#adopting a random little girl

[nightmare-67]

Hi! Here's day four of the Chreon Week 2024! It's an ABO (Alpha/Beta/Omega) universe with my own little twist in place. There's also a little girl Leon adopts in this, so... Enjoy :D

As always, the prompts used are made by @highball66 and the continuous effort of the Chreon community!

Summary:

While his left hand rests on the ground, his right hand lowers the flashlight to the ground. He waits quietly for a sign, and he is rewarded with the scent in the air changing drastically. “Hey, it's okay. I'm here to help, “ Leon whispers...

[lesbianfakir]

Ok what are y’all’s fav horror movies? Or horror media in general

[mengyanchen]

wei daxun as meng yanchen, fireworks of my heart e02

[darkcomets]

My farmer, Clover! (Please ignore the drawings, I promise I can do better 😭)

Infodump timeeeee

She’s an energetic and cheerful 19-year-old who is just trying to get by. Clover tends to be a bit over energetic at times though, with pretty exaggerated emotions. A little crazy and deranged at times, but she’s getting better, promise. Even with her name being ‘Clover’, she’s not exactly the luckiest person out there. Clover grew up with her mother, who more or less, basically ignored her most of the time. So she had a lot of freedom as a kid, and often got into scrapes and bits of trouble. She was always an enthusiastic kid, but was often too hyper for the other children to handle. She often stayed at her grandfather’s when her mother was out of the country for business. And she adored listening to her grandfather’s stories of his life working on the farm. She admired him, but her mother often told her that it wasn’t good work for someone like her. When her mother had to move out of the country, she didn’t take Clover with her, so she ended up being adopted by a man who she came to accept as her father. After that, she had a relatively normal childhood and teenage hood with some small disasters and dramas. After finishing school, she had went immediately into a job at Joja after finishing school to start quickly making money. Unfortunately, it was absolutely not for her. She despises the place and company with a burning passion for basically burning her out within a year. Clover moved to Pelican Town in hopes of continuing the life her grandfather had left behind for her, heart filled with dreams and determination. She struggled a lot at first, but after time, she worked things out. And here we are now…

I have drawn this idiot way too much.

[pondslime]

YOURE MIXED?

yep! whole fam is! mom is black & german (half-and-half) and dad is mexican & white (irish? scottish? idk. on his mom's side). so, I'm like...........a mixed kid of mixed kids lol

[strawberri-draws]

Oc family!!!!!!

[kithtaehyung]

minted (explicit) | myg

title: minted (explicit) pairing: street king!yoongi x street cart vendor!reader rating/genre: explicit (18+) ; angst , suspense , smut ; haegeum au , gang au summary: all you do is wake up, sell your fruit on the dusty streets below your flat, and go to sleep. but everything changes when a customer you always look forward to seeing turns out to be dangerous. really, really dangerous. note: again, this wasn't on the docket for 2024 until i saw one (1) mint yoongi edit on my pinterest feed💀 anyways, this is dedicated to hali @sailoryooons for ur belated bday, nary @joonary for being a cutie pie and letting me adopt the tangerine cart girl idea in general, and luce @minttangerines for ur url and for being a wonderful friend. love you all! warnings: this series may not be for everyone, language, violence, weapons (guns/knives/chopsticks/etc.), blood/wounds mentions, drugs, alcohol, murder, gang activity, poor reader is just trying to get through the day, mint!yoongi, haegeum!yoongi, tatted!yoongi, his eyebrow is pierced, tension, slow burn, choking, reader suffers from “my cabbages” levels of disaster, slight e2l, fight sequences, multiple future explicit scenes, yoongi deserves his own warning, chains but who is ever ever shocked, graphic depictions of violence drop date: august 5th, 2024, 9:03pm est word count: 9.4k aiyaaa✌ mood playlist: here

—

—

Ever since you could remember, gang activity in your town has run unchecked. 

Anything goes. Rough fights out of nowhere, car chases busting streets, or even random delinquents snatching food on the run, dust kicking up onto stock they left behind. 

And out of all the districts, yours is begrudgingly the second worst. 

Why? You still aren’t completely sure. But you do know that the darkest is reserved for the underbelly that only slithers in rumors. A place in which you will never find yourself. 

But you do wonder what must happen there to warrant the winning title because each day here is a battle to keep yourself afloat. 

All you do is sell fruit. Why are you fighting for your life every week? Why can’t you exchange goods for money in peace? If you could compare it to the movies you grew up watching on an outdated television, it’s a grungy reflection of the wild west.

But through all the shit you’ve chosen to endure, at least one person is always kind enough to buy his wares and go.

And today is no different.

You still don’t know his name. But you yearn to. Because his hair is the color of magic and rebellion, and his tattoos really set off that bright mop of locks. 

If those lethal, piercing eyes weren’t enough.

When he lifts three long digits, it takes all your strength to nod and get his purchase together. This is the part that never changes, either.

Just like always. One, three, or five fingers for tangerines. Never two, never four, and never any other fruits. 

It’s charming, in a way. As if he’s more particular than most about what he wants—a trait elusive to many.

Like clockwork, you would hand his order over in thin plastic, and he would walk away to hitch a ride on a passing cart. Just like he does right now with a lazy gait, white tee billowing from his jeans. 

Another day. Another exchange.

In the wavy heat of summer, you sigh. Wondering if anything is ever going to change, and if you would ever get to know more about your most frequent, most mysterious patron.

After a while, you do try talking to him. 

Those looks of confusion slowly turn into little hums or grunts, then into single words that keep you going for days. Even though you rarely hear it, his voice is just as attractive as he is. 

One day, you offer him a plantain, handing it over and telling him it’s on the house. 

“Thanks,” he says amongst the clinks and conversations of the street, pocketing the food away. 

When he does, you see a flash of black metal, and you already know what he’s carrying. You’re used to seeing all sorts of those around nowadays. In this district, you’d be shocked if he didn’t have an arsenal on his person while traveling through.

Besides. Even you have a couple collecting dust in your own flat, handed down by extended family but never used.

“If you ever need anything other than tangerines,” you start with a point to his pants, “Please buy those instead.” 

He’s unmoving. Blinks are all you get so you have no choice but to explain,

“I’m so tired of eating them with everything.” 

When he huffs in amusement, your heart flutters thrice. There’s no reason for a sheen of sweat and sticky mint locks to be so deadly. 

“Then eat something else,” is all the stranger advises before walking off. 

Well.

Even though you don’t have much of a choice, the guy does have a point. You wouldn’t be shocked in the slightest if his aim’s just as straightforward as his wit.

Once one exchange lasts longer than a sentence, the two of you start little conversations during his visits. Which prove more fatal than normal since he’d rest his tattoos on the top shelf of your cart. 

From what you can make out, there are creatures stretching in beautiful teal and vivid orange, and even striking white on his other arm. They ripple so well with his veins, a canvas that sways and hypnotizes with every drum of his fingers. 

You know what they symbolize, though it’s unique to have all of them together. 

Taboo, even. 

But you can’t hold back your admiration because of the sheer beauty. What would they feel like if you just… 

“You always stare this long?”

Shit. “Oh, sorry. I just… I rarely see anyone’s ink up close.”

To your dismay, he takes his arm back. “I don’t have a lot of time today, princess.”

“Right, sorry. Hold on,” you respond, cringing hard at blurting two apologies in a ten second span. 

Meanwhile, your way too handsome regular cocks a brow, clearly comfortable making you squirm as you hand over his bag. 

Effortless. In your chaotic life, It’s almost intoxicating feeling someone this resolute in their whole demeanor. If only you could be so commanding and assured one day. 

But here you stand instead, pretending to count fruit you one hundred percent know the stock of already. “Your art is really nice, by the way,” you admit to your inventory. “All the high-powers. I like what you picked.”

“Didn’t choose these.”

Ah. Way to assume things. 

Raising your head, you make to apologize a third time.

But he’s already retreating with his tangerines, hand stuffed in a pocket and beautiful waves a little less vibrant than you recall. 

“What.” 

“I worry sometimes.” 

His gaze lifts. “About me?” 

“Yeah.” 

You don’t know why you choose to say that of all things. But it’s honest. You always wonder about him and think about the weapon in his jeans. Does he use it? Does he ever need to? 

Maybe you should pick up a hobby or two.

Fingers resting dangerously close, he asks with a tilt of his head, “What would you do, doll? If something happened to someone like me.” 

Someone like him? What does that mean? 

Great. Now you have even more to wonder about, as if he knew that was your exact predicament.

You stare, roaming along his arms before meeting his eyes—almost. “Find someone else to buy my tangerines.” 

Huffing, his brows tick up with his mouth. “I respect that.” His attention doesn’t leave your face as he slowly takes his purchase. “See ya.” 

“Bye,” you whisper back, watching him go. More thoughts and concerns bouncing around your mind in the sticky heat of midday. 

These little nicknames he’s using also aren’t helping your issue in the slightest. 

It starts when you hear shouting from a block down.

“Here they come!”

“Bunch of idiots this time.”

“What do you mean this time?”

Rough raiders this early? They should know it’s almost time for Dragon’s sweep. Bold.

After you hear the telltale yells, clanks, and bangs, your section of the street braces for impact. 

And it swoops in like a whirlwind, ruffians tearing through, pillaging and stealing and swiping goods into thick woven baskets. 

Baskets? The usual suspects always carry leather bags. You assume because of their sturdiness and inconspicuous nature, but what do you really know.

Here it goes again. 

As your fruit is taken right from your cart, you sink to your toes, mourning the regular loss of your menu.

No use fighting. Like every other time, you all let it happen because there’s no point in trying to protect anything that isn’t valuable. Perishables and small homemade goods aren’t worth getting gutted over. Truly, the worst losses you suffer are when—

Your cart shifts violently before thieves topple it over, cracking one of your wheels and splitting the wooden boards in three places.

Springing to your feet, you douse the perpetrators in anger, “What the hell!”

“Oh, this was yours?” Someone chides while his cronies run past. “Thanks for the oranges, love!”

“They’re tangerines!” you correct at his retreating back, kicking your cart before yelping at your bad decision. “Damn it…”

Back to your knees you go. Head drooping, arms encircling, and disappointment pooling around like a shadow.

More shouts and feet in the road rampage through. Then it gets quieter. And quieter. 

Then it’s done.

After silence swells in the wake of chaos, groans start making their way down the street. 

“What’d they get from you this time,” you ask your neighbor, a charming old man selling anything from bowls to wide, round frying pans. 

Looking over his little wreckage, he blinks hard. “They got my woks. Nothing as bad as yours. You okay?” 

Walking over to help clean his mess up first, you bend down with a sigh, “I’ll be alright. But it still sucks.. My poor tangerines..” 

“I’m sorry.” 

“Not much to do about it now,” you resign, all your energy taken from you, too. 

A little bit of time passes as you complete your usual round of help, though this raid was worse than others. As they all give their thanks, you keep thinking about how to make the whole situation better. Moreso for them than you because you’ve always been one of the least vulnerable ones on the block.

“You should find another place to sell, dear.” 

In disagreement, you slip into a saddened smile. “I can’t leave you guys,” you explain to the lady you’re holding pails for. “Who will help clean everything up?” 

“Don’t underestimate your elders now.” 

“Fair,” you respond through a chuckle, handing her one of the metal buckets. “If only better protection was an option around here.”

“You know the rules,” another shop owner drones through lingering spices, “Dragon won’t protect us if it isn’t in their own interests.” 

Unfortunately, he’s right. Every single raid that hasn’t coincided with a gang sweep goes overlooked. Even the city police don't bother coming down your street anymore, which is another issue in itself.

If only Tiger or Crane had been the high-powers in place instead. 

At least they seem to be more fair.

After you finish helping, you finally venture back to your own cart, realizing that the trek is a lot further than you thought. 

Did you really walk so far this time? The damage was dealt for much more than a block at this point. 

Not like you need to sprint back, though. What’s left to steal? Everything you got swept into those woven containers.

Still so odd…

But not as odd as the sight that greets you on your return. 

Because instead of seeing your wreckage of a cart tilted and abysmal, it’s upright and being mended.

By none other than your favorite set of hands.  

What the hell? What’s he doing here? You quite literally have nothing to give so there’s no reason for him to spare a second at your broken stand. 

Fast-walking, you hastily try to halt his help, “Oh, shit, you don’t have to—” 

“Course I don’t.” 

That shuts you up. In your split second of silence, you note with agony that his hair is messily tied in a minted bun. Are his sleeves bunched at his biceps, too? Great. What were you even telling him again? 

Ah, yes. You were telling this mystery of a man that he doesn’t have to literally put your stand back together. “Seriously, I got it.” 

“Don’t sweat it.” 

“But it’s my cart, I don’t need your—”

With one look over his shoulder, your mouth snaps shut. And suddenly can’t move to argue again. 

What the hell is up with today? 

Forget all that. What’s he doing? At least you’re familiar with all the shop owners and vendors on your block, though you can’t say you wouldn’t do the same thing for someone you don’t know. But this guy has always been so standoffish and barely approachable. So how is he lending both hands to help you right now? 

Whatever. If he’s gonna be as stubborn as this heat, you can be, too. 

Scanning the area for scattered tools, you find a sun-warmed hammer and get to work, fixing one end of the cart while he works on the other. When you feel his gaze on your working shoulder, it takes massive strength to ignore him—even if you wanna know what his issue is and why he smells really, really good this afternoon.

Looks like you need more nails for this board to fit. When your eyes find a couple on the ground, you clinch a second piece between your teeth while hammering in the first. 

Sounds stop at your side, but you wait until you pluck the metal nail from your mouth and stamp it in to look over.

Oh. He’s eyeing the hammer. Not you. Obviously. 

You wordlessly hand it over, arm slicked with exertion. Because after the day you’ve had, you don’t feel like everything needs a spoken sentence attached. 

