#ended up writing it up five minutes later so now linked sigh…

[fearcvlt]

thinking about just the tip with best friend!clark…

[lightseoul]

CHAPTER 8 | ALL OUT OF LUCK

w.c. 5.1k

tags. fem!reader, pro-hero!katsuki, aged-up (26), lots of cussing, mentions of food, so much violence. like so much y'all but it's Canon-typical violence, references to (quirk) supremacist views, a (somewhat) graphic depiction of mental health issues

a/n. the content of this chapter is one of the reasons why i almost didn't start this series in the first place. as it turns out, action scenes are deceptively difficult to write—i struggled at first, but i eventually got into the groove of things and found it so fun! so much shit will go down, and i hope you find yourselves at the edge of your seats while reading this <3 please, please let me know what you think and don't be a stranger! enjoy :')

links. masterlist, ao3

You shoot up at the blaring sound of the alarm clock.

You scramble to reach and turn it off where it stands on the nightstand—quickly, before it wakes Bakugou up—a sigh of relief wracking your body when you manage to do so, a sudden stillness instantly enveloping the room.

That relief doesn’t last very long, though, because you’re once again shot with panic when you look up toward the foot of the bed, only to see the man himself already standing in front of it—fully awake.

“Fuck,” you breathe out, clutching your chest, “You scared me.”

“It’s too early to be this scared, princess,” is his pointed retort, a small hint of teasing underlying his tone. You shoot him a pained smile but don’t say anything back, not finding the courage within you to admit that your hands may or may not be already shaking in anticipatory anxiety.

Instead, you watch him as he does mobility stretches in place, breathing in through your nose and out through your mouth as he warms up his joints and rotates his limbs. He invites you to join him a moment after, and you do, if not in an attempt to ground yourself then in preparation for any physical combat that may ensue later on.

Not much is said between the two of you as you go on to prepare for the day, maneuvering silently within his bedroom and taking turns in the bathroom. He lets you get changed first, and you shimmy yourself in your most comfortable office clothes, finding almost immediately that describing them as ‘comfortable’ might be a stretch. Least suffocating, maybe—but the instructions were clear that you had to look the part, at least so that you could get past the guards and enter the building.

Apparently, you need to infiltrate the place organically to buy you as much time to position yourselves without raising suspicion. Mystically showing up on the premises with a man who will vanish not a moment later wouldn’t exactly be a common sight for the employees manning the CCTVs.

Well, then. You guess your long-sleeved blouse, slacks, and regrettably heeled shoes will have to do.

Not even five minutes after you step out of the restroom so he can get dressed himself, Bakugou emerges in a similarly dark, wrist-length shirt and trousers, and you’re about to comment on this unfamiliar yet…welcome sight when your eyes catch his notoriously unruly head of hair—magically pushed back, revealing his forehead.

Now, of all the things that strangely popped into your mind upon seeing him—handsome definitely wasn’t one of them—what you end up blurting is: “How the hell did you style it that fast?”

“Huh?” he responds absentmindedly, fiddling with his sleeves as he seats himself on the edge of the bed opposite from you. “Style what?”

You gesture towards his head. “Your hair. Hasn’t it always been a little hard to control?”

Folding his sleeves right up to his forearm, he then turns to face you, a borderline sheepish expression etched on his features. “’s some extra strong gel. Best Jeanist gifted it to me for my birthday.”

Ah.

“Yeah, well, it suits you,” you offer honestly, averting your gaze just as you think he is about to flash you a smirk. And before he can say anything: “I’m guessing you’re ditching the gauntlets for today?”

He nods, although he’s suddenly looking far from pleased. “No choice,” he intones, “My firepower will take a hit, but I can still get by without them.”

“Enough to kick some ass?”

A grin. “Always.”

You let Bakugou’s well-earned confidence infect you as you finish getting ready together, stuffing your respective bags with things you can let go of in case they get caught up in the fight, before finally walking out of your little sanctuary and into the living room. The twins are on you in an instant, installing your trackers on your chests where they’ve since taken residence for the past two weeks, pulling away without a single word afterward. You mutter a quick thanks, before walking toward Bakugou on the couch and asking him what he wants for breakfast.

“Something light,” is his answer. “Don’t wanna be bogged down by a heavy stomach.”

You end up getting him french toast with a protein shake—whether or not that was light for a man his size, you have no idea—while ordering a croissant and iced tea for yourself. You don’t bother asking the twins if they want to get something as well—opting to just get them breakfast sandwiches and coffee instead. You heard a stomach grumble just a few minutes ago—and it definitely wasn’t yours or Bakugou’s.

The food arrives just as quickly as it did the night prior, and you waste no time digging in. To your pleasant surprise, the twins accept the offering, albeit too begrudgingly for your taste. Maybe letting them starve was the smarter move for today’s final mission, but as you watch them scarf everything down in a matter of minutes, you decide that that’s a trade-off you’re willing to overcompensate for.

By the time you’ve finished eating and cleaning up, it’s a few minutes before 6 AM, and you resolve that as far as D-Days are concerned, the start of this one is going swimmingly well.

Right up to the moment Kouki materializes and grabs Bakugou’s wrist but not yours.

“Change of plans.”

At that, you instantly freeze just as Bakugou barks: “The fuck do you mean change of plans?”

That doesn’t seem to faze the teleporter, who instead regards the pro-hero with a stern, almost chastising look. “You’re needed in one of the schools. You’re coming with me.”

Somehow, you snap out of it. “But you said—”

“It’s a direct order,” he spews, now looking at you with such intensity that has your blood turning cold. “One that you have to follow. Unless…”

“Unless, what?” growls Bakugou.

He smiles. “Unless you want us to call off the entire operation and teleport where you can’t find us.”

Fuck.

Beside you, Bakugou must be thinking the exact same thing, because he suddenly goes quiet.

Kouki harrumphs. “That’s what I thought.”

Neither Bakugou nor you say anything else in protest after that, acutely aware of the gamble that has to be made.

It’s clear as day: either you follow the order and divide and possibly conquer, or resist and lose them altogether.

Perhaps for good.

Armed with the explosives Bakugou made himself, no less.

You chance a glance at the pro-hero, and the impassive look on his face is enough to tell you what he’s decided on.

You’re running out of time and you also need to say something, you know that. Otherwise, he’s going to think there’s something more important to the two of you than seeing the operation you’ve been devotedly ‘working on’ to fruition.

Something beyond just two lovers ensuring each other’s safety.

Forcing yourself to meet Kouki’s steely gaze, you finally relent and nod. “How’s the rest of us gonna get to our post, then?”

“I’ll come back right after I teleport him,” comes his speedy answer, seemingly satisfied with your newfound enthusiasm. “I’ll take you three to where Masaki is waiting near the Prime Minister’s Office.”

“He’s already there?” you can’t help but ask, suddenly nervous at the mention of the kingpin.

You still don’t know his quirk.

“Yes, and he mustn’t be kept waiting,” Kouki says cuttingly, before turning to regard Bakugou, whose wrist he’s still holding. “We’ve to get going.”

“Alright,” the pro-hero grits out, shrugging off the man’s hold, “Just—give me a sec.”

For a second, you think he’s going to head to the restroom to pee before the ‘mission’ starts, but then he’s stepping towards you, and you barely manage to stop yourself from tilting away when he leans into your space, immediately followed by a firm grip on your shoulders. Despite yourself, you gulp.

Bakugou lets out a long exhale. He’s not looking at you—you note—gaze directed towards the floor. You decide then and there that you don’t like seeing him like this.

Like he’s actually…scared.

“Hey,” you whisper, and he looks up, finally meeting your eyes. You almost stumble at the sheer intensity of them.

Almost.

In spite of that—and you don’t know how you do it—you manage to smile at him, as genuinely as you can.

“What are you so worried about?” you tease, voice soft enough for just him to hear. “I’ll be okay.”

To your dismay, that doesn’t make Bakugou laugh—countenance still grim—but his features do soften. So minutely, the change is almost imperceptible—but it’s there.

“How can you be so sure?” he actually whispers back.

That makes you grin, the answer already at the tip of your tongue.

“Because you don’t date losers.”

Now, at your quip, you expected him to at least smile. Maybe chuckle, if that punchline came out funnier than you intended it to.

But what you absolutely didn’t expect was for him to grab you by the neck and pull you into a kiss.

It takes you a second to realize what’s happening, body rigid in utter surprise, but you eventually relax into his hold, wrapping your arms around his torso as he deepens the kiss. A few more seconds pass by with your lips interlocked before he finally pulls away, face flushed and a little out of breath.

“Be careful,” he eventually gets out a beat later, and you nod, suddenly hyperaware of the three pairs of eyes watching you.

Kouki’s especially.

“You, too,” you call out to Bakugou as he lets go and returns to the spot beside Kouki, who once again takes his gauntlet-less wrist.

“We’ll be off, then,” the old man announces, and just like that, they’re gone.

Kouki returns���alone—in record time, an inexplicable expression written on his face. You debate whether or not to ask him how things are at Bakugou’s location, ultimately deciding against it when the man impatiently beckons you to move. You promptly approach and hold onto him just as the twins adjust their portkeys without much complaint, all the while trying to ignore the churning sensation at the pit of your stomach.

The borderline nauseating feeling doesn’t get any better as you get whisked away from Bakugou’s apartment unit in a matter of seconds, suddenly finding yourself sat as you emerge in what you think is an SUV—judging by the size of its interior. You squirm in your seat—too caught up in the discomfort of being squished between Kouki and Omiru in the back—to notice it.

But then you look up, and when you do, the churning from earlier stops and your stomach drops entirely.

From where he’s conveniently plastered in the driver’s seat, Masaki turns to fully face you, smiling.

Or at least you think he is, based solely on the upturn of his lips.

Because hiding his gaze is what seems to be hardened, high-tech goggles.

Goggles that completely block your view of his eyes.

Fuck.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

You vaguely register Masaki thanking Kouki for bringing the three of you to him, and you think Kouki must’ve teleported away judging from the faint swell in wiggle room at your sides. But you couldn’t recall when that was exactly, and this very thought sends another shot of panic through you, the taste of bile now blooming in your throat.

You know what you have to do.

Clenching your eyes closed, you center your attention on the primary emotion you’re feeling—fear, unmistakable fear—and pull.

Instantly, you feel your facial muscles relax, cautious enough to let the change appear slowly—both in your face and in your frame.

The last thing you need is to inadvertently confirm any suspicion about your quirk.

Even if it means using a huge chunk of today’s reservoir on yourself.

Taking a deep breath, you let your eyes flutter open, and you’re once again met with the sight of Masaki, whose torso is now turned towards you.

Shit.

You scramble for something to say.

“I-isn’t it a bit too early?” you ask, averting your gaze toward the car window. “Is the Prime Minister even around at this hour?”

You don’t get to see Masaki’s reaction to your sudden question—you wouldn’t be able to study his eyes anyway—but you hear him shuffle in his seat, turning back to face forward. “Yes, he’s expecting a visitor.”

A million questions come up in your head—how he even knows that information is one of them—but what you end up asking is: “How about the rest?”

That must’ve been the right query to ask, because Masaki hums in what you think is approval. “People will be there, Y/N. When the Prime Minister’s around, most of the employees are expected to be present.”

You guess that makes sense.

You don’t say anything else after that, opting to peer at Masaki through the rearview mirror instead. To your surprise, he shifts his head towards the very same mirror, and you’re almost sure he’s looking straight back at you.

He smiles again. This time, a little too knowingly.

“Is there something—” he starts, before trailing off and pointing to his eyepiece. “Oh, this?”

You bristle. Still, you feign ignorance. “Huh?”

“You seem to have been staring at my glasses.”

You let your brows furrow, as if in confusion. “I…don’t think I was?”

“Cut the crap, Y/N,” Omiru suddenly spits at you from the side, and you startle.

“What the—”

“Now, now, Omiru,” scolds Masaki with that placating tone of his. “Y/N might’ve been lying to us but we still have a mission to finish.”

You blanch. “Lying?”

“Unfortunately, yes,” comes the leader’s quiet response, who’s watching the scene unfold behind him through the mirror. “It’s a pity our surveillance men took so long to notice, how you had us acting strangely, that day we met.”

Masaki cocks his head to the side, before: “Your quirk works via eye contact, doesn’t it?”

You stiffen.

“Thought so,” he concludes, and you bite back the urge to close your eyes in defeat. It’s too early to give up.

“Don’t worry, though,” he adds on after a beat, finally bringing the engine to life. “Nothing will happen as long as you cooperate and use luck when I tell you to.”

…Luck.

Did he just say luck?

Your eyes must’ve widened a bit at what he just said, because he continues. “Ah, Bakugou?” he asks, and suddenly you’re hit with the guilt of not thinking about the pro-hero.

Especially when he says the next thing.

“Like I said,” Masaki drawls, “As long as you cooperate, no one gets harmed.”

A pause.

“Even him.”

Your question gets answered as soon as you stop at the guard house.

Masaki’s quick to take off the goggles before rolling down his window, greeting the primary security guard with such innocence you definitely couldn’t have guessed he was on his way to an assassination if you based on just the encounter alone.

The guard flashes him an easy grin as he greets back, before bringing the walkie-talkie that’s velcroed on his shoulder closer to his mouth. “Masaki Kento of the Korean Consulate, heading towards Building C. I repeat, Masaki Kento to Building C.”

A bunch of static emanates from the device, immediately followed by a robotic voice. “Copy that. Let him in.”

At that, Masaki salutes him a thanks, which the guard returns fervently. You don’t even get to catch a glimpse of the former’s eyes before he’s got the window up and the eyepiece swiftly back on his face.

“Let me guess,” you pipe up as Masaki rounds a curb and drives more slowly as you enter the grounds, “You’re a consul and these two are your domestic bodyguards.”

“Yes,” Masaki readily confirms, “That is correct.”

That explains why he’s almost never present in the headquarters.

“Huh,” is the only thing you can muster, focus now trained on any human that you pass by.

The less they are in number, the better—is what Bakugou said. So far, most if not all of them are decked out in attire guards would normally wear, which you think isn’t much of an unfamiliar sight in this estate.

Eventually, you arrive at the front of what you believe is Building C, stepping out of the vehicle with your handbag in tow a moment later, smoothing the crinkled lines of your slacks. You pretend not to pay attention as an again bare-faced Masaki hands over the keys to the valet, who is off with the vehicle in seconds to what he said was the multi-story car park.

You don’t dare utter a word as you trail behind the man carrying a bulky briefcase you’re positive contains nothing but bombs, with the twins walking in step behind you. You keep your eyes fixed on the staircase as you do, painfully aware of how your nerves are coming back alive, and this time, somewhat more fiercely than before.

You know better than to waste another ounce of your quirk on yourself, though.

And so with ragged breath, you trudge on with anxiety creeping back up your spine, up until you’re met with another guard at the entrance, who makes a quick work of identifying the four of you. You’re introduced as Masaki’s new personal assistant, while the others just reiterate their established titles. The guard then grants you entry, but not before instructing you to register your name at the reception desk.

Masaki thanks the man on your behalf, and then finally—you enter.

The second that you do, though, you can tell something’s wrong.

For one, right behind the desk that you were ordered to approach, was nobody. Not one receptionist.

Nor are there janitors, guests, employees, or anyone that could possibly be in the Prime Minister’s Office at this hour.

Masaki, who just put on the goggles again, must have thought the same thing, because you catch him physically tensing, like this wasn’t part of the plan.

You’re about to ask him—genuinely—why the place seems to be deserted, when it happens.

Something fast lurches from the shadows in your peripheral vision, and you stumble back just in time to see Hiroto slammed to the ground by no other than Kirishima.

The male twin lets out a yelp in pain as the hardened hero wrestles him in his grip, all at the same time as a long string of tape suddenly fills your vision. You look up, and sure enough, there’s Sero swinging right into Omiru foot first, hitting the woman square in the jaw. She staggers violently backward, right into you—but the collision doesn’t happen, because a hand grabs your wrist out of nowhere and you’re pulled to the side.

A tidal wave of relief washes over you as you let yourself get forcefully dragged, but it’s instantly replaced with terror when you look up to see Masaki’s backside instead. From a distance, you hear Kirishima’s voice call out your name, and it snaps you out of your fear-driven trance. Renewed with unbridled strength, you put as much of your weight as you can on your soles and try to wrangle your hand out of his grip, but it’s too strong.

Masaki manages to haul you toward the end of the hallway, throwing you right into an elevator and punching the close button before you can pick yourself back up on your feet. You barely see him pressing the top-most floor before he turns around and grabs you by the shoulders, pinning you hard against the wall.

“You told them about us, didn’t you,” he seethes, manic, but you don’t dare say anything. At your silence, he lifts you a breadth’s hair away from the surface only to slam you back against it. You can’t help it—this time, you cry, a sharp pain sent straight to your back.

“Answer me,” he demands, and you’re just about to knee him in the balls when the elevator dings. You wait for Masaki to get distracted and look away so you can deliver the blow, but it doesn’t happen. His gaze seemingly remains fixed on yours even as he lugs the two of you out of the box, grip unrelenting as he approaches the nearest fire alarm device, smashing the glass before pulling down the lever.

Almost instantaneously, tens of alarms ring out not just on your floor but on the ones below you, and you can only watch in horror as the numbers on top of the elevators freeze.

“Kouki,” Masaki rasps into his earpiece, his two hands busy holding you at arm’s length. “Kouki, do you copy?”

You growl, a surge of indignation washing over your entire body at him blatantly ignoring you. You extend your leg from underneath in an attempt to trip and then pin him down, but he takes notice in the nick of time and staves off your attack.

“Kouki,” he tries again, even as you manage to ram a punch into his stomach, “Answer me!”

You grit your teeth, feeling your limbs quaking as you fight to fend off his grip. Still, your mind wanders as to why he’s calling Kouki now, of all times.

What, so he can teleport him and the twins out of here?

But then he speaks again, and you see crimson red.

“Kouki, kill him now!”

Your body moves before your brain can think—you throw yourself onto Masaki and grab him by the neck. He stumbles backward until he collapses and his back hits the floor, and you take that as an opportunity to immediately straddle him, increasing the pressure on your chokehold. He splutters for a bit, arms flailing and scratching at you, but before you can even think about trying to rip off his eyepiece and potentially taking the upper hand—at least until Kirishima and the rest arrive—he rolls over and has got you pinned under his weight in seconds. He pulls the same move and roughly wraps his hands around your neck, instantly cutting off the air to your lungs. You wheeze, and yet you still struggle even as you feel the last bits of oxygen die out.

He grins at you, and one look at the man’s face tells you he’s gone mad. “You’re on the wrong side of history, Y/N.”

Great, you think to yourself. Those can’t be the last fucking words you hear before you die.

You make one last attempt at seizing his wrist off of you, but—just like many other things in the past five minutes—that doesn’t get to happen, because something flashes in the corner of your eye—so quickly you think you must’ve imagined it. You squint, and in hindsight maybe you shouldn’t have, because, in the second that you do, Masaki is kicked off of your body and slammed straight into the far wall.

Shellshocked, you crawl backward with your forearms as fast as you can, not knowing what the fuck just happened.

But that’s when you see him.

You can only watch in disbelief as Bakugou propels himself across the room in a matter of a millisecond, towering over Masaki’s body instantaneously. “Get back!” Bakugou shouts, and it takes you a beat to realize that he’s talking to you.

You didn’t need to be told twice.

With the little, remaining strength you can muster, you manage to stand back up and hobble towards the corner of the room, farthest from where the two are currently engaging in a fistfight.

It doesn’t take long for you to realize that Masaki’s holding up better than you expected him to, and the very same realization must’ve dawned on Bakugou, because the pro-hero swiftly switches gears and starts detonating small explosions toward the man’s direction.

But then the weirdest thing happens.

Instead of being hit by Bakugou’s blasts, Masaki absorbs them—right where the combustions meet his body—

And then, in the blink of an eye, releases it—almost twice in size—straight into Bakugou.

You hear the pro-hero curse just as he barely manages to dodge the hit. The discharge reaches the wall, leaving scorched marks and massive craters on the surface.

This is bad.

And you don’t even have to look at Bakugou to know that.

Still, the pro-hero presses on, and you stand there—restless—as the fight resumes in front of you. Bakugou’s stopped using his quirk to attack altogether, only using it to expertly maneuver himself in the air. Masaki’s fending off the strikes well enough, even landing a few hits here and there. You try to hold eye contact with him—but it’s no use. He’s still wearing the goggles, and you’ve studied them long enough this morning to be fairly sure that it’ll take more than just a perfect kick to the head to have it taken off.

That’s when it dawns on you.

You can’t manipulate Masaki. That’s for sure.

But you can manipulate Bakugou, who—based on what you can see—is becoming more and more frantic by the minute.

No fucking time to hesitate.

“Bakugou!” you shout, and the man doesn’t even glance in your direction, only shouting back: “What?!”

“Look at me!” you yell, pupils darting in record speed as you follow Bakugou’s volatile line of vision. You weren’t about to miss him when he does.

He doesn’t question your request, but he doesn’t immediately look at you either, too wrapped up in hitting Masaki and not getting hit back.

But then Masaki’s suddenly got him pinned against the wall across you, and you find yourself immediately face to face with him. You scream, “Now!”

Exactly right on cue, Bakugou’s gaze drifts from Masaki’s face to yours, and when you lock eyes, you pull.

Manic adrenaline to laser-sharp acuity.

Acuity that he’s always had since you met him in high school.

As hard as you fucking can—and with all that you have left—you pull.

And just like that, Bakugou’s entire countenance changes. You can only watch as the metaphorical gears in his head seem to come alive and shift—just as he throws Masaki off of him with unmatched force.

But then he does the unimaginable.

He starts bombarding the man with explosions—one blast after another, not allowing him the chance to even sit up and shield himself—and you stare in outright shock as Masaki’s body glows redder and redder.

Just as you think Bakugou’s completely lost his mind with the series of attacks, he launches himself from the wall and dives into Masaki, grabbing the man’s arm, tugging him to the nearest door with one hand and yanking the slab of wood open with the other.

And only as Bakugou throws Masaki into what you think is a janitor’s closet and locks the door behind him does it hit you like a ton of bricks.

“Come on!” Bakugo shouts at you as he presses his entire weight against the door—the door that Masaki’s desperately trying to get through. “Help me lock him in!”

You look around the room for something you can use, your eyes immediately landing on a chair and a moderately-heavy-looking desk. You waste no time grabbing the two pieces of furniture and hauling them toward Bakugou as fast as you can. Taking the chair first, you tilt it by the backrest and lodge it underneath the doorknob until it’s secure enough. You then hurriedly drag the desk to the other side and slide it in front of the door, just as Bakugou propels himself upward and out of the way.

You don’t get to do anything else before Bakugou snatches you by your waist and boosts the two of you toward the floor-to-ceiling windows, smashing against them shoulder-first. You hold onto him for dear life, wincing at the impact even though Bakugou took most of it.

And you’re glad you did everything the way you just did—because not even a second later, the explosion finally goes off—an eruption so massive that you’re both thrown forward from the sheer magnitude alone, the sound of shattering windows and crumbling walls booming in the background. Bakugou loses his balance for a second and you shriek, but he manages to get back into thrusting you into the air with his detonations, carrying you securely in his arms until you reach the ground, gently letting go of you when you do.

The moment your toes touch the concrete floor, though, you’re quick to jump on your feet and hobble away from him.

“Hey—”

Quickly, you tell yourself as you feel the tell-tale pinpricks of tears at the corners of your eyes. Before it’s too late.

But you don’t get to go far enough because Bakugou grabs your wrist, spinning you to look at him. “The fuck do you think you’re go—”

He cuts himself off, the scowl that was just carved on his features instantly falling when he sees your face. “Are you—crying?”

“N-no,” you choke out, although you know it’s no use denying it. You’re already feeling the all-too-familiar closing-in sensation that comes with you overextending yourself.

“Yes, you are, dumbass,” Bakugou retorts, before bringing up his other hand to lightly touch your cheek. “Tell me, what’s wrong?”

At the contact, you clench your eyes closed, fighting down the urge to whimper at the steadily increasing pace at which your heart is irregularly racing.

There’s no doubt about it.

It’s now flooding you—the terror that you’ve secretly been tamping down with your own quirk this entire mission—but especially today.

“Fuck—” you warble, and now you’re sure.

You’re having an anxiety attack.

It all happens in a blur—your brain too muddled with palpable fear to keep track of everything around you—but you vaguely register Bakugou wrapping his arms around you and rubbing soothing circles on your back, as he tried to guide your erratic breathing with his.

You remember shaking violently in his hold, gasping for air and barely managing to will yourself to breathe normally as an undercurrent of dizziness coursed through your veins.

You recall sweating bullets but being cold to the touch, and Bakugou ripping out one of his sleeves to use to wipe away your perspiration. It didn’t really help.

And you don’t know how much time passes with you fighting the nausea on top of everything, even as you heard the distant sound of police sirens, but it does—it somehow does—eventually and strangely finding yourself carried away home.

Home to Bakugou’s.

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[sports-on-sundays]

people change / CL16 / Part 1

Summary: dad!Charles x French!ex!reader - You wish you could just forget about the relationship. It's hard when you had a son together.

Warnings: 'Y/s/n' means 'your son's name', you are free to imagine the son as whatever age he acts because I leave that unspecified, mention of breaking up/divorce, broken family, censored cussing, getting drunk, toxic relationship, me sucking at writing kids (how do they even act???)

Requested?: No.

Author's Note: This was heavily inspired by the song People Change by for KING & COUNTRY at the end there especially. I listened to it while writing. So you're free to look that up and have a listen. Link to part 2 / Link to part 3

"Hey, sweetie," you say as you buckle your son into the car. "How was your day at school?"

"Fun... But Mama, I didn't know what to do."

"Hm? When didn't you know what to, love?" you ask, concerned.

"Well, we did papers and pictures about our mommies and daddies and our houses and stuff and I didn't know, Mama..."

You stop after he says this, pulling your hands away as they tremble. Your heart, at those words from your son, feels like it's being wrenched out of your chest, and you cough into your arm. "O- Oh, sweetheart..." you clear your throat. "Well, why don't you first draw pictures and write about me and my house, and then you write and draw about your daddy and his house..."

Your son does a pouting face at this. "Mama..." he complains. "Why can't you and Daddy be like other kids' mommies and daddies?"

"Love, I don't think this is the time to be talking about this. Let's just get driving home now." You hate to shut him down, but he's asking too many questions that you just can't answer.

He's asking too many questions that are making you feel too confused and guilty.

"Hey, buddy. What's up?" you smile as you get out of the car to help your son pack his bags into the trunk, and then get in the backseat. You're doing this right outside Charles' house. You're picking him up from his weekend with his dad.

The little boy shrugs as you buckle him in. "I want my grey bag, Mama! Daddy gave me some food for the ride."

"What do you say?"

"Please!" he pouts.

You nod, and give him his bag. Charles is always sure to equip Y/s/n with a bagful of healthy snacks for the hour and forty-five minute drive back home.

The whole ride, Y/s/n is unusually quiet. Even when you try talking to him, he gives short answers and makes no effort to continue the conversation. Which is very unusual from the usually frisky and excitable little boy.

When you get home and go inside, he immediately goes to his room, still not saying anything.

You sigh, feeling worried.

Did...

Did Charles do something?

Even though the two of you separated for big reasons, you've never felt too worried about Y/s/n going to see him every other weekend, except for maybe at the beginning. Over the years, you're pretty sure that Charles has gotten more responsible than how he once was.

"Dinnertime, love!"

Silence.

"Love?"

"I'm not hungry!"

You sigh, the worry sinking deeper. "You should have saved some of your dad's snack for later, then! I made dinner for you!"

Silence. Again.

You walk down the hall and knock on his bedroom door, before gently pushing it open. The little boy is sitting on his red bed. In his hand is his Ferrari hat. He's blankly staring at it.

Oh God no. What did Charles do? What did Charles say? Doesn't he understand the unspoken boundaries about this?

"Y/s/n?" you say gently, sitting down next to him. "What's wrong, sweetie? You know you can tell me. I'm listening."

The boy looks older than he is right now. You feel a sharp pang in your chest as he murmurs, "Why do you and daddy live in different countries? How come I have two houses, two bedrooms... two everything? How come, Mama?"

It takes all you have to not tear up. You wrap your arms tightly around him at this. He leans against you, hugging you back.

"Andre and Alex have a mommy and daddy who live in the same house. How come you and Daddy don't?"

"Y/s/n, it's really complicated, love. But, can I ask... What has got you thinking of all of this, love? What has got this on your mind?" You speak in a very gentle tone, rubbing his back. Obviously, this is upsetting him. Really, though, what kid wouldn't be upset?

Your son looks at you in hesitation. "I'm not allowed to say..."

You feel another pang of worry. "Love, it's okay. You can tell your mama anything."

"But Daddy told me not to."

You swallow nervously. "You're not doing anything wrong by telling me. I'm giving you permission. I can't have you feeling this upset, love. You can tell me anything that's bothering you, even if your father told you not to." Y/s/n is too much of a good kid. You don't know where he gets it from.

You wipe your son's watering eyes, trying to reassure him. He sniffs, before saying, "You won't tell Daddy?"

"Tell Daddy what?"

"What I'm gonna tell you."

You bite your lip. "Of course not, love. I won't tell your daddy."

He nods, before saying, as he starts to really cry, "Daddy cried, Mommy... I wasn't allowed to know but I couldn't sleep because Daddy forgot to read me my story. So I was going in to tell him to snuggle me... because I couldn't sleep. But Daddy was crying..." Y/s/n sniffs, and continues blubbering, "Daddy was talking to someone on the phone and he was really sad... I don't know why Daddy was crying, Mama. He said he was sad because he missed you and me to the person on the phone. Daddy was so sad so I don't know why we don't make Daddy happy and why can't my mommy and daddy be like my friends' mommies and daddies?" He lets out a sob, snuggling into you. You're speechless as your son continues, "I went and gave Daddy a hug because he was sad. He said he missed you. He asked me why I was up and said I was in trouble and said I wasn't allowed to tell you he was sad and crying. He said even daddies cry sometimes," he sniffs and lets out another sob. You hold him tight, eyes wide. "I asked him how come he was sad and he said he didn't know and he loved me and then we went to bed. I don't get it, Mama."

You try not to tremble.

Fighting off tears, because the last thing Y/s/n needs is to see his mom cry on top of it all. Not sad tears, though. Angry tears.

Why can't Charles just let go? He's so possessive and obsessive. F*ck him and his Monaco flat and his boat and his Ferrari and everything f*cking else. Why would he let his son see him so vulnerable. Doesn't he care? F*ck him.

