you try to pass, barking up a storm and managing to tug so hard against his leash that you stumble (a true feat of strength, considering how small and how old he is) towards the group of four at the front of the steps. You do your best to reel him in but he’s making a beeline straight for Ayame’s visitor and before you can manage to pull him back towards you to pick him up, he reaches the boy’s legs.

The kid (what was his name? Hayato?) yelps, leaping back and almost cowering behind Ayame. She seems unimpressed—the whole family does, and you almost feel sorry for him considering he now has the number two pro hero, a seven year old, and his own high school sweetheart staring at him in varying levels of disdain. You hadn’t even known Riko could look that bored.

Tadeo seems largely unfazed by the sudden movement. He attempts to out-maneuver and bypass Ayame’s body but she’s faster, head whipping down from where she’d been staring down her nose at her friend to bend over and snatch up your dog swiftly and gently.

He’s still yapping up a storm when she hands him off to you with a troubled expression.

“Sorry about that,” you say cheerily. “He’s usually so chill. Dunno what’s up with him today.”

The kid (Hayao, you remember suddenly. You’d been close enough) side-eyes Bakugo, stepping forward slightly and opening his mouth to speak when your neighbor beats him to it.

“Nah, s’fine.” He gives a dismissing wave of his hand. “Mutt’s so old I doubt he even has teeth left to bite with.”

“Yeah,” Hayao rushes to agree. “It’s okay.”

“Yeah?” Tadeo makes a particularly valiant struggle in your arms, wiggling around. You might be playing up how hard it is to keep hold of him, if only to watch the boy’s eyes land on your dog and widen as he hesitantly takes a step back. “Don’t worry, I got him.”

“Well it doesn’t matter,” Ayame cuts in, “because we gotta go or we’ll be late.”

Hayao’s attention is pulled from the dog as she grabs him by the wrist and begins tugging him away down the road. He stumbles after her; before they can get far, however, Riko darts forward to intercept.

She gives the teen a hug, wrapping arms around his waist and looking up with a bright grin to say, “Bye-bye!”

He seems to startle from it. He’s stiff as he stares down at her with wide, baffled eyes and clearly has no clue what to do with his hands as he holds them both out wildly. “Uh, yeah, bye.” Then he looks up at her father with a strikingly nervous expression. “Good to—to meet you, Mr. Bakugo—Mr. Dynamight, sir.”

Ayame pulls her sister off him, hissing something like stop being weird before grabbing Hayao’s hand again and pulling him down the road all the more insistently. Riko is entirely unaffected as she stands with suspiciously innocent posture and waves as they head off.

She comes bounding up to where you’re hovering next to Bakugo with Tadeo still in your arms. You set the dog down as Ayame and Hayao disappear over the hill, and Riko sidles up next to her father.

“Did he notice?” he asks, still looking down the road.

“No, daddy,” she says sweetly, giggling like it’s the funniest joke she’s ever made. You glance down at her to find that she’s not-so-subtly trying to shove something into Bakugo’s hand.

“Nothing less from my best fuckin’ sidekick,” he responds gruffly as he takes whatever she’s trying to give him. You can only gape as he turns to you—no, your dog—and bends down to offer Tadeo the mystery item.

It’s a dog treat. You remember a jar full of them always on the kitchen counter back when your grandparents still lived in your current home. You’d asked them where they bought the things, because they looked fancy as hell and Tadeo always seemed to adore them—still does, clearly, judging by the way he barks and his whole lower half shakes with the force of his tail wagging—but you’d never gotten a straight answer. Now you think you might have found it.

“Played your part well, too, mutt.” It’s surprisingly affectionate—for Bakugo, anyway. He gives Tadeo a pat on the head as the dog snarfs down the gift; you haven’t yet overcome your shock when he stands.

“What the fuck,” you’re saying before you can stop yourself. “Is that why he was being weird?”

“Used to love those things. Made ‘em for him all the time.” Bakugo stands to his full height before turning to his daughter. “Ready to go, bug?”

“Whoa, whoa, no you can’t just leave after that, I need an explanation.”

Bakugo doesn’t answer you at first; he lifts Riko with ease, resting her on his hip. She’s still acting incredibly self-satisfied.

“My dad asked me to put a dog treat in Hayao’s pocket,” she tells you smugly.

Her father frowns, turning to her and raising his free hand to press a finger to his lips and shush her playfully. “We agreed not to tell anyone. Secret mission, yeah?”

She pouts at the reprimand. You interrupt, slightly annoyed.

“Why, exactly?”

“He’s not really interested in Ayame,” he tells you hotly, though you get the feeling the anger isn’t directed at you. “Punk’s just some fuckin’ hero fan. Wanted to meet me, weasel his way into my good graces or some shit. If I told Ayame directly she’d just get pissed off at me. Trusts the mutt, though, so figured I’d use that.”

The explanation surprises you, just a little. Frankly you hadn’t thought he’d paid enough attention—not to Ayame’s emotional state but to her boyfriend himself and his unsaid intentions behind asking her out—to have come to such a conclusion. Ayame almost certainly hadn’t told him as she’d told you, so it had to have been his own observations and his own conclusion from them. You wonder, briefly, if you ought to tell him about the conversation yesterday morning, but decide not to. It feels like a breach of trust somehow, and even if she doesn’t feel comfortable talking to her guardian about things you’d rather not make her feel like she can’t trust you, either.

Riko, however, has a different plan. Perched against Bakugo’s hip, she squirms, calling for the attention of both of you.

“Ayame told me Miss Sunny told her to break up with him,” she informs the both of you proudly.

Bakugo’s head snaps back to you. You shrug. “She came to ask for my advice yesterday morning.”

“That’s why she was stompin’ around so early? Thought she had a school thing.”

“Don’t you get up that early?”

“I don’t stomp.”

Biting your lip, you meet Riko’s eye and widen your own comically until she giggles. “Somehow I doubt that.”

“I don’t,” he insists, sounding indignant.

“He does!” Riko interjects. “He stomps all around and wakes us up when we’re sleeping even though we’re all the way upstairs.”

You raise an eyebrow and meet Bakugo’s gaze. It doesn’t even require words—he narrows his eyes in response and turns Riko away from you.

“Don’t manipulate my daughter. She’s only sayin’ that ‘cause you laughed.”

“I haven’t a clue what you’re talking about.”

“Playin’ dumb doesn’t suit you.” You watch his jaw tighten with his words, and it makes a smile pull at your lips. It’s never less than amusing, the way he takes things so seriously.

“Still in the dark here,” you respond, voice sing-songing. “I’ve thought up my fine, by the way.”

“Your fine?”

“Yes. My fine. Well, Tadeo’s, I suppose.”

“For what?” Bakugo sounds incredulous.

“For his participation in your plan,” you chirp in response. “You used my dog, you have to give him something in return.”

“We gave him a treat!” Riko pipes up helpfully in response.

“Ah, true, but he played a vital role, no? Wouldn’t you say he ought to get more?”

“Hmmm…” she purses her lips, mimicking someone thinking hard, before nodding enthusiastically. “Yeah! He should get all the treats he can have!”

“I agree.” You nod with her before returning your attention to her father. “So, in order to provide him with as many treats as he deserves, the fine is you telling me where to get those, because I could never get a straight answer out of my grandparents…”

His scowl deepens. He opens his mouth, and you can tell already that he’s going to brush you off. Sorry, bud, you’re already telling Tadeo in your head, because you’re never going to learn where his favorite treats come from.

Riko, however, has different intentions.

“Oh! Oh! I know!”

“Riko—” Bakugo starts, but she’s already saying it.

“Daddy makes them! He makes them from scratch! I helped him yesterday, he asked me to help knead the dough, but I wasn’t allowed to help put them in the oven because the pans are too heavy and it’s too hot and I might burn myself.”

Against your will, your jaw drops a little. When, you wonder, will this man stop surprising you—making dog treats from scratch for your grandparents’ elderly dog? You’d never have guessed. Your mind recalls the jar of them from a year ago, full to the brim every time you’d stop by, and wonder how much baking he’d had to do to keep it that way.

“Oh,” is all you can say in response. “So it’s not some… crazy expensive boutique.”

Standing before you, he looks embarrassed; a little sheepish. “Nah. Was gonna give you the rest of the batch tonight, actually. Wouldn’t want ‘em to go to waste.”

“How much?”

He shrugs. Riko bobs with the motion, giggling excitedly. “‘bout thirty. Not a ton.”

You nod. “Okay. Okay, how’s this. If Tadeo did his job properly, and Ayame comes back single… you’ll take a day and make five batches. If he didn’t, we just get the leftovers.”

“Deal,” he barks. Riko cheers. Tadeo, not to be outdone, barks as well.

That afternoon you don’t see them—you have a call with a client that lasts well into the afternoon, and on Fridays Bakugo always makes sure to come home early to make and eat dinner as a family. It’s sweet, you think; your mother used to do the same, though on a less consistent schedule. The perks of owning one’s own agency and being one’s own boss, and not having to be subject to the ever-changing requirements of the service industry as your mother had been.

In the evening, however, Ayame and Riko wander up while you’re working on the garden. It’s been thriving; you’ve had to wage a small war with blossom end rot on your beefsteak tomatoes lately, but other than that you haven’t had any pressing issues, and everything else you’ve harvested has been on time and good quality. With summer coming to a close, and the weather beginning to cool, you’ve begun the process of planting for autumn and winter harvests.

Riko finds a spot near the stairs and sits herself down on the concrete before one of the dilapidated flower boxes you’ve yet to clean up, filled with overflowing weeds and stubborn herbs. Her hair is plaited now, two long braids down her back tied with little pink bows at the end—it had been down this morning, and you get the feeling her sister might be behind the style change.

“Uncle’s finishing up dinner,” Ayame tells you as she approaches, and you nod.

“Well, you two are more than welcome out here while you wait, if he says it’s okay.”

“My dad’s a really good cook,” Riko says from behind you.

“Is he now?”

You can’t see, but you can hear how vigorously she’s nodding from the sound of her voice. “Yeah, yeah! He says his daddy taught him.”

“Your grandpa?”

“Yeah! He’s a really good cook, too. He made us food when we went to visit him last weekend.”

“Really? What’d he make?”

Riko regales you with all the food Bakugo’s father made the three of them over the two days of their visit. She lists off all the dishes, then starts on the ingredients—with extensive help from her sister, who corrects her when she mispronounces things or gets lost in her train of thought.

“I got to practice cooking a little,” Ayame adds to you quietly while Riko is talking, smiling excitedly. “Uncle’s mother didn’t let him in the kitchen while I was there, so his father helped me, and let me help him some.”

“Was it fun?”

“Yeah. It was.”

“Did you learn some stuff?”

“He showed me how to make tonkatsu. Said I was a natural, actually.” She sounds proud as she tells you, perhaps a little bashful. “I wanna visit again soon. Uncle said we might go back for a weekend when school starts back up, I think I’d actually be really excited for it.”

It’s then that you realize Riko has stopped talking. You raise a finger to quiet Ayame, who pauses immediately.

“Riko? You wanna keep talking?”

She doesn’t answer. You turn around, only slightly concerned, but find her attention completely gone. She’s turned away from you, having scooted even closer to the busted flower box, and she’s put herself to work on her own form of unstructured gardening as she pulls up weeds and pushes the dirt around into piles. It isn’t impossible to get her to focus and do real gardening with you, but it’s hardly worth it for the minor upkeep you’re doing tonight, so you turn back around and drop the conversation to let her play.

With Riko solidly lost to the infinite possibilities of her imagination and the planter box, you’re left with Ayame, who stands across from you. Beckoning her down to join you in your work is easy; a quiet gesture with your head and she’s kneeling with you, pulling from her pockets gloves that she’d taken from the pile near the stairs.

You hardly have to direct her on what to do. She’s already weeding with you, meticulously plucking unknown stems from amongst the shoots of your late-blooming carrots and radishes and onions.

“It sounds like it was a productive trip for you, too, then,” you tell her.

She nods. “Yeah. It was really nice. Uncle’s parents are great, they were real nice to me. I appreciated it. His mom took me to her work on Monday, actually. She’s a fashion designer. She took me to lunch, too, and we talked. It was… fun.”

“That’s great!” Not that you’d thought it likely for Bakugo’s parents to react poorly, it’s still good to hear that they’d welcomed Ayame readily.

She doesn’t seem to want to keep talking, though. She lets the conversation die down, and you let her, the pair of you focusing on the work before you in silence. Though there’s a more pressing discussion to be had.

Once the pair of you seem to get into a groove, you broach the topic. “So did you do it?”

“Do what?” Ayame blinks at you, and you push down the urge to tell her that she’s not nearly good enough at lying to convince you.

“Break up with him,” you decide to say instead.

“Oh… yeah. I wasn’t really sure this morning—I mean, I wanted to but I didn’t want to? So I wasn’t going to? But…” She moves to kneel next to you, not even bothering with gloves as she digs her hands into the dirt. “Tadeo’s freakout this morning made me change my mind.”

That throws you for a loop. Somehow you hadn’t been expecting it—somehow you’d thought it’d have been your talk with her, if anything. Maybe you should give Bakugo more credit.

“Your talk helped a lot too!” Ayame rushes to add. “I just… well, you told me to choose and I was still unsure. But, like, dogs are really good judges of character, you know? And Hayao… really didn’t like Tadeo, either. He kept talking about him on our way to school. And I don’t wanna be with a guy like that. So I told him we were through when we showed up. Which was probably not a good plan, I probably should have done it after school so he could have the weekend to, like, process or whatever. But I can’t take it back now, I guess.”

“Hey, look at it this way: if you’d waited then you’d have spent the day fretting, and that’s worse than what he got. Plus you might’ve overthought things and not gone through with it. Good on you for getting it over with.”

She doesn’t seem like she believes you; she nods absently, keeps her attention fixed on the work before her. You decide to go for a different approach.

“How’d he take it?”

Ayame makes a face.

You chuckle quietly. “That bad, huh?”

“He was awful. Told me I was a bad girlfriend anyway. Said I was all distant, I guess? Like, we were dating for two weeks. He really can’t judge that. And—and if I was that bad, why didn’t he break up with me first? Would’ve saved me the trouble…”

“How’re you feeling, though?”

“Uh, good, honestly?” She shoves her hands in her pockets, then seems to realize just how dirty they are and removes them, instead moving to brush them off over the seeds she’d just planted. “I mean, all things considered. Also I’m not supposed to know but Riko told me Uncle got me purin from my favorite bistro to cheer me up, so. Great? I guess?”

“Food solves all of life’s woes,” you tell her sagely, and she huffs a laugh. “Really, though, I’m proud of you. Breakups are hard on everyone involved, including the one who does it. It’s a difficult decision to make, but I think you made the right one.”