It takes the guy a bit to take it from you, but when he does, he holds your stare. “Thanks.” 

You simply nod, eyes sticking to him as he works on the tattier side wait it looks almost new. Better than it has in a very long time. Did he really get that much done in the time you were gone? There’s been great care taken during his repair if that’s the case.  

Hmm. You finally learn something about your favorite customer. Maybe he’s just been a mechanic or carpenter this whole time? 

Contemplative, you get up on sore legs to walk to your cooler—something thankfully missed by the rough raiders. Digging through the clinkage, you retrieve a local beer you recently procured from the restaurant across the street. 

It’s not much. Absolute bottom shelf. But it’s all you got other than a few pieces of oni-coin, so he’s gonna have to deal with it.

When you offer the glass, your regular eyes it for a moment. More than enough time for you to get a good look at his striking floral top.

Well. Mechanic and carpenter are out of the question because that one piece of clothing looks more expensive than your entire apartment building.

Who even is this guy? Now you feel destitute handing him something so cheap.

Just when you think he’s gonna refuse, he takes the beer and smoothly shucks it open, suddenly making you wonder how a bracelet can do that and why it was so attractive.

God. You need to walk straight to the nearest inlet stream and dunk your head right in.

“Thank you,” you whisper, gulping at his full swigs. “You really didn’t have to do all this.” 

“Got some time to kill,” he shrugs. Standing, the man takes another sip, peering along the street with sunlit eyes. With the bottle near his mouth, he murmurs, “You really need to set up somewhere else, doll. This street’s turning into a hot spot.” 

Squinting up at the long lines of clothes and curtains floating in the breeze, you sigh at the building nearest. “I live close,” you sulk. “And this is the easiest place to get to.” 

Those are excuses. Just tell him the real reason you won’t venture out and plop yourself somewhere more profitable. Well, maybe not all of the reasons, but the main one. 

Leaning back on your cart, you stare at the loose dirt, swiping some with your shoes. “Maybe I’m just used to it at this point.” 

He won’t respond. Or he’ll respond in his own way, which is mostly silence. 

But a bright strand falls over his face before he hums, “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.” 

Many people have warned you at this point. It’s basically your stubborn and spiteful nature that’s making you stay in the first place. Why would you move when you chose to be here? Why leave a place you actively choose to call home? 

Fighting spirit quelled, you nod right to your stand as you count what’s salvageable. “I know, but I like it here.” When he lifts an unbelieving brow, you look away. “It’s true. But trust me, if there was a way to just make it all stop, I’d take it.” 

He takes another swig, both of you looking into the street and watching things slowly get back to normal pace. Adults and kids alike are back to wandering around, buying what’s left and offering condolences. 

“I’m not fixing another cart,” your patron turned repairman grunts, motioning to your wheel as he steps back. “So don’t fuck this one up.” 

Huh? It wasn’t your fault! All the accidents and chaos that blow through aren’t something you can control oh he’s grinning. Why is he grinning? Why do you feel hot all over? 

His teeth shine in daylight. “I’m messing with you.” 

Ah. 

This version of him is not good for you at all.

When he starts to walk away, you blurt out a quick, “Wait!” 

Shit! Why did you do that? What are you possibly supposed to say right now? All you wanted was to see him a little longer… And while staring at his backside would be more than enough, you kinda wanted to actually talk. 

What do you do? He stopped; he’s waiting. 

And he looks impatient as hell. 

Snapping into action, you round your cart and trot over, offering your name as if you didn’t just give up where you lived. 

Then—without thinking—you ask for his with the most curious, innocent, “What’s yours?” 

Silence has never been so booming.

In the dusty swirls of your street, you wait with a back that’s getting sweatier and colder with each passing second. 

Was that not okay to ask? Did you fuck up with a single question? 

Perfect. You just blew your one good thing about being out here. Wincing, you crush your words so hard you think your teeth will break into dust, drifting off into the very breeze wafting his striking locks. 

After a condescending puff, he only smirks.

Then he takes one step. And another. And another.

The air around you melts, weighing on your shoulders while lighting them aflame all at once. It’s a feeling you can’t describe to anyone else, because they would just need to stand next to this man to believe it. 

Checking to see if the street is clear, your best customer leans over. Slowly. Purposefully. “Yoongi,” he offers with a voice so handsome you’ll think about it for days. “But don’t fucking tell anyone.” 

Oh. 

Why did… you kinda like that? 

Blinking, you swallow. “I won’t.” 

This is when he’s supposed to just leave. He’d walk away, bag swinging with his strides. But ever keeping you on your sore toes, the man just chuckles low before rasping out the most devilish sentence in existence, 

“Always took you for a good girl.”

Then he backs away, turning on his heel and leaving you a statue in the street.

Yoongi. 

For a hardened soul, his name is so… 

Tender. 

For the next sixty days, you don’t get ransacked once. 

But there’s also been no sight of Yoongi. 

As the weeks trudge by, you can’t decide which outcome is worse.

The skies are magnificent today. But obviously at a molten price.

“Thank you for trying,” you say to a lovely wares owner before venturing back out into simmering streets. Exhaling, you wipe sweat from your brow, squinting before choosing to walk left or right. 

Left seems promising. 

You’ve been searching for hours now, perusing through shops, checking out vendors both nice and catty. But after a whole day’s search, you still haven’t found what you’re looking for. 

It’s nothing urgent or pressing. But you would at least like to be prepared. 

Since your initial mission is a bust, hopefully your next one makes up for it before you melt right into gravel and dirt.

Find a meal.

Walking along the busy roads, you pass a few options and keep them in mind, making sure to greet a fellow tangerine cart vendor with a smile. Hopefully they do well today.

A couple steps further, a giant cooler catches your eye. Seafood of all types lie inside along cubes of ice, and you weigh the pros and cons of smelling like fish just to have a cool head.

But before you can make any choices, the smell of spices and hearty soup softly pull your feet inside the restaurant nearby. 

What’s here? Noodles? You’re always down for that. Apparently even in scorching weather.

After ordering, you take your seat at a random middle table in a chair facing the entrance. 

Always facing the entrance.

Damn. You really need to accomplish what you set out to do. But sunset is fast approaching these days, and you aren’t anywhere close to home. All you have time for now is eating and heading out. 

The service here is quick, at least. You’re already thanking the owner for sliding a bowl in front of your sweaty form. 

With a head full of thoughts, you stare into nothing, stirring your noodles and waiting for the heat to die down. 

Maybe you should’ve just walked a shorter distance and checked the shops you originally wanted to browse. If things went to plan, you could’ve been back by now, freshly showered and curling up on a worn down bed. 

But instead, your feet are sore, your head is anything but washed, and you have to trek home empty-handed—on the first day off you’ve had in months. 

Defeated, you sigh, going back to your bowl and watching sliced vegetables swirl in aromatic broth. 

At least the food in this area seems good. And the fading decor really adds to the… 

Ambiance. 

Wait. 

Dragons. A lot of them. 

You can’t pull your eyes away from the crew walking in, bringing heat from the sweltering sun in their eyes and donning their telltale, striking teal. 

But you can only kid yourself for so long because the one that truly has your gaze tethered is the man in front. The one you haven’t seen in weeks. The one looking right back at you with a visage so shadowed you feel like moving tables to let him pass. 

…Yoongi? 

His jacket. The colors.

He’s in Dragon?

Suddenly his hair makes terrifying sense.

As his guys stalk through, you swallow hard, not expecting to see him and having no earthly idea what to do with this harrowing information. There are so many thoughts overlapping each other that they all amalgamate into one huge batch of sludge. 

Aren’t you smack dab in Crane territory? There’ve been white suits peppering the streets everywhere. 

So what the hell is Dragon doing here?

From the slight confusion pinching his forehead, you know Yoongi didn’t expect to see you, either. Which makes it even weirder when he slowly takes your chopsticks right from your fingers. 

Hold on, what—

“What are you—”

A lone, long digit over lips is the only response you get, silencing you immediately before you whip your head around to watch him rush past. 

All of them waste no time tearing up the stairs, a myriad of blues blending with gritty paint and smoke. 

And just like that, your reunion is over. 

Home. You need to go home. Leave, leave, leave, because something is bound to be going down upstai—

A thud faintly shoots out into the staircase, and you spin around again in your chair, eyes snapping to the ceiling. 

Shit. 

Even though you’re on high alert, you realize with a quick sweep that no one else is noticing. Or moving. Or even paying attention to anything else but their own company. 

Does no one else care about the commotion? Do hits happen in this area that often? 

Mind running, you can’t decide what to do. Because even though Yoongi’s guys have plenty of weapons, he clearly had nothing since he needed to borrow your damn eating utensils.

Another crash rains dust on conversations around your shoulders, causing you to look up one last time. 

Go home, go home, go home. In what universe would Yoongi himself ever need your help here? 

With one more look at your noodles, you curl your lips before biting a side. 

Already yelling at yourself for choosing to book it towards the back staircase. 

Shit shit shit this is so stupid. This is probably the worst decision you’re gonna make in your life.

But your gut is churning thinking about Yoongi. Even a seasoned swordsman needs expertise to wield mere chopsticks and win. 

Fuck, if you succeeded in your search today, you probably could’ve been a little more useful. 

Swiping your own set of red from a nearby cup, you hightail it up, slowing as you round a corner and immediately hear multiple clangs and scuffles beyond the last turn.

Stop. You can go back. You can still turn around and go home.

An inhale.

Your feet propel you up and into a dark hall. As you slowly slide along the wall, your gut churns and churns. At a bang, you crouch with a skipped beat of your heart.

This is really, really dumb. But you can’t stop yourself and you have no clue why.

Nothing happens around you. So you keep going. With each careful slide of your foot, you get closer and closer to the noise.

Approaching the corner, you very slowly stick your head out for a peek.

And it’s pure commotion. Pure chaos. Holy shit, what is going on? 

Fuck, there’s already a body lying limp on the floor meters away—

Your chopsticks. You wanna hurl.

But a man flies out of a room ahead before he grips and wrestles with another, and you reel yourself back to avoid being seen by either one.

Where is Yoongi? Is he okay? Did he leave already?

You give one more peek, scanning the long raucous corridor as swift as you can to see any sign of.. Mint.

He’s still here. How’s he just walking so nonchalant as his crew fucks shit up? Crap, he just went into a room and out of sight. 

“Where’d they go?”

“Upstairs!”

Fuck, that was in the restaurant! Get up get up you have no choice but to hide now. 

With pounding steps, you rush forward and book it, entering a large room to dive behind some steel shelving and large, woven baskets right as more Dragons come in behind with fists clenched.

Breathe. Steady. Calm the fuck down.

The grunts rush to the hallway to join the fray, and you wait in the now pungent solitude of your room. With only a still body to accompany you. 

What do you do? What even can you do? 

Just as nerves grip your stomach like a vice, Yoongi strides into the open area, heading right for the exit and not even sparing his kill a glance. 

Go. Go now. Why can’t you move? Why aren’t your hands letting go of your cold confinement? It smells like death and blood and you need to leave with the only person you know—or don’t—so why can’t your feet just fucking—

Someone else slithers into the room. A man in brown with a knife. A knife, a knife, a knife he’s getting faster and Yoongi doesn’t hear him the guy is too quiet fuck! “Yoongi!” 

It all happens before your brain can paint the bloody picture. Shooting out from your hiding spot, you race towards the assassin, slamming into their lanky build just in time.  

Both of you topple to the ground, your target roaring in pain and twisting like hell to fight back fuck you didn’t get him how you needed to he’s got you—

Pain erupts in your hip as you’re grabbed, the room spinning as you’re thrown to the side and your ear hitting concrete right before chopsticks ping down. Thinking quick, you knee the guy as hard as you can, scrambling to finish the job because if you don’t, you’re gone gone gone.

“Bitch!” Your opponent clutches your shirt right as you reach for the nearest red pair, seizing your throat right as you grip and swing them around to stab the other side of his neck with a yell.

Luckiest timing of your life. 

“Hng!” Fuck, he’s still holding down hard and choking, choking, squeezing. “Fuck you!” 

Fight back. Keep the weapon inside he’s too strong finish him finish him. 

Darkness. Ink drops in water. Your vision taints as your grip loosens, and you can only hope that Yoongi got away safe. He had to. At least you… Were able to do… 

This one thing… 

…

Oxygen and life rush back into your lungs, color burning through your esophagus as you gasp for sweet sweet air. Right as you come to, all you witness is the heavy heel of a boot twisting the forearm latched onto you. 

And when the shoe leaves your vision. Lifeless eyes stare back.

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck that was close. Oh god. You actually did it. Oh fuck. 

Coughing, you rush up as you get tugged and pulled right against chains and embroidery, your ears ringing with a gravelly command and glass breaking in the nearby corridor,

“Don’t say my fuckin’ name so loud.” 

“Excuse me?” 

Yoongi roughly lets you go before pinning you with pure anger. Not to say thank you. Not to tell you any words of gratitude at all. The only other thing he finds the need to say is simply, 

“You shouldn’t be up here.” 

What the fuck. You just murdered someone for him and this is all you get? Eyes welling, you feel your body slick and sticky with crimson when you turn, coughing and spitting out regret before you wheeze, wheeze, wheeze, “That’s—that’s all you have to say?” 

Dread swirls around your stomach like poison.

But the sternness from before completely vanishes as Yoongi lifts your chin. His eyes scan your throat and chest, and you rip your head away from his touch because he is not excused just yet. 

“It’s not mine,” you snap, knowing exactly what he’s looking for and what you must look like to him. Dirty. Gross. Certainly a far image from the girl selling tangerines.

But your face is gently held again, and somehow this softer turn carries more strength to swivel you forward. 

Why is Yoongi still looking? Now he’s holding your gaze as if he’s never seen you before. What’s that about? You’re still the same, the same, the same.

