#and his lil scarf makes me smile

[heroes-in-the-dark]

Judt finished the fanart. Hope you like it!

OHHH MY GOODNESS!!!!

Thank you thank you thank you <3

Tokoyami is so precious! I love the way you drew him in his current outfit! And the colors are so good! I love the lil Dabi, too! Thank you so much, this is incredible!

[pppeachyyys]

*ೃ༄ bllk boys + cliche love tropes!

ft: isagi yoichi, itoshi rin, mikage reo

✩ what cliche love trope are the blue lock boys?

female reader, so much fluff, i got a lil lazy..., hc + small drabble!!

ISAGI YOICHI - childhood friends to lovers 

✩ everything is a "do together" activity. this includes (and is not limited to) throwing woodchips in the playground, studying, eating bentoes, sleeping, even taking baths.

✩ naturally, you both are very protective of each other!! the years of bonding gave you two an unbreakable connection.

✩ had fake marriage ceremony behind the slides in the playground, and you both just kind of stuck to the idea of "husband and wife" ever since. (you were both 6)

✩ despite it being so long, isagi still gets so flustered around you!! he has that sweet grin every time he greets you in the morning. 

✩ always waits outside your door to walk together to school. sometimes when it's cold, he'll even offer his extra scarf for you, wrapping it around your face.

✩ when people ask about you, hes so quick to simply go "oh, n/n? we're gonna get married for real one day!" with that cute smile and blush.

✩ it even gets to a point where when he goes pro, he ALWAYS makes sure to mention your name in every single interview.

↳

sweat dribbles down to isagi's chin, his chest heavy, rising up and down in attempt to catch the oxygen he's so desperate for. despite it not even being 30 minutes after one of his biggest games, he's getting bombarded with the press and their eggy questions.

the man closest to him raises his mic towards isagi and the cameras zero in on the two. it's hard to hear his voice due to the pumping of blood through his veins, but he manages to catch the basic idea. 

"who are the people who have supported you to becoming the star player of the game today?"

isagi is quick to think of one particular person. despite feeling absolutely milked, a smile forms on his face. with heavy breathing, he replies, "well, obviously my parents and my teammates, they always pushed me to be better and improve, but there's a special girl out there who has always been my biggest supporter." 

the crowd audibly coos, the flashes simply getting even brighter. isagi can tell that everyone is begging for him to continue, so he does, his desire to brag about you growing. 

"she's always been there for me, watching me since i managed to find my love for soccer. and  i don't think i could be here if it wasn't for her." he ponders if he should say the next sentence, but the swell of his heart overtakes his brain.

"thank you, y/n. and when i come back home, i'll make sure you're the happiest girl in the world."

ITOSHI RIN - forced proximity

✩ when i say forced, IM TALKING FORCED!! like- you're the foreign exchange student living in his own house!

✩ at first, its awkward. little word is exchanged between you two, and the only interaction you get is a simple "it's your turn to shower" or "come down to eat dinner". 

✩ he also never walks with you to school either despite living in the same house and attending the same school.

✩ eventually, you're convinced that you're never going to befriend rin, but a small upbringing makes you realize that he's just shy and closed off.

✩ once you slowly gain understanding of rin's true character, it's a little easier to talk to him. and even he starts to warm up a little.

✩ living in the same house brings so many opportunities and it's impossible to avoid not getting close!!! 

↳

a fun fact you've learned about rin is that he is always on schedule and has a strict routine. this includes everything from his well kept diet, sleeping at 9pm sharp, and even his devoted time to reading a book for 30 minutes once it hits 7pm.

everything about his life has set rules and orders, and once again, this includes his showers. 

it's not like you're purposefully trying to learn what he does every minute of the day, it's just that he's so prominent with his ritual that you simply learn it without realizing. after eating dinner, he always thanks his mother for the meal. then he heads towards the bathroom to wash up for exactly 45 minutes and heads over to tell you the bath is free at 6:50 on the dot. 

so why is it taking longer than usual today?

for some odd reason, you're worried. rin has practically mastered his way of living and to think that he's behind on something as simple as a shower makes you wonder if he decided to drown himself in the sink. should you check up on him? you guys aren't close like that but you can't help but stand up and make a beeline to where the shower is.

you hesitantly knock on the door. "uh... rin? you okay? it's been pretty long since you've been in there." 

it's silent for a few seconds until the door clicks. you're met with the sight of messy wet black hair, grey sweatpants hung low, and a white tee that simply adds to the masculinity of rin. 

at this time, you also remember that the boy you're temporarily living with is jaw droppingly handsome, and you can't help but avoid eye contact. 

"sorry, we ran out of shampoo so i had to replace it."

his response is short. simple. you just nod and let him pass, still trying to refresh your brain. you're confused. has he always been so charming?

MIKAGE REO - loser bf and cool gf / shikimori is not just a cutie trope

✩ yeah, your boyfriend is pretty cool, but he's not as cool as you!

✩ you're KNOWN to do good at everything and also look absolutely stunning while doing it.

✩ sure, reo is popular. people are fawning over him 24/7 and so many people wish they could be him. but behind that facade, he's truly reduced to a love struck loser who is completely whipped for his girlfriend.

✩ i mean- you can't blame him! you're always there to save the day for him.

✩ he somehow forgot his notes (he's usually an organized person)? you have yours to share! he forgot how to tie his own tie for some odd reason? don't worry, you can always tidy him up!

✩ he realizes that ever since you guys started dating, he's simply turned into a lost puppy without your aid. and honestly, he's okay with that.

✩ he's still the confident, talented, charming guy as always. it's just that he would rather let you save him and take him far away to a distant land.

↳

reo comfortably situates himself next to you, the grass of his schools soccer field tickling his ankles. he's lost in listening to your rambling and also staring at your face, simply smiling whenever you would look at him mid rant.

in fact, he's so far gone that he fails to notice the screams of people on the field warning the both of you of a soccer ball on it's way to decimate you both, and he also fails to notice that you catch on to the warnings. 

"reo, watch out!" practically in slow motion you yell, using your hands to push him onto the ground and then lifting them to catch the ball (which was going at an unreasonable crazy speed) smoothly onto your palms. 

he blinks once. twice. the shock factor has made it hard for him to process what just happened and he can only stare as you return the ball back to whoever. he watches as you return back to him, your fingers reaching to brush away his lilac hair.

you help lift him back up. "are you okay reo? that ball was moving so fast, i thought we were both gonna be dead!" your fretting makes reo smile. 

"well, i'm just fine, knowing you're always there to save me."

[hollowdeath]

injured (hjp)

pairing: harry james potter x fem!reader

summary: as hermione's new friend, you and harry are constantly bugging each other any time you're together. however, one day, during training for dumbledore's army, you get injured, causing harry to lash out before promptly carrying you to the infirmary.

word count: 2k

cw: mentions of blood, mostly just fluff, maybe slight angst if you squint hard enough

a/n: yet another lil sfw blurb i wrote between requests <3 hope yall don't mind, might do a part 2 if anyone wants it!

"does she always have to be invited to everything?" harry groans, nodding towards you as you continue trying to steal his scarf. you're both following behind ron and hermione through the snow on the way to hagrid's hut for tea. hermione laughs in response along with you. "yes, she does. it's nice having another girl around." she tells harry, giving you a shy smile. you return the same smile, reaching over to successfully steal harry's scarf from him. "yep, you're stuck with me, potter," you tease him, wrapping the scarf around yourself.

harry rolls his eyes, stealing the scarf back from you. "well, can't you ever bother hermione? your actual friend? or ron? why is it always me?" harry complained as he dodged another attempt at you taking his scarf. "they're not as fun to mess with," you whine, crossing your arms. hermione giggles, giving ron a knowing side-eye that he returns.

you narrow your eyes at their exchange. "what?" you ask them. hermione looks over her shoulder at you with the same smug expression before turning away and giggling again. "hermione," you warn her, uncrossing your arms. she just keeps laughing, only making you more suspicious. "nothing, [y/n]," she tells you sarcastically, shaking her head.

"yeah, mind your business, [y/n]," harry interjects. he flinches when you turn to look at him, making you laugh. "yeah, that's what i thought, potter," you say triumphantly, reaching for his scarf once more.

"seriously?" you ask harry as he takes yet another piece of food off your plate. he's holding back a laugh as he quickly eats it, giving you a devious look. "i asked if you were hungry and you said no! now keep your grubby fingers off my plate," you playfully scold him, pulling your plate closer to you. ron and hermione laugh, giving each other that same knowing look.

"oh i'm not hungry, i just know you hate people taking your food." harry says with a smirk, reaching his hand out again before you smack it away. "ow!" harry exclaims, holding his aching knuckles. "really? you steal my food all the time!"

you're the one smirking this time as you say, "yeah, but it's funny when i do it." taking another bite of your food, harry narrows his eyes at you. he waits for his chance and quickly sneaks another piece of food, successfully stealing it away as you try to stop him. "ha!" he laughs with his mouth full, pointing at you. you give him a look, which makes hermione laugh harder.

"you two are ridiculous," she sighs, taking a bite of her own food. "oh, come on, he started it!" you say with a hand pointed at harry. he pretends to bite your finger and you narrow your eyes at him, reaching to grab the glasses off his face. "no, no, no," harry warns you, frantically grabbing for the glasses to take them from your hands as you lean away from him. "ha!" you repeat after him, pointing at him as you continue pulling away from his grasp. harry leans across the table and nearly falls before he successfully snatches the glasses from your fingers. "ha!" he says again with a cocky smile, sitting down and placing them back on his face.

ron rolls his eyes, taking a sip of his drink. "i agree with hermione. ridiculous." he says with that same knowing smile. harry scoffs, giving ron a look. "whatever," he shrugs him off. "she started it," harry repeats after you, nodding in your direction as he tries to hide his smirk. you roll your eyes at him, but you're hiding the same devious smile.

"late again, ms. [y/l/n]?" harry asks you in a teasing voice as you walk down the hall towards the room of requirement. you rolled your eyes at him. "shut it, potter. just be glad i came." you snap back, giving him a smirk as you pass through the doorway.

harry followed you in, making sure no one was watching behind him. he began the meeting thanking everyone for coming back for yet another round of training for dumbledore's army, and wanted to go over defense tactics again. as he started reviewing all the different spells and wand movements from the week prior, he asked everyone to partner up and work on practicing them again.

the session was going really well, and harry was helping people individually to get the motions perfect. he was just working with a first year student when he heard a yell from behind him, followed by a crash and a crowd of gasps. harry spun on his heel to see hermione running from across the room, dropping her wand in the process. this immediately worried harry more.

he made his way to the gathering crowd in the corner when he heard hermione say your name in exasperation. harry's pace picked up and he pushed himself through the crowd of students urgently.

he found hermione kneeling at your side, blocking his view of you. only your converse-covered feet littered with rubble and dust were visible from his angle. harry quickly rushed to your other side, his stomach dropping at the sight of your unconscious body, freezing completely when he notices blood coming from under your shirt. hermione was checking your breathing and heartbeat and trying to wake you up. harry's shock flipped into anger within a second, turning to the crowd that had gathered around you.

"who did it?" he asked, his tone rough and impatient. everyone stayed quiet hearing how upset harry was. they had never seen him be anything other than shy, kind, and timid.

"well? who was her partner? huh? who the fuck hit her?" harry yells the last part, causing a few students flinch.

"harry. it was an accident." hermione snaps towards him, causing him to look back at her. he's breathing heavily, staring into hermione's narrowed eyes as she holds your hand in hers.

harry's anger subsided, if only for a moment, seeing your shirt start to stain with blood. his anger was replaced with concern, dropping to one knee and picking you up in his arms. "harry," hermione tries to stop him, but harry interrupts her. "i'm taking her to the infirmary now. i'll make up something on the way. send everyone home." he tells hermione in a rushed voice as he carefully adjusts you in his arms, your neck limp as your head falls into harry's chest.

he rushes out of the room, ron holding the doors open for him, giving him a tight smile with worried eyes. "she'll be alright, mate," ron tries to reassure him, but harry's already practically jogging to the hospital wing.

a few hours later the sun has long since set, and you open your eyes to a dark room lined with windows showing the stars outside. you try to sit up in the bed you're lying in and you're immediately hit with an intense wave of pain, making you groan and wince. you notice movement to your right and turn to see harry's sleeping body on a chair pulled up beside your cot. you hadn't even seen him at first, so you were a bit surprised, letting out a gasp at his sudden presence.

this wakes him up, his eyes snapping open towards you and standing from his uncomfortable sleeping position to come to your side. "[y/n]," he says softly, his voice still groggy, hands resting on your shoulders to lay you back down again. you groan again as you lie back, your face twisted in pain. harry winces just the same, moving the pillow under you to better support your neck.

"i know, it's okay, you're okay," he coos. you look at him weirdly, never experiencing this caring side of him so intimately. "what happened?" you ask, glancing at the IV machine attached to your arm. "am i in the infirmary?"

harry sighs, his eyes searching you carefully for any discomfort. "yes, you are. your bloody first year partner hit you with his stupefy and nearly killed you." harry informed you, his voice gradually getting angrier before stopping himself to take a deep breath. "sorry. i didn't mean that. all you got was a concussion, and a nasty scar on your stomach. but, he could've hurt you worse," harry tells you, the anger returning any time he mentions your partner. "i swear to you, [y/n], he's never coming to another practice again. and i don't care if he tells the whole school, that kid is finished."

you can't help but chuckle at how riled up harry is, earning a confused look from him. you shake your head weakly. "it was probably just an accident, potter. no need to pitch a fit." you tell him with that same smirk as always. harry's body relaxes, breathing a sigh of relief at your nonchalant reaction and usual sarcasm making its return. though he wants to roll his eyes at how unaffected you are learning about your injuries, he's too concerned to even pretend to joke.

"wait, how did i get here? i don't even remember walking in," you say in confusion, trying to recall the afternoon. harry awkwardly shifts his weight beside you. "yeah, um, well, i had to carry you." he tells you. you shoot him a look full of confusion, shock, and humor. "you? you carried me across the school?" you ask with an incredulous chuckle. "you were unconscious! and bleeding! i had to get you here quickly." harry defends himself, throwing his arms up.

you laugh and shake your head again, rubbing your face. "since when have you started caring about my well being, potter? i thought i was just a pest to you," you inquire, cocking an eyebrow at harry. he nervously blinks and looks away from you, clearing his throat. "you were under my supervision, didn't want you to sue me or anything." harry says with a smirk, still awkwardly shifting his weight back and forth with his hands in his pockets.

"right," you scoff at him jokingly.

harry sighs, pulling his seat closer to your bed so he can sit down again. "look," he says, his eyes still not quite meeting yours. "i know we joke around a lot, and, y'know, you may even actually annoy me a bit sometimes…" he trails off, chuckling to himself. you lightly slap his leg closest to you, holding back your own laugh.

"but, seeing you like that on the ground, seeing the blood, i was terrified. i didn't know if you were okay and that killed me. i don't know what i would've done if…" he trails off again, his voice caught in his throat.

you give harry a sympathetic smile, studying his tired face. he was looking towards the ground, his hair disheveled, glasses hanging low on the bridge of his nose. he looked upset as his eyebrows furrowed together in thought.

"did you stay here all day?" you asked him softly. harry looks up at you with surprise, his eyes studying yours. "yeah," he says simply. you look to your left towards a grandfather clock and see it's nearly 3 in the morning.

you give him another curious look. "harry," you start to say, but you're at a loss for words. he chuckles again, his eyes still studying yours intently. "i wasn't leaving. the nurses nearly fought me multiple times." he tells you bluntly. you laugh, wincing at the pain it causes you, but can't hold back. "harry, you didn't have to do that."

harry gives you a half hearted smile. "i know," he shrugs.

you return the smile. "well, thank you, then. for waiting and for bringing me here." you thank harry genuinely, causing him to blush and wave you off. you reach out to poke his sides in attempt to tickle him. "and i guess you really do care, hm?" you tease him.

harry squirms away and laughs, his blush intensifying. "yeah, yeah, whatever."

[antidesire]

specialize in havin' fun. antidesire

disclaimer, 18+ only. f!reader x logan howlett, logan is ancient so obvi age gap? idk who this is for, what am i doing? think im the dick-sucking writer, i seem to always write about it. no established relationship, reader and logan fool around but reader is head over heels for him. this is just porn, I didn't intend to write logan so rough I think I went off the rails. roughness, a lil non-con??? forcefulness, oral m! receiving, boot.. fucking >:), saliva, desperate!reader, pet names, hair pulling, I haven't written in so long I forgot how to tag, lmk if I miss anything, sorry this is garbage babe.

reblogging, interacting and sending feedback is always much appreciated, requests are open !! ♡

logan's boots hit the stony pavement with a thud, leg swinging over the body of his motorcycle, propping it up diligently. what a fucking day, with a sharp inhale, he tried to shrug off any lingering thoughts that were worming around his brain.

your apartment was a humble and homely one, sure, sometimes the water would either scald you or, leave you falling on your ass when it blasted you with an ice-cold wake-up call, but you had decent neighbours, ones that didn't pry, or make a lot of noise, lot's of privacy, logan liked that, though he'd put up with anything for a night with you.

though this habit of leaving your door unlatched because you expected him, was something he didn't want to put up with, had he not taught you better?