Why can't he just let go?

You walk down the hall of the mall, your son's little hand in yours, heading to the food court because eventually, Y/s/n's complaining about how 'I'm hungryyyyy!' got too annoying, and you gave in.

Suddenly, though, his little hand slips out of yours. You look down at him in confusion, starting to say his name. He starts running away. You're about to go after him, but suddenly freeze when the little boy shouts, "Look, Mama, look! It's Daddy! Daddy! Hi, Daddy! Hiiiii!"

And sure enough, Charles Leclerc stops as soon as he sees his son, a grin spreading across his face. He adjusted his cap to be lower on his forehead, clearly trying to go incognito here. But he bends down, and the moment little Y/s/n reaches Charles, his father scoops him up into his arms, standing up with an, "Auwgh," noise, as if it were really hard for the strong man to pick up his light son. Charles holds him tight, in an embrace, before saying, "What's up, buddy? Where's your mama?" Y/s/n points, and Charles looks up.

Your eyes meet. And everything stops. The voices, the music, the whir of the escalators, the lights, heating, and air conditioning all making their own sounds, the people walking past- everyone else living their own lives disappear.

And it's just you and Charles, eyes locked, staring at each other.

Heartbeats or seconds or minutes, you don't know. You feel a certain electricity that hurts. Shocks you. Maybe Charles likes how it feels though. Maybe he loves that, with his adrenaline seeking lifestyle. Because, after all, he doesn't look away.

But in the same way, you don't either.

Finally, it's your son that breaks the trance you seemed to go into with your ex-husband, by saying suddenly words that stress you out and tear you apart at the same time: "See, Daddy?" He pats his father's cheek, which has a little bit of facial hair. "You don't have to cry anymore... You don't..." Suddenly, he looks a little scared, realizing he wasn't supposed to say that, but finishes softly with, "You don't have to miss Mama anymore, Daddy, because she's right here..."

There's almost a pleading in your son's eyes. A longing. You feel yourself start to tear up, but you strive to hold them back. Y/s/n. He loves us. He loves his parents so much. He just wishes they would love each other.

Charles shakes his head in surprise, stroking Y/s/n's hair, "Buddy, it's okay. Don't worry. I'm okay. I don't-" he falters for just a moment before finishing quickly, glancing to you nervously, "I don't miss Mama anymore. Don't worry."

"But I miss Mama." At this, both of you look at your son in confusion.

"But Y/s/n, Mama is right here," Charles says carefully, taking more steps closer to you. "See? Do you want to go with M-"

"No!" your son suddenly snaps, and says as if it is the most obviously thing on earth, "When I'm with Daddy, I miss Mama. When I'm with Mama, I miss Daddy. I don't wanna miss you guys!"

All the sudden, it's too much for you. All of it. Before Charles can do anything else you say quickly, your voice obviously cracking and your breath shaky, "Charles, can you take him home today? I'm sorry-"

"Of course, Y/n. I-"

You turns, jogging away. You need to get out of there.

But as you run out, you hear Charles call after you, "Y/n! Y/n, wait! Y/n, we're going to talk on the phone tonight, okay? There's things we still need to go over!"

At around 3:00 A.M., Charles calls. While you're worried to answer, you're also relieved. The fact that you're still awake at 3:00 A.M. shows how much anxiety you've been feeling about getting this call from Charles.

When you pick up, you murmur softly, "Hey, Charles."

"Sorry I'm calling at this hour. God. I just had to make sure Y/s/n was sound asleep. I'm, uhm," he pauses to clear his throat awkwardly, and continues in a softer, more delicate voice, "I'm sure Y/s/n told you about the phone call the other weekend..."

"Y- Yeah, he did. What did you do? Did you scare him into not telling me? He was crying," you say, your voice becoming harder and harder as you speak.

"What?! No! I just asked him please not to tell you. That was it. Maybe he was crying because..." Charles trails off.

"Because why?" you snap, although the sinking feeling within tells you exactly why.

"Y/n..." he sighs loudly. "Because our son loves us and doesn't get why... w- we... don't- don't, uhm.... love each other." The facts that he falters so much on that last phrase, that it's so hard for him to get out, sends a pit in your stomach. Of dread, and anger.

And without another hesitation, you just say it. "Charles... you still love me, don't you?"

There's silence over the phone. Sickly, disgusting, terrible silence. The anger rises up in you higher and higher, like a pressure, trying to push you on your tipping point. So finally you snap, probably way too loud, "Charles, what the hell! F*ck you. I hate you, you f*cking asshole. You're too much of a f*cking coward to even say it! Just like you've always been!" Your voice gets louder and louder. "Just like you've always been! Too much of a f*cking coward to admit anything! You tricked me! You had me thinking everything was peaches and cream, but it wasn't! You were being a terrible person and played innocent, and whenever I asked you anything, you did the same exact thing you still do. You just keep silent. Charles, I know you'll never grow, I hate that my son has to see your sorry ass every other weekend, and if I knew it wouldn't break his sweet little heart, I would wish your pathetic silent self would just fall off the face of the earth so I didn't have to ever have to listen to your stupid, pathetic silence ever again."

"Y/n, I-" You hang up. Charles doesn't try to call back.

Years ago.

Charles came in and stumbled into your arms, as if you were the one that needed to take care of him. You were tired, having stayed up with your fussy baby boy nearly all night, with no help, and you wanted to cry. You didn't want Charles to stumble in, drunk, right into your arms, as if he was the one who needed help. No. He was the one causing the problem. He had reeked of alcohol. He didn't get drunk this often, and you knew exactly why he was doing it now, although he'd been too scared while sober to admit it to you. It was the argument you'd had, and his way of coping was going out, getting drunk, and coming home to his wife and baby at three in the morning, wasted. Now, while drunk out of his mind, he was able to murmur, his words slurred tremendously, "Y/n... I'm sorry, love... You should've come with me tonight. I had fun... We could... make up for that argument..." He had a sickly seductive tone in his voice.

You felt rage fill up in you. Did you forget about your son? The son that you and I created together? Did you forget about that? Instead of letting any of that rage escape you, you just brought him to the bedroom and helped him into bed. You left him, walked to the living room, sat down on the couch, and held your aching, tired head, pulling at your hair, as tears escaped your closed eyelids.

Your world was spinning. Everything was wrong.

The argument. You had started it. And yelled at him. About how he was a coward and never told the truth. Even though you loved him. You thought. You must've. You... You had a son together. You yelled at him for telling you he was working when he wasn't. You yelled at him that he wasn't helping you at all and that you were going out of your mind. You said you felt like a single mom because he was never around, never helped, and never tried to. He lied and told you that an event he had mentioned that you were excited for was cancelled because he had found out more things about the event that he didn't want to deal with himself. He was becoming more and more selfish, showing who he really was more and more every single day. It just made you think- what is he doing when he gets drunk? What else is he being dishonest about?

Eventually you stopped loving him. You loved your son much more, so you broke it off. The final tipping point was when you suspected he had cheated, although nothing had ever proved that. But that was when you finally broke it off.

He was heartbroken. He held onto you. No, Y/n, please don't do this. I'll try better. I'll try better. You had told him that he had been saying he'd try better for the past year.

He had cried. Maybe even sobbed. You only saw him sob twice. Once was one time when he was drunk out of his mind, and the other one was that night when you told him you were breaking it off. I guess Y/s/n has seen him sob a third time, though.

He had said to you that he still loved you. You had said if you loved me, you wouldn't have done this. And that was the end of it.

Or so you thought.

You can't believe you're here. You can't believe he convinced you. You set up for your mother to watch Y/s/n while you drive into Monaco and.

Well, yeah. Go to Charles' God-forsaken house. To meet with him. 'Have a talk' as he put it. 'In real life.' So he can 'see your face and expressions.' And 'understand better.'

Charles opens the door. He's wearing a black t-shirt, grey jeans, and has his usual assortment of different bracelets on his wrists. And a disgustingly expensive watch. As you walk into his (beautiful) flat, you see that it hasn't changed much since you left and moved a couple hours closer to home, back in France. Just a little cleaner. But just like how it was when you lived here, there's still a stray toy on the floor here and there. As if reading your mind, he bends down, picking up a few of them, before putting them in a basket in the corner of the room. He runs his hand through his messy, wavy brown hair, looking a little awkward. "Why don't you sit down?" he asks softly, gesturing to the couch by a nod of his head. "Make yourself... comfortable... Uh... I made some cookies. Consider it a peace offering. And I... I really tried to make them good, too. I'm just going to go grab them." And before you can think or react, he's walking out of the room to grab them.

When he returns with the cookies, he sits down next to you, holding the little plate out to you. You hesitantly take one, nibbling off a little bite, nervously glancing to Charles. "It's fine..." you say. In your taste, too sweet (and slightly gooey) but besides that, alright. "But I just want to get this over with, okay? Charles can we just... have this talk? So I can go?"

Your ex husband stared down, before nodding slowly. "Yeah... Of course." He falters, before murmuring, "I love our son just as much as you do. And it hurts me to see him-"

"My God, Charles, shut up. I know what this is about. It's about you being selfish," the bitterness in your voice surprised even yourself, "You're being selfish because for some twisted reason, you still want to be with me, and you're using my son's pain as an excuse. You're just as you've always been- selfish, lying, and making excuses."

"Y/n, no it's not!" he snaps, his eyes pleading. "I- I- I want the best for our son."

"Charles, do you still love me?"

He stares at you. Hesitates. Falters. He inhales a shaky breath, before looking down at his hands in his lap. "All these years I've never dated another woman. All these years the guilt has crushed me."

"Shut up!" you spit. "It's not guilt, Charles, of hurting me your or son. It's guilt because you wouldn't wanted to be with me longer. It's selfish. You're f*cking selfish!"

He practically begs, "Please, babe, just listen-"

"What did you just call me?"

He stares in surprise at what he just said. He swallows. "I'm sorry- It- It just came out..."

You glare, and shout, "You still love me, you dick! I hate you! You- You cheated on me!"

He cuts you off by grabbing your arm suddenly. There's a desperate look in his eyes. "Y/n... No, I didn't... I swear it on my life.. On my job, on everything I love... I would..." You're shocked to watch as a singular tear gently rolls down one of his cheeks. He's holding back more. The salty, warm tear drops right onto your palm. You wipe it off. Charles eyes plead with you as he murmurs, his voice cracking, "I would never cheat on you..."

You stare, trying to form more words, not knowing what to say.

But Charles continues, "I don't know where you got the idea I cheated on you... I know it was hard and I was being..." Suddenly there is guilt and grief openly painted all across his face. "I was being a terrible person... Giving up the most lovely, sweet wife and baby I could've ever asked for... I was young and stupid, Y/n...Y/n... I'm sorry... I'm sorry... I swear I mean it...

"I would do anything for this to work."

Another tear falls.

"Y/n... just listen... I need you to hear me out..."

He sniffs. He seems so broken. Vulnerable. Honest.

"It's all my fault, Y/n. I know. I know. I'm sorry. And I get if you're afraid... I would be, too... but, Y/n... I wish you could just understand that... that...

"Y/n, people change."

Author's Note- Just wanted to say if you guys liked this and want a part two, I'm totally open to writing that! Let me know if you want a part two, and if you have any ideas, shoot! Like should I end this happy? Or not...? And in what way? If no one gives me ideas, I'll just come up with it, but you guys are extremely welcome to let me know!!! Thank you! <3

[fairly-linked]

Can you write something where one of the links (preferably Legend, but whatever you want) finds reader completely broken down and crying because they can’t process that the chain actually cares, as in, they’re not used to being cared about? If you can’t do it that’s okay too, put yourself first <3

-Venti

Sure thing! Enjoy!

Value (Legend x Reader)

Trigger warning: Self-loathing, self-deprecation, general angst.

Legend sighs in relief. The chain had finally made it to an inn for the night; finally, a nice, warm bed. He couldn't wait to sleep...

But then he noticed, where were you? He looks around, not seeing you anywhere amongst the chain. A bit anxiously, he saunters up to Time.

"Hey, Old Man? Have you seen (y/n)? They're not around..."

The Old Man smiles at him, crossing his arms.

"They went up to bed already, but they asked if they could room with you tonight."

The Vet raises his eyebrows in surprise. He hadn't expected you to ask to room with him... You were a gentle soul and one in complete contrast with his abrasive nature. He'd have thought you'd room with someone like Sky, who'd be quiet since he'd probably be out before you were.

Either way, he's not complaining.

"Alright. Thanks..." Legend nods at Time, who only nods in reply before his attention is dragged away. His eyes widen for a moment, and Legend follows his gaze to Wind, who's gawking at a fancy-looking piece of pottery from the lobby's end table. The sailor reaches a hand up carefully to touch it, and the old man sighs.

"Sailor, don't touch that. If you break it, you'll stay with me tonight so I can keep a proper eye on you."

Legend sees the pout on Wind's face and snorts. Time casts a glance over his shoulder to the Vet before smiling.

"...Or worse, I'll put you with the Vet and he'll use his magic to hold you down and keep you from breaking things."

Legend would almost be offended if he didn't find it funny. Wind's eyes widen before he quickly turns on his heel, walking away from the vase.

Time and Legend grin at each other, and Legend is the first to speak.

"You're evil."

"You're worse..."

"...Touché."

The Old Man lets out a hearty laugh before slapping a hand lightly onto the Vet's shoulder.

"Alright, go on up and see your friend. They're upstairs in your room." Time says, handing him the spare key.

"Thanks," Legend says as he walks off, heading up the stairs. He looks down at the key, looking for the room number...

...503?!

He groans internally, glowering at the flight of stairs ahead. He remembered you saying something about magical boxes from your world that carry you up the stairs... what were they called? Elevators?

He really wishes they were in your world right now. These "elevator" things would help immensely. But he did remember you also saying that a lot of people from your world were out of shape...

...That's probably why, then.

Five flights of stairs later, the Vet's regretting life. He takes a minute to lean against the wall, resting his aching legs.

It's not that he's out of shape; far from it, actually. Five flights of stairs is a lot, even for someone like him. He's fit, but still heavy. At least it's all muscle...

He huffs, deciding to continue. Thankfully, the room's not far, only a few doors down; but he stops when he hears something. It sounds like...

...Crying?

He hastily unlocks the door, nearly slamming it open with more force than he meant to. He catches it by the handle before it hits the wall, fumbling to close it. He sees your head shoot up in surprise; then, he notices you rub at your eyes. You're facing away from the door, but he sees the rag lying on the nightstand.

"...(Y/n)? You okay? I thought I heard you crying..."

He hears you sniffle as you shake your head.

"I'm fine. Just... stressed, is all..."

The Vet's demeanor softens. "Stressed, huh...?" He sighs, thinking about what to do. He ends up coming to sit next to you on your bed, wrapping an arm around your shoulder.

"What's goin' on? You wanna talk about it?"

You sniffle, letting yourself lean into him.

"I just.. I don't get why you all care so much." You sniffle again. "You shouldn't be caring this much, it's not... I'm not worth all that."

Legend pauses, looking down at you.

"What do you mean, you're not worth all that? Of course you are..." he mumbles, hugging you a bit tighter now. "Why on earth would you think you're not...?"

"I-I'm just... I'm not." You sob, looking up at him with eyes full of tears. "I'm just... me. I'm not special, I'm not talented, or strong like any of you guys..."

The look on your face and your words alike both break his heart.

"...Angel, of course you're worth everything. You may not be strong physically, but I know the things you've been through. Emotionally, you're stronger than even me... You're worth everything I could ever give you, any compliments or kind words I could ever say..."

He hugs you tighter, rocking you gently as you sob. Tears even prick his own eyes, but he blinks them away. He's gotta be strong here.

For you.

"Don't even think you're not worth it. Please..." He sighs, holding your face and making you look at him.

"I love you, okay?"

Both of you freeze at what he just said. He hadn't intended to say it, but... he tries to play it cool.

"Y-You do...?" You sniffle; he nods.

"Absolutely. I'd venture to say you're the only person I love this deeply."

You stare at him for a moment longer, before he smiles, kissing your cheek.

"...I do love you. A lot. And I'm gonna make those thoughts in your head love you too if it's the last thing I do." He chuckles, kissing your nose this time and listening to you giggle. He wipes away your tears with his thumbs.

"Come on now, cutie-pie... let's get some rest," he says, leaning back on the bed and pulling you down with him.

As he feels you snuggle up to him, he can't help but grin like an idiot.

"I'll always care for you, Angel. I love you."

[hellfiremovieclub]

attention seeker | eddie munson

summary: Eddie is constantly trying to get your attention. Sometimes he succeeds, sometimes he doesn’t.

warnings: suggested smut (18+ only), it’s… super brief making out??

word count: no clue :) it’s just a short blurb (edit: turns out about 500)

a/n: i was going to write headcanons but then ended up with this randomly, hope you enjoy :)

-> masterlist

(Context since this is pulled from headcanons: Eddie snapping the reader’s bra to get her attention)

Eddie pulled out his doe eyes quickly, his smile showing that he was happy to pull your attention towards him. “I ask for forgiveness?”

“And I ask that you let me read for longer than five minutes.” You couldn’t help but laugh at his desperate attempt, luring an ornery look from him.

He sighed dramatically, throwing his head back against the couch. With the back of his hand resting on his forehead you would’ve though he was coming down with something, had his theatrics not been such a huge part of his personality.

“How am I to make it so long without you?” His other hand gripped his chest.

It was hopeless that night, or at least in that moment. You shut your book and sat it aside, catching Eddie’s eye peeping at you before he shut again. He was too roguish for his own good.

You turned yourself, finding your new spot in Eddie’s lap. This was quick to earn his approval, head lifting and hands finding their place at your waist in an instant. You chuckled at his eagerness.

So quick to think he’s won, you thought.

One of your arms curled around his neck, your free hand delicately brushing his hair out of his eyes. “You’re so pretty,” you murmured.

His eyes were soft again, though with a different intention than before. Eddie’s fingers skimmed beneath the strap of your tank top to find your bra strap again.

“Maybe… it wasn’t the most mature thing, to snap your strap like that.” He put two fingers beneath the strap, gently brushing them against your shoulder.

There was an excitement in his eyes that you noted.

He continued, “But, I mean, look at where it got me.”

His eyes glanced over your face, another smile forming on his lips as he leaned forward to shower you with kisses. This pulled another laugh from you, his soft lips leaving a tingling sensation behind. Eddie was a lot to handle, you could never deny that, but the payoff was always tender.

“You really are pretty, y’know?” You cupped his cheek, “I don’t know that I say it enough.”

A hint of red came across his cheeks. You had said it a hundred times in that week alone, and if you said it a hundred more that day it would’ve had the same effect.

“Will being pretty win me anything?” He finally spoke, licking his lips.

You nodded, “It’ll win you a lot of things.”

Eddie swallowed as he watched you more carefully. You adjusted yourself in his lap, pressing closer to him and moving your hands to the more sensitive skin under his shirt. Both of his hands were found back at your waist, gently squeezing to encourage you to carry on.

His eyes fluttered shut as you leaned in and pressed a kiss against his lips. One. Two. The count got higher.

You felt Eddie’s tongue brush across your lip, and that’s when you decided to pull away. His head followed your momentarily, hoping to link yourselves together again.

“Unfortunately,” you spoke softly, “it’s not going to win you anything right now. Give me those soft eyes again in twenty minutes, we’ll see how things go.”

Eddie hadn’t really processed what you said, his hands following your waist as you climbed right back off of him.

“Now, wait a fucking minute.” Eddie shook his head, mouth open in disbelief.

“Twenty minutes! Let me read in peace, and then you can whine later.” You pressed a kiss into the corner of his lips, “Promise.”

it’s super short but 🤡

-> masterlist

[youremagicmoony]

Not much longer 

Regulus Black x reader

warnings: nothing, just fluff

word count: 520

summery: it's the last class of the day and it doesn't seem to want to end. ( definitely not projecting, hahaha)

authors note: This was quite fun and a good distraction from the work I'm supposed to be doing, it's a bit rushed, so sorry if it's a bit messy. I have many more ideas, I promise they aren't all related to school work, it's just all I've been doing lately. Hope you enjoy

...................

As you sit there, staring off into space, just waiting for the minutes to pass, you feel a light tap on your thigh.  It was the last class of the day, and the professor would not stop droning on about something that held no interest to you, the mere task of focusing on what he was saying was too much for you at the end of the day. So when you felt a tap, you turned your head, not fully willing to leave you daydreaming. 

But when you were met with the soft smillinging face of the young Black brother, your daydreaming was long forgotten, “ Ptsss, hey did you understand what he just said?” regulus asked. 

You shook your head, feeling slightly guilty that you weren't paying attention, meanwhile regulus had been furiously scribbling down notes.pencil still in hand he lent over, whispering “ when does this class end, my hand is killing me, I can't stand to write anymore” you look over at him pitifully, a smile tugging at the corners of your lips. “ 55 minutes, you can do it, love” you said, placing your hand on his back, rubbing small circles as you saw a soft rosie colour spread across his high cheekbones, bringing a peachy look  to his regularly pale skin. He let out a defeated sigh, “ 55 minutes” he muttered under his breath, picking up where he had left off with his notes. 

You went back to daydreaming when  about five minutes later you felt his pinky link with yours, moving his hand closer to yours as the seconds went by, both your hands resting on the shared set, him moving his hand ever so gently until your hand was interlocked with his. His thumb running over the back of your hand, you looking down, admiring how your hand looked in his, how incredibly small it seemed, you smiled to yourself as you saw the light catch on the ring that sat on his pinky finger. The same ring that used to sit on your hand, now on his, it had been a gift from you to him, you had remember him commenting on how beautiful the ring was and how it was his favourite one of yours, so one day you decided to surprise him with it, leaving it on his pillow so that he would find it when he went to bed. He automatically slipped it on, vowing to himself that he would never take it off, that it was a piece of you that he would cherish. 

Now every time he looks down at his hands he thinks of you and can't help but smile. You had caught him  on many occasions, fiddling with it or just staring at it with immense admiration, like it was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. 

“ How much longer” you heard him whine. “25 more minutes” you answered, looking over at his grumpy face, he looked over at you, hanging his head. “ I don't think I'm going to make it,” he said dramatically, as the most beautiful grin broke across his face, making you giggle. 

[fandomlovingfreak]

Welcome to Hawkins (11/?)

Eddie Munson x F!Reader

one two three four five six seven eight nine ten twelve

Rating: SFW (no lemon)

Includes: Friends to Lovers, Alternate Universe where Eddie & reader are around 24 (it’s still 1986 though) and Eddie isn’t from Hawkins, Fake/pretend relationship, best friends, the proposal AU (loosely based!), grocery shopping, kissing, sharing (but also not sharing)

Word Count: 1023

MasterList Link I AO3 Link I Wattpad Link

Summary: When you slip up and tell your mom you’d be bringing your “serious boyfriend” home for your week-long family reunion, who else would you turn to but your best friend, Eddie?

AU that’s loosely based on “the proposal”  (aka I rewatched and am obsessed w Eddie Munson rn) Eddie is NOT from Hawkins in this fic!

Disclaimer: I do not own Eddie Munson or the Stranger Things universe. This work has not been created for profit or financial compensation, and is a transformative fair use work in accordance with Section 107 of the United States Copyright Act.

Notes: IT'S MY BIRTHDAY! So this is my birthday gift to you<3 I hope you enjoy this chapter so much! Get ready for more kissing and fluff and sharing feelings and all that mushy stuff in the next few chapters! We're nearing the end (but don't worry it's like 5ish chapters probably left-- and who knows maybe I'll write a series about the aftermath of this fic!) and it's been so much fun to write. I hope you all have enjoyed this series!

y/ln = your last name, y/mn = your mothers name, y/dm = your dad’s name

enjoy!

I wait for what feels like an eternity on the living room couch. What could he be doing that takes this long?

"Do you mind picking up a few more things than I originally asked?" Mom walks into the room, a piece of notepad paper in her hand.

"Just at Bradley's?" I take the list from her, reading her small, perfect handwriting.

"Yes, Bradley's should have it all."

Sighing, I nod, "Yeah, we can."

Mom smiles, "Eddie's lucky your father isn't home. He's been in the shower for well over ten minutes now."

I laugh, "Should I go check on him--?"

"It wouldn't hurt," Mom shrugs, returning to her romance novel in the kitchen.

I make my way to the bathroom door, knocking lightly. When he doesn't respond, I knock louder, "Eddie?"

"What?" He yells back.

"Are you almost ready?"

The sound of the shower is all I can hear for a moment before he yells back, "Give me a minute."

"Two more tops! There's a whole list now."

He curses as the shower turns off. Another twenty seconds go by before he's opening the door, watching dripping down from his hair across his chest, hand grasping the cotton towel closed around his hips.

I blink at him, trying hard to keep eye contact, not letting my eyes drift any lower. 

I quickly mutter, "I'll be in the living room," racing back towards the couch before I do something ridiculous like kissing him again.

Minutes later, Eddie comes into the living room fully clothed, "Ready?"

I snort, "Am I ready? Mr. takes a lifetime to get ready? Yeah, I think I'm ready."

"Yeah, yeah. Let's go before you reach eighty," he sasses back. The banter feels normal, feels like how we've always been. It's comforting to see it hasn't been lost.

Shouldering past him, I grab the keys to the Cadillac off the key rack, "Let's go!"

Eddie grins mischievously, "Stealing daddy's car, are we?"

"He won't mind," I make a nonchalant hand motion walking faster towards the front door so he can't see my expression.

"How'd you know I like a bad girl?" He chuckles, closing the door behind him.

Electing to ignore that particular comment, I climb into the Cadillac, handing Eddie mom's list.

"Mrs. (y/dn) (y/ln)?" Eddie reads off the top of the floral notepad paper.

I shrug, starting the ignition, "The insurance guy sends my mom personalized notepads once and a while. You've never seen them?"

He grins down at the paper, "Nah. I lived with my uncle, remember?"

"Oh yeah, I forgot..." I look over at him apologetically.

"Don't worry about it. You know I don't."

Uncomfortable silence comes over the car for a moment before I speak, "You've never talked about your parents with me..."

"And you never talked about Nancy or Steve," Eddie shoots back, his face having fallen flat.

Shrugging, I try again, "We don't have to talk about it, but if you want to ever... You can," I tack on a quick, "With me," in case that wasn't obvious. Eddie doesn't speak for several minutes, and I keep my eyes on the road.

"I know," his voice is soft, "Maybe someday."

Glancing over at him, I see his expression has mellowed. Letting the conversation die, I turn the radio up to counter the silence.

"How do you want me to act?" Eddie suddenly asks, "When we're in public but not with your family?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well, we're going to the store. Am I going as Eddie, your boyfriend, or Eddie, your best friend?"

I'm about to say my best friend, but remember that a family member, Steve, or someone who could be introduced to Eddie eventually could be at Bradley's. The town was too small to let the deception fall even a tiny bit.

"My boyfriend," I sigh, parking the car in a spot towards the front.

"Sounds good," Eddie climbs out of the car, and I follow.

Eddie stops me before I can escape him with a whiny, "Aren't you going to hold my hand?" He stretches his arm towards me, pushing his bottom lip out in a mock pout.

"My god--" I huff under my breath, accepting the hand and pulling him towards the automatic doors into Bradley's before he can find a new way to annoy me.

"Gotta play the role, darling. We don't know who's watching." He squeezes my hand before intertwining our fingers.

"Yeah, sure. Do you have the list?"

Eddie pulls the paper from his jeans pocket, "Right here."

"Read it to me quickly," I tug him towards the cart corral.

"Uh... Watermelon, apples, milk, coffee filters, ketchup, dill pickles, potato chips, pretzels, and ice."

"We're shopping for more than the party, I see..." I glance over at Eddie.

"We'd better get started then," He takes hold of the cart, steering us towards the produce section.

Reverting to his normal self, Eddie holds up two small watermelons at chest level, "These look good, don't they?"

"You're a dork," rolling my eyes, I pick up a medium-sized melon, setting it into the cart.

"And you love it," he crowds into my space, leaning in to brush his lips against mine.

Those pesky butterflies overcome me once again. "We're never going to finish if you don't let me--"

"Oh, c'mon. It was a small kiss to show the people of Haskins--"

"Hawkins," a grin tugs at my lips at his continued mispronunciation.

"Hawkins," Eddie corrects, "that we're in love."

Redirecting us towards the apple stand, I suggest, "How about you go get the coffee filters, ketchup, and pickles and meet me in the snack aisle."

Eddie grins goofily, "Are you trying to get rid of me, (y/ln)?"

"Is it working?"

"I know when I'm not wanted," he turns around dramatically.

"Oh my god, you're such a pain in my ass--"

"You love it," he holds his hand up as he walks away. I watch him until he disappears out of sight.

"He really does look good in those jeans..." I mutter to myself before tearing my eyes away from the grocery aisles. 

Get a hold of yourself, (y/n)!

[circus4apsycho8]

could you do like,,,,gaster x reader maybe :O like if the reader was a scientist with him and they scolded eachother for not sleeping at good times and took breaks together or sum-

Hello! Sure thing! Also, sorry that the ending is a bit rushed. I may go back through later and polish it up a bit, but I think it will do for the time being. I hope you enjoy! Thank you for the request; I absolutely adore writing for Gaster. Gaster x Reader fics are so underrated!!

Pairing: Gaster x Reader

Warnings: mild cussing

...

The Fifth Phalange Promise

Your brain is dying.

Okay, so that might be an exaggeration, but it sure as hell feels like it. You rest your head on the table, a cup of your preferred hot beverage next to you.

It’s break time. Your favorite time of day right now – half an hour of doing absolutely nothing.

“Tired?”

You lift your head from its resting place, seeing one of your coworkers standing across from you. It’s none other than W.D. Gaster, standing there in his lab coat bearing a cup of monster-brewed coffee.

“A little,” you say with a soft sigh. “Nothing I can’t handle, though.”

He’s quiet for a moment as he studies you with his piercing gaze. “May I sit with you?”

“With…me?” you question, a bit of color dusting your cheeks. Gaster never sat with anyone – like you, he had never taken breaks previously until Asgore found out and forced you both to start doing so. When that happened, he only ever sat in his office, where he probably was sneaking some paperwork in rather than resting.

“That’s what I said.”

“Uh, sure,” you say, gesturing to the chair. He takes a seat and sets his mug on the table.

Wow. This feels odd. Sure, you work with Gaster on a bunch of projects, but it never went beyond a professional level. This feels…weird. More personal. You decide that you simultaneously hate it and love it.

And by the looks of it, you’re not the only one who finds this odd of Gaster. You notice that coworkers passing through are glancing at the two of you strangely.

“How long did you sleep last night?” Gaster questions suddenly. Short, and to the point. At least he’s not totally out of character.