…Are you?

More crashes and shots are heard down the hall, and Yoongi snaps his head up in an instant. 

God, you smell. You reek. Your nose is tainted and your hands even more so. There’s no way he’s gonna have anything to do with you now. 

But you get the shock of the century when the man commands you to come along. “Let’s go.” 

Absolutely not. This is all you got in you for a lifetime. “What? No, no, no. No way, I’m going home.”

“And they’ll follow you the whole way back.” 

“I—I didn’t mean to—” 

Shots ring out before grunts barrel out into the short hallway. All of them piling out from crevasses and hidden passages. 

You give one more look at the two men now crumpled on the ground, bile rising up and threatening to spill. 

“Tough shit, princess. You did, now live with it.” 

Live with it. How poetic. 

You were protecting him. You did what you had to do. But you have blood on your hands again and now Yoongi will see you as something else besides a fucking street vendor. 

“Are you coming or not?”

You’re gonna puke your guts out.

With a stilted cry, you bend to snatch your weapons up yet again—gagging at the squelches and much deeper red—before following Yoongi’s long steps. 

Your hands. They’re shaking so bad you can’t even pocket the chopsticks properly. But you finally get them down, crushing your palms and squeezing just to stop them from rattling. 

When you wait behind Yoongi checking the corner, you turn around to make sure you aren’t being followed. And seeing the hallway still a moving mass of broken glass and hard swings, you think you’re safe. 

The stairs feel so different on the way down. Is that because you feel completely changed? There’s no coming back from this. Another side of you died right alongside those two people upstairs. 

No time to think about that. You have to follow his lead. And he’s slowing down why is he slowing down? 

Oh. Normal. Be normal to not garner suspicion. You have to do the same. 

Wait. You can’t go down there with a shirt full of stained evidence! Grabbing him and pulling back, you whisper, “Yoongi—”

His growl is so fierce your head spins, “What the fuck did I say about my n—”

“My clothes,” you panic. “I can’t.” 

Yoongi gives you a quick look before gripping the duffle strap. Brows lowered, he grits out while dumping it, “Lose the shirt.” 

“What?” 

“Do it.” 

“Where’d he go?”

“It’s gone!”

Your heads snap up before you lock eyes. And he doesn’t need to say anything to show you what he’s thinking behind those minted bangs.

As you hastily strip, your brain works in weird ways. Instead of processing how you very much need to hurry the fuck up, you lament the bra of choice today. And how sweaty you look. Because of course those are your thoughts of choice right now. 

Something’s dumped on you before your shirt hits the ground, and you think about its warmth before you realize exactly what’s on your shoulders. “You sure?” 

He’s already heading down. Oh god. You’re really putting this on shit shit shit. 

You’re quick to slip into the material before checking for your chopsticks, rushing down the rest of the stairs to meet him. Nerves firing on all cylinders, you follow Yoongi out of the restaurant with a single, disturbing thought. 

This is going too well. 

But you’re passing tables, you’re walking by the fish display, don’t fucking sob you’re out in the street now. 

Relax. You’re walking. His white tee is flawless and people have no clue you left a bloody shirt on a stairwell. Don’t fucking cry.

But suddenly.

Shouting erupts behind you both, just as a cop car rolls past the restaurant only to get surrounded. 

And with one look back, your brain freezes. Right before Yoongi sounds a little too delighted to say something so foreboding,

“Looks like you’re in it now.”

Adrenaline spikes as you burst into motion. Hot summer air stings your lungs as legs propel you forward, with nothing in sight except for your partner in high crime. 

Yoongi’s right. 

You’re in it now. 

And just like the delinquents that you despise, the two of you both kick up dust on the run. 

You’re really doing this. 

Holy shit, you’re really doing this and there’s no waking up, no jolting awake, no pinching yourself to know that it’s all a dream. The only thing pinching is your sides, fresh stings of karma with each heavy footstep through crowded streets, buildings, levels, wherever the fuck you go. 

At least Yoongi is commanding as he leads you through the city—clearly from a heap of experience. Though rattled, you follow him with more adrenaline than questions. Because running is all you know. Run, run, run, escaping is your only objective and you cannot let up even once.

Your feet pelt down a staircase before you leap onto a disposal bin, impact denting as you follow Yoongi’s long strides across the colorful tops. Shouts and metal pings echo behind you as your chasers catch up, and you grit your teeth so hard they rattle as you jump to alley ground. “Fuck!”

Searing, searing pain rushes through your legs as you twist and wind through busy corridors, squeezing into the gaps Yoongi finds as he barrels in front. 

“Get back here!” 

“You fuckers!”

Who’s following you? Are they even Crane? You don’t see a shred of white on their clothes at all so are they working for some random guy Yoongi stole from?

When you watch him turn at the shouting, all thoughts vanish as your gut churns. 

He’s grinning.

You just killed someone for him. And he probably has more blood on his hands than you can imagine. 

And he’s… enjoying this? 

You feel sick, mind blazing with a million red warning signs. How could you ever have had feelings for h—

You bounce off a passerby as you run, grunting at the sudden pain in your shoulder when another person rams into your back and topples you over, dirt scraping into your palms and knees. 

Shit shit shit it’s so dusty on the ground and all you see are traveling shoes where are you? Where is he did he leave did he even see you fall? It’s too condensed here there’s no way he’s not taking the next chance to disappear.

Forget all of that, they’re coming. The chasers are coming and you see them see you down get up get up get up what the fuck get up now.

Ripping out a groan, you rush to your feet as soon as someone swoops in, bashing someone right behind you with someone’s crate of fruit. 

Yoongi? He waited for you?

“Go!” 

Both of you hightail it with you now in the lead, and your eyes buzz as you slip through holes in the crowd. Left, left, right, around, left again, between. 

An intersection ahead. Yes. Lose everyone in the vehicle traffic or hitch a ride with a stranger. Fascinating how the survival tactics that spawn from your block develop in real time on the run.

Almost there, almost there, almost there—fuck! 

Whiffing in front of your nose, a metal weapon smacks the ground at your toes. 

Flailing, you dodge the next swing, ducking before you see a black duffle smack your assailant in the face. 

Keep going. Finish him and get away. As Yoongi shifts left, you lunge forward, sending a swift punch to the guy’s ribs that hurt like hell goddamn oh fuck someone brought a knife!

“Yoongi!” Just as the surrounding civilians yell and clear out, you rush toward his aid before you’re tackled, air whooshing out of your lungs as your back pummels into gravel. Fuck fuck fuck this masked woman also has a dagger. A thick one. Don’t let her win don’t let her win hold on for dear fucking life. 

Did you think you’d find yourself in a grudge match to keep metal from sinking into your chest today? No. Ever? Also no. 

Your arms are shaking. Shots ring out. Sweat is your enemy. The street is in uproar. Where’s Yoongi did he hear you? Fuck, the metal tip is pricking you now this is— 

Mercifully, your attacker yelps as something slams into her side, dark brown clothes crumpling before you’re hoisted upward and dragged back into the crowd. 

“Let me go or I’ll kick your ass—”

“You good?” 

Oh, it’s Yoongi. Again. Okay. Eyes swirling, you lock onto the gun held flush in his other hand before you nod. “I—I think so—”

“Then keep up.” 

Winding between people, you’re only focused on getting away. But when you catch glimpses of him, he’s back to his glint. He’s exhilarated.

If only you were both doing anything else. If only you weren’t so queasy and guilty and loathing of your own self.

Right as you finally burst into bustling traffic, Yoongi boldly stops a taxi at its hood, motioning you to follow him inside. 

Shocked but head reeling, you open the door closest to your sweaty legs and slide in. 

And before you can even greet the shouting driver, Yoongi pulls you to his side and rushes something out in your ear, 

“Kiss me.” 

“I said get out!” 

“What?” 

“Come here.” 

You’ve kissed before. Not many times, but enough to know that this man knows what the fuck he’s doing because you feel like your soul just abandoned you to exist in this car forever. You don’t know why this is happening or where this came from, but his lips feel as soft as his name and as deadly as the gun he’s pulling on your driver—

“Han Station,” he drawls, halting time and space. “Or your papers are burned by morning.” 

Oh. 

You were just… Oh. 

Lips puffed and head swirling, you sit frozen in your spot, marinating in the realization that the best kiss of your life was a mere distraction. And as you watch Yoongi keep his aim straight, you assume he probably didn’t even think much of it, either. 

“…I thought you looked familiar,” the driver slowly grits, hands gripping his wheel before he shakes his head. “You’re a little far from home.”

You think that’s all he’s gonna say. But his eyes are sharp in the rear view mirror, knowing a gun is pointed straight at his dome. “Aren’t you.”

What is he getting at you need to leave fast—

“Agust.” 

…Huh? 

Agust? 

This is the first time you feel a heartbeat against your arm, and you hold a breath as Yoongi tightens his fingers on the gun. 

When he doesn’t reply, the car fills to the brim with tension, and you feel crushed by its liquid weight. 

Don’t you have to go? Aren’t you in a chase? Are you getting a little too hot?

When you go to slide to your own side of the car for some space, the hand around your shoulder squeezes. 

And you’re more confused, exhausted, and thrown off than ever. 

“Han Station,” is all Yoongi—Agust?—repeats, voice ice. “Now.”

To which the taxi driver stares, standing his ground until he breaks eye contact first to obey. 

“Fuckin’ Dragons and their useless whores.”

Oh, fuck that. 

Before you can lunge forward to outright strangle the man, Yoongi does something that has your eyes magnifying into saucers and hands shooting up to your mouth.

He fires the gun straight at the man’s thigh, yelps leaving both the driver's throat and yours holy fuck! 

“You bastard—”

“You’ll live. Drive.”

“Fucking—fuck!”

The car shifts through traffic, swerving left and right and cutting off slower vehicles. When force smushes you closer into Yoongi’s side, you can’t help but notice how fit he is, and how calm he’s being despite the whole chase. Despite that spike in adrenaline. Despite blowing a hole in a stranger’s leg for six words.

He also feels really, really good against your side, but you can’t let that matter anytime soon. There’s absolutely no way you can let this dangerous man in, especially after this entire nightmare of a day. 

So you swallow, trying to compartmentalize because you’ll reach insanity if you don’t.

Does anyone out there know you took a life minutes ago? Or hours ago? You just kissed a criminal five and a half minutes ago. Would they care about that, too?

The window is suddenly much more interesting than any of your wandering, slingshot thoughts. 

Wait. It’s very pretty in this area, and you finally can tell some semblance of where you are. Because you only know of one part of the city that looks like this, and it’s deep in Crane territory. 

Did you both really make it this far? 

Carefully tended to, it’s a lot greener on the sidewalks, and more open on the roads. And it’s on one of these roads that you finally notice the sunset, gold accents shining on sleek street signs and the tops of buildings that seem much more at rest than you do. 

Rest. Sleep. Home. 

With the luck you’re having, it would be a miracle and a half to reach even one of the three. 

Did you get followed? You don’t know how much longer you can run, so you really fucking hope not. 

“Almost there,” Yoongi whispers, voice scratching your ear in the worst and best ways. “When we get out, move your ass.” 

When you watch the wary, heavy breathing driver in his rear view mirror, you bite out, “I know how to get out of a car, thanks.” 

“Just listen to me.”

“Why?”

“Do you trust me?” 

“No.” 

That came out quicker than you could stop it. But Yoongi only lets silence come between you before he squeezes your shoulder. When he speaks, you can hear how carved out his smirk is without even seeing it, 

“Good girl.”

And you spoke the truth. It wouldn’t have come out so fast if it weren’t. But you know to at least follow his advice here because he’s kept you alive thus far. He didn’t need to drag you out and protect you the whole way, so it’s not like he would steer you wrong here. Right? 

Right? 

“Here,” Yoongi orders before the car slows to a stop. 

That wasn’t so bad. You can get out normally now so why did Yoongi say—

Right as your foot hits ground, the taxi peels out, forcing you to throw yourself out of the side before the rest of your body leaves with it. 

Fucking hell that hurt what the fuck was that for? 

Dirt and dust coats your tongue before you do anything to spit it out. Saliva rushes from your glands as you cough and hack, all while feeling every muscle group in your body begging to not stand up. 

But you feel rough, commanding hands on your arms. “You good?”

“Yeah—”

“Then get up. Get up.”

Straining and wincing like hell, you follow Yoongi’s lead yet again. Because you hear cars rolling up with bad intentions and that means you have to sprint again. 

What the fuck did Yoongi steal? And how the hell are these guys still on your tail? Their resources have got to be as good as Crane’s and yet, they don’t feel the same at all. 

You’re hobbling, but you’re going. You’re rushing. You’re going to get through this alive. 

Instead of heading into the underground, you find yourself ascending a flight of steps. Rumbles and rattles hit your ears as you realize exactly what kind of station this is—one you haven’t seen anywhere in your district. 

Han Station is a floating railway? 

Holy shit, where are you?

Yoongi skids around a corner before you plant hard to stop yourself, only to see him clash with someone before something connects right with your stomach, and you crumple before you feel a solid hit to your head. 

Oh.

The world spins and moves as you hear vibrations, slowed sounds that could be shouts. Gunshots? Or maybe songs? You don’t truly know but your head is aching—

Your arm rushes up to block something before your body follows, and you scream before gripping whatever you can and flipping a whole body forward. 

Reality crashes back into your ears as you snap out of your head. 

You haven’t had to do that maneuver in forever. Was muscle memory more than enough?

“Come on!”

Go. Go, follow him, both of you need to get to the rail shit it’s leaving!

The blaring reverberates through the air, pinging off metal and wheels screeching on the track lines as you bolt for the open doors.

Mid-stride, Yoongi swings to look at the people barreling up the stairs. “One more time: do you trust me?”

“No!”