"told you not to do that.." logan mummers under his breath, lord knows any fucker that tried to creep into the naively sweet girl's apartment, is one dead fucker.

pushing the door open, he was greeted with the familiar warmth of the living room, a chiffon scarf with tassels draped over the lamp on the tableside, drenching the room in tranquillity, candlelight flickering to compliment the dimly lit ambiance, he almost slammed the front door shut, as though the outside would taint it if it got too long of a look.

like a domino effect, just the click of the door scrambled you to your feet, tripping over the blanket thrown over your shoulders, "logan!" your hush whisper sounded just as excited as every other time he walked through the door, as though it was a script you followed.

"hey bab- ouh," logan huffed out, your head smacking against his chest first, your arms following in quick succession, squeezing tightly around his chest, "one day you're gonna give yourself a concussion doin' that."

muffled laughs vibrated against his chest. when you breathed in you could smell the gasoline on his clothing, and that cologne he wore, smelt earthy, woody, and a little citrus too.

impatient as always when it came to overtaking all your senses with the man you were enamored with, your fingers find the bulkiest part of logan's arms, not nearly enough length on them to get close to fully engulfing the meaty muscle of them, you squeezed and forced them both around your upper waist, encouraging him to hold you tighter, you wanted to feel light-headed with him.

if you could see the soppy smile that stretched on his face, eyes wrinkled with delight, you would've pounced further on him, "how do you do it?" your head raised at his question, chin digging uncomfortably into his sternum, he continues, "exist when i'm not here for you to love up on me?" logan's fingers tapped up your back, under the shirt of his you were adorned in, the blanket you had over you, long forgotten about.

your cheeks puffed out and lips parted, but only an exhale left them. you quickly shook your head, only nudging into him for more comfort.

“c’mere,” it was quite comical because any closer would’ve been impossible, though you craved it, with a push under your chin, logan leaned down, and without another beat he pushed his lips to yours, his thumb, followed by a trickling of his fingers trailing downwards along your neck, resting his grip mindfully there, as though the kiss hadn’t dazed you enough.

hoo boy, you were easy.

logan had years on him- years was an understatement, and you, this doe-eyed girl, hopelessly head over heels to please him, it was dangerous, logan felt guilty, soiling such a deer.

it was perverse.

it was perverse when he first rammed into you and you choked out the cutest little sob he had ever heard, eyes flooding with fat tears, he had tensed himself, so much restraint it took out of him to even think about pulling out after all the effort it took to push his cock inside you, you’d noticed and in a bit of a panic, “no- nonono.” your legs raised up and around his hips, the heels of your feet pushing against his back, “keep— hngh, stay, can do it.. i can do it.” your breath was so unsteady, “please.” and who was he to deny such a brave girl?

and now when he felt your lips part, trying to sloppily catch up with his own, fingers fumbling awkwardly at the lower hem of his raggedy white tank top, it was perverse.

it didn’t have to go like this every time, but it did, it got out of control, and fast, every single damn time.

logan's beard was dark, mostly, with little flecks of grey if you looked close enough. it scratched your pretty face deliciously when you pushed up further into the kiss, your hands exposing his tanned midriff, wandering upward to his chest, covered in coarse hair, you squeezed his flesh under your greedy fingertips every time you grazed over his waist.

the last thing logan would ever tell you to do was slow down, as much as he reveled in control, seeing you like this, your thoughts at the back of your mind, all action and no consequence, just what feels good, it was euphoric for him.

his nose prodded against yours as his tongue invaded your mouth, the sound of wet lips smacking and breaths hitching, you only let up when a sharp twinge of pain jolted at your scalp, logan's grip from your neck had moved up toward your hair, a bunched handful that arched your body delightfully against his own.

just sometimes, he'd have to nod you in a direction, when you got all fuzzy in the head for him you would've been feeling up on him with your tongue down his throat until your knee's buckled- just a little nod.

with another tug, you let logan maneuver you to the floor, not so gracefully when your knees thudded against the wood, but you didn't flinch, making quick work of his leather belt, the thing was heavy, a big brass oval buckle being the obstacle between him being down your throat already.

logan ever so kindly helped when he tugged the rest of the belt through the loops, it clattering to the ground beside his boots, next came the pop of his button and a quick push of the zipper downwards, flickering his eyes to where you were sitting, knees squashed underneath you, palms on each side of his thighs, and big pupils ghosting over his fingers.

"look at me baby." his thumb prodded at your bottom lip, inviting it to slip past and rest on your tongue, your eyes blinking up at logan, and your head tilting a little when your fingers scrunched the denim of his jeans.

his thumb pushed against your tongue and his finger hooked under your chin, pulling you into him until your cheek smushed into his abdomen and he retracted his hand, pushing his strained cock against your mouth.

you darted your tongue out and felt the texture of his briefs against it, eager fingers nudging the elastic down just enough to get him out of the fabric, barely letting his cock twitch as it met the air, a line of open-mouthed kisses trailing from the underside of his cock, hazily trailing the vein your tongue searched for, the one that leads straight up to his tip.

“s’like you’re drunk when you get like this,” logan hums, his grip on your hair was loose now, you made the prettiest distraction he’d ever laid eyes on, his thighs clenched and he twitched against your mouth again, already shallowly fucking up against your lips, “you remember last time? gotta take it easy, baby.”

last time, was partly logan’s fault, far too carried away in the warmth and slippery slick of your mouth that he had forgotten how big he was, and how small you were, how small your mouth was, it was an easy mistake when you always took anything he threw at you so sweetly, even if it ended with you gagging so uncontrollably, you almost threw up, oops.

your skin warmed out of humiliation at the gentle reminder, hastily leaning up on your knees, either of your legs sprawled out beside you when you reached up to hook both of your fingers in either side of his belt loops on his jeans, a steady handle now you opened your sticky-glossed lips and pushed the tip of his cock into your mouth, that familiar ache in your jaw not tearing down your confidence, but fuck, he was big and thick.

he tasted salty and he felt heavy in your mouth when you shoved more of him past your lips, shocks of hot lust pulsing straight between your legs whenever you heard the man above you even so much as sigh.

here he was, not even five footsteps into the room, with his pretty little thing kneeling before him as though he was a deity you praised, and devoted yourself to, in truth further condemning yourself with a life of sin, much to the both of your pleasures.

your head bobbed, and every so often you'd pull your head upward and curl your tongue around the red-hot tip of him, decorating him with sticky kisses, before he got a little too riled and there came that pulse of pain in your scalp again.

"that's very cute," the mewl that sounded in your throat was buried as soon as he pushed on the back of your head, and stuffed his cock down your throat, "i said take it fucking easy, but don't push your luck sweetheart."

your eyes almost bulged when you felt the tip of his boot nudge in between your legs, awkwardly bouncing until you feel it slip underneath you, flush against your aching warmth, "ffu-" you choked out, a stray fat tear trickling down your puffed out cheeks, mixing in the mess of saliva that pushes past your lips when logan keeps fucking up into your mouth.

"sshush, shsh." he coos out, his fingers that were previously tangled into your hair moving to your cheek, wiping at your sweet little tear, "I got you, baby, relax." his voice was as smooth as honey, and you took a second to still yourself, unclenching your jaw, as much as you could whilst he was rammed into your throat impatiently, exhaling out of your nose and hollowing your cheeks, taking a stronger grip on the hoops of his belt, for your own sanity because the way he tilted the tip of his boot up against your pussy was wickedly evil.

the thin layer of your short shorts did little to help you, you'd spoiled them as soon as his lips meshed with yours earlier.

another inhale,

exhale,

you managed to slide your mouth down much more fluidly this time, even tugging him flush against you, until the hairs at the base of him tickled your nose, you tried your best to pay no attention to the way logan had his boot in between your legs, no, no attention to the way your hips had a mind of their own, swaying against the hard material, your clit bumping deliciously every time you breathed him in, and raised your head and letting it fall in a rhythm.

the sounds that parted from logan's lips were otherworldly, his timbre was guttural and he got increasingly vocal, "fuhhck, mm," logan's brow bone had wrinkled, bliss evident, even in the way his head tilts to watch more darling little tears push past your eyes, "wish you'd greet me like this every day, ah, ah!" he hissed out, the muscles in his thighs tensing when you jolt him forward by the loops in his denim jeans, and he hits the back of your damn throat, and you take it.

cocky, that’s what you were being, and he loved every single drop of it, “gonna be a good little girl, make me cum, mm? yeah?” logan hums, feeling you squeeze his legs in approval.

good little girl,

if there were any three words to put together to make you putty in logan howlett’s hands, it was those.

your little sobs were more evident every time you lifted your head to pay some sweet attention to his tip, collecting the dribbles of sticky precum at the tip of him, rutting yourself against his boot which didn’t fly by logan’s head- no matter how enamored he was with his dick down your throat, “desperate for me to ruin every single bit of you, have a little more respect for yourself sweetheart.” he chuckled out, cruel.

if you weren’t so full of him, your senses screaming loganloganlogan, you would’ve said something, you would’ve scowled at least.

“you’re so pretty like this, let me fuck your throat yeah? you want that?” it wasn’t a question, logan’s rough hands settled on either side of your head and not missing a beat, he was thrusting into your mouth, forcefully, and hard.

his grip was stable, far too strong for you to do anything, anything but your arms flailing and clawing up at his chest, even tearing a hole in his white undershirt that bunched up under his arms.

too much. your brain screeched in panic, but your body betrayed you, helplessly fucking yourself against his boot with your thighs squashed on either side, and holy fuck, you were cumming, your puffy clit rubbing perfectly, and the lack of air did something so euphoric, it was all so wrong, but it could only be right when your body pulsed with pleasure so overwhelmingly you could do nothing but trust him, and let those fat crocodile tears stream down your face.

“sh-shit, did you just cum?” he laughs, he fucking laughs, “ahnngn, that’s so sexy.” logan was losing it, his fingertips pressed into the plush of your cheeks, hips getting sloppy as he neared his high.

one, two, three more thrusts, stuffing himself into your mouth and he is cumming for what feels like an eternity, hot and sticky fluid gushing into your mouth and spilling past your lips, dripping onto your thighs.

he lets up and eases out of your mouth when he squeezes the rest of his spend onto your tongue, gesturing with a nod of his head, “there’s my sweet girl.” you swallow, and it hurts, the strain in your throat, in your jaw, between your legs, every inch of you feels used.

“thank you, lo.” you barely scratch out, knees trembling when you lean up, nuzzling your face against his abdomen, your arms clasping around his waist for comfort, his stomach gleamed with sweat and saliva too, somehow.

logan lifted you to your feet in a swift motion, one of his hands under your arms as the other tucked his dick back into his briefs, getting you to the couch, wrapping that previously forgotten about blanket around you, “i’m gonna run us a bath, you stay here.” his lips pressed a kiss so delicately to your forehead that you felt it almost regenerate your entire body.

“can you stay for a second longer?” your voice was small, unstable.

“m’ not leaving.” logan finds it endearing, honestly a little heartbreaking, “you can’t walk and your shoulders are up to your ears sweet, lemme get a bath going,” he explains, more reassuringly but you still grumble.

he sighs at that, you barely even recognize you are horizontal after what feels like a long blink, one of logan’s arms snugly under your knees whilst the other held your upper back, and he walked onwards to the bathroom, “you remind me of a little lamb like this.” he observed, and laid another sweet kiss, this time to your lips, and your stomach churned in delight, he reassured you once again, just for tonight,

“don’t worry, i’m not leaving yet.”

[candlewaxandp0lar0ids]

hoodie season || Chan x Reader

Summary: You're not stealing Chan's hoodies. He's not happy about it.

Word count: 1.4k

Warnings & Tags: Tooth-rutting fluff, established relationship, that should be it.

A/N: Wrote a silly lil one-shot for an idea I got tonight! This was literally written in under two hours, so, uh, I hope you enjoy it as much as I did lol and I apologize for any typos.

Reblogs, feedback and comments are welcome and encouraged!

It starts, without you being aware of it, on a July evening. You and Chan have only been dating for a couple weeks then, and you feel like you’re on cloud nine. For the better half of the night, which you’re spending with his friend group, you’re in his arms, your back against his chest, his chin comfortably resting on your shoulder. Changbin and Jisung tease him about it, but he shrugs it off like it means nothing. He’s got you now, and he likes showing you off, so why wouldn’t he?

It does take you aback when he lets go of you and the cold hits you. It was hot outside all day, and you hadn’t realized that the temperature had dropped by this much. A shiver shakes you to your core, which Chan doesn’t miss, even if he’s being called away to play the guitar.

“You want my hoodie?” he asks, eyes filled with concern.

“No, I’m okay, babe,” you say with a smile. “I’ve brought a jacket.”

He nods, and that’s all there is to it.

It comes back on a night the two of you are spending out. Chan takes you out to this fancy restaurant, and you dress accordingly, always pleased when you get a chance to impress him — and impress him you do. He does that thing that you think is adorable, where he keeps giggling throughout the meal. Under the table, your knees keep touching, and every time, without fail, his ears turn bright red. You love that you still have that effect on your boyfriend of three months.

After that, because you’re near a park, you decide to go for a walk in the night air. It doesn’t take long before you’re shivering in your small, tight dress.

“I’ve got a hoodie in my car,” Chan says, ever the gentleman. “Want me to go get it for you?”

You’re not keen on being left alone in the dark, and your high heels mean that if you go with him, it’ll take much longer than it should. Plus, it would ruin your outfit.

“It’s fine,” you say, arranging your scarf so it wraps around your shoulders. “We’ll be heading home soon anyway, right?”

“Sure,” he nods quickly, and it’s your turn to giggle, because it’s so cute, how Chan always indulges you.

He ends up picking you up when you’re walking back too slowly for his taste, and you protest, but you’re no longer cold when you get to his car.

 The subject — which, by the way, you still haven’t realized is a subject — comes back yet again on a night you’re spending in his apartment. You’re coming out of the shower, a towel wrapped around you, and you’re going through your bag to find the clothes you’d planned on wearing for the night when something lands on the bed in front of you. You glance up to find Chan looking at you, leaning against the door frame.

“Just in case you get cold.”

You have, slowly but surely, made your way into November, but Chan’s place is warm, and you know you’ll have a human radiator, so you grin at him.

“I have a feeling I won’t be needing it tonight.”

Chan grins — but his ears turn red, even now.

 You do a Secret Santa, a few days before Christmas, with Chan and his friend group, at Changbin’s place. It’s an incredibly nice house, but it’s big and it’s old, and you soon find yourself huddling against Chan for warm. It makes him laugh at first, and he presses a kiss into your hair, arm solidly wrapped around you as he rubs your arm. When you don’t appear to warm up as the night keeps going, he disappears for a few minutes, ignoring your protests.

He comes back from his car and hands you one of his signature black hoodies.

“You’re my savior, babe,” you sigh as you pull it over your head.

Chan beams.

His victory is short-lived, though, because you pull away from him after that — with the hoodie, cuddling makes you too hot.

You leave the hoodie neatly folded in his car when you both go back to your place for the night.

It’s just a few days later that you meet Chan’s family for the first time. You’re all dressed-up, determined to do your best so that they’ll like you, even if Chan’s promised you that they would, no matter what, because he loves you, and that’s all they care about.

He dropped the word so easily, and you were left speechless. You haven’t stopped thinking about it since.

Even now, when you’re sitting next to him, making small talk with his mom and listening to his sister tease him playfully, you have butterflies in your stomach. The hand he’s placed over yours on the table, again making it look so natural, so easy for him, isn’t helping.

“Wanna go for a midnight walk?” he offers, later that night. “It’s kind of a family tradition.”

“Sure,” you say, voice squeakier than usual, and he tilts his head as he studies you, but he doesn’t comment on it.

“You’re not dressed warm enough,” he warns you, and before you can say that you’ve brought appropriate clothing, he’s taking off his hoodie and pulling it down over your head. “There. All good.”

It’s late when you come back, so you both wish his parents a goodnight before Chan drives you back to your apartment. You wait until you’ve made it up the stairs and you’ve opened the door to put your arms around him and pull him down for a kiss. It’s soft, slow, and filled with all of your emotions.

“What’s that for?” Chan whispers against your lips. He’s warm against you, his hands on your hips, and you feel so grounded by him. You always do.

“I love you too,” you whisper back.

The hoodie ends up forgotten on the floor.

You celebrate New Year’s Day with Chan’s friends, again, but really, they’re your friends by now. You get at Changbin’s house early so you can help with the cooking and decorating the place, and end up teaming up with Felix and Minho in the cooking department, while Hyunjin takes over the decorations and forbids everyone from approaching him while he works.

It’s not because he’s shy. It’s because he thinks you’re all terrible.