“Enough,” you reply.

“If you slept enough, you wouldn’t have bags underneath your eyes.”

You huff an unamused laugh. “How long did you sleep, hm?”

That shuts him up. He averts his gaze, scoffing a bit.

“Very well.”

You chuckle, an idea forming. “That’s what I thought. But I think I have an idea of how long.”

“Do you really?” he challenges, leaning back in his chair.

You nod. “We were both working on the chain of custody processing until about midnight last night. It was a very sudden and large crime, so it took us a while to get it all done. Then, you went to go help the forensics unit analyze the evidence afterhours. Then, I saw you leaving at about three in the morning. And you got here today at five. So that puts you at less than two hours.”

“Observant, aren’t you?” he mumbles. “But you’re not much better. Because I happened to see you leaving at that time as well.”

“I’m really not,” you admit with a chuckle. You sip on your drink before realizing it’s gone cold, causing a frown to appear on your face.

“What is the matter?”

“Cold drink,” you say, tossing the disposable cup in the trash.

“I could use a refill. Care for a trip to Muffet’s bakery? We should have enough time.”

Your eyes widen. Gaster?! Asking you to go get coffee?! What?! Fuck it, you’re in.

“I’d like that,” you reply, smiling as you stand. Gaster offers a small smile in return. The two of you proceed to exit the building.

The day is overcast, but the temperature is just right. You sigh, inhaling the fresh air. You forgot how refreshing that was.

“It’s a nice day,” Gaster says.

“It is. It’s good to have some fresh air,” you note. A bit of movement catches your attention, as you notice Gaster is holding his arm out to you. It takes you a second to realize that he’s offering to link arms.

Wait wHAT-

You smile, sliding your arm against his. The cloth of his jacket rubs against your skin, but it’s not a bad feeling. You can feel his bones underneath too.

“To Muffet’s!” you declare, marching in the café’s direction. You’re quickly stopped when Gaster doesn’t budge.

“It’s this way,” he replies, smirking a bit as he points in the other direction.

“Oh,” you say, blushing as you chuckle nervously. “Right. I suck with directions.”

“I can tell.”

“Shut up,” you say jokingly. He smiles before the two of you quietly walk alongside each other on the sidewalk, your mind and heart racing the entire time.

This is insane. What is happening?!?!?!?!

Thankfully, Muffet’s isn’t far away, and the two of you are there in no time.

The bell above the door jingles, catching Muffet’s attention. Her eyes widen once she sees the two of you and your linked arms. You sigh, knowing you’d be grilled about this since you’re a regular here. Her gaze immediately flickers to you. You respond to her questioning gaze with an “I’ll-tell-you-later” look.

“Good morning, dearie. Gaster, it’s been a while,” she greets.

“Hey, Muffet!”

“Good morning. It has indeed. I trust you’ve been well?”

“I sure have. What can I get for you two?”

…

After the two of you have ordered and received your drinks, you settle down at a table together.

“Muffet’s coffee is way better than the crap we have at the lab,” you say.

“I agree. Hers is not as bland.”

“We should ask Asgore to replace ours with Muffet’s brand,” you note, taking another sip.

“Or we could just come here on break from now on,” Gaster suggests with a small simper.

You nearly choke on your coffee before you regain your composure. You return his smirk. “Only if you get a healthy amount of sleep tonight.”

“I will only if you do as well.”

You scoff, but sigh in defeat. “Alright. Pinky promise?”

“What?”

“Pinky promise,” you say, sticking out your pinky. “It’s the ultimate form of trust that you will fulfill your promise.”

“I don’t understand. What do I do to fulfill my end?”

“Just wrap your pinky around mine. Like this!” You demonstrate with your other hand.

“Ah. Very well then. It’s a fifth phalange and metacarpal promise.” Gaster then wraps his pinky bone around your hand, and the deal is sealed.

“Epic,” you reply, grinning.

You two decide to stay for a few minutes, and chat for a while. That is, until Muffet comes to collect your trash.

“Don’t you two have to return to work?”

Your eyes widen as you scramble for your phone.

“We’re late!”

[luci-in-trenchcoats]

If I Fell For You (Part 14) - Keep Close

Summary: The Ackles have the Padalecki’s over for dinner and let it slip that they’re engaged. Things seem to be going well but the anniversary of the accident is coming up and the reader comes up with the Ackles taking their first vacation together as a means of distracting Jensen as well reconnecting with Ray...

Masterlist

Pairing: Jensen x nanny!reader

Word Count: 4,800ish

Warnings: language, mention of sex, mention of a dead parent/spouse, anxiety

A/N: Please enjoy and let me know what you think!

________

“I’m stuffed,” said Jensen that night, the kids running around playing soccer in the yard after dinner. 

“I need that chicken recipe,” said Jared.

“I’ll write it down for you guys,” you said, sitting back in your chair. “You can do it with breast too if you like that better.”

“I want exactly this like, everyday from now on,” said Jared. Gen rolled her eyes and Jensen pulled out his phone. “Want me to take a pic?”

“I don’t need your freakishly long arms just yet,” chuckled Jensen. He turned around and took one of the four of you at the table before handing off his phone. “Mind getting one of us?”

“Your mom harassing you for engagement photos already?” asked Gen.

“By the time we were leaving they were both asking for photos and being obnoxious. Better than they were though,” said Jensen, smiling beside you. Jared took a few more and handed the phone back. 

“I still can’t believe your parents would act like that,” said Gen. “I mean obviously I’m super happy it got fixed but that’s so unlike them.”

“They made a mistake is all,” you said with a smile. “I don’t know about you guys but I’m going to finish this beer in the pool.”

“I think I’ll join you,” said Jared. He stood up and had a look on his face you caught too late. Before you knew it he had you picked up and was jogging over to the deep end and jumping in with you.

“Jared!” you said when you popped up. He giggled and swam off to the shallow end. “After I helped pick up the plates ya big lug.”

“We got it,” said Jensen, carrying over two beer cans and handing them to you. “We’ll join you guys in a few.”

About ten minutes later Jensen was leaning against the side of the pool in his bright red swim trunks, handing you the other half of his cookie cake piece.

“So any big plans for the wedding?” asked Jared, sat on the pool steps with Gen.

“I have a thought,” you said, turning to Jensen. “I haven’t discussed it with Jensen yet.”

“Vegas. Shotgun wedding,” he laughed. You shook your head and he grinned. “You’re thinking the farm, aren’t you.”

“What do you think? It could be outdoor or indoor, whatever it needs to be depending on the weather.”

“I’d love that,” he said, giving you a squeeze. “That’d be perfect for us.”

“You own a farm?” asked Jared. 

“Yeah, ten minutes from the brewery.”

“Dudes. You can open bar with your own beer. Oh and dibs on being a groomsmen.”

“Like that wasn’t gonna happen,” said Jensen.

“I don’t know on that,” you said. Jared’s face fell and you shook your head. “Sorry. I didn’t mean that you wouldn’t be one. Of course you would. I just don’t have a lot of close girlfriends. I think it’d be weird if Jensen had a ton and…”

“I don’t think it’s weird,” said Gen. “We didn’t have an even number at our wedding.”

“We got time to figure that stuff out,” said Jensen, holding your waist. You finished the last bite of cookie and hummed. 

“So you two having a kid?” asked Jared. Gen whacked his chest and he shrugged.

“Jesus, Jare. Don’t ask that.”

“They’re our best friends and godparents to our children...although I guess Y/N didn’t know that she inherited that until now but come on, I know you’re wondering too.”

“Shut up,” said Gen, crossing her arms. “Obviously if they decide, they’ll tell us when it happens.”

“Yeah, I think there’ll be at least one,” you laughed. Gen lit up and turned to Jared.

“Last time they said they were having a baby guess what we did? I can’t handle no more babies,” said Jared.

“Can you even get that thing up anymore?” teased Jensen, sipping on his beer.

“You’re one to talk, old man.”

“That shit still works just fine.”

“Just fine?” shot back Jared.

“Oh my God. You’re both good at sex. Y/N be grateful you’ve missed this same conversation over and over for the past sixteen odd years,” said Gen. 

“I’m still taller,” said Jared with a smirk.

“I can last longer,” said Jensen with one of his own. They narrowed their eyes at one another and Jared stood up.

“Go wrestle on the grass,” groaned Gen. They both huffed and got out of the pool before starting to playfully wrestle. “See, what you may not realize yet is you have another child right there.”

“Yeah but he’s hot,” you said, Gen laughing while you sat beside her. “Do you guys really talk about sex with each other?”

“Yes and no. The boys are you know, boys. They’d combust if they didn’t tease each other. I wouldn’t say there’s like, intimate details or anything ever shared. They’re both pretty private about that sort of thing. Dee and I would talk but more so say we had fun the night before. Shit we probably talked about sex toys more than anything.”

You stopped mid sip of your beer and she laughed.

“When your guy is thousands of miles away for that long out of the year, you gotta get off on your own. You get pretty good at phone sex too. You’re lucky. Jensen won’t be staying away so long ever again he said.”

“No, no. But uh...before Jensen I’d had the same boyfriend forever and he was as vanilla as could be. We didn’t do that stuff really together.”

“I can text you some links to stuff. It’s not like you have to go in some scary store or anything. It’s discrete and I think a small vibe would be great to start with. You can use it during sex or foreplay or whatever. Just you know, have fun.”

“Jensen and I kinda got busted by the cops a week or so back for...activities in the backseat,” you said. She started to laugh and you groaned. “Thankfully it was his friend that caught us so he let us off the hook but...it was kinda fun.”

“Good,” she said, sighing as Jensen pinned Jared down. “Hey so yeah about that wedding thing. Jared had two more groomsmen than I had girls. It doesn’t have to be matchy, matchy, you know?”

“I know. I don’t know if…” you trailed off. “I lost my friend group when I broke it off with my last boyfriend. We’d been together for over ten years and I kept turning down his proposals and they didn’t like that. I have some nanny friends but not a lot and no one I’m really close to. I don’t know if I’d even get more than five people to come for me. Everyone else is his family and friends and I didn’t think about that until just now. I mean what would they think, seeing that? I don’t know if I even want anyone there now.”

“I think what they’d see is someone they care about marrying someone he loves. Just because we’re Jensen’s friends doesn’t mean we’re not your friends too. I know we’re still getting to know each other but we’ll be as close as those two eventually. Ruthie was texting me and we’re having a girls night the next convention in Dallas. You literally have a built in crew ready to go from the show, the girls and the guys. You are so coming with me to the next night I have with my local girlfriends and you got our family. You even got Dee’s parents. You have more than you know, sweetie.”

“I never had a best friend growing up except for my mom. Until Jensen,” you said. “I’ve never really been good at the friend thing.”

“Were you bullied in school?” she asked quietly.

“Don’t tell anyone besides Jared but my dad wasn’t a good person. He hurt me and so I was afraid of getting in trouble so I didn’t talk to other kids all that much until I got old enough to understand what he was doing was wrong and that’s how I ended up being adopted.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Can’t do anything about it now. But I can have it not control my life too. I’ve been pretty good since I was nine in that department. My mom dying sucked and things have been up and down but I like where I am now. This is easily the happiest I’ve ever been in my life.”

“Jens’s not perfect.”

“I know. But he’s good enough. He gave me a certain confidence to live my life, like really live it.”

“He’s alright,” she smiled. “You know I have an idea about this bridesmaids thing you might like.”

“You?”

“Oh I would for sure but I meant more so I know two little girls that wouldn’t mind. Maybe there’s a boy too,” she said.

“I’m gonna need you to be my wedding planner at this rate,” you said.

“Job accepted,” she said. “I say we go farmhouse modern style.”

“Gen. I got engaged like two weeks ago. We have time,” you said. “We don’t even have a date.”

“At the very least can we go dress shopping?” she asked.

“I’m going to regret this,” you sighed as Jensen stepped back in the water.

“Get yourself a stronger man, Padalecki. That one is weak,” he said. Jared followed him right after and went to tackle him when Gen caught his arm.

“Boys, not in the water,” she said.

“Chicken?” asked Jensen.

“Losers pick up the tab for when we go out this weekend for dinner. Deal?” asked Jared.

“Well in that case, you’re on.”

Two Weeks Later

“Jensen,” you said, carding your fingers through his hair while he absentmindedly burnt some eggs. “You okay babe?”

“Yeah. We ought to pack up the kids, get on the road soon if we’re gonna hit the beach.”

“I’m gonna drive, okay?” you asked. He nodded and you got out the eggs again, making up a new batch. “Do you want to talk to Ray?”

“Why?” he asked quietly, leaning back against the counter.

“Anniversaries of traumatic events can be triggering,” you said. “My mom died two days ago. Well, you know what I mean.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?” he asked.

“Because it doesn’t trigger me anymore. But it did and this is the first time...the first one is the roughest.”

“Yeah,” he said. “I ought to talk to him.”

“Eat your breakfast. I’ll give him a call and get the kids ready while you guys talk, okay?” you said.

“Thank you,” he said. You kissed his cheek and hugged him before you went upstairs for your phone. It rang a few times but Ray finally answered, noise in the background.

“Y/N. Everything alright?” he asked.

“Hey. Yeah. We’re...we’re pretty good. Today’s the first anniversary of Jensen’s-”

“Ah. I understand.”

“Listen, I know it’s a Sunday and you don’t work the weekends but would you mind talking to him for a few minutes? We’re going down to Galveston for the week in a bit but he’s off this morning.”

“I’d talk to him even if he wasn’t your fiance but especially because of that. You know we’re actually down here ourselves for a few days. Just got down yesterday. If you guys are around...maybe we could get together for that swim.”

“I’d like that. You okay?” you asked.

“I always get a little down on the day but Sarah understands. You understand.”

“Yeah. I’m gonna put Jensen on and um, maybe we can meet at Arillo’s for dinner?”

“We got a reservation there ourselves tonight. How many in your crew? Five? I’ll call and ask for an update.”

“Yeah there’s five of us. Um, Ray?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m sorry for being so horrible as a teenager after mom. You loved her as much as I did.”

“Thank you but you don’t have to apologize for that. You got too much pain in your life. I’m glad you found the good stuff too.”

“Are Geroge and Taylor there?” you asked.

“Yeah kids are here. Taylor’s got some internship but she does it online half the day and George is some research assistant thing for one of his professors but same kinda deal. We leave them to work in the morning while Sarah and I have some fun. Want me to let them know you’re coming?”

“Probably a good idea. Not sure how they’ll react,” you said, Jensen poking his head into the bedroom. “Here’s Jensen.”

“Okay, sweetie. We’ll see you guys soon.”

You handed the phone to Jensen and finished up packing while he sat on the bed. You tried to leave him be but couldn’t help listening in.

“Yeah I’m anxious...I don’t want her to drive down today...you know why...I guess...probably...I don’t want to be freaking out for three hours in the car...because it’s today...I know...I know...so I have to suck it up...I don’t want to have a panic attack in the car with the kids...no I haven’t...I’m scared I will though...yeah...I understand...dude that sounds so stupid...that’s not medically anything...no I don’t have my doctorate...I don’t wanna ask her...I said I don’t want to, not that I wouldn’t...I know...I will...maybe I’ll try that too...yeah, Y/N said the first year is the roughest too...I’ll let her be in charge until we get down to the beach today. I think I’ll feel better after the car...yeah I kinda figured out what she was doing planning a trip on today of all days...I need it...really? Yeah, I’m looking forward to meeting up down there too...thanks Ray.”

You finished with your suitcase and had his open for him when he walked into the closet. He swallowed and handed your phone back.

“All good?” you asked.

“Ray thought it might be a good idea if I had something of yours with me on the way down, to keep on me since I’m...anxious this morning about being in a car.”

“Something of mine…” you said, looking at your side of the closet. “Why don’t you pack up and I’ll get you something before the road, okay?”

He nodded and twenty minutes and about three bathroom trips later the SUV was packed up. You hopped behind the wheel, Jensen tapping the arm rest from the passenger seat. 

“Here,” you said, reaching into your pocket, pulling out a bracelet. It was fabric, the kind made from craft string, white, rusty orange and a light tan color mixed together. 

“I’ve never seen this,” he said as he held it between his fingers.

“I got it on vacation with mom and Ray. Last one we went on,” you said, tying it around his wrist. “You have it.”

He stared at you as you turned the engine on, watching you backout. 

“This is too important for me to take,” he said quietly.

“It’s fabric. I want you to have it, okay?” you said, pulling onto the street and closing the gate. He nodded and you turned the radio on low. “Coffee run?”

“Yeah. Coffee sounds good right about now.”

You were only about fifteen or so minutes away from the beach house you’d rented. The kids were either taking naps in the backseats or watching a movie on the ipad. You risked a glance at Jensen, his fingers absently toying with the bracelet while he looked out the window, the radio on low. 

“How you doing big guy?” you asked as you pulled off to the exit ramp. 

“Pretty good now,” he said softly. 

“Mind navigating for me?” you asked. He hummed and picked up your phone from where it sat in the console the past few hours. About twenty minutes or so you were stretching outside of the car, Jensen opening the front door of the house with the code you’d been given. The kids climbed out and were good about each taking their own backpacks while you and Jensen gathered up the rest. 

“Come here,” he said, leaving the bags by his feet and kissing you against the side of the car. You grinned and he picked you up in a big squeezing hug. “I love you.”

“I know,” you said. He set you down and kissed you again. “You seem like yourself again.”

“I needed that push, get over that fear. But now, I can enjoy my day with my girl and my kiddos and apparently we are having dinner with Ray and his family tonight?” he asked.

“If that’s alright,” you said.

“One hundred percent,” he said, Arrow jumping up and down nearby. “Honey, go use the bathroom in the house if you have to go.”

“No I’m excited!” she said. “Can we go play on the beach? Pretty please?”

“Hm, give daddy fifteen minutes and then we can go?” he asked. She turned to you and grinned.

“We’ll go really soon sweetie. I promise.”

“Hey guys,” said Jensen an hour later, the five of you down on the beach and mostly watching them build a sandcastle together. “Y/N and I want to tell you something.”

“Is it that you guys are getting married?” asked JJ, patting some sand with her shovel. You glanced at Jensen and he shrugged. “You were talking to Aunt Gen and Uncle Jared about it last night, right?”

“Well, yes we were,” said Jensen. “I suppose we were a little louder than we thought. But yes, Y/N and I have decided to get married. We’re not sure when exactly but in the next year I can say.”

“So we have a mom again?” asked Arrow, fixing her corner of the castle that kept caving in.

“Well you guys are kinda lucky. You’ll get two moms,” he said. “How’s that sound?”

“We missed mom’s day,” she said with a sigh. “Right?”

“We’ll catch it next year, promise,” said Jensen. “Do you guys have any questions or anything you want to say?”

“Do we call you mom now?” asked JJ. 

“You guys call me whatever you want,” you said.

“Can we call you mom?” she asked. You nodded and she went back to playing in the sand. 

“Anything else guys?” asked Jensen.

“Can I get a giraffe?” asked Zeppelin while he figured out how much water to add to the sand to get it to stick together.

“No sweetie. They wouldn’t fit at our house,” said Jensen. 

“Darn it,” he said.

“I can tell you’re all so invested in this topic,” chuckled Jensen.

“Oh! Can my flower girl dress be purple?” asked JJ. 

“Your dress can be whatever color you want it to be,” you said.

“Awesome,” she said. “Or black and purple. With lightning stripes.”

“Ah, I knew the classic rock would finally pay off,” said Jensen.

“Maybe Daddy’s suit can be black and white stripes, like a tiger,” you said.

“Like a White Snake music video more like it,” he laughed. “We’ll figure all that stuff out. We wanted to make sure you guys knew was all and if you have any questions or were nervous or anything you know you can ask either one of us.”

“Mom makes you happy again. Of course you gotta marry her!” said Arrow. “Oh and get her a pony. Girls like that.”

“Would you care for a pony, sweetheart?” asked Jensen as he shook his head. 

“Are we talking mustang kind of pony?” you asked.

“That’s my girl,” he said, wrapping an arm over your shoulders, kissing your cheek. “Let dad get a picture of you guys. We’re on vacation after all.”

Five Hours Later

“Jensen,” you said, changing into a light summer top and a pair of denim shorts after your shower. He was standing by his suitcase undressed, trailing his finger over his scar. “Honey?”

“A year ago was the worst day of my life and today was a really great one. I get to meet Ray more and even Sarah and the kids who all sound great and...I’m really happy I’m still here to see all this.”

“Me too,” you said, wrapping your arms around him. “Wear your red underwear.”

“Is that a request?”

“I like how you look when you take it off,” you said, gently smacking his ass as you went to go fix your hair.

“I am so grateful I found you,” he said to himself. You smiled and brushed your teeth quickly before checking yourself over and taking a selfie. You sat up on the counter and opened instagram, still silently grateful you’d always had it on private. There was nothing bad on it but Jensen and Jared had tagged you before and all of the comments always seemed to be negative.

“How do I look?” asked Jensen, walking in wearing a short sleeve navy button down and his red underwear.

“So sexy,” you giggled, Jensen digging through his other bag and finding his khaki shorts. 

“Can I get away with sneakers and a backwards baseball cap at this restaurant?” he asked.

“Totally. We always eat outside. It’s near the pier,” you said, putting up your post.

“Taking more pictures I can show off of you again?” he asked, grabbing your brush and getting some control of his damp hair back.

“Nobody even sees my instagram hardly,” you said.

“You know the internet knows we’re dating, right.”

“I’m pretty sure your fans still aren’t okay with that fact, even if they know.”

“Oh you’re mistaking the nutjobs for actual fans. The real ones, those guys are cool and nice. I actually got a lot of care packages and things from them last year. Still do. They really are good people. Those other ones that leave nasty comments? Fuck them. That shit don’t bother me anymore.”

“What are you saying?”

“I’m saying family and friends know. Can I show off the woman I love to the world?” You wrapped your legs around his waist and pulled him in front of you, his head cocking. 

“Yeah,” you said. “Better late than never.”

“Okay,” he said. “For now though, I’m looking forward to this dinner.”

“I hope it goes well. It’s George and Taylor I’m more worried about. They were kids when I decided to stop coming around. I only knew them maybe two years, if even that. I know they were upset.”

“Give them some credit. Ray raised them too after all.”

“I’m all set!” said Zeppelin, walking into the bathroom with his paw patrol shirt and nothing else on.

“At least I was gonna wear underwear,” chuckled Jensen. “Little dude. Get some undies on and shorts in the next two minutes or else…” he trailed off as he came in and hugged Jensen’s leg. 

“I love you, daddy,” he said.

“I love you.”

“Can we get a giraffe now?” he asked. Jensen rolled his eyes and you released him.

“Let’s go finish getting you dressed, buddy.”

“So you guys were Sarah’s fosters?” asked Jensen towards the end of dinner, all three kids passed out asleep in the stroller or on the bench besides you while you picked at your shared dessert. Neither George or Taylor had said much aside from introducing themselves. 

“Guys,” said Ray, nudging Taylor. “I’m sorry for our children’s rudeness. I was afraid of this.”

“Shut up,” they both said, Sarah sighing.

“The kids were both big fans of Supernatural. They grew up watching it with me. It was something we bonded over at first in fact,” she said. 

“Oh,” said Jensen, a smirk forming on his face. “Sam or Dean girls? George come on buddy, it’s okay.”

“This isn’t happening,” said Taylor, her eyes squeezed shut.

“So you guys don’t want to hear about the movie, gotcha,” he said, both of them snapping their heads up.

“He really is a dork,” you said. 

“Movie?” asked George.

“Someday. You can count on it,” said Jensen. “Maybe I’ll go easy on you guys and ask what mom was?”

“You boys are a little young for my tastes but honestly the guy who played John was very attractive,” she said.

“Even I’d hit that,” said Ray, Sarah laughing to herself.

“You can see Ray wins his ladies over with his charm,” you said, glancing at Taylor and George. “Like you guys could literally ask anything you ever wanted about the show and get an unfiltered answer if you want.”

“Did you really keep the car?” asked George. Jensen nodded and held up his finger.

“When we’re back in town, you guys come over and you can take a spin in it,” he said.

“Okay, he’s cool with me,” said George. You cocked your head and he smiled. “That was the car from the show I always told you about.”

“Oh. I thought you were talking about batman or something,” you said, pursing your lips. “Sorry I wasn’t…”

“You always sucked at pretending to be happy,” said Taylor. You looked down and nodded. “We get it. You had to do your own thing.”

“Don’t hate me for leaving?”

“Maybe when we were little,” she said. “But we’re older and we get that you probably felt like a fifth wheel.”

“Yeah. A lot really,” you said. “It worked out though.”

“She’s a Dean girl by the way,” said Ray, cracking up as Taylor whacked his arm.

“Dad! Oh my God no I’m not! I like Sam!” she said.

“Want to talk to him?” grinned Jensen. Her face went red and you heard a quiet chuckle at the table. “You’re right, we’ll save that for in person.”

“You basically are marrying Dean Winchester without like, the trauma,” she said. Jensen tensed up but kept a smile on his face. You knew Ray caught it when he gave him a simple nod.

“Trauma’s not inherently bad,” said Ray. “Everyone at this table has gone through some.”

“I know, dad,” she said quietly. She looked at George and he nodded. “Our parents were in a house fire. So were we. I was five and Georgie was four.”

“She carried him out and went next door for help,” you said.

“I was in a car accident last year,” said Jensen. You turned your head. It wasn’t public knowledge that he was in the car. He’d flat out told you that aside from family and a few friends, no one besides you knew. “I almost died. My wife did but for other reasons. You can still have trauma and a really good life.”

“Very good point, Jensen,” said Ray. “You two rugrats wouldn’t be around if mom and I had moped around in our misery forever.”

“Was he always such a sap?” asked George.

“From the day I met him,” you said, Jensen grabbing your hand under the table. “Would you mind watching the kids for a second?”

“Not at all,” he said. You excused yourself and brought Jensen along with you, walking out to the beach area, the breeze cool but light.

“You alright?”

“Yeah. I can talk about it now. I went from having the worst year of my life to one of the best. Nothing bad’s gonna happen for saying what really happened. I want to let all that shit go and have the rest of that really good life I was talking about.”

“For someone who keeps a lot inside I sure have noticed a difference in you the past few weeks.”

“To quote both of the loves of my life, I gotta let that shit out more regularly,” he said. You smiled and wrapped your arms over his shoulders, giving him a kiss. 

“You know that’s what we call growth, babe.”

“I very easily could have gone the opposite way this year.”

“But you didn’t, cause you tried even though it sucks sometimes. I love you but I extra love happy you and you’re definitely a happier guy now than when I met you.”

“So are you, honey,” he said. “Must make a pretty good team or something.”

“Oh yeah, maybe that’s it.”

“We should honestly get like, married or something, you know?” he teased.

“First I have to know though, are you willing to do cookie cake for a wedding cake?”

“I’m willing to make that sacrifice,” he said. “The real questions is, are you willing to deal with the eventual dad bod that will happen as a result?”

“I love this bod, but I don’t love you for this bod,” you said. 

“Thank you for today,” he said softly. 

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” you said. He grinned and kissed your cheek, hugging you tightly. “What are best friends for?”

“Everything?”

“Hell yeah they are Ackles.”

_______

A/N: Read Part 15 here!

[fortheloveofwonderland]

A Memory Locked In The Heart - Spencer Reid x fem! Reader

A/N - Requested by the lovely @overduelibrarybooks I hope this was the kind of thing you were looking for!

Find my masterlist here.

My taglists are open and requests are open.

Requested: Yes l No

Request: "could u ever write a spencer reid x reader where reader def works for the cia but more as a translator who’s kinda forced into doing agenty things in order to gather intel and on a mandated break she finds out the UNSUB before the team does so she uses herself as bait, and shoots the guy all very badass fashion n then gets interrogated bc ms girl just shot him coldblood and halfway thru she recognizes spencer bc her mother and his mom lived in the same care facility??? idk sorry my mom has paranoid too so it just hits different but u don’t have to write this if u don’t want to i love ur writing <3"

CW: disclaimer: I know next to nothing about the CIA and what they investigate so please go easy on me here. This is all made up so hopefully it makes some kind of sense. Mentions of violence and sex work, schizophrenia, Alzheimer’s, some swears. Mentions of drug use and overdose. Spanish used towards the end is from Google Translate so I apologise if it isn’t completely accurate. Italics indicate flashbacks.

Plot: Eighteen years ago you met a boy named Spencer Reid whilst visiting your mother at Bennington Sanitorium. This time you are meeting under entirely different circumstances; across the table of an interrogation room.

WC: 5.3K

—————————————————————

How did I end up here?

That was a question you kept asking yourself as you rolled into your third hour of sitting in that cold, dimly lit interrogation room at the FBI headquarters in Quantico, Virginia.

Well you supposed you’d have to go back to the beginning to truly work that out.

The CIA and FBI joint task force for a country wide sex trafficking ring they believed to be operating out of DC.

When your team at the CIA had started investigating it was estimated that the ring had close to a hundred women who had been abducted and forced into the sex industry.

A lot of women were believed to have been taken trying to cross the border. Your job as a translator had involved spending a lot of time in Mexico, helping interview witnesses and family members who didn’t speak English.

The FBI involvement had come when women believed to have been part of the trafficking ring started turning up dead.

At last count they were up to twenty bodies. The Behavioural Analyst Unit had given their profile of the man they believed to be running the show.

White male in his mid to late forties. Bilingual. Possibly born in Mexico or an area surrounding the border but grew up in DC, they assumed based on his knowledge of the area. He’s attractive, charming and has a good level of education, he’d need to be able to charm the women into trusting him. He doesn’t have a full time job because he wouldn’t have time for one. All his time and focus goes on his girls. He was tech savvy, incredibly so, he’d have to be, to be able to set up the network on the dark web which enabled his customers to pay for his services.

It hadn’t been going well. Bodies kept dropping and the task force was no closer to catching the person responsible.

This went on for six months. Everyone was exhausted. You kept hitting brick wall after brick wall. It was demoralising.

Your boss had called for mandated time off. You’d all argued but she had been absolutely adamant. You’d all been working yourselves to the bone and she didn’t want you burnt out entirely.

You’d argued but your words had fallen on deaf ears.

“Can I get you a glass of water or something?”

The voice startled you out of your thoughts. You looked up to see the lanky, messy haired agent who called himself Doctor Reid, sticking his head through the door.

“Is coffee an option?”

He smiled brightly at you, a smile you swear you’ve seen before.

“Coffee is always an option.” He told you. “How do you take it?”

“Strong and black. Please.”

“I’ll be right back.”

With that the door closed leaving you to your thoughts once more.