“Good”—his hands grip your waist—“Jump!”

Head empty, you leap onto the railcar right as it starts to pick up speed, and you watch in horror as Yoongi empties his clip behind him until he can’t anymore. 

“Yoo—” Fuck, what was his name? He seems to not prefer the one you call him and that has to be for good reason. What was it?

You’re leaving. He’s gritting his teeth while hitting the bottom of his gun but he needs to get up! What was his fucking name! 

“Agust!” 

Yoongi finally whips his head around, dashing to the end of the train and straining to carry the duffle. 

He needs to launch it or leave it behind. There’s no way he’s not being weighed down so hard. “Here!” you yell, knowing that look is only reserved for people he doesn’t want to trust. It’s normal. But it still stings. “Hurry up!”

After one more second, he swings it around and flings, leaping onto the side handrail after you get blasted by the bag holy fuck that hurt. 

He was running with this the whole time? No wonder his shoulders are so cut this is heavy.

Straining, you peek out into the wind, seeing Yoongi holding on and scooting along thin steprails towards your awaiting hands.

Shit, this is dangerous. Buildings and the city below fly by, and a parallel train whooshes and roars past as you finally tug him inside with shaky wheezes.

Just like that.

You made it out.

What the fuck. You did it. No one else was able to get onto the train. You’re safe for now. 

Finally, finally, finally able to breathe. 

But goddamn, you both stand out like blood on a blank page.

As you struggle to fully stand, you notice everyone else on the train—well-kept, carrying themselves in sleek linens and lush outfits, hair done beautifully and to perfection. 

Which makes it unsurprising that plenty of them regard the pair of you with suspicion and morbid curiosity. While intrigue covers the one with an unfairly handsome face, zings of jealousy and judgment fire your way. 

You feel so out of place. You are so out of place. But that doesn’t give anyone the right to look at you like filth. The words from the taxi driver pierce your brain again, and you feel rage and pain bubble up to your tongue,

“Anyone got something they wanna sa—”

But Yoongi does something that has your brain chemistry altering because he casually bends a knee in front of you while holding the top rail, forcing you back into the side of the train car and only seeing his jewelry. 

When your eyes snap to his, he regards you before peering outside. “Stop,” he mutters. “You're causing a scene.”

“Me?” Oh, he has some nerve. “What did I do, you’re the one—”

“Quiet.”

Ridiculous. Huffing, you let disagreement tug your lips while joining him in watching the world go by. 

Realizing with a pang that you are probably never getting back home. You’re never gonna see your favorite neighbor with his woks and caterpillar eyebrows. All the produce you were planning to sell will only succumb to mold and time. 

Your tangerines… 

When a tear falls, it glints in your reflection before quickly being swiped away. 

No. Don’t do any of that here where people can see—where he can see. No one will know what the hell you just went through today. Be normal, strong, normal. 

The ride lasts a little longer, with people coming and going during each stop. When there are seats open, neither you nor Yoongi move to take them. The two of you stay glued where you stand.

Silent, together, and covered in hidden blood.

The next stop seems to be in a quieter sector of the city. All around you are buildings you’ve never seen before stretching miles into the sky, and the streets are so neatly paved you’re convinced they’re fake. 

“This is us,” Yoongi whispers, hand guiding your hip to move toward the doors.

Skin scorching under his touch, you can only nod.

Where are you now? Where are you getting off? 

You both exit the train with a few others, and you watch with heightened curiosity as they carry satchels and wear shoes that look horribly uncomfortable. As you move down the steps, you keep craning your neck to take everything in, and more questions fill your head than answers. 

But the truth remains even as you and Yoongi stop in front of your destination.

You cannot run anymore. Even if more of whoever those guys were showed up, you may just choose to sit down instead of take another stride. Besides, your body is still running a thousand steps even though you haven’t moved since getting on the train anyway. After today, the chase may never stop.

“We’ll stay here.” 

We? Stay? 

“Here? This place is…” You keep peering up and up, the top of the building so high your neck hurts. It’s so foreign and magical your only adjective is a quiet, “Nice.” 

At your side, Yoongi seems annoyed when he asks, “Expect something different?” 

“Yeah, like… I dunno, a secret lair or something.” 

Air whooshes from his nostrils, but there’s a stark absence of a smile. Looking up at the building, too, he explains something that you’ve never heard of before,

“We’re in a grey zone. No one will follow us here.” 

Right. Because that somehow makes sense to regular civilians like you. Because you are one, are one, are one. “Allegedly,” you scoff, not knowing what to believe anymore.  

Yoongi pauses before heading up, and his agreement makes you look. “Allegedly.” 

Mm. 

After taking the tiny steps to the entrance, you wonder what he must be thinking bringing your haphazard look in tow. 

Because he could’ve left you behind at any point in time. But he didn’t. What does that mean? Why is he keeping you alive and at his side?

While you’re taking in the opulent and vast lobby, Yoongi guides you toward the front desk, shifting the duffle on his shoulder. 

This place is gorgeous. Nothing like you’ve ever seen. How were they able to install a waterfall in a building? What kind of money does this so-called grey zone have? 

Yoongi nods toward the concierge, who quickly nods back and scurries away and into a room.

If you weren’t so tired, you could probably make something of that exchange. But you are very much exhausted so frankly, you don’t give a shit right now. 

Although. You do give a shit about the fingers suddenly interlacing with your own. As your hand is held, you shoot your best client a look so potent he stares back. “What now,” you snip, question low and dripping with distrust. 

Unfazed, Yoongi slowly pulls you into his side, a steady hand coming up to wrap around your tired hips. So nonchalant, so lax, so confusing as he murmurs,

“Just wanted to.”

Your heart trips into the next beat.

On sore legs, you wait until the concierge comes back with a key, eyes swiping over you as if they finally noticed your existence. Which seems to perplex them as they hand over the metal device.

And Yoongi just takes it, not a word said before he directs you across the lobby to what look like elevators.

Even these look fancy as fuck. Wherever you are and whatever this place is, you feel even more out of place than on that judgy train. 

A hotel worker bows before he motions to the opening doors. “Nice to see you again,” he murmurs to the ground, seemingly expecting the same non-response given to the front desk. “Would you like the usual, Mister—” 

“No,” Yoongi clips him off. “Not this time.” 

“Understood.” 

Brows pinched, you’re starting to get a weird feeling. 

How does everyone know Yoongi so well here? He said this was a grey zone, which you’d think would be akin to a neutral or non-threatening one. So why does it feel like he’s got this area on lock? Who exactly are you getting into an elevator with? 

…Who exactly did you save? 

Yoongi was right when he said you’re in it now. But faced with more questions surrounding him than anything or anyone else, you’re starting to wonder what pit of hell you dropped yourself into. 

Especially after catching the look of utter panic from the serviceman. 

Right before sliding doors shut the world out. 

—

—

⟶ what do we feel! | 🥢 join the taglist 🥢 | masterlist

a/n: thank you all for being so patient as i work through this! it was originally supposed to be a oneshot, but i like, need characters to get to know and learn about one another before heading into spice lmao. I NEED PLOT OK. THERE WILL BE LOTS OF SMUT I PROMISE DSHFKDSF we just gotta get through the slow burn first >:)) a/n 2: if there's something you liked about this or a line/scene/whatever thing you enjoyed, feel free to let me know! feedback is never expected, but always appreciated. if the interest level is high, that adds motivation like no other. thank you all for reading! ++ feedback box: ⇥ of course, any reblogs/comments/messages are appreciated! ⇥ for the ones that are too shy to reblog with a review, comment on this, or send a message, i went ahead and made another anonymous form where you can send in what you think! ⇥ no emails collected, no need to put in a username. it’s literally just a comment dropbox :D feedback can be as short/sweet or as long as you’d like! ⇥ here! ++ more links: ⇥ masterlist  ⇥ minted masterlist

[thetwofaced]

Holly fucking shit. 300 notes. What.

WHAT

HOW

Zaraki Kenpachi

Can we like. Just. Appreciate how this huge ass man, who lives for a good fight like...raised Yachiru? Can we talk about this grown ass man taking HOURS to shape his hair and apply an insane amount of THINY LITTLE BELLS to the tips of his hair? How he takes a bath every day? And a nap? And that the girl he raised is a fukutaicho. Who is feared. Who founded the god damn woman society in the sereitei? And hes like ...you go girl? That that little girl has BETTER MANNERS THAN HIMSELF ? How his role model is a woman? Like? Can we?

[silversurfersx]

you and me and your friend kimi | ollie bearman

ollie bearman x gf!reader [smau]

summary: in which you just want to hang out with your boyfriend, but his boyfriend just keeps appearing alongside

faceclaims: random people from pinterest

A/N: Guys I'm sick and maybe a bit delirious, if something is a bit weird, I blame the sickness, also english isn't my first language

liked by olliebearman, kimiantonelli, dinobeganovic and others

yourusername: karting w/ my bf and his bf. Cheers boys!

view comments

olliebearman: ❤❤

yourusername: ❤🐻 kimiantonelli: ❤🤝 yourusername: 👀 kimiantonelli: @ olliebearman 😘❤ olliebearman: @ kimiantonelli 🥰❤ yourusername: 🤨 olliebearman: @ yourusername 🥰😘❤❤❤😅

user1: kimi our here third wheeling, lol

user2: *y/n

dinobeganovic: can I come next time?

yourusername: you can come instead of kimi kimiantonelli: what 🥺

liked by olliebearman, kimiantonelli, alexandrasaintmleux, and others

yourusername: photodump.

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user3: this is so chaotic, I love it

olliebearman: ❤😘

yourusername: ❤🥰

user4: that's a real kimi raikonnen caption

user5: y/n challenge to not post her man

user6: and kimi user7: at this point they've adopted him

kimiantonelli: why did you post a picture of sebastian vettel as a kid?

yourusername: cause he's adorable olliebearman: she sometimes spends hours just looking at pictures of him as a kid yourusername: again, he is freaking cute kimiantonelli: that's weird user8: i get it, little seb is adorable [liked by yourusername]

thomasbearman1: can I come to ikea next time too?

yourusername: of course 😊 kimiantonelli: and me? yourusername: you just went with us kimiantonelli: yes, and? yourusername: ask ollie user9: in other words: ask dad

liked by yourusername, charles_leclerc, kimiantonelli and others

olliebearman: happy birthday to my favourite girl. The best girlfriend and engineering student in the world. I love you to the moon and back ❤❤❤❤❤❤🥰🥰🥰😘😘🥳🥳🥳🥳

tagged: yourusername

view comments

user10: oh to be loved the way ollie loves y/n, happy bday

charles_leclerc: happy birthday y/n!

yourusername: omg charles leclerc, thank u so much 🥰

kimiantonelli: happy birthday mama 🥰🥳🥳

yourusername: i think I'd remeber if I were your mum 🤔 but thank you

yourusername: thank you so much, love! I love you to pluto and back 🥰❤❤

olliebearman: then I love you from the andromeda galaxy and back 😘🥰❤❤❤

user11: not them out here challenging their love for each other

user12: it's incredibly cute but also very painful (I'm single)

prema_team: happy birthday, y/n!

___

___

yourusername posted a story

[caption] helping chef kimi 🍝

tagged: kimiantonelli, olliebearman

kimiantonelli posted a story

[caption] paddel with the family

tagged: olliebearman, yourusername, dinobeganovic

yourusername: family? Did we adopt Dino now too? kimiantonelli: too? Have you accepted my request to be officially adopted? yourusername: ollie made me kimiantonelli: 😍

kimiantonelli posted a story

[caption] I have been officially adopted, I want to thank my adopted parents for this opportunity ❤❤

tagged: yourusername, olliebearman

olliebearman: aww, she told you🥰 welcome to the family 😘 kimiantonelli: grazie 😘

[i-cant-sing]

Mmmhhh thinking about Yandere Batfam reacting to a reader who runs a very popular blog where she absolutely bashes Batman and Robins- and the batfam takes your criticism very seriously. Maybe not at first, but then Damian (the easiest to tick) got pissed off when you wrote how "he's just a kid in a cheap Halloween costume" and when Damian gets pissed off, he whines. He whines and whines and whines until Dick and Bruce finally listen to him and do something about it. That's when they find out about the extensive threads about them, criticising meticulously each and every action of theirs, how they're causing more financial harm to Gotham and allowing themselves to be idolised and causing more people to comit crimes just so that they could have their 5 seconds of fame with Batman. And ofc theirs a whole page about the Batsignal.

I mean, Damian and Tim have already found out who runs the page (though they had a little bit of a hard time sniffing u out. You were good at covering your tracks). While Damian and Tim are busy going to "have a talk with you", Bruce is at home reading your entire blog about Batfam and realising how some of your points.... kinda makes sense. So, he buys the app where you write your blogs, then has Damian bring you over to the Wayne offices, where he explains he just wanted to meet the person running the blog that generates the most readers on the app. You, just a 23 year old student who's blogging as a side hustle.

You're obviously stunned because why are you meeting Bruce Wayne and also confused because again, why are you here exactly??? Bruce just says that he likes your insights and would like to know more, and he's happy to pay you by the hour you spend talking to him and also on the blog.

He's very much determined to make Batman and Robins be good in your mind, and not that he cares much about what people think about him, it doesn't hurt to have good PR for heroes, lest people should try revolting against Justice league and only end up hurting themselves. There's only so much he could do to calm his metahuman friends.

You're again- CONFUSED, but you like money. The only thing you tell him is that you get to write whatever you want, complete creative control and that you can write about anyone you wish. Ofc, it doesn't register to Bruce that you could possibly write against his family- against his name.

So in the beginning, things are going great. Reader continues making calculated judgements and comments about Batfam and how they could possibly improve themselves, the batfam takes note and tries to do most of the things. Then you'd write something that could almost be seen as praise for "changing their old ways" and they all feel a little bit proud. They don't realise it but some members of the batfam (like damian and Dick) start craving your approval of their actions.