Again she makes a face, this one even more exaggerated. “Don’t be weird.”

“I’m not being weird! I just think you made a mature choice and I’m proud of you!”

“Yeah, okay.” Despite the dismissive tone, her next words are clearly genuine as she sidles up next to you. “Thanks for the advice, weirdo.”

“You’re always welcome.” You nudge her softly, drawing a smile from her surly face with ease. “I’m just glad it helped.”

She nods. The pair of you fall silent for a moment, you returning your attention to the seeds you’ve just planted and her simply squatting next to you watching you work.

Then a voice calls out her name.

“Ayame!”

You both startle, whipping about to find Bakugo standing at the top of the stairs, arms crossed. Though his face is stern, he doesn’t seem angry—no more so than typical, anyway—and the call of her name hadn’t been particularly irate either.

“Set the table,” he orders, then turns to go back down before Ayame has even acknowledged him.

She huffs audibly, and mumbles a snippy response under her breath even as she stands to do as he asked. “Couldn’t even say please? Like living with a drill sergeant.”

Despite yourself, and the knowledge that laughing will only encourage her, you snort in amusement. Luckily he couldn’t have heard either her comment or your reaction—Ayame does, though, and you catch a hint of a smile as she walks over to the stairs where Bakugo waits.

He lets her go down first, then follows, though not before locking eyes with Riko and telling her to behave for you—and then giving you a curt nod before ducking down.

Riko is entirely occupied with her broken-down planter box. It’s funny, you think (adorable, even) how much she enjoys the dirt, when her other primary loves have always been pastel pink and sparkles. Considering her quirk, though—and her mother’s—it makes sense. You suppose you ought to be happy she’s not using it to explode half your garden. Instead, she’s tearing up the weeds from the dirt and using them to make what you’re fairly certain are dolls; little stick figures with arms and legs made of stems and flowers as heads, which she’s moving around in piles of dirt. If you asked, you’re certain each pile would have a convoluted, highly detailed story behind it, explanations for what structures they are and what the different dolls are doing within them. You choose to leave her alone.

Instead you focus your attention back on gardening. While the conversation with Ayame had, obviously, been important to have, you hadn’t actually gotten much work done during it; too busy talking.

So you take the time now to actually garden. There’s mulch to be added, leaves to trim back, plants to water. You tentatively have hope that you’ve fixed the blossom end rot that had been plaguing your tomatoes, though it’s a bit too early to be fully certain of it.

You get to the eggplant, however, and realize that while you hadn’t anticipated it, it’s ready for harvest. You’d brought up the right tools to do it, a pair of shears, but they’re not on your person—they’re over in the pile of supplies you’ve left near the top of the stairs.

Now, you could go get them yourself. But there’s a certain child in the vicinity that you’d like to get to help out at least a little.

“Riko, sweetie,” you call out, “there’s a pair of shears over there that I need. Could you hand them to me? The orange ones?” You reach out your palm and wait for her.

But it’s not an eight year old’s hand that gives you the shears. The hand that reaches out is far too large—larger than your own, even, hardened with rough work and attached to a massive forearm that also couldn’t belong to a little girl. You yelp in shock, yanking your hand back and dropping the tool in the process.

Bakugo grumbles as he stoops to pick it up and you’re left reeling with your hand pressed flush against your chest where your heart hammers rapidly beneath your ribs.

“It’s just me, dumbass.” He holds the packet of seeds out for you again, scowling all the while.

“I didn’t know you were still up here, prick.” There’s a number of more obscene insults you might have employed if not for Riko still hovering in the vicinity, but unlike her father you refuse to encourage that kind of language from her. It doesn’t escape him; his eyes crinkle and his mouth twitches in what must be him holding back laughter. Your own eyes narrow as you stare at him. There are more pressing matters either way—such as how he in all his pro hero muscle managed to climb back up the metal staircase to the roof without making a sound. It’s worth asking. “How are you so quiet when you’re that big?”

“Trade secret.”

The only response you have to give to that answer is a low hum—not quite dismissive, but certainly unamused. You make an attempt to turn your attention back to the box before you, seeds in hand, but Bakugo doesn’t stay quiet for long.

“Riko,” he says suddenly, drawing the girl’s attention from her little floral dolls. “Go help your sister set the table.”

She pouts a little, but with a stern look from her father she’s quickly tossing the handmade doll in her hand to the side, rising to her feet, and darting off back towards the top of the stairs where, you realize, Ayame hovers and is clearly waiting for her—she must have come back up with Bakugo, you think. On her way over, Riko pauses briefly near Bakugo to stand up on her tip-toes and pull him down so that she can press a kiss to his cheek. You smile a little at the sight, at how he caves to her tugging so easily, and at how Ayame beckons her to lead her down the stairs—they’re steep, a little rickety, and you’re glad that Ayame is making Riko go first to ensure she stays safe. They disappear down, the metallic sound of their feet tapping on the iron rungs fading as they descend.

And then you realize that Bakugo is still standing before you, watching you as if waiting for something.

“Is there… a reason you’ve stayed? Need to tell me something?” you ask, but he remains stubbornly silent, still scowling, not quite meeting your eye. You sigh quietly, this time turning away from him entirely to focus on the dirt before you, and mutter under your breath, “Okay. Nice chat.”

There’s a kind of tension in the air. You can’t quite place what it is, but you can feel his stare on your back like the midday sun, and you have a funny feeling that if you were to turn around he’d be wearing an expression on his face like he’d smelled something funny. The only thing you can do, you decide, is continue until he eventually says what he wants to say or gives up and leaves. Luckily you don’t have to wait nearly as long as you feared.

“Was wonderin’ if you wanted to join us for dinner,” he says after a few minutes. You pause in your work.

“Huh?”

“Dinner,” he repeats. “You got plans or d’you wanna eat with us?”

Now you stand fully, staring at him with your mouth a little slack. “Oh! I’d, uh—I’d love to! I was hoping to finish planting tonight, though.”

“How much?”

“What?”

He rolls his eyes at you. “How much planting, dumbass. How much time.”

“Um, well, like half an hour if I’m doing it—”

“Then I’ll help.” Bakugo nods decisively. “Food can wait ten minutes.”

Arrogant—for reducing the time to one third by virtue of his help—you might say teasingly if you weren’t half in shock. Instead you nod silently, mouth a little slack, and gesture towards the pile of supplies at the edge of your planter boxes before lowering yourself again to return to your previous task. In your peripheral, you can see him retrieve what you can only assume is gloves and perhaps a trowel before he returns to your position.

Crouching down next to you, he sets to work by your side.

It’s silent for a while. He doesn’t seek direction nearly as much as you had expected; that’s a pleasant surprise, not needing to handhold him through helping you. The other pleasant surprise is that the quiet between you two isn’t awkward. It’s comfortable, easy. There’s no air of awkwardness lingering, or any hovering inability to speak. That’s proven, if anything, by Bakugo breaking it quite suddenly halfway through the work.

“She broke up with him.”

You pause. Ayame, surely, hadn’t informed him; that leaves only one option. “Riko told you?”

He grumbles inaudibly towards the dirt in front of him, and you suppress a laugh. It doesn’t work; he shoots you a glare that has no heat.

“Shaddup,” he barks at you with a scoff. “Ayame told you herself, then?”

“I think she likes me more than you,” you tell him smugly, earning yourself a second scoff, this one louder.

“Y’don’t gotta rub it in. Riko tells me everything, anyway.”

“Mmm. Smart, getting the little one in your pocket. They do teach you some good tricks at those hero schools, huh?”

The huff you get this time is certainly laughter. He nudges you with his shoulder—just like Ayame had done, you note with silent amusement and perhaps an equal amount of affection, though admittedly this one leaves an ache beneath your skin that she certainly hadn’t managed—and doesn’t budge a millimeter when you return the gesture.

“You still owe Tadeo a month’s worth of those treats, though.”

“Hah?”

“Your little scheme worked, that was what finally convinced her. I can’t take all the credit. Though,” you add, pretending to think carefully, “he is my dog, so I think I get half credit for that trick anyway—”

“Absolutely fuckin’ not,” he interrupts. “Riko was my assistant, if anyone gets half credit it’s her.”

That gets you to burst into laughter. He says it so seriously; as if he were genuinely offended you hadn’t given his daughter the recognition she deserved.

“Okay,” you say through your peals of laughter, “okay, that’s true. But I really do have to hand it to you. It was smart. Maybe smarter than my own approach.”

“Nah, you told ‘er what she needed to learn. She needed that, too. And she ain’t gonna fuckin’ hear it from me, even if I’m right.” He pauses, then rolls his eyes and huffs angrily. “Scratch that, ‘specially if I’m right. She listens to you more.”

It isn’t as if you can refute that. Though, to be fair to him, his ability to bond with Ayame is weighed down to an extent you’ll never have. Even if you don’t know every detail, that much is abundantly clear.

“She’ll come around,” you say finally, and though you can’t possibly guarantee it you’re pretty sure it’s the truth. “Eventually.”

And he grunts, a tentative agreement. You both fall back into that comfortable silence.

Ayame and Riko have to venture back up to fetch the pair of you, lost as the pair of you become in working together. You haven’t become so absorbed in gardening with another person, you realize, since your grandfather’s health had grown so poor he’d been unable to maintain the prosperous garden you’d been accustomed to while attending university. It isn’t until Ayame’s voice calls your name, and Riko calls for her father, that you realize how dark it’s become.

The feeling that blooms in your chest as you watch Bakugo pluck Riko from the roof and swing her into his arms to carry her inside, as you gesture for Ayame to go down ahead of you and follow behind as she tells you what they made for dinner, is a little odd but warm. You think maybe you’d like for this to be your new normal.

[infernalodie]

𝐁𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐕𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧 || 𝐌𝐚𝐝𝐝𝐲 𝐏𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐳

“𝘛𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘩𝘦 𝘪𝘴 𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘧𝘦𝘤𝘵 𝘈𝘯𝘺𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘐 𝘨𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘩𝘪𝘮, 𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘦𝘴𝘦𝘳𝘷𝘦𝘴 𝘪𝘵 𝘙𝘢𝘳𝘦𝘭𝘺 𝘥��𝘦𝘴 𝘩𝘦 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘴𝘦𝘦 𝘮𝘦 𝘉𝘶𝘵 𝘢𝘯𝘺𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦 𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘰𝘦𝘴, 𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘢𝘬𝘦𝘴 𝘪𝘵 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘵𝘩 𝘪𝘵 𝘓𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘐 𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘯𝘦𝘥 𝘪𝘵“

Inspo: Sabrina Claudio - Better Version Tory Lanez - And This Is Just The Intro

Pairing: Maddy Perez x Black!Male!reader

Summary: You had always been there for Maddy. She had always had a chance with you, but she was always with Nate. So, she had to imagine every little moment with Nate to be you. But when she is finished with her day and enduring Nate, you make it worth it when you come around.

Warnings: Angst and then eventual passionate smut.

Words: 2019

DNI IF YOU’RE YOUNGER THAN 18!

She was hooked.

Maddy was undeniably, miserably, and astronomically hooked on you since she met you. Her fingers interlocked with Nate’s as they both enjoyed the warm sun on their skin while walking back to her house always being sacred. But one day, their typical path was blocked up by you and your friends drinking, smoking, and eating. The fresh scent of burgers and hotdogs filled her senses as she glanced at the front porch.

You and your friends held no shame and clearly weren’t afraid of any police showing up. But she spotted you instantly because of your hulking figure. Your lips formed into a goofy smile as you dabbed up your friend with your gaze finding hers. And before she knew it, you were jogging over.

“Yo, folks!” You smiled with your blunt resting naturally between your lips. Both Maddy and Nate reluctantly turned to you, finding you still smiling politely at them, eyes flickering to Maddy far more occasionally. Pulling the blunt from your lips, Maddy saw the faint black ink of your had that disappeared under the sleeve of your jumper. With her eyes flickering to what looked like the head of a snake peeking out the collar of your shirt. “Do you guys want some burgers and shit? We got beer and all that if you’re interested.”

Before Maddy could even reply, Nate’s hand clenched around hers. “We’re good, thanks though.”

“Oh, c’mon, man. Where’s the harm in drinking a bit and having some food, huh?” You inquired casually. “You guys are in high school, right? East Highland?”

“Yes,” Maddy confirmed, interest clinging to her tone. “But why does that matter?”

Your gaze flickered down for her with a gentle smile. “I went there last year. I know for damn sure that Nate Jacobs isn’t a saint, so why aren’t you coming to drink, man?” You inquired, a welcoming smile dancing across your lips.

The boy seemed about ready to start a fight, but considering most of your friends were sitting and watching, he held his tongue. But Maddy was intrigued by your carefree nature, not to mention how easily you started this conversation without hesitation. If it be her, she wouldn’t just be inviting random people she didn’t know to her barbeque.

But you were quick to notice the tension judging by the glare Nate had directed in your direction. Raising your hands in surrender, you moved out of their path with that same casual smile on your lips. “Okay, fine, man.” Turning to Maddy, you smiled and held your hand out for her. “It was a pleasure to meet you.”

She took your hand and instantly felt the small paper in the palm of your hand. Skillfully taking it without Nate noticing, she smiled. “You too.” And when she and Nate walked away, you rubbed your hands, eyes running up and down her figure. Maddy glanced over her shoulder, catching your stare but it didn’t stop you from grinning, tongue peeking out as you wet your lips. Winking at the girl before you went back to where you sat. Maddy rolled her eyes, interest beginning to rise to boil as her hand tightened its hold with Nate’s.

That had been the first time Maddy ever met you so many things seemed to have changed since then. And she wishes that it could’ve been as simple as a handoff to see you more. You didn’t go to school, so on the rare occasion she saw you at a party, she always found a way to part from Nate’s side to ambush you wherever you may be. If it is in the hall waiting for the bathroom or in the backyard with the rest of your friends.

Because she knew you were better for her. Your smile, your personality, your piercing e/c eyes, your soft lips, everything about you was better than Nate. But breaking off from Nate wasn’t as simple as she’d like. He had a hold on her and you were a high that gave her a chance to forget about him and think about what could possibly be. And understandably, you wanted something more than just a friends-with-benefits relationship. Fights over the phone and in the flesh created a distancing factor that had left the two of you taking some time off from one another.

So, as you stood in the kitchen at a random’s house, kids partying around you, your eyes stayed transfixed on Maddy. Minutes ago, you had contemplated leaving just from how stuffy the air felt. The sweaty bodies of teens brush past you in hopes of getting more drinks or getting laid in one of the many bedrooms upstairs. But her presence kept you here. You hadn’t even noticed her when she initially got here either. It was like a third sense when you just felt it in your gut. Sure enough, she was here with some of her friends and Nate Jacobs.