There was something so familiar about the Doctor. His dark yet sparkling eyes, his awkward smile and the way he dressed. You couldn’t place it. But there was definitely something about him that stirred some memory buried deep in your brain. You just weren’t sure what it was.

He returned a few minutes later, bringing your coffee into the room and placing it on the table in front of you.

“Hopefully you won’t be stuck here too much longer. It’s just standard procedure.” he spoke sweetly, his voice stirring the hidden memory.

“Yeah I know. I get it.” you sighed as you spoke, wrapping your hands around the coffee. “Thank you for this.”

“You’re welcome.” he smiled before he started backing out of the room. You wished you could ask him to stay because you felt so much more at ease with him around. But you knew you couldn’t.

He turned to you in the doorway.

“You look cold in that.” He smiled a little sadly at you.

You’d forgotten about your outfit choice. No self respecting CIA agent dressed like you were right now.

“I guess I am a little.” You shrugged.

Spencer instantly shrugged his blazer off of his shoulders and laid it in front of you on the table.

“Thank you Doctor Reid.” you spoke again before he disappeared out the door.

“Goodbye Agent Y/L/N.”

The door closed, his voice reverberating in your ears, dragging you into a long forgotten memory.

As you slipped his jacket on, your eyes fluttered closed, his scent wafting up your nose.

“Nice to meet you. I’m Spencer. Spencer Reid.”

“Y/N. Y/N Y/L/N.”

Your eyes shot back open, a frown on your face.

“Spencer?” you muttered under your breath. “Spencer Reid.”

Where had you pulled that name from? And why did it feel oddly connected to Vegas?

You tried to push the thought away, you already had enough on your mind. There were much more pressing things to deal with than a vague memory from your hometown an undetermined amount of time ago.

***

You’d been instructed to switch off. Your time off should be used to recoup, relax and not to think about the case.

Easier said than done you thought.

Before you’d left the office on your mandated leave you’d taken photocopies of some files and slipped them into your bag. You knew you’d be in trouble if you were caught but you couldn’t help yourself. You wouldn’t be able to relax with this case still open.

As far as you were aware the BAU was still working on it but it provided you little comfort. In your time with the CIA you’d never gotten to be involved so heavily in a case. Your skills were mostly utilised in interview capacities and then you were sidelined.

You’d never had the privilege to work on a joint task force or investigate a crime so brutal.

You felt personally invested in this case. You thought if you could just find that one missing puzzle piece you could crack this case wide open.

And then you’d found it. The golden ticket. The smoking gun. The missing piece.

It had taken five days of your leave and copious amounts of coffee but you’d connected the dots no one else had.

You knew how to draw the unsub out. And you were going to do it tonight.

***

“Let’s start again from the beginning shall we?” Agent Rossi linked his fingers together on top of the table as he looked across at you, still slowly sipping your coffee.

“Oh goody.” You sighed. “Could Agent Jareau not fill you in what I’ve already told her?”

“Humour me.” The old man shrugged.

You didn’t have any ill will against him. Far from it. You were actually a big fan of David Rossi. But you were sick and tired of being treated like a criminal.

“Tell me how you managed to work out how to find him.”

You took another long sip of the coffee.

“All the pieces were there, they just hadn’t been put into place.”

“And how did you piece them together?”

“There was a pattern to where the women had been last seen. It was a guess more than anything. A lucky guess.”

“And the pattern was?”

You sighed in frustration.

“As I told agent Jareau,” you sipped your coffee. “The bars they were last seen in all had ties to Mexico. I’m not a native to DC but I know the area like the back of my hand. They were all either Mexican owned, had a Mexican name or were previously establishments such as Mexican restaurants. I made an educated guess that he frequented places such as these looking for his targets. I just got lucky I picked the right one.”

***

You felt incredibly exposed, but you supposed that was the point.

If you were going to get this guy's attention, you had to do this right.

It was a long shot. Just because Western’s bar was known for its famous tacos did not mean it would be the place he chose to pick up girls.

You just had to hope.

You wore a skimpy skirt that barely covered your ass, knee high boots and a crop top that accentuated your assets.

Your firearm was hidden in your left boot.

Your outfit garnered a lot of looks as you headed through Westerns towards the bar.

You felt men’s eyes on you from every angle, making you feel extremely self conscious. But you needed to keep your cool, exude confidence.

If your guy was here he needed to see you shine.

You ordered a soda to keep your head clear and sat at a table over the far side of the bar. From there you had a good view of the entrance and most of the room. And more importantly, the room had a view of you.

Three hours you sat there nursing your soda. It was a huge stab in the dark, you weren’t really surprised.

You finished your drink and headed out onto the cool DC street.

You made it five steps before you felt a presence behind you.

Just as you were about to turn, something covered your mouth.

You struggled against a pair of strong arms.

A smell wafted up your nose seconds before you lost consciousness.

Chloroform.

***

“Why didn’t you tell your unit chief before you went in?”

“Because I thought it was a long shot.” And because she would have been furious I was working the case.

“So you chose to use yourself as bait?”

“Yes.” You shrugged nonchalantly.

“Do you know how dangerous that could have been?” Rossi raised an eyebrow at you.

You had to refrain from rolling your eyes.

“Yes agent Rossi, I’m well aware. But I had a lead and I wasn’t going to ignore it.” You pulled Doctor Reid’s jacket tighter around your scantily clad body.

You caught his scent again. Coffee. Old books. A hint of peppermint.

Another long shut off memory wormed it’s way to the surface.

“So are you here visiting someone?”

“Yeah.” You smiled sadly. “My mom.”

“Oh.” He returned your sad smile. “Me too.”

“Agent Y/L/N?”

You were brought back by Rossi’s concerned voice.

“Hmm?”

“I said, what happened next? You were chloroformed and then what?”

You shook your head, your mind clouded.

“Can we take a break? I could really use some air.”

Rossi sighed with a small nod.

He stood from his chair and motioned you to follow him.

You got some odd looks from his fellow agents as he led you to the elevators. They all recognised what you were wearing as Spencer’s jacket.

You followed Rossi into the elevator and he pressed the button for the ground floor.

“Agent Rossi, can I ask you a strange question?” You asked as the doors closed.

He gave you a curious look.

“I suppose.”

“Doctor Reid. As in Spencer Reid?”

“The one and only.” Rossi frowned unsure what you were getting at.

“Where is he from?”

Rossi’s frown deepened, not sure he should tell you such things about his team. But you were an agent and you didn’t pose a threat to the team.

“Vegas I believe.”

Vegas. Of course.

“Ok.”

“Why do you want to know?”

“I don’t know.” You chewed your lip. “I think I might have known him.”

“Oh?”

You wished you hadn’t opened your mouth. This was not the time or place.

“I’m probably wrong. Just forget I said anything.”

The elevator came to a stop and the doors opened. As you stepped out you pulled Spencer’s collar to your nose and sniffed it.

No you weren’t wrong.

***

Las Vegas, Nevada - 1999

“Hi again.” You smiled at the lanky man, Spencer you’d met a few days ago. “How’s your mom?”

“Still angry at me.” He shoved his hands in his pockets and stubbed the toe of his shoe on the floor.

“She came in recently?”

“Yeah a few months ago. I turned eighteen and I was able to have her put into care.” He blanched, clearly feeling guilty for his decision.

“Do you want to grab a coffee?”

“Uhm sure.” He shrugged.

He followed you through to the day room. It was late and there were only a few patients inside and a few nurses milling around.

You got two cups of coffee from the machine and the two of you sat at a table together.

“Do you mind me asking what’s wrong with your mom?” You dared as you slid him the drink.

He sighed heavily, gnawing on his bottom lip as though his life depended on it.

“She’s a paranoid schizophrenic.” He spoke clinically, words he’d had to say too many times in his life. It was as though he’d distanced himself from it. Like he was giving a patient a diagnosis rather than talking about his own mother.

“Mine too.” You gave him a wry smile. You had something in common, just not something you would like to have in common.

“How long has your mom been here?”

“Three years. She got really bad and my dad couldn’t take care of her anymore. She’s been doing much better since she moved in here.”

“That’s good.” Spencer nodded. “I hope my mom realises I did this for her. For her well being. At the moment she’s just so...angry.”

You reached across the table and placed your hand on top of his. He seemed a little startled by the physical touch but you didn’t move your hand.

“This is the best place for her. I assume from what you said earlier your dad isn’t in the picture?”

He used his free hand to sip his coffee with a sad shake of his head.

“He left when I was ten. He couldn’t handle mom's illness.”

You gave his hand a small squeeze.

“I can’t imagine what it was like for you to have to look after her by yourself. It was hard enough with my dad there. Really makes you grow up fast.”

“It really does.” He agreed. “I’m not sure I ever got to be a kid.”

“I know that feeling.”

After that you spent hours chatting about anything and everything until way into the night. It wasn’t until a nurse came and asked you politely to leave that you realised how late it was.

“I’ll probably see you around?” You spoke as you stepped outside together.

“Maybe. In a few weeks I’m heading out of state. I’m working on a PhD.” He didn’t want to tell you it was actually his second PhD.

“Oh. Ok.” You tried to hide the disappointment from your voice.

Despite the circumstances you’d enjoyed talking to someone like minded, someone who understood. You didn’t have anyone else your own age you could talk to about this kind of thing.

“Maybe we could exchange numbers?” You blushed a little.

“I don’t have a cellphone.” He shrugged.

“Oh.”

“It’s not an excuse.” He sensed you didn’t believe him. “I’m not so into technology. I don’t even have email.”

Normally you would have thought it was just a bad excuse to get out of seeing you again but the look on Spencer’s face told you he was being genuine.

“Ok.” You gave him a shy smile. “Well maybe I’ll see you again before you leave.”

“I hope so.” His eyes sparkled as he looked at you on the dark street.

There was an air between you, some kind of thick tension but you didn’t know what it meant.

“If I don’t see you again,” you spoke trying to ignore whatever it was. “It was really good to meet you and I hope your mom gets used to the facility.”

“You too.” He smiled so genuinely at you, it made your heart skip a beat.

And then you went your separate ways.

***

“Ok, so what happened next?” Rossi wasted no time once you were back in the interrogation room.

“Well I blacked out after I was chloroformed so excuse me if I don’t remember.” You gave him a sarcastic smile.

“What’s the next thing you do remember?” He reworded his question.

“I woke up in a large basement. It was gritty and dingy. And there were other women there too.”

“How many?”

“At least twenty.” You sighed letting your mind travel back to the basement you never wanted to go back to. Not even in your mind.

***

You woke with a start, your head pounding. You gasped for air as though you’d been drowning.

You blinked your eyes trying to adjust to the dark room you found yourself in.

It was cold and damp and you could hear a pipe dripping in the distance.

You tried to roll over but your arm wouldn’t budge. You were met by a loud clanking sound when you tried.

You tugged your arm, hearing the same sound and being met with a sharp pain in your wrist.

“Good luck.” A woman’s voice scoffed. “They don’t come loose.”

You blinked a few more times, looking over to your left arm. There was a heavy metal cuff right around your wrist that was attached to a metal bed frame.

That’s when you realised you were laying on a small cot on top of a ratty, itchy blanket. You were still dressed, thank god.

You suddenly remembered your firearm concealed in your boot. You patted your left calf and sure enough you felt the hard weapon still inside.

That was something at least.

Oversight on their part.

You remembered the voice you’d heard before and turned as much as you could with your arm cuffed to take in the rest of the room.

There were at least forty other cots close together lining the walls, with at least half of them containing the body of other women.

The voice you’d heard belonged to a woman in the cot next to you. She gave you a smile but it didn’t reach her eyes.

Her eyes were broken.

“Hi,” you croaked. “I’m Y/N.”

“Delilah.” Her accent was Spanish. You were sure Delilah wasn’t her real name either.

“How long have you been here?”

She sighed, playing with a strand of curly black hair.

“What month is it?”

“September.”

“Oh.” She frowned. “Not that long then. I’ve been here since July.” She looked confused as though that couldn’t be long enough.

“Delilah?” You narrowed your eyes on her. “What year do you think it is?”

“2018…” she saw your face drop and knew instantly it was no longer 2018.

“Oh gosh.” You felt for her, tears welling in your eyes. “It’s 2020.”

“Oh.” Her face fell. “Wow.”

“It’s ok.” You lowered your voice. “I’m CIA. I’m going to get us out of here. I promise I’ll keep you safe.”

***

“Delilah.” Rossi opened the file in front of him. “Was that Roberta Suez?”

He pulled out a photograph and slid it across the table. You averted your gaze.

“Yes and please I don’t need to see it, I was there.”

“How did she end up in hospital fighting for her life?”

“You know how.” You huffed. “Look I’m starting to get fed up with this now.” You folded your arms. “Carlos Ramirez was a sick son of a bitch. If I hadn’t done what I did he would have killed all those women. I don’t regret what I did.”

“How did she end up in hospital?” He repeated.

“Good lord.” You grumbled. “I’ll talk but I don’t want to talk to you.”

Rossi narrowed his eyes on you.

“No? But I’m so compassionate.” He spoke sarcastically.

“I won’t say another word unless it’s to Reid.” You looked up to the two way mirror. You didn’t know why but you had a feeling he was there.

Sure enough it was barely twenty seconds before the door opened and Doctor Reid himself stepped in the room.

“I got this Rossi.” Spencer told the older man who stood up with a shrug.

Rossi left the room while Spencer took the seat he’d been occupying.

Did he remember you? It had been close to twenty years since you’d last seen each other. Had it not been for the olfactory memory that struck you when you put on his jacket you might never have remembered him.

But you knew the rest of his team was behind the two way glass, or at least some of them were so it didn’t seem an appropriate time to ask such things.

“So agent Y/L/N,” he smiled softly at you. “Can you please tell me how Delilah ended up in hospital?”

“You already know the answer to that Doctor but since you asked so nicely,” you leant your elbows on the table, entwined your fingers and rested your chin the little bridge you’d created. “She had a drug overdose. But you and I both know it wasn’t her who administered the drugs.”

“And who did?”

“I did.”

Your words hung in the air between you and Spencer. He knew the answer, the whole team did. You’d already told Agent Jareau everything.

This was a huge waste of time.

“I administered the drugs because he told me if I didn’t he would kill me. I needed to stay alive so I could save those women.”

“Who said he would kill you?”

“I don’t know his name.”

“It wasn’t Ramirez?”

“No.” You shook your head. “If it was Ramirez I would have shot him. But it must have been one of his right hand men.”

“How would you know that? You’d never met Ramirez correct?” Spencer had a soft tone to his voice which made his line of questioning easier than Agent Jareau’s.

“I’m not a profiler but I’ve been to enough seminars over the years. He didn’t fit the bill. He was young, scatty, he didn’t strike as much fear into the other women as I thought the boss would. I made an educated guess and I was right. If I’d shot at him I would have blown my chance at getting Ramirez.”

***

“Shit shit shit!” You pulled yourself as close to Delilah’s cot as possible with your restraint. “Delilah, keep breathing, try to breath. Fuck I am sorry.”

Tears rolled down your cheeks, the empty needle you’d been made to inject in her vein between your cots on the floor.

He’d held a gun to your head and said he would shoot you if you didn’t do it. You didn’t think he was bluffing.

“It happens a lot.” A woman opposite spoke up. “You’ll soon find out. If she wakes up she’ll have the pleasure of returning the favour.” She gave you an almost manic grin.

If she wakes up. It was the if you were having the issue with.

“Who’s in charge around here?”

She shrugged.

“Don’t know his name. Big guy. Tattoos. Mustache. You can’t miss him.”

“Does he come down here often?”

Again she shrugged.

“Being down here you have a way of losing track of time.” She clicked her tongue. “But he’ll be here for you later. He has to test his new girls.”

Your blood ran cold.

“Test?” You swallowed, pretty sure you knew what she meant.

“He can’t very well expect you to make him money if he doesn’t know how good you are.”

Oh god.

Your heartbeat raced. No, it was not going to come to that. You were a CIA agent and you were armed.

It was not going to come to that.

***

Spencer’s face paled a little at your words. You hadn’t told Agent Jareau that part.

“He was going to...he didn’t…”

“No.” You cut him off, pushing the memory back down. “I had a gun, remember.”

You offered him a wry smile.

“So you know what comes next.”

“I’d like you to tell me.”

The way he said it was more like he was a therapist than an FBI agent. As though he wanted you to tell him so you could get it off your chest, unburden yourself, rather than for interrogation purposes.

“Ok.” You nodded. “He came for me later that night. And that’s when it happened.”

***

“Ahh look at you.”

A deep, Spanish voice woke you.

Your eyes fluttered open and landed on a strong, tattooed man with a mustache standing over your cot.

This must be him.

“Tan hermosa.”

So beautiful.

You tried not to shudder.

You sat up wiggling your legs in your boots to make sure you could still feel your firearm. You could.

“Su nombre es Rosa.”

Your name is Rosa.

Guess again.

“Su nombre es Y/N.”

“Tú hablas español?”

You speak Spanish?

“Si.”

“Eres perfecta.” He grinned menacingly. “My clients will love you.”

He reached in his pocket and fished out a key chain. He reached over you and unlocked your cuff.

You rolled your wrist to try and get your blood circulating again.

“On your feet.”

You complied and stood up. Your legs were shaky.

He grasped your wrist, hard enough so you couldn’t wriggle free but not hard enough to leave a mark. He started dragging you across the room.

With his free hand he undid the four locks on the large steel door and pulled your through it. Once on the other side he took care to lock them all again, keeping a firm grasp on you the whole time.

You were dragged down a long, narrow corridor towards another steel door, this one with just one lock on.

He slid the key in and opened it, pulled you inside and locked it behind him.

The room was much smaller than the one you’d been held in and only housed a single cot.

He licked his lip as he looked at you. His large, thick fingers stroked your cheek and you had to try and hide your disgust.

“En la cama. Ahora.”

On the bed. Now.

You had to pick the opportune moment. You had to plan this just right. You had no doubt he had a gun on him so if you faltered even slightly, he would kill you.

“Qué tal esto.”

How about this.

You made a show of licking your lips and then dropping to your knees in front of him.

“Whoa, feisty. I like it.” He grinned, his meaty hands going to his belt buckle.

Yes. Right where you wanted him.

While he was fumbling with his belt, you reached your hand back into your left boot, drawing your gun in one swift move.

You head butted him in the crotch, sending him stumbling backwards, crying out in pain.

“Mierda!” Shit. “Usted puta!”

You whore!

You were on your feet in a second, your gun trained on him.

“You will never hurt another woman again.” You spat, furious tears suddenly streaming from your eyes.

He looked up at you, his mouth opened to speak.

But the words didn’t come out as your bullet hit him between the eyes.

“Who’s the puta now?”

***

“I would say,” Spencer chewed his lip. “You did what you had to do to survive.”

You breathed a sigh of relief.

Thank god.

“Thank you.” You smiled softly. “And I did. If I hadn’t shot him, who knows how many other women would have died.”

Spencer pushed his chair back and stood up.

“Just so you know, we got word from the hospital a little while ago. Roberta Suez, Delilah, is going to be just fine.”

“Oh thank god.” You felt tears brimming your eyes.

He opened the door and turned back to you.

“Are you coming?”

“I can leave?”

“You were never under arrest.” He smirked at you.

You couldn’t help but laugh.

You got up from the chair and Spencer motioned you out of the room.

“I’ll walk you out.” He showed you across the bullpen towards the elevators. There was an awkward air between the two of you.

Did you say anything? It didn’t seem as though he remembered you, was it worth reminding him?

He motioned you into the elevator first and he followed, pressing the button.

The elevator started its descent.

Time was running out.

“So uhm…” Spencer turned to you and turned too. “How’s your mom?”

A smile broke out on your features.

“I didn’t think you remembered me.”

“Are you kidding?” He laughed. “I recognised you the second you walked in.”

“It’s been twenty years.” You laughed.

“Eighteen years, seven months.” He corrected you. “But I could never forget your face.”

You blushed a little, averting your gaze.

“My moms doing ok. Thanks for asking. How’s your mom?” You looked back at him.

“Recently diagnosed with Alzheimer’s.” He told you sadly.

“Oh gosh I’m so sorry.”

“It’s ok. These things happen.” He shrugged. “Made it to thirty without having a schizophrenic break but now I have to wait until I’m older to find out if I’ll develop Alzheimer’s.”

The doors to the elevator opened and you stepped out, Spencer close behind.

“I really am sorry Spencer.”

“It’s ok.” He shrugged. “Is your mom still at Bennington? I used to see her when I went to visit my mom but I moved her out a little while ago.”

“Yeah she’s still there. She likes being close to my dad.”

You both hovered by the exit, not ready to say goodbye.

“Can I take you for coffee? If you don’t have anywhere else to be.” Spencer blushed as he spoke.

“I’d like that. A lot actually. But I’d really like to shower and change out of this getup.” You laughed. “How about dinner?”

“Dinner sounds perfect.” He grinned at you.

You gave him a smile and turned to leave but before you made it to the door Spencer spoke again.

“Y/N,” he called your name, his voice cracking a little. “You uh...you forgot something.”

You turned to face him curiously.

He walked closer to you and without a second thought, placed his hands on your face and kissed you.

For a second you stood frozen, in shock of what was going on.

But after a few moments you wrapped your arms around his neck and opened your mouth to deepen the kiss.

When the kiss ended you were both smiling at one another.

“What was that for?” You asked softly.

“Oh you know…” he shrugged with a coy smile. “Just something that needed to be done.”

“I’ll meet you back here in a few hours.” You told him, touching his chest briefly.

“Ok.”

“Bye Spencer Reid.”

“Bye Y/N Y/L/N.” He croaked.

And with that you sauntered out the doors but not out of his life.

***

Las Vegas, Nevada - 1999

“Spencer?” You’d only made it a few paces away from Bennington before you stopped in your tracks, calling his name. “You uh...you forgot something.”

He turned to face you curiously.

You walked closer to him and without a second thought, placed your hands on his face and kissed him.

He stood frozen, in shock of what was going on.

It was just a brief kiss, Spencer was too confused to do anything but stand there dumbly.

“Wh-what was that for?” He swallowed.

“Just something that needed to be done.” You smiled. “Bye Spencer Reid.”

“Bye Y/N Y/L/N.”

And with that you sauntered back down the street, hoping that one day, the universe would lead you back into each other’s lives.

—————————————————————

Taglist (let me know if you would like to be added) -

@muffin-cup

@andiebeaword

@mggsprettygirl @measure-in-pain

[kpop---scenarios]

Sugar Daddy (1)

Pairing: Johnny Seo x Reader

Warnings: None yet..

Word Count: 1.8k

A/N: Let me know if you wanna be tagged!!

"I don't know about this." You say to Hwasa, tugging on her arm as she tries to walk into the club. 

Your dress is tight, and you feel overly uncomfortable in something so revealing and your heels, especially since you are not small. You are a bigger girl, with a stomach, thick thighs and curves. You have rolls when you sit down, and stretch marks radiating up your sides. You're not like the kind of girls who go to these clubs and it was severely affecting your confidence. 

"Ayn." She smiles. "I promise it'll all be okay. You don't have to do anything you don't want to do." 

With a sigh you nod your head and Hwasa takes your hand leading you inside the club. The music was loud, you could feel the bass thumping on your feet as you walked towards the bar. Your eyes wandered as you were being led by Hwasa. Rich looking men in suits that had become untucked, their sleeves rolled up and collars loosened. They made sure to show off their watches, flashing the expensive ones, not a care in the world here. Most of the men were surrounded by women, some looking quite cozy, but some looking rather uninterested in what their company had to say. 

As you sat down at the bar and ordered a glass of wine, your eyes continued to wander, especially over to a group of men who were by themselves. 

"Those guys rarely find anyone here." Hwasa says, leaning over to whisper in your ear. "They are a few of the most wealthy men and their tastes are very particular." She finishes, sitting back up to take a sip of her wine. 

Not even five minutes later a man approaches Hwasa, asking her if she wants to dance. She looks at you, making you roll your eyes. "Go." You laugh. 

"Are you sure?" She asks. 

"Get out of here, I'm fine." You assure her. 

She takes the man's hand, and heads out to the dance floor. You watch her as she laughs, her head thrown back, the man's eyes watching her intently and in awe. You can already tell he's smitten with her, and they just met. 

You turn back around, and take another sip of your drink, when you feel a warm presence behind you, someone pressing himself against you. You turn around slightly, and see a man with a smirk on his face. He backs up, looking at you and then down to his crotch which very clearly proved he had an election. 

"Want to take care of this for me?" He asks, tilting his head to the side. 

"No." You flat out say, going to turn yourself back around, when he grabs onto your arm, his grip tight as he squeezes your wrist. 

"C'mon sweetheart, don't be like that." He grunts, his eyes wide, motioning down to his crotch. 

"I said no." You yell, trying to shake him off your arm but he tightens his grip. 

You can see his face begin to go red as he begins to get angry at your refusal. You try to fight him off more but he won't let go. He raises his other hand as if he was going to slap you. You closed your eyes, bracing yourself for the impact but it never came, and suddenly your arm was free. You open one eye and see the man on the floor, with another man shaking his fist. 

"She said no, fucking respect that." The man yells, giving the man on the ground a swift kick to the ribs. 

"Are you okay?" He asks. 

"Um, yeah.. I'm fine. Thank you." You whisper. You go to turn back around, wanting to leave this place and never let Hwasa convince you to do anything ever again. 

"Would you like to join me at my table?" He asks, causing you to spin back around, mid sip of your cocktail. You try to swallow but slight choke as you nod your head yes  "Sure. I would love to." You sputter, trying to wipe the remnants of your drink from your chin. 

You grab your drinj and follow the man to a table, the table that Hwasa had said before was very particular. 

"Chanyeol this is.." he pauses, motioning to you to speak. 

"Ayn. L/N Ayn." You say with a smile. 

"I'm Park Chanyeol." He smiles, gently shaking your hand.

"And I'm Johnny Seo," He smiles. He eyes trail down your body before going back up to make eye contact.  

"Nice to meet you both." You smile, sitting down on the edge of the couch. Your eyes dart from Johnny to Chanyeol then back to Johnny, but his eyes haven't left you for a moment. You nervously take a sip of your drinj before turning your head and really look at him. 

Fuck, he's absolutely beautiful. His combed brown hair perfectly frames his face, his smile radiates through the entire club, and from what you can see from under his dress shirt, he had a nice body. As much as you tried to ignore it, the feeling that you didn't belong radiated through your body, filling your brain up with possible situations or words that could possibly be said to you. And it made you nervous. Johnny leans over, his lips hovering beside your ears. You can feel his hot breath radiating down your neck. "You are beautiful." He whispers. Your face immediately turns red and hot, a blush forming against your will. Before you can respond, Hwasa runs up to you, grabbing your wrist. "Ayn." She panics. "We have to go. Now!" She yells, yanking on your arm to pull you up. 

"Oh." You partially panic. You sort of toss your glass down and stand up, Johnny's eyes on you. "I'm sorry." You say to him before Hwasa pulls you harder. "Thank you." You mouth before turning your head to watch where you're going. 

A few minutes later you and Hwasa are outside and down the street from the club. You both stop, your hands on your hips as you both catch your breath. Running in heels is not an easy task for anyone. 

"What the hell?" You whine. "Did you see that fine ass man in there?" 

Hwasa laughs. "I'm sorry, Ayn. That guy I was dancing with, oh my god. He was fucking weird. Talking about going back to his mom's house, and how we can be loud because she's partially deaf. I needed to get out of there." 

Your mouth hangs open as Hwasa describes the man she had been flirting with. You burst out laughing at her misfortune, the roles finally having reversed on the two of you. 

"Now you know what I go through most of the time." You joke. You both begin walking back towards your apartment, linking arms as you keep a casual pace, talking and laughing, completely forgetting about Johnny, he was something that likely would have never happened for you anyways. He was a dream that would never have come true.  

**

The next day, you went about your day, the thought of Johnny never crossing your mind. You went to your classes, and after that you headed to your part time job at a Taco Truck. It was perfectly located on a very popular beach, and everyday the truck made a killing and you made minimum wage, which is partially why you had shown up at the club last night. You knew it was a club for sugar daddy's to meet potential sugar babies, and you had thought that maybe you'd meet someone to help you out while you got your masters in Child Psychology. But part of you was happy that things ended up the way that they did, you now wouldn't have to suffer any disappointment of him deciding you weren't worth it, and you didn't have to waste his time realizing he should have picked someone else, in the long run it worked out for both parties. 

With a smile you handed the last person their order, not even looking at the person next in line. You held your pencil and the small notepad you kept in front of you as you let out a big yawn. "Excuse me." You said, clearing your throat. "Welcome to Tacos, Tacos, Tacos, what can I get for you today?" You ask.

"Umm, three of your beef Tacos, and a chicken  Taco please." You hear. Your eyes squint as you try to place where you've heard that voice before. You write down the order, continuing to rack your brain on why it sounds so familiar. You look up and are face to face with Park Chanyeol. He smiles at you, recognizing you immediately. 

"Ayn!" He yells, holding his arms up. "You work here?" He asks. 

"Unfortunately." You laugh, scrunching your nose. 

"How much do I owe you?" He asks, grabbing his wallet. 

"$13.5." You announce. Chanyeol hands you a twenty, telling you to keep the change with a wink, which puts a smile on your face. "It'll be out soon." 

As Chanyeol steps away from the truck, he whips out his phone, dialing a number. You can only hear bits and pieces of the conversation, but you do catch the most important part. "She's here." He says. "That taco truck that we're both obsessed with." He laughs. "Yeah that one." You wave to him, hanging his bag out the window to let him know his order was ready. He hangs up his phone, grabbing his food and waving goodbye to you. 

An hour later, you're told you can go home for the day, and honestly you're relieved as fuck. You're tired, your feet hurt and you just want to go to sleep before you head back to campus tomorrow for another full day of classes and then another seven hours at the food truck. 

Wow your life was so exciting. 

** 

The next day you're walking through the psychology building, heading to your next class. You're on your phone texting Hwasa about how dumb your last professor was, when you hear someone clear their throat behind you. 

"You're a tough woman to track down." 

Your head shoots up as you swing your body around. You see Johnny standing there, a smile on his face. Your eyes trail down his body, his suit fitting perfectly to his body, making you want to cry, drool and cream all at the same time. 

"Why are you looking for me?" You ask, tilting your head to the side, making him laugh. 

"You left so quickly the other night. We never got a chance to talk, have a drink or anything." He says, walking closer towards you. 

"What do you want to talk to me about?" You ask. 

"I want you to be my baby." He grins. 

"Your baby?" You stutter. "Why me?" You ask. 

"Why not you?" He rebuttals. 