Perhaps something happens, maybe you don't find it fun to write about the bats anymore, so you shift your mind towards a new topic-

The Wayne's.

You research a bit, finding it a little odd at Bruve Wayne's generosity to be adopting random ass kids, a super duper clean record, no scandals or anything- it just- it doesn't feel right. No one's that clean. They have to be hiding something.

So when u can't find anything against them, you let your imagination go wild and start making conspiracy theories, kinda feel like reader goes in her gossip girl era to stir things up so that someone would come forward with something- anything.

Bruce's eyes almost bulge out as he reads the blog's headline-

"The secrets of Gotham's favourite billionaire playboy!"

Shit- did you figure out he's batman?

Nope. In fact, you covered everything but that. From theories about him adopting troubled kids for PR, to the Wayne family actually being a chauvinist cult, to conspiracies about his ties with the Rothschild, his philanthropic donations being a front for illegal activity, the Wayne Manor holding lavish nsfw parties, and even a classic "they drink virgin maiden blood!"

Bruce stood in your apartment, eyes narrowing at your sleeping form on the couch.

"Bruce? What- how did you get in?" You don't remember unlocking your door.

"What is the meaning of this?" He pulled up your article on his phone.

"Huh?" You took a closer look, rubbing the sleep out of your eyes. "Oh. Yeah, I wrote that."

"Why?"

You shrugged. "I was bored."

"What?" Bruce could feel himself getting angry. How could you be so nonchalant about the lies you wrote?

"You know this isn't true." "I do." "Then why did you write it?" "I told you, I was bored. Besides, you told me I could write about anyone." You get up with a sigh. "I don't get why you're so worried about this. Barely anyone reads this stuff."

Bruce's brows went up. "There's a 1000 plus views on this already!"

"What?" your eyes twinkled. "A thousand already? Its not even been 24 hours since I posted. Wow, people really do enjoy conspiracy-" you shut up when you saw his glare. "Right, sorry."

"Take it down, now." Bruce orders, brow twitching when you just walk past him and into the kitchen, pouring yourself some coffee. "Why?" you asks after taking a sip.

He glares at you. "Because it isnt true-"

"Then give me something that is."

Bruce stared at you. Is this... is this your way of wanting an interview?

You sighed. "Look, just let me interview you family, I promise to only write the truth and only the truth. No conspiracies, I swear."

"Or I could just fire you. Better yet, have you sued for defamation."

You nodded. "You could, but honestly that would only bring more attention to the articles and more conspiracies would arise. Besides, you and I both know you cant stop me from writing even if I'm in jail."

Bruce watched you walk upto him, holding your phone in your hand. "Come on, just one week- one week at your place, I'll even let you read the article before I post it. If you dont like it, I'll delete it."

I mean... it did sound like a pretty good bargain. Besides, at his home, youd be in a more supervised space.

So here you are, standing in the lobby of the Wayne manor as a posh butler leads you to Bruce's office. Of course Alfred will be a part of your articles. He's too fancy to not be.

And so over the course of a week, you dont really find anything particularly intriguing about the family, even after you interviewed each member. You're mentally groaning at the thought of writing yet another boring article... that is until you accidentally discover the batcave (ok not accidentally, u hid a recorder in Bruce's office and u heard the man discussing about it with Dick)

Anyways, it didnt take long for you to discover the cave, and it took you even less for you to write a scandalous article.

"RICH MAN COSPLAYS AND PRACTICES HIS JUJUTSU SKILLS ON THE MENTALLY ILL! SEE PICTURES OF WHERE HE ROLEPLAYS IN MASKS!"

Unfortunately, before you hit "post", your phone is snatched and you're knocked out.

When you come to, Bruce is sitting in front of you looking beyond pissed while you're tied up in your seat.

"We had a deal, Y/n." Bruce gritted out.

"So? Deal was off the moment I found out you were Batman." You shrugged.

"We had a deal-"

"You really expect me to just pretend like I'm blind after I found out who you really are? Do you think anyone would just give up on a scoop this big?" You tilt your head at him.

Bruce narrowed his eyes at you. "Scoop? Thats what this is to you?"

You nodded. "Sure, you're a hero who fights crime and brings "peace" to Gotham, but who knows for sure? After all, thats how you want the world to see you." You lean as far as your restraints allow you. "I dont trust you, Bruce. Not one bit. There's just- this gut feeling about you. Nothing personal, but I dont get good vibes from you."

"Is that so?" Bruce raised his brow before sighing. "I guess there's no reason to let you go then."

"What?"

He nodded to himself. "Yes, if I let you go now, you'll only cause more trouble for me, but also for yourself. If you post content like that, people will target you- yes, I definitely cant let you go. You're an impulsive idiot who'd endanger herself just to not be bored."

Your eyes widen. "You cant kill me."

Bruce scoffed. "Dont be ridiculous, I can, but I wont. I just want to take care of you, protect you from yourself." He stood up. "I did a little bit of research on you too, yknow? You keep your personal life super private, I have to give credit to you, it wasnt easy to find out about your family. But... money makes the mare go."

Your throat dried as you saw a glint in his eyes. He knew... he couldnt-

Bruce's footsteps echoed as he neared you and ruffled your hair. "Poor you... having to deal with a schizoprenic mom." He leaned down to smile gently at you, but you could sense the sinister intent.

"Dont worry, she'll be taken care of at Gotham Asylum while you stay with us."

girl idk where i was going with this, i just needed to get it out of my drafts (i have another long incomplete draft about platonic yandere dick x gymnast reader where he basically is intrigued by this mini tonya harding who lives for her dead beat father's approval who doesnt give a shit about her unless she comes first. so its upto dick to adopt u and make u a part of batfam)

[emacrow]

Selina adopt a new stray.. well almost ghostly cat like stray.

Selina had just finished her heist to steal some valuables cat related jewelry, even though their weren't very high in valuable, she just wanted them as a decoration.

Only to hear the most desperate yowl of a cat above between the alley that she was about to leap over.

Only to see a tiny meta cat like toddler all caught and tangled up in a gothams clotheslines screaming bloody murder was happening upon him. His desperate yowling and frantic moving getting more tangled up then isn't helping was going to alert either batman or his robin spawns any minute if she didn't do something.

So she caught the clotheslines string and caught the kid whom immediately froze upon being held. The toddler look like a batman's adopt-bait except for the white cat ears, glowing cat-like eyes, whiskers and white two tail?

Yea.. she keeping him after she untangled him.

By the time she got him with her newest stray without actually alerting any bats was surprising. She have to come up with a name after she bathe him and feed him because he is much lighter then a normal toddler should be..

Once he was clean (ignoring the multiple scars, precision cuts and v line on his tiny chest until she get her phone for photo evidences later), and clothed, she temporarily put him in a box for just 5 minutes so she can fixed him up a temporarily bed next to her bed using the numerous amount of soft pillows she have.

Only for the blood curdling scream to be heard a she panicking ran back to the living room only to see the kid stop when she noticed she was in his sight.

OH, oh no, his isn't orange cat dumb..

She decided to do a little test which was pull up the a random spare blanket from her living room, lift it up to not show her body and drop it as she seemingly disappeared.

Blood curding yowling began once more.

Yep. He is dumber then orange cat dumb..

She brought the box in her room as she fixed him up a nice temporarily bed. She brought him to her kitchen for meal time. Checking his mouth to see those pearly white teeths and fangs.

Damn she didn't had much groceries beside a couple eggs, a soda can, red strawberry wine for girls night, salmon dish she was planning to eat later, and the half eaten bread loaf she brought 3 days ago..

Selina smiled a bit as she sip her soda watching her new kid nommed the pieces of salmon that she cut up into bit size pieces. Listening to softest loud purr coming from him was music to her ears..

Part 2

[gyubakeries]

OT13 reaction to: their kid stealing an item from them.

a/n: was struck by random inspo while working on a request i got (i will be posting all requests IM SO SORRY FOR BEING SO LATE) but yeah!!! also credits to @sousydive for suggesting the bonus woozi reaction hahaha 💗 i also think i got a little carried away haha 😭 i hope you guys like it!

contents: seventeen x afab!reader , dad!seventeen , husband!seventeen , crack , fluff , woozi's pink underwear makes a guest appearance , seventeen and reader have kids , some members have a boy and some have a girl, some have both; i just chose at random , just a lot of cutesy vibes

seungcheol:

"babe, where's my rolex?" seungcheol calls out, and you hurriedly rush into the bedroom from the kitchen. "what do you mean where's your rolex? don't tell me you've misplaced it, choi seungcheol!" you hiss, panicked. the rolex was a gift to seungcheol from your parents after you got married, and besides the sentimental value, the price of it alone was enough to make anyone faint.

"i put it right where i put it every day!" seungcheol says defensively. "and i didn't wear it over the weekend either!"

just then, your toddler waddles into the room excitedly, giggling cutely. "mama, look! shiny!"

"baby, not now," you sigh, focused on figuring out where the watch could be.

"daddy! i'm like you now! look!" your child tries again, and seungcheol, always the weakest when it came to his kid, looked down, only to burst into laughter.

you look up at seungcheol, wondering what could be so funny when a rolex is missing. but a quick glance at your child has you rolling on the floor in laughter.

because there your adorable baby was, with a shiny rolex hanging off his wrist and a brighter smile etched on his face.

"do i look like daddy?" your son tilts his head, and you can only sigh in relief as seungcheol pulls your kid into a hug, carefully slipping the watch off his wrist.

"mama thinks you look even more handsome, baby," you tease.

"hey! not fair!" seungcheol pouts.

(your small family spends a morning filled with laughter, until seungcheol has to rush to work because he realizes he's already late to his meeting.)

jeonghan:

"shit! where is he?" jeonghan murmurs under his breath, crouching on the floor to duck under the bed.

"babe? what are you looking for?" you question, walking into your bedroom to find jeonghan crawling on all fours.

"ddoljjongie!" jeonghan sighs, exasperated. "i can't find him anywhere!"

"that's strange," you muse, eyebrows furrowed as you try to recollect where you'd last seen jeonghan's pet rock.

ddoljjongie wasn't just any boring rock, he was jeonghan's 'pet', one he adopted from your first date with him at the beach. the rock was quite precious, always tucked away safely on your dresser, or his study, but right now, it had just disappeared.

"dada! mom! look, i made new friends!" your daughter rushes into the room, practically vibrating with happiness.

temporarily giving up on his search for ddoljjong, jeonghan follows you and your daughter to the backyard.

your daughter leads you both to the couch on the patio, showing off a.... rock collection?

"ddoljjongie!" jeonghan exclaims. before he can get to his rock though, your daughter stops him.

"wait! jjong made new friends! this is momo, that's kkumie, and that's hulk!" your daughter says, the last rock being a pebble covered in green moss.

"don't take jjong away, dada," your daughter pouts. "he's having so much fun here!"

jeonghan gives in quickly, ruffling his baby girl's hair. "alright, ddoljjong can stay here. now come back inside, it's bedtime."

you smile at how cute your family is, and you're also surprised at how easily jeonghan parts with his pet rock.

(the surprise only lasts till when you see your husband sneak out, draw a face on another similar shaped rock, put it in ddoljjong's place, and then tip-toe back into the house after your daughter has fallen asleep.)

joshua:

"shua, you should play us something on your guitar!" seokmin suggests, and everyone cheers. all of joshua's 12 chaotic friends have gathered in your living room, along with their families, to celebrate mingyu and his wife's pregnancy.

joshua, ever the crowd-pleaser, gets up to fetch his guitar. you follow him to your bedroom, passing your son's bedroom on the way. seungkwan's daughter and wonwoo's twins are playing an intense game of charades, while your son is busy doing.... something.

before you can find out what he's doing, joshua's panicked whisper catches your attention.

"babe! where's my guitar pick?" he asks, and you're just as confused. joshua's guitar and all related equipment are always stored neatly in your bedroom. there's no reason for the guitar pick to go missing.

you enter your bedroom, looking in the drawers of your dresser to find the guitar pick, but in vain.

your search is cut short by the sound of loud cheers from the living room, and a soonyoung who looks close to tears appearing at your bedroom door.

"you guys have to see this."

soonyoung was known for his dramatic streak, but seeing the sight everyone was cooing at in your living room made you tear up a little bit too.

joshua seems equally affected, if the arm wrapped around your shoulders and the love-filled gaze directed at you is anything to go by.

there's your little boy, sitting in the center of all his uncles and aunts, clutching his toy guitar and joshua's guitar pick. he's strumming the strings to mimic the playing of the instrument. although the strings don't make a musical sound, your son's voice singing 'sunday morning' by maroon 5 is enough to make you shed some tears.

everyone watches him with a smile on their faces, and you feel your chest swell with pride as your son looks like the splitting image of joshua, his eyes and lips curved into the exact identical smile of your husband.

(later, minghao and seungcheol send you videos of your son's performance from various angles, and jihoon leaves the house with a promise of signing your son under his record label one day. you can only feel grateful and happy seeing joshua play 'sunday morning' on his real guitar as your son sings along with him.)

junhui:

"y/n? could you get my lemon gummies along with the popcorn?" junhui requests. it's a movie date night for the two of you, and your twins (one boy and one girl) are asleep in their bedroom.

"god, you and your love for sour things," you sigh, feigning annoyance. when you first met junhui at a frat party in college, you were weirdly drawn in by the fact that he could eat an entire lemon without, like, dying from how sour it is.

"you love it," he winks playfully, making you laugh as you retreat to the kitchen to make popcorn. once the packet is in the microwave, you open the pantry to find the lemon gummies junhui loves to snack on.

from his last visit to his hometown, he had brought back at least five packets, three of which had been finished over the span of a year.

but where were the remaining two?