You wanted to hate her for what she putting you through. Making you wait for something that might not even happen. Because you could be out with some other chick that wanted your time and love. You could be enjoying your life and leaving Maddy Perez in the rearview. But her being here or even 4 blocks from your house made that difficult. And honestly, you didn’t want to leave her behind ‘cause she sold you enough dreams of a happier life than you’d ever get without her.

“Look at me. Come over and see me,” you thought to yourself, seeing Maddy laugh with Cassie with red solo cups in both girls’ hands. Yet, you got nothing, not even a glance. Albeit, she might’ve just not noticed you yet, but you were selfish and wanted- needed her.

Handing your blunt to one of your friends, you moved out of the kitchen. Eyes cast forward but taking a daring glance at Maddy. Her eyes were already following you. An unreadable expression took her face as you looked away, rounding the stairs and climbing. Maneuvering through a few of the drunks passed out or talking on the steps. When you reached the top of the stairs, there was a sizable lineup of kids waiting for the bathroom. Doors on the sides were all shut and locked, and muffled moans were barely heard from outside.

These are what kids did nowadays.

Shaking the thought from your head, you continued down the hall, looking over your shoulder to see Maddy following. A faint smile was seen on your lips as you continued to lead to an unoccupied room. Stepping inside, you stood by the bed, watching the shadow of Maddy dance across the doorway before she appeared. Lips pulled into a grin as she carefully closed the door behind her, leaning her body against the door with her bottom lip caught between her teeth.

The lock of pure excitement in her eyes never ceased to amaze you. No matter how many times the two of you did this, she always seemed to have a shot of adrenaline shoot through her body. And even though there were some clearly complicated feelings in the mix, the two of you knew what you guys needed tonight.

Maddy was panting mess as she shook with each thrust of your hips. Cock spearing into and bumping every single sweet spot that had Maddy bristling in bliss. A lazy smile on her lips as she tried to buck her hips to meet your thrusts, but you kept one firm hand on her stomach, making each thrust more enjoyable to feel. With your other hand old both her wrists above her head as you hummed at the feeling of her walls practically squeezing around your cock.

Each pound was pushed out from the frustration you felt, and Maddy knew it. And your bloody back was from her own frustration with the situation you two felt. These 2 hours of bliss weekly weren’t enough for either of you. Both of you needed more and needed it soon.

Maddy needed it the most just from her troubles with Nate. But that wasn’t surprising considering there were always problems when it came to him. But she needed out. She needed you more than she’d like to admit. You brought the best out of her and made her feel things she never thought possible. Or never thought she was capable of feeling. Whatever Nate made her feel was fabricated as she tried justifying her relationship with him. With you, it felt real. Everything felt better.

So, as your lips ghosted over Maddy’s, she cracked into a smile. Leaning her head up to kiss you softly before parting a breath away. Breaths intermingled together as you rocked your hips against her, smiling when Maddy groaned, head rolling back into the pillows. Her toes curled with her arms began to shake. Wanting nothing more than to claw at your back once more. Feel more of your warmth and large body pressed against hers.

The party was still very much going on downstairs, but even if it wasn’t, the two of you wouldn’t have stopped. The animalistic desire the both of you felt was always growing and no one could hold that back. And the fact that this hadn’t happened after your most recent fight 2 weeks ago, the time apart had to be made up. Both of you were fully intending on doing so.

“Fuck yes!” Maddy gasped, feeling you rut your hips forward before parting and slamming back in. Continuing this loop until you felt the knot in your stomach build and build. Smashing your lips against her as your hips began to move far more frantically. Chasing the high you had yearned for since the fight. Maddy’s legs curled around your waist, keeping you as close as she could.

Until finally, you groaned, hips bucking forward as Maddy’s velvety walls clenched around, her orgasm exploding. The both of you moaned, foreheads resting together as the two of you aided one another in prolonging the feeling.

When it did end, you pulled out of her, leaving Maddy whining in protest. You tied off the condom and tossed it in a nearby trash bin before you laid on your stomach in the bed. Chest rising and falling as Maddy straddled your lower back and looked at the mess she had made to your back. Scratch’s painted your chocolate-toned skin with some being minor scrapes whilst others had pierced large chunks of your skin and caused blood to emerge. But something about the sight only made Maddy’s heart skip as she rubbed her thumbs into your lower back.

You looked over your shoulder, smiling as she tried to soothe the ache. “We need to invest in some rope, M,” you quipped with a pant. “Scaring my back isn’t ideal.”

Maddy laughed softly, reaching to the end of the bed and grabbing your shirt and slipping it on. “I’m sorry. I guess I got carried away.” Her lips taunted, a look of innocents that made you scoff in amusement.

“Nate downstairs?” You inquired, sighing as you were already preparing for the answer you would receive. You knew it was just a hook-up and not expecting anything more. Sadly, this was what you got yourself into and couldn’t imagine leaving.

But when you felt her brush of fabric touch your back, you peeked over your shoulder to see the small frame of Maddy leaning over you. Trapping you beneath her, but there wasn’t much trapping when you could lift her and move her. But you allowed her to enjoy her tiny amount of dominance.

“He’s in the rearview,” she told you, chuckling at the way your eyes brightened. Her hands came up and brushed your cheek softly. “Let’s focus on us, yeah?”

There was no response of agreement needed as she already knew what you would say. Although the two of you wouldn’t admit it, you guys loved one another. And if you could have her forever or be able to call her yours, you would be the happiest man on this Earth.

[here2bbtstrash]

Can you write a drabble with bestfriend yoongi finding out you have a spit kink and makes fun of you but turns out he’s into it too and … yea 🤭

anon i gotta give you props for so patiently playing the waiting game. i literally saved this req from the last time you sent it bc i really WANTED to do it but it took a lotta brain power 😂 had to have a whole brainstorming session

also shoutout to seokjin for making this relevant!!

still accepting freaky requests, lmk what ya wanna see!!

pairing: yoongi x reader word count: 1.1k contains: spit kink, erotic watermelon eating 🥴, i promise there's no actual food play tho, friends to lovers ig, tiny bit of praise kink

“Eat.” Yoongi sets the plate of fruit and bowl down in front of you, and panic instantly rockets through your nervous system.

“I-I don’t like watermelon,” you say before immediately realizing that isn’t going to solve your problem. The issue isn’t whether or not you eat it.

“That’s not a thing,” Yoongi says decisively as he squints at you. He can clearly tell you are acting strange. “Everyone likes watermelon.”

“Are you questioning my taste in fruit?”

Your best friend rolls his eyes. “Well, I have about ten pounds of it, courtesy of Jin. Help me eat it or don’t. I don’t give a shit.” The silver bracelets on his wrist jangle as he reaches for a slice. You make a mental note to kill Seokjin the next time you see him.

Frozen in place, you can only watch helplessly as Yoongi takes a bite, pink fruit melting quickly under lips and teeth. His jaw works for a second, and then he brings the bowl up to his chin and spits three seeds out in quick succession.

Fuck.

“This one does have a lot of seeds,” he mutters mostly to himself, frowning into the bowl.

Of fucking course it does.

He suddenly seems to become aware of your eyes on him, because he looks up at you, brows furrowing together with agitation. “What is this, a fucking mukbang? Will you put on the damn show?”

Right. Extraordinary Attorney Woo. He specifically invited you over to get caught up on the latest episodes. Not to stare at him while he eats fruit.

You fumble for the remote, trying not to look as flustered as you feel, and clearly fail, because you can hear Yoongi laughing around another mouthful. “What the fuck is wrong with you today?”

“Leave me alone.”

You manage to divert enough brain cells from thinking about your best friend’s mouth to remember how to pull up Netflix.

The show starts, and you sink back against the couch, extremely grateful for the distraction.

Except it doesn’t work. You are unfortunately laser-focused on Yoongi as he reaches for another slice, and the first bite is accompanied with a gratuitous sucking sound as he attempts to keep the juice in his mouth.

He’s not quite successful, and when a few drops roll down his chin, you’re hit with the nearly overwhelming desire to lick them up.

“You can literally have some if you want it,” he talks with his mouth full, wiping the back of his hand over his neck. You know he’s talking about the watermelon, but there’s already a steady pulse between your legs at the other opportunity that sentence offers you.

He picks up the bowl again to spit into it, having to try a few times to get all the seeds out of his mouth, and you’re not going to make it. Especially not when he reaches for a third slice and makes a low hum of appreciation at the first bite. The noise thrums through you, so intense you swear you’re vibrating.

Yoongi’s eyes catch yours, and when he sees you’re still watching him intently, he’s clearly had enough.

“Alright,” he says mid-chew, picking up the remote to pause the show and then slamming it back down. “If I’m that fucking gross, you can just go home.”

“Not gross,” you correct quickly, before you can decide whether or not it’s a good idea.

Yoongi looks entirely confused, but he must finally be able to read the expression on your face, see the way you go slack-jawed when he pulls the bowl up to his mouth and spits into it a third time.

“So, what, you have a watermelon fetish?”

“Not watermelon,” you say softly.

His gaze jumps from your face to the bowl and back, and he seems to finally put the pieces together.

“Oh my god, are you one of those ‘spit in my mouth, daddy’ girls?”

An embarrassed heat shoots up your neck, and you can only nod.

“That’s fucking freaky,” he laughs, enough that his shoulders shake. “I can’t believe I never knew this.” Your brain thinks to tell him that you don’t appreciate being kink-shamed, and then his next words make you forget how to string a sentence together, or even what words are.

“Open your mouth, then.”

Without hesitation, you do as you're told. It’s impossible to miss the smug expression on Yoongi’s face as he gets to his knees and moves towards you.

“So eager. You want it that bad?”

Your tongue lolls out as you nod, and you inhale sharply when his hand comes to grab your face and hold it in place, silver rings digging into your skin in a way that sends sparks through you.

“Then I want you to take it like a good girl, okay?”

You couldn’t suppress the strangled noise that sentence works out of your open mouth if you tried. Yoongi’s eyes glint– he’s clearly enjoying this power. The strong muscle of his jaw flexes, and then he leans down to spit into your waiting mouth. It’s too damn hot for you to stop the desperate whine that follows.

“Want more?”

When you whimper again, Yoongi seems satisfied with the response. He sits up a little taller on his knees, and you can see his tongue moving behind closed lips. There’s more saliva this time– a lot more; he lets it fall slowly out of his mouth, off of his tongue, feeding it to you one drop at a time, so slow it’s nearly torture. You squeeze your eyes shut and your thighs together at the same time, your hips just barely starting to rock, in desperate need of friction.

You hear and feel it as he spits a third time, fast and aggressive now, so fucking dirty that a shiver rips up your spine.

Yoongi’s fingers brush over your jaw, and you take the encouragement to close your mouth and swallow.

“Good girl.” His voice is dark with lust, and you instantly need more. Eyes still closed, you drop your mouth open again in a silent request.

It takes you by surprise when his tongue meets yours instead, and you can’t help but outright moan as he licks into your mouth, tasting sweet and heady. You find his body under your hands, fingers moving to tangle in the long dark hair at the nape of his neck, enjoying the low groan you pull out of him when you tug gently, the way his lips close around your tongue and suck.

His hands are already fumbling for the button of your jeans, and you’re both breathless when he breaks the kiss momentarily to better see what he’s doing.

“Fuck, how about I spit on your clit next?”

You don’t expect to survive the evening.

[abyssruler]

some delinquent childe and student council president reader hcs:

when you announced that you were in a relationship, the entire school was shocked, everyone trying to figure out how and why the two of you even got together in the first place.

at first, everyone thought he bullied you into dating him—until they saw you ordering him around and scolding him after he got into another fight, and him smiling you and nodding his head at whatever you said. needless to say, it quickly became clear that he was whipped.

your friends ask you if you made the homemade bento you now always seem to have during lunch. they’re all stunned when you tell them that childe makes them for you, complete with a note that says, for my hardworking pres ;)

he skips classes just so he can intrude on yours and sit next to you while you do your best to ignore him and pay attention to the teacher. he doesn’t try to bother or distract you like most would initially think, he just likes to watch you take notes and be all serious about your education. he finds it cute how worked up you can get while solving a difficult equation.

he would sometimes glare at the other students who raise their hand to answer a question when you’re clearly raising your hand too. it does the trick as most of them get scared off by his dead-eyed stare. it’s why most of your classmates always check to see if you want to answer the teacher first before volunteering, even when childe isn’t there.

he doesn’t exactly get the worst grades, but they’re still bad. after you two started dating, his grades significantly improved after you convinced him to study more, even tutoring him on the topics he skipped class for. his family absolutely adores you, practically adopted you right then and there after learning how much of a good influence you are to him.

he still gets into fights, but what used to be an everyday occurrence was now reduced to a bi-weekly thing. most of his time is now spent helping you with the heavy tasks involved with your position as president like carrying a box of papers for you or helping set up a school event. when he does get into fights, you’re usually the one who breaks them up and drags his ass to detention.

childe has only managed to convince you to skip class once, and it was his life’s greatest achievement. he helped you jump over the wall to escape school and got you to agree to ride on his bike—with a helmet of course because you were, and he quotes, “not riding on that death trap without any sort of protection.” he takes you to see his favorite spots in the city and makes you try out his favorite street foods.

on valentine’s day, he buys you the biggest bouquet and enough chocolates to fill your entire fridge. he has absolutely no shame as he serenades you right outside the window of your classroom with the help of his friends. he gets detention because of it, but seeing the embarrassed but happy look on your face as you laughed at him was worth it.

overall 10/10 very boyfriend material.

[tender-rosiey]

asylum | gojo satoru ft. gn!reader

ᴀ/ɴ: just soft and whipped gojo

gojo can’t help the hand that starts to brush against your cheek. his eyes fixated on you, clearly admiring you; he sometimes thinks it’s a fever dream, like he isn’t actually blessed to have someone so close to his heart safely.

it feels different, being able to feel the warmth of your skin on his, a good different he thinks. his hand trails to your hair, as he brushes it out of your face, “so pretty,” he mutters lowly, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

gojo toys softly with the ring on your finger, a ring he has proudly put on you two years ago. the memory brings a fond smile to his face, the people, the decorations, the food, the atmosphere, and most importantly: you. you looked so breathtaking, he wanted to shout it to the world, but he prefers to show his intimate feelings in lowercase.

yes he shouts, yells, and screams like a cat that would die if no one gave it attention, but he thinks it’s better when it’s just you and him, under one roof, in your house. when you first moved it, gojo couldn’t get the sentence out of his mind: “it’s our home.”

now what he can’t get out of his mind is how you manage to look so ethereal every single time of the day. maybe, it’s the love talking, the love that has been swelling in his chest to the point he was afraid it would burst, but at the same time it’s calm and serene place: an asylum for him to indulge in.

to him, ethereal isn’t being adorned by makeup and what not (though he does love seeing you all confident because of your outfits), but to him, ethereal is the fact that you could be drooling, hair styled like a nest and eyes barely open and still manage to make him feel like he’s looking at the prettiest view there is.

to him it is, you’re the prettiest view to him, in all your forms and sides.

he’s empathetic in a way, but he realizes the downs of the world you both live in and always chooses the option that will have best result. he sacrifices one for 3, 5 for 12, and 100 for 2,000.

but when it comes to you, he refuses to think he might have to see you walk down the same path his best friend did, and even then gojo didn’t kill him and didn’t dare dispose of his body, even while knowing how dangerous it is.

he wants to reform the jujutsu society, but will it be worth it if you are lost in the way as well?

this time, gojo decides, if a sacrifice will be made then it’s the world who will be it. the cruel world who is immune to everything he’s trying to do, and rendering his power useless where he wants to be the most powerful.

he decides, you’re worth every dilemma he might face, every obstacle he would have to go through and despite not being fond of killing, if anyone decides to harm you, anguish is a far too feeble of a world to describe what they will feel and go through. he decides, this time he will be selfish and chase what his heart wants instead.

gojo settles on not telling you any of his thoughts as you finally open your eyes, to be met with the captivating sight of your husband, “good morning, ‘toru,” and he smooches your cheek loudly making you whine.