"Let's talk. Tonight." He says. 

"I work." You tell him. 

"Food truck?" He asks. 

You nod your head. 

"What time are you off? I'll pick you up." 

"9pm." You say. "But you don't.. " you trial off. 

"Perfect. See you then.. " he pauses with a grin. "Baby." 

[mizunetzu]

Hey! So, I decided to re-write the one female fic on my blog with male pronouns. The reason I had a female fic up in the first place was because I had a mutual who wanted to do a writing trade, but she never held her end of the deal, nor contacted me once the fic was done to my knowledge. She requested this Akaashi fic, so I hope more of you could enjoy it now that it has been male-readerfied. Happy reading!

-Mr. Mizunetzu

P.s. - the old writing makes me cringe.

——————

Akaashi x reader - Where Are You Going? (Male-readerfied)

⚠️Warnings - cringey old writing, Bokuto never saying “Akaashi” right

Pronouns - male, he/him

——————

“Hey hey hey-Where you going, Akaagjnshi?”

The black haired boy froze in his tracks. Bokuto tilted his head slightly to the side, holding a volleyball he was about to spike. Akaashi gripped his volleyball bag tighter.

“...I’m going home. My mom needs me to help with dinner.”

It was such a weak, foolish excuse, Akaashi told himself. But knowing Bokuto, it would suffice.

Bokuto’s smiled quickly returned to his face. “Ah! You should’ve just said so! Tell your mom I said hi!”

“I will,” Akaashi said, dipping out of the gym quietly. Bokuto paid no attention to the small blush Akaashi was harboring, along with the few beads of sweat running down his temple.

————

“You’re gonna be late today, Aakkaggshi?”

“Yes, I...my teacher wanted to review a lesson I didn’t really understand. I can come to practice a bit late though.”

Another dumb excuse. But Bokuto’s stupidly wide grin assured him it worked everytime. Some part of Akaashi felt bad for lying to Bokuto, but the guilt eventually got buried and lost in all of the ‘I’m helping my mother with dinner’ and ‘I have to leave early to study’ excuses.

“All right! But y’know...I can come with you if you want-“

“NO!”

Bokuto stared at Akaashi with a blank face. Akaashi cleared his throat.

I-I mean, you’ll probably just get bored—and it’s gonna be quick, no need, Bokuto-san.”

Bokuto blinked. Akaashi almost never got flustered or embarrassed. Was he...hiding something?

Eh, probably not.

“O...kay, I’ll see you later dude...?” Bokuto punched Akaashi lightly on the shoulder before leaving. Akaashi sighed heavily, before walking in the opposite direction of the classrooms, into the second gym.

Weird, Bokuto thought. That’s the boy’s basketball gym.

“I wonder why his teacher wants to meet him there...”

—————

“I’m leaving early, Bokuto-san.”

“Ah-is it you’re mom again? You must be a really good cook or something, if she always wants you to make dinner.”

“Yeah. I’m going now, goodbye.”

“Bye, Ajdjsfjdksjfdjkahshi!”

Bokuto waved absentmindedly at Akaashi, who bowed curtly. It’s been happening every other day, so he kind of got used to him leaving early or showing up a few minutes late.

“Oi Bokuto-don’t you think it’s weird that Akaashi-kun’s always leaving practice early?” Sarukui butted in, watching Akaashi as he hunched over, practically tip-toeing out the door.

“Yeah-why does he get to cut practice but we have to stay the whole time?” Konoha joined in, resting a hand on Bokuto’s shoulder. Bokuto brought a finger to his chin.

“Well-“ Bokuto gestured towards the door. “His mom is always telling him to come home.”

“Why?”

“To make dinner!”

Sarukui and Konoha stared at their captain like a child saying “two plus two is five.”

“You can’t be fucking serious, Bokuto.”

“I am!” Bokuto whined.

“What...what about the times he shows up to practice late?”

“That’s easy!” Bokuto clasped his hands together, eager to have another question he knew the answer to. “He says his teacher wants him to stay behind to teach him stuff he didn’t understand.”

“Bokuto...” Konoha deadpanned. “Akaashi’s in class six-he’s a straight A student.”

Bokuto furrowed his eyebrows. “Well, I-I haven’t thought about tha-“

“And Akaashi’s mom loves to cook-why would she make him do it?”

“Well...” Bokuto choked out, voice cracking a bit. “I did find it strange that he took his extra classes in the 2nd gym...”

Konoha and Sarukui looked at eachother. “....Isn’t that where the boy‘s basketball practice goes on?”

They all stood in silence for a few beats. Bokuto squinted his eyes and knitted his brows together. He still didn’t know what was going on.

A light went off in Konoha and Sarukui’s heads, gasping lightly. Bokuto tilted his head, confused.

“You don’t think he...” Konoha mused, unable to suppress the mischievous smirk growing on his face.

“Akaashi you sly dog.” Sarukui and Konoha shared a knowing smirk between eachother, while Bokuto scratched his neck awkwardly.

“Uh-“

“Bokuto...captain...buddyyyyy....” Sarukui sang. “Can me and Konoha leave practice early tomorrow? Around when Akaashi does? We’ll let you come with us~”

Ah yes, the power of friendship. How could Bokuto possibly refuse?

——————

“I’m heading home, Bokuto-san.”

“Dinner again?”

“...yes.” Akaashi was slipping his bag over his shoulder when Bokuto suddenly piped up.

“Oh! Can me, Sarukui, and Konoha come t-“

A foot was firmly jabbed into Bokuto’s own, earning a yelp from the grey-haired boy. Akaashi looked at Konoha strangely as Sarukui put a hand around Bokuto’s shoulders.

“Don’t mind Bokuto, dude. Tell your mom we said hi.”

Akaashi blinked, suspicious. “Al...right..” he waved it off as them probably going to do something perverted or stupid while he was gone, and bowed curtly once more. “Goodbye then.”

The two chorused out a farewell as Bokuto whimpered in pain and betrayal. Bokuto grabbed hold of his foot as Konoha and Sarukui’s innocent smiles dropped.

“Tail him.”

“I know, I know. Let’s go Bokuto.” Sarukui grabbed Bokuto by the sleeve of his shirt, dragging him out the gym door while they kept a safe distance from Akaashi.

“So he was going to the basketball gym...sneaky bastard.” Konoha smirked. They watched as Akaashi speedwalked to the entrance of the second gym, dusting off any dirt on his volleyball shirt and fixing his already pretty short hair.

The three ducked behind the wall of the gym, dashing towards it when Akaashi turned his back. “What’s he gonna do-he’s just standing there!”

Sure enough, Akaashi was standing idly a few feet from the door of the gym, seemingly waiting for something or someone. He messed with his fingers and tapped his foot anxiously, even though his face was completely calm and relaxed.

After what seemed like forever, the door of the gym opened ever so slightly, wide enough only for someone to slip though. Akaashi’s face lit up-even though he still held his neutral gaze-and he quickly let go of his own hands, letting them drop to his side. Bokuto and Konoha gasped, while Sarukui face held a knowing, shit-eating grin.

Standing in front of Akaashi was a boy wearing the Fukurodani basketball team jacket, and holding a basketball in his hands. He hazily tossed the ball back into the gym, before enveloping Akaashi into a hug.

Akaashi tentatively wrapped his arms around his torso. It looked like they were saying something to eachother, but Sarukui and Konoha couldn’t make out the words from their distance.

“Who would’ve thought Akaashi was dating someone...I for sure thought he was buying drugs or something...” Sarukui mumbled, eyes glued to the scene infront of them.

“Well-I thought Bokuto for sure would’ve known, right Bo? ...Bokuto?” Konoha turned to where Bokuto was standing, to see that he had disappeared. The two boys went pale.

“Oh no...” Sarukui broke into a cold sweat as he saw their loud was captian strutting towards them.

“Bokuto! You dumbass! Get back here!” Konoha whisper yelled, flailing his arms to try and grab Bokuto’s attention. It was too late. Akaashi and the boy took sight of him. Akaashi looked like a deer in headlights, while the boy looked at Bokuto with a nervous smile.

“Hey hey hey! Why didn’t you tell me you had a boyfriend Akkaggshi!” Akaashi said nothing, instead tightening his hold on his (h/c)-haired boyfriend.

Konoha and Sarukui sighed, and stepped out from their hiding spot. Well, it’s not really a hiding spot if you aren’t hiding from something anymore.

“Who’s the guy, Akaashi?” Kohona said, smirking at the (h/c)-haired man next to Akaashi. He stepped forward.

“I’m (L/n) (Y/n), nice to meet you.” (Y/n) said. Akaashi deflated, embarrassed.

“(Y/n), please-“

“AWWW-you guys are on a first name basis?! How cute~!” Konoha made goo-goo eyes at Akaashi, while Sarukui held up a heart with his fingers. Bokuto slung his arm around Akaashi, making him stumble back slightly while he yelled things like “hey hey hey!” or “my man bro Alasshshshi!”

Akaashi looked eyes with (Y/n), practically pleading for help with his eyes while containing the last embers of his neutral collected gaze. (Y/n) just laughed, and booped him on the nose.

“They seem like nice people-why didn’t you introduce me to your team before?” Akaashi freed himself from Bokuto’s grip.

“...We’re gonna be late, let’s go-“ Akaashi linked arms with (Y/n) and tried to usher him away.

(Y/n) planted his feet firm and smirked.

“Noooo...I wanna meet your friends, Keiji-chan~”

“OOHHH HE CALLED HIM KEIJI-CHAN KONOHA THEIR PRACTICALLY MARRIED NOW-“

“Shut up, please” Akaashi begged. He pinched the bridge of his nose, inhaling sharply. “(Y/n), that’s Sarukui-san, that’s Konoha-san, and that’s Bokuto-san.” Akaashi gestured to each of the boys standing around them.

“Now that you all are well acquainted, please, can we get going-?“

Akaashis pleads were lost in the sound of questions and conversations being flung at them. All going in one ear and out the other. He sighed in defeat.

After what seemed like forever, (Y/n) pried himself from the volleyball players and interlocked his fingers with Akaashi’s. “Okaaaay, lets go” he said with a chuckle.

“Finally...” thank the heavens.

“Where you guys going?” Bokuto asked. (Y/n) glanced to Akaashi for approval. Akaashi nodded.

“We’re going to grab some dinner at this one ramen place, we do it every Thursday.”

“Oh! Oh! Can we come?” Bokuto cheered. He looked like a puppy clinging to (Y/n’s) side. Akaashi deadpanned while (Y/n) laughed internally.

“But-we-“

“Sure! Let’s go!” (Y/n) said, looking straight into Akaashi’s wilting eyes. The boys clamored past him, (Y/n) in their clutches, heading out of the school to wherever they were going.

“Oh! And, Akaashi?” Konoha said, stopping in his tracks and looking back at Akaashi. He had his feet planted into the ground with a devastated look on his face. Konoha smirked, and Akaashi wished he just stayed at practice.

“That’s what you get for skipping practice so much.”

——————

[drarrily-we-row-along]

Day 65: Question

"Uncle Harry?"

He glanced away from Rose where she was eating the grapes Harry cut in quarters and over at Teddy where he was sitting at the table eating his grilled cheese. "Yeah buddy?"

"Can I ask you a question?"

"Sure," he said as he looked back at the almost 16 month old eating grapes. He still got nervous about her choking.

"Do you like Uncle Draco?"

"Yeah," Harry replied casually, glancing out of the corner of his eye to gauge Teddy's reaction. "Yeah. Uncle Draco and I are good friends."

Teddy rolled his eyes, and Harry couldn't help but wonder how the time had flown by fast enough that he was sitting at a table with a nine year old who now rolled his eye at him. "I mean do you like-like Uncle Draco?"

"Gah bah dih!" Rose shouted, banging her chubby little fists on her high chair tray.

"See, Rose wants to know too," he translated for the baby.

He sighed, "It's complicated, Teddy."

"Why?" he asked, his brow furrowing. "Uncle Draco says he likes you. Why does it have to be complicated?"

"Uncle Draco said what?" Harry asked, sure he'd misheard.

(Read more below the cut)

"He said that he likes you but he thinks that you don't feel the same."

"Thats-" Harry spluttered, "I-" he started and broke off again, "But he nev-" he huffed, catching a spoon that Rose was trying to hit Max with. "Careful, Rose," he chided gently, "We don't hit the dog."

"Uncle Haarry," Teddy groaned.

"Apparently it's a conversation that Uncle Draco and I need to have," he managed.

"But-"

Harry shook his head, "No buts. If I like Uncle Draco, he should be the first to hear it, don't you think?"

"Fine," Teddy grumbled.

And Harry spent the rest of the day thinking about what he was going to say to Draco at trivia later that night.

-------

"I hate the muggle knowledge category," Draco groaned miserably as he and Harry prepared to answer the eighth round of questions that evening. "You're completely useless at it," he added, "even though you were raised by muggles."

Harry huffed, "Well, it's not like I was allowed to live like a normal muggle." He took another sip of his firewhiskey. He should stop drinking but he was just too nervous.

"What does that even mean?" Draco asked.

"Nothing," he said, shaking his head to clear away the memories which somehow served to only bring them further forward in his mind.

"Potter," Draco said, poking his arm, "What does that mean?"

He stood up abruptly, feeling small and afraid, like he'd never be good enough. All of the feelings of loneliness and unworthiness that he'd had as a child rising up like bile. It was all too much all of the sudden and the idea that Draco might actually be interested in him was utterly preposterous. "I have to go."

"What?" Draco said as Harry made for the door. "Harry!" he called.

Harry fumbled with the door handle but finally made it out onto the street, pushing his way through a gaggle of people standing outside the door smoking.

He'd walked for maybe two minutes when he heard a set of feet running up behind him and he turned, body poised to fight.

"Hey," Draco panted. "You didn't pay for your tab, you know."

"Right," Harry said, reaching into his pocket and holding out a handful of galleons to Draco.

"I don't want your money," he said, sounding offended and Harry didn't know what to do with that. "I'm just telling you why it took me so long to catch up."

"Do you like me?" Harry blurted because he needed to know, once and for all.

Draco looked confused, "Harry, we've been friends for like 7 years, of course I like you."

"No," he shook his head, "I mean do you like-like me?"

The other man paled, taking a step back from him and Harry realized that he must be thinking that Harry had run out because he thought Draco liked him.

"Because I really like you," he hastened to add. "I have for ages but I didn't think you could feel the same. How could you feel the same?" Harry whispered, more to himself than Draco. "I'm a mess," he added, "I've got ptsd from the war but I'm also like super messed up from my childhood? And I don't even understand what healthy relationships look like and how to have them," he covered his face with his hands, "I'm just-"

"Harry," Draco interrupted, his hands gently holding Harry's shoulders. "Come here," he murmured, pulling Harry in against him and wrapping him up in his arms.

Harry leaned into him.

"Okay," Draco murmured, "Deep, slow breath with me, yes?"

He nodded and mirrored Draco's breathing, feeling his heart slow as his lungs filled with air.

"There we are," Draco said softly, brushing his hands over Harry's back. "It's alright."

"Sorry," he whispered, making no move to pull away from Draco.

Draco dropped a kiss on his cheek, "There's no need to be." After a beat he asked, "Would you like to come back to mine to talk? I've got some sobriety potions and I can make us some tea."

"Do you have biscuits?" Harry murmured against his skin where he'd tucked his face in Draco's neck.

"I do."

He nodded once and Draco held onto him as he apparated. After they took their sobriety potions and made tea, Draco nodded to the living room.

Harry curled up on one end of the couch and Draco sat on the other, cross-legged and facing Harry. "So," Draco said, and Harry really dreaded the next words now that he wasn't drunk, "Who ratted me out? Was it Weasley?"

"What?"

"Who told you that I like you?"

Harry blinked, "Teddy. But how-"

"I've liked you for six and a half years and people have been telling me that you like me for at least five of them. Clearly someone must have decided to tell you, it's the only thing that could have prompted you to change."

He tilted his head consideringly, "What I said, though," he started, "Well, it's still true, even if I'm less emotional about it now. I have had several relationships flop through no fault of the men and women I've dated. I'm a mess, Draco."

"Do you imagine for even a moment that I'm not?"

Harry huffed a bitter laugh, "You're always so poised and put together. You-"

"I have nightmares three times a week," Draco said matter-of-factly. "I sleep with my wand tucked under my pillow and a dim light in the corner. I see a therapist every other week. My father and I have a very strained relationship because he doesn't approve of me being gay. And," he added, "I haven't had a successful relationship ever."

Harry stared at him for a long moment.

Long enough that Draco started talking again, "I'm a lot. Even on my best days and I would drive you roun-"

Harry interrupted him by leaning across the sofa and kissing him once softly to stop the words coming from his mouth. "You are amazing," he breathed. When he pulled back he said, "If you're okay with me not being perfect, I would love to try."

"Really?" Draco whispered.

Harry nodded, "Really."

And in the end, it was their imperfections that made the other love them all the more.

-----------------

Day 64: Shower | Day 66: Bond

So confession: this was not the fic I started writing for this prompt. But that one is already over 4000 words and it's like halfway done, so it's not making the cut tonight. I think it's actually going to end up being multiple chapters, I'll add a link in here when I've finished it. (I say this to apologize that this one is so rushed!)

[wonjaekook]

Residual Starshine

Pairing:  Soccer player!Yuta x fem!reader

Description: You’ve experienced plenty of irritations in your life. For better or for worse, none of them are quite like Nakamoto Yuta.

Word Count: 19.3k

Genre: strangers-to-friends-to-lovers ; fluff, smut, touch of angst

Warnings: my first published full blown smut scene (only one towards the end, nothing crazy), sexual references?, swearing, mentions of alcohol

A/N: Mingyu appears as a somewhat bad character in this, but I absolutely don’t think of him that way. As always, this is entirely fictional. If you want one song to vibe to while reading this, I was listening to Everybody Talks by Neon Trees a lot :-) this is the longest fic I’ve ever written and the first one containing smut that I’ve ever published, so please let me know what you thought!

Taglist: @junglewoos​ @insomni-writing​ @neowritingsnet​

This is my contribution to @/leesmrk’s sports collab, but she deactivated (Dee I miss you) so @lucas-wongs​ has compiled the masterlist in her stead! The link to the master post with all other submissions is in my masterlist.

You didn’t expect to be spending your first morning before classes with your face smashed into your pillow, pressing the cotton over your ears. Yesterday morning had been perfectly lovely - you slept a solid eight hours and you only awoke to the beautiful morning sunshine greeting you through your blinds.  All things considered, it was a very natural wake-up. However, the loud J-rock blaring through the floor from the apartment below you is the exact opposite of natural. Perhaps the music isn’t as loud as you perceive it to be, but you happen to take things quite personally when you’re woken up an hour early.

Except, you don’t take it personally enough that you force your body out of bed. Instead, you allow yourself to let out a loud groan of annoyance before you pull your covers over your head. Thankfully, the music shuts off about five minutes later and you drift back off to sleep.

When you awaken again an hour later, the sunlight coming into your room doesn’t seem nearly as friendly as it did yesterday. Still, this time you do force yourself to get up. You go through your usual routine - bathroom, change into your running clothes, and stretch. You hear no sounds of any stirring from your roommates as you get ready. It’s somewhat of a relief to have the apartment to yourself in the morning. You put your headphones in and step out of the apartment, trying to get yourself in the zone with your workout playlist while also doing a quick look around to see if anyone is out. One set of stairs and you’re at the door leading out of the small complex - a building with four apartments, two on the first floor and two on the second floor. Outside on the step leading to the sidewalk and there’s still no one around. Without a second of hesitation more, you’re off at a light jog. Half of the apartments in this area of your campus are dedicated to student athletes and there’s nothing you dread more than running, quite literally, into someone who’s by far your superior at this activity and who would judge you. As you run, the thought of your lower neighbor comes to you. You wake up early to go run - but they woke up earlier. At that thought, a frown subconsciously makes its way to your face. Shooting a quick prayer to the heavens that you don’t run into anyone, you continue on.

Though you hadn’t started running until this summer, you know your campus well enough in the years you’ve been here to find a nice path. That also means that, when you see pairs of runners ahead of you, you can make unexpected turns to avoid passing them. At one point, you veer out of the way of a pack of people who you assume is the running club. About forty five minutes later, you’re sweaty and more physically exhausted than when you had left, but the energy thrumming in your veins leaves you with a deep sense of satisfaction. You had successfully avoided every person you had come across on your run and-

You nearly open the door of your complex into one of your neighbors. Acting on reflex, you step back and dip your head, avoiding looking at him. “Oh, sorry.”

“That’s alright.” His voice is a smooth rumble and you look up, briefly forgetting about your sweaty and near-unpresentable state. He looks freshly showered, his skin smooth and just slightly sunkissed. Based on his physique, you would have guessed that he’s a student athlete, but his hair seems a little too long to match the stereotype. It’s a bit of a mane, a dark mop sitting atop the throne of his handsome face, and you think it suits him. As your eyes drift from his hair to his eyes to his nose and finally to his mouth, which has been set into the crooked angle of a smirk, it dawns on you that you’re checking him out very openly. Your face, already warm from exercise, turns blazing hot. After all of the hard work you went through to avoid embarrassing yourself this morning… “You’re cute, too, don’t worry.”

Several very intrusive thoughts come to you at once. By his very specific phrasing, he thinks you’re attractive. He also knows he’s attractive. The warmth of the complement fades to indignation at his cockiness. You press your mouth into a thin line and lower your head again, not making eye contact with him as you slip past him through the door. You’re not sure if his gaze follows you as you march back up the stairs to your apartment.

“One of our neighbors is a total ass!”

One of your roommates, Sowon, is lounging on your sofa as you sit at the small table in your shared living room, grinding the pen in your hand into your planner in frustration. It’s well into the afternoon now, the sun casting lines of shadows through your blinds, and you’re still hung up on what happened earlier. Sowon is also perfectly aware that you’re exaggerating, but she encourages you to continue. “The soccer neighbors or the volleyball neighbors?”

“Of course it’s one of the soccer neighbors! The volleyball neighbors would never do this to me.” You huff, eying the nearly empty container of cookies on the table.

“You’re aware that Johnny just brought those over so he had an excuse to hit on Yein, right?” Sowon releases a strand of hair that she had just idly wrapped around a finger, watching it twirl in the air. Your second roommate only sighs at the mention of her name, but doesn’t deny it.

“And Doyoung was the one who actually made them. So, by association, I am entitled to an equal share of cookies.” You consider Doyoung a friend - you shared a chemistry class with him once and he seemed to tolerate your presence, even enjoy it at times. He even sends you the occasional text still. “That doesn’t mean Yein isn’t going to be the one to give the container back, though.”

Yein frowns and opens her mouth but Sowon raises a finger to stop her. “Y/N is correct.”

With a shake of her head, Yein turns her attention back to you. “You were talking about the soccer neighbor?”

After you explain the situation as truthfully and dramatically as possible to them, they look at each other once before looking back at you. Sowon speaks first. “He’s definitely flirting.”

“Or he’s just like that naturally.” Yein counters. “Who flirts at eight in the morning?”

“You’d be surprised.” After you say that, her words sink in. You ran into him at eight in the morning, when he was looking refreshed. He’s a member of the soccer team, meaning he probably exercises in the morning. He also has pretty stereotypical rocker hair. “Holy shit, he’s the asshole who was blasting J-rock through the floor this morning!”

“Okay, never mind. He is a jerk.” Sowon wrinkles her nose.

“Was it at least good J-rock?” Yein prods.

You shrug. “It was alright, I guess. But that’s besides the point!” You slam your planner closed. “I’m giving him a piece of my mind the next time I see him.”

For several days, as classes start, you still get in your morning run and, each day, without fail, you’re woken up by the boy’s J-rock about an hour early. You fail to catch him at any time of the day until, finally, you’re on your way out of the apartment one morning. As you pull open the door, you nearly ram into him once again, though the situation is reversed. He’s the one who’s sweaty and warm, headphones firmly in his ears. That changes as he smirks, popping them out at the sight of you in the door. “So, we meet again.”

“Uh-huh.” You take the position of a displeased mother about to lecture a child, your arms crossed over your chest as you block the door. “You know, I have words for you.”

“Wow, already? People usually don’t have words for me until at least the third time we’ve met. Well, at least not more than a few choice ones like-”

You cut him off before he can inflate his own ego more. “Stop playing music so loud at six in the morning.”

He tilts his head like he’s confused, but the way his lips are quirked up tells you that he knows exactly what you’re talking about. “Baseless accusations. Maybe you should take this up with Jaehyun or Kun. I would never do such a thing.”

“Come on. I know it’s you.” The look you give him is entirely unamused, so he relents slightly, the smile falling from his face.

“What are you gonna do, report me to housing?” Before you can reply that, yes, that’s exactly what you’ll do, he continues. “I’ll tell them about the parties you and your roommates have. I’m sure they’d love coming out here at 3 AM one day just to tell you to keep it down. Almost as much as they’d love to come to my door at 6 to do the same.”

He starts walking towards the door and you turn your body inward, allowing him passage while silently fuming. “You-”

“My name is Nakamoto Yuta. You can say that if you need something to scream.” He gifts you a sly wink as he unlocks his door and lets himself in, leaving you so bewildered that you can’t think of a response at all.

“Stop messing with the soccer boys.” Sowon immediately reprimands you after you recount what happened. “You know the school will punish us before they punish them.”

“Yeah, and if this is your way of flirting, you need to think of something better.” Yein adds from the connected kitchen, tossing the stir-fry in her pan. “I’m not risking getting kicked out because you decided to mess with the soccer team’s star player.”

“To be fair, I don’t think he was really upset about the interaction. He seemed amused by my reaction.” You slump down, your forehead resting on the table. “And I didn’t know who he was until he said his name.”

“Well, he doesn’t know who you are-”

“And I don’t want him to.” You cut off Sowon. “I’ll just… deal with it.”

You get one more peaceful morning of running alone before, two days after you had first talked to him, Nakamoto Yuta comes jogging up to you. You don’t hear him at first. Music blares in your earbuds, drowning out most of the background noise of the morning, and your heartbeat in your ears fills out the parts of your internal sound profile that your music doesn’t quite reach. He comes up behind you, nearly making you jump out of your skin when you see the figure of another person jogging in your peripherals. Your pace falters, but you immediately try to right yourself and regain momentum, praying he’ll just pass by you without saying anything. Except he doesn’t leave. With an internal sigh, you turn your head towards him. He offers you a grin and air-taps over his ear. Resisting the urge to roll your eyes, you pull out your headphones. “What?”

“Great morning, isn’t it?”

You contemplate shutting your eyes so that you can purposefully trip and eject yourself from this conversation. “I guess.”

“It’s soccer season. You know that, right?” You narrow your eyes at him, but nod. “Our first game is coming up soon.” You don’t like where this is going. “You should come.” “You must be hard-pressed for attendees to be randomly asking your neighbor to come to your game.” You reach for your earbuds again.

“Hold on, hold on.” You pause, then immediately wonder why you’re even giving him the time of day. Still, you relent for a moment. “If you come to the game this Saturday, I’ll stop playing music so loud when I wake up.”

“If you were a kind and courteous neighbor, you would just do that without having to threaten me to go to one of your games. And,” you state flatly, “I’ve already been to enough soccer games for the rest of my life, thank you very much.”

As you jog away, he doesn’t try to stop you again, but you could swear that he seems the slightest bit disappointed.

The next morning is more of the same as usual. The same loud J-rock that wakes you up an hour early, your same run, your same shower and breakfast and classes. You consider shifting your sleep schedule so that you wake up at the same time as Yuta, though you dismiss the idea because why should you change your lifestyle to adjust for his? You’d rather suffer the early wakeup.

Except, two days after he asks you to come to one of his games, the music stops. That first morning, you wake up at your usual time. You’re prepared to be upset at Yuta waking you early again, but when your foggy morning brain processes that you had woken up to your own alarm and not his music, you lie there confused. When you go out for your run not long after, you almost hope that you’ll run into him. There’s no way he’s just being nice is there? He has to be sick or something. To your disappointment, you don't run into him and you’re just stuck in your confusion. This goes on for three more days and each day you become more perplexed.

As you’re returning to your apartment after your classes that Friday, someone holds the door for you as you approach. “Thanks-” you start, then see who’s holding it for you. “-oh! Jaehyun!”

“Hey, uh, Y/N, right?” You smile at him, nodding firmly. You’re almost surprised that he remembers your name because you’d only chatted once before, back when you were moving in. He’s perfectly polite, almost shy-seeming, and completely different from his roommate. “What’s up?”

“Nothing, I’m just getting back from classes.” Thinking of his roommate… “I was actually wondering, um…” He gives you a confused look, waiting for you to continue. “Is Yuta doing okay?”

“Yeah, he’s fine. Why?” Jaehyun hadn’t been aware that you were at all acquainted with his roommate.

You appear equally as confused as he does. “Oh, I… never mind. If you don’t mind me asking, where’s your next game?”

He brightens up at that. “It’s a home game. Tomorrow at six, don’t miss it!”

You return his smile. “Great, thanks, Jaehyun! I’ll see you around?” He sends you off with a wave before you go your separate ways, entering your respective apartments.

Should you actually go to his game? You don’t owe him anything, you never agreed to his deal, but he did stop playing his music so loud. You’re not really doing anything on Saturday either… maybe you’ll bug Sowon and Yein so that they’ll come with you.

That evening, the apartment below yours is particularly busy. All of the soccer boys are home - Yuta, Jaehyun, Kun - and the volleyball and art boys are also over - Johnny, Doyoung, Jungwoo, Taeyong, Ten, and Sicheng. After all, as Johnny says, Friday nights are for the boys. Conversation flows from school to girls to boys to soccer, upon which Jaehyun shares a very interesting observation with his friends.

“By the way, it seems like you have another admirer, Yuta.” Jaehyun says as he takes a swig of his soju, recently acquired from the nearby Korean market and grossly overpriced.

“Sure,” Yuta responds, rolling his eyes, “who would that be?”

“You know that girl from upstairs? Y/N? She asked about you today and then asked me about our next game.”

“We haven’t even had our first game and you’re already collecting fangirls? Come on, Yuta,” Kun chimes in this time, breaking away from his conversation with Sicheng about their shared organic chemistry class.

“That can’t be right,” Yuta says, leaning back into the couch, “L/N Y/N? I’m pretty sure she hates my guts. I tried to make a deal with her to get her to come to the game and she just brushed me off.”

Doyoung narrows his eyes at his friend. “Y/N doesn’t just hate people for no reason. What did you do?”

Yuta raises his hands defensively and half-glares at him. “I didn’t do anything! I was just being myself and she decided to hate me.”