"babe? did you finish all the gummies?" you call out, moving around the various snacks and items in your pantry, looking for the gummies.

junhui is quick to come in the kitchen. "i remember there were a couple of packets left..." he mumbles, helping you look for the snack.

as if on cue, a loud scream rings out, followed by giggles. you and your husband share a quick glance before rushing up the stairs to your kids' bedroom.

you're bursting into the room, heart beating rapidly at the thought of your children getting hurt, but the sight that greets you calms you down instantly.

your adorable kids are seated on the floor, your daughter giggling loudly, and your son's face scrunched up in disgust. between them lies the missing packets of lemon gummies.

"baba! look, we ate gummy but he spit it!" your daughter chirps, babbling excitedly, while your son is vigorously wiping at his tongue, trying to get the sour flavor off his tongue.

"our daughter is just like you," you tease junhui, and he can only smile. he joins the kids on the floor, and you pass him a glass of water for your son.

"babies, i told you not to touch the lemon gummies," jun says, gentle yet firm. "they're too sour for you."

"not for me! i like sour!" your daughter pipes up, but your son, after finishing the water, scowls.

"it's too sour, baba," he pouts. "tastes yucky."

"you're just a scaredy-cat," your daughter teases your son, sticking her tongue out at him.

junhui turns back to meet your gaze, giving you a smile so sweet and loving that it makes you melt.

(you, junhui, and your kids spend the rest of the night, cuddled up on your twins' too-small-for-4-people bed, eating caramel popcorn and strawberry candy. your life has never been sweeter.)

soonyoung:

a loud shriek wakes you up abruptly. you were dozing off on the couch on a lazy, sunday afternoon, hoping to catch up on some much needed sleep after staying up with your daughter the entire night to help her finish a project.

but judging from how horrified your husband sounds, you realize that there really isn't much scope to catch a break in a household with two, hyper-active kwons.

"love? what's up?" you ask, walking into your bedroom. you see soonyoung clutching his hair in despair, standing in the middle of your bedroom. what was once a neatly arranged room now looks like a hurricane named 'kwon soonyoung' just rampaged through it.

"tamtam."

"what about tamtam?" you ask.

"he's gone. tamtam is missing." soonyoung whispers frantically, looking like he's about to absolutely lose his shit any moment now.

"he'll be around here somewhere," you try to placate him. "when did you last see him?"

"i know i brought him to the living room with me before we started on the family tree..." soonyoung mumbles, referring to the previous night, when you both stayed up with your daughter.

"let's go look there," you suggest, and soonyoung follows you, biting his lips in worry.

you look on the sofa, under the sofa, behind the sofa, even between the sofa cushions, but your search has been pointless.

until....

"wait, what's floopy doing here?" soonyoung asks, holding up your daughter's bunny plushie. if her father had an attachment to his tiger plushie, your daughter was impossibly glued to her bunny, floopy. it was extremely difficult to get her to do anything without floopy by her side, especially sleeping.

but if floopy was here, how was your daughter asleep upstairs?

soonyoung and you make your way to your daughter's bedroom, opening the door softly so as to not wake her up.

you tiptoe into the room first, smiling at how peaceful your daughter looked while she was sleeping. you peel back the blanket covering her gently, and sure enough, tamtam, soonyoung's beloved plushie, was cuddled up next to her, some of her drool dripping down to tamtam's poor face.

"too bad, soons. looks like she's taken over tamtam now," you whisper, only joking, but the look of pure sadness in soonyoung's eyes makes you laugh out loud, which in turn wakes your daughter up.

"daddy! look, tammie slept here today! we had the bestest sleepover," your daughter grins, ever the happy pill, just like her father.

"and you left floopy all alone in the living room," soonyoung pouts. "she's all upset and said she wouldn't talk to you, because you took tamtam with you."

your daughter's eyes widen immediately, and she's springing out of bed, chucking the tiger plushie in soonyoung's general direction and running over to the living room to reconcile with her precious floopy.

("you're a menace, soonyoung," you sigh. you had just managed to calm your daughter down after she began wailing because floopy wouldn't talk to her. soonyoung talking to her in a high-pitched voice, pretending to be the bunny plushie had managed to console your daughter.

"at least i provided a solution!" soonyoung says defensively, and you can only kiss his cheek because of how endearing he is.)

wonwoo:

"babe! breakfast is ready!" you call out, dishing out the last of the pancakes on a plate. you then open the fridge to grab the maple syrup, when you hear a loud crash in your bedroom.

"shit, wonwoo, are you okay?" you gasp, entering the bedroom to see wonwoo sitting on the floor, rubbing at his forehead, which had a red patch forming on it.

"can't see," he groans. "my glasses aren't here."

you rush to help him up and guide him to sit on the bed. you press your cold hands to his forehead, hoping to relieve some of the sting from the collision he had with the cupboard.

"that's strange," you mutter. "you always leave them on the bedside table. did you leave it in your study last night?"

"nope," he shakes his head. "i'm not that forgetful."

"i'll go check to be sure," you offer. "sit here, don't move. if you crash into my dresser and break the vase, you're a dead man, jeon wonwoo."

"okay okay," wonwoo nods. "please go check, i feel like my vision has been taken away from me."

you laugh at how helpless and silly your husband looks, sitting on the bed with a pout, his hair messy, and his forehead red.

"you're such an old, blind man," you tease.

"don't make me want to chase you around the house, y/n," wonwoo threatens playfully.

"you can't even see me, baby," you retort, and before wonwoo can reply, you're going off to the study to find his glasses.

just as you enter the study, you hear a loud crash coming from your son's room. you quickly hurry there, and it seems like your husband heard the crash too, because he's walking to the room with his hands held out in front of him to avoid any more accidents.

you open the door to find your son sitting in the same position you found wonwoo in not too long ago, rubbing at his forehead.

and, wait, is that wonwoo's glasses he's wearing?

"oh baby, what happened?" you coo, kneeling to the ground to gently pry the too big glasses slipping off your son's nose and handing it back to wonwoo.

"was wearing daddy's glasses to look like him, but i couldn't see anything, so i bumped into my cupboard," your son whines, and you can't believe you have two clumsy boys living in your house.

"you're just like your daddy, aren't you?" you laugh, and wonwoo chuckles as well. you sit down on the floor, pulling your son into your lap to fuss over him and make sure he's not seriously injured, and wonwoo joins you too.

"does anything else hurt, baby?" you ask, and your son shakes his head. "just have a boo-boo here, mommy," he says, pointing at his forehead.

you lean in to press a loud smooch to your son's forehead, pulling away to grin at him. "now your boo-boo will go away!"

"and what about my boo-boo?" wonwoo interrupts, and you can't help but laugh at how serious he looks.

"come here, you big baby."

(the rest of the morning is spent in both your boys arguing over who needs more cuddles from you. the stack of pancakes grow cold in the kitchen.)

jihoon:

"welcome hom- woah, what's got you in a rush?" you ask when your husband whizzes past you just as he returns home from work. you see him disappear into his studio, so you know he has a 'musical emergency.'

back from your dating days in college, jihoon had always been interested in producing music. although he didn't make a career out of it, he'd still write and compose songs in his free time.

at this point, you've lost track of how many songs jihoon has dedicated to you and your precious daughter. his family was his biggest inspiration, and you could really feel the genuine love and care he had for the most important girls in his life from his songs.

but today, there was something off about his production process.

"y/n, have you seen my headphones?" he asks you when you enter the studio.

"i swear i haven't touched them!" you raise your arms in surrender, reminded of how you had accidentally knocked a glass of water onto jihoon's headphones a few years back. ever since that day, you've made sure not to touch his music equipment, because you knew how precious they were to him.

"shit...." he mumbles worriedly. it wasn't like him to misplace his belongings, and no one really went into his studio if he hadn't invited or allowed them to.

just then, your daughter waddles into the room, a proud grin etched on her face.

"papa! i made you a song!"

jihoon, momentarily forgetting about his lost headphones to switch into girl-dad mode.

"can we hear it baby?" you ask encouragingly, and your daughter just gestures for you both to follow her.

jihoon and you trail behind your daughter, entering her bedroom to find an amusing sight. the mini pink, barbie piano and microphone set you bought for her was set up with a torch laying on the floor, which probably meant to imitate a spotlight.

on the bed was a toy laptop one of her friends had gifted her, and jihoon's headphones.

"used papa's special earmuffs to make a song!" your daughter claps, and all the tension in jihoon's body melts away in an instant. "mom, will you hold the spotlight please?"

you nod, silently gesturing at jihoon to record your daughter's performance. once her stage is set, she sits at the mini piano, positions the microphone near her mouth and starts playing her song.

it was endearing to see her look as serious as her father when he would play and sing his songs for you. the lyrics were mostly random sentences about unicorns and ice-cream, and the keys of the piano played discordant notes, but you'd never heard a more beautiful thing in your life before this.

(your daughter gets bored of performing after repeating 'twinkle twinkle little star' 5 times, so she runs away to watch cartoons, and jihoon finally stops recording. neither of you point out the happy tears that must've spilled out sometime during your daughter's rendition of 'old mcdonald had a farm' with extra animals like hippos and zebras. you can only wish the melody of your life remains this beautiful forever.)

(bonus, inspired by sousy. jihoon has a son in this:)

"y/n, has jihoon ever told you about his pink underwear?" mingyu giggles, like the menace he is.

"mingyu, have you told your wife about that horrendous bowl cut you had in high school? i have pictures i can show her right now." jihoon glares at his friend.

"pink underwear?" you laugh, amused. "i'm yet to hear about it."

"god, y/n, don't listen to him," jihoon groans, but the sound is drowned out by seokmin and soonyoung's ridiculously loud cackling. they point in the direction behind you, so you and jihoon turn around to see what they're laughing at.

sure enough, it's your son, running around the house like a madman with his father's infamous pink underwear atop his head.

"what?" jihoon gasps. he clearly remembers placing the underwear at the very back of his closet so no one would see it. how on earth did his son find it?

the answer comes in the form of a mischievously smirking jeonghan and joshua who emerge from your bedroom a few seconds later, fist-bumping each other.

yeah, jihoon has a bad headache now.

seokmin:

"lovie, have you seen my dodgers jersey?" seokmin asks, popping his head into the bathroom, where you were currently finishing up your skincare routine.

"it should be in your closet," you reply, applying sunscreen on your face.

"but it isn't," seokmin pouts, and that alarms you.

seokmin's doders jersey is one of his most prized possessions. he's even joked about being buried with it when he dies so he can continue being a fan in the afterlife. (you don't really encourage those jokes.)

if it isn't in his closet, where else would it be?

"i'll help you look for it," you offer, and the both of you nearly empty out your entire wardrobe to find the jersey, but it was nowhere to be seen.

"it's okay, we're getting late," seokmin smiles. "the guys will kill us if we're late. i'll just wear something else."

and with that, seokmin changes into another outfit, and you wonder how he's always so easy-going. if you weren't able to find your favorite shirt, you'd sulk about it till the time you found it.

the jersey is forgotten a while later. you busy yourself with packing a baby bag for your toddler, and seokmin had rushed to the convenience store when he realized that they hadn't bought any ice-cream.

you're grabbing some extra clothes for your daughter, when you realize that the house has been awfully quiet.

where's your daughter?

you call out her name, but there isn't any response that follows, and it gets you worried.

you look around the house just to be sure your daughter isn't playing hide-and-seek with you again. (she hid from you the entire day once. anything was possible.)

finally, you think of going out to the backyard to check if your daughter was there, and surprisingly, you're met with a crying seokmin.

"wha- when did you let yourself in? why are you crying, lovie?" you ask, and he sniffles.

"i forgot the keys, and i thought you'd be busy, so i let myself in through the back door, and then, i saw...."

his voice trails off, and he gestures behind him. your daughter is clad in his precious dodgers jersey, and the previously white material is stained with mud and dirt from rolling around on the floor.

"oh my god, seok," you gasp, thinking your husband was crying because his jersey was ruined, but you're even more surprised when he stops you from going over to your daughter to take the jersey away.

"i'm not sad," he explains, and you wipe his tears away. "i'm just- i'm just really happy. i asked her why she was wearing the jersey, and she said-"

"if daddy likes, then i like!" your daughter's cheery voice cuts in.

"you wore the jersey because daddy likes it?" you ask, endeared by your daughter's antics.

"mhm! daddy loves the jersey, and daddy loves me, so i wore it to make him extra happy and smiley!" your daughter grins, her eyes crinkling just like her father's, and you hear seokmin cry even louder.

"baby, i got so scared when i saw you crying," you whine, playfully hitting his arm, but then pulling him in for a hug anyways.

"i'm sorry, i couldn't contain the tears," seokmin chuckles wetly. the moment is interrupted by a phone call from seungcheol, who says that if your family doesn't arrive in the next 30 minutes, all the food was going to be finished.

(on the drive to the picnic, you tap seokmin's shoulder to catch his attention. "thank you, for teaching our daughter how to love. she's this way because she learned from the best."

seokmin can only smile back at you, and none of you talk about how tears well up in his eyes again.)

mingyu:

it was a friday evening, and mingyu decided that his tried-and-tested, well-loved kimchi jjigae would be the perfect dinner. he grabs the ingredients and utensils and gets to work right away.

while you were finishing up some work, you were greeted by the comforting aroma of mingyu's cooking. unable to help yourself, you quickly go over to the kitchen, and your heart is filled with warmth at the sight of mingyu, tall mingyu, hunched over the too-low stove, making dinner for your family of three.

"what's cookin', good-lookin'?" you say, sneaking up behind mingyu, effectively startling your husband, who jumps up in the air with a squeal.

"shit, baby, you gave me a heart-attack," mingyu whines, pretending to be upset but still leaning down to kiss you sweetly.