“good morning, gorgeous.”

taglist: @magenta-cat-drawingss @pompompurin1028 @scul-pted @dazaisdeathwish @requiem626k @nameless-shrimp @shinys-bsd-world-1 @sonder-paradise @ravenina14 @jessbeinme15s-notebook @todorokichills @ginneko @missrown @shrynkk @simplyxsinned @beautiful-is-boring @bakugossanity @izukus-gf @irethepotato @thekaylahub @luciferspen @fiona782 @ginneko @kisakitwister

copyright © 2020 tender-rosiey

do not copy or plagiarize or you will be reported

[horanghaejamjam]

Raspberry Kisses - {JJK}

↪ Summary: You never believed in demons until a game gone wrong left you stuck with one. Though a Halloween party and failed baking experiment may have you realizing being bonded to Jungkook isn’t as bad as you thought. 

↪ Pairings: Demon!Jungkook x Female reader ft brief cameos from Namjoon and Yoongi. 

↪ Rating: M 18+

↪ Genre: Demon Au / Enemies to Lovers / College/University AU / Smut / Some Angst 

↪ Word Count: 10.5k

↪ Warnings/Contents: Smut (Minors DNI), Possessive and Flirty Jungkook,  Unprotected sex, Dom Jungkook, Sub Reader, Brat Reader, Religious Undertones, Mentions of blood/blood pact (nonsexual), Degradation, Slight Food Play, Marking, Praise, Rough sex, Growling, Oral (female receiving), Multiple positions, Orgasm control.

↪ This is so late because of everything that happened and I am so sorry but this story was meant to be a part of the horrorwood event hosted by the former @btswritingcafe network​ for my spooky friend @jeonspub​. I am so unbelievably sorry that this took so long but I still wanted to get it posted for you even if it’s late. I had a lot of fun writing this for you so I hope you like it and it was worth the wait. 

↪ Click here to see my other BTS stories

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↪ Click here to join my fic taglist

The harsh screech of your alarm was what pulled you from your slumber, making you groan as you rolled over to hit the snooze button on your phone. A few deep breaths and another groan left you as you buried yourself under the covers, hiding from the bright light in your room. You knew you had to be up for class in about an hour but you didn’t care enough to get out of bed and get ready. Surely you could sleep for just a few more minutes and still be up in time to get to class, that was the thought anyways as you closed your eyes and tried drifting off again. Just as you were about to be pulled back into your dream world and even more annoying sound jolted you out of your rest yet again. 

“Rise and shine gorgeous!” Feeling a sudden weight pinning you to the bed, you ripped the covers off your head to glare up at the intruder. Bright red eyes gazed right back at you, accompanied by pale skin, short black hair, and a very sharp grin as he took in your form. Anyone else likely would have thought waking up in this position was a dream come true, but to you it was a living nightmare. 

“Jungkook get off of me,” you groaned, trying to roll over under his weight, “can’t you let me sleep for like 5 more minutes?” Jungkook didn’t even budge despite your struggling under him, merely smirking down at your pathetic attempt to move him. 

“You and I both know if you go back to sleep you won’t wake up again and you’ll be late to class, I’m just trying to help,” he mused, “and as much as I love watching you squirm under me like this we also know you can’t afford to miss any more class.” You stopped your movements and huffed as you glared up at him, clearly unimpressed by his little game.

“Get off of me you pervert!” you exclaimed as you reached up to hit at his chest. Jungkook merely shook his head with a dry chuckle before slowly crawling off of you to stand at the end of your bed. Your new freedom allowed you to finally sit up, crossing your arms and yawning softly as you tried to properly wake up. “Since when do you care about my life anyways?” you asked as you forced yourself out of bed, “I didn’t think you were capable of caring about anyone other than yourself.”

“Oh I don’t care,” Jungkook corrected, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed so he could watch you, “but I know you’ll keep whining about your grade and whatever else and I don’t want to deal with that so I’m making you go.” His eyes trailed your figure as you wandered around looking for something to wear, making you huff and throw a pair of socks at him. The offending article didn’t come close to hitting him, merely falling to the ground a few feet in front of him which made Jungkook scoff. 

“You know you are more than welcome to leave whenever you want!” you called out as you went into the bathroom to change, making sure to slam and lock the door so he wouldn’t follow you. Not that it mattered because Jungkook seemed to have the ability to appear wherever he pleased whenever. 

“Actually I can’t,” you heard his voice from the otherside of the door, tuning him out as you quickly got changed and brushed your teeth. 

“Because I accidentally signed a blood pact and now you are bond to me until I die or pass it out to someone else yeah yeah I know,” you muttered out, already knowing what he would say next. Jungkook didn’t say anything but you could tell he was grinning like a madman on the other side of the door. “Honestly, can’t I like do an exorcism or something to get rid of you instead?” you asked rhetorically as you brushed your hair out. The question wasn’t directed at him but he evidently still heard you as the door suddenly sprung open to reveal the frowning male. 

“You think some sellout priest with a generic biblical chant would be able to get rid of a being as powerful as I am?” he asked with a hand over his chest, “honestly Y/N I’m offended you would undermine me like that.”

“You were accidentally summoned by some college girls playing a stupid game and all you’ve done since is pop up randomly to scare me and stalk me like the creep you are. I don’t know about you but that doesn’t sound like the work of a powerful demon to me,” you taunted. 

“Anyone can summon a demon with the right tools so that’s on you and not me,” he reminded, “not my fault you decided to try an online ritual without reading the warnings.” 

“Whatever,” you hissed under your breath as you pushed past him, leaving your room to walk out into your living area. You paid no mind to the looming presence behind you as you grabbed your bag and walked into the kitchen to grab a protein bar, knowing you were going to be late if you stayed to humor your unwanted roommate any longer. “I’ve got to go or I’m going to be late. Stay here and try not to create too much of a mess while I’m gone,” you pleaded as you put your shoes on. 

“You know if you’re so worried about me causing trouble I can just come to school with you,” Jungkook suggested.

“Hell no!” you all but shouted, “dealing with school is hard enough I don’t need a demon following me around to make my life more of a living hell.”

“Suit yourself,” Jungkook shrugged, “have fun at school!” His tone and nonchalant expression was rather off-putting and made you nervous as you turned to finally leave. 

“I’m serious Jungkook, do not follow me and do not try anything funny!” you warned with one last glance back at him before rushing out the door. 

ღ ღ ღ ღ ღ

It had been almost a month since you ended up stuck with Jungkook and yet it already felt like an eternity. The memory was still fresh in your brain as well, replaying over and over like a cursed nightmare you couldn’t escape from. It all started when you and a few friends decided to meet up at your place for a horror movie marathon to celebrate the start of the spooky season. You loved Halloween more than anyone and so the second October came around you were more than ready to celebrate. It also helped that you lived alone and your apartment was close to campus so it was the perfect place for your little get together. A bunch of candy, every horror movie you could get your hands on, even more snacks and a few drinks and you were set to go. At least, that was the plan until you guys got bored three movies in and decided to spice things up a bit. 

“I have an idea!” your friend, Daeun said as she pulled up something on her phone, “I was researching rituals and summons for a project and I came across one that looked pretty interesting. It’s a ritual for eternal love and the supplies are things you should have laying around the house. We should try it!”

“You want to try a random ritual you found online with no experience?” you questioned. 

“Well yeah, it’s said to create an everlasting bond and it’s supposed to be super easy to execute,” she argued.

“If a ritual is that easily accessible it probably doesn’t work and we’ll just be wasting our time.” You definitely were not a skeptic by any means, in fact you had dealt with your fair share of paranormal experiences in the past, but this seemed like a scenario that was too good to be true. 

“Come on Y/N,” one of your other friends, Aiko piped in, “what’s the worst that could happen? If it is a dud we can say we tried and clean everything up but you won’t know unless we try.”

“Besides,” your last friend, Soyeon spoke up, “you’ve been single since you moved here a few years ago, lord knows you need all the help with love you can get.” All three girls started giggling after that while you merely rolled your eyes. You couldn’t help but think that their antics were a bit childish and that the ritual was a terrible idea but you were outnumbered so you hesitantly agreed. What followed was an hour of rearranging your apartment living room, working around a poorly drawn pentagram and you pricking your finger one too many times to get enough blood for the ritual to work. All four of you recited the incantation from Daeuns phone and then waited, feeling the room grow slightly cold but, much to your relief, nothing happened. 

“Damn,” Daeun muttered, “guess it was too good to be true.”

“Well we don’t know that yet!” Soyeon argued, “we don’t actually know what the ritual does, maybe it takes time for something to happen?” 

“What is Y/N going to walk into class next week and just be an attraction magnet?” Aiko teased. 

“God I hope not,” you groaned, “this was not a good idea.”

“Hey relax, nothing happened so I’m sure it’ll be fine,” Daeun tried to comfort you.

“Come on let’s get everything cleaned up and we can go back to watching the movies.” Still, even as you guys put everything back the way it was and continued your movie marathon with IT Chapter 2, you couldn’t shake the feeling that something was extremely wrong. The feeling of dread you get when you’re out late and feel like you’re being followed but there’s no one there when you turn around. In fact, you could have sworn you saw a figure standing in the corner at one point though it disappeared the second you turned around. The feeling sent shivers down your spine and had you curling in on yourself as you once again peeked behind you to see if someone was there. 

“Hey Y/N, are you doing okay?” Aiko asked after a minute. 

“Huh? Oh yeah I’m fine, just a little cold that’s all,” you tried playing off your anxiety knowing that if they caught on you would be teased. 

“Don’t tell me this movie is scaring you,” Soyeon teased, “I thought it was your favorite?”

“I’m not scared!” you scoffed, “I told you I’m just cold. In fact, I’m going to go grab an extra blanket so you guys will stop bugging me about it.” With that you pushed yourself up to your feet and made your way to your room to grab the extra throw blanket you had on your bed. That same chill ran down your spine the second you were alone and you froze, taking a deep breath as you glanced around the room. “Relax Y/N, nothings there you’re fine,” you whispered to yourself as you walked over to the bed. 

“Oh? I thought you said you weren’t scared?” a deep voice coming from right behind you made you jump, falling back onto the bed with a soft shout. Quickly turning around, you gasped as you saw a man standing above you right where you had just been. His body was rather large and practically engulfed your frame in his shadow as he stood above you, bright red eyes peeking from under jet black bangs. His skin was pale but you couldn’t see much of it as his body was almost completely covered in black. A tight black turtle neck that looked like it would rip if he even tried to move his arms, tight black leather pants, even the black metal that decorated his fingers, ears, and one of his eyebrows. All things considered, he was a very attractive man and likely would have passed as human had it not been for the large ram like horns above his ears or the large black wings protruding from his back. You stared up at him like a deer caught in the headlights while he seemed to take his time drinking you in, licking his lips as his eyes raked your form.  “You’re a cute one aren’t you?” he finally spoke again after a moment, “not a bad choice for a companion, at all. Though I highly doubt someone as pretty as you struggles to find love so what’s the catch hm?” He leaned over to get a better look at you, only to have you crawl back as a result. 

“Woah woah hold up, who are you? And an even better question, what the hell are you doing in my apartment?” you questioned. He paused for a moment before sighing and running his hand through his hair. 

“There’s the catch,” he muttered under his breath, “I take it you didn’t fully read the instructions on that ritual you performed then, huh? Well let me explain it to you then so we are on the same page.” He paused for a moment to take a seat on the bed, crossing his legs and facing you. He looked much less intimidating looking up at you with an almost childlike innocence but you knew better than to let your guard down with him. “Well Y/N,” he said as he reached into his collar and pulled out an amulet, holding up a finger when you tried speaking again, “yes I know your name, I know everything about you and more. My name is Jungkook, and as of today I will be your own little demonic companion. This little vial holds the blood you offered to me, and as long as it stays intact we are bond together, I am yours for life.” He swayed the vial in question and you could briefly see the red liquid sloshing around inside the little gem. You glanced at him as if in a trance, still confused and just as scared as you were before. Because of the little game you decided to play you were now eternally stuck with a demon?

“Exactly,” Jungkook answered as if he was reading your mind, “you really didn’t read ahead did you? When done successfully the blood pact bonds you to an immortal lover and eternal devotion. The only way for you to get rid of me now is to pass me on to someone else, or die but don’t think I’ll let you leave me that easily. You’re clearly special to attach yourself to someone like me and I’m a selfish man so I don’t like giving up my toys that quickly.” He was about to say something else when a knock at the door startled the both of you out of your little moment. 

“Y/N? Are you okay in there?” You turned to Jungkook who held his finger to his lips in response. 

“Yeah sorry, I tripped over my shoes,” you lied with a soft chuckle, glancing back and forth between the door and the demon in front of you.

“Clumsy as ever I see, hurry up we paused the movie for you!” you heard your friends footsteps slowly disappear, leaving you alone with Jungkook yet again. 

“Well better get out there, don’t want to keep your friends waiting now do we?” he mused with a chuckle, “don’t worry though, we’ll have plenty of time to get to know each other later, until then.” With that he was gone, leaving you staring up at the space he once occupied. Part of you wanted to lay there and figure out what the hell just happened but you could hear your friends calling for you out in the living room. With a heavy sigh, you got up and grabbed your blanket, wrapping it around yourself as you waddled back out into the living room. The only trace of Jungkook was the brief scent left in the blanket from where he had been, still strong enough to invade your senses and distract you from what was going on. 

“Y/N.”

“Y/N?”