“The star-player, cocky version of yourself or the normal version of yourself?” Doyoung says, looking entirely unamused.

Yuta thinks back to all of the encounters he’s had with you and cringes slightly. “Listen, she was the one who was checking me out first-”

“Stupid.” Doyoung shakes his head before taking a sip of the water he’s drinking. “Some people take well to forwardness, but not her.”

“Are you sure? Because if she’s asked after me, I think that means she likes it.”

“I am going to spike a ball into your head, you-”

“Guys, calm down,” Sicheng says with a rather flat tone. Instantly, the two bickering boys stop, resorting to glaring at each other. Jaehyun gently shoves his roommate to get his attention and the room quickly returns to normal. Later, Doyoung passes Yuta a new bottle once his has run out, so he knows that the younger was never truly angry at him. The small party doesn’t go long into the night - tomorrow’s the first game of the season, after all - and, surprisingly, there isn’t much noise from their upstairs neighbor either.

That is mostly thanks to you. You had convinced your two party-addicted friends to attend someone else’s get together instead of hosting their own, so you ushered them out of the house at around ten in the evening. You know that they’ll come back fine in a few hours, rumpled and with their makeup half sweated off, buzzing with alcohol and the blaring music of whatever houseparty they were invited to, but you still tell them that your phone will be off of silent in case they need anything. Previous semesters, you might have gone with them, but, now, you just want to sleep so you can wake up early and go on your usual run.

The morning comes with your sleep uninterrupted by your roommates. After you awaken, instead of lying in bed and contemplating life for a while, you drag yourself up and to their rooms, where you find each of them peacefully asleep in their beds. Yein bothered to change out of her party clothes and into pajamas while Sowon didn’t, her dress half off of her shoulder and bunched up under her butt. Both of them are snoring away, hugging pillows and blankets.

The relief of seeing your roommates in good condition adds a spring to your step. A few minutes later, after you’ve stretched on the floor of your bedroom, you’re halfway out the outside door of the complex when you feel a tap on your shoulder. You know who it is even before you turn around.

“Y/N,” Yuta says, grinning much too brightly for how early it is. He doesn’t seem like he’s been out yet, which is strange. “Good morning.”

“Is it?” You lift an eyebrow.

“Perfectly!” As he talks, you begin to move farther out the door. Down one step. Down two steps. On the sidewalk. “Do you want to run together?”

“Shouldn’t you be just coming back from doing that?” You pull out your phone.

He quickly matches his stride to yours. “I decided to start running an hour later on the weekends. You know, sleep in a bit since I have the time.”

“I’m happy for you.” You select a song and put one ear of your headphones in.

“Are you coming tonight?”

“Didn’t I already answer that?” In all honesty, you feel like you should be more irritated with him than you actually are. He’s at least amusing to talk to. Plus, he stopped waking you up an hour early without you even promising to come to his game.

“Yeah, but then you asked Jaehyun about it.”

You stop moving, turning to look at him. He has another one of those infuriating smirks on his face and all of your previous enjoyment flies out the window. “Maybe I’m a huge fan of his.”

“What position does he play?”

“I don’t have to answer that!” Now, your face is already warming and you haven’t even begun your exercise. You turn away from him again and begin to slowly jog. “Bye, Yuta.”

“He’s a midfielder! And I’m a forward! You can see today at the game!” He calls after you as you get farther away, his voice getting more distant. Part of you feels bad for your neighbors - the windows aren’t exactly soundproof. You just wave a hand back at him in dismissal. A minute later, you look behind you. To your great relief, and mild surprise, he isn’t following you. He went the complete opposite direction.

“Will you guys please come with me? I promise some of the guys on the team are hot.” You tug on Sowon’s sleeve like a child does to their mother when they want something.

“I thought you hated college soccer because of your brother.” She flips a page in her textbook, scribbling down something in her notes.

“I don’t think this one will be so bad. Our team is supposed to be really good this year, right?” You look hopefully at her.

“How am I supposed to know? How is anyone supposed to know? Today is their first game.” She stops attempting to study, looking at you. “Also, I’m messing around. I’ll go with you.”

You look at your other roommate, who is in the middle of the very exhaustive task of sitting on your sofa and scrolling through her phone. She gives you a thumbs up. “As long as I can put on face paint!”

A couple hours later, you find yourselves in the bleachers surrounding the soccer field. It’s a modest stadium, not a stadium at all but just a normal soccer field with bleachers on either side and some decently sized flood lights for night usage. Not too far away is a moderately sized building that is a shared locker room space for all of the school’s athletic teams. Your school never invested much of its funds into soccer until recently, largely thanks to Yuta and some of the other members who are in their third or fourth year playing who made a name for your university in the sport. You also suspect that they probably talked the ear off of the provost so that he finally agreed to give them more funding, but that’s just a personal guess.

From your place on the home side of the bleachers, you have total vision of the field. Both teams are running warm-up drills and it’s easy enough to spot the people you know: someone from your physics class named Mingyu, someone you remember from a party named Baekho, and your lower neighbors, Jaehyun, Kun, and, of course, Yuta. His hair is pulled back from his face in a small ponytail at the back of his head and a small version of your university’s lion mascot stands out proudly on his red jersey.

You purposefully make a point to look for him last, only to find that he’s completely focused. Though it’s just shooting drills, he seems like he’s entirely in the zone, his eyes sharp and calculated. From what you can tell. The physical distance between you isn’t huge, but you can’t read his expressions that well from this angle.

The sharp scream of a whistle being blown indicates that there’s five minutes until the start of the game. The teams both do a bit of last minute stretching as they gather around the coach, a man you recognize as a biology professor. Finally, just as the clock hits six, they squeeze closer together, arms slung over each others’ shoulders in a tight circle, and do some sort of indistinct chant that ends in something like “Go Lions!”

After they break away, you can see the shift in atmosphere. Everyone is completely serious. It’s the first game of the season and they aren’t going to destroy the reputation they’ve built up for the last three years. You watch as Jaehyun moves to his position as a midfielder, Kun moves to his position as defense, and Yuta lines up in the position of forward center. A coin flip gives the kick-off to the away team, a school with a hawk mascot. Everyone shifts slightly on their feet and, for a moment, the world seems to be silent. The crowd leans forward in their seats.

Then, the whistle is blown.

The game gets to a roaring start. From how cautiously the other team is playing, they seem to know the reputation of the Lions - a team that shot up out of nowhere and suddenly has one of the best forwards in college soccer. You find yourself grinning as the ball barely makes it past your team’s defensive midfielder Mingyu before it’s in the Lions’ metaphorical hands. Your midfielders carefully juggle the ball between them, passing and passing and passing, before it reaches Jaehyun at center midfield. He does his job quickly and efficiently, making it almost look easy, and the ball meets the half-tip. From there, the ball is stolen by one of the Hawks’ defense at a failed pass to the second striker, Baekho. The ball shoots all the way to midfield.

For a few tense minutes, you watch the players run back and forth across the field, their eyes never leaving the target. The game pauses every so often when the ball gets kicked out of bounds, but it always resumes with just as much vigor. About a quarter of the way through the game, Yuta finally has his breakthrough. Jaehyun lands a kick directly in his direction, giving him the perfect opportunity. The strike is clean and so fast that you would have missed it if your eyes weren’t glued to the movements of the ball. All of the people on your side of the bleachers launch to their feet in roaring cheers as the ball sails past the opponent goalie’s right side and into the net. You’re standing alongside everyone else, your hands cupped around your mouth as you yell in excitement. It’s not often that you see such a well done shot from a college team.

The boil of the crowd’s blood dies down a bit as the game continues, but soars back up whenever something particularly exciting happens. In the third quarter, the Hawks manage to land a goal on your team, but Yuta comes in clutch a few minutes later and scores two easy goals almost one after the other. The final score is deeply satisfying at 3:1.

The opposing team try to be good sports about it, but they’re obviously sulking when they shake your team’s hands. After they break away, they’re all gloriously sweaty, which you’re sure Sowon is excited about. Some of the spectators immediately rush out of the stands and make their way down, friends and significant others of the players, you presume. Part of you wants to go down there and be a part of the excitement. Luckily enough, a distraction comes in the form of some of your other neighbors before you’re forced to make any decisions.

“Hey, Yein, Sowon, Y/N!”

When you turn, you see Johnny and Doyoung approaching. Yein stiffens slightly and you nearly start laughing at your friend’s embarrassed behavior. Sowon greets them first. “Hi, guys.”

“I didn’t know you guys were into soccer?” Johnny asks, his eyes shifting easily from Sowon to you to Yein, where they remain.

“Not really! But Y/N wanted to go today.” In her nervousness, Yein easily exposes you.

“I wasn’t the only one who wanted to go,” you huff, crossing your arms. Doyoung and Johnny exchange a look that makes you want to change the subject. “I guess you guys are here to support some friends?”

“Yup, Yuta, Kun, and Jaehyun,” Doyoung says, looking towards the field, where some of their other friends are already gathered around the star player. “They played really well. It’ll be a good season.”

“I hope so,” Sowon says, also watching.

“Well, we don’t want to keep you guys from them,” you say, wanting to eject yourself from the conversation before it turns in a different direction. To your displeasure, Johnny is a master of knowing exactly what you don’t want and then doing it anyways. You’ve never really talked to him before, but it seems that he’s similar to Yuta in that way.

“Why don’t we all go say hi?” The tall boy says, grinning. “You guys can tell me how those cookies were, too.”

There is no escape. Now, as you follow them down the bleachers, you reflect Yein in a way. She no longer looks quite as nervous, eagerly chatting with Johnny, while you grow increasingly more fidgety. It’s not that you don’t want to talk to Yuta. You just don’t want to give in to whatever game the two of you silently decided you were playing.

Then again, it is much more fun to play along than it is to outright reject him. Plus, today’s actual game was good. You’ll give him that.

Trying to seem as nonchalant as possible, you join the small crowd surrounding Yuta. If you thought he glowed normally, he absolutely shines now. There’s something about him being in his element at the very top of his game that makes you forget your irritation with him for a moment. In that instant, he’s a star. In that instant, he reminds you of your brother. Then, he spots you and opens his mouth.

“Y/N!” As he calls out to you, the girl he was talking to before you arrived seems perturbed, but he ignores her, pushing his way closer to you. “You actually came.”

You turn your nose up at him slightly. “No one ever said it was for you.”

“Of course not. You and I both know the truth, though.” The wink is nowhere near subtle or sly and you scoff at him. He seems unbothered. “This was your first Lions game, right? Did you enjoy it?”

You nod hesitantly. “I heard you guys were good, but I didn’t know how good. You played a near perfect game.”

The self-satisfied smile drops from his face. “I wouldn’t say that.”

“What do you mean?” Tilting your head, you match his somewhat grim face.

“There’s always better plays to make, better places to have been. You know.” He quickly tries to play it off like he’s uninterested rather than deeply bothered. You’re not sure you know what the truth is. You haven’t talked to him nearly enough to know. This is the first hint of something serious that he’s shown you. It almost makes you want to talk to him more to find out.

“Dude, shut up, you’re good.” From the side, Johnny butts in, elbowing his friend. You’re glad for the interruption, as you once again didn’t know what to say. The mood raises, with some of Yuta’s friends reenacting the best parts of the game, joking about his long hair, betting on what next week’s game will look like. A few minutes later, the Lions’ coach shouts for all of the team members to go shower and get changed, so the crowd slowly disperses.

After you’re alone with your roommates, Sowon and Yein can’t help but give you playful shoves as you walk home. Sowon is the first to verbalize her amusement. “I thought you hated him?”

You grumble under your breath, not saying anything in particular.

“You played a near perfect game.” Yein mimics, making your face burn.

“I do not sound like that! Also, I know a good game when I see one and I know when to admit it!” You kick your shoe against the pavement as they giggle at you.

From then on, it seems like you run into Yuta far too often for your own good. Every few days, you bump into him when you’re either about to go run or when you’re coming back from running. When you go with Yein to return Johnny’s cookie container, Yuta is in his apartment, lounging on the sofa and chatting with Jungwoo, your third volleyball neighbor. Once, when you’re studying at the school library because you need a change of scenery from your apartment, he runs into you. That time, you snap at him.

“Are you stalking me or something?”

He places a hand over his heart, pretending to be offended.  “What do you mean? If anything you’re the one stalking me. I come here every Thursday after practice to study.” He huffs. “If you’re talking about when I was in Johnny’s apartment, I was already there before you even arrived. Unless you’re accusing me of being psychic, too.”

Your shoulders slowly lower at the guilt you feel. Cringing slightly, you raise your hands in apology. “I didn’t mean to imply…” You sigh. “Sorry. Can I buy you a coffee or something to apologize?”

Only after Yuta’s mock hurt shifts to a triumphant look do you realize the implications of your words. You’re really on a roll with implications today. He grins. “If you really want to.”

As you pack up your things, Yuta tells the few teammates he had come to study with that he’s going, and you walk out of the library side by side. Luckily, he actually makes for easy conversation and good company. You don’t know why he insists on the flirting and cockiness in your shorter interactions. As you walk to the campus coffee shop, you learn that he’s a studio art major. He learns that you’re a physical therapy major. You learn that he’s taking a statistics class that you had already previously taken - he put it off while you got it done in your first year - and, without thinking, you offer to help him if he needs it. After you order both of your coffees, finding out that he likes a lighter roast, you sit at a table in the shop with him. Silence comes and goes as both of you do some of the studying that you intended to do at the library. Every so often, he asks you a question. Usually, you answer him. You always return with a question of your own. You find out that his favorite of the bands that he used to blast through the floor is One Ok Rock.

“Sorry,” he finally says, appearing genuinely remorseful with the sheepish look on his face, “I didn’t have upstairs neighbors last year. I didn’t know you could hear it through the floor.”

“It’s fine. Sorry I snapped at you back then.”

It’s very strange to be on perfectly good terms with Nakamoto Yuta.

A few days later, when your brother sends you a ticket for the local professional soccer team, the Ravens, you almost feel like you should ask for a second so you can bring Yuta. Figuring it would be too much to ask, you plan to go by yourself, thankful that the game falls on a day the Lions aren’t playing. Plus, you can’t imagine what your roommates would say if you chose to go out of your way to take him with you.

You’ve taken to hanging out with the long-haired center forward, helping him with his math when he needs it and just… generally enjoying his company. That doesn’t mean you’re all sugar and smiles to him - it’s much more fun to mess around a little, make him think that you don’t like him quite as much as you actually do. The only thing you can think of that would personally offend him would be to say you’re going to one of his games and then failing to do so.

On the bus ride over to the stadium where the Ravens are playing, you’re thankful that you don’t recognize anyone from your school. You’re in the team’s colors, silver and forest green, and it would be clear to anyone where you’re going. Only after you get off of the bus do you realize just how many came to watch. The stadium is full, packed to almost capacity. That’s probably why your brother hadn’t gotten you tickets earlier - all of them were taken. He probably gave tickets to the earlier games to your parents. They would have thrown a fit if he had only invited you earlier, even if you are his favorite.

As you make your way to your seat, you remark on how strange it is to see your last name printed on the backs of the shirts of a bunch of strangers. The vibe of the crowd is completely different from that at your school’s field. While college students are excitable and energetic, these spectators are rabid. At any moment, there’s one hundred people yelling, someone trying to start a chant, someone screaming just for the sake of it. The air is buzzing with the anticipation of the crowd.

There’s a moment of sudden thick silence, like the moment before a dam is about to burst, where the crowd is silent. Then, both teams are stepping out onto the field and the stadium explodes. In the middle of the line of the eleven Ravens players, like he’s trying to blend in even though half of the crowd is chanting his name, is your brother. There’s a coin flip and it’s decided that the Ravens will start. He gets into his position, forward center, and the audience takes another breath.

You’re on the edge of your seat. Half of the game you’re standing. There’s a thrill about the experience that makes you so invigorated and proud beyond belief. If it had been strange seeing your last name on the backs of fans’ jerseys, it’s just as weird hearing the announcer say your brother’s name as he scores. If Yuta had been residual starshine, your brother is a shot of pure gold. He has long given up trying to make himself small where he glows the brightest, smiling as the whistle is blown for halftime. His teammates slap each other on the back when they go for water. Just as the game is about to resume, you feel your phone buzz in your pocket once. You figure that whoever is texting you can wait.

The other team makes a comeback in the second half, scoring on the Ravens and tying the score. You feel a bit bad for the goalie, a guy you know as Kim Yongsuk, who your brother had introduced you to in the past. He’s probably beating himself up over it. Still, the team doesn’t falter, doesn’t repeat their mistakes. It’s a hard game - from how close you are, you can almost see everyone breathing hard. Finally, with just a few minutes left to spare, the ball travels smoothly from the Ravens’ defensive line, to the midfielders, to the offense. Once it’s in your brother’s possession, it’s over. He shoots and he scores.

To be fair to the other team, they try to recover, but it’s just not enough. Time is called and it ends 2:1. The Ravens have won. You find yourself clapping and cheering with the other fans, shouting your elation to the huge stadium. As things begin to wind down and the teams shake hands, people begin to trickle out of the stadium. A satisfied hum is in the air, leaving a smile on your face, too. Perhaps soccer games are the reason you like parties, too. The warm, excited atmosphere, the noise, forgetting about the outside world to become absorbed in something else.

Finally, reality calls again after all of the players filter out to their respective locker rooms. You pull out your phone, about to send a text to your brother. However, when your phone comes to life, the first thing you see is a text from Yuta.

NaYu: Are you at the Ravens game??

An instant later, right on cue, you hear his voice. “Y/N!” Upon looking up, he’s bounding down the aisles towards you, also donning forest green and silver. Watching him weave through the rest of the people trying to leave, you wouldn’t be surprised if he would have slid down the railing if there weren’t other people there. Nonetheless, it doesn’t take long for him to reach you. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”

“Why not?” You tilt your head, smiling slightly. You’re in too good of a mood to outright lie to him.

He blinks. “I thought you hated watching soccer.”

You hold your hands behind your back, swaying playfully. For once, he’s the confused one. “I don’t know what gave you that impression. I really enjoy seeing the Ravens play.”

“But… you said…” He furrows his eyebrows. “Didn’t you say you’ve seen enough soccer games to last your whole life already, or something?” “I changed my mind.” Your phone buzzes in your hand.

B/N: You still in the stands? I’m coming up.

At that, you freeze. Yuta nudges you. “You okay?”

“Oh, yeah, I’m fine.” You’ve kept the fact that your brother is the Ravens’ star striker away from everyone, besides your roommates, and you can’t even begin to imagine how Yuta would react if he found how. What would he think of you? “You can head out without me, Yuta. I’m waiting for someone.” The concerned expression doesn’t leave his face. “Are you sure? It’s kind of late-”

“Yeah, don’t worry about it. I’ll be fine, I’m-”

“Y/N!”

You turn just in time to see your brother jumping the gate blocking off the entrance to the field from the stands. Most of the stadium has cleared out by now, ushered out by staff, leaving very few people. Your brother has a hoodie on with his team’s colors, the hood up and partially blocking his face from distant onlookers nonetheless. You cringe internally as he jogs up to you, not seeming tired at all, and you greet him as he engulfs you in a warm hug. “Hi, B/N.”

“I’m glad you could make it. It’s not often that I get to play for my favorite sibling.” You’re looking at your brother, but you’re sure that Yuta has a shocked look on his face as he connects the dots. Now that your brother has directly stated who he is to you, there’s no avoiding it. He looks past you and realizes that you’re not alone. “Who’s this?”

“I…” Now that you’re actually looking at Yuta, you realize he’s entirely starstruck. He looks like he’s stuck in one place, his eyes wider than normal and full of awe.

You take over for him. “This is Yuta. He’s my friend from school and our team’s center forward.”

“It’s nice to meet you, I’m B/N! Since Y/N finally decided to show her face at her own team’s games, I heard you guys are doing well this year. Go Lions!” He raises a fist, giving Yuta a sunny smile.

Yuta blinks hard, looking almost like he might pass out. “Y-yeah. We’re doing alright, I guess. Thank you for your support.” He reflexively dips into a shallow bow, making your brother chuckle.

“You don’t have to be so formal. Any friend of Y/N’s is a friend of mine.” He elbows you not-so-gently. “Y/N! Tell me next time you want to bring him. I’ll throw in a second ticket.”

Yuta unfreezes a bit and looks at you. “You don’t bring Yein or Sowon?”

You shrug. “I don’t like to bring only one of them. It feels unfair to the other.”

“Still, I’m glad to see that you’re not lying about having at least one friend.” Your brother gives you a wicked grin and heat fills your cheeks.

“I have friends!” You insist, clenching your fists at your side.

“Do you?” Yuta teases, making you press your lips together in a look of indignation.

Before you can counter him, your brother interjects. “I hate to part with the two of you, but I have to leave.” He steps back, waving a hand at the two of you. “See you!” “I hope you stub your toe on the way out!” You shout back at him as he retreats.

“Hey, this toe is worth a lot of money! Love you, too!”

There’s a period of silence as you watch your brother disappear. Yuta clears his throat. “Do you want to go back?”

“Yeah.” You follow him wordlessly for a while, making your way out of the stadium. He walks by your side, his hands in his pockets. He doesn’t seem upset, just a bit shocked still. As you approach the bus stop, you finally speak up. “Did you come with anyone else?”

“Some of the guys from the team. I told them to go ahead without me so I could talk to you.” Of all the things he’s ever said, that makes your heart feel strange. A tiny flutter of a butterfly’s wings, if you will.

Then, as you make it to the bus shelter, you turn to him, grabbing onto the edge of his sleeve. “Yuta, promise you won’t be weird after this?”

He blinks, not fighting your grip. “Why would I be weird?”

“Just… I don’t really tell people about my brother. I don’t want you to think any differently about me because of it.” This level of vulnerability isn’t something you usually show and it feels foreign, unfamiliar. When you told Sowon and Yein about it, it didn’t feel this way. Yet, standing under the shelter with Yuta, his deep green sleeve in your hand, his eyes on yours, the light of the city falling faintly on your faces, you feel your heart pound even harder in your chest.

“I already liked you before I ever knew that.” He reaches up oh so slowly. You don’t know what he’s going to do. Touch your cheek, pat your head, kiss you? Before you can find out, the bus pulls up with a loud exhale, spewing exhaust. The doors open and the driver looks at you expectantly as you turn and get in. Yuta follows you, silent. Both of you pay your dues and sit down, side by side, his sleeve brushing yours.

You know exactly what it is about him that drives you insane. At the same time, you have no idea. While you don’t want things to be different with him after tonight, you also desperately wish for the opposite. You’re tempted to slap yourself in the face to try and wake yourself up from whatever strange dream you’re happening, but you don’t know how the boy next to you would react.

The ride passes excruciatingly slowly, as does the short walk back to your complex. Finally, as you’re standing in the stairwell, about to part ways with him, he speaks. “Do you want to study together tomorrow?”

At that, such a normal suggestion, you smile. “Sure.”

He reflects your expression. It’s a familiar look on him, which you’re grateful for. “I’ll text you. Goodnight, Y/N.”

The next day is entirely ordinary. It’s like the previous night never happened. Yuta is perfectly normal, perfectly flirty, perfectly infuriating. In fact, the entire week after is normal. You go to the Lions game, cheer on your neighbors, and pretend to be difficult with Yuta after the game. He’s always so hard on himself after his games, remarking on what he believes are the many things he could have done differently to play a better game, despite scoring all of the team’s goals and securing wins every time. You hope that you talking to him afterwards raises his spirits just as much as you enjoy it.

Then, one Saturday, you’re out running when Yuta jogs up to you. Once again, he scares the shit out of you, making you nearly trip. “Hey, Y/N.”

You tear out your headphones, giving him a look. “Have you tried not jumpscaring me?”

The shrug he gives you looks strange, as he’s jogging slowly next to you when he attempts to emote. “It’s kind of funny.” You grumble under breath about showing him what’s funny, and he continues. “Do you want to run together on the weekends?”

“This again?” You say, frowning.

He rolls his eyes. “Listen, I know you’re lonely. Since you come out to my games, I thought I should do you some sort of favor in return.”

“I also help you with your statistics homework.”

“Anyways, you’re in luck because I also don’t have a running partner. It’s a lot easier to set a pace and keep moving if you have someone with you.”

You know he’s right, but it doesn’t make you feel any better. When you’re running, you’re at your most vulnerable - sweaty, tired, out of your element. There’s plenty of reasons you shouldn’t want him to run with you. “You have to run so much faster than I do. I would just slow you down.”

“Not really,” he says, looking at your feet as you jog next to him, “see? We’re both doing fine right now.”

You realize that he’s right. You keep moving wordlessly for a minute, until you speak quietly. “Would you really not mind?”

You focus on his hair bouncing as he takes each step for a while before you look at his face. In the morning sunlight, he gives you a pure smile. “Not at all.”

On Saturdays and Sundays, he’s waiting for you just outside of the complex at seven in the morning with his hair tied up to keep it out of his eyes. He easily matches his pace to yours. He’s always much more awake at that hour than you are, but the quiet encouragement he whispers whenever you slow down help perk you up. It takes you a little while to realize that he’s doing something very similar for you to what you do for him after his games.

It’s a cloudy Sunday morning. Usually, you don’t talk a ton while you’re running together, but it seems that his curiosity has gotten the best of him. “What made you want to start running?”

“Hm?” You hum, snapped out of the world that was just your feet thudding against the ground and the sound of your breathing in your ears. “Do I have to have a reason?”

“People usually don’t just randomly start doing it. Maybe they want to get stronger or lose weight. Maybe they want to impress someone.”

“It’s not about impressing anyone. I’m doing this for me.” You say it firmly, confidently. His pace stutters and he watches you continue forward. There’s something in your voice that makes him incapable of moving, and all he can do is stare at you for a moment, his heart speeding up in his chest for reasons other than the running you’re doing. When you realize he isn’t following, you turn towards him, jogging in place. The way your face is illuminated by the sunlight being cast upon it makes him sure he’s never met someone as incredible as you before in his life. “Are you coming?”

You don’t know what’s up with him. His expression is something you’ve never seen but can’t quite place. He catches up in a few bounds and you resume your run.

The next Friday, you receive a strange text.

Unknown Number: Hey, is this Y/N?

You contemplate whether or not you should respond, but you get a second text.

Unknown Number: This is Mingyu from physics

Now, that’s strange. You start to type out a reply.

Y/N: Hi! What’s up?

Kim Mingyu: I was wondering if you could help me with the lab report from last Friday? I’m having some trouble

Y/N: Sure, do you want to meet in the library later?

Meeting up with someone who you’ve never really talked to before is strange. Mingyu tries to joke with you, but something about them falls flat. You try your best to laugh and help him anyways, figuring it’s just stiffness from interacting with someone new. Though it’s nice to finally have a physics buddy, you’re almost relieved when you go home.

As you approach your complex, you see a small group formed on the lawn outside. Sicheng and Ten are standing on one leg, holding the other leg up and trying to knock each other down. A small smile comes to your face when you realize that Yuta is in the group, cheering for his friends. Around the same time you see him, he sees you and his eyes light up. He’s quickly getting to his feet and bounding towards you. Taeyong calls after him with a frown. “Yuta, you’re next!”

Still, he sidles up next to you as you walk closer to the circle. “Y/N! Where are you coming from?”

“Just the library. Actually, I was meeting up with one of your teammates, Mingyu. We were working on physics.”

The smile he wears twitches downwards for a moment. “I didn’t know you had a class with him.”

“It wasn’t worth mentioning. I never talked to him before today.” You shrug, shifting the backpack on your shoulders. “What are you guys doing?”

“One-legged fight. You should join.” He suddenly has a sadistic gleam in his eye and you take a tiny step away from him.

“And give you an excuse to push me on the ground? No thanks.”

“Aw, Y/N, I’m hurt. You don’t think I would just push you if I really wanted to?” At his proclamation, you shake your head, trying to force down a smile but failing miserably. “I’m kidding, of course. I would never.”

It’s almost sunset and he looks glorious in the golden light, the sun reflecting off of his dark hair and making his eyelashes cast long shadows on his cheekbones. If you were bolder, you might say something about it. Instead, you let out a snort of laughter, looking away from him. From the circle a few yards away, cheers erupt. Ten is curled on the ground, dramatically bemoaning his loss to Sicheng, who stands proudly over him. Taking that as his cue, Yuta gives you a small wave and rejoins his group.

When you enter your apartment with a small, content smile on your face, Yein looks up from her cooking. “Good day?”

“You could say that.”

The next morning, thankfully, is a Saturday. Yuta is waiting for you, looking just as fine in the morning sun as he did in the evening rays. He’s stretching as you approach him. “It looks like it’ll be good weather for the match today.”

“It better be.” He says it lightheartedly, but you can really imagine him threatening the weather. He’s told you that he hates the rain, partly because it makes it unpleasant to play but also just because it dampens his mood. The team is lucky they’ve gotten good weather for the season so far.

As you’re running, you remember what something you needed to ask Yuta about. “Hey, are you free on Wednesday night? My brother offered me two tickets for his game.”

His eyes light up. “Are you serious?”

“Yeah?” You tilt your head, trying to keep your pace steady. “He said he would pull through, so he did. You made a good impression on him.”

“I am totally free. Completely. Did I tell you how free I am that day?” The child-like excitement in his voice makes you smile in return.

“Wow, with how not free you are, I guess I should invite someone else,” you tease and he lets out an uncharacteristic whine.

“Y/N, I know you’re messing with me, but if you take someone else after asking me, I will never forgive you.”

Now it’s your turn to pretend to be offended. “I see how much our friendship means to you, Mr. Nakamoto.”

He sighs dramatically, bringing a hand to his forehead as he acts like he’s going to faint. “You’re so serious.”

You stick out your tongue at him. “You’re such a fanboy.”

“I can’t help it. Your brother is just so cool. I don’t know how you don’t try to hang out with him literally all the time.”

That gives you pause. You feel your feet connect with the earth repeatedly for a minute, thinking about your brother and your complicated but not complicated relationship. You trust Yuta with so many things, so you may as well tell him. “A few weeks ago, when I said I was only doing this for me, I lied. Just a little.” You say, not looking at him. You’ve never really admitted it out loud before. “I want to get good enough to run with my brother. I almost never see him these days, but if I can start getting up to run with him sometimes… it’ll be like when we were kids. Or something. I don’t know.”

“He’s important enough to you that you want to change something about your life to spend more time with him,” Yuta says quietly, keeping pace with you. “I hope he knows how much you care about him.”

“You don’t always need to change to show you love someone. That’s why it was only partly a lie when I said I’m only doing this for myself.” You flash Yuta a smile, which he returns. Though your lungs burn and your legs ache, the air you breathe in is cool and fresh. “I’ll race you back.”