Chan arrives kind of late minute, busy working on songs, as always, while you’re putting out the drinks you’d brought with you. You greet him with a quick kiss. You still have a million things to do.

“I’ve got your hoodie in my bag, you should put it back in your car,” you just tell him as you rush back into the kitchen.

You miss the way he pouts at you.

It’s later that night, but still with a couple hours to go until midnight, that he approaches you while you’re outside, staring up at the night sky and enjoying the fresh air after hours cooped up inside. He wraps his arms around your waist, buries his head in your neck. You lean back into the familiar touch with a satisfied sigh — until he mumbles something unintelligible.

“What was that?” you ask with a frown.

Even with the only light coming through the windows of Changbin’s house, you can tell he’s blushing when he pulls away from you.

“Why aren’t you keeping my hoodies?”

You blink at him.

“…because they’re your hoodies?”

He opens his mouth, closes it.

“Yeah, but they’re kinda… your hoodies too, y’know?”

You tilt your head slowly, and soon, you’re unable to fight the grin that’s spreading on your lips as you watch him get increasingly pouty.

“Do you want me to steal your hoodies?”

The blush spreads.

“Do you like it when I wear them?”

You’re just having fun now.

“Yeah,” he answers, before cocking an eyebrow at you. “Think it’s hot, by the way.”

You burst out laughing, and he tightens his hold around you when that takes you away from him. God, do you love that man. Once you’ve collected yourself, you reach a hand up to gently cup his cheek.

“Okay, I’ll steal your hoodies. Anything for you, love.”

He smiles, satisfied, and kisses you softly. He brings a hand to cover yours, entangles his fingers with yours.

You don’t tell him, but the truth is, you feel warm and fuzzy all over inside whenever he’s around.

So you don’t see the point in having a hoodie when you can have him instead.

taglist: @lethallyprotected @jisuperboard

Masterlist

[tastesousweet]

⭒ blurb : fwb!hamzah x grumpy!reader

summary: short lil fic for these two lol , based on this request thank u for ur patience anon!!!!!

warnings: friends with benefits relationship, mentions of sex, um yk what hell yea

a/n: hamzah is way more high energy here than irl but this is a character based on hamzah (and with his face) so !!!!!

hamzah is freezing his ass off. it's actually unbearable. he's got to the point where he's mumble-lecturing (with a slight uncontrollable chatter to his mouth) himself as he walks down the crowded sidewalk, "shoulda' put another fuckin' layer on" or "no hat? really? it's 26 degrees and i don't even have protection for my poor ears" or a dragged whine under his breath of "i'm sooo cold."

he wastes no time, practically ramming through the cafe's petite glass door with a gentle but welcoming "we're open!" sign. as soon as he’s inside he holds his hands up to his mouth and hoards any heat he can into them as he sifts through the lingering line. hamzah is always grateful for your strict earliness (or more so allowance for his tardiness) that gets him a hot coffee and fresh everything bagel without having to wait in an egregiously long line, though he honestly thinks he wouldn't mind standing and taking in the delicious coffee bean scents and twinkling, colored christmas lights dripping around the walls.

he approaches the table you sit daintly at with ease (he'd recognize your unapproachable and blunt aura in even the most comforting places), "hello m'lady." he slouches into the chair across from you; with your scarf wrapped perfectly around your neck and knit sweater warming you well.

your gaze doesn't leave your book as you reply, "awe, you showed up."

hamzah has both hands wrapped around his mug of coffee in hopes that his fingers recover quickly, "uh huh. and this is why i always say don't ever let an alarm clock rule your life. i hit snooze three times and my coffee's still hot." he raises his mug towards you.

you dismissively breathe a laugh and finally look at him; he's leaning back casually in the somewhat small chair, his legs spread without a care, he's wearing the same wrinkled shirt with his old high school mascot (he must've worn to bed) and nothing but a zip-up hoodie thrown over. though his hair somehow remains curled into its perfect brown swoops which you simply can't spite. you tilt your mug towards his to give them a soft clink together, making hamzah smile. "you look cold," you comment.

"'m fucking freezing. don't know what i was thinking- a fifteen minute walk feels like hell when my toes are frozen in place and the wind is ready to blow me away." he speaks through his bites of his bagel. "mm! did you finally try their coffee?" he points to you as you sip.

you look into his large doe eyes, "you know i hate coffee, hamzah-"

"see, you always say that but the coffee here is like no other!" he taps the table in excitement and you smile slightly.

"i'm glad you like it but i'll stick with my hot chocolate," you take another sip of the rich drink and finally tuck your thick book back into your bag.

༉‧₊˚.

you both agree that friends with benefits simply works best for the two of you. there's a reliability you both get from knowing you'll always have a best friend- a wingman, a supporter, a person to have movie marathons and early morning cafe talks with, the person who knows your deli order by heart. but in that friend you have someone you can makeout with when life is too frustrating to even think and your eyes can't leave their lips, someone who knows your body, someone who can go out to a bar with you and would like nothing more than to fuck you afterwards (if no successful hookups come out of the trip).

it's beautiful. it makes you believe in true friendship, honestly.

you're sat with your legs crossed and nothing but a hoodie that swallows you whole and boy-short underwear on as you squint at the flashcard in front of you with a slim red pen dangling between your lips. you try to remember the exact definition for the drawn out vocab word but your mind can't focus anymore. you've spent the past three hours studying notes, writing out flashcards, and going over endless slideshows. your brain hurts and your mouth is dry and it's all just sort of pissing you off now.

you throw the pen from your mouth and climb out of bed, the sudden movement scattering and mixing the cards that were once separated based on your knowledge into one big mess. it's times like this where you wish you were obnoxious enough with your emotions that you'd just scream and yell to get this feeling over with, but instead you walk into your bathroom to rinse your skin with water and stare at yourself for an extra second in the mirror.

you breathe in deeply when you hear an infamous ringtone coming from your bedroom (hamzah stole your phone once and created a ringtone specifically for himself involving a cover of paparazzi performed by him with adlibs of you laughing in the background). sure enough when you walk back into your room, hamzah's face lights up the screen and you accept the facetime call as you sink down onto the bed.

you're surprised he called, you know he had a badminton game tonight and went out afterwards with the team- you figured he'd be to busy to talk and would just end up texting you "im home" close to midnight like usual.

hamzah's distracted when you answer the phone, his face turned the opposite way as he laughs with wide eyes. you just stare, "hamzah."

he's quick to look down at the phone in his hand, his eyes a little puffy, "oh shit! hey." his grin is huge and you can't help but smile slightly which he notices, "a smile?! my god, you must be happy to see me or somethin'!"

"shhhh," you hush him and lay down on your bed, making yourself comfortable.

he's surrounded by blue lighting and randomly-timed white flashes, which give you a proper look at his features, all coated in the large bass of the overbearing pop music. hamzah gets close to the screen to ask, "did'you get my text?" he pulls back from the phone to quirk his eyebrow curiously.

"no, i'm studying."

"where?!" he laughs at his own joke. you quickly turn your phone in your hand to show him the mess of books, cards, and your laptop scattered next to you on the comforter. hamzah sees it all but smirks a little extra when he gets a glimpse of your soft legs curled up and your pair of light blue underwear peeking from beneath your hoodie. "right, right." he nods, "how about you look at my text now that you're here," he exclaims over the music.

you sigh, "mmmkay."

the text reads: mangomango mango plzzz

mango, being your code word for leaving events- or simply just meeting up, to ultimately have sex.

when you return to the call you have a reluctant smile, "you can come over after you're done."

he smiles and raises a thumb up in agreeance.

"don't come over drunk, please."

he kisses his teeth and rolls his eyes, "alright, girl. i'm gonna go do some karaoke and then i'm headin' your way."

"oh i'm jealous i wish i could be in the crowd."

"i know." he jokes, "byeeee." he flutters a few fingers at you.

"bye, h."

༉‧₊˚.

hamzah shows up two hours later (he got caught up in the extravagant environment; he ended up taking a couple more hits from a teammate’s bong, talking to strangers, and dancing to trashy music you’d probably hate), climbing from the rickety brass ladder onto your tiny patio (he was a mess: laughing to himself and only laughing harder when he thought of how inappropriately loud he was being for one in the morning) and opening the glass door with a key hidden inside your old watering can.

he giggles through his declaration as he throws his large coat off onto your small couch, “i’m home!” he wipes over his cold yet clammy face before calling out your name.

hamzah tucks his lip into his mouth as he walks through your dark hallway, toeing off his sneakers and pulling his shirt over his head before he even reaches your bedroom.

he finds you at your sweetest- despite your grumpy, cold attitude, you’re laying down on top of your comforter with a small smile placed on your lips. he takes a few more seconds watching your figure move with your breaths before closing the door behind him and climbing next to you in your bed.

he whines a quiet, “mmm-sorryyy” into the kiss he places at your temple before leaning away to tug a blanket over the two of you. he knows that in the morning he’ll have to properly apologize for keeping you waiting like that … preferably with his tongue.

[churipu]

OK HEAR ME OUT

nerd!nanami x girly!reader pls pls pls

thankss 💗

NANAMI WITH A GIRLY GIRL ૮₍ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ₎ა

featuring. nanami kento x fem! reader

warnings. i'm gonna make this a college! au , and a little cursing

note. hi nonnie, sorry that i just got to your request now — but i hope you like this :< uni's already getting real hectic, so updates might be a lil on the slow side.

nanami didn't fall in love with you at first sight — in fact, he finds you quite the nuisance. the way everyone loves you just because of the way you talk, the way you dress, the way you smell, your body language. he thinks it was all a simple act to fool people.

"hi, nanami!" you greet him, your bright pink colored apron dress flowing against the wind as you walked towards him elegantly — a white cotton cardigan covering your shoulders.

the male arched his brow mutely at your cheery voice, wondering what could someone like you want from him, "do you need anything?" he asks.

initially he thought that you were one of those people who'd woo him and try to get him to do your assignments, but he was proven wrong when you shook your head. giving out the brightest smile, showing off your pearly whites, "no, i was just saying hi."

then you brushed by him, the smell of your sweet fragrance entering his nostrils. sandalwood. you smelt like sandalwood and a hint of vanilla.

though he could then make sure of one thing, what an odd girl.

nanami was a good student. he focuses on his studies, while you try to fit in a bit of everything in your schedule — playing, hanging out, studying. but at the end of the day, nanami finds it shocking that you could pass with flying colors.

from his peripheral vision, nanami could see people crowding around you. he tells himself he didn't care about you, yet here was wondering why they were all over you.

"you told us you didn't study, you liar!" a girl pointed out accusingly at you, a smile pressed onto her lips.

"i just got lucky, i swear."

"that's what you said last time, y/n."

nanami didn't mean to eavesdrop, he knew it was wrong to hear someone else's conversation. but he couldn't help it when these people were speaking loudly — the only thing he could focus on was the fact that you had a perfect score.

call him weird, but he's all in for the brains.

the first time he officially spoke to you — nanami was a mess. he had never been in a proper conversation with most of the people at campus. most he's been in one is when he had to tell his group members off for being useless, but that was about it. and with you, he's a little awkward.

"oh, hi nanami! do you need anything?" you noticed that the male was eyeing you from his seat.

upon realizing what he had done, nanami immediately averted his gaze to the front. ignoring your words, not putting a second thought to it — but you shrugged it off anyways.

and the second time he laid his eyes on you for quite some time, it was in the middle of a lecture. so you slipped a note asking if he needed anything, and he replied with his own handwriting, saying "no".

embarrassed he'd gotten caught again. nanami felt like he was being discreet about his staring when in reality, it wasn't. and it's funny.

nanami didn't really understand why he was feeling like this. and he had nobody to talk to or ask about his feelings — so he made an assumption, it was the flu. coming into the lecture hall with a scarf tucked into his neck, and a white mask covering the lower half of his face.

"nanami, are you sick?" you asked him, and he nodded mutely, "well, it is flu season after all. i hope you get well soon."

nanami felt his heart flutter, and he chewed on his lips in frustration — if the mask had not been on his face, he was sure you'd be able to notice the frustration lingering in his expression.

his fingers frantically typing on the search engine typing out his symptoms, and every one of the choices ended up telling him the same thing.

he's in love.

but the male denied that, talking to himself how the internet was just a waste of time. he's in denial for a bit.

he's in denial of his own feelings. and would constantly turn away whenever you're there, passing by you in a rush as you were greeting him, or moving away to another seat when you sat next to him. forgetting the fact that you were also affected by his actions, wondering what you did wrong to him.

"hi nanami—" you waved your hand as the two of you passed by each other in the hallway.

but the male brushes past you in a flash, not even letting you finish your sentence. and you shrugged thinking that he might be in a rush.

but when it happened, again and again. you could definitely conclude that he is indeed avoiding you — hell, he won't even spare you a glance. and you wondered what you did wrong to him.

"is this seat—" you approached the seat next to him, ready to claim it but he stood up packing his things and moving to a lone seat three rows behind, "taken..?"

ouch.

nanami didn't feel like he did anything wrong until he was met by one of your friends. who — well, said anything but nice things to him. threats. warnings. and questions. even nanami didn't know the answer to.

"what the fuck did you do to y/n?" the female said, eyeing nanami up and down judgmentally.

what did he do to you?

"what?"

"i said, what did you do to her you dipshit?" wow. nanami could only furrow his brows, thinking of a possible answer that he is sure of because of the looks of it — even he didn't know what was going on right now, "why did you make her sad?"

"sad?" nanami questions, "i didn't talk to her."

"exactly. why didn't you? you know she likes you, right?" nanami's breath hitched at the revelation, and he shook his head, "what? are you stupid? and here i thought she was being too fucking obvious, god . . ."

he was too caught up to hear what the angry female in front of him had to say, he just focused on the fact that you— y/n l/n— liked him.

he was stupid with all these new feelings. and nanami wasn't used to being stupid — so for the first time, he had to ask your friend's help. asking guidance for what he should do, what you like, what he needed to say to you.

"just say you're sorry and confess. you like her too don't you?" your friend exasperatedly explained, already feeling a little exhausted from having to tell such a smart but idiotic male about love.

"okay."

your friend was a bit skeptical, so she had to elaborate and make a script for him (which he ended up reading in front of you by the way), "just try to memorize this and go."

nanami in fact, could not memorize the script.

when he knocked on your door, reading off the script in front of you. you find it funny, because you didn't know what was going on or what you expected.

"what are you doing, nanami?" you chuckled, shutting the door behind you as the male stood on your porch, holding the small paper your friend gave to him in his hand.

"apologizing."

"for what?"

"your friend told me i made you sad by avoiding you," you choked on your own breath, a bit embarrassed by your friend — flailing your hands a bit.

"she did? oh my god. i'll tell her to say sorry . . ."

nanami shook his head, "it's alright. and i like you too."

nanami and you made it official that night. and he, oh my god, he spoils you. rotten. despite being a college student — nanami has money. buying you dresses, hair accessories, flowers, anything he thinks reminded him of you, he will buy it for you.

"ken, what's this?" you question him as the male handed you a pink colored plastic bag.

nanami didn't answer you, but beckoned you to open it and to see for yourself. when you did, the sight of two shiny hair accessories made your heart flutter, "you got this for me? thank you so much, kento."

nanami gets very happy when he sees you using the things he buys for you, and he gets pretty upset when you tell him that he shouldn't be spending so much on you.

despite your advice, nanami still buys everything for you. he doesn't regret anything if it's about you.

he's a little tweaky and awkward at first, but as time goes by. he gets the hang of dating and relationships. the most gentle male, holding your hand, he will never let you walk on the outside part of the sidewalk, he stands behind you during an escalator ride up because you love to wear dresses, he will exchange his shoes for you if your feet were paining because of your own shoes (and he will carry your shoes for you), will carry your shopping bags and even your normal bag for you.

"let me carry that," he grabs your bag and carries it before lacing his fingers with yours.

"ken, you don't have to—"

"i insist." he cuts you off, smiling down at you and his hand squeezes yours lightly as if telling you that it was completely okay to rely on him because he loves it when you rely on him.

he absolutely loves going shopping with you. he gets the first look at new outfits, and he absolutely loves when you bring him to shop for new dresses. telling you to do a little twirl before complimenting you and how beautiful you looked. he always, always, ends up buying them all for you.

"so? how do i look?" you opened the door to the fitting room cubicle, showing yourself.

nanami had to hold back a smile from forming on his face, "turn around," he softly said — and when you did as he was told, the hem of your dress fluttering around as your body turns.

he finally broke into the smile, "you look beautiful." nanami compliments, taking your hand in his, "take the dress."

you chuckled, "ken, i already have two others. and you spent a lot on me — i don't want you to spend more on me."

nonsense.

nanami gets it for you unknowingly anyways, giving it to you on the walk back home from the mall. he always does that. always.

© CHURIPU 2024 , DO NOT COPY OR REPOST ANYWHERE

[lay-z]

🌨 Day 2 ‒ Quaint

Synopsis: You’re on guard duty on base with your Lieutenant and while the first snow begins to fall around you, the cold makes you oddly sentimental.