ღ ღ ღ ღ ღ

“Y/N!” the sound of Aiko shouting broke you out of your memory induced trance, glancing around to realize you two were the only ones left in class. You had been so trapped in your head that you completely missed what was talked about during your lecture. “You seem really out of it today, are you okay?” she asked as she grabbed her things and stood up, you doing the same so you could walk to your next class together. 

“Yeah I’m fine, just haven’t been sleeping well I guess,” you brushed off her concerns knowing you couldn’t tell her the real reason. As if having Jungkook around couldn’t be any more annoying, you weren’t even allowed to let other people know of his existence. He was nothing more than a twisted hallucination, appearing only when no one else was looking and making you feel like you were going crazy. Actually, you probably were going crazy with all the stress you were under.

“You’re focusing too much on work and it’s stressing you out,” Aiko noted, “maybe relaxing and getting out a bit would do you some good? Halloween is this weekend after all.”

“Don’t remind me,” you groaned, “it’s my favorite holiday and I haven’t even been able to do anything to celebrate because I’ve been so busy.” You had to resist the urge to slam your head into your textbook as you thought about that and the fact your Halloween would likely be spent alone studying. 

“Hey hey come on now,” Aiko tried cheering you up, “relax we still have time to celebrate. You know Yoongi invited some of us to a Halloween get together at his place, you should join us! We can go after school and get you a costume and it’ll be fun.” You appreciated that she was trying to help and cheer you up, but a party really wasn’t your idea of fun. 

“I don’t know, parties aren’t really my thing,” you countered.

“Don’t think of it like a party think of it like a friendly hangout. You, me, Daeun, Soyeon, Yoongi, Namjoon, and possibly a few other friends, nothing crazy.” You still weren’t convinced which had her groaning and pinching the bridge of her nose. 

“Fine fine I’ll think about it okay?” you gave in just to prevent an argument, which seemed to do the trick. 

“Awesome! Let me know before lunch though so I can plan if we’re going out tonight or not! See you soon Y/N!” she exclaimed with a pat on your shoulder before making her way down the hall to her class. You shook your head and turned to make your way to your own class when you felt a familiar shiver run down your back. 

‘You have got to be kidding me,’ you thought to yourself as you glanced around for the all familiar black figure you knew was following you. You didn’t see him at first, but you definitely felt him when he crept up behind you. 

“Your friend has a point you know, going out would be a nice change for you,” he mused with a smug grin as he saw you jump. 

“What are you doing here?!” you hissed as you turned to face him, “I told you not to follow me.”

“Yeah you did make that pretty clear,” he teased, “but all that did was make me curious and it was boring staying at home all day so here I am. Besides you don’t get around so I figured you could enjoy my company.” 

“No I do not enjoy your company!” you argued, “and how are you even here anyways? I thought no one was supposed to know you existed.”

“You’re really not that observant are you?” he questioned, “do you really think I would get away with just wandering around in my normal form? I have my ways of blending in.” It was then that you took a step back and finally registered the change in his appearance, more specifically how human he was. His wings and horns were missing, once red eyes now replaced with a deep brown, and even his fangs were replaced by almost cute bunny like teeth. He also wasn’t dressed in his normal black attire, instead wearing a simple brown shirt and cargo pants to fit in with your classmates. With the short sleeves of his shirt, you were also able to take note of all the tattoos covering his arms and even his hand, had those always been there? “Yes I’ve always had these, seems you just never cared enough to notice them,” he answered your question with a smirk. You rolled your eyes and groaned for what felt like the millionth time that day. 

“You’re telling me you could do this the entire time and you only decide to spring it on me now?” you whisper yelled. 

“You never let me leave the house so there’s no point in hiding myself,” he explained casually, “also this takes a surprising amount of effort to maintain so I don’t like doing it often.” 

‘So much for powerful demon’ you thought. “If it requires that much effort why not just go home so you don’t have to?” 

“You know I went through all of this effort to come and see you and your only response is to shut me out? That really hurts you know,” you whined. You honestly couldn’t tell if he was being serious or not and you honestly didn’t care, especially not when you were about to be late to class. 

“Fine whatever just stay quiet and try not to ruin anything,” you gave in, rushing to class with a very giddy demon trailing behind you. 

Save for the stares you kept getting, being at school with Jungkook went surprisingly well. He stayed quiet most of the time unless it was to talk to you and was even able to help you cheat with some assignments. It was only when your lunch period came around that you realized you would have another problem to deal with, explaining Jungkook to your friends. In fact you were half tempted to just skip and drag him off somewhere else before Daeun noticed you both and ran over, the rest of your friend group following. 

“Hey Y/N, who’s your friend?” she questioned as she looked over at Jungkook. 

“Oh umm this is Jungkook, he uh...” you stuttered trying to think of a reasonable excuse for how you met when he suddenly cut you off. 

“I’m a transfer student here from Busan, it’s actually my first day so Y/N has been showing me around,” he explained. 

“Oh that’s cool, though I’ve never actually heard of someone transferring in the middle of a term,” Soyeon commented. 

“I wasn’t supposed to start until next term but there were a few classes still open so I can at least get started.”

“What’s your major then?”

“Musical arts, I’m undecided about a specific focus though.” You couldn’t help but blink up at him in confusion, wondering how he was able to brush off their questions so easily. In fact it baffled you that he even knew anything about college to begin with. Didn’t demons have other priorities rather than learning about basic human life? 

"I’ve been around for centuries if not more,” you suddenly heard his voice in your head, “do you really think I wouldn’t know about how these things work? Let’s also not forget that I have an eye on you at all times.”

‘Great so now you can get in my head?’ you thought. 

“I’ve always been in your head gorgeous, again you just don’t pay attention.”

“Umm Y/N? We’re going to go sit down now,” you heard Soyeons voice which made you sigh. 

“Sorry guys I’m still pretty tired, yeah let’s go sit,” you agreed. 

“Jungkook would you like to come sit with us?” Daeun offered which made you want to sigh. 

“No”

“I would love to,” Jungkook agreed, smirking in your direction as he walked with the rest of your friends. All you could do was slouch over in protest as you followed them anyways, hoping things wouldn’t get any worse. 

“Hey Namjoon, Yoongi, over here!” just your luck that things were about to get a million times worse. Glancing up from the table you watched as the two males walked over to join you guys. Yoongi was an upperclassman and your mentor for one of your final projects so naturally you had grown pretty close to him. He was the one who introduced you to Namjoon, a business major in the same year as you were. The two of you had immediately clicked and became best friends, and you had even started to develop a little bit of a crush on him. All your friends knew about it and were trying to play matchmaker, getting you two near each other whenever possible. It seemed that Jungkook was also quick to catch onto this little crush, the room suddenly feeling colder as he glared daggers at Namjoon. Without directing any attention to the already obvious mood shift, you hit at Jungkooks leg under the table to snap him out of it, mouthing a quick “relax” before your friends noticed. 

“Hey Jungkook are you okay?” you heard Aiko ask, clearly noticing the shift in his mood.

“He’s just shy,” you spoke up before he could ruin anything, feeling his gaze from beside you, “a lot of new people to get to know.”

“Oh right sorry about that,” Aiko apologized, “Namjoon, Yoongi, this is Jungkook and he’s apparently a new student here. Jungkook this is Yoongi and Namjoon, Yoongi is also a music major so I’m sure you guys will get along well!” The two older males perked up at the introduction whereas Jungkook sunk into his seat a bit with a very forced smile. 

“Oh a new transfer, how are you enjoying it so far?” Namjoon asked.

“Just fine,” Jungkook muttered through grit teeth, resulting in you hitting his leg. 

“It’s his first day so he’s still getting used to it,” you clarified.

“Ah I see, well if you ever need people to hang out with feel free to come find us,” Namjoon said, “in fact, we’re having a bit of a get together this weekend for Halloween, you should join us!” You were pretty sure you felt your eyes bulging out of your head a little bit when he mentioned the party.

“Oh yeah that reminds me,” Aiko piped up, “Y/N have you decided if you’re coming or not?” 

“Oh umm I don’t know,” you muttered, looking around for any way out of this conversation. Jungkook noticed this and couldn’t help but smirk a bit at your discomfort. 

“Weren’t you just ranting to me about how Halloween was your favorite holiday?” he teased. 

‘I hate you so much Jungkook’ you thought to yourself, “Well yeah but-”

“Come on Y/N, it will be fun,” Namjoon encouraged. His signature dimpled smile had always been a weakness of yours and you found yourself relaxing if even the slightest bit. 

“Alright fine, I guess I have nothing better to do,” you agreed, much to the delight of the others and the distaste of your demonic companion. 

“Well if Y/N is going I suppose I’ll go as well,” Jungkook piped up, making you slouch back to your original position. 

“Awesome we’ll see you guys there then!”

ღ ღ ღ ღ ღ

“You have got to be kidding me.”

“You are not wearing that!” you rolled your eyes and pushed your way past Jungkook into your bathroom so you could do your makeup, the male trailing right behind you. His arms were crossed and his eyes narrowed as he took in your outfit. The last minute costume that you and Aiko had agreed on was a witch, though a bit of a more sexy witch at that. The costume was a long black velvet dress with purple lace accents all over it, a low cut neckline with lace you could use to either loosen or tighten it and a slit at the bottom that exposed your leg. The witch hat had the same purple lace accents with a curtain that partially covered your eyes and gave a very mysterious look. To top off the outfit you were also wearing fishnet thigh highs and just a slight heel to make yourself taller. You thought the outfit looked adorable on you, but Jungkook clearly had other ideas. “Seriously Y/N there is no way in hell I am letting you go anywhere in that,” he whined as he watched you do your makeup. 

“Oh shut up, what are you my father?” you hissed as you focused on your eyeshadow, “who are you to tell me what I can and can’t wear?” From your view in the mirror, you could see his eyes darken which concerned you just a bit. In all the time you had been together you had never seen Jungkook genuinely upset and you had to admit you were a bit worried of what would happen if you pushed him. Still, he was the one who pushed this stupid get together on you and now he was whining because he didn’t like your outfit which kind of pissed you off. What right did this man have to control anything about you?

“In case you’ve forgotten you are bonded to me!” he reminded through grit teeth, “you belong to me and yet you won’t even give me the time of day half the damn time! Yet here you are now dressing up in a teasing outfit and showing off to other guys, it’s like you want to mess with me.” You groaned and slammed your makeup brush down as you turned to face him. 

“So what if I’m bonded to you huh? I made it very clear from the beginning that I do not like you or this arrangement and you chose to stick around anyways. Stop acting like you own me or that I owe anything to you when we both know the ritual that night was an accident!” you snapped, walking up to Jungkook and poking his chest to emphasize your point. 

Jungkook didn’t even flinch as you yelled at him, giving you no reaction despite the evident shift in his aura. His stiffness intimidated you more than you were willing to admit and you suddenly felt unsure of yourself. Before you could move away though his hand was reaching up to grab your outstretched wrist, not hard enough to hurt but firm enough that you could feel it. He took a deep breath and leaned down so the two of you were eye level, making you stiffen as you could practically feel the anger radiating off of him. “Do you know how hard I have tried to be patient with you?” he muttered. His voice was monotone but you could briefly hear an echo to it, a growl almost that was a giveaway to the calm facade he was showing. You tried to say something but found you were frozen in your spot, unable to even open your mouth. “No no you’ve said enough, it’s my turn now,” he taunted as he read your thoughts again, “accident or not you made the blood pact that brought me here you know? You can’t pretend you didn’t do it on your own free will either because you and I both know that you weren’t forced to participate. You sold yourself to receive eternal love and partnership and that’s what I’m here for, you gave yourself to me and you also refuse to give yourself to me and I don’t get it.” He finally let go of you but you still remained in your spot as he walked back a few steps, not looking at you as he reached under his collar and grabbed the amulet. With a firm tug the chain snapped and hung around his hand as he inspected the vial for a moment, almost in disgust. It was then that you seemed to find your voice as you weakly called out to him. 

“Jungkook I-” he cut you off with a motion of his hand, dangling the necklace in front of his face before turning back to you. 

“If you really want me gone so bad then fine, all you have to do is find a way to destroy or pass on the bond and you’ll never see me again. Choose wisely though, a broken bond can never be repaired no matter how hard you try, and the consequences will follow you to the grave,” he stated, grabbing your hand and dropping the necklace onto it. You looked down at the red gem in your hand, staring at it like a foreign object before looking back up to see the space Jungkook occupied was now empty. Your thumb ran across the gem with a saddened sigh, refusing to look back down at your hand as you slipped it into a little pocket on your dress. You would deal with this whole situation later, but for now you had a party to get to. 

“Hey Y/N you look great!” Daeun greeted you once you finally got to Yoongi's house and located your friend group. The first thing you immediately noticed was that there were a lot more people than you were expecting for what was supposed to be a friends only party. 

“Yeah you look great too,” you said nervously as you glanced around, “but I thought this was supposed to be a small get together?” 

“Yeah we thought so too,” Soyeon agreed, “apparently Yoongi's roommate is pretty popular on campus and wanted to invite his friends so it quickly turned into an actual party.” 

“I see,” you muttered, suddenly feeling very self conscious about being here with all these strangers, “speaking of Yoongi, where is he?” 

“Him and Namjoon ran off to hang out with some of their club buddies, they should hopefully join us soon though, if you plan on staying?” Aiko asked as she could sense your discomfort. 

“I’ll try to stay long enough to at least see them but I don’t know if I can bring myself to stay the whole time,” you admitted. Not only were parties not really your thing but your mind also kept going back to your fight with Jungkook earlier, if you could even call it that. 

“Oh yeah, have you heard from Jungkook by any chance? We haven’t seen him here yet,” Soyeon asked, which made you sigh. 

“No I haven’t, I assumed if anyone knew it would probably be Yoongi or Namjoon since they’re the ones that invited him,” you lied, hoping they wouldn’t pry into why you acted so strange at the mention of Jungkook. Yeah you never really liked him because you were just kind of stuck with him, but the more you thought about it the more you realized he never actually gave you a reason to dislike him. Other than the constant teasing to rile you up and the occasional moment of appearing out of nowhere he acted like any normal roommate would. You had wanted nothing more than to get rid of him but now that you had the chance you were hesitant on actually letting him go. Pulling the amulet out of your pocket, you once again found yourself admiring the gem that bonded you two together as you tried to get your thoughts straight. Perhaps you should just leave the party and go apologize to him?

“Ah Y/N you made it!” turning around you saw an obviously tipsy Namjoon make his way over to your group. He was dressed as a makeshift werewolf, with the cheap fuzzy ears and paws one would find at the dollar store, he even had a tail clipped onto the back of his shirt that swayed as he stumbled his way over to you. You quickly closed your hand to hide the necklace and hid it behind your back as you smiled up at him. 

“Hey Namjoon, looks like you’ve been having fun,” you greeted with a slight smile. He chuckled softly as he moved to sit next to you, almost tripping in the process. 