His eyes flash. “Challenge accepted.”

The next time you see Yuta is later that day, at his game. He’s serious, as usual, in the zone. As the season goes on, the bleachers fill up more and more with students eager to see the Lions throw sparks. The games continually get harder, but they manage to clutch this one out with a final score of 3:2.

Despite the win, Yuta still seems somewhat down. Afterwards, you’re about to go up to him to describe the glorious moment when he slid between two of the opponent defenders and scored, but you’re stopped by a heavy hand on your shoulder.

“Hey, Y/N.” To your surprise, Mingyu is the one approaching you. He doesn’t take his hand away.

“Oh! Mingyu, hi.” You try to smile at him, but your eyes wander over to Yuta briefly. “Good game today! You guys played solidly.”

“Ha, thanks. Could’ve been better on my part, I’m always looking to improve, you know.”

“I get it,” you respond, nodding.

“Are you possibly free on Wednesday night? We have a lab due on Friday and I just think it would be easier to do if we can work together, ya know?”

“Oh, um, I’m actually busy then.” You force yourself to not look at Yuta. “Does Thursday night work instead?”

“Sure, whatever. I’ll see you then.” The way he squeezes your shoulder once before stepping away to talk to some of his own friends makes your stomach turn. Why is he being so… weird?

Shaking your head, you turn back to who you had intended to greet in the first place, only to find that he had been looking at you already. What’s with the look in his eyes? Why is everyone being so weird? Ignoring the feeling, you join his circle. Yuta moves closer to your side, his arm looping around your waist as he does so, pulling you in slightly. The touch is brief but intimate, sending a bolt of electricity through your body. You swear that you can almost feel the heat of his skin through your clothes. Then, his arm is back at his side like nothing happened. You want to speak up, say what you were planning on saying before, get your mind back on a normal track, but you find that Johnny, Ten, and Jungwoo are already recreating the scene, making Yuta smile through the veil of whatever emotions he’s experiencing right now.

When the entire team heads over to the locker rooms to clean off the shine of sweat and dirt that had been accumulated through the game, you can’t help watching him. As he goes, you catch flashes of his smile while he congratulates his teammates. Something stirs in your heart.

That night, you dream of healing smiles dressed in a lion’s mane of black hair. That same visage is waiting for you the next morning when you go out to run but, here outside of your head, he’s solid, real, more than heated touches and soft caresses. At the same time, he is those things. Or, so you wish him to be.

When you study with him the next night, he is as he usually is, theoretically. Sometimes it feels like his eyes linger longer than usual, his hand rests a little closer, he smiles a little wider. It’s nothing you can confirm because, to any normal gaze, he seems entirely the same. Perhaps you’re confusing yourself into imagining things. Has his flirtatious nature finally tricked your brain into thinking he likes you?

Sometime that evening, you go to the bathroom and stare at yourself in the mirror. You pat your face rather harshly to try and drive some sense back into your brain. You should tell him. This new boy who has become so close to you. Why are you afraid of it going wrong? You emerge from the bathroom with the same feelings that you entered it with and, there he is, looking up at your return.

The next day, Tuesday is a brief reprieve from the torture of trying to figure out his feelings through his actions. Then, your brother’s game comes. Your chatter fills the space between you on the bus ride to the stadium, him telling you about the anime he’s watching, you talking about the drama you’re watching in response. He jokes about culturing you by getting you to watch a show with him.

Watching your brother’s game with Yuta at your side is an entirely different experience. While you think you normally have pretty good commentary on your own, he provides an extra edge, excitedly explaining why some players choose to do some things or making observations about small moves that you ordinarily wouldn’t notice. Both of you absorb the atmosphere of the stadium, bursting into cheers whenever something incredible happens, screaming extra loud when your brother scores.

During halftime, when the roar of the audience is less deafening, you realize that you’ve never asked Yuta about his background with soccer before. You nudge him. “Hey, Yuta? How long have you been playing?”

He taps his chin, trying to think back. “Probably since I was five?”

“No wonder you know so much,” you say, “I’m talking to an expert right now.”

“You know too much for just a casual viewer,” he says back, snorting, “don’t tell me you don’t have some experience.”

“I only played a bit when I was younger, but I wasn’t any good. It was always more fun to watch B/N. I ended up just taking care of him whenever he pulled something or fell and scraped his arm… you know.” A wistful smile forms on your face. “It started off as just kissing bruises like my mom would, but then it turned into intense Googling whenever I couldn’t immediately figure out what was wrong with him.”

“Maybe you can kiss my boo-boos whenever I get hurt, too, then.” He’s smirking, the ever-familiar gleam of mischief in his gaze.

You force yourself to roll your eyes at him, ignoring the feeling of your heart jumping in your chest. “You’d better not get hurt, Nakamoto.”

“Only because you asked so nicely.”

A few minutes later, the game resumes. This matchup is considerably more difficult than the game you had attended before. Each time the Ravens seem like they’re close to scoring, the opponent defense sends it back towards your end of the field or the goalie successfully blocks it. All the same, your defense and goalie do their jobs, too, leading to a brutal back and forth. By the time the game is over, the only goal that had been scored was the single one your brother got in the first half.

“Ah, that was tense. They almost took it back there for a second.” You stand, stretching your arms behind your back to loosen them up a bit. “Are you ready to go?”

“Yeah, sure.” Yuta gets up as well, following you as you begin to climb the stairs. “Is your brother not coming to see you this time?”

“He told me he has some press deal after this.” Once you’re in a more open area, Yuta walks next to you instead of behind. You can now see that he’s frowning.

“Does he keep you a secret on purpose?”

“I asked him to.”

“I can’t imagine keeping someone like you hidden like that.” At that strange comment, you stop, looking at him. He seems to be taking the issue very personally.

“It’s easier this way. No one prying into my life, no one asking me for autographs from him all the time. People know who our parents are. What’s so important about an unknown sister?” Is there something else he wants you to say? The look on his face is something you’ve only seen maybe once or twice. He’s in a strange mood, that’s for sure.

“I get it, it’s just…” He sighs, looking at the ground with his hands shoved in his pockets.

“Yuta.” He finally meets your eyes. “It’s important to me that what people think about me is what I show them first. I don’t want to be a reflection of my brother, no matter how much I love him.”

“Is he the reason you didn’t want to talk to me at first?” There’s amusement in Yuta’s voice again, that strange seriousness gone.

You start to walk again and he keeps pace. “No, that was just because you woke me up at six in the morning.”

“I guess both of us have experiences that precede our reputations then, huh?”

The bus comes not much later. The previous reminder of how you met has him offering you one side of his earbuds, saying that this would be a better introduction to J-rock than the one you had before. As you listen, you’re tempted to lean your head against his shoulder or take his hand, which is resting oh so close to yours. Instead, you just sit still and look out the window.

After you get off of the bus, the topic of shows you both like makes a return.

“I will take it upon myself to expose you to great art. Are you free tomorrow? We have to start immediately.” Yuta begins to pester you, practically bouncing as you walk.

“Actually, I’m busy tomorrow. I’m working on physics with Mingyu again.” He doesn’t initially not react to your first statement. However, when his teammate’s name comes out of your mouth, he frowns.

“Of anyone…” The sudden change in his attitude catches you off guard. “Why him?”

“I don’t choose who’s in my classes. What’s wrong with you? I thought you got along with your teammates.” You’re nearing your complex at this point. The lamp posts bordering the sidewalk cast long shadows on the ground as you walk.

“In a team context, they’re fine. Usually. Just, that guy…” He’s scowling now, making you frown deeply in return.

“What about him?”

“I don’t know, Y/N.” He pauses, but then his feet stop moving a moment later. “Fuck it, I do know. He’s not a good person. He’s a manipulator. He’s a good manipulator, but he’s bad at lying when you actually confront him-”

“Yuta, you’re being ridiculous. Even if he is, I’m strong enough to take care of myself.”

“Y/N, he was with me at that first game! The one where I found out about your brother? What if he saw? He’s the type to use information like that to get what he wants. What if he-”

“What if he what, Yuta?” You glare at him, anger muddled with some other hurt now filling you. “He hasn’t done anything. He isn’t going to do anything. Our ‘secret’ isn’t going to get out. I can take care of myself.”

With that, you brush past him, into the complex, into your apartment. Thankfully, your roommates aren’t in the common area, so you safely make it to your room. Once you’re there, you shove your face into your pillow. You consider screaming into it, but you know he’s probably in his own room, where he could hear you. Instead, you just heave breath after frustrated breath.

You don’t know why you snapped at him. Actually, you do. It’s the fear that he’s actually doing what he accused Mingyu of. After every word you’ve exchanged, every conversation, you should be confident that he’s not like that. But, you’ve never been in this situation before. What if he…

It’s a stupid notion and you know it. That’s just the surface. Another layer of your feelings peels away. You hate when people are too protective of you. You want to make your own decisions, to learn for yourself. You hate when your brother is too protective of you and you hate when Yuta is.

That’s not even all of it. Finally, you reach the root of your aggression. What right does Nakamoto Yuta have to try and be protective of you when you aren’t even together? Was that the concern of a friend or the concern of a jealous lover?

You curl in on yourself even more tightly, breathing through the pillow under your face. No one has ever flirted with you as much as he has. You’ve never been so ridiculously on and off with someone before. Still, neither of you are willing to answer the question. You’ve never actually fought like this with him before.

Perhaps he hates you now that you’ve thrown his warnings back in his face.

The next day, after your classes, you force yourself to go to the library to meet Mingyu, Yuta’s words heavy in your mind. As you work, you can tell he’s still trying desperately to get on your good side, even emanating Yuta in a strange, off-balance way. It’s not amusing when he does it.

Finally, the subject you’ve been dreading comes.

“Are you a fan of the Ravens? I think I saw you at one of their games once.”

You swallow back disappointment. Mingyu is the worst fear of your insecure self and you finally have to come face to face with it. “I guess you could say that.”

To your surprise, he doesn’t take it farther than that. If Yuta’s right about him, then it’s probably just one piece of a larger goal. Though you never cared much for Mingyu, it doesn’t feel good to see things begin to unfold.

Not seeing him for two days in a row brings your mood down more than you’d like to admit. At the same time, you’re not ready to apologize yet. You don’t know what exactly is happening on his end, you never know, so when you go outside to run at your normal time on Saturday, you half expect him to be there.

He isn’t. And you don’t run into him on your way back, either. The game it is, then.

As the day progresses, the sky gets increasingly cloudy. In the evening, when the Lions and their opponent team are out on the field running final drills, it’s easy enough to tell that a good number of people had looked at the forecast - the crowd in the bleachers is much thinner than usual. The sky could open up and pour its soul out onto all of you at any moment.

You don’t even bother pretending that you’re not watching Yuta. As he steps off the field for their usual pre-game pep talk and chant, you swear he makes eye contact with you. Normally, he wouldn’t even bother looking, because he’s usually confident that you’re there. You’re not sure what the look in his eyes is now.

The coin toss decides that the other team will start with the ball. That might have been the first omen about the game. Then again, maybe the other team is just… better. Their defense is at least tighter than yours. At halftime, they have a point up on the Lions, 0:1. Yuta seems to take this very, very personally. Within ten minutes of the game restarting, they tie the score back up.

At about three quarters of the way through, it begins to rain. The referee deems that they’ve played far to stop, so the match continues. Almost like they take the poor weather as a sign, the rival team scores nearly immediately after.

You pathetically huddle under a single umbrella with Sowon while Yein shares one with Johnny. The ball slips rather than flies around the field, back and forth, back and forth, until, finally, with barely any time to spare, it’s at Yuta’s feet. The world seems to move in slow motion, then. His right foot moves backwards. It swings forwards. He makes contact.

He misses.

You try not to gasp. Yuta himself seems to be in shock, with how he goes stiff for a moment. Then, he’s back in action, targeting where the goalie had thrown the ball. This time, it’s not enough. A minute later, after another brutal back and forth, the scream of the whistle soars above the sound of the rain. It’s over. The Lions have met their first loss of the season.

The two teams barely wait around to shake hands before they’re rushing off to the locker rooms, away from the rain. Yuta moves slower than the rest, seeming to drag his feet through the muddying grass. Ahead of him, all of his teammates are moving quickly, but moping nonetheless. From your position, you see Mingyu kick the shins of someone you recognize to be one of the younger players. You see Kun’s mouth move as he tells him off, but they’re far enough away and the rain is loud enough that you can’t hear. If you hadn’t been displeased already, you are now.

Might as well kill two birds with one stone, right?

“You guys can go back,” you say, taking a step out from under the umbrella after you’re out of the bleachers with your friends. When Sowon tries to shove her umbrella in your hands, you push it back. “I’ll be fine! It’s only a short distance.”

She narrows her eyes. “You’re going to catch a cold.”

“Don’t worry.” With a sigh, she turns, reluctantly walking back behind Yein and Johnny.

You take off running, trying to outpace the raindrops pelting you. By the time you make it beneath the slight sheltered roof of the locker room building, you’re damp, but not entirely soaked. It’s enough to be an annoyance, your clothes sticking slightly to your skin.

You wait outside for a good few minutes. Small groups of players from either team leave, the opponent players giving you strange looks as you lean against the wall and shiver, Baekho and his group giving you an awkward acknowledgement, and, finally, Mingyu emerges.

“Y/N?” He seems confused, but somewhat excited. As if you’re there to meet him.

“Mingyu. Answer one question for me.” You say it wearily, expressing it like the chore it is.

“What are you acting so weird for?” The excitement you glimpsed before dies.

“Were you going to use me to get in good with my brother?”

The rain is the only sound you hear for a couple solid heartbeats. “Y/N, listen…”

“He was right…” You grumble to yourself. You glare up at him. “You can do your physics labs by yourself. Delete my number.”

He stands before you for a moment more before he realizes that you’re serious. He turns and walks away, into the haze of the downpour. A minute later, Jaehyun and Kun emerge from the building.

“Oh, Y/N,” Jaehyun says, seeming surprised. “Are you waiting for Yuta?”

“Is it that obvious?”

The two of them exchange looks and smile. Kun speaks next. “He’s probably not coming out for a while. He usually gets all depressed when we lose a game, but I’ve never seen it this bad. He’s been standing in the shower for like fifteen minutes.”

You glance at the door. Jaehyun nudges you. “He’s the only one left in there. I wouldn’t tell anyone if you, say, went in right now.”

“A bonafide cupid right here,” Kun says, swinging the bag he has slung over his shoulder around so he can dig through it. He produces something, offering it to you. “Here.”

“What is…” You trail off as you take it from him, your face warming as you realize exactly what it is. “Kun, what is this?!”

“I don’t want any miniature versions of him running around. I’m always prepared.” You stare at Kun incredulously a beat longer before you shove the condom in your damp pocket.

“Good luck!” Jaehyun calls back to you as they begin to walk off, leaving you standing under the overhang. Taking a deep breath, you push open the door and walk inside.

Unsurprisingly, the place has a somewhat sweaty smell to it. The rows of lockers are labeled with names and a little image depicting the sport the owner plays, as all of the school’s teams use the same locker room, and the occasional miscellaneous socks, gloves, and other things are scattered about. A row of sinks is against one wall and past the sinks is an entrance into the shower area. You make your way there.

As you get closer, the distinct sound of one shower running gets louder. The only curtain that’s closed is a middle stall, all of the others open and empty. Parallel to the shower stalls is a long wooden bench. “Yuta?” You call out. He doesn’t respond, so you try again. “Yuta?”

“Go away.” This time, the response is sharp and harsh. He certainly is in a mood.

“Yuta, it’s me.”

“Y/N?” His voice is significantly less negative now. “What are you doing here?”

“I came to talk to you.”

You can barely hear him sigh over the sound of the shower running. “You couldn’t wait until after I was done?”

“No.” When you say that, the water shuts off. A hand sneaks out to grab the towel hanging from a hook affixed to the partition between the stalls. You don’t see anything revealing, but you look away anyways. The scraping of the rings being drawn back tells you he has emerged from the stall.

“You can look at me, you know.”

“I didn’t want to be rude.” You look back, greeted with the sight of his gloriously wet hair and bare torso. He emerged quickly enough that he didn’t have time to dry much of the water dripping off of him. The only part of his body that’s covered is his waist and thighs, though the towel still reveals a tantalizing v-line. You forcibly swallow your thirst.

“Blatantly checking me out again? I get it, but would it kill you to be less obvious?” The comment throws you back to a simpler time, when you were just irritated with him for his cockiness and blasting music through the floor.

“Speak for yourself.” You cross your arms. It was obvious enough that he was enjoying the sight of you in a wet t-shirt and shorts.

“Why didn’t you wear something warmer?” He says, frowning. He steps closer, leaving little space between you.

“I didn’t think it would cool down this much.” You look away, not able to face his bare chest quite yet. The room still has a certain steam about it from the hot shower he was taking that makes it a little harder to breathe. Then again, maybe that’s just him being mostly naked in front of you. He reaches out, touching the hem of your shirt.

“You’re soaked,” he says, rubbing your shirt between his thumb and index finger.

“You’re just making me wetter.” Your face burns something fierce as you say it, contrasting the chill that had settled over your skin from standing outside. “You would think you’d dry yourself off more before getting out of the shower.”

“I was just eager to see you, I guess.” You finally have the courage to meet his eyes again.

“I missed you this morning.” You almost pout while saying it, feeling small under his gaze. It’s not an uncomfortable smallness, but one that makes you feel closer to him.

“I figured you didn’t want to see me.” He reaches out, brushing his fingers softly over the side of your face. His touch is blissfully warm. “Or, I think that you did want to see me, but you would only be angrier if I showed up.”

The thought almost makes you laugh. It would be one of the few times he’s been wrong about your feelings. But, if he always knows so much… “I’m sorry I didn’t believe you. I talked to Mingyu a few minutes ago and you were right. I should have trusted you.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t let you handle it on your own.” He runs a hand through his hair, pushing it away from his forehead. “You’re strong enough to deal with assholes like him. You don’t need me.”

“I might not need you, but I do want to keep you around.” The small confession has your bottom lip quivering. “Did I mess up your game today?”

“It was mostly the rain.” He sounds so nonchalant, but you can tell he’s still bothered. “Not you. But, if you do feel bad about it, Miss Physical Therapy, there is something you can do for me.”

His eyes have shifted away from their darkness into a different sort of moodiness. You step closer. “What is it?”

He moves back, taking a heavy seat on the bench. “I’m quite tense. Give me a massage.” His eyes bore into yours. “If you so choose.”

You step behind him. The thrill of what you feel like he’s implying thrums in your veins. The muscles of his shoulders and back are hard under your fingers, showing years of training and toning. You’re almost surprised at how well built his upper body is for a soccer player. His skin is beyond perfect too, and the little droplets of water from his steamy shower that settle on his skin glisten temptingly in the low light of the locker room.

“Sorry my hands are cold,” you practically whisper.

“It’s fine. Feels nice.” He wasn’t lying when he said he was tense - you can feel the knots leaving his muscles as you press down on them, dissolving into smooth flesh that’s soft to the touch. As you work along his back, one particularly tough knot has your thumbs pressing harder into him, drawing a low groan and a curse from his throat. “Fuck.”

The sound turns you on more than you’d like to admit. As you finish his back, you become even more hyper aware of the little noises he’s letting out, the space between you becoming noticeably warmer. Slowly, reluctantly, your hands leave his skin and you circle back towards his front, not quite wanting to look him in the eye. “Is that better?”

“Much.” The air feels heavy. “But you’re not done, yet.” Ordinarily, he’d be smirking so hard you’d be able to hear it in his voice, but there’s only a low command to his tone now. He reaches out, guiding your dominant hand forward so that it’s resting on the front of his shoulder. There’s no hiding from his eyes now. You decide then - if you’re going to do this, you might as well go all out. Sliding onto his lap, your knees pressing into the wooden bench on either side of him, makes you feel both powerful and small at the same time. His face is only a breath away from your own. You swear you can see his eyes flicker to your lips. Trying to play innocent, despite the fact that you can basically feel his dick hardening under his thin towel, you shift slightly, putting your focus on his shoulder and pectoral muscles. Every so often, you readjust yourself, purposefully bouncing slightly on his lap, almost grinding down on him. He doesn’t crack, remaining still and keeping his expression flat. The only signs he gives of being aroused are the slight shiver to his breath and the prominent bulge you’re now certain you can feel. That, and the hands he has on your body, one on your hip and one on your thigh, fixing you in place.

The process is slow, arduous, but you eventually finish with his pectoral and shoulder muscles. You pull your hands away, placing them in your lap and then sitting back, unmoving on his lap, reveling in the way you’ve very clearly made him feel. “Is that all?”

His eyes flicker down to your lips again before boring into your own. “You missed one spot.” Wordlessly, he reaches up, tapping his own lips.

You could walk away right now. His hands aren’t so tight on your body that you couldn’t just get up and leave, go back to your apartment and forget this ever happened. But why would you want to? You’ve been dreaming of his lips for weeks. Finally, you’re about to get a taste. Still, there’s an edge of apprehension digging slightly in your gut.

You’ve sat in silence for long enough that he’s opening his mouth, an apology about to leave his lips, when you swoop forward, pressing your lips to his.

Where he had given you the choice to initiate, he’s the one who really leads. He almost instantly deepens the kiss, dragging you even farther up his lap, pressing you hard against his barely-shielded dick. You feel his fingertips against your skin, under the hem of your top.

“Do you want this?”

“Yes, but-” Where his hands had stilled under your shirt they begin to move again. “Yuta, wait.” He freezes once more, looking up at you. If you didn’t know better, you could swear you see a little bit of fear in his eyes. A shaky breath leaves your lips. “I won’t fuck you unless you tell me you actually have feelings for me. Did you mean what you said back then? After the games?”

“Is that a requirement for all the guys you sleep with or am I special?” You can feel his cock throbbing under you and your own insides ache in response. Of course, he’s delaying what both of you want by being coy. The frustration building up in your gut and in your heart makes you feel like you’re going insane.

“Yuta…” You mean it to sound admonishing, but your tone is more akin to a whine as you lightly drag your nails down his chest. His breath stutters slightly in his lungs at the motion, but in that moment, a sort of gentleness you’ve rarely seen takes over his facade.

���You’re the most incredible person I’ve ever met,” he breathes out, eyes locked with yours, “how could I not have feelings for you?”

You kiss him, sweetly, desperately. His hands begin to move once more, his fingertips digging ever so slightly into your skin. When his hands make it to the edge of your shirt, giving you a suggestion, you cover them with your own, guiding him to take it off. As soon as the garment is out of the way, his lips are on your neck, your collar, the soft skin of your chest. He can feel the hum of your voice through your breast as you speak. “I really like you, Yuta. More than I’ve ever liked anyone else.”

His fingers nimbly unclasp your bra and it falls to the ground somewhere. As his touch ghosts over your breasts, you arch into his hand, drawing a warm chuckle from him. “That’s good,” he says, thumbing slow circles over your nipples, “because I feel the same way about you.”

You pull him back to your mouth, pulling him as close as you possibly can, breathing him like he’s air, tasting him like he’s food. His tongue is slick against your bottom lip, against your own tongue. Almost unconsciously, you rock your hips against his bulge as you move. Impatiently, he tugs at your shorts, pulling you out of the kiss.

“These have to come off.”

“It would kill you to go slow for once,” you laugh, getting off of his lap on shaky legs.

“I go slow for you all the time,” he responds, shifting the towel at his waist, which you realize is barely holding onto him from all the grinding you were doing on his lap, “I’ve been going slow for months now. Isn’t it time to speed things up?”

You roll your eyes, but shimmy out of your shorts, leaving you in your panties and him in his towel. From this angle, he can truly appreciate you. Every curve, every beauty mark, every fold and crease on your body. He leans back, his hands bracing him against the bench. Then, he shifts forward abruptly, taking the opportunity to snap the elastic of your underwear against your skin.

“Yuta!” The cry is half an admonition, half a laugh. You move to push his shoulder gently and he catches you by the hand, pulling you on top of him and kissing you once again. Before you realize it, he has a sneaky hand slipping into your panties, touching you where you’re most sensitive, making you jolt against his hand.

“Is this okay?” He murmurs the words against your lips and you nod, trying to focus on kissing him through the pleasure of his fingers. It’s been far too long since anyone has touched you like this and you’re not used to it.

“Mm,” you moan back, “more than okay.”

He had said he wanted to go faster, but it seems like he’s just going so slow, making you fall apart on his hand, first with just a thumb on your clit, then two fingers pushed more deeply inside of you than you could ever reach yourself. At some point, you’re no longer kissing him and your cheek is pressed to his instead. You nip at his ear, which you now realize is pierced, and the damp spikeyness of his hair rests against your temple.

His free hand rests over your breast, rhythmically squeezing it as you ride his fingers. Oddly enough, you feel like he predicts your climax before even you do, working you carefully through the release of pleasure as you shudder against him and clench around his fingers. Before you can fully regain your senses, he’s kissing you again and removing his hand, wiping his sticky digits against the towel slipping from his waist. You figure you’ll finish the job, reaching down to untwist the cloth so that it falls open against the bench.

You continue kissing him as you take his dick in your hand, your thumb sliding over the precum beading at his tip. It’s his turn to shiver, his cock twitching in your hand. Giving it slow, purposeful jerks, you watch him become perfectly uncomposed under you and you grin, leaning closer to press a kiss to the juncture between his neck and shoulder. He’s stiff, but remarkably soft to the touch, veiny and thick enough that your mouth waters. A couple minutes pass before he’s encasing your hand in his own, slowing your movement.

“I don’t want to come in your hand.” You stop, looking at him with faux-innocent eyes. He blinks desperately at you. “Please.”

“Can I suck you off later?” The words leave your mouth unexpectedly. You hadn’t even really been thinking about the later, but you figure you’re safe to assume that there will be one.

“Of course, pretty girl.” He strokes your hair and you can just think about him holding it back in the future as he-

Trying to distract yourself from the later and focus on the now, you slide off of his lap once again. He almost seems confused, made lonelier by the tiniest distance you put between the two of you. It’s almost a funny image, him half pouting at you while his dick is out, standing up against his abdomen and completely exposed. You let out the smallest exhale of a laugh. “You showed me yours, so I figured I would show you mine.” Your panties fall to the ground, where you kick them in the general direction of the rest of your clothes. The sight of your shorts reminds you of another important thing. “Oh! Also!”

You scramble over to them, reaching into the pocket and producing the little foil packet. Yuta stares at you. “You’re… prepared? I didn’t even think this far ahead and half the time my brain is controlled by my-”

“Kun gave it to me before I came in here,” you say, waltzing back over to him. He takes the packet from your hand, tearing it open. You… give him a hand as he rolls it on. “He’s awfully ready for a great many situations, isn’t he?”

“I think he was expecting this to happen a lot earlier than it actually did, honestly,” Yuta responds, pulling you back on top of him for the third time. Once again, your knees rest on the hard wood bench. “Can we not talk about my roommate, please?”

“I can agree to that.” You smile, kissing him. “Can we talk about how much I like you instead?”

“We can always talk about that,” he says, one hand on his dick, one on your hip, “are you ready?”

The mood dips, making your body shiver in anticipation again. “Yes.”

The way he positions his cock and begins to push into you makes both of you let out noises of relief, a groan from him and a sigh from you. You sink down onto him further until he’s fully sheathed inside of you, hard and pulsing and ungodly warm. He gives an experimental buck of his hips, pulling a moan from your lips and shaping his into a cocky smirk. “Already feel that good?”

“Shut up,” the complaint dies in your throat as you lift yourself up on your knees and sink back down again, bouncing on his lap slightly. You focus on the feeling of him inside of you, the sensation of him hitting your G-spot, the touch of his fingers on your clit again. His breath mingles with yours whenever he takes a break from kissing you. Your hands wander the smooth planes of his chest, your thumb briefly ghosting over his nipple, your palms getting sweatier as you hold onto him. It’s not long before you let your head fall back, your thighs tense as you hold onto his shoulders and move up and down on top of his cock.

His lips are hot as he mouths your neck. You’re not usually the type for marking, but, honestly, the thought of wearing his hickey on your skin sounds beyond appealing. He introduces the slightest bit of teeth, grazing them over your pulse as you ride him. The trail of tiny nips goes down past your collarbones to your breast. Your heart beats loudly in your ears and the desperation of chasing your orgasm makes the passage of time feel fuzzy, but in the sweet, bubbly way a soda does rather than the heavy, blurry way a cold would.

“Yuta,” you whine, the knocking of your legs against the bench growing painful, “can you…”

“I got you, baby.” With a grunt, he stands, lifting you by the thighs. You wrap your legs around his waist, keeping him close. A breath later, your back is pressed to the wall and he’s pushing into you once again. The new angle is a change, and it’s a good change. Every one of his thrusts hits exactly right, pushing you further and further until-

“Yuta, you’re gonna make me...” you pant against his mouth, breathing the same air as him. At some point, after he had picked you up, you had reconnected your lips, and he swallows the little noises you let out hungrily. You clench and unclench your fists behind his back, as your arms are slung over his shoulders.

“Mm, good. That’s my girl.”

All you can think as he pounds into you is Yuta, Yuta, Yuta. You come undone with a final swipe of his thumb and a choked cry of his name. Once your own orgasm has stopped burning quite so bright, lowering to a comfortable simmer in your gut, his hips slow with each thrust until he pushes into you and stays there. You can feel him throb inside of you even through the condom.

Your skin feels like it’s glowing in the aftermath of his love, warm like coals after a fire has just ceased to burn. Warm with the promise of more flames in the future. You lean your face in the junction of his shoulder and neck, breathing love onto his skin. His deep, uneven breaths slow over time as he presses gentle kisses to the exposed flesh of your shoulder. The silence between you is only interrupted by the ambient sound of water flowing through pipes hidden in the concrete walls of the shower part of the locker room. That’s enough of a reminder for you to groan, clutching onto him tighter. “I can’t believe we just confessed and fucked in your sweaty locker room.”

“From my perspective, it’s more ‘wow, I can’t believe we finally confessed and fucked, even if it was in my sweaty locker room.’” That, at the very least, makes you smile. Slowly, he begins to pull out, separating from you with a sticky, wet sound. He backs up, turning so that he can place you gently on the towel still lying on the bench. He disposes of the used rubber quickly, throwing it in a trash can at one end of the room.

Now that he’s no longer touching you, it feels so much colder. “I feel bad for whoever has to clean this place. I hope they don’t find that.”

He shrugs. “I’m sure they’ve seen worse.” He makes his way back to you, naked body still on full, glorious display for your eyes only. “Wanna shower while we’re here?”

You groan. “Yuta, I’m tired. No funny business.”