Pairing: Simon Ghost Riley x fem!Reader Warnings/Info: No smut. | Ghost & reader POV; military!Reader; humour; cussing; platonic relationship; mutual pining; eventual romance

Word count: 1.8k

↳ back to 🎅🏼 Masterlist ☃️

It’s a particularly cold night in the UK.

The base is eerily quiet; the barracks covered in a veil of fog as the harsh floodlights of the nearby watchtowers break through it, though where you’re standing on the lookout hill close to the shooting range, it’s the moonlight filtering through the blanket of clouds that illuminates the scenery.

It does look an awful lot like snow, with the clouds looking thick and fluffy, and ready to burst at the seams.

Tugging your black military issued loop scarf down to reveal the cold tip of your nose along with your chapped mouth, you put the butt of the unlit cigarette between your lips before you lean forward while Ghost flicks his gloved thumb over his cheap lighter, spawning a small flame.

It flickers nervously in the breeze, lighting up the space between you and your Lieutenant in a soft glow that catches his deep brown eyes – turning them a pretty, molten caramel that takes you by surprise and makes your own eyelashes flutter.

Your warm breath is enough to fog up the crispy air even before your Lieutenant lights the cigarette for you. Once the tip burns that ember glow, you take a long, greedy drag and feel that familiar burn taking the edge away while blue smoke fills your lungs.

“Fanks,” you mumble around the cigarette held between your lips while you squint your eyes when the smoke burns your eyes.

“This ain’t healthy for ya, y’know.” Ghost gruffs out while he tucks his balaclava up to stick a cigarette between his own lips, making you snort and roll your eyes at his dry humour.

You have lost count on how many times he’s made that remark oh so casually before, and at this point, you’ve come to the delusional belief that he might actually care about your health and survival outside of missions.

“Yes, sir.” You reply most agreeable, puffing out some smoke while your eyes crinkle at the edges, suppressing a smile.

As usual, your curious eyes flicker up to catch a sneaky view of the exposed lower half of his face; pale skin, cheeks covered in dirty blonde scruff, silvery scars littering his neck and cheeks and one particular one across his surprisingly kissable lips.

You can only make assumptions at the end of the day, but your Lieutenant is a handsome man underneath those crafted skull masks of his. Not that it matters. Jesus Christ, no.

It cannot matter.

So, you tell Soap to shut his trap whenever he flaunts his knowledge about how Ghost’s face looks like underneath his signature skull mask.

“Seen that mug with me own two eyes, lass! Bloke’s a proper bonny lad, that one! Sharp eyes, chiselled jaw, gleaming white teeth, a lil’ crooked perhaps, but all ‘o that. Bet he’s got a massive–”

That’s when you’d usually smack your good friend and teammate upside his head to shut him up for good. You don’t need anyone else planting ideas and pictures in your head about your superior officer; you’re already great at doing exactly that by yourself.

“What’s so funny, eh?”

Ghost’s deep, gravelly voice pulls you out of your thoughts and daydreams, replacing Soap’s Scottish drawl in your head with his own thick British one.

“Huh?”

You blink dumbly, taking another drag and plucking the cigarette away between index and middle finger to exhale as you crane your neck to look up at him to meet his whiskey-coloured eyes.

Ghost points at your face, then, holding his cigarette between gloved fingers while blowing smoke through his nostrils and – you have to shamefully admit – it’s one of the most attractive sights you’ve most probably ever seen.

“Ye’re smilin’ at nothin’ like some twonk.”

Ghost has caught that absentminded, dreamy look in your eyes again; the way your eyes crinkle and the corner of your mouth lifts up the tiniest bit.

He’s noticed it more often now and it’s different from the slightly dissociated look you sometimes get during downtime on deployments. No, you’re thinking about something good – and he wants to know and analyse what it is while simultaneously pushing down that gnawing feeling of jealousy – is it jealousy? – in his gut.

Are you thinking about a new lover? A past one? And why the fuck does he even care?

This odd twinkle in your eyes has made his heart stutter in his chest and made him pause and reflect these strange feelings more times than he’d ever admit already. And even if he could find the courage to acknowledge them to himself, Ghost wouldn’t know how to handle them – apart from the fact that it’s forbidden by rules and regulations, anyway.

His eyes flit about, scanning and surveying your every move as you avert your eyes from him with a soft scoff and shake of your head, and the way you shift in your combat boots, thick soles scrunching up the frozen ground to get some feeling back into your cold feet and wiggling toes.

“It’s just… It’s almost Christmas,” you reply with a shrug, the quick lie coming naturally to you, and you take another small drag, then hold your breath, “Was thinking about those magical holidays during my childhood, is all.”

Quirking an eyebrow under his mask, he easily detects your lie in the way you pause, trying your hardest to act casual. What is it you’re truly thinking about? Ghost hates that he wants to know, despises the way he has started to care about you in more than a strictly professional way. It’s causing problems that he really doesn’t feel like finding a solution to.

“Mhmm,” he hums in return, forcing himself not to pry and not to bark humourless laugh thinking about his own good childhood memories – or the lack thereof.

There’s a long moment of silence where cigarette butts are discarded, crushed in the gravel under the tips of boots, before Ghost breaks the quiet again, letting out a deep sigh as he caves in.

“Humour me, then, Sergeant,” he says, unable to hide the hint of teasing sarcasm in his voice, “What’s the best gift ya have ever received in tha’ precious childhood o’ yours?”

He pulls his mask back down once he realises how your eyes are following the movements of his mouth so blatantly, covering up the faintest of blush creeping up his neck under your curious scrutiny.

Ghost doesn’t remember the last time he blushed; perhaps at a time when his late mother had given him a well-deserved scolding as a boy.

Finding an answer to his question is easy; processing his sudden interest is not.

“My first dog,” you answer eventually, “I know you shouldn’t give away pets as present, especially not on Christmas, when most of them end up in the shelter after a couple of days or weeks, but – yeah, my first dog.”

Of course, you think about all the animals that are always dropped off at the shelters by irresponsible pricks. You have to be that compassionate, which makes Ghost wonder how the fuck you ended up in this profession.

“Hmm,” he hums again and shoves his gloved hands into the pockets of his fatigues, trying to keep the cold out.

“Had that little fucker for nearly 12 years. Basically grew up with him.”

And the way your eyes dull over while a sad smile spreads on your chapped lips, tells Ghost everything he needs to know. You loved that dog, treated it like a sibling probably, judging by your reaction.

“What was his name? What breed?” He asks curtly, though he’s mentally filing away each word you speak to remember.

“Max,” you answer, and then add with a chuckle, “Uh, Maximus. My father still loves the movie Gladiator,” you give a small shrug, smiling at the fond memories flooding your mind so suddenly.

“I don’t know what breed, some German shepherd mix, we always assumed. Big as a calf and protective as hell, too. As a little girl, I could take him on walks through the meanest neighbourhood at night and no one ever dared to touch me.”

For a moment, Ghost is too stunned to speak. The way you reminisce about Max, about your bond with him, has his chest feel tight with another strange feeling, and in this moment, he can’t help but picture himself by your side instead, taking a walk at night, perhaps even going as far as holding hands. Could he bring himself to take yours? To make a first move?

His trembling hand reaching out to curl around yours tentatively, fingers interlacing gently, soft skin brushing against his.

His heart skips a violent beat, dark eyes widening imperceptibly behind his balaclava, lost in his own forbidden fantasy for the briefest moment.

Ghost knows that no one would dare touch you while he is close by, either, when he'd be following you obediently like a shadow. He’d protect you just as well as any guard dog, he’s positive.

Your Lieutenant’s sudden rigidness catches your eye eventually, like a statue frozen in place with its unwavering stare, and when you look, you feel oddly exposed to him as if you’ve opened up way too intimately and crossed an invisible border with your small anecdote.

Feeling the urge to ask if he’s alright rising up in your chest, you clench your jaw instead and tug your scarf back up to nuzzle your freezing nose into the fabric; he wouldn’t tell you the truth, anyway.

Meanwhile, Ghost watches as the first snowflakes flutter down on you; tiny white speckles of snow getting caught in your hair and lashes as you blink them away.

Suddenly, that familiar spark returns to your pretty eyes once more as you notice the first snowfall with childlike awe while your head tilts up to look at the sky.

Maybe it wouldn’t hurt nor have any repercussions if he was to share something in return, after all; to offer a piece of himself, a peek into his being and past, even though it’s not as nice or warm like your memories from the past.

He clears his throat, “Never had a dog,” he rumbles eventually, blinking away those rotten memories trying to come forward from a place buried deep within his mind, yet the words still tumble from his lips, uncharacteristically soft-spoken and muffled by his mask.

“But my father, he… owned snakes.”

[persphonesorchid]

Echoes Of Nebula - MYG

Summary: Some people say that soulmates are made of the same star, a part of each other, one and the same. Stars don’t live forever, Yoongi found, but they do burn forever.  

Genre: Exes to lovers, angst, fluff

Word Count: 5.5k

Warning(s): I don't think there's any, but let me know if I've missed! Any mistakes are my own, I proofread this one (1) time 😭

Masterlist

Notes: Eep, hello! Here's this lil thing I've been working on! Also, Yoongi and Mc didn't end on bad terms, their separation was somewhat mutual and they're all good :)). Feedback is always appreciated and encouraged! Enjoy!

“Make sure to eat, okay?” 

Snow swirls along the train tracks, following a gust as a train pulls into the station.  There’s the bustle of people getting on and some getting off, bundled up warmly against the winter air. Some are going to see their families, some are taking a break from theirs. Some of them are stepping onto the train to never step foot in this town again. Some of them are just starting the first day of their adult lives. 

Min Yoongi? He’s moving to Seoul.  

Your hands tuck the ends of his scarf securely into his sweater, staring at him like you’re trying to memorize his face. Your tears make tracks against your cheeks and dry quickly in the cold.  

Min Yoongi is breaking up with his girlfriend.  

“Eat on time. And I don’t mean ramyeon because you’re too lazy to cook.” You sniffle, and Yoongi wipes under your eyes with his thumbs. His glove has a hole in it. Not that it matters much right now, he’s trying to get you to stop crying. “Sleep on time, not when the sun’s coming up.”  

Min Yoongi is trying not to cry.  

“Okay.” He holds you still because he’s trying to memorize your face. He’s got pictures, even the silly ones that he took and promised to delete, but they won’t compare. “I’m sorry.” 

He must’ve apologised for the millionth time. He doesn’t know what else to say.  

You nod, smile — sadly, tears on your waterline — and, “I understand.” for the millionth time.  

He’s moving to Seoul, a long way away from Daegu.  

A mixtape he made for shits and giggles took off and pulled him with it, and he has no choice but to follow. Your life is in this little town like a ship in a bottle and like a captain you’ll go down with it. You can’t follow.  

You both talked about it for days, compromising, bargaining, but in the end, your lives are going separate ways.  

Stars either explode or implode when they die, and Yoongi feel like the star you’re both made of has finally reached its end. It’s imploding, folding in on itself and pulling everything with it.  

He has five minutes left to take you in, how the tears shine in your eyes despite his efforts, the string of the necklace he won you at a fair peeking from behind your scarf. The way you smile and your eyes squint, the way he could feel the chill of your hands through his gloves.  

He wants to stay right here in this moment and never leave if it meant he could take you in for five minutes till eternity.  

“Remember to...” His throat feels raw, but it’s because of the cold and definitely not because he’s crying. The lump in his throat makes it hard to swallow. He looks somewhere above your head to give himself a second, things like these are always hard for him. “Remember to dress for the weather.”  

He squeezes your hands, takes a breath that he almost chokes on, and looks back at you. “Don’t skip meals. Get warm when you feel cold. Always carry an umbrella in July.”  

Sometime later, Yoongi will wonder if the things he reminded you to do made much sense, if they mattered at all. Wonders if you’d actually remember. The umbrella one is really important; you always forget.  

He sat where he could see you when his five minutes were up and eternity never came. Waving from behind a glass and missing the warmth of you and the sound of your voice. He watches you wipe your tears and smile big and you walk alongside the train when it pulls off and then you run, and then, Yoongi could no longer see you.  

Min Yoongi broke up with his girlfriend and left her in the middle of winter chasing a train.  

July is always rainy. 

And every time it rains, Min Yoongi remembers the love he left in winter. He wonders if you remember to carry an umbrella. It’s been five years; he wonders if you remember him at all. 

He watches the rain splash into puddles and listens to the patter against his umbrella. Seoul bustles on, indifferent to the weather, its crowds meandering through the mid-summer downpour. Despite the season’s warmth, a stray breeze slips past his collar and reminds him of colder days. He’s grateful his gloves no longer have holes. 

He walks along the sidewalk, carried by the crowd’s flow without much thought.  

There’s not much that he wishes for anymore, not much he can wish for when he’s got everything. He lives in a high rise, works at the top music production company. Sometimes it’s a bit hard being the most sought-after producer in Seoul. Life has been good; he can’t complain. That mixtape opened doors he thought he’d be knocking on forever, and he’s worked hard to keep them open. 

Min Yoongi doesn’t need much of anything else. 

But on days like this, when the wind is just a little chilly and the sky’s opened up and crying, he misses you. 

Sometimes he looks back on that day and feel guilt. He knows it was just as hard for you as it was for him, the pain in your eyes that you smiled through. 

For a while, he’d call you every night and update you, made sure that you were doing well. For a while, he’d keep up with you and made sure that you’re doing well. For a while, he’d call you every now and then, see if you’re doing well.  

For a while, it had been a while and life, and then five years slinked on by.  

Yoongi sighs, and there’s guilt in it. He got busy, as one gets being a producer in Seoul with a shit ton of expectations. He’s changed phones over the years, lost your contact, and he got busy. 

Of course, he’s dated — mostly blind dates his friends set him up on — and he’s tried his best to push forward. There’s no point living in the past, he’s sure you’ve moved on and on by now. Sometimes he’s fine, and sometimes he’s back on that train station platform, wishing he’d begged you to come with him. 

It would’ve been the selfish thing. It wouldn’t have been fair to you had he done that. When he got to Seoul, he’d buried himself so deep into his work he barely found himself. He would’ve dragged you out here, made you give up everything just to sit on the side-lines.  

He misses you sometimes, anyways. He’s forgotten the sound of your laugh, but he still remembers the way your nose scrunches when you do. He’s forgotten the scent of your favourite perfume, but he remembers the way you lit up when he saved up and bought you a bottle forever ago. 

Min Yoongi wonders if you remember him at all. 

As Yoongi turns the corner, his umbrella catches a gust of wind and flips inside out. He fights with it for a moment before giving up, letting the rain soak his hair and the front of his jacket and jeans. He can’t help but laugh at the irony, standing there drenched, remembering the countless times he reminded you to carry an umbrella. 

In the distance, he spots a small café and decides to seek shelter. The bell above the door jingles as he enters, and the warm, cozy atmosphere wraps around him like a comforting hug. He shakes off his umbrella – finally pulling it back down – and steps up to the counter, ordering a hot coffee to chase away the chill. 

As he waits, his eyes wander around the café, taking in the rustic décor and the soft hum of conversation. A bulletin board on the wall catches his attention, filled with flyers and photos. His gaze lands on a familiar face, and his heart skips a beat. 

It’s you. Your photo, smiling brightly, pinned among various advertisements and announcements. You’re standing next to a large canvas, looking proud. He steps closer, reading the caption beneath your picture: “Local Artist Exhibition - Featuring Works by ________.” 

Yoongi’s mind races as he takes in the information. You’re here in Seoul, and you’ve been showcasing your art. A mix of emotions floods through him—relief, excitement, and a twinge of nervousness. He jots down the address of the gallery from the flyer without much thought and leaves without his coffee. 

As Yoongi steps out into the rain, a million thoughts swirl through his mind, each one more turbulent than the last. He wonders why you never sought him out. Seoul is vast, but you’d known he was here, making waves in the music scene. Did you ever think about him? Did you ever miss him? 

The realization hits him hard: he never knew you were doing art before he left. In all your conversations, all your late-night talks and shared dreams, you never mentioned a passion for painting. He feels a pang of guilt. Had he been so wrapped up in his own ambitions that he failed to notice yours? The thought stings, and he can't shake the feeling that he should have been there for your journey, supporting you the way you always supported him. 

The gallery isn’t far, and soon he’s standing in front of it, his heart pounding in his chest. He takes a deep breath and pushes the door open, the sound of soft music and hushed voices greeting him. There’s quite a bit of people mingling about in quiet discussion, taking photos of the art mounted on the walls under ambient lighting. 

Inside the gallery, he feels out of place. The walls, adorned with your art, are a testament to a part of your life he knows nothing about. Each piece is beautiful, but they also serve as a painful reminder of how much he’s missed. He wonders how many late nights you spent creating these, how many times you might have needed someone to share your successes and frustrations with. 