“Yeah sorry, I didn’t expect this many people to show up but you know we felt bad about turning them away,” he explained, “I’m glad you still came though, you look beautiful.” You felt your face start to heat up and quickly looked away so he wouldn’t see you blushing. 

“Thank you, you don’t look so bad yourself,” you practically whispered so he almost didn’t hear you. 

“Thanks,” Namjoon replied with a chuckle, “this is actually pretty last minute as I may or may not have completely torn my original costume when trying to get it on.” Now it was your turn to laugh as the image ran through your head. 

“I swear you’re more clumsy than I am,” you mused to which he merely shrugged in response. There was a moment of silence between you two, simply staring at the floor as the crowd around you grew louder. Your friends had run off at this point to do who knows what meaning you and Namjoon were basically abandoned in the crowd. It only ended when Namjoon cleared his throat to get your attention. 

“So I’ve been meaning to ask you something,” he began, waiting for your signal to continue, “I mean we’ve been close for a while now and I’m pretty sure you feel the same way I do but, I was wondering if you maybe wanted to go get dinner with me one night after class?” It felt like time had frozen as you looked at Namjoon in shock. This was a moment you had been waiting for since as long as you could remember and yet, your heart didn’t flutter like you felt it would. In fact, you were more focused on the way the amulet in your hand suddenly felt so hot you were worried it would burn into your skin yet you couldn’t move. 

“Wow Namjoon I don’t know what to say,” you stuttered out, “I mean…” 

“What’s wrong?” Namjoon asked, “do you not feel the same way?”

“Yes I mean no I mean, I don’t know,” you groaned, “I thought I did but…I don’t know I’m really confused right now and…”

“There’s someone else isn't there?” Namjoon asked, and trying as hard as he was to hide it you could hear the hurt in his voice. You honestly didn’t know how to respond, part of you wanted to say that there was but the other part of you that still wasn’t sure. Not even an hour ago you hated Jungkook's existence and suddenly now he was the only person you could think of? Honestly you should have been locked up in a mental hospital for how quickly you changed your mind on these things.

“I’m sorry, am I interrupting something?” the voice of the very man you were just thinking of spoke up for you. You almost thought your mind was playing tricks on you until you turned around and saw Jungkook standing behind you. He was still in his demon form but since it was a Halloween party no one seemed to bat an eye at his appearance. 

“Jungkook?” you questioned, “when did you get here?”

“I’ve been looking for you all night, looks like I came just in time though,” Jungkook mumbled as he glared daggers at Namjoon. The man in question seemed to get the hint and quickly excused himself, standing and dusting off his pants with a nervous cough.

“Right sorry I’ll leave you guys too it, I’ll see you in class Y/N,” he stuttered out, tripping over himself in his haste to leave the conversation. Jungkook merely scoffed and flipped his hair out of his eye before taking the seat next to you that had been previously occupied, though he refused to look at you. You blinked a few times in shock before awkwardly clearing your throat. 

“What are you doing here? I thought you were mad at me?” you asked. 

“You called me here,” Jungkook replied, “or are you going to tell me that was also an accident?” You were about to ask what he meant when you remembered you were still holding the amulet behind you back. Pulling your hand back to rest in your lap, you opened your palm to see it looked the same but it was still warm. Is that why it heated up when Namjoon was talking to you? “You were thinking about me, I can sense it from a million miles away, just like how I can feel your emotions so I know when you’re hurt or uncomfortable,” Jungkook explained, finally turning to look at you. You nodded silently as you tossed the necklace around in your palm before reaching out to hand it to him. 

“Here, take it back,” you clearly caught him off guard as he stared at you in shock, making you shrug, “I think I owe you an apology, I judged you too quickly instead of trying to open up to you. This doesn’t mean I accept being bound to you but I don’t want to get rid of you.” Jungkook chuckled softly before reaching out and grabbing the amulet from you, securing it back around his neck with a satisfied smile.

“It’s a start in the right direction so I’ll accept it for now,” he mused with another chuckle, “but I won’t settle on that for long.”

“If you say so,” you brushed him off while looking around, “can we go home though? I don’t think I want to stay at this party any longer.” 

“I thought you would never ask,” Jungkook said with a smirk, “here take my hand, we’ll take a shortcut.” You looked at him confused but grabbed his hand anyways, the party slowly faded away in an odd blur before returning back to show you sitting in your apartment living room. “I told you I have quite a few tricks up my sleeve,” Jungkook hummed when he saw how confused you were. 

“Noted,” you whispered in a daze as you slowly stood up and looked around the living room. It was then that you noticed a very odd and sweet scent coming from the kitchen. Turning your head, you began to make your way over there, only to be stopped by a frantic Jungkook appearing in front of you. 

“Uhh hey let’s not go into the kitchen right now,” he urged.

“What? Why not?” you asked as you tried to peek around him.

“Trust me, just don’t!” now you were even more curious, dashing around Jungkook and running into the kitchen before he had a chance to react, “Y/N wait!” You slid to a stop and gasped as you realized where the smell was coming from. Your counter and small dining table were covered in a mess of baking ingredients and what looked to be tossed out batters for something. The sweet smell you quickly realized was chocolate as evident by the cocoa powder and color of the batters. It was a complete disaster but you couldn’t bring yourself to focus on that as you turned to look at Jungkook.

“What’s all this?” you asked. You swore you almost saw the demon blush as he rubbed the back of his neck.

“Well I wanted to try to cheer you up after what happened earlier and I remember you raving about this stupid chocolate raspberry candy or something like that so I thought why not try to make a cake for you,” he explained, “granted I don’t know how baking works so I didn’t realize it would be this hard, but I think I at least got one right.” He walked past you and over to the counter where there was a singular cake laying on a cooling rack, not even iced yet and it looked like it hadn’t been there long. From the looks of things Jungkook had been doing this for a while and dropped what he was doing when you summoned him. “I have no idea how it tastes so you can’t judge me too hard for this but here,” Jungkook said, pulling off a little chunk of the cake and offering it to you. You cocked your head to the side briefly before moving closer and taking a bite, groaning softly as the flavor flooded your mouth. It was a bit more sour than you were expecting so he probably used a bit too much raspberry but it was still really good for a first try. 

“It’s really good, but really you mean to tell me you’ve never baked before?” you questioned, still with some of the cake in your mouth. Jungkook wasn’t really paying attention to that though, hyper focused on the way you had groaned at the taste and the way your lips wrapped around his finger briefly. It was such a simple thing you probably didn’t notice, but it had the demon reacting in ways he wasn’t sure he wanted. 

“Is it really that good?” he asked after a moment, grabbing a piece for himself with a shrug, “I mean it’s okay I guess, better than the other ones for sure.” 

“They can’t be that bad,” you replied obliviously as you walked over to one of the bowls, dipping your finger in the batter and sucking it off, “this one is pretty good.” Jungkook felt his eye twitch as your actions continued, watching you dip your finger into the batter again and repeat the process. It was then that you took notice of his little shift, noticing the way his eyes darkened and his tongue ran over his lips as he watched you. Normally that kind of look would have you running the opposite direction but something about it on Jungkook was rather attractive. It gave you a mini confidence boost and before you could think you found yourself reaching for another bowl, this time making a show of loudly sucking on your fingers and moaning at the taste of chocolate. “I think I like this one even better though, it’s nice and sweet,” you teased with a wink. Jungkook quickly caught on to your little game and smirked at you as he leaned against the counter. 

“You’re doing this on purpose aren’t you?” he challenged, the tone of his voice causing you to shudder involuntarily. There was a new rough edge to it you never heard before, almost like he was growling as he spoke to you. 

“No idea what you’re talking about, I’m just enjoying a little treat,” you continued with your teasing. He raised an eyebrow at you before humming and grabbing the last bowl, swirling the batter around with the tip of his finger before dipping two in and walking over to you. 

“Surely you need to be fair and try them all then, right?” he mused as he lifted his fingers to your lips. One of his fingers brushed your bottom lip just enough to smear some of the cake batter onto it before you were eagerly opening your mouth and sucking both in. Jungkook could barely hold back from groaning as he felt your tongue wrap around his fingers, keeping a straight face as you glanced up at him. “There you go, good girl,” he teased as he pulled his fingers out, purposefully dragging them against your lips so that the remaining batter smeared against them. “Opps,” he teased with a dark chuckle, “guess I left a bit of a mess huh? Why don’t you let me get that for you.” Before you could respond you found yourself pinned against the wall as he crashed his lips against yours. Jungkook was demanding from the beginning, keeping you pinned with his body, one hand tangled in your hair while the other gripped your thigh. You tried weakly to fight for dominance for a few seconds before giving in and letting him have complete control, sighing into the kiss and grabbing onto his arms desperately. 

ღ ღ ღ ღ ღ

As badly as he wanted this to escalate, Jungkook stayed like that for a few moments, merely kissing you while playing with your hair and keeping you pinned. It was teasing and you both knew it, but Jungkook needed you to want him just as much as he did you. This was the moment he had been wanting the past month so he knew he could be patient. Even when the faint taste of the chocolate raspberry dessert faded, you two remained in that position, only pulling away when he felt you needed to breathe. You panted as you looked up at him, still desperately gripping onto you as you felt like you would lose your balance if you let him go. 

“Wow,” you whispered out of breath, making him chuckle a bit. 

“What do you think Y/N?” he asked, stroking your cheek playfully, “ready for an even better treat?” Instead of responding verbally, you answered him by pulling him back down into another kiss, catching him off guard momentarily. You took advantage of your power to explore him more, biting at his bottom lip and running your hands across his body. Jungkook groaned softly and let you do what you wanted for a minute before grabbing your thighs and lifting you up, not breaking the kiss as he carried you into your bedroom. You gasped softly as he laid you down as softly as possible, hovering over you as his kisses trailed from your lips to your neck. You moaned softly and tossed your head back as he began softly nibbling at your neck, occasionally sucking harder to leave a mark. His fingers ghosted across your body, barely touching you as he trailed his hand down your thigh. His touch was burning and left you desperate for more of him, quickly getting irritated by the slow and gentle movements. 

“Jungkook, more please,” you breathed out, feeling him smirk against your neck.

“Be patient my little witch,” he cooed, “I want to take things slow for our first time.” You groaned in annoyance, reaching up to tug at his hair. Jungkook hissed at the action which made you giggle as he moved to look up at you. 

“What if I don’t want you to take things slow huh?” you challenged, “you do want me, right?”

“More than you will ever know, which is why I want to savor this,” Jungkook muttered as he reached up to remove your hand from him. He readjusted so he was pinning both your hands to your side, straddling your hips as he gazed down at you. His new position had you squirming a bit to escape his eyes but he didn’t even budge, easily holding you down. “Now are you going to behave or are we going to be doing this the hard way?” he asked. You paused for a moment before giggling and as you finally looked up at him. 

“What a powerful love demon like you wanting to take things slow? What I’m hearing is that you just can’t handle it.” You watched his eyes darken and his lips curl into what almost looked like a snarl, making you bite your lip and look away again. 

“Oh no no you don’t get to be shy now you brat,” Jungkook hissed as he let go of one of your hands to grab your chin, forcing you to look up at him. You locked eyes with Jungkook and gasped as his hand went from your chin to your throat, squeezing just hard enough for you to feel the pressure. “You asked for it so you can’t take it back now,” he whispered, leaning down so your lips were almost touching, “your safeword is raspberry, if you say or think that word I will stop okay?” You did your best to nod despite his hands on your throat which made him shake his head, “Words Y/N, I need to hear you.”

“Yes!” you gasped out, making Jungkook smile and peck your lips softly. 

“Oh and one more thing,” he continued, letting go of your throat to trail his finger down to the neckline of your dress, “if you even think about cumming without my permission you will regret it doll.” With that he wasted no time in ripping the dress off of you, the force pulling you off the bed a bit before his strength shredded the fabric, exposing your body to him. Because of the way the dress fit you, you had decided not to wear a bra so you were left in just your panties and fishnets. You almost swore you heard Jungkook purr as he took in the sight of your body. “Wow no bra? You are a dirty girl aren’t you?” he hummed. 

“I just bought that dress,” you whined, trying to ignore the warmth spreading in your body from his gaze. Jungkook clicked his tongue in mock annoyance, moving his hands to roughly fondle your breasts. You gasped and arched your back into his hands which made him smirk. 

“I’ll buy you a new one if you’re that worried about it,” he mumbled, “but for now I’m much more interested in exploring my new territory.” You opened your mouth to bite back that you weren’t his but he beat you to it by squeezing your breasts again, two of his fingers teasingly pinching your nipple and making you gasp. 

“If I were you I’d lose the attitude,” he warned, “that is, if you want any chance of walking right tomorrow.” You moaned softly as he lowered his head, trailing kisses down your neck and chest before taking your nipple into his mouth. Jungkook started out with gentle sucks before slowly rolling the sensitive bud between his teeth. He repeated this process for a moment then switched to the other one, chuckling as he heard you gasp softly. 

“I,” you tried speaking, pausing for a moment as you felt his hand grip your thigh again, “I can handle it, do your worst?” He paused his actions to look up at you questioningly, huffing when you returned his gaze with a look of defiance. 

“If you say so,” he hummed, releasing your nipple with a soft pop, “don’t say I didn’t warn you though.” You didn’t have time to react before he was grabbing your hips and pulling you down, adjusting so his head was between your thighs. You squirmed a bit as you felt his breath on your core, warm and teasing as he exhaled sharply. “I’ve barely even touched you and I can already tell you’re soaked,” he teased, running a finger up to the waistline of your fishnets. You squirmed more and whimpered as he leaned forward to place kisses against you through your panties, poking his tongue out just enough for you to feel it. “These tights are super sexy also,” he mused, “I may just have to keep them on you.” 

“Will you stop teasing and just do something already?” you whined. One of your hands reached down to tug at his horn as you bucked your hips, desperate for any kind of friction. Jungkook growed lowly, slapping your thigh just hard enough for you to feel it. 

“So impatient,” he hissed, “I shouldn’t be touching you at all until you behave.” You pouted for a moment, worried he was going to leave you there, until you felt his finger hook under your tights and panties. “It’s a shame I have to ruin these but oh well, since I’m so nice I’ll give you what you want.” With a quick tug the thin fabric was ripping and joining the remains of your dress, exposing your core to the cold air. Jungkook hummed softly before leaning down and licking at your slit, giving a few kitten licks before diving in and sucking at your clit. You moaned loudly and tightened your grip on his horn, grabbing the sheets with your free hand as you rocked your hips against his face. Jungkook responded by moaning against you, sucking harder and pinning your leg back with one of his hands. Your thighs shook and threatened to close around him but he kept you pinned with his weight, moving one hand and slipping a finger into you slowly. He slowly pumped his finger inside of you for a few moments before adding another, quickening the pace and curling his fingers. You gasped and jolted as his fingers brushed against that soft spot inside of you, Jungkook smirking and angling his fingers to abuse that spot. All you could do was throw your head back and grip onto him tighter as endless moans fell from your mouth, struggling to catch your breath as you felt your orgasm rapidly approaching. Before you could tell Jungkook you were close however, he was pulling away and looking up at you with a devilish grin. 