“Who said anything about any ‘funny business?’ I just suggested we clean off the sweat from all that physical exertion.” He’s smirking, not even pretending to be innocent.

“You’re insatiable.” Still you get up, joining him in the shower stall that he holds open for you. If any follow up activity happens while you’re in there, the only way anyone on the outside would be able to tell would be from the quiet sounds that are mostly drowned out by the noise of the shower.

As you finally redress, accepting the hoodie that Yuta had in his locker so that you don’t have to put your wet shirt back on, he can’t seem to keep his hands off of you, like he’s afraid you’ll go away. The environment between you feels different, but the same. After you’re both fully dressed and start walking out the door, you reach out to take his hand. He accepts the action, interlocking his fingers with yours. Both of you stop under the overhang of the building. By now, the sun has set and a few street lights shine along the walkways of the campus through the haze of rain. “Yuta, are you my boyfriend?”

He blinks a couple times. “Wasn’t that implied?”

You turn away, suddenly shy. “I mean… I just… wanted to clarify…”

“You’re too good for me.” He laughs, then kisses your cheek. Both of you stare out of the rain, as if it’s going to suddenly stop just because you’re politely waiting for it. “I meant it. Every time.”

“Hm?”

“Every time I said I liked you, or that you’re amazing. I was just afraid of- I don’t know. That I’m not honest enough or nice enough, or even good enough at soccer. I just-” He seems so tired as he says it, so brutally truthful, so terribly self-doubting.

You squeeze his hand. “Yuta, it’s okay. Honestly, all this time, I thought you’re too good for me. You’re so much more than the things you say you are. You’re a star.”

“I’m not. I can be an asshole, and jealous, and not serious even when I should be-”

“Yuta, if you like me despite all of my ridiculous bad qualities, I’m pretty sure I can deal with a little jealousy. You’ve shown me who you are and I still like you. You’re loyal and funny and romantic and so many other things. I like you.”

He sighs sweetly, like he was holding in a breath for so long and is finally letting it out. He’s holding your hand so tightly, it feels like he might never let go. Right now, you think you might be okay with that. “Sorry. I’ll never get tired of hearing that.”

You peer into others’ eyes for a long time, content to just look. Then, the cold finally gets to your legs and you shiver, scooching slightly closer to him. You look out. The rain isn’t getting any better. “Do you want to run? To make up for us not going together this morning?”

He doesn’t even respond. He just glances at you, winks, and tugs at your hand, starting to go. The rain pelts you as you go, utterly soaking you, getting in your shoes, darkening your borrowed hoodie. His hair sticks to his forehead, making him look a bit like a wet kitten. Maybe a lion, more accurately. Still, in the passing lights and the sheen of the rain, he glows.

“Yuta?” You say between shallow breaths.

“Yeah?” He keeps going, keeps tugging you along. You have to work to keep up with him, pumping your legs hard.

“Do you want to go professional?”

He looks back at you quickly, but then turns forward. “I would.”

“I really think you could do it!”

Then he’s laughing, truly, mirthfully. “That’s the second best thing you’ve said to me today!”

At that, you’re laughing too, though it slows your pace, though it makes your lungs burn, though it helps rain water run into your mouth. When you make it to your complex, soaked through, looking like you just took a swim in your clothes, you don’t want to let go. Reluctantly, both of you part ways to change clothes in your respective apartments with the promise to meet soon and start Yuta’s effort to culture you with anime.

Sowon and Yein tease you relentlessly, both when you enter your apartment leaving puddles on the ground and when you leave again ten minutes later completely dry. They tease you for the next week whenever they catch you leaving if they know you don’t have classes. The next Friday, you end up staying up far too late watching one of Yuta’s shows, which you admit are at the very least fun, and you fall asleep in his bed. You’re sure you’ll never hear the end of it from your roommates, even if Yein has been staying in the volleyball boys’ apartment every other day for the last month.

In the morning, a mere three hours after you and Yuta went to sleep, you wake up in his arms to a strange blaring of J-rock. He reaches over you to slap his phone and shut it off. You stay awake just long enough to comment on how strange it is hearing the music next to you and not through the floor.

When you wake up around noon to Yuta staring at you, his bangs half covering his eyes, you flip over, checking the time so that he can’t see the absolutely embarrassed look on your face. “You’re so weird.” “Why are you being all shy? I’ve seen you naked. There’s nothing more to see.”

“There’s plenty more of me to see, thank you very much, Nakamoto Yuta.”

“I know there is, darling.” His arm is still slung over your torso like it was when the alarm went off and he tries to wrestle you back around to face him. You squirm in his hold.

“Darling? You’re so weird. Why are you so weird?”

“Weird? I thought I was romantic and funny and-”

“And weird!” You wiggle more until he flips you onto your back, straddles you, and pins your hands to the bed. It’s quite an incredible sight, him pinning you down with his raven hair a complete mess and no shirt, where you can faintly see marks that you may or may not have left on his chest earlier in the week. “No fair. Home ground advantage.”

He leans in, looking ever so charming despite his disheveled appearance. “You know what makes for great morning exercise?”

“You’re weird and a horndog and-”

“Running! Let’s go.” He suddenly rises up, taking one of your hands with him and pulling you into a sitting position.

“Yuta, it’s noon! There are going to be people out everywhere.” He tugs on your hand and you move so that you’re sitting on the edge of the bed. “And it’s Saturday, so there’s going to be even more people…”

“You don’t need to worry about people judging you. If anyone gives you any funny looks, I’ll-”

“You’ll what? Punt a soccer ball at their heads?” You’re standing now, looking at him uncertainly.

He shrugs. “Sure. But, seriously. I promise that you have nothing to be self conscious about. You also have me. That part most importantly.” You would smack him if the smile he gives you doesn’t have you reluctantly agreeing.

He’s right, of course. The run is completely fine. At least, you’re distracted enough by your boyfriend for it to be fine. When you return, you split off to take showers in your apartments. After you emerge from the bathroom, a towel wrapped around your body, you find him waiting in your room. You register him saying something about the tables turning and “great afternoon exercise” before he practically pounces on you.

Afterwards, through your sex-high haze, you hear a loud knocking on your front door. Groaning, you move only so much as to press your face into Yuta’s shoulder. “Don’t wanna get up…”

“Did I make you feel that good?” His voice is a warm rumble, teasing, though full of the same tiredness that yours has. You’re about to jab him lightly in the side when his hand shifts down, two of his fingers running through your folds. Shivering at the suggestion, you wiggle closer to him, hiding your face even more.

“Let me rest, you sex-fiend.” Before he can reply, there’s a few more insistent knocks at your door. “Ugh…”

“Were you expecting someone?” You shake your head against him. He reaches over and grabs your phone. “I heard this going off earlier while we were busy.” You make no move to take it from him, so he turns it on, his eyes scanning the recent chain of texts you’d just received. “It’s your brother.”

You immediately bolt straight up. “What?” Your mind ticks back to the previous day before you’re scrambling out of bed. “Shit, shit, shit, I forgot he was coming today!” As quickly as you can, you try to throw on the various items of clothing that had gotten scattered around the room in your - Yuta’s, more accurately - haste to move them off of the bed, where you had laid them out for after your shower.

Yuta stretches lazily. “Glad I could remind you.”

“Asshole, get clothes on! He’ll kill you if he figures out what we did!”

“Ah, to be killed by L/N B/N. You say ‘what we did’ like it’s a bad thing.”

“He’s my older brother, for God’s sake!” You throw a shirt at him, smacking him in the face. “He will murder you! If he doesn’t murder me for forgetting our plans first…”

“And your plans are?” He slips his arms through the sleeves of his shirt, slipping it on.

“I’m taking him to see your game. Maybe meet the team. Who knows? You won’t be able to see it if you don’t move your ass.” You finish putting your jeans on.

“I’ve never escaped through a window before, but it sounds fun.” He’s still smirking, clearly amused. You’re certain he would actually do that if you let him.

“On second thought, just stay here. I won’t let him into my room.” Your phone lights up with your brother’s face and number and starts to buzz. You pick it up. “Sorry, I’m coming! I was napping.” You hang up. “Please, Yuta?”

He steps into his own jeans. “That’s what I was planning on. Don’t worry, I’m not trying to incapacitate myself before the game.”

With that reassurance, you close the door to your room and head for the apartment door. Your brother, clad in a hat, hoodie, and jeans, weirdly normal for him, is standing in front of your door, his phone in his hand. He narrows his eyes. “Hi, Y/N. For a second there, I really thought you forgot about our plans. Who takes a nap on a Saturday afternoon?”

You step aside, letting him in. “I was just tired today for some reason. Sorry.” “You’re lucky you’re my favorite.” He walks in, sliding off his shoes next to yours. “Are your roommates home? It’s been a while since I’ve seen them.”

“No, but they’ll be at the game later. You won’t miss them.” You stand there, swaying somewhat awkwardly. You’re sure that he’s noticed that you’re acting strangely. “Who let you into the lower doors?”

Your brother steps inside casually. “Your neighbor Jaehyun. Nice kid.”

“Y-Yeah. He’s one of our midfielders.”

“I guess I’ll get to see him in action soon, then. Where near here is good for something quick? We only have an hour and a half until the game.”

You’re thankful for a change in subject. “Depends what you want to eat! Think about it while I run to the bathroom?”

As you head there, you glance at your closed door. You feel kind of bad for leaving him in there, but it’s for his own protection. When you get back to the door, your brother is in the same place, staring at the shoes around the entry. He points at a pair of men’s shoes, which you realize with dawning horror are Yuta’s.

“Y/N? Whose shoes are these?”

“Oh! Those are, um, Johnny’s. Yein’s boyfriend.”

He deadpans. “Johnny. Your neighbor. The one who lives right across from you. Who is dating your roommate who isn’t here right now.” When you don’t respond, he sighs. “Y/N, it would be a lot easier to lie to me if you didn’t tell me so much in the first place. Who’s in your room? I know you hate closing your door if you’re not sleeping.”

Reluctantly, you walk to your room, cursing observant soccer players. Yuta looks mildly surprised to see you, and you walk over to where he’s sitting on your bed, grabbing him by the hand and tugging him over to your brother. If he’s afraid of your brother, he doesn’t show it.

“Yuta, was it?” He’s still expressionless. “I’ll have you know that there’s a few rules.” Before Yuta can even ask about the rules, he’s launching into a detailed explanation about consequences, saying something about maiming and making it look like an accident.

“B/N, you’re a professional now. You should really try not to say such scary stuff. Also,” you say, frowning, “I can handle myself. You know that by now.”

Yuta breaks his silence. “She really can. She’s strong enough to deal with anything.”

“You really believe that?” Your brother’s gaze is unyielding.

“I do.”

“Well, then.” He suddenly lightens up, smiling at the two of you. “Want to join us for dinner? I’m thinking noodles.”

“I actually have to get to warm-ups soon…” Yuta says regretfully.

“That’s a good boy. See, Y/N, I trust your judgement. We best be off, then.” Abruptly, your brother turns, putting his shoes back on. You scramble to join him, grabbing your things and putting your own shoes on.

“I’ll see you later?” You say to Yuta, who’s simply staring, somewhat shell shocked that he survived the encounter.

He blinks, then gives you a sort of smirk. “How about a kiss for-”

“Don’t push it.” Your brother cuts him off, standing in the doorway. He starts down the stairs. When he’s not looking, you lean over, pressing your lips to Yuta’s cheek. Before you can turn around, he sneaks one of his own onto your lips. You run after your brother.

He thoroughly grills you about Yuta during dinner, but you don’t mind. You keep out the parts about sex and the specifics of the relationship coming to fruition and he seems satisfied. You barely make it to the game in time because of your brother’s interrogation, but you still get there early enough to see some of the drills. In work mode, he crosses his arms, making approving comments about Yuta’s footwork. Your boyfriend is in a similar mood, already focused in.

Then, the game starts. The other team starts with the ball, but it makes no difference. The Lions take it back, sending it back and forth across the field, gaining and losing it, until Yuta, as usual, scores, redeeming himself from the previous week. Your brother says something under his breath about potential and skill. Through the game, the Lions make great plays and you find yourself cheering for all of them, even Mingyu. The rival team stands no chance - not for lack of skill, but simply because your team is determined. By the end of the game, the score is a solid 3:0.

You’re one of the first onto the field after the teams break away from shaking hands. You meet Yuta in the middle, jumping on him in a hug when you reach him. You can’t stop the outpouring of praise, telling him how well he played, how brilliant he was. He just laughs, telling you he did his best. It’s the most positive thing you’ve heard from him after a game.

When you let go of him, willing to let the rest of his friends surround him now, you step away in search of your brother. To your surprise, he’s chatting up the Lions’ coach, who seems somewhat flustered by the Ravens’ striker speaking to him. Before you can get close, the coach blows the whistle he has around his neck, getting the attention of everyone around him, but particularly the team.

“Boys! Gather round, we have someone here with something to say to you.”

It doesn’t take long for them to recognize who your brother is.

It’s funny seeing the team rush to your brother, some pretending to be cool, some openly fawning over him. But, there’s one person who isn’t looking at him. From across the mob forming around your brother, you make eye contact with Yuta. And, in the midst of the stars shining in the form of the Raven, the Lion’s light falls on you.

[anyoneseenadam]

azriel x reader mates

slow dancing plzz that would be so cute

Pairing: azriel x reader (acotar)

Warnings: mentions of scars but asides from that just pure studio ghibli inspired fluff

A/n: I had this idea agessss ago and then forgot abt it but this anon reminded me!! I used Home!Az for this but you don’t need to read the series to understand it I don’t think, it’s just for world building and stuff. I’m also linking the song I imagined for it :)) hope you enjoy!!!! (Also I’m too tired to proof read so sorry if it’s shit)

——————————————————————————

You woke up to Azriel pressing kisses into your neck, his hands softly trailing along your body, so gently as if you were made of glass. You had been with him for almost a year now, the rings glinting on your hands when they caught the light, and the scars on your back no longer a weight. Instead something you showed freely, as a symbol of your strength.

You cracked open an eye and watch as Azriel lifted his head with a soft smile, a scarred hand coming to caress your face.

“Happy birthday flower,” he whispered and you giggled, kissing him deeply, no longer surprised at how easily the smile came onto your face.

“Mmm morning handsome,” you said, pushing up on your forearms as Az arranged the pillows behind you for you to lean against. He settled beside you before passing you a steaming mug of black coffee, picking up his own as he kissed your shoulder, the tip of one of the scars, your neck, cheek, and then finally mouth. He wrapped an arm around your shoulder and you snuggled into his side, sipping your coffee and sighing in content at the taste.

“Why are you up so early?” You asked, head tilting to look at him, swathed in shadows and with the light stubble you had come to find out grew back pretty much every third day. He ran a hand over his chin before answering.

“Had a couple things to prepare,”

“What are you preparing for?” You asked and he looked at you, horrified.

“Your birthday of course,”

“Oh yeah, whoops,”

“How did you already forget?” He asked frowning slightly, this was the first birthday he got to celebrate with you and he was determined to make it special but you didn’t seem to fully remember it was a celebration.

“It’s like 8am leave me alone,” you elbowed him in the stomach and he laughed.

“Actually it’s half seven but I’m on strict orders to have you at the town house by eight,” you frowned and he kissed you gently, taking your mug from your hands and putting it on the bedside table.

“But that gives me at least twenty minutes to make you fall apart.” He smirked wolfishly as he settled between your legs.

—

It was half eight by the time you arrived at the town house, legs slightly aching and Azriel smug as a thief.

After a slight telling off from Rhys, filled with warm expressions and then a five minute hug from Cassian followed by a ten minute hug from Mor, you were sat around the table. The plates in the middle were filled with pancakes and fruit, mugs of steaming coffee and glasses of fresh juice. There were flowers in the middle of the table and blue and gold balloons designed in an arch. You had cried when you saw it and had another long hug, this one from Feyre, Azriel and Rhys dragging you apart.

After you had eaten, head already slightly lighter from the champagne Mor had lovingly filled your glass with, you sat around the living room as you opened your presents.

You cried much more than you probably should have, overly emotional because of the kind family you had found.

Feyre had gifted you a long, sage green dress that you swore you recognised, she winked at Azriel as you opened it and you furrowed your eyebrows, wondering what they were up too.

You were given books, weapons, expensive jewellery from Amren (who decided you needed more than the crystals you kept around your neck) and enough drink to last you a lifetime, or maybe a week or two from the way Cassian was eyeing it up.

When you were finished opening your presents, none from Azriel who had sparkling eyes as he watched you, his family as in love with you as he was.

“I’m presuming you two are heading off now, what time will you be back do you think?” Rhys asked, waving his hand to dispose of the wrapping paper that was piled around you.

“We are?” You turned to face Azriel and he grinned at you.

“We are, but we’ve to get changed first. You should wear that dress,” he nodded to the green one in your lap and you smiled at Feyre.

“That’s a good idea, am I getting told where we’re going?” You asked and he just shook his head, standing as you laughed and went to hug your friends goodbye.

“We’ll probably be back around 7.” Azriel told Rhys.

“Okay well enjoy!” You finished hugging Nesta as Azriel wrapped an arm around your waist, winnowing you back to your home.

“Go get changed, you won’t need a jacket, I’ll meet you gear in half an hour,” he kissed you lightly before shoving you off in the direction of your room gently, and you giggled, excited to find out what he was planning.

—

Thirty minutes later you were stood in your new dress, your hair down and some simple brown pumps on. You saw Azriel walk towards you, holding a picnic basket in one hand as you gaped at him.

“You look so good, holy fuck!” You exclaimed, he was wearing his usual black trousers but had a loose, white shirt tucked into them, and upon further inspection an earring with a dangling emerald hanging from one ear, his face freshly shaven. “Since when have you had your ears pierced?” You asked and he laughed.

“Since yesterday, never trust Cassian with delicate things,” he joked and you furrowed your eyebrows, still confused what he was doing. “Have you got your phone?” He asked and you nodded, your phone, speaker and Polaroid camera tucked carefully into a bag you had slung over your shoulder.

“Perfect, let’s go,” he grabbed your hand and before you could ask where he was taking you he had winnowed the two of you away.

You took in your surroundings, tears forming in your eyes as you realised what was going on.

You were stood in a green pasture, the sun whinging brightly above you, a stream flowing past you and the ground completely covered in flowers. You turned to Azriel as you took in his outfit.

“I do listen when we watch movies,” he said as you let out a choked sob, “Now (y/n), may I have this dance,” he held out his hand as he took your phone from his bag, playing the theme from howls moving castle as you nodded, taking his hand as it came through the speaker you had brought.

He kept his wings flared behind him as he twirled you around, the dance fast but intimate, you felt like you were flying as he twirled you around, your dress floating in the breeze as he spun you gently. He lifted you above him at one point as you moved together, watching you with so much love before dipping you as the song ended, kissing you deeply.

When the song ended he wrapped his arms around your waist as your linked around his neck, swaying you slowly to the song. You could feel his heart beat against your own chest, interlinking you fingers and allowing the flowers that were surrounding you to grow and bloom.

“Thank you,” you whispered against his mouth as he grinned, kissing you gently.

“Happy birthday baby,”

He stepped back to the picnic basket and lay out the blanket and food, helping you sit down as you leaned against him, taking a Polaroid of the two of you and hiding it in the basket to let it develop while Azriel stared in wonder at the technology.

“Let me give you your presents.” He said in between feeding you chocolate strawberries and you turned to him with wide eyes.

“There’s more?!”

“Of course baby, gotta treat my best girl,” he pulled a selection of neatly wrapped boxes from another bad he had brought and you smiled as you bit into a bit of baklava.

You opened a set of of deep blue lingerie first, gasping at the intricate material and looking up to see him watching you with a devilish smirk. The you found a collection of books from his world he thought you would love, more candles and crystals.

The final box wasn’t wrapped like the rest however, instead it was a plain cardboard box that said ‘from pepper’ in black writing on the top and you gasped.

“You didn’t!” Your eyes were wide as he laughed.

“Open it!” He demanded and you felt your heart pound as you carefully opened the box, pulling out another glass box which contained Tony Starks arc reactor, the words “proof that Tony stark has a heart” engraved in as your eyes watered.

“I had it made after we finished endgame,” he explained as you leapt on him, wrapping your arms around his neck.

“Thank you, for everything,” you whispered into his neck and he kissed your head. Holding you tightly for the rest of the afternoon, red wine flavoured kisses on sun kissed skin. The two of you lay in each other’s arms, Azriel taking you apart slowly under the sun, then flying you over the hills as you squealed, gripping close to him as he dipped and twirled.

When it was finally time to retire for the day he held you closely, the picnic basket clutched in one hand as you balanced your gifts in your arms, kissing you deeply and winnowing the two of you home. You placed your gifts down gently on the bed as he wrapped his arms around your waist, his chin resting gently upon your shoulder as he kissed your neck. You turned in his arms, facing him and kissed him again.

“I love you, more than anything,” you whispered against his mouth.

“I love you more,” you giggled at him as you pulled away, ready to spent the night with your new family, your beloved mate holding you close.

[lethargicsunlight]

Part 3: Some Combat Training Katsuki Bakugou X Fem!Reader

I need to finish catching up on bnha fast.

I HAVE SO MUCH I WANT TO WRITE.

*cough*

Anyways, here's part 3!

This is meant to be the last part, but I don't know if I'll survive. We'll see~

Since these are essentially snippets of the idea for my fanfic, I'd love to hear what you guys think about this. Is it interesting enough to put into a long-runner?

Did I put too much info in these? The answer is yes. Yes I did.

EDIT: FORGOT TO ADD LINK TO PART 1. YOU CAN READ IT HERE: Part 1

Anyways, enough rambling~

WARNINGS: Mention of friend death, FLUFF, pining? There might be a hint of angst in here, but I'm trying to save that for later. <3

🔥☆X★━━━━━━━━━━━━★X☆🔥

Katsuki let out a sigh beneath his breath as he sauntered over in front of you. He had to push through this. He had to convince himself things weren't different.

That you weren't important.

You give him a little nod, then turn your back to him again. "Alright, try it out."

Maybe if he can just do it really fast. If he can prove it, just do it, it'll be over--but his eyes are drifting over your shoulder blades. Up the slender nape of your neck, down to were your spine and your hips dip into the fabric of your work-out gear.

Hell… he inwardly grimaces. But he sucks it up; biting his tongue and bracing his jaw as finds the junction of your shoulder. Just get it over with!

And he jabs. A strange 'whap' breaks the silence of the room, and you're sent forward a little from the strength of it--but it's not what you're expecting. You'd expected a perfect hit. But as you straighten back up, your arm is still obeying you, and though there was to be bruise; he had not succeeded.

You shrug off the ache and reposition in front of him.

"Again." You say. You leave out the 'you missed' and 'try' because, the grunt that he emitted sounded like frustration. Like he was angry with himself for not being perfect on the first attempt.

But that was not it.

He was staring at the mark he'd created, the slightest tinting of skin that would eventually look like the imprint of his fingers. In all the times he'd intentionally hit you before, this had not effected him. But, then.. Usually you were in your full hero uniform, which covered you completely in black fabric. He could recall, sickeningly, how he'd refused to look at your face if he'd blemished it. He'd just denied it until now.

And the fact you were asking him to do it again had him wanting to choke the life out of you.

This time, his sigh is audible as its growled through his closed teeth. His tenacity wins over, and he goes for another attempt at immobilizing your arm. He puts more force behind it to spite his emotions, going a little overboard on purpose--this was training after all. A loud noise of effort leaves his lungs, and with his attack you're sent stumbling forward.

He regrets the decision for a moment as he watches you recover--but you took the hit well, like you always did. No noise, not even a gasp. You circle back around on him, holding your shoulder.

"Got it that time." You say, massaging the muscle with your thumb and index finger. "Do you think you're ready to move on?"

Move on? What the hell else was there? He glowers at you openly,  teeth a little visible beneath his casual snarl. "Move on to what?" His voice doesn't quite reflect his face as he says it. Instead of impatient, it sounds genuinely like a complaint.

It catches you off guard. Had he not said, 'I'll learn them all' not five minutes ago?

"...Well, you need to be capable of hitting a moving target. I figured we could do a little spar, close quarters style. You go for my shoulder, and I try to avoid you." You continue to massage the area with your opposing arm, bringing life back to the nerve endings. Just another few seconds or so--

"I already took out your arm, don't you think we aught to give it a rest?"

Now it was your turn to glower. This was all getting a little too weird--and it was starting to scare you.

"I can take a hit Bakugou." To prove your point, you fold your arms over your chest. It's stiff, but it complies. "What is it?"

"What is what?" He retorts, ignoring your first point entirely.

"Whatever it is that's making you act differently." Your tone comes out unexpectedly sad, and once you successfully catch his gaze, you hold it. It was an invitation for the truth--one you could predict would only slap you in the face. You might have managed to end up a little bit closer to him than anyone else in the class, but you had never actually heard him spill his guts to you. His acceptance had been the smallest, subtlest, of actions.

"I'm not acting differently, Twinkle Toes. Just, whatever--let's do this then, since you're fine." He bends at the knees, widening his stance like he's ready to fight.

...Since I'm fine? It's actually a little insulting. Maybe he was feeling inferior because you were training him. That must be it. That would explain him not wanting to be here--he was regretting his decision.

Or maybe, Katsuki just wanted some reprieve from the torture you were putting him through. The idea of getting any closer than he was right now made his limbs feel weird. Weak. Tingly.

Ugh, he hated it!

"...Whenever you're ready." You didn't push him further about it--you wouldn't give him the pleasure of it. It'd only end in him blowing you off and storming out.

(You'd be lying if you said you weren't looking forward to blowing off some steam by throwing some jabs in yourself.)

He lunges first, grabbing your wrist to pull you around and open your back to him. You use the momentum of his pull to flip over his arm, landing at his back. Using both hands, you push at him between his shoulder blades--and you're grinning.

He stumbles, surprised you'd made it behind him so fast. "You little shit.." He mutters, before he's whirling around and going at you again. He's grinning too.

There had been a tension building up inside him since entering the gym. And deep down, between the punches and dodges and the sweat building on his brow--it was still there. But for now, all he wanted was for this moment to carry on forever. After breaking the ice, you had recharged him. All the pent up frustration was slowly leaving him in the motions, and he felt comfortable and free and light.

He wondered if you noticed. On the rare occasion that you didn't appear beside him, he would appear beside you. When none of the agencies reached out to you, he made it a point to ask for your help on certain missions with the agency that chose him--which, lead to a letter appearing in Aizawa's inbox.

He'd acted oblivious, and even complained, when you showed up for your first day. Then made sure to exhibit just how well the two of you could work together, so they wouldn't split you two apart for very long.

It wasn't that he felt the need to take care of you. It was how much he trusted you.

It was how light you made him feel when you stood next to him. Like you had silently agreed to take on the weight of the world along side him. You expected nothing, but had endearingly been there through everything--unconditionally. A rival, a comrade, a partner--a friend.

Friend...

The thought pierces through the fog of endorphins--and he finds himself on the floor. The both of you had ditched the original plot and were practically wrestling now; you digging a knee into his back with one of his hands being twisted at the wrist and the other above his head.

He chuckles darkly, "Really? You aught to know better than that Twinkle Toes." He emphasizes the nickname, an endearment given based on your tendency for lightness when you fought--bopping around your enemies, dancing in and out of danger.

With brute strength alone (although its a massive effort not to use his quirk) he pushes up from the ground and knocks you backwards--but he manages to grab you with his calves, and after he's rolled you both forward--he has you pinned to the floor.

"Hah..heh--" He's about to say something about how much stronger he was, how this was easy--but it dies in his throat. That pressure, that feeling from before bubbles back up to the surface as his eyes flicker across your face.

You're laughing.

Like everything about you, it was quiet. He'd heard you snicker before, heard you force a laugh at Denki's jokes, heard you giggle nervously when trying (and failing) to gossip with Ururaka and Tsu and Momo.

But this was melodious. True and unfiltered laughter. And he cursed inwardly, for not having cared to seek it before in the two years he had known you.

You'd never let go before. Ever. Not once, since you had started on your path to end Head Honcho, not since your best friend had died in the hands of his lackeys in front of you--it was like; if you let go of your tight view on reality, you would just fall apart in the chaos.

But when you had made your declaration of war with Katsuki, the fist that held you by the throat let go. You allowed yourself to get lost in the moment and let the world beyond you and him become blurry and obsolete. All of your suppressed child-hood came tumbling out of your lungs at once, as tears pricked your eyes and giddiness made your arms weak.

It's when you notice his expression that you still, and the weight of reality crushes your chest.

His eyes are wide, his mouth just the slightest bit ajar. His hands at your wrists are loose, and his proximity has the tempo of your heart doing the tango. He's not snarling, not grinning, not anything--

Something had changed. The paradigm shifted.

You couldn't focus on the ticking of the clock above the door of the gym. Nor could you see the trees through the windows in your peripheral. You couldn't smell the usually pungent rubber of the floor mats, couldn't taste the humidity of Japan's spring air.

All you could sense was him.

Him.

Your anchor.

The boy who's heart was begging him to move. Just a little bit closer. He wanted to capture your laughter in his mouth. He wanted to know what your skin felt like when he wasn't practicing punches or jabs against it, or pushing it away.

His head dips lower, and he feels the small puffs of your air against his face. His eyelids begin to droop as his dilating pupils fixate on your lips.

His nose touches yours first, and he hears the quietest little gasp escape from your mouth. It causes his chest to quake and his grip on your wrists to tighten. He swallows as the pressure builds to a peak--and he finally gives in.

His eyes close over and he brushes his lips against yours--

The obnoxiously loud standard ring-tone of Kastuki's agency-intern issued smart-phone goes off like a nuclear bomb.

In a rush of adrenaline, the blonde breaks through his drunken stupor to reach for it in his back pocket--still above you, still pinning you to the floor with his other arm.

"Yeah, what is it?" He gruffs into the phone, not bothering with pleasantries. He's staring off into space, towards the window.

"Mm."

You crane your neck a little, trying to listen in. Everything was warm, and it was really hard to concentrate..

The sigh that escapes him sounds so disappointed, you'd dare say he looked cute.

"Don't bother, she's with me. We'll be there in a sec." There's a voice still going on the other side of the call when he pads the End Call button with his thumb. He shoves it back in his pocket, then finally rises up from the ground.

"What--" You start, but you're surprised to find him offering his hand to help you up.

Honestly, the realization that he had just been about to kiss you seemed insignificant compared to this gesture.

"C'mon. They called an emergency meeting."

And like being splashed with cold water, you were back to being wide awake. You take his hand, and opt to leave your jacket on the bench across the room. You would come back for it later.

"Let's go."