Yoongi wanders through the gallery, the sound of soft music and hushed voices creating a backdrop to his thoughts. The rain outside has left him feeling introspective, and as he takes in the various pieces of art, he feels a strange mix of pride and sadness seeing how far you’ve come. 

Each painting tells a story, each one a glimpse into your life over the past five years, a life he wasn’t a part of. 

His gaze is drawn to a large canvas on the far wall. The colours are bold and dramatic, the brushstrokes chaotic and full of emotion. As he steps closer, he realizes with a jolt that the scene depicted is achingly familiar: a train station, snow swirling in the air, and two figures standing close together, wrapped in scarves and winter coats. 

His breath catches in his throat as he takes in the details. The style is unmistakably expressionist, the exaggerated forms and vibrant colours capturing the raw emotion of that day. The figures are abstract, but he knows them instantly: one is you, and the other is him. 

He remembers the way you tucked his scarf into his sweater, the tears that made tracks down your cheeks, and the way you both tried to memorize each other in those final moments. The painting captures all of it, the pain and the love, the sorrow and the hope. 

Yoongi feels a lump in his throat as he stares at the piece. It’s a testament to your skill as an artist. He wonders how long you carried the weight of that moment, how many times you revisited it in your mind to create this masterpiece. He’s overwhelmed by a wave of emotions: regret, longing, and a deep, unspoken connection. 

The title of the painting, written on a small plaque beside it, reads “Departure.” It’s fitting, he thinks, for the moment it captures, but also for the way it marks the beginning of your separate journeys. 

As he stands there, lost in thought, he hears your voice nearby, and for a moment, he simply stands there. Your words meld together and he isn’t hearing much of what you’re saying, just the sound.  His heart pounds against his ribs as your laugh — it sparks a memory and adds sound to the ones that were muted — bounces off the walls and around in his head.  

He turns and sees you, in a corner, your back to him talking to a taller man, discussing a point of space where you’re standing. The sight of you, so vibrant and alive, sends a mixture of relief and nervousness fluttering around in Yoongi’s tummy.   

Gathering his courage, he takes a step forward, then another, until he’s standing just a few feet away. You turn and startle, staring at him like he’s a ghost. There’s a brief moment of surprise — he gets it — and then you blink. 

“Yoongi,” you breathe, and turning to the man next to you, you smile gently. “Taehyung...Can you give us a moment?”  

The guy looks between you both for a second with a raised brow before he’s gone, walking off to some other part of the gallery. Yoongi’s mind is too occupied taking in the sight of you to wonder what that man’s presence may mean. 

“Hi,” he replies, his voice soft and filled with all the words he’s wanted to say for years. Despite this, he doesn’t actually know what to say, he didn’t actually think this far ahead. He glances back at the painting of the train station platform, then back at you. “I saw your painting.” 

You follow his gaze and nod, your smile tinged with a hint of sadness. “It was a significant moment for me. For both of us, I think.” 

It’s a lot awkward, with him just standing there, not sure what to do with himself. You look the same, though now your hair is styled professionally and not the frizzy, wind swept mess it was when he last saw you.  

There’s so much he wants to say but he feel like he doesn’t have enough words, or the right ones, so he takes it easy. “I saw a flyer...in a café. Um... It’s amazing...your work.”  

“Thank you,” you say, your eyes reflecting a mixture of pride, nostalgia and a certain sadness. “I didn’t know you’d be here. It’s... good to see you.” 

The conversation goes slowly, awkwardly. There are long pauses and nervous laughter, each of you trying to bridge the gap of five years with small talk about your art and his music. 

“You’ve done well,” he says, gesturing to the paintings around you both. “I didn’t even know you were into art.” 

You smile, the same just barely there sad smile from earlier. “It was something I started after you left. It helped me cope.” 

“Oh...” His heart aches at the thought of you turning to art just to fill the void he left behind. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper. 

You shake your head and shrug. “We both had our paths to follow. It’s just... life.” 

He nods, but the guilt lingers. Life had taken you both in different directions, but he can’t help but wonder what might have been different if he had stayed, or if he had at least tried to stay in touch better. 

Min Yoongi is an idiot and he’s always told himself so. He’s an idiot and he sucks at this sort of thing. 

As the gallery starts to empty out, Yoongi looks at you, the rain pattering gently against the windows. There’s a part of him that wants to apologize, to make up for all the lost time, but he knows it’s not that simple. 

“Do you have time for a coffee?” he asks, hope and uncertainty mingling in his eyes. 

Your smile is a little hesitant, but you nod, “Sure.” 

You excuse yourself to grab your jacket and an umbrella — you remembered, he smiles privately —, and then you talk to the man from earlier for a minute before Yoongi follows you out of the gallery and onto the wet street.  

The walk is quiet, filled with the awkwardness of five years’ worth of missed everything’s, and Yoongi holds tight to the handle of his umbrella. There’s a confidence to your step as you weave your way through the crowd, head straight forward and not looking down at your feet like he remembers. 

You’re not the girl he left on that platform five years ago just as he’s not the guy that left you there.  

You walk back to the cafe he’d come from, and he realises that you’re probably a regular here. The barista behind the counter greets you with a smile and asks if you’re having your usual. You order a coffee and Yoongi asks the girl behind the counter to reheat the one he bought earlier, and the barista’s eyes dart between you both. 

You lead him to a cozy corner table after the order was called, and as you settle in, the conversation starts up slowly again. 

“How long have you been in Seoul?” Yoongi asks first, his voice a little hesitant, not sure if he’s allowed to ask.  

“Almost three years now,” you reply, looking down at your coffee cup, the tiniest furrow between your brows. “It took a while, but I got settled.” 

Yoongi takes a moment to observe you, trying to reconcile the person in front of him with the memories he’s held onto for the past five years. You don’t look much different, your hair’s in an up-do, your cheeks are a little fuller, but that’s as much as he notices.  

The silence that rings between you both is louder than the other customers in the cafe. Yoongi can only imagine what this scene looks like to others; two people who are barely looking at each other, like awkward strangers forced to share a space.  

His coffee is still hot, and it burns his tongue when he sips at it, but at least it’s given him a distraction. He steals glances at you, watching the way your eyes comb the cafe and avoid his gaze.  

Unfortunately, Yoongi is naught but a man, and there’s a nagging sound at the back of his brain. It grows louder until he fidgets, the nerves of his free hand feel like they’re dancing and he takes a breath. He looks down at his coffee cup, glances at you and then back to the cup. Then, he asks a question that made him want to crawl out of his skin.  

“So...that guy back at your gallery seemed nice...”  

He knows it’s been five years, and a lot can change in that time.  As toxic as it may sound, the thought of you moving on with someone else stirs a mix of emotions in him. 

He knows he has no right to be upset if you’ve found happiness with someone else. It’s not his business anymore, not after all this time.   

Still, the fear is there. He doesn’t want to admit how much it hurts to think of you with someone else. He can’t deny the pang of jealousy at the thought, but he tries his best to ignore it. He has no claim over you. You deserve to be happy, and if you’ve found that with someone, then he’s happy.  

He sighs inwardly, pushing the thoughts aside. He wants to focus on the present, on the fact that you’re sitting in front of him right now. Whatever happens, he’s happy to be here, he hopes he can be a part of your life again of you let him, even if it’s only as a friend. He doesn’t want to ruin this, whatever it turns out to be. 

You stare at him for a moment and Yoongi can’t tell what you’re thinking, “He is...he’s got an eye for art.”  

Yoongi nods slowly, his fingers tracing the rim of his coffee cup. He hums softly, and now it’s his turn to pretend you’re not looking; he finds interest in the light fixtures above.   

His next question sits on his tongue trying to pry past his teeth. He feels like a kid trying to find the right moment to ask his parents if he could go play outside. There’s a nervous churning in his tummy that isn’t at all pleasant. How does one ask their ex of five years if they’re seeing someone?  

Yoongi imagines they’d just ask, out of curiosity, and get it out of the way. He could play it well. Maybe lean back into his seat and appear more casual before he says the stupid words. Maybe he could stop staring at the lights like a damn moth, and act like a being with a fully developed frontal lobe.  

“Are you two...close? Or...you know...” He waves a hand and then lays it on the table. The sound of his ring knocking against it is kind of jarring, but it gives Yoongi an opportunity to look away again. 

You make a quiet sound, and Yoongi finally meets your gaze. There’s amusement in your eyes, it’s obvious you’ve figured him out already — he wasn’t exactly being subtle. Which is unfortunate, because now Yoongi could feel embarrassment tapping on his shoulder. 

You say nothing of it, even though he knows you want to. He could feel it.  

“As close as business partners can be, I suppose.” You say, and Yoongi can see the beginning of a smile as you lift your coffee to hide it.  

“Right...Sorry.” Yoongi says sheepishly, though, a weight lifts off his chest. As he looks at you, he notices something that makes his heart skip a beat.  

You’re still wearing the necklace he got you all those years ago, the one he won for you at the fair. The twine that the little pendant hangs on looks worn, fraying a bit at some points, but you’re wearing it.  

You kept it. 

He clears his throat, the words he’s been holding back spilling out. “I’m sorry I lost touch. I got so busy, and then it felt like too much time had passed to reconnect. I lost your contact, and… I didn’t know how to find you again.” 

You nod, your fingers brushing over the necklace like you sensed his gaze on it. “It’s okay. Life happened, for both of us.” 

“But why didn’t you seek me out when you got to Seoul?” Yoongi asks, his voice soft, devoid of accusation; genuinely curious. 

“I thought it would be for the best,” you say, equally as soft, staring into your coffee as though it would give you the words you’re looking for. “So much time had passed, and I didn’t want to disrupt your life. You were doing well.”  

You look so sad when you say it that it almost breaks Yoongi’s heart.  

“You know I wouldn’t have...” He wouldn’t have turned you away.  

“I know, I just...” You sigh, your eyes dart somewhere to his left, and then back at him, “...I really missed you.”  

Yoongi wants to reach out and take your hand so he does. Your fingers are warm from the coffee, squeezing his own, and tears beads at your waterline.  

“I missed you too.” His gaze is soft and he knows it, but he doesn’t care because its you. You’re still you and he’s still him, and he misses you and the girl he left on that platform.  

You’re both still made of the same star. It’s imploded but still glowing, and your necklace pendant catches the above head light.  

His finger brushes over your knuckles, he stares at them, the shape and colour and all the little things about them that makes them a part of you. All that with his heart in his throat because he wants to ask something.  

“Do you think…” His voice is barely a whisper, as if he’s afraid the wrong volume might shatter whatever delicate thread holds this moment together. “Do you think there’s a chance… that we could try again?” 

You stare at him, your eyes wide, and he feels the subtle pressure of your fingers in his. He knows it’s a lot to ask,  but the longing, the sense that maybe something beautiful can still be salvaged from the pieces, presses him to keep going. 

Hope catches on the glint of your necklace pendant, and he clings to it. 

“I don’t expect anything to happen right away. I just… I want to be in your life again, even if we start slow. No pressure, just… what feels right.” 

You’re quiet for a moment, and then a soft smile curves your lips, almost as if you’ve been waiting for him to say something like this.  

“We could try,” you murmur, the words tentative but filled with the same cautious hope Yoongi feels. 

And from there, the pace is unhurried. You both ease into each other’s lives like rivers that find their way back to the same stream.  

Some days Yoongi feels like he’s been whacked on the head with a giant stick. Anyone could tell by looking at him, when he’s got that stupid look on his face. Like he’s seen a goddess and she spared him a glance. He feels like he’s dreaming, and the last five years without you seem to blur.  

He starts small, a text here and there; good morning and good night. Even if he’s busy he’d keep up with you, except when his work demands his focus. There are some days when you’d disappear, and Yoongi understands when you explain you’ve been in your studio for hours.  

Your gallery isn’t far from his work, and as much as he could he’d go see you. He finds himself drawn to small gestures—bringing you lunch or a cup of coffee, or sometimes a sweet he thinks you might like. Each time he steps into the gallery with something for you, he feels a warmth settle in his chest. 

It’s an excuse, he knows, to see you smile, to watch you light up at the thoughtfulness of it. And each time you look at him with that gentle, appreciative gaze, he feels his hope grow a little stronger. 

You’d tell him all about your creative process, how you’d spin and weave what’s in your head onto a canvas. He’d listen attentively because he’s interested and he owes it to you. All those nights spent burning the midnight oil, steeping in his frustrations; you were there. You’d listen to him rant and cry when things weren’t working out the way he wanted. 

He owed you much more than that.  

He feels like he has to learn you all over again, which, in a sense, he does. Even if the bases of you are the same, there’s new facets. Little shards that fit into the mirror that reflects you, some pieces are a little dusty and worn with time and others are new and shiny. Yoongi has to take his time cleaning the old ones to see them again, and get used to the new ones that twinkle his eyes.  

He invites you to his place for dinner, something simple and easy, and the conversation flows a lot better than it had a month before.  

There’s no awkward sentences that cut off somewhere in the middle. Yoongi knows what to do with his hands and he has a better time looking you in the eye now. He feels a lot like he did back then, like a school boy taking his crush to meet his parents. His hands are a little sweaty, but the food is good and your eyes sparkle like they did back then, too.  

You seem so sure, like you’re not worried one bit. Like you knew you’d meet him again and you’d be here in this moment; sipping on white wine – something new he’s learned – and chucking over stories set in the past.  

The day he let a pet name slip was the day Yoongi wished a chasm would open up and swallow him. He had his excuse ready; the clock’s pushing one in the morning; he’s tired. The truth? It’s so easy to slip back into old ways, like nothing changed at all.  

Like a smouldering fire in a hearth. It’s not quite out yet, and if you throw some sticks in there, they’ll catch.  

After a while, on some sunny evening, Yoongi invited you to his studio. 

“This is where I spend most of my time.” And he means that, letting you into his studio. There’s a blanket tossed haphazardly on the black couch that lines the wall near the door.  

There’s day old take away coffee cups that never made it to the bin, cluttered in a designated spot. The bin he meant to empty is overflowing with scraps of paper and crushed takeout containers. That’s as far as the clutter goes. Though, Yoongi’s embarrassed now – he prides himself on keeping tidy. He wasn’t thinking when he asked you over, didn’t expect you to agree either.  

So now he’s clearing up his desk and tying a knot on the waste bag. You make yourself comfortable on his couch like you’ve been there before, throwing the blanket over your lap as your eyes dart about to take everything in.  

You’re impressed, he could tell by the gleam in your eyes and your little down turned smile. He’s come a long way from his old computer and MIDI.  

“Its nice, cosy. Beats camping out in your bedroom.” You smile and Yoongi chuckles, nodding.  

“Damn right.” He agrees, but he wouldn’t trade in those days for anything. Truthfully, he’s been here for three days, only going home to shower. Inspiration on an all time high and he’s just been riding the wave, you’ve been his muse for the past month. It isn’t the first time, at moments over the years gone you’d float into his mind like a mirage, and he’d get stuck on you.  

He’s grateful for the break, though, there’s nothing much to do and he doesn’t want to bore you with rambling about what he’s working on. So he orders something, and lets a movie play on his laptop.  

The clock ticks softly in the corner, its sound nearly drowned out by the hum of the desk lamp — he should really get that replaced. You’re still curled up on his couch despite the hour, the blanket pooled around your legs, your eyes scanning a painting on the wall he doesn’t remember hanging. 

“It’s peaceful here,” you say, your voice quiet but steady, like you’re speaking directly to the heart of the room—and to him. 

Yoongi glances up from the cluttered desk he’d been half-heartedly straightening; resorting his things because he can’t sit still. He watches the way you seem to belong in his space, your presence settling into the corners he never realized were empty. The faintest smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. 

“You think so?” he asks, moving to lean against the edge of the desk. He crosses his arms, the soft light from the lamp catching on the fine lines of his face. “I always thought it was too chaotic.” 

You turn your head, your gaze locking onto his. “Chaos can be beautiful. It just takes the right eyes to see it.” 

The words settle between you, their weight both gentle and profound. Yoongi feels something inside him shift—a small piece of armour finally cracking and falling away. 

He takes a step toward you, his hands slipping into his pockets, his expression tentative. “There’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you.” 

You sit up a little straighter, tilting your head. “What is it?” 

“Would you…” He hesitates, his fingers brushing against the edge of a USB drive in his pocket—the same drive that holds the tracks he’s been working on for weeks. “Would you let me write something for you? About you?” 

Your surprise shows in the slight widening of your eyes, followed quickly by a soft, warm smile. “You already do that, don’t you?” 

Yoongi chuckles under his breath, his gaze dropping to the floor for a moment. “Maybe,” he admits, with a small smile that meant more than he could say. “But this time, I want you to know it’s for you. No hiding it in metaphors or beats no one else understands. Just…you.” 

You rise from the couch, the blanket slipping to the side as you close the small distance between you. Standing so close, Yoongi count all the things that make you you.  

“Okay,” you say softly, your fingers brushing against his. “But only if you let me paint something for you, too.” 