"and a stained white t-shirt," you giggle, and mingyu stares at the white tank top he was wearing, with a large stain forming on it. the stew must have spilled on him when he got startled, and the thought of having to remove the stain made him groan.

"wait, where's my apron?" he questions. being a clumsy person by nature, mingyu has perfected some fool-proof techniques for himself so that he can reduce the number of disasters he creates on a daily basis. one of these techniques was to always wear an apron while cooking so that nothing splatter onto his clothes.

"isn't it here?" you ask, walking over to a cabinet where his apron is usually kept, but the spot was empty.

"that's strange," mingyu mumbles. "maybe i put it in the laundry accidentally. i'll check later."

none of you notice the blue-checkered apron stashed in a corner of your son's bedroom later that night, when you tuck him into bed.

a week goes by, and both mingyu and you forget about the missing apron, till mingyu is spilling marinara sauce on his favorite sweater.

"we'll just buy a new one," mingyu sighs when another extensive search of the kitchen had still not helped you find a new apron.

being workaholics, and chronically bad at remembering things, mingyu and you somehow forgot to buy a new apron. in fact, the thought doesn't strike him till the next week, when everyone was gathered in seungcheol's backyard for a barbecue party.

"shit, i don't have an apron," mingyu groans, having realized the lack of an apron just as he was about to start grilling the meat.

before seungcheol can give mingyu a spare, your son is rushing towards you, mingyu's missing apron tied around his waist, and the ends clutched in his tiny fists to avoid tripping on the too-long fabric for his too-small body.

"dada! i'm cooking today!"

your boy even grabs one of the kiddie plastic forks and spoons, standing next to mingyu at the grill, the apron hanging off his tiny frame, and a makeshift chef hat (a plastic bag) atop his head.

"okay, you can be my sous-chef," mingyu grins, looking at your son with love and affection in his eyes.

(your son only helps mingyu sprinkle salt over some of the pieces of meat he was grilling, but the unbridled giggles escaping him made the memory more precious.)

minghao:

"i'm bored." you announce, plopping next to your husband on the couch, snuggling up against him.

"what, you want me to dance or something?" minghao replies, looking at you with an amused grin.

"wonwoo did tell me you could bust a few moves back in the day," you tease, and minghao rolls his eyes.

"those moves were meant to be left in those days, cutie," he smiles, booping your nose. "anything else i can do to entertain you?"

you hum, contemplating what your answer should be, when you finally find the best answer.

"you should do a tea ceremony!" you suggest. "i always feel so relaxed watching you do it."

minghao gapes at you, his eyes widening. "i thought the exact same thing! i'll get the tea set, can you grab all the ingredients and utensils?"

"on it, boss," you salute, making your husband laugh at your playful demeanour, before he heads into the bedroom to retrieve his tea set.

the set was very precious to him; his grandmother had handcrafted each cup, saucer, and teapot with utmost care. she had even hand-painted each utensil, and minghao cherished the set a lot.

to his surprise, when he looks for the tea set in the dresser, where it is always stored, it's missing.

"darling, can you come in here for a sec?" minghao calls out for you, making you leave the ingredients on the kitchen counter and rushing into your bedroom at the urgency of his tone.

"where's my tea set?"

"in the dresser," you answer.

"it isn't there now," minghao frowns, and when you come closer to check, you notice the missing box.

"ah, maybe i put it somewhere else?" you mumble. "i was clearing out the dresser a few days back, and i remember taking the set out to put it somewhere else. it was too heavy for the dresser, and i didn't want to risk breaking it."

"do you remember where you put it?" minghao asks, calm and composed. he was a little antsy at first, but he trusts you with keeping his belongings safe.

"maybe in the kitchen?" you sigh, not being able to recollect. "let's go look there."

minghao follows you to the kitchen, and you both open up various cabinets and drawers, but the tea set wasn't in any of them.

just at the moment, your daughter walks into the room, confidently striding up to the fridge, opening it and grabbing a carton of orange juice.

"hi sweetie, do you want me to pour you some?" minghao asks your daughter, but she shakes her head.

"the juice isn't for me," she explains. "it's for the tea party."

"tea party?" you and minghao ask in unison, and your daughter smiles.

"come join us!"

she leads the both of you into her room, and the black box you'd been trying to find all this time is on the floor of your daughter's bedroom.

but that wasn't the end of it. your daughter had made four of her favorite dolls sit upright on plastic chairs, one left empty for her, and placed them around the small table she had in her room. and surely enough, minghao's tea set was placed on the table, with each chair having a cup placed in front of it, and the teapot in the middle.

in moments like these, with minghao's fragile tea set involved, you were glad that your daughter was responsible and careful with handling precious things, just like her father.

"do you guys want a cup too?" your daughter offers, and, is 'no' ever an answer?

(the tea set only had 6 cups, and with the last cup being handed over to you, minghao had to resort to sipping lukewarm orange juice out of his daughter's purple unicorn mug. he'd never felt happier.)

seungkwan:

making your two sons watch a horror movie, late at night, probably wasn't seungkwan's best decision as a father. but when they shot him with the puppy eyes, he couldn't help but give in.

so now, you have two seven year-olds, clutching onto you for dear life while 'monster house' plays on the TV.

"momma! make the house stop!" one son shrieks, trying to hide his entire body behind you, while your other son grips onto seungkwan's arm tightly, as if scared of being sucked into the TV and joining the kids in the movie.

"okay. that's enough," you decide, reaching for the remote and pausing the movie. "this is why we have a zero tolerance policy for horror movies in this house, seungkwan."

"i'm sorry, baby," seungkwan pouts. "they looked so-"

"i know. i get it," you sigh, you yourself having given into many of their ridiculous demands only because of how wide and watery their eyes would get.

your kids really need to stop spending time with mingyu and seokmin.

"off to bed, both of you," you instruct your boys, and they waste no time, scurrying out of the living room as quickly as possible.

"should i go check if they're okay?" seungkwan asks, feeling guilty.

"they'll be fine," you insist. your boys would have been screaming their heads off by now if anything scared them even the slightest bit.

"how about we finish the movie? i'm kinda curious to see how it ends," you suggest, and seungkwan agrees.

at some point during the movie, you must have dozed off, because when you open your eyes, you find yourself in your bedroom with the sunlight peeking in through the curtains.

and you discern the cause behind your disrupted sleep.

"babe, have you seen my badminton racquets?" seungkwan whispers gently, hovering above you.

"mm, not in the storage room?" you croak out, rubbing your eyes.

"nope, i already checked, and- wait, don't fall asleep!" seungkwan whines when you cover yourself with the blankets and turn to your side to sleep again.

"it's saturday, just sleep in kwan," you groan.

"but i told jeonghan i'd play badminton with him today," seungkwan frowns.

"alright, no morning cuddles for you then," you huff, feigning annoyance.

"i guess jeonghan wouldn't mind if i don't show up," seungkwan mumbles, and you smile triumphantly as your husband joins you in bed, holding you close.

the next time you wake up, you scream.

"what happened?" seungkwan gasps, immediately waking up as well. his panic dies down as soon as he sees the sight that made you scream.

both your sons holding seungkwan's missing badminton racquets, standing at the foot of the bed. their faces were covered by ski masks, and they stared at you both, racquets ready to attack.

("boys, we aren't ghosts," you try again. your boys still aren't very convinced. they've held seungkwan and you hostage in your bedroom for an hour under the pretext of protecting themselves from 'ghosts.'

"if we're ghosts, then i guess you won't get pancakes for breakfast," your husband declares, and your boys are immediately pouncing upon you two, apologizing for thinking you were ghosts and begging you to make them pancakes.

that day you make seungkwan promise that he won't let the boys near horror movies till they're eighteen.)

hansol:

winters always got freezing cold, and you insisted that everyone in the house must have at least one woollen on, even if they're just at home. the rule was made mainly because hansol tended to run a little cold, and you had to make sure that he was bundled up in warm clothes and socks at all times.

naturally, you're surprised when you find hansol on the couch, shivering even though he's wearing a thick jumper with a hoodie on top.

"honey, what's wrong?" you frown, immediately pulling your husband into a tight hug, hoping to warm him up.

"my warm socks, i can't find them," he complains. "they've been missing for, like, a week."

"but i remember washing them last week and putting them in your dresser," you say, clearly remembering when you had put the socks along with your other laundry.

"i'll buy some later," hansol sighs, cuddling into you for more warmth. at that moment, your daughter and son run into the living room, their hands hidden behind their backs.

"mom! dad! do you wanna see something fun?" your son asks enthusiastically, and you both nod at your children.

"okay, close your eyes, and be prepared to see a beautiful princess and a dragon!" your daughter instructs. both hansol and you share an amused glance before shutting your eyes, anticipating what your children have prepared.

you hear them whisper softly, and after a couple of minutes, they tell you to open your eyes.

your children have ducked behind the table, their bodies hidden, but their arms raise upwards.

and on their arms were puppets, made with...

... hansol's socks?

your children had drawn various faces and clothes onto the socks, and they confidently started their puppet show, narrating some version of a fairytale in which a dragon is locked in a tower, and the princess comes riding in on a horse and saves the dragon.

you look down at your husband, who is thoroughly enjoying the puppet show, his laugh reverberating in the living room, which only spurs your children on to making more exaggerated motions and voices as they narrate the story.

(in the end, you give hansol some of your own pink woollen socks, and the sight of him walking around the whole house with baby pink socks is surely a memory you'll remember for a long time.)

chan:

"mm, you need to shave," you groan when chan playfully nuzzles into the crook of your neck, his stubble grazing your skin.

"you're just like the others," chan pouts.

"well, the others are right," you smile. "plus, i happen to like my husband beard-less."

"whatever you wish, is my command," chan sighs dramatically, rolling out of bed to head into the bathroom.

"don't forget to use your electric razor!" you laugh, and he groans in response.

"neither my wife nor my friends will ever let me live in peace," chan laments, walking into the bathroom. he fetches his razor, which had been kept in a box on a high shelf so that their daughter wouldn't be able to reach it, but for some strange reason, the shaving foam wasn't there next to it.

"babe, did you keep my shaving foam somewhere?" chan calls out.

"it's always in the bathroom," you answer. "i have no use for it anyways."

chan sighs, looking in different cabinets to locate the shaving foam, but it had gone missing.

just then, your daughter walks into the room, banging a spoon on a plastic lid.

"breakfast is ready!"

after making her announcement, she scurries out of the room. chan and you are quick to follow, wondering if your daughter had messed up the kitchen.

surprisingly, she takes you to her bedroom, where there's a few plastic lids filled with something, and...

"my shaving foam!" chan points out, locating the can on his daughter's dresser.

"no! whipped cream! for pancake!" your daughter retorts, pointing to the plastic lids on her bed.

she had made purple-colored pancakes with clay (the other colors had gone missing) and they were topped off with chan's shaving foam.

"yum yum!"

chan and you burst into laughter at the same time.

(later, you make some real and edible pancakes, which your daughter and husband finish up quickly. they even fight over the last pancake.

amidst the chaos of the fight, they don't notice you quietly finishing up the last pancake too.)

- fin.

taglist: @tychebaby @lecheugo @min-imum

fill this form to be added to the taglist <3

head to the masterlist for more!

[sexlapis]

[◉°] … TOJI AND Y/N BEING A COUPLE FOR 10 MINUTES STRAIGHT (PART 5) … 899k views

꩜ : actor!toji x gn!reader

part 1 part 2 part 3 part 4 (they are actress!reader)

sfw for the most part, fluff, crack, peeping toms & perverts (toji deals w them <3), cute babies, use of y/n

⤷ the way tojiyn is just real at this point…

a/n: thank you so much for 3000 followers that is literally crazy! thank you all sm for enjoying and supporting my fanfics🩷🩷. as a gift u all get more actor toji. i just missed him <33

_____= your name

masterlists

from the actor![character] series:

actor!toji masterlist

actor!nanami & actress!yn being a couple

actor!levi & gn!reader being a couple

taglist: @okayiamkassandra | @tiredslepz | @hayatslife | @shxyxyxxxx | @snowprincesa1 | @laylasbunbunny | @mimiemie | @ncentic | @rosesored | @imover-18 | @gintokhi | @suzuperstarr | @lostgxrlblog | @jallie10 | @nnsav | @bunnyx-sakura | @bubbabobabubbles | @ladytamayolover | @keiva1000 | @morgyyyyyyy | @studiecoherence | @earth2fae | @ce-namonreads | @ib4ryuguji | @hisjaegerist | @basiloverthyme | @sweet-kiwi | @sayitowshi | @iovemytoru | @thecompletechaosmaster | @sugutoad | @inumakiiz | @uzxotic | @1meshugge1 | @kunikuzushisbeloved

*

꩜ first clip

posted on toji’s (mostly inactive) instagram, a clip of you with a little baby no more than a year old standing on your lap. you make funny, expressive faces as she giggles and mumbles in an adorable, pure manner. the pinnacle of innocence.

“look at that! who’s that, baby?” you ask the baby, referring to the person behind the camera.

you turn her around, making her look up. she points, her face beaming with a toothless smile.

“ahh!” she squeaks.

you giggle.“it’s toji!”

a huff is heard from behind the camera and a big hand comes and strokes the baby’s chubby cheeks. “hi princess.”

the clip ends there, but the reaction from the internet only begins.

-

@ynb11111gestfan

a baby??? wtf did i miss???!:!:!

@justalurkeracx0unt

YOU GUYS ADOPTED?????????

@gojosbl!ndfold

which one of you gave birth

@tojizbigfatbreederballzinmymouf

girldad toji? my biggest dreams have come true💕💕

⤷ @herbigdoeeyesss

YOUR NAME?????

-

it’s safe to say, everyone was confused about who this random baby was. so, you were the one to clear things up by posting a video on your story;

“i’m sorry for the confusion guys. yes, me and toji had a baby. toji had a very long labour and he worked so hard and gave birth to a little baby girl <3”

well, that cleared things up.