“Remember what I said sweetheart,” he mused, pressing his fingers to your lips and humming as you took them into your mouth, “you don’t get to finish until I say so.” He let you suck on his fingers for a second, letting you taste yourself as your orgasm faded away. Only when he saw you relax did he move, wiping his fingers on his pants, “The only way you are cumming tonight is on my dick like a good girl, think you can do that?” You were too out of breath to respond so you simply nodded, though it seemed to be enough of a response for him. Jungkook leaned back and, with a snap of his fingers, stripped himself of his clothing and exposed himself to you for the first time. Your eyes widened as you sat up to get a better look at the gorgeous man in front of you. You knew Jungkook was built but you never realized just how defined his muscles really were, the tattoos on his arms trailed all the way up and across his toned chest which was otherwise unmarked. Your eyes moved down until they landed on his erection, surprisingly human for what you imagined if not longer than average. Still, it was beautiful and you bit your lip at the sight of him. “Like what you see?” Jungkook teased, chuckling when you dumbly nodded, “good, because you don’t get to see it much longer. Now be a good girl and present yourself to me, on your hands and knees.” You quickly obliged, getting on your knees and lowering your top half to expose yourself to him. Jungkook hummed in approval and positioned himself behind you, gripping your hips and lining himself up with your entrance. 

“You’re not a virgin right?” he asked suddenly, making you giggle as you shook your head no, “good.” With that he leaned forward and buried himself into you, groaning and stilling as he bottomed out. You moaned at the stretch and buried your head into the sheets, trying to catch your breath and adjust to the feeling of him inside of you. Jungkook gave you a moment to adjust, starting to thrust slowly as he felt you relax. “You are so tight you’re practically swallowing me,” he groaned as his pace increased. You could only moan and grip at the sheets to keep you grounded, the position hiding your face and muffling your moans which he didn’t seem to like very much. A low growl left him and you felt him tug roughly at your hair, pulling your head up and exposing your neck to him. “Don’t you dare hide from me, let me hear you,” he whispered, going even faster and burying his head into your neck. You moaned louder at the pace and the feeling of him sucking at your neck hard enough that you knew there would be marks in the morning. You couldn’t bring yourself to care though, enjoying the feeling of him fucking into you like his life depended on it. His position also meant you heard every animalistic growl and groan that left him, not normally something you would enjoy but from him it was undeniably sexy. “You’re mine you know,” he groaned, “you belong to me, and only me, all mine. No one will get in between us ever again after tonight, everyone will know that you are mine, I’ll make sure of it.” He bit at a sensitive spot under your ear which made you gasp and close your eyes, knowing you wouldn’t be able to last much longer. 

“Jungkook I,” you tried to speak up but found you were unable to finish your sentence. 

“I know baby I know,” he murmured, “go ahead and cum for me.” His command was all you needed, letting out a silent cry as you finally reached your release. Jungkook was not far behind, stilling inside of you and growling as he finished inside of you. 

ღ ღ ღ ღ ღ

Jungkook quickly but carefully pulled out of you and flipped your position so you were both laying down with you on his chest. His finger traced delicate patterns on your arm as you snuggled up against him, trying to catch your breath. 

“I wasn’t too rough right?” he asked after a moment. 

“Not at all,” you assured with a soft smile, “it was actually really hot seeing you all possessive.” You felt his chest rumble beneath you as he chuckled. 

“Good to know, I’ll remember that for next time, if you want there to be a next time that is?” you stayed silent for a moment as you thought about it, trying to process how quickly everything seemed to change in the span of a night. Hell, not even a few hours before you were loathing Jungkook's existence and now you were here naked and curled up against him. The more you thought about it, the more you realized you really needed to assess your current relationship with the demon beside you. 

“You’ll be bound to me for a while so I’m sure we’ll figure it out,” you said, realizing you had been quiet for too long. It probably wasn’t the answer he wanted, but he didn’t oppose it either. Instead you felt him pull you closer and place a gentle kiss on your head. 

“I’ll clean everything up in a minute, you go ahead and rest and we’ll talk about everything in the morning, deal?” You didn’t need to be told twice, closing your eyes and letting his warmth lull you to sleep. You still had a lot to think about, but maybe being bonded to Jungkook wasn’t so bad after all.

This is one of three promised fics that will be uploaded within the next week as I do my best to catch up! 

Any and all interaction and feedback on this work is greatly appreciated! 

[lovelyyandereaddictionpoint]

Back with event with Crewel daughter after the guys trying to steal Persephone gem/crown, she still invite what limited guests she can for the Plentiful Harvest at her school, where her dorm and villainess school ( Black Cat Academy) have plenty of harvest of Persephone and Nyx as the two dorm from opposite schools are in a good relationship for centuries, and also Crewel daughter is very popular with the villainess school to the point she sometimes get invitation to go there

Let's say Ruggie, Malleus, Lilia, Idia, Rook, and Vil went to the harvest festival

( now separately pls for this ask )

Let's say they see her wearing a toga that looks liked a wedding dress as it's represented how Persephone return to the underworld with Hades, and they teases her making her blush, but she did admit she wanted to married someone who she love and doesn't mind if the person who she love have flaws, rich, or poor, as long as he's educated, able to listen, and make her happy and to not cause her harm she be happy to married them, just need her father and grandparents approval as it's custom for her home

Well first and foremost Crewel’s daughter doesn’t blush and if you do it's only lightly because you can keep your cool like that

Who’s daughter do you think are 

And the Princess academy you attend would not be welcoming to your Night Raven friends 

Especially friends that have already been found to cause trouble 

Hence your own punishment and double crossing in the first place

But let's say we pick a different venue 

A neutral ground for both the Black Cat and the Princess Academy 

inviting RSA and Night Raven as well (and maybe Noble Bell if their students cough cough Rollo behave)

To celebrate a day for a Plentiful Harvest the schools will choose their patrons to represent a greek goddess or god depending on the artifact or descendent that’s present

While Harvest isn’t the typical time period to celebrate Persephone you still maintain her image

If only to honor the surviving relative of Demeter who is the main focus of the event

Thus you fashion yourself in a form fitting white dress only slightly modernized from the Ancient Greek bridal dress

Finally able to pull away from the various rituals and festivals  

You sit and relax as you watch different students compete in a retelling of Demeter and Persephone’s story letting the lucky few from Night Raven slip:

Ruggie Bucci

“Nishishshi is the lucky bride not happy with her groom? Maybe trading him out for me?”

As happy as he is that he’s getting free food all throughout the event he’s not happy you’re wearing the equivalent of a wedding dress and hanging on the arm of someone who can barely stand to look you in the eye Idia

You tell him about your preliminary wants in a husband 

skillfully dancing around who in your circle could fit that description

He’s slick in his own way and notes that you weren’t necessarily excluding him 

It bothers him but he’s not discouraged

You quite clearly informed him that you have options and last he checked he fit all those things just fine

Not that he wouldn’t mind changing anything about himself to do that

But it seems he won’t have to 

“Well if you ever decide to really be a bride one day it wouldn’t be too much trouble for the lucky guy to be me.”

Malleus Draconia

“You look divine, (Y/n) more so than usual. In truth I plan to see you in the position of a bride, any requirements suggestions?”

Unlike you he has one requirement and that's you

He takes you telling him this as an obvious sign that he’s allowed to court you

Blatantly revealing your requirements automatically has him especially excited 

He’s heard humans recently haven’t been fond of long term commitments so this is reassuring

It helps with any lingering desires to burn the the crops away out of sheer spite

He doesn’t love that you're pretending but if it means the real wedding is with him he can stomach it

“Then for the future do you favor this style? Me? I could hardly care what you wear for that day it’ll look gorgeous because its on you…but in the end it will be coming off anyway.”

Lilia Vanrouge

“Enjoying your play-marriage?” 

He’s a seasoned fae and he’s pleased that you know what you want

Not to worry about your family’s approval that he’s sure he can easily win

A general knows how to negotiate

a parent knows how to offer the illusion of choice

He knows how to do both on the daily

Not to mention the fact he knows he’ll be a good husband for you 

Or at least he will make sure you believe that before he gets that ring on your hand

Either way is fine 

it's up to you

not really

“Hmm do you want a Winter wedding or a Summer one?“

Idia Shroud

“Uhhh-so being married, huh? Like the highest tier in a love simulator, huh?”

He’s been overwhelmed with all the extrovert activities he’s had to take part in today and all without getting to rely on Ortho

You were there but he could barely think straight before his hair was turning pink and he felt like passing out

Too many times had he actually touched you today within the rituals of the Plentiful Harvest

So to hear you so easily lay that out…he’s writing that down 

This obviously means he’s gaining favor with you for you to so clearly lay out what you desire from him

He’s most definitely the smartest guy you know 

And he’s well-versed in how to respect women cringe compilations told him so 

Now to marry your teacher’s daughter that's like the pinnacle of the forbidden lovers trope

The perfect game with Professor Crewel as the mega boss

It wouldn’t be easy but it sure will be interesting

He just has to get the right strategy down 

And Idia Shroud is never one to back down from a good game

“Just wait for it, (Y/n)! I can be the ultimate groom for you!”

Rook Hunt

“Madamoiselle Crewel you resemble a goddess in all your beauty!” 

Ever prepared to listen to you he’s pleased with what he’s hearing

It's been euphoric watching you all throughout the day for the event 

Your beauty is next to ethereal when you reveal something about yourself

And he’s swooning 

Despite his incessant devotion to you he can’t help but watch stalk from afar only to discover something new about you

Its always exhilarating 

It’ll be even more so when he makes you aware that that's exactly his prerogative

“Madamoiselle Crewel your hand is a prize for those who should earn your love! Those willing to persist in the hunt for the beauty you hold within and out. Shall we commence in a life-long chase?”

Vil Schoenheit

“As expected you look gorgeous, I only wish I could have taken the my place by your side.”

He’s already on it

Even working your family relations has been something he’s working to gain

His beauty stems deeper than just looks

All he’s waiting for is you

And while that may take awhile he’s aware this is a marathon 

not a race

So as long you stay within reach and never forget how perfect you both are for one another

He’ll be fine with that

“Surely, you’re aware of what your words mean to a young man like myself? Now I can’t have you off with anyone lesser, now can I? Not that I’d let you anyway but decorum is something we both have an affinity for.”

[laurieelaurel]

I saw your requests are open and I wanted to ask if you could write something about the brothers accidentally standing MC up on a date. Like they forgot or had something else to do and just missed it and left them there. Then idk maybe they’re reminded about the date later by someone and figure out how the ending goes?? Sorry if that’s not a good explanation, I’ve never really sent a request before but if you write this I am looking forward to seeing it! :D

Getting stood up on a date

Brothers x gn!reader

No worries, and what an honour to have your first request! Sorry again for the slight delay - my laptop died :,)

Warnings: slight and implied violence in Satan's, not very angsty because I'm a softie and I need happy endings

Lucifer

For the first time in forever, he isn’t drowning in paperwork. This man can finally take his well earned break, away from all the prince’s childish games and his brothers never ending quarrels. 

For the first time in over a week he can afford to lean back and tune the rest of the world out. Maybe he would take a quick trip away from the HoL so he wouldn’t be thrown surprise paperwork?

Settles for a well earned day of doing absolutely nothing. Makes himself a cup of tea and goes to bed early for the first time in a very long time.

What he’s forgotten however is the date you had scheduled. How ironic is that. The reason why he worked so hard to clear his desk was to make time for you and yet all that work had burnt him out so much he forgot to go

Meanwhile you’re sat awkwardly at a table for two in cafe lament. It really wasn’t like Lucifer to be late so you were getting really antsy, still not getting a response to your texts

It’s about an hour after your agreed time that you realise you’ve just been stood up. Did something important come up? He promised he’d have all his work done before the date… 

Lucifer wakes up bright and early the next day, feeling refreshed and… oh shit

It is only 5 am when he comes knocking frantically on your door, his eyes searching your tired face for any signs of hurt

Apologises profusely, head in his hands as he can’t bring himself to face your hesitant gaze. How terrible that he’d left you hanging there with the expectation that you’d be enjoying a date together for diavolo knows how long. 

He’s determined to make it up to you, how does renting the entirety of the amusement park to yourselves sound? How about going to Godevil Chocolatier? He’ll do whatever it takes to make you feel better, to let you know that you never deserved to be left hanging.

Mammon

He was literally a block away from the cafe when he heard a familiar voice… and not the good kind.

When he looked over his shoulder he paled, eyes meeting 4 other pairs of very angry witches. 

Sprints straight through the crowded city street, bowling over every pedestrian in sight. Takes every back alley and short cut possible, cutting through the occasional store. This group of witches is strangely persistent in their chase, their demands for their grimm never too far away. 

While all this is going on, you’re still waiting on the patio, puzzled at all the commotion in the square. You ask a group of students you recognize what’s going on and they tell you that apparently there’s a maniac getting hunted down by at least 5 angry witches after cheating on them all at the same time. They were close enough with their speculation huh. What a weirdo you think to yourself, send Mammon a text joking about the situation.

>> careful, I hear there’s an asshole who got caught cheating on 5 different girls at once

>> he’s being chased down to the ends of the earth by witches so maybe you’d be able to give him some pointers lol 

He doesn’t even read the texts, leaving you alone with two servings of pastries. 

At some point it becomes too embarrassing to stay, the customers seated near you clearly able to tell you’ve been stood up, and you order some boxes to take home the food.

The second you open the front door, Mammon is there to meet you, tears in his eyes as he sputters out a few sentences you can’t quite understand

To spare the both of you from the prying gazes of his brothers, you go to your room to talk. “It was me!” he blurts out the second the door closes behind you “I was the asshole. The one running around downtown I mean. And an asshole for leaving you like that too”

Deflated and so incredibly ashamed of himself. He could defend himself saying it wasn’t it his fault but he knew deep down that it was still his fault. He chose to cheat 5 different witches out of grimm, he had no room to complain when they inevitably came after him. His only regret is that it had to be today and it had left you feeling alone and humiliated

Give him another chance, he isn’t above begging for it, and he promises he’ll truly let you feel as treasured as you are to him

Levi

He’s been looking forward to this movie date for WEEKS MC. It’s marked on at least 6 different calendars on his various electronic devices! There was no way in hell he was going to miss it.

He stayed up all night to be able to guarantee two tickets with seats next to each other, and you actually accepted his invitation! You both made it bright and early to the theatre before too much of a line was formed and Levi decided it was his time to shine, offering to go buy you both some snacks from the concession stand.