Yoongi takes your hand because he wants to, and his fingers make home in the spaces between yours. It feels like déjà vu and an epiphany all at once: five years ago you were this close and he was saying goodbye. His gloves had holes. Today...he’s saying hello again, and it feels like no time had gone by. And he kisses you now because he didn’t kiss you then, and you sigh into it like you’ve been waiting a lifetime.  

Some people say that soulmates are made of the same star, apart of each other, one in the same. Stars don’t live forever, Yoongi found, but they do burn forever.  

Tagging: @hoseoksluna @xpeachesncream @amon-rei @allhobbitstoisengard @euphoricfilter @madbutgloriouspond

[love-bugsy]

good ol' gotham | jason todd

the worst thing about love

you’re just trying to get through your surgical residency, but this masked vigilante keeps showing up half-dead on your fire escape and reminding you of your dead best friend. oh well, at least he's cute.

two | three | four | series masterlist

content warnings: no editing, allusions to character death, (haphazard) depictions of grief, smoking + mentions of alcohol, swearing, completely ooc Jason bc he’s just my lil guy, medical terminology learned from greys anatomy lol

only jerks steal other people’s writing and mine isn’t even that good so no reposts

You and Jason sit across from each other in a diner booth, his restless leg bouncing under the table and your workaholic fingers tapping rhythms on the lacquer. The tired waitress who begged for your shift today brings over a plate of fries for you both, waving you off when you try to tip her. She gives your head an affectionate ruffle like she used to when you were 6, and you flush. As she goes to wait the next table, Jason laughs and says something about nepotism. You reach over and smack him.

He scoops up a heaping handful of fries, holding out his cigarette in his free hand so he can choke it down. He wipes his hands on his pants, taking another drag. You frown as your eyes dart between him and the ‘no smoking’ sign, glaring pointedly at the cigarette hanging half out of his mouth. He huffs, hiding a smile as he crushes the lit end on the underside of the table and flicks it into a nearby bin. You kiss your teeth, rolling your eyes but it’s entirely too fond to have any lasting effect. This damn boy’s got you wrapped around his battered fingers.

“Those’ll kill you, you know,” you huff, shoving a couple of fries in your mouth and basking in greasy diner heaven. Jason tilts his head, examining you, and snorts when you chuck a fry at his face. 

“So you tell me every time, and yet, miraculously, I’m still here.” He plucks the fallen fry out of his lap, not even brushing it off before he scarfs it down and reaches for another handful. You eye his hand, meant to shovel chips into his mouth but instead is littered with callouses and cigarette burns. It’s a stretching silence as you find your words.

“S’killing you slowly.”

“Lucky me.” He shoots you a toothy grin, leaning back into the booth, one hand laid out face-down on the table. The bruises on his knuckles are a motley of yellow and purple; your hand aches just looking at the scabs that litter the top of his hand. You’re sure he doesn’t feel it, though - he’s always healing, gaining new wounds before the old ones are finished scarring over. A veritable human ship of Theseus. 

His hand clenches into a fist under your gaze and you suddenly become very interested in the plate of fries between you. ‘M’not gonna stop,” he says, tone unyielding. You don’t know whether he’s talking about his smoking or the elephant-sized robin in the room. Probably both.

“But maybe you should.” You blurt out, and the way his face twists in anger makes you want to cover your mouth and hide. You hate how he clings to things - smoking, grudges, Robin - you think it’ll be the death of him one day. But you’re a hypocrite, because you love how he clings to you. Jason’s jaw feathers.

“Just fucking back off, okay?”, he snaps at you, and you go silent - you don’t want to have the same argument for the thousandth time. You study the way his eyes close and he sinks back into the chair - guilt washing away the enraged crease between his brows.

You forget - all the time - how angry he is, all of it built up under his rib cage. You think he gets scared to show it to you, like it’ll scare you away. For all his intelligence, Jason has yet to grasp the fact that you have Gotham in you too - spent your whole life atoning for the sin of your existence here. You’re angry too, of fucking course you are.

There’s no shortage of anger and fear and desperation in Gotham - they flood the gutters and hang dormant in the smog. Not many people choose to be kind here, it’s just too hard to. You think maybe your bleeding heart is at fault for how he tiptoes around you, but you wish he would just be honest. This diner, your friendship - it’s so far removed from the rest of his life… you wish he would stop treating you like a precious secret. 

“I-” You shake your head when he starts to apologise, waving your hand as if to clear the air between you.

“It’s forgotten,” you say, even though it never is. The tilt of his head reads you like an old book. Getting up, he rounds the table, shoving you further into the booth and looping an arm around your shoulders. Neither of you say anything - Jason reaching awkwardly for another chip - but the warm press of his side against yours is words enough. You shuffle - somehow - closer to him and take the hand that's over your shoulder, moving it delicately into your lap. You run careful circles around the bruises on his knuckles, trying to commit the warmth of him to memory. Trying to remember him while he’s still here. 

When you glance back at him, he’s looking at you with something wide and soft and world-ending in his eyes. The hand in your lap shifts around to thread your fingers together and he squeezes your hand almost uncomfortably. This boy, this fucking boy, who loves too much, too rough, too pure. “You can’t be real,” he whispers, and the diner melts away and all that’s left is his (blue blue blue) eyes and the way his hand holds yours like a lifeline. You hope you love him enough that it shows - that it spills out of the gaping seams of your stitched up heart. Clammy palms grip tighter to each other.

“I’m real, blue. This is real.”

“No. No,” he says, using your name in that careful, hard-edged tone he does when he’s serious, “It’s not.”

You wake gasping, shooting up in your bed as you try to catch your breath. Your hand crushes against your chest, trying to still your pounding heart. Fumbling in your sheets for your phone, you squint at the time. 4:02. You shuffle around, bare feet meeting hardwood floors and start to follow an unconscious morning routine - brain still foggy with sleep. It’s not until you’re wiping the steam off your bathroom mirror that you remember what day it is. The anniversary.

Reminders of Jason always hit you like a truck - blue mugs, cigarettes, hero complexes - but visiting his grave is another beast. You’re not one to let things get to you, moving too fast for anything to stick; but today is always cruel. In the entryway, you go back and forth between jackets, eventually yanking Jason’s old one from where it's hidden underneath all your others. Burying your face in the collar, you grab your keys and step into the biting Gotham wind. 

You take the metro up to the park by the Wayne Estate, stopping on the way to buy overpriced flowers and a travel sized bottle of whiskey. You stop outside the imposing gates - always closed but never locked - to take a shuddering breath. It’s never easier. 

Pushing open the rusted gate, you make the short trek up to the Wayne cemetery. Jason’s grave is a ways away from the others, hidden by an ancient sycamore tree. Autumn has come early this year, yellowing the sycamore’s leaves and burning your nose with the fresh scent of death. 

You really fucking hate this day.

It’s not the real anniversary of his death. You shudder to think about seeing Bruce Wayne here, and you doubt he’d even recognise you. Probably for the best. You’d tear him to pieces for existing when Jason is gone. No, today is the last time he left the diner - that’s the day Jason Todd died to you.

You remember staying up to watch the press conference Bruce Wayne gave after Jason’s death was reported. Sitting in a cold, empty diner, listening to his cold, empty responses, and grinding your teeth to bits. 

Wayne looks tired - beaten down, “No comment,” he says, when the questions steer to Jason. You’re furious that he could even bear to stay silent when you are tearing at the seams with things to say. Because Jason was kind, he was sharp as a whip and just as witty. And he was brash, and loud, and impulsive and full of a wild energy that hummed under the surface of his skin. And he was good. He was so good.

Somewhere between Wayne’s practised speech about the orphanage he’s opening in Jason’s name and his final statement, you mute the television and go back to washing dishes. It’s a herculean effort not to look up; waiting for Jason to start rambling about a book he’d read or someone he’d saved. You tuck your head down, avoiding the reminder that he was never going to keep you company again.

In the background, Bruce Wayne talks silently to a rapt audience.

And how they lauded him as Jason’s saviour - the homeless criminal turned social messiah by Wayne Enterprises. You want to scream; he was good already, he was good to the bone. But Gothamites - as much as they like to deny it - are obsessed with the idea of heroes. In a city of the uber wealthy and the poorest of the poor - everybody wants someone to save them. Big Brucie Wayne swooping in to reform a Gotham bottom-feeder? That’s a story everyone was taken by.

The crunch of a leaf underfoot pulls you out of your head and you realise you’re standing in front of Jason’s grave. Sitting yourself down, cross-legged, you face the grave; whiskey in one hand and flowers in the other. 

You’ve never liked his headstone. No pretentious quotes, no sardonic digs from beyond the grave. Just a dry, impersonal epitaph, etched permanently in his name: ‘In memory of Jason Peter Todd, loving son’.

You think he would’ve hated being reduced to someone’s son. You don’t think he was anyone’s anything. He was Gotham’s. He was yours. He was Batman’s. And then he was dead.

He was never any of those things at the same time. And he was certainly no one’s son. 

He was loving, though. You’ll give ‘em that.

“Well,” you say, unscrewing the bottle and downing half of it with a grimace, “Cheers, blue.” Nearly a decade and you still hate the taste of whiskey. You’d both made a pact that it would be your first legal drink - both with romantic ideas about what it would taste like. To you, it really just tastes like soap; but tradition is tradition. You reach out, brushing the thin layer of dirt that’s gathered over his headstone, eyes catching on the crude little bird carving in the top right corner. 

You’d carved it into his headstone the first year after he died; spent the whole year silently aching - haunted by empty space, reaching for him only to find air. That night was just the breaking point. It hadn’t helped that you were drunk off your ass either. 

You remember being miserably sick the next morning and - as you rested your head on the cool porcelain of your toilet - feeling selfishly satisfied that you were hurting at all. Visiting him early is selfish for you too. You want them to know you loved him first. You want them to know that somewhere, there is someone who mourns him into ruin. 

Or at least, into vandalism.

Now you drop the flowers on his grave - chrysanthemums and white lilies - and sweep away a stray fallen leaf. Crouched in front of his grave, you press your fingers to your lips, then to the bird. You feel the throb of a lump in your throat, and stand up fully, zipping up your jacket. The train home is loud and sweaty, but you feel more alone than ever.

You need a smoke.

~

Your apartment door is barely locked before you’re sliding up your window and ducking out onto the fire escape. Digging around in the pockets of Jason’s jacket, you fumble for your lighter, and the pack of cigarettes you’d bought on the way home. 

You lean over your fire escape railing, lighting up and taking a long drag. It’s a rare clear night in Gotham, and you close your eyes as you breathe out, listening to the faint, familiar whine of sirens. This. This is why you’ll never leave Gotham—these rare serene moments where you’re brought back down to earth by the familiar smell of rain and pavement; an early-Autumn breeze ruffling your hair.

Your moment of peace is interrupted when Red Hood swings down onto your fire escape, and you startle, dropping your - still-lit - cigarette over the railing. 

“Fuck!” You lean over the railing as if you’ll be able to catch it, letting your head fall against the cool metal in defeat. “Please tell me you don’t need stitches tonight,” you grumble, head still hung over the railing. A hand grasps the back of your shirt, pulling you - a little roughly - away from the edge. Your eyes flash up to his mask, only to find him looking away.

“No stitches.” He shifts uncomfortably. “I… I’m not- injured.” Your brow creases.

“Then… why are you here?” He pauses. If you hadn’t been slowly learning him over the past few months, you’d mistake his silence for stoicism, but his shoulders are drawn up slightly and his gaze is focused on a spot just above your head. He seems… sheepish? No. Caught. He clears his throat—hand in the cookie jar.

“I just…,” long pause, “Drop by sometimes. To check you’re… you know.” You do not know. You raise a brow and he nods over at the pack of cigarettes balancing on the railing.

“I’ve never seen you smoke before.” Not exactly a seamless subject change, but you know better than to pry when the other person has guns strapped to their thighs. Your eyes drift to the cigarettes, and back to Red.

“Only when I’m stressed.” He does that head tilt-y thing—trying to read you. 

“Something more stressful than surgery on a stranger in your apartment?” You just hum, turning away and reaching for another cigarette. Lighting it, you hold the pack out to Red as you take another drag and exhale. He shakes his head, “Quit a long time ago, doc.” Your surprise must paint itself all over your face because he laughs lowly, rasping out his response.

“Had a friend who hated it.”

Brows creasing, you tilt your head, appraising him in a quiet once-over. “You don’t seem like the type to change for anyone, Red.” Somehow he stiffens and relaxes at the same time; you get the sense that the answer to your observation is just as paradoxical, equal parts right and wrong.

“Yeah well, she was…” He trails off, gaze drifting from you and shoulders sinking. He looks… lost. Watching him feels like you’re intruding on a private moment, so you turn away, leaning heavily on the railing. You take another long drag of your cigarette and exhale the smoke into the wind.

“Was that you? The sirens?”     

He huffs, railing creaking as he settles next to you. “Yeah. Some asshole trying to rob a mom-and-pop store.” You kiss your teeth in mirrored disappointment, nose wrinkling.

“Good ol’ Gotham.” You feel his gaze boring into you and make a point to glare defiantly out at the skyline - avoiding him. The hand that isn’t keeping a loose grip on your cigarette begins to scratch anxiously at the rust on the railing. 

Red points vaguely at your cigarette, “What’s your stressor?” Without really noticing it, you clench your jaw and your hand moves halfway up to your mouth before you stop it. Old habits quelled by memories of bleeding nails bitten to the quick. You realise you’ve waited too long to spout a believable lie.

“Visited my friend’s grave.” You don’t even bother to school your voice, letting it claw its way across shards of glass to be heard.

“‘M sorry.” Red’s head inclines slightly, gloved hand inching towards yours. You just shrug.

“It’s been nearly ten years.” 

“Doesn’t make it easier.” He tells you and you know it isn’t false platitudes. Death is an old friend of the both of you. 

You pause, letting the city rush over you. “No,” you say finally, “It doesn’t.” Reaching again for your cigarette, you feel the weight of the day prickling at the backs of your eyes. The railing creaks as he leans heavier against it.

“Tell me about them.” 

“What?” 

“Your friend.”

You take a deep breath, brows knit, “He was…,” you roll your lips together, trying not to choke up, “Reckless.” Red snorts, hanging his head in surprised amusement. You smile for the first time all day. “I swear danger followed him around or something, I was always having to patch him up, even before—“ You cut yourself off, white-knuckling the railing. 

“He’s the reason I’m a doctor.” There’s a thick silence, which Red breaks with a staticky whistle. 

“You’re something else, doc.” Your brows knit, fingers drumming on the railing. The cold seeps into your bones, fire escape creaking with every gust of wind. Looking out over the city, you shake your head at nobody.

“I’m…” you swallow, dislodging the breath stuck in your throat, “I’m tired.” You fumble for the right words and Red waits, turning his back on the skyline, mask angled down.

Shaky hand brings your cigarette to your lips, breathing out a cloud of smoke. “So much of me is him… I don’t know—“ your voice cracks, “No one can help me carry the love he left me with. I don’t know where it goes.”

More silence—you’re starting to get comfortable with it. He lifts his head, and you think he might talk, instead, he carefully pulls off a glove, shoving it in his pocket so he can run a warm, calloused palm over your upper arm. You choke up at the gesture, gritting your teeth against the lump in your throat when your eyes catch on his bruised knuckles. Haven’t we been here before?

“Think ya just get bigger around it, doc.” Blinking at him, you dissolve into tears—a dam held in since this morning. Embarrassed, you close your eyes, tears running, unbidden, down your cheeks. 

Red’s mask pulls back slightly in shock, “Fuck, sorry, m’not good at this, don’t—” He flounders a little, hand gripping your arm with a ferocity you know is unconscious. The physicality of the action steadies you.

“I’m not—” you huff out a wet laugh, “It’s not you, I just… you lose someone and everything you used to share becomes a sign. My life is marked by a ghost.”

“Fingerprints.”

“… yeah.” You crush your half-smoked cigarette against the railing, flicking it over the edge. You stand, awkwardly, next to each other; neither of you wanting to leave but both empty of words. Your hands tap nervously on the railing and you shove them in your pockets - if only to have something to do with them. Pulling out your lighter, you flick it on and off absently, watching the flame flicker under your control.

The lighter distracts you for a little, but soon you realise that Red has gone rigid beside you; the silence between you just slightly too thick. You shoot him an inquisitive glance, trying to gauge what he’s thinking.

“Nice lighter.” he says, gaze locked on the bird etched into it. Your brows furrow.

“It’s not really mine.” The truth, if obfuscated a little.

“Is it… a robin?” You shake your head, a little laugh escaping you at how bad your etching job must’ve been.

“A bluejay.” The second the words leave your mouth, he goes still - so still you’re unsure if he’s still breathing. “Red?”

“Blue?” You wave a hand in front of his face, shaking him out of a thousand yard stare into his coffee mug. “Earth to Jason Todd.” He shoots you a flat look and watches as your face breaks into a world-ending laugh. Leaning forward, he raps bruised knuckles against the counter. You shake your head to hide the split second of worry in your eyes at the sight of his hands. Jason notices.