꩜ second clip

toji walks out of a elevator and is…carrying you in his arms. bridal style. with your bodyguards following close behind (not that you need bodyguards when toji is with you).

the man holding the camera asks toji, “why are you carrying them?”

instead, you respond with a shrug, “my feet hurt.”

toji doesn’t even react. he just walks down the corridor, carrying you like he does it every day.

꩜ third clip

shortly after you began filming for a minor role in a popular television series, there are rumours floating around of toji allegedly physically assaulting one of the members of staff on set.

of course, everyone has all kinds of theories of what happened, but many people are not surprised because, well…it’s toji. they are not shocked by this type of behaviour coming from him.

but then, all is revealed by TMZ in a short youtube video, being a oh so nosy individuals they are:

“we got leaked information about what happened on that set. apparently, the staff member had been secretly recording y/n in their caravan, even when they were getting dressed! disgusting, i know. it’s said that toji spotted them and ‘took’ matters into his own hands. and by that, i mean throwing hands. toji is now being accused of assault by said staff member. in my eyes,” the reporter throws his hands up, shrugging, “that freak got what was coming!”

after that, people are on toji’s side, praising him for what he did. but enough people believed his actions to be extreme and overly violent.

so he releases an apology for his actions in a video, in which it is very clear that he had just woken up and he was still in bed:

“hey everyone. i know just about everyone’s heard of what happened. i would just like everyone to know that…i don’t care,” he chuckles, “i really don’t give a shit. i would do it again if it had to. that piece of shit deserved what he got. i’m only sorry for not breaking his other arm.”

꩜ fourth clip

you and toji are on the red carpet in paris, being interviewed about an awards show and your time in the country.

“so, have you two seen any of the sights and attractions in paris?”

“uhhhmm, no not so much. we really wanted to but we’ve just been uhh, really, really-” you pause for a moment, a second too long as you look at toji, who is staring at you. even from this angle, toji is seen to be smirking and he winks at you.

you blink rapidly and turn back to the interviewer. “busy. yeah, we’ve been really busy.”

“that’s one way to put it.” toji chimes in.

a tojiyn truther favourite.

꩜ fifth clip

you and toji, wanting to raise money for charity, decided ti participate in the bake-off, a televised baking competition.

“okay!” you start, excited.

the excitement doesn’t last very long.

“what even is this [BLEEP]?”

“toji! don’t swear! they have to bleep that out!”

off you and toji go, baking in such a disorderly and chaotic fashion, even the other participants are looking at you sideways.

multiple bleeps are edited in due to toji’s creative language.

“phew!” you breathe out. “i think we’re making good time-”

“ten minutes left!” the host calls out.

“ten minutes!?” toji shouts.

“what? ten? we haven’t even started the buttercream yet! the cake hasn’t even cooled down! what!”

“move,” toji moves into your space, snatching the whisk and bowl of ingredients from you hands and begins stirring like an absolute mad man, “you cool off that [BLEEP] cake, i’ll make this! [BLEEP].”

you dash toward the window, plain cake in hand, and simply…stick the cake out of the window, hoping it will call down faster.

toji and you are stared at in complete and utter confusion.

after sloppily applying the buttercream to the cake, along with the toppings, you and toji are done just in time.

it is your time to present.

you and toji walk to the front, placing the cake in front of the hosts.

“hm,” the woman said, “presentation is messy.”

you and toji glance at each other.

they take a bite.

“oh,” the male judge hums, “not bad.”

“i think it’s quite tasty!” a judge with a british accent compliments. “well done to the both of you.

you and toji cheer silently and high five.

you both came in third place in that round.

go figure.

꩜ sixth clip

you and the cast members of “jujutsu kaisen” are at comic con for a fan Q&A. the place is packed full of fans!

“i…i have a ques-question for _____. I-” his voice cracks wildly and he clears his throat, causing a few giggles in the crowd.

he continues. “i-what-why-what-what do-how-” he sighs and covers his face with embarrassment.

a wave of laughter goes through the crowd, mocking the poor boy even further.

“it’s okay,” you coo to the fan, “i don’t bite.”

the audience laughs some more.

and the toji interrupts with his own comment of, “they sure do.”

you gasp. your head whips towards toji and the crowd erupts with laughter, whistles and hoots of teasing and encouragement.

the fan, now beet red, covers his face again. “oh my god.”

“great! toji look what you did!” you shout. “you broke him!”

*

a/n: new actor toji take it or leave it

[sevikas-bitch]

Random headcannons I have for Sevika

She's clean-messy

as in, she throws stuff down on the floor meaning to pick it up later but "later" is 3 days away

however the second food spills on the counter she cleans it up

HIGH sex drive

like this woman is always ready to go and can go 7 rounds before breaking a sweat

is an animal person just isn't vocal about it

100% the type to adopt a senior 3 legged dog

wants kids and would be an amazing mum

((also just desperately wants to get her wife pregnant because that would be hot))

will apologise if wrong but through gritted teeth because she hates being wrong

isn't wrong often

Only starts fights if people go too far with flirting with her woman (leering at her, touching her, not taking no for an answer)

because she actually likes that her girl so hot everyone hits on her but can't have her

loves a massage

this almost always leads to sex

gets nightmares semi-regularly and wakes her partner up and has to be the little spoon after

knows she's hot, like not insecure about her looks

not into PDA but very touchy-feely in private

loves menthol filters in her cigarettes

doesn't drink that much at home, it's kind of a show-off thing when she's around others as to how well she can hold her liqueur but otherwise doesn't drink very heavily

loyal to the bone but knows when to walk away from someone

into bigger women, just so into them

surprisingly honest all the time, like won't cheat at cards or anything. likes to win fair and square

[dalliesque]

I'm On My Knees . . ! ! >//<

random things that make riize weak on their knees.

꒰ png ot7!riize x fem!reader , fluff , sillies , headcanons , established relationship , lower case intended . cw kisses, pet names . wc — (not proofread) ꒱

yu notes: MY FIRST ATTEMPT AT HC AAAA, NOT GONNA LET OT6 RUIN MY DAY 🫵

shotaro — your gaze

• it doesn't matter how long you have been dating him.

• your gaze would always melt him away, never failing to make him weak on his knees

• the way you stare at him loving, so warm, so comforting.

• he swears he'll always get hypnotised by it

• and at the end of it either staring back with a pair of lovesick eyes,

• or suddenly blurting out his dramatic plans of marrying you.

• well it could be both

"what do you want for dinner? it'll be my treat" a giddy giggle escape your lips, looking up from your phone to catch him staring. your gaze soften as you call for him in a small voice, "taro?" you tilt your head slightly. not receiving any reply back, you ask once again. "taro"—"let's get married."

sungchan — your voice + petnames

• there's just something so alluring about your voice

• it doesn't matter if your voice is sometimes soft, sometimes deep, raspy,

• even when you're not talking at all and just simply breathing

• it will always be a sweet treat to his ear.

• especially if you add in some sweet new names for him in your sentences

• he'll be kicking his feet like a highschool girl

• he's so obsessed with it, he will refuse to start a day without calling you or atleast receiving a voicemail from you.

• and obviously sleep calls when he's away are a must !!

"hello?" you utter sleepy, yawning and laying back down to your bed. you can hear shuffles through the call, confusion arising when he's not replying to your words. "pretty boy?" the call goes in one long silence as you can't hear him shuffling around on the other side anymore. "sungc"—"did you just call me a pretty boy??!!! KAKSJDJWISJSJSN WAIT I NEED A MINUTE"

eunseok — your caring nature

• idiot grin on his face

• like his smile is huge everytime your personality traits starts to show up

• the way he observes your attentiveness, your caring and kind nature

• his eyes will legit turns to hearts !!

• loves to watch as your caring mode turns on everytime you see animals, people or simply seeing,, him.

you drop down to a squat gently pushing the can of tuna towards a cute little kitten. "look at you.." you coo, offering your hand cautiously watching the way the kitten reacts before gently stroking it. eunseok smiles warmly, staring down at you and the way your expression soften whilst gently carresing the poor animal. "eunseok" you call softly breaking his trance. "yes baby?" eunseok's smile widens crouching next to you, you giggle gently reach out to fix the stray hair on his face. "can we adopt her?" eunseok swears he's fallen in love twice.

wonbin — your warmth

• wonbin lovesloooooves hugging you

• or cuddling you on top of a comfy mattress

• whether it's him spooning you or the other way around it doesn't really matter for him.

• what matters the most is your body pressed close against him at all times!

• he won't be able to function without the warmth your body provides, even if it's in the middle of summer 😵‍💫

you struggle in his embrace, trying to let go as the heat of summer slowly seeps through the window. feeling you pry open his arms, wonbin let out a whine pulling you closer as he hides in the crook of your neck. "it's so hot wonbin" you pout still trying to breakfree from his embrace. "i know im hot" a groan leaves your lips hitting his back gently. "atleast let me grab the ac remote??" wonbin sigh letting go slightly, his hand still perfectly wrapped around your wrist "fine, so this is how it is huh? you don't love me anymore." "oh shut up." you roll your eyes while chuckling softly turning on the ac before spooning him back in your arms, sighing in content.

seunghan — your touch

• blushing mess everytime your hands touch

• people might assume it would be the other way around, the way he acts most of the time proves that he wouldn't be the one clinging right?

• oh how wrong that is

• he'll make sure to keep you close 24/7

• it seems everytime you touch send such an electric feeling in his body

• and he'll never get enough of it, he will alwaaays be so flustered by it

you lean in slightly, your thumb brushing over his lips. "you got chocolate on your lips" you clarify, leaning back to your seat. sipping on your hot chocolate. seunghan quickly reaches out for your hand, placing it back to his lips. "seunghan..?" "i like your touch."

sohee — your smile

• this boy have the sweetest most beautiful smile and guess what?

• his weakness is your smile.

• he's such a tease about it too :(

• would do anything to see you trying to hold in your smile, looking away while blush crept up your skin. all because of him

"so pretty." he whispers softly, tucking a stray hair behind your ear. his eyes finding yours as you try your best to keep your composure, your eyes wandering everywhere but his pair. sohee holds back a giggle, seeing your flustered state. he gently touch your chin, forcing you to look his way. "baby.. pretty.. look at me."

anton — your kisses

• your kisses are his BIGGEST and i mean BIGGEST weakness ever

• most especially a kiss on his cheeks.. oh and his lips aswell !

• he will literally drop everything he's holding and drop down to his knees

"antoooooniooooo" you call fhim in a singsong voice, running giddily towards him. anton gives you sweet smile, pulling you in for a hug. "i missed you so much" you pout, soon pulling away. "i missed you too baby"— chuu! you lean in and gives him a big kiss on his cheek and another one on his lips as soon as he finished talking. your lipgloss staining his face. anton gasps, touching the places where you leave those kisses. feeling his knees weakening. "oh my—" "anton!!" you laugh keeping his knees from hitting the ground.

2024 ©️ dalliesque

@ :: @intakstars @taroddori @reenfludfmarshmallow @enhacolor @sftsohee

[applepixls]

please join me in imagining:

a sitcom starring the 4 Gs with their creaking neighbour as a frequent visitor and everyone else as side characters we see a lot. and they have super powers.

just imagine, cleo is a necromancer who on the daily has to deal with her sassy zombies and hide them to avoid dealing with the issues of them being undead (fitting 2 extra people in their already cramped flat, taxes, insurance,,, grown up things.) scott is supposed to be super powered but all he does is turn into random barn yard animals impulse can teleport but its not its all cracked up to be (once he sneezed and got accused of robbing a bank) pearl just has a tendency to do dolphin elytra hopping in the living room cause she never has enough room in their cramped flat. ft. their silly neighbour bigb (appears about as much as the landlord in one day at a time if you're familiar.) shows up for family breakfasts and dinners, helps fix things and brings his silly little creaky guys as enrichment for scott when he wants to be something other than a chicken

their neighbours include: 3 college aged guys (who mostly put up with each other and start gradually liking each other better as the show goes on.) who live in the flat below them, one sleeps at any time of day and tends to slow time down to be funny, one runs really fast and freezes water he steps on and the third bounces high with glorified farts and owns a really fancy meat tenderizer. (and is cousins with their other neighbours including a violent ginger girl, a guy obsessed with fast and furious and a guy who seems to be stuck as a 1910s carnival barker-) their 3 upstairs neighbours who more or less keep to themselves and have pet birds, one of them has been asking the landlord if they can build a rooftop rollercoaster (in lieu of a garden) and can.. sit on stuff.. and punches really hard and you ouch if you punch him, another one celebrates every day he lives and is able to go invisible. the third struggles to keep the other two alive and is able to blind others in a vicinity and briefly vanish making her effectively an enhanced cuttlefish. (she is married to their downstairs neighbour and therefore spends as much time as possible in their flat instead of her own. wise choice) then there's the 2 neighbours who are really into roleplay? one of them is nosy and peeps through peep holes cause he can hear everything he sees, the other one borrows peoples identities (no harm done tho mostly just to raid his neighbours fridges without getting yelled at by their roommates) the snooper accidentally trash compactors himself trying to escape the carnival barker and the identity thief is now looking to move in with someone- finally, the main 4's mortal enemies, a guy with a fancy car who can jump on air and a girl who frequently has out of body experiences in which she can talk to the dead. they've recently adopted a silly guy with a waffle who does all of the above but only one at a time on a 6 hour or so time frame. he recently lost his roommates (both in trash compactor incidents, tragic really. one got too close and got eaten the other was leaning out the window trying to see where it was and fell out. self defenestration. rumour has it it was actually one of his buddies but that guy's innocent until proven guilty. these two are ironically now cleo's goons) and couldn't pay the rent himself so he's had to move in with the torettos

i would watch it