 You’re more than happy to stay behind, waiting in the comfortable darkness of the theatre as levi does what he needs to

That would be if things went to plan (and things most certainly did not!)

Some schmuck took it upon themselves to cause a scene today of all days, and somehow Levi has now somehow found himself stuck in the growing crowd. The time until the start of the movie only got closer and closer as his annoyance started to grow faster and faster. 

For the first time in 2 whole months, Levi accidentally summoned Lotan through sheer irritation, causing a huge mess in the foyer while you and everyone else in the theatre remained unaware.

You’re starting to wonder just what the odds of Levi bailing on you would be, checking your DDD about every second now 

You’ve been sat awkwardly with no date and no snacks for about 15 minutes when the doors of the theatre are thrown open dramatically and a dark figure runs over to your seat

There are more than just a couple things you have to tell him off for when you notice just how… dishevelled? and panicked he is - hold up why is your hair wet??

“I-I’ll explain everything later!” he whisper-shouts, eyes hesitantly meeting yours

 “I’ll make it up to you and - oh no, how long did I leave you for?” he moans, eyes darting around nervously, “This was all my fault and I… I’m not deserving of your forgiveness but, argghhh!”

“-It’s alright Levi, it really is - the movie was something you were looking forward to as well though, so how about we just watch? You only missed a few minutes after all…”

>> the rest of the movie was great, though getting out of the half flooded theatre at the end was not…

Satan

It really isn’t like Satan to forget things. As disorganised and chaotic as his sin might be, he likes to hold himself higher than that, keeping all his underlying rage hidden as he shows his gentlemanly facade to the world. 

That being said, that rage bubbling away under his skin is still there, and it would do all the lesser demons good to keep that in mind when approaching him. 

Apparently the one standing before him didn’t get the memo, snarking away in front of him, as if being part of the exchange program would save him from that ugly side of him. 

With little more than a second to rethink his actions, Satan lunges over the library table and violently grabs the demon’s throat.

Snarling incoherent curses and profanities, he shoves him against a nearby bookcase, his mind screaming for his rage to be let out

.

It’s about a half hour later than the time you’d agreed on with Satan and it’s starting to dawn on you that being stood up was actually an option.

Is it really though? You ask yourself; it’s a cat cafe, surely he wouldn’t miss out on this for the world!

That’s what you reason with yourself as you convince your brain to wait just a few more minutes because surely he was just running a little late, right? There’s no way he would have forgotten, right??

The amount of relief that washes over you as you see his figure pushing through the crowded streets is impossible to describe in words an- “wait why are you covered in blood?”

Satan???

“It’s all right, it’s not mine,” he explains, slightly out of breath

“Oh, thank goodness! I- Wait-”

“More importantly, I’ve been leaving you hanging for a while now, right?” He continues, ushering you into the cafe, “I can’t exactly do anything about the fact that I’m late, so I’ll just have to make it up to you now, and on our future dates if you’d allow me.”

Asmo

 Asmo promised to treat you to a night you’d never forget sometime and went all out with a reservation to the fanciest restaurant in all of the devildom. 

It was an overwhelming social experience, watching all the well dressed and classy demons of the land walking by, making you feel like you were sticking out. Being seated at the best table in the house was also scary alone, it was almost as if the waiters and chefs expect you to be of a certain tax bracket to even be able to breathe the same air as they do

What’s worse is that your date has left you out to dry here, the very obviously empty seat in front of you letting just about everyone else know you’d been stood up. 

You feel dejected and humiliated, unable to even just enjoy the expensive food with all the very noticeable stares and whispers 

Deciding to save what little face you have left, you get up to leave only a couple bites into your dinner, leaving the fancy building onto the cold rainy streets.

Oh yeah, it’s raining now, because comedic timing is a thing apparently

You decide to suck it up and run as fast as your fancy shoes let you, your mind just left frazzled 

About 10 minutes into your jog home you hear footsteps fast approaching from behind and just as you manage to turn around you’re met with a tackle hug from the one and only Asmo

“Mc!” he cries, ushering you under a nearby tree, “you weren’t there when I went in and I got so worried!”

“...Well maybe if you hadn’t been late and left me alone for half an hour, we’d be enjoying a nice dinner right now!” you yell a bit louder than expected, though your saltiness is very reasonable.

Asmo winces at your words, he knows he’d hurt your feelings and your trust but explains that he’d been trying to surprise you with a gift 

“Not that it makes it okay for me to just leave you hanging like that though - I really should have gotten this ready for the time we agreed on, but I hope you’ll accept it anyways.” He quickly adds, hesitantly offering you the slightly wrinkled bag he was holding, “I feel really bad for abandoning you like that, so please let me make it up to you, darling.”

Beel

 It’s pretty… no, incredibly easy to get Beel’s attention if you know what to grab it with - and it really isn’t a secret what it is. 

Food. Literally any kind of food out there would cause him to halt in his tracks. 

The hunger of the avatar of Gluttony is not to be underestimated, yet he chose to hold off on eating while shopping with you to share a lunch later in the day. He really went into the outing thinking he could hold off eating for a couple of hours and yet only a half hour in and he feels as if he might as well be dying.

He really couldn’t hold in his hunger this time, and excused himself to go raid the closest fast food restaurant before you returned.

You had just left to go to the bathroom and yet when you returned Beel was nowhere to be seen. He wasn’t answering any texts and you had a sneaking suspicion of what had happened.

Feeling a bit bummed at being left alone, you wandered a bit before setting off for home with a heavy heart. 

You know how hard it must be for Beel to keep his impulses under control but it still didn’t change your disappointment as you shuffled home awkwardly. 

You were only a couple minutes away from the steps of the HoL when you hear a heavy pair of feet approaching 

You turn to see Beel rounding the corner, several large bags under his arms. Letting him catch up to you, he blurts out a quick apology before handing over a sizeable amount of food and gifts

You’re left speechless at the amount of stuffed animals and assorted trinkets he presents you as Beel guiltily avoids your gaze

“M’sorry about that MC… I really am…”

“...Beel, what is all this?”

“Some things to make it up to you! …But I know it doesn’t make up for what just happened so I was thinking we go home early and we can make dinner together. Whatever you want MC, so please don’t be sad.”

Belphie

Funnily enough, the reason why the avatar of Sloth was late to your date at the dreaded petting zoo was not because he was sleeping

Honestly if he had slept in that would have been easier for you to write off than this.

Somehow Belphie had managed to get caught up in another one of Satan’s pranks on Lucifer and this time, there were consequences (shocking, I know)

Just an hour before you had planned to meet, Belphie and Satan were caught red handed trying to change the cue of Lucifer’s record player with one that was hexed to ruin all vinyls it came into contact with

Why he was trying to pull such a dangerous stunt right before your date is beyond you, but obviously the plan went south and obviously this royally pissed Lucifer off

Flash forward to now - while you’re waiting outside the zoo, excited to see the devildom animals Belphie’s stuck inside, getting lectured and very much not on his way

You've been waiting almost an hour now in the heat for your date to get here and your patience is starting to reach it's limit.

No text, no nothing! You don't know if it's even worth risking what's left of your pride to keep waiting

But lo and behold, not a moment later, you spot a very disgruntled Belphie running straight towards you

Feeling pretty hurt, you don't exactly try to hide the displeasure on your face as you let Belphie try and explain what exactly he put you through

Belphie explains as quick as he can, pointing out how stupid he himself was to even risk getting caught by Lucifer

He knows not to show any of his own annoyance since he can admit he only has himself to blame

"I know it was really stupid and I don't have any excuses. Would you be willing to give me the chance to make it up to you right now? You will? That's great then! We should see as much as we can before Lucifer notices I ran off then :)"

"...You didn't just piss Lucifer off and then... run away, did you?"

Thank you guys for 300 followers!

[zhongrin]

bad influence

◇ characters ◇ zhongli, xiao, al haitham, ayato

◇ tags ◇ mafia!au, light gore, mention of blood, stalking (al haitham), cliche trope, vague concept, unfinished & not fully built plot

◇ a/n ◇ ayato’s is rather short bc i hadn’t planned to write for him but the brainrot gods decided to grace me with a crumb of inspiration for him

𝑚𝑎𝑠𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑙𝑖𝑠𝑡 ⬙ 𝑡𝑎𝑔𝑙𝑖𝑠𝑡

you, a clueless bystander who was just living your normal citizen life, until one day, some strangers dressed in immaculately pressed suits who are clearly hostile attacked you with a clear intent to kill, as you're off on your late-night grocery run.

you, who watched in horror as a pretty-looking man suddenly appears out of nowhere, making quick work of the 'bad guys' with precise cuts to their throats, the jades embedded in his knives and his studded earrings glinting menacingly under the moonlit night sky.

you, who were then forcefully brought to a grand-looking manor, passing a well-tended garden that seems to span for hectares and a magnificent set of golden doors leading to an office that's almost as big as the entirety of your humble little house.

you, who almost faint upon seeing the most handsome man you’ve ever seen in your life, with his gold-amber eyes that twinkle under the massive chandelier and a smile that's both comforting but also dubious, his gloved fingers setting the crystal clear glass of wine onto a desk that seems far too big for one person to use as soon as you came in.

you, who ask in a timid but polite voice, about your whereabouts and the reason why were you brought here, not wanting to anger the important-looking man.

you, who gulp in both fear and excitement and confusion as the man gives you a fleeting, nostalgic look, as if he’s seeing something you can’t see as he drinks your visage.

"well, i can't exactly let the granddaughter of a good friend of mine be killed in such a gruesome manner, now can i?"

OR alternatively,

you and “alatus”, being the left and right hand man of the fearsome “rex lapis”, respectively, your infamous codenames striking fear into your targets.

if “alatus” is known for his clean kills and the way he just ‘disappears’ from the crime scene, you’re very much the opposite. you love the attention, the screams, the chase and the finishing kill, the way skulls crack and blood trickles down your gloves. it gets you in so much trouble and your lover berates you for it repeatedly, but you can’t help it; it’s so much fun toying with your food before stabbing it to death, and you live for the thrill, for the adrenaline rushing inside your veins.

oh yes, your lover, codename “rex lapis” or “morax” - whom people in his inner circle call “zhongli” - who is also your boss, isn’t too fond of how you do things… he understands your point of view, being rather of similar temperament in his younger days, but mainly he just dislikes the notion of you being in danger. yet, he knows you’d rather kill yourself than be his demure, timid wife. plus, he can’t exactly lie…

you’re kind of hot when you’re unhinged.

so what does he do? he faithfully makes sure to tie loose ends, do the necessary cleanups so you can continue doing what you do, and gently washes your bloodied hair as he listens patiently to your excited ramblings about your recent ‘assassination’.

you two certainly make a great team.

your savior who made the best and yet also the worst first impression - though he did technically save you, he did murder all of those people in cold blood. and seeing how fluid, how precise his movements were, it could only mean that he’s used to the act of killing itself.

he’s so cold too, with his catlike golden eyes that you swear were glowing in the darkness, the eternally downturned corners of his lips, and his short, clipped replies.

still, he saved you and tended to the slight cut you got from the group that tried to off you, so the moment zhongli asks if you have a preference for a bodyguard, your automatic response is to say xiao’s name. zhongli was talking about personality traits but he decides to step back and watch the circus unfolds.

naturally, xiao refuses, throws a few mean words, and you certainly weren't going to just stand there and take his insults, so you shoot back with a few - and one of them seems to hit harder than you’d expect.

‘yeah you know what nevermind, i don’t want to be guarded by a murder weapon!’

xiao freezes, eyes wide, fists clenching on his sides, gloved fingers digging to his palm, before he suddenly turns abruptly to exit the office.

it’s zhongli who gives you a patient look as guilt starts to settle inside your chest, knowing that you’ve accidentally hurt the one who saved your life that night, and deeply at that. he sits you down and brews you tea as he tells you a story of a past besmirched in blood, neglect, and betrayal.

xiao shows up the next day nonetheless, ever so stoic and icily informing you that it was merely his duty as your supposed ‘bodyguard’ for the time being, since you’ve so kindly appointed him yourself. you bite down the insults and asks for his forgiveness instead, to which he scoffs and look away.

and like all cliche stories, somewhere along the path of seeking his forgiveness and navigating your new life, you fall in love.

the best part? he falls harder.

oh, this bastard. he’s one of the higher-ups of the family who wanted you dead.

the thing is, he’s not there for money, or fame, or anything like that. what al haitham wants from joining such an organization was because this particular one has an abundance of networks, which means: information. knowledge. secrets.

and your grandfather, he held the key to a rather interesting secret that very few seem to be privy to. that’s why they’re hunting you down; a necessary precaution to silence a potential threat. it matters little whether you know about what it was about or how much you know. the fact stands that your grandfather had somehow managed to keep your existence hidden until now, so that must mean something, at least.

and al haitham is intrigued.

he’s cautious and smart, certainly not a mindless brute like his colleagues. he chooses to watch you from afar, devises strategies and takes a copious amount of notes, analyzes your mannerisms and taps your conversations, like you’re some fascinating subject of study in a research thesis. he’s an observer, not a scientist; he doesn't participate in experiments, doesn't touch you directly, but he knows the insides of your head better than you….

…. until one day, he flunked and accidentally bumps into you.

you’re so distraught, trying to wipe the coffee stains on his white-colored collared shirt that’s now sporting a big brown stain. he tries to act like a normal citizen so he wouldn’t alarm that bodyguard of yours, who’s already scrutinizing him with the eyes of a trained killer. he tries to act that your touch isn’t sending shivers down his spine, that his face is slightly flushed from the hot coffee and not a close-up view of your worried face, that his heart isn’t beating because you’re actually talking to him.

he knows he shouldn’t, and he knows it’s stupid, but when you ask for his phone number so you can ‘make it up to him’ sometime, he gives you his personal number instead of all the burner phone numbers he has memorized in his head.

he asks himself when did he fall for you that night.

for the first time in his life, he couldn't find an answer.

if zhongli is one of the most feared bosses up there, ayato’s name is surely on the same list.

known publicly as the son of the minister of cultural affairs at first, he has since reclaimed the title of his father after an unfortunate accident and a short, temporary vacuum of the position. but what most people don't know is that the world of politics is ruthless these days. quite literally.

your existence was just a speck of dirt in his eyes. he could care less about whatever your grandfather did or knew. he’s seen countless of people fall and rise and run and fall to the depths of hell, what does it matter to him if you do?

- except, you seem to have unknowingly befriended his little sister, and one of his best agents seems to be hopelessly smitten with you?

hm. interesting.

© zhongrin | 2022 ◆ no repost. reblogs much appreciated. feel free to reach out to submit suggestions, feedback, comments, or if you just want to talk!

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