“So why do you call me blue?” He says, trying to innocuously tuck his hands back under the table. You huff, clumsy hands dropping the dish you’re washing in the sink with a clatter. You lean on the edge of the sink, collecting yourself before you answer.

“Why do you call me birdie?” 

“‘Cause you’re small. ‘Nd you got a pretty voice.” He must imagine the bashful way you tuck your head into your shoulder. Like you liked that.

Picking up the plate you dropped, you rinse and dry it, letting him stew in your lack of answer for a little. “It's a play on words.” Jason’s brows knit, trying to think of the connection you’d conjured. “Blue. Like blue jay.”

“Ha ha.” 

“I’m serious.”

His brows crease. “Why a bird?” (Why not a robin?)

You give him a funny look, eyes squinted like you’re reading his mind. You always seem to know what he’s thinking. Jason shifts in the barstool; feathers ruffled. 

“It’s just a nickname, Jay.” Jason knows you; he knows the word ‘just’ doesn’t have a place in your vocabulary. But he spots the tiny crease in your brow, your red raw hands, the single knot on your apron in place of a double knot—reads your language. He takes a swig of coffee from his baby blue mug, grinning toothily before he changes the subject. 

~

Bruce’s office door is closed when Jason returns to Wayne Manor, so Jason finds himself roaming the halls aimlessly. His feet carry him to the library—he still has to stand in awe every time he wanders between the statuesque shelves, spilling over with books. 

Slipping further into the maze of shelves, Jason doesn’t quite know what he’s looking for until he spots it. His fingers graze an untouched ornithology book, sliding it into his lap. Cross-legged on the floor, Jason flips it open to the chapter on blue jays.

... so i'm not dead, lol, and I am still writing - albeit very slowly and sporadically. the past few months have been very hectic, but I'm going to have a lot more writing time now that my first term of uni (!!) is nearly over. anyway, sorry to keep you guys waiting and I hope you enjoy reading my silly story :)

with love, bugsy

[mochinomnoms]

Ok si for the small snippet requests- ptm jadeyuu, but it's at the point where yuu starts getting a little downbad and just starts playing into jades lil scenarios more and he freaks out cause his day is going SO MUCH BETTER now. Thank you!

🦩

Having a crush when you're a mind reader can have its cons...but also some pros~

Also I wrote this while listening to Brooklyn Baby by Lana Del Rey, I very recommend listening while reading for the vibe

You blew hot air against your hands, rubbing them as you watched the snow fall outside the window.

Winter had come early this year and your dorm members had taken to playing in the snow. Everyone was enjoying themselves, even Aspen was smiling, though yelping as he was smacked in the face by a snowball.

You laughed as he chased after Tony, tackling him into the ground as they both cackled with a red flush over their cheeks.

Ramshackle had very little traffic, even with the students in your care, which left it rather pristine and ideal for making snowmen and fights. Plenty of students from the other dorms were hanging around between classes, some even in your kitchen making warm drinks and snacks.

Which is why you weren't surprised when a mug of hot chocolate appeared in your peripheral vision. Looking up, you softly smiled and gave a small 'thank you' as you took the mug from Jade, who took a spot next to you, leaning against the porch railing to watch the small group of students playing in the snow.

He was in the winter version of the school uniform, which just came with a thicker jacket, a scarf, boots, and snow gloves. Though, you're positive that Aspen mentioned that none of them needed it, as they were well acquainted with the cold. It was mostly to keep up appearances, Floyd being the exception as he forwent the gloves and jacket.

My pretty pearl, you look radiant against the snowfall. I feel like I'm falling for you all over again…

Your cheeks warmed, despite the biting cold, and you masked your smile behind your mug as Jade stared at you from the corner of his eyes. When you dared to look at him, his gazed immediately darted back to the others. He had a red flush over his cheeks, which could be due to the cold, but you knew better.

Both of you chuckled as Silas, holding a giant snowball over their head, jumped and slammed the snow on top of Yaqub's head with a shit eating grin.

“They seem to be having fun. I know Floyd is coming over to have a snowball fight with Tony in a bit, will you be joining?”

You shook your head, watching the marshmallows swirl in your mug.

“Nah, I'm probably gonna head in here in a few. My hands are freezing, and I don't have gloves anyways.” You sighed, drinking your hot chocolate and relishing in the warmth flowing to your belly.

Jade tilted his head, watching as you lifted one of your hands to blow on it again.

“Would you like some help warming up?” You weren't surprised at the flash of an image of Jade and you 'warming up' in front of the lounge fireplace under a lush blanket. “I'm happy to assist.”

You know what response he was waiting for. You know that he'd come to expect your flustered and panicked stammering, putting as much space between you two as possible. It's a very 'you' response.

I can do this, I can give the same energy! Yeah! No more playing around with me, Jade! It's my turn!

“Hmm? And just how do you plan to 'warm me up' Jade~” You cooed, batting your eyelashes and smiling up at him.

You're surprised just how…sultry that came out. I didn't think I could sound like…like…something out of Jade's daydreams! Jade seemed surprised as well, snapping his head to stare at you.

His face still had his same polite smile, though you swear his cheeks turned a bit more red.

“…Pardon? Could you repeat that?” Jade asked, though there was a bit of breathlessness to his voice.

Did you…no I must have imagined…

“Well, there's lots of ways to warm someone up,” You shrugged, looking down at your drink and tracing the edge of the mug. “You caaaan…start a fire…get me a blanket…skin to skin contact…”

Haaaah, is this real?

“Human lovers will cuddle with each other, and do more...intimate things together to warm up.” You finally turned to face him, watching him visibly swallow.

Now I'm just being mean.

“Is…that so? That's good to know.” Jade's voice sounded strained, though his face betrayed very little. If it wasn't for the screaming echoing through his mind, you wouldn't be able to tell this was effecting him.

“Mmh, so, Jade~” You slowly crept closer to him, your still free hand doing the same along the rail to inch closer to his fingertips.

“How do you plan to warm me up, Jade?”

You had to crane your head to look up, causing a creak in the back of your neck, as there was barely an inch of space between you two. Frankly, though, it was worth it to see the wide-eyed surprise on his face.

It's real! Bless the Seven! It'srealIt'srealIt'srealIt'srealIt'sreal—

“Well, I—”

“Can watch everyone while I warm up in the kitchen!” You chirped, quickly backing away and smiling. “I'm sure it's plenty warm in there with the others running the oven!”

W-what?

Hmph, that's what he gets. You started walking away towards the front door, a smug smile on your face. Just a taste of what he puts me through every day—

You swallowed a shriek as Jade caged you against the wall with his arms, dropping your mug in surprise. You could hear it clatter against the wood floor and the hot drink fizzle against the cold surface.

Curling in on yourself, you looked up at Jade, who was giving you a smile and narrowed glare, his sharp teeth visible. He had a glint in his eyes and his flush was growing down to his neck.

“Now, now my dear,” he leaned down, speaking softly as he hovered his face closer and closer to yours, until you pressed your hands against his chest, stopping him.

“It's not nice to be a tease, stunts like that would get you eaten up in the sea.” Jade's nose brushed against yours, his smile growing as you grew more flustered.

“Unless, you're trying to be a tease~” Jade's right hand moved to graze your cheek with his finger.

This is going too far, I should…

Your skin felt tingly as he ghosted down to your chin, tracing the tip of his thumb against your bottom lip.

“Talking about lovers, acting coy.”

…I should make him…stop…

He pulled it down, ever so slightly, making you release a breath you didn't realize you were holding.

Cute…

“You shouldn't play around with things like that.”

“I'm…not…” you let out a whimper as his breath mixed with yours, lips hovering over your own. You could hear his breath hitch at the sound.

“No? Then prove it, unless you want me to 'warm you up' in front of everyone?”

Swallowing another whimper and feeling your cheeks and body warm from something other than your drink, you licked your lips. You felt him shudder as your lips just barely brush, moving to press them together—

“Ooooh, how scandalous!”

You shrieked, out loud this time, shoving Jade away as you accidentally smack his face to get some space between you two.

“Ack!” Jade covered his face with his hands, wrinkling his nose from the sudden pain.

You stared in a mix of embarrassment and bewilderment at the small group watching you two at the railing.

Silas was grinning, fulling leaning his body over the railing as he kicked his legs behind him like a child. Yaqub and Tony looked just as amused, the former hiding his giggling behind his hand. Aspen, to no one's surprised, had a sour look on his face, disappointed even, while Wynfred was pouting. Marion had the decently to look embarrassed that he was caught staring, looking down at his feet like they were the most interesting things he'd seen all day. James, sweet James, just looked confused.

“…I didn't know you two were dating?”

“We're not!” You waved your hands in a panic, laughing nervously as you stepped away from Jade, who was now glaring at the group with an annoyed frown.

“Then, why were you two kissing—” James jumped, as did the rest of the group as you screeched.

“HE WAS JUST BLOWING HOT AIR ON MY HANDS, THAT'S IT! NOTHING ELSE!”

You laughed manically as you clapped your hands, inching closer to the door.

“You know I'm still cold! Are you guys cold? Yeah, you are!” You continued nervously laughing as you turned and practically bolted to the front door, the snow on the ledges falling from the sheer force of your slam.

The group and Jade stared at where you disappeared, so quiet that you could hear a pin drop in the snow.

“…So you two were, like, totally making out, right?” Silas asked, letting out an 'oof' as Marion smack that back of their head, making them fall face-first into the wooden patio.

Jade gave his signature smile, bowing his head.

“Perhaps you all should go back to playing, I should check on the poor Prefect, though might I advise not interrupting a pair's private conversation next time?”

Yaqub scoffed, elbowing Tony as he teased, “Conversation, sure. Maybe next time you two should have your next 'conversation' in the bedroom?”

The two snorted, Tony choking into a cough at Aspen's glare.

“Thank you for the kind suggestion, I'll be sure to consider it.” Jade called out as he entered the dorm, determined to continue from where you two left off.

[chris-prank]

New content!!! Finally my obsessed brain can shut up for a moment about these lil guys

I am curious, how would the boys react to the reader wearing something in their favourite colour? Like a scarf wrapped around the reader's neck that's white bc Vincent likes it.

- Anon💤 (P.S. I hope this isn't a bother but I am planning on sending many asks bc I don't want to forget them!) (P.S.S. Love your stuff!!)

Thank you!!!!

And I will gladly feed your brain with more yandere boys stuff so don’t worry you’re not a bother!💪🏻

･*:.｡..｡.:*･*:.｡..｡.:*･

Vincent would feel so honored if you had a scarf in his favourite colors, especially if you made it yourself, because he also uses your favorite color on different things to show his love for you (which you’ll see in the part 2 of his story 👀)

“Does your scarf have a special meaning… or is it just l-like this?” He looked up at you with way too much hope for it to simply be an innocent question, “oh em… I’m just curious, that's all!”

︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶

Esteban would be so cocky about it, like no matter what you tell him he wouldn’t leave you alone whether or not you are in a relationship.

“Did you pick that one because of me?” Esteban leaned his face closer to yours, trying to decipher a blush, “aw come on! No need to deny it!”

︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶

Atlas would be staring into your soul, because he would be intrigued yet he’d never entertain the idea that you wear it because of him. He would subconsciously be very happy, like a subtle blush on his cheeks, every time you would wear it. If you tell him he will be stunned at the idea that you cared so much as to remember his favorite colour.

“You choose it… because of me?” Atlas whispered contemplatively, while his fingers played with the edge of the fabric, “Does that mean I’m important to you?”

︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶

Martin would silently note that you’re wearing his favourite color, cheering internally. In his mind, you became so close that you started to, unconsciously, wear clothes that links you to him. He might even start giving you things in his favourite colour.

“That’s really your colour darlin’ you should wear it more often.” He pulled you flush against him, a knowing smile playing on his lips.

︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶

Jacce already had the habit of stealing borrowing your clothes, but seeing you wear his favourite colour makes him lose it. This article of clothing will, without a doubt, become his favorite, meaning you’ll only see it again once it loses your scent.

“You should leave that to me!” Jacce exclaimed, with a hint of anxiousness, as he took the dirty laundry basket from you,“I’ll em— take good care of it!”

･*:.｡..｡.:*･*:.｡..｡.:*･

Just Jacce being freaky as usual, don't mind him

[curvykittyyssmutfics]

corrupt!Satoru refuses to let go of his little sorcerer girlfriend when he becomes a vessel: Sure things have changed a bit.. Okay, a fucking lot. He's been put on a temporary leave by Yuji and the others till they can figure out a reverse. Which unfortunately for you means he's got all that time in the world to focus on your guy's relationship. "Y/n!" The unanticipated shout of your name almost makes you jump out your fuckin skin, quickly scarfing down a scolding hot piece of bacon so you don't choke. Dammit, you thought you could enjoy a nibble of breakfast before having to appease your master boyfriend. You pray to any God with a heart that Satoru wasn't too pissed at you for not being by his side when he awoke. From the goosebumps creeping down your neck and eerily sudden silence surrounding you, it's an obvious useless hopeless wish. "Why the fuck weren't you next to me when I woke up? Did I not say havin you by my side at all time keeps me from becoming.. Murderous?" The sudden presence and growled query compels you to spin around, starin up at him with wide frightened eyes. He's shirtless, gazing back with an unreadable expression as his magnificent morning wood bulges obscenely. "T-toru, I -" His hand damn near teleports to hold you firm around your slender brown neck. "Know what? I don't really feel like hearin whatever pathetic excuse is about to fall from those cute lips, baby. On your knees." He tells you, pushin you down with one hand while pullin his dick from his dark grey joggers with the other. You comply, eyes teary at how he glares down at you menacingly. "Better not disappoint me twice this morning, y/n. No tellin what I might do.." He warns, head falling back as he slips his dick into your mouth with a sinister smile on his pretty face.

corrupt!Gojo monitors the fuck outta who you talk to and where you go: If he can't have you near him 24/7, he NEEDS to know 1. Where you're goin; 2. Who's gonna be there; and 3. When the fuck you're comin home to him. "You're late. Fuck are you, little girl?" You're never gonna get used to the snarl that consistently stains his tone, even when he's not irritated. You're late coming back from what was supposed to be research on a curse, so Satoru calls you. "Just by a few minutes. I'll be there soon." You assure him, pullin your cell from your cheek briefly to check the time. "I didn't ask how late you are; I asked where you were." You don't waste a second droppin a pin. There's a bit of shuffling over the phone before he speaks again. "I'm on my way to pick you up. Stay where you are. Better be alone like you said, y/n." The line clicks dead as you heave a heavy sigh, makin sure not move an inch till you see Satoru pull up.

corrupt!Satoru doesn't do well with anyone besides himself being mean to you: Slamming your front door shut upon entering, you stomp towards your bedroom as tears of frustration leak from your eyes. You don't make it past the couch in the living room before Satoru's sittin down on it, perching you in his lap. "Who fuckin did it, baby? Huh? Tell me! I'll rip their fuckin head off." His gruesome words don't match the soft imploring look in his piercing eyes; you miss that look so much that the truth spills from your lips without a thought. "I thought I'd make it to Grade 2 today.. It didn't happen. They brought in someone new. Some jerk that failed me cause I wouldn't let him touch me." Your hands slap over your mouth, the last sentence accidentally comin out before you can think. That unreadable expression graces his features before you end up face down in the couch, panties swiftly pulled to your thighs as he eats your poor unsuspecting lil puss from the back. "What the fuuuuuck? Toru, ah! S-satoru, wait. Please just- ohmyGod!" Ofcourse he ignores you. Slurps ya cunt so good that you cum in under a minute. Only then do you get a response. "Get the fuck up. We're goin back up there. Gonna have a lil chat with Mr. New Guy." He commands you, landing one more lick up your slit and a harsh slap to your ass. You leveled up that day. And Mr. New Guy was gone by the next. Yuji and the others don't bother standing in Satoru's way.

corrupt!Satoru loves marking your body and staking his claim: He doesn't think a day should pass before he's adding a new one to the collection. So he corners you when you're in the kitchen doin the dishes. "Hey gorgeous. Wanna make you cum real quick.." He mumbles, pressin up behind you. His hard cock humps your backside slow and firm as he fingers you through your itty bitty shorts. The first swipe has you poppin your ass back on his dick, keening Satoru's name like a fuckin banshee. "That the spot, princess? Yeah it is.. Know all your spots. Just like Daddy should, huh?" His tone is so cocky but you know better than to disagree and nod to his question anyway. "Yeeees, only you can make me feel like this. Always make me feel so goood, Toru." He soaks in your praise and at this point it's a givin that you've completely abandoned your task. A damp hand slides to the back of his head for a handful of his soft snowy locks as he nips and sucks at your neck. His sensual lips are one of your weaknesses; never fail to make you whimper like a bitch in heat. "Satoruuuuu.. Daddy please. Want some dick.." He chuckles at you, wonderin if you can even handle it- not like that would stop him. Still, your knees are already so you weak he has to hold you up, arms slung around your waist to plaster your back to his front. "Fuck baby, so pretty when you beg for my cock. Look even prettier when you let me claim you like this." Fine, he'll give you what you want. But first.. He pulls his lengthy dick out, your small shorts down, and slips it between your plushy brown ass cheeks. Your boyfriend's eyes nearly cross at the tight warm hold of you. Satoru pants and huffs, quickly starting off with short strokes that numb his mind. "I'm gonna fuck this perfect fat ass one day, y/n. Thats right, and you're not gonna be able to stop me. You can beg and cry and scream all you want.. Mmmfuck- but Daddy's not gonna listen, baby. Not one bit. I'm gonna keep goin till you squirt all over me from the feelin of it." Precum assists him slidin back and forth with ease, but his filthy words aid the throbbing in your clit and flutter in your gushy cunt. You only moan back in response to his dirty admission. Its okay. Satoru knows you always get like this: speechless when you're about to cum. Goddamn you turn him on so fuckin much. He bites at the sensitive spot on your throat, locking his teeth and groaning like a wild man. It makes you clench around his dick, him in turn pressin his digits with an accuracy that forces you to cum so good. "Good fuckin giiiirl, baby! So proud of you. Takin my mark and cummin on my hand- fuuuuuck. I own you, princess." Your quick wordless whines spur him on, fingers still yanking his hair viciously as your arousal spills to the kitchen floor. The sting of the pull has Satoru howling while he cums buckets in you. He's licking messily at the fresh bite on your neck as he smears his nut all over your plump ass. Fuck, you always make him buss so fuckin so hard! He's breathing fast, eyes flickin between where he paints you, your new bite mark and how fucked out you look even though you haven't had his dick yet. Speaking of, why the hell is he still so goddamn rigid? But you.. "You're so fuckin wet.." Satoru spears you on his cock without a second thought, your loud stunned cry makin a warmth shoot up his spine. He doesn't know when your hand joined the other in his hair, just cherishes how tight you grip at him when he fucks the rest of his cock into you. Appreciates and adores any and everything you have to offer. 'Shit.. Guess its time to put a baby in you.' Satoru thinks as he holds you round your waist and drills your lil puss as you shout out in surprised pleasure. Christ, he loves you so fuckin much and he's never letting you go.

corrupt!Satoru In layman's terms: He shows you that he is very fuckin possesive and owns you in every conceivable way.

[gfguren]

pro hero!bakugou x reader | fluff, snowball fights, bickering, husband!bakugou, just a short lil drabble, it snowed this morning and i was ✨inspired✨ | cw: cursing

-shoveling snow with bakugou turns into shoveling snow at bakugou-

It's too cold for this, too early; the sky is still pink and you're out here shoveling snow in your pajama pants. You have a serious case of stink eye when you turn to glare down your husband from the other end of the driveway.

He's bundled up in at least three layers, nose and chin tucked beneath that red scarf you bought for him two winters ago. His brow is fixed in a near permanent state of grump; you'd think him cute if you weren't so miffed with him right now.

"Can't we do this later, Kats?" You fake your best pout, bat your eyelashes when he shoots you a look from over his shoulder.

"We're halfway done, quit y'r whinin'."

You resist the urge to stamp your feet like a child. "But it's cold!"

"Maybe if someone had salted the driveway last night like I'd asked ya, neither of us'd be out here right now, hah?"

You dig your shovel into the snow, cross your arms across your chest, indignant. "Maybe if someone had picked some up from the store like I asked, I could have."

He snorts, turning his back to you and continuing his warpath through the snow. You glare as hard as you can, hope he can feel it through every stupid layer of his stupid coat. He doesn't, of course.

So you swipe a chunk of snow from the sidewalk, roll it into a neat little ball, and launch it, hard as you can in his direction. He turns halfway, hero senses kicking in just a moment too late; he tries to catch it, but it splats against his forearm.

You smirk, feeling victorious in your own right, rectified after being dragged out of bed at six in the morning.

But you'd forgotten one teensy detail: your husband is a sore loser.

Katsuki's eyes narrow and you squeal when the shovel falls from his hands, turning on your heel in a desperate attempt to flee. You don't get far, tripping over the mound of snow you'd just shoveled, planting yourself face first into the cold.

He's on you in seconds, shoving a handful of snow past the scarf he wrapped you up in this morning and down the back of your shirt. It freezes your neck, chills all the way down your spine.

"Katsuki!"

You think you hear him laugh. "What? Start somethin' y'can't finish?"

That has you kicking.

You huff a breath of hot air, wriggling your legs free and crawling out from under his body weight. He let's you if only to pin you back down the moment you manage to turn around and prop yourself up on your elbows. "Let me go, you big oaf!"

His knees fix your hips to the ground, gloved hands reaching down to scoop up a handful of snow. It crunches menacingly as he rolls it from one hand to the other, red eyes narrowed and nose scrunched up as if he's annoyed.

"Wait, wait, wait." You gasp, mittens holding his hands still. "'m sorry!"

"Yeah? I bet y'r real sorry." He shakes free, raises the newly formed snowball with one hand. "Now that y'r at my mercy."

"You win, okay, m' sorry Katsuki! Let's just finish shoveling, alright?" You slide back slowly and Katsuki quirks a brow, entirely suspicious. "Really! I'll make us both hot cocoa after and we can watch that stupid movie you like and, and—I'll only complain a li-ttle bit."

You slide back fully, eyes trained on the snowball in his fist as you get to your knees. Carefully, innocently you fold your hands in your lap, give Katsuki the sweetest smile you can muster. You lean forward, bump your cold nose to his. He sighs, eyes falling shut. He thinks you're going to kiss him, misses the way you grin, impish and satisfied.

In one quick motion, you take both hands and shove two handfuls of snow into his lap, sprinting through the yard before he can recover.

"Get back here y'damn tease!"

You turn back to stick your tongue out at him, met with an expression of both frustration and amusement. You're all but six steps away when the first snowball hits, seven on the second. You turn around to scowl at him. "You're mean!"

"I'll show ya 'mean'." And then he's trudging through the snow after you.

Your chest trembles, the last bouts of laughter fading like ripples in the water. Katsuki is sat beside you, snow caked to his jeans and in his hair. You smile, reaching over to dust the frost from the crown of his head. "Warm bath?"

"Y'comin'?" he mumbles into the palm of his hand, as if he's nonchalant, unenthused. You know better.

You can't help but tease him. "If you finish shoveling the driveway."

He scoffs, half-heartedly swats a bit of snow your way. "This was y'r plan from the start, wasn't it?"

You grin, removing your mittens before smooshing his cheeks between your palms. "Maybe." You press your lips to his before he can weasel away. "Or maybe I wanted to sleep in with you on your day off instead of shoveling our stupid driveway."

He frowns at that, takes your wrists in his big palms. "Never know when I might get called in, villains don't rest just 'cus 's my day off."

"Well they better 'cus you're mine today. I don't wanna hear a thing about heroes or villains, or 'Dynamight' for the next 24 hours." You press a pointed fingertip to his chest before pulling him in by his scarf and kissing him fully. "Got it, Bakugou Katsuki?"

He grunts, wrapping his arms around your middle and nosing at the crook of your neck. "Got it. Y'rs." His hands snake under your coat, beneath the hem of your nightshirt, gloves still caked in snow. You hiss at the cold, glaring at him. He grins. "I'll go heat up the water."

[yenqa]

angel

synopsis — sunghoon can’t seem to figure out if you’re human or an angel.

warnings — sunghoon is a lil tipsy but sobers up quickly (also idk how tipsy people act so sorry), mentions of drinking, reader is called pretty and has a purse

pairing — sunghoon x (implied) fem!reader

wordcount — 1197

a/n — happy late bday sunghoon! hope he had the best birthday ever

inspired by the song “angel” by keshi! also not proofread sorry

Sunghoon wasn’t having the greatest birthday of all time. After 21 years of his life he decides he likes this one the least.

It’s weird, he was supposed to be drunk and having fun at Jake’s apartment until the clock hit ungodly hours of the day, but instead it’s 9pm, and he’s more tipsy than he would like to be at a random bench in a park.

It’s not like he was kicked out or anything, but Jake’s apartment had become too stuffy for him and the smell of alcohol overwhelmed him and they had invited way too many people for his liking, so he decided it was best to go on a walk alone. He had no idea how or why he was now sitting on the bench.

Sunghoon has always been a people watcher, he enjoyed seeing others smile over news he had no idea about, or watching someone quickly walk to their destination, creating make-believe stories of where they’re going and why they’re going so fast.

There’s not many people around—scratch that, Sunghoon can’t spot anyone, but his vision is too disoriented to be trusted.

That’s when his eye catches you, strolling down the stone pathway—Wait were those angel wings?

His eyes squint towards you, unable to differentiate if you were wearing a scarf or were an actual angel from heaven, but he saw the grin on your face and figured you could easily pass for one.

You happily plop down on the other side of the bench, eyes scanning the scenery around you.

This immediately sobers him up, and he fixes his posture. Glancing over to him, you give him a smile, asking “What are you doing here so late at night?”

He’s unable to comprehend that you’re talking to him, as if the alcohol had come rushing back to his head and made him unable to think or even say anything to pretty people like you.

He finally finds his voice, replying, “It’s my birthday, and I’ve been out with my friends all day, but I needed some space for a little.”

Gasping at the mention of his birthday, you rummage through your purse, also saying “Why didn’t you say so! I don’t have a gift for you.”

He chuckled, shaking his hands, “You don’t have to give me a gift, we don’t even know each other's name yet, angel girl.” Looking up, you can feel warmth fill your cheeks at the name, quickly snapping out of it to search for something you can do.

“My name’s Y/n, what’s your name, birthday boy?”

Letting out an Ah-hah! You showcase a small lighter proudly in your hands, he mumbles your name to himself a couple of times, forcing it to go to his sober mind so he remembers everything.

You push the lighter, letting a flame fill the metal part, scooting next to him, you gesture for him to blow the fire out.

He smiles, blowing it out in one go, you clap your hands singing the words happy birthday over and over again. Maybe this birthday isn’t so bad.

“Sunghoon.”

“What?” You tilt your head slightly.

“My name, it’s Sunghoon.”

Nodding, you place the match carefully into your bag, “Well, Sunghoon, how does it feel to be—wait how old are you?”

You silently pray that you aren’t talking to anyone over the age of 24, crossing your fingers in your pocket and anxiously wait for his reply.

“I’m 21 today, got my first sip of alcohol!” He jokes.

Mentally letting out a sigh of relief, you make sure he isn’t left curious, “I’m 20! But anyways—how does it feel to be officially 21?”

He takes a breath, unsure where to start.

The truth is he’s terrified of growing old, having more responsibilities than he could ever imagine. Every year he’s inching closer to a time where he’s supposed to be successful, but all he feels is that he’s failed to do anything.

“Can I say something kind of personal?” Sunghoon decides it’s much better to be safe than sorry.

You nod, a soft smile grows on your face, “Tell me anything! I’m here to listen.”

“I feel kind of scared? I don’t think I’m ready for those kinds of responsibilities.”

Feeling bold, you gently take one of his hands, cupping it with your hands. His cold hands contrasts your warms ones, but you don’t mind.

“I think you’re underestimating yourself, Sunghoon. As you grow older—yes you’ll have more responsibilities but it’ll join your routine, then when you find that you have lots of responsibilities you’ll be so used to it that you won’t even notice a thing!”

He nods, taking in your advice word by word, “I guess I never really thought of it that way, thank you, I’ll keep that in mind.”

You hum in reply, and a wave of silence washes over you two.

Turning your face up, you relish at the sight of the sky. Though the city won’t ever let the stars shine, you can still admire the moon, glimmering in the dark sky.

It's almost a full moon, and you swear you’ve never seen a sight prettier.

“The moon is beautiful tonight, isn’t it?” You ask.

Sunghoon’s eyes widen slightly, but you don’t look over at him. He’s not sure that you understand the true meaning of it, considering you just met. So he brushed it off, agreeing with your question.

Though it’s hard to focus on the moon when there's a person right next to him, emulating a warm aura that he can’t help but mistake for something mystical.

You two sit in silence, both admiring the surreal sight ahead of you.

You finally look back at him, warmth filling your cheeks when you catch that he wasn’t even facing the moon the whole time. Looking away, he raises a hand to cover his face, you giggle, looking away just as flustered as him.

A sound of your cell phone rings through your ears, you begrudgingly pick it up, muttering an apology to him before answering the call. He doesn’t eavesdrop but he can tell it’s something important.

He’s proven right when you put the phone down, a frown on your face when you explain, “I gotta go—I’m so sorry! My sister needs urgent help with something, but have an amazing birthday Sunghoon.” You wave goodbye standing up and taking a few steps away.

He grabs your arm before you can go, turning you around so you’ll face him.

“Will I ever see you again?”

You chuckle, opening your bag to pull out a pen and an old napkin. Writing your number, you hand the napkin to him, leaving with the same grin that you had when he first spotted you.

He watches as you walk away, calling back your—what he assumes—sister to address the situation. He slouches back down when you’re out of view, checking the time he’s realized he’s been out for too long, so he races back to Jake’s house.

Walking back in he spots Jake, the boy hastily walks over to him, asking “Bro—where were you? We were looking for you.”

Sunghoon lets out five words, “I just met an angel.”

perm taglist — @jwnghyuns @ja4hyvn @trsrina @redm4ri-deactivated20231209 @badmuni @yeokii @enhastolemyheart @softpia @s00buwu @ox1-lovesick @boyfhee @hanniluvi @teddywonss

yenqa © please do not copy, steal or translate.

[aerynwrites]

Hi! Just wanted to say that I admired your work, and you have pushed me to write again. I hope you have a good day. (Sorry,

a little awkward here)

If you don't mind, I have a request. I always wonder how Gale, Halsin, or whoever you would like to write would react to a Tav that her/their love language is physical touch and/or gift giving (like little crafts and stuff.) Thanks!

ooo i love this idea!! Did it in HC format so I could do both Halsin and Gale (+ Dammon bc I love him lol). I hope you enjoy my friend!

Having an S/O whose love language is Physical Touch and Gift Giving

Gale

I definitely take Gale as someone who loves physical touch but doesn’t like PDA.

So he reserves all his touches for when you all are alone or away from prying eyes.

But he does love it.

He loves when you cuddle up to him when he reads, putting his arm around you and pulling you close as he reads to you.

he also loves holding your hand, intertwining your fingers together.

And he loves kisses.

Kisses to your lips, your cheeks, your nose, etc…

He especially loves leaving kisses to your neck/shoulders when you are lying in bed or just before you wake up.

No when it comes to gift giving, I don’t feel like Gale is particularly familiar with relieving gifts from romantic partners - at least not the small but still meaningful ones.

He keeps anything and everything you give him, always telling you what he likes about it and stuff.

If it’s something he can wear/use you bet your ass he is using it or wearing it all the time.

Halsin

Halsin, as we all know, is not a shy man.

He loves to touch you and doesn’t give a fuck who sees lmao.

He will hold your hand or tug you closer to his side, even kiss you whenever and wherever. He does not care, he just loves having you close and feeling your skin against his own. Even in a non sexual way.

I also know this man loves to cuddle okay??

Like I feel like he runs warm, so at night he probably doesn’t sleep with a shirt on and just has you tucked against his chest.

And he obviously, loves to kiss you just like Gale lmao.

He’s always sneakin’ a lil’ kiss.

When it comes to gift-giving, he loves the little things you bring him.

Whether it be some honey you found at the market or small little malformed wooden figures you tried your best to whittle.

He keeps and cherishes them all, something you don’t find out until you find his little stash in his pack.

If you ask him about it, he just smiles that wonderful smile and tells you he likes to have a piece of you close to him at all times.

Dammon

Okay, possible controversial idea but uh…

I feel like Dammon is a bit touch starved.

Not because he doesn’t like touch or anything but with his home being thrust into he hells and most of his time spent in the forge I just don’t see him spending time much with others.

So when it becomes apparent that your love language is physical touch, he’s a tiny bit lost at first.

But he reciprocates after a while, and soon he finds out he loves that shit too.

He loves to hold your hand, even presses a kiss to your knuckles everyonce and a while, especially if you’re both just lounging around.

I definitely peg him as one of those guys that does the whole “hand on your lower back when he passes behind you” thing and if that doesn’t make you weak in the knees idk what will.

also his tail?? I’m sorry but that man projects his emotions with his tail i swear.

You find it wrapped loosely around your leg a lot when you’re cuddled up in bed, holding you close just like his arms do.

Now, when it comes to gift giving - I think he is more used to being the one to give rather than receive.

so when you first give him a gift he is really surprised and can really only mutter a stuttered flustered thank you.

I feel like your first gift to him might be a new scarf, so even if he didn’t verbalize it well you know he loves it when he wears in nonstop for weeks after you gave it to him.

anything else you give him, small hand made trinkets and baubles, etc… you’ll soon see proudly displayed scattered around his forge.